Page 13 of Earl Crazy
Alas, even if such a fascinating personage as Lord Wyle were here,shecouldn’t see him, hemmed in as she was next to Harriett, with Lady Fosberry on one side of them, and Phee on the other. She was wedged into the pew tighter than a pea in an excessively narrow pod.
Not by accident, either. Phee would never be so unkind as to say so, but Tilly suspected her sister had herded her into this position, in the same way a shepherd might herd a naughty sheep.
Perhaps it was for the best. Goodness knew a young lady could hardly stir a step in wicked old London without tumbling into a scandal. Why, even an innocent stroll in the garden could lead to disaster. Onlyherecould a pure act of charity on the part of a blameless young lady turn into a shocking kiss in the blink of an eye.
If anyone had had happened to see her last night—
But theyhadn’t, and the less she dwelled on past mistakes, the better. She was in London now, and determined not to put a single toe out of line. There would be no scrapes, scandals, mishaps or childish antics. Phee’s brow would remain smooth, because Tilly would be behave as a proper young lady should from the start of the season to the end.
For the most part, that is. Spying wasn’t ladylike, but she was doing it for Harriett’s sake and not her own, so it didn’t count, did it?
Harriett, much like every other young lady in London for the season was enamored of Lord Wyle. One might hope his lordship would prove to be discriminating enough to separate the wheat from the chaff, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a peek at him before the stampede began.
Thankfully, one didn’t need to move in order to spy. She’d done it often enough at home, though it must be said the parishioners in Hambleden didn’t provide her with much diversion. The only scandalous event that ever took place at St. Mary’s was poor old Mrs. Apsley dozing through the Lord’s Prayer, her snoring breaths stirring the feathers in her hat into a frenzy.
But this was subtle spying.Ladylikespying.
There would be no gawking. Nothing as untoward as that. Not with every eye in the church upon them. Not that she could blame the good parishioners of St. George’s for gaping at them. It wasn’t every day two of the infamous Templeton sisters traipsed down the center aisle of St. George’s in the first week of the London season.
Now, if all five of them had been here, well…one shuddered to think of the furor such an excess of Templetons would cause among theton, but Phee, with her usual presence of mind, had insisted that Emmeline, Juliet and Helena forego Tilly’s season, and remain in the country.
Still, it was bad enough, even without all of her sisters here.
Poor Phee. She must be ready to crawl underneath the pew by now. Indeed, nothing less than a season for Tilly could have persuaded Phee to come to London at all, but she needn’t have worried, because there would be no scandals. Not this time.
Not a single whisper, a hint of gossip, or a breath of rumor would find themthistime.
This time, she was in perfect control of herself.
Still, a season. She stifled a sigh. Aseason, of all absurd things. Rather a waste of time and effort, given she had no intention of marrying. Why, she’d sooner stand on her head in the middle of Mayfair and recite lines from Byron’s most salacious poems than accept a gentleman’s hand.
Marriage was all perfectly well for some young ladies, but she’d never fancied it. Gentlemen were wearying creatures, and now that three of her older sisters had gone off and married earls, their family was no longer in dire financial straits.
Thus, there was no reason forherto marry at all. Which was fortunate, as she hadn’t a prayer of attracting a proper gentleman, and wouldn’t know what to do with him if she did.
So, she might do as she pleased, and if she didn’t relish a lifetime in the small, dull village of Hambleden with nothing more exciting to do than listen to Mrs. Aspley’s snores, she relished leaving Phee there alone even less.
No, that simply wouldn’t do. She’dneverabandon Phee.
All she had to do was get through the season without becoming betrothed, and without causing even the faintest whiff of scandal that might hurt or embarrass Phee. As a reward, she’d have the pleasure of watching Harriett, who was the sweetest, dearest friend a young lady could ask for, capture the heart of her chosen gentleman.
Although it must be said that her spying wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped. Either Lord Wyle hadn’t attended church this morning, or he was tucked into some far corner outside the range of her roving gaze.
She’d never before laid eyes on the man, but Harriett had insisted they couldn’t possibly miss him, as he was a head taller than every other gentleman, and boasted an impressive quantity of thick, golden hair Harriett swore was as sleek and soft-looking as the finest cornsilk. Why any young lady would want a gentleman with cornsilk hair Tilly couldn’t say, but then she wasn’t the starry-eyed romantic Harriett was—
“Ahem.” Beside her, Harriett delicately cleared her throat.
Tilly cast a sidelong glance at her friend. Harriett’s head was bent virtuously over her prayer book, but one of her gloved fingers was raised, and pointing to the left.
Tilly glanced up over the edge of her bonnet’s brim. She had a clear view of the rows of pews above them, all of them crowded with fashionably-attired aristocrats. “Where?” She kept her voice low, the words more breath than sound.
“Left corner.” Harriet spoke from the corner of her mouth, her lips hardly moving. “Behind the lady with the enormous ostrich feather.”
Ah, yes. There was no hope of seeing his face with that blasted feather in the way, but she caught a glimpse of a golden head, and half of a broad shoulder. If they could secure an introduction to him today, he’d almost certainly invite Harriett to dance at Lady Fosberry’s ball on Tuesday.
“After church,” she whispered. “Be ready.”
Harriett said nothing, but she reached across her prayer book, and curled her pinky around Tilly’s.
