Page 46 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
Edmund sighed, glancing into his drink. “As the spare heir, my prospects are not as great as I would hope. Fortune needs to look kindly upon me soon.”
He then cast an envious glance at William. “If I were the Earl of Thornhill, I would probably have the pick of the Season. All those ladies just dying for your attention, eh, William?”
William forced a smile, raising his glass. “Perhaps,” he said, “But what good is the talk of the ton when your heart is elsewhere?” His thoughts strayed to Eris, her dark hair and bright eyes, her sharp wit and lively spirit. It was she who had claimed his heart, and he realized no one else would do.
After a few more minutes of pleasantries, Edmund wandered off to join a game of whist. William and Cassian made their own exit from the club, returning home with the setting sun. On arriving, they found their mother in the parlor, her cheeks a striking hue of pink.
Concerned, William rushed to her side. “Mother, are you all right?”
Her laughter bubbled forth, sounding like music to his ears. Waving a hand to dispel his worry, she handed him a piece of parchment. “I am perfectly fine, William, though I doubt you can say the same about Sir Percival Fairchild.”
His brows knitted together as he glanced down at the missive in his hands. It was a poem, an atrocious attempt at a sonnet if the style and structure were anything to go by.
Thy eyes, as stars do twinkle bright, To guide my heart, lost in the night, Thy voice, akin to angel’s sound, Lifts my spirit from the ground.
Thy laugh, like chimes in the morning breeze, Leaves my heart at such an ease, With you, my countess fair and grand, Life feels a joyful marching band.
But alas! My love, so pure and true, Is as a sky without its blue, For without thy gracious nod and smile, My heart does feel a trial.
With this, my plea, so honest and brave, My love for you, I hope to save, Oh Countess, my heart’s delight, Bestow on me your love’s light.
As William finished the sonnet, he could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for Sir Percival. After all, was he not also entranced by a woman who seemed to hover just out of his grasp? It was in this strange, lovesick solidarity that he found an unexpected resolve. Looking up from the parchment, he exchanged a knowing glance with his mother, who was still smothering her laughter behind her hand.
He said, “Well then, it seems I am not the only one with romantic entanglements.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
The morning had barely dawned as Eris descended the grand staircase of the Blackwell residence, the aroma of fresh bread and sizzling bacon wafting from the dining room. As she entered, she found her father alone at the breakfast table, his appearance as disheveled as his spirits seemed low.
“Good morning, Father,” Eris greeted, her voice ricocheting against the silence that clung to the corners of the room. She took her usual seat, absently reaching for a piece of toast. “Mother is not joining us?”
He barely glanced up from his teacup, his voice resonating with uncharacteristic weariness. “She has taken to her bed. The incident at the tearoom has proven taxing for her.”
Eris, biting back a comment about her mother’s flair for the dramatic, simply nodded in understanding. Her gaze shifted as her father reached into his coat, pulling out a small flask of liquor. A pit formed in her stomach as he uncorked it, adding a generous splash to his morning tea. His proclivity for a drink was not a new revelation, but to indulge at breakfast? The realization that their circumstances might be even graver than she initially feared began to settle in.
Her father’s eyes met hers, heavy with a seriousness she seldom saw in them. “Eris, the upcoming ball is your last chance,” he stated, the words seeming to hang in the air long after they were spoken. “Our last chance.”
A surge of resentment bubbled up within Eris, the pressure to fix everything threatening to consume her. She straightened her back, forcing herself to meet her father’s gaze. Her reply, when it came, held a firmness she had not used with her parents before.
“I am aware of the situation, Father,” she stated, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “But remember, it is not my actions that have led us here, nor should it be my responsibility alone to rectify them.”
She felt the room still at her words, her father’s expression turning from shock to contemplation. Letting out a long, slow breath, Eris stood, the finality in her movement evident. “I will do my best at the ball,” she added quietly, “but I will not carry the burden of our family’s mistakes indefinitely.”
With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, the silence that followed her exit deafening.
* * *
The morning of the ball arrived with an intoxicating mix of anxiety and anticipation. Eris sat in her bedchamber, her hands extended while Nanette rubbed a rich salve into her skin. The faint aroma of lavender and chamomile filled the air, working in harmony with Nanette’s soft hum to soothe Eris’ frayed nerves.
Eris’ thoughts began to wander, her mind drifting to William and the electrifying memories of their shared moments. She saw again his jade green eyes, felt the touch of his hand on hers and the lingering press of his lips on her own. A smile bloomed on her face, stirring Nanette from her humming.
“Are we thinking of the gentlemen we are to meet at the ball?” Nanette teased, her blue eyes sparkling with knowing mischief.
In response, Eris’ smile softened, a wistful melancholy threading through her voice. “I fear my heart has already been claimed by someone,” she confessed, her gaze falling to her hands. “But I am afraid the sentiment is not returned.”
Nanette paused in her work. Her eyes were tender as she studied Eris. The silence stretched between them, carrying the weight of unspoken dreams and buried fears. And then, with a warm squeeze of her hand, Nanette offered Eris a comforting smile.
“You are a treasure, Miss Eris,” Nanette said gently. “And any man who does not see it does not deserve you.”
