Page 17 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Catching the remark from the next table, Vivienne tilted her perfectly coiffed head, looking from Julian to Edmund before finally settling her sharp gaze on Corinna.

“Some men wear borrowed manners well, do they not?” Vivienne said, her tone dripping with artificial sweetness. “Though I suppose it is a terrible pity when the outer polish completely hides the inner lack of substance.”

Corinna did not blush, nor did she lower her eyes in embarrassment. Turning her head, she looked directly at her sister with absolute calm. “Manners are not borrowed, Vivienne. They are either possessed, or they are absent. Mr. Marsh possesses them.”

“How very democratic of you, sister,” Vivienne sniffed dismissively before turning her attention back to Julian. “Do tell me more about your estate in the country, my lord. Does it have a proper ballroom?”

Edmund watched Corinna turn back to the table, her piercing gaze seeming to peel back the layers of his cheap suit, his false title, and his compounding lies.

“You did not answer my question, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna said quietly under the cover of the surrounding noise.

“I believe Lady Sophronia answered it for me,” Edmund replied, forcing his voice to remain tight and formal to rebuild the wall between them. “I am protecting my employment, Miss Ashwell. Nothing more.”

Corinna kept her gray eyes fixed on his face for several agonizing seconds before looking back at her empty teacup. “If you say so, Mr. Marsh.”

As the evening finally wound down, Edmund walked back through the darkened streets toward the Mayfair townhouse, the damp London air clinging heavily to his skin.

Looking back over his shoulder toward the carriage as it pulled away from the curb, he saw Arabella sitting inside, looking out the glass window. Her eyes were fixed entirely on Corinna, who was still standing on the Ashwell townhouse steps. Arabella’s expression was not one of sisterly support for his mission, but rather one of deep, soul-shaking guilt.

“She suspects something,” Edmund stated quietly, his boots striking the cobblestones in a steady, relentless rhythm.

“Miss Vivienne?” Julian asked, looking up at the cloudy night sky with a careless shrug. “Impossible. She spent twenty minutes telling me how my waistcoat embroidery highlighted my complexion.”

“Not Vivienne. Corinna,” Edmund clarified, frustration bleeding into his tone. “She tracked every single play at the card table, told me I played with a master’s method, and asked me what I was protecting.”

Stopping under the dim light of a streetlamp, Julian let the careless amusement drop from his features completely. “Then you must ensure the mask remains firmly in place. You cannot afford to engage her in these little verbal sparring matches. You told me to stay focused on the elder sister, and I strongly suggest you take your own advice and stay far away from the younger one.”

Edmund did not answer, stepping into the dark foyer of the Mayfair house with a heavy heart.

“Goodnight, my friend,” Julian said softly, heading toward the stairs. “Try to get some rest.”

Retreating to his private study, Edmund closed the heavy oak door, leaving himself entirely alone in the dark. He walked over to a side table and poured a glass of amber brandy, his hand trembling just enough to make the crystal decanter rattle against the rim of the glass.

Stepping to the window, he looked out over the quiet streets of Mayfair. Somewhere out there in the dark, the Ashwell house stood. He wondered if Corinna was awake, analyzing every word he had spoken at the card table and actively picking apart his fragile defenses.

He found he did not hate the thought at all. In fact, he found himself almost wishing he could sit across from her at that small table one more time, entirely without the cheap suits, without the false titles, and without the heavy burden of his lies.

“You are an absolute fool, Edmund,” he whispered directly to the empty room.

The quiet house provided no answer. There was only the cold, indifferent silence of a man who had intentionally built a kingdom out of loose sand and was currently watching the tide come rushing in. Walking away from the window, he sat back down at his desk and pulled the heavy estate ledger toward him, though the ink blurred together into meaningless black marks.

He was the wealthy Earl of Ravenswood, but for the very first time in his entire life, he knew with absolute certainty that he was not the one holding the winning cards.

Chapter 7

The morning ritual of the ton was in full and glorious display as the Hyde Park promenade swelled with brightly colored carriages, perfectly groomed horses, and identically dressed gentlemen. The crisp London air carried the chaotic symphony of crunching gravel and the relentless hum of society gossip being traded like precious currency.

Vivienne moved through the center of the spectacle exactly like a queen inspecting her subjects. Her radiant smile drew eyes and collected admiring glances from every possible direction. She wore a striking riding habit of crushed violet silk that made her golden hair appear practically luminescent in the morning sun, ensuring that the wealthy Earl of Ravenswood remained firmly anchored to her side at all times.

Corinna, perfectly content to be entirely eclipsed by her sister’s blinding performance, drifted several paces behind the main party to seek the quiet sanctuary of the margins.

She walked in silence for a few minutes, watching a group of young ladies giggle behind their fans. A moment later, Arabella Ashford drifted back from the front of the group. The earl’s sister fell into step beside Corinna, keeping her eyes fixed politely on the path ahead.

Corinna felt a brief flash of anxiety. She had met Miss Ashford formally, but they had not exchanged more than polite pleasantries.

Am I supposed to comment on the weather? she wondered, twisting the handle of her parasol. Or perhaps the dreadful state of the gravel paths?

Before Corinna could formulate a suitable sentence, a commotion erupted a few yards ahead of them.