Page 45 of A Viscount to Conspire (Sherton Sisters 2)

Chapter Fourteen

Hilaria’s face felt tight. In fact, her entire person felt tight. That could be because it had been extremely difficult to sleep the previous night. Or it could be the strain of trying to smile and appear normal, or as normal as she could muster, when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball, under the covers in her bed, and cry for the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of her life. Even she knew her thoughts were of a melodramatic nature, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

She had achieved what she had set out to do when she had agreed to Eastwood’s scheme. There were now several gentlemen vying for her attention, and at least two of them were a duke or higher in precedence. She ought to be beside herself with delight. But instead, she found herself watching the door hoping for Eastwood’s arrival. Even the few minutes Rathnelly spent sitting with her couldn’t completely distract her thoughts. She couldn’t even say what they had discussed as it felt as though it didn’t penetrate to her thoughts. And while she was certain Prince Felix had called by, his visit was so unremarkable that she wasn’t even absolutely certain he had spoken with her.

Hilaria found her pulse increasing every time the knocker could be heard, but then she was filled with disappointment when the newest arrival was announced and it wasn’t Eastwood. She tried to dismiss him from her thoughts and tried to pay attention to what the gentlemen were saying to her. She was fairly certain she was smiling and nodding in all the appropriate places, but she couldn’t be sure. Thankfully, they didn’t appear too concerned about her response and seemed more interested in listening to themselves than anything she might have to say. She allowed her attention to drift.

Perhaps she ought to wait until next year to concern herself with making a match. That thought should have been shocking to her, and was in a certain way, but instead she actually allowed herself to pursue the thought as the room buzzed with conversation around her.

It would be her third Season if she waited. That ought to be considered shameful, but she didn’t really give much weight to that consideration. She just didn’t think it would be anything but cowardly to leave at this juncture. What would it accomplish aside from putting off the inevitable? She needed to wed. That was life. She didn’t have any interest in becoming the maiden aunt to her sisters’ children. Nor a burden upon her parents as they aged. Of course, as the only daughter who took a true interest in the running of the estate, she could help her father as he aged, since he didn’t have a son to take over. But then she would have to watch as a distant cousin inherited at some point.

With a sigh, she brought her mind back to the matter at hand. That was less than a solution and wasn’t to be considered, she decided firmly. She would find a match this Season and be done with this business. Rathnelly or Prince Felix. Either or neither. She didn’t care firmly in one direction or the other, and there was the rub. She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm, and this was a decision she would have to live with for life. She wished she could discuss it with someone. Eastwood preferably, but he wasn’t turning up, it would seem.

She supposed it made sense that he wouldn’t bother. They had achieved their aims. He was probably tired of dancing attendance upon her. She only hoped she could get a gentleman to come up to scratch and make an offer for her before they, too, lost interest in her, she thought with a degree of dismay.

Hilaria didn’t even turn her head the next time the door knocker sounded and refused to allow her ears to strain to hear who it might be.

She then had to suppress any reaction when finally, finally, Lord Eastwood was announced to the room. Not allowing her eyes to follow him didn’t prevent her from knowing that he first went to greet her mother and then Vicky. Since she was supposedly deep in conversation, he correctly didn’t interrupt, making his way around the room greeting his acquaintances.

Making her smiles as genuine as possible somehow became a little less difficult, and Hilaria could feel herself growing more animated with her suitors. With Eastwood there, she finally felt comfortable enough to enjoy the unique experience of having three different gentlemen vying for her attention. By then, though, those men correctly noticed the time and realized they were stretching the polite requirements, taking their leave with promises of dances later and visits the next day.

The room had grown quieter and Hilaria allowed her eyes to meet Eastwood’s gaze. Her stomach clenched at just how handsome he was. It was the strangest thing. When she had met him just days before she hadn’t found anything about him that was the least bit attractive. But now, when he smiled, it felt as though it had the potential to hurt her eyes, he was just that handsome. She smiled at the ridiculously fanciful thought.

When he approached and sat beside her, taking her hand briefly, Hilaria felt as though she were trembling all over. She ignored the ridiculous sensation, hoping that ignoring it would make it go away. In a certain way, she wasn’t wrong. Her mind was soon ensnared by his words, and she forgot about her traitorous body.

“Good afternoon, my lady, you are looking particularly ravishing this afternoon,” he began, keeping his voice low so as to not be overheard.

“Oh pish. You needn’t be turning me up sweet, Eastwood, our scheme did its work.”

“I’m not turning you up sweet. You really do look lovely,” he retorted with a frown. “Why is that so hard for you to believe? Do you not have a mirror?” His gaze was searching her face as though to read her thoughts. Hilaria squirmed before bringing herself under control. She could feel heat flooding her face as she fought her embarrassment.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured as demurely as possible despite the desire to hide from his knowing glance. His eyes flashed with amusement.

“Might I have the honour of taking you for a drive when you’re relieved of all these guests?”

Hilaria found herself searching his face to try to discern his motivations. She had truly thought he would be done with her now that they’d reached their goals. But she was thrilled to see that he wasn’t. He was exactly who she needed to talk her disquieting thoughts over with.

“I would be delighted, Eastwood, thank you so much.” She knew there was uncharacteristic enthusiasm in her tone, but she didn’t even care. She was so relieved at the prospect of being able to unburden herself with someone she felt she could trust and who knew the entire story, or at least certain aspects of it, that Hilaria was tempted to leave the room that instant.

However, a glance at her mother reminded her of her obligations, and she returned to reality with a mental thud.

“I won’t be free to leave for a little while, though, I’m afraid.”

“I took the liberty of speaking with your mother when I first arrived, and she did give her permission that you needn’t stay until the last of your guests depart, especially not if there are new arrivals.”

“Thatwastaking liberties,” she agreed with a laugh. Hilaria was still too happy to be cross with him.

Another glance at Lady Sherton yielded her a nod from her mother causing Hilaria to excuse herself to their guests in order to run to her room for a hat and parasol.

Before too much time had passed and without fully realizing how it happened, she was beside the viscount making swift progress toward the Park. It wasn’t quite the fashionable hour so there would be less traffic and more possibility of private conversation, despite the fact that he had not brought a barouche. With a laugh, she expressed her admiration for his carriage.

“It may not be as roomy and comfortable, but the view is much better,” she concluded. “I’m grateful for your steady hand on the reins, though, Eastwood, as otherwise I might be nervous this high up and with no control.”

“Control seems to be important to you,” he observed, prompting a sigh from her.

“I suppose it is,” she admitted. “There’s so little of it in life for a lady.”

“Is that why you wish to be a duchess?” he asked, casting her a perceptive, searching look.

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