My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Four

"I do not understand why we have to prepare the best bedchamber for that scheming jade, Peter!" Lady Ashington announced in petulant tones, casting her son a disapproving glance over her teacup. "I tell you, this imbroglio is far worse than a deliberate compromise." 

Peter sighed in exasperation as he attempted to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order. "Regardless how it was conceived, Mother, the deed is done," he said. "I do not wish to speak of it anymore." 

Lady Ashington continued as though Peter had not spoken. "At least if it was a compromise, we might have been able to contrive something to extricate you from your predicament."  

"Aurelia, that is enough," Lord Ashington broke in sharply. "I will thank you to mind your tongue." He turned to Peter, ignoring his wife's gasp of outrage. "You have settled in comfortably, I trust?" 

However, to deny Lady Ashington to mount her high horse was the ultimate folly. Now that she had the bit between her teeth, she would not stop until she made her feelings on the matter known. "You know full well I had wanted you to offer for Lady Lavinia Smythe. She would have made the perfect wife for you, pretty, biddable, accomplished in all the feminine arts and equal to you in rank and fortune. She is the daughter of our dear friends, Lord and Lady Wroxford after all." 

"If she is such a paragon, Aurelia, then why did she not accept one of the highly eligible parti's who did offer for her?" Lord Ashington asked, his voice raising an octave.  

Lady Ashington rounded on her husband, her face flushed scarlet in anger. "Why? Because she had been exceedingly patient waiting for Peter's offer, especially since he gave her such marked attention during her first season without coming up to scratch. In the end, she was forced to accept Lord Westborough. Good gracious, the man has buried two wives already," she cried, her voice rising to a strident screech. She collapsed back against the plush peach coloured brocade of the chaise, waving her fan in front of her face and calling for her vinaigrette.  

Peter ceased listening to his mother's histrionics. Not that Lady Ashington's reaction was overly surprising, but her recollection of the non-existent courtship largely differed from Peter's own. For years, she had tried to promote a match between Lady Lavinia and himself, a fate he had vehemently evaded and for the most part, he had been successful.  

He had first made Lady Lavinia's acquaintance at her own come-out ball, and his initial assessment had been marginally favourable. However, time spent in her company had quickly changed his perception. Of course, she was quite pretty, with blonde ringlets framing a heart-shaped face, large cornflower blue eyes fringed with long lashes, button nose, and pink rosebud mouth, but her obvious beauty was not enough to offset certain deficiencies in her character. A calculating gleam shone in her eyes when she had first beheld him, a calculating gleam that had set off alarm bells immediately, but when she spoke, she spoke quietly and agreed with everything he said. It did not take long for him to realise she was just like every other debutante that converged on London during the Season, an adroit actress who hid her true nature behind innocence and virtue.  

As a favour to his mother, he had agreed to introduce her to some of his friends. For the first few weeks, they were seen constantly in each others company, which looking back now, could have appeared as though she was receiving marked attention from him, he allowed. However, he relinquished his escorting duties when her court began to grow and he resumed his usual pursuits, generally spending evenings at White's and observing the odd mill or horse race, only attending balls at his mother's insistence. As far as he was concerned, he had fulfilled his obligation to Lady Ashington's childhood friend, so he thought he could bow out gracefully and Lady Lavinia's reputation would not overly suffer due to his defection. Or at least it would have if she had not constantly thrown herself at him whenever they happened to meet, encouraged by her mother, and seconded by his, no doubt.