An Earl Like You Read online

  “I am determined to be a good steward of Rosemere,” he told his mother.

  She smiled in relief. “I know, dear. So like your father.” She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and Hugh closed his eyes at the rush of resentment in his chest. He was tired of hearing how like his father he was, particularly from people who couldn’t know how wrong they were.

  That thought made it easier to say what he must. “I must confess another motive in joining Cross the other night. His daughter was with him, and she invited me.”

  “His daughter?” The countess raised her chin, a flash of apprehension in her eyes. “You can’t mean . . .”

  “Mother.” He took her hand. “It was a surprise to me, but she’s nothing like her father. I think you would like her a great deal, if you met her.”

  “The daughter of the man who wants to dig up my beloved Rosemere? You think I should receive her?”

  He ignored her shocked tone. “Don’t you trust my judgment?” He gave a crooked grin. “It’s improved a great deal since I assured you Robert Fairfield was a modest fellow, and wouldn’t lead me into any trouble at school.”

  Her face softened. “You were both boys! Boys are full of high spirits, and any woman who thinks her child won’t get into trouble doesn’t deserve to have a son. Besides, I know his mother.”

  “I don’t recall you being so understanding when we set fire to the tutor’s laundry,” he said with a laugh. “But you can trust me on this.”

  Still smiling, she sighed and touched his arm. “I will. But I hope you consider carefully what it would mean to bring a girl like that into our circle.”

  “Good heavens, I didn’t mean to suggest we adopt her,” he said in mock indignation. “I only said I think you would like her, if you ever happen to meet her.”

  “And I know very well what that means,” she retorted. “I said much the same thing to my parents when I first met your father.”

  He reeled back as if struck. “Good gracious, Mother. Do you mean to suggest I’ve met the woman of my dreams, and am just too thickheaded to realize it yet?”

  “The daughter of a common speculator would be a very odd choice,” she pointed out. “I hope you aren’t being swayed by a passing interest.”

  On the contrary; he had a deep and abiding interest in saving his estate. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “You know me better than that. I’m off to Tattersall’s and won’t be home until late.” He still spent his days as if he hadn’t a care in the world, about money or anything else.

  She bade him farewell and left, her expression clear. Hugh knew it meant she believed he would never do something so shocking or crass as to court a Cit’s daughter. He could only hope she would be swayed by Miss Cross’s obvious kindness and warmth when the time came for him to tell his mother he meant not only to court her, but to marry her.

  The flowers caught Eliza off guard. It was a small posy, wrapped in silk ribbon, but with a note that threatened to topple her world off its axis. These are nothing to the beauty in your own garden, but they made me think of you. Your servant, Hastings

  She read it approximately fifteen times before believing it was real. The posy she put into a vase herself and set on the windowsill by the pianoforte, where she could see them as she practiced. But her fingers seemed to have lost any sense of the keys, and she finally closed the cover.

  The card taunted her, lying next to her music. She picked it up and read it again. The Earl of Hastings had sent her flowers. And there was little to explain it, except the remote, incredible, virtually impossible chance that he was flirting with her.

  Eliza had received flowers before. During her Season, Papa had taken a house right in the center of London to make it easier for her to attend balls and soirees and take drives in the park with gentlemen. And gentlemen had come—they asked her to dance, and to walk, and to drive. Some sent her flowers. But it never took long for Eliza to realize that each and every one of them was there because of her dowry. The man who proposed to her the second time they met. The baronet who called her his dear Emily. The dashing army captain who sent a sonnet in praise of her fine dark eyes, having never noticed her eyes were green. Even one of Papa’s associates, thankfully one of the younger ones, had called on her—although he quickly admitted he thought they made a good match because of how well he got on with Papa.

  Once Eliza started turning aside the fortune hunters, she stopped receiving many callers. Her suspicions made her even more reticent and shy about talking to any man who approached her at a ball, and soon they stopped doing that, as well. Eliza almost fainted with relief when the Season ended and they went back to Greenwich.

  Lord Hastings was different from those callers, though. He was an earl, which meant that if he wanted to marry an heiress, he could have found a duke’s daughter and been welcomed. He had seen her at her worst, soaking wet and smelly, and had not recoiled in disgust. He even had a way of charming her out of the horrifying nervous giggle that seemed to escape her lips any time a handsome man spoke to her . . . and yet he was the most attractive man she’d ever set eyes on, let alone spoken to.

  What could he possibly mean by sending her flowers?

  She mentioned it to her father that evening. “Lord Hastings sent me a posy of flowers today,” she said over the fish course, as casually as she could manage.

  Papa’s fork paused in midair. “Did he? Were they pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like them?”

  “Of course!”

  “What’s the trouble, then?” Papa speared another bite of fish and watched her as he ate.

  Eliza frowned. “There is no trouble, Papa. I was only surprised.”

  “I thought you liked the fellow.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed. She did like the earl, a great deal. Eliza snatched up her glass and took a healthy drink. “He’s very charming. Exquisite manners.”

  “Is that all?” He leaned forward, his eyes keen on her. “If you don’t like him . . .”

  “No!” She pursed her lips. “I like him very much, Papa. He’s charming and amusing but I am astonished he would send me flowers.”

  Finally, Papa smiled, his small, knowing smile. “Are you? I’m not.”

  Eliza tensed in sudden suspicion. “Why not?”

  “How could he keep from admiring you? You’re the finest girl in Britain, a man would have to be an idiot not to feel like sending you flowers.”

  “Papa.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop. You know as well as I that it’s ridiculous—”

  “No, I do not know that,” he returned. “He’s a fine fellow, I grant you, but why shouldn’t he admire you?”

  She put down her glass. “We are not talking about admiration, and you know it. We are talking about why a man like him—an earl—would send me flowers.”

  “Listen to me, Lilibeth.” He pointed his fork at her, suddenly very serious. “Never think a title makes one man any better than the others. What did he do to deserve it? Nothing; he was born to a man who inherited the position. Take away the coronet and arrogance, and an earl is just a man like any other.”

  “Not quite,” she retorted. “He might marry the daughter of another earl, or a duke, or anybody he chooses—”

  “The Duke of Exeter wed a commoner,” said her father, unmoved.

  “Marry—!” Eliza shook her head. She’d been afraid her father would get this idea, and yet it felt almost reassuring. After a day of wondering what that posy could mean, just hearing Papa say it out loud made clear how ridiculous the thought was. The tightness in her chest eased. “Lord Hastings is not going to marry me.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing says he couldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry I mentioned it,” she said in exasperation. “It was a simple posy. He might have sent posies to a dozen other girls.”

  “If I had to wager on it, I’d say no.” Papa gave her a sly look. “We’ll wait and see, eh?”

  Chapter 11

  Hugh to
ok his time walking up the steps. Once he went into the ballroom and danced with Eliza Cross in front of all London, it would be much harder to retreat.

  The host of this ball was his old friend Viscount Thayne. He had known the viscount since they were lads at Eton, but more importantly Thayne owed him a favor. Tonight it was being repaid: Thayne had told his wife to send an invitation to the Crosses.

  The posy had been well received. Eliza thanked him profusely the next time he called in Greenwich, ostensibly on Mr. Cross but in reality on her. He wondered if she had grown suspicious that he always seemed too early or too late to catch her father at home, but if so she never showed it. By now Hugh was convinced she really didn’t know what her father was scheming, and it made him at once both relieved and angry. It was a relief to believe that she was as she seemed, but the more he liked her, the less fair it seemed that she was being fooled. And Hugh wasn’t such an ogre that he didn’t care for her feelings.

  On the contrary, he was coming to like her very much. Unlike many society girls, Eliza didn’t act as if any gentleman nearby was obliged to amuse her. She expressed such delight in a simple posy, he couldn’t help wondering what she would say if he presented her with a real gift. She seemed utterly content to spend time in her garden with her dog, and didn’t evince the slightest boredom at living in Greenwich, away from the whirl of society. He told himself it must be easy, with Cross’s vast fortune at her disposal; she needn’t fret about a dark and drab drawing room, as Edith did, or moan about her lack of new gowns, as Henrietta did. But somehow he knew it wasn’t just the money. Eliza wasn’t the type to complain. Instead she gave every appearance of being content with her life and taking joy in small pleasures.

  Tonight he would see how she carried herself in society. If she would be his wife, she would have to attend and host events like this one. He’d seen how nervous she was when he first visited Greenwich; would she be the same tonight, in a room full of elegant strangers? It would change nothing about his circumstances, but he found himself hoping very strongly that she would be poised and composed. Everyone would suspect he had married her for her money, but if she were a total failure among the ton, they would know it for certain.

  He reached the ballroom and found it crowded and stuffy. Lady Thayne wasn’t satisfied unless her parties were described as absolute crushes, so she tended to invite too many people. Hugh wandered through the crowd, greeting acquaintances at every turn, including several friends of his mother’s. He hadn’t told her he was coming tonight, and she would scold him tomorrow. But he kept going until he caught sight of the Crosses.

  For a moment he looked right past her. His mind had fixed on her as a plain girl, but when he saw Edward Cross, it gave him a bit of a start to realize the lady beside him was Eliza. Tonight she looked . . . rather splendid, to be truthful. Her honey-colored hair wasn’t pulled into braids and twists like other girls’, but held in a soft roll at the back of her head. Her gown was deep midnight blue, making her skin look as lustrous as the pearls around her neck. As he watched, she turned her head to smile at her father, and sapphires glittered at her ears.

  He strolled toward them. “Good heavens, Mr. Cross,” he said, affecting surprise as he reached them. “And Miss Cross! Good evening to you both.”

  Eliza curtsied beautifully. “Lord Hastings! What a delight to see you.”

  “See, I told you,” said her father warmly. “Eliza worried we wouldn’t know anyone! She didn’t want to come.”

  She gave him a look of veiled reproach. “Papa.”

  “I’m very glad you did.” Hugh smiled at her. She beamed back, and he felt an odd sensation in his chest. Tonight she was far from plain.

  They talked of nothing for another few minutes, until the musicians began tuning their instruments and couples began forming on the floor for the dance. “Miss Cross, would you honor me with this dance?”

  She blushed, just a little, the pink coming into her cheeks. With barely a flutter of her eyelashes, she gave him her hand. “Of course, my lord.”

  Hugh could feel Cross’s satisfied gaze upon his back. He ignored it. It was a country dance, an energetic reel that left no time for talking. She danced well, another relief. Hugh returned her to her father and excused himself to bide his time. He found a spot near the terrace doors and a glass of wine to occupy his hands.

  “I detect a marked partiality,” drawled Robert Fairfield beside him. “First the theater, now Thayne’s drawing room.”

  “Do you?” Hugh sipped his wine. “What do you make of it?”

  His friend laughed. “Nothing! Just warning you that I’ve seen that expression on a man’s face before, and I know what it means.”

  Hugh stiffened. “What are you blathering about?”

  “You can’t take your eyes off the Cross girl.” Fairfield shook his head. “I hope I’m in time to make the first wager on when your wedding day will be.”

  “What are the odds of that?” Hugh played along.

  “I daresay I could get whatever odds I wanted at the moment. Tomorrow, not as easily.” His companion hesitated, then leaned closer. “An odd choice but a clever one. London’s forgotten about her but she’s quite an heiress, isn’t she?”

  Hugh just looked at him. Fairfield’s smile grew. He clapped Hugh’s shoulder. “Well done, mate.”

  “Shut it,” returned Hugh. Fairfield walked off, his laugh drifting back.

  That clinched the matter, he supposed. Fairfield was likely joking about wagering on his marriage, but after Hugh danced with her a second time, plenty of others would notice. Especially the lady herself.

  With that in mind, he made his way over to Eliza Cross again and requested the next dance.

  Eliza had tried very hard not to watch Lord Hastings, or at least not to watch only Lord Hastings. Her eyes seemed unable to avoid him, though, no matter how innocently she tried to keep her gaze on the other guests and dancers.

  Papa had been pleased as anything to receive this invitation. When she asked if he knew Lord Thayne, he waved one hand and said they’d met. Eliza knew from past experience that meant he’d played piquet or some other game at the Vega Club with the viscount. She suspected the invitation might have arrived to pay some debt Thayne owed her father; Papa was good at getting what he wanted from people, and he often said he didn’t need more money.

  But while Papa was delighted, Eliza viewed it with trepidation, remembering her lonely Season at balls like this. The appearance of Lord Hastings, and his greeting to them, was a great surprise and a tremendous relief, that there was at least one person she knew who would stop and speak to her.

  And then he asked her to dance. A simple country dance, but just clasping his hands threw fuel on her smoldering imagination. Did his eyes linger on her? Did he hold her hand a second longer than necessary? Did she imagine a little extra warmth and attention in the way he drew her hand around his arm?

  Yes. Yes, she surely did imagine all that, but it filled her with such a glow of happiness she didn’t care.

  Papa fairly blazed with satisfaction when the earl had returned her to his side and left them. For once Eliza didn’t feel like scolding him about it. The two of them were content to stand at the side of the room, admiring the other guests and savoring private thoughts. Eliza thought this time she and her father might even be sharing the same daydream.

  And then Lord Hastings came back, and asked her to dance with him again.

  She hadn’t danced since their last. This time she almost forgot to breathe, because it was a waltz.

  It was the first time he had touched more than her hand or her arm. He led her out and set his hand on her back. She gave him a nervous smile as the musicians began; he grinned and eased her closer, until her breasts brushed his chest and she could feel his thigh against hers.

  Lightning could strike her on the way home, Eliza decided, and she would die a happy girl.

  “You dance wonderfully,” Hastings told her as they glided around th
e floor.

  “Thank you, sir.” Eliza had diligently practiced for hours at school, with the dancing master and then with her friends. So far she’d had precious little experience with handsome, eligible gentlemen. “I might say the same to you.”

  He laughed. “I take it with extra gratitude, as this ballroom is so crowded I’m not sure I haven’t stepped on five people’s toes.”

  “Not mine,” said Eliza lightly. She wouldn’t have noticed even if he had.

  “Lady Thayne is fond of a packed ballroom, but I cannot share her enthusiasm.” He made a faint grimace as another couple swooped very near them. The earl adjusted his hold on her, shortened his step, and swung her gracefully around the couple. Eliza’s chest constricted at the easy way he pulled her against him for the maneuver.

  “I confess, a little more space would be wise, if she wishes to permit dancing.” Someone bumped her from behind, and Hastings gave the fellow a thunderous scowl.

  “This is ridiculous. Would you like to step out onto the terrace?”

  It was possible lightning had already struck her. Eliza felt every thump of her heart like a thunderclap inside her skin. Somehow she managed to nod, and without breaking step Lord Hastings turned her neatly around the blue velvet draperies and through the French windows standing open to the terrace.

  It was much cooler on the terrace, and there were no guests outside, probably due to a light mist of rain. Lord Hastings took her hand and led her to the shelter of a magnificent wisteria, grown up the wall and a nearby column. He leaned against the column, putting his back to the rain, and folded his arms. “Better?”

  She smiled. “Very much. Thank you.”

  There was enough light from the French windows for her to see his smile, including the dimple. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  Unwillingly, Eliza felt a prickle of despair, a certainty that he didn’t mean it. It was one thing for fortune hunters to pay her empty compliments, but she couldn’t bear to hear it from him. “I know I’m not beautiful, sir.”