Page 4 of Falling for the Earl (Improper Ladies #2)

“A n excellent first ball, Lucy! You caught Sir Percy Hepburn’s attention tonight.” Aunt Mary sounded pleased as she and Lucy traveled home in the carriage after the ball. “His family is irreproachable, so one might overlook the sad loss of his fortune. I expect him to call on us tomorrow.”

Lucy feared her aunt had come to believe the gossip. “Sir Percy thinks I’m an heiress, even though I told him the rumor is false. He laughed and said he approved of my modesty.”

Aunt Mary sighed. “You’d do better not to speak of it, Lucy.”

“But I cannot just ignore it! Not when it’s so patently untrue.” Despite the earl’s warning, she just couldn’t stand the idea of keeping up the lie.

“That’s of no consequence.” Her aunt patted her gray-brown hair. “An air of mystery never hurt a young woman in her first Season.”

Lucy chewed her lip. “I don’t find Sir Percy attractive, and I do not intend to marry him, so why allow him to continue to believe it?”

Aunt Mary pursed her lips. “Very well. I shall dissuade him from pursuing you. But such attention encourages more competition,” she said in a pained voice. “It stirs up interest among marriage-minded gentlemen. Unfortunately, we cannot consider the Earl of Dorchester among your suitors, as it’s said he is already spoken for. But it was advantageous for us that he singled you out from the other debutantes. Gentlemen are expected to invite a debutante to dance, but that doesn’t change the fact that he specifically chose you. And other men follow the earl and value his opinion.” Her eyes danced. “I could not have wished for a better start to your Season.”

So that was why Dorchester had danced with her. Out of a sense of duty. Lucy felt unaccountably dispirited, although it would have been foolish to believe his motivations had been otherwise.

“In the ladies’ withdrawing room, a debutante, Miss Nye, told me I should not have waltzed,” Lucy said. “Not without the permission of one of the Lady Patronesses on the Almack’s committee.”

“The rules are relaxed at a private ball. Lady Jersey and Lady Castlereagh were not there tonight, nor did I see Countess Lieven. One doesn’t refuse an earl’s request to dance, Lucy. And heiresses can get away with a lot more than those gently bred.”

“But I am not a…” Exhausted, Lucy gave up, the last of her energy evaporating with a long sigh. It was much later than she’d ever stayed up before, and she was tense for the whole evening, careful not to put a foot wrong. She thought longingly of her bed as their carriage swept around a corner into a street of tall townhouses and pulled up outside her aunt’s.

Aunt Mary smiled at her as they alighted from the carriage. “I’m confident it will all work out perfectly. You will see.” She started up the steps to where a servant waited at the open front door. “Tomorrow, we must choose the gown for you to wear to Jane’s dinner party on Saturday evening. You must make a good impression. So please try to smile!”

“Yes, Aunt.” Lucy followed her inside.

On Saturday evening, she sat at the long dining table opposite a friend of her husband, Edward. Although Mr. Nash’s mode of dressing, with a high collar beneath his chin and an elaborately tied cravat, was not to her taste, there was really nothing to dislike about him. But when he continually smiled at her across the table, and even raised his wineglass and saluted her at Edward’s call for a toast to the end of the war, she fidgeted with her napkin.

“What do you think of Mr. Nash?” Jane asked once they were alone together in the bedchamber tidying their hair while the men remained at the table to drink their port and talk about politics, horse racing, and Tattersall’s auction house.

Lucy expected the men’s conversation would be far more interesting than Jane’s at this moment. Why were women not allowed to give voice to their opinions on important matters?

“He seems nice,” Lucy said cautiously. She found him rather too young, which was probably unfair when he was several years older than her.

“Just ‘nice’?” Jane’s brush paused over her hair. “That’s a shame. He is the best-looking of Edward’s friends. And he has an income of two thousand pounds a year, I’m told, which you must agree isn’t shabby.”

“No. It… It sounds like a lot.”

Jane laughed. “I suspect he’ll call and invite you to join him on a carriage ride to the park. You’ll be able to discover more about him.”

The guests played spillikins and card games for the rest of the evening. During a game of whist, Mr. Nash revealed his determination to win and appeared cast down when Jane and Edward triumphed.

“It takes a lot to beat my wife at cards,” Edward said, lounging back in his chair and gazing fondly at Jane. Narrow-shouldered and not what one would call handsome, the fair-haired gentleman seemed a good-natured man. Lucy liked him.

“It helps to have an excellent partner of your caliber, Edward,” Mr. Nash observed. “But one rarely plays with one’s spouse. It really isn’t the done thing.”

Edward laughed and slapped him on the back, calling him a sore loser.

But Lucy sensed Mr. Nash regarded women as inferior, and as she was his partner, the suggestion hovered in the room that she’d somehow failed him. She wasn’t sure how. She thought she’d played well enough. Papa had taught her to play the game years ago.

As Jane had suggested, when the evening drew to a close, Mr. Nash invited Lucy to ride with him the next day in his carriage to Hyde Park. Tempted to refuse but unwilling to disappoint Jane, she accepted. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her opinion of Mr. Nash. He suffered in comparison to Lord Dorchester, as any man would. She urged herself to forget the earl, for hoping to see him again was foolish. And she must keep her head. She could not afford to yearn for the unattainable.

When she rose the next morning, she read The Morning Chronicle and The Times at breakfast, searching for an announcement of the earl’s coming wedding, but she failed to find it.

Her aunt observed her over the table. “I hope you’re not a bluestocking, niece,” she said with a sigh. After Lucy had mentioned she thought Mr. Nash very young, the notion that she might prove difficult to launch hung in the air.

“Heavens, no, Aunt. I like to read about who among the ton is getting married. London Society is so much more exciting than one finds most of the time in Bath.” She thought of partnering with old Mr. Crabbshore in a country dance when he’d clacked his teeth while they’d danced and almost shivered at the thought of going back there.

“Indeed. I am pleased you are finding it so.” Slightly mollified, her aunt reached for the butter.

Mr. Nash arrived punctually at five o’clock. He assisted Lucy up onto the seat of a high-perch phaeton and settled in the maid, Maisie, whose eyes were like saucers. “My, this is a most impressive vehicle,” Lucy said, as they careered around a corner. She could hear Maisie moan in fear and felt a little nervous herself as she looked down at the cobbles, which seemed a fearful distance away.

Having managed to round the corner safely, Mr. Nash stood and cracked the whip, and the horses took off at a canter along the road as she clung on. “It’s up to the mark,” he said, turning to her with a pleased smile.

Once again, Mr. Nash’s collar sat high under his chin, with an intricately knotted cravat and a frilly shirt front. The smell of pomade wafted over to her when he slapped the reins. He wore a bright-blue coat and yellow pantaloons with highly polished top boots. A spotted yellow-and-white handkerchief fluttered from his pocket. Lucy realized she was in the presence of a pink of the ton . She had heard of them but had never seen one in Bath.

The carriage reached the park, and they entered the South Carriage Drive. As Mr. Nash drove along the crowded thoroughfare, a gentleman riding down Rotten Row hailed him. As Mr. Nash called out to him, Lucy watched the splendid horses dancing along and failed to notice the glossy, black landau approaching until it was almost beside them. The gentleman touched the brim of his hat. Seated beside him was a young woman and her maid. In a flowery bonnet, the woman stared with interest at Lucy. She was very beautiful with a delicate, sensitive face. Lucy’s chest tightened and she fiddled with her gloves.

“My lord.” Mr. Nash bowed from the waist, which proved difficult while keeping his horses in check.

“Nash.” The earl nodded, whip poised to move his fine thoroughbreds on.

“The Earl of Dorchester. An army man, and a known Corinthian,” Mr. Nash said, his voice taking on an important note after the earl’s carriage had moved away. “I wasn’t aware he knew me. But word gets around, especially since I’ve joined White’s Club.”

“What is a Corinthian?” Lucy asked, gazing after them.

“You don’t know?” Mr. Nash laughed. “I see I shall have to educate you in these matters. A Corinthian is a man about Town and a fine sportsman. I’ve seen Dorchester box at Jackson’s and fence at Angelo’s Fencing academy. He’s a fine shot at Manton’s too.”

Lucy wondered if Mr. Nash followed the earl about. “Who was his companion?” She tried to resist craning her neck as the landau drew farther away.

“Lord Dorchester’s betrothed, I imagine, Miss Isabel Ashton. We’ve not yet met. I doubt she often comes to London.”

Lord Dorchester had looked imposing in the multi-caped greatcoat and tall beaver hat. His startlingly blue eyes had rested on her for the briefest moment. He’d nodded his head to acknowledge her, before moving on. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, like the waters of the Mediterranean, at least as far as she remembered from a painting.

“I suppose we will hear news of his wedding soon enough,” Mr. Nash mused. “A grand affair, most likely held at St. George’s. The guests will number in the hundreds. It would be good to be seen there. I wonder if it might be possible? Perhaps I know someone…” He lapsed into contemplation.

He drove Lucy home, leaving her to her own thoughts.

*

With Miss Ashton and her maid seated beside him, Hugh guided the horses through the park gates and turned into Park Lane. It frustrated him to see Miss Kershaw riding with Nash, when he knew he was unworthy of her, though it was hardly any of his business. Hugh glanced at his betrothed’s profile. She looked troubled. “You should have sent me some warning. I would have accepted a few suitable affairs, not Almack’s or balls, of course, until you are out, but there are picnics and dinner parties and whatnot. London is busy with many interesting venues now the war is over.”

“Mama keeps me busy calling on her friends. I suppose I am out.” Her face pale beneath the bonnet, she turned to him, her hazel eyes anxious. “I wanted to see you.”

“And I you.” He smiled, then turned to maneuver around a cart piled high with furniture. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. It has,” Miss Ashton said thoughtfully.

“I planned to visit. We could have gone riding. But here we are. Tell me all the news from the country.”

She looked startled. “News?” Her laugh sounded strained. “What news of interest is there worth discussing from the depths of the Kentish countryside?”

He smiled sympathetically. “Little, I imagine.” He studied her. “Have you been terribly bored?”

She shook her head. “I am always busy. Dining with neighbors and filling my days with attending dance lessons, French tutors, sketching, and embroidery. The only time I have to myself is when I ride, stroll in the gardens, or visit the church. I’ve taken to arranging the flowers, which I quite like.”

“It’s a difficult period waiting for your life to begin, Miss Ashton. I remember Cousin Avery complaining that life was passing her by. And now she is happily married with two children. Once you attend the Season, everything will change, will it not?”

“I shouldn’t complain. I did attend an assembly dance in Canterbury. And I’m to be presented to the queen at one of her drawing rooms in July.”

The prospect didn’t seem to please her. He would have expected meeting the queen to excite any young woman, and that troubled him. She seemed too unhappy, and he wanted to know why. While he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of their union, he had anticipated at least one of them would look forward to it. Did their ten-year age gap matter? Or was it because she’d led such a cloistered life that she found it all overwhelming? He covered her gloved hand with his own. “After the wedding, life will become more to your taste. Married ladies lead interesting, busy social lives.” While men, discontented with their marriages, seek love elsewhere , he thought. Something he’d been determined never to do.

She nodded, her smile small.

“You do want to be married, don’t you, Miss Ashton?” he inquired gently.

Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, yes. Of course I do.”

Panic was neither the emotion he expected to find in her eyes, nor what he wished for. Hugh decided not to pursue it further and turned his attention back to his horses, but he would escort her to the Kemps’ garden party, which was sure to be acceptable to her mother. The Kemp’s always put on a good show. Perhaps that might brighten Miss Ashton’s outlook on London.

That evening, he joined Ross for dinner at their club.

Ross studied him across the table as he cut into his beef. “You seem a little subdued tonight, Hugh.”

“Am I dull company? Forgive me.”

“Might it have something to do with Miss Kershaw?”

Hugh stared at him. “Miss Kershaw? Lord, no. Why would you think that?”

“Her presence in London seemed to affect you.”

“We met in Bath. I needed to ask her something about what happened there.”

“Oh? Are you going to tell me what it was?”

“No. I can’t. Sorry. Shall we call for another bottle? Have dessert? Or go to the card room?”

“Or,” Ross said with a grin, “I have two ladies in mind. Sisters, and very obliging.”

Hugh shook his head. “Not for me.”

“No, perhaps not,” Ross said with regret. “Have you heard that William Darby has set up a mistress on Jermyn Street?”

Hugh answered vaguely, disliking where this conversation was leading, and called for another bottle of claret. He had parted ways with his last mistress some months ago, wishing to be unencumbered when his wedding approached. He and the lovely widow Roslyn Enfield had enjoyed each other’s company while it had lasted, but he’d hardly given her a thought since. And he suspected it was the same for Roslyn, now enjoying the company of Lord Wallace. Hugh wondered why, when he’d barely met Miss Kershaw, she still entered his mind at unexpected moments. Unaccountably annoying, when she appeared to be making the most of her situation, riding out with young Nash. But as Nash was an inveterate gambler, Hugh prayed it would go no further.