Earl of Charm: Wicked Earls’ club

by Maggie Dallen

  “Your travels went well then?” he asked finally.

  The young girl with her curly brown hair beamed at him as though this were the height of fine wit. “Yes, very well, thank you.”

  Fascinating. The girl managed to say this without a hint of exasperation. Almost as though he hadn’t asked some form of the same question no less than three times now. Her cousin sat beside her with a similarly kind look in her eyes. Her companion seemed a bit older, more mature, and had hair so fair it looked white in the morning sun.

  They were kindness and patience personified, and by the gentle, tender way they were looking at him now he had to wonder what exactly Clara, his sister, and his great aunt had told them before he’d arrived.

  They’d warned these fine ladies, no doubt, that his social skills left something to be desired.

  He found he could not quite care at the moment. He was too busy trying not to stare at Clara. Every time he glanced in her direction, she was giving him an encouraging look. The proud governess with her pupil.

  He took a sip of the tea his sister handed him. If only his thoughts of her were those of a grateful student. He’d finally gone to bed last night as the sun was rising, and his dreams were filled with visions of a lovely brunette, backlit by a fire, her eyes aglow with a world of emotions hidden in their depths.

  She has as little chance of being your bride as I do.

  Had she any idea of the sadness he’d seen there when she’d spoken? Surely not over the fact that she would not marry him, but it was a sadness nonetheless, and he found himself wondering over her circumstances.

  Worrying, actually.

  As though his own family was not enough of a concern, he now found himself compelled to care for his great aunt’s companion. And yet, his inability to cease thinking about her and this strange compulsion to watch her, to be near her, to bring about that smile that warmed him to his core…that had nothing to do with obligation or duty.

  “Isn’t that right, Alex?” His sister’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he found himself once again the center of attention.

  “Uh…That is…” What on earth had she been talking about?

  Clara came to his rescue, prompting him with arched brows and an eager smile. “You were just saying last night how you would love to visit Italy, were you not?”

  He looked at Clara. Had he said that? Her wink was so quick he nearly missed it himself. “Er, that’s right,” he said.

  All of the ladies gathered around him smiled. He took a sip of tea. Was he really so pathetic that they all had to smile at him like that? Think, he ordered his brain. What would Frederick have had to say about Italy? “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

  Everyone murmured their agreements, with Lady Amelia’s cousin Miss Grayson adding, “In the south, surely. They must be having better weather than we are.”

  It was a simple thing. Silly, really. But the fact that he had contributed to the conversation without utterly making a fool of himself seemed like a large feat indeed. It wasn’t until their visitors had left and Alex was alone with his family that he had the chance to ask Clara, “Why were we discussing Italy?”

  She was sitting beside him on the settee as Tess played the pianoforte, with Aunt Gertie hovering behind her to watch. His sister had always been fond of music, and their great aunt had indulged her talents. She’d been the first to teach her to play, although countless music tutors had come and gone in the years since Aunt Gertie had given Tess her first lesson.

  Clara’s eyes were wide as she stared at him, and he had a feeling perhaps he ought to have known the answer to his own question.

  “Were you not listening to the conversation at all?” she asked.

  “Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck and gave her a little wince that inexplicably made her laugh.

  He loved that sound. It truly rivaled the music that surrounded them now, and Tess was as skilled a musician as he’d ever heard. Clara’s look was one of tolerant amusement as she explained that Lady Amelia’s betrothed was the Duke of Harlow.

  “Yes,” he said. “So you mentioned last night.”

  Heat crept up his neck at the reminder of their evening together. Somehow now, in the cold light of day, it seemed like he had dreamt it. Surely it had been too good to be true. No one had ever made him feel like that. Like he was enough. Like he was more than enough—just the way he was.

  No woman had ever made him lose himself in such a way, for that matter. The very idea of being alone with a young lady, and in the middle of the night, and so scantily dressed… Surely it had not been reality. Just a trick of the night—some strange fever brought on by the firelight, and the spirits he’d imbibed, and the late hour.

  She blinked up at him.

  And those eyes.

  Those eyes which were filled with magic and kindness and intelligence and empathy and…impatience.

  Drat, he’d done it again. What had she asked?

  “Pardon?” he said stiffly.

  She let out a huff of air that seemed to be a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I’d asked if you had been paying attention to society gossip these past few years.”

  “Oh, uh…” For a moment he panicked. Was she referring to her own plight? For he had heard about her family’s ruination, though that was because he’d gone to visit his great aunt when it was the topic du jour. Even then he might not have paid attention but for the fact that Aunt Gertie had seemed personally affected by it. Clara’s mother had been a dear friend of hers and she followed the gossip closely, and so he had as well.

  Clara sighed. “If you’d been paying attention to the goings on in society, you would know that the Duke of Harlow has…” She threw her hands up. “Well, I suppose you could say he’s gone rogue.”

  He arched his brows. “Rogue? How so?”

  Her lips twitched with mirth. Over what? He knew not, and nor did he care. He found himself urging her silently to give in to the smile. He would give a fortune to see it again, right now in this moment, and directed at him.

  Goodness, he felt a bit like an addict must feel. He’d never been prone to gambling, he rarely over imbibed, and he’d never once touched opium, but he found himself gaining a new understanding of the sort of debilitating need that fueled those addictions. He would sell his soul to the devil himself to be the recipient of another one of her grins.

  He didn’t need to go to such extremes, it turned out. She was smiling at him now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  She shook her head, leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice as though letting him in on a secret. “You have a tendency to be quite…focused, do you know that?”

  A laugh escaped and caught him quite unawares. His laughter sounded rusty and harsh compared to hers. “So I have been told.”

  Too focused. Too intense. Too serious. Too rigid.

  But she did not seem to be complaining. She merely shook her head. “Do you know, I do believe that if you used that sharp focus of yours to listen to others you would be quite the ideal conversationalist.”

  He blinked. “Ideal conversationalist? Me?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. I think your biggest problem is that you are so wrapped up with your thoughts that you rarely pay attention to the chatter going on around you.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. There was some truth to it. His brain was typically racing away, either off on a tangent or trying to figure out what he ought to say next, or what reaction was expected of him. He clamped his mouth shut with a hmm sound, determined to think on that at a later date.

  Clara’s laughter was soft and soothing. “If you had paid attention earlier you might have learned that the Duke of Harlow rather notoriously neglects his duties.” She lowered her voice again. “And his bride to be.”

  “I see.” He stiffened at the thought of it. How anyone could walk away from the responsibilities he was born to was a m
atter he could never understand. He might not have wished for an earldom, but he would never shirk the duty that came with it.

  “Yes, well…” She shrugged. “It seems as though Lady Amelia’s family has grown tired of waiting for him to return. If the duke will not come home, then she shall be sent to him.”

  “Oh, I see.” Now the conversation about Italy made far more sense to him.

  Clara patted his arm in a decidedly maternal gesture. “You did splendidly this morning.”

  “Well,” he said, his voice gruff with irrational pleasure. “I have a fine instructor.”

  She beamed and his heart squeezed painfully. “One evening of waltzing and chatting hardly earns me such credit.”

  “I’ve never talked to any lady as much as I talked to you last night. You have worked miracles—either that or you have cast a spell.” He was not certain where that came from. Around her the truth seemed to slip from between his lips. He had no defense against her inquisitive gaze and luscious lips.

  He was surprised to see pink creeping up her cheeks as her gaze dropped to his collar. “I did nothing extraordinary,” she said.

  “You are extraordinary,” he said. “To me you are. I do not know how to explain it, but you are so…so easy to talk to.” That was an understatement. Not only could he speak to her, he could not seem to stop himself if he tried.

  Her smile was mischievous when she looked up at him. “Perhaps that is because I listen.”

  He laughed. Twice in one morning.

  Even Aunt Gertie took notice. “What’s going on over there?” she called out, her tone teasing. “Why, my dear nephew looks happy for once. Clara, what have you done?”

  Clara’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as she ducked her head, and he found himself wishing to protect her, wanting to take her into his arms and shield her from the world.

  Though he also found himself curious as to what had made her blush. She hardly seemed like the type to be frazzled by a bit of attention.

  But alas, his new friend shot to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, her head ducking down as if she were trying to hide. “I have some correspondence to attend to.”

  “Of course, dear,” Aunt Gertie said.

  She started to leave the room and then stopped, her head turning so she could face him over her shoulder. “Listen when others are speaking,” she said with a small smile. “Consider that your lesson for the day.”

  As far as lessons went, it seemed easy enough, but was far more difficult in practice. He’d been standing in his brother’s room for who knew how long before he became aware of the fact that his sister had been talking to him from the doorway.

  Two days had passed and he still had not quite gotten used to the fact that he was home once more, and this time for good. There were no properties to oversee for the foreseeable future, all the stewards had their land and accounts firmly in hand.

  He eyed his brother’s room, which had been left virtually untouched these past nine months, and wondered what he ought to be doing now.

  “Hello? Alex?” Tess said. “Are you even listening to me?”

  He spun around, ashamed to realize he had not only not been listening, he hadn’t even realized his sister had been standing there.

  She arched a brow and pursed her lips. She was probably too young to remember it, but the look she was giving him now was remarkably similar to the look their mother used to give when she’d caught him daydreaming rather than listening to her latest lecture.

  “Sorry, Tess,” he said. “What were you saying?”

  Her expression softened. “Nothing of consequence.” She shifted, eyeing him and then the room. He wondered if she felt his presence, too.

  Or maybe it was Frederick’s absence that he felt.

  “You can touch his things, you know.” Her voice was quiet. “You can sit on his bed, and we can sort through his clothing.”

  Alex turned to look at her in surprise.

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know it’s difficult, but I don’t think it’s helping anyone if we continue to treat this room as though it’s a mausoleum.”

  He nodded. In all honesty, he’d been thinking the same thing. Standing here he’d been starting to think that their mourning period had gone from respectful to morbid. “We’re acting as though he’ll come back any day now,” he said.

  Tess sighed behind him. “Exactly. I don’t suppose it’s terribly healthy, is it?”

  He didn’t answer. He likely did not need to. He took a step farther into the room, as though movement might dispel this haunted sensation.

  “You seem to be getting on quite well with Clara.”

  Tess’s unexpected comment had him spinning around to face her. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but her expression gave nothing away. Her hair was as dark as his, and in this lighting her skin seemed to glow in comparison. She could have been the ghost of his mother, and for a moment, he found himself wanting to confess to her as though she was.

  He was not just getting on well with Clara. He liked her. He liked her more than he ought. Never in his life had he felt such a pull toward another, such an overwhelming desire to be close to someone, to understand them, to have them know him in return.

  He’d told her they were friends, and while he did have need of a friend right now, that was not at all what he wanted from her. He had friends—chaps from Oxford, mainly, some of whom he’d kept in touch with these past few years. He knew what friendship was, and what he felt around Clara was something else entirely.

  It was the camaraderie of friendship, but with so much more. An element he could never name but that was powerful and undeniable. Tess seemed to be waiting for an answer and he found himself making a noncommittal noise of agreement.

  Her lips twitched upward in response.

  He turned away from her, afraid of what she might see. While he might have liked to unburden himself of this new, unwanted attraction, his sister was hardly the person with whom he should speak.

  He headed over to the nightstand, picking up the knickknacks and baubles that had been haphazardly set aside, still resting there as though Frederick had only now just left for his morning ride. Alex toyed with a ring.

  If Frederick were here, he could talk to him about it.

  But then again, if Frederick were here, there would be little to say. He’d be tucked away at his property with his books, and he would likely never have met Clara.

  That thought did not sit well.

  He set down the ring, picking up a pin that sat beside it. It was a W. How curious. There was no W in his brother’s name, nor in his intended’s. He turned it over in his hand, the thought of his brother’s fiancée distracting him…or getting him back on task.

  How could he stand here thinking about Clara and his feelings for her when he had an obligation to Olivia?

  “What is this?” Tess asked, coming to stand behind him.

  She held out her hand and he handed it over with a shrug. “It was on the nightstand.”

  “A W,” she murmured. “How curious. You know, I do recall him wearing this quite often. It must have been of some significance to him.”

  They stared at it in silence for a moment, as if this little bauble might fill them in on all they did not know about their brother.

  Tess turned to him suddenly. “You should wear it,” she said, already fastening it to his lapel.

  He started to protest but she interrupted him neatly. “He would want you to.”

  “We don’t even know why he wore it.”

  “No, but we know that he did.” Her eyes met his, their dark brown depths so similar to his own, and yet so different. Same shade, but far less serious. Far less fretful. Even now, though tinged with grief, her gaze held an element of merriment that reminded him far too much of Frederick. “This will serve as a reminder to you, a fortifying talisman.”

  “And why should I need to be fortified?”

  Her lips twitch
ed up at the corners. “For the dinner party tonight, of course.”

  He barely refrained from sighing. “More entertaining? I thought Olivia and her family weren’t arriving until next week.”

  “We’ve received an invitation to a dinner party at the Huntingtons,” she said. “We could hardly say no.”

  “Why not?”

  She arched her brows in surprise. “All of society will be there,” she said. “Well, all those who are in town for Christmastide.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Wonderful.”

  She cast him a knowing look. She’d heard the sarcasm, no doubt. “You have nothing to fear, Alex. It seems you and Clara have been making quite a bit of progress these past few days.”

  “Mmm.” He couldn’t bring himself to say more. It was true that Clara took her lessons seriously. She’d spent a good portion of each day, teaching him the fine art of conversation, which he’d learned, consisted largely of listening—a skill he was still developing—asking questions, and compliments.

  When in doubt, Clara told him, give the lady a compliment.

  This had been all too easy to do with Clara. Looking for ways to compliment her during their interludes had proven a dangerous distraction. It only encouraged his innate desire to catalogue her finer attributes.

  By the end of each of their chats he’d find himself just a tad more smitten.

  Tess straightened his lapel. “Frederick would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

  He sniffed. He wasn’t nearly so certain. Ever since he’d become the new Earl of Charmian, he’d been plagued by doubts. Was he doing anything the way Frederick would have wanted? Was he paying enough attention to their tenants? Would his awkward, anti-social ways ruin his sister’s chances of a good match?

  “I want to make you proud too, you know,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes shot up to his and they were soft with affection. “Oh Alex, you already have.” Her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. “You always do.”