Lord Weston was rude and arrogant, that much she knew. However, she could not quite forget the look of desperation in his eyes, as he had practically begged her for another opportunity to speak to her, another opportunity to apologize for his manners towards her, and another opportunity for him to assuage his own guilt.
When she had said those words of his guilt, Merry had expected him to deny it at once, for to admit such a thing was to admit a failing in one’s character, but much to her surprise, Lord Weston had done no such thing. Instead, he had inclined his head and admitted that, yes, she was correct to state such a thing. That had come as something of a surprise, for she had not expected him to be so vulnerable towards her, and it was for this reason that she found herself struggling to push him from her thoughts.
Was it also why she was glancing at her reflection in the mirror again? Did she find herself wanting to look her very best in order to satisfy Lord Weston’s critical eye? She knew very well that she would never be a diamond of the first water, nor would she reach the heights of beauty and exuberance that Titania so easily exhibited, but for the first time in her life, Merry was beginning to think that there might be a little hope for her. It was not something she was ready to admit, and she certainly would not say it aloud to her mother, but being forced to wear delicate and beautiful gowns and having to endure her hair being scraped into various states of being had, in fact, garnered her a little more attention. Gentlemen had sought her out and asked her to dance at the ball she had attended last evening. Granted, her dance card had not been full, but it was a vast improvement to the usual empty card that had dangled from her wrist so many times before.
“But they only see the outward appearance,” Merry reminded herself, mumbling aloud. “None of them care for your character.”
But they might come to do so.
The thought made Merry catch her breath. Could there be such a possibility? Would she be able to find a gentleman who was willing to put in the time with her and the effort required to truly know the person she was? Someone who would not mind if she did not have seed pearls threaded through her hair or did not wear the highest fashion gown? A small ball of excitement settled in her stomach, and Merry allowed it to linger there, feeling as though she were looking at the London Season with fresh eyes. Perhaps, if she allowed herself to do so, she might find some enjoyment in the weeks that were to follow. Mayhap she might find herself caught up with a gentleman who could come to care for her in a deep and true manner. The possibilities opened up to her as she considered this a little further, the flames on the candelabra seeming to brighten all the more.
“Miss Wells. Good evening.”
She jumped visibly, startled by the voice that came to her ear. Turning, she saw none other than Lord Weston standing just to her right, bowing in front of her. She did not curtsy, a lump suddenly entering her throat as she looked up into his face. What was he doing here? She had not known he had been invited this evening and certainly did not think that it was at all proper for him to greet her in such a manner, especially when she was standing alone.
“You look very well this evening, Miss Wells.”
Stiffening, Merry lifted her chin a notch. “I did not know you were acquainted with Lady Greyson,” she replied quickly, speaking of this evening’s host who was something of wealthy widow, having lost her aged husband some eighteen months ago. “Although mayhap I should have expected it from someone as well-known as you are.” She made certain to keep her tone bland, although the truth of her meaning did not quite manage to slip past Lord Weston unnoticed. His lips thinned, and his brow lowered.
“My father was acquainted with the late Lord Greyson,” he retorted, a slight flush to his cheeks. “We were present on the day of his wedding to the now-widowed Lady Greyson.”
Merry, who did not much care for how Lord Weston knew anyone in particular, gave him a small smile and made to turn away, only for Lord Weston to take a small sidestep and prevent her from doing so.
“Do you have a few moments you might be able to spare me, Miss Wells?” he asked, the heat gone from his face now. “You did promise me that you would, did you not?”
“I did not promise, Lord Weston, no,” she told him calmly. “But to speak to you now, at this present moment, would not be suitable at all. The musical part of the evening is bound to start within a few minutes, and I do not want you to rush what must be said.” She gave him a sweet smile, but Lord Weston only grimaced.
“Then I shall sit with you
, Miss Wells,” he replied, surprising her. “For I do not think that I shall have another opportunity, given your apparent unwillingness to permit me to speak to you.”
Merry’s cheeks flared hot, and she was about to give him a resounding reply when Lady Greyson tapped her glass with a spoon and captured everyone’s attention. Her anger cooled somewhat as Lady Greyson begged them all to come into the next room where chairs had been set out in preparation. She also stated, most emphatically, that she hoped that some young ladies would be willing to perform on the pianoforte or might even sing, once the paid performers were finished.
“Might you wish to play, Miss Wells?” Lord Weston asked, close to her ear. Merry shivered softly before beginning to walk away from him, throwing back her answer over her shoulder.
“I shall be doing nothing other than sitting and listening, Lord Weston,” she replied with decisiveness. “For I have never found enjoyment in playing the pianoforte nor in filling a room with my voice. I do not seek attention from others…unlike many of the beau monde.”
She could see from the dark look that appeared on Lord Weston’s face that her words had hit their mark, finding that she did not feel any sort of guilt in speaking to him so. Rather, she felt a degree of satisfaction, feeling as though she had some sort of victory over the notorious rascal. She hoped that it might put him off from his intent of pursuing her and sitting with her, so as to speak to her of his supposed sorrow and guilt, but she was to be disappointed. Lord Weston followed her as though he were some sort of lap dog, willing to follow her wherever she went. Her mother was already waiting for her, with Titania seated with Lord Carroway. Beside her mother stood Catherine, her younger sister, and Dinah, Merry’s cousin. Both appeared to be finding this evening to be rather dull, for neither had a smile on their face or even an interested countenance. Instead, they simply faced forward and waited quietly for Merry to join them, although Lady Whitehaven looked to be rather intrigued as to why Lord Weston was following Merry so doggedly.
“Thank you, Mama,” Merry said, quietly, as she drew near. “Are we ready to seat ourselves?”
“Indeed we are,” Lady Whitehaven murmured, throwing a quick glance in the direction of Lord Weston, who murmured a greeting. “Are you quite all right, my dear?”
“I am perfectly well,” Merry replied, not looking behind her nor making an acknowledgement to Lord Weston. “I am looking forward to hearing the performance by the string quartet. Shall we sit without delay?”
Lady Whitehaven nodded, giving Merry another concerned look, before leading the way and sitting down with Dinah and Catherine on one side, leaving space for Merry and Lord Weston on the other. Merry took her seat without a murmur to Lord Weston, looking straight ahead so that she would not even have to glance in his direction.
“Do you enjoy music, Miss Wells?”
She stiffened involuntarily, hating that she was having to engage with this gentleman. Irritated that she had given him so many of her thoughts since last evening, she tried her best to give him as brief an answer as she could. “I do.”
“It is just since you informed me that you did not enjoy playing the pianoforte, I wondered if music was something that you were not at all inclined towards,” he replied, surprising her with his thoughts on the matter.
“Just because I do not enjoy spending hours seated at an instrument so that I might play it proficiently does not mean that I do not enjoy music, Lord Weston,” she told him, giving him a quick glance and finding the intensity of his gaze to be rather overwhelming. Looking away, she tried to focus her intent back upon the gathered musicians, who were waiting for a cue from Lady Greyson before they began. “Now, pray, say whatever it is that you wish to say to me so that we might be finished with this conversation.” And our acquaintance, she thought to herself, a touch wryly.
Lord Weston let out a long, audible sigh, and out of the corner of her eye, Merry saw him watching her. Her stomach twisted. Was she being unnecessarily cruel?
“I wish to tell you, Miss Wells, that I have reflected on my behavior and find it to be utterly unacceptable.”