Page 9 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Julian rode Edmund’s prized black stallion. Sitting tall in the saddle, he drew admiring glances from nearly every carriage they passed. Mounted on a reliable but entirely unremarkable roan gelding, Edmund wore a plain gray coat that marked him clearly as a man of lower station. It was a frustrating demotion for a man accustomed to commanding his own stables, but a necessary one for the masquerade.

They had just turned past the Serpentine when a musical, highly practiced laugh caught the crisp air.

Eleanor Ashwell and her eldest daughter, Vivienne, were seated in a beautiful open barouche parked near the pedestrian path. Wearing a striking riding habit of deep emerald green that perfectly complemented her golden hair, Vivienne was already holding court. Three young gentlemen on horseback were clustered around the carriage, desperately vying for her attention.

A few yards away on the gravel walkway, Corinna Ashwell and her Aunt Phoebe were taking a stroll. Clad in a simple, unadorned pelisse of dark navy blue, Corinna was not smiling. She was merely watching the chaotic parade of society with quiet, guarded eyes.

“Well, look at that fortunate coincidence,” Julian murmured.

Before Edmund could object, Julian smoothly guided the black stallion toward the carriage. Reluctantly, Edmund followed. They dismounted, handing their reins to a passing groom so they could approach the ladies on foot.

“Lord Ravenswood!” Vivienne called out, her voice carrying clearly over the noise of the park. With a careless wave of her gloved hand, she dismissed the three young gentlemen and turned her full, radiant attention to Julian. “What a wonderful surprise. I was just telling my mother how much I hoped we might cross paths this morning.”

“The morning was entirely dull until this very moment, Miss Ashwell,” Julian replied, executing a flawless bow.

Taking his designated place a few steps behind Julian, Edmund walked silently.

“We were just debating the absolute tragedy of the new spring fashions,” Vivienne continued, leaning slightly over the edge of the carriage. “Do you not agree, my lord, that the new French muslin is entirely too sheer for polite company?”

“I must confess, I leave matters of fashion to those with a superior eye,” Julian answered charmingly. “Though I am certain whatever fabric you choose would immediately become the standard of elegance.”

Vivienne beamed, placing a hand elegantly against her collarbone.

A sharp prickling sensation on the side of his neck made Edmund turn his head. Phoebe Cavendish was staring directly at him. Walking next to Corinna and holding a silver-handled walking stick, Phoebe studied him with the penetrating focus of a portrait artist. She looked as though she were mentally measuring the distance between his cheekbones and mixing the exact shade of blue required for his eyes.

Don’t react, Edmund warned himself. You are a servant. He offered Phoebe a small, polite nod meant for a social superior.

“You have a very structured jawline, Mr. Marsh,” Phoebe said suddenly, her voice casual but piercing. “Have you ever sat for a portrait?”

Blinking, Edmund feigned mild surprise at the direct question. “I have not had the pleasure, madam. I am merely a secretary. My face is not of sufficient importance to commit to canvas.”

“Importance has very little to do with art,” Phoebe noted dryly. “Structure is everything. You have the face of a man who is used to giving orders, not taking them.”

“Aunt Phoebe,” Corinna murmured, casting a highly apologetic look in Edmund’s direction.

“I am simply making an observation, Corinna,” Phoebe replied smoothly. She looked back at Julian. “Speaking of art, my lord, I located that small volume of Italian landscapes we discussed last evening. I have an errand near your square this afternoon.”

“You are too kind, Mrs. Cavendish,” Julian said gracefully. “My secretary will ensure it is received.”

Edmund let out a slow, quiet breath of relief as the immediate scrutiny passed. Falling into step beside Corinna, he matched her slow pace along the gravel. She remained quiet, yet he could sense her absorbing everything around them.

She doesn’t demand the spotlight, Edmund thought, watching the subtle way she observed the passing carriages. She just watches.

They walked in silence for several minutes while Julian and Vivienne exchanged loud, flirtatious banter a few paces ahead.

“I assure you, my lord, the duke’s ball will be the absolute highlight of the month,” Vivienne was saying, her voice bright and breathless. “Everyone of consequence shall be there. We simply must save a dance.”

“I would be devastated if we did not,” Julian assured her.

Listening to them, Edmund felt a strange sinking feeling. Vivienne was magnificent, but her conversation was entirely predictable. She spoke exclusively in safe, expected platitudes, a perfectly crafted society doll performing her prescribed routine.

Shifting his gaze to Corinna, Edmund realized he could not predict a single thing she might say. He found himself walking slightly closer to her, highly curious about what she was thinking behind those guarded gray eyes.

A movement in the sky caught Corinna’s attention. Stopping on the gravel path, she tilted her head back to look at the clouds.

Edmund followed her gaze. A large hawk was circling high above the park. Ignoring the wide open spaces above the sweeping lawns and the lake, the bird banked sharply, gliding closely along the dense tree line bordering the edge of the park to keep itself hidden among the branches.

“He chooses the tree line over the open road,” Corinna observed, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She did not look at Edmund, keeping her eyes fixed on the bird. “He knows the open sky is just a place to be hunted.”