Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“ T here you are. I was wondering when you would be making an appearance. Looking for your new intended, are we?” Arthur Eagleton came striding towards Simon with a glass of whisky in hand.

The glint in his friend’s eyes let Simon know that he had already imbibed in more than was good for him.

Folding his arms across his chest, Simon allowed the corner of his mouth to tilt into something that very closely resembled a smile. “I know we have been close since Eton, Arthur, but I cannot say that I fancy you in that manner. Thank you very much for your proposal though, I am truly flattered.”

“Are you not sweet, saying you are looking for me when both of us know that it is Lady Octavia’s appearance that you are dreading?” Arthur rolled his eyes and stopped in front of his friend, taking a large sip from his glass.

“Are not you starting a bit early with the whisky this evening?” Simon shot back and eyed the half-empty glass of amber liquid.

At the age of twenty-seven, Arthur had garnered quite a reputation for himself as a rake. His sandy-blonde hair, light brown eyes, and friendly face made him somewhat of a favorite with the ladies of the ton.

“Come now, Simon, you know it is never too early for a glass of whisky; besides, I can hold my drink better than any man here.” He downed the last few drops and placed the glass on the tray of a passing footman before gesturing to the room at large.

It was Simon’s turn to roll his eyes as he pushed himself off of the pillar. “That is what you always say then I inevitably end up scraping you off of the floor and dragging you to your chambers.

“That is quite judgmental coming from a man who suddenly finds himself betrothed,” Arthur said scathingly. “Tell me, were you going to let me in on your little secret? Or were you waiting for the papers to announce the birth of your first child?”

“There was not any time to tell you about the development. It has only been three days; I have barely had time to process matters myself,” Simon grumbled and shook his head.

It had been three days of nonstop planning and relatives congratulating him on what the rest of the ton perceived as the most romantic match of the century.

If only they knew the truth.

His shoulders tensed as he looked over the heads of the rest of the guests. “I have to marry her. You will have heard by now that Augustus has decided to disappear at the most inopportune moment. I have no other choice but to marry the girl and lessen the scandal he has created.” He lowered his voice so that only his friend could hear him.

“By God, that is quite a predicament. I can understand now why you were not announcing it from the rooftops.” Arthur let out a low whistle. “Augustus certainly owes you his fair share of inheritance when he returns. Or at least a drink.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Simon grumbled under his breath and ignored his friend’s teasing.

“Cheer up old chap; things are not all that bleak. You are engaged to one of the most beautiful women of the ton. I will be honest with you; I have tried to flirt with her on occasion but to no avail. She is quite the stiff upper lip when it comes to morals and things like that. Perhaps she will be able to break through those iron barriers of yours.” He shot a charming smile at a passing group of young women who giggled and hid behind their fans.

She is not willing to flirt with just any man.

Simon grew slightly impressed despite his resolve not to find her attractive. Any woman who refused to flirt for the sake of flirting was rare enough among the ladies of the ton.

Winking at one of the girls who had caught his attention, Arthur drew Simon’s attention back to their conversation.

“Do you ever think of anything other than women and drinking?” Simon asked him in a scathing tone, wanting to divert the conversation away from himself.

Arthur stood up a little straighter and fixed his cuffs. “I would never dream of thinking of anything else. What would the ladies and the distillers say?” he remarked with a smirk.

“You know, Arthur, you mock me, but one of these days, someone is going to see past all of your jesting,” Simon shot back triumphantly.

His friend did not seem to be paying any attention to what he was saying as Arthur suddenly perked up and smiled at a lady from across the room.

Simon cast his gaze in the direction of Arthur’s attention and noted Lady Trowbridge throwing suggestive glances at his friend.

The widow had often been a favorite flirtation of Arthur’s since her husband’s passing. Her bright blond hair was piled atop her head in an elaborate updo. The black dress clung to her body like a glove as she skillfully leaned over a table and allowed her bosom to bulge over the low-cut neckline.

“If you would excuse me, there is someone that I have been dying to pay my respects to.” Arthur’s smile only broadened as he set off toward the woman without waiting for a response.

“Insufferable rake,” Simon muttered under his breath, despite his amusement with the situation.

Deep down, he knew that his friend possessed a heart of gold despite his flitting from flirtation to flirtation. Arthur used his rakish ways to keep others at bay as much as Simon treated others with cool indifference.

“There you are, Your Grace, I was wondering if I would find you here this evening.” Lady Nordshire approached Simon with a bright smile, echoing Arthur’s sentiments from earlier.

“Forgive me, My Lady, I did not wish to disturb you while you were busy entertaining your other, far more esteemed guests.” Simon quickly slipped back into his aloof demeanor and forced a smile as he bowed to his hostess.

Lady Nordshire seemed flattered once again despite the lack of compliments in Simon’s greeting. “Do not be silly, Your Grace. There is nobody more esteemed than you this evening. You must allow me to square you about. There are so many people who wish to offer you their congratulations.” She held out her arm for Simon before he could even protest.

Looking over his shoulder at his friend who was busy guiding Lady Trowbridge out of the room, he begrudgingly accepted the hostess’ offer. Eager masses of ill-informed socialites beamed at him from across the room, bringing a nauseating ache to his stomach.

Three hours had passed before Simon found himself once again leaning against the same pillar he had started at. The sheer number of people he had had to meet and feign conversation with had left him with a tiresome feeling of irritation. His facial muscles were practically stiff from faking a smile.

He scanned the room once more and frowned when he could not catch a glimpse of his intended bride or even his friend.

Did she not attend the soiree this evening?

His annoyance grew at her absence. They were two days away from getting married, and she did not seem to be upholding her end of the bargain. There were social expectations that needed to be met if they were to present a convincing front.

“Your Grace, where have you gotten to?” Lady Nordshire’s voice carried over the heads of the rest of the guests.

He quickly looked up to see the hostess craning her head over the other guests. The wilting peacock feathers gave the distinct appearance of a tall, wobbly bird.

Oh, Lord, I cannot take it anymore.

Simon’s eyes darted around the room before spotting a clear path between the throng of guests. Ducking under a tray that was being carried by a footman, he made his escape and entered the same hall he had seen Arthur disappearing into a few hours earlier. At least if anyone came searching for him, he would be able to use the excuse that he was looking for his friend.

Picking a direction that seemed most likely, he headed toward a door where a sliver of light was pouring into the empty hallway. He assumed that Arthur would be finished with any kind of compromising position if the door had been left ajar.

“I thought I might find you in here…” Simon paused with his hand against the wood when sounds of retching met his ears. “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

He pushed open the door to find his friend bent over a potted plant.

The large fern in question seemed to be on the receiving end of unwanted fertilizer.

“I only gave him a little brandy; I did not know he had had so much at the beginning of the evening. He had barely had a few sips when he started to look rather green,” Lady Trowbridge explained apologetically with a sheepish look before biting her lower lip anxiously.

Simon noted her untidy appearance and the smudged edges of her lipstick and wondered how far they had gotten before Arthur became ill.

Arthur retched uncontrollably again with an ungodly sound that seemed to emanate from the pit of his stomach. “Someone is trying to poison me.” He lifted his face ever so slightly to reveal his flushed cheeks before heaving again.

Rolling his eyes, Simon came forward and patted him on the back. “Nobody is trying to poison you; I tried to warn you earlier in the evening that you needed to slow down.”

Coming up straight, Arthur wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “I was only trying to lighten the mood. You were being such a downer with your talk about forced marriage and obligation. You should all be grateful that I did not throw myself off the nearest balcony.” He stumbled toward an armchair and slumped into the cushions with his face buried in his hands.

Lady Trowbridge instantly came to his aid with a fresh handkerchief and began to mop his brow as his head lulled back. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I have not yet offered my congratulations on your impending nuptials.” She gave Simon a polite smile while wiping the sweat from Arthur’s brow.

“Thank you, but no congratulations are needed. The marriage is one of convenience. I would not be going ahead with it if it were not for my grandmother’s illness and the fact that my younger brother has shirked his responsibilities.” The long evening finally wore on him as he grew tired of keeping up the charade.

The woman seemed taken aback as she paused for a second before wiping the rest of Arthur’s face. “I am sorry to hear of your grandmother’s ill health. Surely the match is not entirely unagreeable, Your Grace? Lady Octavia is a smart young lady, not to mention beautiful and well-bred.”

Clenching his jaw, Simon stood and looked around the room for a pitcher of water. “While I do not know her very well, Lady Octavia is more than likely an innocent debutant and a saccharine virgin. Our marriage is nothing more than a formality to save the family’s honor.”

Hurried footsteps from outside the door drew their attention away from their conversation as both Lady Trowbridge and Simon looked up.

Shrugging it off as a passing footman, Simon watched as Lady Trowbridge turned back to Arthur.

“That is quite harsh, Your Grace; I am sure that the young lady is much more than that.” She barely hid her resentment at his cool remarks.

Simon let out a sigh of irritation. “Be that is it may, the marriage is a formality and a duty. If you will excuse me, I need some fresh air. I will send up a footman discreetly to deal with the aftermath.” He bowed politely and exited the room in search of a little quiet.

Why did everyone feel the need to romanticize the marriage that he did not want in the first place?

He grumbled to himself before spotting an open terrace, and he headed straight for it. His relief at having a moment to himself was short-lived as he spotted a figure on the corner of the quiet balcony.

“I beg your pardon; I did not mean to intrude.” He cleared his throat apologetically and took a step back.

The pit of his stomach knotted with a strange sensation when a beautiful woman stepped into view.

Her beautiful blue eyes, which reminded him of a cat, flashed with anger as a light breeze blew strands of her raven hair across her face. “There is no need to apologize, Your Grace; I will leave.” She lifted her dress and attempted to step past him when he blocked her path.

“Please do not let me drive you away; I can leave if you wish me to.” He examined the veiled expression on her face, wondering if she was angry at him because of their impending marriage.

“That is quite considerate of you.” She cocked her head to the side in defiance and lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes in what seemed like a challenge.

An unexpected wave of desire rushed through his body as his eyes moved over her body in the dim light of the moon. Her almost olive skin shone against the fabric of her dark blue dress. Just for a moment, he felt as if he would have been utterly amenable to her beauty if the circumstances had been any different.

Her full, kissable lips parted ever so slightly as she cocked an eyebrow in his direction.

Realizing that he had been staring at her, Simon cleared his throat again. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing at all, Your Grace. I am merely contemplating my future as a saccharine virgin. That was what you called me, was it not?”

“Who are you?” Simon felt a wave of shock run through his body when he suddenly realized who she must be.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she proudly lifted her chin in the air. “Do you not recognize your saccharine virgin, Your Grace? I am Octavia Townshend.”