To Be Loved By The Earl: A Regency Novella

by Kasey Stockton

  No, he could. It was scarce but a week ago when he ran to the aid of the Featherbottom girl. A smile touched his lips at the memory. He clearly remembered feeling the need to help her, and when she came into sight and he saw the dog on top of her, his fear was realized. Thank heavens the threat was not as he had thought.

  He had been angry at first to be so deceived, but it melted away by her surprisingly artless demeanor. He saw nothing of Rosemary in her younger sister. No, the younger one wore her heart on her sleeve. He could easily see the emotions pass over her face. Surprise, embarrassment, the moment she seemed sour… he would really like to know what she had been thinking then. In truth, he found her quite amusing. She did not possess her sister’s sheer beauty, but he still found himself asking to call on her again; it hadn’t surprised him when he felt glad she had accepted. He could easily pursue a friendship with the girl; the thought buoyed him up, in spite of the task that lay before him.

  The ball was halfway over by the time the Arnett brothers arrived, and they entered the room at the precise moment the stringed instruments started the waltz. The supper dance, to be sure. The one Rosemary told him she would keep for him when they passed one another at the park earlier. The brazen girl was smart. He was too much a gentleman to refuse. He had half hoped he would arrive too late for the dance in order to prove to her—and himself—that she held no power over him, but the rebellious half of him looked forward to it with anticipation.

  It took only a moment to locate her standing beside her mother. She shone like a clear beacon. Making his way through the crowds, they parted like the Red Sea. It was laughable how highly expected their union was among high society. Apparently, no one expected him to have any self-respect. Himself included, it seemed.

  He bowed to Mrs. Featherbottom first. “Your servant,” he mumbled over her hand. He turned to Rosemary, overcome by her striking figure in the elegant ball gown. She was brilliant, he conceded, for she never went as far as others did, dampening their skirts or lowering their décolletage. She remained regal and much like...well, much like a Marchioness.

  He led her out onto the dance floor, quite aware of the eyes following them. The expectation was palpable and brought a thin sheen of sweat to his brow. He looked down into Rosemary’s coy smile and full eyes. The expectation there roiled his gut. Swallowing bile, he swung the beauty around, answering her questions simply and trying to remain composed. Her hand tightened in his, forcing him to look at her again. Her slender eyebrows raised slightly, a gently confused look gracing her perfect features.

  “You seem distracted tonight, my lord,” she said in a soft, willowy voice. Onlookers would believe them to be in a private tête-à-tête, so he simply looked away, continuing the dance, careful to keep his bored expression solid and unwavering.

  “I am a busy man,” he responded eventually.

  “Of course,” she agreed. “You wish for things to be settled.”

  He could not help the infinitesimal raising of his own brows. That was bold, indeed.

  “As does your father,” she continued.

  Adam was ready to drop her hands and walk away, but she would never survive the scandal. That shouldn’t tempt him, and yet…

  “I am not one to like to wait either, my lord.”

  “No, you aren’t, are you?” he said, finally looking into her clear blue eyes. He had startled her. Their reacquaintance of the previous few weeks was a natural proceeding that mimicked their original courtship. Yet, neither of them had brought up the courtship of a year and a half ago, or the subsequent betrothal between Rosemary and Adam’s good friend, Lord Hammond.

  The music ended and he returned Rosemary to her mother, bowing with poise and grace belying the seething he felt in his bones. He could see the panic in Rosemary’s eyes and enjoyed it for a moment longer before turning away and crossing out the door. He saluted a surprised Travis on his way out and waved off the footman who offered to call for his carriage. A nice, brisk walk would do him some good.

  At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be finished with this business. On that count, she had been right. But the idea of marrying Rosemary soured his stomach and he realized it was the last thing he wanted. He walked the dark streets, passing a carriage here and there, an occasional house lit up with lights and music, and he longed for his simple country life. He yearned for it, in fact, much like he had the entire year he’d spent abroad.

  Coming to a sharp stop, he made a decision. He owed Rosemary nothing. If she was so desperate to be wed, then so be it. She could have her pick of the bachelors in London.

  He was going home.

  Chapter 6

  Cori said farewell to the lively Dowager Marchioness and skipped away. She was beginning to grow fond of the spritely old woman with her bizarre trinkets and multitude of exotic fowls with their squawking voices and brilliant colors; especially the green parrot she had taught to mimic her own voice. The Dowager Lady Berwind was quite the character, but the words used to describe her by her daughter-in-law made Cori feel ill. The older woman was not vulgar, rude, or boorish in the least. And neither was she high in the instep, for she had just spent the last hour learning what she could from Cori in regard to cultivating her vegetable garden.

  For a woman with a small army of servants at her disposal, she laid claim to a good variety of knowledge. Cori felt a kinship with the dowager and vowed to remain her consistent visitor, regardless of what happened when the Arnett family returned to residence. The dower house was a good way removed from Windfall; the Arnetts would not complain about Cori’s regular visits, for they probably would not even know about them.

  But what was she thinking? Lady Berwind would probably consider it a favor. Was she not the very one who requested Cori to visit in the first place?

  Swinging her basket, Cori wound her way down the embankment toward the creek lined with brambles of blackberries. She was still on Arnett property, but the dowager had given her express permission and she was ready to fill her stomach with ripe, juicy berries and hopefully, if Cook agreed, a pie later.

  Pulling her old, smudged gardening apron from the basket, Cori tied the laces behind her back and proceeded to search the bushes for berries. This late in the season the bushes were picked over, but high at the top were the juiciest, ripest berries she had ever seen. It was such a pity they grew so beautifully in the one place they would never be reached. She continued along the blackberries, slowly filling her basket until she reached a particular spot overflowing with perfect, pie-ready berries. She stretched on her toes, nearly swiping the hanging fruit with the tips of her fingers.

  Taking a step back, Cori admired the unreachable fruit until her vision alighted on something right behind it.

  No, dare she?

  A moment later, her mind made up, Cori rounded the brambles until she reached the opposite side. A large oak tree loomed over the berries, shading one section of the bushes. The shaded area had not yielded much fruit, but just to its left was a patch full to the brim of large, ripe berries. If she could only get onto that particular branch, she would have her basket full in the snap of a finger.

  She removed her half boots and stockings and hid them beneath a section of the blackberry bush—she remembered that finding purchase on the branches had always been easier with bare feet—then swung the basket over her shoulder and began to climb. Not two minutes later Cori found herself sitting on the branch directly beside the monstrously tall brambles and picking sweet, sun-ripened berries. Her basket was full to overflowing just as she predicted, and she hung it over a nearby branch, enjoying the view from up high. She had stayed at The Dowager’s house longer than she anticipated and was cutting into tea time, but the exquisite berries were doing a splendid job in its place.

  She popped one particularly large berry into her mouth and moaned quietly as the flavor erupted on her tongue.

  “You make the berries look so divine, I have half a mind to join you up there.”

 
* * *

  Adam could tell he’d shocked her by the way her eyes flew open and the blood drained from her face. Achievement at his paltry accomplishment coursed through him and he worked hard to keep the grin on his face contained. She looked like a ragamuffin child, perched on the branch and stuffing her mouth with berries, her shockingly bare feet dangling.

  “I have permission,” Miss Featherbottom defended. He could see the streak of stubbornness that undoubtedly coursed through her.

  “I have not come to chastise you.” In fact, he did not know why he’d come at all. Only that since returning home an hour previously he’d had the urge to visit the creek. Not something he had previously been wont to do.

  “Why have you come?” she asked cautiously. She remained still, he noticed. Unmoved from her perch up high.

  “To the blackberry bushes on my own land?” He accompanied the remark with a lifted brow, let her make of it what she would. She did not need to know he was merely passing by to get to their spot at the creek.

  “I apologize for my impertinence, my lord. If you would only avert your eyes…” She had trailed off, but he knew what she was getting at. And why she was still up on the branch.

  “You don’t wish for any assistance?” He could not help but tease. He liked to watch her squirm, as it was so very genuine. How had he thought of her previously? Oh, right. Artless.

  The look she gave him was so dry he could not help the laugh he barked out. He turned his back on her, raising his arms in surrender. A moment passed and he listened to the rustling of the leaves and branches above him. A thud indicated that she had jumped down.

  “Stay,” she commanded. He was so surprised by the candid order that he obeyed. He was not used to being told what to do in such a way. He turned his head slowly in time to see her lower her skirts.

  “Do you always take your shoes off when climbing trees?” he asked with his back still turned. Part of him regretted not waiting to voice the remark, for he would have liked to see her expression when he said it.

  “Ask your brother,” she retorted, coming around him with a basket full to the brim with ripe, juicy blackberries. “Until this moment he is the only person I have climbed with. He taught me, in fact.”

  Her words released an unwelcome feeling. But a feeling of what, he could not tell.

  “Are you going to share?”

  She faced him fully and gave him an impish smile. Her lips were stained dark, no doubt from the berries, and he found himself drawn to them. Until she spoke.

  “Your grandmother did not mention your impending return.”

  “She did not know.” Adam fell into step beside her as she hooked the basket over her arm and began walking along the creekside. “Have you recently been to visit her?”

  “Yes, today we were gardening.” She gestured to her stained apron over a serviceable gray gown. Most likely the one she wore for outdoor pursuits. Such as gardening. And berry-picking.

  “I see her most days, in fact. The Dowager Lady Berwind is quite an amazing woman.”

  He smiled at her then and she faltered when their gazes met. He shot out an arm to steady her and she smiled her thanks before carefully removing herself from his grasp. Strange, that. Women usually loved it when he guided them by the arm.

  Clearing her throat delicately, she trained her gaze straight ahead. “Have you completed your business in Town?”

  “In a sense,” he answered. She could not know he was planning to remove himself from the acquaintance of her family indefinitely. He had to if he was ever going to escape Rosemary’s artful ways. It was a pity. He liked Mr. Featherbottom excessively, and this little minx was growing on him. If only he could remember her name.

  “I assume Windfall is happy to have you, my lord. Your father in particular.”

  “What do you know of my father?” he asked, bristling. The Marquess was a sore subject.

  “Only that he is ailing. We sent over a few herbs my father swears by, but I understand at this point the doctor’s main motive is to keep the Marquess comfortable.”

  “Yes, that would be correct,” he said stiffly. He should have known she would only have his father’s health concerns in mind. “He grows weaker by the day I am afraid, Miss Featherbottom.”

  “That is my sister. Really, you must call me Miss Cori.”

  Cori. That was it. “Right,” he agreed. “My mistake. Tell me, does your governess often let you roam alone, Miss Cori?”

  She looked up at him with such surprise and indignation that he nearly chuckled. “At twenty years of age I hardly have use or requirement of a governess, my lord.”

  He was taken back.

  “Twenty, and still here in the country?” he asked, astonished. He had assumed her to be fifteen, sixteen at the most. Twenty was nearly on the shelf by London’s standards. What was she doing wasting away in the country?

  “Yes, I am twenty and have yet to have a season. Please, do not refine too much upon it. Once my sister marries, I will have ample opportunities.”

  So that was it. They planned on Rosemary making a match that would pave the way for the rest of her siblings. Adam found himself resenting Rosemary more and more. She had found success during her first season, and even more at her second. The only reason she had waited so long to accept any hand in marriage was because she had enjoyed playing the game. And he had foolishly sat by and let her. Little did he know she had a sister waiting at home for her own turn.

  He turned and took in the woman walking beside him. She was average in height and figure, with an oval face dusted by freckles and a set of beautifully curved eyebrows. She must have felt his gaze for a blush spread enticingly over her cheeks and her dark, ample lashes fanned out as she cast her eyes down. She was prettier than he had first noticed.

  “Has Lord Travis returned with you?” she asked.

  Adam cleared his throat and watched as they came upon the crossing place. The creek was low here and the rocks high enough that crossing the water could be accomplished easily while remaining dry. He watched her skip across and swiftly followed before offering his arm on the other side of the creek bed. He could see she was hesitant to accept his chivalrous offer so he swooped the basket off of her arm and placed her hand within his bent elbow. She did not demur, and he counted it a success.

  “Travis stayed behind.”

  She nodded.

  He found himself wanting to tell her all about the dinners and balls he attended, particularly the final one where he left Rosemary and walked out. He would have liked to know how London society reacted but had been too eager to make his escape. Now, he wanted to see Cori’s reaction, hear her opinions. But that was strange. Instead, he settled for asking about her.

  “And how do you spend your days, Miss Cori?”

  “I should tell you that I practice the pianoforte until I can play it flawlessly and then embroider pillows and paint screens, but it is untrue and too boring by half.” She laughed and he found himself reacting to her in the strangest way, drawn to the melodic sound.

  “Then what do you do instead?” He could not hide the amusement he felt. Nor, he found, did he want to.

  “People. I like to visit with people.”

  He conjured up an image of a gossiping Cori and immediately slashed it from his mind.

  “I visit your grandmother daily, at least, and then there are some of the other neighbors, my sisters, when they are not occupied, or the sick families in the village who need assistance. I am no saint, but I try to take them soup and bread when I can.”

  “And blackberry tarts?”

  “Oh, no, sir! These shall never be turned into tarts.”

  Her vehemence made him laugh. “You plan to eat them all?”

  She gave him a sideways smile and he could not help the grin that stretched his lips and pushed up his cheeks. “A pie, my lord. The most delicious way to eat blackberries.”

  “And quite a bit more difficult to share.”

  “Unless there
are more than one,” she said thoughtfully.

  They reached the rear side of the Featherbottom’s house and he was reluctant to let her go. She slipped her hand from his arm and waited expectantly. “If I return your basket, Miss Cori, am I to be one of the fortunate few to enjoy a slice of pie?”

  “We shall see how many of those berries make it into the kitchen, won’t we?”

  He barked a laugh and returned the basket before bowing and turning away. It was not until he reached Windfall again that he realized he had smiled the whole walk home.

  Chapter 7

  Adam read the note several times before chucking it in the fire. He should thank Travis for warning him, but really, he was too angry to feel anything beyond indignation at the moment. It was beyond him why his mother promoted the match with Rosemary Featherbottom. She came from impeccable lineage and a comfortable country estate, her father a pillar in the political community, but that was where her attributes ceased. She did not have a fortune for a dowry and nowhere could her family claim legitimate relations with the titled aristocracy. Of course, he did not lack for either commodity, his family rich in both money and titles, but still.

  It had to do with his father, he decided. His Mama must be as desperate as Father to see him wed and an heir in place. If Father—heaven forbid—was to pass before he married, then he’d have to wait a year before marrying at all. He found himself wishing for that safeguard. But of course, he’d never want it at the expense of his parent, or the other responsibilities which would come with it.

  He swirled the brandy in his glass, ruminating over his dilemma. Rosemary was on her way home. Within a day or two she would be in residence not five miles away, less than two if one did not use the roads. With his own mother coming home and bringing his sister, it was only a matter of time before Rosemary became a permanent fixture in his home once again.