An Earl Like You

by Caroline Linden

  Eliza had heard enough from Georgiana to know the matrons of the ton spent a great deal of time deciding which lady should marry which gentleman, quite independently of any desire of the parties involved. After much thought, she decided that the dowager had probably pictured her son married to someone else, someone like Millicent Harlow or Catherine Thayne, whom they met in Oxford Street one afternoon on a visit to an upholsterer. They were both beautiful, vivacious ladies, elegantly dressed and longtime friends of the family. They were quite knowledgeable about all the society people and events that Eliza knew nothing of, and she could see why the dowager countess would want one of them as her daughter-in-law.

  She also made great strides with Henrietta, although only when Edith was not present. Henrietta came to play with Willy, and even went with Eliza to walk him in St. James’s Park once, where she threw sticks for him to chase and laughed at the way he tried to creep up on a flock of pigeons. When it came to Willy, or fashion, or even music—Henrietta played the pianoforte very well—they had plenty of conversation, easy and open. Henrietta told her stories of Hugh as a young man, to Eliza’s delight.

  But whenever she mentioned Edith or anything to do with her, Henrietta either changed the subject or pretended not to hear. Eliza had no desire to make Henrietta choose between them, but Edith’s antipathy remained as strong as ever, and it was bothering her.

  “I’ve no idea why, but I think Edith despises me,” she told Georgiana on one of their walks in the park, which they took twice a week now.

  “I hate to say something uncharitable about your sister-in-law, but she’s a bit of a snob.” Georgiana gave her a sympathetic look. “I fear the Livingston connection only reinforced it.”

  “Oh.” Eliza frowned. She still hadn’t received a good explanation for Mr. Benwick’s rudeness in Bond Street. “Are they a very old family?”

  Georgiana scoffed. “Not at all! Not older than the Hastings family, at any rate, and Lord Livingston is only a viscount—your husband outranks him, regardless of how old his family is.”

  “Then perhaps they are offended by my origins,” she said slowly. Papa’s father had been a laborer, working his way up to foreman building canals. Papa had begun there as well before he received a small inheritance from an uncle, and began speculating. Her mother had been the daughter of a baronet, but she was an only child. When Eliza’s grandparents died, the title went to a distant cousin Eliza had never met or heard from.

  “They certainly wouldn’t be impressed by them,” said Georgiana frankly. “I think Mr. Benwick came to town to look for a well-born wife, the higher the better. His father is very demanding. He must have been quite pleased his son won Edith Deveraux.”

  Eliza thought that didn’t reflect well on Edith, if she had decided to hate Eliza only because her fiancé’s father disapproved of her. Of course, who knew what Mr. Benwick had told her? And if she’d fallen in love with the man, it would be hard for her to ignore his feelings. “What is Mr. Benwick’s reputation?” she asked instead.

  “Oh, he’s very handsome and a marvelous dancer.” Georgiana waved one hand carelessly. “Not as handsome as Sterling, of course,” she added, speaking of her own fiancé. “He’s not especially witty, but quite amiable. He’s liked well enough around town, and several young ladies were extremely downcast when he proposed to Lady Edith. What did you think of him?”

  Eliza hesitated so long Georgiana stopped walking. “Eliza,” she said, shocked. “Don’t tell me you’ve not met him. He’s supposed to marry your sister-in-law in two months!”

  “Truly? That soon? I didn’t know they had chosen a date . . .” Mindful of Hugh confiding that Benwick was kicking up over the settlements, Eliza began to wish she hadn’t said anything.

  “When she accepted him, he told everyone they would be wed by the end of the Season.” Georgiana’s gaze narrowed on her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Now she didn’t want to tell anyone. Perhaps it had been a momentary fit of pique, or he’d felt unwell, or . . . something, any sort of reason other than he hated the sight of her. “Well . . . well, not really. I saw him on Bond Street once.”

  Georgiana raised her brows expectantly. Eliza flushed, not wanting to lie. “It was a chance meeting, not a proper introduction.”

  “Was he rude?” Her friend’s expression was amused and puzzled at the same time. “Did it not go well?”

  “Never mind,” said Eliza, pink-faced.

  “Eliza,” said Georgiana sternly.

  “He turned his back and walked away without a word.” She lowered her gaze as she said it, feeling the sting all over again. “Henrietta was very shocked, but she wouldn’t explain—I don’t think she knows why!”

  “That cretin!” Lady Sidlow, sitting in her carriage nearby, glanced up in displeasure at Georgiana’s outburst. “He gave you the cut?” Georgiana demanded in a harsh whisper. “Of all the rude, churlish things to do! I’m going to find out why.”

  “No!” She seized her friend’s arm. “Please don’t say anything about it—”

  “I won’t mention you at all, but I will not stand by and do nothing.” Her eyes alight with militant fervor, Georgiana linked their arms and started walking briskly, towing Eliza along with her. No amount of protest or demand got Georgiana to recant her desire to do something—some unspecified thing Eliza feared would make things even worse with Edith.

  “Honestly, Eliza,” said Georgiana at last. “Something should be said! If you can’t hold up your head in front of the ton and stare down their whispers and slights, they’ll be merciless. You must demonstrate that you have power as well, and that you will not be meek in the face of blatant rudeness.”

  Eliza stopped, breathless and flushed after Georgiana’s energetic pace. “This is why I was a dismal failure in my Season. I feel quite powerless when they whisper and stare at me.”

  Her friend scoffed. “You are the Countess of Hastings. Your husband married you because he adores you, not because it was arranged for political or monetary advantage like so many ton marriages. Dozens of women in London want desperately to be in your shoes.”

  “But what should I do?” Eliza asked uncertainly. Jealousy was not the foundation of friendship, and she would rather have friends than be envied from afar.

  Georgiana smiled. “Fortunately, everything you already do well. Dress beautifully. Let Hastings gaze lovingly at you. Be charitable to the unfortunate and kind to the wallflowers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That is not what makes one admired, Georgiana. Society likes someone with a good wit, especially when it’s used on others. They like dash, extravagance, and style, all of which I lack.”

  “Well—they do,” the other girl conceded. “But they also admire elegant women of poise and character. The Duchess of Exeter!”

  Eliza did not know the Duchess of Exeter. If not for Sophie, she wouldn’t have ever met a duchess in her life. During her ill-begotten Season, she had stood on the fringes of every crowd, watching but never speaking to elegant people like duchesses and countesses. It still amazed her that she was one of those countesses now, and she had no idea how to act.

  “I’ll be discreet,” Georgiana promised when Eliza just stared at her doubtfully. “Or you could ask Hastings. He would hate to see you snubbed.”

  She mustered a smile. “An excellent thought.”

  Eliza returned home feeling more unsettled than when she’d left. She wished she could ask Hugh—or rather, she wished she could believe what he’d said when she asked him the first time. Edith had been cool to her even before Willy attacked her reticule, but Hugh avoided her direct question about it, instead telling her about Mr. Benwick. As much as she appreciated that, it didn’t explain everything about his sister’s behavior.

  She did not want to make her husband choose between her and his family. She knew he cared for her, but he had loved his mother and sisters his entire life. She had seen the easy camaraderie between them, at least when she wasn’t pa
rt of the group. No matter how much she told herself that this was natural, that it would take time for her to become part of the family, it was hard to see Hugh make Edith smile and laugh, when the girl only had chilly politeness for Eliza.

  And when she’d told him she loved him, he hadn’t replied in kind. He’d said plenty of other lovely things to her, but Eliza couldn’t recall a single time he expressed affection for her. He called her darling and told her he wanted her, but that was not the same as loving her.

  She went up the stairs, drawing off her gloves. Workmen had arrived before she left with Georgiana to begin painting the drawing room, so she headed there to see how work progressed.

  “Don’t do that!” said the dowager sharply.

  Eliza paused just outside the open door, only to realize the command had not been to her. In the drawing room, just out of sight, the dowager continued instructing the servants who must have been removing the artwork from the walls. “Over there with that one,” her voice floated into the corridor. “And the mirror, as well.”

  She peeked around the door, smiling at the scene. The draperies were down, and servants were packing things from the cabinet and mantel into straw-filled crates. She was about to go in when another voice stopped her.

  “But why hasn’t he come, Mama?”

  Eliza went still. There was such hurt, such bewilderment in Edith’s tone—such heartbreak. She had to be speaking of Mr. Benwick.

  “I don’t know, my dear,” said her mother gently. They must have been standing near the door, for Eliza could hear her perfectly. “Perhaps his family has required his time.”

  “Perhaps,” Edith said, in the tone of someone who thought it was rubbish but didn’t want to say so. “But surely he could say that. His note is so—so terse! As if I were any acquaintance instead of his betrothed!”

  The dowager sighed. Eliza could just picture her embracing her daughter, stroking her hair in comfort, as she’d done when Willy ran at Edith. “Men are curious creatures,” the dowager said. “A horse race in Richmond, a boxing match on the heath . . . I’ve learned these things might distract a gentleman so violently he forgets all his ordinary habits.”

  “Reggie’s not like that,” protested Edith. “It’s been over a week, Mama! You—you don’t think it’s because of . . . well . . . ?”

  Her mother laughed. “He’s a man, Edith. No matter how deeply in love, he feels the lure of masculine pursuits, I assure you. Don’t you remember last month when he and his fellows went to Brighton for a week? He left you no word, and you were sure it meant he didn’t care for you, but then he came back, more devoted than ever.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” said Edith slowly.

  Eliza felt horrible. She wanted to warn the dowager that there might be more to it this time, that Mr. Benwick was being less than devoted in his demands. It tore at her heart to hear Edith so upset and perplexed because the man she loved—the man she believed loved her—was being cold and distant. After all, if Mr. Benwick had changed his mind about the marriage, he ought to be man enough to come and break the news gently to Edith. He even ought to let her slap his face and call him rude names.

  But she had promised Hugh not to say a word. She squeezed her eyes closed and reminded herself of that as Edith slowly began to cheer up, persuading herself that, yes, her mother must be right, that Mr. Benwick would surely come to call soon. For the first time Eliza didn’t feel upset that Mr. Benwick had walked away from her in Bond Street, as now she had no trouble hating him on Edith’s behalf.

  “Why are you lurking in the corridor?” murmured Hugh near her ear.

  Eliza jumped, but managed not to shriek. She whirled on him. “You startled me!”

  He winked at her. “Happily, I hope. Have the workmen driven everyone out?” He spoke in a normal tone this time, and reached for the door.

  “Oh, wait,” whispered Eliza urgently, but it was too late. He swung the door open. His mother and sister were indeed arm in arm, but quickly broke apart. Edith turned her head away and took a stealthy swipe at her eyes, which made Eliza’s heart constrict.

  “How are things progressing in here?” Hugh asked, hands on hips as he took in the dismantling of the room.

  “Very well, dear,” the dowager replied.

  “It’s quite a dirty job,” Hugh remarked. “I don’t see how we can receive callers for a while.” Edith looked at him in horror, as if he had just forbidden visitors. “Clearly we shall have to go out more. Have you got a dress for a ball, Edith?”

  Reluctant interest sparkled in her eyes. “Yes.”

  “I accepted some invitations,” he remarked. “I hope you’ll deign to accompany me—unless you prefer the dust, of course.”

  His sister’s face lit up. “Oh yes, Hugh! As if anyone could prefer the dust!” She hurried to him and threw her arms around him. “Who did you accept?”

  Laughing, Hugh kissed her temple. “Lady Gorenson, for her musicale in two nights, and Lady Montgomery’s ball.”

  “Delightful.” The dowager smiled fondly at the pair of them.

  “Hugh . . .” Edith plucked at his waistcoat button, smoothing it flat. “Have you heard from Reggie?”

  Eliza saw the change in his face—it was slight but telling. Edith, still fiddling with the button, did not. “Not recently,” he said, sounding completely unperturbed. “I told my solicitor to write to Livingston’s, and solicitors never do anything quickly.” He had to move for the workmen carrying out the sofa, and glanced at Eliza, still lingering at the door. “Come, tell me what your plans are for the room, my dear,” he said. “Now that we’re irrevocably committed to refurbishment.”

  She stepped slowly into the room. Edith turned pale at the sight of her, but only dropped her gaze to the floor. “Green walls,” Eliza said, feeling again like the unwelcome intruder in a happy family. “Deep purple draperies and upholstery.”

  “It will be lovely,” interjected the dowager, giving Eliza a fond smile. “I’ve wanted to decorate this room since we came to town.”

  Hugh chuckled. “I’m sure it will be the most splendid drawing room in London. We might even have to hold a soiree in it.”

  Edith’s head came up and she stared in amazement. The dowager hid hers better, but Eliza would have wagered she was no less surprised. “If you wish, of course we shall.” She looked at her daughter. “Edith, your fitting with Madame de Louvier is in less than an hour. We must go soon.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Without a glance at Eliza, Edith followed her mother from the room.

  The workmen must have still been securing the sofa in the cart outside, destined for the upholsterer’s shop. She and her husband were alone.

  “My mother is in alt.” Hugh tugged her into his arms and into a loose imitation of a waltz in the empty room. “She’s wanted new drapes forever.”

  “Why didn’t you let her buy them? She has excellent taste.”

  He flicked one hand. “There was so much else to do—Edith’s debut, paying calls, renewing acquaintances . . .”

  “Was it the cost?” she persisted. The number of small inconsistencies and veiled looks had grown until she couldn’t ignore them all. During their several trips to warehouses and drapers’ shops, Eliza discerned that the dowager had been eager to redecorate but Hugh had repeatedly refused. Then suddenly he gave Eliza carte blanche to do as she liked to the whole house, without any comment on the expense.

  Eliza suspected it was her own dowry funds she was spending, which did not bother her. But she didn’t like that her mother-in-law seemed unaware that there might not have been other funds. Having been mistress of a household for years, Eliza wondered if the dowager really could not know, but Georgiana had told her many society ladies not only didn’t speak of money, they didn’t care about spending their way deep into debt.

  Her husband only seemed amused. “Worried about the accounts already?”

  She flushed. “No! I wondered why you didn’t tell your mother there was no money for carpe
ts before we married.”

  That wiped the humor from his face. He stopped dancing and let her go, then strode past her and closed the door. “I preferred not to,” he said in a low voice. “Does that satisfy you?” She hesitated, and he gave her a coaxing smile. “It occurred to me that my wife, if I were so fortunate to find one, might like to have a say in decorating her new home. And as it turned out, I was correct, to everyone’s benefit.”

  “Well . . .” She wrung her hands. That made sense and yet . . . why couldn’t he tell his mother that? “I don’t like deceiving people.”

  “Deception!” He scoffed in disdain, but stopped when he saw her frown. “It was not deception so much as omission. My father sheltered her from all concerns, and then she was heartbroken at his death. Planning Edith’s debut and now her trousseau has brought her joy and helped her get over her grief. I should have squashed that with nattering concerns about how many pounds spent on upholstery?”

  “No, but . . .” Eliza squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then plunged onward. “I also think you should tell Edith about Mr. Benwick immediately.”

  Hugh’s face dropped all expression. “What?”

  “I overheard just a tiny bit of conversation,” she explained. “Edith is worried and upset that he’s not come to visit lately. Has he told you he wishes to proceed with the settlements?”

  He didn’t have to answer. His expression turned hard and cold, as she had rarely seen him. Eliza felt a prickle of unease but pressed on.