It had taken less than a minute of an interview with the Earl of Langford to learn of his quick dark temper and foul moods. The earl didn't take kindly to any unnecessary racket, especially from the household staff, and that included her. She'd learned to move about the house carefully and stay out of the way, except when she was attending to Lady Agnes or assisting in the front room, or during private luncheons and dinners which the woman had insisted she is present at as her companion.
Those moments usually were the best times of her new life. She revelled in her inclusion to these affairs and enjoyed herself tremendously, although taking care not to overexert her favors or call too much attention to herself. Mainly, she watched and listened, soaking in every nuance of behaviour and speech so that she might make herself more genteel. She paid attention to how ladies laughed in a low trill, how they held their teacups daintily, modulated their voices, and sank elegantly into plush furniture. They could also paint, embroider, and play the pianoforte, all of which were skills that Lucy lacked. She pretended that she was tone-deaf and that her singing-master had given up on her. The other ladies tutted in sympathy, but Lucy felt she had to tell more and more lies to conceal her actual past.
It had been a rollercoaster since her arrival in London from Wilshire and gaining employment at the earl's residence. Most of the information she had on fitting into high society, and being a Miss, had been inaccurate, and she'd found herself observing and relearning many details. It wasn't quite as easy a feat as she'd thought it would be, and sometimes the cracks showed when she wasn't too guarded, but she tried her best.
Too much was at stake, and she couldn't afford a mistake when she'd come this far. She could never return to the struggle and poverty of village life or the horrors of the workhouse, and if she were let go from here without a reference, she'd have no other suitable employment in her future. Fortunately, she found that she had a flair for arranging flowers; the gardener's brought her fresh ones every few days, and she made lovely bouquets which were much admired by Lady Agnes and her friends. Probably, I can notice the colors of blooms due to all the hours I've spent sewing and washing fabrics, she thought with secret humor.
Although the earl was a dark, brooding character, Lucy always fantasized and dreamt of marrying someone like him. Someone powerful, rich, and influential in society. It was the main reason she'd come to London under the facade she'd donned, but it was proving more difficult to accomplish, just like everything else.
She knew setting her sights on someone like the earl was a preposterously unlikely aspiration. A supposed daughter of a country baronet, especially one who'd lost his lands and money, didn't just fall into the good fortune of marrying earls or marquesses, which was why she'd had no choice, but to lower her sights and plan for a more humble life.
She had come to think that a viscount or a baron would do quite well, as long as they had a title to their name and were still high up in the hierarchy of things. The problem wasn't her desire to marry a titled man, but the fact that there was barely any chance, between tending to Lady Agnes, to pursue these machinations. And on the rare occasion when she found herself in the company of a gentleman, he acted as though she were invisible, for what gentleman paid any attention to the country companion of an old woman? One glance at Lucy told them that she was not worth pursuing; though her hair was curled prettily, her gowns were plain and straightforward, and she lacked the right accessories. Gentlemen were either married already to high borne ladies or were pursuing young heiresses with titles.
Lucy was well aware of the start of the season in the next few months and how further down the ladder she'd be flung by more eligible ladies and debutantes with handsome dowries; all seeking to make a match as well. The thoughts were discomfiting and troubling at once, and she'd settled for not thinking about them for as long as she could. And what was to be done about her scanty wardrobe; her worn plain gowns and lack of accessories?
Lucy hurried down the corridor, between statues in niches, and the gilt-framed portraits of ancestors. Her worn heels tapped down the impressive stairs of gold and white marble slabs, and she walked along a hallway towards the front drawing room. Approaching the door of the library, she overheard the earl's deep gravelly voice, followed by a smooth, lighter one that she recognized instantly, letting loose of a stream of violent expletives. She flattened herself against the wall; true, eavesdropping was frowned upon, but she needed to snatch every opportunity to learn more about visiting gentlemen.
The earl said, "Now, now, don't go getting upset, Hilgrove. This is simply a game without sentiments, and might I remind you that you insisted on a fourth round?"
Viscount Oliver Hilgrove rejoined, "Good God, why would I have done that if you hadn't been most convincing? I've never had the luck to win any game against you and should have had the good sense to stop." The viscount gave a low laugh that sounded greatly pained.
"Would you care to try your luck in one more round?"
"Hell, no, Langford! I still have a great deal of thinking to do on how to resolve the former business, and now I have this to contend with," the viscount returned grouchily.
Lucy heard some shuffling and retreated a few steps, but remained close enough to hear their discussion.
The Viscount of Northam was a handsome man whom'she'd fancied for a while now. He was good friends with the earl and came calling at the house frequently, sometimes three times a week. He was an ideal catch and one of the eligible bachelors who would be sought at the next coming season in a few months.
Lucy had tried on countless occasions to catch his eye, but he never spared her more than a cursory glance, except on an occasion when she'd found him watching her with a certain glimmer in his eyes.'She'd tried capitalizing on that opportunity, excited and eager, but was interrupted by the butler who'd come to fetch her at Lady Agnes's behest.
Sadly, the opportunity hadn't arisen again after that day, and it still left her slightly miffed at Jeremiah, the butler.
"Pour me a glass of sherry, will you, Langford, while I brood on how to settle the matter of my losses. This was far above my expectations, and to think you were already in your cups before the game."
The earl chortled, somewhat drunkenly. "Calm your breeches, Hilgrove. I'm going to make you a good wager, which should settle up all of this in no time."
The earl's words piqued Lucy's interest, and she tiptoed closer again to overhear better.
"I'm listening. Although I hope it's something good enough to cover all of these debts. This is a considerable sum," Viscount Hilgrove rejoined, the glass of sherry clinking as he set it down.
"Trust me, this is an excellent wager, even if it might not suit your rakish ways," Lucy heard the earl say.
Lucy felt slightly disheartened, listening, and holding her breath. What kind of girl would be desperate enough to chase a rake? The viscount's ways with women weren't much of a secret. He was a handsome man and the weakness of many ladies in London. There had even been a couple of rumors of his scandalous carryings-on at Almack's and the clubs down on Pall Mall.
"It's simple, Hilgrove. Here's my proposal. All these debts you have incurred will be resolved if you marry the first lady who speaks to you in town tomorrow. I will have one of the footmen accompany you on your business in the morning and report back to me." The earl sounded jolly right then, a mood he didn't get into quite often. He must be quite drunk, Lucy thought.
However, the earl's mood wasn't Lucy's interest at that moment, rather the wager he'd made the viscount. He would cancel all of Hilgrove's debt if he married the first woman he spoke to in town.
"What the devil kind of wager is that?" the viscount responded. "Am I to be shackled to some creature for life simply based on a card game?"
"Hardly one game alone," said the earl. "Your debts are mounting up by the minute. So at the very least, you can humor me and entertain me with this jest. If you dislike the female, you can install her in some country place and continue your wild
ways in town."
There was a pause broken only by glasses and decanters being moved, and the shuffle of a pack of cards.
"But why this desire to see me wed?" asked the viscount. "It will cost you a considerable sum."
"Not at all," replied the earl. "For when you have wed this lady, you will use her dowry to repay your debts to me. Besides, as your oldest friend, I deem it my duty to see you settled," the earl slurred. "Think, man, if you accept my wager, you will have both money and a wife, and I will have the satisfaction of seeing you happy."
"And of having your money returned." There was a pause, and then suddenly, the viscount let out an explosive laugh; he too was perhaps quite drunk. "Deuce take it! What a rum idea!" he sputtered. "I accept your wager, with conditions. The woman must be under the age of twenty-four; I will not marry some old harridan. She must be virginal and have no physical blemish, no pox marks, or one leg shorter than the other. And … she must be of sound mind."
In the hallway, Lucy smiled while struggling with her thoughts. This development was beyond interesting. This is the chance I've been waiting for; I must seize it boldly! Lucy thought. But, cautioned an inner voice, what about his tarnished reputation? What kind of future would I face with him? One of scandal and humiliation? Or of riches and ease? I have my morals, and I can't be so shameless as to pursue such a man? Is he as bad as they say? Or does he just need more happiness in his life? A settled, married state might bring out the best in him, and he might stop gambling. I have heard that this occurs with rich men.
The wheels began to turn in Lucy's head, and her smile tightened. This isn't perfect, she thought, but it may be my only chance, if I can make him fall in love with me before he finds I have no dowry. She thought for a moment of life in the workhouse, and then of the life she might have instead, and resolved to at least try.
All she needed was to go into town early the next morning, as soon as a footman left, and ambush him.
Lucy heart beat fast and her palms prickled with nervous sweat. If I can beguile him, she thought, maybe he will settle for love rather than fulfilling a drunken wager. Her conscience pricked her, for she would need to practise deceit on a grand scale—not something which she liked to do. Yet her whole future was at stake.
The sound of a door opening upstairs had her straightening up and hurrying away, unable to restrain the excitement warring with her misgivings.
Perhaps, her greatest ambition would become reality.
Chapter Two
Edmund Swinton got off the mare, April Bloom, and handed the reins to one of the livery stable's grooms, waiting patiently by the post and rail fence surrounding the stable.
"Take care, girl. I will be back for another ride tomorrow." He stroked the mare's rich chocolate brown neck, rooting through the pocket of his coat for a fat lump of sugar. She took it eagerly and munched while he petted her nose one last time before the groom led her away.
Edmund turned on the heel of his high leather riding boots, heading to the coffeehouse across the square for a strong cup of coffee and some pastries, his mind half preoccupied with the letter swelling his coat pocket.
Today was an exceptionally pleasant one, with thin white clouds dotting the brilliantly blue sky which shone clear and bright, as opposed to the murky heavy fogs of days past.
Edmund loved days like this when the sun wasn't overly hot in the afternoon, causing him to sweat heavily under his dress shirt and waistcoat. He had a fondest wish right then to be in Hartford Heath, at his mother and stepfather's abode, riding across a soft, pleasant, country meadow while the wind teased mercilessly, tousling his hair as if he was still right in the peak of childhood. He missed the sounds of his younger sister, Mary Josephine, her hollering and laughter, much like a child's: mischievous and unencumbered by the heaviness of adulthood. She had just celebrated her eleventh birthday and—he thought with a slight cast of gloom—was soon to be thrust into the rigors and topsy-turvy jaunts of reality.
His other sister, Amelia, was right there in London, living with their mother's sister, Aunt Aubrey, and learning to be a dressmaker under Madame Pamela Beauchamp, at the most popular modiste in the entirety of West End. He saw her quite often, both when he went for Sunday luncheon at Aunt Winifred's and on his numerous business forays around West End. He was glad that she was doing quite well and was grateful for her company and excited chatters, which staved off the homesickness that often assailed him.
He made a mental note to visit her later in the day, but right then, business called—it didn't matter if the said business wasn't exactly pleasant most of the time.
Edmund soon arrived at the coffeehouse and placed his order, choosing a rather obscure table, tucked away in the corner of the establishment where no one was likely to interrupt or join him. The place was teeming with people, most of whom weren't there for the sole purpose of eating but rather to show off and be seen. He barely cared for such business or display; he was only a solicitor after all, and no one was likely to pay him any mind or be interested.
No one except for his peers, most of whom were probably at their businesses and unlikely to be caught in the cafe at that time of the afternoon.
Edmund had barely retrieved the letter from his pocket when he heard his name being called from behind.
He stilled momentarily. Apparently, he wasn't as hidden away as he'd thought, and someone familiar was at the cafe.
"Edmund? I was sure that was you, hurrying in, evading everyone's gazes."
Edmund turned, just as Peter Shelbroke got to the table, a broad grin on his face.
If anyone among his friends would be at the café, it would be Peter, and so he wasn't really surprised.
"Good afternoon, Swinton. I wasn't expecting to see anyone familiar, least of all you."
Edmund held back an inward sigh and smiled at his friend and housemate. "Well, I'd just finished taking April Bloom for a ride and decided a cup of coffee would do quite nicely. Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes, it is! Perfect day for a game, if you ask me." Peter's eyes danced devilishly, and he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "I have a date with a prospective partner very soon. Maybe I might just go over to the Blue Inn and try my hand later on."
Edmund shook his head. He couldn't for the life of him understand the dark-haired, animated man who performed badly at games of any sort but kept going back again and again like a man besotted. Ever since they'd begun to share a house, he'd noticed just how frequently Peter gambled, drowning his persistent losses by going back and trying harder, with higher stakes than the previous game.
Peter's father was a baronet who'd only recently gotten into textile exportation when their wealth had begun to dwindle badly, and they'd almost lost their family home. The move might have hurtled the family down the social ladder and shut the doors on most of their engagements with the peerage, but it had undoubtedly boosted their coffers and made them a whole lot richer.
It was just rotten luck that didn't make any difference to the so-called nobility. No member of an aristocracy got involved or submerged deeply into a mercantile life. Soiling ones hands with actual work didn't reflect well on one's image of leisure and privilege, except said work belonged in the class of noble professions, not actual work involving commerce and exportation.
The silver lining about it all was that Edmund's friend never fell behind on repayment of any debt he incurred at the gaming tables, but the costly hobby was going to catch up firmly with his fortunes in no time. Edmund knew this personally from a lesson taught by a distant cousin who'd shot himself, rather than face debtor's prison.
He'd tried in subtle ways to persuade Shelbroke to relent on his obsession with the gambling halls, by suggesting they pursue other interests on multiple occasions, but the man never took the hint. Edmund supposed it was time to try a more direct approach instead.
"Don't you think you need to cut back on the games for a bit, Shelbroke? At least leave off the gambling part of it for a w
hile."
"There is no fun in playing without an interest, Swinton. That's the greatest motivation to deal your best card, everyone knows," Peter replied with a humorous, unconcerned laugh, his fingers drumming on the tabletop.
"Not when you keep losing over and over again."
"Well, not everyone starts automatically perfect at the table; as fine wine ages, so talent needs to be honed."
At the skeptical look Edmund shot him, Peter shook his head. "If you don't believe me, you can ask anyone else who knows the gaming table. Practice makes perfect, Swinton."
Practice indeed made perfect, but apparently wasn't the case for his friend. Edmund had seen many young men fall prey to the fancy illusion that they'd get better at their games. They believed they'd strike gold and come away with a huge payoff, but the reverse was usually the case, and they found themselves sinking further and further into the addictive swirl of the destructive vice.
Peter was neck-deep in the belief that he'd get better one day. Edmund tried another tactic to seek his understanding.
"Remember your father is ailing and expects you to take over the business soon, along with the title. Don't you want to make a good impression by showing him certain levelheadedness?"
Peter's smile was beginning to fray at the edges. "Don't you think I'm aware of my duties, Swinton? I have been giving it a considerable deal of thought, and hopefully soon, I might be so lucky as to win a good portion of land from a naive viscount or earl and ease off the trading business when things get back to normal."
"But the business is thriving, isn't it? With the fast-rising sweep of industry and trading, soon, the balance of things will be greatly tilted. Mercantile concerns will eventually form part of the ongoing wealth of many noble families. Tea, sugar, coffee beans, spices, cotton … are the fuel that drives the engine of commerce, my friend."
Peter looked almost bored, and all traces of humor had disappeared from his face. He spoke with a smirk, "You spend your time worrying over everything, Edmund. No wonder there is no time to spare for a bit of fun when all you think of is how things might be, as opposed to how they are. You are quite boring, you know. You should try having some fun sometimes; would do you a world of good."
To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance Page 2
