Chapter 4
Lord Todson was unappealing. Worse than Habersham. Or Gates.
Even Muriel, as sheltered as she’d been, knew the look of a rake, which Todson, though about her father’s age, still assumed himself to be.
His bleary gaze had passed over her bosom, dismissed it—which frankly wasn’t surprising given it was as average as the rest of her—and was now pretending not to eye Lady Coptic.
He smelled of pomade, brandy, and dissipation.
Rather hurtful to think that her parents would rather she wed Todson than not have a husband at all.
Todson laughed loudly at some jest of Father’s.
The incessant braying will drive me mad in a fortnight.
Muriel swallowed, wishing to be anywhere but in Lady Savorton’s drawing room—not that the Savorton estate and especially the enormous drawing room wasn’t elegant, their host and hostess welcoming. But knowing that her only purpose at this gathering was to meet Todson put a damper on things.
Todson drew his fingers over the edge of his chin as if intently listening to Father while side-eyeing Muriel.
Ugh.
Nora had spent the entire remainder of the journey to the Savortons’ extolling Todson’s virtues—that he was attractive, well-regarded, and would provide a steadying influence.
True, he had something of a reputation, but that was all in the past, she’d said lightly.
After Muriel provided Todson an heir, she would be able to pursue her own interests.
Lead a separate life. Why, Muriel might even be permitted to travel to Florence and pursue her art. Todson had inferred as much.
The freedom you desire, Muriel. As a countess, you may live as you see fit.
Sounded splendid, except that in order to gain her freedom, Muriel must wed and bed Todson.
Her stomach curdled.
Had Todson an ounce of the charm or a keen wit, marriage to him might not be so terrible. Were he…Buxton, for instance.
Muriel’s lips twisted at the thought of the arrogant man she’d met over meat pies. In all likelihood, she would never see Buxton again, and if even if they did cross paths in London, it was doubtful he’d remember her.
Todson laughed once more, the braying sound echoing in her ear.
Dear God. I cannot listen to that for the rest of his days.
“I understand you paint, Miss Bell.” Her unwanted suitor turned his attention back to her.
“I do, my lord. Portraits, mostly. I am a student of—”
“Art.” Nora interrupted smoothly. “A way to pass the time, my lord. Every young lady should have a hobby, I think.” She nudged Muriel’s foot with her own. “She has a great many talents.”
“Does she?” Todson’s gaze roamed over her once more.
Muriel winced and tried not to make a face.
Todson clearly believed himself to be quite charismatic, though she could have disabused him of that notion.
She didn’t find him fascinating or particularly droll.
Nor did he have hair that reminded her of a sunset.
But Todson and Buxton did share one commonality: hugely inflated opinions of themselves.
Yes, but in Buxton’s case it is justified.
“Do you have any hobbies, my lord?” Muriel inquired politely.
She must find something—anything—to dissuade Todson from marriage, but she feared the only way to rid herself of the earl would be the presence of another, better suitor.
Convincing her parents that such a gentleman existed would be difficult if not impossible unless she produced said gentleman.
Their earlier laughter in the carriage informed her of such.
“Cards, mostly,” Lord Todson replied. “I also enjoy my club. The horse races.”
Wonderful. Unappealing and boring.
A great wave of self-pity filled Muriel.
Here was her future unless something monumental happened to save her.
Father and Nora weren’t intentionally cruel.
They honestly believed that in wedding her to Todson, Muriel would eventually be allowed to have her dream.
Study in Florence. Paint. Possibly sculpt.
But that might well take years, in which Muriel would stay trapped, likely in the country writing out menus and sketching the servants.
Muriel took note of a handsome footman standing guard at the door.
I don’t care if I must seduce a member of Savorton’s staff, I’m not marrying Todson.
Emboldened by the thought, though she’d never seduced anyone in her life, Muriel looked about for any gentleman she might know, one friendly to her who might not be opposed to pretending great affection for her over the course of the week, long enough for Todson and her parents, to be sufficiently deterred.
Finally, her gaze landed on Mr. Epcot, the son of Viscount Epcot.
They’d met a few months ago while Muriel was purchasing new paint brushes and bonded over a shared interest of the Renaissance, though Epcot was a sculptor, not a painter.
He was nice enough—not to marry, of course, but kind.
Muriel was reasonably sure she could induce him to—
Her eyes caught on a flash of deep auburn near the refreshment table. Her breath hitched slightly in her chest.
Buxton?
No, it couldn’t be. That would be far too lucky.
Buxton had shown little interest when she’d mentioned her destination, except to say he deplored house parties. Nor had he mentioned knowing Savorton. But few men had hair that particular shade. None Muriel could think of, in fact. It couldn’t possibly be anyone else.
She drew in a slow breath, mostly to calm her racing heart. Rescue was at hand.
Maybe.
The crowd in the drawing room parted, revealing a broad pair of shoulders, now in a coat of emerald green. He was speaking to Lady Fabel’s daughter.
Lucia? Letitia? Muriel couldn’t recall her name, only that Fabel’s daughter was beautiful, sought after, and, at the moment, drawing her slender fingers over Buxton’s coat.
The only saving grace was that despite—her brain stuttered out the girl’s name—Lady Lavinia and her charms, Buxton appeared bored.
Two young ladies, both garbed in shades of pale green, circled about Buxton as if deciding how best to take down Lady Lavinia’s hold on him. A handful of other girls stood a short distance away, whispering behind their fans as they took him in.
Good lord, he wasn’t exaggerating.
Here was the solution to her problem. Buxton. He had implied he would offer assistance should she require it.
I most certainly do.
And in return—Muriel straightened her shoulders, nearly bumping into a servant carrying a tray behind her—she would offer him aid as well.
After all, if he were playing the part of her besotted suitor, the other ladies would perceive his interest in Muriel and stop stalking him.
A fair trade. She must only convince Buxton that such a pretense would benefit them both.
Assure him that she only wished to avoid Todson and nothing more.
Buxton would help her. She hoped.
Todson turned to address her parents, laughing and braying like some insane donkey. He’d moved closer to her, brushing her skirts with his leg.
“Please excuse me,” Muriel said abruptly, interrupting Todson. She must approach Buxton now before her courage waned. “But I’ve just caught sight of…” The words trailed off, intentionally on her part, with a sigh of adoration.
“Muriel,” Nora said under her breath.
Ignoring her stepmother, Muriel made her way through the crowd, keeping her gaze focused on that arrogant head of deep auburn as she slid between the other guests.
I won’t allow him to refuse me.
Curious looks, a soft gasp or two, greeted Muriel as she boldly walked directly to Buxton’s side. Her hand wrapped gently around his elbow. “Goodness,” she said, shooting him a pointed look. “I’ve found you.”
“So you have.” His eyes widened only slightly at her appearance, as if he’d been expecting her. “Did you think I’d gone missing?”
Lady Lavinia looked between the two of them with shock. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Miss Bell.”
“Apologies for my interruption,” Muriel said with a soft laugh. “But I fear I must steal Buxton away. It is a matter of some urgency.”
Buxton regarded her with no small amount of amusement. “A matter of urgency? I can’t imagine, Miss Bell. Excuse me, Lady Lavinia, but it seems I’m needed elsewhere.”
“But—” Lady Lavinia stammered.
“We shouldn’t delay, Buxton,” Muriel discreetly kicked his foot with her own.
“I suppose not.” He placed his palm over Muriel’s hand with a grin. “My lady,” he said to Lady Lavinia. “Please excuse me.”
Muriel tugged at his arm, leading Buxton slowly in the direction of Todson and her parents. “I’m sorry for interrupting your discourse with Lady Lavinia.” She bit her lip. “I know we are only briefly acquainted, but I am facing somewhat dire circumstances.”
“I see. Now I’m intrigued, Miss Bell.”
“I require your aid, as it happens. A favor. One that I believe will be mutually beneficial.”
“Oh, that is the best kind, Miss Bell.” That curious green gaze trailed over her once more.
Muriel tried to formulate her argument, which was difficult when Buxton smelled of cedar and spice.
He is a means to an end, albeit a wholly attractive one.
“You did not exaggerate your appeal. Even I can see as much. I have never seen such a swirling of skirts around a gentleman. You are quite popular.”
“Unfortunately,” Buxton sighed. “I believe there was a queue forming behind Lavinia.”
“Yes, well, exactly.” She cleared her throat, trying to focus when her entire form was vibrating with his warmth seeping into her skin.
“You might have mentioned you’d be attending the house party.
I’m not sure why you didn’t tell me.” She paused.
“However, I find your presence nothing short of fortuitous. I did not want to approach Mr. Epcot. I need help in dissuading Lord Todson, whom my parents have selected as a potential husband.”
“Dire, indeed, Miss Bell. Wait, who is Epcot?”
“It doesn’t matter.”