Once the men exchanged greetings, Anson bowed before the duchess, who smiled and offered him her hand. He took it to his lips. “Your Grace, may I have the honor of this dance?”
“It would be my pleasure, Lord Anson.” As they moved onto the floor, she examined his features. He’s as tall as my husband, but much darker. I wonder if the rumors about his mother are true. Barbara Philips’s father was a prosperous West Indian planter and because of his daughter’s black hair and dusky complexion, it was hinted that she could be half-caste.
He is treating me with great formality. His features are stern because he doesn’t smile. He looks at least thirty. . . . I wonder why he isn’t married. Lady Lu smiled up at Anson. “Are you a confirmed bachelor, my lord?”
Thomas hid his amusement. “I have nothing against marriage, Your Grace. I simply cannot afford the luxury of a wife. Every penny I earn goes toward buying back Shugborough’s treasures and antiquities that were auctioned a decade ago.”
“What a noble endeavor. I salute you, my lord.”
“Noble perhaps, but the task I have set myself is gargantuan.”
Gargantuan indeed. We bought Shugborough’s entire library, along with paintings and furniture, and have no intention of selling them back to you. “Is your father well?”
Anson stiffened. “The earl’s health is indifferent. He has been bedridden for more than a year.”
“I’m so sorry. It must be a sore trial for your mother.” It’s a wonder she hasn’t poisoned the bastard by now. She was a great heiress when they wed, and Lichfield went through her fortune like a dose of salts. “Lord John tells me you are a member of the House. How do you fare with the new coalition government? ’Tis a hodgepodge of Peelites, Tories, Radicals, and Irish members.”
“I must confess that as a Whig, I fared better under your brother’s prime ministership.”
“Then let us hope our present prime minister’s term is a short one.”
Anson’s brows drew together. “Isn’t Prime Minister Aberdeen your father-in-law, Your Grace?”
“Absolutely not! The Earl of Aberdeen is my husband’s stepfather. The man is persona non grata in an Abercorn residence.”
“Forgive me,” he said gravely.
“Nothing to forgive, my lord. I’m sure you understand the inevitable clashes that ensue when opposite personalities are forced to live under one roof.”
“Indeed I do, Your Grace.”
Lady Lu spotted her sister Rachel and decided to introduce her to the viscount. Though he vowed he wasn’t looking for a wife, the right female might convince him otherwise.
“Lord Anson . . . Thomas, may I present my favorite sister, Rachel?”
He bowed politely. “May I partner you in the next dance, my lady?”
The duchess wasn’t the only one considering matchmaking. Harry was being partnered by an Irish friend of her father’s, Lord James Butler, whose older brother was the Marquis of Ormonde. “Captain Butler, I’m so pleased you are in London and could attend our ball.”
“I have retired from the Seventh Foot, Lady Harriet, though everyone still calls me Captain. I’m in London to petition Queen Victoria to approve fairs in Kilkenny.”
“That shouldn’t prove difficult. Father will persuade the prince; then Albert will persuade Victoria. Tell me, Lord Butler, do you like redheads?”
“Being Irish, I must admit that I find red hair extremely attractive.”
She glanced around the ballroom searching for Rachel. Her brows drew together slightly when she saw her being partnered by Thomas Anson. They were laughing together and Harry felt a stab of envy. She maneuvered her steps until they were next to the other couple. “Since I believe in equal rights for women, I’d like to cut in.”
Rachel laughed at the audacity of her niece, and smoothly moved toward Lord Butler, who welcomed her with open arms.
Thomas Anson gave Harry a frown of disapproval. After a moment’s hesitation, he did the polite thing and they began to dance.
“Have no fear. I’ve no great desire to dance with you, my lord. I simply wanted Lord Butler to partner Rachel.”
“I thought you were collecting suitors.”
“Oh, I am. But the captain is about forty—much too old for me, and he’s a second son to boot.”
“You have no shame.”
She laughed up at him. “I am guilty of serial misbehavior.”
He gazed down at her through narrowed eyes, assessing her. “You are deliberately hurling yourself against my principles. And enjoying yourself immensely.”
Harry’s mouth went dry. My God, the dark devil is shrewd. He knows exactly what I’m up to. The music stopped. “Thank you for the dance. Will you excuse me?”
“For now. Go forth and gather your suitors.”
“I have so many,” she teased. “There’s William Montagu, Earl of Dalkeith. He is heir to—”
“Yes, I know. Heir to the dukedom of Buccleuch.”
“And coming this way with purpose is Henry, heir to the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe.”
“That would be robbing the cradle. Or doesn’t age matter, so long as he—”
“So long as he was born with a silver spoon up his bum?” she finished outrageously. Harry, you’re trying to goad him into laying his hands on you.
A male voice interrupted her exciting thoughts. “May I have this dance?”
She turned to find D’Arcy Lambton at her elbow. “Why, if it isn’t the Earl of Durham,” she declared, and threw Anson a triumphant smile.
. . .
Abercorn swept his wife into his arms. “I thought I’d better steal a dance, before the handsome Lord Anson claims you again.”
Lu was surprised. “How do you know him?”
“Palace business. He is an associate of Whitfield Cox, the fine-art dealer. I recently procured a painting through him for Prince Albert.”
“When I asked him if he was a confirmed bachelor, he told me he couldn’t afford a wife because he was restoring Shugborough’s treasures. If he hopes we’ll sell back the paintings we bought from Lichfield, he’ll be sadly disappointed.”
“I saw you introduce him to Rachel. Tell the truth and shame the devil—you cannot resist matchmaking.” His arm tightened and he stole a kiss.
When Harry was dancing with Henry Edgcumbe, she realized that though he was a couple of years older than she was, because of Lord Anson’s remark about robbing the cradle, Henry suddenly seemed exceedingly immature. I think he would make a perfect suitor for Beatrix. After all, Edgcumbe will become an earl. Harry smiled sweetly and began to extol her sister’s virtues.
William Montagu, Earl of Dalkeith, claimed the next dance. He was the member of Parliament for Midlothian, Scotland, and a Tory like Abercorn.
“Will, even though you were educated at Cambridge, I can detect a delightful burr in your voice,” Harry told him. Her eyes shone as she thought about Dalkeith Palace in Scotland, which his family owned. Someday he will inherit his father’s dukedom of Buccleuch. “Will, I think Montagu House in Whitehall is the most magnificent mansion in London.”
“If I persuade my mother to give an entertainment, will you promise to attend?”
Harry gave him a radiant smile. “I would love it above all things.
Oh, I didn’t realize this was a cotillion. What a pity we have to change partners.”
Leicester Curzon-Howe, Emily’s older brother, smiled down at her. “I thought I’d never get a chance to dance with you.”
Harry returned his smile. Leicester is about twenty-five, but alas, he has two older brothers before him in line to inherit his father’s earldom. They got only halfway around the ballroom when the music again stopped so everyone could change partners.
“Lady Harriet.” Lord Anson gave a brief bow and offered back her words from earlier. “Have no fear; I have no great desire to dance with you.”
“For a man who scrupulously adheres to priggish Victorian values, you have a wicked sense of humor.”
<
br /> “You do amuse me,” he admitted. “I cannot wait to see what outrageous thing you’ll do or say next. With that in mind, would you allow me to escort you to supper?”
“I’m afraid I’ve promised that honor to D’Arcy.” Harry gave him a teasing glance. “Perhaps I can fulfill some other desire?”
Thomas gave her a speculative look. “How about showing me your library?”
I’ll be damned. . . . Does he want to see the books that used to belong to his family? Or does the dark devil want to get me alone? “Follow me, and you shall see, an elephant’s nest up a rhubarb tree.” She took his hand and led him from the ballroom.
The library was in another wing on the same floor. When they arrived, they found Harry’s brother James sitting in a brass-mounted armchair with Lady Emily Curzon-Howe curled in his lap. The pair jumped up guiltily and hurried from the room.
Harry dropped Thomas’s hand. “Speaking of robbing the cradle! Lady Emily is obviously following in her father’s footsteps.”
If Thomas was amused at her remark, he didn’t show it. Harry watched him closely as he examined the myriad rows of books. His thick black curls were so tempting, she had an urge to touch them. His stern demeanor, however, seemed to forbid such intimacy.
His glance traveled over the volumes, taking inventory. “Some of these once belonged to my family. But I thought your father bought the whole library.”
“He did,” she confirmed. “Some of them are at Bentley Priory in Stanmore, quite a few volumes are at Campden Hill, Kensington, and the rest are in my father’s library at Barons Court in Ireland.”
Thomas Anson lifted his hand to touch a book directly behind Harry; then their eyes met. “So, in spite of being in favor of women’s rights, you have made up your mind to marry this year?”
“Indeed I have. When I marry, my very first act will be to join the Married Women’s Property Committee.”
His dark eyes filled with amusement. “Your very first act?”
The corners of her mouth went up. “Well . . . perhaps my second.”
His acquisitive fingers moved from the books and hung suspended in the air.
The electricity between them was palpable. His animal magnetism was irresistible to Harry. She caught her breath as his fingers began to trail across her cheek. She moved against him in invitation. Harry felt his muscular arm sweep about her and when his mouth took possession of hers, she opened her lips. She gave in to temptation and threaded her fingers into his dark curls. The fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle filled her senses. Is it Thomas Anson that is sending these shivers of excitement through me? Or is it the thought of Shugborough?
Chapter Three
“What time is it?” Harry sat up in bed and stretched her arms over her head.
“You don’t have to get up,” Beatrix told her. “I wanted to tell you that Henry Edgcumbe kissed me last night!”
In the other bed, Rachel opened her eyes and yawned. “The ball didn’t end until four this morning. Why is everyone awake?”
“Trixy cannot wait any longer to confide her secrets,” Harry explained.
“D’Arcy escorted you to supper. Did he kiss you?” Beatrix asked breathlessly.
“As a matter of fact he did . . . more than once,” Harry confessed. “I’ve accepted his invitation for a carriage ride in the park this afternoon.”
“Oh, Harry! D’Arcy is courting you.” Beatrix sounded positively envious.
“Well, he claims he’s already waited a year.” Harry spoke to Rachel. “How about you? Any secrets to confide?”
Rachel smiled. “I must admit I found Captain Butler very attentive.”
“He told me he was mad about redheads.” That’s only a slight exaggeration.
“He told me when he is in London, he rides in Rotten Row at six every morning.”
“Rachel, tomorrow we must rise early. Since Hyde Park is just across the road, we can easily be there by six. He wouldn’t have told you he rides there unless he was hoping you would join him.” I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Anson rides early. No afternoon carriages for the dark centaur.
“I wouldn’t want James to think I was chasing him,” Rachel protested.
“James, is it?” Harry teased. “Does he know you write romance books?”
“I shall save that shock for when we know each other better.”
“Did D’Arcy really kiss you more than once?” Trixy asked wistfully.
Harry thought of Thomas Anson. “Sometimes, once is enough.”
Trixy sighed. “With D’Arcy, I suppose that’s true. What will you wear for your carriage ride?” She couldn’t keep the envy from her voice.
Harry knew that Trixy was longing for a serious courtship. “Good heavens, that’s hours away. I shall think about it after lunch.”
A young housemaid brought Harriet and Rachel breakfast trays.
“Thank you so much, Rose. When I’ve eaten, I’ll come down to the kitchen and help you pack a basket for your family. There will be so much food left over from the ball, there won’t be enough shelves in the larder to hold it all.”
“That’s so generous, Lady Harriet. My mum will be ever so grateful. My little sisters call you ‘the Angel.’ ”
“How refreshing. My own sisters often call me ‘the Devil.’ ”
“That’s a thoughtful thing to do, Harry,” Rachel said when the maid left. “Is her family very poor?”
“Yes, they have so many children. But the Fergusons are very clean.
They don’t live in a slum. They live on Broad Street in Soho. Mother passes along the clothes that we have outgrown. Rose visits her family every Saturday, and we make sure she doesn’t go empty-handed.”
Over toast and eggs, Harry and Rachel exchanged ideas for a book.
“I’d like to write about real people, but there’s always the risk that they’d recognize themselves, and that could land me in hot water,” Rachel said.
“Then why don’t you write about people from an earlier generation? Your mother, Georgina, and my grandmother, once told me the most romantic tale I’d ever heard. I suppose she learned the story from Charles James Fox, who was a friend of hers.”
“Ah yes, didn’t Fox eventually marry his mistress, Elizabeth Armistead? And wasn’t she Prinny’s mistress before Fox fell in love with her?”
“So gossip has it, but I’m speaking of Fox’s grandmother Sarah Cadogan. She was married to his grandfather, the future Duke of Richmond, when she was only thirteen and he was eighteen. The marriage was arranged to settle a gambling debt between their fathers. The pair disliked each other on sight. After the wedding Sarah was packed off to school and Charles was rushed off to the Continent on an extended grand tour.”
“Imagine being forced to marry in order to settle a gambling debt!” Rachel declared with indignation. “The Fox family was always cursed by an addiction to gaming.”
Harry continued. “Three years later, on his first night back, to avoid a meeting with his loathed wife, he went to the opera. In a box opposite was a most beautiful lady—he fell in love with her at first sight. Imagine his surprise when he learned that she was his wife! He decided to woo her properly, and he was successful. Their marriage was so happy that they kissed and cuddled in public. They ended up with twelve children.”
“Oh, that is such a romantic story. I shall incorporate it in my next book. Thank you for providing me with such a splendid plot, Harry.”
When Lady Harriet stepped up into D’Arcy Lambton’s phaeton, she was wearing primrose yellow with a matching parasol. She had contemplated pairing her outfit with a vivid black and white one, but decided it would draw too many eyes. Since she wanted the parasol only to hide behind when D’Arcy kissed her, the yellow was preferable.
“You always look lovely, Harry, but today you seem to be bathed in sunshine.”
“That’s exactly how I feel on this glorious day.”
Hyde Park was busy. Not only was half of fashionable London
riding in carriages, but throngs of ladies and gentlemen were strolling along the paths, hoping to see and be seen.
The Earl of Durham drove once around the park, greeting friends and acquaintances and allowing Lady Harriet to do the same. She caught a glimpse of her brother James riding with Lady Emily, before D’Arcy took a left turn and drove across the Serpentine Bridge into Kensington Gardens. He found a secluded path where the sunshine filtered through the leafy shade trees, and reined in his horses.
D’Arcy took Harry’s hand and squeezed it. “At last, I have you all to myself.”
She glanced right and left mischievously. “Are you sure no one is hiding in the bushes?”
He slowly stripped off her glove and took her bare fingers to his lips.
“We certainly want no witnesses to such wanton behavior,” Harry teased.
“I’ll give you wanton behavior.” D’Arcy’s arms swept about her and drew her close.
Harry shielded them with her parasol and then reached out to brush her fingertips along his blond mustache. She held her breath when he captured her lips in a stolen kiss.
When he withdrew his mouth, she gazed at him for a full minute. Her parasol cast him in a golden glow and she thought him almost beautiful, in an angelic sort of way. “You have inherited your grandfather’s handsome looks. My grandmother always extolled Earl Grey’s attractiveness. I warrant she was half in love with him.”
“And could you follow in the incomparable Georgina’s footsteps?”
“I believe I could be half in love without much persuasion,” she teased.
He pulled her closer and demanded fiercely, “What good is half in love?”
“Surely half in love is better than not being in love at all? You’re an earl of the realm with a castle. If you woo me in earnest, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”
D’Arcy kissed her again and Harry closed her eyes, enjoying the intimacy of his heated embrace to the full. When his hand reached for her breast, she pulled away. “Don’t be greedy,” she murmured. “If that’s what you’re after, it will take a little more wooing.”
The Dark Earl Page 4
