Dare to Love a Lord: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  But for young ladies born without a fortune, being caught alone with a man would cause them to have nothing. Their mothers and fathers would be shamed into rejecting them, their prospects for marriage would dissipate. They would be left without any options for their futures.

  Emma could not allow this to happen for her. With that in mind, she asked herself why she was taking the risk of being alone with him.

  Not only was she risking her friendship, she was risking her entire future.

  Emma glanced up at the earl again, a head taller than herself. And then she remembered.

  With a peacefulness that she could hardly explain, with an ease of air, she realised with simplicity exactly why she was walking with him.

  He was the man that she longed to know and to be with. He was someone that she could not get her mind off of. He was a dream for her, as though a perfect hope had been made into flesh and bone.

  Yes, this was why she risked everything to be walking beside him in that moment.

  “I said something wrong, didn’t I?” the earl asked, appearing sheepish.

  “Well, I cannot say that I completely understand men like you,” Emma said.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I mean, perhaps it is the opposite. Perhaps it is the awareness that you do not understand me. I cannot pretend as though I am unbothered by your indifference to the plight of myself and many other young women,” Emma said.

  “I see. But, you must know, I would really like to. I would like to understand. I would like to be the sort of man who understands, who can empathise. I apologise if it is a frustration that I know so little,” the earl said.

  His kindness was a comfort and Emma grew to trust him a little more with each passing word. Yes, he really was different to what she had expected, and that delighted her a great deal. It warmed her.

  “Ah, there it is. A smile. I had hoped that I might see it eventually,” the earl said.

  “Yes, well, you do tend to bring it out in me,” she replied with a laugh.

  “Really?” he asked, genuinely surprised that she had said this.

  “Well, yes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, women of our ilk find men like you to be scoundrels, but at least you are one of the better scoundrels,” she teased.

  “Ah! Me? A gentleman and an earl? Am I a scoundrel?” he asked.

  “The very epitome,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Well, then…I suppose I ought to be prepared for what lies ahead for a man such as I. After all, who am I to ever try and be anything more than that? I am not so strong as those who have struggled to make ends meet,” he said.

  There was something in his voice that alerted Emma. He really meant the words. They were not a jest or a confession, they were a burning shame. He considered himself weaker than others.

  “I hope you know that I was only teasing. You are the least scoundrel-like of all the noblemen with whom I am familiar,” Emma said, her grin still upon her face.

  The earl smiled at her again in reply, appreciating that it was both a comfort and a joke. But at least Emma could see that he had grasped her attempts at humour and he was understanding of her intentions.

  They drew nearer to the tenements and Emma began to grow somewhat more nervous. She wondered if her mother and father would see her with this man, or any of their neighbours. She could not risk their judgment.

  But how was she to tell the earl to leave her now? Not only that, but she hardly wanted him to leave.

  And yet, she reminded herself that this had to be their last interaction. Here, in the night, with the excuse of her safety at hand, she had managed to convince herself that it was all right.

  But in the morning, everything would be different. This had to be the end of it.

  Chapter 29

  Miss Sproul had been charming, noble and entertaining. Their fleeting moments together were always a delight, but this had, perhaps, been Eric’s favourite.

  As he walked with her by his side, Eric looked keenly upon her, wondering if he could convince her to remain a little longer. But that would have been a foolish suggestion and he reminded himself that it was senseless.

  She was a young woman who had taken a great risk by spending this time with him. How could he have put her in this situation?

  He was selfish. Perhaps that had been his problem all along.

  “My home is just up ahead,” she told him, looking nervous, as though they should not continue any further together.

  “Oh, I see. Ought I to leave you here, then? Perhaps I can watch you from here and ensure that you get inside safely,” he said, offering what he thought she wanted, even if it did mean that he would not be able to spend their final moments with one another.

  The tenement entrance was just ahead of them, no more than a minutes’ walk.

  Miss Sproul looked ahead and then back at him and squinted slightly as she tried to discern her thoughts.

  “Yes, I suppose that would be the best choice,” she said.

  “All right. Then I hope that you have a lovely night,” Eric said, letting out his breath and, with it, the tension that he held in his shoulders.

  “Thank you, I hope that you do as well,” she said.

  But Miss Sproul did not move right away. It was as though she was considering something and before he let her say it, Eric wanted to share what was in his own mind.

  “I am glad that you allowed me to walk you home,” he said, eyeing her face and feeling an urge to kiss her, although he knew that he could never do such a thing there in the middle of the street.

  She was a decent woman and he could not cause her reputation to be called into question.

  “Yes, thank you for doing so,” she replied, not looking at him directly.

  “You must know that I am nothing like my father. I know that maybe you haven’t even thought about that, but it is very important to me that you know. I couldn’t bear it if you thought that I was anything like him, that I would take advantage of your hospitality and everything,” Eric said.

  “I-I know that,” she said.

  “You do?” he asked, with hope in his heart. “Because I want for you to trust me. I want you to know that I am trustworthy, I really am. I promise you that I am decent, a good man. I may be a fool, but I am an honest fool and I would not cause any issue for you so long as I am able to help it.”

  Miss Sproul sighed and looked away from him, as if she were struggling to find her strength. He could see it in her eyes, in the way that she bit her lip.

  She was going to turn him away.

  “Yes, I know that,” she said, frustration in her voice and a hand in her hair.

  Eric paused, waiting before he allowed himself to say another word.

  “I know that you are a good man. I know that you are not like your father. I know that Amelia ought to give you a chance, that she should be kinder to you. But I can’t understand why you think that any of it matters. It makes no difference, my lord,” she replied, finally looking him in the eye at the end of her statement.

  Eric’s heart sank. He didn’t want to hear this, although he knew that it was coming.

  “I am sorry, but I have to be honest with you. No matter how kind you are, no matter how different you are from other men of your station, you are also different from me. Too different,” she said.

  “Why? Why does it matter so much?” Eric asked.

  He read the sadness in her eyes, the way her brows drew together in distress, the way she was mourning without a sound.

  “You know why. You know that it is not my ilk of society that determines whether or not it matters, but yours. You know that even if I wanted to see you, I cannot. Even if I wanted to continue getting to know you, I cannot,” she said.

  “We cannot even see one another? Not on the street, not anywhere?” Eric asked.

  Her grey eyes filled with tears and it took all of his strength not to reach out to her. Eric would have given anything to take her hand, to beg
her to give him a chance.

  But it was too late for all of that now. It was too late to hope. He had been a fool to think anything different.

  Eric realised that he should have been prepared for this all along. He ought to have known that Miss Sproul would not allow for the two of them to continue in their quiet flirtation and the way their eyes conveyed messages to one another.

  Yes, he should have known that everything that he was expecting from her was unachievable.

  Miss Sproul would not put herself in the position that Liza Lockhart had been in. And even if Eric behaved as an utter gentleman, it was his society that would keep them apart.

  It was not the poor, not the underserved. It was the rich who were so inclined to cause problems for the two of them, the rich who would have kept them apart, no matter how hard he might try to draw her nearer.

  And with that, Eric nodded, allowing her to have her way, admitting that they could not be together.

  But he ached with the recognition of this fact and Eric had to catch his breath before it was stolen away from the grief that he could not be with Miss Sproul.

  “I am sorry that it must be this way, my lord. But I urge you to continue in your efforts to grow closer to your sister. I think that she will accept you in time. I trust that you have a future in which she understands that she wants you to be a part of her life,” Miss Sproul finally said.

  “You think so?” Eric asked.

  “I do. In fact, I have no doubt of it. She may seem cold, but that small uncertainty that she showed? That means something. I assure you. She is close, my lord. You should continue to try and get to know her. I trust that, with time, she will finally relent,” Miss Sproul said.

  “Why are you doing that?” he asked, cutting through her train of thought.

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “Why have you suddenly begun speaking to me with such formality?” he asked.

  There had been times before when Miss Sproul spoke to him that way, but this was the first time that she had done it repeatedly. Eric noticed how her eyes had glazed over, as if resigning herself to the fact.

  “It is only appropriate. If we are not to be friends, as we must not be, there is nothing else for it. I must recognise the fact that you are a nobleman and I am not. Therefore, what am I to call you but my lord?” she asked.

  It was a reasonable enough thought under most circumstances, but Eric was not fond of this particular situation and it bothered him that she was taking on this newly verbalised respect.

  He wanted her heart, not her flowery words. He wanted her attention, not her subjection.

  “Well then, I suppose that we really are no longer friends,” Eric said.

  “As it must be,” she replied.

  “And you will not even do me the honour of speaking to me as though we were equals? Not even once, here at the last of our conversations?” Eric asked.

  “I cannot, my lord. I must simply urge you towards your sister. There is no more to it,” Miss Sproul said, the same dead look in her eyes, accepting what her words had spoken.

  Eric saw the way that she clenched her jaw, steeling herself against whatever else he may try to do in order to convince her that he wanted her attention. But he would go no further. Finally, after all of this, he would respect her decision.

  “Thank you for one final evening of speaking with one another. I wish you well. Good night,” he said.

  With that, Eric turned away from Miss Sproul and made his way back in the direction from which he had come. He would return to the inn and he would speak with Amelia once more before leaving Finchley.

  Maybe Amelia would thaw and she would ask him to stay longer, but if not, he would return to London and he would come back only as needed and as she wanted. He would write to her now and again, he would come to visit. But he would no longer remain here, preoccupied by his sister and her dear friend, of whom he was so fond.

  Trying to discern the right choices were nearly unbearable when his heart longed for something entirely different, but this was what he had come to. This was where he was at now.

  Eric sighed, accepting that he was stuck. But his feet urged him further on, leaving behind Miss Sproul and refusing to look back at her.

  All would be well, in time. He would likely never love again, but Eric could accept that. He had had enough of love for now. He had had enough of affection and hopes and idealism.

  But he would never become like his father and that was an even more important decision.

  With all of the things in his mind, all of the plans that he had made, this was one thing to which Eric could cling. He was a man of integrity and that would never change.

  As he walked, he passed a number of men and women who appeared to have a less than honourable lifestyle. But what truly bothered Eric was the number of looks that he received, the whispers about him, the voices speaking about the fact that he had fraternised with one of their own.

  Even here, even in Finchley, he could not escape the reputation that had been brought about by the society pages. Not that Finchley was far from London, it was just that he had not anticipated the whole of England to be as shallow and divisive as the city from which he had come.

  Eric tried to ignore the glances, but then, he also wondered if any of those accusatory looks had come his way when he had walked with Miss Sproul. Had he simply been too blinded by her to notice them? Had he been so excited about her presence that he hadn’t even been aware that they were being watched?

  She was right. It was too dangerous for the both of them if they were spending time together. Her reputation and his were both at stake and he already knew that Liza Lockhart was out to destroy him.

  He would not allow Miss Sproul to be caught in the midst of it. He would not allow his mistakes, nor those of his father, to affect her in any way.

  The night sky was dark and there were very few stars that he could see. He longed for a chance to enjoy his evening, to be happy about the state of his life.

  But Eric also determined that he had better write to his mother and see how she was handling everything. He would send her a letter the following day, letting her know that he was coming that evening or the next morning.

  And then, maybe once he was back in London, things would finally begin to settle.

  It took him by surprise when he arrived in his rooms to find that his mother had already written to him. He unfolded the paper and began to read.

  My Dear Boy,

  I do hope that this letter finds you well. I am afraid that I do not write under happy circumstances, but rather to ask you for any information regarding your search in Finchley. Still, things here do not sound good. In fact, I am distraught by some of the rumours that I am continuing to hear about you.

  I know that they are untrue, but I must urge you to fight back against them. It is not good for a mother to hear such unpleasant things regarding her son. I love you and know that you are a good boy, but everyone else seems to believe these scandal sheets and think that you are out galivanting as an irresponsible young man.

  Please do your very best to show the world who you truly are. I know that you are brave and strong and I know that you are kind and gentle. Be those things. Show everyone that you are those things. Remind this young woman that she has no reason to speak ill of you and that our family is a good family.