First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

by Anna Bennett

  “If you are happy, then I shall be happy also,” Lily said—not entirely convincing. “I wonder what Papa will think of the earl.”

  Fiona did, too. “I confess I’m surprised—but delighted—that Papa agreed to come.”

  “Maybe now that we’ve succeeding in coaxing him away from work and the bustle of London for a couple of days, he’ll take the opportunity to relax.”

  “I hope so,” Fiona said. But she knew they both longed for more than that. They wanted him to be the father he’d been years ago—the one who’d laughed at their antics and hugged them before bed. The one who’d loved them even when they weren’t terribly proper or prim.

  They wanted their old Papa back.

  * * *

  “Where’s Ravenport?” Lord Pentham asked, voicing the same question Fiona had.

  Everyone who was planning to attend the picnic had gathered in the entry hall. Footmen bustled to and fro, hauling baskets of food from the kitchen and gathering an assortment of blankets and quilts.

  “He said we should go on without him,” Mr. Kirby announced. “He’s repairing some fences on the east side of the estate and plans to join us once he’s finished.”

  Fiona’s heart sank, but Lord Carter chuckled. “Ravenport doesn’t know the meaning of the word leisure. What about the countess and the other ladies—will they be joining us?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Sophie piped up. “The countess, Mrs. Hartley, and my mother have elected to remain here and see to the ball invitations.”

  “Better them than us,” Lord Carter replied with a shudder. “Well then, I suppose this is our entire party. Shall we set out?”

  There was a general murmur of agreement, so Fiona painted on a smile as they filed out the door. She would have an opportunity to talk with Gray soon enough. Till then, there was naught she could do but enjoy the company, the food, and the sunshine.

  Mr. Kirby led the way, explaining that the half-hour walk, mostly uphill, would be well worth the effort. Still, Fiona was grateful she didn’t have to lug one of the heavy baskets up the steep path—she carried only her sketchbook and a small bag of pencils and pastels.

  Lord Pentham fell into step beside her, making friendly conversation. Perhaps he flirted occasionally, but if he was sending any of the butter-melting glances that her sister had mentioned, Fiona didn’t notice them. She was too preoccupied with looking for Gray.

  “He’ll be here shortly,” Lord Pentham said.

  Fiona blinked guiltily. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ravenport. He won’t miss the opportunity to spend some time in your company—especially since he knows others will be vying for your attention.”

  “Forgive me. I’ll admit to being distracted for a variety of reasons. I feel obliged to point out, however, that I’ve never been the sort of woman gentlemen flock to.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t before now.” Lord Pentham shot her a grin. “Look, we’ve arrived.”

  A copse of trees at the top of the hill provided a shady spot where they could spread the blankets and partake of the food and wine. Nearby, large, ancient stones protruded from the ground in a half circle, practically begging to be explored.

  Mr. Kirby pointed at them and spoke to the group. “Anyone who’s daring enough to climb one of the taller rocks will be rewarded with a view of the estate, the village, and beyond.”

  Lord Pentham set his basket in the shade and gestured toward Fiona’s sketchbook. “Sounds like the perfect inspiration for an artist. Maybe after luncheon I could help you scale the rocks?”

  “Actually, I’m not very hungry.” And she was eager to see the view. “I think I shall try my hand at climbing now.”

  “Of course,” Lord Pentham said gallantly. “Allow me to hold your sketchbook for you—it will be easier for you to navigate the crooks and crevices if your hands are free.”

  Fiona hesitated. Her sketchbook was almost as private as her diary. Anyone who saw the sketch of Gray would know that they’d been spending time together … alone. But Lord Pentham was right; it would be nearly impossible for her to pull herself to the top of the rocks while she held her book. “Very well. But no peeking inside—some of the drawings are still works in progress, and I’m not ready to share them.”

  Lord Pentham solemnly raised a hand. “Promise.” His face cracked into a smile as he tucked the book under one arm and walked with her to the foot of the rocks. They surveyed the stones from all sides, determining which footholds would provide the easiest path to the top before Fiona wedged the toe of her boot in a crevice and started hauling herself up one of the larger stones.

  She scrambled to the top of the rock, sat on the warm, flat surface, and gaped at the breathtaking view. Fluffy white sheep dotted verdant hills; low stone walls wound through the valley; red wildflowers swayed in the breeze. A majestic blue and pink sky presided over the entire scene, lending a radiant glow to everything below.

  Fiona’s hands itched to sketch all of it … for the person she suspected would love it the most. Not her father or Lily or Sophie or even Gray—but the dowager countess. Perhaps she’d seen the countryside from this very spot as a girl. She couldn’t climb the rocks any longer, but Fiona could bring the view to her—and she prayed she would do it justice.

  She crawled to the edge of the rock where Lord Pentham waited. “I’ll take my sketchbook now. Thank you for carrying it.”

  “My pleasure.” The marquess watched as she removed the small reticule that hung from her wrist and emptied a few pencils and pastels onto the stone beside her. “I don’t suppose you like company while you draw?” he asked doubtfully.

  That depended—on whether the person was Gray. But Fiona answered as diplomatically as she could. “I’m afraid I’m poor company while I work. It seems I can’t carry on a conversation and move my pencil at the same time.”

  “I’m sure you’re being too modest, but I understand. As much as I’d love to watch you sketch, I will leave you in peace. But if you should require anything, or if you want to go back down, please call out—I’ll remain close enough to hear you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” Fiona said, meaning it.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached inside his chest pocket and produced a small cylinder-shaped metal object. “It’s a telescope—in case you want a closer view of the sheep.” He winked as he handed it to her.

  Oddly touched, she twisted one end of the cylinder and pulled it open. As she held the smaller lens to her eye, she felt like a sailor in a crow’s nest atop a mast. “This is amazing.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Lord Pentham said. “Enjoy yourself.”

  As he nimbly descended the rock, Fiona wondered what was wrong with her. Why couldn’t she have proposed to someone like the marquess—someone who was attentive and polite and … interested? Lily had been right. Falling in love with Gray was akin to tossing her heart off the edge of a cliff. Sure, the feeling was thrilling and heady, but her heart was going to shatter into a million bits.

  With a sigh, she picked up her pencil and closed her eyes. Somehow, she had to capture the simple bliss of a warm breeze, the earthy scents of soil and grass, the soothing sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves. For the countess’s sake.

  Fiona took a deep breath and let her pencil glide over the paper. Slowly, steadily, the rolling hills, the clumps of trees, and the quaint cottages took shape—and came to life on the paper. She used the pastels to achieve the perfect azure sky and the puffy pink clouds as well as the lush green of the pastures and the scarlet wildflowers.

  It wasn’t a bold, imposing landscape one might expect in a gentleman’s library. It was soft and welcoming and humble—like the countess herself.

  As usual, Fiona lost track of time as she worked. Lord Pentham climbed up at one point to check on her, and she requested another hour or so. But she knew it was almost time to quit when her bottom started to ache. Besides, the wide brim of her bonnet couldn’t completely shield her face from the
sun, and she could almost feel the freckles popping out on her nose.

  Her picture wasn’t perfect, but it was one of her better drawings, and she was certain it would please the countess. And since her belly was rumbling—a not-so-subtle reminder that she hadn’t yet eaten today—it was time to put her pencils away. She slipped them into her reticule and picked up the telescope for one last look at the sheep drifting across the fields like fluffy bits of cotton—

  And spotted Gray … without his shirt. The dark mop of his hair hung low over his brow, and his trousers grazed his hips, stretching across his buttocks.

  As she watched, he pulled one of the nails clamped between his lips and bent down to repair the bottom rail of a fence. The muscles in his back flexed and rippled as he swung a hammer three times, connecting with the wood, before repeating.

  His hair was damp from his exertions, and a fine sheen covered his tanned skin. His horse grazed nearby, but Fiona was too mesmerized by Gray to spare more than a glance at the gelding.

  Gray was beautiful to watch—she could not deny that. But it was more than his physical prowess and dark good looks that captivated her. Anyone who saw him like this would instantly know how passionate he was about his land and his house. Determination was evident in every swing of his hammer.

  And thanks to the countess, Fiona now knew that his motivation for repairing the house—or at least part of it—was to bring joy to his grandmother. A fact that touched Fiona even more deeply.

  She watched Gray through the telescope as he expertly replaced several more fence rails. Sighed when he threw his tools in a bag and stuffed his arms back into his shirt and shrugged on a jacket.

  “Miss Hartley?”

  She fumbled the telescope and turned at the sound of a man’s voice, expecting Lord Pentham—but it wasn’t the marquess. “Mr. Kirby,” she said breathlessly. “I was just preparing to rejoin the picnic.”

  He gestured toward the telescope. “Bird-watching?”

  “Sheep,” she choked out. “Mostly. What have I missed down below?”

  “Your sister, Miss Kendall, and your maid have gone in search of greenery and flowers they can use to deck the ballroom. Lord Pentham and I have been drinking the ale. Lord Carter is snoring, and I cannot blame him, as we were out fishing rather early this morning. How is your sketch progressing?”

  “Quite well. In fact, as I mentioned, I was thinking that I really should return to ground level and attempt to be sociable.” She snapped the telescope closed and tucked her sketchbook under one arm, preparing to descend.

  Mr. Kirby hesitated. “I wondered if I might steal a moment of your time while we are here. Alone.”

  A slight shiver stole over her skin. “I suppose one minute more couldn’t hurt,” she said, keeping her tone light. “But since Mama will despair over every new freckle on my face, I must insist we keep it brief.”

  “Understood.” Mr. Kirby lumbered up onto the rock and sat beside her, resting his elbows on bent knees. “I confess I cannot stop thinking about the blackmail note. Now that I’m aware of the threat you are facing, I am having difficulty pretending that I am unaware.”

  “Then you must try harder,” Fiona insisted. “The more you dwell on the matter, the more likely you are to inadvertently reveal my dilemma to others. And that would be disastrous.”

  “I know.” He dragged a hand down his face in a tortured fashion. “I just feel like I should be helping you in some way. It doesn’t seem right for you to face this on your own.”

  “I am not facing it on my own.” Almost immediately, she wished she could take back the words. She wasn’t ready to discuss Gray or the imminent announcement of their engagement yet.

  “So, you have confided in someone else?”

  “I meant that I have the support of my family,” she improvised. “You needn’t worry about me.”

  “You have decided to pay the scoundrel, then?”

  Fiona quickly debated the pros and cons of telling Mr. Kirby her intentions. “I have.” There. Perhaps now he would be able to put the whole affair out of his mind.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You are fortunate that your family can provide the money.”

  “Yes.” She saw no need to elaborate on her plans. Or reveal that she had no intention of asking her family for the money.

  “It boils my blood to think that someone is capable of such depravity,” he muttered.

  “I beg you to forget about the whole thing. Surely the reason you are dwelling on it now it that we are constantly in each other’s company. But the house party will be over in two more days, and then you will be able to put it behind you—as I hope to be able to do.” She smiled and clutched her sketchbook to her chest, signaling the end of the conversation. “I do hope there’s a sandwich left down there. I confess I’m famished.”

  “Of course you are,” Mr. Kirby said, apologetic. “Allow me to carry your sketchbook down.”

  “Thank you.” She handed him her drawing pad, tamping down the slight panic that threatened whenever she entrusted it to someone else.

  “It’s probably best if I go first and guide you from below, pointing out the best footholds and crevices to cling to.”

  “Very well.” She waited as he easily swung his body off the side of the rock and made his way to the ground.

  “Take your time,” he said.

  She crawled backward to the edge of the rock, cursing her skirts. Climbing would be exponentially easier if she were able to wear trousers. As it was, she had to worry about catching her foot in her hem and breaking her neck. Grand.

  “You’re doing fine,” he called from below. “Move your bottom foot a bit to the right. There—that’s it.”

  She might have been grateful for the encouragement if Mr. Kirby didn’t sound as though he were speaking to a child. Clinging to the stone with a white-knuckled grip, she ventured a look at the ground. She’d made it halfway down the rock, which was heartening. If she should fall from this height, she probably wouldn’t die. A broken bone or two certainly wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a person.

  “You know, I think I can manage on my own from here,” she called to Mr. Kirby. “I’d prefer it if you’d wait for me at the picnic blanket.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Quite,” she said through clenched teeth.

  True, Fiona was borderline famous for falling on perfectly level ground, and the current situation was ripe for disaster. But if she took her time, there was no reason in the world she shouldn’t be able to navigate the last few—

  Out of nowhere, a horse whinnied and hooves beat the ground. “What the devil is going on here?” a deep voice demanded. Gray.

  Fiona looked over her shoulder. He’d already dismounted and was rushing toward the rock, scowling. “Good afternoon, Lord Ravenport.” She tried for a cheerful tone—as though it were perfectly normal to converse while clinging to a boulder.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I’m coming up there.”

  “There’s no need. I only have a little … farther … oh.…” A wave of dizziness assaulted her. She groaned as her fingers slipped from the rock and she fell backward. Blast.

  Chapter 20

  Fiona’s back slammed into a solid wall—or rather, Gray’s chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, but he didn’t completely break her fall. They both hit the ground with a sick, jarring thud. On impact, her teeth clattered and the breath rushed out of her body, leaving her choking and desperate for air.

  “Fi!” Lily shouted, her voice frantic. Fiona’s eyes fluttered open as her sister ran over and dropped to her knees beside her. “Can you hear me?”

  She could. Only her mouth wouldn’t form a response. She felt like she was underwater—unable to breathe and unable to scream for help. Panic rose up inside her and tears threatened.

  Gray cradled her head in his lap and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me,” he said calmly. “You are fine.”

  No, sh
e really, truly wasn’t. Her bonnet ties were choking her. She was suffocating, and she would have told him so, if she could make a sound. She turned in to him, clutching at his jacket, willing him to understand.

  He held her shoulders and spoke as though only the two of them were there. “It feels like you can’t inhale, right? And it hurts. I know … and I’m sorry.” As though he’d read her mind, he loosened the ties of her bonnet and tugged it off her head. But she still couldn’t take a breath. “Just listen to the sound of my voice. I’m going to begin counting, and before I reach ten, I promise you’re going to start breathing normally.

  Oh God. That seemed like an eternity. But she nodded, eager for him to begin.

  “One. Two. Three. Close your eyes and inhale.”

  She squirmed, writhing in pain.

  “Four. Five. Six. Try to relax.”

  Her eyes burned and her throat ached, but she nodded. And tried.

  “Seven. Eight. Breathe,” he said encouragingly—and she did.

  But her whole body ached. She rolled onto her side, gasping and sputtering, sucking in air as fast as she could.

  “That’s it,” he soothed. “You’re going to be fine.” But Fiona noticed a tinge of relief in his voice—as though perhaps he hadn’t been as sure as he’d originally sounded.

  “Good heavens.” Lily squeezed her hand. “Fiona, you gave me such a fright! Where does it hurt?”

  “Everywhere,” she croaked.

  “Poor dear. We must return you to the house and summon a doctor.”

  “No,” Fiona protested. “Give me a moment. I don’t think anything is broken.”

  “You landed awkwardly,” Lily said.

  “It wasn’t … my most graceful moment.”

  “Forgive me,” her sister pleaded. “I only meant that it looked as though you turned your ankle.”

  Without hesitating, Gray shifted down to her feet, loosened the laces of one boot, and checked her ankle, holding it securely while gently rotating her foot. “How does this feel?”

  Fiona was glad her mother was not there to witness an eligible bachelor caressing her leg, no matter how well-intentioned his actions. She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt.”