Chapter 13
Lewis kept his shoulders rolled back and his head high as he entered the drawing room. Lady Bridget rose to greet him, her smile brittle. “I was not expecting you, Your Grace.”
“I know.”
He bowed cordially to her, and she fixed him with an unimpressed look. Still, the young lady refused to be cowed by him, which was equal parts infuriating and compelling.
His gaze snapped to the parlor maid, who stood against the wall acting as their silent chaperone.
It was good luck that Elias had been away.
Lewis had no desire to encounter Lady Bridget’s meddling, protective brother.
How much did he dare say before the parlor maid, who was doubtlessly listening regardless of how much indifference she feigned?
“A wife should be prepared to attend to her husband’s needs at any moment,” Lewis said. “And without warning.”
Lady Bridget’s lips thinned. “I would imagine that a proper husband would, nonetheless, have the decency to make his intentions known beforehand. He would not simply interrupt his wife’s day, knowing that she might have many other obligations besides entertaining him.”
Lewis gazed about the room with deliberate slowness.
An abandoned book nearby was the only indication of what Lady Bridget had been doing beforehand.
He could not read the title from where he stood, but he had no doubt that it was some frivolous novel.
Lewis liked reading well enough, but not the kind of literature that he suspected Lady Bridget favored.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I can see that you have so many pressing matters to tend to.”
“That is not the point,” Lady Bridget said, petulantly seating herself on the sofa. “I might have had other matters to attend to. You did not know that before coming to see me. It is not even during the time a lady normally accepts calls.”
“A husband does not have to follow such conventions.”
“You are not my husband.”
Lewis’s lips curled in a satisfied smirk. “Yet,” he said. “What choice do you have otherwise?”
“It is still possible that you will decide I am unworthy of your hand,” Lady Bridget said, eyes flashing with defiance.
“You are proving entirely satisfactory so far, despite your attempts to persuade me that you are not,” he said.
Lewis sat across from her, noting how Lady Bridget’s nose wrinkled and her eyes darted about, as if she sought to escape him.
That was hardly wifely behavior, but he supposed it was what he could expect.
After all, the real lessons would come after they were married.
She was right on one account, which was that he could only teach her so much before they were wed.
The lady’s brother was certain to interfere if he knew even a small part of what Lewis was thinking.
“Perhaps you should leave me,” Lady Bridget said dryly. “I can continue being satisfactory without your presence.”
“I have no desire to leave, my lady,” he said. “At least, not until I have delivered my news.”
Lady Bridget arched an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”
“I think it is best that we attend a ball together. It will provide us with the opportunity to announce our engagement to the ton,” Lewis said. “It will silence some of the wagging tongues.”
Besides, it was the proper thing to do, which meant the least frustrating one.
Elias was not especially fond of societal rules, as he had told Lady Bridget about her kiss, but he understood the importance of such conventions.
There were times when it was important to be a little improper, but those times were to be carefully calculated and chosen.
A reputation was, after all, as valuable as a fortune or title.
“I regret to inform you that I have been invited to no balls,” Lady Bridget said, taking her book in hand and opening it, as though she meant to ignore him.
“I assumed that your name would not grace many guest lists. Fortunately, I have remedied the situation,” Lewis said. “Lord Ashdown has agreed to allow you to attend his ball as a personal favor to me.”
Lady Bridget’s victorious smile faltered. “I see.”
“I imagine you are quite grateful,” Lewis said.
The young lady set her book aside and clasped her hands in her lap. “Should I be? It seems as though you have behaved rather foolishly to me.”
His temper flared, but Lewis kept his expression neutral, the very picture of control in response to the infuriating young miss. This was nothing more than a desperate attempt for her to try and wrest control away from him.
“And how is that?” he asked.
“You could have hosted the ball yourself,” Lady Bridget countered. “Or asked the Dowager Duchess to do it for you.”
If Lady Bridget had known the truth about his grandmother, she would never have posed the idea of the Dowager Duchess planning the ball. It was curious that she knew anything at all about the woman. Lewis narrowed his eyes, searching her face. He knew about the rumors, of course, but did she?
“Either option would be better than becoming indebted to someone,” Lady Bridget continued, “which is what you have done.”
“On the contrary, my lady,” he said. “I cannot become indebted to a man who already owes me a great deal. I would have to receive an invitation to every ball and soiree Lord Ashdown hosted for the rest of his life to make us even.”
The young lady stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “What could you have possibly done to make another man so indebted to you?”
Lewis shrugged easily. “That is no concern of yours. The point is that you have been invited along with me, and you will make yourself suitably presentable.”
“Maybe I do not wish to attend a ball.”
“You do,” he said. “You will.”
Color rose to her cheeks, and her nostrils flared. “I have no doubt that the Dowager Duchess would have enjoyed planning the ball. She has not been allowed to attend any formal occasion in years, and she is most certainly dying from the lack of stimulation.”
So, she had heard. Lewis clenched his jaw at her presumption. “And I suppose you are trying to force some answers from me about her condition? How perfectly selfish of you.”
“It is not selfish to know about the relatives of a man who wishes to be my husband,” she countered. “I would think that is to be expected. After all, you know all about my family, do you not? It is only reasonable that I should also know everything of yours.”
“Well, if you must know…”
He crossed the room, eyes darting to the parlor maid, but her back was to them, as she arranged the tea and biscuits kept on a neat tray by the fireplace. Lewis halted near Lady Bridget, bending over her and drawing closer than was proper. The lady inhaled deeply and gazed at him with wide eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, the word wavering on her tongue.
Lewis leaned nearer to her, so his breath brushed against her cheek. Lady Bridget did not draw away. Instead, her back arched just a little, and she drew closer to him. Lewis’s heart hammered against his ribs. She was a woman whom he would need to treat with a very firm hand, indeed.
“I want to marry you,” he said lowly, “so you can take over the duties that would be expected of the Dowager Duchess. Once we are married, you will host the balls and tend to all the frivolous parts of being in polite society.”
“But why?” she asked.
He laughed and drew back, delighted to see a flicker of disappointment mingling with the anger in her eyes. “Because you will be my wife, and those duties will be yours.”
“And do you find that the Dowager Duchess is unable to perform those duties?” Lady Bridget asked. “Is that why you have locked her away?”
“Locked her away? What a fanciful imagination you have,” he said. “I suppose that is what happens to young ladies who read too many novels. They lose all sense of what the world really is.”
“Do not condescend to me.”
He smiled and returned to his chair, eyes darting to the tea and biscuits. “I do have concerns, of course,” Lewis said. “You have not yet seen fit to offer me tea, though you should have.”
“Invited guests receive tea,” Lady Bridget replied. “You are not welcome here, and I find that you are growing increasingly less tolerable with each passing minute.”
“A wife should not speak thusly to her husband.”
“And a husband should not lie,” she shot back.
He curled his fingers over the chair arms, his nails digging into the polished rosewood. “I have not lied to you.”
“You have not been entirely honest,” Lady Bridget said. “You have evaded my questions and tried to distract me with insults, and I shall not be so easily deterred.”
She tipped her chin up and smiled sweetly at him, clearly pleased with her defiance and cleverness. Lewis scowled. “I find that your company is growing increasingly less pleasant as well.”
“And yet you wish to marry me,” she said.
“I will marry you,” he corrected. “Wishing has nothing to do with our match.”
“I wonder,” Lady Bridget said, “when we are married, will you also keep me locked away in a townhouse, only bringing me out when it is convenient to you? I will not tolerate such behavior.”
“Only if you prove especially frustrating,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Lady Bridget put a hand to her collarbone, as though scandalized by the answer. Lewis fought the impulse to childishly roll his eyes at her. For all the talk of how scandalous Lady Bridget was, it was apparent that she had no inkling of what a real scandal was.
He would delight in showing her.
“My family will not allow that,” Lady Bridget said stiffly. “They care about me and will protect me from anyone.”
“I know. I suspect that your relatives are part of the problem,” Lewis said. “They have treated you like glass and allowed you far too much indulgence. You believe that you may do whatever you please, regardless of the consequences, and that has been to your detriment.”
“You think you know everything about me,” Lady Bridget said tightly. “Bold words from a man who has only spoken to me on a handful of occasions.”
“There is little to know,” he said dismissively. “I have been acquainted with enough young ladies to understand that you are all quite the same.”
He glanced at her, waiting to see if she would rise to the bait, and she did not disappoint. An affronted expression fixed itself on her lovely face. “Well, I never!”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You still have not learned your lesson, my dear. You should not become so easily frustrated.”
“I do not,” she replied. “Only when you are involved because you are uniquely frustrating.”
Lewis leaned nearer to her. “Is it truly frustration that you feel?” he murmured. “Or is it something else? Is your heart racing? Your palms sweating, perhaps?”
The lady wiped her palms on her skirts, and Lewis smirked. He affected her, even if she did not wish to admit it.
“No words for me?” he asked coyly.
“I do have words for you. Here is my question, Your Grace,” Lady Bridget said.
She drew away from him, but not before casting a quick look at his mouth.
As much as she might wish otherwise, Lady Bridget clearly desired him.
“If my family has coddled me too much, what is your excuse? I imagine your existence must be miserable, indeed, if you truly believe that all ladies are quite the same.”
“Experience.”
“Maybe you are not nearly as experienced as you think,” Lady Bridget retorted, her eyes bright and her face flushed. “Perhaps you should marry, so your wife may educate you on the subtle differences between ladies.”
“Bold of you to assume that someone of your tender years may teach me anything,” he said. “You are nine-and-ten, are you not? Fresh and young and entirely inexperienced in the world.”
“I believe it is more shameful to be a man of six-and-twenty and know so little about the world that you assume all ladies are the same,” Lady Bridget said. “Certainly, it is more shameful than being my age and not knowing everything.”
“You enjoy being contrary,” he said. “Very well. You may have the honor of explaining to your brother why you will not attend the one ball to which you have been invited.”
Lewis could see that he had won. Lady Bridget would not do it. She might detest that he had procured the invitation, but she was still a young lady, who enjoyed balls and soirees. She would be grateful to go, whether she wanted to admit it or not.