Page 8 of Falling for the Earl (Improper Ladies #2)

“W e shall attend the Williams’ card party,” Aunt Mary declared after Lucy had mentioned Lady Sarah would be there. “I’ll send our acceptance.” She rose from the morning room sofa and, ordering her skirts, strode toward the door.

Lucy doubted it was her aunt’s first choice for tomorrow evening’s entertainment.

“You must encourage your friendship with Lady Sarah,” her aunt said. “Jane and Anabel will accompany us. It is advantageous for your cousins to have such important connections.”

Her association with Lady Sarah had certainly raised Lucy from a disappointing niece to one with good prospects. She hoped her aunt wouldn’t be too disappointed when their friendship waned, because once Sarah became betrothed to a titled gentleman, their lives would go in different directions, although it made Lucy sad to think it. She liked Lady Sarah a good deal.

“Mr. Rattray might accompany us. I’m sure he has received an invitation. No one shuts the door on that gentleman,” her aunt cooed. “I shall write to him.”

Aunt Mary left Lucy alone with her thoughts. When she’d failed to supply any answers to her problem that satisfied her, Lucy picked up the book she was currently reading, and taking up her shawl, opened the glass-paned doors to the garden. A cherry tree laden with pink blossoms grew in the center of the small lawn.

Breathing in the bloom’s delicate scent, Lucy sat on the nearby garden seat. She delighted in the few occasions she could sit in the sun and read, and that was precisely what she intended to do. She opened her library book and was soon absorbed in the story. Lucy heard the door behind her open but didn’t turn to see who it was. She was enthralled when Marianne fell down and sprained her ankle and the dashing Willoughby carried her home on his horse.

“Well, what a picture you make beneath the flowering tree,” came a jocular voice. “May I join you?”

She reluctantly closed her book and gazed up at Mr. Rattray. “My aunt is upstairs writing a letter to you,” she said. “Has the maid informed her you are here, sir?”

“No. A footman let me in. When I saw you through the glass doors, I thought to myself, How lonely and troubled she looks . So I’ve come to cheer you.”

Lucy squirmed. “I am neither of those things, sir. I enjoy reading.”

He smiled, undaunted by the snub, and held out his hand. “May I see?”

She could do nothing other than hand the book to him.

“Ah. Sense and Sensibility . ‘By a lady,’ it says here.” He looked up. “A romantic tale? Young women are invariably romantic.”

“I am told I am quite practical.” Lucy held out her hand. He closed the book and handed it to her.

He moistened his lips with his tongue. “My, not only lovely, but also intelligent.”

Lucy stood abruptly and gathered up her shawl and book. “I’ll go in. My aunt must be wondering where I am.”

His hand on her arm made her skin crawl. “You don’t like me, Miss Kershaw. Have I done something to deserve this coldness?”

Lucy’s conscience pricked. She had no reason to be so abrupt except for her instincts. She forced a smile. “Of course not. I do beg your pardon if that is how it appeared.” She turned toward the house, forcing him to drop his hand. “We must go in search of my aunt. I know she will want to see you.”

“Of course,” he said flatly.

Aunt Mary must have spied them walking across to the terrace, for she opened the door. “Well. I have just written you a note, Mr. Rattray. You saved me the trouble of sending it.” She stepped aside to allow them to enter, and with a sharp glance at Lucy, invited him to tea.

“I shan’t have tea, Aunt,” Lucy said hastily. “I must write a letter to Papa.”

Lucy scurried upstairs holding her book defensively against her chest. With a gasp, she closed the door behind her. Flinging herself on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling. Surely, her aunt didn’t think Lucy had set her cap at Mr. Rattray? It would cause a great deal of trouble. She quaked at the thought.

She remained in her room until she heard the front door shut and a carriage pull away down the road.

Lucy ventured downstairs. In the morning room, her aunt sat embroidering a handkerchief.

Aunt Mary looked up. “One might think you were avoiding Mr. Rattray.”

“Sitting in the sun gave me a headache.”

“Would you like some feverfew?”

Lucy sank into an armchair. “No thank you, Aunt. It has gone now.”

Her aunt’s gaze lifted from her needlework. “Did Mr. Rattray do, or say, anything to upset you?”

“No. He is ever the gentleman.”

Aunt Mary’s tight shoulders appeared to ease. “He is to join us at the Williams’ affair.”

“He seems to enjoy your company, Aunt Mary,” Lucy said carefully.

Her aunt nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I thought so.” Her gaze flickered back to Lucy’s face. “But I am not as young as I was when I met your Uncle Peter.”

As Lucy had nothing to say to this, she greeted Jane with relief when she walked into the room, and the conversation soon turned to books and the latest gossip.

Jane accompanied Lucy up to her bedchamber with an offer to advise her on what she might wear to the Williams’ card party.

Lucy thought it strange, because Jane, while she enjoyed the freedom to choose what suited her, wasn’t nearly as interested in ladies’ fashion as Anabel.

When the door had shut behind them, Jane plopped down on the bed. “This bedchamber reminds me of all the painful problems I had growing up within these walls,” she said. “Marriage is so much nicer.”

“If you are happily married,” Lucy said, taking her white muslin with the lilac ribbons and another with primrose embroidery from the wardrobe and holding them up for Jane’s inspection.

“Wear the muslin with the primrose embroidery,” Jane said. “Mm. I doubt Anabel is happy. She says her husband is angry because she hasn’t given him an heir. And there’s gossip that he has taken a mistress.”

“Oh, I hope not. How awful.”

“It is common practice among gentlemen who enter arranged marriages,” Jane said.

“I will only marry for love,” Lucy said with fierce determination.

Jane tilted her head and smiled. “Love doesn’t always go so smoothly. How many can claim they found the one they love more than anyone else?”

“And I suppose finding that special love doesn’t guarantee a happy future together,” Lucy added glumly.

Jane turned to look at her. “Quite so,” she said after a pause.

It made Lucy wonder if Jane loved her husband, because her marriage had been arranged as well. Could one have a happy marriage without love? She didn’t think she could.

*

The guests played cards at the tables set up in the Williams’ drawing room. The weather was unseasonably warm and in the confined space, the heat rivaled any ballroom Hugh had been in. Ladies put down their cards to fan their hot faces, while footmen moved among the tables serving cool drinks and wine.

Sarah played whist, while Hugh sat in on a game of faro. He was placing a card down when Mrs. Grayswood entered with Miss Kershaw and two other young ladies. The brunette was exceptionally tall.

Miss Kershaw saw him and nodded. Her aunt murmured something to her, which made her frown and shake her head.

Prompted to make a play, Hugh examined his hand. When he looked up again, Miss Kershaw had disappeared, while the three women had settled at the various tables.

As soon as the game had ended, Hugh rose and went in search of her. He found her trailing along the shelves in the musty, book-filled library.

“What are you doing here by yourself?” he asked as he entered the room. A thought struck him. Had he intruded on her awaiting someone for a clandestine meeting? The possibility of a rival and his dismay made him draw breath.

She turned to him, aghast. “Oh, Lord Dorchester. Why have you come here?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Is the library barred to gentlemen?”

“That’s nonsense,” she said, her smile strained. “Do be serious, my lord. Someone might have seen you. They might think that you…and I…”

“That you and I might actually talk alone together? Something has upset you. Won’t you tell me what it is?”

She gasped. “Nothing is wrong. I don’t have any idea what you mean. I know you understand, my lord. You are being deliberately obtuse.”

“Come, Miss Kershaw, you are the one who is obtuse for pretending nothing is wrong when I can clearly see it is? What is this all about? You can trust me.”

“I needed to leave the card room before…” She shrugged and turned away. “And you’ve just made it worse.”

He came closer and took her hands. “How so?”

She pulled her hands away. “You should not have followed me. I was trying not to stir interest in our friendship.”

“Oh, is that what we are? Friends?”

“I did hope so,” she said. “But I don’t want everyone to learn of it.”

“Because…?”

“Because…” She waved her hand. “I won’t have you drawn into my problems.”

“You think I can’t manage anything that comes my way? You are wrong, Miss Kershaw.”

“Perhaps. But why make it worse? My aunt asked me to introduce my cousins to you. While I am happy to oblige her, I wasn’t about to interrupt you while you were playing faro and make a spectacle of it, so I waited until…” She shrugged.

“Until…?” he urged, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Until the proper time. If there ever is one. Aunt Mary can be very determined and was likely to insist, so… I fled.” She looked so guilty that he suffered an urgent need to pull her to him.

“An introduction would have been perfectly acceptable, Miss Kershaw. You worry far too much.” He took a step closer.

“Mrs. Vellacott was at the whist table,” she hurriedly confessed.

“Ah, Mrs. Vellacott. But what could she possibly do?”

She raised her chin, her eyes bleak. “I am very much aware of my circumstances, my lord. The next thing we know, there will be rumors spread about us.” She waved her hand as if to send him away. “Please leave. We simply must not be found here alone.” She glanced at the door. “If someone should come in…”

“There are plenty of chaperones wandering the hallway outside. Shall I open the door?” He gestured to a chair. He wanted to stay here with her for at least a few moments more.

She folded her arms and shook her head. “It would be enough to set tongues wagging, as you are well aware.”

“Are you scolding me, Miss Kershaw?”

“If I must, my lord.”

He laughed. Her white, muslin gown trimmed in yellow satin with the flattering scoop neck was all the embellishment she needed. His fingers itched to tug her hair loose from a fetching topknot and see the arrangement fall onto her shoulders in a cascade of blonde curls. To breathe in her perfume. He remained where he was, lest he give in to the temptation. Or kissed her. Yes, he’d definitely kiss her.

She must have read his thoughts, for she edged around him and walked to the door. “If you won’t leave, then I must.”

He laughed. “Then I shall leave first. Ordered out like a young jackanapes. Will you promise to introduce me to your cousins?”

“I shall be honored.” Her sweet smile would make the statue of Decebalus sigh.

“You will like Cousin Jane,” she said as he went to the door.

“I look forward to it. I’ll go out first. No one must see us together. You wait a while to come out after.” He grinned. “We are like a pair of spies in a secret assignation, are we not?”

She laughed. “You are teasing me.”

“Never.”

How much he wanted to. To make her laugh and look at him that way. The devil! Hugh seemed unable to help himself where Miss Kershaw was concerned. He left the room slightly chastened. What was he thinking? Surely not that Miss Kershaw would be open to an arrangement? He could not play fast and loose with her reputation. What people might say about him did not matter nearly so much. Anyway, tomorrow he planned to drive down to Kent to see Miss Ashton. Perhaps he would return to London unattached. A state thus far unknown to him. Should he be… what, then? He must control these rampant emotions. He was not free yet and might never be.

As he entered the drawing room, he wondered if Sarah had noticed him leaving in Miss Kershaw’s wake. If so, he’d never hear the end of it.

His fears were proved right. His sister watched him with a wry expression. Fortunately, Miss Kershaw took her time before returning. He was seated at a faro table betrothed in play, and she still hadn’t come through the door. It might be enough to avoid scrutiny from the guests but would not save him from Sarah. And he could hardly deny anything she accused him of, which made it even more galling.

He sighed. A soldier’s life was far less complicated than living within the dictates of society.

“Your turn, sir,” the gentleman across the table prompted him.

“I beg your pardon.” Hugh forced himself to concentrate on the game. Tomorrow, he must face Miss Ashton, and possibly her parents. And he wondered uneasily what might await him.