Page 3 of An Accidental Elopement

“Something about a cock?” Miss Drummond asked, looking at Archie, not her brother.

“Yes, a cock fight,” Francis Drummond quickly said, before Archie had a chance to say anything.

The two siblings bickered over what was so funny about a cock fight. Archie leaned back, finally recovered from his fit of laughter. He liked how Miss Drummond was able to discard all of Drummond’s half-baked lies. Even though she was a younger sister, it was clear that she was the bossy one of the two.

Hester was nothing like that. Sure, she wanted to be in charge, but five years younger than him and four years younger than their middle brother Gregory, she had always been left much to herself. Their three oldest siblings were five, eight, and ten years older than he and the two eldest had mainly played a role in their lives as a form of substitute nannies or governesses until they had grown up. The five-year gap between Archie and his older brother Henry, the heir, had somewhat been mended over the years as they had matured, but with Henry settled with a wife and now three sons, their lives were once again vastly different.

The whole party was an attempt to have Hester married off to one of the three bachelors his parents had invited. Besides Francis Drummond, there was Algernon Gaywood, brother to the delicious Cecilia, and Percy Eavesgrave, brother to the Earl of Lambourn. All of whom apparently were very fond of birds - or had developed the interest within the past couple of weeks. A fondness for ornithology had been his sister’s only requirement in a husband.

Their butler Curtis announced that dinner was served and saved Archie from having to make small talk with Miss Drummond who still had not stopped bickering with her brother.

He could not avoid escorting her into the dining room though. She seemed thrilled at the idea and even more so to find that there was no formal seating which meant that Archie could not avoid her at dinner. He held out a chair for her and tried not to sigh over having to make conversation with her. He caught his mother’s eyes, and she sent him a stern look with her icy blue eyes. He gave her an easy smile, before sitting down himself.

Despite being her favorite son, he knew that she was not pleased with him now. She did not like his “philandering ways” as she called it, to begin with, but the whole mess with Lavinia had only made it worse.

Well, in hindsight sneaking into the theater manager’s office for a quick rump during intermission had probably not been the best idea if he did not want others to know of the affair. As it was, the manager, the director, and the male lead actor had caught him with his pantaloons around his ankles as Lavinia had given a much more convincing performance than she had on stage.

A whiff of vanilla and something spicy, cinnamon or clover perhaps, reached his nostrils and for a moment Archie wondered whether dessert had already been served until he looked to his left and saw that Cecilia Gaywood was seated there. Of course, she had to smell delicious too. Like a bloody biscuit.

He gave her an easy smile and nodded, murmuring:

“Miss Gaywood, what a pleasant surprise.”

It amused him that she only acknowledged him with a brief nod and then turned to her betrothed, Lord Lambourn, on the other side. Archie looked at the graceful curve of her neck for a second, wishing that he could lean down and inhale her intoxicating scent, before placing a kiss there. Shaking off the thought with a slight shrug, he turned to Miss Drummond who would not stop talking about cock fights and how much she wanted to go to one.

Two

Cecilia gritted her teeth as she tried to keep a neutral expression on her face during dinner. She was annoyed at two things, no three things, four actually if she had to be honest, and she did not want her almost betrothed, the Earl of Lambourn, to know about either of them.

Firstly, there was her conversation with said earl, whom she was trying to think of as Flint since it was his first name and they would marry eventually. The conversation was not interesting enough to stop her from listening to Lord Archibald and Miss Drummond’s conversation. She could not exactly blame Flint for the fact since she held half of the responsibility. Although it would be convenient if she could.

The second reason was the fact that the elder Miss Drummond was as dumb as a door if she had no idea what kind of cock Lord Archibald had been referring to. Yes, Cecilia was innocent, but she had brothers - and married sisters - and she knew perfectly well that Lord Archibald had been referring to the male organ although she could not for the life of her fathom why he would do so in a drawing room.

The third reason she was annoyed was that she had to have been seated right next to Lord Archibald. Which she could not exactly fault him for, since he had walked to the seats first, but there had to have been some way that he had orchestrated this because four: Lord Archibald obviously thought that she would be the next notch on his headboard or wherever incurable rakes kept track of their conquests. She had seen the way he looked at her the moment the two greeted each other in the drawing room.

Which in itself was both presumptuous and annoying of him, but what was even more frustrating was the way her body reacted to him. How her body always seemed to be attracted to men with the worst reputations. And Lord Archibald’s was certainly horrible. He was known to have his fun with both widows and actresses. Her brother Algernon had told her about his latest scandal where he was caught with an actress and his pantaloons down in the theater manager’s office.

At the same time, the man looked almost angelically handsome with icy blonde hair, clear blue eyes, a sharp jawline, wide shoulders, and narrow hips that seemed to form an arrow that had led her eyes straight to... Cecilia almost blushed just thinking about it. Her eyes had strayed at least three times to that area of his physiognomy as they had been in the drawing room.

She took a large sip of her wine and at the same time Flint murmured:

“Is anything the matter, Miss Gaywood?”

“No, everything is perfectly fine,” Cecilia assured him and smiled.

Her mother constantly reminded her how lucky she was that she would soon be the Countess of Lambourn. Her grandfather was a baronet, but since it seemed that he would live forever, it could be years still before her father inherited the title. Going from being the granddaughter of a baronet to a countess was a very decent step up the ladder.

Flint had all the qualities that she could hope for: He was amenable and quite good-looking with short blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and a pleasant enough physique. Although he was not as tall as she would have liked. Not as tall as Lord Archibald. Cecilia quickly steered her thoughts in another direction.

One could not be too picky if one wanted to land a titled man. Because most importantly Flint was not one to toy with a woman’s emotions. He would not show interest if he was not inclined toward a woman. Lord Archibald on the hand was not such a man. He would flirt with anyone under the age of thirty wearing a skirt, Cecilia was certain, and it would mean absolutely nothing to him.

“The whole estate has changed little in the time my grandmother was countess. I’m sure she will take no offense that you redecorate some of the family rooms,” Flint said amiably, and Cecilia had to focus on the conversation again as they were discussing Barford Abbey, his country estate, which would soon be her home.

Cecilia sighed inwardly over having to undertake such a monumental task as redecorating at the beginning of her marriage. She would rather become acquainted with her new role of running a large estate before having to oversee any major changes. Even though she was looking forward to the role and finally having a household to run exactly the way she preferred it, she assumed that it would still take her some time to learn.

“That sounds lovely, Lord Lambourn. I’m certain I will have some ideas once we are settled,” she told him.

She had not yet visited Barford Abbey. Perhaps it was so old-fashioned that it was self-evident what needed to be done.