Page 18 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

A young lady in a bright pink pelisse dramatically dropped her lace parasol directly into the path. Two passing gentlemen immediately scrambled to retrieve it, completely blinded by their eagerness to impress her. They collided in a tangle of walking sticks and top hats, sending one of the men stumbling backward into a highly manicured hedgerow.

Arabella Ashford stopped walking. She watched the unfortunate gentleman attempt to extract himself from the branches, his dignity entirely ruined.

“It is a truly fascinating display of human endurance,” Arabella said quietly, her voice perfectly mild.

Corinna blinked, looking at the earl’s sister in surprise. “Do you mean the sheer amount of walking we are expected to do, or the desperate, somewhat violent attempts by everyone to be noticed?”

“Both, I think,” Arabella replied. “I have counted four ladies who have deliberately dropped their lace parasols in the last twenty minutes. Each time, a poor gentleman is forced to scramble into the dirt to retrieve it. It seems a terribly inefficient way to secure a husband.”

Corinna let out a sudden, unguarded laugh. It was a bright, genuine sound that briefly cut through the droning noise of the surrounding crowd. “It is highly inefficient. If they simply asked the gentlemen to carry the parasols from the beginning of the walk, they would save everyone a great deal of laundry.”

“But then where is the drama?” Arabella mused. A small, dry smile touched her lips, completely transforming her usually nervous features. “I am beginning to realize that London society requires a constant and exhausting level of theatrics.”

“I have spent the last week hiding behind large potted plants to avoid participating in those theatrics,” Corinna confessed.

“A very wise strategy,” Arabella agreed. “I shall have to join you behind the ferns at the next ball. Perhaps we can bring a good book to pass the time.”

“I highly recommend treatises on agricultural crop rotation,” Corinna said. “It requires no conversation whatsoever, and it keeps unwanted suitors at bay.”

Arabella looked at her with genuine, delighted amusement. “You are an incredibly refreshing person, Miss Ashwell.”

“Please, call me Corinna.”

“Corinna, whatever are you cackling about?” Vivienne’s voice pierced the quiet space between them.

Vivienne had paused her relentless forward march, forcing the earl and Eleanor to stop as well. Vivienne turned her perfectly powdered face toward the two younger women. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping over Corinna with obvious disapproval.

“You sounded like a startled goose, Corinna,” Vivienne said loudly enough for a passing carriage to hear.

“We were merely discussing the hazards of dropped parasols, Vivienne,” Corinna said evenly, refusing to look down.

Vivienne sighed. It was a delicate, long-suffering sound expertly designed to draw sympathy from the men standing beside her. “You have an absolute inability to simply enjoy things like a normal young woman. We are walking in the finest park in the world, surrounded by the finest families in England, and you are plotting about umbrellas. You must excuse my sister, Miss Ashford. She prefers to dwell on the mundane rather than appreciate the beautiful.”

Corinna felt the familiar, burning heat of humiliation prickle at the back of her neck. She braced herself for the earl’s sister to offer a polite, awkward agreement.

Arabella did not agree. She did not offer a polite smile to smooth over the awkwardness. She simply looked directly at Vivienne.

Arabella let a long, heavy silence stretch between them. She stared at the elder Ashwell sister for three agonizing seconds, her gentle brown eyes turning remarkably cold and unimpressed. She looked at Vivienne the way one might look at a particularly irritating insect that had landed on a teacup.

Then, Arabella turned her head slowly back to Corinna.

“As we were saying, Corinna,” Arabella continued smoothly, her voice perfectly calm. “I believe a good book is far superior to forced conversation. Have you read any of the new poetry arriving from Italy?”

Arabella ignored Vivienne completely, acting as if the elder sister had not spoken a single word. It was the quietest, most devastating possible rebuke, and it landed perfectly.

Vivienne’s mouth fell open in genuine shock. She snapped her jaw shut, her pale cheeks flushing an angry, mottled pink. Unaccustomed to being so thoroughly dismissed, Vivienne spun back around to march forward. She latched fiercely onto the earl’s arm, demanding his attention loudly to soothe her wounded pride.

A few minutes later, the walking party shifted around a large, spraying fountain. Arabella excused herself politely and maneuvered expertly through the crowd to walk beside Eleanor, asking a gentle question about London modistes.

Corinna found herself walking alone again, but the isolation did not last.

Mr. Marsh slowed his steps. He did not do it by obvious design, but within moments, the tall secretary fell into step beside Corinna. He walked with his hands firmly behind his back, looking severely out of place in his plain brown coat amid the sea of bright silks and tailored riding habits.

He walks so quietly for a man of his size, Corinna thought, acutely aware of his proximity.

“I have been calculating the odds, Miss Ashwell,” the secretary said softly, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

Corinna glanced up at his sharp profile. “The odds of what, Mr. Marsh?”