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“How silly they are being,” her sister cried. “What are we to do about it?”
“They only need a little nudge!”
“How are we to do that?”
“Perhaps with a few well-placed notes and twigs of mistletoe.”
They shared a glance, and then dissolved into laughter.
“Oh, Callie, this is recklessness on our part. And surely too improper and wicked of us.”
Miss Barrows chose that moment to slip and cry out. The earl attended to her with urgency, and soon afterward swung Miss Barrows into his arms and marched toward the main entrance.
“That lying wretch,” Letty cried. “There is nothing wrong with her ankle. She has pretended to be hurt to be in the earl’s arms.”
“Do you believe me now that Mama needs our help?” Callie said, a lump forming in her throat at the expression of loss and mortification on her mother’s face. “Will you be my helper?”
Letty took a steadying breath. She had always been the more modest of the two sisters, much more like their mother in her temperament and appearance. Gentle and kind, and demure, especially in the presence of others. Whereas Callie had always been ‘frightfully improper and too much like your papa,’ which was a common refrain of their mother’s.
“Yes!” Letty said.
With her sister behind her, Callie hurried from the private parlor and rushed down the long hallway, grateful they did not encounter any other guests. The scent of lemon wax and pinecones was redolent on the air, and in the distance, someone played a lively tune on the pianoforte in the music room.
“I will write a note, one to Mama and the other to the earl. See that they are delivered with the utmost discretion, Letty!”
“I will ensure it,” her sister promised.
Callie ran up the stairs and made her way to the chamber she shared with Letty. Once there, she sat before the small escritoire, withdrew a sheaf of paper from the drawer, and dipped the quill in the inkwell.
Dear Lord Deerwood,
I’ve long admired a man of your amiable, good-natured, and passionate qualities. I’ve often imagined we might stroll by the lake and indulge in artful conversations about our mutual likes and dislikes. While games of charades, whist, and music in the drawing-room promise lively fun, perhaps we might meet in the conservatory after dinner this evening? I will await you at half-past nine. I do hope to see you there, my lord.
A lady of sincere affections.
Chapter 2
Graham George Wynter, Viscount Sherbrooke, stared at his father, the Earl of Deerwood, in mute amazement. The man appeared decidedly flushed, and from how he repeatedly raked his fingers through his black hair and patted his top jacket pocket, he was utterly agitated. Graham stretched his legs and leaned more against the cushion of his chair.
“Does your note bear unpleasant news?” he asked, taking a careful sip of his brandy.
Graham had been at a newly purchased country estate in Hampshire, which its former owners sold due to bankruptcy. He had been working alongside the architects on the renovations, when he had opened a rambling letter from his father, one that had been bloody difficult for him to decipher. Certain phrases had caught at his mind and had filled him with alarm. And he was not a man prone to an excessive display of emotions.
“I’ve met the most wonderful woman.”
“I think it might be time I marry again, except I cannot tell if she is indifferent to me or interested.”
“I’ve asked Alice to plan a house party for Christmas, and I mean to invite Lady Danby and her charming daughters.”
“I’ve taken the liberty to procure a special license, but I do not believe she might have me.”
Those were the phrases that had stuck with him as he rode in the ghastly weather as fast as the road conditions allowed for several days while overnighting at inns. Perhaps the most alarming bit in his father’s hasty letter was this plan to marry a lady who seemed indifferent to his affections. His father was a man who fell easily in love. Graham scowled, recalling the last fiasco and the scandal it had wrought.
Within a few weeks of meeting one Lady Wilma Prescott—a celebrated beauty in the ton—his father had declared himself besotted and had offered for the lady. She was twenty years his junior and had happily accepted. Then she had the temerity to slip beneath the sheets of Graham’s bed, all with the plan that they would have a rousing affair while she was married to his father.
He’d kicked her from his room with the threat he would ruin her should she try to further entrap his father. She had tearfully apologized, but Graham had been immune to her pleas for his forgiveness and silence. Because at four and twenty at the time, he had endured over the years many women trying to marry his father for his title and wealth. But that lady had been the boldest and most scandalous one. Graham had informed his father of his fiancée’s duplicity, and his father had withdrawn into himself, but at least he had forced Lady Wilma to officially end the engagement. That had been two-and-a-half years ago, and his father’s letter had been the first since then to mention he had a recent love interest.
“Father,” he said in a carefully composed voice. “You are out of sorts.”
