The Earl's Perfect Match

by Kimberly Nee

Dunning did as she asked, and Shelton winked at her as he cut the deck and set the second stack on the baize. She smiled at Dunning. “Deal nine cards to each of us, three at a time. There should be twelve left over when you’ve finished.”

  She went on to explain the rest of the rules to Aluette, especially the chanter, which was the process of dealing out the remaining twelve cards between the dealer and the player to his (or her) left, and discarding the lower cards to bring their total down to nine cards each. But this was only done if no one objected. If someone did object, there was no chanter, and the last twelve cards remained unused and unseen until the end of the game.

  It was slow going at first, as she had to stop several times to explain the play, or trick, or to explain how signals worked, provided one didn’t overuse them, as Shelton tended to do. He was a great one for winking, as she learned, and it wasn’t long before both Dunning and Rosamund caught on. Consequently, they lost the first round.

  But that was the only round they lost. Shelton proved to be a quick study, and between his finesse and Elena’s skills, they quickly took the next four rounds and won the match.

  “What fun!” Rosamund exclaimed, even if Dunning didn’t look happy over losing. “Shall we play again?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off,” Dunning replied, rising from his chair. “I think I’ll take in a bit of fresh air.”

  Elena smiled as she swept the cards together and righted the deck. “Perhaps next time we should play for real money? I should like to win from the Dunning coffers.”

  Shelton winked. “You would? I don’t think I’ve ever beaten Dunning at cards. Ever. The man’s mind is like a steel trap.”

  Dunning managed a mild smile of his own. “And you never will because, next time, I won’t be foolish enough to suggest you partner up with Miss Sebastiano.”

  A pleasant warmth wove through her at his words. “I thank you for the compliment, my lord.”

  “Perhaps we could all take in some air,” Eleanor said, popping up from her perch on the sofa, “and play a bit more pall-mall?”

  Elena inwardly groaned as the other ladies chimed in, and Dunning laughed. “Very well. A quick game, however, as the supper hour is drawing near and I’m sure you’d all like to freshen up.”

  Elena set the cards on the table. “I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off. I’ve a bit of a headache from staring at those cards, so I think it best if I go above and lie down for a while.”

  “A pity,” Shelton said. “I was looking forward to being partners again. Now that you know you need not be so gentle with the balls.”

  As he said the words, his eyes seemed to grow sharper and felt as if they’d pierced her right through her bodice. Her back stiffened, her face growing hot as the other ladies smothered giggles behind their hands and Dunning glared at the marquess.

  But all the earl said was, “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Sebastiano. I do hope your headache resolves itself. If not, let one of the maids know and I’ll have a tray brought to your room.”

  “Thank you, my lord. But that shouldn’t be necessary.” Elena waved them toward the door. “Go and enjoy. I’ll finish cleaning up in here.”

  The ladies hurried out of the room, chattering away over who would play first, while the lords seemed a bit more reticent. To her relief, Shelton and Dunning left her in peace and she savored the quiet as it settled about her.

  Humming softly, she tidied up, but as she stowed the cards in their box, she had the oddest feeling of being watched. Peering up, she found Lord Dunning in the doorway.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  “No.” He cleared his throat, a hint of color rising along his cheekbones. “I thought you would have gone up to rest by now.”

  “By now?” She couldn’t hold in her chuckle. “You only left a few minutes ago, my lord.” She closed the rosewood box. “Admit it, you thought I’d put everything back in the wrong spot.”

  The blush along his cheekbones spread. It would have been adorable, except that she hated the thought of embarrassing him. Still, he held her gaze as he came into the room. “I confess, Miss Sebastiano, I thought exactly that.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Do you think me so uncivilized, then?”

  “No. Quite the opposite, really.” He paused by the card table, tracing the tip of his forefinger along the green baize surface. “Truth be told, I don’t remember the last time I was even in this room, never mind in here playing a game.”

  “Now that is a shame. It’s a bit stuffy, a bit too dark, but once you open it up, it really is quite a lovely room.”

  “It certainly seemed brighter today.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He chuckled. “Feel free.”

  “My lord, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve known of this curse for most of your life, right?” She waited for him to nod before continuing. “So then, why did you wait until now to decide you needed to marry?”

  He didn’t answer at first, still tracing small circles into the fabric. Then, his hand went still and a low sigh rose to his lips. “I suppose it was a bit of rebellion on my part. I didn’t want to marry, and when you are young, it’s easy to believe you’ll live forever. Mortality doesn’t become real until you are my age.”

  “And now?”

  “Now?” He let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “Now, it haunts me to a degree. I don’t want to believe in it, but there is quite a line of death before me that I can no longer ignore.”

  “And so now, you wish to have it over and done with no matter what and love is of no consequence.”

  “It can’t be.” His voice tightened as he looked over at her. “I do not wish it on my conscience.”

  “And your wife will know this? Or will you let her believe you care, if only a little?”

  “I promise you, Miss Sebastiano, she will know. And what I will bequeath her should make the terms acceptable to her.” His eyes hardened. “Not all women are sentimental. Some are quite practical. I will count on that to help.”

  She bit back the sour retort rising to her lips. He sounded so…cold…and from what she knew of him, that wasn’t the sort of man he was.

  “You disapprove?”

  His question startled her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You look as if you’re about to tell me off.” He folded his arms. “So, do you disapprove?”

  “It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove,” she replied, cautiously picking about her words. “Your life is not mine.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “But”—she walked over to him—“I don’t think you are being entirely fair to the woman you choose. What if she comes to care for you? Especially if this curse isn’t real?”

  Perhaps it was only her imagination, but she thought he winced as he said, “It’s a risk I will have to take. As for me, I will not let it happen if possible.”

  “How awful. Why would you want to live that way?” she asked as they made their way out of the game room.

  “I don’t want to. I have no choice.”

  “Of course you have a choice. No one is promised tomorrow, my lord.” Without thinking, she let her hand come down to rest on his arm. “We all die and we all leave behind people to mourn us. Why would you deprive yourself of happiness based on a what-if?”

  He glanced down at her hand, and then at her. “I don’t expect you understand, Miss Sebastiano. You—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Why? Because I am only a simple island girl?”

  “No. Because you are exactly who I’d choose!” he snapped.

  Her back stiffened as she stared up at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “You would choose me?” she repeated slowly, shaking her head. “Perhaps you are just going mad instead, to say such a thing.”

  “Why?” He peered down at her as t
hey reached the foot of the staircase. “Madness does not run in my family. Only early death. And it’s a moot point, as I’ve told you my requirements for a wife and I’m afraid you don’t fit them.”

  “Is that so? And how is that? Are you suggesting I’m not quite good enough for you?”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. Why would you even suggest such a thing? You’re warm and kind and beauti—” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “You are as much a lady as any of the others here.”

  “And yet, I don’t fit your requirements?”

  “You wouldn’t be happy with a man such as me, Miss Sebastiano. Trapped here, with all our rules and stuffiness. With all the rain and gloom.” He smiled, slipping his arm from hers. “Trust me, you would wilt like a hothouse flower and I would hate to see that happen to you.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting I would. This isn’t my home, and I cannot imagine it ever could be. It’s not where I would ever feel comfortable or as if I belonged.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but his blunt words carried the sting of a nettle.

  “Exactly. And now that we’ve settled that.” He stepped back. “If you will excuse me.”

  He nodded and took himself off, leaving her to sink onto the bottommost step, chin in her hand, and her spirits in the soles of her shoes. Settled. He thought all was settled when she felt it was anything but.

  He didn’t want to leave a grieving widow. Was she prepared to be a grieving widow? It was so easy now to dismiss the Markham curse as silly and to declare she didn’t believe in any such thing. But what if she was wrong? How did one prepare themselves for such a thing? Would she be strong enough, should it happen?

  Perhaps Dunning was right and love was only for the dreamers of the world.

  And perhaps, if she kept telling herself that, she’d one day believe it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “May I come in?”

  Elena started at the voice floating in from the corridor. She hadn’t even heard the door open. But then again, she was lost in thought and when that happened, her sense of hearing seemed to be the first thing to go. But it wasn’t a maid in the doorway. It was Lady Rosamund, looking radiantly beautiful in her gown of shimmering peach-colored silk. A diamond tiara sparkled from the depths of her perfectly coiffed fall of golden hair and white gloves came up over her elbows, almost blending with the paleness of her skin. “May I?”

  Elena remembered her manners. “Yes, of course. Please do so.”

  “I’ve Eleanor with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No.” Hopefully her confusion wasn’t obvious, but she was thoroughly befuddled as to why they had come to see her. As she made to rise from her bench, Lady Rosamund waved her down with a, “No, there’s no need. Please, stay where you are.”

  “We were hoping to have a word with you,” Eleanor said, brushing an imaginary something from the skirt of her pale blue gown. It flowed from her statuesque body like water, accentuating the litheness of her form. She was tall and slender, with only the slightest bit of hip to speak of.

  “A word?”

  Lady Rosamund nodded, looking at her in the mirror. “About the marquess. I overhead him asking Lord Dunning about you.”

  “Did you?”

  “He’d be mortified to know we’d heard, no doubt. But he wanted to know if Lord Dunning planned to court you. When he said no, Lord Shelton got the queerest look in his eye.”

  “Did he?” Elena tried not to wince at the confirmation that Lord Dunning had no desire to court her at all. It stung. Sharply. Still, she’d rather die than let Rosamund see that.

  “I haven’t seen him look that way about anyone since Sarah died,” Eleanor said.

  “Who is Sarah?” Elena peered over her shoulder at Eleanor, as the taller woman stood almost directly behind her. For reasons she couldn’t explain, that position made her uncomfortable. She preferred to look directly at the person with whom she spoke.

  “She was his wife. She’s dead now. Childbirth, you know. Very awful.”

  “Awful, indeed,” Rosamund intoned, her expression somber. “Left him a widower at three-and-twenty, with two little boys to raise.”

  “How terrible,” Elena murmured, her heart aching for the marquess. Her own mother had died several years earlier, and of course she wasn’t a child, but how terrible for the marchioness’s children to grow up motherless. And for Lord Shelton to lose her so dramatically. He had to be heartbroken.

  “If he was asking Lord Dunning about his intentions, he must be interested in you.”

  “Of course,” Rosamund said as if it could be no other way. “Lord Dunning has nothing to do with this. He made himself quite clear.”

  “So, we thought we would help you snatch the very much sought-after Marquess of Shelton,” Eleanor declared, with a dramatic thunk of her fist against the vanity top.

  Rosamund shot Eleanor a look before adding, “If you were interested in him as well. And from what I’ve seen”—she gave Elena a knowing smile in the mirror—“you are.”

  “I’ve seen it as well,” Eleanor chimed with a nod.

  “And if you ask Cordy,” Rosamund threw out, “she would agree as well, I’m sure.”

  “Most likely.”

  “Enough.” Elena held up a hand before Rosamund could say anything else. “Allow me to stop you now, as I have no designs on the marquess. Besides, I’m only here a short while longer, and somehow I don’t think he would be agreeable to living in St. Phillippe. So, I’d say that would put the two of us at something of an impasse, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, but—”

  Elena narrowed her eyes at Rosamund. “No, there is no but. I can say with reasonable certainty that the marquess is not going to be asking for my hand. And even if he did, I would turn him down.”

  “Even so, wouldn’t you like him to at least ask?” Rosamund asked.

  That gave her pause. Would she? It didn’t seem fair, to lead a man on when she knew she would never be able to accept a proposal from him, should he think to ask for her hand.

  At least she didn’t think she’d be able to accept it. She couldn’t imagine herself living in his world because if it was anything like the earl’s, she would never belong. Would he expect her to change, to make herself fit in? Papi always said she wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to romance, and that if she wasn’t careful, she’d give her heart to the wrong person. He was fond of reminding her that the man for her was the one who wouldn’t seek to change her, to mold her into something she wasn’t, and he would never, ever be the one to hurt her.

  Now she was getting too far ahead of herself. Almost ridiculously so, since she had no way of knowing what the marquess’s intentions toward her were, if they even existed.

  Never mind that his was not the face she saw in her dreams.

  Her back stiffened. She glanced at Rosamund in the mirror and guilt sliced through her. She was supposed to be helping the earl find a wife who fit his criteria, not scheming to keep him for herself.

  Not that she wanted him for herself.

  She frowned at her reflection. It was supposed to be a quick scowl, but it didn’t escape Rosamund, who asked, “Is something the matter? Shelton is perfectly acceptable, you know.”

  “No, I understand that.” Elena met her gaze in the glass once more. “But, I believe you are mistaken, that’s all. Now, we should probably go below.”

  Eleanor frowned. “I’ve a feeling he will be terribly disappointed, don’t you agree, Ros?”

  Rosamund clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Oh, terribly disappointed, indeed.” She glanced at Elena, then at Eleanor, then returned to Elena. “I see no harm in letting him think you might be interested. Flirt a bit, dance with him. It will be good fun.”

  It didn’t feel like good fun to Elena, who wished once more her sister was there. Things would be so much easier if she had Serena to lean on. She held in a sigh as Eleanor and Rosamund chattered be
tween themselves how Elena could just play at being interested in Shelton. She didn’t think it sporting at all to toy with the man’s emotions, but the ladies hardly appeared troubled at all.

  And what if it made the earl jealous? What if an apparent interest in the marquess caught Dunning’s attention? Did she want it to? That felt as unseemly as pretending to be interested in Shelton did.

  Damn it all anyway. Why did it have to be so bloody complicated?

  “What is this?” Eleanor broke through her reveries, holding up a small stick, blackened at one end.

  “Kohl.” Elena took it from her. “The earl’s cousin, Gabby”—she waited for the dawning light of recognition to shine in their eyes before continuing—“she brought it back the last time she and her husband sailed to Persia. It’s popular in that part of the world.”

  Eleanor frowned. “What does one do with it?”

  “Line your eyes. If one does it right, it makes them look far bigger and exotic.”

  Rosamund smiled. “Show us.”

  Elena hesitated, setting the stick on the table. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I only ever use it on rare occasions. Conn would lecture me for days if I came to the table wearing it.”

  “Well, that’s silly. What’s the point in having it if you never use it?”

  Eleanor nodded. “She’s right. Show us and we’ll all wear it. He can’t yell at all of us, can he?”

  Elena glanced from Eleanor to Rosamund and then down at the kohl. It might be fun to see how the Englishmen reacted to seeing the three of them with their eyes darkened and wide. Besides, Conn couldn’t get upset if they all did it, could he?

  “Very well.” She leaned forward to peer intently into the mirror as she carefully swiped the heavy black kohl along first her lower inner eye and then her eyelid, along her lashes. When she finished, she carefully smudged with the tip of her little finger, until her eyes looked almost twice their size and beautiful.

  She sat back, pleased with her handiwork. It wasn’t often she wore the liner and she’d yet to see any of the English ladies use any sort of liner on their eyes, but perhaps they would now. She smiled at the thought of being the one to popularize kohl in England. It was a nice thought, however unlikely.