Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

A aron walked beside Judith as they headed toward his friends. He hadn't told either of his friends why he wanted to introduce her, only mentioning she was a lovely young lady. He didn't want to cloud their perception of her by telling them he'd been tasked to find her a husband.

Indeed, Aaron had decided the best thing he could do for Lady Judith was to let her make her own choice. All he would do was to facilitate meetings. She seemed self-assured enough. In fact, she was so confident that he thought her a little haughty. But he'd let her do things on her own terms and hope for the best.

He knew he should be more committed to the project, but the truth was, if Oliver had told him how vexing Judith still was, he might have made an excuse to get out of it. In fact, it occurred to him now that Oliver had been purposely obtuse when it came to what exactly Aaron's role would be—until he'd already arrived at the manor and Judith had been told.

Oliver could be a scoundrel, but Aaron loved his friend too much to stay mad at him for too long.

Still, the truth was, the more time he spent around Judith, the more daunting his task became. She clearly did not want his company any more than he wanted hers, nor did she think she needed his help. On his way here, he'd considered telling her the truth, that it was either this or her brother would marry her off to a man without consulting her. But she'd been so combative, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her present discomfort a little bit.

Was that unkind? Perhaps, but she had spent much of their childhood doing all she could to annoy and trouble him.

Did she remember that? He certainly did. One time, she'd placed a frog into his shoe, causing him to squeal in front of her parents and their polite company. Another time, she'd salted his shaved ice during dinner.

Aaron smiled as he thought back to those days, but his thoughts were interrupted when they reached Henry and their mutual friend, Sir Marius.

"Sir Marius, Lord Guernsey, allow me to introduce you to Lady Judith Birks," Aaron said, his tone warm.

Henry turned, a friendly smile spreading across his face. "Lady Judith, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Judith managed a stiff smile. "Lord Guerdsney, the pleasure is mine."

"Guernsey," Henry whispered, and her eyes widened a fraction.

He chuckled. "It is a most awkward name, Lady Judith, do not worry," he said kindly as her cheeks grew red.

Aaron had stopped himself from grinning because all of Lady Judith's bravado had suddenly evaporated.

Not so cocky now, eh wot?

"Lady Judith has just rejoined Society after a period of mourning," he explained, hoping to set expectations.

While he enjoyed seeing her taken down a peg, he didn't want to totally ruin her confidence.

Henry nodded understandingly. "Of course. Lady Judith, I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you. Please, do accept my condolences."

Judith shifted, her eyes darting from one to the other. "Yes, it has been. But it seems time goes on, and so must we, yes?"

Henry nodded. "Indeed, it does. If there's anything I can do to make your return to Society easier, please don't hesitate to ask."

Judith bit her lip, clearly nervous. "Well, thank you, Lord Guernsey. That's very kind of you."

There was an awkward silence.

Aaron could see that Judith was struggling. In fact, she was struggling more than he'd expected. Somehow, he'd assumed once she was past the initial awkwardness, she'd rise to the occasion and charm Henry into next Wednesday. Alas, the opposite was true. She appeared to be shrinking into herself.

"Lady Judith is among Society's most accomplished young ladies," he boasted, not certain if there was any truth to this.

"Is that so? Pray, what are your favorite activities?" Henry asked eagerly, his eyes resting on her.

Judith looked at Aaron, her eyes wide with panic. "Um, well, I enjoy reading, mostly. And, uh, embroidery. I… embroider. On… materials."

What in the world was she doing? Hadn't she assured him she knew how to find herself a husband? Perhaps Oliver had been right and she needed more help than Aaron had first imagined.

He decided to change the subject.

"Henry, have you heard about the new exhibition at the Royal Academy?"

Henry's eyes lit up. "I have! Lady Judith, do you enjoy art?"

Judith's eyes darted to Aaron, then back to Henry. "I… I do, yes."

Aaron stared at her, willing her to say something more than just yes. But she stood like a statue, not even blinking.

He stepped in, trying to salvage the situation. "Lady Judith, Henry has a great appreciation for art. Which piece is your favorite?"

"I like… I…"

He saw a sweat pearl on her forehead and felt guilty now for doing this to her. Clearly throwing her feet first into the water had been a dreadful mistake.

"Perhaps a piece by Vermeer? I recall you…" Aaron started, but to his surprise, she turned and walked away quickly, leaving him and Henry standing there.

Henry looked at him, his brow furrowed. "Did I say something wrong?"

Aaron sighed. "No, Henry, it's not you. I should have prepared her better. I didn't know she'd be so…" He waved a hand. "Excuse me."

Quickly, Aaron sprinted after Judith's retreating figure, feeling a pang of guilt. He had hoped this introduction would go smoothly, but it seemed he had miscalculated her readiness for such an encounter. Not only had she made a cake of herself, but she'd also made him look like a fool for introducing her.

Then again, there was something rather amusing about the way she'd just turned and run away like a petulant child. He remembered her doing this when they were younger. Whenever she found herself confronted with a situation she could not control, she'd bolt.

As he followed her, the awkwardness of the situation was replaced by memories from their shared childhood, and by the time he caught up with her, he couldn't help but see the little girl she'd once been. Especially as the pose she stood in—leaning against a tree with her arms and legs crossed and her bottom lip pushed out—conjured up many imagines from the past. She truly hadn't changed much at all.

"Judith," he said gently, approaching her, though he suppressed a smile. "I must beg your pardon. I did not mean to put you on the spot."

Judith looked at him, her eyes glistening with an unexpected defiance. "Oh, did you not? For it seemed as though you all but dragged me into this meeting."

And there she was, the petulant, hard-headed girl he'd always known. His sympathy evaporated rapidly.

"You told me you were ready to meet gentlemen," he fired back. "Although to me, it looked as though you'd never spoken to a man in all your life."

"On the contrary, I have mingled with London's finest nobles. I have conversed with Italian counts, and… and… I was simply not prepared to be pushed into a courtship just like this. I am very sorry my brother imposed this on you, but I assure you, I do not need you. I am perfectly capable of?—"

"Finding a husband on your own? By butchering a gentleman's name, stammering and praising your skillful embroidery of ‘materials'?"

He chuckled now because her pride seemed to have gotten the best of her, rather than a bout of despair he feared he'd brought on.

"You were presenting me to him as though I were a prized mare at the market," she hissed. "Without letting me so much as collect myself. I dare say, if you wished to have a career in matchmaking, I'd urge you to reconsider, for you are terrible at it."

"A governess, a matchmaker—have you any other suggestions for possible careers for me, Lady Judith?" he asked with a smirk.

She looked at him for a moment, her lips pressed together, and then a small smile appeared on her lips.

"Lady Patroness at Almack's perhaps, since you pride yourself on your connections."

At this, a genuine laugh escaped him. She had a true sense of humor, this young lady. Still, he needed to address the matter at hand.

"I shall consider your suggestion. Now, I can see you are witty and strong-willed, but I must say, if what I saw back there was any indication, you are not as skilled at making civil whiskers as you might have thought. Regardless of whether I was a little hasty in my quest to introduce you or not."

"Your Grace is awful for speaking to a lady in such a manner." She puckered her lips in an adorable yet petulant manner.

Aaron's expression softened. "I didn't mean to offend you. I only want to help. I know you want to find a husband."

Judith crossed her arms, her stance defiant. "I appreciate your concern, but I don't need your help."

He took a step closer, his tone more serious. "I beg to differ. Your brother will take matters into his own hands when he returns. Would it not be preferable if I helped you learn how to be charming and find a husband, so you can succeed before he returns? For, I dare say, Oliver is a great many things, but a matchmaker is not one of them. You'd have to agree to follow my orders on the matter, of course."

The idea of her brother making a match for her seemed to sufficiently disturb her, for her eyes went wide and her nostrils flared.

"You want me to follow your orders?" she asked, skeptical. "That seems rather demanding, Your Grace."

"I shall not demand that you do anything you do not wish to do, but I know a great many people, and I can make introductions. And I am rather well known for my charms, and you could benefit from that."

He knew he sounded high in the instep, but the fact of the matter was that he was right. He had a reputation for being charming—and for being hard to charm himself. It would do her good to pay attention.

She pursed her lips, considering his point. "Very well. But know this—I'm agreeing to this only because it serves my purpose, not because I particularly enjoy your company."

Aaron grinned. "Finally, something we can agree upon. Now, do you have a voucher for Almack's?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course, I do."

"Good, as do I. In fact, one of my aunts is a Lady Patroness," he revealed and grinned at her. "So, I propose that the two of us go to Almack's tomorrow. I will ensure every gentleman will want to dance with you. We will fill up your dance card. I guarantee, your feet will hurt by the end of the night."

She sighed, more resigned than anything else. "I suppose we could do that. But I ought to warn you, I have not danced in a very long time," she said with a small shrug.

"Well then, I suppose the first dance shall have to go to me, won't it? I assure you, my toes are made of steel, so you can step on them as many times as you need," he assured her, suddenly determined to make her feel more comfortable, so the entire evening did not end in disaster.

The last thing he needed was for her to run out of Almack's as she had just done.

She flashed him a small smile, but something about her gave him pause. She'd spoken with her shoulders pulled back and her head held high, but there was something different about her. She appeared defeated, though she did her best not to show it. Alas, it was written in her eyes and the corners of her lips, which were downturned.

A part of him felt badly for the position she was in. Sometimes, in his desire to be rid of this responsibility, he forgot that in the end, she was just a young woman who'd lost her father and whose brother had given her over to the care of someone who might as well have been a stranger.

She might grate on his nerves and fight him at every turn, but there was something about her that touched him, for he'd seen that beyond her independence, there was a vulnerable young woman. And that tenderness and uncertainty made him want to protect her—a feeling he'd never expected until this very moment.