by Rose Gordon
Intentions of the Earl
Rose Gordon
This is entirely a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, are works of the author's overactive imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people is pure coincidence.
INTENTIONS OF THE EARL—Revised Edition
Amazon Edition
Second Edition
Published by TALC Publishing
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2010 Rose Gordon
Cover © 2011 Rose Gordon
Excerpt from Liberty for Paul © 2010 Rose Gordon
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission. Thank you for respecting the author’s time and ideas enough not to reproduce this book.
Now Available
LIBERTY FOR PAUL
TO WIN HIS WAYWARD WIFE
Coming Late 2011-Early 2012
HER SUDDEN GROOM
HER RELUCTANT GROOM
HER SECONDHAND GROOM
HER IMPERFECT GROOM
Dedicated to my maternal grandmother who possessed the worst decorating skills I've ever witnessed.
And, to my loving husband who has always supported me, even if it meant reading a copy of my first manuscript by the fire on our annual camping trip.
I love you!
Chapter 1
London, England
May, 1812
Smack!
“Ouch!”
“You deserved it, you lecher,” Brooke Banks exclaimed, scrambling to get off the secluded bench where she had been kissing Benjamin Collins, Duke of Gateway.
“What was that for?” Gateway demanded, rubbing his cheek.
“You have to ask?” Brooke crossed her arms. “I came out here to see the gardens, not have you maul me in the shrubbery.” Why did he, like all men, assume her agreement to go into the gardens translated into an agreement for him to touch her person—specifically her chest?
“I wasn’t mauling you,” he spat. His face looked like it had been carved from marble with his mouth clamped into a line, causing white lines to form around the ridges and his eyes had transformed from warm, blue candle flames into hard, cold chips of ice.
“You’re correct; you didn’t maul me. Yet. I felt your hand drifting from my shoulder. Don’t think for one second I didn’t know its intended destination.”
Gateway snorted. “And are you trying to tell me you didn’t want me to touch you?”
“You know I didn’t,” Brooke snapped. She grabbed a handful of her skirt with each hand and twisted it into a fist to refrain from striking him again.
“So you say, but your actions suggest differently,” he responded slyly.
“What are you talking about?” How could her actions have possibly been so misconstrued they would suggest she wanted him to grope her?
Still sitting on the bench, Gateway leaned his shoulders back up against a tree and folded his arms. “Well, Miss Banks,” he drawled. “I recall us sharing an unusually close dance, immediately followed by you calling me ‘Benny’. This not only shows familiarity by calling me by my Christian name, but goes one step further, because someone could think you have a special nickname for me.” He shrugged and cocked his head, leering at her. “That’s what gave me the impression you enjoyed my company and would further enjoy it in the gardens, where it’s dark.”
“It was a waltz,” she cried. “You’re supposed to dance close. I’m sorry if you took that as encouragement to make further advances, but they were not welcome.” She chose to leave off the bit about calling him “Benny”. There was no way she could defend herself on that score.
“You didn’t protest my kisses,” he said smoothly.
Brooke flushed. He was right, she hadn’t protested his kisses. Not to say she enjoyed them, because she hadn’t. But she hadn’t stopped him, either, which he probably took as encouragement. “Once again, I’m sorry you mistook that as encouragement for your amorous urges.”
“I didn’t mistake anything. You, miss, are nothing but a tease.”
“And you, sir, are no gentleman,” she exclaimed, heedless to his sneer.
“I never claimed to be.” His eyes flashed fire.
“Well, do try to be one just now and escort me back inside,” Brooke said with feigned sweetness.
Gateway pushed up off the bench and offered her his arm.
When they were safely inside the ballroom, she flashed the duke a winning smile and said cordially, “Thank you, sir. The gardens were beautiful.”
Instead of responding or even acknowledging she’d spoken, the duke dropped her arm as if he’d been burned and mumbled something about a careless American chit teasing the wrong man as he huffed off toward the other side of the ballroom.
Brooke gave his comment, or what she heard of it anyway, about two seconds’ thought before shrugging it off and greeting her frowning sister. “What is that frown about, Liberty?” she asked innocently.
“You know what the frown is about. If you don’t, then you’re a lost cause,” was her sister’s low, razor-sharp reply.
Liberty might be four years younger, but she had a way of acting as the older sister. That was especially true when it came to things like social proprieties. She freely gave lectures, thinly veiled as “discussions,” when she felt circumstances dictated such.
Knowing this was one of those circumstances, and there was no chance of escaping Liberty’s lecture, Brooke decided to get it over with. At least if they had the “discussion” here, in the ballroom, surrounded by a couple hundred people, there was a chance it would be brief. The other option would include being railed against for hours on end once they got home. Turning to Liberty, she flashed another innocent smile. “Whatever do you mean?”
Liberty was no fool; no one could live with Brooke for nineteen years without knowing her tactics. True, Liberty wouldn’t make a scene. But she had never been one to forget or to change her purpose just because a crowd was present. Looking at Brooke with all the confidence of a queen, Liberty declared, “You break every rule there is, and you don’t give a fig about it.”
This wasn’t a new concept, and despite their many conversations, nothing had changed. Brooke felt like pointing that fact out, it would just make this drag on longer. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not,” Liberty snapped, slapping her fan on her palm for emphasis. “You’re never sorry. You say you are, but you’re not.” Her lips thinned. “You must have broken at least ten rules just with the Duke of Gateway alone.” She let out a deep breath. “And that’s just what I saw while you were in here. Who knows how many others you broke while out in the gardens!”
Brooke was ready for this conversation to be over, so she did what she knew she’d regret, but did it knowing it would be the only way to end this here and now. Taking a deep breath and schooling her features to look completely interested, she asked, “What did I do wrong, dear sister, and how should I have done it differently?”
Liberty frowned at her sarcasm; then for the first time in the past half-hour, she smiled brightly. “First, you keep calling His Grace ‘sir’. You should be calling him ‘Your Grace’.” Not allowing a break for Brooke to protest, she continued, “Second—” she ticked off Brooke’s second offense on her second finger. “You danced far too close. I know it was a waltz, but even in the waltz there is to be some space between partners. You might as well have declared for the whole room to know that you would like to have him ravish you.”
Brooke thought about what Liberty just said, and the similar statement that the duke had made in the shrubs. Either she really
had led him on, or these two were too inept to tell the difference between friendly flirting and blatant teasing. In Brooke’s mind, the second option made more sense.
“Seventh, you should never ask a man to claim a dance on your dance card.” Liberty’s talking brought Brooke back to reality for a moment. They were already on number seven. Which was good. It meant she had missed four of these crucial life-improving points, and if she were lucky, this speech was almost over. How many things wrong did Liberty say? Eight? Ten? Brooke tried hard to remember before giving up and mentally shrugging. It was of no account really. It would be over soon enough. Then she could just apologize with false sincerity, as usual, and go about the evening.
Once again, Liberty’s voice broke into Brooke’s thoughts. “Also, you should laugh a little more delicately. Just a little titter or giggle while in public, not a full-blown cackle. For goodness’ sake, you embarrass yourself, your family, and you drive the men away all at the same time when you laugh that way.”
That was the last straw. Was Liberty really going to lecture her about her laugh right here in the middle of Lady Lampson’s ball? No matter how much Brooke wanted to appease her sister by listening to this drivel—from a sister who was four years her junior, mind you—she was done. Interrupting Liberty’s tirade, she went on one of her own.
Placing her hands on her hips and adopting not the gentlest tone she had, she burst out, “You know, Liberty, if I embarrass you so much then why are you allowing yourself to be seen with me now? Why is it you want to be accepted so badly, anyway? This isn’t our home. We’re from New York. We’ll be going back after this visit.” She stopped for a second to enjoy the look of shock that had taken hold of Liberty’s face. “As much as Mama would like to think we’re going to marry into wealthy, titled families, we’re not. The sooner you accept that, the better your life will be.” Unable to keep her irritation for Liberty and her rules under control any longer, her voice rose to a loud bellow and turned hard as steel. “We’re only here for a little fun, and it seems to me that you’re not having any. And because you’re not having any, you’re begrudging me mine,” she exclaimed, punctuating the last word with a stomp of her foot. Brooke looked smugly at her sister, reveling in the fruits of her labor.
The look of hurt on Liberty’s face was proof she’d made her point. The stares from several ladies close by served as proof that she’d been too loud, and had once again drawn unwanted attention to herself.
No more than ten seconds later, Mama walked up. The look on Mama’s face made it clear it would be a long, uncomfortable ride home. Her voice, however, came out sugary sweet, tinged with a thick, southern United States accent when she exclaimed, “Oh girls, stop being so silly with your little act. I know you like to pretend to argue, but this is not the time.” It was a weak attempt to stop the spread of rumors that might result due to someone overhearing what really was being said. But it was an attempt all the same, and with how marriage-minded Mama had become, it was the only thing she could attempt.
Taking their cues from their mother’s face, both girls murmured their apologies.
Once most of the crowd had gone back to dancing, talking or drinking punch, Mama looked to both of them with that stern look that only she could pull off and announced, “We’re going home. Liberty, go find Papa and tell him to have the carriage sent. We’ll meet you out front. Come, Brooke. We’re going to find Madison.”
As they walked away, Brooke tried to explain that it wasn’t her fault, but Mama would have none of it. Adopting an icy tone, Mama said, “Wait until we get into the carriage; or even better, wait until we get home. You’ve done quite enough tonight already, young lady. I don’t want any undue attention brought on us right now. Do you understand?”
Brooke knew that tone. It did not bode well for a pleasant ride home, and probably not a good morning tomorrow either. “All right,” she said simply. That was all the talking necessary.
The carriage ride from the Lampsons’ ball was quiet. Too quiet, to be exact. Nobody said anything. But then again, there was nothing to say. Instead, they all just exchanged looks. Brooke and Liberty shot daggers at each other, while they both received horrified looks from both Mama and Papa. Madison was the only one not interested in the turn of events and stared out the windows the best she could through the little opening in the curtains.
At home, the calm silence continued, and Brooke was none-too-gently escorted into the drawing room and told one word: wait.
Wait she did. Not knowing how long she would be waiting or what would happen next, she sat on the pink settee and tried to devise a plan to get herself out of trouble. She only had to wait ten minutes before Papa and Mama rushed into the room to join her.
“Brooklyn, do you have anything to say for yourself?” Papa asked sternly, taking a seat in a wingback chair near her. His eyes blazed into hers, and his voice had taken on the most serious tone she had heard him have in many years.
Papa used her given name. Now was not the time to trifle with him. “This is not entirely my fault, you know. Liberty was just as involved in the public display as I was. Why is she not here?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
“Stop worrying about your sister,” he snapped. “Now answer my question.”
Brooke swallowed. Her usually even-tempered father was unhappy and placing full blame on her. Suddenly a thought popped into her head, just the one that could help her escape this situation, if not entirely, then at least she wouldn’t shoulder it alone. Brooke flashed him a bright smile. “Papa, I should be worried about my sister. See, she was just as involved as I was, and God punished both Adam and Eve for their mistakes, did he not?”
John Banks, Brooke’s father, was a Protestant minister in New York. When in doubt, she had always been able to wiggle out of her problems by using his profession to her advantage. She hoped this time would not prove to be an exception.
A small smile took over Papa’s lips. “Oh, daughter, you are so correct. Both Adam and Eve were involved in their fall, and they both were punished. I’m so glad you remember that. Hmm, let’s just do a bit of role-playing shall we?” He paused and tapped one lone finger along his cheek. “In the story of Adam and Eve, who do you think you would play? Adam, the one who was brought the temptation and partook of it? Or would you be Eve? You know, the one who went off alone, did something wrong, then came to her husband and presented him with an opportunity to do wrong as well?” Papa’s lips twitched at her frown.
Brooke didn’t let his words break her spirit for long, however. “Yes, it’s true I could be likened to Eve. I did break some silly rules and create a scene; therefore, I was more at fault.” Then, because she thought she had this well in hand, she blithely said, “However, God did not punish Eve more than Adam. They were both punished the same.”
“That’s true. You make a very good point,” he conceded, then paused, letting her bask in the soon-ending moment of success. “However, my dear, you overlook one small detail. I’m not God.”
“But—but—” she sputtered.
Cutting her off with a hand gesture, her father continued, “Brooke, I love you. I really do. However, you cannot deny you were at fault tonight.” Not letting her talk like she was itching to do, he put on his sternest face. “I know Liberty should have kept her comments until a more private time, such as at home, but I understand you encouraged her, and she obliged. That’s when you lost your temper.”
Brooke usually took defeat in stride. So tamping down her temper and pride, she ventured, “What shall I do about it now?” The scene had already been made. Everyone had witnessed her raising her voice and stamping her foot like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.
“There’s nothing to be done except wait out the gossip. Maybe there won’t be any.” That was a hopeful statement; everyone in the room knew that. “You may go to bed now, Brooke. I shall see you tomorrow.”
Papa’s use of her familiar name reassured her he was no longer angry with her and tha
t all would be well tomorrow. “Goodnight, Papa. I am truly sorry about the way it all happened tonight, and I’ll try not to embarrass you again.” She desperately hoped that was true. Brooke turned to where her mother was sitting quietly in the corner of the drawing room. Mama’s eyes looked worried and her hands were folded primly in her lap. “Goodnight, Mama. I shall see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, darling. I don’t think there will be a need to get up too early,” Mama responded with a weary smile.
Puzzled, Brooke just had to know what she meant. “Why?”
“Because I doubt there will be any gentlemen callers after the lovely theatrics that were displayed tonight,” Mama said dryly.
Papa let out a loud bark of laughter. Brooke held her giggle until she got into the hall, then she let out a great peal of echoing laughter. For as much as Mama hated being embarrassed, she was typically a good sport and saw humor where there was none.
***
“Do you truly believe nothing will come of this?” Carolina Banks asked her husband after Brooke was gone.
“Tomorrow, nobody of any consequence will care about this. Trust me. It’s not as if she was caught in a scandalous situation or anything. Sure, someone might remember it forever—” he shrugged one shoulder— “but it’s not the kind of thing that will render either of them unmarriageable or cause them to be cut during social events.” He stopped talking and gazed at his wife. His face had taken on a contemplative air. “I think the problem could be more that she is dismissing the rules in general, not so much the scene. Liberty, on the other hand, is determined to learn and execute all the rules famously, which could be her downfall.”
“Oh, John, I worry so about all three of them. I want them all to marry, but I want them to marry happily. For love, like we did,” Carolina said quietly.
