Page 33 of Earl Crazy
Everyone but Darby, who was frowning at the picnickers as if he were witnessing a beheading. “Not a blessed thing. I should be comfortably asleep in my bed right now, like a proper scoundrel, although…is that Miss Edgerley, just there by the fountain? She’s amusing enough.”
Darby didn’t wait for an answer, but wandered off toward Miss Edgerley, who looked tremendously pleased to see him—quite as pleased as her mother was displeased, by the sour look of her—but Lady Edgerley might fend for herself, as he had his own business to attend to.
If anyone had told him a week ago that he’d soon be chasing Tilly Templeton, he would have called them mad. But here he was, searching the lawn for Lady Fosberry’s party.
Unfortunately, attempting to pick Tilly out from the sea of young ladies in straw hats and pastel gowns was like trying to separate grains of sand in a desert. Aside from one young lady, who was gesticulating so wildly one could hardly fail to notice her, one was very much like every other—
Wait. Those riotous chestnut curls…
He reached up to shade his eyes from the sun, but he needn’t have bothered.
Of course, it was her. Who else but Tilly Templeton could be surrounded by dozens of other young ladies, and still distinguish herself? He watched her for a moment, puzzled. How did she always manage to draw his eye? It wasn’t as if she was doing anything untoward, yet the sway of her slender body as she spoke, the graceful movements of her hands made it impossible for him to see anyone else.
He couldn’t fault her for lack of passion, could he? It was like witnessing a bolt of lightning illuminating the sky.
Lady Fosberry and Euphemia Templeton were lounging on the blanket at her side, laughing at her antics. Lady Harriett was at her feet, her white skirts spread demurely over her legs, not a hint of ankle showing, the very picture of pastoral innocence.
And beside Lady Harriett sat Lord Wyle.
He’d certainly wasted no time marking his territory, had he? They weren’t yet two weeks into the season, and already the man had made it clear he intended to court her.
Perhaps he imagined no other gentleman would bother, once he made his intentions known, and he was likely correct. All thetonadored Wyle, and why shouldn’t they? He was everything a proper English gentleman should be.
At least, as far as anybody knew.
Darby claimed he’d heard a rumor last winter that Wyle was in financial difficulties after a run of back luck at Hazard. But Darby was a shameless gossip, and most of the stories he repeated were too fantastical to be believed. That the gentlemanThe Timeshad crowned this season’s Nonesuch was a secret gamer seemed fantastical, indeed.
Whatever the case, Lady Harriett seemed delighted to receive his attentions. Well, he wished them joy. She was a sweet young lady, and he’d been fond of her when she was a girl, but he must still have a bit of the rake in him, because he didn’t care for shy young ladies with soft voices and sweet blushes.
He preferred ladies with a bit more…ferocity.
His gaze drifted back to Tilly Templeton. She would be his countess, yes, but as he’d told her yesterday, love didn’t have anything to do with marriage. It was fortunate he didn’t have a heart to lose, because the unlucky gentleman who fell in love with her would be driven mad within a fortnight.
He crossed the lawn, pausing only to bid Lady Fanshawe a good morning before making his way over to Lady Fosberry’s party, where Tilly was telling some story. He only caught the tail end of it, but it had the whole party laughing.
“…but as I told Phee at the time, she couldn’t properly scold me for it, as it was only a very small fire, you know, and no harm was done.” She wore a mischievous little smile on her lips that halted him for an instant in his tracks.
What sort of innocent young lady had such an alluring smile as that? Pure temptation, the sly curve of those pink lips.
She must have sensed his gaze, because she turned. The smile froze on her face, then vanished entirely, a stiff, polite mask taking its place. “Lord Prestwick. How do you do?”
“Miss Mathilda. Lovely day for a picnic, is it not?”
“Prestwick.” Wyle gave him a curt nod, his lips tight.
Kit offered him a careless nod in return. “How do you do, Wyle?”
“Do sit down, won’t you, Lord Prestwick?” Lady Fosberry patted the empty space on the blanket beside her. “It’s fortunate you’ve arrived, as you’re just in time to settle an argument for us.”
“Oh?” He settled himself in the offered place, taking care not to assault anyone with his long legs. “What argument is that?”
“Euphemia and Harriett maintain that the pleasantest thing about a picnic is lounging on a blanket and eating syllabub, but Mathilda and I are of the opinion that—”
“Haven’t we settled this argument already?” Lord Wyle gave Lady Harriett a smooth smile. “I believe we agreed that Miss Templeton and Lady Harriett have the right of it.”
Good Lord, that fawning smile of Wyle’s was enough to turn his stomach.
“We agreed upon no such thing, becauseyou, Lord Wyle, abstained from offering your opinion.” Lady Fosberry gave a disapproving sniff.
