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

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

T he next morning, Lily sat in the sunlit drawing room of Wintervale Manor, her needle poised above an embroidery hoop holding her current project—a modest cluster of holly and ivy. As she worked, her eyes occasionally drifted toward the window, where she could see Lord Brinton conversing with Beatrice on the terrace.

His presence at Wintervale had been nothing short of a puzzle. She had known of Lord Brinton for years, his reputation preceding him at every turn—a charming rake with a penchant for wagers and fleeting dalliances. But his recent attentiveness, the way he seemed to seek her out at every opportunity, was something new and wholly unexpected. Lily couldn’t quite decide if she found it flattering or disconcerting. But one thing was certain, she was thinking about him quite often.

At first, she had thought little of it—a passing fancy, perhaps, that would soon wane. But his persistence was hard to ignore. He was always there, hovering at the edge of her vision, offering compliments that bordered on the absurd and smiles that seemed just a bit too practiced. It was as if he had set his sights on her for some inscrutable reason.

“Miss Ashworth, you look positively radiant this morning,” Lord Brinton had remarked warmly as they crossed paths in the corridor. “Much like the very first bloom of spring gracing the winter frost.”

Lily had raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. “Lord Brinton, I assure you, I am hardly so exceptional. Merely the same as I was yesterday, and the day before.”

Lord Brinton’s smile softened, undeterred. “Ah, but even the most steadfast beauty has its own singular charm with each new day, Miss Ashworth. ‘Tis the very passage of time that renders it all the more exquisite.”

Lily had continued on her way, muttering under her breath about the frivolity of men who spoke in florid phrases. But as much as she wanted to dismiss his flattery as mere folly, a small, traitorous part of her couldn’t help but feel a spark of warmth at the attention. It was nice, in a way, to be seen—even if she doubted the sincerity behind it.

Now, as she glanced toward the terrace, she caught his eye through the window. He smiled, lifting a hand in a casual wave, and Lily quickly looked away, focusing intently on her embroidery. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was flustered, though the quickened beat of her heart suggested otherwise.

Beatrice returned from the terrace, but Lord Brinton stayed outside, where two other gentlemen joined him.

Beatrice made her way around the room, stopping to talk to each of the ladies who were working on their different holiday embroidery projects. When she came over to Lily, she took a seat in the chair next to her. “Good morning, Lily.”

“Good morning, Beatrice.” Lily pulled her needle through the fabric, tangling the thread and requiring her to pull at it.

“Are you well?” Beatrice’s voice cut through her thoughts, gentle but probing. Beatrice had an uncanny knack for sensing when something was amiss, a trait that Lily both admired and found mildly irritating.

Lily forced a smile and looked up at her cousin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re usually on your second or third embroidery by now,” Beatrice said, scrutinizing the half-finished berries, where Lily had made very little progress.

Lily couldn’t deny the truth of her cousin’s words. She had not made much progress on the small design, though a couple of the other ladies were already finished and moving on to new projects. Lily jabbed the fabric with her needle. She would finish this and quickly. “I’m fine, Beatrice. Just a little distracted.”

Beatrice set down her teacup, her brow furrowing slightly. She glanced at the window. “It’s Lord Brinton, isn’t it? I see his initial attentiveness toward you has not waned.”

Lily’s needle stilled as she followed Beatrice’s gaze. Lord Brinton was still perfectly framed in the window. Like a portrait. A ridiculously handsome portrait of the man. He laughed and smiled with the two men outside as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And likely, he didn’t have any. He was as superficial as they came. No substance. Just laughter and smiles. But oh, what a smile. He looked at her through the window, his smile growing if that were physically possible. He lifted up a hand in greeting, and Lily immediately looked to her cousin, heat rising to her cheeks at having been caught staring, again .

She cleared her throat. “Attentive is one word for it,” she said dryly. “I might call it persistent. Or perhaps intrusive.”

Beatrice chuckled softly, gazing back to the window. “He seems quite taken with you. I’ve never seen him so … focused.”

“That’s precisely what worries me,” Lily admitted, setting her embroidery aside. “Lord Brinton is not known for his steadfastness, Beatrice. And yet here he is, shadowing my every step as if he’s suddenly decided I’m the only woman in the room.”

“Perhaps he’s changed,” Beatrice suggested, though her tone was more curious than convinced.

Lily shook her head, her skepticism unshaken. “People don’t change overnight, Beatrice. And certainly not men like him. He’s playing some kind of game—I’m sure of it.”

Beatrice sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Or perhaps he’s finally met someone who makes him want to try.”

“That seems unlikely.” She wanted to believe that was possible—that Lord Brinton could be more than the sum of his reputation. But the nagging feeling that he was simply toying with her, as he had with so many others, was hard to shake.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “You could give him the benefit of the doubt. What would it hurt to be less cynical?”

Beatrice’s gentle rebuke sobered her. “Very well, cousin. I shall look at it differently.”

Later that afternoon, as the household prepared for a walk in the gardens, Lord Brinton appeared at Lily’s side once more, his smile bright and disarmingly genuine.

“Miss Ashworth,” he greeted, falling into step beside her as they made their way down the grand staircase. “I hope I’m not imposing, but I wondered if you might allow me the pleasure of your company on our stroll. I had such a wonderful time with you the last time we were in the garden together.”

“You make it sound like it’s a tradition for us to walk together simply because we happened to do it once.”

He smiled. “And what is wrong with forming a tradition? Yes, I believe you have come up with the perfect idea. It should always be a tradition to walk with you.”

Lily hesitated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “You are persistent, Lord Brinton,” she remarked, her tone edged with caution. She remembered her promise to her cousin. She could remove her preconceived notions she had about him.

His smile widened, though there was a softness in his gaze that gave Lily pause. “Only because I find your company infinitely more engaging than that of my usual crowd.”

Lily stopped at the base of the stairs, turning to face him fully. “And what exactly do you hope to gain, Lord Brinton? Is this some kind of diversion for you? A passing fancy to occupy your time while we’re all trapped here in the snow?”

Lord Brinton’s expression sobered, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering. “I’ve no need for diversions when the present company is so captivating. Shall we?”

“If you insist, Lord Brinton.” She repressed a smile. What had gotten into her? She took his arm, allowing him to lead her through the gardens with the rest of the company. With so many around, their conversation was light and benign, and against her better judgment, she enjoyed every moment of it.

Henry had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to understand them, and, when necessary, to manipulate situations to his advantage. It was a skill that had served him well, both in business and in society.

But as he stood at the edge of Wintervale Manor’s ballroom as the guests gathered for an evening of festivities, his eyes once again drawn to Miss Ashworth, he found himself in unfamiliar territory.

There was an intelligence in her gaze and a quiet strength in the way she held herself. She did not seek attention, nor did she need it; she seemed perfectly content to remain on the fringes of the lively gathering, observing rather than participating.

As he watched her exchange a few words with her cousin, Lady Beatrice, Henry’s thoughts drifted to the conversation they had shared earlier. Her wit had been as quick as his, her words laced with a subtle challenge that had only deepened his interest. But there had been something else too—a flicker of vulnerability that she had tried to hide, but which he had glimpsed all the same.

It was that vulnerability that had stirred something within him, something he had not felt in years. A desire not just to win her over, but to know her, to understand her in a way that no one else did. It was a dangerous impulse, one that could lead to complications he had always sought to avoid. But try as he might, he could not shake it.

With a sigh, Henry pushed himself away from the wall and made his way toward the refreshment table. Perhaps a glass of wine would give him a moment’s reprieve from the turmoil of his thoughts. But before he could reach his destination, he found himself intercepted by an old friend.

“Brinton!” Lord Fairfax greeted him with a broad grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “You seem rather preoccupied, old boy. Whatever could have you so deep in thought on such a festive evening?”

Henry returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Merely contemplating the state of the world, Fairfax. Or perhaps just the state of the wine. I’m not quite sure which.”

Fairfax chuckled, shaking his head. “You always were a cryptic one. But if I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a woman involved. Is it Miss Ashworth? You’ve been watching her like a hawk all evening.”

Henry felt a flicker of irritation at his friend’s perceptiveness, but quickly masked it with a light-hearted response. “Can you blame me? She’s a rather intriguing specimen, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lord Fairfax arched an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “She is, indeed. Not the usual sort, though. Too clever by half, and not nearly interested enough in the business of catching a husband.”

Henry’s jaw tightened slightly, though he forced a chuckle. “And that is what makes her all the more fascinating. A woman who isn’t scheming for a ring on her finger—that’s a rarity in our circles.”

“True enough,” Fairfax agreed, though his tone was more serious now. “But a woman like that … well, she’s not the kind to be trifled with, Brinton. She’s spent her life being sensible, responsible. She’s not likely to fall for the usual tricks.”

Henry met his friend’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “Who said anything about tricks? I’m merely … curious.”

Fairfax studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp. “Curiosity has a way of turning into something else, Stanton. Just be sure you know what you’re getting into. Women like Miss Ashworth don’t play games—they’re all or nothing.”

Henry’s chest tightened at the words. He had always been careful, always kept his heart guarded, never letting himself get too close. But something about Lily Ashworth made him want to break all his rules, to take a risk he had never been willing to take before.

“I appreciate the advice, Fairfax,” Henry said finally, his tone light. “But I’m quite capable of managing my own affairs.”

“Of course you are,” Fairfax replied with a grin, though there was a note of warning in his voice. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, Fairfax clapped him on the shoulder once more and moved off to join another group of guests, leaving Henry alone with his thoughts.

He watched his friend go, the words echoing in his mind. All or nothing. It was a notion he had always avoided, preferring the safety of half-measures and calculated risks. But as he glanced back at Lily, now engaged in conversation with Lady Beatrice once more, he found himself questioning that strategy.

She was standing near the large windows that overlooked the snow-covered grounds, her figure silhouetted against the moonlight that streamed in. And as he watched her, he felt a strange pull, as though she were a puzzle he was meant to solve, a mystery he was meant to unravel.

Before he could second-guess himself, Henry made his way across the room, his steps purposeful but unhurried. He approached just as Lady Beatrice was excusing herself, leaving Miss Ashworth alone by the window.

“Miss Ashworth,” he said, his voice soft but carrying a warmth that surprised even him. “You seem lost in thought. I hope I am not intruding?”

Miss Ashworth turned to face him, her expression warm. “Lord Brinton. Not at all. I was merely admiring the view.”

“It is quite a sight,” Henry agreed, glancing out at the snow-covered landscape. “But I must confess, my thoughts were not on the scenery. I find my mind more occupied with the people inside.”

“Is that so?” Miss Ashworth replied, her tone light. “And what conclusions have you drawn from your observations, Lord Brinton?”

Henry met her gaze, holding it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “That there are some in this room who stand apart from the rest. Who do not conform to society’s expectations, and who are all the more remarkable for it.”

Her expression softened slightly, though she still seemed wary. “And do you count yourself among those, Lord Brinton? Or are you merely an observer?”

“A bit of both, I suppose,” Henry said with a small smile. “I have never been one to follow the crowd, though I do find it useful to understand it. But there are times when even I am taken by surprise, when someone defies my expectations in the most delightful way.”

Miss Ashworth studied him for a moment, her gaze searching. “And is that how you see me, Lord Brinton? As someone who defies expectations?”

“Indeed,” Henry replied, his tone sincere. “You stand out in the most remarkable way, Miss Ashworth. You do not seek attention, and yet you command it without effort. You are not swayed by flattery or charm, and that makes you all the more intriguing.”

Miss Ashworth’s lips curved into a small, almost rueful smile at the compliments, though she looked down at the fan in her hands. “Intriguing, perhaps, but not particularly desirable. I am well aware of my reputation, Lord Brinton. I am the sensible one, the responsible one—the woman who is always passed over in favor of her more … exciting sisters.”

Henry frowned, his chest tightening at the self-deprecating words. “You do yourself a great disservice, Miss Ashworth. Sensibility and responsibility are virtues, not flaws. And as for being passed over—I believe that is more a reflection of the blindness of others than of any deficiency on your part.”

Her gaze returned to his face and softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “You are very kind, Lord Brinton. But I have made my peace with it. I am content with my life as it is.”

“Contentment is not the same as happiness,” Henry said quietly, echoing the words he had overheard earlier in her conversation with Lady Beatrice. “And I cannot help but wonder if there might be more for you, Miss Ashworth—if only you would allow yourself to see it.”

Miss Ashworth’s breath caught, and for a moment, Henry feared he had overstepped. But then, to his surprise, she let out a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You are a most persistent man, Lord Brinton.”

Henry smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him at her response. “I have always enjoyed a challenge, Miss Ashworth. And I believe you are more open to new experiences than you give yourself credit for.”

She shook her head, though there was a hint of affection in her gaze. “You are incorrigible, Lord Brinton. But I must admit, you have given me much to think about.”

“That is all I could hope for,” Henry said, his tone gentle. “I would never presume to tell you how to live your life, Miss Ashworth. But I would very much like to be a part of it, if you would allow me.”

Her expression softened further, a trace of vulnerability flickering in her eyes. “I suppose we shall see, Lord Brinton. The night is still young, after all.”

Henry felt a surge of hope at her words, the softening of her defenses a small but significant victory. He knew better than to press his luck, however, and allowed the conversation to settle into a more comfortable rhythm.

“Indeed, the night is young,” he agreed, a lightness in his tone. “And I have it on good authority that Lady Beatrice has planned some rather diverting activities for later in the evening. I daresay there may even be some opportunities for mischief, should one be so inclined.”

Miss Ashworth arched a delicate brow, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. “Mischief, Lord Brinton? I should think you above such juvenile pursuits.”

Henry chuckled, a deep, rich sound that seemed to reverberate in the quiet space between them. “Ah, but you forget, Miss Ashworth, that a certain amount of mischief is necessary to maintain one’s sanity in such staid company. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I find that a well-timed jest or a playful challenge can reveal much about a person’s character.”

“And what, pray, do you hope to discover?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him with those sharp, inquisitive eyes.

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “I hope to discover whether Miss Ashworth is as immune to fun as she claims to be.”

Miss Ashworth couldn’t help but laugh at that, a genuine, unguarded sound that caught Henry off guard. The moment was brief, but in it, Henry saw a glimpse of the woman she might have been had she not shouldered so many burdens. It was as if, for that instant, she had forgotten her duty and allowed herself to simply be present.

“You are still incorrigible, Lord Brinton,” she said again, though this time there was a warmth in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “But I must admit, your company is not entirely disagreeable.”

“High praise indeed,” Henry said with mock solemnity. “I shall treasure it always.”

“Perhaps you should,” she replied, her tone teasing. “For I do not offer such compliments lightly.”

“Tell me, Lord Brinton,” Miss Ashworth said after a short pause, her curiosity getting the better of her, “you speak of mischief and jest, but I suspect there is more to you than meets the eye. You seem to delight in the company of others, yet you watch them as though you are apart from them. Why is that?”

Henry hesitated. He was used to deflecting, to keeping others at arm’s length with humor or charm, but something about Miss Ashworth made him want to be honest. She had seen through his facade more quickly than most, and he found that he respected her all the more for it.

“It’s true,” he admitted quietly, his gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight on the mantel. “I have always found it easier to observe from the edges, to understand people by watching rather than engaging. It gives one a certain … clarity, I suppose.”

“And yet, here you are, engaging with me,” Miss Ashworth pointed out, her tone soft but probing. “What changed?”

Henry’s eyes met hers, the intensity of her gaze catching him off guard. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “I have grown weary of observing. Or perhaps I have simply met someone worth engaging with.”

“I had expected a quip or a deflection.”

“I can be known to speak plainly.”

Before he could say more, a playful voice interrupted them.

“Lord Brinton! Miss Ashworth!” Beatrice’s voice rang out across the ballroom. “We are about to begin a game of hide and seek. You must join us.”

Miss Ashworth glanced at him with an expectant look on her face. Henry offered her a crooked smile. “Well, it seems the evening’s excitement is far from over. Will you join the game, Miss Ashworth?”

Miss Ashworth hesitated only for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. It seems I have little choice.”

Henry’s smile widened. “That’s the spirit.”

As the guests gathered for the game, Henry couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building. There was something about the way Miss Ashworth carried herself, the way she kept him at a careful distance, that made him eager to discover more. And tonight, perhaps, he’d find the opportunity to do just that.