Not the Kind of Earl You Marry

by Kate Pembrooke

  “What’s your favorite thing to do? Mine is dancing. I adore dancing.”

  “I like dancing well enough,” Charlotte said, “though I can’t say it’s my favorite thing. But then again, I’ve spent most of my life in the country, and local assemblies didn’t happen with great frequency, so it’s just as well I never came to like it as much as you. My favorite pastime is probably going to sound rather dull to you,” Charlotte warned, “but I like to read. It’s generally what you’ll find me doing when I have a free moment.”

  She considered adding that she also liked to putter about in the flower gardens, go for brisk walks, and manage her brother’s household for him, but decided those would make her seem hopelessly boring.

  “You sound like my sister Cecily. She always had her nose in a book, and if you ever had a question about anything, she knew the answer, or where to find it. She speaks four languages, can recite lines and lines of Shakespeare, and most amazingly, she can work mathematical calculations in her head faster than anyone I know. Even William, and he’s no slouch when it comes to maths. I’m not that brilliant, but I love knowing people who are.”

  Aware that Lydia was probably crediting her with a great deal more knowledge and talent than she actually possessed, Charlotte said, “I’m not that brilliant, either. I only speak English and French, and while I like arithmetic, I prefer to work out my calculations on paper.”

  Lydia gave her a look that implied she thought Charlotte was being modest.

  “Actually,” Charlotte said as a thought occurred to her, “there is something else I enjoy. Quite a bit. Driving your brother’s curricle might be my new favorite thing to do.”

  “How lucky for you. William has never let me drive his curricle.”

  “But how can that be? I thought he taught all of his sisters to drive,” Charlotte said in some confusion. “That’s what he told me.”

  “Oh, he did, but it was with an old gig. Nothing as sporting as his curricle. That’s an honor he’s bestowed only on you, dear Charlotte.”

  “I rather forced his hand,” Charlotte demurred.

  Lydia shook her head. “I doubt that. William can’t be forced to do anything he doesn’t want to. You must rate high in his opinion if he allowed you to take the reins of his curricle.”

  Charlotte knew better, but she didn’t wish to contradict her new friend. “Not high enough to drive his bays, however.”

  “Men are so particular when it comes to their horses,” Lydia agreed. “Although, I can understand Will’s reluctance to let a novice drive them. James says those bays are one of the finest driving pairs in London. Maybe even in all of England.”

  “James being Lord Chatworth?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes, although I’m the only one to address him so. His family doesn’t embrace informality. Even his mother calls him Chatworth. Not that that’s so very unusual, but she tries to make me feel gauche for using his given name.” She smiled and gave a dainty shrug. “I risk her frowns and do it anyway. I refuse to let her cow me into doing otherwise.”

  “Mothers-in-law can be terrifying, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Mine is, but we seldom see her except during the Season. Since James’s father died, his mother spends the rest of the year in Scotland, the land of her birth.” Lydia lowered her voice confidentially. “The chilly weather suits her chilly personality.”

  “What are the two of you whispering about?” a feminine voice asked from behind them.

  Charlotte started in surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the box. She twisted around to face the speaker, and Lydia did likewise.

  “Elizabeth!” Lady Chatworth greeted the newcomer. “I was just telling Charlotte about James’s mother.”

  Charlotte started to come to her feet, but the lady waved away the gesture. “No need to stand. I’ll just slip into this chair.” She chose the unoccupied chair to Charlotte’s right, so Charlotte scooted her chair backward, enough so that their seats formed a slight semicircle more conducive to conversation.

  “It appears you and Lydia are already on a first-name basis.” Lady Peyton’s cool blue gaze studied her a long moment. “In that case, please call me Elizabeth.”

  “You’re very kind,” Charlotte murmured, suspecting that this sister didn’t make such concessions as easily as Lydia did.

  “We seem to be attracting a great deal of attention this evening,” Lady Peyton said. “Which isn’t surprising given the circumstances, and advantageous for our purposes, I should think.”

  For the first time since entering the theatre box, Charlotte looked around at the audience. Unfortunately, it took only a brief glance to confirm Lady Peyton was right. Heads craned in their direction, and dozens of pairs of eyes curiously studied them. In any other context, such unabashed scrutiny would be considered rude, but at the theater one came to see and be seen. Watching the onstage performance was only a secondary consideration, if it were a consideration at all.

  “Don’t let them bother you,” Lady Peyton said, evidently sensing Charlotte’s dismay. “You’re this week’s curiosity, but with luck, something else will come along soon and grab people’s attention. Believe it or not, there are some in London who are positively green with jealousy at your sudden notoriety. Not to mention that you’ve—as far as they know—nabbed my brother. So chin up.”

  “I don’t think I have any alternative at this point,” Charlotte said dryly.

  “In the meantime, Miss Hurst…Charlotte, if I may…are you free tomorrow? Lydia and I would like to invite you to spend the afternoon with us.”

  Charlotte’s social calendar wasn’t so clogged that she had any difficulty recalling that she was perfectly free the following afternoon. Most of her afternoons were open, since she usually finished any household tasks in the mornings. The copy of Waverley that Lord Norwood had given her came to mind. Evidently, she wouldn’t be spending tomorrow afternoon reading it.

  “I’m perfectly free, and I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know you better.”

  “Wonderful,” Lady Peyton said with an approving nod. “Then Lydia and I shall call for you after luncheon. It’s never too early to begin trousseau shopping.”

  Trousseau shopping? Charlotte stared at Lady Peyton, trying to gauge whether or not this was a joke. To her dismay, it was clear it wasn’t, but why would Lady Peyton even suggest trousseau shopping when there wasn’t to be a wedding? And then it occurred to her that perhaps the earl’s sisters didn’t know that yet. She’d assumed their brother had told them this, but maybe he hadn’t. In which case, she needed to set them straight immediately.

  “You do know, don’t you,” she began in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard by anyone nearby, “that your brother and I don’t actually intend to marry. This betrothal is temporary, just for show as a means of avoiding any scandal that might arise because of that betrothal announcement in the Morning Post.”

  “Oh, we do know,” Lady Peyton said, keeping her voice equally low. “Which is exactly why you must shop for a trousseau. Perception is everything in this case.”

  Lydia nodded in agreement.

  “But we won’t actually make any purchases, will we?”

  Lydia eyes widened and she looked as if Charlotte had just made a heretical pronouncement.

  “Who would go trousseau shopping, and then not purchase anything?” Lady Peyton asked. “That’s sounds nonsensical.”

  “Does it? More nonsensical than buying items for a trousseau I don’t need?” Charlotte asked.

  “You’ll need one eventually,” Lady Peyton pointed out matter-of-factly. “But that’s neither here nor there. We must act as if you have an immediate need for one. So while we know there’s no actual betrothal, and no actual wedding planned, we must still act as if those things are real.”

  Charlotte took this to mean that yes, she’d have to purchase some items for her fictional wedding to Lord Norwood.

  “But I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Charlotte sa
id, knowing that argument was likely to prove futile given the very determined light shining in Lady Peyton’s eyes, but not willing to give in too easily.

  “Exactly. Which is why we will take you in hand.” Lady Peyton’s voice was crisp and decisive. She knew she’d won this skirmish.

  “It shall be great fun,” Lydia chimed in. In contrast to her sister, she sounded bubbly with anticipation. A fact that amazed Charlotte, who rated clothes shopping only slightly above being dosed with bitters.

  She threw up her hands in surrender. “What time must I be ready?”

  * * *

  William found his attention wandering. He couldn’t muster up much interest in the potential sale of Golden Shamrock. Dermont obviously intended to drive a hard bargain, and Chatworth was fooling no one in his attempt to appear only slightly interested in the horse. Like a hound on the scent, Dermont sensed Chatworth’s weakness for fine horseflesh and the deep pockets that allowed him to indulge it.

  William glanced toward his theater box. He’d been doing this frequently, checking to see how Miss Hurst was getting on with his sister. As he’d predicted, Lydia had immediately taken to her, and Miss Hurst looked equally delighted to make his sister’s acquaintance, and to anyone watching the pair, it didn’t appear they’d met for the first time this evening. They just might be able to pull this off successfully.

  Peyton strolled into Dermont’s box, and came over to William’s side. The other two gentlemen, caught up in their discussion of all things equine, barely acknowledged his presence. “My wife sent me to drag Chatworth back before he makes an expensive mistake,” the viscount drawled. “I’m not too late, am I?”

  William shrugged. “Chatworth’s a big boy, and he’s got the blunt to afford the Shamrock if that’s what he wants to do. He’ll need to outbid Lepley though. Dermont claims he offered six hundred and seventy pounds. At that price, I don’t see Chat making a competing offer.” He shrugged again. “But then again, he might. As far as I can tell, they’re currently debating the merits of pairing the Shamrock with various dams. I confess, though, I haven’t been paying close attention.”

  Peyton grinned. “Good time to draw him away then, and dance attendance on our wives. Or in your case, wife-to-be. Macbeth will be starting soon.”

  William knew what this meant. Libby preferred they take their seats before the main performance began. She disliked having her enjoyment of the play interrupted by the comings and goings of others in the box. His gaze traveled once again toward his sisters and Miss Hurst. “Past time,” he said grimly. “It appears Lady Bohite is paying them a visit.” He came to his feet. “Make my farewells to Dermont for me. That harridan’s tongue is sharper than a razor, and she delights in flaying people with it.”

  He departed before Peyton could reply. He could only imagine what venomous insinuations Lady Bohite was spewing at Miss Hurst. She was a mean-spirited woman who searched for the worst in everyone and everything, and she had, at one time, harbored hopes for a match between her youngest daughter and William. For an entire Season, she’d seized every opportunity to push the girl at him, seemingly oblivious to his polite rebuffs and complete lack of interest. She’d held a grudge against him ever since.

  He sped through the hallways, discouraging conversation by nodding curtly to acquaintances as he walked past them. He reached his destination just in time to hear Elizabeth say coldly, “Lady Bohite, that is quite enough. You will apologize to Miss Hurst and then leave my brother’s box immediately.”

  “Don’t think people won’t remember the hasty way this came about in a few months when the truth will be apparent for all to see,” Lady Bohite replied.

  “Don’t say another word that isn’t an apology to my fiancée,” William said in a steely voice, coming up behind the group.

  All four ladies jerked with surprise. Lady Bohite turned to face him, her eyes glittering with malice, but one look at his face was enough to cause a note of fearfulness to creep into her expression.

  “Apologize,” he continued, his voice low and furious. “And then you will take your malicious self away from here. You won’t repeat this scurrilous and completely untrue accusation or, so help me, I’ll make sure you regret your words. Do I make myself clear?”

  Lady Bohite swallowed. “I’m sorry if I gave offense,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

  “Now apologize to her,” William ordered, nodding toward Miss Hurst, who looked pale, and as if she’d like to be anywhere else but here.

  Lady Bohite swiveled toward Miss Hurst. “I’m sorry if I maligned you.” She fled as soon as she delivered the apology.

  William went to Miss Hurst’s side. “Are you all right?”

  She drew in a shaky breath and gave a weak nod. “I just need a moment to recompose myself.”

  “Come on then.” He took her arm and began steering her toward the back of the box. “Let’s withdraw to the hallway for a moment.” They met the returning Chatworth and Peyton just as they were exiting. His brothers-in-law gave them puzzled looks, but didn’t ask any questions. His sisters could fill their husbands in on what had just occurred.

  Once out in the hall, Miss Hurst let out a long breath. “That was quite…unpleasant,” she said quietly.

  “I imagine it was.” He led her over to a cushioned bench nestled between some classical statuary, thinking she might wish to sit down, but she shook her head.

  “Let’s stroll the hallway, if you don’t mind. No one’s around to think it odd, and I feel more like moving than sitting.”

  “As you wish,” he said. They headed for the far end of the spacious hall where a large fireplace was flanked by a pair of tall marble columns. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from that woman’s viciousness.”

  “Your sisters came to my defense. I was too stunned by the woman’s sudden verbal attack to say much of anything.” She gave a little shake of her head. “One minute I was being introduced, and the next she was unleashing her vitriol. I simply wasn’t prepared for it.”

  “Now that surprises me, considering how admirably you put me in my place yesterday morning.”

  “You were angry, but not vicious like she was, and instead of coming to my own defense, I just retreated inside myself, like I used to do at finishing school.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you were ill-treated at school,” he said, wishing there were some way to avenge those old wrongs, but knowing there wasn’t. “It’s an unfortunately all-too-common aspect of life during one’s youth.” There’d been bullies at Eton, but William had been able to use his fists to defend himself. That wouldn’t have been a solution open to her, since girls tended to fight with words alone.

  “It was a long time ago. There was a group of girls who tried to make me miserable, and largely succeeded, I suppose. I was quiet and bookish and an easy target because I never knew how to respond to them, so I didn’t. Just pretended I didn’t care what they said or did.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I wish you hadn’t had to endure that,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  Maybe so, but he still heard the pain in her voice. “And yet I think it still continues to haunt you.”

  “Not really. Not unless something brings it to mind. The truth is I hadn’t thought of those days in quite a while. But then that engagement announcement suddenly appeared, and I knew the gossip it would stir up wouldn’t always be kind.” Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “As Lady Bohite proved tonight.”

  “About Lady Bohite,” he said. “You should know that while she may have directed her ire at you, her words were more likely aimed at me. She’s harbored an intense dislike of me since I failed to fall madly in love with her daughter when she continually threw her at my head a couple of Seasons ago.”

  “Was her daughter named Jane?”

  “No, it was Delia or Dorothea or Delphinia, something along those lines, but definitely not Jane. Why do you ask?”

&nbs
p; She studied him a long moment, those fine blue eyes of hers intent and probing. “Then I don’t think it was about her daughter because Lady Bohite mentioned an interest on your part for someone by the name of Lady Jane.”

  “Did she?” he asked with some irritation. He could guess what Lady Bohite had intimated about himself and Lady Jane, and while it had no merit, he wasn’t sure Miss Hurst would be easily convinced of that. “Well, that’s quite remarkable, considering the woman has never been a confidante of mine.”

  They reached the end of the hall and turned around, heading back in the direction of his box. A pair of elderly ladies exited the stairwell and walked down the hall toward them, before veering into the box located next to William’s.

  “She seemed very confident that a match between you and this Lady Jane was in the offing until I devised some wicked scheme to catch you myself.” She frowned, and her mouth pressed into an unhappy line before she fixed him with a slightly accusing glare. “You might have mentioned it before I agreed to participate in our little charade.”

  “I didn’t because there’s nothing to tell. I assume she’s referring to Lady Jane Crowley, the Duke of Maitland’s daughter. Some time ago the duke vaguely hinted that he wouldn’t oppose a match between us. I did give it a brief consideration because her father is a powerful man, a close friend of the prime minister, and it could have been an advantageous match for those and many other reasons. However, I never pursued the idea further, never courted the girl or showed any more interest in her than I have in any other young lady before you. That Lady Bohite claimed it to be so is preposterous.”

  Her brow furrowed briefly as she digested this. “Then how do you explain that she seemed to genuinely believe her claim?”

  “I’ve no idea why she would believe it. Perhaps she was led to think so by someone. Possibly Lady Jane’s mother, the Duchess of Maitland. She and Lady Bohite are cousins. It could be the duchess convinced herself there was still a chance for a match to come about between me and her daughter, and she refuses to let go of the notion.”