To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance

by Eleanor Keating

  He had a good heart, too, and had given her a kind, apologetic look he'd given her after Mrs. Wyndham's drama. He'd truly felt sorry for her and Lucy knew if there had been something he could have done at that moment, he would have acted upon it. He was without a doubt a gentleman.

  It was a shame he was only a solicitor, and possessed no significant wealth or title. He couldn't offer her what she wanted or she'd have set her sights for him. His classical handsomeness was magnetic; which had been quite a surprise. He didn't look like her expectation of a solicitor. Mousy and sedate Mr. Saul Smith, the solicitor, lawyer, and legal representative of everyone in Wilshire, certainly didn't come close to looking like Edmund did.

  I must remember what is important though, she thought. I can admire a solicitor but will only marry a titled husband, and find a place in high society, where I will never have to worry about the workhouse or laundry again.

  Chapter Five

  The maid had brought tea for Lady Agnes and Lucy the next afternoon when a knock sounded at the door.

  "Come in," the Lady called weakly, sipping from her fine bone china.

  The door opened and Lizbeth, Lady Agnes's maid, walked in with an envelope and bobbed a curtsy. "A letter just came for you, milady," said the shy, soft-spoken girl, handing the envelope to Lucy.

  "Who is it from, Lucy? Can you be a dear and read it to me?" Lady Agnes asked with the first hint of vibrancy Lucy had heard in a while.

  She turned over the white envelope which bore an unmarked seal, one she didn't think had been sent to the house before. She was in charge of her ladyship's correspondence, and the seal didn't look familiar in any way.

  She wondered who it was from, and why it elicited such a strong reaction from the older woman who'd been moping about since her fever had broken yesterday.

  Lucy suspected the lady was lonely, even if she didn't admit it. It was of course Lucy's job to keep her company, amuse and cheer her up at the same time, which had been an easier feat to achieve because they shared the same taste in literature. Like her, Lady Agnes was obsessed with Pride and Prejudice and any other work of Jane Austen. She loved the clear portrayal of England and the peerages and hierarchical systems, as well as the elevation of women and women's rights.

  Along with literature, the dear old woman loved to paint with watercolors and amuse herself in her garden in the most avant-garde fashion Lucy had ever seen. Still, since the illness had progressed, she had been too weak to pursue these interests. It was almost sad that she also couldn't putter about the house, coming up with her usual impulsive ideas, uncaring of the fact that she was rapidly pushing seventy.

  Lucy often spent the majority of her time reading aloud to her. Lucy missed the short bouts of respite in Lady Agnes's illness when her health would improve considerably and they honored a handful of invitations to luncheons and evening parties. They never tarried long and returned home as soon as her ladyship began to show signs of tiredness, and low spirits. Regardless, Lucy had observed that Lady Agnes was energized after being on these outings and among her circle—a group of women who were the opposite of the fashionable ton; radical and less rigid in their thinking and relations with people.

  Lady Agnes was especially pleased when she had her best friend, Lady Ursula Fairfax, the dowager countess of York, over for tea and gossip. The dowager countess was currently at her country estate with her children, and Lucy hoped the letter had come from her. It had been quite a while since the last letter, and this could cheer Lady Agnes up finally.

  As Lucy made to resume her seat by her ladyship's bedside, the maid Lizbeth turned to leave after asking if there was something they needed.

  Mary Agnes replied, "Lizbeth, is the earl by any chance in the house? I haven't seen him for quite a spell.

  "Yes, milady. He is resting in his bedchambers and instructed the footman not to call on him for anyone or any reason, till the solicitor arrived."

  Lucy's attention was piqued by the mention of the solicitor, Edmund Swinton, until she noted the tightness around Lady Agnes's lips. Ever since Lucy had been employed as the woman's companion, she could count on her fingers the number of times Lord Langford had deigned it necessary to visit his aunt when she took ill. The few times he had, he hadn't bothered to spend more than a few short minutes; in which he asked the doctor how she was doing and questioned Lucy about the patterns in which her recovery fluctuated.

  She'd often overheard the servants gossiping about how happy and relieved the earl was whenever his aunt took ill; it put a stop to her constant criticisms of his ways, and her attempts to always disabuse his nefarious schemes anytime she caught wind of them.

  Lady Agnes herself had once confided in Lucy that her nephew was truly a bad sort, and took after his mother's side of the family, the Radcliffe's of Sussex, who were well known for their criminal, villainous ways. Hearing this, Lucy was once again pleased that she had avoided becoming embroiled with the viscount, who had that gambling debt owed to the earl. I must tread carefully, she thought, and find a rich man with more scruples and a better choice of friends.

  It was painfully evident that the earl avoided checking on her, even though they lived under the same roof. Lucy suspected the old lady was still living there only because of her nephew's sense duty, and this had nothing to do with his limited generosity. There wasn't a time when he treated her with any form of affection, and he stretched his cordiality only to satisfy as public appearances, so that guests would not gossip, as was rife among their circle. Some of the earl's unethical and corrupt traits weren't secret, but revealing his shabby treatment of his aunt would only obliterate his rather precarious stand in society.

  Lucy had never met anyone quite as cold as Lord Langford and supposed she was grateful he never paid her more than a cursory attention, preferring if she stayed out of his way more often than not. She couldn't forget how scared and shaky she'd been on her first meeting with the man, and willed herself not to go down that trail of memories.

  There was something more pleasant to think about, like the return of the earl's solicitor, Edmund Swinton, to the house that day. Something warm flopped about in Lucy's stomach, and she tamped down the surprising streak of excitement she felt at the prospect of seeing him again.

  Since their last encounter yesterday, she hadn't been able to go for a few minutes without thoughts of him stealing into her mind, despite her numerous attempts to hold them at bay. There was something that drew her to the man, something strong and strange, and she badly wanted to pick up from where they'd left off in their conversation.

  "Lucy, could you read the letter now, dear child?" Lady Agnes spoke softly. "Do you think it's from my dearest Ursula? I do miss her caustic tongue and unending streams of gossip."

  There were traces of melancholy and a fleeting ghost of a smile on the older woman's face.

  Lucy was glad to yank herself away from thoughts of the earl's sinfully attractive solicitor and back to the present, eager to bring comfort and some tiny form of happiness to Lady Agnes who was entirely out of sorts today.

  "Of course, ma'am," she replied with a smile, and patted the woman's hands on the bed. She wished there was something more she could do to chase off the unhappiness she found lingering in the depth of her eyes. Perhaps something as daring as confronting the earl.

  The last time she'd gotten the nerve up to suggest a small dinner party to help improve Lady Agnes's mood to the dark, menacing man, he'd regarded her like something that had crept in and died in his shoes and told her, in no uncertain terms, to mind and stick to what she'd been hired to do. That had promptly put her in her place, and Lucy had felt like she'd die of mortification which would have been good and deserved, for meddling in the dynamics of a family relationship. A family that wasn't and could never be hers.

  Beside that her ladyship disapproved of her nephew's deeds and business, Lucy had no idea why things were really that bad between them. She'd quizzed Caroline for more details, but the girl knew nothing
daunting or scandalous except the usual. She'd speculated, as she was wont to do, that the animosity between the earl and his aunt reached deeper than mere disapproval of his character and misdemeanors. Lucy wanted to know what it was, not for the shallow reason of sating her curious appetite, but genuine concern for the sweet old lady who was affected.

  Lucy had never been able to abide by seeing someone else suffer, that was her fatal weakness; especially when that someone happened to be a person she'd grown extremely fond of. She remembered all those nights watching her mother being plagued by heaving cough and extreme difficulty in breathing, and a tight feeling squeezed her heart.

  No, she wasn't going to go down the trail of memories. They only brought pain and melancholy thoughts.

  Instead, Lucy got up and fetched a letter opener from the escritoire, just as her ladyship's maid, Lizbeth, exited the room and closed the door gently behind her.

  Lucy returned to the bed and slit open the envelope, taking care not to ruin it, as she retrieved the pink embossed paper. Clearing her throat, she moved closer to Lady Agnes and began to read.

  My dearest Agnes,

  Cordial Pleasant greetings from this beautiful, yet dreary part of the country. I hope this meets you well.

  I'm writing to inquire about the state of your health. I'm sorry I haven't been to visit as I myself have fallen prey to the dreadful plague of flu ravaging this part of the world—(I prefer to call it a plague, the nasty thing just sneaks up on you; it's extremely unpleasant, to say the least.)

  The children have all been fussing, you'd think they are meddling old people with nothing else to do but stick their noses in other people's business; much like Felicity Hawthorne and her cronies—this is to give you an idea of how bad they've sunken. Disgraceful!

  Not that I'm complaining, their actions are quite sweet, seeing that they ignore me half of the time, but it's getting a trifle annoying as they've restricted my access to the snifter of brandy and limit my chances at the games to at least a round before packing me off to bed. They have no regard that I struggled hard to birth them all; quite an ungrateful lot if you ask me.

  You'd think that the fact that I've spent the longest time than any of them in this world would give them a lick of sense, but they sadly are paying no mind to me, and have collectively decided to treat me like an invalid, and in which I have no choice but to bear my sufferings with dignity and patience.

  I hope you're doing better than the last time we spoke, and have vastly improved?

  I'm sure that sweet girl, Lucy is taking care to ease your pain and making you as comfortable as possible.

  Maybe once the season is over, we can travel to Bath, and rejuvenate ourselves for a while. What do you think? I heard from a reputable source that there are lots of tired old men who flirt disgracefully and have wandering fingers.

  Isn't that a great incentive?

  Hope to hear from you as soon as possible.

  * * *

  Yours ever faithfully,

  Ursula Fairfax

  Immediately she got to the end, Lucy laughed, yet felt a pang of dismay. Was it common knowledge amongst the aristocracy that men, young or even old, had wandering fingers? Was this what she had to look forward to in a husband?

  Lady Agnes said, "Ursula is such a troublesome creature, isn't she? I wonder how long it would take before she drives them all crazy."

  "I'm quite sure it won't be for much longer," Lucy replied, folding the letter and returning it back to the envelope. "I don't think they will protest once she is all better and decides to return to London."

  "Heaven forbid anyone has a problem with Ursula doing anything she's set her mind on doing. I wonder how they've managed this long."

  Lucy laughed and shook her head. "They must be hitting the snifters of brandy themselves."

  "Oh, dear girl, you're probably right." Lady Agnes was laughing softly now, color once more returning to her cheeks.

  Lady Ursula Fairfax was a funny peculiar woman who never hesitated in presenting her oddity in every aspect of her life; despite this, she was popular and respected in society. Lucy liked the woman and found it easy to be reduced to fits of laughter in her company. The raven-haired, mischievous woman was uncommon and utterly delightful.

  "I have never given much thought to Bath, but it seems marvelous. It would be a great deal of fun to travel again."

  Lucy heard the longing in her ladyship's voice and gave her a fond smile. "You'd be with Lady Ursula, so I'm sure it would be a remarkable trip."

  By the time she returned from shelving the letter amongst the others on the escritoire, Lady Agnes had drifted off to sleep, a relaxed smile on her face which warmed Lucy's heart. She smoothed down the hair on the dear woman's temple, beyond glad that the letter from her best friend had improved her mood greatly.

  With nothing else to do, and the afternoon still young and sunny, Lucy made her way out of the bedchamber and down the stairs to the library to fetch a book to read and amuse herself. She was so intent on her quest, her head lost in clouds of poetic lines and grandiosity, that she lost awareness of her surroundings, and ran into Edmund Swinton on the landing. For a second, she was joltingly aware of his hard, muscled chest and the brush of his gray waistcoat smelling pleasantly of cologne.

  He reached out quickly and steadied her, his sharp gray eyes penetrating hers to the point that it felt almost unreal. Seeing him again caused a stirring of sensation in Lucy's chest and she couldn't stop herself from giving him a big warm smile; her arms tingled where he'd touched them.

  "Hello, Edmund …"

  "Miss Lucy... How delightful to see you again. I trust you've been well?"

  There was a bright flush traveling up his neck, and she found it hard to believe that he could react that way to her, given how incredibly manly and self-assured he appeared. It was very sweet: the nervous, bashful way he reacted when he was around her, and it jiggled something inside Lucy.

  "I am very well, thank you," she finally heard herself say, breathless and affected. "I'm on my way to fetch a book from the library. Do you like books, Edmund?"

  "Certainly. I enjoy a vast array of reading material, from the most informative to the most stimulating," he answered genially.

  "As do I," Lucy returned, feeling her smile grow. "There is always something peculiarly different between one book and another, and it's thrilling to prepare for a new kind of journey every single time."

  Edmund looked impressed and gazed at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. He caught himself after a few seconds, the bashfulness returning. "If you will excuse me, Lucy, I have a meeting with the earl. It was a delight speaking with you again."

  Lucy nodded, feeling a little bereft at the abrupt end to their conversation. She wished there was more time for them to talk and learn about each other. They already shared a fondness for books, which to her was a tremendous advantage.

  "I hope I'm opportune to run into you again before I leave; I'd like to know your specific tastes in books, as well as your opinion on some watered down rants, passed on as literature these days. Miss Lucy." There was a lingering hope in Edmund's tone which delighted her no end, as he nodded before taking his leave.

  Lucy couldn't stamp down the exciting thrills she felt and headed for the library with Edmund's words in her head. There were no doubts many facets to the obviously intelligent man who was also charming and handsome. She was beyond positive that a conversation with him would be fun and enlightening at the same time. If only she could get over her heightened awareness and reactions to him. He is a mere solicitor, she reminded herself fiercely. It is of no consequence to me what his taste in books is, or whether I see him again. I need a man with wealth, though intelligence and good conversation would also be welcome. Does such a combination exist? she wondered wistfully. Her initial quest to improve her life seemed to grow ever more complicated, and the deceit of her situation weighed heavily on her when she lay in bed sleeplessly.

  Entering the roo
m which had become her favorite part of the two-story townhouse, she couldn't help marveling once more at the impressive rows of books arranged artfully in glass cases, resting on polished brown wood softened by deep blue cushions.

  Right above the small fireplace hung a boar's head, a hunting prize bagged by the third Earl of Langford, Lord Langford's grandfather, or so she'd been told. Soft, comfortable, blue and burgundy sofas were scattered around three gleaming oak tables, and richly woven oriental tapestries covered every inch of the wall on all sides. Tall brilliant windows with stained glass reflected the book cabinets tucked in corners of the room, outlined by wooden railings in different shapes and sizes.

  It was indeed a very pleasant room, except for the inclusion of the boar's head.

  She advanced across the heavy carpet and made for her favorite place in the library: the north window facing the garden at the back of the house. Lucy's idea of a wonderful time was sitting curled up on the sofa closest to the window, with a book in hand—her gaze occasionally drifting to the flowers flourishing in the garden outside. Rambling and also tea roses in various shades of white, pink, and red bloomed there, amongst red and orange marigolds, bright blue hydrangeas, and peonies which gave off a sweet smell.

  Lady Agnes had tended to it when she was well, and it was usually the first place she went after a sudden burst of good health.

  Lucy stared at the garden now in a preoccupied state; she lifted her sleeve to see if any waft of Edmund's cologne lingered on it. She thought there was perhaps a trace, and pressed it to her nose, wondering what Edmund thought of her. Was she merely part of the earl's household? Or did he notice her in a special way?

  She picked at the hem of her gown, which required stitching to repair a tear, and wished she'd been wearing something more memorable than the plain gown of a drab fabric with repeating brown patterns.