Page 42 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Corinna paused her descent on the grand staircase, her hand hovering over the polished mahogany banister. Below her, Vivienne stood trembling with absolute fury. Her usually flawless alabaster complexion was a mottled, violent shade of pink, her cheeks swollen to the size of small, unripe apples.

Beside her stood Lord Ravenswood, holding Vivienne’s parasol as though it were a highly volatile explosive. The confident earl looked profoundly helpless.

“Good heavens!” Gerald Ashwell cried, rushing out from the morning room. “Vivienne, my darling, what on earth has happened to your beautiful face?”

“The countryside has happened to it, Father,” Vivienne snapped. The swelling made her words slur slightly, robbing her of her usual piercing enunciation. She glared furiously at a potted fern near the door, as if suspecting the plant of premeditated treason. “Lord Ravenswood suggested a walk to the old ruins. He claimed the morning air would be restorative. Instead, I was forced to navigate a veritable jungle of malicious weeds. Something brushed against my cheek, and within minutes, I felt as though my skin had caught fire.”

“It was a patch of nettles, I believe,” Lord Ravenswood offered, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining his aristocratic composure while actively suppressing a wince. “I attempted to steer Miss Ashwell clear of the brush, but the pathway was remarkably narrow.”

“It was an ambush,” Vivienne insisted, batting away her father’s fluttering hands. “I am hideous. I am entirely deformed. I shall not be seen by anyone until this grotesque affliction is completely banished. I require cold compresses, Father. Immediately. And a darkened room. I will not have my Season ruined by a rustic weed.”

“Of course, darling, at once,” Gerald fretted, taking her eldest daughter by the arm.

Vivienne turned her swollen, pink face toward the earl, attempting a tragic, brave smile that merely made her look like a deeply offended cherub. “You must forgive me, my lord. I am devastated to abandon our morning, but my constitution simply cannot bear this indignity.”

“Your health is paramount, Miss Ashwell,” Lord Ravenswood said, offering a deep, flawless bow that hid his face entirely. “I shall pray for your swift recovery.”

Vivienne allowed herself to be swept up the stairs by their frantic father, marching past Corinna without a single glance. Corinna waited until the door of Vivienne’s bedchamber slammed shut on the landing above.

The echoing thud seemed to act as a physical release valve for the entire manor. The suffocating, high-strung tension that had gripped the household since their arrival from London simply evaporated into the dust motes dancing in the morning light. The house exhaled.

Corinna descended the final few steps. Lord Ravenswood was still standing in the foyer, staring at the closed door upstairs.

“I did warn her about the leaves,” the earl murmured, turning to look at Corinna. His polished mask was slipping, revealing an exhausted, desperate man beneath it.

A low, rich sound echoed from the shadowed archway of the library.

Mr. Marsh leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He wore his plain brown secretary’s coat, but the subservient posture was entirely gone. His broad shoulders shook slightly, his jaw locked tight in a losing battle against his own amusement.

“It is not funny,” Lord Ravenswood muttered. “She looked at me as though I had personally orchestrated the nettles to attack her.”

“I think,” Mr. Marsh managed to say, his deep voice vibrating with suppressed laughter, “that you have finally met an opponent you cannot charm, my lord. The local foliage.”

Corinna pressed her lips tightly together, fighting the laugh bubbling in her throat. She looked at Mr. Marsh, catching the dark amusement in his blue eyes. For the very first time since they had arrived at Ashwell Park, he did not look away, nor did he pull the impenetrable mask of the quiet companion back over his face. He simply shared the joke with her.

Arabella stepped out of the morning room, holding a book to her chest. She looked up the stairs, then back at the earl, her gentle brown eyes wide. “Is she truly retiring for the entire day?”

“She demanded absolute darkness,” Lord Ravenswood confirmed, letting out a long, heavy breath that seemed to deflate his entire posture. “I believe we are, for all intents and purposes, entirely unsupervised.”

They gathered for luncheon in the small dining parlor. The atmosphere was startlingly light.

Thomas Briggs joined them halfway through the cold meats and bread. He walked in with his usual quiet competence, dropping his riding crop on the sideboard. He took a seat beside Corinna.

“The village green is already being cleared,” Thomas announced to the table, pouring himself a glass of water. He looked at Corinna, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You haven’t forgotten the festival tonight, I hope?”

Corinna set her fork down, a genuine, delighted smile breaking across her face. “The midsummer fair? Tonight?”

“Fiddles, lanterns, and roasted pork,” Thomas confirmed. “The entire village will be there. It is entirely informal. I thought perhaps our guests might enjoy seeing how the country truly entertains itself.”

“We should go,” Corinna said immediately, turning her head to look at the other three. “It is wonderful. It is entirely unlike anything in London.”

Lord Ravenswood leaned forward, his dark eyes brightening with genuine interest. “Informal, you say? No receiving lines?”

“None whatsoever, my lord,” Thomas replied smoothly.

“Then I absolutely insist we attend,” Lord Ravenswood declared. He looked across the table at Arabella. “Would you care to see a country fair, dear sister?”

Arabella’s cheeks flushed a delicate, pretty pink. “I think I should like that very much.”