You Never Forget Your First Earl

by Ella Quinn

  “If you do not,” Grandmamma added in a portentous tone, “you will not succeed in gaining Miss Turley’s hand.”

  Geoff read the paper his cousin had handed him. Both sides were filled with lists of things his relatives thought he must do. Surely, courting a lady was not this time consuming.

  Remain by her side all evening even if she dances with others.

  Or ridiculous.

  Glare at other gentlemen so that they will know you have chosen her.

  It took him several seconds before he could find a polite way of telling his grandmother what he thought about her suggestions. “In other words, you want me to make a complete cake out of myself?”

  “No.” Grandmamma took a large drink of her sherry. “We want you to win your lady.”

  “If you were in love,” Cousin Apollonia said in a tone one would use to speak to a slow-witted child, “you would do everything on that list without question. You would not even have to be told what to do.”

  Geoff snapped his mouth shut. This was incredulous. What could they be thinking? “You want me to pretend to be in love?”

  “No, we want you to court Miss Turley properly.” Grandmamma rose from her seat. “Come, Apollonia, we’ve done all we can. It is up to Harrington now. If he loses Miss Turley like he lost Lady Charlotte, it will be on him. How much time do you have to convince the lady to wed you?”

  “Two or three weeks. However, I do not understand what is so difficult about that.”

  His cousin mumbled something about leading a horse to water as the ladies departed the drawing room.

  Geoff glanced at the list again.

  Send a note asking the lady to drive out with you.

  Always ask for two dances.

  That wasn’t too bad. Taking a lady driving didn’t make a man look ridiculous. Many gentlemen drove with ladies in the Park. Ladies liked appearing during the Grand Strut. And he did need to try out his new rig.

  He could request a second dance in the same missive. He would send her a note first thing in the morning. But he’d be dammed if he was going to follow the rest of his grandmother’s and cousin’s advice. He’d look like a regular popinjay.

  The butler handed him his hat and cane, then opened the door. “A good evening to you, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Gibson.”

  It wasn’t until he was halfway to his rooms that he began to speculate as to why his grandmother and cousin were so insistent that he love Miss Turley, or could possibly love her. Was compatibility not more important than love? From what he knew of love matches, they were messy and unreliable, causing heartache more often than not. The pair involved was either in alt or in despair. There seemed to be no middle ground. No room for compromise.

  He knew for a fact that his grandparents’ match had been arranged. They seemed quite happy together. Until his grandfather had died, that was. Ergo, it made no sense that Grandmamma would badger him about being in love. He refused to hazard a guess what Apollonia was about. Most likely merely supporting his grandmother.

  Still and all, Miss Turley struck him as a calm, intelligent woman. Surely she would agree with him that love matches were not at all to be desired. For some reason, that idea sat awkwardly in his mind. Would she, he wondered, agree with his grandmother instead of him? Did she want or expect a love match?

  He gave himself a shake. There was no way he’d ask her. That would be tempting fate, and he did not need anything or anybody standing in his way.

  Once he had returned to his rooms, Geoff threw the list on his desk and poured a glass of wine and drained it. He eyed the piece of paper his grandmother had given him and would have thrown it in the fireplace, but it was a warm evening and the fire hadn’t been laid.

  Tomorrow he would start his campaign for Miss Turley’s hand, again. He had not a doubt in the world that by the end of the week, he would be betrothed.

  Geoff woke early the next morning still sure of his success. Rather than rushing off to write to Miss Turley, he consumed a leisurely breakfast and two cups of tea. Only then did he stroll into his parlor and sit at his writing table to compose his missive to Miss Turley.

  It was important that his request not appear as an afterthought. After all, he had never actually thought of asking for a second waltz until his grandmother and cousin pointed out to him that he should do so. That she would expect him to stand up with her twice if he was courting her. Still, he must be careful to strike the right tone. He did not wish to appear to be desperate—even though he was.

  Blast it all, he hoped she still had a set available.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning Elizabeth lay in bed contemplating the previous evening. Actually, Lord Harrington’s behavior. Was he truly caper-witted as her aunt had said, or did he simply not know how to court a lady? And what did that mean? It appeared to her that every gentleman she had met during the Season had known exactly what to do once his affections were engaged.

  Unless his affections were not engaged. That brought her back to the thought she’d had when he came to tea. He would wed any lady.

  She listened to her maid busying herself in the dressing room. Her door opened and one of the maids was stoking the fire. Soon it would be time for her to rise. Aunt did not adhere to the idea of breaking one’s fast until ten.

  Elizabeth blocked out the sounds of the house rising and went back to her cognitions.

  No, not any lady. The woman he married must meet certain qualifications beyond the normal ones of birth, family, and character. The blasted man had practically interviewed her. But that did not mean he would come to love the lady he married. Only that whatever female he decided to wed had a role to fill that he required for his position with Sir Charles.

  The all-important position with Sir Charles.

  If that was all Lord Harrington wanted, Elizabeth could not live with that, merely being a player in his life. She wanted and deserved for her husband to love her. Even if she had to refuse to marry the only gentleman who had captured her interest, love was more important.

  Throwing back the bed curtains, she swung her legs over the side. Her father would be furious with Elizabeth for refusing Lord Harrington, but, perhaps, Aunt would take her in. Surely she would do that for her twin’s daughter.

  There was little Papa could do to force Elizabeth to wed a man who did not love her. Not if her aunt was on her side. Gavin might even help her.

  An hour later she and her aunt were finishing up their tea when Broadwell entered the breakfast room carrying a silver salver. “A messenger brought a letter for Miss Elizabeth.”

  Aunt Bristow held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  Elizabeth waited, feigning patience until her aunt opened the missive and read it. Aunt passed it to Elizabeth. “Harrington wishes you to accompany him on a carriage ride this afternoon, and he has requested a second set for this evening’s entertainment. Very proper”—her aunt smiled—“and unexpected.”

  She scanned the note.

  My dear Miss Turley,

  It is my greatest desire that you ride with me this afternoon at five o’clock. It is also my wish that I be allowed to stand up with you for two sets this evening. I was remiss in not previously requesting the second dance.

  Yr. devoted servant,

  Harrington

  Well. What was she to think of his invitations? She glanced at her aunt. “This is a surprise.”

  “I am only amazed that he did not think of it before.” Aunt Bristow’s acerbic tone made Elizabeth grin. Her aunt looked at Broadwell. “Is his lordship waiting for a response?”

  “Yes, my lady. I sent the lad to the kitchen for tea while Miss Elizabeth prepared one. Shall I send for him now?”

  “Absolutely not,” Aunt said. “Miss Elizabeth shall finish breaking her fast. Then, and only then, will she pen her answer.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The butler bowed.

  Before he left the room Elizabeth said, “Please give the messenger
some toast or biscuits as well.”

  “I’m sure Cook is taking care of him, miss. Shall I bring you another pot of tea?”

  The butler’s face remained impassive, but she thought she caught the corner of one lip twitch. “Yes, please.”

  “It has occurred to me,” her aunt said, “that Harrington had been given to expect he shall always receive what he wishes. He will require proper handling if you are to marry and be happy.”

  “I had come to much the same conclusion this morning.” She placed her fingers on her aunt’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “I should have taken you in when your mother died. I regret that I did not.” Folding her lips, Aunt stared at the opposite wall. “Elizabeth, no matter what happens, you will always have a home with me.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said, thanking God that her wishes had come true. “You cannot know how much that means to me.”

  Aunt gave a wry smile. “Oh, I think I might.”

  It wasn’t until another half hour had passed that Elizabeth went to the morning room to write her acceptance. Even though Lord Harrington had exhibited good sense in asking her to drive with him, there was no point in appearing too eager.

  She took her time mending her pen and formulating what she would say. Finally, she decided to be brief and to the point.

  Dear Lord Harrington,

  I shall be delighted to ride with you this afternoon. You may fetch me at five minutes to the hour.

  Regards,

  E. Turley

  She read the letter over, sprinkled sand on the paper, sealed it, and rang for Broadwell. Her answer to his request for a second set could wait until this afternoon while they were on their drive.

  A few moments later the butler entered the room. “Yes, miss?”

  She held out the missive. “You may take this to Lord Harrington’s messenger.”

  He bowed as Elizabeth looked at the clock. It had been not quite an hour since the invitation had arrived. “There is no hurry.”

  Broadwell’s step immediately slowed to a turtle’s pace. “As you wish, miss.”

  That afternoon, Elizabeth dressed in a new carriage gown that was almost the same color as her eyes. Lord Harrington arrived at precisely five minutes to the hour. As she descended the stairs, she took time to admire the way his Prussian blue jacket of superfine showed off his broad shoulders. His waistcoat was of blue and white stripes with thin strands of gold thread accenting the stripes matching the gold in his hair. His pantaloons were molded to his well-formed legs, and, even at this distance, she could see herself in his highly polished boots. Other than a gold pin, his only ornaments were a quizzing glass and a pocket watch. In short, there was everything to admire about his person.

  It was his interest in her she was not at all sure of. With luck, after this afternoon she would know more.

  “Miss Turley.” He bowed as she curtseyed and held out his hand. “I am delighted you accepted my invitation.”

  “I am pleased that you asked.” She smiled just enough to show him she was content but not enough to allow him to think he had won her over. He might be in a rush to wed, but she was determined to ensure he loved her or could love her before she took such a permanent step.

  “Come.” He placed her hand on his arm. “I wish to show you my new phaeton. It was specially designed for the rougher roads on the Continent.”

  Happily and in an almost boyish fashion, he pointed out all the ways in which the carriage had been modified. “As you can see, it is much more stable than the usual phaeton.”

  “Your carriage maker did a fine job.” Elizabeth, however, was more interested in the matched pair of Belgian horses with coats that were almost blue. She stroked their noses as they snorted into her hands. “Aren’t you handsome,” she murmured to the horse. To Lord Harrington she said, “I have never seen a Belgian with this color before. What is it called?”

  “Roan Blue.” His grin widened. “They are not at all in the common way.”

  “I should say not.” The wheeler lipped at her bonnet and she leaned back a bit to remove the hat from his notice, then stroked his nose. “Will you take these lovely fellows as well?”

  Reaching out, he scratched the space between one of the horse’s ears. “Indeed I shall. I’ll require horses that don’t tire easily.”

  From all the accounts Elizabeth had heard, one did not leave one’s cattle at posting houses on the Continent. Not if one wished to keep the horses. And, because of the war, the roads were in sad repair, making travel uncomfortable. “From what I have heard of the state of the roads, they will work well.”

  “That is the conclusion I came to.” Still grinning, he assisted her into the carriage.

  Once he was settled on the other side of the carriage, he started the horses toward the Park.

  Their conversation soon fell into the normal pattern of discussing politics. When she tried to guide the conversation into other venues, such as the latest plays at the theaters or opera, he turned the subject back to Europe. Even when they reached the carriage way in the Park, he barely stopped to greet friends and acquaintances. Never once, except to verify some bit of information about her, did he ask about her likes or dislikes. He did not even mention his request for a second set. At that point, Elizabeth decided that if he did not bring it up, neither would she.

  By the time Lord Harrington headed back to her house, Elizabeth understood exactly what Charlotte had meant about him being too sure of himself. Lord Harrington might be one of the handsomest gentlemen she had ever met, but, despite the physical awareness she experienced when she was near him, he had a long way to go before Elizabeth felt she could accept a proposal of marriage from the man.

  She danced once with him that evening, and once each during the next two evenings. The waltzes were all that a lady could hope for. Her waist warmed, lighting little fires where he touched her. She felt as light as down as he led her around the floor. Elizabeth was a little disappointed that he did not attempt to draw her closer during the turns, but that she could have forgiven if he at least attempted to come to know her. Yet he had not, and she was really making very little progress knowing him as a man, rather than a soon-to-be diplomat.

  If he did not change his tune soon, she might as well leave for the country and wait for the Little Season to commence.

  * * *

  A few mornings later, Aunt Bristow entered the Turley House breakfast room with a card in her hand. “You will never believe what we have been invited to.”

  Elizabeth tried to see who the card was from, but her aunt was waving it around too much. “I cannot even guess.”

  “An End of Season breakfast at Stanwood House,” her aunt said, excitement infusing her tone.

  “An End of Season breakfast?” she echoed. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “Nor have I. I think it’s a hum, but for what reason I have no idea. Still, I have it on good authority”—meaning Aunt’s lady’s maid had been gossiping again—“that Lady Charlotte and Kenilworth will soon wed. And as Lady Merton and the Duchess of Rothwell have arrived back in Town, I believe the rumor to be true.” Aunt accepted the cup of tea Elizabeth handed her. “I absolutely do not understand why no one in that family seems to be able to wait to marry.”

  Because they are in love and care more about beginning their lives together than a grand affair.

  She was certain her aunt was correct and her friend’s wedding would take place soon. If not for a fitting at her modiste’s shop, she would have gone to Stanwood House straightaway. As it was, she was not able to visit Charlotte until that afternoon when she found her friend with Dotty and Louisa.

  “Elizabeth,” Charlotte greeted Elizabeth, bussing her on the cheek. “How are you?”

  “I am well enough.” She took in her friend’s glowing cheeks and the way her eyes twinkled. “I would ask you how you are faring, but you look as if you are walking on clouds.”

  “That is one way to put it.” Charlot
te grinned. Elizabeth was thrilled. Her friend had never looked happier.

  Once Dotty and Louisa had embraced Elizabeth as well, they passed around the glasses of champagne and arranged themselves on the sofas.

  Elizabeth smiled broadly as she glanced at Charlotte. “I did wonder if your original plan to wait until summer to marry would last.”

  A bright pink glow infused her cheeks. “I discovered I was as unable to wait as the rest of my family. There are still a few weeks left in the Season. Do you have any prospects?”

  “I have had my eye on one gentleman,” Elizabeth said slowly, knowing that Lord Harrington was not a favorite in this circle. “And, as you are no longer on the market, he is looking in my direction.”

  “Harrington.” Charlotte’s lips pressed together and the corners turned down. Elizabeth nodded, not sure she wished to hear what her friend would say. “You must put him through his paces before you agree to wed him. He is entirely too sure of himself.”

  Indeed he was. It was as Elizabeth had thought. He had treated Charlotte in the same manner. Or had he? After all, he had been away for several weeks and had only just returned. “I tend to agree. At least, he used to be very sure of himself. He had a bit of a shock when he realized that you were betrothed to another gentleman.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Charlotte gave her a dubious look. “How is he behaving toward you?”

  How to explain it? “He has been attentive in a strangely cool fashion.” Elizabeth told her about the one dance per event and single carriage ride. “I often feel as if I am being interviewed for a position, as he never asks about what I enjoy. If I touch on anything personal or even the theater, or something like that, he changes the subject to the position with Sir Charles. I simply do not know what to make of him.”

  “Make him show you he cares,” Louisa said in her forthright manner. “And do not allow him to break your heart.”

  That had been exactly what Elizabeth had been concerned about. She was so very attracted to him that she was afraid—despite doing her best to look at him objectively—she might fall in love with Lord Harrington. If he did not return her regard, she would end up being miserable. “The infuriating thing is that I would adore living the life he has to offer, but I cannot marry a man I do not, or could not, love.”