Even if Lord Alaric’s intentions were honorable—which now struck her as possible, if unlikely—she had absolutely no desire to be married to a man whose printed image was concealed in young ladies’ Bibles.
“I wish you the best of luck in your exploration of new terrains,” she said coolly. “I have no interest in journeying around the world myself, but I understand it must be quite intoxicating.”
“Yes, it seems to be,” he said, grinning. “Surprisingly so.”
The man could make anything sound suggestive.
Willa had decided long ago exactly what she wanted in a husband. She wanted a decent man who didn’t drink to excess. It would be nice if he had a fortune, but since she had inherited her father’s estate, it wasn’t necessary.
He had to be steady; to have all his teeth; and she would like him to have his own hair. She even knew what his voice would be like: quiet, and private.
Very private.
If possible, she would prefer him to look clever and pale. Not gaunt, but lean and unlikely to run to fat later in life.
Lord Alaric was not only not a private man, but everything that happened to him—and several things that hadn’t—was displayed for public consumption.
The engravings were a prime example of the problem. Whoever married him would find her likeness in the windows of printshops. A lifetime of seeing one’s face depicted in bookstalls.
Or—how ghastly!—on the stage.
With that thought in mind, Willa turned back to Mr. Sterling. Now he was a man whom she ought to consider seriously. He may think he wasn’t suited for high society owing to his parentage, but to Willa’s mind, that was an advantage. Whomever she married would be accepted everywhere; she had no worries about that.
He was extremely good looking, and seemed unencumbered by a Helena Biddle. But she had to clarify something first.
“Mr. Sterling,” she said, “am I right to think you might have some connection with Sterling Lace?”
“I am honored to think that you know of my lace,” he said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.
A growl sounded near Willa’s ear, but when she turned to look incredulously at Lord Alaric, he smiled at her as placidly as if he were a vicar.
“Stop that,” she ordered.
“Stop what?” he asked innocently.
“That,” Willa said, less than articulately.
He snatched the hand that Mr. Sterling had just kissed. “I think you just soiled your hand.” Before she could stop him, he brought it to his lips and kissed the same spot.
“Better?” he inquired.
Willa frowned at him. “Lord Alaric, please stop.” She could feel pink rising up her neck. She glanced over his shoulder and realized that a good many of the guests was watching them. Naturally, they were watching.
They would always be watching whatever he did.
In that instant she understood exactly what was happening. The man was unused to women who didn’t collapse at his feet. A woman who remained upright?
An undiscovered country. Terra incognita.
Lord Alaric was flirting with her because he was a man who had to win. He didn’t understand that she was not—and never would be—a prize. She meant to choose her spouse after a thoughtful review, and no part of that review included being “won.”
“I am not someone who cares to be a spectacle.” She said it quietly but firmly as she drew her hand away.
His lordship turned his head to survey the terrace. Eyes fell, and a murmur of sound rose again from the tables. He scowled.
“Notoriety is a great facilitator of book sales, my lord. Of that I have no doubt.”
He opened his mouth but she lifted her hand to stop him.
“I am not a territory to be conquered for the mere sake of it. I would be grateful if you would direct your attentions elsewhere.”
His jaw flexed, but Willa held his gaze. It was essential she make this clear, because he was used to intoxicating women, and his successes had made him confident. Or arrogant. Whatever one wanted to call it.
She was as susceptible to him as any woman. But she had no intention of being conquered.
“I do not see you in that light,” Lord Alaric stated. If Willa hadn’t observed the darkening of his eyes and the way his shoulders stiffened, she might actually have believed that he was merely issuing a polite correction.
“In some sense, we are all foreign countries,” she said, not giving in. “In my analogy, your shores are frequented by ambassadors like Lady Biddle.”
His jaw tightened again.
“When I become a citizen of a foreign land, it will be one without pomp and circumstance,” she said, rising. “Without ambassadors.”
She smiled at Mr. Bouchette, sitting at the next table, and he sprang to his feet. As he eagerly asked her to accompany him on a promenade in the rose garden, she overheard Lord Alaric speaking behind her.
“She’s angling for dinks too tiny to keep,” he said to Mr. Sterling, the rest of his remark unintelligible.
She had the vague idea that a dink was a fish. Was he saying that Mr. Bouchette was too small to keep? A minnow, in fact?
Lavinia gave Willa a look that reminded her, in the nick of time, that ladies did not empty teacups over a lord’s head.
“Might you escort both of us?” Lavinia asked Mr. Bouchette, who beamed with pride.
A lady could not spill tea, but she could walk away, exaggerating the sway of her hips.
So Willa did.
Chapter Eleven
The following day
Willa successfully avoided Lord Alaric all that evening, and over the next day’s luncheon, even though he seemed to be always within earshot. For example, the moment that Lavinia expressed interest in walking to the nearby village of Mobberley, he appeared out of nowhere and declared he would accompany them.
The truth was that his lordship had paid no attention whatsoever to her command that he not woo her. Every time she looked, he seemed to be watching her, even while surrounded by his admirers.
She had to remain resolute. That, and cling to her suitors, who were as assiduous as his. They made Lord Alaric curl his lip, but why should she care? They might be boys compared to him, but they were safe, biddable young men who would never make her infamous by association.
Mobberley was a half hour’s walk from the castle, down a long lane lined with elder bushes just beginning to fruit, and ditches full of cowslips, with a sprinkling of poppies. It was a perfect day for a stroll, and a party of twelve set out not long after luncheon.
She and Lavinia each had two suitors in tow to Lord Alaric’s three, among whom Helena Biddle seemed to be leading the pack. The mathematics of the situation was amusing. Willa left the suitors to Lavinia, dropping back to walk with Lady Knowe while ignoring Lord Alaric, who was shepherding his flock in the rear. Mr. Sterling had Lady Biddle on his arm, and while he wasn’t scowling, he seemed less than happy.
“The villagers call cowslips ‘paigles,’” Lady Knowe told Willa, nodding at the wildflowers. “They make an excellent wine around here that will have you dizzy as a goose after a glass or two. By the way, I meant to ask whether Prism has lectured you about Lindow Moss yet.”
Willa nodded. “He warned us to stay out of it, and I believe he also talked to our maids and grooms. Do you find it difficult to live on the edge of such a dangerous wilderness?”
“ ‘Dangerous wilderness’ is an exaggeration,” Lady Knowe said. “It’s merely a bog, and quite beautiful in the right weather.”
Willa hesitated, thinking of Prism’s revelation that the eldest of Lady Knowe’s nephews had perished in Lindow Moss. To her, that fact alone qualified it for the label “dangerous wilderness.”
Before she could formulate a sentence, Mobberley, came into view on the far side of an ancient bridge. The village consisted of a small cluster of houses lining a single street. Their gables seemed to lean toward each other, as if the buildings on either side were having a cozy chat.
Lady Knowe gave a whoop. “Bless me, Mr. Calico is here!”
“Who?”
“The peddler!” her ladyship crowed. “Mr. Calico is the most reliable source of pleasure in this area. I’m on subscription lists for novels, so they arrive by the post. Traveling theater troupes come through the village. But Mr. Calico? He’s a magician.”
“I’m surprised that he’s still traveling,” Lord Alaric said, catching up with them. “I considered him already ancient when I was a child. Good afternoon, Aunt Knowe.” His voice lowered. “Willa.”
“I address Miss Ffynche by her Christian name, Nephew, but what’s sauce for the goose is definitely not sauce for the gander,” Lady Knowe declared, casting him an admonishing look.
“I agree!” Willa exclaimed. “Lord Alaric has misspoken.”
To which he just laughed.
His deep voice licked at the back of her neck and she almost squirmed. But she didn’t. She was determined to be a perfect lady today. She’d achieved it without a problem all Season, and there was no reason why the arrival of one arrogant explorer should cause her to behave differently.
Lady Knowe and her nephew began trading stories about Mr. Calico’s wagon as they drew nearer. To hear them tell it, he often had the one thing that you most desired, even if you didn’t know you wanted it.
“I gathered from your discussion of Egyptian hieroglyphs that you have no faith in magic,” Lord Alaric said to Willa.