Page 9 of An Enchanting Dare

“Nothing!” she exclaimed, but there was too much emotion behind the word.

“I wish you would trust me,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t let you down, you know.”

Aisling stared at him, seeing sincerity in his eyes. She didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

“Never,” she said, making her voice as cold as possible. “I shall never trust you, so leave me be, Mr Cootes. I have no need of your gallantry.”

She strode forward, and he moved lest she be forced to push past him. He was too much of a gentleman for that and he let her go, but she felt his eyes follow her as she hurried away to pay for her books.

Chapter 4

Dear Sylvester,

I hope you are having a marvellous time in town. Well, not too marvellous, for I want to interrupt your cavorting and ask a very great favour of you, which Greer and Raphe said I might, as you are my brother now.

I have been invited to stay with Lady Cara Baxter at Trevick Castle. I have my governess and my maid to accompany me, but I have been staying with my aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady St Clair, whilst Mama and Papa are away, but they have commitments and so cannot escort me. Gee and your brother are too busy with the restoration works at Marcross. Raphe said that he would be happy to give you more time off if you would accompany me to Trevick for my stay and see me safely returned home. I am to be there for two weeks, perhaps three. I have checked with Lady Trevick, who has extended the welcome to include you.

Please say you will come. I haven’t seen Cara in an age and Trevick is a marvellous place to visit.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Alana Cadogan (youngest daughter of Mr and Mrs Jerome and Bonnie Cadogan) to The Hon’ble Mr Sylvester Cootes.

27th May 1841, Savile Row, Mayfair, London.

Sylvester stared down at the letter in his hand with something approaching disbelief. If he escorted Alana to Trevick at the close of the season, he would be in company with Lady Aisling every day. He’d never been much of a believer in fate or luck. Things were what you made of them, and a fellow succeeded or failed by his own efforts. Yet this was like a gift from the gods, as if they were encouraging him to go after her. Like the impulse that had taken him down the little back street and drawn his attention to that unprepossessing bookshop. Why he’d gone in that direction when it was completely out of his way, he could not say, but it had taken him to Aisling, and he wasn’t about to complain about that. She would complain vociferously, he did not doubt.

An anxious sensation tightened his chest when he thought about that meeting. What was she hiding? Had she been afraid of him? She’d said she wasn’t, but… she was afraid of something, or perhaps someone. All his instincts told him the young woman was full of secrets and not happy ones. She needed help, and if she had not confided in her brother or her parents, then the matter must be a delicate one. If only he could persuade her he was trustworthy. Ash had said she didn’t trust anyone, and if that was so, it must be because someone had betrayed her confidence. If only he could hold his tongue and not rile her every time they met, he might stand a chance, but she was so deliciously easy to provoke, and he loved the way her eyes sparkled when she was cross with him. When she was irritated, she forgot her manners and her reserve and showed the passionate, forthright girl she ought to be. That was the real Aisling, he was certain. He wanted to know that woman, wanted to be the centre of her attention and all that fire she contained.

Sylvester sat and dashed off a quick reply to Alana, agreeing to escort her to Trevick before readying himself to go out. As his brother’s estate manager at Marcross Manor, he was finally earning a decent wage. Of course, gentlemen ought not work at all, but he was not too proud to earn his keep. Those that didn’t like it could mind their own business. That the Earl of Trevick would not like it one little bit was something he refused to dwell upon, though he knew he ought. A man with sense would consider the fact that Aisling was far out of his league before reaching for the moon, but he was too intent on knowing what it was she was hiding to be sensible. Besides, it was not like he was planning to marry her, only to be her friend.

His rented rooms on Savile Row were cramped, but it was a fashionable address and the kind of place a young man ought to spend the season. He had also begun replacing his decidedly shabby wardrobe, and the tailor down the street ought to have finished a new coat for him today. Snatching up his gloves and hat, he headed out.

The tailor’s shop was not the most exclusive to be had in London, for such extravagance was above Sylvester’s touch. However, Mr Howard was becoming known for fine quality tailoring and for not fleecing his clients, and had been recommended to him by his brother, who was always the height of elegance. Mr Howard looked up as he entered, greeting him, and promising to be with him shortly, as he was already in discussion with another client. A minion hurried to bring him coffee and some sporting journals to amuse him whilst he waited and so Sylvester made himself comfortable. A soft French accent caught his attention as two men emerged from behind the privacy screens, and he set the journal aside as he recognised the clients taking Mr Howard’s attention were the Comte de Villen and Mr Barnaby Godwin.

“Non. Absolutely not,” the comte said, clicking his tongue with irritation. He gave an irritated wave of his hands towards a selection of material laid out on a table before them. “The blue, or I wash my hands of you.”

Godwin cast a last wistful glance at the bolt of dark maroon cloth that Mr Howard was holding out for him to inspect before giving a sigh. “The blue then, Mr Howard.”

“Very good, sir. If I might say, it is an excellent choice,” Mr Howard said, casting an approving glance at the comte, who, as usual, looked as if he’d just stepped out of a fashion plate. “Monsieur has an exquisite eye for detail.”

“Better than mine, I daresay,” Mr Godwin agreed affably. “It’s why we’re here, after all.”

“Good day, Mr Godwin, Monsieur le Comte,” Sylvester said, getting to his feet. “This isn’t your usual haunt,” he added, eyeing the comte with interest.

“No, it ain’t,” Godwin said with a laugh. “But I can’t afford to beggar myself over one coat from his establishment. Reckon I couldn’t afford to get my cravats there, let alone everything else he tells me I must have. Besides, I doubt Louis’ tailor would have me. Would probably weep with distress if he was reduced to fitting the likes of me.”

“My tailor only weeps if you do not pay him liberally, in both coin and compliments,” the comte remarked dryly, holding out his hand to Sylvester. “Mr Cootes, how do you do?”

“Well, thanks. So, Mr Godwin is benefiting from your ‘exquisite eye,’ is he?” Sylvester said, wondering how on earth that had come about. The mysterious and elegant comte and the rather prosaic Barnaby Godwin seemed unlikely friends.

“That’s right.” Godwin replied, nodding. “Louis reckons he can get me leg shackled to the girl of my choosing if I follow his advice. First thing is to get me spruced up, you see.”

“Barnaby,” the comte protested, rolling his eyes. “I wish you would not. The world does not need to know your business. Or mine, for that matter.”

Barnaby flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s only Cootes, not the world, but… right ho, won’t breathe a word.”

Sylvester grinned, amused. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold my tongue, especially if you fancy taking on another pupil?”

“Good God,” the comte said. “One is enough. I regret to say that my nerves would not survive another.”