At the Earl’s Convenience
A Regency Novella
by
Maggi Andersen
DEDICATION
To David
Working with you is as always a delight!
Love, M
After refusing him once, heiress Miss Selina Wakefield accepts Giles Devereux, Earl of Halcrow’s, offer of marriage, against her better instincts. The handsome earl confesses that he needs to marry into money to save his crumbling estate, Halcrow Hall, and produce an heir.
Giles is the most interesting and fascinating man Selina knows. But he is also the most secretive. He has resigned his commission in the army while England is at war, and members of the ton cut him.
Because of the earl’s rakish reputation, Selina fears she may be leaving her calm, organized life for one of disorder and heartbreak. But she never expects what lies ahead.
At the Earl’s Convenience
Copyright © 2015 by Maggi Andersen
Published by Maggi Andersen
Edited by Devin Govaere
Cover Artist: Melody Simmons
Digital Formatting: Author E.M.S.
Originally released as a short story, titled Love and War.
Author’s Revised Edition.
By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
Please Note:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental and are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9942291-2-0
At the Earl’s Convenience
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
To His Coy Mistress Andrew Marvell
Chapter One
Bath, England, 1812
The Grand Ballroom of the New Assembly rooms was a total crush. Selina Wakefield and her best friend, Elsbeth Millichamp, had squeezed into a corner by a marble column. Away from the hubbub, they could more easily make themselves heard.
“Pon rep, Miss Somersby has all the available men at her feet, all of the time,” Elsbeth said with an annoyed swish of her white muslin skirts. Several men gathered around Miss Somersby hoping to claim a dance.
“She’s very young. And you can’t deny she’s pretty.” Selina’s gaze swept over the gathering searching for a familiar face.
“If you admire blue-eyed blondes,” Elsbeth said with a derisive snort. “Personally, I find them insipid.”
“Oh, Elsbeth, how can you say so?” Selina turned to focus on her friend, well aware of what had produced her gloomy mood.
“I much prefer brunettes.” Elsbeth put her hand to her light-brown curls twisted at the back into an Indian knot. “Your color is nicer, Selina.”
“Dark brown?”
“It’s so dark a brown you could almost call it black. And with your green eyes and golden skin you are most unusual.”
“Too much time spent in the sun without my bonnet. I would prefer an English-rose complexion, far more fashionable.”
“It hardly seems to matter,” Elsbeth said with a twist of her lips. “At our age we are destined to be spinsters.”
“You could marry Freddie Goodwin,” she said. “He’s mad about you.”
Elsbeth’s brows drew together. “Freddie is too forthright. He took me for granted because we’ve known each other since we were children. I put him firmly in his place, and finally, he has listened and taken himself off.” A mournful expression replaced her frown. “It’s horrid to be three-and-twenty and not have a prospect in the world.”
“Where is Freddie?”
“London. The last I heard his father employed him in his export business. Not that I’m interested.”
Selina smiled. “Of course not.”
Elsbeth smoothed the skirts of her white crepe gown. “Dare you to talk, Selina. You refused an earl, no less. Lord Halcrow, did you not?” She raised her brows. “I wouldn’t have. He’s devilishly handsome.”
Selina’s gaze roamed the ballroom. “You are being contradictory, Elsbeth. Devereux is a blue-eyed blond.”
“I would happily make an exception for him, should he look my way.” Elsbeth rubbed her arms with an unconvincing shiver. “Those eyes! You’ve never told me why. Was it his financial situation? I’ve heard he’s rolled-up and his estates are entailed.”
“I’ve heard that too.”
“Not a fudge then? Your father left you a handsome fortune, so that can’t be the reason.”
“No.” Selina fussed with the tassel on her fan.
Elsbeth laughed. “I can see you’re not going to tell me. Is Devereux fighting in Spain?”
“I’ve heard he’s resigned his commission.”
“You are remarkably well informed.” Elspeth hid a smile with gloved fingers. “Not that you’re interested.”
The musicians took their places, and everyone moved to the dance floor for a country dance.
“Here comes Cousin Eustace to ask me to dance. He’s such a dear.” Elsbeth rose as a stocky man with a bristling moustache approached. “But I must converse with him for a full half an hour!”
Selina hid her smile as Eustace bowed and gave Elsbeth his arm to lead her onto the ballroom floor. Sitting alone made Selina feel even more like a wallflower. There were many visitors to Bath cramming the assembly rooms. Those that chose not to dance milled about chatting, playing cards, or drinking the waters.
Perhaps she was destined to be a maiden aunt. Although she loved her sister Anne’s children, caring for someone else’s offspring, no matter how dear, was a life unlived. She very much yearned to live a full and passionate life. Giles Devereux, Earl of Halcrow, had expressed the wish to marry her for her inheritance and made no secret of it. She did applaud his honesty, and perhaps she should be flattered that he’d chosen her. They were not a titled family. Her father had made his money in India. Such marriages were not uncommon amongst the ton, but Selina still found it difficult to tell Elsbeth, fearing she would try to persuade her to accept him. Neither did she mention the two offers of marriage she’d rejected in the past month. The suitors had dropped to their knees and expressed undying devotion, but she hadn’t believed them. She enjoyed her independence, and the thought that, once a lady married, her property became her husband’s by law made her cautious. Elspeth was perceptive. She would guess why Selina had refused the earl, and she didn’t want her sympathy.
Since Selina’s father had left her a tidy fortune, offers had rained down like arrows. Anne was forever matchmaking, and no doubt, before the Season ended, another hapless beau would appear at dinner who bore no resemblance to Devereux. She gave an impatient huff. Why couldn’t he just sweep her off her feet with a lie? She slowly shook her head. It wouldn’t have worked. She would’ve seen through the ruse and liked him less.
She was not going to pine over an unrequited love, however. It was hardly a Greek tragedy, and she certainly didn’t intend to reject every possible husband who came along because of him. She looked down at her gloved hands, which gripped her
fan. Why, when she’d heard Devereux was back in England, did she search for his golden head at every ball and soirée she attended?
She rubbed fruitlessly at a stain on her glove. Living with her sister was a mixed blessing. Selina loved the boisterous, noisy household, their three children and menagerie of spoiled pets. She was fond of her patient brother-in-law, Harry. But she didn’t belong there. Not only did she long for her own establishment, she was keen to discover the delights her sister appeared to enjoy behind the bedroom door. Selina grew hot at the thought. She hurriedly unfurled her ivory fan and gave her face a brisk cooling.
When the call for the next dance came, a portly gentleman crossed the room toward her. Mr. Everard invited her to dance with a roll of his eyes. She was taller than he, taller than many men here. She rose, and his damp, gloved fingers closed over her arm as they took their place amongst the other dancers.
The first Monday of the following month, at Anne’s insistence, Selina found herself in the ballroom of the Bath Upper Assembly rooms again. Although the Season was on the wane, the rooms were still packed. She danced every dance, but when she settled amongst the potted palms with a glass of detestable Madeira that her dancing partner had fetched her, she admitted to being bored to distraction. Anne and Harry were talking to their neighbor, Mrs. Mayberry, and for the moment, Selina sat alone.
Her usual companion for these occasions, Elsbeth, was away from Bath nursing a sick relative. None of Selina’s other friends attended tonight. She had never been particularly good at small talk with slight acquaintances. And not everyone wished to plunge into a brisk political debate or discuss the latest news of General Wellington’s exploits in Spain. Selina poured over the newspapers every day, reading the official dispatches, which might take weeks to reach them, and the debates in the House of Commons.
She preferred to walk in the park with the dogs or spend an afternoon reading a book that pushed the boundaries of her knowledge than attend these affairs, where she must curtsy and smile and dance one interminable dance after another. She was here under sufferance for her sister’s sake. Anne was determined Selina find a nice man to marry. But there was a definite snag in this arrangement, and the snag was Giles Devereux, Earl of Halcrow. She sighed. He made every other man appear dull.
****
Giles Devereux, Earl of Halcrow, searched the milling guests in the ballroom. The quadrille band struck up, and partners formed sets. The chandeliers shone down on the swaying gowns and waving feathers, adding luster to the fine jewels on display. As Giles skirted the floor, several acquaintances cut him, turning their backs. Word had spread that he’d resigned his commission while England was at war. He’d anticipated it and shrugged, determined not to let it bother him.
He found the person he sought. It was fortuitous that she wasn’t yet dancing. The lady sat alone, nibbling her full bottom lip as she fussed with her glove. He paused and allowed his gaze to sweep over her, noting the indifferent manner in which her beautiful hair was dressed and the gown successfully camouflaging her bosom and doing little to flatter her tall, slim figure. Selina Wakefield was outspoken and a little too serious, but not without a sense of humor. He found her a delightful puzzle. She was not a member of the aristocracy, although her wealth entitled her to move amongst them, and while her behavior could never be accused of being outlandish, she refused to adopt their affectations. He admired her and wished he didn’t like her so much. Far better that he didn’t love the woman he planned to wed, better for her, too, if she didn’t love him.
****
Selina pulled at a thread on her glove. If it fell apart, it would a good excuse to leave. Despite her ministrations, the cotton glove remained stubbornly intact. She was pondering finding her sister Anne, to plead a headache and retire when long legs encased in black silk appeared beside her.
“Good evening, Miss Wakefield.”
Selina’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that deep, amused voice and could barely raise her head as her pulse increased.
“Giles Devereux,” he said unnecessarily and bowed.
“I may not be in the first flush of youth, Lord Halcrow, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, or my memory.”
“You are remarkably well preserved.” His blue gaze roamed her hair. “Not a grey hair to be seen for the ripe old age of what, three-and-twenty?”
“Last Tuesday. Although I don’t see that it makes for good conversation.”
He grinned. “Dear me, there’s no sense in mourning the passing years.”
Selina frowned up at him. “I am not, I assure you.”
“Then please accept my belated birthday wishes. May I join you?”
“It would be rude of me to refuse you, Lord Halcrow.”
“Did I not ask you to call me Devereux the last time we met?”
With a smile, he sat beside her on the small settee, causing her ribcage to tighten with nerves. She wanted him to go away, but then she’d be sorry to see him go. She didn’t seem to know her own mind where he was concerned. She took a sip from her glass to distract herself.
He eyed her glass. “I thought you hated Madeira.”
“I do.” Such was his disarming charm that he remembered such details.
“Allow me to get you a glass of wine.”
“I would be grateful, thank you.” As there was no waiter in the vicinity, she hoped he might go in search of one and allow her to gain her breath.
Devereux raised his hand, and a waiter appeared out of nowhere. When the man rushed off to comply with his order, he fixed her with his blue-eyed stare. She fought not to wriggle.
“You look well tonight.”
“Thank you. As do you.” She sensed his polite comment came with reservations. She had no such misgivings about him. He was, as usual, impeccable. While other men favored short, artfully windswept locks, his long golden hair was tied with a black velvet ribbon. It was like him to defy the popular mode of dress. He wore a black suit with an emerald pin in his white cravat. His coat needed no buckram padding at the shoulder and fit tightly against his slim waist. He stood out in the crowd, a blond devil, no doubt secure in the knowledge that women would fall under his spell with just a crook of his little finger. Well, if he was about to crook his finger at her, she would… She admitted she was not entirely sure of what she’d do, as she struggled to be indifferent to his charms. Annoyingly, her heart didn’t seem to be listening.
“I don’t like that pallid color on you, though,” he said. “It’s entirely the wrong green.”
With a sharp intake of breath, she smoothed the skirts of her white muslin gown, woven and trimmed with celery green. “Should I hurry home and change?”
A gleam lit his eyes. “I’m inclined to blunt speaking. I do apologize.”
Reproachful, she drew her brows together. He wasn’t sorry in the least.
“You should wear colors that enhance your eyes,” he continued, ignoring her daunting expression. He fingered the jewel pin in amongst the folds of his silky cravat. “This green, emerald.”
She choked at the effect wearing that color would have on the assembled crowd. “Look around you, my lord. Unmarried ladies wear white.”
“Insipid colors for the virginal.” He shook his head. “We English are eager to adopt French fashion, but because of our tight-laced moral standards, we make a mess of it.” The wicked gleam returned, the deep blue of his eyes trapping her. “I have an excellent plan that will take care of both these problems.”
Selina gasped and glanced around. “I refuse to listen to it, my lord. You are not to be encouraged. You’ll ruin my reputation. It doesn’t matter about yours; I suspect it’s already lost.”
He grinned. “You’ve heard then?”
“I heard you’d left the army.”
“I can’t talk to you here. Come outside where no one will overhear us.”
“I will most certainly do nothing of the kind!”
He placed a hand on her arm. “Curse it, Selina.
I will behave myself. I give you my word. I must talk to you.”
She hesitated. It wouldn’t do to be seen shrugging him off, and he obviously wouldn’t go quietly. “I shall give you five minutes, but I can’t imagine anything of import you might have to tell me. We’ve said it all before.”
Outside, another couple strolled the length of the colonnade, enjoying the warm evening. Strains of the “Sussex Waltz” with flute and violin floated through the open doorway. Lit by lamplight, Devereux was classically handsome; his fine features bore the stamp of aristocratic breeding, his blue eyes capable of a seductive glance that rendered a woman weak in the knees. It was indecent for a man to be so good looking. He leaned against a stone column beside her with a casual grace that never seemed to desert him.
“Now isn’t this agreeable?” He gestured toward the flowering magnolia perfuming the air. His gaze held her in thrall. The moment should have been breathtakingly romantic, and for a brief moment, it was.
“Selina, as I’ve told you, I need to marry for money.”
“I must go back inside. My absence will be noticed.” She turned away. His bald statement was no surprise, but she still felt as if he’d grasped her heart and squeezed it.
Devereux reached out and stopped her, taking her arm, his touch burning into the flesh between her glove and capped sleeve. “Stay,” he said softly. “Don’t run off. I know I’m too direct. I can’t embroider, make it sound poetical. Not for you. Don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because you’re smart and you never dissemble.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said dryly.
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