An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess

by Lucinda Nelson

  Though she wondered if he had ever had as much success with Joshua as he was now having with the Earl.

  “It is true. He sat upon his first horse at just two years old.”

  The Earl affected a look of absolute astonishment. “Remarkable,” he said. “With so many years spent riding, you must be quite the sight on horseback.”

  Ezra smiled wider. “I could ride with you and you might see me?”

  Margaret and the Earl shared a glance. “My dear-” she began, with reluctant lips. Before she could remind him that he would not be able to ride until he had recovered, the Earl interjected.

  “It would be a great honor, my Lord,” he said. “Only I mustn’t ride for a time. Like you, I have taken an injury.”

  Margaret tilted her head a little. She frowned and studied the Earl from top to bottom. He looked extremely well. Her cheeks warmed.

  “Is it your leg too?” Ezra wondered.

  The Earl reached behind him and touched his lower back. “I am afraid it is not such an adventurous ailment as that. Only a twinge in my back. I should be recovered within…” He paused and looked to her for confirmation. His brows lifted, prompting her to speak, and there was a mischievous quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  “I would imagine you would be in recovery for a few weeks. Is that right, my Lord?”

  He smiled. “Quite right, Your Grace. I only wish the tale of how I acquired the injury were as wild as young Lord Ezra’s.”

  Ezra blinked. “Wild?”

  “Why, yes. Pinioned by a huge horse, without a single tear? I’d be proud of that broken leg. Though I’d be sure to keep any such thing from happening again. Healing is a boring process, is it not?”

  Ezra looked down at his leg. At first, he was frowning. But then, a slow smile spread across his face. He had felt such shame since being injured. Margaret could see how the Earl’s words had comforted him. “Yes, it is.”

  “I broke my arm at your age and was ever so sour while I was healing. Though, I was extremely glad of any company.”

  Ezra nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am very glad of company too.”

  “Truly?” The Earl said, smiling around the rim of his glass when he took a sip. Margaret had to disguise her smile with her palm. When their eyes next met, there was silent laughter in each of them.

  “Truly!” The boy exclaimed.

  “Well then, if you ever hanker for the company of a hunchback gentleman like myself, you need only ask.”

  Ezra laughed.

  Laughed.

  They talked for a little while longer, before Ezra began to grow tired. It was the longest he had been out of his bed since before his injury. “My dear, you look tired. Perhaps you should retire?”

  She expected him to refuse. Of late, he hadn’t taken well to her suggestions.

  And besides that, Ezra seemed so enamored with Lord Nathaniel Sterling that she doubted he would leave of his own accord.

  But he was so very tired. After a moment of obvious reluctance, he nodded. “I am tired,” he confirmed.

  “Then you must retire, my Lord. Please do not let me keep you from your rest.”

  The Earl picked up Ezra’s crutches and handed them to him. Ezra stood and looked far steadier than he had just one hour earlier. Joy did true wonders for him. “Yes, but… will you perhaps visit again, my Lord?”

  The Earl smiled. Margaret scrutinized him for any sign of insincerity, but there did not appear to be even a shred of it. “It would be my pleasure. Goodnight Ezra.”

  Ezra bid them both goodnight and was led out of the drawing room by Miss White.

  And Margaret was left alone with the Earl once more.

  The pair of them were still smiling a little, even as silence descended.

  At length, Margaret could hold her tongue no longer. “Do you truly have a twinge?”

  The Earl laughed, loudly and unreservedly. It was such a contagious sound that Margaret laughed too. Both their faces were warm and pink with mirth, when he said, “Do I hunch, Your Grace?”

  Her eyes descended… from his face, to the breadth of his chest, to his thighs and calves. “You look very healthy, my Lord. Very healthy indeed.”

  ***

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire

  In Ezra’s absence, the pair of them moved to the dining room, where dinner was served. He could not recall the last time he’d dined with a beautiful woman.

  She had warmed to him since her son’s departure and now sat with a perpetual rosiness in her cheeks. She smiled as though she hadn’t in the longest time and, most remarkably, asked him a great deal about himself.

  This wasn’t something he was accustomed to, least of all with women of rank. They enjoyed talking about themselves very much, but had little interest in him beyond what he might do for them.

  It was peculiar to be in a position where he had so little to offer. She was a widowed Duchess. She was not interested in his title or his inheritance.

  She only wanted to thank him and did so a number of times until, by the third time, he’d only laughed.

  “Please, Your Grace, you needn’t thank me again. Seeing your son well is all the gratitude I had hoped for.”

  “I have not seen him so happy in weeks,” the Duchess said, with a warm smile.

  “I expect that the move must have been a struggle for him.”

  “Yes,” she concurred. “He was certainly reluctant to come here.”

  There was a pause. Her expression seemed very far away. “I hope you do not mind my interest,” he said. “But why did you leave Lowe? At such a delicate time, I cannot imagine the move was easy.”

  Her smile began to slip, before she managed to recover an insincere version of it. “We wanted a change.”

  Nathaniel might have believed it, if someone else has said it. But she had such a peculiar countenance as she spoke that he couldn’t help but doubt the truth in her words.

  If he’d known her better, he would have pressed for more information.

  He longed to know the truth of what strange making of destiny had brought her here, to stir up his life as she had in no more than an instant.

  “And you, my Lord? I regret to say that I heard nothing of you during your brother’s time as Earl.”

  He knew an attempt to evade a subject well enough, but allowed her to turn the tables on him with an easy smile. “I spent several years serving.”

  “You were a military gentleman?”

  He nodded. “I left at eighteen.”

  “So young? I imagine your mother can’t have been pleased to see you go.”

  Nathaniel’s smile softened. “She was not, but there was so little for me here. And so much awaiting me there.”

  “I have heard that you are quite invested in your current position. It surprises me that you did not take interest in your brother’s work during his time.”

  Nathaniel’s brow quirked and he levelled her with an impish look. “Have you been asking around about me?”

  Her face became red and she looked down at her hands, with a coy smile, but did not deny it.

  “I am flattered,” he said.

  “Is it such a strange thing to take an interest in the man who saved your son’s life?”

  “I suppose not,” he said, though it disappointed him. He wanted her to take an interest in him for the very same reason he took an interest in her. Because there was something between them.

  Wasn’t there?

  As he looked at her while she sipped at her drink, he wondered if it was entirely one-sided. If the sizzle was entirely of his own making.

  “And are you glad you went, my Lord?”

  “Certainly. My comrades remain extremely dear to me. And it was a relief.”

  When she appeared perplexed, he wished he hadn’t spoken. Liquor was loosening his lips. “A relief from what?”

  He put his glass down and shook his head as though he’d meant nothing by it. “I only mean that it was wonderful to see a l
ittle more of the world than Comptonshire.”

  It was a poor lie and he could see that she was dubious. But he was sure it wouldn’t do well for him to express his distaste for the peerage. Not as he sat and dined with a Duchess.

  “I do hope that the experience has given you some inspiration. There is plenty to be done in Comptonshire.”

  “I could not agree more. Politics is a plight on Comptonshire.”

  The Duchess nodded heartily. “Those people who treat politics and morality separately will never understand either of them.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “That is Jean-Jacques Rousseau, is it not?”

  She blinked. “It is.”

  The pair of them were silent for a moment, before their smiles blossomed at the very same moment. “You astound me.”

  Her brow quirked.

  “Forgive me, I only mean that I do not know many people who can quote Rousseau.”

  The Duchess made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “No forgiveness is necessary. I understand how few women concern themselves with such things.”

  “How did you come to know his work?”

  “The poverty issue in Lowe is especially rife,” she explained. “I had hoped that if I could not convince the Duke to take measures to rectify the situation, then Rousseau’s ‘Émile ou De l'éducation’ might.”

  “And did it?”

  The Duchess offered him a soft smile, as though he’d said something rather naïve. And he supposed he had.

  But it was difficult to imagine anyone refusing to listen to this woman. She was a remarkable force.

  I would have listened, he thought to himself.

  They discussed Rousseau for some time, until their dessert plates were clean and they felt warm from the wine and whiskey.

  They had a brief debate regarding whether Rousseau’s notion of goodness creating further goodness could be validated and her arguments were at once eloquent and innovative.

  Not only was she well-read, but she was a woman who thought for herself.

  At length, they came to an agreement and sat across from one another smiling in a comfortable silence.

  The clock chimed and Nathaniel blinked himself out a daze. “Lord, I have surely overstayed my welcome.” He stood abruptly and so did she.

  “Certainly not,” she exclaimed, with surprising force. He looked at her as she seemed to recover herself. “You have been most welcome,” she clarified, with more reserve.

  “I thank you for that and for the delightful meal,” he inclined his head. “And the even more delightful company.”

  He prepared to take his leave and the Duchess joined him at the door as he retrieved his hat and coat. Before he departed, he paused in the doorway. He didn’t want to leave. “May I come again, to see Ezra as I promised?”

  “I would expect nothing less of the good Lord Nathaniel Sterling,” she answered.

  “Then I bid you goodnight.” He turned to leave, but could not bring himself to. Not yet.

  When he turned to face her again, she looked surprised. He bowed and pressed his lips against the back of her hand.

  It was warm. And soft as butter.

  “Adieu.”

  “Goodbye, my Lord.”

  When the door shut behind him, it struck him that he’d left his heart inside with her.

  Chapter 9

  Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe

  The evening had been… like nothing she could have imagined. And yet in the aftermath, she only stood still, staring at the closed door.

  Her hand felt scolded by his kiss. She looked down at it, expecting to see something. A red mark, perhaps. Something to signify a burn. But it was only her own skin. Pale, but well.

  She rubbed at the spot with her thumb and bit her lower lip.

  Her time spent with Lord Sterling had been such a high, which she now plummeted from. She felt as though someone had dropped stones in the pit of her stomach.

  What was she doing? She was scarcely halfway into her mourning period. And at such a delicate time in Ezra’s life, what irreparable damage could it do to have another gentleman about him?

  He had just lost his father. He could not abide losing anyone else. And while Nathaniel seemed to be a trustworthy and kind man, could she risk relying on him?

  She had felt certain that she had known Joshua. Through and through. She had never imagined that he might be keeping a mistress.

  Margaret had been wrong before.

  Being wrong again was not a risk she could take. For Ezra’s sake.

  Then why did it hurt so terribly to think of never seeing Nathaniel Sterling again?

  He had been kind to her. He had taken an interest in her life beyond the gossip associated with her name. He had saved her son and taken the time to assure himself that he was well.

  He was an educated man who appeared to sincerely care about the people of Comptonshire, even the poorest of the poor.

  Margaret had met him only twice. But she felt that she would miss him terribly if she never saw him again.

  She let her still tingling hand drop to her side and turned away from the door, with resolve and remorse combined.

  When she lay in bed that night, she could not sleep. She lay with the hand he’d kissed beneath her cheek and felt sure that she could still smell the musk of whiskey and his cologne.

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling. A danger to her and all she loved, if there ever was one.

  ***

  It had been over a week since her evening spent with the Earl. She had spent the time hoping that time would cast him from her mind, but there he remained.

  Imprinted behind her eyelids every time she blinked. Lurking behind every thought and feeling. He was a nuisance she couldn’t have anticipated.

  And in her fear of bumping into him by chance, she had been avoiding visiting the town. What would she say to him if he asked to see Ezra again?

  She wouldn’t be able to say no to him when he pinned her with those eyes and flashed her that impish smile.

  So, she resolved, she would simply not see him again.

  But quickly found that avoiding Nathaniel Sterling was no simple matter. And it was not the Earl himself causing her any grief. It was her son.

  “But why?”

  “My darling-” Margaret began, but Ezra interjected.

  “No,” he said. “Tell me why.” He suddenly looked so forlorn that her stomach plummeted into her shoes. “Does he not want to come?”

  Margaret took hold of his hands. “No, my dear, Lord Sterling would very much like to see you.”

  “Then why can he not come?” He yanked his hands free of hers as he spoke. She could see that this was only the beginning of what would be a lengthy tantrum.

  And she couldn’t blame him, because she couldn’t offer him an honest or reasonable explanation for why Nathaniel Sterling would not be coming to see him.

  “I only think that it is best if we perhaps find some friends for you who are your own age?”

  He went red, right up to his hairline. “You do not like him.”

  On the contrary, she thought. “I do like him, sweetheart. But we mustn’t bother the Earl. He is a very busy man.”

  “But he said that he wanted to see me,” he said, more plaintively, and she saw his eyes begin to glisten. It shattered her to see him so. Her lips parted to console him, but what could she say? And if she could have mustered the words, would he have even listened?

  With shining eyes, Ezra turned his face away and said, “I would like to be alone, please.”

  For a moment, she meant to stay. But she saw how tightly he held his mouth, to keep himself from crying in front of her. He did not want her to see his sadness. Only his anger.

  And she would allow him that.

  Feeling as though she’d swallowed rocks, Margaret stood and left him though.

  When she reached the hallway, she pressed her back against the wall and sank down to the floor.

  She did not c
are who might see her there, with her hands cupped around her mouth to quell the sound of her crying.

  She had lost her husband, long before he’d died. And now, she was beginning to think she’d lost her son too.