Page 1 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
Chapter One
Agnes Watkins stepped into the ballroom alongside her mother. To outward appearances, she knew people saw the resemblance. Aside from Agnes’s unusual blue eyes, she and her mother shared nearly identical features and the same lush curves. That was where the similarities ended, though. Where her mother epitomized the charming beauty, Agnes was shy and awkward.
Her first two balls last Season were admittedly a disaster, but that was only because she hadn’t yet learned how to interact in public. Small gatherings had always been easier, especially if there were only ladies present. Men were an entirely different ordeal. Their deep voices hinted at things she didn’t quite understand, and if they stood too close or expressed too much interest, her mother would swoop in and take over.
Initially, Agnes had been appreciative, believing her mother was trying to ease her into the situations and prevent her from making a faux pas. But at the close of her first Season, it became clear that her mother was intentionally overshadowing Agnes, leaving her daughter to stand in a corner like a wallflower.
She had received one proposal at the end of her debut Season, but from an earl old enough to be her grandfather, and thankfully her mother had agreed with Agnes that it wasn’t a good match.
Tonight would be different. If for no other reason than she’d come to the conclusion earlier this year that she did not wish to marry. Choosing to remain single might be unorthodox for a viscount’s daughter, but for Agnes, it was the right choice. It meant no longer feeling as if she were competing with her mother for a gentleman’s attention. Also, it alleviated the burden built into these social gatherings. Now she knew what to expect from a ball, and without the added pressure of trying to lure the attentions of a suitor, she could be more confident, friendlier, and perhaps, in doing so, she wouldn’t have to work so hard to compensate for her lack of social skills.
“Agnes, stop frowning. Smile and roll your shoulders back. It enhances your décolletage,” her mother said as they stood waiting to be introduced into the ballroom.
Agnes fought the urge to roll her eyes. If her décolletage was enhanced any more, she’d be bare breasted. Instead, she glanced to the right side of the ballroom and caught sight of another group of mothers and daughters. The mothers stood together behind their daughters, smiling and talking to one another behind their fans. Men approached the younger women, seeking dances and introductions.
After she and her mother were announced, they made their way into the large room. The throng of people stifled the air and a bead of perspiration slid down Agnes’s back. She swallowed hard against the nerves and pasted a smile on her face.
The moment her mother stopped to establish their spot, the men began to arrive. Her mother effortlessly smiled and flirted, never once turning the men’s attention to Agnes, but began filling her own dance card. Agnes tightened her jaw in an effort to ward off the tears. Why did she even care? None of these men seemed remotely interested in her, and if they were, she’d likely say something odd or boring.
“Is this your daughter, Lady Darby?” one gentleman said. His leering gaze slid down Agnes as if she’d invited him to touch her.
Agnes repressed a shudder.
“Yes, this is Agnes,” her mother said.
“You look more like sisters than mother and daughter,” he said.
Agnes tried to think of something to say. Anything. But words failed her.
“She’s far too young for you, Lord Wilbanks.” Her mother winked saucily.
He gave Agnes one last look, then turned back to her mother. “I suppose you’re right. Shall we?” He held his elbow out to her mother and they walked to the dance floor.
Agnes released a pent-up breath, her shoulder nearly sagging in relief. He hadn’t seemed that old. Though admittedly he was older than Agnes, he was quite obviously younger than Mother. Without another thought, she worked her way around the room to the refreshment table. She secured a lemonade for herself, then moved into the shadows to walk back to where her mother had left her.
“She’s really so disgraceful,” a woman whispered.
“Who?” another responded.
“Lady Darby. Did you see how she shunned her own daughter to steal that man’s attention?”
Agnes’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. It was one thing for her to recognize what her mother was doing; she’d certainly heard the rumors about her mother’s affairs. Humiliation spread through her as she heard the words from someone else’s mouth. She hurriedly moved away from the gossip so she wouldn’t have to endure any more.
She could no longer pretend people might believe she and her mother to be the same as most of the mothers and daughters in this room—working together to secure a good match for the daughter. It hadn’t happened last year in Agnes’s debut Season, so there was no reason to hope this year would be any different. That scenario was not her reality.
Where most mothers worked tirelessly to ensure their daughters shone to garner the attention of eligible men, Agnes’s mother did her level best to upstage her daughter. Agnes had always known her mother was beautiful and charming, though that had been the extent of her knowledge. Like most well-bred ladies, Agnes had spent most of her formative years in the country with her governesses and tutors. Her mother, however, much preferred the city and tended to only visit for short amount of times, and primarily when they hosted parties. Her mother was nothing if not the consummate hostess. And when there was an audience, she was a brilliant mother, funny and adoring.
That limited exposure had led Agnes to create ideals in her mind about the type of woman her mother was. Now three balls into her second Season, and it was impossible to ignore the truth of Lady Darby. She was selfish and often cruel, and for reasons Agnes could not understand, her mother saw them as romantic rivals. Not only did Agnes have no desire to compete with her mother, she also wasn’t equipped to do so. Despite the fact that her husband, Agnes’s father, was alive and well, her mother seemed to crave the attention of every attractive man in London.
It was unclear to Agnes how much beyond harmless flirting everything went. Now that she was in London, she’d certainly heard the rumors of her mother’s many lovers. It was doubtful her father hadn’t heard the same tales, yet he seemed to ignore them. He didn’t attend parties with them; instead, he busied himself with his parliamentary duties and his collections. He was far more interested in purchasing another antiquity than in the goings-on in his own home.
Men often asked Agnes to dance and she dutifully obliged them, but more than one had taken the opportunity to ask questions about her mother. It seemed as if the woman’s prowess was legendary. Humiliation heated Agnes’s cheeks. This year would be different, though. Agnes did not need, nor want, a husband. She was perfectly fine all on her own.
A gentleman approached, and she recognized him from a previous introduction, but she couldn’t recall his name. He hadn’t been interested in her. Still, he smiled as he reached her, bowing slightly.
“Miss Watkins.”
She tried to offer him a smile, but found herself incapable of the expression. Without being on the husband hunt, the point of these parties did seem lost on her. Someone should put her out of her misery. Perhaps she would speak to her father. As soon as he returned from his trip to the coast to retrieve a weapon from the Crusades that he was most enthusiastic about. He wasn’t an indulgent sort, so it seemed unlikely he’d accommodate any of her requests. Though he was more inclined to tolerate her presence when she showed her interest in his collection. The antique weapons were fascinating; she didn’t even have to feign interest.
