Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 8

  “You and Sarah go on ahead,” Edith blurted, before she could change her mind. “There’s something I forgot to do.”

  Deborah turned, raising her eyebrows. “What is it? It’s no matter. We can wait.”

  “No,” Edith said hurriedly. She gave her sister a broad smile. “It’s quite all right. I shall see you back at home.” She pressed a hand to Deborah’s shoulder, goading her down the street toward the waiting carriage. She looked at Sarah. “See her home safely, won’t you?”

  Sarah bobbed her head. “Of course, miss.”

  Deborah gave Edith a final quizzical glance, then gave up and disappeared down the street.

  Edith looked back over her shoulder. The gentleman from the river was peering through the window of the cobbler. A faint frown of concentration creased the bridge of his nose, his dark hair dancing around his cheeks in the breeze.

  Edith stared at him. What was it about him that was drawing her to him? Perhaps it was the carefree air with which he carried himself, strolling down the main street with his hands dug into the pockets of his coat and his hair uncombed. There was something so different about him to all the other gentlemen she had met.

  Perhaps he is not a gentleman at all.

  He was dressed as a nobleman, in a silk cravat and dark jacket, smart riding boots buckled at his knees. But his scruffy hair, the thatch of stubble on his jaw, that carefree slouch… It was utterly refreshing. Edith had never seen another like him.

  “What was it you forgot, Miss Wilds?” Annie asked, yanking her out of her thoughts. When Edith didn’t reply, the maid glanced sideways at her. “Are you all right, Miss?”

  Edith nodded hurriedly. “Yes. I…” She faded out, her words trapped in her throat. The gentleman’s face had lit up with a warm smile. She could tell he recognized her.

  Annie followed her gaze. “That’s the gentleman we saw at the river.”

  Edith nodded. He was coming toward her! Her heart began to quicken. She looked pointedly at Annie, gesturing for her to disappear from her mistress’s side.

  The gentleman’s smile broadened as he approached her. “The mysterious young lady from the river.”

  Edith felt color rising in her cheeks. “I assure you, Sir, I am anything but mysterious.”

  He grinned. “You are far too modest, I’m sure.”

  He bowed his head in greeting. “My name is Charlie Ellis. Baron of Averton.”

  So he is a gentleman!

  Edith smiled, doing her best not to grin foolishly as she introduced herself.

  Lord Averton pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. He was young—Edith guessed no more than a year or two older than her—his skin tanned and his blue eyes shining as they met hers. He was devilishly handsome, and devilishly confident. Edith’s heart was thundering against her ribs.

  How is it fair that he might be so confident while I am nothing but a quivering mess?!

  “I’d begun to think you were nothing but a dream,” said Lord Averton. “Flitting along the riverbank the way you did.”

  Edith met his eyes shyly. “And the reality of me? I hope it’s not a disappointment.”

  Lord Averton smiled. “A disappointment? I assure you, Miss Wilds, it is anything but.”

  Edith was dimly aware of people striding up and down the street on either side of them. But everyone except Lord Averton seemed far away.

  She was also dimly aware of Annie standing a few yards away, witnessing this whole exchange.

  I can trust her, surely. She’ll tell no one of this.

  “What brought you to the river?” the Baron asked.

  Edith smiled to herself. “It’s magical this time of year. Being out there among the trees and the flowers and the birds… It’s an escape from everyday life.” The moment she had spoken, the answer felt foolish. But Lord Averton gave her a knowing smile.

  “Yes,” he said. “I understand.” There was a seriousness in his eyes that had not been there before. “Do you have a life you wish to escape from, Miss Wilds?”

  “Oh no,” she garbled hurriedly. “I’ve never wanted for anything. My father is a kind and decent gentleman and my house is ever so lovely and…” She realized she was rambling. She gave him a small smile. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m a little nervous.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Nervous? Why?”

  Finding a sudden boldness, she met his eyes. “Because you make me so, My Lord.”

  The Baron’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak at once.

  Have I said too much? I knew I would do something foolish! I ought just to have walked away. Returned home with Deborah and forgotten all about this mysterious Baron. Such a thing would have been far safer.

  But then he said, “Might you permit me to call on you, Miss Wilds? If your father should agree to it, of course?” He glanced down. “I know as a lowly baron, I—”

  “I should like nothing more,” Edith interrupted, the words spilling from her lips before she could pull them back.

  Lord Averton grinned. “Nor would I.”

  Edith felt a warmth in her chest. She reached into her pocket and handed him her calling card. “Don’t be concerned about my father,” she said gently. “Sometimes he can come across as a little stern. But he is a kind gentleman at heart. He just wants his daughters to be happy.”

  Lord Averton gave a nervous chuckle. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  * * *

  Edith strode into the sitting room that afternoon, aware of the enormous smile that had spread across her face. She felt entirely unable to do anything to control it.

  Deborah looked up from her embroidery. “Did you get everything you needed?” she asked.

  Edith hesitated.

  What is she talking about? Oh yes, the forgotten item.

  “Oh, yes,” she garbled. “My boots needed mending. I thought to take them to the cobbler.” The words felt foolish. She had clearly not been carrying any boots with her that day.

  She eyed her sister. But Deborah was absorbed in her sampler. She nodded in response to Edith’s lie, her suspicions clearly not aroused.

  Edith felt a pang of guilt. She had never felt the need to keep anything from Deborah before. She did not like the way this new secrecy felt.

  But her meeting with Lord Averton had left a heat in her chest that felt so perfect she was almost afraid to breathe. This thing that had just begun to blossom between them felt so fragile, so precious, that she feared sharing it with anyone might cause it to fracture.

  On the way back to the manor, she had sworn Annie to secrecy. “You’re not to say a word to anyone about this. At least until Father agrees to let Lord Averton call on me.”

  Annie nodded, giving her a knowing smile. “Of course, Miss Wilds. You know you can trust me.”

  Edith sat on the chaise beside Deborah and picked up her sampler. She stared down at the half-finished stitching, her mind miles away. She felt far too jittery for something as delicate as sewing.

  After a moment, Deborah looked up. “Are you all right, Edith? You seem a little preoccupied. Has something happened?”

  Her sister’s green eyes were shining expectantly. A part of her wanted to tell Deborah everything.

  One day soon. One day soon I’ll tell her everything she wants to know.

  Chapter 13

  The Baron of Averton wasted no time in seeking the Viscount’s permission to call on his daughter. They had barely finished breakfast the next morning before Lord Chilson’s butler appeared in the dining room, announcing the Baron’s arrival.

  “Lord Averton to speak with you, My Lord.”

  Edith felt her heart catapult into her throat. She kept her eyes down, unable to look at her parents, her sister.

  “Lord Averton?” the Viscount repeated. “Do I know a Lord Averton?”

  “I don’t know, My Lord,” said the butler. “But he requests an audience with you nonetheless.”

  The Viscount’s chair squealed as he stood. He made his way into
the entrance hall with sharp, rhythmic footsteps.

  Edith felt her heart pounding against her ribs. She too stood up from the breakfast table and darted into the hall. She pressed an ear against the door of the parlor. She could hear the voices of both the Baron and her father, but they spoke too softly for her to make out what they were saying. She realized she was holding her breath.

  She tried to peer through the keyhole, tried to catch sight of Lord Averton. Though she had been utterly taken by his dashingly disheveled appearance yesterday afternoon, she hoped he had groomed himself a little more neatly for her father. She knew the more Lord Averton presented himself as a fine, upstanding member of the nobility, the more likely the Viscount would be to permit him an audience with his oldest daughter.

  Finally, there were footsteps and the click and thud of the front door. Unable to hold herself back any longer, Edith burst into the entrance hall and looked expectantly at her father.

  “Well,” he said, “it seems you have caught the eye of a young gentleman.” His face gave nothing away.

  Is he disappointed that I have met a gentleman of my own volition? Is he disappointed I have denied him the chance to present me?

  Finally, when she could bear the tension no longer, she blurted, “What did you say to him, Father?”

  The Viscount gave her a small smile, his lined face lightening a little. “He seems a decent young gentleman. I told him he may call on you tomorrow.”

  Edith’s heart leapt. Impulsively, she threw her arms around the Viscount. “Thank you, Father! Thank you ever so much!”

  The Viscount stepped away, patting her shoulder awkwardly. She had not embraced him in such a way since she was tiny. Edith felt her cheeks color in embarrassment. She smoothed her skirts. “Thank you, Father,” she said again.

  Her father nodded stiffly. “An audience with you, Edith,” he said stiffly. “That is all I am promising. You know how important it is to me that you secure an appropriate husband.”

  Edith nodded. “Yes. I understand.” And for now, that was enough. She kissed her father’s cheek and hurried up to her room.

  * * *

  The next day, time seemed interminable. The Baron had agreed to call on Edith in the early afternoon. She spent most of the morning readying herself and pacing around her bedchamber in a chaos of nerves.

  “The pink gown,” she told Annie.

  Then, examining herself in the mirror, “No, wait, the blue. Or perhaps the green…”

  What is this gentleman turning me into?

  Edith was nervous, but she liked the way these nerves felt. There was something completely exhilarating about them. Something that made her feel alive. Made her feel full of hope.

  She had always known her marriage was to be carefully engineered by her father. She had never even allowed herself to consider the possibility of marrying for love. Such a thing simply was not part of life for a young lady like her.

  But here was Lord Averton, with his sparkling eyes and unruly hair—and, most importantly, his title—making her pace like a mad thing and change her clothing seventeen times of a morning. Perhaps marrying for love was possible after all.

  Edith looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. How fortunate she would be if she were to marry a gentleman she truly cared for. How fortunate she would be to wake every morning to a gentleman who made her cheeks flush this way.

  Dare I think it possible?

  Nuncheon came and went, with Edith nibbling bird-like at her food, her stomach rolling too violently to eat more than a few mouthfuls of bread. She sat alone at the table, her father upstairs in his study, her mother and Deborah at the soiree of one of her sister’s friends. Perhaps this evening, Edith thought, she would be ready to tell Deborah everything. Perhaps after Lord Averton’s visit, she would be too excited to keep things to herself any longer.

  Mrs. Barton took the plate of discarded food from the table. “Look at this,” she said, her voice faintly scolding. “You’ve hardly touched a thing.”

  Edith gave her an edgy smile. “I simply couldn’t manage another bite, Mrs. Barton. I’m far too nervous.”

  The housekeeper gave her a knowing smile. “I’ve heard word there’s a gentleman coming to visit this afternoon. He must be something special to have you in such a state.”

  Edith smiled to herself, feeling warmth in her cheeks. “I think he is, Mrs. Barton. I truly believe he is.”

  And then it was one o’clock. And then two o’clock.

  There was no sign of Lord Averton.

  Edith paced back and forth across her bedroom.

  No doubt he has just been held up somehow.

  “Not to worry, Miss,” said Annie. “He’ll be here, I’m sure of it.” She gave her mistress a playful smile. “After all, I saw the way he looked at you in the street that day.”

  Edith smiled back, but she knew it looked forced.

  He will be here. I know he will.

  She repeated the words to herself, desperately trying to make herself believe it.

  He will be here.

  And then it was three o’clock. Four o’clock. Still there was no sign of the Baron.

  Edith felt something sink inside her.

  He is not coming.

  None of this made sense. Had he been playing her? Had she fallen for the games of some careless rake? Let herself be carried away by foolish thoughts of romance and happy endings?

  No. The way he looked at me was real.

  She felt sure of it. Then unsure. What did she know about the way gentlemen looked at ladies? All she knew about love she had learned from the pages of the romance novels that lined her bookshelf. Her father had scolded her for filling her shelves—and her head—with such meaningless fluff.

  “That rubbish will poison your mind,” he liked to say.

  Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Edith had been the biggest of fools for letting herself believe in the goodness of Lord Averton. For letting herself believe in the possibility of love.

  The tears welled up suddenly from somewhere deep inside her. Unable to hold them back, Edith threw herself on her bed and began to sob into her pillow.

  There was a faint knock on the door.

  “Edith?” It was Deborah’s voice. “Are you crying?”

  Edith tried to swallow her tears. Her cheeks were wet, her blonde hair in strings around her face. “No,” she said. “I’m not crying. I’m just feeling a little unwell is all.”

  The lie felt sour on her tongue. How she hated hiding things from her sister.

  “May I come in?”

  Edith hesitated. A part of her longed to tell her sister everything. To cry on her shoulder the way they had done so many times before. The comfort would be welcome. But Deborah couldn’t know any of this. Edith was far too ashamed. She was supposed to be the mature one, the one who made the right decisions. The one who set a path for her younger sibling to follow.

  The last thing Edith wanted was for Deborah to know she had behaved as she had.

  “I need to rest a while,” she called back. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Very well,” Deborah called back. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Edith waited until her sister’s footsteps had disappeared back down the hall. Then she rolled onto her front and felt fresh tears spill down her cheeks and soak the pillow.

  Chapter 14

  Deborah put the diary down and let out her breath. Edith’s words left a deep ache inside her. Her sister’s heartbreak, her grief, was spilling out over the pages.

  Lord Averton.

  Deborah had never even heard his name before. But things were beginning to fall into place. She remembered well that day after the seamstress’s. Remembered Edith sending her away. Deborah had been curious, suspicious even. Had known something was going on with her sister. At Edith’s insistence, she had let the topic slide. Her sister would tell her
when she was ready, she had thought. But that day had never come.

  Had Lord Averton’s failure to appear been enough to drive Edith to suicide? Was that what had driven her to become so closed-off and melancholy that she felt she had no other way out?