Captivating the Cynical Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  Another notion struck her as she quelled her inner outrage. Somehow, she realised, she was aligning herself not just with Nell but with the Beresfords, too.

  Hmm... While she understood why she had so quickly developed a sisterly loyalty for Tom, she knew that, somehow, Jack was all mixed up in her inner alliances, too. And her feelings for Jack, new and fresh as they were, seemed anything but sisterly.

  ‘Of course—’ Mrs Standish was still talking. ‘—I have not had the opportunity to see inside Hazledene before, although my husband and the Earl are, naturally, great friends.’ Her husband looked rather taken aback by this intelligence, which was clearly fresh news to him. ‘All of the ladies in the district have admired the Earl and his brother for many years but have never had the opportunity to cultivate their acquaintance before.’ She sighed. ‘Hunting-boxes are all very well, but it is such a pity when gentlemen keep to themselves, do you not agree, Lady Cecily?’ Her smile and expectant air invited a response that Cecily felt unable to give.

  ‘Yet here we are,’ she offered brightly, after a pause, ‘and so you are finally able to visit!’

  Mrs Standish leaned forward, placing a large hand on Nell’s small one. ‘A pity one of them is now wed, although I am sure you will disagree with me. Still, at least it is the younger brother!’

  Nell’s eyes flashed fire at this. Concerned that she might forget herself, Cecily intervened smoothly, addressing the Squire. ‘The gentlemen, as you have seen, have recently arrived from a long ride around the countryside. Do you also enjoy the sport?’

  ‘I do,’ he confirmed, his kind face creased with a smile, ‘although my portliness means I cannot take the fences the way I once did.’ He laughed. ‘My horses now are stouter and slower—much like myself!’

  Cecily blinked at his directness, while Nell made a noise that sounded extremely like a stifled giggle. Thankfully, at that moment the door opened to admit the Earl.

  ‘Stand up straight, Lucinda!’ Mrs Standish hissed at her daughter as they rose. The girl looked terrified.

  If the Earl had heard the comment, he gave no sign of it. Following an exchange of greetings, they all took their seats again, the Earl choosing a spot beside Cecily on the straw-coloured settee. The fact that her heart was beating harder might be due to her annoyance at Mrs Standish’s coarseness. Or it might not.

  The indelicacy continued, albeit it now had a different tone. Mrs Standish, ignoring Nell and Cecily completely, focused her attention entirely on the Earl. She flattered, she simpered, and she dragged her poor daughter into the conversation at every possible opportunity. ‘My Lucinda loves to ride—do you not, Lucinda?’ ‘Quite the prettiest girl in the district, so they say!’ and ‘My darling Lucinda is a wonderful dancer! Do you dance, my lord?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ His tone was flat. As the conversation had continued, he had gone from polite urbanity to withdrawn cynicism, although on the surface all seemed well.

  Frankly, Cecily was embarrassed by Mrs Standish’s performance. Embarrassed for her sex. While she had seen many matchmaking mamas during her London seasons, she had never before observed at close hand such tactics tried out on a discerning gentleman, and one that she had somewhat come to know. To a stranger’s eyes, the Earl may have seemed polite, even engaged at times. Cecily, who was beginning to read the tiny signs of his true feelings, was able to see the true impact of Mrs Standish’s shameless vulgarity.

  Still, when the Squire’s wife invited the entire party to her home for an evening soirée, the Earl could only agree. Since Mrs Standish had already established that they were to remain in the district for at least another three weeks, he could hardly refuse. He thanked her for the invitation and did not even flinch when she replied that she would be the envy of all the neighbours.

  ‘For, my lord,’ she declared with glee, ‘I have managed to do what no-one has ever done and persuaded you to a social evening in the district. Mind...’ she wagged a teasing finger at him ‘...it will be a simple country affair, my lord. Just the local families coming together for a bite to eat and maybe a country dance or two.’

  ‘It sounds delightful.’

  ‘It will be.’ She rose, with the air of a person who had just accomplished a difficult feat. ‘Come, Lucinda, we must not take up any more of His Lordship’s time.’

  They all rose, her husband draining his teacup in one long gulp before setting it down on the side table. Clearly, their sudden departure was a surprise to him. He pumped the Earl’s hand with smiling enthusiasm. ‘A pleasure to see you again, my lord.’

  Goodbyes were exchanged, and the Standish family finally moved out to the hallway. Cecily, Nell and the Earl accompanied them to the front door, where they waved them off. As they turned back inside, Tom appeared, descending the staircase. ‘Have they gone?’ he asked, with an exaggerated tone. He was grinning, his face alight with mischief.

  The Earl shook his head. ‘Tom, Tom. You wound me! You abandoned us—two defenceless ladies and your own brother—to the mercies of the entire Standish family.’

  ‘I have no doubt you were well able to manage them. Besides, I was changing my clothes. I could not come to the parlour while smelling of horse!’

  ‘I too was out riding, in case you had forgotten.’

  ‘Ah, but you have the knack of changing clothes in a flash. Must be that valet of yours.’ He turned to his wife. ‘How awful was she?’

  ‘Mrs Standish? Well, she did express disappointment that one of you was now married...’

  Both brothers grinned at this, exchanging rueful glances. It warmed Cecily’s heart to see it. Might there be a thawing in the coldness between them?

  ‘But she then declared her relief that at least it was the younger brother!’

  They could not help it, all laughing at the absurdity of it. At that moment Cecily was conscious of feeling in charity with all three of them. Invisible threads, as subtle as any embroidery, were needling through them and between them, creating a picture of greens and yellows, deeper oranges and blues. The finished pattern was unclear, and under the surface the threads tangled terribly, but something—she was unsure what it was—something was possible.

  ‘Sadly, without your presence as my aide-de-camp, I was unable to evade the trap of her invitation,’ the Earl continued.

  Tom groaned. ‘Let me guess. Dinner at Rywell House?’

  ‘Worse. A soirée.’

  Tom put a hand to his head. ‘Years of successful evasion, of avoiding her outside church, of telling her we were already committed on whatever date she suggested. Yet now you have succumbed, and all of us must pay.’

  The Earl grinned. ‘It is all your fault, brother, for you are the one who got married!’ He winked at Nell to take the sting out of his words, making her blink in surprise.

  ‘Have our guests gone?’ Mr Harting now joined them.

  ‘They have, sadly,’ the Earl replied, perjuring himself without hesitation. ‘Still, they have invited us to a soirée at their house on Thursday.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid,’ declared Mr Harting, seemingly unaware of the suppressed humour of the party. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Surprisingly, I am truly looking forward to tonight’s soirée,’ Cecily confided to Nell. Both young ladies were in Cecily’s chamber, and the maids were almost done dressing their hair for the evening. Cecily loved the feeling of anticipation she sometimes enjoyed with Nell when they were preparing for an evening event together. Even with all the tiresomeness of unwanted attentions from bosky gentlemen, of crushes, of overheated rooms and a lack of air, there was something wonderful about wearing a pretty gown, having one’s hair dressed, and going out.

  Tonight Cecily had donned a gown of gold transparent gauze over a gold-and-yellow satin slip, while Nell had chosen a pale green silk, trimmed with a full fall of lace. Both dresses wer
e long in the waist and cut low around the bust, in line with the current fashion. With glossy curls, matching fillets, satin slippers and white kid gloves, both ladies were now almost ready.

  ‘Me, too,’ Nell agreed as their eyes met in the dressing-table mirror. The maids finished their task and departed, taking the curling irons with them, and the young ladies smoothed their dresses and picked up their fans, ready to descend.

  Cecily grinned, sensing that Nell’s excitement matched her own. ‘Although I am enjoying our quiet sojourn in the country, I confess an occasional soirée is always welcome.’

  ‘I care not whether we have soirées, or walks, or whether we simply stay in beautiful Hazledene all the while. What I care about is having you and Tom with me. At times I still cannot believe my good fortune!’ She frowned. ‘There are still worries, of course. But I do not feel unsupported.’

  They both knew there was no time to speak of important matters just now, which was something of a relief, since Cecily wondered if Nell had noticed the flirtation she had begun with the Earl, and if she had, what Nell made of it.

  In a turn of events she had not anticipated, Cecily’s own time and attention had been happily taken up simply by being at Hazledene. She was fast building firm friendships with the entire party, and for the first time in her life could plausibly claim to have friends who were men. She had come to know them all fairly well already, and was developing something like affection for all of them.

  Needless to say, her burgeoning friendship with the Earl was complicated by that thrilling attraction she felt towards him. They frequently walked out together, and Cecily had come to rely on the thrill of being in his company, of learning more about him, and of the tingle of excitement that she always felt in his company. They discussed all manner of topics—none of them personal—but she had come to understand him a little more, while also gradually sharing more of her own thoughts and opinions with him.

  She lived for those occasions when he would give her a look that made her senses tingle. He had not done so at any point today, she realised. The thought left her feeling a little bereft, so she immediately dismissed it, focusing instead on the delights of the evening ahead. Would he dance with her?

  As she and Nell walked along the gallery, making for the wide stairway, she mused aloud, ‘Earlier, I was thinking about tonight’s party, and I realised I am strongly reminded of the time Prinny came to one of my Mama’s soirées.’

  Nell’s eyes widened. ‘The Prince Regent himself? What happened?’

  ‘As you may imagine, Mama was exceedingly excited, but also terribly nervous. She planned everything down to the last detail.’ Cecily chuckled. ‘At least, she talked of every last detail. At great length. I, naturally, did the work.’

  Nell lifted her eyes to heaven in sympathy. They both knew Cecily’s mama well. ‘But why should you be reminded of that tonight? We have had no preparations to worry about, beyond our own toilettes.’

  ‘Ah, it was not us I was considering, but Mrs Standish.’

  Nell lifted a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘It is true! As far as Mrs Standish is concerned, securing the Earl for her soirée is a significant achievement. Who knows how much preparation she has insisted upon?’

  ‘I actually have some sympathy for her. It must be hard, having an Earl always just out of reach, and with a daughter to fire off!’

  Nell snorted. ‘If she thinks he has any interest in her daughter, she is mistaken.’

  ‘Indeed. And yet, when gentlemen marry, they often choose meek debutantes like Miss Standish. There is no accounting for it!’ Just for a second, Cecily imagined him married to the shy Miss Standish.

  Why, he would terrify the poor girl!

  The notion of his marrying Miss Standish—marrying anyone—disturbed her, so she shrugged it off. They turned the corner and paused at the top of the lower staircase, hearing voices below.

  ‘And here they are!’ Mr Carmichael had clearly been watching out for them. ‘Ladies!’ He gave a deep bow as the other gentlemen turned to greet them.

  All four were dressed in the required evening dress—evening breeches, snowy-white shirts and cravats. The only difference was the colour of their jackets. The Earl’s was a moss-green, and clung perfectly to his frame, while the other gentlemen were in russet, black and dark blue. Cecily barely noticed them, for her eyes had met the Earl’s, and the way he was looking at her brought a blush to her cheeks. The brief flirtation was still in place, then, on his part as well as hers. Something suspiciously like relief raced through her.

  ‘Beautiful!’

  ‘You look simply divine!’

  Mr Harting and Mr Carmichael were fulsome in their praise. The ladies accepted the compliments graciously, while Tom kissed his wife’s hand, whispering something in her ear.

  The Earl stood by mutely. He had murmured a polite greeting but had held back on any praise for the ladies’ appearance. As ever, this evidence of his discomfiture was a little amusing. For a man normally so assured, so serene in his knowledge of his own place, he clearly struggled at times when in the company of Cecily and Nell. For different reasons, perhaps. Besides, his eyes had already let Cecily know he admired her appearance tonight.

  ‘We shall use both carriages this evening, rather than all trying to fit uncomfortably into the coach.’ The Earl had found his voice, it seemed, but his tone was flat, his face expressionless.

  ‘An excellent notion, Hawk. Lady Cecily, might I accompany you in the first carriage?’ Mr Harting, moving swiftly, claimed Cecily’s hand. Mr Carmichael, not to be outdone, declared that he, too, would travel in the first coach. Since Tom and Nell would undoubtedly travel together, that left His Lordship with two poor choices; accompany the lovebirds as an unwanted third, or squeeze into the first carriage with Cecily and his two friends.

  Seeing his brow furrow, Cecily caught her breath.

  Oh, dear!

  Reading his expressions was one of her favourite pursuits, although working out the source of his current discomfiture was not difficult. She reflected on this as they donned their cloaks and made for the carriages. How had she come to know him so well?

  She shrugged. She just had. She now could read his moods, could sometimes almost read thoughts as they flitted fleetingly across his handsome face. At other times he appeared shuttered, closed off from everyone. At those moments she suspected he was slamming his inner doors on thoughts or feelings he did not wish to entertain. His solution, she guessed, was to choose to feel nothing.

  Automatically, she replied to Mr Harting’s comment, and a few minutes later they set off, Mr Harting joining Cecily on the forward-facing seats. Mr Carmichael had secured the seat facing her, while the Earl had joined them at quite the last minute, squeezing in beside the rotund Carmichael. Seeing his thunderous expression, Cecily swiftly turned her gaze outside before her amusement became obvious.

  He remained silent during the entire journey, which took no more than twenty-five minutes. The horses proceeded sedately and carefully along the dark road, flambeaux helping them find their way. The homeward journey would be a little easier, for the half-moon would rise later.

  Cecily was well-entertained, for her two admirers tried to outdo each other in comment, and wit, and queries after her comfort. The fact that she was unaffected by the two gentlemen’s efforts to secure her attention was, she believed, obvious to anyone with an eye to see it. The more they exclaimed, however, the less the Earl seemed to like it. Cecily almost felt sorry for him, but she was enjoying his frustration too much to do so. If it had been socially permissible for him to raise his eyes to heaven, he would have done so, she had little doubt. Eventually, he gave up any pretence of following their conversation, and gazed outward into the darkness.

  Instantly, she felt rather forsaken, as though the sun had gone behind a cloud.

  I must not take this flirtati
on with too much seriousness.

  To do so could be dangerous to her inner tranquillity, which, at this instant, seemed to have abandoned her. Firmly, she told herself not to be foolish. An entertaining evening lay ahead. There was no need to think overmuch on one person’s opinion of her.

  * * *

  Jack was sorely regretting inviting Carmichael and Harting to Hazledene. Yes, he had swiftly secured Harting’s agreement to sell him the field he wanted, but he could surely have contrived a way of doing so in London. And while it was true that Carmichael had a business proposition for him to consider, Jack kept, for reasons unknown, deferring the necessary conversation about it. His mind was strangely disinterested in matters of business. He currently wished he had agreed to meet Carmichael in his club or his library in the townhouse, or a blasted gaming den, for all he cared. Having the man continually dancing attendance on Lady Cecily was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  Cannot he see that she has no real interest in him?

  Lady Cecily, intelligence glinting in her amber eyes, was co-operating with Carmichael’s games, although her fancy was clearly not engaged. She tolerated the man, being polite and even friendly towards him, but he might as well be a chimney sweep, Jack knew, for all the chance he had with the lady.

  Harting was a different matter. Lady Cecily seemed to genuinely like and respect him. And, indeed, why should she not? Harting was known to be a good fellow. Jack frowned. Something about the situation was profoundly unsettling.

  He glanced at Cecily again. She had had her hair done in one of those elaborate evening styles that women favoured. It suited her, as did the elegant golden gown, he grudgingly admitted, though the thought of her beauty being even more apparent than usual gave him no joy. His peace was already destroyed, and he had now almost resigned himself to a bleak existence where he was condemned to eternally dwell upon Lady Cecily’s beauty, and Lady Cecily’s charm, and Lady Cecily’s kindness.