Miss Lavender must have seen the resignation on his face because a saccharine smile stretched across her lips. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have a schedule.”
That was all Austin needed to hear to be certain that this would be the longest months of his life.
Chapter Nine
“Is this to your liking, my lord?”
Austin barely glanced at the sheets of paper before him before his mind drifted back to the pair of determined brown eyes that had been haunting him all night. “Good,” he grunted, reaching absentmindedly for his glass of whiskey and waving his butler away.
“But, my lord, you did not choose.”
Austin grumbled something unintelligible as the warm liquor washed through his body. He couldn’t focus on a single thing. Not the ruckus echoing through the townhouse as workmen traipsed in and out conducting repairs. Not his butler, who had been trailing after him all morning asking him asinine questions like what drapes he would like in the drawing rooms. He could not even concentrate on the fact that he had the day to himself, free from the pressures of an impending wedding and his needy betrothed.
All he could think about was Miss Lavender and herschedule.
Truly, he didn’t think such a mundane word could cause such a visceral reaction in him. He shuddered as he lurched to his feet, wandering anxiously to the sideboard to pour himself another drink.
To his frustration, his butler shadowed him. “My lord, then is this to your liking?” he asked, showing Austin a swath of fabric.
Austin hardly looked at it, annoyed. “I do not care about such things,” he grumbled. “Leave me be, won’t you?”
The butler’s hand fell to his side. “My lord, you had tasked me with the job of renovation. I hesitate to make a decision you may not like.”
“Just keep everything the same then,” he snapped, stalking to the window instead. “No changes. Tell them to make their repairs and change nothing in the process.”
“Understood, my lord.” Still, the butler hesitated. Austin could feel his eyes boring in the back of him without turning around.
“What is it?” Austin pushed through gritted teeth, already frustrated with whatever was to come.
“If I may make a suggestion, my lord—”
“You may not.”
“Of course,” the butler said quickly. But he remained, silent for just a few moments before he said, “I only wished to point out that you will be a married man soon. It is likely that the future Lady Derby will spend most of her time in the London house. Perhaps it would be a good idea to make changes that may better suit her taste.”
Austin said nothing. He only turned slightly, fixing his glare on the butler. The other man stiffened and sank into a deep bow.
“Pardon me, my lord,” he said hastily and all but scurried out of the room.
Alone, Austin did not feel any better. Between staff offering unsolicited advice and a mousy lady hounding his every thought, he was in a constant state of irritation. He could hardly be thankful for how quickly the repairs were being made. Soon enough, he could visit his family estate to see if it had returned to its former glory. That was the main reason he’d agreed to all of this madness in the first place, after all.
A schedule. That would not stop hounding him.
Austin reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulled free the sheet of paper folded within. Last night, Miss Lavender had eagerly pressed this into his palm, taking full advantage of his stunned state. She hadn’t even seemed annoyed with him any longer. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had meant to distract him with his irritation before making her announcement.
“Take a good look, my lord,” she’d chirped. “And be ready when the days come.”
Then she’d left him standing there, her friend giving him an apologetic smile as she left as if she too knew exactly what Miss Lavender had done.
A trap within a trap. And he’d walked right into both.
Austin sighed as he unfolded the letter and skimmed his gaze over the long, detailed list of events. Some were marked with an asterisk which she had explained meant she was yet to securean invite. Everything listed, however, came with another set of instructions. What to wear, how to act, who to speak to.
He thought of Miss Lavender sitting on the floor of her library, poring over this list with such detail. Her hair slung over one shoulder, ink smudged on her hands. A focus in her eyes that blocked out the world around her.
Why did a girl, with such obvious romantic ideals, agree to an arranged marriage?
He simply couldn’t understand it. She was detailed, she was driven, and she romanticized the ton and the London Season. Wouldn’t she have preferred to attend these events on her own and fall in love with a man on her own?
