Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords & Ladies in Love)

by Callie Hutton

  …

  Later that evening, Nash descended the stairs to the Ashbourne ballroom to join his sister, Eugenia, and her husband, Lord Devon. He squashed the urge to turn tail and run when he noticed Lady Arabella standing next to Eugenia, chatting away. Just watching her, he felt a sneeze coming on. She certainly looked a lot better than she had the last time he’d seen her. Of course, he imagined he looked more restored, as well.

  Earlier, his valet, Andrews, had sniffed his disapproval at the condition in which Nash had returned home. With raised eyebrows, but no comment—none was necessary—he had helped Nash out of his clothes and, holding them by his fingertips, marched across the room to drop them into a bundle on the floor. “A bath, my lord?”

  “Yes. But a large glass of brandy first.”

  “Indeed.”

  Pushing the scene from his mind, he stepped up to the group. “Good evening, Lady Arabella, Eugenia, Devon.”

  “Oh, Lord Clarendon.” Arabella extended her hand. “Thank you once again for rescuing my cat. Well, actually, she really wasn’t my cat—”

  “Excuse me?” Had he suffered indignities and angered his valet for naught? “Not your cat?”

  “Yes. You see, I was delivering the cat to Lady Oswald when Miss Aphrodite escaped.”

  “Then it was Lady Oswald’s cat?”

  “Well, yes, sort of.”

  He knew he should just drop the subject, but Eugenia and Devon eyed him with curiosity, so he felt the—foolish—need to ask, “Would you care to explain, my lady?”

  “I rescued Miss Aphrodite from an alley on Oxford Street after a very bad cat fight. I sewed up her injuries and took care of her until she healed. Lady Oswald expressed a desire to own a cat, so I offered her Miss Aphrodite. I was delivering her when she ran off this afternoon.”

  “You rescued Lady Arabella’s cat, Nash? How very sweet.” Eugenia smiled at him in such a way he felt ridiculous. No one had ever called him sweet before. Nor would anyone ever again, if he had anything to say about it.

  He’d gotten disgustingly muddy, torn his breeches, suffered from sneezing fits—all to rescue a cat that probably belonged in the wild anyway. Anxious to turn the conversation, he extended his hand to Eugenia. “May I have the privilege of this dance, sister?” The orchestra was just starting up a cotillion, and he wished to be gone from Lady Arabella’s company before he hurled insults at her and her animal.

  “No. This baby is giving me a bit of stomach upset.” She placed her hand on her tummy. “I’d heard morning time was the problem, and although I have some difficulties with my breakfast, lately evening seems just as troublesome. We will be leaving shortly.”

  “After a good night’s rest, we are off to the country early tomorrow morning.” A sly grin crossed Devon’s face, and he bent down to whisper in Eugenia’s ear. She drew in a sharp breath, and a deep shade of red rose to her cheeks.

  Nash groaned, not wanting to know what his brother-in-law had said. “All right, you two. Devon, remember, Eugenia is my baby sister. I do not wish to know what it was you whispered to her, but please discontinue before I feel the need to ask you to step outside.”

  A wide grin split his brother-in-law’s face. “She’s my wife!”

  “And my sister!”

  “Enough!” Eugenia laughed and placed her hand on Nash’s chest. “All is fine. I promise.” She fanned herself and cast a sideways glance at her husband, who studied her with a look which Nash preferred not to be aware.

  Deciding he had had enough of their infatuation with each other, he bowed and kissed Eugenia’s cheek. “I shall leave the two of you to toddle on home. ’Tis difficult for me to stand here while smothered with all this love floating around. Have a safe journey tomorrow.”

  Lady Arabella looked back and forth between Lord Clarendon and Lady Devon. “I believe felicitations are in order?”

  “Yes.” Eugenia smiled. “We are expecting an heir in several months.” She turned to Nash. “Since we are leaving, I am sure Lady Arabella would be delighted to join you in this dance, brother.”

  He groaned inwardly. Hell and damnation. He’d been trying to get away from the chit. Only disaster could loom on the horizon when this woman was involved. But, drawing on his manners, he bowed. “Lady Arabella, would you honor me with this dance?”

  Chapter Two

  Arabella placed her hand in Clarendon’s as he led her to the dance floor. He had looked about as pleased to be forced to dance with her as she was with him. Besides still being embarrassed at the trouble she’d caused him earlier in the day, she had the distinct impression he disapproved of her, and her animals.

  “You don’t like me very much, do you?” Never one for evading an issue, she went right to the crux of the matter. He might as well admit it so they could get this dance over with and go their separate ways.

  He viewed her with that arrogant raised eyebrow of his she’d noticed in the park. “Most likely about as much as you like me.”

  Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, I apologize, Lady Arabella. That is not true. I don’t know you well enough to dislike you. What I have an aversion to is rescuing animals in public. Then again, perhaps ’tis best if we pretend to enjoy the dance, thus avoiding another scene similar to the one you caused in the park with your odd habits.”

  Well, then.

  A scene, indeed. He had absolutely no say in how she conducted her life. If she wished to rescue scores of animals and treat them for injures and ailments, it was none of his business. She cast him a glance from under lowered eyelashes. It was too bad a man who looked so good had to be so difficult.

  Clarendon’s dark blond, curly hair hung a bit more over the back of his cravat than was fashionable, but it suited him well. It appeared his valet had attempted to tame the curls, but a few stubborn locks had sprung free and brushed his broad forehead. An aristocratic nose and full lips left no doubt he was descended from generations of nobility. His crystal blue eyes bore into her as he released her hand when they joined the line. They stood across from each other as the music began. He bowed, she curtsied, and they came together. She would be the bigger of them and clear the air. “I do wish to apologize for the trouble I caused you today, my lord.”

  They switched places. “’Tis nothing, I assure you.” He extended his hand, and they moved together with the other dancers for a few steps.

  “I disagree, my lord. You ended up muddy, with your clothes torn.”

  His jaw flexed as they moved around each other and joined the line of dancers again. “Of course, you disagree, but I assure you, my lady, ’twas nothing.”

  As they weaved in and out of the other dancers, she mumbled, “What do you mean ‘of course I disagree,’ and why cannot you accept an apology freely given? Are you always so disagreeable, then?”

  They joined hands once more. “Perhaps because I do not wish to be reminded of the incident.”

  Separating, they moved around each other, dipping with the music. “I believe you are merely being stubborn.”

  Nash closed his eyes. “And I believe you are being stubborn.”

  “I am not being stubborn. I simply want to extend my apologies for the mishap this afternoon.”

  They joined hands again and moved in a circle. “Fine. Your apology is accepted.”

  Another couple switched places with them, eyeing them with curiosity. “There, now. Was that so very hard?”

  “My dear lady, do you wish to dance, or converse?”

  They stepped forward, hand in hand, to the head of the line. “Can we not do both?”

  “Perhaps I lose count if I talk and dance.”

  Her eyebrows rose and she offered a tight grin. “Cannot do two things at once, my lord? Is that why you had such a difficult time rescuing a poor cat?”

  Nash came to an abrupt halt, causing the couple behind them to stumble. “I did not have a difficult time of it.” He bent close to her ear and murmured. “Furthermore, I am finished wi
th this conversation.”

  Arabella sniffed, but kept her mouth closed the rest of the dance. Far be it from her to wish to speak with the dreadful man. Even though the Earl of Clarendon was a darling of the ton, with numerous debutantes forever dropping handkerchiefs in his path, and most of the marriage-minded mamas’ eyes on him, she found him arrogant and insufferable.

  Despite their silence, they continued to glower at each other for the duration of the dance. Once the music ended, she curtsied, he bowed, and they went their separate ways.

  Oh, the man could make a saint swear! All she had wanted to do was offer her apology. But could he graciously accept? No, he could not. The stubborn man had to make an issue of it.

  Arabella sighed and studied the crowd. She had no idea where her mother had gone. Ordinarily, the woman never left her side. Across the room, she spotted Miss Caroline and Lady Elizabeth, heads together, chatting. She made her way through the throng to join them.

  She’d only gone a few steps when she heard a dreaded voice behind her. “Lady Arabella.” She turned to see Lord Pembroke pushing people aside, hurrying in her direction. Groaning inwardly, she glanced around for an escape. Unfortunately, with the amount of people crowding the area, there was virtually nowhere to go.

  He caught up to her and reached for her hand. She allowed him to kiss it, thankful for her glove. “I would be honored to accompany you to the garden for a stroll. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was take a stroll in the garden with Lord Sausage Fingers. And she knew precisely what important matter to which he referred. Before she had a chance to refuse, the orchestra started up again. “Oh dear me, my lord, it appears my next partner is searching for me.”

  He turned to where she looked over his shoulder, and the only person facing them was the elderly Lord Graymore, who hadn’t danced in decades. In fact, the poor man looked around as if he wasn’t altogether sure where he was. Pembroke turned back. “I believe Graymore overestimated his abilities, if he requested this dance.” He looked over his shoulder again at the elderly man who wandered in a different direction. “In fact, it appears he has even forgotten.”

  Arabella groaned. So much for subterfuge.

  Pembroke held out his hand. “But not to disappoint a lady, I will be happy to partner you.”

  Good manners prohibited her from stamping her foot and shouting, No, leave me alone. Instead, she took his hand, grateful the number starting up was not a waltz. “I would be delighted, my lord.”

  The dance seemed to never end, and by the time it was finished she was heated and desperately needed refreshment. “My lord, may I trouble you for a glass of lemonade? I find myself quite parched.”

  “Of course, my lady. It will be no trouble at all. I shall be right back.” Pembroke turned from her with a slight bow and made his way through the crowd, his bright-red hair visible as he wended his way to the refreshment table.

  Arabella sighed as she watched him go. She should probably permit the man to propose so she could turn him down and allow his dignity to be restored. What she disliked more than anything was the constant pressure she felt from Mother to choose a husband. She knew it was her duty, and really did want to make sure she and her mother were not out on the street, but the new Earl of Melrose did not seem to be in a hurry to remove them from the premises.

  She looked around the crowded room. As most balls went, the Ashbourne event could be considered a crush. Too many bodies forced into a space not large enough for them all, with feathers dangling from women’s hair, poking gentlemen in the eye. Strong perfumes and hair pomades mingled with the scent of overheated bodies.

  Suddenly feeling anxious and unable to breathe, Arabella forgot about her drink and stumbled her way through the crowd, heading to the ladies retiring room. Crowds always bothered her, especially Polite Society crowds. If she had her way, she would avoid the Season at all costs and retire to the country to take care of animals and live her life the way she chose.

  Unfortunately, for a young woman with a mother to think of, and no resources of her own, marriage was inevitable, and the Season was where one secured one’s future.

  The bedchamber set aside for the benefit of the female guests was a haven of peace and quiet. Two ladies conversed as they sat at the dressing tables while a maid tended to them. Arabella drew in a deep breath and immediately felt better. She would relax even more if she could free herself of her stays, but that would not happen for hours yet.

  Women came and went, but few acknowledged her presence. She was certainly not one of the ton’s favorite young ladies. Her propensity to find and treat injured and sick animals had given rise to whispered gossip that she delved into unladylike behavior. That, perhaps, might be the reason she’d only received the attentions of men of a great age. Desperate for an heir, any young chit would do.

  Nevertheless, a peaceful ten minutes went by as she applied a cold cloth to her head and rested on the settee, watching the ladies fuss and run the maid ragged with demands. Feeling refreshed, she stood and shook out her skirts. What she would prefer was to find Mother and return home. Without a doubt, Lord Pembroke would still be on the prowl for her, and she did not want to deal with him tonight.

  As she descended the steps to the ballroom, Miss Hayward, a long-time friend, waved at her.

  “Lady Arabella!” She clutched a piece of paper in her hand. The girl managed to squeeze past two matrons whispering behind their fans, their eyes cast at a young girl flirting with two men. No doubt the girl would be classified as “fast” by morning.

  “Good evening, Cynthia, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  The young lady joined her, a smile on her rounded face. “I know. I think we have managed to attend different affairs so far this Season.” She gave Arabella a hug, and they kissed the air near each other’s cheeks.

  “Before I forget why I sought you out, your mother asked me to deliver this note to you.”

  Arabella frowned and took the paper from the girl’s hand. How unusual for her mother to send a note. “Is she well? Did she appear distressed when she gave you this?”

  “No.” Cynthia shook her head, her blond curls dancing alongside her face. “She appeared a bit flushed, but I think it was more from the heat of the room than anything untoward.”

  Arabella opened the paper, a frown pulling her brows together.

  A situation has arisen that requires your presence in the Ashbourne’s library. A footman will direct you.

  …

  Nash accepted a glass of champagne from a footman and once again scanned the crowd, searching for Lady Grace and her mother. He had been considering making her an offer for a while now and saw no reason to continue the delay. If the opportunity presented itself, he would speak with her this evening and visit with her guardian in the morning to work out the marriage settlements.

  He and Lady Grace had gone on carriage rides, attended the theater, and danced no more than one dance at each ton affair over the last Season and the course of this Season thus far. Twice, he had arrived at her house during calling hours, and after observing her with her guests, he was certain she would make an acceptable wife.

  Although quite young—barely eighteen years—she was a charming young lady who had been raised to be a nobleman’s wife. Truth be known, the girl was a bit on the silly side, as most young girls tended to be, but with his guidance, she would mature nicely into the perfect countess. She had seemed amenable to his attentions, and no doubt expected an offer to be forthcoming. At least her mother certainly did, and while she was too refined to come right out and ask, he knew her marriage-minded mama was waiting with bated breath.

  Every time he had come close to actually asking for her hand, however, something had held him back. But this nonsense had to end. He needed a wife, and the time seemed right. He’d done all the things a young gentleman of the ton did after University: drinking, gaming, visiting opera dancers, and now he was
ready to settle down and see to filling his nursery.

  While he would never feel the passionate love for Lady Grace he saw between Eugenia and Devon, there was no doubt he held Lady Grace in great regard. In his opinion, that was the only requirement for a successful marriage. Eventually, as the years passed and they raised children, a strong affection would grow between them.

  Her generous dowry—should the rumors prove correct—was very appealing, as well. He hated to think about that part of it, but there you have it. His estate was in serious need of an infusion of blunt, or they would be in deep trouble. When his father had passed a few years ago, the situation had been concerning, but nowhere near as dire. It seemed no matter how well the tenants did, Mr. Bowers, his man of business, reported they were still low on funds. Once he got the matter settled with Lady Grace, he would have to make a trip to Suffolk to see if he could get an idea of what was going wrong.

  “You seem to be spending a great deal of time watching the staircase, Nash. Are you perhaps looking for a particular young lady?” Lord Mullens grinned in his direction as he took a sip of champagne.

  Switching his attention from the staircase to Mullens, he said, “I believe the time has come for me to select a bride.”

  “And you’ve decided to take whatever female comes down the stairs next?” Mullens regarded him with the famous crooked grin that made ladies melt at his feet. “I am amazed that with all the young ladies—and their mamas—casting invitations in your direction you have avoided the parson’s noose for so long.”

  “Leave off, Mullens. There is a particular woman, but for now, I shall keep her name to myself.”

  “Rumor has it that Lady Grace will be the next Countess of Clarendon.”

  Drat! He hated how these things got started. Preferring to keep his business to himself, Nash was never the type who bandied his affairs about. “Whomever I offer for will be the first to know, not the rest of the ton, regardless of their hunger for the next on dit.”