Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  Entangled with the Earl

  LISBETTE TOMAS

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Back Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  As the Earl of Carlington, Martin Audley has spent ten long years working to restore the estate his father left in ruins — and wasted as little of them as possible in London ballrooms. When his grandfather, the Duke of Debenford passes away, it seems the end is in sight: a thirty thousand pound inheritance. The only condition? Martin must present his bride to the current Duke within a year.

  Teresa grew up on the stories of the fairy tale romance her parents had, dreaming that she’d find her own true love amid the bustle of a London Season. But as her third Season draws to a close, her aunt makes it clear that her time is running out. If no other suitors present themselves, she’ll be married to a man three times her age by the end of summer.

  Martin’s title guarantees he’ll have little trouble finding a bride but he wants someone with no delusions that love or romance has anything to do with marriage. Teresa has no interest in marrying an arrogant Earl with an aversion to romance, but that’s exactly the sort of suitor she needs to convince her uncle that she has better prospects than an elderly roue. So when the Earl surprises her with an invitation to dance, Teresa makes a bold proposal: she’ll use her knowledge of Society to match Martin with the perfect bride if he’ll play the suitor, buying her more time to look for love.

  What neither of them allows for is an inconvenient and undeniable attraction — or that even the best laid plans can go awry…

  To Alan. For us.

  Chapter 1

  “I found out this morning, Teresa, that you turned down Lord Radcliff when he asked you to dance at the Pembertons’ party last night. Again.”

  Her aunt’s voice behind her was cool and collected, the epitome of a lady in control. Charlotte insisted that appearance was everything. After all, Teresa could never know who might be watching and should always conduct herself as a lady should, even at home.

  Not that she follows her own rules. Teresa might be hard-pressed to come up with a list of her aunt’s virtues, but her vices were easy enough. Vain and self-centered, Charlotte would happily ignore her own rules if they interfered with her comfort or personal satisfaction. Other people fell into two categories: to serve her or as a means to improve her social standing. Only those in the second category were worth her time and attention.

  Teresa had once been in that second category, before her first Season. She found she preferred their current relationship, where Charlotte pretended Teresa didn’t exist unless she was forced to acknowledge her niece. Of course, the unspoken rule of that arrangement required Teresa to live up to those impossible standards. Failing to do so only provoked her aunt.

  Despite that, she’d been unable to say yes to a dance with Lord Radcliff, even though he was the only gentleman to ask her to join him on the floor last night. Knowing how her aunt favored his suit, she’d braced herself for a confrontation over it in the carriage last night. When the ride passed without incident, she’d hoped she’d been spared. Foolish hope. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Ungrateful child.” The words hissed into her ear as she kept her eyes demurely lowered, biting back the instinctive response that she was no longer a child. At nearly twenty-one she might still be under her uncle’s guardianship, but she had made her debut more than three years ago. She was no longer a shy, naive girl fresh from the schoolroom. Not that pointing this out to Charlotte would do any good. It was never a good idea to remind Charlotte of the passage of time. Any reference to the years that were slipping away left her in a foul mood.

  However, not even the lack of response could defuse Charlotte’s temper today. Teresa felt her aunt’s hand twist into her hair, pulling her head up to meet her aunt’s gaze. Charlotte’s brown eyes, normally considered her best feature, held nothing but undisguised disdain. “How dare you? How dare you?”

  She punctuated each question by jerking her hand, as if the physical action would drive the enormity of Teresa’s social error into her head.

  “A lady-” The word was drawn out, making it clear that Charlotte doubted Teresa’s ability to understand even that simple English. Never mind that Teresa had helped with her parents’ manuscript from the time she was eight. “-does not turn down a gentleman of her acquaintance when he asks her to dance. Especially unmarried gentlemen, particularly if she has had no suitors for the past two years.”

  “But he’s fifty-six!” And unmarried only because the last two wives have died in childbirth, leaving him still looking for an heir. Teresa snapped her mouth shut before that second thought could escape. What she’d said was bad enough; she couldn’t afford another slip.

  Charlotte’s eyes glittered and her lips turned up in a cruel smile as she released her grip on Teresa’s hair. “And this is your third Season. You can no longer afford to be particular. Your uncle and I are in agreement on that much, at least.”

  Teresa felt her blood run cold.

  From the beginning, her aunt had made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with Teresa — and certainly didn’t want to sponsor her into London society. She’d argued vehemently that it would be better to marry Teresa off to a country gentleman who could be persuaded to overlook her multitude of flaws — arguments that had only gotten louder as Teresa had failed to meet her aunt’s high standards in deportment and grace despite any number of lessons.

  Her uncle had been an unlikely savior. She could only remember meeting him once before her parents’ death, a portly man who had been uninterested in his sister’s child. It had surprised her when he stood firm, citing his promise to his dead sister that her daughter would have a London Season. Charlotte had taken to her room for nearly three days after that pronouncement before emerging determined to see Teresa feted as an Original, sniffing that it was her only chance for social success.

  At the time, Teresa had thought her uncle an honorable man. Now after nearly four years in the household, Teresa knew his decision had much more to do with thwarting his wife than any promise he had made to his sister. If he changed his mind…

  “He promised Mama that he’d provide-”

  “He promised your mother that he would do his best to see you well settled. He did not promise to support you indefinitely while you snubbed every eligible gentleman in search of a ‘love’ match.” Derision dripped from every word, her sneer audible. “Your behavior last night was sufficient to convince him that he
must act soon if he wants to see you satisfactorily settled, especially if you cannot be trusted to understand the position you’re in.”

  Forced by her husband’s decision to oversee Teresa’s Seasons, Charlotte had long ago made it clear that she didn’t care if Teresa was happy with the man she married, so long as Teresa was no longer her responsibility. These days, Teresa was reasonably certain that Charlotte would prefer to see Teresa end up in a miserable marriage. “I am looking. I just need a little more time-”

  “Your time is up, Teresa. There will be no more Seasons. Consider that when you turn down gentlemen. If you can conduct yourself with some propriety over the next few weeks, you might still find a suitor willing to overlook your flaws. Of course, you could always give up on your vaunted ideals and see about catching one more directly.” Having delivered her ultimatum, Charlotte swept gracefully from the room.

  Teresa waited until she heard the door down the hall open and close before raising her hands to gingerly rub at her aching scalp. As bad as that had been, showing any kind of reaction would only have encouraged Charlotte. She’d learned that through hard experience.

  It was easier now, at least. The lessons had ended shortly after the trend-setters decided that Teresa was a naive country girl, unworthy of more of their time and attention. Her failure to become an Original — with the subsequent rise in social standing for her sponsor — had been an unforgivable sin in Charlotte’s eyes.

  The trade-off was that their interactions, strained before Teresa’s debut, had quickly degenerated into cold civility in public and outright hostility in private. Anything that reflected poorly on Charlotte’s image as ‘good ton’ was not to be tolerated.

  Only her uncle had kept Charlotte from marrying Teresa off to the worst the ton had to offer after that disastrous first Season. Apparently, however, she had finally worn out his patience too.

  “Oh Papa, Mama…” Old as it was, this pain ached rather than stabbed. One of her hands drifted down from her head to rub over her heart, trying to ease the hurt. “All I wanted was what you had.”

  Memories of her mother’s laughter and her father’s smile over supper made her throat tighten and she forced the tears back, refusing to wallow in memories and self-pity. Her parents were gone, never to return, and she’d realized in the aftermath of her debut ball that she was unlikely to replicate her parents’ success and find true love among the cream of London society.

  Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from holding her breath the first time she was introduced to a new gentleman, hoping to feel a flutter in her stomach or see a spark of connection in his eyes. Not that anything like that has ever happened.

  After three years out, she knew most of the eligible gentlemen — at the very least, all the gentlemen who regularly attended events during the Season. The majority ignored her after that first introduction. A few took pity on her, sitting for a conversation or engaging her for the occasional dance. Some even made her laugh.

  None ever made her heart skip a beat.

  As long as her uncle had been willing to stand up to her aunt, she hadn’t given up hope that he would appear — her knight in shining armor, ready to sweep her off her feet like her father had done for her mother. Her mother had said there was someone out there for everyone. She just needed to wait for him.

  But I don’t have time to wait anymore. She’d known this day would come, even as she’d wanted to pretend otherwise. Her uncle was human and a debutante wasn’t cheap. Unless I can somehow convince him that with a little more time, I might net the kind of suitor who would be useful to him.

  She suppressed a snort, even though there was no one here to comment on it. Ladies don’t snort, after all. Neither her face (unremarkable, in her opinion) nor her dowry (respectable, but not nearly large enough to be a temptation) would interest the kind of man her uncle would consider worth his time. A title would be the minimum requirement — and Teresa had no interest in marrying someone with a title.

  Most of the unmarried titled gentlemen she had met couldn’t be bothered to treat her as a person capable of stringing together two complete sentences, let alone someone worth their respect. She was merely another debutante on the marriage market and not a particularly interesting one at that. Assuming, of course, they didn’t already know about her social missteps and the reputation they had earned her.

  There were a few exceptions, but Lord Thornton had married last summer — for love! — and Lord Burrows had remained oblivious despite pointed cues in his direction. Given that he was otherwise an astute and intelligent conversationalist, she could read between the lines.

  It was time to be pragmatic. Not marrying was out of the question — she wanted children, a family of her own. She might have to give up her dream of love, but she could still fight for respect. Someone who could see her as a person and not just a broodmare. An untitled gentleman for whom her dowry, modest though it might be, would be sufficient for a chance to settle down in the country and only come to London sporadically, if at all.

  Ironically, she now agreed with Charlotte that she was much better suited to be the wife of a country gentleman. When Teresa had been younger, her favorite stories were the ones her mother told of the Season she had spent in London and the charming young lord who swept her off her feet. Spellbound by her mother’s vivid descriptions of the balls and parties, Teresa had lost herself in daydreams of the fashionable crowds and sumptuous feasts. It was worlds away from the quiet country life her parents embraced and Teresa had eagerly looked forward to her chance to experience it, certain that in such a magical setting she too would be able to find true love.

  That was before she’d spent three long years sitting on the sidelines of society. The glitter and glamour of the ton no longer held any appeal. Instead, Teresa longed to return to the life she had lived with her parents: a quiet, comfortable existence in the country, away from the painted faces and false pretenses that made navigating the murky social waters hazardous. The thrill of town life was long gone and some days she thought she would be perfectly happy to never again set foot in London.

  Not for the first time, she wished she could go back and convince her younger self that she didn’t need a Season in London. If she hadn’t begged for one as a child, spurred on by the fanciful dreams fueled by her mother’s stories, her parents never would have been on the road that fateful afternoon. She would still have a family that loved her instead of being trapped in a civil battleground, either tolerated or — more often — actively despised.

  She might have even found love. Her parents had been respected members of the local gentry, if considered slightly eccentric, and several of their neighbors had had sons near her age. Even if her heart hadn’t fluttered for any of them, it couldn’t be any worse than the situation she faced now.

  Leaning back in her chair, Teresa looked around the familiar room. Her bedroom overlooked the street, with all the accompanying noise. These days she was used to the clatter of hooves and muffled calls, although that hadn’t been the case when she’d first arrived in London. It had been a long few weeks of sleepless nights, trapped in a haze of noise and grief.

  She hadn’t realized there were other bedrooms overlooking the garden in the back until she had been in London for two weeks. When she had asked about switching to one of them, her aunt had laughed and airily informed her that those bedrooms were only for important visitors.

  In the almost four years since Teresa had come to London, they had been used three times.

  It was only after she’d gotten a full night’s sleep and was able to think clearly again that Teresa realized there were actually advantages to her current room. For one, her aunt rarely entered this wing of the house, keeping it closed off. The resulting air of neglect hid a welcoming atmosphere at odds with the rest of the house, which felt as cold and impersonal as a tomb.

  She hadn’t understood why until a whispered comment from one of the servants revealed that the room Teresa slept in had b
een her mother’s during her childhood here in London. For whatever reason, Charlotte had left this wing untouched when she had renovated the house shortly after the death of Teresa’s grandmother. Sometimes, Teresa believed that she could feel her mother there with her if she closed her eyes.

  She did that now, hoping for a little bit of comfort.

  Nothing. Nothing but the background buzz of humanity, bustling about London. Spring had arrived two months ago and with it the cream of London society, ready for the flurry of parties, balls, galas, and musicales that marked the Season.

  Opening her eyes, she stared back up at the ceiling. Tonight, she was to accompany her aunt and uncle to the ball at the Westons’, loudly acclaimed as one of the premier social events of the Season. Charlotte, in raptures over receiving one of the coveted invitations to the dinner preceding the dancing, had ordered new dresses for both of them. Privately, Teresa suspected hers had been included so she would not embarrass her aunt by wearing anything less than the latest fashion, with the added bonus that it would provide her friends an opportunity to fawn over her generosity to her ‘unfortunate’ niece.

  Regardless of the reason for it, Teresa wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The Season would begin winding down in another three weeks or so, as Parliament was due to adjourn soon. Until her uncle signed a marriage settlement, she still had a chance to influence the outcome.

  At the very least, she would redouble her efforts to find someone tolerable. Everyone who was anyone would be at tonight’s ball. There had to be someone there she hadn’t met before. Someone who either hadn’t heard or didn’t care about her youthful naiveté, who was just interested in marriage to a young woman of quality and settling down to the life of a country gentleman.