The Lady Most Willing

“Thank you,” she said, turning in the direction he indicated.

Though she’d never met Oakley in London, she knew his reputation as a stickler of the highest order. She had seen him several times in the company of Lord Burbett, her most solemn suitor, but had never asked for an introduction. He seemed the sort of man who would always find fault with a person, and she never purposely courted self-doubt.

Now Oakley was scowling deeply, his hands behind his back as he walked alongside her. “I am sorry about all this,” he finally said. “Burbett will have my head when he hears about it.”

She frowned. Apparently, Oakley thought Burbett entertained a position of greater importance in her life than he did. She could hardly inform Oakley that she had turned down his friend’s offer. It was Burbett’s place to reveal that information in whatever light he chose.

Taking her ensuing silence for a rebuke against overfamiliarity, Oakley flushed. “And now I must apologize again.”

“Good heavens, m’lord,” she said, “this is the eighth or ninth time you’ve apologized for something or other. You can’t possibly blame yourself for everything. I assure you, I do not.”

“As no one else in my family seems to comprehend the gravity of the situation or claim culpability in bringing it about, if only for pride’s sake, I must.”

“You do not consider your uncle or . . .” She hesitated. “ . . . your cousin to be properly conscience-stricken?”

“Uncle Taran has no conscience,” Oakley muttered.

“And your cousin?” she prodded.

For a moment she thought he might rebuff this overture but then the stiffness that seemed an essential part of his demeanor dissolved. He smiled rather ruefully.

“I suppose in all fairness if you are going to acquit me of blame, you must do the same for Robin,” he said. “Though it is nigh well impossible to tell from outward appearances, I suspect he is as shocked as I am by Taran’s fool antics.”

“Is he?” Now here was a topic far more interesting than Burbett.

Again that unexpected—and unexpectedly charming—smile. “One can but hope.”

The opportunity to learn more about Robin was irresistible. “For a gentleman noted for his, ah, appreciation of young ladies, the comte certainly makes himself absent a great deal of the time.” It was an appallingly bold thing to say and she could scarce believe she’d uttered it.

Oakley glanced at her in some surprise, but answered nonetheless, “My cousin prefers to give his appreciation only to ladies who are no longer young misses.”

Ha! Cecily thought grimly, not if Marilla Chisholm had her way.

“Well, it isn’t very polite,” she said.

“You mustn’t take it personally,” Oakley said. The earl must be distracted by something—or someone—indeed, to forget his legendary reserve. “I suspect that Robin is trying to ensure that no one’s reputation suffers through association with him.”

“Or he is simply bound and determined not to fall in with your uncle’s matrimonial plans for him?” she suggested.

“It is, of course, possible, but I doubt it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t think Robin believes any reputable young lady would consider him a viable matrimonial candidate. No, something else is making him act strangely, and his concern for your reputations is the best reason I can deduce.”

“You sound vexed,” she said lightly.

“That’s because Robin is vexing. And aggravating. And wholly a dunderhead.”

“By all appearances, he is quite your opposite, m’lord,” she retorted icily, unable to refrain from coming to Robin’s defense. “One could see how so congenial a gentleman might try the patience of someone who appears so sober.”

His lips tightened. “Who a person appears to be to the world and who that person knows himself to be are not always the same thing.”

She understood better than most. She knew society considered her insipid, but as long as her family and intimate friends knew better, she didn’t care. But looking at Oakley, a thought occurred to her. “Of whom are you speaking?” she asked. “Yourself or the comte?”

“Perhaps both of us. Even you, Lady Cecily. Burbett proclaimed you to be the most circumspect young lady of his acquaintance and yet here you are interrogating me about my cousin.”

Heat flooded up her neck and into her cheeks.

“But then, what do I know of ladies?” he continued on a note of savagery that surprised her. “Nothing. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to chastise you. Fool that I am, I insist on seeing things