Captivating the Cynical Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  Cecily and Nell exchanged a glance. Both having experienced being taken for granted, they had an affinity for the needs of others that was unusual in their class. It was one of the threads that had bound them together as friends. Nell had been terribly ill-used by her stepmother, and Cecily was delighted that her marriage to Tom had ensured an escape from drudgery for her friend.

  Mr Carmichael was still watching them. ‘Naturally,’ Cecily replied smoothly. ‘Yet it is always good to remember their needs as well as our own.’

  At this the gentlemen protested, and a lively debate ensured. Nell and Cecily would not concede defeat, even when it was suggested they were too tender-hearted.

  ‘This is why women have no head for business,’ declared Mr Carmichael, opening up an entirely new battlefront. ‘They would be bankrupt within a month, for their hearts are too big and their brains too small to make difficult decisions.’

  Cecily could feel her anger rising. ‘Why should you say so? Surely the heart has a place in making good decisions?’

  He laughed at this, calling on the Earl for support. ‘What say you, Hawk? You are well-known for your hard-headedness in business.’

  The Earl remained impassive. ‘Of course. Rationality and the ability to master one’s base emotions are the signs of a true man.’

  ‘Then I am glad,’ declared Nell hotly, ‘that I am not a man. Money cannot be the only motivation.’ She eyed her husband. ‘Which is why I refused to sell you my home at Christmas.’

  Tom grinned, seemingly enjoying the ladies’ rebelliousness. ‘And you were right to do so, my love.’

  Cecily could not help it. Her eyes went immediately to the Earl, expecting exasperation at his brother’s romantical declaration. Instead, his visage had settled into a mask-like rigidity. ‘You were not always so irrational, brother,’ he offered, his neutral tone belying the tightness in his jaw.

  ‘Indeed,’ Tom replied coolly, his eyes flashing. ‘But I find myself becoming wiser with age. You have always exhorted me to be open to learning.’

  The Earl raised an eyebrow. ‘To learn, yes. But foolishness masquerading as learning is not wisdom.’

  Tom’s brow was furrowed, and there was a tight silence.

  ‘Of course, there can be exceptions,’ Mr Harting interjected, acting as peacemaker. ‘But in general I believe it is best to maintain a certain objectivity when it comes to matters of business. Lady Cecily, be careful, for the path is particularly uneven just here.’ He continued with a pleasantry about the weather, and then kept up a trail of benign enquiries and comments until they reached Hazledene. The party separated in the hallway, divesting themselves of boots and hats, and agreed to meet again for nuncheon in a half-hour.

  Cecily was first to climb the staircase and was surprised to find Molly the housemaid in her chamber, reorganising all Cecily’s gowns in the wardrobe.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, bobbing a quick curtsey. ‘I apologise, Lady Cecily. I can finish this later but, you see, I have been busy all morning, making the nursery more comfortable, so this is the first chance I’ve had to see to your gowns.’

  ‘The nursery?’ Cecily could not, for a moment, understand this. ‘Whatever for?’

  Molly grimaced. ‘I should not have mentioned it, my lady. Forgive me.’

  ‘Why the nursery, Molly? I insist you answer me.’

  ‘Lord Hawkenden is sleeping there. Normally he takes this, the Blue Chamber, but...’

  Cecily’s jaw dropped, then she swiftly calculated. Three main bedrooms, plus the suite that Nell and Tom were occupying. Of course!

  ‘You understand, my lady, that there is nowhere else.’

  ‘But the nursery? Was there really no other...?’ Realising how inappropriate it was to debate the matter with a housemaid, instead she bit her lip and left.

  According to the footman, the Earl was currently in a ground-floor room known as the library. She scratched at the door then opened it on hearing the command to enter. The Earl was there, and with him Mr Carmichael. The Earl was leaning back in his armchair, one hand draped casually across the arm, the other engaged in swirling a glass of amber liquid.

  Mr Carmichael, in contrast, was leaning forward in his chair, his air one of frustration at the interruption.

  ‘Oh, I apologise, my lord, Mr Carmichael. I can come back later—‘

  Both gentlemen stood, the Earl’s face breaking briefly into what looked like a genuine smile. Despite herself, she returned it.

  ‘Lady Cecily! How may I serve you?’

  Cecily already knew she could not speak of it in front of Mr Carmichael. It was bad enough that the Earl was being forced to sleep in the nursery—the nursery, for heaven’s sake—in his own home. It would be intolerable to shame him in front of his friend by revealing this fact in company.

  ‘Oh, it is nothing,’ she replied, making a vague gesture with her hands. ‘Just a—a domestic matter.’

  Was that a glint of humour in his eye? ‘Domestic matters are not “nothing”, Lady Cecily. On the contrary, it is of the utmost importance to me that all my guests are comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, but I do not wish to give the impression—That is to say, I am very comfortable with the house, and with—with everything.’

  ‘And yet you are moved to come and find me about a domestic matter?’

  He was toying with her, enjoying her discomfort. However, he was doing so in a light-hearted way, and she appreciated his relishing the opportunity to fence with her like this. Her heart danced at the connection between them. It was as though they had their own language—one that others were not even aware existed. She hugged the feeling to herself.

  Plus, her mind added, here is further evidence of his lively mind, and the good side of his nature.

  He was awaiting her reply. A streak of devilment possessed her.

  She raised an exaggerated eyebrow. ‘I could not possibly interrupt your no doubt important conversation.’ She nodded towards Mr Carmichael, who still looked cross.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Cecily,’ that gentleman replied shortly, looking at her from under his beetling brows. ‘As it happens, we were discussing an important matter of business.’

  ‘Then I shall leave you,’ she declared firmly, nodding at them both. ‘For the emotionality of having a woman present might cloud your discussions!’

  On this defiant note she made her escape, pausing outside the library door. She did not feel comfortable returning to her bedchamber, where Molly still toiled, so instead she made her way upstairs to the yellow parlour to await nuncheon. Relieved to find the room empty, she closed the door carefully and seated herself on a comfortable settee covered in straw-coloured satin.

  Enjoying the blessed silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantel and the sound of birdsong outside, she allowed her mind to drift to their trip to Crow Wood. The undoubted estrangement between the brothers. Tom’s clear adoration of his bride. Her own reaction to being in the Earl’s company. Her hand on his arm. His hand coming across to cover hers. The way he had looked at her...

  She caught her breath. She could not recall, during her previous brief infatuations, ever feeling anything this strong.

  Perhaps I am remembering it falsely.

  But, no, never could she recall anything like this. Her fascination with the Earl of Hawkenden, Jack Beresford, was not simply down to admiration of his fine figure and handsome face. She was also intrigued by his mind, his character, his essence. She wished to understand who he truly was. Why she was so intrigued by him, she did not fully understand.

  What she knew so far was puzzling to say the least. Despite his intelligence, wit and humour, she was also aware of something darker. The emptiness in him was clearly apparent to her here. There was a deep unhappiness within him, a sadness she had been unable to define until she had seen him here. In their previous passing encounters
, she had never lingered long enough to see anything other than how he behaved. His arrogant disdain was, she thought, something of a suit of armour. He used it, it seemed, to maintain a distance from others, and to disguise some sort of pain within.

  What she had learned of him today had given her pause. Both boys had clearly been hurt by their father’s coldness, although it sounded as though they had had a nurse who loved them, which must have helped. Tilly, the Earl had called her. Miss Tillot.

  Frowning, Cecily wondered where she had heard the name before, then it came to her. Molly the housemaid had said that Miss Tillot had always put warming pans in the boys’ beds. Cecily’s heart turned over at this evidence of love and warmth for little Jack and little Tom. With a nod of acknowledgement to that long-ago nurse, she turned her attention to the other gentlemen.

  She forced her mind in another direction. Mr Harting continued to gently pursue her. Calm, gentlemanlike and intelligent, yet he offered no threat to her peace of mind.

  This is a good thing, she told herself.

  Even as she said it in her mind, she knew it to be a lie. Why?

  Because of the other one.

  Swiftly averting her thoughts from pursuing that particular notion, she allowed her mind to again wrestle with the conundrum that was Jack Beresford. He seemed genuinely concerned for his brother, and Cecily had to admit that it was not unreasonable, given the speed with which Tom had met and married Nell. The Earl clearly remained sceptical about Tom’s sincerity, but since Cecily presumed him to be the person in the world who knew Tom best, she hoped he would eventually come to understand the true affection shared by the young married couple. Yes, Tom’s marriage was at the root of the brothers’ current estrangement, despite both, she suspected, being deeply unhappy about the rift between them.

  The gong sounded for nuncheon. How quickly the time had passed! Putting her worries aside, Cecily stood, smoothed her pale-yellow day gown and descended briskly to the dining room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tom and Nell were ten minutes late for nuncheon, and arrived glowing with suppressed emotion of some sort. No-one commented on their tardiness, and they all made trifling conversation as Tom served Nell with food. His bride did not seem particularly hungry, contenting herself with a long cup of tea, some freshly baked bread with yellow butter, and doting looks from her husband.

  While the others were talking, Cecily intercepted a look between Nell and Tom that she could only describe as heated.

  My goodness!

  It reminded her of how she had felt when the Earl had looked at her so intensely earlier.

  Daringly, she glanced at the Earl. How handsome he was! And how her heart fluttered at the sight of him. There was a beautiful strangeness about it, and she resolved to enjoy the thrill of it all and attempt not to allow her mind to become clouded by unnecessary thoughts. Peace of mind, she decided, was overrated.

  The gentlemen were planning a short ride in the afternoon, since the walk to Crow Wood had been completed so early in the day. They planned similar short rides for the next few days, teasing each other about how unused to riding they had become over the winter. Monday was the day fixed for a long hack, covering a full ten miles in a circular route. Cecily allowed the discussions to wash over her, having no interest in the detail of the routes they would follow on their various jaunts.

  It seemed Tom would go with them, so she was looking forward to spending some extended time with her dear Nell. The men were animated, provoking each other as friends often did. They had, it seemed, almost forgotten the women quietly observing them. Or were they, even in their raillery, playing to them as an unacknowledged audience?

  Nell, of course, mostly was fixated on her Tom, but Cecily noticed her also glancing at the Earl a couple of times from under her lashes, as if trying to understand him. Nell no longer seemed frightened of him, for which Cecily was grateful. If they were ever to become a true family, they needed to find a way to forgive each other.

  The gentlemen, fired up at the notion of riding out, set down their cutlery, agreeing to leave in the next half-hour. The ladies waved them away, confirming that they were done with eating, and the party rose.

  Nell accompanied her husband upstairs, and Cecily followed them. The Earl, catching up with her on the wide wooden staircase, spoke in a low tone. ‘What was it you wished to discuss with me earlier, Lady Cecily?’

  She glanced at him. ‘Oh, my lord, I have just discovered that you are being accommodated in the nursery. I wish to say that I would be content to sleep in the Countess’s chamber, if Nell would agree. She can share her husband’s...’

  Her voice tailed off, for he was already shaking his head.

  ‘Unacceptable.’ His tone was clipped. ‘You will have a chamber of your own, rather than be forced to sleep in an adjoining chamber. As host, I insist on it. There is nothing more to be said.’

  ‘But—must you really take to the nursery? I cannot be comfortable at the notion that I—that we—are banishing you to the attic.’

  He grinned. ‘I shall take it as a reminder that I am less than I sometimes believe myself to be. Returning to the nursery will be a useful lesson in humility, which I would imagine should please you, Lady Cecily. After all, if I had not been so hard-headed, insisting on bringing my guests to Hazledene this week, there would not have been a problem.’

  Taking this in the light-hearted way he clearly intended, she smiled. ‘A good dose of humility should be a regular tonic for any of us burdened with titles and expectations. You are an earl. I am the daughter of one. What others do not always appreciate is the burden of expectations such blood requires.’

  He grimaced ruefully. ‘True. Although it has perhaps been easier for me, I admit, since my father did not do justice to his position or his title. But your father, from what I hear, was a good man.’

  She beamed, filing away his comments about his father into a secret library in her mind, marked with his name. ‘Papa was a very good man, and well respected. He died when I was twelve. And Ash—the Fifth Earl—is equally well seen.’

  They were at the top of the stairs, at the entrance to the gallery. ‘But tell me,’ he continued, stepping to one side as Mr Carmichael and Mr Harting passed them, ‘why should it be a burden to be the daughter of an earl, Lady Cecily?’

  She considered this, tilting her head to one side. ‘They expect me to behave with propriety and decorum at all times, to marry well, and to be no-one. I must hold no opinions, come to no-one’s notice, and simply be a cipher to my father’s title. I am to be grateful to be titled ‘Lady’ and to never disappoint in terms of my appearance, my behaviour, and my choices. I am, after all, a reflection of my mother, and of my deceased father, and of my guardian. I am never just—me.’ She shrugged, recognising that she had answered the question in rather more detail than might reasonably be expected. ‘Apart from that, there is no burden at all!’ Her eyes danced with mischief, confident that he would understand her.

  He threw his head back, laughing aloud. It was a beautiful sound. ‘Lady Cecily,’ he declared, ‘you are a diamond! And I think we both know that you are very definitely “someone”. Remember, I barely know your mother, and have the highest regard for Ash. But to me you are definitely yourself, Lady Cecily.’

  There was a taut silence. After a moment he blinked, as if coming to his senses, and adopted a faux stern expression. ‘Your behaviour, however, at times does leave a lot to be desired!’

  Knowing he did not mean it, she twinkled back at him, glorying in the freedom of being fully herself. Returning to London and the rules of the season would be hard, following this heady liberty.

  He leaned closer, his gaze glinting with humour. It made her heart race even faster, and her stomach now began to tumble wonderfully. ‘So on that matter I must agree with society’s judgements!’

  ‘Sadly true,’ she sighed, maintainin
g a degree of normality despite her racing pulse. ‘I shall endeavour to do better in future.’ She sobered, looking him directly in the eye.

  I accused him of vulgarity.

  ‘And while we are on the matter, I must properly apologise for my—‘

  ‘Shh! Stop!’ He pressed a finger gently to her lips, making her heart race even faster and her mouth instantly desperate for his kiss. ‘You have no need to apologise for anything, so I do not wish to hear it, Lady Cecily.’ His hand fell away, leaving her lips bereft. ‘Whatever you may have done, responsibility for it rests with me, for I was the one who—’

  ‘Shh!’ Now it was her turn to silence him. Greatly daring, she lifted her finger and touched it to his warm lips.

  Instantly, and seemingly without forethought, he pursed his lips and kissed her finger. She snatched it away, blushing, yet knew that both her finger and her own lips were both tingling from his touch, and that every nerve in her body was suddenly alive and begging for more.

  There was a breathless silence, during which they looked at each other, both seemingly frozen. She was acutely aware that they were in the gallery, where fellow guests and servants might appear at any instant. If not for that...

  He was first to recover. ‘Actually, perhaps I should accept an apology after all, Lady Cecily. Now that it comes to it, I confess I am a little daunted by my return to the nursery. Who knows what horrors await in the attics? My first night there was uneventful, but I am yet to be convinced there are not spiders, or mice, or worse!’

  How was it possible to feel such disappointment and yet such relief at one and the same time? The pull between them just now had been exquisitely, wonderfully terrible, and Cecily was both glad and devastated that the moment had passed.

  ‘I confess,’ she said, ‘to a certain curiosity, my lord. I think I shall venture upstairs to view the attics while you gentlemen are all preparing to ride out—with your permission, of course? Tom showed us around the main floors, but we did not venture below stairs or to the attics.’ She raised a quizzical eyebrow. Somehow, Hazledene held answers to questions she was puzzling over.