Free When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden

pugilism skills.
    She sighed and sipped her own wine, contemplating how best to proceed without Charlotte, since her best friend had disappeared from the Pennywhistle drawing room a half-hour before dinner. According to Mr. Farrington, Charlotte had been summoned by her father, who was visiting from America. While Viola hoped the meeting proved amiable for Charlotte’s sake, she now must substantially revise her plans for the next phase of her Tannenbrook Hunt. Her scheme for this evening required sound timing, a facility with persuasion, and a stomach for mild deception. Charlotte lacked only the latter.
    Viola’s second choice of partner, on the other hand, lacked all three. She grimaced as said alternative laughed—nay, brayed—at something Lord Mochrie said, the honking sound carrying the length of the gold-toned room. Grateful not to be seated near enough to hear what passed for Mochrie’s humor, Viola nevertheless leaned forward to glimpse Penelope’s profile. Her cousin was flushed, the tip of her long nose pinkened by wine.
    Blast. This plan could prove a disaster.
    She examined the men to either side of her. They now sparred behind her head. Next, she looked to Tannenbrook. A warm ache invaded her midsection as she lingered over his shoulders, which must be at least a yard in breadth. Nothing for it. I must speak with him alone, and I cannot very well visit him at his residence. “Penelope it is,” she muttered beneath her breath.
    “Beg your pardon, Miss Darling?” inquired Mr. Bennett.
    “I heard your dulcet voice, Miss Darling, but I fear the words did not register in my ears,” echoed the Reedham heir.
    She gave them each a smile as false as their flattery. “How refreshing it is to taste strawberries this early in the season.”
    Thereafter, the two men vied to establish which of them possessed a superior understanding of glass houses and fruit cultivation.
    For her part, Viola sipped her wine and plotted, gazing upon her future husband with growing relish.
     
    *~*~*
     
    “Take the thoroughbred foal, Tannenbrook. I insist.” Lord Wallingham took a swig of his port. “It is the least I can do.”
    James frowned. “Is Lady Willoughby—”
    “Furious with me.” The flat line of the older man’s mouth curved wryly. “Not for the first time. But she is safe and well, apart from the fright, and I have you to thank.”
    “No need to thank me. I am gratified all ended well.”
    “I shall have the foal delivered to your stable.”
    Raising a brow at the man’s presumption, James began to suspect Charles Bainbridge resembled his mother in more than intellect, although his quiet mien certainly gave no indication of it. “If you are determined to offer a reward, I would ask instead a favor.”
    Wallingham frowned. “Whatever you require.”
    “Intervene on my behalf with Lady Wallingham.”
    “Except that.”
    Now, both of James’s brows rose.
    “Waste of time. My mother will not heed a word I say. Take the foal, Tannenbrook. Trust me on this.” The other man’s matter-of-fact delivery spoke far more eloquently than his words.
    Sighing, James finished his own port and placed the glass on a nearby tray. “I feared as much. Apologies, Wallingham, but having negotiated with her for months now, I am perplexed as to how a man might change her course.”
    Wallingham set his glass next to James’s and gave a nod of deep resignation. “As are we all. Whatever her course, she believes it is right and just and best. Attempting to persuade her otherwise will only end in abject frustration.”
    “How do you manage?” James did not intend insult—he was genuinely impressed.
    Wallingham shrugged. “Avoidance, primarily.”
    Just then, Mr. Pennywhistle announced it was time to rejoin the ladies. Wallingham followed James out of the library toward the drawing room, continuing their conversation as they traversed the corridor. “What sort of bind does she have you in?” Wallingham asked.
    “She