To Wed the Earl

by Anthea Lawson

  There were things she could never share with Belinda. Luckily, there were a few tidbits she had discovered in her short tenure as a maid.

  Anna leaned close to her friend. “Giles Wildering’s coats are all padded at the shoulders. He’s really rather small of stature.” She had her suspicions about his breeches as well.

  “Never say so!” Belinda tipped her eyes up to the ceiling. “He’s nothing but lies, isn’t he?”

  Anna took a sip of her champagne. “Now you tell me a secret.”

  “I’m thinking of bribing one of the footmen to bring a chicken in.” Belinda’s smile was full of mischief.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Oh listen, it’s the quadrille!” Belinda set down her champagne flute. “I’ll dance with Jaded Giles if you promise to find someone exciting to dance with.”

  “I’ve had a bit too much excitement in my life, recently,” Anna said.

  “You mustn’t let me make this sacrifice in vain.” Belinda affected a martyred expression. “Please, Anna. I want you to enjoy yourself, to dance.”

  Anna never could resist her friend’s pleading. “Very well. But you must make sure Giles is well in hand before I step onto the floor.”

  “Don’t take too long.” Belinda waggled her gloved fingers, then vanished into the crowd.

  Anna took another swallow of champagne. Truly, she had no heart for dancing—but she had promised. To dance, at any rate. Enjoying herself was out of the question. She glanced about for the most uninteresting prospect she could find. There—one of the local squire’s sons, a gangly fellow who flushed when she smiled at him.

  Still, the lad was enough up to scratch that a moment later he approached and asked her to join him in the quadrille. Anna accepted, making sure to guide them to the second line, where they would have no chance of coming face-to-face with Belinda and her partner.

  She caught snatches of conversation as they moved through the figures of the dance. Behind her, Mrs. Wildering was exclaiming to someone about the unreliability of country servants and their questionable references. Anna was quite certain she was the cause of that particular complaint.

  Soon enough, the dance was ended. She thanked the squire’s son and retreated back to her corner, where Belinda soon joined her.

  “Heavens, Giles Wildering’s hands like to roam,” she said. “I had to swat him with my fan twice. And then he wouldn’t stop talking about his new horse.”

  “His horse?” It must be Windsor, surely.

  “Well, his former new horse. Apparently the man who sold it to him changed his mind. Mr. Wildering was quite vexed.”

  Anything that vexed him, Anna found quite pleasing. “Who sold him the horse? I’ll have to thank the gentleman.”

  “It was Sir Averly, I believe. He breeds horses—and look, there he is now. Late, but at least he came. He’s far and away the most interesting gentleman in the area. You should dance with him, Anna. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

  As they moved across the dance floor, the back of Anna’s neck began to prickle. Belinda was leading her toward a tall, sandy-haired figure that was suddenly, achingly, familiar. Surely it couldn’t be. It was a passing resemblance, that was all. She tried to calm her pounding heart.

  Then the man turned. His rugged features were unmistakable. Those penetrating green eyes fixed on her face and surprise flashed across his expression, quickly masked.

  “Sir Averly,” Belinda said. “How lovely that you could attend our ball.”

  “Indeed.” His gaze had not left Anna’s.

  “Allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Anna Harcourt. She’s currently a guest at Caswell Hall. Anna, meet Sir Jonathan Avery.”

  “Sir.” Anna could scarcely breathe.

  Jonathan. Here—and somehow a member of the gentry. It unbalanced her completely. She was surprised the walls hadn’t begun to cave in on her.

  “Miss Harcourt, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you care to further it by strolling with me on the terrace?” He held out his arm to her.

  Belinda blinked, then leaned her head close to Anna’s. “Go on,” she whispered. “He’s a gentleman—you’ve no cause to worry.”

  “Thank you.” Anna found her voice. “I’d be delighted.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. The feel of his strength under her fingers reminded her of how it felt to be wrapped in his embrace. Heat flushed into her cheeks and she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the French doors ahead.

  Neither of them spoke until they had gained the low balustrade at the edge of the terrace. Then she released his arm and turned to face him. Light spilling from the ballroom left half his face in shadow. It was difficult to tell if he were pleased to see her, or angry. Or both.

  “So,” she said, her voice a touch unsteady. “You are not a stable-hand.”

  “And you are not a maid—though I suspected as much upon our first meeting.”

  “You did?” How mortifying, that her disguise had been so easy to see through. “What gave me away?”

  “No country maid ever spoke so elegantly, for one thing. And it was quite a stretch to imagine such a lovely maid having no experience in the arts of love. Unless, of course, you came from a much more sheltered existence.”

  “Yet you said nothing.” He had known, all along. A curious sense of relief washed through her.

  “What could I say? You had your reasons for your charade. It was not my place to press you for them. And... I was selfish.”

  She tilted her head. In the half-light she could just make out the rueful smile she’d seen before on his face.

  “Selfish?”

  “If I pretended you were not a lady of refinement, then I could continue meeting you.” One hand came up to cup her cheek. “I could kiss you, without restraint or consequence. I didn’t want to lose you, Anna.”

  A thrill went through her. When he dropped his hand from her face, she took his fingers in hers.

  “You let me think that you were simply a groom, in order to continue our acquaintance. But why were you so often at the Wildering’s?”

  “Giles Wildering wanted to buy Windsor. I was not wholly in accord with the idea, so decided to keep an eye on matters.”

  No doubt Giles had thought that such a big black horse would enhance his manliness. “I heard that you changed your mind about the purchase.”

  “Almost immediately. You are the only reason I didn’t turn back with Windsor at once. When you were gone, there was no reason to linger.”

  “Are you… angry with me?”

  “Why?” His hand tightened around hers.

  “I deceived you.”

  He gave a quiet laugh. “Not very well.”

  “I thought I would never see you again.” Her heart was sore with joy.

  “Ah, Anna.”

  He stepped forward, and somehow she was in his arms again. It felt like home.

  “You won’t tell, will you?” she asked. “Anyone?”

  “All your secrets are safe with me. I only ask one thing.”

  “A kiss?” She pressed hopefully against him.

  “A lifetime of kisses. Anna Harcourt, I won’t lose you again. Will you allow me to call upon you?”

  Her battered heart was suddenly, gloriously, whole again. The happiness that had been missing now sparked through her entire body, leaving her breathless. Her spirit was light as air. Lighter.

  “Yes, Jonathan. Oh, most certainly yes!”

  He dipped his head then, and their lips met in a kiss full of promise and desire. Giddy with happiness, Anna held on to him. There was nothing but this perfect moment, stretching into the future.

  The sweet night wind. The taste of her beloved. The brilliant, whirling stars.

  ~THE END~

  THE PIANO TUTOR

  “My lady.” The butler tapped at Diana Waverly’s half-open door. “The piano tutor is here.” He hesitated, a furrow marring his usually placid brow.

  “Well, it is Wedn
esday.” Diana laid her last black dress in the trunk she had been filling, then carefully closed the lid. “Tell Samantha it’s time for her lesson. I’ll be down directly.”

  The butler remained in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Forgive me, my lady, but it … er, it is not the customary piano tutor. It is an altogether different gentleman.”

  She blinked. “But—Mr. Bent is Samantha’s tutor. We have no other.”

  “I tried to tell him as much, but the gentleman insists.”

  Diana stood, frowning. “I’ll see to him.” They had few callers—the inevitable result of turning down a season’s worth of invitations—and never unannounced visitors.

  Tucking up a stray auburn curl, she started down the hallway toward the wide second floor landing. Mr. Bent had said nothing of this. He was quite reliable—if a bit dour to be tutoring a girl still recovering from the loss of her father.

  At the top of the stairs she halted, pulled from her thoughts by the sound of music pouring from the parlor below. Someone very skilled was playing the piano.

  She rested her hand on the mahogany banister and listened. Note after note tumbled through the entryway, reverberating between the high ceiling and marble floors. Sunlight streamed through the landing windows, making the dust motes swirl and glitter like gilded dancers.

  Her stepdaughter Samantha joined her, her wiry twelve-year old body leaning over the railing. “I didn’t know Mr. Bent could actually play the piano.”

  “It’s not Mr. Bent.” That much was clear, though who it might be and why he was in her parlor was a mystery Diana could not fathom.

  She descended the stairs, the music growing fuller and more present with every step. She paused a moment at the parlor door, then, with a fortifying breath, went in. The instant she crossed the threshold, the music ceased. The magic that had been spilling into the house folded in upon itself and disappeared.

  But its source remained—a broad-shouldered man with brown hair and intelligent grey eyes. He stood when he saw her and bowed with an easy grace.

  “My lady.”

  She studied the stranger. Handsome, undeniably, with those compelling eyes and a smile that seemed genuine. He looked nothing like the stoop shouldered and outmoded Mr. Bent. For one thing, he was a good deal younger—he looked to be no more than a handful of years older than herself.

  “Sir?” She hardly knew what to say. “Please explain yourself.”

  “Viscountess Merrowstone.” The stranger’s voice was rich and complex, the syllables of her title unexpectedly smooth to her ears. “Mr. Nicholas Jameson, at your service. I’ve come to substitute for Mr. Bent, who has been called away unexpectedly.”

  “This is most irregular. I was not informed there was to be a replacement.” She faced him squarely, ready to send him on his way. That was what she intended to do, but the words came out all wrong. “You play quite well.”

  He tipped his head, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “That would be a requirement, wouldn’t it?”

  “One would assume so.” Though his bearing made her think he would be more suited to leaping a stallion over hedgerows than giving piano lessons to a twelve-year old.“You’re quite certain you’re a piano tutor?”

  “Let me assure you of my qualifications.” He extended an envelope. “I’ve a letter of recommendation from Lady Pembroke. You’re acquainted, I believe?”

  Diana nodded. Indeed, Lucy was a good friend, possessed of a generous spirit—though she was more than a little scandalous.

  Henry had not approved of their friendship. Diana’s gaze slipped past Mr. Jameson to the portrait of her late husband, Lord Henry Waverly, Viscount Merrowstone. His stern, formal features watched impassively, a cultivated remoteness in his expression. Solid and predictable in the portrait, just as in life. Lucy had annoyed him to no end.

  Swallowing a sigh, Diana turned her attention to her friend’s curling script.

  Dearest Diana— I commend Mr. Nicholas Jameson to you as a piano tutor. He has provided my own Charlotte with lessons and has proven quite satisfactory. May I also point out—in case you had not noticed—that he is extremely handsome. He strikes me as a perfect diversion now that you have finally come out of mourning. I encourage you to take him on—in whatever capacities suit your needs. Pianists have such skilled hands.

  She felt her cheeks burn as she glanced up at the gentleman in question. No doubt it had amused Lucy to have Mr. Jameson deliver such an outrageous “reference” in person.

  “I see that she recommends you highly, sir,” Diana said, biting her lip to avoid an embarrassed giggle. “I suppose we might consider having you.” Oh dear, that hadn’t sounded quite proper. She cleared her throat. “I mean hiring you. It wouldn’t do to neglect Samantha’s lessons while Mr. Bent is away.”

  “Oh, please hire him,” Samantha said, peeking out from behind the doorway. She came in and stood on tiptoe to whisper in Diana’s ear. “He seems ever so much nicer than Mr. Bent.”

  It was quite outside the regular course of things, yet there was no mistaking the eager note in Samantha’s voice. No mistaking that Mr. Jameson was, as Lucy had mentioned, a very handsome man.

  Her stepdaughter turned to him. “I heard you playing. It was marvelous! How do you do the part with your left hand? Could you show me?”

  “Of course.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s simple once you get the trick of it. Have you played any Mozart?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Then you’ll be able to master it easily. That is….” He raised a questioning brow at Diana.

  “Oh very well,” she said. “It appears you will be our replacement tutor until Mr. Bent returns.” She ignored Samantha’s muffled squeal. “Can you begin today?”

  A spark leapt into his eyes. “Immediately.”

  Looking at him made heat creep into her cheeks. Despite herself, Lucy’s advice rang in her head. As if she would consider something so scandalous as commencing an affair with the piano tutor. Really, her friend had no sense of propriety.

  Samantha hurried to seat herself at the piano bench. “I’m ready!”

  Diana was not sure whether she herself was ready, but events seemed to be carrying her along. She settled into the nearby wingback and straightened the rich indigo skirts of her new dress. It was odd to wear colors again. She had grown so accustomed to the solid black of mourning that she felt vulnerable without it. A part of her wanted to retreat back into its safety—but that was not fair to Samantha. Diana could not deny the hopeful light in the girl’s eyes, the flash of her rare grin as she attempted to mimic Mr. Jameson’s command of the keyboard.

  As was customary during Samantha’s lessons, Diana picked up her newest copy of The Ladies’ Monthly, but the fashion plates held no interest for her. Her eyes kept wandering from the illustrations to steal quick glances at the new tutor—his long-fingered hands as he played a run of notes, the way his brown hair tumbled over his collar. More than once he seemed to sense her attention and she had to quickly drop her gaze back to the unseen pages.

  The sound of his voice was so different from Mr. Bent’s dry tones, and his praise and encouragement drew another flashing smile from Samantha. Something inside Diana uncoiled a notch, a deep tension she had not realized she had been carrying.

  The shape of his muscular shoulders was barely concealed by the cut of his coat as he leaned forward to demonstrate some point. He radiated confidence and mastery. She imagined that everything he did would benefit from that focused energy.

  From this angle he was in profile. His jaw was firm, his nose straight, his mouth strong, yet sensitive. She traced her own lips with a fingertip, then caught herself and hurriedly dropped her hand before he could notice.

  Mr. Jameson turned to face her. “Will you?” he asked.

  Diana’s breath faltered as their gazes held a heartbeat too long. Clearly she had missed an important turn in the lesson while daydreaming.

  “Sing for us,�
�� Samantha said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “Mr. Jameson has been showing me a marvelous pattern for accompanying songs, but I don’t think I can sing and play at the same time.”

  Diana set aside her magazine. “Oh—I really couldn’t. It’s been so long.” There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room for her to breathe, let alone sing.

  “Of course you can.” Mr. Jameson’s tone was assured. “Miss Samantha says you have a lovely singing voice.” There was a challenge in his expression, as if he were curious to see what she would do.

  “Please, Mama. Let’s do The Meeting of the Waters.”

  “Very well. If it’s part of the lesson.” She stood and took her place beside the piano, oddly reluctant to disappoint Mr. Jameson. Still, it had been a very long while. What if she had lost the knack altogether? “Samantha, you and Mr. Jameson must help by singing with me.”

  The piano tutor counted the tempo then signaled Samantha to begin. Diana took a deep breath and sang the first words. Mr. Jameson’s rich baritone joined her, while her stepdaughter concentrated on the keyboard.

  At first her alto sounded husky to her ears, the notes unsure. Soon enough, though, her body took over and she remembered how to breathe, how to put herself into the song and carry each tone to fullness. Mr. Jameson was solid beside her, his singing voice even fuller than she had imagined. When her pitch wavered, he was there, and soon their voices began to blend in a most pleasing manner. Unbidden, her eyes met his, and the appreciation there nearly made her lose the words. She forced her concentration back to the final phrases of the song.

  Samantha was giggling as she played a last flourish on the piano.

  “Splendid!” Mr. Jameson said. “Miss Waverly, you have a deft touch on the keyboard. And Viscountess—your voice is lovely.”

  Diana smiled back at him. The parlor had not rung with such happy sounds for too long. It seemed that Mr. Jameson would be a splendid substitute.