Page 29 of The Wedding Challenge

Callie settled down to watch the play, as well, telling herself that she would delve into the subject of the earl’s sister later, during the intermission, when Sir Lucien would doubtless leave to get them all refreshments.

The play was not a particularly exciting one, and Callie had trouble keeping her mind on the stage. She was aware of an urge to glance over at the earl’s box, but she would not allow herself to do so. It would not do to let him see that she had an interest in him. But she could not keep her mind from going where it would, and her thoughts kept turning to the man.

Why had her brother objected to him? Francesca and Sir Lucien, two of the mainstays of the ton, had not even recognized him, and they were much more likely than Sinclair to know all the gossip. The earl could not be a well-known rake, which had been Callie’s fear after the way Sinclair had reacted to his being with her on the terrace. If the earl was a man who was in the habit of seducing maidens, Callie was certain that Sir Lucien would know that fact, even if by some stretch of the imagination Francesca did not. Callie was also sure that Sir Lucien would have, at the very least, found a delicate way of warning her away from the man.

So, if there was no scandal attached to his name, why did Sinclair dislike him? He must know Lord Bromwell. But, according to Sir Lucien, the earl spent his time in Yorkshire on his estates, so Callie had no idea how Sinclair would even be acquainted with him. The duke had no land in Yorkshire that Callie knew of; certainly she had never gone there with him.

Perhaps at some time Sinclair had done some sort of business with the man. Sinclair, unlike most noblemen, not only paid active attention to the welfare of his many lands, he also was wont to invest his money—as well as Callie’s own, smaller, fortune. She supposed that Sinclair could have thought that the earl had done something ethically wrong in his business. Callie was certain that Sinclair would not dislike the man simply because he was involved in making money, even though many of the aristocracy did consider such a thing crass.

Or, Callie thought, perhaps Sinclair had merely reacted to the situation. He had been anxious about her welfare; he had been looking for her. And when he had found her alone on the terrace with a man, perhaps it had alarmed him so much that he simply assumed the man must be a scoundrel, even though he did not know him.

That, she thought, seemed the likeliest thing. If Sinclair had leaped to such a conclusion, that meant that when time passed and he looked back on the situation, he would probably realize that he had acted hastily and without any real knowledge. And Sinclair, being the fair sort he was, would admit that he had been wrong to judge the other man so quickly and on such little evidence. If he could be made to see that he was wrong, Sinclair would always admit it and apologize. Surely that would be the case with the Earl of Bromwell.

On the other hand, Callie could not forget that Sinclair had called the other man by name. And that meant, of course, that he did know him, even if Francesca and Sir Lucien did not. It had seemed to her that the earl had recognized Sinclair, as well.

She was still worrying over the problem when the lights of the theater came back up, and the audience began to rustle and move about. Sir Lucien volunteered to go out into the lobby and bring back glasses of ratafia for the two women. As soon as he left, Callie turned toward Francesca, determined to steer the conversation back to Bromwell’s sister, but Francesca had scarcely gotten past a few generalities about the play when there was a knock upon their door.

Callie suppressed her irritation as Francesca called out a polite invitation to enter. It was in general the custom to pay calls back and forth among the boxes at the play or opera. Callie had been hoping to get in a few words with Francesca before visitors began to arrive, but obviously that was not to be the case.

Like Francesca, she turned toward the door with a welcoming smile. It opened to reveal the blond man whom Sir Lucien had identified as Mr. Tilford. Next to him stood the Earl of Bromwell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CALLIE’S HAND CLENCHED on the handle of her fan, and her pulse began a tumultuous run, but she managed, she thought, to keep her face coolly polite.

“Lady Haughston,” the blond young man began, somewhat tentatively. “I hope you will not find me too presumptuous. We met at Lady Billingsley’s soiree last Season. Mr. Archibald Tilford.”

Since Francesca had not known the man’s identity, Callie felt sure that she had no memory of the meeting, but the man looked so nervous and uncertain that Francesca took pity on him and smiled, nodding graciously to the gentlemen.

“Of course. Mr. Tilford. Do come in.”

“Thank you. Most kind,” Tilford said quickly, looking relieved, and he and his companion stepped into the small room.

The box, Callie noticed, which had seemed quite roomy with just the two of them in it, now appeared rather small. There was nowhere to look except at the man who had occupied her mind so much over the past two days.

Callie had thought that perhaps the Cavalier costume had romanticized Lord Bromwell, made him appear more dashing and handsome than he actually was. In truth, she thought as she covertly studied him now, Bromwell was, if anything, even more handsome in the simpler clothes of the present day. His long, lean body needed none of the padding the doublet provided, and the narrower trousers that were currently fashionable emphasized the strong musculature of his legs. There was no need for the jangle of spurs or the sword at his side to add to the masculine aura that hung about him.

“Lady Haughston, please allow me to introduce my cousin Richard, Earl of Bromwell,” Mr. Tilford went on.

“How do you do?” Francesca greeted the other man politely, offering her hand to him. She and Callie had both stood and turned to face the men as they came into the box. Now Francesca gestured toward Callie. “Lady Calandra Lilles.”

There was a twinkle in Bromwell’s eyes as he turned toward Callie, executing a respectable bow. “Lady Calandra and I have met…if you remember, my lady.”

“But of course,” Callie replied, pleased that her voice came out relaxed and natural. “How could one forget Lady Pencully’s masquerade?”

“Ah, then I must be excused for not recognizing you, Lord Bromwell,” Francesca commented. “As we were all in disguise.”

“But some are memorable even in disguise,” the earl replied smoothly. “As you were, Lady Haughston—a shepherdess, if I remember correctly.”

“Indeed, sir, I was.”

“And Lady Calandra came as Katherine Parr, though she is far too young to have been that lady when she was queen.”

“Is that who you were?” Francesca asked, turning toward Callie. “And here I assumed you must have been Anne Boleyn.”

“A Tudor lady, really,” Callie said. “That was all I intended. ’Twas Lord Bromwell who raised me to royalty.”

“It was immediately apparent to me that that was where you belonged,” he replied.