To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance

by Eleanor Keating

  He had another uncomfortable appointment with the earl, but this time it had nothing to do with the viscount's debt, but a new painting he intended to acquire from the Marquess of Bedfordshire; a kind amiable man who had no intention of selling the painting which had been in his family for years, despite countless persuasions from the earl.

  Edmund couldn't for the life of him understand why the earl always wanted things that weren't legally his. He'd seen it happen on multiple occasions, and they almost always ended with the person deciding to sell after all, perhaps due to some God-awful thing the earl did.

  A few strides into the trek, Edmund realized he still felt a little out of sorts and couldn't continue the rest of the journey on foot even though it was less than a mile to Mayfair.

  It was by a stroke of luck right then that an empty hackney turned the corner ahead, coming in his direction. He hailed it and gave the driver his destination before getting in.

  Horses clattered past pulling carriages and omnibuses, and people hurried by while the sun glared down, in one of those rare sunny states that London occasionally enjoyed, amidst the perpetual foggy weather.

  Approaching the Langford's stately residence, Edmund found himself thinking about Lucy. It was almost strange how his thoughts almost always circled back to her even without meaning to.

  There was something about her that stirred old feelings in his heart, and Edmund had long since stopped fighting his attraction to her. He wanted to be with her, find out how those luscious lips tasted, and how her body would feel in his arms.

  She'd been there in his thoughts even while he was getting ape-drunk yesterday, and he knew a great deal of his frustration stemmed from the fact that he wanted her but didn't think he had enough means to keep her.

  There was no fooling himself that she'd want anything to do with a struggling solicitor who wouldn't be able to keep her in the pleasant style and fashion she was used to.

  It didn't matter if he saved enough money to afford a house. It wasn't just about accommodation, but everything else. He'd seen the gowns she wore, and even though they weren't new, they were of high-quality fabric, and it was obvious she went to a lot of effort to keep them clean and pressed.

  It's like a repeat of my past, he thought gloomily. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions about her character, but I am sure I am right.

  She is a woman who desires fine things, and I only need to look at her to know that.

  He was at the earl's residence in record time, and so it was a slight surprise to find the man already seated behind his desk, waiting. There was a huge frown on his face as Edmund was ushered in, and he had a sneaking suspicion that something was wrong.

  "Yes, have a seat, Swinton. There appears to be a slight development." the earl's sharp tone was riddled with annoyance.

  Edmund took the chair, with Aubusson tapestry seat, across from his employer, and opened his case to retrieve the documents he'd prepared for negotiations with the Marquees of Bedfordshire later in the day.

  He had managed to secure a meeting with the man for four o'clock, and with the expression on his butler's face yesterday, Edmund had gotten the message that tardiness wouldn't be appreciated at all.

  "What is this?" The earl took the papers from him and, after a quick perusal, handed them back in.

  "This offer for the painting is far too much if I must say so, but that's beside the point at the moment. It seems we'd have to place a halt on our other and more pressing plans for some days. I have to make a quick trip."

  A swift relief went through Edmund, but his countenance remained neutral. "And why is that, sir?"

  The earl's brow went up slightly in surprise. "I thought you'd be ecstatic about this, seeing that you hold strong aversions to this type of business."

  Edmund was indeed ecstatic because it gave him more time to find a suitable way to convince the earl to get the viscount to pay his debts rather than bring disgrace on an innocent lady.

  But he said, "I am not entirely enthusiastic, Lord Langford. I want to get it over with as quickly as possible and relegate it to the past and the back of my mind."

  The earl glared at him speculatively but then arose from behind his desk and gestured Edward to the door. The footman swung it open, and the pair of them walked out into the hallway, where the butler waited with his master's coat.

  "Well, Swinton. I would like to get Fairmont's response about my offer for the painting tomorrow, before I set off for Northumberland on personal business. After my return, we can get the other plan underway."

  And with that, the earl headed out the front door, where his valet waited by his newly acquired phaeton.

  Edmund supposed he should be grateful for a short reprieve, but it only made him more anxious, despite how he tried to view the entire business from a dispassionate angle. If only it were over and done with!

  He glanced up the stairs rising from the foyer, with a flagrant hope of seeing Miss Lucy appear as she always did, but the stairwell was empty.

  After a few seconds, he turned and headed out of the house in disappointment, almost colliding with her.

  "Oh, Edmund, you're just the person I wanted to see," Lucy spoke in a rush, moving her empty basket from one arm to the other.

  Edmund stood rooted and mesmerized by the door, unable to stop staring at her. He had never noticed until now how the light played with her eyes and made them appear more blue than gray. Her pale blonde hair shone in the morning sun, which also helped make her smile bigger and brighter.

  "Fine morning to you, Miss Lucy," he greeted with a smile, feeling strange sensations ripple through his body just from standing close to her. The scent of roses was in the air again. This was the third time he'd smelled roses while standing close to her. Can it be drifting from her hair? Or is it the fragrance she dabs at her throat?

  "Forgive my manners, Edmund," she apologized with a blush. "A fine morning to you too."

  "I presume there is something auspicious you wish to speak to me about?"

  Lucy's eyes lighted up instantly, but her voice dropped to a low whisper as she darted a glance at the front door, then back at him. "Yes, Edmund, it's about this business with the earl and Viscount Hilgrove."

  Edmund stiffened immediately. This is it, man; this is what I get for divulging confidential matters.

  "I've thought long and hard about everything, and I'm resolved to do anything in my power to put a halt to the plot and save Lady Mary from being preyed upon and ruined." Lucy's voice, though low, held a firm conviction that troubled Edmund greatly.

  "No, Miss Lucy." He shook his head. "I might have made a mistake revealing my client's confidential affairs to you."

  "I do not understand, Edmund." Lucy looked surprised. "The plot is a wicked criminal thing to do, and sitting by while the earl destroys a young woman's life isn't one of my pastimes, let me tell you."

  Edmund exhaled heavily. His mistake was bound to cost him, if he didn't find a way to remedy the situation here and now.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lucy, but you have to leave things well alone," he began, in the most patient manner possible. "I know I might have come across as though I did not have my business affairs in hand, when I shared the complicated situation with you, but I assure you, things are better left alone. There is more at stake than you think."

  An irritated eyebrow was cocked up at him now. "What do you mean, Edmund? What might be at stake that is enough to warrant ruining and destroying someone else's life?"

  Edmund held his tongue and refrained from divulging anything else. "You need to leave this be, Miss Lucy. You should know by now that the earl isn't a man to be trifled with; besides, it isn't your place socially to be involved in this business."

  Lucy stilled, and he saw something akin to hurt flash across her features before her eyes grew suddenly cold and angry. "I know this quite well, and you don't need to remind me, Mr. Swinton."

  Edmund suddenly felt like a heel at the coolness in her tone and sighed heavi
ly, taking a step towards her.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lucy. I didn't mean to sound condescending," he apologized. "I've been in a god-awful lot of pressure this past week, and it's beginning to get to me more than I like to admit."

  Lucy's countenance suddenly changed to an empathetic one, and she said in a soft tone, almost a whisper, "It's quite awful what you have to go through because of someone else's selfishness, Edmund, and I'm sorry."

  Edmund felt warmed by the care in Lucy's words and eyes and couldn't help but think about how it would feel to have this support every day.

  He pictured returning home after a gruelling day at work to see Lucy waiting for him. She was so soft and passionate and it would be truly delightful to be the recipient of her support and kindness, especially her love and the warmth of her body in the long cold nights.

  He wasn't exactly a saint and had never claimed to be. He had a woman, who attended to his bodily needs, down at the east end, and she was soft and warm between the sheets but that was where it ended. He didn't feel any deep tug or pull for the widow whom he knew had other johns coming to replace him as soon as he left her abode.

  Lucy made him feel completely different, like he could allow himself to loosen the guards and restrictions sometimes. She made him want to live and relax, and not stay hung up over the past circumstances. It was almost the same way he had felt with Kate; the only woman he'd ever let himself love, almost—and that was what scared him beyond anything else.

  Could he do it?

  Could he allow himself to take a chance at being with Lucy regardless of their social differences?

  You have to try at least, Swinton. You need to emerge from those walls and try with someone else. Not everyone would be like Kate, a nagging voice whispered in his head.

  Edmund took a deep breath and released it, staring straight into Lucy's ice gray orbs and feeling like he was drowning in them.

  "Thank you most kindly, Miss Lucy, but the situation with the earl isn't the only reason I've been out of sorts lately."

  "Tell me, Edmund. What troubles you so? You can talk to me. I believe we are friends, aren't we?"

  Lucy's smile was sweet and her gaze a little ardent as she searched his face for a clue to his discomfiture. Edmund hesitated for a second, before plunging right in.

  "There is no way to sugar-coat or coyly say this, so I'll just get right into it. I'm very much attracted to you, Lucy," he confessed, and she gave a small gasp, a surprising awareness springing to her eyes.

  "You are very beautiful and not just on the outside, but on the inside too. I like your passion, and even if I'm not overly used to it, I find it humane and unique. You've made coming over to meet with the earl less laborious, and tense, and I find myself looking forward to seeing your beautiful smile every time."

  Edmund stopped talking suddenly, at the frozen expression on Lucy's face.

  Damnations! Now I've overdone it and she's going to feel skittish as a mare in a stable.

  A rotten feeling like he'd trespassed and said too much swept through Edmund, and he looked down at his chaffed but efficient boots awkwardly. He'd only wanted to compliment and confess his attraction, but hadn't known just how the other words had followed suit.

  Lucy opened her mouth to speak but no words came out; her face was as red as a summer tomato, which made Edmund feel more shamed.

  "Miss Lucy, I'm sorry if I've trespassed and come on too strongly. Words tend to run away from me sometimes. I will bid you adieu now, and hope you enjoy the rest of your day regardless of my foolish fancifulness," Edmund said, and bowed slightly before hurrying away towards the street before he made more of a fool of himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was late in the afternoon, and Lucy was crouched by a cluster of rosebushes, scrutinizing the bright red and white petals, unsure of which stems to pick for the dinner table tomorrow.

  Lady Agnes was famous for growing the finest prized rosebushes around, and the closest rival her ladyship had was the Dowager Duchess of Stamford, Lady Thornwick, who grew an assortment of exotic roses and foreign flowers as well.

  Inhaling the delicate fragrance drifting from the flower petals, Lucy donned her garden gloves. Roses had always called to her, and she felt a certain kinship with them. They weren't just beautiful and attractive; they were also fierce and determined enough to survive in many climates and conditions, just as she was.

  But just like roses, she was sensitive and romantic at heart even if she often hid that part of her. It wasn't dead as it seemed to appear sometimes, rather buried deep by insecurities, and the fierce need to survive and become everything which she'd spent her girlhood dreaming about.

  Which was why Edmund's words yesterday had unsettled her greatly.

  They had left her yearning for something that felt deeper than anything she'd ever felt or wanted.

  He was attracted to her as she was to him. She wasn't alone in those strange, unsettling feelings.

  But it just wouldn't do, would it? Attractions are insignificant, and mean little to nothing, coming from the place I've been, she thought despairingly.

  Feelings tended to fade fast, and love always wore off after the initial dazzle. It wasn't like she had any experience in that department; the closest she'd been to ever feeling anything like love was with Baron Jeffrey's son, William, but that had been a one-sided infatuation, and a derogatory conversation about her state of clothing had cured her of it.

  "Here is the basket you requested for, Miss Lucy."

  Happy for a distraction from dark, best forgotten thoughts, Lucy turned from her crouch by the rosebush to her lady's maid, Caroline, who held out a cane woven basket to her.

  "Thank you, girl. By Jove, I don't even feel like plucking these flowers. They look just perfect basking in the full glare of the sun."

  Caroline laughed, and Lucy didn't blame her as she turned to ogle the flowers with a lovesick expression on her face.

  "Lady Agnes used to be like this too. She loves to have the flowers in the house, mind you, but she prefers them on their bushes. She used to say they were lonely without their bushes when they were plucked."

  "Of course they are, Caroline." Lucy got up and went around to the other side of the bush. "Imagine sitting all day in an empty, boring vase, or tucked in a hat. You would get lonely, trust me."

  "I think I can understand what you and her ladyship mean. They do look at home on the bushes."

  Lucy plucked a few blooms, careful to avoid the sharp thorns on their stems. It hurt like the dickens when she pricked herself and she constantly did, especially when her head was filled with confusing thoughts about her conversation with Edmund.

  Suddenly overwhelmed, Lucy abandoned flower picking and turned to Caroline, who was assisting on the next bush.

  "I had quite a peculiar conversation with Edmund yesterday, and now I can't think of anything else."

  She really couldn't, no matter how hard she was trying to distract herself. It was almost impossible.

  The dratted man seemed to have crept into her mind, and set up shop without her permission.

  "Does it have anything to do with the earl's plans and Lady Mary's predicament?" Caroline looked worried.

  "No, no, Caroline. Although we started off talking about the blasted plot, but this is something else …" Lucy felt a blush coming on, and ducked her head to admire a rose flower with intricate petals, overlapping most artfully.

  When she turned to Caroline, the maid had a knowing smile on her face which rattled Lucy's gut.

  "He says … he is attracted to me, and has been thinking about me quite frequently, which I don't see any sense in, frankly."

  "That's marvelous, Miss Lucy! I told you there was a certain attraction between you that afternoon at the dining room, didn't I?" Caroline gushed.

  "Oh, come on, don't sound too enthusiastic, Caroline. As I told you before, there is simply no need, and it's entirely pointless. Nothing can ever happen between us. I am hell-bent on ma
rrying a man of influence and title, and a solicitor isn't even in the running." Lucy spoke sharply, miffed at her friend's lack of solidarity, before resuming with the cutting.

  "But Miss Lucy, what if he is to come upon a great fortune in the future? What if you marry a titled man and he does the same thing the viscount is planning to do to Lady Mary? What if you learn of a secret so devastating, it affects your will to live?" Caroline persisted, her keen eyes probing to the point of being disconcerting.

  The questions rang in Lucy's head, and she could see her doubts and insecurities in them.

  But what of my dreams? What of my desire to have a life free from financial doom? I can't simply give up on that dream for someone whose affection might change tomorrow.

  Lucy demanded, "Rid your head of all that fanciful nonsense, girl. There is nothing more important than security. You would know if you were suddenly forced to live in a work…" Catching herself in time, Lucy shook her head and changed tack. "Haven't you once dreamt of being with someone as grand as a duke or a marquess?"

  She watched Caroline's countenance grow guarded, as she retorted,

  "I have never allowed myself to be drawn to impossible things. Society doesn't allow it, and the gap between our social stations is too wide for such thoughts, Miss Lucy."

  Lucy shook her head in denial.

  "Well, Caroline. That is what makes us quite different. Social status, and societal restrictions, limit us. I plan to not settle for anyone who isn't titled or with wealth because life is gravely unpredictable, and meagre income can be lost in an instant; landing one back in poverty."."

  Caroline gave her a strange, unreadable smile, but didn't say a word as she continued plucking blooms from the bushes.

  Lucy felt a little uncomfortable, but she knew her convictions were right. Money and social status could not be rivalled by anything else, because they protected a person from the cruelties of life. She knew this, because she'd lived all her life in abject poverty, which had worsened enough to land her and her mother in the fearsome workhouse of Wilshire. There she'd learnt most cruelly that being poor earned one punishments, ridicule, and disdain.