Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (10 page)

“Man can’t hold his liquor,” Lord Archer chuckled, draining another cup.

Bane grinned. “It’s only brandy that affects me so, I fear. It has a tendency to stay with me. For days, in fact,” he said, loud enough that it sounded as if he were making a joke for everyone’s amusement. It gained him several more chuckles.

He stepped forward, as if to pass by Merribeth. Then he hesitated, his voice low. “I should probably abstain from it completely, but there’s something indescribably tempting in the elixir.”

Double drat.
Her cheeks were aflame—she could feel it. He was bedeviling her on purpose. She feared her quick tendency to blush would reveal her secret and suddenly realized that her only method of combating his flirtation was to remove herself from his presence.

Then, as ever, Eve had perfect timing and announced that dinner was ready.

Merribeth breathed a sigh of relief, short lived though it may be.

B
ane was never more grateful for a dinner to end.

Instead of gathering in the dining room, seated at the grand table that had once hosted a king, Eve decided that a more intimate dinner in the dimly lit conservatory was perfect for a smaller party. Because of it, they took their places at a round table, seated within elbow’s reach of each other. The close proximity gave Daniela the notion of playing hide-the-napkin, as he frequently found her hand seeking the one in his lap.

On the other side of him, Cordelia Whitworth did not offer a reprieve. She was still cross with him for not accepting her advances a year ago. He’d tried to explain that, contrary to rumor, he did not dally with other men’s wives, but she had taken his refusal as a slight.

Although his statement implied a moral quality that everyone knew he didn’t possess, his reason for this had more to do with his ultimate revenge against his grandfather than anything else. Simply put, wives were not as careful as widows when it came to matters of begetting a child.

Because of his slight a year ago, Cordelia now focused all her attention on the colonel, who sat on her other side. Beside Daniela, Sir Colin would have been without conversation entirely, had it not been for the soft-spoken Lady Archer. Beyond her, Sophie and Eve kept to their conversation, which left Venus—or rather, Miss Wakefield—to the company of the leering Lord Archer. Her gaze had only strayed to Bane’s once during the entire service, and that was only when she answered a question posed to her by the colonel on her other arm.

As for Archer, his clumsy, drunken hand had strayed to her arm so frequently, Bane was of a mind to believe that this drunkenness was a mere act to aid him in getting away with pawing other women in front of his own wife. Throughout dinner, the thought stayed with him. And more than once, his brooding gaze went to the opposite side of the table.

When dinner finally concluded, Eve suggested they all adjourn to the parlor for coffee and cake, instead of leaving the men to their cigars and port. For that, Bane was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could hold his temper with Archer.

In the parlor, he remained standing to better deter Daniela from finding her hand in his lap again. She was busily making the rounds, flirting with Hamersley while Cordelia conversed with Eve. Archer lounged in the window seat, while his wife and Sir Colin puzzled over a game of chess in the corner. Miss Wakefield and her aunt occupied the floral settee.

Each time Venus took a sip of the dark brew, her eyes closed in obvious pleasure. He’d been right about her preferring coffee after all. Now he found himself thirsty.

Instead of motioning to the servant to refill his cup, he crossed the room to where the silver carafe waited on a table near Mrs. Leander and her niece.

Miss Wakefield’s eyes widened and she went still as a rabbit on the green, her cup paused in midair, her lips parted for another sip. What he wouldn’t give to have those lips parted for him once more.

He casually picked up the carafe and filled his cup, lingering long enough to make conversation an inevitability. “Mrs. Leander, my aunt informs me you are a superb knitter.”

Miss Wakefield’s aunt blinked and then smiled. “I can hardly respond without a show of either arrogance or self-derision, but I thank you nonetheless. Have you an interest in knitting?”

“My mother was quite exceptional in the art. As a boy, the quick work of her needles fascinated me, but I was unable to learn the skill,” he said, keeping the conversation light. In reality, the true reason had been because she’d been murdered by his grandfather soon after she’d started to teach him.

He motioned to the pair of tufted chairs opposite the settee, and she inclined her head, welcoming him into their small circle.

“Knitting, or sewing for that matter, isn’t a typical trade for a gentleman.”

“No,” he agreed, taking a seat. “My valet is skilled enough at mending, though I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the fine embroidery I see on your shawl.” The garment was draped over the arm of the settee beside her—intricate turquoise shells stitched along the edge above the flaxen fringe. He wasn’t normally one to notice such things, but these caught his attention, and he didn’t see any harm in paying a compliment when it was due. “Quite remarkable.”

She smiled and looked to her seat companion. “My niece is an artist with needle and thread.” Miss Wakefield’s cheeks colored at the unexpected compliment, but she did not say anything before her aunt continued. “No doubt, the wife you choose will have knitting or sewing experience.”

A startled laugh escaped him, nearly causing him to spill his coffee. “I see why you and Eve are friends. You are of a like mind.”

“And you?”

“Am not.” He was certain he said it with irrefutable conviction, closing the topic permanently, and yet . . .

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Mrs. Leander said, ignoring her niece’s look of censure and her obvious plea to cease further communication. “Most likely this explains your lack of presence in society. A credit to your character is your firm resolve.”

Strange, his
firm resolve
had always been considered
single-minded determination
by others and never spoken of favorably. Puzzled by the compliment, he offered a nod. “Thank you, and yes. Though my character is by no means unblemished, I would not add another mark against it by parading myself around the young debutantes, pretending I had any intention of marrying.”

He expected to see Miss Wakefield bristle at this announcement. In the end, most young women were in society for the purpose of marriage, whether for a title or the fanciful ideal of love. He assumed Venus was no different. Her intelligent banter told him she was schooled in the art of husband-luring. However, instead of stiffening or taking offense, he saw her relax—not by any defect in her posture but simply an overall sense of calm that emanated from her.

“Some might rank that as the highest of character credits,” Venus responded, her gaze thoughtful, as if she were considering a new philosophy. “Indeed, if a man has no intention of marrying, he should keep to his coterie.”

“Or become a rustic,” he said, hoping to see her smug amusement return. It did not. She did smile—a small smile more directed to her next sip than to him. Her quiet resolve made him curious. He found himself wanting to ask her to explain her comment. Yet when he opened his mouth to do just that, Daniela sidled up to their group.

“I could not help but overhear. I quite agree. A man who toys with a young woman’s affections is the vilest of all creatures,” she added with a pout and placed her hand on Bane’s shoulder. “I am utterly heartbroken, Miss Wakefield, that you have firsthand experience in such horrible matters. A five-year attachment to one gentlemen, only to have him rush off in the opposite direction? You must be devastated. Why, of course you are. There is certainly no need for me to remind you of your loss.”

Bane quickly put the pieces together. Abandoned after a five-year attachment? Now he understood why Venus had been invited to Lady Amherst’s. That fact alone made a young woman a walking scandal, to say the least. Her reputation was likely in question. Yet his experience at reading people told him,
without a doubt,
she was an innocent. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if kissing him had been the only bold thing she’d done in her life.

“A temporary loss only,” Mrs. Leander interrupted, polite as a porcupine, quills at the ready. “He is simply too young to know his mind. A short duration apart will set it right again.”

“Yes, of course. He will soon see what an angel he had in our precious Meriwether.”

“Merribeth,” Venus said, her voice low. “‘Miss Wakefield,’ if you please, Mrs. Pearce.”

Though she attempted a polite smile as well, beneath the fall of curls over her forehead, he distinctly saw her brow arch. And what a fearsome brow it was. Bane felt his admiration of her charms grow exponentially.

“Oh, pish-posh. You must call me Daniela,” she said as she took the remaining seat in their group. “After Eve explained the task she’s put upon you, I eagerly volunteered to be your tutor. So, you see? We shall be bosom friends very soon, and in a fortnight, you will reclaim your wayward gentleman.”

His Venus blushed furiously and cast a look of brimstone directly at Eve. “Our hostess is too kind.”

“Task?” someone asked. When all eyes turned to him, Bane realized he must have been the one. Though he tried to pretend disinterest in the conversation, he found his curiosity growing by the moment.

“To gain back the affections of her beloved, of course.”

Beloved? He highly doubted it. After all, he recalled asking her that night if she had a heart in need of mending. He recalled her surprising response as well. Now, when he glanced across the space between them, he would have placed a wager that she was remembering the same. “And Eve knows how to accomplish this?”

“Apparently, yes,” Venus answered, doing an admirable job of schooling her features.

He tucked his smirk of doubt into his cup and drained the last of it.

“I find the plan inspired,” Daniela said, finding it necessary to tap her hand against Bane’s knee as she explained. “She is to flirt, be carefree, and enjoy herself immensely. Then, at the ball on the final night of the party, her beloved will see that she isn’t devastated at all. This will spark not only his interest but a yearning to get her back.”

And once her gentleman renewed his affections, her reputation would no longer be in tatters. Ah. Now he understood. “Impressive plan.”

The man who’d cried off was quite obviously a simpleton if he thought his action would leave Miss Wakefield’s reputation unscathed. Bane felt the dark mood he’d experienced at dinner descend upon him again. Before, he’d merely shrugged it off as an instant dislike of Archer. Now, he wondered if it was something else entirely.

“You must help our dear Meriwether, Bane. Flirt with her. We’ll make a game of it as we would at
Forfeits
.”

Although he didn’t outwardly refuse, he didn’t give Daniela the response she was hoping for either. The thing was, he never played a game unless the outcome was certain.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

M
erribeth didn’t bother to correct Daniela this time, but set her coffee cup and saucer on the low oval table between them. “I fear exhaustion from the day’s long journey has swept over me quite suddenly. Please forgive me, but I must retire.”

“I am too tired for parlor games as well,” Sophie said and made her excuses to retire early.

They both stood. So did Lord Knightswold and then Mrs. Pearce. Merribeth watched as the widow slipped her arm through his and sidled closer. A rise of temper churned in her veins like a tempest. It was so unexpected and overwhelming that she didn’t trust herself to speak another word. Instead, she merely turned and walked through the doors beside her aunt.

“Do not take anything Mrs. Pearce said to heart and let her spoil your fun,” Sophie said as they mounted the stairs. “She’s merely the type who likes to put on a show with her claws. In this venue, her comments are harmless. Besides, it is the woman who sheaths her claws and waits for the perfect opportunity who ends up with the cream from the top of the pail.”

Merribeth felt her nails dig into the tender flesh of her palms and thought how lovely it would be to scratch out Daniela’s eyes. However, she would wait, as her aunt suggested. A grin curled up the corners of her mouth. She felt better instantly.

“You surprise me,” Merribeth said once they reached Sophie’s rooms. “I would have suspected a quote from one of your scientific journals. Instead, this sounds as if you have experience in the matter.”

“Yes, well . . . I was a debutante once too.” After a quick look over her shoulder toward the stairs, she pulled Merribeth into her room and closed the door. “Most likely, I should have mentioned this from the beginning, but our hostess and I have not always been the best of friends. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The revelation should have surprised her, she knew. After all, Eve had gone out of her way to ensure that Merribeth had a Season. Anyone would assume that only a true friend would act so selflessly. However, the fact that Eve had suddenly returned to Sophie’s life little more than two years ago after a long absence had made her wonder. At the time, her aunt had said that sometimes friends find interests in things that pull them in different directions, and she’d spoken in her matter-of-fact way that effectively closed the topic.

Yet Merribeth couldn’t help but remember the day Eve had offered to sponsor her, explaining that she couldn’t refuse because it was her way of making amends.

“You do make an unlikely pair.”

Sophie made a sound of agreement as she walked to the hearth to stir the low fire. “She was the premier beauty of the Season. Every man was vying for her hand. Well . . . every man but one. Sir Herman Wrigglesworth, a bookish gentleman with a passion for Egyptian artifacts, actually preferred my company.”

“Of course he would,” Merribeth said with a smile, until she saw her aunt’s solemn expression. “What happened to him?”