Defying The Earl

Game…

Matchmaker Wilhelmina Montgomery helps cupid’s arrow find its mark in the drawing rooms of the Ton, effortlessly pairing even the most unlikely couples for a discreet fee. Perhaps not an appropriate pursuit for a lady…but with an ailing sister to care for, it’s Whimsy’s only hope at securing their future.

Set…

Meanwhile, penniless aristocrat Valerian St. David, Earl of Dashwood is society’s favourite matchbreaker; assisting those who want to escape engagement without being sued for breach of promise. Cynical, yes…but with no intention of falling in love himself, Valerian considers himself ideally suited to the role.

And match!

When Whimsy discovers that Valerian has set out to break the very engagement she has been painstakingly arranging, she refuses to allow this mysterious saboteur have his way. Yet she didn’t expect to find the handsome Earl so distractingly alluring. And suddenly, it seems that the Ton’s last two loneliest hearts are in danger of finding their match…in the most inopportune of places.

Also by Anabelle Bryant

To Love a Wicked Scoundrel

Duke of Darkness

The Midnight Rake

Defying the Earl

Regency Charms

Anabelle Bryant

www.CarinaUK.com

With sincere thanks and gratitude to my brilliant editor, Clio Cornish, for her unending encouragement and effervescent support. How lovely to know you share my vision.

To the entire Carina team for their dedication and hopelessly romantic cover creations and to Harlequin/HarperCollins for allowing me the opportunity to realize a dream with every novel.

This book is dedicated to my Aunt Maryann, who has politely listened to me rattle on about hopes, dreams, wishes, and concerns, even when she might have preferred to press mute, and who has always offered the most sincere advice in return.

And to my readers and friends; the start of a new series is thrilling and your genuine enthusiasm has been contagious. You have my heartfelt gratitude for reading and believing in me.

May all your days be charmed.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Endpages

Copyright

Chapter One

“We’re done for.” Valerian St. David, Earl of Dashwood, pushed an accumulation of bills to the side of his desk and eyed his brother sprawled across the threadbare chaise in a pose that mocked the gravity of their situation. “We haven’t enough to pay the creditors, nor our meager staff, never mind afford food and firewood. If we do not contrive a solution, we’re set to starve or freeze to death before the end of the month.”

Jasper appeared nonplussed. “We’ve ventured into dun territory before. You’ll find a means to keep us alive.”

The lackadaisical response abraded Val’s fragile hold on his temper. He would not mention his brother’s outlandish gambling debts. He would not suggest poor investments and irresponsible behavior were what landed them on the rocks. Instead he flicked his eyes to his father’s portrait, dusty and faded above the fire, if it could be called that, the meager log smoldering in the box nothing more than a cold insult; and instead, lamented how Jasper had grown into a duplicate of their deceased father, a popular, likeable gentleman who possessed a devil-may-care attitude void of one drop of responsibility. Jasper, as a second son to boot, was excused by society for most every indiscretion.

Perhaps Valerian’s silence conveyed what his words did not because the subject of his morose deliberations stood with alacrity and walked to the sideboard intent on a drink only to discover the brandy decanter bone dry.

“We have to find a solution, Dash. Conditions are truly grave when the brandy’s run out.” Jasper swept his eyes from left to right. “Isn’t there something here of worth?”

“So now I have your attention.” Val pinned his brother with a scathing glare. “There’s nothing left to sell. I pawned the silver to settle your vowels with that crooked gaming hell in St. Giles. I’ve sold artwork to repay the debt you owed Lord Rendly, and by work of determination, cajoled the bank into a few more weeks of credit. We’re in damned low water this time. We’ll have to give the staff notice so they can seek new positions. Cook and Turner deserve better than to remain in employ of two brothers housed in a ramshackle country estate where wages cannot be paid.”

“You’re doing it up a bit much. Turner has been our butler forever and Father’s butler before that. He would work here at Kirby Park for free if we asked.”

“You can’t possibly be suggesting—” Indignation laced Valerian’s objection.

“Not at all. Hold your temper. I’m merely stating the man will understand if his monthly wages are not forthcoming. I’d bet the old purse-pincher has abundant savings.”

A gleam lit his brother’s eye and Valerian interrupted before Jasper voiced the words. “We’ve already ascertained your success with wagers. Never would I, the sixth Earl of Dashwood, borrow funds from my butler.” Blameful accusations danced upon his tongue eager to be granted freedom, but speaking them served no purpose other than to blanket his brother with poor feelings and alienate the opportunity to discover a solution.

“Alas, pride comes into play.” Jasper checked the brandy decanter a second time, as if wishing would cause the liquor to appear. “Pride will be your downfall. You need to free yourself from the pressures of social opinion.”

Easily said, but a hard war won. Jasper was free to proceed through life without the burden of responsibility and he continued now in the same untroubled tone.

“We need a plan. Some type of purposeful action. It may take a little creative thinking, but we’ll figure this out.”

Valerian’s left brow climbed in speculation on cue with his brother’s brash optimism and liberal use of the word we. “I’m not in the mood for one of your havey-cavey schemes. We haven’t six pence to scratch with. You need to show more concern.” It was the closest he could come to implying fault, although in truth he should rail with anger from the impossible debt incurred by father and brother; debt leaving them notoriously entailed and cash poor, their reputation in desperate need of repair and any option to sell up efficiently eliminated.

Besides, he’d promised his father a recovery of Kirby Park, not abandonment invigorated by unholy debt and a rapscallion sibling. And yet he loved Jasper as he did their departed father, dearly and unconditionally. If only his brother didn’t test the limit of his loyalty so often.

“Concern? Worry? Those will get me nowhere fast. Where’s the sense in distress? It creates two problems instead of one.” Jasper tossed the crystal stopper of the liquor decanter from hand to hand in a careless game of catch. “If you mean to imply my investments failed to reach fruition, I will concede the point. Although I still believe a mousetrap is a viable invention. Mark my words someday they will be top-of-the-trees.”

“Perhaps when cats become extinct. Meanwhile someday will not put dinner on the table this evening. Had we a mouse or two I’d skewer them with a letter opener and roast them over that pathetic flame.” Both gentlemen slid their eyes to the firebox where a few dim embers glistened among the ash. “I’m hungry and embarrassed. How will I forestall the creditors this time? I’ve spent whatever meager savings Father left us on necessary estate repairs, food, and the barest living essentials after I repaid your debts. We need more than a plan. We need a miracle to alleviate these dire straits.” His stomach growled loudly but hunger did not pain him as much as failure.

“It can’t be that bad.” Jasper replaced the stopper and strode to the window before pivoting with renewed enthusiasm. “We still have the house and two horses.”

“Two?”

“I acquired another last evening.” Jasper’s mouth twisted with a wry smile. “It was a stroke of luck, really.”

“You were out gambling? Another horse means another portion of oats and hay.” Valerian exhaled deeply in hope of offsetting the additional burden placed on his shoulders. “And where is this wonderful example of horseflesh?”

“In the stable with your Arcadia. He’s named One-Eyed Jack and I’m told he has a touch of Arabian in his blood.” Jasper straightened his shoulders as if the statement elevated the news.

“I’m sure he has a touch of something.” Resigned, Valerian dropped into the desk chair. “Ridiculous name for a horse, but I presume his moniker was derived from the final card that placed him in your possession.”

“No. He only has one eye. Although I did win him in a tight game of vingt-et-un.”

Jasper chuckled as he responded, his lighthearted attitude toward life unblemished, while Valerian’s innards clenched with the responsibility of past debt and the promise of a bleak future. There was no one left to borrow from, nothing left to sell. If he didn’t resort to the most desperate measures, his prediction of death by hunger or cold temperature would prove true. He could see the headline of The London Times in bold print, Sixth Earl of Dashwood Perishes in Poverty, Nary a Shilling or Crust of Bread to His Name.

How did he arrive at this juncture? His father had squandered their savings, exploited the title, and died with neat efficiency shortly thereafter. Jasper, while the truest of brothers, had inherited his father’s despicable habits, more suited for wastrel than gentleman. His hardly controlled caper-witted antics had created more complications than Val wished to consider. True, Jasper meant well, but his investments had all proven futile, while the monies spent on mousetraps and the like could be heating rooms in the form of firewood. Valerian looked out the window and sized the ash tree on the front lawn. Perhaps he could chop it down, split the logs.

“I’ve got it.” Jasper clapped his hands together, delighted by the realization he intended to share. “You can get married.”

The unsettling strategic glimmer in his brother’s eyes raised the hairs on the back of Val’s neck, but as the zealous words reached comprehension, his entire body tensed in warning. He’d never considered his brother a lackwit. Impulsive, yes, but in a well meant manner. They had no money to support the likes of themselves plus a few aged servants. How would the addition of a lady-wife improve their lifestyle?

“A rich one of course.” Jasper’s devious proclamation bounced across the room. “You, my distinguished brother, could pose as a regular out-and-outer, ingratiate yourself into society, and land a wealthy wife. All our troubles will be solved.” His grin was as delusional as his proposition. “Of course, we’d have to go to London.”

“London.” Valerian’s immediate protestation nipped the end of Jasper’s statement. “That infernal city is the reason I dragged you back to Kirby Park, away from the gaming hells, business propositions, and otherwise troublesome temptations you find on every corner.”

“True enough, but here in the country, the plan is sure to fail. Events of the ton are where you’ll find my wealthy future sister-in-law.”

“Jasper…”

“Out here there’s not a female of refinement for miles with the exception of Widow Bartleton and frankly, I’ve seen better eyes on a potato.”

“Jasper.” His tone left no room for misinterpretation. “It’s a dishonest sham and I will not participate.” A familiar tightness wrapped round Val’s chest and he forced himself to exhale as he unclenched his fists. “Deception is hardly a strong foundation for marriage. What would I tell the lady when she discovers I am penniless?”

“Females are more interested in romance and emotion than fact. She might overlook the detail of your waning accounts once her heart becomes involved. You must admit, the idea has worth. And if you present the perception of affluence, but never directly reveal the state of the finances, it can hardly be labeled dishonest. You must admit that all relationships are built on a measure of deceit. Women use bust enhancers, lip rouge and fashion without a twinge of conscience. Besides, deception has such an ugly connotation. This is more of a faradiddle, an honest white lie.”

“An honest lie?” Val shook his head to clear his brother’s senseless prattling. “There must be something I can do to earn money and still keep my purpose from society’s ear.” He tapped his fingers against the desktop in a habit of deliberation. His eyes fell to the multitude of unpaid bills stacked as high as the inkwell near the corner of his desktop. “For the life of me, I’m only good at making a mess and ruining things.”

“Well, you can’t go around ruining young ladies. That won’t help our cause. But…”

Val closed his eyes and prepared himself for the completion of what was sure to be another idiotic suggestion.

“You could ruin relationships. You know, instigate problems to force two people apart instead of together. A sort of matchbreaker. I’ve known many a fellow who wished to be released from an obligatory relationship and I’m sure there are parents who disapprove of their daughter’s suitors or son’s impetuous choice in bride. You could become a man for hire, entirely in secret of course. Charge a fee and set someone free.”

Poised to dismiss Jasper’s ramblings with a grain of salt, Val initially disregarded the suggestion, yet the further his brother expounded on the opportunity to provide a service executed in secret and worthy of a tidy sum, the higher his ears perked to the idea. “A matchbreaker, you say. Someone to ruin relationships that weren’t meant to be. The idea has merit.” Especially given Val regarded romantic relationships as a colossal waste of emotion. Assisting those who wanted escape could prove rewarding. Perhaps it would ease the eternal ache of his past and the wrongdoing of one particular female.

“I can act as your agent. Arrange the situations and assignations, so you needn’t be associated with the darker side of business. I’ve the best connections. It is the perfect plan. Don’t you agree?”

Valerian forced his attention to his brother’s question. For some reason, Jasper took delight in his proposed role. Would his brother never learn or would he always be wooed by danger and bizarre circumstance?

Bizarre indeed, but perhaps the answer to their eminent demise. As startling a notion as Jasper suggesting a feasible solution, the idea could work…or, if the whole plan backfired, their irrefutable ruin would continue. Either way, the proposition presented a better fate than wasting away in their dilapidated country home. His stomach growled loudly as if to concur. He swung his eyes to his brother, the hint of a sly smile matched by Jasper’s encouraging grin, yet Valerian kept his reply between his teeth.

Chapter Two

Wilhelmina Montgomery settled near the cross-paned windows of the sitting room and watched a turtledove hop into a nest on a larch branch grown too closely to the glass. How comfortable and cozy the graceful bird appeared. A shiver rippled through her in contrast; the front room of Aunt Kate’s town house was drafty at best, although she didn’t notice the chill in complaint. Her eyes flittered to each corner adorned with feminine detail. One glance bespoke no gentleman lived thus, embroidered pillows and a floral Brussels weave carpet most notable. Yet other decorations declared a soft elegance. Small watercolor landscapes spotted the walls and delicate porcelain figures sat patiently on a shelf. Her aunt had opened her heart and her home and for that Wilhelmina would forever be grateful. Without her aunt’s generosity, she and her sister, Lavinia, would have no place to call home.

The fear of displacement smothered her heart in a hasty swath of regret. Security remained paramount, no matter their meager lifestyle proved difficult at times. Lavinia’s wellbeing and their sparse financial situation threaded back to the carriage accident that took their parents’ lives two summers past. Wilhelmina would never forget the horror of that evening, a night that left her with no mother or father, and a sister clinging to life.

Melancholy brought fresh tears to Wilhelmina’s eyes and she looked toward the gray London sky, her forlorn mood echoed in the threat of rain. With determination, she dismissed the feeling, unwilling to succumb to sadness. Exhaling firmly, she settled her hands upon the commonplace book resting on her lap and opened the cover with care.

Bits and pieces of her life were glued to each page in the thick leather volume preserving cherished memories. A pencil sketch of her as a baby, notes received on birthdays and special occasions, even her first dance card lay pasted in remembrance. She bypassed these pages in a flurry until she reached the final leaf in the book where an artist had drawn a miniature family portrait. Her mother’s expression warmed her heart and her father’s outlandish mustache restored a smile to her face. Wilhelmina missed her parents dearly and the simple happiness the four of them once shared. So much had changed.

Here in London, away from the modest country home that had been sold and settled, Wilhelmina and Lavinia led unadventurous lives. Aunt Kate spent money with caution, as she should. As daughters of a conservative peer, the sisters brought little to fortify the coffers. Lavinia’s needs were costly, but Wilhelmina begrudged not one penny.

At times a spark of despair for what her sister and she would never experience, the glittering ballrooms and opulent gowns, dared to woo her, but she swept it away with the same forceful purpose as one attended a flyaway ember from the fireplace, extinguished and forgotten. Her life was not designed for wishes and fanciful thoughts. Duty and responsibility were more important.

“Whimsy.”

Her aunt’s sudden beckon voicing her childhood name banished any remnants of sadness and Wilhelmina rose to greet the elderly woman at the sitting room door, happy for the diversion from her maudlin reflection.

“Good morning, Aunt Kate. Let me help you with the tea tray. Whysoever are you carrying it instead of the housekeeper?” Wilhelmina spoke in a loud clear voice to compensate for her aunt’s hearing difficulties, a natural progression of advanced age. She strode forward, arms outstretched and ready to assist with the silver, but her feisty aunt outmaneuvered with finesse.

“Do not fuss over me, dear. I’m fine.” Aunt Kate placed the tea tray on the buffet table before she continued. “Rose’s arthritis was bothersome this morning, so I went upstairs to Livie’s room for a dab of medicinal ointment. Then I insisted on carrying the tea caddy so Rose might apply the cream and rest while her joint pain subsides.” Her aunt paused and carefully filled two cups with tea before adding a spoonful of sugar to each. “While abovestairs, Livie asked if I might fetch you. She had trouble sleeping last night.” A concerned tsking followed the admission. “If only the doctor could ascertain how to permanently relieve the painful cramping in her legs.” Worry creased Aunt Kate’s brow before she raised troubled eyes. “Your sister is tired and hopes the sound of your voice reading one of those lengthy poems you favor will lull her into a peaceful nap.”

“Of course.” Wilhelmina smiled with delight. “And do not worry about her condition. Livie’s health has improved so much of late.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed as well. The therapy is worth every penny if it restores her strength and mobility. Her legs are becoming more reliable with each passing day and I believe the kneading of her muscles and the nurse’s insistence that she walk the room as exercise is the remedy. Thank heavens.”

Wilhelmina’s heart pumped a heavy beat. Without her aunt’s unfailing support, who knew what would have become of them? But how would she ever repay her aunt’s generosity and concern? Of late she’d considered ideas to generate income independently, but hadn’t any luck. As a lady, opportunities were limited and if she were to accept funds and the arrangement became revealed, she would shame her aunt more than benefit her obligation. Aunt Kate had shown only kindness and consideration, and as their only blood relation, Wilhelmina was very fond of the endearing woman, as was her sister. She could never bring embarrassment and scandal to her aunt’s doorstep.

The clink of china revived her attention and Wilhelmina replaced concern with relief. “I would be delighted to read Livie to sleep.” She turned to the bookshelf at her back and with the flick of her wrist tipped a volume into her palm. “Shall I share Byron, Blake, or Shelley?”

“That sounds like a poem in itself, although I’m sure anything you choose will suit. Livie and I wouldn’t know the difference between the three. We trust your decision.” Aunt Kate nodded with candid assurance.

“Perhaps I will teach her to recognize the subtle nuances between the poets’ styles.” Wilhelmina struggled to keep laughter from her voice.

“Then I’m sure she’ll find a restorative nap soon after.”

Warmed by her aunt’s teasing, Wilhelmina turned to the hallway and began the stairs leading to the second floor intent on seeing her sister well rested. She could never confess she’d memorized most of the poems before she’d sold her father’s book collection in an attempt to add to their meager savings. Sometimes she’d hold an open volume in her hands and turn the pages as she recited the poems of a different poet, giving the appearance of reading directly from the book even though it was the works of another. Livie never questioned why the book cover always looked the same and for that, Wilhelmina was thankful. She already carried the guilty knowledge many of her father’s volumes went to sale with pages torn loose, the same now glued firmly into her keepsake book downstairs.

She knocked on Livie’s bedchamber door and entered without pause. Her sister sat upright in bed, her hair tied with a bright yellow ribbon, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. Everything was as usual, the bright white of her night rail a stark echo of Livie’s complexion and a constant reminder her sister rarely ventured outside.

“You should be resting.” Wilhelmina’s admonishing tone was ruined by her grin. “I’m sorry you were unable to sleep. Did the cramping hurt terribly?” When she reached the bedside, she resisted the urge to stroke her sister’s blanket-encased legs. Livie had made significant progress the last few weeks and it was distressing to hear she’d suffered through the night. What if they’d reached a barrier in the treatment and the daily massages would no longer relieve Livie’s pain? What if their greatest fear, that the atrophy would become permanent, proved a reality? How would anyone prevent the vicious leg spasms that began directly after the carriage accident and tortured Livie each night until the recent treatments? They’d consulted every reputable doctor in London to no avail until they’d discovered the massage technique practiced by Dr. Morris and his nurse. Wilhelmina’s chest grew tight at the threat of Livie’s painful episodes returning. She’d reassured Aunt Kate downstairs, but in truth, the same fear lurked in her heart.