The Rake’s Christmas Wager (Spinsters and their Suitors #2)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

H enry settled into his seat at the long dining table as dinner commenced. Wintervale Manor had spared no expense where the guests’ comfort was concerned. Candlelight glinted off the polished silver and crystal. The lively chatter and the aroma of the evening meal almost allowed him to forget the discomfort of his earlier conversation with Miss Ashworth. Almost.

To his left sat his dinner companion, Miss Amelia Barrett. She was all bright smiles and fluttering eyelashes. She delicately adjusted her gown’s neckline every few minutes, as if in need of reassurance that her necklace remained perfectly displayed. To his right, Miss Julia Harper leaned in slightly, her voice low and breathy as she inquired about his travels, her fingers toying absently with the stem of her wineglass.

Henry, ever the master of social engagement, offered a charming smile to both women, though neither of them held his attention. He fought through the boredom. These two were of the same variety as most of his acquaintances. Unoriginal at best. Still, he could pretend. One could always pretend. He cleared his throat, addressing them both. There was no need to single one of them out. “Ah, Miss Barrett, Miss Harper, I do believe I’m in the most delightful company tonight. Two lovely ladies beside me—what more could I ask for?” He knew precisely what more he could ask for. For starters, he would ask for engaging conversation, but he would settle for a mildly diverting exchange, if that were an option.

Miss Barrett giggled, her fan fluttering coquettishly in front of her face. “You are too kind, Lord Brinton. We ladies are fortunate to have your attention this evening.”

Miss Harper tilted her head, her dark curls spilling over one shoulder. “Indeed, my lord. And how do you find the evening thus far? Surely a man of your experience has witnessed many a grand dinner such as this?”

Henry allowed a grin to play on his lips, keeping his tone light. “I find this evening most agreeable, Miss Harper. Though I must say, it’s the company that makes all the difference.”

Miss Barrett blushed prettily, her lashes lowering. “You are too generous, Lord Brinton.”

As the courses continued to be served, Henry maintained the surface-level conversation with both Miss Barrett and Miss Harper, though his thoughts continued to stray. The women on either side of him were charming, certainly, and their flirtations were entertaining enough, but there was something missing. Neither conversation demanded his attention in the way that Miss Ashworth’s brief remarks had earlier that day. She had given him the most unexpected set down. Her brown eyes had flashed with such annoyance. He hadn’t been sure if he should take offense or laugh.

Henry chuckled at something Miss Harper said, though he couldn’t recall the content of her comment. His gaze drifted to Miss Ashworth, who sat across the table and a few chairs away. She was engaged in polite conversation with her dinner partner, but, unlike the ladies surrounding him, there was no fawning, no simpering smile. Instead, there was a quiet dignity about her, an elegance that kept her aloof from the fray of flirtation swirling around the room.

“So, Lord Brinton,” Miss Barrett’s voice pulled him back to the present, her tone soft and filled with an unspoken invitation, “are you planning to attend the ball tomorrow?”

Henry turned his attention back to her, offering a charming half-smile. “Of course. It is part of the festivities I shouldn’t dream of skipping. What about you, Miss Barrett? Will you be in attendance?”

Her eyes danced. “Naturally. I would not miss it for the world. Perhaps you could save a set for me?”

“Ah,” he replied smoothly, “it would be my pleasure. But I have it on good authority that our gracious hostess will oversee our dance cards. But as we are but a small gathering, I daresay there will be an opportunity for everyone to be partnered at least once.” At least he hoped that was the case.

Miss Harper, not to be outdone, leaned in just a little closer. “And what of the musicale next week? Shall you turn the pages for me, my lord? For I am certain I would perform all the better were you to be at my side.”

Henry smiled again, offering just the right amount of interest. “You flatter me, Miss Harper. I should not wish to disappoint you, but I feel I must confess I am not always adept at discerning the precise moment to turn the page.”

Miss Harper smiled widely. “Do not worry yourself, Lord Brinton. I shall give you a discreet nod. Or better still, we might practice beforehand, to ensure that you know precisely where to turn.”

“That sounds delightful,” Henry said.

The conversation ebbed and flowed, and Henry played the part of the rake, responding to the ladies’ simpering flirtations with practiced ease. But despite his outward charm, his thoughts continually returned to Miss Ashworth. Her cool demeanor, her sharp wit—there was something about her that gnawed at him.

As if on cue, Lord Fairfax’s voice boomed from the other side of the table, cutting through the general murmur of conversation. “So, Miss Ashworth,” he said, drawing all eyes to her, “I understand you have recently arrived from Town. How did you find the city this Season?”

Henry watched as Miss Ashworth set down her glass with calm precision. “Much as it ever is, Lord Fairfax—bustling, crowded, and filled with far more people than one knows how to manage. But it is not without its charms, I suppose.”

Henry’s lips twitched at the subtle edge in her tone. She had managed to deliver a perfectly polite response while neatly sidestepping any personal details. He admired her artfulness. Meanwhile, Lord Fairfax blustered on about the amusements of London, though Henry barely heard him. His focus was on the delicate tilt of Miss Ashworth’s chin, the glimmer of intelligence in her eyes.

“A wise assessment, Miss Ashworth,” Henry interjected smoothly when Lord Fairfax paused for breath. “London can be rather overwhelming, can it not? But surely a lady of your discernment must have found herself well entertained.”

Miss Ashworth’s gaze met his, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Indeed, Lord Brinton, I have found that London offers quite the array of entertainments—though some are more diverting and agreeable than others.”

Henry’s smile widened. “I should be most curious to know which diversions you found worthy of your time.” He lifted an eyebrow, hoping she would oblige him with a response.

“That would depend on one’s definition of ‘worthy,’ Lord Brinton,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “Some might say that a lively discourse over dinner is worth far more than an evening spent at Almack’s.”

Her words were innocuous, but Henry sensed the challenge beneath them. She was not interested in idle talk, in the endless parade of empty compliments that filled most dinner conversations. She demanded more—she saw more. It was as if she could see through the facade he had so carefully cultivated.

He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with newfound respect. “I shall endeavor to keep our conversations lively, Miss Ashworth. It would be a tragedy indeed to bore a lady of your discernment.”

There was a beat of silence before Lily’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I have no doubt you will succeed, Lord Brinton. But be warned—I am not easily impressed.”

Henry’s brow arched, his interest piqued. “A challenge I warmly accept, Miss Ashworth. In fact, I look forward to it.”

“I am sure you do.” She smirked. “Let the games begin,” she replied, her gaze never leaving his.

After dinner, the guests retired to the drawing room, where the evening’s activities shifted to a quieter pace. Miss Smith took to the pianoforte, playing her melodies so softly it was almost drowned out by the clusters of conversation filling the space. Henry found himself once again surrounded by Miss Barrett and Miss Harper, both eager to continue their flirtations. But as they prattled on about upcoming social events, Henry’s attention drifted.

He caught Beatrice’s eye from across the room, and she smiled knowingly before announcing, “My dear guests, I do believe Lord Brinton has something prepared for us this evening—a recitation, perhaps?”

Henry raised an eyebrow in mild surprise but quickly recovered, flashing a smile. “Indeed, Lady Beatrice. I have a few verses that may suit the evening’s mood. It is a favorite from Edmund Ashcroft.”

With effortless grace, he rose from his chair, smoothing a hand over his waistcoat as he moved to the center of the room. The guests’ attention shifted toward him, a few whispers passing between the ladies. Henry glanced around, taking in their expectant faces. This was familiar ground—the kind of performance he had perfected over years of practice.

He cleared his throat, his voice deepening as he began to recite a poem he had long committed to memory. The words flowed easily from his lips, each verse crafted to charm, to stir the hearts of his listeners. As he spoke, his eyes wandered over the gathered guests.

“‘Amid the silvered twilight’s glow,

Where whispering winds do softly blow,

A heart doth yearn, in shadows deep,

For love’s sweet kiss, a dream to keep.

The moon’s soft light, a beacon bright,

Guides tender souls through endless night.

With every glance, with every sigh,

I long to catch love’s fleeting eye.

Yet time, it slips, like sand through glass,

And moments lost shall never pass.

So take this hand, before it’s late,

For love won’t pause, nor will it wait.’”

Lord Brinton’s voice flowed smoothly over the verses, and he permitted himself the indulgence of observing the reactions of the guests as he spoke. He noted the expected responses—Miss Barrett’s eyes wide with admiration, Miss Harper’s gaze fixed upon him, wholly enraptured. Their faces mirrored those of Miss Davenport, Miss Smith, Miss Colbrook, Miss Greaves, Lady Whitmore, and Lady Harriett. His hostess beamed with approval.

Yet, when his gaze rested upon Miss Ashworth, he observed no such expression. Her countenance was polite yet distant, as though the poetry held little appeal for her. She appeared bored rather than enchanted as the others were.

His voice lowered, rich and resonant, as he delivered the final stanza, his gaze sweeping over the room in a lingering arc.

“‘For hearts that beat in quiet fire,

Are kindled with a fierce desire.

And when at last our lips do meet,

The world itself shall know defeat.’”

When he finished, the room erupted in delighted applause, and the ladies at his side expressed their admiration in a chorus of effusive praise.

“Another, please,” Miss Jane Davenport urged.

“Yes, indeed!” Lady Harriett added eagerly.

Henry flashed each of them a gracious smile. “If you insist,” he replied, allowing the sentence to hang, drawing out their anticipation.

“Oh, we insist, we insist,” Miss Barrett cooed.

“Very well, then. I am at your service,” he said.

Miss Barrett appeared thoroughly enraptured, her hands clasped in her lap, lips parted in silent admiration. Her gaze flickered to him now and then, as though scarcely believing he was standing there, reciting solely for their delight. To his right, Miss Harper leaned forward ever so slightly, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass, her eyes bright with keen interest. They were both entranced, as he had expected.

But when his gaze found Miss Ashworth, a trace of his confidence faltered.

She sat with perfect composure, her hands neatly folded in her lap, her posture as serene as ever. Unlike the other ladies, she neither leaned forward nor hung upon his every word. Her expression remained polite, though marked by a distinct coolness, as if she were observing a performance she had encountered far too often. She nodded at the verses, her attention neither fully engaged nor entirely dismissive, but rather distant—detached.

For the briefest of moments, Henry’s voice faltered, though he recovered quickly, concluding the stanza with his customary polish. But the effect lingered. His usual assurance, the ease with which he commanded a room’s attention, seemed disconcertingly fragile in the face of her indifference.

As the final verse left his lips, the room again applauded with polite enthusiasm. Miss Barrett clapped ardently, her eyes brimming with admiration, while Miss Harper’s soft sigh of approval did not escape his notice.

Henry offered a slight bow, his smile as practiced as ever, though his gaze returned almost involuntarily to Miss Ashworth.

She did not gush, nor sigh, nor did she offer the faintest smile. Instead, she offered him a single, slow nod—measured and deliberate, as though she were acknowledging the effort more than the effect.

For a gentleman accustomed to basking in the warm glow of praise, her cool reaction unsettled him. The surrounding applause and adulation receded, and his focus narrowed upon that one unreadable expression.

He returned to his seat, and the guests resumed their conversations.

Miss Barrett leaned in toward him. “Your performance was truly exquisite, Lord Brinton. I daresay you are every bit Lord Byron’s equal. I can scarcely imagine enjoying even his performance as well as I enjoyed yours.”

Henry took the compliment graciously. “Miss Barrett, you bestow upon me a great compliment indeed. Yet, should you ever hear Byron himself, I should hope his verses might offer you equal pleasure.”

“Oh, I suppose they might, but truly, you were magnificent.”

Henry bestowed a charming smile upon her, responding with a polite nod.

It was, without question, the beginning of a very successful house party.