In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Four
Pretending to read the book on her lap, Aphrodite thought about the Earl and how mercurial he was. When they first met, he’d been civil and even likable, but then it was as if the flame in a lamp had been snuffed out. He’d grown cold and standoffish, but he had still danced with her; why?
“Pardon me, My Lady,” Lydia said quietly. “I believe we’ve arrived.”
Looking up, Aphrodite viewed one of the most magnificent parks she had ever laid eyes on. The lane divided expansive parklands, with trimmed lawns to the right and an orchard of fruit and cobnut trees to the left.
In the background were hills with rolling forested slopes, and deep valleys. While approaching the front door, with footmen standing in the forecourt; they drove through a wrought-iron gate, a front garden with Bethersden Marble rag stone path lined by dwarf box hedging and a marble fountain.
One of the footmen helped her out, while two others lifted her trunks, valises and portmanteau from the vehicle and headed inside. A breath of rain-fresh air had a sweetness to it that she did not find in London, and Aphrodite realized why she had not seen Lady Pandora in so many months. Who would change this Estate for a cramped townhouse?
“Welcome, Lady Aphrodite,” a butler bowed. “Please, let me show you to the drawing room where the other guests are gathered. May take your bonnet and cloak?”
“Yes,” she said, and just as she was lifting the attractive rose-pink Leghorn bonnet off her head, matching her peach traveling gown trimmed with rose-colored piping—Lord Tennesley stepped into the room.
The tension in him was palpable, even from halfway across the room. She could see it in his stiffened shoulders and the rigidity of his chin and jutting jaw. His blue eyes were dark with dangerous heat and it was all she could do to stop her hands from reaching out to finger-comb his tousled hair into place.
She stared, mesmerized, and the sudden tremble in her heart was appalling, which was why she pretended not to see him and handed off her bonnet and beige traveling cloak to the butler. By the time she looked again, Lord Tennesley was gone.
But that did not erase the look of him, in his black trousers fitted splendidly to long muscular legs, or the jacket and waistcoat molded quite closely to his broad shoulders, from her mind.
Another footman showed her to the drawing room where a few other ladies were sharing a tea service, a few others were chatting in chairs by a window, while two lords were having a game of cards in another corner.
Lord Tennesley was scowling into that morning’s edition of the London Gazette as if it had personally wounded him. Every instinct told her to stay away—but she went to him anyway.
“If you glare at in any harder, it might combust,” she said quietly. “What has an innocent newspaper done to draw your ire, My Lord?”
He turned a page. “Nothing yet, but I am sure there will be something.”
“Or mayhap you stepped left foot out of the bed?” Aphrodite teased.
Another page rustled. “I am not a superstitious Roman, My Lady.”
She tucked her legs under the seat, “But you do look like one, all dark and brooding. I wonder, what suits you best, Mars or Ares.”
He looked up, his blue eyes glittering while he held a long gaze with her. “Ares is a mockery,” he said. “Whenever he is depicted, it’s meant to shame him.”
The coolly arrogant statement made the hairs on Aphrodite’s nape lift in attention, her heart thumping in her chest and her palms growing clammy within her gloves.
“Then again,” he mumbled while turning another page. “I should know what humiliation is. I shall not, however, make the same mistake as he did with your namesake.”
Her cheeks burned with the snub. It was common knowledge that Ares was Aphrodite’s, the goddess of love, paramour. He was tactically saying that he wanted nothing to do with her.
She clenched her hands on her lap. “Have I done something to anger you, My Lord?”
His hands clenched the paper hard enough that the sheets could rip, “No.”
Aphrodite felt a spark of anger, mainly because they both knew he was lying. “Then why can’t you look me in the eye and tell me?”
By degrees, his head lifted, and Aphrodite’s lungs tightened as she saw his expression. It seemed as if a wall of ice had fallen over his eyes, his face set in hard lines, his eyes a glacial blue. “No.”
It made no sense to poke, but she did anyway. “You’re lying.”
His eyes flashed. “And you know me so well to discern that is what I am doing?” His tone was dark and mocking, but it still evoked a visceral reaction from her.
“It still matters,” she said.
Shaking out the paper, he went back to reading, “Yes and no. Are you satisfied now?”
Aphrodite notched her chin up when everything told her to dip her head and turn away. “Half-truths are worse than lies. You are angry with me, but for what?”
He let out an aggravated growl under his breath. “You’re like a hound with a bone, aren’t you?”
Sensing that she was cracking the ice, even a little, Aphrodite pressed, “Just tell me the truth.”
“This is not the time, nor the place,” he grated, then went back to his paper. His words gave her hope that later on he would tell her what had crumbled between them, so she paid attention elsewhere. Plucking out the book from her reticule, she began to read, but kept acute attention on Lord Tennesley.
She categorized how his lips would tick down at times, how his left brow would lift just so, and how long and elegant his fingers were. He had high cheekbones that spoke of a Nordic ancestry, a firm nose, and the longest eyelashes she had ever seen on a gentleman.
While taking care not to stare, she was mesmerized. It was rare for her to be instantly taken with a man, and while she had admired him once upon a time, this was different. Aphrodite was far from being a fanciful sort, yet there was no other way to describe the emotions in her heart.
Even while minding her business, she could feel a sense of hollowness coming from him. She knew—the whole of London knew—about his wife and though the gossip had died down a year ago, it was not gone. Like a horrid specter of the past, people resurrected it as a horror tale to warn their sons about loose women.
It had to have dug a pit inside Lord Tennesley—or Oswald. Should she call him Oswald? Whatever the salutation, his wife’s treacherous acts had to have hurt him immensely and she was sure that it had chipped away at his manhood.
Lady Pandora came into the room, her light-blue day dress a beacon that drew every eye to her. Two more lords came in from behind her and then, she lifted her head high with a smile.
“We are missing one, but I have received a letter explaining the absence.” Lady Pandora said, her eyes skimming over the group, her gaze flitting to Aphrodite and Oswald beside her and her face dimmed in objection. But she moved off and went on with her greeting.
“Without ado, thank you all for coming. My Manor has a few rules, Ladies and Gentlemen. No fraternization between any of you that is not authorized, including being in another’s chamber or alone without your chaperones.
“Second, I will be speaking to each of you individually at specific times in the day and those times will be scheduled around the other activities we have planned. Thirdly, there are no curfews here, you are free to visit the township or go wherever you please, but please alert a footman before you go so he can stand at the ready to let you in.
“Your companions, maids and valets are in the servant’s quarters of this Estate and are hearing the same rules from the butler that I am telling you. Lastly, I do not do this for amusement,” she said. “I know many of you are skeptical—”
A heavily sardonic snort came from Oswald and Aphrodite caught him rolling his eyes. “But I do only aim to help you. My methods are not foolproof, but they do work, so I only ask that you keep an open mind during it all. Your chambers are ready, Ladies, you will be in the East Wing, Gentlemen, you will be in the West Wing. Please, settle in and we’ll reconvene for dinner.”
She stepped aside, then added, “Lady Aphrodite, a moment please.”
Aphrodite scowled at the lost chance of speaking with Oswald and had to watch him leave with regret settling into her heart. Lady Pandora came and took the next chair. “You and Lord Tennesley—”
“Had a polite greeting and nothing more,” Aphrodite cut in. “For heaven’s sake, Lady Pandora, I have received the bright and unmistakable message. Stay clear of him.”
“I don’t think you have,” Lady Pandora said, her eyes flitting over Aphrodite’s face. “But nevertheless, I have had you stay behind because there is another man who I do think will be your best match.”
“The one who is not here.”
“Yes, His Grace, Duke Strathmore.” Lady Pandora said. “It will be in your best interest to hold fast to his attention as I cannot tell you the legions of women who would sacrifice an arm to be where you are.”
“Ah, my woebegone suitor from last season. Funny enough, I wonder if they are so many women vying for his attention, how is it that he had ended up here, with the rest of us rejects?” Aphrodite tapped her chin in mock-thought. “And moreover, is it in my best interest, or my father’s, I wonder.”
“Aphrodite, you have always been headstrong—”
“And reckless, a hoyden, a bluestocking, a silly little dreamer, a flirt, and a tease,” Aphrodite said. “I have heard them all but, and while I will allow that they are all true to certain extent, one thing I am not, and that is a fool. I know my father is pulling strings here, wanting me to dance and pirouette like a marionette, but I will be doing things my way. You may send this message to my father as well, or not. It’s up to you.”
She stood. “Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I think I must rest before this evening. Good day, Lady Pandora.”
It was a brusque parting, bordering on rude but Aphrodite did not take kindly to knowing that she had been ambushed. This was not for her good will at all, this trip was to badger into marrying a man that she did not care for.
If her father wanted the Duke’s riches, he could happily go beg for them himself. The game might have been rigged against her but she was nothing if not resourceful. Aphrodite knew that she would find a way around this trap and be with the one she truly wanted—Oswald.
He might be a curmudgeon, sphinxlike, and still bearing scars from his marriage, but she felt a connection with him that she had never felt with anyone else. He was angry with her—for something she still did not know—but Aphrodite knew she had twenty more days to find out what it was, apologize and see if something good could come out of it.
She went to the East Wing, hoping that somehow, she would find her chamber and get some rest. She felt a bit lost and stopped at an alcove with a strange façade as huge floor-to-ceiling windows made up almost the whole of it. She gazed out to see rolling hills that stretched as far as her eye could see. She even spotted the glimmer of a lake probably half a mile away.
“Pardon me, My Lady?” a female voice said from behind her. “May I help you?”
Turning, Aphrodite found a young woman in maid’s black-and-whites. She was holding an armful of folded washing and Aphrodite nodded. “Um yes, I have not found my chamber. Could you point it to me? I may be the only lady left.”
“Yes, My Lady,” she said. “Please, follow me.” The maid led her down a richly decorated hallway, middled by an Aubusson Runner and caught a brief glimpse of her reflection in a gilt-framed mirror.
The maid halted at a door and without relinquishing her hold on her washing, opened the door and Aphrodite stepped in to take one glance at the giant four-poster bed and her trunks set in a corner of the chamber.
“Is it pleasing, My Lady?” the maid asked.
“More than that,” Aphrodite said. “Thank you, and good day to you as well.”
As the maid went off, she sat on a divan and tugged her shoes off. Finding a window, she gazed out and spotted a massive stable in an even greater stable yard, and beyond it, an expansive paddock. Her heart twinged with regret that she had not even thought of bringing one of her mounts but spotted an even-better specimen in the exercise yard.
Bracing her hands on the sill, she was delighted to see a coal-black stallion galloping along the far side of the enclosure. She watched, mesmerized, as he tossed his flowing mane from side to side in the afternoon sun. He was splendid, a beautiful horse of absolute perfection. She made a note to ask Lady Pandora if she could ride him sometime—after all, that was why she had carried so many breeches.
Barefoot, she unlocked a few trunks and plucked out some books, some drawing materials and her jewelry box. Later she would have Lydia help her unpack the rest of her clothes but as for that evening’s dinner, what would she wear?
Her eyes landed on the pair of tan breeches neatly folded in one of the trunks but shook her head—it was too soon. Instead, she had to think about what to do about the dratted Jameson Blackwood, Duke Strathmore. A troublesome man, the most persistent of her suitors with the most aggravating penchant to turn up wherever he was not wanted.
There was no question that the Duke would be present at dinner that evening and she debated in saying she was ill, but it would be evident that she was lying.
Furthermore, she wanted to take every opportunity to find Oswald and speak to him, get him to tell her what had shifted between them in the few hours since they had met and apologize for it. Until then, she had some plans to make.
What can I do get this meddlesome Duke off my back, once and for all?
