Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

" L ord Feverton is staring at me," Victoria said fretfully.

Cressida looked across Lady Beaumont's garden. She had been highly aware of Lord Feverton's presence from the moment they'd arrived at this party, of course, and she didn't like the way he made her feel at all. It was as if the ground was sloping away beneath her feet and she was at risk of a dangerous fall. She felt shaky and precarious, and she wasn't used to either of those feelings. Usually she felt so stable and on top of things.

Was it just the fact that Victoria was upset that had her ill at ease? She didn't think so, somehow. Cressida was accustomed to being the one who kept her calm when her sister was distressed, so it didn't make sense that Victoria being upset would have bothered her like this. No—it was something about Lord Feverton himself, something about the way he kept stealing glances at her, as though he was making up his mind about her.

She had left his house feeling confident that she would win him over to her proposal of marriage, that whatever form of proof of her worthiness he sought would be easy to provide. But in the intervening day, seeds of doubt had sprouted, and now she was no longer sure. What if she couldn't persuade him?

Worse again, what if he had been toying with her? Wha if he had never meant to allow her a chance to marry him, and it had only ever been a ruse? If he was the sort of gentleman to do something like that she would be even more determined not to allow him anywhere near her sister, but she had to concede that it would make matters much more difficult if he was that determined to have Victoria.

She was just going to have to talk to him. It was the only way to resolve matters.

"He's not staring at you," she told Victoria. "He's staring at me. Why don't you go get yourself something to eat, and you and I will speak in a little while? Right now, I'll go and see what he wants."

She touched her sister's arm reassuringly, then broke away from Victoria and crossed the lawn.

Lord Feverton watched her approach, not changing his expression or moving to intercept her. It was as if he was watching a stage show, something for his entertainment. She felt strange and rather upset as she got closer to him, wondering what the conversation would be like. He had promised to speak with her today. Surely he would do that much, wouldn't he?"

"Ah," he said, when she was close enough that he could speak to her without being overheard. "I recognize you. You're that boy who came to my house the other night."

He gave her a wicked smile, and Cressida froze her face. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "You said you would have something for me to do," she reminded him. "Something that would prove my merit to you."

"You don't waste any time."

"No, I thought we had established that I didn't waste time," she agreed. "And why would I? Is there something good about a waste of time? Would you consider me more worthy of marriage if I did waste your time?"

"All right, all right." He raised his eyebrows. "We'll get directly to it, then."

"Yes, please."

"I'm trying to arrange a conversation with the Earl of Brockhurst."

"You need me for this? Just go and talk to him."

"It's not that simple. The earl speaks to no one apart from his wife, and he takes offense if anyone approaches him. What I need is for him to initiate a conversation with me . If you can get him to do that, I will know that you have the social skills I'm looking for in a wife."

"And then you'll marry me and leave my sister be?"

"That was the agreement, yes."

"Very well. Which gentleman is the earl?"

Lord Feverton inclined his head toward a gentleman. At once, Cressida's heart dropped, for she could see the problem. It was clear that Lord Feverton had chosen the most difficult gentleman possible to use as a test for her.

The Earl of Brockhurst had isolated himself from everyone else at the party. He stood with a lady who had to be his wife, and their heads were bent together in deep conversation. It was the sort of behavior that Cressida knew her own father would have reprimanded her for, and he would have been right to do so. The earl was being deeply antisocial. Cressida would have been surprised to see him speak to anyone at all apart from his wife, never mind herself—a complete stranger to him.

She was good in social settings, and she knew it. But how was she supposed to get this man to cooperate with her desires? It seemed impossible.

"I don't even know him," she said to Lord Feverton. "He and I have never spoken before."

"What is that to me? You bragged to me of your skill in society. You said that you, not your sister, would be the wife I sought. Were you bluffing? Are you unequal to this task?"

"That's not what I said." It was obvious to Cressida that she was going to have to try. There was no room for failure here. If she wasn't able to prove herself, Lord Feverton would likely return to insisting on a marriage to Victoria, and Cressida knew that she couldn't allow that to happen.

The truth was, it made perfect sense that the marquess would want Victoria and not her. If you discounted all the pragmatic reasons to consider Cressida as a wife, Victoria was the better choice. She was the obedient one. She was the one who hadn't put on men's clothes and gone out after dark. Cressida had to prove herself if she was going to overcome that impression, and she knew it.

"Don't worry," she said firmly. "I'll get the earl to come and speak to you."

Lord Feverton gave her a dubious look. "We'll just see if you do."

But Cressida was determined to succeed. She made her way over to the earl and waited for him to emerge from the conversation he was having with his wife.

And waited.

After a moment, it became clear to her that this would be no brief wait—and that, in fact, simply waiting for his attention would not be satisfactory as a strategy. He glanced over his shoulder, clearly noticing her there, and drew ever nearer to his wife. It was abundantly apparent that he was now deliberately avoiding conversation with her, that he knew she wished to speak to him and was refusing to permit the conversation.

She could play this game too. "Excuse me," she said, "Lord Brockhurst?"

He didn't respond.

Such rudeness! She found herself wondering why Lord Feverton wanted to speak to this unpleasant man in the first place. If they had business together, Lord Brockhurst would have wanted to conduct it, so whatever this was about, it must be something else.

Well, whatever it was, Cressida didn't need to know. She only needed to persuade him to go and speak to Lord Feverton. As soon as that had been done, her mission would be accomplished, and she could move on.

How to get his attention? Or rather, how to get him to concede that he had noticed her, for they both knew that he had. Cressida needed to wait until something else had happened to interrupt his interaction with his wife, and then she would make her move.

It was hardly fair. She would have been perfectly capable of gaining the attention of anyone who adhered to normal social behaviors. That was what she had claimed to be good at, and she was good at it. It occurred to her now that of course Lord Feverton had chosen this difficult man in order to test her, to see just how good she was. Perhaps this was his way of punishing Cressida for daring to interfere with his marriage plans.

Well, that just made her feel more determined than ever to succeed! He mustn't think she was going to be this easily defeated. He was underestimating her considerably if that was what he believed—and Cressida felt a small surge of satisfaction at the knowledge that, after all, she was more clever than he realized, and that she was going to defeat this little test he had set for her.

All that remained to be seen was how she was going to do that.

She waited, hoping that someone would come along and take Lady Brockhurst away, summon her attention to something else, for if they did, Lord Brockhurst would become easy to approach, having no one else to talk to. If she had thought it through in advance, she might have gone about this differently—approached Lady Brockhurst first and asked her to come for a drink or something. She wondered if it would have worked. Was Lady Brockhurst as difficult as her husband?

There was no way of knowing now. She couldn't change her approach now that she had been seen.

"Well?" said a voice from behind her. "Have you decided to give it up?"

She turned and was flustered by the sight of Lord Feverton. "You've been watching me the whole time, haven't you?"

"Of course I have. I want to see whether you succeed at this. So far, I must say, you're not impressing me very much."

"You've hardly given me any time. You said yourself that he wasn't going to want to speak to me—and you're right. He hasn't wanted to. I tried to speak to him , but he only ignores me. I haven't figured out how to talk to him yet, much less get him to do what I might ask him to do."

"This was supposed to be what you were skilled at. That's what you told me," Lord Feverton said.

He didn't seem angry. He was still smiling that arrogant smile that had always made Cressida feel so frustrated with him. She wished more than anything that he would stop.

"You've got to give me a chance," she said. "If you want me to prove myself, you have to give me at least a little bit of time. And you need to stop watching me like a hawk. I'm never going to be able to get the task done if I have to worry about what you're thinking about me every moment."

"Well, that isn't how London society works at all," Lord Feverton smirked. "Of course you've got to worry about what people are thinking about you at all times, and most especially if you are to be my wife. So I'll give you more time. You'll have until the end of this party to achieve the task I've set for you. But don't imagine for a moment that I won't be watching you the whole time, because of course I will. I want to see what you're going to do, and you ought to be prepared to have an audience in all you do if you're so skilled at navigating society.

He winked at her and pulled back, disappearing into a passing group of people—but Cressida knew that his eyes were still on her.