About an Earl (What Happens in the Ballroom)

by Diana Lloyd

  “Yes, you did, but that’s fine. It’s what everyone else is thinking. In a way, Eldridge had the right of it. I’m unsuitable as a wife here.” Stepping closer as she spoke, she looked into his eyes, hoping to judge his sincerity.

  “Not to me.”

  “You’ll be shut out of Society because of me.”

  “Take a look at my face and tell me again that you’re the reason I’d be shut out.”

  “I forgot about that.” Reaching up, she caressed his scarred cheek. “I’m an additional burden you don’t need.” Melting in to him as his arms came around her, she leaned against his solid chest, resting her cheek above his heart. Closing her eyes, listening for the steadfast beat, she relaxed for the first time that day.

  “You’re no burden, you’re an inspiration. Eldridge is a fool.” Teasing the bow from her bonnet, he pushed it off her head. “I’m sorry for your heartache, and I’m sorry I assumed the worst of you. My only salvation is that I’m not as big a fool as Eldridge and realized what a treasure you are before it was too late.”

  “Treasure? A week ago, I was just a girl with a big bottom.” Lifting her head and smiling so he’d know she was only teasing, she waited for him to return the smile. “Last night, well, early this morning when I woke up and you were already gone, I started thinking about what we did and why we did it.”

  “I know why I did.” Oliver brushed his lips against her temple and gave her bottom a squeeze. “I wanted you more than anything. You’re brave and smart and inspiring. And I want someone like you by my side.” He stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “Forever.”

  “I wanted to feel the love I see when I look at you. Or think of you. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want it to stop.” She fumbled over the words, afraid to sound foolish for declaring love to a man she’d known for so short a time.

  “I don’t want this to stop, either.”

  His touch changed with his words, or maybe she only imagined his skin suddenly warmer where it met hers. Real or not, she not only welcomed but encouraged his fingertips. Letting her shawl slide from her shoulders and pool on the floor, she bit the fingertip of her glove and pulled first one and then the other from her hands, tossing them over her shoulder.

  Free to explore, she slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders. She clasped her hands behind his neck and urged him closer until his lips hovered over hers. Hesitating a moment more, her eyes drifted shut as she pressed her lips forward to meet his. When he didn’t hesitate to return her affection, Jewel dared to deepen the kiss and press her body against his. They’d played with fire back at Canary Court; was she the only one who’d walked away feeling singed?

  “Just hold me for a few minutes,” she said when their lips finally parted.

  “I want to hold you much longer than that,” Oliver said, pulling her closer.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked, her words muffled by his collar.

  “Pretend to be my fiancée for now. Maybe, after a suitable engagement period, you might agree to pretend to be my wife.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll never play at being your wife.”

  “You do realize,” he said, his voice suddenly serious, “that you might already be carrying the next Earl of Winchcombe.”

  “I don’t believe in long engagements and, if I’m to be your wife, it won’t be a charade.” The truth of her words echoed in her brain. Long engagements were tiresome for everyone, and marriage wasn’t something to be played at. Her father’s words about following her heart, finding her own happiness—those words were meant for moments like this. “Marry me,” she blurted out.

  “This instant?” Oliver asked, looking unsure whether he should laugh or not.

  “Yes.” Taking a step back, she placed her hands on his chest and looked up into his eyes. “I have no dowry, and I fear my father may be guilty of the crime of which he is accused. Once you make your appearance in the House of Lords, young women of good family will be throwing themselves at your feet. Are you certain of your feelings for me?” Watching his face for any hint of hesitation, any frown or downturn of brow to indicate displeasure, Jewel held her breath for his reply.

  Oliver looked her straight in the eyes, never wavering as he spoke. “I don’t care what your father’s done. I don’t care if you never get a penny of your dowry. Whether you stand beside me in a church or not, my heart will always be yours. If you return to Boston, you’ll take my heart with you and, in that small way, you will be my wife. I demand nothing. I deny you nothing. I can live the rest of my life happy—as an earl or as a pauper—knowing that my heart is with you, but I can’t imagine any future at all without you. I love you.”

  “Oliver,” she said, sliding down to one knee, “Lord Winchcombe, will you do me the honor of becoming my wedded husband?”

  “I think I’m the one who is supposed to be down there.” Dropping to his knees, he took her hands in his and smiled. “Jewel, will you marry me?”

  “I asked first,” she said, pressing her most cherished item, her father’s letter, into his hand. “And I’m still waiting for your answer. A simple yes or no will do.”

  “What is this?”

  “A proposal.”

  “No, this, in my hand.”

  “My father’s letter. One of the few things that belong to me, and my most valuable object. It’s a token of how much I trust you and value your love.” Oliver’s face betrayed nothing of what he thought of her gesture. It might be deemed unnecessary or even silly, but he’d given her so much, shared so much of himself, that she wanted a way to show him how much it meant to her.

  “The trouble with following your heart is that you leave something else behind. Can you live with this decision?”

  “Yes. Without hesitation, without a doubt, my heart chooses you.”

  “I love you.” Oliver stood and offered his arm. “You won’t be getting rid of me.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.” He didn’t make her ask a second time.

  Holding each other close, swaying to music only lovers could hear, their lips found occupation. Smiling through their kisses as if she would never stop, Jewel wished for a few more minutes of pure bliss before they got back to the business of foiling her uncle’s plans. As much as she was in the right for demanding her money, their ordeal was far from over.

  “Glad to see the two of you haven’t killed each other. Yet,” Bartleby said as he walked back into his office, pretending not to see their embrace. Knowing he was smiling like a fool, Oliver turned his head away. He wanted to dance in the streets or shout from the rooftops that the woman he loved had agreed to marriage. Instead, he gave her hand a knowing squeeze.

  “We had a productive discussion.” Looking back to Jewel, Oliver smiled reassuringly.

  “Miss Latham has graciously agreed to be my wife.”

  “What happened to that other fellow?” Taking his seat, Bartleby glared at them from across his desk.

  “That was a misunderstanding,” Jewel explained.

  “Clearly. Will the misunderstanding be presenting any further trouble?”

  “No,” she replied, looking over to reassure Oliver. “No trouble.”

  “Excellent.” Bartleby motioned for them to take their seats. “Lord Winchcombe, when you meet with Dunwoody, you’ll be asking him to relinquish all his power over you in addition to a large amount of money. If I read the man right, he’ll balk and press his complaint against you in the Committee of Privileges. If they suspect you of lunacy and, absent a husband of sound mind, he will keep Miss Latham’s money tied up in the courts until he can make her mysteriously disappear. I beg you to tread lightly in your negotiations with him.”

  “Not to worry, I’ll handle him like a raw egg,” Oliver lied. What he had in mind for Dunwoody would not be shared in this office. The less Bartleby knew of his plan, th
e less guilty he would be if it all went to shit and they all needed a good lawyer.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I offer my most humble apologies for my earlier indifference, miss.” Greeting them as they entered the Clifford Street town house, Penry took up Jewel’s hand. “Your presence here can only mean you’ve agreed to help our cause. Whether that assistance is in your continued charade as my brother’s betrothed or as a member of our small family—I will be your faithful champion. Please tell me that I have been forgiven.”

  “Your loyalty to your brother is commendable, even if overzealous, and you are forgiven without reservation. I’ve never had an older brother before. I hear it can be amusing.” Smiling wickedly, she tossed her shawl aside and poured a cup of tea from the still steaming pot of a tea service.

  “That’s one word for it.” Nudging his brother with his foot, Oliver winked at her. The house on Clifford Street that was to be their home for the next few days not only smelled better than Canary Court, it offered enough room for everyone to have their own seat and own bed.

  “Thank you,” Penry said, brushing away Oliver’s foot. “So, this is a love match, is it?”

  “I never said it wasn’t.” Jewel stifled a smile as she patted Penry’s hand.

  “Are you two pulling one over on me? You are going to marry?”

  “Maybe we’ll invite you.” Willing to let his brother twist in the wind waiting for an answer, Oliver sipped his tea. Keeping the smile from his face was the hardest part, but Penry deserved a little discomfort. “You’ll have to watch for the notice in the Times.”

  “I call foul, brother.” Penry turned to him in open-mouthed outrage. “I deserve to know. No, I demand to know. Will you or won’t you be married?”

  “Shall we put him out of his misery?” Walking over to stand behind Jewel’s chair, Oliver wished he had a token of value to gift to her to mark the occasion. The only thing he carried that was worth more than his waistcoat was his father’s watch. He fished it out of his pocket and checked the time.

  The timepiece had probably been won in one of the many games of chance his father had indulged in. The old man had likely thought no more of it than any of the paper scrap markers hidden about Winchcombe Abbey. Oliver wasn’t even sure why he carried it; it held no value in sentiment. Any reminder of his father also reminded him of the scar that marred his face. Taking one last look at the intricately made piece, he slipped it back in his pocket. Jewel deserved her own token, something made just for her.

  “I swear I shall expire from suspense if neither of you speaks up.” Dropping to one knee and folding his hands in supplication, Penry begged. “Give me an answer, please, I beg you.”

  “Is that how you proposed to Mary Bartleby?” Jewel asked. “A woman does love to see a man on his knees.”

  “Tell him, Jewel. He won’t believe it if it comes from me.” Walking to his brother’s side, Oliver placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s true and it’s real.”

  Oliver’s heart warmed at her beaming smile as she confirmed the news.

  “Now that we’ve put you out of your misery, we can get back to the much less pleasurable matter of outwitting Dunwoody.” As much as he’d rather take a few days to take Jewel around London so they might discover the great Town together, the clock was ticking away the minutes before his hearing. “I sent over a note earlier. I’m going to call on him tonight to have a little talk.”

  “Talk? You’re just going to talk to him?” Jewel looked at him suspiciously.

  “Trust me. When I was sitting at the Pot and Pineapple watching what I thought was a proposal, I started thinking about how I’d let you slip away.”

  “I’d rather forget that ugly incident.”

  “Soon enough. Anyway, I realized how many things I let slip away because I was waiting on the post and afraid to leave the house. Before I met you, my life wasn’t only colorless, it was bland and cautious. It’s time I stopped waiting for things to happen. I need to challenge myself to force change. As unconventional as your methods are, you’re not afraid to get out there and make things happen. You’re not afraid of anything.”

  “Snakes,” she replied. “I’m afraid of snakes.”

  “Me too,” Penry chimed in.

  “Hmm.” He arched an eyebrow at his brother’s admission. “I was thinking my life couldn’t possibly get any worse. I’m losing my heritage and my freedom despite being tediously careful all those years. And then an idea popped into my head, a mad idea that no reasonable person would ever attempt, except you, Jewel.”

  “Is that a compliment? I can’t tell.” Penry looked back and forth between him and Jewel. “What is this mad plan?”

  “I’m going to speak with Dunwoody, but I’m bringing someone with me.”

  “Me?” Penry ventured.

  “Jules and Egbert?” Jewel guessed.

  “A certain Scottish Maiden. Dobbs has her waiting in a wagon outside.” He waited for their shocked faces to ease into confusion before he explained. “Remember, I have the diamond, the letters, and the witness. I think a gift of the fate of traitors against the Crown will make an excellent addition to our discussion.”

  …

  “His lordship will see you now.” Dunwoody’s footman motioned for Oliver to rise and follow him down the hall. Drawing a deep breath, Oliver entered the office of the man who thought he held all the cards. The room was as large and pretentious as the man himself.

  “Lord Dunwoody,” Oliver said, bowing. “You’ve enjoyed a pleasant day, I trust.”

  “Most pleasant, that’s why it shouldn’t be sullied with business. My man tells me you’ve brought a large crate with you today. A bit of bribery, Lord Winchcombe? I’m sure I don’t know what you think you’ll get out of me. A fact that makes me curious as to your insistence on being here today.”

  “A gift all the way from Scotland. Something my father commissioned, but I believe it was meant for you.” It occurred to Oliver as he spoke that the Scottish Maiden may not have been the result of his father’s drunken whim after all. Ordering the death machine might be the only favor his father had ever done for him.

  “Thomas,” Dunwoody went to the door and bellowed for a footman. “Have some of the staff open the crate and bring the contents to me here.” The older man took his place behind his desk and motioned for Oliver to sit. A snap of his fingers produced a maid with a tray holding a decanter of sherry and two glasses. After the wine was poured, she backed out of the room.

  “Shall we raise the glass to my good fortune?” Knowing Dunwoody wanted to take command of the meeting from start to finish, Oliver raised his glass and waited for the man to agree or demure. He intended to keep the old swindler on his toes and off his game the entire time.

  “Good fortune, you say?” Dunwoody reached for his glass but did not raise it. “If you see your current predicament as good tidings, I’d hate to see what poor luck looks like.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Odd, I thought the news would travel faster. Endorsements to my character have been flooding my solicitor’s office these past two days. It seems everyone I’ve ever corresponded with is eager to testify to my business acumen and natural ability with figures. I’ve a nose for good business.” It was all lies, but Dunwoody didn’t know that.

  “A man with two noses,” Dunwoody said, referring to Oliver’s scar, “should hope one of them is good for something.”

  “I’ve also got the eye,” Oliver said, pointing to his cat’s eye, “for opportunity.” Refusing to rise to Dunwoody’s jab, he leaned in closer. “This eye,” he said, in his most menacing voice, “led me to the most amazing discovery just the other day.” He let his words settle on the desktop while Dunwoody absorbed them and tossed back his sherry.

  “What would that be—another talking bird?”

  “A talking rock.”

 
“And, pray tell, what did the rock have to say?” Looking nervous, Dunwoody glanced to the door as if he was preparing to escape.

  “It said it was worth at least forty-five thousand pounds.” Smiling, Oliver poured himself another glass of sherry. “It was kind enough to tell me its name—Cheenee Keedalee. The funny way it rolls off the tongue, I may have to write a song about it. It even told me the name of its owner. You’ll never guess in a hundred years who it was.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t come into my home acting the madman and expect me to take you seriously.”

  “Who says I’m acting?” Oliver asked, refilling Dunwoody’s glass of sherry and pushing it across the desk. “You’re going to need that.”

  “Are you threatening me? What is it, poison?”

  “It came from your cellars, how would I know? But a man who plays with treason wouldn’t think twice about a little murder by poison.”

  “Treason? Murder? You should pay more mind to the words that leave your mouth, Winchcombe. What does any of this have to do with me? I know nothing of this supposed diamond.”

  “I never said it was a diamond.” The look on Dunwoody’s face told Oliver everything he needed to know. The man was guilty as sin and starting to crack. If Dunwoody didn’t murder him before he left the house, he was going to win this round with the second punch.

  “My lord,” a footman’s voice preceded a knock at the office door.

  “Get it in here,” Dunwoody roared back, jumping from his chair and walking to the middle of the room to direct his footmen. “What is it?”

  “Dunno,” the footman answered. “But it’s heavy.”

  “Put it down, right there,” Dunwoody said, pointing to a low sturdy table. Clearing away the vase of flowers atop the table, the footmen set the Scottish Maiden down with a thud. Hands on hips, Dunwoody stared at his unexpected gift silently, while the footmen quit the room.

  “I thought a little reminder of the high stakes would suit the conversation. I’m sure His Majesty could use a diversion from the war, especially one that will help refill his coffers.” He still hadn’t gotten Dunwoody’s full confession. It seemed a demonstration of the Scottish Maiden’s efficiency was in order.