Page 1 of A Wish Upon an Earl (A Maypole in Mayfair #3)

L ady Sarah Appleton stood on the outskirts of her own party, watching the crush of dancers move about the ballroom.

By all accounts, this masquerade was a success.

The ballroom was full, the orchestra was excellent, and the costumes were lavish.

She looked down at her own dress and frowned.

The dress was a thoughtful gift from her friends, and that should have filled her with joy, but the moment she’d looked at the lovely concoction of cream and pale green, her stomach had churned with apprehension.

The expertly crafted gown was like a physical reminder of all that was wrong with her as a person. She tugged at the long trailing sleeves as a sigh of frustration escaped her lips.

“What’s wrong, Sarah?” Aubrey asked next to her. “You’ve not seemed yourself this evening.”

“Nothing. Nothing at all is wrong.” She smiled brightly at her recently married friend, her cheeks stretched thin at the effort. How did one say that the thoughtful gift Aubrey, Rose, and Camilla had given her had brought up a well of churning emotions?

She shook her head, trying to force the thoughts from her mind.

Camilla gave her a quizzical glance, and Rose adjusted her crown of feathers on her peacock ensemble as she looked over at Sarah. “Look at the turnout for this party. You’re an amazing success.”

Sarah’s smile softened into something far more genuine. She loved her friends dearly, and they were so supportive of her. She truly was grateful. “Thank you.”

Six weeks prior, all four of them had been dancing about a maypole, having snuck out of their finishing school at dawn under the guise of going for a walk. They’d wanted to see the newly erected pole that had been put in place for a May Day celebration.

In that moment of fun, each of the girls had made a wish.

Aubrey had wished for a puppy. Sweet and soft and full of love. So perfect for her lovable friend.

Camilla, in her typical fashion, had requested a highly practical chemistry set, while Rose wanted a book of poetry.

And Sarah? In one of her usual flights of romantic fancy, she’d wished for a knight in shining armor. So silly. Men didn’t wear armor any longer, and even if they did…

She held in another sigh. Romantic whims brought her nothing but trouble, as was evidenced at this exact moment.

Her friends had brought her a medieval gown, which she now wore because of that wish.

Flowing sleeves belled out from the elbows, brushing the floor whenever her arms were down, while fabric trailed behind her, pooling about her legs whenever she was still.

It was truly lovely.

But she could barely move.

And that was the problem. Every time she allowed fanciful thoughts to slip past her lips, she said silly things that only ended up getting her in trouble.

Tonight wasn’t too bad. So she couldn't dance or circulate about the room, or even move, really, without tripping. But it was one night. She’d survive.

The problem was that she was making a pattern of this sort of behavior.

One moment she’d allowed herself to get carried away by romantic notions and told her friends her wildest hopes and dreams. Next thing she knew, she’d ended up in a medieval gown of flowing skirts…or wearing the wings of a cupid.

Sarah stopped her thoughts, groaning to herself. She would not think about the other time she’d worn the completely wrong costume.

Though her thoughts had been drifting to that day a great deal of late.

Because the incident , as she now called it, had involved one of her brother’s very best friends, John Marxum, the Earl of Bentley.

He’d been center stage for her little drama, a cause of endless embarrassment.

Fortunately for Sarah, she’d been able to avoid him for most of the last five years.

The only time they’d seen one another had been a year ago at her brother Malcolm’s funeral, and even then, she’d been able to avoid conversation.

But Jack, as his friends called him, as she’d once called him, would be here tonight.

She’d received his acceptance to her invitation just yesterday.

And honestly, when it hadn’t arrived before that, Sarah had assumed—hoped, really—that his lack of communication had meant that he’d not attend.

Now he was going to be here, and she was stuck in a dress in which she could barely move, in some misguided attempt to attract a knight in shining armor.

Because men so often wore suits of armor to parties…

She looked down at the silk of the gown edged with the most beautiful embroidered design. Her friends had been so thrilled to give her the dress. Rose, in her poetic fashion, had declared it the only possible way one might attract a knight.

Because her friends had begun to believe wishes came true.

Granted, Aubrey’s had. She’d wished for a puppy and she’d received one. He happened to be attached to a duke, who’d promptly married her friend.

And Camilla, she’d gotten her chemistry set, along with a fiancé. Sarah’s brother, to be precise, the Marquess of Ashburn.

Her friends now believed that Sarah’s wish would lead her to love.

Silly.

She’d certainly marry. Her connections were excellent, her skills adequate, her looks good enough. If one didn’t mind a shock of red hair. But it wouldn’t be in some romantic display of a knight riding in to save her. That had been a momentary fancy brought on by the excitement of the maypole.

No. Her husband would come from practical searching and skilled maneuvering through social artistry.

There would be no romantic knights involved. Period. To think anything else was complete folly?—

“Dear merciful saints,” Aubrey gasped. “Do you see what I see?” She pointed toward the doorway.

Sarah turned—shuffled, really—to follow Aubrey’s finger. The jousting lance came into view first. The thing must have been seven feet tall and barely fit through the doorway. Then she saw him. A knight in full regalia stopped in the doorway, surveying the room.

For a split second, her heart pounded. That urge to let the moment sweep her off her feet rose up in her chest. Her breath caught as dreams she’d long harbored danced before her eyes. A knight had actually come. He was here…

Their eyes locked across the ballroom. Or she thought they might have. It was difficult to tell with the visor that covered the full helmet.

Her breath caught and held. Perhaps she’d been wrong all along. Just maybe wishes could come true. Hope swelled in her stomach, making her feel lighter. He started to move, heading directly for her. It was a dream, a fantasy, a?—

He promptly knocked into an entire group of guests, sending three people scattering to the floor. Cries rose over the music and the crowd muted to see what had caused the stir.

It was a nightmare.

And fantasies were for silly girls who didn’t know better.

“He’s going to kill someone,” Camilla muttered.

“That’s the point, I believe,” Rose said with a laugh. “Get it? The point . Because the pole has a…” She stopped when no one laughed and cleared her throat. “Play on words.”

Camilla frowned. “It was funny.” She absently patted Rose’s arm as she stared at the knight moving toward them in the crowd. “I might have laughed, except he’s actually going to kill someone. He doesn’t seem able to move well in that suit at all.”

Sarah did sigh then. “It might very well be me. I can’t escape in this dress. I’ll not be able to move out of his way.”

Aubrey winced as she surveyed Sarah. “It is a bit long, isn’t it? I thought it would be terribly romantic, but I see now that the length makes it rather difficult to move.”

But it was Sarah who should have winced.

She hadn’t meant to insult her friend. “It’s so lovely, Aubrey.

” How did she explain the sense of foreboding that had settled in her chest?

“I just...” She paused again. “I didn’t mean that wish about a knight.

I should have wished for something practical like a solid match or a?—”

“Don’t be silly.” Rose touched her arm. “The maypole wasn’t for being practical. It was a moment of whimsy.”

“All the same.” Sarah lifted her arm, miles of fabric trailing down from her elbow to the floor as the knight made his way directly toward her.

It wasn’t her imagination, he appeared intent upon a collision course, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“Our clumsy knight is making his way over to the medieval maiden.” She swept her hand down her costume.

“And I won’t be able to escape, should he point that lance at me. ”

“Oh dear, you’re right.” Aubrey nibbled at her lip.

“But then again, I’m sure he won’t—” She stopped, her hands coming up to her face to cover her mouth.

Because a portly man wearing a monocle backed into the knight’s path.

The man, knocked by the lance, crashed directly into Lady Weatherby’s bosom.

“Never mind. He’s moving rather slowly. Perhaps you should go take a turn about the garden.

Get some fresh air? I’ll join you in a moment.

I’ll just see if I can’t minimize the damage here first.”

Sarah gave a tentative nod and then she turned, attempting to gather up the extra folds of her dress without appearing too awkward. Once accomplished, she did the only thing a woman might do when her knight in clumsy armor had arrived. She made her escape.

* * *

Jack looked through the slots in the face shield of the armor he donned as a costume and let out another growl of frustration. He was an earl, for pity’s sake. His ancestors had worn this very suit regularly and with ease.

How could he be bumbling this so badly?

He consoled himself that years of the suit standing in the hall of his country estate had rusted the joints, making it difficult to move in. But the entire suit had to weigh three stone.