Page 5 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

“It will be an agonizing daily trial,” Edmund replied, deadpan.

Julian stood up and walked over to the tall, ornate mirror positioned between the large windows overlooking the street. He adjusted the lapels of his charcoal coat and pulled his shoulders back. He adopted a slightly haughty, thoroughly bored expression.

“I shall be magnificent,” he declared to his reflection. “I shall charm the very shoes off the London elite. They will weep into their expensive tea when they realize I am already promised to the eldest Miss Ashwell.”

Edmund stood from the sofa and walked toward the door, leaving his coffee unfinished. “Tolerable is sufficient, Julian. Just do not promise anyone my hunting estates in a card game.”

“I make absolutely no guarantees regarding the hunting estates,” Julian called out cheerfully.

Edmund paused near the doorway leading out into the main hall. He glanced to his right. A smaller, silver-framed mirror hung above a console table near the stairs. He caught his own reflection in the glass.

The blue eyes staring back at him were cold and heavily guarded. The face was rigid. He looked hollowed out, empty of the joyful boy who used to read poetry in Roman cafés. He looked exactly like a man who was executing a hostile business contract rather than preparing to meet his future wife. He barely recognized the hard, severe man looking back at him.

Edmund tightened his jaw. He deliberately broke eye contact with the mirror, turned his back on the reflection, and walked out into the hall. He chose not to look any longer.

Chapter 3

“I am entirely convinced that Lady Whitmore paved her driveway with loose boulders specifically to ruin my nerves,” Eleanor announced, gripping the velvet hanging strap of the carriage and closing her eyes in fervent prayer.

Vivienne patted her mother’s gloved hand with a soothing, if slightly distracted, smile. “The sweep is perfectly flat, Mother. You are simply letting your anxiety get the better of you. Do try to sit back, or the damp air will ruin your beautiful curls before we even step inside.”

Corinna watched from the opposite bench as her sister expertly smoothed a hand over her own pale golden skirts. Vivienne looked positively radiant. Her blonde hair was swept up into an intricate knot, threaded with tiny pearl pins that caught the dim carriage light, giving her the appearance of a general preparing to conquer every bachelor in London.

Corinna glanced down at her own perfectly adequate gown of sage green muslin. While it fit well enough and flattered her pale skin, she had already forgotten she was wearing it. Finding a loose thread near the cuff of her sleeve, she absentmindedly began to pick at it.

“Oh, Corinna, please stop that,” Vivienne murmured, reaching across the small space to gently bat her sister’s hand away. “You will unravel the entire sleeve. We want you looking lovely for the first ball of the Season, not as though you dressed in the dark.”

“It is a single thread, Vivienne,” Corinna reasoned, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I doubt the ton will cast us out into the cold over a fraction of an inch of cotton.”

“The ton notices absolutely everything,” Eleanor fretted. Leaning forward, she attempted to pinch some color into Corinna’s pale cheeks. “Your sister is right, darling. We must all look our best. The Earl of Ravenswood is attending tonight, and our entire arrangement hinges on this first impression.”

Sighing, Corinna leaned away from her mother’s pinching fingers. “The earl is here to meet Vivienne. I am merely the decorative background foliage. I assure you, he will not spare a single glance for my sleeves.”

The carriage lurched to a final halt outside the Whitmore estate. A footman opened the door, letting in the chaotic roar of arriving guests, shouting drivers, and the distant swell of a string quartet.

The Whitmore ballroom proved to be a terrifying, gilded assault on the senses. The air was thick with the heat of a hundred beeswax candles and the deafening noise of London society in full motion. Eleanor puffed out her chest and proudly marched her daughters toward the receiving line. They had barely made it past the entrance before a voice capable of shattering glass cut through the din.

Swathed in an alarming quantity of purple feathers, Lady Sophronia Quill stood firmly by a marble pillar, cheerfully narrating the room to anyone trapped in her vicinity.

“I tell you, Mr. Finch,” the feathered woman declared loudly, waving her fan like a conductor’s baton toward the dance floor. “The Duke of Bedford is wearing a waistcoat that makes him look precisely like an overstuffed sausage. I give those gold buttons ten minutes before they yield and take someone’s eye out. And look at Lady Abernathy! I have it on excellent authority she locked her husband out of their bedchamber last night because he purchased a notoriously flatulent hunting hound.”

Corinna bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a highly inappropriate burst of laughter. She glanced sideways at Vivienne. Having heard every single syllable of the scandalous gossip, Vivienne instantly froze her radiant smile into a terrifying mask of polite joy. Tilting her chin up a fraction of an inch, the elder Ashwell sister glided past the feathered menace without offering a single glance, stepping seamlessly into her element.

The moment they stepped fully onto the ballroom floor, Vivienne became the center of a small, admiring solar system. Young men in dark coats gravitated immediately toward her pale gold dress. Eleanor was quickly swept into a breathless conversation with a group of older matrons. Finding herself standing completely alone near a massive potted fern, Corinna took a step backward, fully intending to blend into the shadows near the wall.

“Where exactly do you think you are going?”

Appearing at her side with alarming speed, Vivienne reached out and adjusted the lace collar of Corinna’s gown.

“I was merely finding a quieter spot,” Corinna explained, trying to pull away from her sister’s tight grip.

“You look completely lost,” Vivienne whispered under her breath, keeping her bright public smile firmly in place. “Standing by a plant makes you look like a frightened rabbit. It reflects poorly on the family, Corinna. People will think you lack basic manners. Please, stand up straight, smile at someone, and for heaven’s sake, do not start quoting historical facts at any gentleman who happens to approach you. Just smile and agree with whatever they say.”

“That sounds incredibly tedious.”

Vivienne gave the collar one final tug. “Society is not supposed to be entertaining. Try not to ruin my evening by behaving like an eccentric.”

Turning away to greet a newly arrived viscount, Vivienne instantly replaced her harsh tone with a musical, entirely artificial laugh.