In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-One

“Ibeg your pardon?” Oswald’s brows were high as he stared at his mother. “You’re throwing a dinner party for Aphrodite and me? In five days?”

A scant week had passed since the first night Oswald and Aphrodite had moved into Tennesley Hall and all seven days had been tense and uncomfortable. Most nights, he had to comfort a frustrated Aphrodite because her efforts to win the Dowager over were proving futile. It pained Oswald to see his mother reject the simple olive branches Aphrodite extended while continuing to only see what she believed to be the truth—that Aphrodite’s true colors would show themselves.

“It is the proper thing to do for a married couple, is it not?” His mother gave him a pointed look over her spectacles. “It’s not a ball, Oswald, just a dinner with our neighbors and a few family friends that she must get to know in time.”

Oswald wanted to object that she was right; Aphrodite needed to know the persons who were close to his family so they could accept her as well. “And, against all my morals, I will be inviting him,” she said. “Your dear wife’s Lothario father.”

Swallowing over the tightness in his throat, Oswald nodded. “It is only fair to make a cordial connection with him.”

“And that is all it will be,” she said while dropping another invitation card on her table. “I do not want any further connection with such deviants.”

Reaching to the glass of wine on the side table, he sipped it. “Mother, you do realize that Aphrodite is not her father. She abhors what he does and distances herself from him.”

“I see,” Henrietta said, but by her tone Oswald knew she did not believe a word he said. It cut him so deeply that she was painting everyone with Claire’s deceptive brush and she would not see anything else. Oswald knew that when his late wife had betrayed him, she had betrayed his mother’s trust as well.

“Are we inviting the Richardson’s?” he asked while thinking about his late father’s friend who had stood with them so many years ago after the Earl’s death and who still stood with them decades after. “I do believe Lord Valentine was away in Kent for a while.”

“He’s returned a week ago,” she replied while giving him a piercing look. “His daughter, sweet Amalie is engaged now, and I’ll be inviting him as well.” Keeping his gaze neutral, Oswald sipped his wine. Amalie was a lady his mother would have loved for him to marry but Oswald could only think of the sweet girl as a sister of sorts. He never felt any pull to her, and he’d be shocked to know if she felt differently.

“So,” Henrietta faced her invitation cards. “Where is your delightful wife this evening?”

“She is out riding,” he explained. “She wanted to stretch the horse’s legs.”

“In that scandalous outfit,” she sniffed. “There are perfectly acceptable riding habits that are dresses, why would she wear breeches and boots? The practice of a female riding astride is too masculine and utterly unseemly, in my opinion.”

“Because that is how she feels comfortable,” Oswald replied. “I know it is not that accepted by many, but I do not have any problem with it. I find it charming, actually.”

Henrietta clucked her tongue. “I don’t know what this world is coming to.”

Standing, Oswald said, “If you will excuse me, I’m going to accompany Aphrodite.”

“Even that name,” Henrietta scoffed. “And you don’t think unfaithfulness comes with the namesake?”

Exasperated with explaining himself, Oswald gave a few more parting words and left the room. He took a quick trip to his chamber to change his clothes into proper riding gear and headed out to the stables. He quickly had Goliath saddled and headed out to the trail Aphrodite had told him she would be taking.

He turned the horse to far end of the property where the woods merged with the grounds. He could bet that Aphrodite was somewhere there, lounging under a tree while her horse munched on the succulent grass nearby. When his horse ducked under the first hanging boughs he did not have to look far for Aphrodite, except, she was not on the ground. His little sprite had made a bed for herself on one of the sturdy limbs above.

She looked so quaint and contented, one of her booted legs cocked up for balance, while the other hung down. Her hair was an untamed mass tumbling over her shoulders, and he smiled at how peaceful she looked. “Found yourself a perch, have you,” he tugged at her boot.

“Yes,” she said with her eyes closed. “Come join me.”

“I’d rather you join me,” he said reaching up for her.

When she opened her eyes she huffed and swung her feet around. He caught her easily and gently rested her on the ground. He greeted her with a kiss and brushed her hair away. “If Mother saw how unkempt you are now, she would have a conniption.”

“If she keeps getting angry at the sight of me, I think it might be inevitable,” she sighed and pulled Oswald down to the ground with her. “Did she send you to fetch me?”

“No,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I came on my own. Mother has told me that she is having a dinner to announce our marriage though.”

“How kind of her,” Aphrodite snorted.

“It’s mainly for you to know our neighbors and close friends that have been with us for years,” he said. “That is if they had not heard the whispers and rumors going around.”

“And how does she expect me to act at this dinner?” Aphrodite asked, her tone tired and flat.

“As happy as you want to be,” he said

“I don’t want to put on a charade over turtle soup,” she said darkly. “Even worse, I don’t know if she has already said something to these guests about me that will make me look a fool in front of them.”

“I know she’s been…hard on you,” Oswald bit back a curse. “But she wouldn’t do that. I know you are observant; when our guests come, look first before leaping. They might not know a thing about you.”

She let out a labored breath. “Fine, fine, tell me about these guests of yours.”

He told her the Richardson’s family and their patron, Lord Valentine who had been his father’s friend from Eton to Oxford and beyond. He told her about Amalie who his mother loved and had expected some sort of match between them.

“So, I should expect snide glances or stares—”

“No,” Oswald said. “Amalie is not like that, she is a sweet soul without a confrontation bone in her body. Besides, she is engaged now, I doubt you will get any ill-will from them.”

Twisting, Aphrodite smiled. “I hope so.”

“And your father will be coming,” he added, reflexively tightening his arms around her waist at her sudden lurch.

“Why?” she exclaimed. “Why him?”

“We were married without him there,” Oswald explained. “It’s only common courtesy to invite him.”

Huffing she fell back on his chest. “And she thinks something will not explode into a ball of flames to have such a sinful man under her roof?”

“Oh, she is not happy about it either,” Oswald kissed her temple. “But it must be done. I’ll be by your side, Sweetling. Nothing will go wrong.”

* * *

The night of the dinner with her father and Oswald’s family and friends, Aphrodite had fretted about her gown. But seeing Oswald’s appreciative glance dip from her head to her feet, she knew she had made the right choice.

Her hair was pulled into a simple chignon with pearl-tipped combs matching the pearl earbobs dangling from her shell-like ears. Her empire style gown of silver-blue silk and white net gathered below her bosoms emphasized her creamy décolletage, though the neckline could hardly be considered risqué.

He took her hand and spun her slowly. “If one could knit a gown of moonbeams, this would be it.”

Coming back to him, she rested both hands on his chest. “Flatterer.”

Oswald’s eyes darkened. “If we didn’t have to attend this dinner, I’d have you on that bed right now. I’m still tempted.”

Pursing her lips, she laughed. “Let’s go and hope this is not a disaster of unmitigated proportions.”

Looping her arm with his, they went to the main stairs and were halfway down when Aphrodite’s eyes landed on the man on a young lady’s arm and felt her heart tumble to her feet. Oswald must have noticed it too because she had jerked to a stop. He turned to her, concern in his eyes. “Sweetling, is something wrong?”

She could not find the words to tell him why her hope of having a good night had suddenly shattered like worthless glass on the floor. Oswald cupped her face, and asked, “What is wrong?”

Bloodless and faint, she made to reply but a snide voice—that of her father’s—cut in. “I do believe she is in shock of having the first man she had kissed walk into the room holding another lady’s arm. Isn’t that right, daughter of mine?”

Icy sharpness of the Dowager’s betrayal jammed themselves into her stomach. She should have expected this from the Dowager who hated her, but she began to wonder if her father had a part in it too.

Oswald’s eyes shifted. “Is it true? Is Amalie’s fiancé the one who you kissed?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I…I don’t know if I can—”

“It’s going to be fine,” Oswald said, his determination the only thread of sanity she could hold unto. “No one else needs to know.”

Her stomach felt hollow when she turned to her father who stood there, his pretentious cane in hand while he cocked his head at them. Dressed in his dark dinner jacket and matching trousers, the only speck of color he had on were his blood-red waistcoat and impeccably tied cravat.

With her legs feeling like wooden clumps, she managed to descend the last few steps and stand before her father. William’s expression was mostly blasé but his mouth had a mocking curl to it. “So, you are Tennesley.”

Oswald nodded once. “Kingsley. I have heard a lot about you.”

“All dastardly things I presume,” he said humorlessly. “I have no illusions that you have not heard about my lifestyle.”

“I have,” Oswald said.

A moment later, William’s eyes darted between the two before his brows lifted to his hairline. “That’s…all?”

“I’m sorry,” Oswald said easily. “Were you expecting a holier-than-thou comment from me? You will not get one. Now, may we please adjourn to the dining room. I wager my Mother is waiting.”

The hairs on the back of her head were permanently up as they walked into the lavish dining room that seemed to run the length of the Hall. The room’s decor had muted but elegant gold-filigree wallpaper and ivory silk curtains.

The chairs of the sixteen-seat table were covered in cream satin and the chandeliers dipped with clean crystals, hundreds of candles casting their glow through them and giving the room a soft air of elegance and style. Candelabras were on the silk-covered table and gleaming crystal glasses and shining tableware were ready for them.

“Ah, there you are,” the Dowager said, he eyes glancing to Lord Kingsley behind them. “Viscount Kingsley. Welcome to my home.”

William bowed. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, My Lady. I assume you were as surprised as I was at the match our children have made, hm?”

“Very,” she said stiffly. “Um, Lord Valentine, Lord Westlake and Miss Amalie, please let me introduce, Aphrodite Bristol, my son’s wife.”

Aphrodite did not enjoy the way Stephen’s eyes widened but he regained his composure quickly and his lady didn’t notice. Politely she curtsied, and before the Dowager could say a word she said, “Pleased to see you again, My Lord.”

He bowed. “And you, My Lady.”

“You two are acquainted?” the Dowager asked.

“Yes, they are, or were,” William chimed in snidely. “A long time ago.”

“We were childhood friends,” Aphrodite said after glaring at her father. “Our Estates were close. I’m please to meet you, Miss Amalie.”

“You too,” Amalie replied, her warm gray eyes wide and unsuspecting. Now she understood why Oswald said he could not have formed a relationship with her—she was like pretty porcelain, so delicate. She greeted the older man who levied an assessing but not accusing look to Aphrodite.

“Pleased to meet you as well,” he inclined his head. Oswald introduced her to three other people, but Aphrodite would have to pay a Devil’s ransom if someone asked her what their names were. She felt her trepidation growing as the table filled, it was impossible to ignore the various glances made from her to Lord Westlake.

When they were all seated, footmen came around to serve them champagne. The Dowager rose, and the table quieted. “Good evening, my friends and new acquaintances,” she said. “I have the pleasure of bidding you welcome, and I thank you for helping me and my home celebrate the newest union of my son and his wife. I do ask you not to make the same error I had when I heard her name and thought of her namesake.”

There was gentle laughter up and down the table, but shame burned up Aphrodite’s neck. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin, kept the smile on her face and even tipped her flute to the Dowager.

“They had a private wedding you see and I was not a part of it so this is my way of acknowledging the union,” she said pleasantly. “Please join me in wishing them a happy marriage and wonderful life together.”

Polite wishes came from both ends of the table and Oswald voiced his thanks for both of them. As he was seated next to her, she rested a hand on his thigh because this all felt like a horrible night terror, and she needed something to ground her.

The soup was served and while the broth was fragrant and delicious, it tasted like ash to Aphrodite. While she had little evidence that the Dowager had set her up to be embarrassed with Stephen’s presence, the suspicion rested in her heart like a lead ball. To make matter worse, her father was there, still smirking over his wine.

“So,” Lady Amalie asked, “Lady Aphrodite, would tell me how you and dear Oswald met?”

“Formally, at Lady Pandora Ravenswood’s ball,” she replied. “But we crossed paths before, four years ago and here and there after that.”

“Ah,” she said. “I hope Oswald was not as surly as when I first met him.”

“Oh, he was,” she smiled over the rim of her water glass. “His scowl had me wondering if I was covered from head to toe in mud and not realized it.”

“I’m not that bad,” he glowered.

“Oh, you are,” she replied. “But oddly, I find it charming.”

“Speaking of charming,” William sat back. “His Grace, Duke Strathmore sends his felicitations, Darling. He is still stunned that you chose Tennesley over him but is willing to still be acquaintances.”

Aphrodite heard the underlying message—that the Duke was willing to take her as a lover even with her marriage—and from the low growl in Oswald’s chest he had picked up on it as well. Smiling pleasantly while her heart burned with shame, Aphrodite said, “Oh, that’s very gracious of him.”

“His Grace wanted to court you?” Amalie asked, innocently.

“It was misbegotten match from the beginning,” she replied calmly. “We never suited each other. He had a more, um, vibrant lifestyle than I was comfortable with.”

“Ah,” she smiled and went back to her soup. It was the first course and already Aphrodite was beginning to wonder how she would survive the other four. Maybe she could beg fatigue or illness and escape with what was left of her dignity. The night was bound to mortify her one way or another and she wanted to get ahead of it if she could.

Thankfully the conversation turned to upcoming balls and soirées, and she got a moment to breathe. The two following courses and had passed and Aphrodite was keeping her fingers crossed that the night would go on without any more surprises.

When dessert was served with another round of sweet wine, her father spoke up, “So, Westlake, were you surprised to see Aphrodite again? I was sure after you two kissed there would be some courtship in place.”