Earl of Charm: Wicked Earls’ club

by Maggie Dallen

  Silly, foolish girl.

  Over the years, she had done countless silly things. Pranks on her sister, flirting with known rakes, and those love poems she’d insisted on writing when she’d fallen for the neighbor boy at the age of twelve.

  Oh yes, she was no stranger to foolishness, but she’d never once done something so careless as to develop feelings for a man who so clearly did not return her affections.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the dark passion in his eyes just before he’d kissed her.

  Rather, he could not return her affections.

  Alex was far too pragmatic to do something so utterly juvenile as form an attachment to someone so unsuitable, and it was no secret that he was intended for another.

  Olivia. The poor woman who’d lost her fiancé. Of course he ought to do right by her. It made sense that he make the appropriate choice for his family and hers.

  He would honor his brother’s commitments because that was the sort of noble, upstanding gentleman he was.

  She would keep her distance, that was all.

  Setting the letters in a neat stack next to her stationary, she lifted the top one first. It was from her sister, and she really ought to respond. To her sister, and her aunt, and her cousins, and…that was it, really. All her other friends had disappeared after the scandal. But her family required an update.

  They’d worry if they did not hear from her.

  But what could she say?

  Her mind was a blank. All she could think about was that kiss, and that was hardly a topic she wished to discuss on paper. Instead, she picked up the letters again and shuffled through them, picking her aunt’s to address first. Her aunt was a kind woman, but they did not share the same intimacy that she did with her sister. There would be no temptation to pour her wretched, confused heart out in a letter to her aunt.

  She skimmed over her aunt’s delicate handwriting. She’d read it twice already so she knew what it entailed. A tedious recounting of the party they’d hosted last month, along with some gossip from her side of the family.

  Her eyes caught on one paragraph in particular. And then there was this bit.

  Eliza said that The Claremont Finishing School for Young Ladies has an opening. Your name was mentioned, though I told her you seemed quite content with your role as companion.

  Content. Was she truly content? She’d told her family she was, but only because she had not wanted them to worry. And while she truly did adore the Dowager, so much so she’d come to think of her as her own aunt these past few months—she would not say that she was content.

  Possibly because there was no future for her, and while she could forget that in the moment, at times like this it was impossible to ignore. She was stuck in a strange sort of purgatory, living nicely but on the edges of someone else’s family.

  Not a stranger, but she did not belong there, either.

  You are my responsibility now, Clara.

  Bittersweet pain rippled through her once again. It was kind of him to say—even kinder because he genuinely seemed to believe it.

  Strange, serious, kindhearted man. One kiss and he believed she was his problem now.

  Truly, she did not know whether to laugh or cry.

  She sniffed. Crying never did anyone any good. It had been a moment of weakness last night that she’d allowed sentimentality to win out over good sense. It had just been seeing the Earl of Davenport with his wife, that was all. They’d been the very picture of marital bliss. They had the sort of camaraderie and partnership one dreamed of in a marriage, and the way they’d looked at one another...well, their love was on full display for all to see.

  A wave of sadness had hit her without warning. Seeing them had been a sharp reminder of all she would not have. She’d taken it for granted that her future would include a husband and children, a home and a family.

  Now that seemed a distant dream.

  She had a family, and that family was her sister, her aunt, her cousins. It was pointless to grieve for what one had never known and never had. What she ought to do was focus on the family she had, the people she needed to care for.

  Her gaze was fixed on the name of the finishing school. It wasn’t the first time she’d contemplated the idea, although previously she’d dismissed it because the school was so far away from her sister. Not to mention, she did not love the idea of being a teacher at a school like that. She’d heard stories of what their lives were like. All work, and no freedom.

  Maybe freedom was too much to ask for at this juncture, but she thought not. The Dowager teased her about her one-woman ‘school of charm’ as she put it, but what if…

  She blinked rapidly as the idea came into fruition, fully formed and absurdly appealing.

  What if she opened her own school? A school for gently bred ladies who might need to learn the finer points of etiquette and propriety. Girls who did not want to be sent away, but who wished to remain in London.

  What if she finally said good riddance to her dream of a good marriage and a large family, and embraced the silver lining that came with her new status.

  She might not be considered eligible for a good marriage and she was surely pitied, but she could be independent. It would not be easy, of course, but she had the connections and the goodwill of most of society.

  She’d run from the looks of pity in the past, but perhaps it was time to swallow her pride and accept whatever charity and favors her sympathetic plight might secure.

  The notion of accepting charity had her fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat, shuffling and arranging her correspondence with restless fingers.

  No, the thought of appealing to the kindness of strangers held little appeal, but that discomfort paled in comparison to the excitement of her new dream. A life lived on her own terms. Perhaps if she were successful enough with the daughters of the ton, she could even employ her services to those who needed it most. Young ladies like her sister who had neither the dowry nor the good name to make a good match. Ladies on the fringe, without options.

  For the first time in nearly a year, Clara felt hope. Excitement, even. For the first time in forever she felt as though perhaps she might have a purpose.

  The only problem was—it meant squashing her silly dreams of sharing a life with Alex once and for all.

  For the best, really. This infatuation she’d developed had grown into an obsession of sorts. Unhealthy, especially since there was no hope for it.

  Friendship, that was the most she could hope for from the Earl of Charmian, and even that would be diminished once he married another and started a family.

  No, it was best she leave his company now. The sooner the better.

  The Dowager would understand. It wasn’t as though their arrangement had come about out of the Dowager’s great need for a companion. She had no lack of friends or relatives. They both knew she’d offered Clara the position out of a sense of obligation to her mother.

  While she was grateful, she’d never wanted it to be her position forever.

  She’d rather become a working lady; run her own school and help others than continue in a life where she did not belong to anyone.

  At least at her own school she would belong to herself.

  Movement behind her had her spinning around to find Alex hovering in the doorway.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I did not realize anyone was in here.”

  That was what he spoke aloud. What his eyes were saying? That was another matter entirely.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. She wondered if he too were remembering that kiss—all too brief but life-altering nonetheless.

  Sure enough, as she thought it, his eyes fell to her lips and his eyes darkened with passion.

  She stood so abruptly the chair nearly toppled over. Her heart raced so quickly she feared she might faint.

  This. This right here was why she needed to leave, why she had to come up with some plan for her future that had noth
ing to do with love or marriage or any of the other dreams that were too painful to ponder.

  The thought had her spine stiffening and her hands fluttering to settle over her belly, trying to calm the giddy sensation that was unbidden and unwelcome. One kiss should not have affected her so.

  One man should not have this much power over her body and mind.

  Do not forget your heart.

  “I am interrupting,” he said in that low, quiet voice of his. His brows, as usual, were drawn together, but she knew him better now. How anyone could believe him to be so utterly serious, so one-dimensional…they were fools, the lot of them.

  There was more to this man than anyone knew. The silly chits in society might mock him for his stiff ways, but she could tell them all that when it came time for accounting, wit and charm counted for naught.

  Give her reliable and responsible any day. They could have their rogues and their rakes—she would rather a fine, solid, dependable man like Alex.

  But he was not hers, and he never would be.

  She could only hope that his wife appreciated him as much as she did.

  “You are not interrupting,” she said. “Please, come and join me.”

  He took another step into the room, leaving the door open behind him. This was his home; this was entirely proper.

  Tell that to your heart.

  “I was just reading letters from my family,” she said.

  He took another step closer. “Are they well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Silence stretched between them, and for the first time in her life she was at a loss as to how to fill it. He cleared his throat, and her gaze flew up to meet his.

  “We should talk,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No need.”

  He frowned. “You do not know what I was going to say.”

  A rueful smile tugged at her lips. “I can guess.”

  He hesitated only briefly. “About last night—”

  “There is really no need to apologize.”

  “I think there is,” he said.

  She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Did he have any idea how much this hurt her? Could he not just let her have one sweet, dear memory with a man she admired? “Please,” she said, her voice fraught with tension.

  He shook his head. “I must speak. I must apologize.” He shook his head again, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “I do not know what I was thinking.” He met her gaze. “That is not true—I was not thinking. I acted rashly. If anyone had seen—”

  “But they did not,” she interjected. “No one knows, and no one will know.”

  He took a step toward her. “Clara, I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. I cannot forget—”

  “But you must.” It came out harsher than intended, likely because she was warning herself as much as him. “It was a mistake,” she said quietly, her insides twisting in abhorrence at the thought.

  It wasn’t a mistake. It couldn’t have been.

  “It was a mistake,” she repeated, firmer this time as Alex’s eyes moved over her face, reading her like a book. “And it will not happen again.”

  His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “Of course.”

  “It cannot,” she said, softer this time.

  “Of course. I would never wish to cause you harm.”

  She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak. She believed him. He was one of few men in her life whom she trusted. Ridiculous, considering the short period of time she’d known him, but true nonetheless. She cleared her throat. “You have a future and your family to concern yourself with,” she said. “I would not wish to stand in the way of that.”

  “And you,” he said quickly. “I promised you I would help you, and I meant every word.”

  Pride warred with need. Her ego battled with the newfound dream of a freedom and a new life for herself and hopefully her sister. “About that…”

  He moved closer until she could feel the warmth that emanated from him. “What is it?” he asked. “What can I do for you?”

  She licked her lips, and turned her attention to her hands, which were clasped before her. “I’ve decided to open a school for young ladies.”

  “A school for charm?”

  She could hear the teasing in his voice, though it was subtle, at best. “Yes, actually.”

  “Oh.” He sounded so surprised that she looked up to meet his eyes. “You are serious.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Is it really such a terrible idea considering my other options?”

  “But surely you want—” He cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut as he studied her. “Forgive me. It is not for me to presume what you want.”

  “It is not about what I want,” she said. “It’s about what I do not want. It is about choosing a path for myself rather than hoping to make do with what little society will allow me.”

  “I’ve told you, I will look out for you. I will give you a dowry, and—”

  “You are not my family,” she said. It burst out of her too loudly. But his offer to take her in as though she were another sister…it hurt in a way she could not describe.

  She could resign herself to being his friend. She could embrace the idea of a livelihood. But becoming Alex’s sister, even if just in theory…it was unbearable.

  After a long silence, he broke it with a question. “What is it that you need from me? Money? Connections?”

  “Yes, and yes,” she said with a small smile, relieved that he’d dropped the idea of bequeathing her with a dowry. “The money would be a loan,” she said. “And I’d also ask that after you m-marry—” She cursed herself for stumbling over the word. “That after you marry, your family might help…that is to say…might set an example…”

  “Of course.” He mercifully stepped in without making her clarify. “My family will always welcome you into our home and at our gatherings.”

  She nodded, trying desperately to focus on this win. It was a coup, really. With an earl and his family to sponsor her, she would have the sort of connections she’d need to attract the young ladies of the best families.

  This was a good thing. She ought to be so grateful.

  And she was.

  But as she made her excuses to flee the room, it was not gratitude that had tears threatening to spill.

  Chapter Six

  Alex’s great aunt nudged his side as he led her to dinner. “You have come a long way, my boy,” she murmured.

  He dipped his head in acknowledgement. Aunt Gertie was no doubt referring to his ability to trod through this tedious gathering with his dead brother’s former fiancée and her family.

  “Olivia has always been kind to me,” he said.

  And today had been no different. He’d seen the sadness in her eyes, but she had embraced him upon entering, forsaking propriety in the face of grief. He’d held her stiffly, more aware of Clara’s eyes on them than on the feel of Olivia in his arms, albeit briefly.

  Next Frederick’s beautiful bride-to-be had moved on to Tess and the two had embraced with quiet weeping until Olivia’s father intervened with a gruff murmur and a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  After that, things had only grown more dismal.

  But, he supposed his great aunt was right. He had come a long way, these past few days and perhaps over the last nine months. He’d stayed by Olivia’s side, asking after her health, her family, her pastimes. Asking questions. That was what Clara had told him to do.

  And he’d listened.

  Oh, how much easier life could be when one merely listened. With Olivia he heard all about her life these past few months, though they both avoided the topic of his brother and their mutual grief, perhaps because they both knew it would end in tears.

  Later, he heard all about her father’s new venture in India, and her mother’s plans for the upcoming season. He listened. He heard.

  But it was what he hadn’t heard that gave him pause. Clara’s laughter. Clara�
��s teasing. He’d grown accustomed to having her at his side, particularly at gatherings such as this one. Even when it was just the family, she was always there, egging him on, nudging him or encouraging him. But this evening she had been silent.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Clara, who was following behind them with Tess.

  She’d been uncharacteristically quiet tonight. In fact, she’d been quiet these past two days after announcing her decision to him.

  A school. It made sense, he supposed. She had a skill; she had the goodwill of the ton. It was a way for her to forge her own future…

  Without him.

  The selfish thought nagged at him.

  “Are you all right?” Aunt Gertie asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Soon the rest of the party was gathering around them, with Olivia seated across from him. With blonde hair and fair skin, she’d always been undeniably beautiful.

  And yet…

  His gaze moved down the table as if of its own volition.

  And yet she could not hold a candle to Clara with her flashing eyes and her kind smiles. When Olivia smiled at him he felt nothing more than sympathy over what she’d lost. A camaraderie of sorts since they had both lost someone they’d loved. A shared history, which had to count for something, he supposed.

  It was not until after supper that he had a chance to speak to Olivia with any semblance of privacy. All eyes were on them, but the others were out of earshot. Her father was watching them closely, but again it was Clara’s gaze he was aware of.

  He looked to her now, searching for any sign of sadness. Any hint of jealousy.

  Not that he wanted that. No. Not at all. It would be best for everyone if she did not share his regard. It was bad enough that he’d kissed her, wishing for her to suffer would merely make him cruel.

  And cruel he was not. However…

  Davenport’s words from the night of the kiss still lingered with him. Perhaps he was just a touch wicked.

  Selfish, certainly.

  He swallowed down the overwhelming sense of longing he experienced every time he looked at Clara and turned his attention back to Olivia.