Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

by Eleanor Meyers

She inclined her head and started toward the garden. Part of her wondered if Mr. Smith’s only reason for the walk was to get Samantha alone. She was not being vain when she said she was an attractive woman, used to men’s favor.

  Never before had she entertained a man of the working class, but found she couldn’t object. He was far too handsome to not allow herself a few minutes of his presence.

  She held her parasol over her head as they approached the first rose bush.

  “How long have you been with Lady Brandell?” Mr. Smith asked, his boots making the stones crunch under his heels. Lady Brandell’s gardens were beautiful, in a property that was larger than most. The rows of beds and hedges stretched far, allowing for the perfect stroll.

  She glanced over at him from under her lashes. “I’ve only been with Lady Brandell for a few months.” She wondered what else he’d ask about her, her past, her parents, her likes and dislikes.

  “What is she like?” Mr. Smith asked.

  She stopped at the beginning of the rose hedges. “What?” Her likes? Surely, he meant her own.

  “Lady Brandell,” he said as he turned to give her the power of his full gaze. “What is she like? How does she spend her days?”

  Sam couldn’t speak for a few moment and then asked, “Why?”

  He lifted his brow. “To understand her, I suppose. I still don’t understand why Lady Selby would ask the woman for aid on this matter.”

  She settled a little, and supposed his suspicions were valid, though that didn’t mean she would share anything with him. She’d already promised Lady Brandell her confidences. “If is not enough that the women are friends?”

  He nodded. “I suppose.” Then he frowned. “I simply don’t understand what she was thinking to have gone into the city without protection last night. She could have come to any number of harms.”

  Samantha detected his anger; and took note that he didn’t seem at all worried about her, at all. Only Lady Brandell.

  She shook her head. The thought had been childish. It was nice that someone cared for Lady Brandell, at all. Karl did, Sam suspected. Jolan… didn’t care for anyone. Sam rarely saw Lady Brandell speak to her brother-in-law, not even at dinner, and usually, she shied away from him whenever possible.

  Perhaps her first impressions of Mr. Smith were correct, and he was simply a good man.

  “Lady Brandell and Lady Selby have been friends for years. Their families have been acquainted a long time.” She began to walk again.

  “Has Lady Brandell ever done anything like this before?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, this matter is important to her.” She simply hadn’t realized how much until Lady Selby had shared the matter with her.

  “Do you know why?” he asked.

  Sam looked at him again. The question must have been on her face, because he sighed and said, “I simply don’t want her hurt… or you, for that matter.”

  The last earned him a soft smile.

  His gaze warmed as he took her expression in, and then he quickly turned away.

  They said nothing for the moment, as they walked to the corner of the of the garden where a stone bench sat, surrounded by beds of foxgloves.

  The foxgloves were her idea. After being repeatedly called a ‘common wildflower’ by Lord Brandell, he eventually allowed her a portion of the garden, and Sam had transformed the area into what was the most unique feature in Lord Brandell’s garden— or so his guests had said on more than one occasion.

  The flowers shot up from the ground, in an array of pale yellow and violet, with white thrown in between. The bulbs themselves covered the stem like a bush, facing horizontal as opposed to the noonday sun. It was as though the soft petals wished to bestow kisses on whomever was near.

  She’d now been given permission to do another portion of the garden, along with being asked by Lady Selby to transform the gardens at Lord Selby’s London residence. One day, Sam wanted to design a grand garden with the most daring designs yet.

  Mr. Smith sat, and Sam joined him. They were immediately hidden behind the tall flowers that formed a pristine wall.

  Would he try to take liberties, she wondered? She’d kissed a few men in the past. She was twenty-three, after all. Would she allow Mr. Smith to kiss her?

  He stared at the wall of flowers, and then those blue eyes turned to her and he frowned… as though he’d forgotten she was there. He blinked then; and turned away. “I heard a rumor, Lady Samantha, and I hope would oblige me by either confirming or denying it.”

  Oh, dear. He knew about Mr. Green. She held her breath.

  “I was told that Lady Brandell had once given birth to a son, but he died young. Is that true?” He stared at her.

  Sam’s lips parted. More about Lady Brandell. She narrowed her eyes and told herself that her anger was not because of Mr. Smith’s rejection, but on Lady Brandell’s behalf. “That is none of your concern.”

  “Though it would make sense that Lady Brandell is driven to find Lord Selby, because she lost her own son, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes widened. That he’d come to that conclusion as well, made her think her own assumption valid.

  He moved closer, and Sam didn’t even bother to shrink away. It wasn’t for a kiss.

  She was proven right when he whispered, “Until this matter is done, it would be best that you do whatever you can to keep her safe. Stop her when she thinks to do something foolish. I will find Lord Selby, and I’d like to do so without having to worry over her.”

  Sam wanted to be angry that he wasn’t attracted to her; but couldn’t. If anything, she liked him more. He truly did care. She saw it his pinched brows. He wanted Lady Brandell safe, even though the countess had been nothing but unfriendly to him. What did that sort of action say about his character?

  “She doesn’t like you,” Sam found herself saying aloud.

  “Do you know why?” he asked, nearly pouncing on her words.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then perhaps you could help me change that. She’s likely not going to help me if she thinks ill of me. It’s better we’re all on the same accord.”

  She nodded. “I agree, but…” She laughed. “Lady Brandell hardly likes me. I don’t know how I’ll get her to cooperate with you.”

  He frowned. “She doesn’t like you? That doesn’t seem possible.”

  She smiled at the compliment. “I don’t think it’s me, exactly. She doesn’t like the thought of a companion.”

  “And yet she hired you?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “No, Lord Karl hired me, her nephew.”

  When he continued to seem confused, she went on. “I’ve... known Lord Karl for years. When he learned… that I wished to move to the city, he thought it a good idea to hire me as Lady Brandell’s companion.”

  There was more to the story, of course, and only a fool wouldn’t know that, but Mr. Smith didn’t ask further.

  “And Lord Karl is good to her?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “I try to be.”

  * * *

  5

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

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  The voice that broke into their private haven had to be none other than Lord Karl’s. Nash stood and turned to look at the gentleman who would one day inherit the title that his father had stolen.

  Karl had wild red curls and pale brown eyes. The dashes of sunspots across his nose and cheeks that should have made him look childish in fact only made him more impressive. He was tall and lean, though Nash knew enough about men’s jackets to know the muscle it could hide. Karl was in no way a weak man, and he proved so when he shook Nash’s hand. The offer had surprised him, since most men only shook the hand of friends, but then the grip came, and he understood.

  The hold was firm and challenging.

  Sam cleared her throat. “Lord Karl Wolfgang this is Mr. Smith.
He’s here to…”

  “Lady Brandell’s reticule was stolen last night,” Nash said. “I plan to find it for her since I witnessed the crime take place.” Now all he needed to do was make sure Lady Brandell knew the story as well.

  “A stolen reticule, you say?” Karl glared, but then the anger left his expression, and was replaced by a smile. “Well, aren’t we glad you were around… Mr. Smith?” Karl asked with intensity in his gaze. “A common last name if there ever was one, but I must ask if you are related to anyone I know. You look familiar.”

  Nash thought of what to say to that. “My brother is the Viscount of Eastridge. You attended his party last night. The Countess of Obenshire and the Countess of Chantenny are my sisters. My eldest brother owns Christmas’s Toys.” Out of everything he’d said, it was Chris’ occupation that still surprised him the most. His brother Chris, who’d real name was Christmas, owned a toy store, a place of happiness, though he, himself, never smiled.

  Lady Samantha gasped, but likely because of his other relations, and not Chris’s strange occupation.

  Karl grinned. “Oh, yes. I recalled seeing you. So, you’re one of those Smiths. The orphan family that has been causing much fuss around London. Lord Eastridge attended one of my affairs a few weeks ago. Charming fellow. He plays well with others.” Nash no clue what that meant, but planned to ask Reuben the next time he saw him…

  Karl chuckled as though a joke played in his own mind.

  Sam frowned. “What do you mean by orphan?” She looked up at Nash and dawning came over her. “Smith. I remember reading about the orphan family in the papers.” Her gaze widened. “Yes. Lord Eastridge earned his title by defeating Napoleon, did he not?”

  Nash nodded and wondered what she thought of him being a bastard. It didn’t matter, he told himself.

  His family was no secret. For two years, their names had been published in the papers, Nash’s only was mentioned as a part of the family. Christmas had formed the Smith family over twenty years ago. Five orphans, who’d had nothing to claim as their own, had been able to claim each other.

  It was unfortunate that Chris betrayed him.

  “What name do you go by?” Karl asked. What he didn’t ask, was what his given name was, since Nash’s name hadn’t been given by his parents, at all.

  “Nash.”

  Karl was still grinning. “Well, Mr. Nash Smith, you must join my family for dinner next week. I’ll be hosting it here, and the very least I could do is feed you. After all, you’re on the hunt for my aunt’s stolen goods.” Then he extended his arm to Sam; and said in a teasing voice; as they began to stroll to the door, “Samantha, I must say, I’m not sure you know how this companion position works. My aunt is nowhere in sight.”

  Sam sighed. “She doesn’t want me by her side at all.” She likely only shared this in front of Nash, since he already knew the truth.

  “She was there when the bag was stolen,” Nash said. “I was simply asking her about what she’d seen.” There was no need to ruin the woman’s reputation.

  Though, before Karl had shown himself, Nash had found it a challenge to keep his eyes from her lips, and not her eyes, especially when she laughed. She’d laughed twice while in his company and he’d become enamored by it.

  Karl glanced back at him. “She is quite a helpful young woman, though I’m sure it helps that she’s quite beautiful.”

  “Karl,” Sam hissed.

  The two were clearly friends. Closer perhaps.

  Nash looked between them and felt… something. The feeling wasn’t pleasant at all.

  He said nothing, but just listened as the two continued to speak about a party Karl was planning. Nash gathered rather quickly that Karl frequently had guests in his house, and many were of questionable character.

  They returned the house, and Nash started for the front door.

  Sam broke from Karl and caught him before he left, her enchanting eyes searching his. “I’ll make sure to tell Lady Brandell what we discussed.” She lifted her brows and Nash looked at the butler and understood what she was telling him. She’d tell Lady Brandell their story about the stolen purse.

  The sunlight from the open door struck her face and made her glow. The pale hair warmed, and her eyes were more striking. Then she smiled. “And thank you again for all your help. It’s so very nice of you.”

  The actions he wanted to take, where she was concerned were not very nice at all. It had been easier to concentrate on something else while his mother had been in the room, but now, when it was just Lady Samantha…

  “See you next week,” Karl called from his place farther into the foyer.

  “Thank you for the invitation.” Then he turned back to Sam. “Good day.” He left swiftly, forcing one foot in front of the other.

  Nash could feel his sister’s eyes upon him, as he strolled with her though the pleasure gardens toward the theatre. Alexandra’s husband had been called away to a political meeting and she begged Nash to bring her, instead. He’d arrived an hour ago and had rode in her own personal carriage to Covent Garden. So far, she’d not asked what happened to make him leave Reuben’s party early the previous night.

  No one could have guessed what his brothers had planned to tell him, when they’d taken him into the parlor. Certainly, not Nash.

  He’d been raging with anger and ready to lash out. Strange, how instead of bringing anyone harm that night, he’d rescued his own mother.

  This morning, his brothers had given him much to think about, where his future was concerned, and as he held Alex’s arm, he wondered who’d have accompanied her tonight, had he attacked Lord Brandell two nights ago.

  Before Ms. Best’s letters were exposed to the public, Chris had never partaken in any of the events the Season held, and even now rarely went, unless Alex and Rose begged. He’d certainly had not come to a theatre, thinking it a waste of valuable time. Few men worked as hard as Chris. Though he led everyone to believe he made his living while doing little more than owning a toy shop, Nash knew better. Chris had his hand in many things.

  It was just one of the secrets Chis had shared with him, that made Nash feel they were close, made him feel he could share anything with him. How he felt about the acts of his past, his time in prison, and what he’d always pictured, whenever he’d thought of his parents.

  Chris had been given every opportunity to tell him the truth. He’d discovered the truth over a decade ago; but had kept it from him.

  His father was dead. His uncle was a murderer. His mother loathed him. His cousin was slightly deranged. Weren’t they the perfect bunch.

  “Where’s your mind been all evening?” Alex had a muted expression on her face as she waited for his reply.

  He turned toward the doors to the theatre as they approached. “I was wondering when Justin decided to throw himself back into politics. Didn’t he all but beg out of it, when Lord Avon forced it upon him?”

  Justin, the Earl of Chantenny, had found himself under the Duke of Avon’s control a few years ago. Excessive drinking had rendered his mind of little use, but upon meeting Alexandria, it seemed everything became clear for him. He found love and finally found the means to break the duke’s hold over him.

  Avon could be the very devil, and after everything Nash had discovered in the last week, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he was.

  “He started to think of becoming a Tory once I became with child.” Alex smiled, likely thinking of the babe she’d left at home for the evening. “It seems the future of England now means a great deal to him.”

  Nash could understand. A child held the power to change minds, but unfortunately, that was not always the case.

  The crowd grew thick around them by the time they reached the theatre doors, thankfully putting a hold to any further conversation, as Alexandria was greeted by the few members of the ton who respected her. Since the day it was revealed that she would be marrying a very wealthy earl, many of the beau monde had decided to accept Alex
andria, but not all.

  A group called the ‘Blue Blood Coalition’ detested everything about the bastards who were joining the ranks of the aristocracy. So far, five were known, with three being very close to Nash, himself.

  Nash received little more than polite hellos. Those who approached would not remember his name, though more than a few of the younger women and widows gave him a look that needed to interpretation. He knew himself to be attractive, and had never taken issue with taking any willing woman he fancied, lady or not.

  One woman, Lady Graves, who Nash had met a few weeks ago, nodded toward a dark hallway.