An Earl Like You

by Caroline Linden

  “Oh yes,” said Henrietta. “Mama was just speaking of replacing the carpet in the drawing room. It looks like someone spilled hot ash on it!”

  “Hastings has not given his approval for new carpets,” said her mother with a warning look at her daughter.

  Eliza was ready for this. She already knew his answer; she had asked Hugh again last night if she could buy new carpets and draperies. Whatever you like, he’d said. “Perhaps if we appeal to him together?” she suggested with a hopeful smile.

  The countess’s smile was brief. “Perhaps.”

  She spread jam on her toast. “I confess, decorating was one of my favorite things at home. I changed every room of the house except my father’s study, where I was forbidden to interfere.”

  “Oh?” For the first time Lady Hastings showed some curiosity. “Then you planned the color scheme in the drawing room where you wed?”

  “I chose everything in that room, ma’am.”

  “Everything?” Henrietta echoed in amazement. “It’s a beautiful room!”

  “Thank you. My mother died when I was three,” Eliza explained. “Whenever I wanted to decorate a room, my father allowed me free rein.”

  “And the dining room?” Lady Hastings leaned forward.

  “I did that, as well.”

  The older woman sat back, contemplating her for a minute. “What did you think for our drawing room, dear?”

  Eliza’s heart soared. “It’s not a very bright room, so I thought pale green, or perhaps yellow. But I saw the most beautiful purple brocade in Percival’s warehouse, and it would make magnificent draperies. They would look very striking with celery-green walls.”

  The countess’s expression sharpened into intense interest. “Violet or lavender?”

  “Neither. Amethyst.” Eliza sipped her tea, trying not to look too eager. “I made some sketches in my notebook. Perhaps I could show you?”

  Lady Hastings hesitated only a moment. “Yes, dear. I would like to see them.”

  That was a second victory.

  The third came later. Lady Hastings had gone out to a dress fitting, and Edith had disappeared. Eliza tapped on Henrietta’s door, holding her breath.

  “Henrietta, I desperately need your help,” she said when the girl opened the door. “May I come in?”

  Slowly Henrietta let her into the room, her eyes flitting down the hall as if afraid someone would see her speaking to Eliza. She had a bad feeling the girl was checking for Edith. “What is it?”

  “I feel dreadful about this.” Eliza showed her Edith’s reticule, the one Willy had stolen the previous day. She’d sewn the fringe back on, but his teeth had torn a small hole that could only be patched, marring the brocade. “I would like to get Edith a gift to replace it, but I don’t know her taste. Would you come with me to Bond Street in search of something?”

  Henrietta perked right up. “Today?”

  “Yes.” Eliza smiled in encouragement. “I would like to give it to her at dinner tonight.”

  “Well—yes. For Edith,” she added quickly, lest Eliza think it was her own desire to go shopping in Bond Street.

  They set out a short time later, with Mary trailing behind. Henrietta became quite talkative once they were away from the house. She confided that they had not visited the shops as much as she would have liked. “Edith needs a trousseau, of course, but otherwise Mama has been hesitant. I suspect Hugh scolded her about spending too much money.”

  Eliza knew her father had provided an enormous dowry, which Hugh would have by now. Still, she didn’t want to make a point of that. “Oh goodness, I don’t think Hugh should pay for this. It is my gift to Edith, to atone for my naughty dog. I shall spend my pin money on it.” She hardly ever spent all that Papa gave her, and still had plenty.

  They went into several shops, looking at gloves, bonnets, handkerchiefs, reticules, even parasols without finding anything that suited Eliza’s critical eye. She wanted something not simply lovely, as Henrietta called several bonnets and one parasol, but something special. And finally, in a tiny shop at the end of the street, she found an exquisite fan, with sticks of carved ivory covered by lace and the palest pink silk. Tiny sequins sparkled along the sticks, and it snapped shut with an engraved silver clasp.

  Henrietta inhaled in longing. “It’s beautiful!”

  “And perfect for Edith, who is so fair.” Eliza opened it to study how delicate it was. “Do you think she would like it?”

  Henrietta’s gaze lingered covetously on the fan. “Very much.”

  “Wonderful.” Eliza fluttered it in front of her face with a grin. “Shall we?”

  Her sister-in-law nodded eagerly, and Eliza asked the shopkeeper to wrap it.

  “To which account, madam?” the woman asked.

  “The Earl of Hastings,” said Henrietta before Eliza could speak. “This is my sister, the Countess of Hastings.”

  The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.”

  Eliza was torn between wanting to argue with Henrietta, when she had intended to pay for the fan from her pin money, and wanting to throw her arms around her. My sister. That meant more to her than anything else.

  Henrietta leaned close. “Let Hugh pay the bill,” she whispered with an impish grin. “Besides, no one pays in coin, Eliza.”

  Of course. Eliza wasn’t used to having accounts at all the shops in London. The shopkeeper brought back the fan, neatly wrapped, and they went out into the sunshine. “Thank you for your advice, Henrietta. I do hope Edith will like it.”

  “It’s exactly her taste! She adores delicate, lovely things . . .” Henrietta stopped speaking as a gentleman stepped out of a shop directly in front of them. In the act of putting his hat on his head, he didn’t see them at first. “Mr. Benwick,” said Henrietta in surprise.

  He looked up. He was a well-dressed, handsome young man, with wavy brown hair and dark eyes. At the sight of Henrietta he paused, but when he saw Eliza he froze. Henrietta made a smothered noise, one hand going to her mouth. For a moment they all seemed frozen in place—Henrietta in shock, Eliza in uncertainty, and Mr. Benwick staring at them both in increasing hauteur.

  “Good day, Mr. Benwick,” said Henrietta hesitantly. “May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Hastings. Eliza, this is Mr. Reginald Benwick.”

  Edith’s fiancé. Eliza smiled and dropped a curtsy. “How do you do, sir?”

  He opened his mouth, glanced at Henrietta again, and then turned on his heel and walked away without a word. Eliza’s stomach plummeted. That could not be good. When she looked at Henrietta’s face, she feared the girl would faint. Henrietta was gazing fixedly at his departing figure, her lips parted and her hands in fists.

  “Henrietta.” Eliza touched her arm. “Henrietta. Let’s not stand on the street staring.” Henrietta didn’t move, so Eliza looped her arm securely around the girl’s waist and towed her onward, ignoring any curious glances. “Come,” she whispered. “Come, Henrietta.”

  When they reached the house, Henrietta ran up the stairs with a mumbled excuse. Eliza looked at Mary, who shrugged.

  Fortunately Hugh was at home. She found him in his study, working at his ledgers. At her entrance, he glanced up. “Come in, my dear.”

  She closed the door. “Henrietta and I have just returned home from shopping in Bond Street.”

  He chuckled, still writing. “One of her favorite activities!”

  “I wanted to get a gift for Edith, after Willy tore her reticule.”

  “Did you find one?” Hugh turned the page and made more notes.

  “Yes, an ivory fan.” Eliza frowned. “Then something very strange happened. Isn’t Edith betrothed to Mr. Reginald Benwick?”

  Hugh’s laughter cut off abruptly. His head came up. “Why?”

  “We met him in the street. Henrietta said his name and when he turned to look at us . . .” Eliza bit her lip. It hadn’t been when Mr. Benwick looked at Henrietta, it had happened when he looked at her.

  “What
did he do?” Hugh shot out of his chair and came around the desk, scowling. “What did he say to you?”

  She flushed. “Nothing. Not a word. He—he turned and walked away without even a nod or a bow.”

  Hugh’s mouth flattened, and for a moment he looked almost dangerously angry. Eliza had never seen him look that way, but the expression was gone in an instant. He plowed his hands into his hair and walked away, across the room to the window. “The little wretch,” he said, sounding no more than irked. “How ill-mannered of him.”

  “Is there trouble with him and Edith?”

  “Edith has done nothing to cause it. Benwick is being difficult.”

  Eliza nibbled her lip. The man gave them the cut direct, which was far beyond being a bit difficult. “Difficult about what?”

  Hugh didn’t answer for a moment. Eliza wondered why, but his handsome face gave away nothing. “It’s a complicated and disagreeable story,” he finally said, dropping into the worn leather armchair. “His father is kicking up a fuss, and Benwick has taken his side.”

  “About the marriage settlements?” Eliza had asked her father about her own marriage settlements after Hugh proposed. She hadn’t wanted them to drag on and delay the wedding, not after Hugh made love to her in the folly; she’d been prepared to plead with her father to be reasonable, even lenient. But Papa had laughed and said Hastings was so eager, there were no disagreements at all. The documents had been drawn up and signed within a week.

  “In a way.”

  Eliza came to sit in the chair beside his. “Hugh, what is going on? With Edith, and with Henrietta, and now with Mr. Benwick. It almost seems like . . .” She twisted her hands together. “I cannot help but notice that every time I come into the room, everyone grows quiet.”

  He frowned. “You were just shopping with Henrietta. Did she refuse to speak to you all the way to Bond Street?”

  “No, but Edith will hardly say a word to me!”

  “The dog,” he reminded her.

  Eliza flipped one hand impatiently. “It’s more than Willy, Hugh! Why would Mr. Benwick give me the cut direct?”

  He rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t mention a word of this to Edith.”

  Eliza shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Benwick wants more money,” he said in a low voice. “A great deal more. I feel it would be unfair to give my sisters unequal dowries, which makes Benwick’s demand unreasonable.”

  “But didn’t your father put aside their dowries?”

  Hugh still didn’t meet her gaze. “Not as much as Benwick wants. He’s being . . . difficult.”

  Oh dear. Eliza sank back on the sofa. No wonder. “Was that what sent you out of the house on our wedding night?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” He cocked his head to look at her. “Edith loves him. He told me he loves her. I’m trying to strike a fair compromise, but I admit—I’m not sure he deserves her anymore.”

  “Not at all,” Eliza murmured. A burst of love for her husband filled her chest. Hugh had been so eager to wed her, he hadn’t argued with Papa at all. And now he was trying to save Edith’s betrothal as well, even in the face of outrageous demands that belied any affection Mr. Benwick claimed to have for Edith. She reached for his hand. “You’re a magnificent brother.”

  He flinched. “Edith won’t think so if Benwick jilts her.”

  “No! Surely he wouldn’t do that!” Eliza was aghast.

  “I don’t know, Eliza. But please—say nothing to anyone. Especially not to Edith. If all my efforts with Benwick fail, I shall tell her myself.”

  “Of course not,” she murmured. He smiled, a little grimly, and squeezed her hand. She was pleased he had confided in her, even such unsettling news.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he still wasn’t telling her everything.

  Hugh was being a coward and he knew it.

  Not only because he hadn’t told anyone about Benwick’s demands. After some thought, he’d instructed his solicitor to contact the Livingston solicitor and inquire if they wished to proceed, with Edith’s dowry at fourteen thousand. He’d set a deadline as well, making it clear that his permission would not be renewed at a later date. If Benwick did care for her, that might shake the boy back to his senses.

  Perhaps Benwick had merely been taking a gamble, asking for forty thousand. He had to know it was not only offensive but utterly mad to demand that much. The only girls with dowries that size were daughters of merchants who’d made obscene amounts of money in trade and were now keen to buy their way into the aristocracy. Girls like Eliza, whom Benwick disdained.

  But if this failed, Hugh swore to himself, he would break the news to Edith, as gently as possible, and then to everyone else. Since Benwick had displayed no courage and even less affection, Hugh had already begun composing his speech. He just wanted to be able to say he’d done everything he possibly could, so Edith wouldn’t pine away for the fellow.

  He hoped he would never have to say anything about the other secret he was keeping. Eliza had noticed Edith’s animosity, and now Benwick had given her the cut direct in the middle of Bond Street. The trouble was, he didn’t know what to tell his wife. He had no qualms about calling Livingston and Benwick snobbish and rude, but Edith was a harder case to explain. And if Eliza ever discovered that Benwick jilted Edith because of her . . . Even worse, if she ever discovered why Hugh had married her . . .

  He didn’t even want to think about it.

  There was one thing he did know, and that was the importance of presenting Eliza to the ton before Livingston had a chance to blacken her name. He searched through the post stacked on one side of his desk—he’d pensioned off his father’s secretary and not hired a new one, thanks to his impoverished state—and unearthed several invitations. He took them to his mother with instructions to accept them all, thinking it was better for her to do it this time. Once she was known to London hostesses, it would be Eliza’s task.

  “So many,” Rose exclaimed in surprise.

  “If you don’t wish to attend, I will take her alone.”

  She studied the pile of invitations. “No. I shall go.” She touched the topmost one. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m ashamed of your bride.”

  “I hope you are not,” said Hugh after a moment of astonishment.

  His mother set the letters aside. “She was a great surprise to me, and I still suspect you’ve not been completely forthcoming about your motives, but it is not my place to pry. You are entitled to choose your own wife.”

  That was the most tepid approval he’d ever heard. “Thank you, Mother.”

  She looked up at his dry tone. “No, no—you mistake me. She’s a lovely girl—well, not a beauty, but thoughtful and kind and warm. When you declared your interest, I worried. Not because of Eliza herself, since I did not know her, but because she was not part of our circle and society is not always welcoming to outsiders.”

  She hadn’t been very welcoming, but Hugh was grateful for any improvement in her feelings. “What has changed your mind?” he asked instead.

  His mother sat in silence for a moment. “I cannot name any one thing. She’s . . . She’s not what I expected.”

  I could say the same, Hugh thought, with a mixture of relief and pleasure. Eliza was far better than he had hoped she would be. She had a warm sensitivity to the feelings of others. She was thoughtful and sincere. And she was far more seductive than he would have ever guessed the first time he met her.

  When Hugh considered the society ladies he knew, the women he might have married without Edward Cross’s interference in his life, he couldn’t name a single one who appealed to him more than Eliza did. Catherine Thayne, whom his mother had hoped he would marry, was a beauty, but a chatterbox who spoke mostly of herself and her friends. He couldn’t picture her rushing out to buy a new fan for Edith in apology for anything. Hugh had known Catherine since she was a child, as her brother was his good friend,
and she’d always had the arrogance of a spoiled, beautiful girl.

  But Eliza . . . Every day it seemed he learned or noticed something appealing about her. He looked forward to seeing her when he came home. He wanted to make love to her every night—and she wanted him to. She might blush at the things he coaxed her to do, but she came to their bed with enthusiasm and passion. He liked simply talking to her, which he had not expected. Eliza was a wonderful listener, caring and thoughtful, with clever ideas and a knack for making him laugh even when he didn’t mean to.

  And that was why, if Hugh were honest with himself, he felt like such a craven coward. He was lying to his wife, and he suspected she knew it. At times he considered just telling her everything, about her father and Edith and even Benwick. It would be like lancing a boil, he told himself, painful and messy but necessary, and once lanced it would eventually disappear. But every time, he dismissed the idea because of how much it would hurt Eliza to hear about her father’s conniving scheme and Benwick’s snobbery and even Edith’s disdain.

  The deeper, darker truth was that Hugh feared his own actions would hurt her the most. Lancing the boil might prove mortal.

  He didn’t want to hurt his wife, and he damned sure didn’t want to risk losing her. Not when he thought he might be falling in love with her.

  So he added one more facet to the bargain he’d made with the devil: keep the truth from Eliza at all costs, for her sake and for his own. With any luck, her innate kindness would win over Edith, as he could already see happening with Henrietta and his mother. Less likely but still possible, Benwick would either come to his senses or be enough of a gentleman to keep his mouth shut. And if Hugh had any luck at all left in his life, everything would continue on its current promising track, with Eliza none the wiser that it had all begun so sordidly.

  Chapter 21

  Eliza began to have hope that her new family was warming to her.

  Edith had accepted the ivory fan with quiet thanks. Eliza caught the puzzled glance she gave her mother, just as she saw the approving nod the dowager gave in reply. When she brought out her notebooks of sketches and color ideas for the drawing room, the dowager invited her to her own private sitting room, where they shared tea and the dowager quizzed her—delicately and politely—about her upbringing. When Eliza mentioned Mrs. Upton’s Academy, her mother-in-law smiled in surprised delight; she knew of it, and what she knew was flattering. The dowager herself suggested they visit the drapery shop together to see the amethyst brocade that would look so lovely in the drawing room, then gave her a true smile, genuine and warm, and called her by name for the first time. It was a wonderful moment, even if it did indicate how cool her initial welcome had been.