Seducing the Earl

by Andersen, Maggi

  Noise floated out from the Assembly Rooms along with the music. The rooms crammed with people. Those prepared to pay the yearly subscription, from farmers to the gentry and a sprinkling of the ton, gathered to dance in the ballroom, enjoy the card play, and the supper.

  Strathairn entered the ballroom where dancers departed the dance floor, having just performed a Scottish reel. His gaze drifted over the ladies in search of Sibella. He found her with Maria and made his way over to the dowager marchioness. He bowed. “Lady Brandreth.”

  “Lord Strathairn.” Since he’d reached adulthood, the dowager was the only person who could make him feel like an awkward lad in short trousers with one look. “I had not expected to see you at a York assembly.” Her ladyship’s green eyes drilled into him.

  “Seeking an antidote to boredom, my lady.”

  “It is evident why you have come. It is to see my daughter.” Her green eyes narrowed. “I like you Strathairn, always have. But it would be better for you to make yourself scarce where my daughter is concerned.”

  “Then after tonight, I shall heed your advice.” He bowed.

  The two sisters came to join them. “Lady Sibella, Lady Maria.”

  A high color spread across Sibella’s cheeks. He cursed under his breath. Usually so composed, it was obvious his kiss had unsettled her. “May I claim the next waltz, Lady Sibella?”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  When the master of ceremonies announced it, Strathairn took her in his arms and they joined the swirling dancers. “I would hate you to think I don’t value our friendship,” he said.

  “Heavens, are you concerned about our last meeting? I pray you treat what happened between us as meaningless. As I do.” The look in Sibella’s eyes darkened before she turned away to nod at a friend.

  His gaze wandered to the tendrils of ebony hair curling on her swan-like neck. He drew in a breath. “You sound so formal. I suspect you have not forgiven me.”

  Her eyes sought his with a frank expression. “I have, now that I know the truth of it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The truth?”

  She tilted her head up at him. “You believe your work precludes you from marriage.”

  So, Edward or Chaloner had told her. He should feel relieved. Instead, the hollow in his chest seemed to deepen. “You understand then.”

  “I don’t understand, my lord. I merely know the reason behind your motives.”

  “Dash it all, Sibella!” A woman dancing past frowned at him. “I wish we might go somewhere where I can explain it more fully.”

  “We certainly cannot do that, my lord,” Sibella said coolly. “And I don’t see the necessity for it. You have stated your case. I have accepted it. Nothing has changed between us. Unless we are to become kissing friends?”

  He huffed out a laugh. The prospect was most tempting, but of course, she didn’t mean it. He couldn’t tamp down the pleasure of holding her light in his arms. Her dainty pastel pink dress with its froth of lace around the sleeves and hem reminded him of a dessert made by Marie-Antoine Carême. “I wish to hear you say you forgive my rash action,” he said in a low voice, aware that his hand at her waist had tightened.

  She raised her face to him. “I do.” She sobered. “Of course I do. I just wish…”

  He gazed down on her lovely face, concern ruffling her brow. “Wish what?”

  “That you would stop.”

  He had nothing to say to that. He couldn’t. Not while this dangerous affair required his attention.

  The dance ended, and couples walked from the floor. He offered her his arm and escorted her back to her chair. Their conversation had reached an end. It left him strangely dissatisfied. It was pointless to talk further on this, but still, he would have liked to remain in her company. To laugh and discuss other matters. He wanted to tell her about his foals and the new litter of puppies, to make her laugh and set her mind at rest. To return to the comfortable friendship they’d shared.

  A half hour later, the master of ceremonies, a rotund officious fellow, ushered a very young woman with the startled eyes of a young deer toward him. “I’d like to introduce Miss Gudge, my lord. You’ll be delighted to dance with so pleasing a young lady, embarking on her first season. You shall lead the dance!”

  “Charmed.” He bowed over the girl’s trembling hand and gave her a reassuring smile as the fiddlers took their places in the musician’s gallery. He glanced over at Sibella who was taking the floor on the arm of some callow youth. He would not be able to dance with her again nor seek her company without her mother scowling at him. Here in Yorkshire where his countryseat resided, his behavior came under more scrutiny than in London, and gossip bearing their names would spread like wildfire.

  At eleven o’clock, the crowd dispersed. Lady Brandreth left in her son, Bartholomew’s carriage as Strathairn assisted Sibella and Maria into theirs.

  After saying their goodbyes, he walked down the dark road toward his curricle. He dropped a glove onto the cobbles and bent to pick it up as a gunshot ricocheted around the street. It was followed by the sound of footsteps running away down the alley.

  Strathairn ran back to where Sibella stood. Her carriage had stopped, and she’d climbed down onto the road.

  “Go home! I’ll call on you tomorrow.”

  She nodded, her face chalk-white in the moonlight. He ushered her inside where Maria was entreating her to take care.

  Thankfully, the order was given, and the carriage rumbled away down the street.

  Strathairn ran to his curricle where Joseph slumped on the ground. He huffed out a sigh of relief to find him unconscious, but alive.

  He grabbed the gun he kept in the carriage and, aware it was useless, went after the shooter. He paused to listen at the mouth of the narrow alley. There was no sound bar the yowl of cats. Nothing moved. Pools of impenetrable shadows, where the moonlight and candlelight from the windows above failed to reach, could hide an assassin. Too dangerous to continue, but he was sure the gunman had got clean away.

  Strathairn hefted his groom into his arms and placed him in the curricle. Then he clambered up onto the seat and untied the reins. Once York lay behind them, it remained an uneasy trip home with the young man sprawled semi-conscious beside him. Strathairn kept an eye on the road but no one followed. The fact that they knew where to find him made him growl in frustration. He didn’t like dealing with an invisible enemy. He preferred to confront them face to face.

  The next morning, he was able to question Joseph, who had little more than a sore head. He was of little help. The scoundrel had crept up behind him as he held the horses and watched for Strathairn.

  Strathairn rode Ulysses back to York to inform Mr. Pugh. He continued to the presbytery where Sibella stayed with her brother. He found the family in a flurry of activity, planning to return to London. Sibella, Maria, and Bartholomew’s wife, Emily, were in the parlor, the dowager busy upstairs with her maid.

  “You must forgive me, Lord Strathairn, the ladies will have arrived with the flowers for the church,” Emily said.

  “And they are all in love with Bart,” Maria said with a giggle after their sister-in-law left the room.

  Strathairn grinned. Their brother Bartholomew’s appearance could be an inconvenience for a vicar.

  “That was a pistol shot we heard last night, wasn’t it?” Maria said. “Did you discover who was behind it?”

  Strathairn shook his head. “No, some young buck, no doubt, shooting at rats.”

  Sibella brows were drawn in a puzzled frown. “I saw you ride past on Ulysses. I should like to see him. Shall we take a walk to the stables before we have our tea?”

  Strathairn rose. “But of course.” He offered his arm. “Lady Maria?”

  Maria waved her hand. “I shan’t come. I have no great fondness for horses.”

  As they strolled along the drive, he glanced at Sibella’s serious profile. “You leave York tomorrow?”

  “I believe my mother is half
gypsy,” Sibella said. “I shall almost be glad when she settles into her dotage in the dower house.”

  “That’s not likely to be soon. Your mother is still filled with youthful fire.” He thought of her fiery gaze on him the previous evening and had a feeling she was watching from an upstairs window.

  Sibella turned to face him, her concerned gaze seeking his. “Are you going to tell me the truth about last night?”

  He shrugged. “Someone shooting off a pistol. As I said.”

  She searched his eyes. “You won’t tell me then.”

  “I don’t know who it was, Sibella.”

  She shook her head and fell silent.

  They reached the stable where his big, chocolate-brown horse enjoyed a feed of oats. Sibella patted the stallion’s nose. “Oh, he is a true beauty.”

  “Yes. Ulysses is going to be one of my greatest successes.” He leaned against the stall, enjoying looking at her in her green and white spotted dress. “So, we are friends again?”

  She smiled. “We were ever friends. It shall always be so.”

  Was he a fool to hope that their friendship would continue? With the knowledge of how precarious his life had become, he felt reckless in the warmth of the stables with the horses shuffling in their stalls. He disliked the distance that stood between them, and would far prefer to pull her down onto the straw and… “We’d best return to the house,” he said abruptly.

  After casting him a careful glance, Sibella followed him out into the daylight.

  As they sat taking tea, the dowager entered the room. She greeted Strathairn with a brisk nod.

  “Have you written to Lord Coombe, Sibella?”

  Sibella looked startled. “No, Mama.”

  Lady Brandreth drew her shawl around her shoulders and aimed a pointed glance at Strathairn. “I’m sure he is keenly awaiting your return to London.”

  Bartholomew, their tall, dark-haired brother, entered the room and the conversation turned to more light-hearted mundane matters. As soon as was polite, Strathairn took his leave.

  *

  Sibella stood at the window watching a hawker selling oranges below in St James’s Square.

  “I can’t understand why Strathairn doesn’t propose, Sib,” Maria said as she brushed her hair before the mirror. “The way he looks at you shows he cares very deeply for you.”

  “Perhaps he looks at many women that way.”

  “I’ve never seen him do so. In fact,” Maria paused. “I’ve never seen him show any interest in another woman.”

  Sibella drew in a breath as a quiver of sadness passed through her and turned away from the window. “Perhaps he prefers the ladies of the opera.”

  “Or has a chère-amie,” Maria said as if she was a great authority on the subject. She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe that. Might his heart have been broken?”

  “It’s possible, dearest.” Sibella almost wished it were true. That was something she could fight.

  “I don’t believe that either. He loves you, Sib. I’m sure of it,” Maria said in a tragic tone.

  Sibella hated to keep the truth from her sister. She took the brush from Maria’s hand and began to brush her long black hair. “He’s fond of me, I think. But I can’t force the man to marry me, now can I?”

  When they settled in the drawing room later in the afternoon, the door opened and their youngest brother, Vaughn, walked in. “Vaughn!” Both his sisters jumped up to kiss him.

  Maria hurried away to tell their mother after Vaughn collapsed on the sofa beside Sibella. She studied him as she put a stitch in her embroidery. At one-and-twenty, and the youngest male in the family, he was indulged, rootless, and restless. Right now, he looked haggard. “Are you going to tell me what worries you?” she asked. “Can’t you pay your rent at Albany?”

  “Don’t you start, Sib. I’ve been harassed by Edward and Chaloner until I’m numb. Chaloner disapproves of my friends.”

  “Might he have reason to disapprove of them?”

  He shrugged. “They are young bucks, a bit wild at times.”

  “You agree with Chaloner then? Won’t you heed his advice?”

  He unwound his long limbs and climbed to his feet to stalk the carpet, swiping at his thatch of black hair. “Advice? That depends on how you look at it. Have I seen the error of my ways? I expect so.” He returned to stand before her. “Don’t worry so much, Sib.”

  Sibella sighed. “Have you given any more thought to a commission in the army, Vaughn? The light cavalry, wasn’t it? Edward is in the law, Bart in the church. You must find something to do. The devil makes trouble for idle younger sons.”

  “I sought Strathairn’s opinion about the army. They have reduced the size of the army because we are not at war. Who wants to toil for half rations?”

  “Yes, but surely when Chaloner buys your colors—”

  “An officer does better, I know.” He fell back in a sulk on the sofa. “I wouldn’t wager a groat on me ending up in the army. In fact, nothing appeals to me.”

  “In a year or two you might marry, but until then, you should find something to occupy you which does not involve gaming.”

  His green eyes widened. “Do you mean court an heiress? I never expected you to urge me to do that, Sib.”

  “I didn’t. I’m merely making suggestions.” She tamped down her annoyance at his freedom to decide, a luxury not afforded to her.

  “Well, they are most unhelpful.”

  At the sound of the front door knocker, Sibella tucked away the handkerchief she embroidered in a silk bag with relief.

  “Are you at home to Lord Coombe, Lady Sibella?”

  She hesitated. She could find little reason to refuse him. “Yes, Belton.” She rose and smoothed her skirts as Henry Coombe walked into the room. “How nice of you to call, my lord.”

  Coombe bowed first to her, then Vaughn. “We are fortunate to have a perfect summer day, Lady Sibella, and I hoped to persuade you to enjoy a carriage ride.”

  If only an afternoon in his company appealed to her more. Despite her disinclination, she had promised Chaloner she would try. Besides, she’d accepted that Strathairn was lost to her and refused to pine.

  “What an excellent suggestion.” She glanced back at her brother, who had returned to his seat, frowning in contemplation, his thumbs tucked into his waistcoat. “Why not join us, Vaughn?”

  Vaughn leapt to his feet. “Ah, no thank you, I just remembered something important I must do. Your servant, Coombe.” He bowed and left the room.

  “Well,” Sibella said. “Where shall we go?”

  “I thought we might drive to Richmond for luncheon. I had a picnic basket prepared, which awaits us in the landau.”

  “Only fancy, Maria was saying yesterday that she hadn’t been to Richmond in an age. I shall go and ask her.”

  Lord Coombe inclined his head, his face thoughtful. Was he disappointed because they were not alone? Or didn’t it make the slightest difference? Sibella went in search of Maria. Whether she liked it or not, Maria was coming to Richmond.

  Chapter Five

  Once they were settled in the park, Maria wandered away to seek the shade of a copse of trees. A footman poured wine into crystal glasses. Sibella took the proffered glass and sipped the cold liquid while she watched her sister pick wildflowers. A warm breeze fanned the damp curls beneath her bonnet, offering little relief. The weather was too hot to be pleasant.

  Clearly determined that nothing was to ruin his picnic, Lord Coombe tempted her with all manner of treats from the well-filled basket, from scotch eggs to ham pie and fresh strawberries. The blazing sun had turned the landscape colorless and parched. Even the ducks left the water and tucked their heads beneath their wings. Hot air gathered beneath the umbrella the footman held over them. When the umbrella’s shadow wobbled, she glanced up. The poor man’s face was puce, and a river of sweat ran down his cheeks.

  “Are you, all right?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said swallowi
ng loudly.

  “Give me the umbrella and sit in the shade.” She poured out a tumbler of water and held it up to him.

  “Gather yourself together quickly, man,” Coombe said roughly. “I expect you to do your job.”

  The footman who was very fair skinned, staggered into the shade and drank the water before hurrying back again.

  Sibella could do little but return the umbrella to him, with a glance at Coombe who seemed to have lost interest.

  Not always so agreeable then. Coombe’s enthusiasm had driven her to taste everything put before her, when she’d preferred to rest rather than eat. Slightly ill, she wondered when they might leave.

  He leaned closer to dab with his napkin at the droplets threatening to spill from her glass. His lips parted as if to speak, then he closed his mouth and pulled away.

  “Maria, come and drink wine with us,” Sibella called.

  He glanced up at her. “May I ask you a question, Lady Sibella?”

  She swallowed and nodded politely as dread curdled her stomach.

  “Do you wish to marry?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And children? You must want a family.” He flicked a crumb from his cuff. She failed to find fault with the way he dressed, immaculate as always in a drab coat and brown breeches, his red hair carefully arranged.

  She couldn’t imagine his hair ruffled as it must be when he first woke. She took a large gulp of wine and broke into a fit of coughing. Croaking out an affirmative, she turned to her sister who took her time returning.

  “I confess, I do wonder why you’re unmarried,” he said. “I’m sure many have sought your hand.”

  “How flattering, my lord,” she murmured.

  Maria finally strolled toward them, ending their conversation. Relieved, Sibella smiled up at her as she took a glass of wine from the footman.

  “Really, it is far too hot to be out, don’t you think?” Maria asked, showing a remarkable absence of guile, for which Sibella could have kissed her.

  When Lord Coombe escorted them back to the carriage, his piqued expression left no doubt as to his dissatisfaction with how the day had gone. Sibella couldn’t really blame him. He had planned this picnic to please her. She sat beside Maria who was fanning herself furiously. As the carriage crossed the Thames on its way to London, Sibella recalled their conversation. It appeared he was intent on asking for her hand. And would do so soon. She was no longer an ingénue. Ballrooms were filled with fresh young faces each season. She yearned to hold a baby of her own in her arms and had to face the fact that her chances of that grew less with each passing year. Would marriage to a man she didn’t love, who could give her a child, make up for everything else?