Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor (7 page)

Gillian’s breathing was quick and it took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t going to kiss her or attempt to pry her secrets out of her. Had she been foolish to think he was going to? “How delightful that I get to enjoy so many of your firsts with you since your return; first the waltz, and now this,” she said airily, trying to pretend as if the odd moment they had just shared had not occurred.

His eyes danced with mischief as he lowered his voice, “There are many more enjoyable firsts I wouldn’t mind experiencing with you.”

Gillian felt her cheeks heat and wondered if he could somehow read the longing on her face. Her mother’s warning not to encourage his attentions played in her mind. She turned her head quickly away from him and pretended to be overly interested in the scenery passing before them as they entered the park.

Gillian felt the bench shift as Lord Danford slid close to her, though she refused to look at him. Her senses were on high alert as she felt the heat radiating from his body. She could hear his even breathing and wondered what he was doing. The smell of bayberry enveloped her, and she unintentionally breathed deeply of his masculine scent, a scent that seemed to be mixed with moth balls. Moth balls? Gillian released her breath, the desire for his touch going with it. Perhaps she needed to boldly offer him some advice if he ever wished to find himself a bride.

She turned her head quickly and nearly knocked his face with the brim of her bonnet. His head whipped back to avoid the encounter, but before she lost her nerve, she blurted, “Have you thought much about finding a wife, my lord?”

Lord Danford looked nonplussed as he eyed her bonnet as if it were a weapon, “Actually, it has been on my mind more frequently as of late. Why do you ask?”

Twisting her skirt nervously in her hands, she continued, “I do not wish to give you any offense, my lord, but perhaps I could offer you a little helpful advice in your pursuit.”

She watched as the earl’s dark eyebrows scrunched together over his gray eyes as he looked at her quizzically. She was about to open her mouth and advise him to find a proper tailor, when a voice from behind her startled her.

“Lady Gillian, Lord Danford, what a pleasure to see you both out and about on this fine day.”

Gillian turned her head to see Lord Dawkins sitting atop his stallion, cantering closely to the earl’s barouche.

Gillian gave the man a relieved smile. Perhaps he would be able to assist her in convincing the earl to update his wardrobe. “I was just about to tell Lord Danford about my father’s tailor and the splendid work he does.”

Gillian watched with surprise as Lord Dawkins mouthed “no” then quickly looked past her to see if Lord Danford had noticed. Why had he told her to not continue? Perhaps the earl’s clothing choice was a very sensitive topic and Lord Dawkins was simply sparing her the discomfort. She clamped her mouth shut in frustration and watched as Lord Dawkins called out greetings to nearly everyone they passed, drawing curious glances in their direction.

Gillian didn’t miss the disdainful looks many of the gentleman were giving Lord Danford, nor did she miss the pitying looks sent her way from the ladies. At first she was tempted to feel embarrassed, but the more she thought about it, the more angry she became. How unfair it was that society was judging her by the gentleman at her side. And, how unfair that they were judging Lord Danford by his apparel without really knowing the quality of the man. But such was the way with the
ton
. For the first time in her life, Gillian began to doubt the way of society, and it unsettled her greatly.

After what felt like an eternity, Lord Dawkins bid them farewell to go and speak with another acquaintance. Lord Danford turned to her as if he had been anxiously awaiting the moment his friend left. He lowered his voice and asked, “Are their impolite stares making you uncomfortable?”

Gillian blushed. So he had noticed her discomfort. “I shouldn’t care what they think, but—“

“You do,” he stated certainly, albeit sadly.

Gillian gave him her own sad, apologetic smile. “It’s not so much that I care what they think, personally, but it just occurred to me how ridiculous and unfair it is that society judges a man, or woman, so fully on appearances.”

“Everybody does it,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“But perhaps it isn’t correct. I think there is more to a person than what their wardrobe dictates.”

Lord Danford smiled slightly, leaning forward to place one hand ever so gently on top of hers. “How ironic to hear such sentiments from a nonpareil such as yourself.”

Gillian couldn’t think straight with his magnificent hand resting lightly atop hers. “Do not get me wrong. I do like to keep up on the latest fashions and attempt to look my best. I’m only saying that perhaps the outward appearance is less important than the heart of a—“

“Man?”

“Or woman,” she quickly added. “Perhaps you have already come to that conclusion yourself,” she said as her eyes inadvertently shifted over his clothing.

He surprised her then by lifting her hand to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She could feel the scorching heat through the fabric of her gloves which caused her to shiver.

“My lady, your heart outshines even your magnificent beauty.”

His intoxicating touch, his sincere words, his very presence was making her head spin. She was feeling things her mother had never described, feelings that confused her, for she wasn’t sure what they could mean.

As he pulled his hand slowly away from hers, one confusing thought settled into her heart. She wasn’t sure what she was beginning to feel for the unconventional earl, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.

The next day, Gillian was sitting in the drawing room working on embroidering a lettercase for her dear cousin Lillian when the butler came in and informed her and her mother that they had visitors. Gillian laid her embroidery gently on the arm of the settee and watched expectantly as her friend, Lady Lydia, and a strange gentleman she had never met before, entered the room.

The man was strikingly handsome with dark wavy hair that curled around his collar and vivid green eyes. She briefly wondered if perhaps her friend had a tendre for the man, for certainly she wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Lady Lydia rushed to her side, grabbing both of Gillian’s hands in her own. “Oh my friend, it has been far too long since I have paid you a visit.”

“I agree. Perhaps that gentleman has something to do with your absence as of late,” she said lowly as she tilted her head inconspicuously toward the stranger who was bowing before her mother.

Lady Lydia giggled. “Actually, that gentleman is to thank for our visit this afternoon. He is my cousin and begged me for an introduction to you.”

“Truly?” Gillian asked in surprise. “But I have never even seen the man before.”

“That is because he has only just arrived from the country this week. His first outing this season was the Trenton Ball where he first saw you, but he never had a chance to acquire a proper introduction.”

Gillian’s eyes scanned the man once more as he moved with her mother to her side. How odd that she wouldn’t have noticed him, she thought, for he was undeniably attractive, the very type of gentleman who would normally have garnered her attention.

“Gillian,” the duchess said as she interrupted Lady Lydia and herself. “I’d like to introduce you to the Viscount Evander. He has only just arrived from the country where he has been seeing to his ill mother’s well-being.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Evander,” she said sincerely. “My apologies that your mother has taken ill.”

Lord Evander raised her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles. “Indeed, the pleasure is all mine. And I thank you for your concern.”

Gillian’s curiosity got the best of her, and without even thinking she asked, “What is wrong with your poor mother?”

“Gillian, how impolite of you to ask,” her mother chided, embarrassed by her daughter’s boldness. Gillian briefly wondered, with irritation, when her mother would get used to her speaking her mind.

“Oh I do not mind at all,” Lord Evander quickly replied, smoothing over any awkwardness. “My mother has come down with pleurisy, but the physician assures me that she will recover in no time.”

“I am very delighted to hear that,” Gillian answered sincerely.

“As am I.”

“And how have your parents been, Lady Lydia? I have yet to see them in London this season,” the duchess asked politely.

“My parents have taken to Bath for a spell so my father can partake of the waters for his gout. My Aunt Harriet is chaperoning me until they return. If you ask me, I think my father only exaggerated his condition so he could have an excuse to be away from London. He grows increasingly more weary of the festivities of the season as the years go on.”

“Lady Lydia, I can see why you and my Gillian are such good friends. You both have a propensity for over-sharing.”

Lady Lydia appeared properly chastised as she lowered her eyes and her cheeks bloomed with color. Laughing, Gillian took her friends hand in her own. “Do not let mother’s words bother you. She is secretly pleased when a lady is bold.”

The Duchess of Chesley sucked in a shocked breath. “I absolutely am not, I abhor it.”

Sensing the tension in the air, Lord Evander once more broke in, “There is a time and a place for boldness, and it’s a ladies obligation to decipher when it is appropriate or not.” Gillian squinted her eyes at the man, her opinion of him lowering a tad. Fortunately, he redeemed himself when he continued to speak. “However, I myself am not offended by boldness in the least. I find it quite refreshing.”

Gillian grinned, highly impressed with the way he had just appeased her mother and herself at the same time—a rare feat indeed.

“My cousin and I must be on our way,” Lady Lydia said regretfully. “He has promised to take me into town to pick out a new bonnet since Aunt Harriet was too tired to go with me.”

“A very important errand, you understand,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Will you ladies be at the Barringtide Ball this evening?”

Gillian looked to her mother for confirmation. “We will,” said the duchess.

“Delightful,” Lord Evander beamed at Gillian. “I’d be honored if you’d save me a dance.”

“Most Certainly, my lord.”

“Your Grace, my lady,” he said as he bowed before them. “Until tonight.”

Gillian embraced Lady Lydia before bidding her farewell. They had barely left the room when her mother turned to her, her eyes alight with pleasure. “That man is the pinkest of the pinks. You would do well to encourage his attentions.”

Gillian smiled. For once they were in agreement.

***

Benedict had been avoiding his mother since he had returned from his ride through Hyde Park with Lady Gillian the prior day, which had proved to be no easy task. He had largely kept to his rooms, the only thing keeping him from dying of boredom was reliving the time he had spent with Lady Gillian over and over in his mind.

He had been pleasantly surprised to learn that the beautiful chit was not as superficial as he had anticipated. She was a diamond of the first water, but her beauty went far deeper than her appearance. He found himself increasingly fascinated with the girl and slowly, the challenge of winning her hand in marriage was starting to appeal to him greatly. He had been counting down the hours until the next ball, anxious to see her again.

For the first time since his friends had gifted him with his new wardrobe, he didn’t cringe when it was time to dress for the evening. He had great hopes that Lady Gillian was beginning to see past his appearance to the man he was on the inside. Perhaps this bet would be easier to win than he had first thought.

Benedict descended the stairs, dressed in a prehistoric tailcoat an unsightly shade of puce. It was long and billowy in the back, but the front was cut too short, exposing too much of his plum colored waist coat. The snug breeches he wore made it hard for him to bend at the knee, making his descent down the stairs slow and awkward. And to add to his horror, when he finally made it to the landing, his mother was waiting for him, dressed in a tasteful yet elegant dress suited for a woman in half mourning.

“Benedict, you have been avoiding me.”

He didn’t even bother lying. “That is true, Mother, I have.”

“Why?”

Benedict scratched his head, furiously trying to conjure an acceptable excuse. When none was forthcoming, he went on the defense. “I simply did not wish to be questioned about my choice of apparel. I am a grown man and do not need your interference.”

“Well, I believed your silly excuse yesterday and allowed you to go see to your errands dressed so indecorously, but I am putting my foot down tonight. I will not allow you to escort me to the Barringtide Ball looking like a dunce. You will be the laughingstock of the season, and I refuse to be party to that. It is going to be one of my first events back in society since your father passed away, and I do not want it tainted by your horrendous behavior.”

“Then stay home, because I am going dressed as I am and that is final.”

His mother sucked in a shocked breath as she began furiously fanning her face. For a moment, Benedict wondered if she was going to faint. Guilt tugged at his heart, but he refused to allow it full access knowing full well that if his mother found out about his father’s infidelity, it would affect her much more intensely than his silly attire or poor reputation ever would.

“You are not looking well, Mother. I think you should consider staying in for the evening and resting. Perhaps you aren’t quite ready to enter back into society. Surely the
ton
will understand that.” He sincerely hoped she would take his advice to heart.

Much to his chagrin, large pools of tears welled up in her eyes. “Benedict, why are you doing this to me? To yourself? Your father left you a vast fortune and a title and estate to be proud of. You can afford fine clothing, and you will need them if you wish to attract an acceptable wife. Perhaps you are not interested in that now, but someday you will meet a lady of quality who turns your head, and I would hate to see her not give you a second glance because of your poor appearance.”