Page 14 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)

The Precarious Nature of Reputation

One minute turned into an hour, and then another, as Myra sat on the sofa, waiting for someone to free her from Mr. Northcott.

Everyone within the house was cheerful enough—everyone except for the man to whom she was tethered.

He hadn’t spoken since they’d agreed to use the hand that was unimpeded for any of their basic needs and now slept next to her, without a care in the world, his head resting against the back cushion.

As the seconds ticked away on the mantel clock, Myra ignored Mr. Northcott’s soft snores and the conversation around her as she waited for the earl to return.

And then she sighed as each of her sisters and her parents left the drawing room to dress for supper.

They were supposed to have guests over that evening—guests who would be scandalized by the current circumstances if the shackles were not removed.

“Lord Southwood,” Myra said, reaching out to him. “What are we to do?”

The viscount laughed, his expression far cheerier than his usual brooding manner.

Even the dark circles under his eyes seemed a little less prominent.

“This is but a lark. The people who work for these little bazaars make sport out of their patrons. You have no need to fear, Miss Astley. It will not be long before my father returns with the key or the blacksmith. All will be well.”

“A lark. Truly it cannot be so.”

He waved his hand about as he took a sip of his brandy.

“That is the meaning of these events. The performers put the patrons in impossible situations for a bit of fun, but they usually do not choose people of our social standing. Certainly, they must not have realized they were dealing with the son of an earl; elsewise, the mystic would have read your fortune and sent you on your way. The earl will straighten it out before our guests arrive.”

Myra took a trembling breath. “Are you certain?”

It wasn’t that she doubted his word. She wanted to believe in everything he said, but Mr. Northcott’s anger in the fortune teller’s tent had done nothing to free them.

The poor woman had searched frantically, tearing apart the tent to find the key, but to no avail; all the keys she produced were incorrect.

Leaning forward in his chair, Southwood placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “You must never doubt my word, especially since I am a gentleman. A viscount to boot.”

“Of course, my lord. I wish only to make you happy.”

“Once this is behind us, we can discuss our future. Would you like that?”

Heat rushed into her cheeks as she dipped her head, demurring away from his penetrating gaze. “The fortune teller had a little to say upon the topic. She spoke of children in my future. Although, I do not think we can trust a mystic. Do you?”

Myra purposefully left out the information regarding her future being tied to Mr. Northcott instead of Lord Southwood.

The mystic had misunderstood the situation presuming the couple before her were courting and not acquaintances.

Certainly no one would consider matching her with a grumpy intolerable man when she had such a pleasant suitor vying for her admiration.

“Spare me this incessant chatter,” Mr. Northcott said as he opened his eyes, his focus upon his brother. “If you wish to speak in such a manner, wait until I am free from her side.”

“Mr. Northcott, I have tried to understand you since this morning, and instead I am left baffled. Are you not happy that I am here?”

Mr. Northcott’s eyes slowly narrowed, his attention never wavering from his brother. “You are aware of my opinion on the matter, Miss Astley.”

Southwood laughed once more. “Oh, the shame of this entire affair. You shall never live it down, Daniel.”

She yanked his arm a little, flipping her hand upward, catching him in a moment when he was not expecting the movement.

Although he caught his hand in time, she had tried to hit him with it.

She knew it was childish, but what was she to do with a man as cantankerous as Mr. Northcott?

And then she realized there was a solution to this man’s orneriness.

If Mr. Northcott could be as happy as she and Lord Southwood, all would be well.

Myra smiled, her heart fluttering at the thought of playing matchmaker.

She had many friends, each of them lovely.

At least one of them would do for Mr. Northcott.

They could break him of his impersonable, prideful arrogance, and they could live quite peacefully in the country.

“Sir, have you considered finding a match? I should like to introduce you to my friends.”

Casting her a sidelong glance, a trace of amusement relaxed his countenance. “Thank you, but I have no desire to be married.”

“Never say so.” Myra turned to Lord Southwood. “Please tell me he is jesting.”

“I am afraid not, Miss Astley.” Lord Southwood pointed to Daniel’s right eye. “Do you see that there?”

“What?” All she could see was the gorgeous blue of his irises.

“That steeling glint.”

Mr. Northcott tried to fold his arms, but when her hand went with him, she yanked it back.

Settling for one hand across his middle, he narrowed his expression at his brother, making Myra’s breath catch in her throat.

He was dreadfully handsome. Closing her eyes, she shook her head a little to rid herself of the thought.

Smiling, she reached out and placed her free hand on Lord Southwood’s arm. “Is that how a man looks when he is a determined bachelor?”

“I am afraid so. You have met a man who loves his solitude. Not a pretty smile in all the world will pull him away from a well-lit fire and a quiet library.”

“Surely we can convince him to try courtship. Men were not made to be alone. I have at least one friend who will do for him.”

“Miss Asltey, we cannot expect everyone to take part in the complexities of love as we have. I am sure my brother has his reasons for staying away from the marriage mart.”

Myra leaned forward, sliding her hand down his arm to take hold of his hand. “Silly of me to believe everyone will find their perfect match. I only wish for my dear family and friends to be happy, and Mr. Northcott seems rather miserable.”

Mr. Northcott stood, none too gently pulling her left side forward. “I need privacy, Southwood. Where is our father?”

Southwood’s eyes lit up with laughter. He winked at his brother, and then sat back in his chair, folding his arms and crossing his legs.

He was enjoying Mr. Northcott’s discomfort.

It didn’t make her happy to see it, but she quickly ignored the warning.

What harm was there in a bit of brotherly teasing?

“He has not yet returned from the bazaar. I am afraid you will have to wait.”

“It cannot wait.” Mr. Northcott’s jaw was tight, his words strained as he fought to restrain his temper. She could see his face turning a shade of red, a silent communication Lord Southwood seemed to ignore.

“But it must.” Lord Southwood tilted his head toward her as though he was reminding his brother that she was present.

“If you wish for me to stop speaking, I can sit here in silence,” Myra said. Of course, it wasn’t ideal, as she wanted to continue speaking with Lord Southwood, but if it would cool Mr. Northcott’s temper, she would sit in absolute silence for the duration of the evening.

“My discomfort has nothing to do with your tongue.” Mr. Northcott took hold of her elbow, forcing her up from the sofa. “We need a solution now.”

He led the way out into the hall, his progress stopped abruptly by the earl entering through the vestibule.

The earl stood next to the butler as he handed his hat over.

When he noticed his audience, he held up a ring of keys.

“One of these should do the trick. The master of the bazaar assures me this was all a mistake. He apologized profusely and provided these keys as a solution.”

“We must hurry; the drink I had earlier has created a problem for me,” Daniel whispered to his father.

The words were scarcely more than a murmur, yet Myra heard them clearly enough to feel her cheeks flare.

One hand flew to her mouth, as though she could hold back both her shock and the laughter threatening to escape.

Heaven help her—she was not far from sharing the very same difficulty. The lemonade had been a grave mistake.

The earl’s eyes went wide as he stepped toward them. “No matter, Daniel. I told you this would be over soon enough.”

He fit the first key in the lock, wiggled it around, and then pulled it out.

The same results occurred with each attempt at unlocking the shackles.

As key after key went in and was quickly pulled out, Myra watched Mr. Northcott’s mood sour further.

He stood in anticipation, rocking from one foot to the next, causing the keys and the shackles to clink against each other as the earl fought to free them.

Myra felt her knees giving out as the last key went into the lock and then was pulled out—without the desired result.

She sank into the nearest chair in despair; none of the keys were a match.

Myra leaned her head against the hard wood, her nerves on end as the hallway filled with everyone in the house—Lord Southwood’s cousins, her family and the countess, all of them dressed for the supper party that evening.

“Hastings, have you freed these two yet?” the countess asked, her question not needing a verbal reply. Her gasp and the hand pressed against her chest made it clear that she had answer enough from the continued stubbornness of the metal shackles.

Lord Southwood grabbed the keys out of his father’s hands and they jostled about, clinging together as he began fitting each one into the lock once more.

His determination made her heart leap, but only a little, as she knew it was a fool’s attempt.

The earl would have freed them if he could. “One of these must work.”

“None of them fit.” The earl clasped his hands around the keys. With a deep, unsettled breath, his eyes fell upon Myra, and then Mr. Northcott. “Not to worry yet. We must go out to the stables. I sent for the blacksmith, and he should be here by now.”

Her legs wobbled as she stood; the shock of having so many keys and yet none of them a fit was enough to make her worry that this was not a simple fix.

What would she do if the shackles remained?

Certainly, they could not live in this manner.

Holding to the back of the chair, Myra took a moment to gather her composure, then when she was ready, she nodded to the earl.

In his need for privacy, Mr. Northcott’s stride lengthened far more than it had been that morning. Myra lifted her dress with one hand as she ran alongside Mr. Northcott. As they entered the stables, she gently tugged on his arm to remind him that his consideration would be appreciated.

He dipped his head in response. “My apologies.”

Lord Southwood stepped forward, pushing Mr. Northcott’s shoulder. “Have a care. She is a gentle creature, and I do not want her harmed.”

“Then you should have stayed with her instead of spending the day in a gambling hovel.”

Gambling? Myra turned to Lord Southwood. This was the second time she’d heard about his gambling issues. Was that what he considered business?

“Lord Southwood, I distinctly remember you said it was business that took you away today,” Myra said. “A friend from Cambridge.”

Rumors of gambling had reached her each season, but she’d always tried to stay away from the men who spent their evenings with cards and dice. Many a man within the ton had gambled away his inheritance, while the winners added to their extensive coffers. What sort of gambler was Lord Southwood?

“Do not worry your pretty little mind about it.” Lord Southwood tapped her nose with his finger, his dashing smile melting her heart. “We must free you from this unfortunate situation so you can dress for supper. I wish to have you on my arm this evening.”

She turned to look at her father, a moment of fear causing her to question the quickness of her affections.

Was her father aware of Lord Southwood’s gambling?

She wanted to believe it was a harmless day of releasing tension; he’d been stressed over the last few weeks.

Inviting her family to his ancestral home had likely added to his concerns, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been a little blind.

One thing was for certain, and she didn’t care to admit it even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Mr. Northcott had been correct. If Lord Southwood had accompanied her to the fortune teller that morning, she would be shackled to him and not his brother.