The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers
2
There are times in a young lady’s life when emotion overrides common sense, leading her in a direction where scandal lurks. She convinces herself that reckless behavior will gain a gentleman’s attention. Perhaps impress upon the gentleman the depth of her feelings and force him to realize his own. And in doing so, receives an offer of marriage.
London was riddled with usually level-headed, intelligent young women who found themselves following their hearts instead of their heads. Society was not kind to them.
Tonight, Theo anxiously mused, scanning the crowd gathered at the Earl of Blythe’s house to celebrate his birthday, she had allowed her emotions to dictate her actions. Impulsivity had won out over the common sense and manners which had been instilled in Theo since birth. It was as if she’d gone completely mad.
All week long, Theo had looked forward to Blythe’s birthday celebration, choosing her shimmering turquoise silk adorned with rosettes at the shoulders with the utmost care. Cousin Winnie and her daughter Rosalind, who accompanied Theo tonight, had arrived exactly on time for the carriage ride to Blythe’s home. Theo had leaned back against the plush seats of her cousin’s carriage grateful for the pocket in her gown, concealed amid her skirts. The outline of the tiny wooden box was well hidden beneath the silk. She’d become light-headed just imagining his reaction to her daring.
How many times had Blythe declared Theo incomparable? More worldly than most young ladies. Delightfully bold. Gorgeously bordering on impropriety. How often had he implied that he did not care for demure, modest misses, stating he found them bland? Colorless.
She, he’d assured Theo, was different.
Ironically, it had been Romy, who loved to toss out her opinions to everyone whether they wished for them or not, who was to blame for the anxiousness now gripping Theo. It was Romy who had given Theo the idea, all the while berating her for what she considered nitwit behavior over Blythe.
Shouldn’t Blythe admire you for your talent as an artist? Romy had said. More so than the curve of your bosom?
Theo had taken Romy’s advice to heart, her creation for Blythe a perfect combination of both her talent and her bosom. Creating a rough sketch and then painting a miniature while looking at oneself in the mirror had been challenging to say the least. A true test of her talent. The miniature was no more improper or less tasteful, Theo told herself, than, say, a painting by Rembrandt or Titian. Blythe was sure to be intrigued. Impressed. Totally captivated.
Her roiling stomach disagreed. Even her heart was no longer whispering what a grand idea it was to give the miniature to Blythe.
Glancing around the confines of Blythe’s drawing room, Theo lifted her glass of punch to her lips but declined to take a sip. Overly sweet and cloying. Much like her hostess tonight, Lady Blythe. A woman for who the term ‘overbearing’ had been coined.
I did not think this through properly.
Swallowing down the dread which seemed determined to force itself up her throat, Theo slid closer to the wall, careful not to knock her head against a gilt-framed painting of ripened pears in a wooden bowl.
Trite. Boring.Exactly the sort of thing Lady Blythe appreciated.
Lady Meredith wandered past Theo, the skirts of her lavender striped silk fluttering about her ankles in a fetching manner so that a gentleman might catch a glimpse of her embroidered stockings. She paused with a smug look, waving at Theo with gloved fingers before gliding across the drawing room to flirt with the Earl of Blythe.
Blythe, oblivious to the gift Theo had painted him as well as her panic, stood amid a small group of guests, a half-filled wine glass dangling from one hand. Golden and beautiful in a way few men were, Blythe laughed at something Miss Cummings relayed to him before leaning to whisper his thoughts in her ear.
Miss Cummings twittered before lightly swatting Blythe with her fan.
The familiarity of the scene caused the glass of horrid punch to wobble in Theo’s fingers. How often had Theo played the part of Miss Cummings while Blythe whispered something outrageous in her ear?
Upon her arrival tonight, while the sheer intoxication of bestowing her art upon Blythe still filled her mind, Theo had decided the best way for him to receive her gift would be in private, and with Lady Blythe in the room, it wasn’t as if Theo could take him aside for a word. Instead, she had left it for Blythe in a spot where only he would venture. His study. She’d snuck away from Cousin Winnie and Rosalind, made her way to Blythe’s study, and carefully placed the tiny box right on the chair before his desk.
It seemed like such a wonderful idea at the time.
The cup of punch in her hand trembled even further, spilling just a bit on her gloves as Theo watched Lady Meredith nearly push Miss Cummings aside to flirt with Blythe. And he, damn his glorious self, flirted right back.
Blythe was meant to see the box either later tonight or tomorrow. He would immediately be awed, compelling him to rush directly to Theo’s side and offer for her in the most romantic way possible.
It all sounds rather foolish now.
Upon her entrance into the drawing room after leaving the miniature, Blythe had caught Theo’s eye and come forward to take her hand. Several flirtatious comments had fallen from his lips. His gaze had lingered over her bosom.
The sheer excitement of her surprise had made a giggle burst from her lips. Nothing but raw anticipation had led Theo to mention she’d created something especially for him in honor of his birthday. His reply had snuffed out every bit of her enthusiasm.
‘As a gentleman, I fear I am unable to accept such a token, as you surely must know.’
The air around them had become distinctly uncomfortable once he’d uttered his very polite refusal. Blythe, rather awkwardly, had looked away.
Theo had stared at the spectacular line of his jaw, her smile freezing on her lips. His response had not been that of a gentleman who returned the affection of the young lady before him. Or who even wished to encourage it. Instead, Blythe had firmly, properly, dismissed her. And as if to ensure his point had been made, he excused himself rather quickly and sauntered off to flirt with two young ladies who had just arrived.
Not once had he looked back.
Now, as she stood observing Blythe from her spot by the wall, Theo concluded, as Lady Meredith cooed over him, that she had drastically overinflated his affections.
Her stomach, already roiling with distress, didn’t just pitch, it heaved. She might well retch into the punchbowl at any moment. The feeling was akin to being unable to discern an object across the room until she placed her spectacles on her nose and then marveled at how clear her vision had suddenly become.
Oh, dear God. I must retrieve the miniature.
“Theo, whatever is the matter with you?” Cousin Rosalind came up alongside her, gently nudging her with an elbow. “You look as if you’ve eaten something spoiled. Or perhaps Lord Blythe said something you didn’t care for? Though I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“You can’t?” Theo murmured back, remembering Blythe’s rejection. She couldn’t begin to describe how unpleasant that had been.
“You hang on his every word. I expect if he told you to leap off the roof of his home, you’d do so to please him.” She leaned closer. “Your adoration and pursuit of him has not gone unnoticed, particularly by Lady Blythe.”
How unwelcome. “I don’t think Blythe’s mother cares for me.”
“Not in the least,” Rosalind assured her with a smile. “But if it helps, she doesn’t care for most of the young ladies in pursuit of her son. You are merely one of dozens.”
“I imagine I am.” Another wave of dread rose inside Theo at Rosalind’s words. Her cousin had no idea how correct she was, as Theo had belatedly realized.
She tore her gaze from Blythe to glance at Rosalind, swathed in a diaphanous peach confection which did an excellent job of hiding her generous figure. “Did Romy design that for you?” Theo whispered lest they be overheard. The gossip that Romy, Duchess of Granby, played at being a modiste had finally faded. Mostly. There was no need to stir it up again.
“She knows exactly how to hide my deficits, something I appreciate, though no one else has noticed.”
“You look lovely, Ros. Are you speaking of anyone in particular?”
“He hasn’t looked once in my direction.” Rosalind sniffed.
“I thought you didn’t favor Lord Torrington’s suit?” The older widower, some twenty years Rosalind’s senior, had, earlier in the year, expressed interest in courting Rosalind. Theo’s cousin had stubbornly rebuffed his efforts purely on the basis that her mother approved of him.
Rosalind’s cheeks pinked. “I’m not going to marry him just to please Mother.”
“Of course not.” Theo thought Torrington smart to pretend disinterest in Rosalind. Because every time he did, she became that much more interested in him. “And I wouldn’t jump off the roof to please Blythe. I’m not an idiot.”
Rosalind gave Theo an incredulous look. “And yet, you won’t wear your spectacles because you overheard Blythe decry their attractiveness.” A frown crossed her lips as Torrington walked into the room, the voluptuous Lady Carrington clinging to his arm. “Instead, you walk around with bruises, destroying vases and tripping over servants. Ruining the coats of gentlemen with ratafia.”
“I don’t consider the Marquess of Haven to be a gentleman. And no one finds the spectacles I’m forced to wear attractive. It isn’t just Blythe.” That much was true. Theo had burst into tears the day she’d first looked in the mirror, staring back at herself through those tiny panes of glass.
“I see Blythe’s appeal, Theo. Honestly, I do. He’s rather spectacular, but —”
“But what?”
Rosalind pursed her lips, her brow wrinkling. “You’ve been very impulsive since meeting Blythe. I know you have a rather romantic nature.”
Theo scowled back at her.
“And I know you imagine him to be—well, I only don’t wish you to be hurt. Or do something reckless to garner his attention. A regretful something. Promise me you won’t.”
Far too late for such a vow with a half-naked miniature of herself sitting in Blythe’s study. “You worry needlessly,” she replied to Rosalind.
Lady Meredith’s dark head turned intimately toward Blythe, her hand on his arm while Lady Blythe, clothed in a bright shade of yellow, watched, lips pursed, like a giant, disapproving canary.
“Will you excuse me, Rosalind?” Theo needed to get to the study. While Blythe and his mother were occupied with Lady Meredith. The last thing she wanted was to be caught wandering around Blythe’s home by his mother.
“Why must you desert me? Now?” Rosalind gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded in the direction of Cousin Winnie, who was making her way across the drawing room toward her daughter and Theo. “She’s sure to be angry I haven’t spoken to Torrington.”
Theo had no desire to have a conversation with Cousin Winnie, not when it was imperative that she collect the miniature from Blythe’s study before her impulsive idiocy was discovered.
Theodosia’s Magnificent Mistake.
Ignoring Rosalind’s puff of frustration at her departure, Theo took a tentative step into the swarm of guests assembled for Blythe’s birthday. In order to reach his study, Theo needed to be on the other side of the drawing room. With so many guests in such a small area, it would take every bit of concentration not to run into someone, spill a drink, or trip over a gentleman’s foot.
But she had little choice but to press on. The sense of urgency to reach Blythe’s study was rapidly turning into a screaming panic. Her breath came in spurts as she started across the floor, bobbing politely to those she knew. But Theo didn’t stop. Couldn’t risk being waylaid.
What if Blythe decided to retreat to his study?
Taking a deep breath, Theo reminded herself that there was no reason for him to do so. His house was filled with guests. Lady Blythe was busy shooting scornful looks at any young lady who got too close to her son. Both were well occupied. And outside of the people crowding the drawing room and the smaller, adjoining parlor, Theo was in no danger of tripping over a table or breaking something valuable as she made her way to the other side of the room. The rugs had been rolled up for dancing and the furniture pushed back against the walls because Blythe’s home didn’t possess a ballroom.
When Theo finally reached the entrance to the hall, she congratulated herself on not having stumbled or stepped on anyone’s toe. She had in no way drawn attention to herself. She would be able to make her way to Blythe’s study hopefully unseen. The miniature would be retrieved. All would be well.
She lifted her chin, ready to marshal forward.
Theo had been raised to be confident. Steadfast. Brave in the face of adversity. The Dowager Duchess of Averell insisted that not one of her girls be weak-kneed nitwits whose only goal in life was to marry well. While both of Theo’s sisters and Olivia were self-assured, possessing little timidity, those same traits caused others in London to view the Barringtons as far too bold. Too daring. Entirely too adventuresome.
But none of them, not Romy, Olivia, or even Phaedra, would have ever presented such an inappropriate gift to a gentleman. Not only out of common sense and good breeding, but because none of them would have needed to resort to such a drastic measure to compel a gentleman to confess his feelings. Romy, Olivia, and Phaedra were all so . . . spectacular.
And Theo was bespectacled. Solitary. Hopelessly romantic.
When compared to the rest of the Beautiful Barringtons, Theo was horribly ordinary, at least in her own estimation. Yes, she painted, as did dozens of other young ladies, so nothing special there. Only the fact that she did miniatures made her the slightest bit interesting. When the physician specializing in eyesight, an oculist, had determined the need for spectacles, Theo had expected him to also say in the same breath that the middle Barrington daughter was destined for spinsterhood.
Theo’s sisters sparkled like the most brilliant of diamonds. Olivia flared softly, like the flames of a banked fire. But Theo’s own light was so dim, none could even see it. Until Blythe had noticed her. The bolder she’d become in his presence, the more attention he had showered on her.
Theo had felt as if she finally . . . sparkled.
All of which had led to poor decision-making.
Theo turned in the direction of Blythe’s study. Being reckless wasn’t nearly as fun as Phaedra made it out to be. Theo only took one more step before she was stopped in her tracks by a tall, slightly mannish form in skirts.
“Good evening, Lady Theodosia. How lovely you look. I thought you might be here this evening. I’ve only just arrived.”
Drat.
“Lady Mildred.” Theo fixed a polite smile on her face. “How wonderful to see you as well. Might I say your gown is stunning,” she lied, taking in the blue silk cut low across Mildred’s broad shoulders. Feathers decorated the upper sleeves of the gown, a tragic fashion mistake Romy would never have allowed. Mildred resembled a giant bluebird.
She tried to sidestep the other woman with a small nod, but Mildred took her elbow.
“Is Mr. Estwood in attendance?” Lady Mildred’s brows lifted hopefully.
Theo hadn’t seen the businessman and financier, an associate of Granby and Blythe’s, among the guests, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. Though based on what she knew of Lady Blythe, she couldn’t imagine Estwood had made the guest list. “I’m not certain.”
“Lord Haven, perchance?” Mildred asked.
The name sent a ripple down her spine. “Lord Haven?”
“I’ve heard of his interest in Miss Emerson.” Mildred’s lips twisted. “But I am far wealthier.”
And much more desperate for marriage, Theo knew. Poor Mildred. “Please excuse me, Mildred.”
Mildred didn’t release her arm. “I suppose I shall look for Mr. Clinton as well. Increase my odds, so to speak.”
“All right,” Theo stammered, looking up at the calculating gleam in Mildred’s eye, having no idea who Mr. Clinton was. “I wish you happy hunting. I’m sure Haven is floating about somewhere, as well as Estwood.”
Theo hadn’t yet seen Haven in the press of guests packing Blythe’s home. The very thought of encountering the annoying marquess, especially under her current panicked circumstances, was more than she could bear. His appearance in the park beside her last week had been unsettling enough.
“Now that I think on it, Mildred, I’m certain Haven is about. Miss Emerson is here, but she doesn’t seem happy. Perhaps they’ve had a falling out. Now might be the perfect time to ingratiate yourself with Haven.”
Mildred nodded slowly before giving a pat to her hair. “Perhaps you’re correct. I should hurry.” She sped away from Theo without so much as a goodbye.
Theo resumed her journey, finally reaching the door of Blythe’s study.
Placing her hand on the knob, she twisted the cool metal, relieved to find the room still unlocked. Stumbling in, Theo shut the door quietly behind her. A fire flickered in the grate. The lamp on a side table was still lit. Blythe’s ledgers were stacked neatly on the top of his desk. Everything was exactly the way it had been an hour or so earlier when she’d been so bloody sure of Blythe’s affection and—
She stood for a minute, pressing a hand to her throat, and instructed herself again to breathe. Her reckless action could be remedied. Marching directly over to Blythe’s desk, Theo took hold of the chair, pulling the piece of furniture back with one fluid motion. Her eyes fell to the leather cushion.
Empty.
Oh, no.No. No. No.
Theo’s lashes fluttered down across her cheeks. She was merely overwrought. Her eyesight was poor. Possibly in her current panic, she was seeing things or, in this case, seeing nothing at all. Cautiously, Theo opened her eyes again.
The chair was still empty.
Bollocks.
She was going to be sick all over Blythe’s perfectly neat stack of papers and leather-bound ledgers. The room tilted sharply to the right, and Theo grabbed the edge of the desk, fingers biting into the heavy wood as she tried to steady herself. There was an ugly paperweight in the shape of a bird sitting atop one of the ledgers. She thought it might be the same sort of bird displayed on the buttons of Blythe’s coats. Was it a goose with abnormally long legs?
Oh, good Lord. Who cares?
Slumping in horror and defeat, Theo cursed out loud at her poor luck, every vile word she’d ever heard eavesdropping on her brothers spewing from her lips. She pounded on the desk in frustration, rattling the ugly bird.
This was very bad. Anyone could have the miniature. And while Theo hadn’t signed the miniature, nor enclosed a note, she would be recognized all the same.
I’ll be completely ruined. Perhaps banished. Dear God, when Tony finds out, he may even send me to a convent. In France.
She tried to picture herself as a penitent novice, head bent in contemplation and prayer. But at least she’d have plenty of time to paint. If convents allowed such things.
Breathe, Theo.
Looking down at her neckline, she tugged on the piping and lace edging her bodice, hoping to hide the spray of freckles. Impossible, as the small dots marring her skin stretched nearly to her collarbone. More noticeable than any birthmark. Thankfully, she’d brought a wrap with her tonight. A filmy thing that had been tossed about her shoulders by Mama only because so much of Theo’s chest was exposed. She could claim to be cold. Chilled. Place the wrap around her to cover the freckles. Yes. She stood, smoothing her skirts, and nodded to the room before casting a glance to the empty chair once more.
Perhaps the small box fell to the floor when she pushed the chair in?
Hope burst in her chest. Falling to her knees, Theo sank her fingers into the thick rug beneath the desk, feeling about with her hands for the familiar shape of the box. She should have moved the lamp so she could see better. Gaze fixed on her hands, she turned in a semi-circle, reaching under the chair to check between the legs before stopping as her fingers slid over something hard and smooth.
Theo swallowed. Her hand moved a few inches to the left, not daring to look up.
Boots. Two of them. Scuffed. Worn. No matter the amount of polish they’d been given.
Dozens of excuses for being found in Blythe’s study, on her knees, beneath his desk, during his birthday celebration ran through her mind. None of them sounded the least plausible.
The boots shifted as the gentleman they belonged to leaned down.
A spicy scent filled her nostrils.
Damn it.
“Looking for something, Lady Theodosia?”
