An Earl Like You Page 7

  Lady Henrietta, of course, would face no such barrier, which was probably why she was eager for her debut. Perhaps having a sister would have made her Season more enjoyable, Eliza thought. “I hope Lady Henrietta has a wonderful time next year,” she told the earl.

  “I’m sure she shall. Do you enjoy the Season’s events, as well?”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Oh dear. How to answer without looking like a recluse or a hopeless wallflower? “I enjoy the theater,” she said carefully. “Not so much balls.” She waved one hand with a wry smile. “I found balls and parties very overwhelming when I came out into society, and now I prefer more intimate gatherings of friends.”

  “Those are always the best society,” he agreed with a smile.

  “I also like a quiet evening at home,” she added. “Reading or playing the pianoforte. Especially if Papa is home. He’s often out late, and it’s a special evening when he is home.”

  “Er—yes. I’m sure.” He inclined his head.

  Eliza fiddled with her cup; they were running out of polite topics of conversation. What should she say?

  “Have you decided to go into business with my father?” she blurted out.

  His brows rose, and he paused, holding his teacup in midair. “I beg your pardon?”

  Mortified, Eliza tried to smile. “He said you had not decided, when you came to dinner. Forgive me for prying—”

  “No,” he said, staring at her. “Of course you must wonder.”

  Her hands were shaking. She set down her cup and twisted her fingers together. “If you have decided, I only wanted to assure you that Papa’s not nearly as harsh as he sometimes seems. He’s very . . . very competitive, I suppose, and he likes to win. But that serves him well in his investments, and his investors are usually quite pleased.”

  A thin line appeared between his brows. He also set down his cup and pushed the plate of sandwiches aside. “Does he speak to you of all his business affairs?”

  Too late Eliza remembered what Mrs. Burney, her one-time companion, had tried to drill into her head. The aristocracy thought it was vulgar to discuss money, and as she was a female, no one cared about her opinions of it anyway. Her face felt like it was on fire. “No,” she murmured. “I—I only wondered . . .”

  “Did you?” He sat back, studying her with an odd expression. “I confess, it’s been a difficult decision to reach. Your father is a demanding man.”

  “Oh no—well, yes,” she amended. “When it comes to business he is. To me he is the kindest, most loving parent I could imagine.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted, but it looked more bitter than amused. “I have not seen that side of him.”

  “It’s true!” Anxious to make up for introducing this disastrous topic, Eliza moved to the front of her chair. “He’s very generous to anyone in need. My friends from school were always welcome here, and he’s almost as fond of them as if they were his own daughters, which is lovely because Sophie is an orphan, and Georgiana nearly is. He would do anything to keep them from harm.”

  “And he would do anything for you.”

  “Well, yes. He’s a very affectionate father . . .” She trailed off hesitantly. The earl’s eyes were dark and opaque, his face set in hard lines. She hazarded a weak smile. “To me he is wonderful, but I suppose most daughters think so of their fathers.”

  Some of the tension faded from Lord Hastings. “Every lady deserves a father who would do anything for her.”

  Her smile brightened. “Yes. Very much.”

  “This proposal he put to me—” Lord Hastings stopped and looked sharply at her. “He didn’t explain it to you?”

  “Oh no, I’ve no idea,” she said quickly. “Sometimes he tells me, if he thinks it’s a silly idea. One friend of his has a plan to travel to Amsterdam by balloon. Papa thinks they’ll crash into the North Sea instead. Generally he assures me the things he does are far too dull to talk about and would put me to sleep. Trading shares of grain, and things like it.”

  “Right.” Hastings regarded her in silence for a moment. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that I have decided to do business with Mr. Cross. Even if he doesn’t discuss things with you, you would sort it out soon enough. We’ll probably see more of each other, as your father and I work together.” His smile this time was a little crooked. “Now you’re forewarned.”

  Eliza flushed a painful shade of red at how unprepared she’d been thus far. “How wonderful,” she said. “I’m sure Papa will be quite pleased to hear it.” The clock chimed the hour, making her jump. “Would you like to leave a message for him? I expect him home after dinner.”

  “If you would pass on my agreement to his proposal, I would be very grateful.” He looked at his teacup, then drained it. “Thank you, Miss Cross. I must return to London.”

  Oh thank heavens the visit was over. Eliza leapt to her feet. “I certainly will tell him, my lord. And I do apologize again that he was not here to see you himself.”

  “No, no.” He also rose, and suddenly smiled at her, so beautifully dazzling she almost swayed on her feet. “It was an unexpected pleasure to see you instead, and I cannot bring myself to regret his absence.”

  Flattering empty words, and yet Eliza felt her insides go up in flames like dry kindling touched with a taper. She walked out with him and managed to make a polite farewell, watching as he swung into the saddle of a handsome roan gelding. He tipped his hat to her, then rode off. Eliza exhaled, watching until he disappeared through the gates at the Deptford Road.

  We’ll see more of each other, echoed his words in her mind. It was an unexpected pleasure to see you.

  Eliza knew very well he had not meant them in any romantic way. He couldn’t possibly, being a charming, sophisticated aristocrat who was almost too handsome to be real. But still, he’d said those words, to her, without any prompting or prodding, and there was a very happy little smile on her lips when she went back into the house.

  Chapter 8

  Hugh spent some time thinking about how to proceed. It did not appear Miss Cross went out in society much, which was both for the better and for the worse. On one hand, it wouldn’t put his courtship of her right in front of the ton’s face, perhaps sparing him any rude gossip for a while. But on the other hand, it would be far less convenient. He couldn’t simply plot to attend the same events she did, because she didn’t attend many. He would have to seek her out in Greenwich, which meant he’d have to come up with multiple excuses to go there. He sent a terse note to Cross pointing this out and telling the man it would be considerably easier if he would take a box at the Theatre Royal and escort his daughter regularly.

  Cross replied that he had already done so, and expected to see Hugh there the next night.

  Hugh did not tell his mother and sisters he planned to attend the theater. He had been avoiding them lately. All three spoke daily of the wedding plans, the trousseau, what Edith would need in her new household. Edith was aglow with happiness, and every sentence out of her mouth managed to mention Benwick in some way, reminding Hugh every bloody day of how urgently he needed to act. Henrietta, a generous and loyal sister, happily played along with Edith’s adoration. Rose was bursting with pride at having her eldest daughter engaged, and in a true love match; she had long openly wished her children would have the sort of marriage she’d had. Hugh found it hard to keep quiet when she said things like that.

  In time, of course, they would have to know about Miss Cross. He hoped they would like her, and she them.

  Hugh had deliberately gone to Greenwich when Cross was away, hoping to meet her again. Now that the choice was made, he wanted a fresh view of her. It was a vast relief to see that she was as he had thought the first time he met her, somewhat shy but kind and decent. He wasn’t sure what he thought of her looks yet. The first time he’d set eyes on her had not been promising, but even a beauty would have looked wretched in that dingy apron, smelling of wet dog. She’d been exquisitely dressed and eve
n pretty when he dined at Greenwich, but then looked as if she’d been cleaning with the servants again when he called.

  He told himself it didn’t really matter what she looked like, but it would be harder to persuade everyone he’d fallen in love with her if she went about looking like a scullery maid half the time. His mother had been a noted beauty in her youth, and his sisters took pride in appearing at their best, even for an afternoon at home. They would wonder in amazement if he claimed to fall in love with a girl who dressed like a shopkeeper’s assistant.

  Hugh bought a ticket in the pit for the evening performance, and made his way through the throngs. It didn’t take long to spy Mr. Cross and his daughter; the man had taken the largest, most prominent box, one usually taken by a duke or royal personage. Miss Cross sat at the front of it, leaning forward in obvious delight. Her father appeared quite pleased with himself, sitting with his arms folded as he nodded to everyone who glanced his way. Hugh wondered if he knew people were staring at him because they were scandalized, not because they were admiring, then decided it was probably all the same to Cross.

  He went up at the first interval. The door to the box stood open, but no one went in. The father and daughter looked rather lonely in the spacious box, sitting at the front with their heads together. Hugh cleared his throat and tapped on the door. Miss Cross looked up, and her lips parted at the sight of him.

  “Good evening, Miss Cross.” He bowed. “Sir.”

  “Lord Hastings.” She rose and curtsied, her cheeks pink.

  “Am I intruding?”

  “No, no, come right in.” Cross was watching, one arm propped on the rail, his eyes shrewd.

  Hugh ignored him and strolled toward the daughter, his future wife. “Are you enjoying the opera?” It was some melodramatic production called Devil’s Bridge. Hugh hadn’t registered a word of it.

  She brightened. “Oh yes, very much! Are you, sir?”

  He couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in her voice. She hadn’t exaggerated her fondness for theater. “I am. My sister saw this opera last week, and I’ve heard about nothing since but Miss Kelly’s performance.” That was marginally a lie. Edith had seen the show, with Benwick and his parents, but she hadn’t cared for it, and the only words she’d said about the soprano star had been dismissive.

  Miss Cross smiled. “Yes, Miss Kelly has excellent intonation.”

  “Is your family here as well?” asked Edward Cross.

  Hugh managed to smile as if it were no matter. As if he would bring his family and publicly introduce them to the man who had arrogated to himself Hugh’s choice of bride. “No. I have been enjoying the show from the pit.”

  “Down there?” exclaimed Miss Cross. “Is it as boisterous as it looks? I don’t know how anyone could hear the singers.”

  “It is a bit boisterous,” he admitted with a grin and a wink. “But I was too late to secure a seat in the stalls.”

  “Poor planning,” said Edward Cross, shaking his finger. “I hope it’s not your habit.”

  There was a warning in that. Hugh looked right at the man. “Normally I plan quite carefully. There are times, though, when circumstances change rather abruptly and one must adjust plans to suit them.”

  Cross gave his faint smile. “How fortunate that you are so agile in your thinking.”

  “One must be,” returned Hugh, “given the manipulations of Fate.”

  “I don’t know about the manipulations of Fate,” said Miss Cross, sounding determinedly pleasant. Hugh realized his exchange with her father had turned tense very quickly. “But you are very welcome to join us in our box, sir. It’s quite large and comfortable.”

  He affected surprise. “Are you certain? Is no one else joining you?”

  “No.” She gave her father an exasperated glance. “Speaking of poor planning, Papa did not tell me he had taken a box until this morning, and there wasn’t time to invite anyone.”

  “And so I have had you to myself,” the man answered, unrepentant.

  She threw up her hands, but with a smile. “Lord Hastings, I hope you will join us.”

  “Thank you, Miss Cross. I would be delighted.” He turned to her father, hating the man for the satisfied expression he wore. Cross had schemed to keep other guests from the box, just as he’d schemed for Hugh to find them here. “I wonder if I might have a word, sir?”

  Cross got up and followed him to the rear of the box. Miss Cross resumed her seat and rested her hands on the rail, leaning forward to study the crowd. Hugh couldn’t help noticing the smooth curve of her neck and shoulders, bare except for a string of flawless pearls. Her pink gown was exactly right for an unmarried young lady, but made of finest silk and lace. She had excellent taste, he admitted. Many women with Cross’s vast fortune at their disposal wouldn’t be able to resist every expensive adornment in London.

  “Well done, Hastings,” said Cross in a low voice. “I understand you called on her the other day.”

  Hugh’s mouth tightened. “No, sir, I called upon you. You were out. It would be improper for me to call upon a young lady alone.”

  “Right.” Cross looked amused. “The rules of your game.”

  God save him. Hugh breathed deeply. “The rules of society, yes. Would you want the ton to think your daughter is a loose woman, given how determined you are to see her made part of it?” Without waiting for an answer, he asked the real question. “What is the nature of our fictitious business relationship? Your daughter asked and I will have to tell her something at some point.”

  Cross’s eyes had narrowed at the reproof. Now he looked contemptuous. “You have an estate in Cornwall. Quite a large one, too. Tell her you suspect there’s a vein of ore beneath your land. I made a pretty fortune off tin and copper from Cornish mines.”

  Hugh stiffened in fury at the thought of Cross digging mines in the grounds of Rosemere, the estate his father had rebuilt and renamed in honor of his mother. He’d rather be sent to the Fleet than allow that.

  But no, it did not matter what excuse he gave. Cross wasn’t going to dig up Rosemere, and Miss Cross would never have to know. “As you say.”

  “Ride out to call as often as you want.” Cross’s eyes gleamed in the dim box. “I’m usually away from home before dinner.”

  When he could see Miss Cross alone. Hugh jerked his head in acknowledgment.

  Cross nodded once, then turned back to his daughter. “Eliza, would you like some lemonade or ratafia?”

  “Thank you, Papa, please.” She turned her head to smile at him, and in that moment she looked rather lovely. With her face lit by affection and happiness, she wasn’t actually plain, Hugh realized. Her face was unremarkable, true, but there was a brightness and an animation to her tonight, some spark that made her arresting.

  Cross left without asking if Hugh wanted any wine, and he went to take the seat beside her. “Thank you for inviting me to join you.”

  The pulse throbbed nervously at the base of her throat, but her smile was warm and steady. “Of course. Usually Papa gives me leave to invite friends when he takes a box.”

  Hugh let his voice drop. “I take it as an honor to be invited, then.”

  The corners of her mouth quivered, and she blinked as if startled. “Oh—well—” Color suddenly roared up her face. “That is, I did not mean to presume, my lord—”

  “I know.” He made the smallest touch on her gloved hand. “I could see the offer was made only out of kindness. Although . . . I would count it an honor to be called your friend.”

  Her eyes were perfectly round. They were not green, he realized; more of a hazel, with some gold and brown mixed in. Her lashes were long, thick and dark, and she looked almost shocked, staring at him.

  Hugh sat back in his chair. “How does Willy fare?”

  Her shoulders eased. “Perfectly well. He chased a duck into the river the other day and required another bath.” Hugh made a face and she smiled. “I spoke to all the staff, and now the doors stay firmly closed
when Willy is in his bath, so he can’t run wild in the house again.”

  “You said you found him.” Talking about the dog put her at ease. It seemed the safest topic for now.

  “I did.” Her face brightened, and she turned in her chair to face him. “Under a bush near Kew. William—that’s our head groom—believes he’s half spaniel, half pointer, and that he was the result of an illicit liaison between some gentleman’s hunting dog and his lady’s lapdog.”

  Hugh laughed. “I’m sure it happens all the time.”

  She regaled him with a few more anecdotes about Willy. Her demeanor completely changed when she talked about the dog, Hugh realized. Instead of blushing and shy, she grew animated and droll. She made him laugh with the story of Willy meeting a new calf at the market, and he was surprised when the lights went down again for the farce to begin. Edward Cross slipped into the box as the orchestra began to play, handing his daughter a glass of lemonade.

  Hugh paid no more attention to the farce than he had to the opera. He took every opportunity to study the young woman sitting beside him. She didn’t hide her amusement at the production on stage, laughing at the pranks of the fool and clapping one hand to her mouth when the hero fell to his knee and proclaimed his love for the fainting maiden. Hugh sensed it was all genuine, as genuine as her nerves and her devotion to Willy and even her welcoming words to him this evening. Eliza Cross was not a liar.

  Her father, though, would put Machiavelli to shame.

  When it was over, he bade them farewell. While Miss Cross was adjusting her shawl, he leaned close to Mr. Cross. “I shall call on Thursday next at two o’clock,” he murmured. “Tell her you expect to be home by then, but delay half an hour.”

  Cross nodded once.