“What on earth are you doing?” Lady Dashell demanded.
“Why, nothing, Mother! Oh, you mean now? I am, ah, brushing Susie, because she—”
“Not in one of your good gowns, I should hope!”
“Oh no, mum. I put on this old cloak so as not to spoil my gown.”
Alice Dashell punched her fists to her hips and glared at the horse. “And just where have you been?” When Lilliana hesitated in a frantic effort to think of an answer, her mother angrily shook her head. “Never mind! Come now, and leave the task to that worthless groom. There is a gentleman caller for you,” she said, and impossibly, her stern frown deepened.
“Lord Benedict?” Lilliana asked, and suppressed the strange urge to yawn. Benedict had, of course, hinted at his intentions, and Lilliana supposed she was prepared to accept him. He was a nice sort of fellow, although a little weak in the knees. She had discovered that one morning when they were strolling the grounds and a poor little bird fell from its nest. Benedict had gone positively green, but she had thought to save it and had become rather disgusted with Benedict’s squeamishness. But she supposed it hardly mattered that he did not share her enthusiasm for life—he was as good a match as she could ever hope to find in the middle of absolutely nowhere as she was.
How painfully aware she was of that, just as she was painfully aware of her advanced age. At two and twenty, she should have been married by now, maybe have a babe or two. And to make matters worse, her sister Caroline was absolutely desperate to marry Mr. Horace Feather. Unfortunately, she could not until Lilliana had married, because, as their mother pointed out to Caroline on an almost daily basis, that was the way things were done in the country. So her sister spent every day absolutely frantic that Lilliana stood in her way of everlasting happiness. Benedict would solve all that, Caroline reasoned, and Lilliana could not dream of doing better.
“I wasn’t expecting Lord Benedict today,” she added, and sighed unconsciously.
“No, not Lord Benedict,” Lady Dashell replied impatiently.
Lilliana glanced curiously over her shoulder as she smoothed Susie’s mane. “Then who? Please don’t tell me it is that mean Mr. Willard again! I did not harm his silly old clock! That old thing was broken long before I tried to wind it—”
“Not Mr. Willard!” Lady Dashell fairly shouted. “It is Lord Benedict’s brother.”
It took several seconds for that to register. Stunned, Lilliana jerked her head to her mother. Adrian Spence had come to call on her? The Earl of Albright? The most fantastically masculine man in all of England? “Wh-what? What did you say?” she gasped.
“Oh dear, what have you done to your hair?” her mother moaned.
Lilliana suddenly lunged at her mother and grabbed her shoulders, causing the woman to shriek in surprise. “Mother, is it Adrian Spence? Lord Albright? Do you mean to tell me he is here? Oh my God, oh my God!”
“Lilliana, get ahold of yourself!” Alice Dashell demanded, and grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms to her sides. “Turn around so that I might do something with your hair!” she snapped, and shoved her around to begin jabbing her hair into place.
“But what is he doing here?” Lilliana cried. Her mother did not answer immediately, and pushed Lilliana’s head around when she tried to look over her shoulder. “Mother!”
“He wants to speak with you!” Lady Dashell snapped, as if it was perfectly obvious. “Now listen to me, Lilliana. You will remember that Lord Benedict has been very persistent in his courtship, and you have given him every reason to believe his attentions are welcome. I should not be surprised if things may have been said between the two of you, but you must be cognizant that there are other suitors—”
“Lord Albright wants to court me?” she gasped in disbelief.
“There are other suitors,” her mother continued evenly, “and your duty is to choose the one who can give you the most comfortable and prosperous existence … without making too great a demand on your family. Do you understand? You know we have been through a rough patch recently, and while I know you are fond of Lord Benedict, you must be aware—”
Lilliana wrenched free of her mother and whirled around, gaping at her in astonishment. She was going to swoon. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she was going to drop dead where she stood! Adrian Spence wanted to court her? It was not to be believed! This was some sort of waking dream, and to prove it, she quickly pinched her arm. That hurt—oh God, she was not dreaming!
“Lilliana.” Her mother sighed heavily. “Do not look so overjoyed. It makes you appear simple.”
“But … but there must be some mistake! Are you quite certain he did not ask for Caroline? Surely he asked for Caroline! A man such as Lord Albright would call on Caroline, not me!”
“I am quite certain he asked for you, dear. Please stop twisting the buttons on your cloak before they break off.”
“But … but why? Mother, do you realize that Lord Albright could court whomever he wants—and believe me, the rumors are that he has—”
“Lilliana!”
“But not someone like me! I don’t understand why he would call on we!”
Lady Dashell frowned as she reached to straighten the collar of Lilliana’s cloak. “You won’t understand until you see him, will you? Now come with me—and do not gush like a simpleton, and do not show him such blatant favor right away! It is quite unseemly for a young woman to pounce on the first compliment she receives!”
Lilliana barely heard her mother—her head was reeling. There was some mistake. Or someone was playing a cruel joke on her, a very cruel joke. From almost the time she could walk, she had dreamed about Adrian Spence. When she was a child, her mother would take her and her siblings along when she visited Lady Kealing. She remembered Adrian as tall and handsome and terribly dashing. He would tweak her nose and give her sweets and entice her to sing little ditties. She had worshiped Adrian Spence even then, had followed every word ever said about him—and God knew there was no lack of gossip. Everyone in Kealing, Newhall, and Fairlington knew he was a rogue, a scoundrel, and a daring adventurer. A dangerous gentleman, they said, who fought with his father—about what, she had no earthly idea—and anyone else who crossed him. He had traveled extensively and made himself an enormous fortune, one so great that everyone in the parish felt compelled to whisper when they spoke of it. He was reputedly a high-stakes gambler, had questionable taste in feminine companions, and had participated in at least two duels, one even in France.
The Earl of Albright was a man who knew how to live life to its fullest, to experience all there was. He did exactly what she craved—to live! Except that she was not allowed to live, not here, not socked away at Blackfield Grange like some country bumpkin. Good Lord, given half a chance, she would soar, just as Adrian Spence did every day of his life! The fact that he, of all people, had come to call on her was enough to make her think she had finally died and gone to heaven.
“Stop staring off like that! Oh my Lord, he will think you are completely addled!” her mother said with a twinge of desperation.
Lilliana smiled broadly. “I can’t believe it! He has come to call … on me!” she cried, and impulsively threw her arms wide and twirled around in the stable.
“Stop that!” Lady Dashell insisted, and grabbed Lilliana’s wrist. “Come along, the man has been waiting long enough as it is! Jason! Bring yourself down here and rub this horse down! And if I catch you racing again, I shall hang you from the oak on the bowling lawn, do you hear me?” she shouted.
“Yes, mum!” came the muffled reply, but Lady Dashell was already pushing Lilliana out of the stable.
Four
LADY DASHELL PUSHED her daughter toward the formal drawing room with the whispered admonishment that she should never keep an earl waiting so long, as if Lilliana had done it on purpose. When they reached the closed oaken doors, Lady Dashell jerked the cloak from her shoulders, reached for the brass handle, and flung them open. Lilliana barely registered the presence of h
er father and brother inside with Lord Albright before her mother pushed her across the threshold.
“Lord Albright, may I introduce my daughter, Lilliana?” her father said, coming to his feet. Her mother nudged her none too gently with her foot, and Lilliana immediately sank into a curtsy … at which point she remembered the mud on her gown, and artfully stepped behind a high-backed settee. She smiled at the earl—or rather, she hoped she was smiling. With her hair all mussed and her exuberance spilling from every pore, she suspected she looked something like a goose. If Lord Albright thought so, he was very careful not to show it.
“Miss Dashell, it is my extreme pleasure to make your acquaintance again,” he said smoothly as he crossed the room to take the hand she clumsily thrust at him. Smiling at her, he lifted it to his lips.
Oh hell, how very dashing, she thought dreamily as he lowered her hand, as dashing as she remembered him, and Lord knew she remembered every single thing about him. Except how very handsome he was. Good God, he was handsome—hair neither brown nor blond, but a rich mixture of both, hazel eyes flecked with gold, and his lips, heaven help her, his lips were full and soft and the very deep color of raspberries.
“Lilliana?” her mother squeaked.
“I, um, the pleasure is mine, my lord,” she said hoarsely. Wonderful. She was making a cake of herself and had barely opened her mouth.
“You are too kind,” he murmured, and smiled so warmly that the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Lilliana’s knees buckled.
“Well!” her father exclaimed, and coughed loudly. “Shall we sit?” He took Lady Dashell’s arm and led her to a couch. Lord Albright politely extended his arm to Lilliana, and she very gingerly laid her hand on it, taking care not to touch him too much. Clutching the front of her skirt so that he would not see the mud, she allowed him to seat her on the settee. Tom remained standing at the pianoforte, his eyes narrowed on Lord Albright as he seated himself in a chair nearby.
Her father cleared his throat. “Pleasant weather for the time of year,” he said, and began speaking of the weather—it was unusually warm. The southern breezes were particularly delightful in the early evening hours, but it would be a mild winter. Lord Albright agreed, and mentioned an unusually warm winter spent in Rome. Rome—how terribly romantic! But why on earth Tom should roll his eyes at that was beyond Lilliana. Honestly, Tom was acting as if he was miffed. Actually, everyone was acting odd, she noticed with a quick glance at her parents. Her very prim and proper mother did not so much as open her mouth, but sat stiffly beside her husband, staring blankly at the vase of fresh-cut flowers on a little table near the hearth. Even her father looked very uncomfortable, which was very unlike his amicable self.
As for her, well, she had to concentrate to keep from gaping, and speaking was out of the question. It was impossible to comprehend how he had come to be in her drawing room, and to think he was actually calling on her completely unfathomable. And worse yet, it was absolutely breathtaking to behold him. From his long, tapered fingers drumming absently on one astoundingly muscular thigh, to the perfectly tied silk neckcloth that just brushed his square jaw, to the wavy hair that extended well past his collar—he was, in a word, magnificent. So magnificent that Lilliana was awestruck.
Not that anyone noticed, fortunately. Only her father chatted with the earl, and wonder of wonders, the Spence Family Scoundrel responded with effortless grace on the most boring topics in the world. Farming? Her father spoke of farming! Lilliana suppressed a groan of mortification, but Lord Albright managed to converse rather cheerfully on the subject. Just when she had convinced herself that she had to be dreaming—for surely a man like him would not be remotely interested in farming—her father abruptly stood.
“Alice, I could use your help in the library. Tom, weren’t you off to the stables to have a look at that new colt?” he asked, then glanced uneasily at the earl. “You will please excuse us, my lord?”
Excuse them? Oh no, what was this? They were going to leave her here with him? Lilliana jerked a frantic glance at her mother, but she stood and took her husband’s arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world to leave her daughter unchaperoned. That was absurd, as absurd as the notion that Tom, who was skulking to the door, would bother with a new colt—especially one that didn’t exist! “Mama?” Lilliana asked, her voice quavering slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to sit with us?”
Lady Dashell’s eyes flicked to Lord Albright, then back to Lilliana. “No. Ah, no dear—your father needs help with the … ah … accounts.” Lilliana’s eyes widened at that ridiculous lie, and she panicked. They were contriving to leave her alone with him! What would she say? How on earth would she converse with a man like him? “You might offer some tea,” her mother added with a frown, and before Lilliana could speak, her father was moving toward the door, pulling her mother with him and forcing Tom out in front of him.
She gripped the arm of the settee as her family trooped out the door. What in blazes was happening here? Had some strange star struck the Grange and caused them all to take leave of their senses? She was completely unprepared—no, inept—to amuse a man of his position and experience! He was used to the finest the world had to offer, women far more sophisticated than she was!
“Your parents are graciously allowing me a moment to speak with you alone,” he said.
A strange little flurry of nerves shot through the pit of Lilliana’s stomach at that remark, and she dragged an astonished gaze to him. She knew what speaking alone meant in the country, but the idea was so unbelievable, so ridiculously preposterous, that she almost laughed. He arched a quizzical brow, and she thought it might be necessary to remind him that he was a man of the world, a scoundrel of the highest order, the exceedingly wealthy Earl of Albright. He was mistaken—he did not want to speak alone with her, not to Lilliana Dashell of Blackfield Grange. That idea was so ludicrous that she choked on a hysterical giggle.
Lord Albright smiled fully then, and the flurry in her belly turned into a full-blown churning. “You look positively horrified. Am I as odious as all that, Lilliana?”
Oh God, but her name sounded like heaven on his lips, especially since it was not supposed to be there. A gentleman would not be so familiar—well, at least not a country gentleman, but who knew what the fast set of London did?
He was staring at her. She swallowed. “Forgive me, I did not mean to look … horrified,” she muttered uncertainly. “Shall I … shall I ring for some tea?” she asked, her tongue moving despite her frozen brain.
“Perhaps a little later,” he said, and smiled charmingly. Lilliana frantically racked her brain for something to say as those lovely hazel eyes thoughtfully roamed her face and then her … oh my … a deep blush flamed Lilliana’s cheeks, and she quickly lowered her gaze—only to see the hideous splatter of mud on her lap. Hastily, she snatched a handful of her skirt and folded it over the stain.
“Please don’t look so frightened,” he said with a low, silky chuckle. “I am perilously close to having my tender feelings crushed.”
Tender feelings? “Oh! Do I look frightened? I assure you I am not,” she said uneasily. “Not in the least. I am just … I am just—”
“Surprised?” he offered helpfully.
“Surprised!” she agreed, nodding furiously to emphasize just how surprised.
“I regret that I have not called sooner. Unfortunately, I am often in London—”
“Yes of course, London is a very large town—”
“And I do not get to the country as often as I would like. Kealing Park is a good half-day’s ride from London.”
“It is a good half-day’s ride from Hades,” she hastily agreed.
He smiled again, sending another quiver through her belly. “Nevertheless, I pray you will forgive my deplorable lack of manners.”
What on earth was he talking about? She hadn’t expected him to call at all, much less before now! Her mind flicked through all sorts of useless information she had dr
agged out of Benedict about him. Had Benedict mentioned his brother was coming? Was there some rule of etiquette that required him to call on her before Benedict offered?
“But I am a man of action, Lilliana, and when I have determined my course, I waste little time.”
Whatever he should mean by that, she could certainly believe it. A man of action and sophistication and excitement and—
“I have recently determined that I have certain responsibilities to be fulfilled now that I have reached my thirty-second year, and it is that which brings me to you. I apologize for arriving unannounced, but in my haste to get here, I am afraid it was unavoidable.”
Responsibility. All right, all right, she was beginning to understand, she thought, and took a deep breath. He was speaking of something to do with Benedict, and almost sighed with relief.
He rose so suddenly that her perfect posture slipped for a moment; in two steps he was sitting beside her on the settee. Astounded, Lilliana’s eyes widened with surprise. Acutely aware that she was gaping at him like a fool, she gasped when he pried her hand from its grip on her gown. In stunned amazement, she watched as he carefully placed it between his two, strong hands, jolting every nerve in her. What responsibility did he have that required such delicate touch? God, did she bloody well care? Don’t you dare swoon!
“You are aware, I am sure, that among the ton, two people of suitable lineage and fortune enter into matrimony for the purpose of extending the family name and increasing their holdings.” Yes, yes, she knew all that, and nodded dumbly as her mind raced ahead, offering up and rejecting different suppositions for his wildly absurd call. “I am certain you are equally aware that a man in my position must make a match with a woman who has been trained to manage a large household, is dutiful in her role as a countess and can provide an heir. Above all, a woman who is a good companion,” he continued.
Lilliana nodded unconsciously. This had to do with Benedict, that much was clear, what with the reference to matrimony and the rattling off of society’s expectations. Did he think she and Benedict did not suit? Was that what this was all about? She should hardly be surprised—she was the daughter of a downtrodden baron, had left Blackfield Grange exactly twice in her twenty-two years, and had no real connections to the Quality other than some distant cousin on her mother’s side. Benedict, on the other hand, was the son of a wealthy marquis and could certainly do better than her. Honestly, she had often wondered why he did not seem to realize that.
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