His mouth went dry at the thought. He had no desire to win her heart. Not like that. He’d always thought of her as another sister, and she—well, he hardly thought it fair to ask her to look upon him with the same affection she bore for his brother.
Olivia might have been fair, and there was no doubt that she would be an equal as far as ancestry, fortune, and land. She was the perfect match for the Earl of Charmian. Offering for her hand would be the right thing to do, it would do well by his brother’s memory, and it would be the responsible choice for the earldom. It was for the best, and yet…
“Should she refuse, you will have any number of other options.” Aunt Gertie seemed determined to misread him. One of the downfalls of having one’s default expression be a glare or a scowl or a frown.
He had not quite figured out how he ought to respond to the comment that he could have his pick of ladies when Tess and Clara interrupted and joined the conversation.
“I am so glad you’re home, Alex,” his sister said with a warm smile. “Now that the whole family is here, we shall have a splendid Christmastide, I just know it.”
He felt that warmth again, the one that made his chest ache. The whole family. It wasn’t the whole family, there was a noticeable absence, but seeing his sister’s delight at his arrival was heartening nonetheless.
“And we’ll have so many visitors,” she said, sitting upright with a flourish.
Clara beside her had already straightened and was sitting beside his sister, her hands clasped in her lap with a polite smile fixed firmly in place.
Extraordinary. The woman seated before him looked every bit the picture of propriety. Gone was the whirling dervish with the devilish glint in her eyes. There was no hint of that other girl. In her place was a demure paragon of womanly virtue.
He found himself transfixed by the change in her. So much so, his aunt nudged his side as she rose from the pianoforte. “I see someone has already caught your eye,” she said under her breath.
He stiffened, tearing his gaze away from the prim and proper young lady before him to scowl at his aunt instead. “Do not be ridiculous.”
Gertie merely smiled, ignoring him as she went to join her companion on the settee, sitting in the seat Tess had abandoned when she went to ring for refreshments.
Imagine. Him interested in Miss Clara Lovelace. It was unthinkable. He’d heard the stories—everyone had. Poor girl had been done wrong by her parents, that much was certain, but it did not change the fact that she was a scandal. Definitely not a viable option for a countess.
He adored his aunt for her generous spirit in taking the girl in as a companion, but that was the most his family could do for her. He was the earl now. There were expectations that came with the role. His father had lived up to those, his brother had exceeded them. Now it was his turn.
Family. Duty. Legacy. These were the words that ruled his life.
He viciously shoved aside the burning bitter taste that followed the now-familiar lecture. He was lecturing himself, but it was his father’s voice he heard. His father’s speech as he drilled it into Frederick.
Alex had always been spared the speech. The spare had been spared. Ha!
There it was again. The bitter taste he so abhorred. Contrary to what most likely believed, he’d never envied his brother. In fact, he’d always pitied him, just a bit. He watched as his brother did what was expected, never knowing the fine satisfaction that came from paving one’s own way, from choosing a livelihood that was satisfying and true to one’s self.
Alex had been lucky. His family had been wealthy enough to provide him a living so he was free to pursue his studies of plants and agriculture. He was able to stay in his little corner of the world and contribute to society with his papers and his findings.
Yes, he’d been lucky. He just did not realize how lucky until that freedom was taken away from him, replaced by a burden greater than he could bear.
“Alex, did you hear a word I said?” Tess demanded.
He realized only then that she’d come to stand directly in front of him and her arms were crossed as she fixed him with a level glare.
“Er…no,” he admitted.
She rolled her eyes. “I was telling you all the lively entertainment we’ll have these next few weeks.” For what must have been the second time, she rattled off the visitors they’d be having, the dinner parties they would be throwing, the events they were to attend.
With each event she named, his gut churned anew until he was ready to double over from nausea. Each of these would be a test. Eyes watching him, waiting for him to fail. Everyone expecting him to be the sort of man his brother was—the noble, valiant, charming earl. The handsome, dashing gentleman with the social graces and the winning smile.
And then they would see him.
They would watch him falter through every conversation and they would know. The jokes that had started at his expense during the last season would gain traction as he proved the rumors true.
He was not meant to be an earl, and everyone would soon know it.
His aunt rose, her gaze steady on him as though she could read his every thought. He knew for a fact that his facial muscles had not moved, so unless she was psychic, she could not know what he was feeling.
“I told you, Alex, I brought reinforcements.” She tilted her head ever so slightly toward her new companion. His glance fell on Clara, and he started. There was such sympathy in her eyes. Such understanding.
No, it was impossible. A veritable stranger could not see what his own sister was so blithely unaware of.
Could she?
“Clara is marvelous,” Tess gushed. “Why, she’s already taught me a dance that will ensure I am the belle of the ball.” She fluttered her lashes teasingly, making them all smile—even him. The movement felt awkward, as usual. His face had not been made for smiles. They tended to appear more like grimaces.
“Clara went to finishing school, isn’t that right, dear?” Her aunt cast her a motherly smile. “I was dear friends with her mother before she passed, and I’ve watched this girl grow into a fine young lady. She’s taken it upon herself to teach her younger sister and her cousins, and they’ve turned into some of the most accomplished ladies of the ton.”
Clara’s smile was humble and never faltered, though Alex was certain everyone present understood that the reason she’d become a governess and now a companion was because of the dire straits her father had left her in.
He felt a surge of annoyance on her behalf. Not toward his aunt—she wasn’t being intentionally rude. No, toward her father. Toward her uncles and any other extended family she had who’d let her and her sister fall into ruin.
This was why a gentleman must live up to expectations. The moment he failed society, he failed his family. The second he fell from grace, his family tumbled alongside him.
He straightened, his gaze moving over Clara once more, this time with a new hope. If she could work such miracles on the ladies of her acquaintance, perhaps she could be of assistance. Maybe he wasn’t doomed to failure, after all.
He was an academic, after all. He thrived on theory and studies. Wouldn’t it make sense that social graces could be learned just as mathematics or science?
Certainly.
This lady had gone to school for it. And if his aunt was correct, she was an adequate teacher. There was no reason to believe that he could not learn. His gaze narrowed on her and he caught the flicker of her lips, the hint of mischief behind her eyes.
He felt almost certain that something was communicated between them in that moment. An understanding, perhaps.
He vowed it to himself right then and there. If she could help him—he would do all that was in his power to help her in return.
Chapter Two
What was that?
Clara stared up at the ceiling of her new bedroom and tried not to think about it.
But no, honestly…what was that?
For the life of her she could not stop thinking abou
t that stare. That glare. That…oh, she didn’t know what to call it. The way Lord Charmian had looked at her had made her spine tingle and her knees weak.
Each and every time.
But it was that final look, the one he’d given her as his aunt lauded her social graces.
Social graces. She snorted in a most unladylike manner—the ceiling was her only audience and surely the crown molding did not care. All her life she’d wasted her time learning to embroider, to play music, to dance, to flirt—though not too much. Her father had spared no expense getting her the finest tutors in French and Italian, in ensuring that she knew the perfect way to entertain, to serve, to talk—though again, not too much. No one wanted an overly flirtatious chatterbox for a wife.
Her life had been a never-ending lesson in balance. Learning how to smile just enough to be charming yet proper, how to speak just enough to be entertaining but not loud, how to laugh at the right volume so as to be diverting but not garish.
It was exhausting.
And for what? All so she could walk the tightrope that was society.
But what happened when one fell? What good did all that balancing do when one was flat on the ground looking up at the other performers who still performed on the tightrope, their heads held high as if they couldn’t see her. As if they themselves would never fall.
She huffed as she plumped her pillow beneath her head, trying to get comfortable and failing. It wasn’t the bed, or the pillow. It wasn’t even the image of gray eyes—so dark, so fierce, so intense that they were impossible to look away from. No, it was the same thing that had kept her awake for countless nights ever since her father took his life and left her and her sister alone with nothing. He’d left them with a mountain of debt, pitiful objects of charity for her mother’s friends to take care of.
No one in society thought this would happen to them, but then—she’d never thought she’d be here either. With all the money her father had spent on her, how was she to know that it was money he did not have? There had never been any signs that her life had been built on a pile of sand. Yet, one brisk wind and it had all crumpled beneath her.
She was lucky that the Dowager had always liked her. That she felt a loyalty to her mother, even now after death. Clara was lucky that their mother’s cousin had taken in her younger sister, Edith, but she could not ask that they give her the debut she deserved. They had three daughters of their own and they could not be expected to pay for Edith’s coming out as well.
She and Edith had both gone to their mother’s cousin immediately after her father’s death. And in the months before the Dowager came for her, she had done what the Dowager had told Alex. She’d taught the daughters all that she’d been taught.
Useless now for her, so why not impart her expensive gifts on those who might stand a chance of using them?
She sat up with a sigh. Well, now she was just feeling sorry for herself, and that had never done anyone any amount of good.
From experience she knew the best way to steer clear of a good wallow was to distract herself. Preferably with a book. She’d finished the last gothic novel—the one the Dowager had lent her when she’d discovered they both shared the same love of dark romantic adventures. She highly doubted that the library at this particular home held anything so fanciful as a gothic romance.
Her mind flashed back to those eyes. That stare. The dark hair, stern features, and furrowed brow that gave the Earl of Charmian a brooding air that would have made him an excellent hero in a gothic novel.
The thought made her grin as she swung her legs out of bed and donned a wrap over her night rail.
He might have the look of a romantic hero, but she couldn’t image any hero being quite so stodgy. Her smile grew as she bit back a laugh at the memory of the way he’d been so shocked by the sight of her, how he’d fumbled for words when being introduced.
Perhaps he wasn’t stodgy, just…odd. Either way, she’d liked it. She’d liked him. After so many years of dealing with the suave, eloquent, and shallow men of the ton, he was a breath of fresh air.
A stern, brooding breath of fresh air.
The halls were silent as she crept past the Dowager’s bedroom door beside hers and down the stairs to the main floor where she’d passed a library.
The floors didn’t so much as creak as she crept, which made her feel even more like a trespasser. Silliness. She was a guest in this house, was she not? Tess had made her feel welcome from the moment she’d stepped foot.
Tess’s brother? Not as much. But despite the flicker of recognition when he’d learned of her name, he had not done as other gentlemen might have done. He had not looked at her with derision, or disdain, or—worst of all—pity.
She shivered at the thought. Or perhaps the shiver was from the draft that swept through the empty hallway. When she reached the library, she pushed it open but blinked in surprise to find that it was not empty as the hallways had been.
The fire cast a warm glow and she blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light. Slowly the shadows came to life, and she saw the earl—it had to be the earl—as he stretched his legs out before him and shifted.
Had he seen her? She could not be sure. A little part of her wanted to back out without a word, scurry back down the hallway to avoid any more of these tense, searching glares from this unreadable, strange creature.
She might have done so if he hadn’t leaned forward, bringing his profile into view and his eyes glistening in the firelight as they stared at her.
Her breath caught. Oh my. That stare was intimidating. No, not intimidating. It was nerve-wracking, perhaps, but not frightening. She took a step into the room.
His stare was…intriguing.
“May I help you find something?” he said, hurrying to his feet once he realized who she was. No doubt he’d assumed her to be the housekeeper or a servant at first glance.
“I just came to find a book,” she said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She was standing in a library. Of course it was a book she was after.
“Ah.” His gaze didn’t look startled, but she wasn’t certain his stoic brooding face had the ability to show surprise. He seemed to be made of stone when it came to emotions. It was only the way he’d floundered for words that had made her think he wasn’t all that unflappable.
In fact, she thought perhaps he might even be shy.
The thought made her warm toward him, though he had done nothing at all to encourage her. She found herself smiling at him kindly, hoping to put him at ease.
It seemed she knocked him sideways instead.
He stumbled a bit as he hurried toward her. “What sort of book were you looking for?”
“Uh…” She scrambled to think of a topic that would make her appear as intelligent and serious as her host. Oh, what did it matter? She had no reputation to protect. Besides, she was certain no one could be as serious as he. “I do not suppose there is anything in the romance genre around here, is there?”
He looked at her as though she’d spoken Greek.
“Never mind,” she mumbled.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I was merely thinking.” He took three steps to the left and reached up to the third shelf, pulling out a book and handing it to her without a second glance.
She blinked in surprise. “My goodness, either you have an excellent memory or you are very well acquainted with the books in this library if you are able to pull out a book without even looking.”
She could not be sure in the dim lighting, but she was fairly certain he blushed.
No, that could not be right.
“A little of both, I suppose,” he said.
She glanced down at the book in her hands and fought a laugh. “Sonnets.”
How did it seem so uncharacteristic and yet so utterly lovely that this stiff, proper earl knew exactly where to find the poetry?
She glanced up at him through her lashes. “You can be honest with me, my lord. Are you secretly a poet?”
His eyes widened in his most expressive look yet. He quite aptly expressed horror, to be precise. “Er…no. Pardon me? No. No, of course not.”
Her smile widened. “I was merely teasing, my lord.”
He stiffened. “Of course.”
She instantly felt regret. He might look untouched by the world around him but she had a suspicion that was all a façade. In fact…
She looked from him to the book in her hands. She was starting to believe perhaps he wasn’t unfeeling at all. Indeed, it was starting to seem as though he felt more than most.
She softened her smile as well as her tone. “I would not be surprised to find you were a poet at heart, I think.”
A slight hitch of one brow was the only answer to that.
She nodded, her eyes narrowing as though she were deep in thought. “Yes, I think you are quite a romantic.” She gave him a bright smile. “But then, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? You are, after all, the Earl of Charm.”
She’d meant to tease him about the well-known moniker, to lighten the seemingly ever-present seriousness in those dark eyes. She’d meant to rid the air of this tension that she could not quite explain. She’d never felt intimidated in a man’s presence before—not the most dashing, nor the most handsome. There was no reason for her to feel it now.
He looked down at the ground and the only clue to his feelings was a tick in his jaw. “Ah yes, the Earl of Charm.”
She swallowed. It did not take a genius to see that this man was peeved by the comment. “It is a compliment, is it not?”
His eyes shot up, his head still tilted down. It caught her by surprise, making her feel pinned in place like a butterfly in an exhibit. She stayed utterly still as he watched her. Studied her. She felt the tension ease out of him as he lifted his head. “My aunt says that you have a special gift for teaching the rules of society.”
Her brows flew up in surprise at the sudden turn in the conversation, at the almost accusatory tone. “Why, yes. I have been known to give lessons.” She took a step forward toward the fire so she could see him better. So he could see her. “Typically my students are ladies, however—”
Earl of Charm: Wicked Earls’ club Page 2