Page 4 of Scandalous Nights With the Earl

‘I always think it rather an odd thing that one must be forever on one’s best behaviour in a relationship. A quiet, restful acceptance of each other would have been far more to my liking but Lionel had other, more brittle wants, and his constant needs were of no help to me at all. I think had he been born a monk he might have been more at peace with himself. A different life so to speak and one where he needed to make no human contact.’

‘The mantra of solitude?’

‘You know of these teachings, then?’

‘Once I did.’

He had not meant to give such raw truths but her honesty had made him less wary than he usually was. Biting down on other words, he tried to find a balance.

Lord Elmsworth watched her with uncertainty. She had probably been far more honest than she ought but all those silent years with Lionel had taught her the value of words. Besides, she would never see the earl again after this, for was it not said that the Moreland men always were seen with the most beautiful women in the Ton on their arms?

She was reasonably plain, a little overweight and far too old to be thought desirable, so this midnight supper in an ancient family pile with the most handsome man in all the world was a moment out of time and one which would never be repeated.

There was an ease in such knowledge. Changing the subject, she sought for a lighter topic.

‘Your house is a very interesting place and, even given my poor health on arrival, I saw some of the views as we swept downthe drive, and they were vistas, by the way, that were in every direction spectacular. Have you always lived here?’

‘Up until the last few years I have.’

‘Your housekeeper said that you have recently been in America and I certainly hope it is not the biggest of inconveniences to have us here. We will be gone by mid-morning at the latest, I promise. It would be sooner if our departure time was left solely to me but I doubt the McAllistair sisters are early risers and so…’

‘Are they relatives of yours?’

‘No, but they are old friends who were very kind to me when I first arrived in London. Their father was Lord McAllistair but he died at least ten years ago, and though the townhouse that they reside in is tithed to a male cousin the man has not yet come forward with his hope to claim it.’

She stopped as she saw him smile.

‘I am talking too much? I try not to but when I am nervous I do so without even realising.’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘I am, for I know that we are a dull and drab group and one you could hardly be thrilled to have ensconced so unexpectedly in your splendid residence overnight.’

‘You seem to have heard a lot about me.’

‘Most of it is hearsay, I do assure you, though once, years and years ago, I did walk close to you at the Merryweather ball in Mayfair.’

He’d been dressed almost entirely in black and as she had passed him in the smaller salon off the main one he had caught her eye. At the time she had felt as if she had been seared in hot water, her skin reddening and her heart pounding, for it was not often anyone truly noticed her, and especially not someone like the beautiful Phillip Moreland. She remembered scrambling back to her husband and taking his arm, an intimacy she veryrarely displayed but Moreland had unsettled her with his smile and made her realise all the things she might have missed out on if she had only waited for a husband with more to offer her than Lionel had.

Tonight she knew her place though, her advancing age and simple looks holding an anchor to a reality that was so much easier.

‘I seldom liked Society events,’ he said. ‘In fact I came down to London in the last years only occasionally before I left England for America.’ He looked at her and carried on. ‘My wife was sick.’

‘I had heard that and I am sorry for it.’

‘She died two and a half years ago in Richmond, Virginia, cradled in the arms of her mother.’

‘That sounds peaceful.’

‘It wasn’t.’

The clock in the corner marked the seconds of silence. Further away outside Willa could hear a barn owl screeching. For prey. A field mouse perhaps or a vole. Inside the voluminous kitchen of Elmsworth the fire in the stove crackled, flames throwing shadows against the wall. The Earl looked as if he regretted all the truths he had given her and so she tried to find a new angle to their conversation.

‘Are you of the persuasion, my lord, that people who are dead can look down upon us from the afterlife and see what we are up to?’

‘I most certainly am not.’

She liked his reply because it was real and faintly shocked. When he did not speak again, she did.