The Earl She Despised (London Season Matchmaker 3)

Titania said nothing for a moment or two, regarding Merry carefully. “Then why, might I ask, have you changed in such a drastic fashion if you do not wish to capture the attention of the gentlemen present?” she asked eventually, looking Merry up and down. “I cannot think of any other explanation for it, and for what it is worth, I was very glad to see you so willing to–”

Interrupting Titania before she could say any more, Merry quickly gave her sister a quick explanation as to what was occurring, making Titania’s eyes flare in surprise.

“Gracious, that is rather daring of you, Merry,” she exclaimed once Merry had finished. “For you do look very pleasing in that gown.”

Merry, who was wearing a gown of light green, which brought out the color of her faded green eyes, tipped her head and regarded her sister. “But I am not beautiful, as you are,” she replied, seeing Titania flush. “The gown and the way my hair has been done are in attempts to make me more attractive to the gentlemen who walk by me. I am not this person, Titania.” She gestured to her gown, finding the cut to be a little too low to her liking. “But yet I do so in order to prove to Mama that she is incorrect to believe that any alterations to my appearance will garner me the attention she believes me to require.”

“And then you will be free to do as you please for the rest of the Season,” Titania added, as Merry nodded. “I must admit that I think it a rather foolish idea on Mama’s part, for she could easily be throwing away a perfectly good Season for you.”

Merry stiffened. “I do not wish to be dragged into the attentions of a gentleman who cares nothing for my character nor my interests but rather thinks of me as nothing more than an adornment that he might wear on his arm from time to time,” she replied, a little harshly. “That cannot be a poor consideration, Titania.”

Titania nodded slowly, her expression a little sympathetic. “And you fear that a gentleman will only look at your outward appearance.”

A harsh laugh tugged itself from Merry’s lips. “I do not think they will look at my outward appearance for more than a moment before they decide to acquaint themselves with another,” she replied. “And I do not require your help in this, Titania. I have told Mama that if she interferes, then I shall immediately become the victor. Do you understand?”

A long sigh of irritation rattled from Titania’s lips, but she eventually nodded.

“I thank you,” Merry replied, seeing Titania’s fiancé, Lord Carroway, approaching them both. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere I must go.”

Titania said nothing, and Merry quickly made her escape, as she usually did during events such as this. She was behaving just as would be expected, she told herself, moving quietly to the edges of the crowd, where the wallflowers stood. This was her company, her familiar place. How often she had lingered here, watching the guests converse, laugh, and enjoy themselves – and just how often she had felt the same wretched grief that filled her now.

It was a grief that she had never shared with another, for she was entirely unused to speaking the truth about what lingered in the depths of her heart. It was much easier to remain aloof, to pretend that she did not care for the interest of the gentlemen that seemed to surround so many of the ladies of the beau monde. It was simpler to remain plain of dress, so as to match her face, and to state loudly that she cared nothing for what gentlemen thought of her.

Of course, deep in her heart, Merry longed to find a gentleman who cared nothing for the plainness of her face or for the determination she had to further her own mind, but she had covered such a longing many times over in the hope that, one day, it would be gone from her entirely. The chance of finding such a gentleman had begun to fade the first day she had come to London, when she had seen just how the ton looked towards her sister Eliza and Titania and had not spared even a glance in her direction. She had known then that she was of no interest to them, and whilst she was glad that her sisters had made favorable matches with gentlemen who clearly cared for them, she had no hope of succeeding in that for herself. No, she would remain alone and entirely without hope, passed over again and again, but it was something that Merry told herself she simply needed to resign herself to. No, she had told herself, she did not want to garner the attention of a gentleman who would simply look at her outward appearance and think that was all that mattered. If she could choose for herself, she would seek a gentleman who was interested in all that she was and all that she did. Someone who would not care whether or not she was something of a bluestocking. Someone who would look beyond her lack of beauty and think her character something worth pursuing.

Fading in with the other wallflowers, Merry allowed herself a small, rueful smile. Her mother might not wish to admit it, but Merry felt no fear in acknowledging that such a dream was nothing more than that – a flight of fancy that would bring her very little, if anything at all. It was easier to accept in her own mind that she would one day be a spinster, forced to rely upon her sisters’ generosity in order to live a life of contentment. Perhaps she would be the maiden aunt to her sisters’ offspring. Surely that would bring her some joy.

“Oh, goodness.”

Merry was tugged from her thoughts by the sound of another young lady’s exclamation. Despite her curiosity, she said nothing, wondering what it was that had captured her attention so.

“There he is.”

Merry closed her eyes and tried to quell the immediate rise of irritation that jumped into her heart. Of course, the young ladies present were considering a gentleman. That was to be expected. They would admire him from afar, knowing that there was no hope for them to ever become acquainted with him.

And yet, Merry could not help but look to see who this particular gentleman was.

“He has returned to London,” she heard another young lady murmur, her excitement obvious in the brightness of her eyes as Merry turned to give her a quick glance. “Look just how he parades through the room!” She sounded breathless with wonder, as though merely seeing this gentleman was enough to satisfy all of her longings and desires. Merry resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead turned her head to see where this gentleman was, wondering if she would be able to make him out merely by the description of his “parading” through the ballroom.

At first, her eyes saw nothing but the many gentlemen and ladies that roamed in front of them. Most were engaged in conversation, with some being offered the arm of a gentleman who was to take them to the floor to dance. Merry saw no one of note, nor of particular interest.

And then, her gaze snagged. A gentleman was speaking to a young lady and a woman whom Merry thought to be the young lady’s mother. They were both standing together, with eyes shining. Merry frowned

. The mother was apparently as overwhelmed by the consideration of this gentleman as her daughter was, which said a good deal about the gentleman himself. She allowed her eyes to return to him, even though she could only see him from the side. He appeared fairly tall, with a good frame and a generous head of thick, dark hair. As she watched, Merry saw him reach for the young lady’s dance card and write his name down upon it, aware of just how delighted the young lady appeared to be by this action. A wave of longing crashed over her, making her suddenly yearn for this particular gentleman to show her the very same interest. Throwing the idea aside, Merry made to turn her head away, telling herself that she need not look at him for another moment, when he took his leave of the young lady and her mother and turned in Merry’s direction.

His eyes did not go to her, of course, but rather ran around the room as if he was in search of his next conquest. Merry tried to dislike the fellow at once, telling herself that his lopsided smile, bright eyes and ease of manner most likely meant that he was nothing more than a rascal, but there was something about him that made her heart quicken and her mouth go dry.

Despite herself, Merry could not help but enquire as to his name, turning her head slightly to speak to the young lady behind her whilst not allowing her gaze to fall from the gentleman for even a moment.

“Miss Greyson,” she began, feeling heat climbing up her spine. “Tell me, if you please. Who were you referring to only a moment ago?”

Miss Greyson sighed heavily, as though lost in affection for this gentleman. “Surely you must be aware of Lord Weston, Miss Wells,” she replied, not looking into Merry’s face but rather across the room at Lord Weston. “He is Earl of Weston and is, from what I have heard, exceedingly wealthy.”

“And handsome,” Merry added, before she could stop herself, but Miss Greyson only acknowledged this with a quick nod of agreement.

“More than handsome,” she replied, as Merry turned her head back to continue watching Lord Weston. “He was present last Season and was here for the first few weeks, and then disappeared completely for some time. No one knew where he had gone. How wonderful to know that he has returned now!”

“Wonderful indeed,” Merry replied, a little dryly as she saw Lord Weston bowing over the hand of another young lady and became aware of how the girl blushed furiously. She could not help but see the broad smile that settled on his face as he lifted his head. Was it that he enjoyed garnering attention such as this? Did he take great pleasure in seeking out as many young ladies as he could, so that he might be fawned over and flattered as he was being now?