A Sham Engagement (The Mismatched Lovers #1)

Chapter Thirteen

T he day of the Belmont House ball dawned all too quickly for Elenora. If only Aunt Penelope hadn’t asked Jack to escort them. If only she didn’t have to go. Everyone would stare at her, wondering how she’d managed to ensnare such a catch when no one else had succeeded, and she would want to sink into a puddle of embarrassment. It would be dreadful. She couldn’t do it.

“I feel sick,” she tried with Aunt Penelope. “I don’t think I can go.”

Petunia arched her eyebrows and heaved an impatient sigh from her seat on her bed. She’d been waiting there for a good fifteen minutes, her own maid having secured her appearance with more speed than Agatha was capable of. Especially as Elenora was in a fidget and no hurry to be ready.

Aunt Penelope laid a practiced hand on her forehead. “Nonsense, you look quite healthy to me. No temperature, and you have very pretty color in your cheeks.”

Not what Elenora wanted to hear.

Petunia huffed as though exasperated. “That’s what I told her.”

They were all in Petunia and Elenora’s bedroom, where Agatha had been struggling to arrange Elenora’s hair to her mistress’s approval, something Elenora had already decided not to give. She tried again. “I think I might be going to be sick.” If only she were better at pretending, but she’d always found it far too stressful. Not as stressful as tonight was going to be though. At another ball. Who would have thought having obtained the desired engagement life would have become more difficult instead of easier? How unfair was that?

Aunt Penelope, who was dressed, coiffured and ready, just like Petunia, had come in to chivvy Elenora and Agatha along. “You ate a good breakfast of the same things as I did. It’s just nerves, my dear, as it’s your first time out as an engaged young lady. That’s a big step for any girl.” She glanced at her own daughter. “One which I’m sure Petunia will be taking before very long, as she has quite a fortune at her disposal.”

Of course. Petunia was that desirable creature—an heiress with money, and Aunt Penelope had probably expected her to make a match before her impecunious cousin.

Petunia’s expression became complacent. She’d been at pains to mention this several times already that evening.

Aunt Penelope fanned herself in distraction. “Now do hurry up, and stop worrying. All you need to do is raise your chin and look down your nose at those girls who haven’t been as lucky as you.”

Probably she didn’t mean Petunia, although the temptation to do so was strong, given the way she’d been behaving since the engagement.

Aunt Penelope gave a little titter. “Getting yourself engaged to an earl’s only son at your first ball is quite an achievement.”

Had Aunt Penelope forgotten the circumstances of this engagement? Was she suffering from selective amnesia? She might not be so inclined to be smug if Elenora reminded her it had been brought about by her having been compromised. The inclination to remind her aunt rose, but Elenora stayed silent, perhaps wisely. Not that anyone in her family thought her wise. How right her aunt was about it being nerves making her feel like this. Only she was making a vast understatement. “I think I’m going to be sick right now.”

“Pass her a bowl, Agatha.”

Agatha obliged, holding the china wash basin in front of her mistress. Elenora made a few dry-retching sounds in the vague hopes her stomach would oblige, but it didn’t. Drat it. Surely if she’d produced anything tangible her aunt would have allowed her to remain at home?

“There,” Aunt Penelope said, a distinct note of satisfaction in her voice. “I told you there was nothing wrong with you. Now, slip your gown on and we can go downstairs. Lord Broxbourne has been waiting for us in the hall for the last ten minutes.”

Elenora’s spirits rose a tiny bit. At least she would be with Jack. Since she’d met his little ward, she’d revised her opinion of him somewhat. Any man who would take in his dead mistress’s illegitimate child and clearly love him as he did could not be all bad. Could he? His child, in fact. He could so easily have followed his mother’s first suggestions about who should care for the infant, and he hadn’t. He’d kept him with him. A warm feeling for Jack’s kindness trickled over Elenora. He wasn’t the man everyone thought he was, and she was probably the only person who knew it.

If only Aunt Penelope knew that, as well. That would make her sit up and look. She smiled to herself as Agatha helped her into her ballgown. Another new one, this time in a pale silver satin, embroidered with tiny silver birds. Small, puffed sleeves sat slightly off the shoulder, and a sweeping neckline, combined with judicious use of stays by Agatha, created the impression of a decided bosom. A miracle what stays could do.

Taking her time, in the vague hopes that delaying the inevitable might help her, Elenora drew her gloves on, let Agatha drape a filmy cape about her shoulders that would not be enough to keep the cold off, and picked up her reticule and fan. Feeling like Marie Antoinette about to mount a tumbril on her way to the guillotine, she emitted a deep sigh. “I suppose I’m ready.”

Aunt Penelope patted her arm. “No need to behave as if this is a punishment, you silly girl. You look a vision. If he had not already offered for you, I swear Lord Broxbourne would be fit to do so tonight when he sees you in this gown. It was an excellent choice of mine, if I say so myself.” She stood back as if to better admire her creation. “It really won’t be the ordeal you seem to be imagining, my dear. Your betrothed will be by your side as is his duty, and I shall be keeping an eye on you both, have no fear. You will be the belle of the ball, the toast of the evening, the toast of the season, in fact, as you are certainly the success of the season.”

Elenora glanced at Petunia, whose face had taken on a mulish expression. Really, it was no wonder she was feeling jealous with the way her mama was extoling someone else’s virtues and success. A pang of guilt washed over Elenora. She would have swapped places with her cousin in an instant, did Petunia but know.

She sighed. What a very good reason being lauded as the belle of the ball by strangers was for not wanting to go. She’d tried, but she’d failed. Short of flinging herself down the stairs in an effort to break something, she couldn’t see any other way of getting out of this evening’s ordeal. An ordeal that promised to make escaping this engagement at the end of the season all the harder.

With a nod of thanks to Agatha, she followed Petunia and her aunt out of the bedroom to the two flights of stairs to the hallway. On the first floor landing, she paused, peering down at Jack where he stood in the wide hallway with his back to her, ostensibly gazing at a portrait of Aunt Penelope’s late husband looking portly and important, just as Elenora remembered him.

How tall and slim Jack was, and how smartly dressed. Quite the dandy with his dark hair styled into the Grecian and white stockings and tight silk breeches on, but also with the look of a military man about his bearing. She might ask him if he’d ever served in the army. Of course, he must have looked like this on the night she’d met him, but that memory had been erased from her mind. All she could recall of that night was him holding onto her dress so firmly it had torn, and then Mama and everyone bursting in on them. If only that wasn’t the sole bit she could remember, she’d be happier.

Aunt Penelope, with a little, self-satisfied harumph, hung back, a hand restraining the grumpy Petunia, whispering, “Go down to him on your own.”

On her own? Elenora hesitated, wishing herself anywhere but here. However, with Aunt Penelope behind her blocking any attempt at escape, she had no choice. She set her silver slippered foot on the top step, and as she did so, he must have heard her because he turned to look up.

Their eyes met and his rather severe expression softened into a smile. She hesitated, disturbed by both the smile and the strange look in his eyes. Why was he regarding her like that? Why was life so very complicated and filled with things she couldn’t understand but others seemed able to?

“Keep going,” Aunt Penelope hissed from behind.

Taking a deep breath, Elenora took another step, and then another, descending the staircase as slowly as possible, desperate not to trip on her long gown and looking where she was stepping rather than at Jack, but all the while conscious that his gaze hadn’t wavered from her. Her cheeks bloomed with heat. Good heavens. It was bad enough having one person staring at her, how much worse would it be with a whole ballroom of people doing so?

She reached the bottom of the stairs, eyes still down.

“Elenora, you look beautiful.” How deep and husky his voice was.

She dared a peek up at him. The smile had vanished and his face had taken on a deadly serious expression. At least, she thought it had… Long ago she’d realized how hard it was to read faces the way her sisters and brothers could, which was one of the reasons she watched people so closely. She tried to emulate their reactions where possible, but here she had no one’s response to go on but her own. She tried a tremulous smile. “Thank you.” She could return the compliment. That would be an easy reply. “And you look most handsome and dashing tonight.”

He reached out and took her gloved hand, bending his head to kiss her fingertips, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. Her heart performed a little, frightened flutter to add to all the other things she didn’t understand. No man had ever looked at her like that before.

Aunt Penelope arrived beside her and Jack released Elenora’s hand and executed a bow to her chaperone. “Lady Dandridge, as gorgeous as usual. My mother will be pleased to see you again so soon after your last meeting. She has decided to attend with my father.”

Petunia cleared her throat.

“And Miss Dandridge. You look charming.”

Elenora wasn’t paying much attention to this. What had he said? His mother again? Oh no. The churning sensation in Elenora’s stomach increased and for a moment she suffered the nasty sensation she might really be going to cast up her accounts—possibly all over Jack himself.

Aunt Penelope slid a supporting hand under her elbow. “Lord Broxbourne. I very much look forward to seeing Lady Amberley again tonight, and I’m sure Elenora does too.”

Oh, but everyone was so polite. Elenora longed to tell them both the last person she wanted to ever see again was Jack’s acerbic mother with all her catechism of questions. But she didn’t. Hard as it was, she held her tongue.

“My carriage awaits you,” Jack said, with a sweeping gesture of one hand toward the door where Hemmings was on duty waiting to open it for them. “Shall we depart?”

Jack offered Lady Dandridge and Petunia his hand up into the waiting carriage, and, as they settled themselves, turned to Elenora. For a moment, he faltered. He’d thought her uncommonly pretty the first time he’d met her, but something about her extreme practicality had detracted from that beauty. Now, decked out like Cinderella on her way to meet her prince, she was exquisite. How would it be if she chose him to be her prince?

Pushing that rather disturbing thought out of his head, because it definitely wasn’t what he wanted, he held out his hand.

She hesitated. Why was it she seemed to so dislike being touched? He kept his hand outstretched. Not because he wanted to force her into taking it, but because he very much wanted to feel her touch.

Her breasts rose and fell as though she were taking a deep breath to steel herself for something unpleasant. Damn it. Why did she still persist in finding his presence so distasteful? He’d thought the other day that things had warmed between them after she’d met Edward, but now it seemed they’d regressed to the start again. The urge to make her like him better, combined with a not unnatural annoyance that she didn’t, had him almost snatch her hand.

He felt her resist and tightened his hold. Much as he had done with her dress, and perhaps for the same reasons. Despite himself, he wanted to get to know this strange young lady better. Whether she liked it or not.

Elenora shot him a sharp look, but allowed herself to be helped up the step and into the carriage. She sat down between her aunt and cousin, smoothing her skirts and keeping her eyes lowered. Had he not already known her better, he would have thought she was being demure, but he’d already worked out that demure was not an adjective to be used about Miss Elenora Wetherby.

He settled himself opposite the ladies, Hemmings put up the step and closed the door, and the carriage moved off.

Only a single lamp burned inside the carriage, and it was difficult to make out Elenora’s face, not least because she was regarding her hands as though they were newly attached.

For some reason, though, Jack could think of no small talk to make, which was most unlike him. His mind remained a blank, as he studied Elenora and she studied her hands.

Lady Dandridge broke the awkward silence. “Will you be going to the soirée at Lady Routledge’s next week?”

That old harridan. Not if he could help it. “I have had an invitation.”

“I have received one as well and will be taking Elenora and Petunia.” She paused. “It would be most acceptable if you would be able to accompany us.”

“In that case, I will do so.” Damn it. Lady Routledge was such a nosy woman. If she sniffed a rat of any sort, she’d be on it like the terriers his grooms kept to keep the vermin down.

A somewhat strangled sound emerged from Elenora.

Her aunt turned her head. “What is it, my dear? Are you troubled about something?”

Elenora nodded. “No one has asked me if I would like to go.”

Jack suppressed a smile. Good for her. An opportunity for him to help both her and himself. “If you would prefer not to, Elenora, I should be happy to invite you… and your aunt and cousin, of course… to dine with me in Portland Place that evening.”

Lady Dandridge swelled like an angry pigeon. In Jack’s experience, ambitious mamas, and Lady Dandridge obviously considered herself in loco matris right now, did not like to have their plans upset. And of course, she had her own daughter to marry off as well, a girl who was a paler copy of Elenora but who might shine were her prettier cousin not present. Dare he suggest that they should attend the soirée and allow Elenora to dine alone with him? Probably not. Alas.

“I should love to take dinner with you,” Elenora said, her words tumbling out in her evident hurry not to allow her aunt to place an obstruction in the way. “That would be most agreeable would it not, Aunt? You would be my chaperone so I wouldn’t be dining with Lord Broxbourne alone.”

At least she had some idea of propriety, even if he didn’t. However, her blue eyes had taken on a wide-eyed innocence that made Jack want to laugh out loud. This was a girl who could fight her own corner. A girl to be admired. If he had been looking for a wife, then she might have been just the sort he could have considered. The thought brought him up sharply. This was not what he should be thinking or, before he knew it, she’d have him in her clutches in reality. What a good thing they were both of one mind—against marriage, if each for different reasons.

As luck would have it, it wasn’t far to Belmont House, and Graves was now slowing the carriage outside it, excusing Jack from having to continue the conversation and preventing Lady Dandridge from protesting.

A footman let down the step and Jack got out, the better to help his ladies descend. Time to go inside and face the grilling he was likely to get at his friends’ hands as to why he’d suddenly decided to tie the knot.

“What’s this I hear about you getting leg-shackled?” Lord Arthur Dugdale handed Jack a glass of whisky. “You’d better have a snifter of the hard stuff. I certainly needed one when I heard your news. Never thought I’d hear it said.”

“It’s all over Town,” Sir Simon Westlake put in. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“More to the point,” Dugdale said. “What did La Belle Raby have to say about it?”

Westlake gave a snort that might have been laughter but also could have been horror. “If you told her face to face, then you’re a braver man than I am.”

Jack looked beyond his two friends, at where Louise was currently fawning over the young Duke of Routledge, whose mother she was old enough to have been. Just down from Oxford, he was lapping up the attention. “Suffice it to say, she was not amused.”

Westlake eyed him up and down. “I don’t see you limping or with any scars to speak of. You seem to have got off lightly.” He sighed. “In one way, that is. But as you’ve hitched your horse to the marriage wagon, I think you’ve rather jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. With both feet. You’ll find out soon enough what being married is really like and be needing more of this nectar.” He knocked back his own whisky in one gulp.

“She’s an uncommon pretty girl,” Dugdale said. “I must say that I can see why you succumbed.”

“Being uncommon pretty doesn’t mean she won’t turn into a nag,” Westlake said, glancing over his shoulder. “You will warn me if Amelia hoves into view, won’t you?” He held out his glass for a servant to refill. “She’s put a limit on how much I’m allowed to drink.”

Dugdale raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Jack chuckled. “We both know how much you like her fussing over you, so stop pretending you don’t. We won’t wear it.”

Westlake pulled a wry face. “Caught out, damn it.” He paused, and a smile replaced the wry look. “Seriously though, old man. I wish you all the best. She’s a gem. I can see that, and young enough to be molded into the sort of wife you really want.”

They clearly hadn’t met Elenora yet. Anyone less likely to be molded into any form she didn’t want to take he had yet to meet.

“Do introduce us, Jack,” Dugdale said. “I’d like a dance with your betrothed if that’s all right with you. Need to see if she passes muster. I’m sure she will or you wouldn’t have chosen her. I hear she’s not got a penny to her name, so it must be love.”

Ignoring the last part of this statement, Jack nodded. “She’s with her aunt and my mother. Over there. I might as well introduce you now and rescue her from another grilling by my mother. Poor girl’s already had one and she’ll be grateful.”

Elenora, seemingly demure and silent, was standing as he’d said with her aunt and his mother, near the door into the dining room where supper was being laid out. Petunia was conspicuous by her absence. Off dancing with some young man, no doubt. She looked a girl who shared her mother’s ambitions. Jack led his two friends over and they made their bows.

Elenora, who’d been only half listening to the conversation between the two older ladies, and had been trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, looked up as Jack approached. But who were these two men he had with him? Both of them older than Jack, surely? The sturdy one on the right had his sandy hair expertly combed upward, no doubt in a hopeless effort to hide his increasing bald spot, and was every bit as smartly dressed as Jack. The other, a tall, long-faced individual sported such high collar points he was having difficulty moving his head.

Jack introduced them as his oldest friends, and they bowed and kissed her hand, and Dugdale, the balding one, asked if she had a space on her dance card she could spare him. Her immediate reaction was to say no, but Aunt Penelope had turned her attention to the two newcomers and answered for her. There was nothing for it, she would have to dance with one of Jack’s friends and avoid putting her foot in it. Although in what way this was worse than the other dances she’d had to take part in already this evening, she wasn’t quite sure. Jack had danced with her only once, and the rest of the time she’d found herself so popular her dance card was now almost full. And she’d been right. Everyone was indeed looking at her. So much so she’d almost grown used to the mortification of it.

And now, Jack’s friend was going to look at her as well and no doubt find her wanting. After all, wasn’t that what friends were for? To find fault with the people around you. Or so she’d gleaned from observing her family.

At first, they danced in silence, as Lord Arthur Dugdale didn’t seem to have much to say, despite staring at her the whole time as though she were an exhibit at a zoo and making her trip over her own feet and his in discomfort. It wasn’t until the dance finished, and he offered to promenade her about the room, that he finally found something sensible to say.

“Wetherby.” Dugdale tugged her hand through his arm with determination, despite her trying to tug it back. “Are you one of the Hampshire Wetherbys by any chance?”

His strong perfume was making her eyes water at close quarters. Thank goodness Jack didn’t smell like that. Jack had just the faintest hint of perfume and a clean smell of soap about him, mixed with something she couldn’t pin down. A much nicer smell than this heady aroma.

From Dugdale’s expression, he must clearly be expecting an answer. “I suppose I must be. My family is from near Winchester. My father has a small estate called Penworthy not five miles outside of the city.”

Dugdale seemed pleased with this information. He propelled her forward a few more steps. “Splendid. Now, tell me, Miss Wetherby, what d’you think of our Jack then?”

What a blunt question. The inclination to answer just as bluntly had to be controlled. With difficulty. “I like him well enough, my lord.” Mama would be proud of her.

“A pretty answer from a pretty girl.”

There wasn’t really anything she could say to that, apart from thank you, so she didn’t. Where was Aunt Penelope when she needed rescuing? Nowhere in sight. And no sign of Jack either. Inspiration dawned. She could ask Dugdale about Jack and thus prevent him from questioning her. “How long have you known Jack, my lord?”

His face lit up. “Since we were boys together at Harrow.”

And it gave her something to talk about too. “My brothers both went to Winchester College.”

“Splendid.”

He did seem to like saying that.

Oh, how hard it was to keep a conversation going with someone who seemed to have a vacant space between his ears. Why on earth was Jack friends with such a dunce? It dawned on her, in a moment of unusual clarity, that perhaps here was a gentleman no more apt at conversation with a stranger than she was. Did he need some help, as she so often did? “Perhaps you could tell me some of the things he likes to do.”

Dugdale blushed scarlet. Perhaps not such a good question to ask. “Er,” he managed, floundering. “Hunting in the winter. A spot of pheasant shooting. The card table. That sort of thing. Same as most of us fellows.” He waved a hand, looking desperate. What was it he didn’t want to tell her? “Oh look, here’s Westlake. Shall we join him?”

How pleasant to have met someone more tongue-tied in company than she was. Not a common occurrence for Elenora. Itching to remove her hand from Dugdale’s arm, she let him lead her over to where his friend was talking to someone. Who it was, she couldn’t see, as Westlake was in the way.

Westlake half turned, and his welcoming smile vanished, to be replaced with a rictus grin, as from behind him the magnificent Lady Raby appeared. The woman in the red dress with whom Jack had been dancing on the night she’d first met him. His ex-mistress, if he was to be believed, which he surely was.

Elenora felt Dugdale almost stop, then steel himself to continue as Westlake bowed to her. “Why, Miss Wetherby, I don’t think you know Lady Raby, do you?” His voice rose an octave and perspiration stood out on his forehead.

Seizing the opportunity to regain her own hand again, Elenora dropped a sweeping curtsy. When she rose, she found Lady Raby’s diamond-hard gray eyes fixed on her. Even she could tell those eyes did not hold any kind of camaraderie.

Lady Raby ran her gaze up and down Elenora, the faintest curl of her upper lip indicating that what she saw did not find favor. “Miss Wetherby, might I congratulate you on your triumph in snaring a man we’d all thought would never marry. An astounding accomplishment at only your first ball, I gather. And for one so young… and unencumbered with expectations.”

Oh, if only she could slip away like a ghost in the mist, and not have to stand here fixing a smile on her face as though she’d contracted lockjaw. This woman did not like her one bit, and Elenora had no idea why. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Raby put a gloved hand on Elenora’s arm. “And now I must have Miss Wetherby to myself. You boys can run along. We shall be putting our heads together privately.” She waved a hand at Dugdale and Westlake. “Off you go.”

Jack’s two friends exchanged panicked looks. She wanted to beg them not to leave her, but manners, for once, held her silent. They retreated, guilt written across their faces, abandoning her to what could only be her fate.

“Now,” said Lady Raby with a self-satisfied smile. “Let us find a little alcove and get to know one another.”