Page 16 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
ChapterTen
Moonlight streamed in through the windows of William’s study, casting long, stark shadows on the polished mahogany of the desk. His eyes stared unseeing at the scattered papers and ledgers before him, his mind replaying the whispered conversation he had accidentally overheard in the hallway.
“Trap him into marriage,” the words echoed in his mind, the voice unmistakably belonging to Eris Saffron’s father. A flame of fury ignited within him. The innocent-looking angel, Eris, a puppet in her parents’ insidious plan. His grip tightened around the crystal tumbler of brandy in his hand. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat. His fears, it seemed, were not unfounded.
With a huff of indignation, he downed the remaining brandy in his glass. Its burn did little to quell his churning emotions. He needed to warn Cassian, to protect his naive, carefree younger brother from the predatory Saffrons.
William found Cassian in the drawing room, surrounded by a gaggle of ladies, a glass of champagne loosely held in his hand. His brother’s eyes were glazed, a drunken grin plastered across his face. Off to the side, a middle-aged man with a graying beard, a widowed father of one of the young ladies, was attempting to woo the Dowager Countess with his overly sentimental sonnets. The Dowager was visibly flustered by his persistent attention, her fans fluttering more frequently in a desperate bid to maintain her composure. It was an amusing spectacle, but William was too distraught to appreciate it.
“Cassian,” William began, his voice tight with concern. His brother, however, brushed him off, his slurred words breaking off into a carefree laugh. From across the room, the widowed father took a break from his recitations to send William a knowing wink, assuming he was vying for the attention of the young ladies as he was with the Dowager Countess.
“William,” Cassian interrupted, his speech slurred, “look at all these pretty ladies. I can’t possibly think of sleep.”
William sighed, a mixture of frustration and concern. “You’re acting like a child, Cassian. You need to be more cautious. Protect yourself.”
Cassian merely waved a dismissive hand, sinking deeper into the plush chaise lounge. “I wouldn’t mind being trapped into marriage with any of these ladies,” he mumbled before his eyes fluttered shut, the steady rise and fall of his chest indicating he had succumbed to his drunken stupor.
With a grimace, William left his brother to slumber and returned to the drawing-room, the giggles and whispers of the ladies reaching his ears before he even entered. Upon seeing him, they eagerly beckoned him over, demanding he join them in their game. The widowed father had now moved on to quoting Shakespeare to the Dowager Countess, who was still struggling to maintain her decorum amidst the continuous onslaught of his flirting. It was a sideshow that would have been entertaining under different circumstances, but tonight, it only seemed to add to the absurdity of the entire situation.
As he dutifully complied with the young ladies’ wishes, his mind, however, was elsewhere. It was on a certain Miss Eris and the deceitful parents who sought to ensnare his brother.
William rejoined the ladies, the buzz of their chatter filling his ears as he sank into an armchair by the fireside. As a footman poured him another glass of brandy, the ladies busied themselves, setting up a game of Speculation.
“Are you quite fond of cards, Lord Thornhill?” Felicity Patterson asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
William took a measured sip of his brandy, the amber liquid burning a trail of warmth down his throat. He shrugged. “I suppose they’re a fitting metaphor for life, are they not?”
“Oh? How so?” the Duchess of Eastwick piped up, her feathered fan fluttering in curiosity.
“Well, we’re all dealt a hand, are we not?” he started, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. “We can strategize, bluff, play our best cards, and yet, sometimes the game has already been decided by forces outside of our control.” His words, though cryptic, echoed the weight he felt, the burdens of his responsibilities that pressed down on him.
A murmur passed through the ladies, their expressions varying between amusement and bewilderment. William simply swirled the remaining brandy in his glass, his eyes catching the dancing flames of the fire. His mind drifted back to the eavesdropped conversation, Eris’ parents, and their plot. He took a deep swallow of his drink, his eyes straying to where Eris would have been sitting if she had not retired for the evening. The cards were already on the table, he mused, and the game was most certainly afoot.
As the ladies resumed their game, William found himself watching the shifting expressions on their faces with a detached fascination. The hopeful glimmers in their eyes, the anticipation with each card played, the quiet despair when a round was lost. It felt like a grotesque parody of the marriage market they were all embroiled in.
“I believe it’s your turn, Lord Thornhill,” Lady Charity prompted, her tone soft and suggestive.
William absently flicked his card onto the table, his focus clearly elsewhere. “Is it? My apologies. I seem to be losing track.”
Their laughter chimed in his ears like delicate wind chimes, artificially sweet. He forced a polite smile in response. The room felt like it was spinning. He needed to get out, to escape this stifling atmosphere.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, struggling to rise from his seat. He gave them a stiff bow, his tone sarcastic as he said, “I bid you all good night and good luck with your pursuits.”
With that, he staggered away, his stride less steady than usual. As he ascended the stairs, his valet, Bartholomew, rushed to his side, supporting him with a firm arm around his waist.
“Another thrilling evening, Lord Thornhill?” Bartholomew asked, his tone filled with mild amusement as he helped William out of his jacket.
“You could say that,” William replied, slurring his words slightly. “The marriage market seems to be in full swing, Bartholomew. All these bright young things, fluttering their lashes, angling for a proposal. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”
Bartholomew chuckled, guiding him to sit on the edge of his bed. “I am sure they mean well, My Lord. Perhaps it’s not entirely their fault. Society and their parents pressuring them — it’s quite a mess.”
“Yes, a mess,” William echoed, rubbing his face in his hands. “And I have fallen right into the midst of it.”
With Bartholomew’s assistance, he changed into his nightwear, his mind still a whirl of thoughts. When he finally lay down, his body heavy with exhaustion, his mind was plagued with images of Eris Saffron. He wanted her, yet he detested her parents’ scheme — the pressure they were putting on her to ensnare his brother.
Is she a willing participant or a pawn?He could not decide. The dilemma spun around in his head, an unsolvable puzzle that kept him wide awake despite the copious amount of brandy he had consumed. Sleep, it seemed, would not be a friend of his tonight.
The morning light seeped in through the grand windows of William’s room, illuminating his rumpled sheets and signaling a new day. Stirred by the light, William groaned, the remnants of last night’s brandy making itself known. His valet, Bartholomew, was already waiting, a steaming pot of tea ready.
