To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance

by Eleanor Keating

  There was a sound, midway between a gasp and a sob, at the back of her throat. Just as she'd been making grandiose plans, the moment was gone, taken away by the proud witch.

  She wouldn't be marrying Viscount Hilgrove unless she could reach him first. She wouldn't have her glittering balls. Or finally be accepted in society.

  In a burst of panic, Lucy dashed into the street, just as a carriage rolled frighteningly close, forcing her to halt as the horses thundered past, light shining on their harness and shod hooves. She had no choice but to remain standing where she was as the carriage wheels flashed past, spokes painted bright red.

  When the street was empty again, Lucy had a clear view of the viscount chatting amiably with Lady Mary, looking most smug and pleased with himself. Lady Mary was flirting and simpering, adjusting the drapery of her fine woven shawl about her bare shoulders, and tilting her head so that her bonnet waved its plumes of ostrich feathers.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lucy. I know this wasn't what you hoped for," Caroline comforted her, giving her arm with a gentle pat.

  Tears prickled Lucy's eyes and she bit her lips to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. "She's such a brazen coquette. What is she doing here at this time of the day? How unlikely for her to be here at the same time as us."

  Lucy felt anger shielding the pain in her heart as she watched the viscount and Lady Mary conversing. They looked so perfect together; the viscount's blonde well-cut hair complimented Lady Mary's honey-blonde curls. She was even the perfect height to fit comfortably against his shoulder should they step any closer together. Tears were burning in Lucy's eyes now, and it took almost everything she possessed to stop them from spilling over. Deep down, she wasn't hurt because she had lost the viscount himself, but rather the opportunity and chance to have changed her fortunes.

  "This is what happens when you set your hope so high, Lucette, dear," her mother's voice said in her head. "You fall, and shatter over and over again, unless you learn to accept your fate. There is nothing much we can do about our fortunes or station in life."

  But Lucy abhorred her fate. She'd spent every opportunity she got rewriting and changing the blasted thing. She'd done well enough already for herself. The tenacity and hunger for a better life had brought her to London, but right there in the middle of the street, she watched an opportunity slip away from her grasp.

  Lady Mary wasn't just beautiful and fair, with bright blue eyes warm and begging to be cherished and adored. She was also the only daughter of the Earl of Rutherford, an ailing old man who was more than eager to see his daughter married off before he croaked. It didn't help that Lady Mary was rumoured to possess an enormous dowry, and plenty of suitors who couldn't wait for the start of the season to begin courting her vigorously.

  The chit also had a reputation for getting whatever she wanted, which wasn't strange for someone who had been pampered and doted on for the entirety of her life.

  Men longed to be in her orbit, and her dance cards were usually full before the beginning of most parties; making her an envy and an aspiration to a great many young ladies. Mamas pushed their daughters into being friends with her, and she was always surrounded by fawning females in the ballroom, hanging on to her every word as if it was the gospel.

  Lucy only saw a privileged lady who'd been blessed from birth by an abundance of beauty, wealth, and advantages in society. She saw someone who wouldn't care a whit about snatching someone else's happiness just to satisfy a whim or a flight of fancy. Lady Mary Ashgrove had a staggering number of options, lined up and waiting for her. But there she was, taking away the only good chance Lucy had gotten in a long while.

  She blinking tears away furiously and turned to Caroline with a strained smile.

  "Let's hurry and get all the supplies before Mrs. Wyndham takes it all out on you, the old harridan."

  Caroline looked doubtful as she perused Lucy with dark probing eyes. "Are you okay, Miss Lucy? I know you wanted this—"

  "I'm fine, Caroline. There will be other options; as you said, the viscount isn't perfectly pleasant when unobserved. It's perfectly alright, let's go on now." Lucy gave the maid a big grin, before turning on her heels; a heavy suffocating load of sadness pressed heavily on her chest.

  Though perhaps, I've just had a very lucky escape, she thought. Maybe he really is as bad as the gossips say. Maybe fate has intervened on my behalf. I shall simply have to keep searching for a suitable suitor. One too, who does not require a large dowry to pay off his gambling debts.

  Chapter Four

  Edmund climbed the sweep of stairs on the front façade of the Earl of Langford's imposing Queen Anne residence, his mind heavy and brooding. Standing in front of the solid oak door, he hesitated to use the knocker for a few minutes, plagued by the crushing weight of his thoughts.

  He hadn't been able to get much sleep the previous night as he had speculated and pondered the nature of the business the earl wanted him to take care of.

  At the beginning of his employ, right after he'd found out who the earl really was, he had visited him with a glowing recommendation from his tutor, the highly respected Charles Goodman Esq. He had only handled matters of a legal nature involving the running of the earl's estate, such as drafting contracts and paying bills that weren't part of the household's daily expenses. But as the months flew past, Edmund found himself handling more things that weren't part of his job description. He wasn't proud or pleased, but he'd handled murky business for the earl that went against everything he stood for.

  Edmund had been opportune to realize, quite early in his life, that he wasn't swept away by the reckless gambling and whoring that many young men took for granted as their right. He wasn't perfect, far from it, but he couldn't bring himself to resort to underhanded means just to advance himself. He supposed he had his stepfather to thank for that. Maurice Atkinson, a farmer and a devout Christian, had raised him in the way of the church, and his mother had reinforced those morals firmly in his ears. He tried his best to live by a strict code of ethics and better himself at every turn. But it was always hard, especially when working for someone like Lord Langford. Edmund had spent a good number of his years playing by the rules, but in less than a year of meeting and working for the earl, he'd found himself in a constant battle with his conscience and it left him so out of sorts that he resorted to brandy to soothe himself.

  Edmund realized that he'd been standing for over a minute at the door, before lifting the knocker and rapping, albeit reluctantly. The door was thrown open almost immediately by a footman laden with quite several multi-colored, medium-sized cardboard boxes and trying unsuccessfully to prevent them from toppling to the floor.

  "Welcome, sir. Do come right in."

  Edmund stepped into the foyer and bent to assist him but the man waved him off, alarmed. "You don't need to do that, sir. I've got it under control." But he didn't because, in the next instant, boxes fell to the ground, much to the man's consternation.

  Edmund dismissed his protests and gathered the boxes, wondering what was inside that made them so heavy. Just as he stood up, he came face to face with a lady standing a few feet away by the foot of the stairs. Her deep emerald green eyes pierced him like sharp beams and he almost felt dizzy from their intensity.

  He had seen her once, but not this close. She'd been going up the stairs when he'd emerged from the earl's office on a visit just last month. He remembered wondering who she was. The earl was widowed and without children, and it was highly unlikely for him to bring his mistress to the house.

  Even though the man was unscrupulous, he was still traditional and a purebred aristocrat.

  "Please, Miss Lucy. Can you kindly show Mr. Swinton to the front parlor? I need to take this upstairs urgently. I'm begging your pardon." The footman spoke, in a fluster.

  "It's alright, Fergus. Go on," She said in a low husky voice that sent unexplainable currents of electricity down Edmund's body as he stood staring at her. She was beautiful, but not in the classical se
nse. Her beauty could best be described as unique and sharp—in the sense that it caught one's attention and held it fast. Her pale blue gown, of printed Indian cotton with a floral motif, perfectly complemented her pale blonde hair. Worn at the side in a sweep that showed off the graceful length of her neck, it was thick and wavy, and her small pert nose was complemented by full luscious lips. The kind that begged to be kissed.

  Edmund caught himself quickly at the track his thoughts had taken. He didn't usually behave that way and didn't know what had come over him.

  "My lady," he greeted with a nod and removed his hat, hoping his torrid thoughts weren't etched blatantly on his face.

  "No, no ... call me Miss Middleton," she offered with a tentative smile.

  He averted his eyes from her pale cream, muslin gown trimmed with lace at the hem and neck.

  "Miss Middleton, I am Edmund Swinton, the earl's solicitor, and here to see him on some important business." The words fell off Edmund's tongue shakily as he found himself engrossed at the sight of her even, white teeth.

  Get a grip on yourself, man! He thought.

  "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Swinton … may I call you Edmund?"

  Edmund was taken aback by her directness and the mischievous humor in her eyes. It was obvious she knew she'd shocked him, and his reaction obviously amused her.

  "That would be a pleasure, Miss Middleton. You can call me Edmund then." He smiled at her.

  She laughed softly. I must insist you call me Lucy, since I'm allowed to call you Edmund, sir."

  The sound of her laughter was nostalgically familiar. It sounded like the tiny waterfall that ran into a brook on the farm he'd grown up on at Hartford Heath. The waterfall, in the early hours of noon, sounded pleasant, warm, and free.

  "Alright, Lucy. If you don't mind me asking, are you visiting or do you live here? I have only seen you once on my previous visits," he said as she led him down the carpeted hallway.

  "Oh, that's because I'm always busy above stairs. I'm a companion to her ladyship, Agnes Barlow, the earl's aunt."

  And what an enchantingly beautiful one...

  "How is she faring? It's strange not to see her bustling around in her usual fashion."

  Lucy's emerald green eyes grew sombre. "She has been unwell in recent times but is pulling through quite nicely. She is remarkably strong and should make a hasty recovery soon."

  Edmund didn't doubt that. The earl's aunt, Agnes Barlow, was a sweet lady who always had a kind word to say every time they met. She frequently asked about his sister, Amelia, having met her once at the modiste where she worked; and had invited them both for tea a while ago.

  Edmund knew for a fact that the kind lady was the strong voice of caution in the earl's life and a thorn in his side. They shared a prickly relationship but managed to cohabit by avoiding each other's company as much as they could.

  "Excuse me, sir, Miss Lucy?" They were interrupted right then by the housekeeper, Mrs. Wyndham, a slim tall woman with a pinched face who shot Lucy a dark look.

  "Lady Agnes needs you upstairs. One would think that with the vast array of duties waiting, you would take care to pay them attention. Do you realize that you're overreaching in your duty by fraternizing with the lord's man of business?"

  Edmund hid his surprise at the vehemence in the older woman's tone and saw an embarrassed flush creeping into Lucy's cheeks.

  "I'm sorry, Edmund. I have to go now. It was nice meeting you."

  "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Lucy." He nodded, wanting to say more but she was already hurrying towards the stairs.

  "You may come with me, sir."

  He tore his gaze away, just as Lucy disappeared at the corner, and followed the sour-faced housekeeper into the earl's private parlour.

  Edmund was hit by a sudden wave of memory as he stepped into the cozy, well-furnished room with a carved fireplace facing directly to the doorway.

  It was of the first time he'd walked into that particular room, armed with a letter from his tutor and the secret he'd carried in his heart for the better half of his nine and twenty years. He'd been nervous, even if he'd worn a mask of assuredness and slight defiance, ready for whatever result the meeting would bring.

  It seemed like an age, rather than just a year, ago. How time quickly flies by.

  Edmund took a seat on a burgundy sofa and placed his file-case on the footstool in front of it. He was distracted once more by the reason why he was there. There was something about the earl's letter that rubbed him the wrong way; although it hadn't contained any disturbing information, it had implied urgency.

  He couldn't wait for the earl to arrive, and to get the business over and done with—at least get rid of the bounding unease he felt.

  A shot of brandy would be wonderful right now w, or maybe two, Edmund thought. He distracted himself with memories of Miss Middleton. From time to time, when not occupied with all his responsibilities, he thought how delightful it would be to take a wife, and to return home at the end of a grueling day to a sweet smile and companionship.

  If only I had the means to take a wife, he thought, picturing Miss Middleton setting his supper on the table before him and smiling...

  Lucy paced the length of Lady Agnes's bedchamber, while her ladyship slept on; she was so angry she could spit. How she wished she could give that lying, bad-tempered Mrs. Wyndham a piece of her mind. She felt so embarrassed, remembering the scathing reprimand the surly woman had spoken, and right in front of the earl's solicitor.

  Lucy felt her face flaming again and hurried to take a seat by the bed, her face in her palms. She'd been having a wonderful conversation with the delightful young man whom she'd found a little reserved, but charming and attractive. His rich, thick hair was so black that she'd wondered how it would feel running a hand through it, and those intelligent gray eyes, that seemed to take in every detail had felt like they were keenly interested to know everything about her.

  Lucy had never felt drawn to a man as quickly as she'd felt with Edmund Swinton. Not having enjoyed the courtesy of an admiring gentleman in a good long while, Lucy had been interested in furthering their conversation had they not been interrupted by the housekeeper. Dreadful woman!

  What must Edmund be thinking of her now?

  Probably that she was the type of hired help who constantly fraternized with male visitors, and had illicit affairs in exchange for favors. She had not helped things one bit by being so forward and direct with him due to the strong reactions he'd awoken in her.

  Lucy felt mortified. Mrs. Wyndham would never have had the nerve to speak to her the way she'd done if she, Lucy, had been a family member or a woman of great importance.

  She wondered for a second why exactly the housekeeper detested her. Ever since she'd arrived at the house, the woman found every opportunity to embarrass her and treat her with the utmost disrespect, bordering on contempt.

  Is it possibly because she can see through my carefully constructed veneer?

  Lucy ignored the disturbing turn her thought had taken, choosing instead to embrace determination and resolve. The daughter of a dead landless baronet from the far north of the country wasn't of great importance, especially one with only a few pounds to her name. The housekeeper would never have had the effrontery to treat her shabbily if she was wealthy, affluent, or titled.

  Again, she resolved that she must do everything possible in her power to marry a titled man and have the security that would bring her, as well as the satisfaction of showing up the unpleasant housekeeper and everyone else who thumbed their nose at her. Yet securing a rich husband was a seemingly insurmountable feat.

  Even though her heart still hurt a little from the incident with the viscount and that annoyingly perfect Lady Mary, she had no plans to relent in her pursuit of a wealthy husband, because the rest of her life depended heavily on it.

  A small smile crept into Lucy's face as she picked up her sewing and commenced making neat, tight stitches. Lady Agnes had given her a green gow
n, with a waistline and low neckline; the fabric was light muslin, very soft and delicate. The hem and bodice were ruffled with lace from Flanders, and Lucy was quite enchanted with the look. Soon she would have tailored the gown to fit herself perfectly, and Lady Agnes had generously offered her a pair of matching gloves. Lucy herself, out of her wages, had bought a charming bonnet to match, and a pair of slippers. It wasn't overly fancy, but it was enough to make her look like quality.

  As she sewed, her resolve was suddenly strengthened by a great conviction. She was going to be acknowledged and treated with respect while being careful not to blur the line between her needs, and a descent into greed and selfishness. She was plagued by the necessary deceit of lying about her identity so far, and couldn't afford to compound an already precarious situation. .

  Lucy knew she had a fighting spirit, and it showed in how she'd singlehandedly made her way from her small dreary village to London, and was taking the utmost care to guard her secret against spilling out One setback wasn't enough to derail her plans' advancement, but instead was a motivation to make a match as quickly as possible. .

  I will have a bed chamber like this one day, she thought, glancing from the expanse of mirror to the walls hung with patterned silk, the high wide bed with its brocade draperies, the paned windows flanked by rich velvet curtains. She pressed her toes into the deep pile of the Turkey rug, and stared at the cherubs in the ceiling fresco.

  But what about fondness, affection, respect … love? whispered a voice in her head. Lucy yanked a stitch tight. I do not care for such things, she retorted. I must do whatever I can to escape my mother's fate!

  As the afternoon progressed, gradually giving way to the early evening, Lucy found her mind wandering to Edmund Swinton. While she spoon-fed a light supper of chicken broth and leeks to Lady Agnes, she couldn't help thinking of how incredibly handsome and well-built the man was.

  A smile teased her lips at the memory of his face when she'd requested to call him by his given name. He surely hadn't been expecting that one.