The Bachelor Earl

by Burke, Darcy

  “We shall.” She put her fingers on his, and the feel of her flesh against his—for no one had donned gloves after dinner—sent a wave of longing through him.

  He had no idea what the next several days held in store, but he could hardly wait to find out.

  Chapter 3

  Following a respite after breakfast the next day, everyone gathered in the ballroom, where a dais had been set up. Two rows of ten chairs each stood before it. On the dais was the pianoforte, which Genie had declined to play. And Cecilia had asked. She’d also graciously accepted Genie’s refusal.

  Genie had thoroughly enjoyed dancing last night. So much that even if the rest of the party was a dismal bore, she would be delighted she’d come.

  It wouldn’t be a bore, however, not with Lord Satterfield in attendance. He’d quite dazzled her last night with his dancing ability as well as his conversation. He’d been witty and charming during their dance, and afterward, when they’d spent some time discussing their love of horses, dislike of hot weather, and boredom with the minuet.

  Caught up in her thoughts, Genie nearly ran into Lord Satterfield as they both arrived at the second row at the same time. She lifted her hand to her chest. “Pardon me, I almost didn’t see you. I’m afraid I was lost in thought.”

  “And here I was, completely fixed on you from the moment I entered the ballroom,” he said with a smile. “What were you thinking of?”

  “Last night, actually. I was recalling your story of your disastrous minuet with—I forget whom. I think I was laughing too hard to even hear her name.”

  “The whom is inconsequential. No one wanted to dance with me after that.” He’d told her he gave up asking anyone for the rest of that Season.

  “Well, if I’d known, I would have declined your offer last night,” she said saucily.

  “Then you would have missed out on a sublime set, because we danced very well together. I didn’t step on your foot, nor did I knock you to the ground.” Both were things he’d done during the Monstrous Minuet, as he’d called it.

  Genie laughed lightly as he gestured to the two open seats at the end of the row. “After you,” he said.

  Stepping into the row, Genie took her seat. Lord Satterfield followed suit, moving the tails of his coat as he sat. He wore a superbly tailored coat of fine dark blue wool. His cravat was almost blindingly white, particularly against the dark color of the coat.

  “Will you tell me now what you plan to perform?” Genie asked.

  He grinned and shook his head. “You don’t have long to wait.”

  “Then may I at least ask if the pianoforte is functional?”

  He turned slightly toward her. “Have you changed your mind about playing?”

  “I have not, but I see it’s on the dais, so clearly, someone intends to play. It would be a shame if it didn’t work.”

  “I have done nothing to interfere with its functionality,” Lord Satterfield said, lifting his hand to his chest.

  Cecilia stepped onto the dais and faced the assembly. “I see everyone is here. Splendid. We have nine performances to enjoy. We will begin with Lord Satterfield, who will dazzle us with his portrayal of Hamlet in a selection from Shakespeare’s masterpiece.”

  Genie turned her head sharply to Satterfield, surprised at his choice. She didn’t have time to say anything as he stood and made his way to the dais.

  He helped Cecilia down, then stepped up. “Thank you, Lady Cosford. As she said, I shall perform a piece from Hamlet. Act 3, Scene 1, to be specific.”

  The room instantly quieted as he turned and presented his back. Genie loved Shakespeare, and this soliloquy was one of her favorite passages. She edged forward in her chair, expecting him to turn around and begin.

  But he kept his back to them as he began to speak, his voice deep and slow.

  To be, or not to be? That is the question—

  Then he turned, but only partially. She studied his profile, her gaze lingering on the masculine cut of his jaw. He lifted his right hand.

  Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

  The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

  Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

  He turned fully toward them, dropping his hand back to his side, his voice strong and steady, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond where they sat. Genie realized she held her breath and forced herself to exhale.

  And, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—

  No more—and by a sleep to say we end

  The heartache and the thousand natural shocks

  That flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation

  Devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep.

  To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,

  His head shifted slightly, and his eye twitched.

  For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

  When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

  Must give us pause. There’s the respect

  That makes calamity of so long life.

  His forehead creased as he went silent. For a fleeting moment, Genie wondered if he’d forgotten the rest. But no, this was too beautiful, too intentional. She held her breath again until he continued. Then his voice returned, more stirring and seductive than before.

  For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

  Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

  The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,

  The insolence of office, and the spurns

  That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,

  When he himself might his quietus make

  With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

  To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

  But that the dread of something after death,

  He reached out, his fingers extending. Genie fought the urge to copy his movement, to seek the answers they could never find in this life. She’d found comfort in these words after Jerome had died, and now she found a different solace—an awakening.

  The undiscovered country from whose bourn

  No traveler returns, puzzles the will

  And makes us rather bear those ills we have

  Than fly to others that we know not of?

  Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

  He lowered his hand to his side. His gaze moved, just slightly, and Genie imagined he glanced at her. Was she a coward for not performing? No, of course not.

  And thus the native hue of resolution

  Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

  And enterprises of great pitch and moment

  With this regard their currents turn awry,

  And lose the name of action.

  A moment of silence passed, then he bowed. The ballroom erupted in applause. Genie wanted desperately for him to continue. Alas, he did not. He bowed again, smiling, then took himself from the dais. He helped Cecilia up, then came back to his seat.

  “My goodness, that was thrilling, wasn’t it?” Cecilia said, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful. And now for a song from Mrs. Fitzwarren!”

  Genie registered what her cousin said, but her focus was on Satterfield as he sat down beside her. “That was brilliant,” she whispered. “I wish you could continue.”

  He looked at her askance. “Thank you.”

  “Could you?” She angled herself toward him. “Continue, I mean.”

  “Would you take on the role of Ophelia?” he asked with a slight smile.

  “I could.”

  His gaze locked with hers as Mrs. Fitzwarren began to sing a ballad of love and marriage—rather fitting for this party. Genie wondered if Cecilia had asked her to sing that song in particular.

  They turned their attention to the dais. Mrs. Fitzwarren had a beautiful voice. But Genie was still lost in Satterfield’s riveting performance. He could have enjoyed a career on the stage.

  Genie kept stealing glances toward him, each one longer than the last as she drank in his p
rofile. What was happening?

  She forced herself to watch Mrs. Fitzwarren as her voice soared. All the while, she was completely aware of Lord Satterfield’s proximity. Maybe just one more look…

  As Genie peeked in his direction, her breath caught. He was watching her, his dark eyes smoldering. Had he been stealing glances too?

  She couldn’t look away. If she dropped her hand to her side, and he did the same, their fingers might touch…

  What was she doing? Genie swung her attention back to Mrs. Fitzwarren and clasped her hands together in her lap.

  The song ended, and Genie considered leaving. Except she’d have to move past Lord Satterfield, and right now, she didn’t trust herself to even speak to him. Doing so might betray her…what?

  “That was lovely,” he said, drawing Genie to turn her head.

  He’d leaned toward her, and now they were very close. Almost unbearably so. But Genie didn’t move. “Yes, but I still enjoyed your performance more,” she said softly so that no one else could hear.

  His eyes gleamed. “You flatter me.”

  Genie fought to keep the conversation focused on…anything. “How long did it take you to memorize the speech last night in preparation for today?” She kept her voice just above a whisper.

  “None.” He also spoke in a low tone. “I committed it to memory years ago. Along with a sonnet or four and a few other favorite speeches from Master Shakespeare’s plays.”

  Oh dear, he loved Shakespeare too. “Is Hamlet your favorite?”

  “It is indeed.”

  “Mine is Much Ado About Nothing. I adore Beatrice and Benedick.”

  His lips curled into a brief smile. “A miracle! Here’s our own hands against our hearts.” He lifted his hand to his chest. “Come, I will have thee, but, by this light, I take thee for pity.”

  The answering words came to Genie’s mind without effort. “I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”

  “Peace! I will stop your mouth.” His gaze settled on her lips.

  She leaned slightly toward him before realizing where they were, that Cecilia was back on the dais announcing the next performance. Her pulse racing, Genie moved slowly back.

  Satterfield did the same. “If Lady Cosford decides to have another performance, we could do that scene.”

  Oh, they couldn’t. She was saved from responding by Mr. Emerson attempting to juggle apples. He was an absolute disaster, and soon everyone was laughing at his antics as apples rolled from the dais onto the floor. Genie was grateful for the distraction.

  She was also careful to speak with the person on her right during the next interlude between performances. Mrs. Sheldon was perhaps a decade or so younger than Genie. With dark sable hair and piercing green eyes, she was a beauty.

  “You and Lord Satterfield seem to be getting on well,” Mrs. Sheldon said with a warm smile.

  Genie didn’t want rumors to start. “As well as anyone. Will you be performing today?”

  “Yes. I’ll be reciting a poem.”

  “How wonderful.”

  “And you?” Mrs. Sheldon asked.

  “No.” Further conversation was avoided as Cecilia introduced Mrs. Hatcliff-Lind, who would play the pianoforte.

  Genie slid a glance toward Lord Satterfield, who gave her a knowing half smile as the first notes were struck. He mouthed, See, it’s fine.

  She couldn’t help but grin and nearly giggled along with it. Oh, she liked him. And if she wasn’t careful, everyone would notice—if they hadn’t already. She wasn’t ready to be matched.

  Except she could hear Jerome’s voice in her head: Promise me you’ll marry again, Genie. I can’t bear to think of you alone for so long.

  She’d answered, Perhaps I’ll die tomorrow and you’ll recover. Then it’s you who must wed.

  He’d laughed, then coughed, and she’d apologized for causing him distress. He’d waved her concern away and taken her hand. If I were to recover—and if you were taken from me—I would try to find happiness again. It wouldn’t be the same. Nothing could ever be. But I would try. I sincerely want you to do the same. Because we both know I’m not going to recover.

  Though two years had passed, and Genie had shed more tears than she could ever count, the memory still pulled at her chest. The sting was less, tempered with a bittersweet joy to have had what they’d shared, even if it had been abbreviated.

  No, nothing could ever be the same, nor did Genie want it to be. Still, she had ended up promising him she would try.

  Stealing another quick look at Lord Satterfield, Genie wondered if she was ready. She honestly didn’t know, and furthermore, didn’t know how she would know. Perhaps that was her answer.

  As soon as the performances ended, Genie hastened to her chamber, where she stayed closeted with her uncertainties until dinner.

  Chapter 4

  Edmund took breakfast in his room the following day. He’d stayed up rather late the night before, carousing with a few of the other gentlemen. That wasn’t how he’d envisioned his night, but when the dowager duchess had been absent from the drawing room after dinner, Edmund had altered his plans. Disappointed, he’d found consolation in brandy and cards.

  She’d also been absent most of yesterday, notably after the performances in the ballroom. Edmund couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so aroused, and not just physically—all from simply sitting beside her.

  Well, not just sitting beside her. They’d also talked and traded Shakespearean quotes, and Edmund was nearly completely smitten. Nearly?

  There was definitely an attraction, and it seemed mutual. Was it? Was he the reason she’d taken to hiding away in her chamber? He hoped not. And yet he couldn’t ignore the thrill that shot through him to think that he was affecting her as keenly as she was affecting him.

  He wanted to know for sure. But that was deuced difficult when she didn’t come downstairs.

  What if she wasn’t interested in him? Or if she just wasn’t ready for romance again? Perhaps they were doomed when it came to forming a romantic attachment. Since Edmund had come to this party with the intention of finding a potential wife, he ought to consider other women.

  Taking a deep breath of resignation, he made his way into the ballroom, where they were to play blind man’s buff this afternoon. Several guests were already present, gathered together in a few clusters of conversation. Unfortunately, Edmund didn’t see the dowager duchess among them.

  Edmund walked toward the nearest group and was immediately intercepted by Lady Bradford as she stepped away from the others. Perhaps five years younger than Edmund, the dowager countess was a stunning blonde of petite height with incandescent pale blue eyes.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Satterfield,” she said. “Are you ready for blind man’s buff?”

  “I am. I haven’t played in years.”

  “I have, but with my daughters.” She had three girls, and that was all Edmund knew of them.

  “How old are they?” he asked.

  “Twelve, ten, and seven. Let me just tell you, there is a vast divide between twelve and seven that far exceeds five years,” she said with humor. “It is nice to be away for a respite, to be honest.”

  “I’m sure.” He could only imagine, of course.

  Another guest joined them. Mrs. Makepeace was the youngest person at the party. At just twenty-five, she’d been married only a little over a year before losing her husband. She was taller than Lady Bradford with a slender frame and dark honey-blonde hair. “I just heard that this version of blind man’s buff is to include kissing.” She waggled her brows.

  Lady Bradford grinned. “How lovely. Can you imagine that happening at any other house party?”

  Mrs. Makepeace narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’d be surprised at what some people get away with.”

  “Probably. It’s been some time since I attended a house party,” Lady Bradford said. �
�And certainly never one like this.”

  “It’s rather brilliant, though, isn’t it?” Mrs. Makepeace looked around the room with glee. “It just feels more…relaxed.”

  Lady Bradford nodded. “Indeed. The expectations are clear. I feel as though I can be entirely myself.”

  Edmund couldn’t disagree. He also couldn’t help but think it was different for him because he was a man. He never felt as if he couldn’t be precisely who he wanted to be. “I’m glad you’re both enjoying it.”

  They both swung their heads toward him, but it was Mrs. Makepeace who asked, “Are you? Enjoying the party, that is.”

  At that moment, the dowager duchess walked into the ballroom. Edmund’s pulse picked up. “Immensely.”

  He found it difficult to resist the urge to walk over and greet her. Instead, he feasted on her elegant gait as she moved into the ballroom. Mr. Sterling met her with a smile, and Edmund watched with blistering annoyance. No, not just annoyance—jealousy.

  Lady Bradford and Mrs. Makepeace continued to speak, but Edmund only half listened. They were discussing how kissing might be inserted into blind man’s buff. Edmund was only interested insofar as he might get a chance to kiss the dowager duchess.

  Eugenia.

  Lady Cosford was back on the dais they’d used for their performances the day before. “I think everyone is here. If I have my counting right.” She laughed gaily. “As you know, we’re going to play blind man’s buff. Does anyone not know how to play?”

  Everyone glanced about, but no one indicated in the affirmative. Edmund couldn’t help but shift his gaze to Eugenia. He was pleased to see she was doing the same with him. He smiled at her, but she only half smiled in return. He found that concerning.

  “Excellent,” Lady Cosford said. “We’re going to add a little something to our game today. When the blind man finds and correctly identifies a person, they will kiss them.”