Worth Winning

by Elling, Parker

  Julia looked at the sparsely furnished room around them. It wasn’t that the furniture was shoddy or even in disrepair, but it was clear that Jack had furnished it for functionality and practicality rather than with any real taste. Even Julia, who knew little about such things (other than a certain Recaimer that held a special place in her heart), could tell that the chairs and tables, the lamps and rug, were all quite fine but had been chosen perhaps because of their plainness.

  If she hadn’t known better, and she had to constantly remind herself that she did, she would have thought that Jack was, if not destitute, then at least barely able to sustain himself, despite the beautiful townhouse in a semi-fashionable street.

  As usual, Jack had done little to push her. Despite the fact that they hadn’t seen one another in person for almost a year, he’d welcomed her without question, a small hint of sympathy in his eyes when she explained that she’d needed to get away from someone and wanted a place to be quiet, and to think.

  Though he didn’t know the specifics of her situation, he knew enough of situations like these and had founded his houses and factories more as havens for women in such predicaments than as soap or clothes factories or any other product-centered enterprises.

  So he largely left her alone. He cleared out the main guest rooms for her and Mrs. Paleski, offered to remove himself to one of his other homes, and then joined them only for dinners, where he tried to regale them with the entertainments of the city, trying to lure them out of his home with offers of musicales and plays, museums and famous mazes, entertainment that surely would have piqued her interest if it weren’t for the fact that she was constantly trying not to think about a certain gentleman she’d left behind in Munthrope.

  Mrs. Paleski, too—quite surprisingly, actually—barely questioned her. They’d been friends for years, despite their differing ages, and although Julia had often listened to Mrs. Paleski’s stories of Mr. Paleski, they weren’t, ultimately, the type of friends who talked about things like that. They chatted instead, throughout their travels, about desultory topics: the books they’d read, the books they wanted to read, the changing countryside.

  It was soothing, undemanding conversation, for which Julia had been immensely grateful, especially in the hours just after leaving Munthrope, when she’d almost managed to convince herself that she’d made an awful mistake.

  Other than Phyllis, who’d only quizzed her on practicalities, and Claire, who’d asked her questions during a time when she hadn’t quite been ready to talk yet, everyone had left her almost frighteningly alone, as if trusting that Julia would, if she wanted to, seek them out. Only she hadn’t.

  The journey to London had taken almost four days. She hadn’t felt fully recovered from the journey until yesterday and now, a week had passed since she’d last seen Charles. Six days had gone by since she’d left Munthrope. And the ache in her heart had not lessened one bit.

  She’d struggled and argued with herself throughout the long journey, the posting at inns and the changing of horses and carriages. She’d made small talk with people she would have found interesting, had the circumstances been at all different—a young married couple, on wedding vacation, had only reminded her that that was exactly the type of experience she’d probably never have; an older couple, traveling to visit their daughter; even a young entrepreneur who was excitedly making his way to the city for the first time . . .

  Everywhere she turned, it seemed as though there was something to remind her of what she’d left behind, of the choices she was, even now, second-guessing. She should have asked him directly, allowed him a chance to explain. What if she’d been wrong? What if Robeson had mistaken the situation, or worse, purposefully misled her?

  Why had . . .

  She pulled herself up short and turned the page of the book before her. She had no idea what had been on the page, barely knew what the book was about, but she turned the pages every now and again just in case Mrs. Paleski noticed.

  It was into this rather dreary scene that Jack’s butler stepped, announcing that Miss Morland had a visitor.

  “A visitor?” Julia repeated. No one knew she was here, unless . . . but she’d had a full day’s head start on Charles, and how would he have known where to find her? Claire had been under strict orders not to say anything, and she didn’t think her stepsister would have betrayed her, not when she knew Julia needed time away to think and . . . “Did he say his name?”

  “Yes, miss, I’m sorry, I should have started with that, oughtn’t I have?” The butler’s name was Botti, and though Jack hadn’t explicitly said where he had found him, Julia had little doubt that Botti was another of Jack’s special projects. Botti smiled a bit abashedly. “The Earl of Dresford, ma’am. I mean, miss.”

  Julia’s shoulders sagged, and the hand that had risen to check her hair dropped back to her side, resting on the book she’d been pretending to read. “Well, then, please send him in.”

  Julia looked over at Mrs. Paleski, who returned the look blandly. “I don’t suppose you know any earls, Mrs. Paleski? A long-lost nephew that you’ve forgotten to mention?”

  Mrs. Paleski chuckled and shook her head. “It’s a nice bit of excitement for our day, though, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Julia agreed tonelessly, standing up to greet their unknown guest just as Botti opened the door.

  “Charles?” Julia gasped, a bit shocked. It was most certainly Charles. Only not at all the Charles Alver to whom she’d first been introduced. Though his clothes were just as plain as the ones he’d worn in Munthrope, even Julia could tell that his coat and shining Hessians were of a different caliber altogether.

  His hair was lightly slicked back, and though he wore only one small chain, to the side—no doubt a watch of some sort—he now exuded an unmistakable air of authority. No, Julia corrected herself, Charles had always given the impression of someone who confident, almost to the point of arrogance. Hadn’t she pointed that out, several times? The only difference was that now he looked the part.

  The Earl of Dresford.

  Charles Alver.

  Earl. Of Dresford.

  Charles’s mouth lifted to one side. “I’m known as Dresford here in the city, though as my affianced, you’re obviously welcome to use my Christian name, if you prefer.”

  “I never agreed to marry you.”

  “That, I’m afraid is a moot point, as I’ve already asked for your father’s permission and obtained your stepmother’s and stepsister’s blessings—no small feat, I’ll assure you. I’ve even secured a wedding gift I think you’ll find quite satisfactory.”

  “But I’ve never agreed to marry you. How dare you do all of that without my permission?”

  “I rather took your permission for granted, given the events at the cottage.”

  From the corner of the room Mrs. Paleski gave a small, delicate cough and said, “I’m not certain this situation warrants a chaperone.” She stood up and made for the door before she was waylaid by Julia’s frantic, “Wait!”

  Mrs. Paleski turned toward them with a serene smile upon her face “Just give him a chance, dearie. You’ve been miserable for days, and though you’ve listened to me while I’ve been in the dumps plenty of times, it is getting a bit wearying. Now, if your young man doesn’t apologize or straighten out whatever bee’s been buzzing in your bonnet to your satisfaction, I’ll be happy to come back. Botti will no doubt escort him, most unconventionally and improperly, from this house. But let’s call that Plan B, shall we?”

  And with that, she left, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “You are not my young man,” Julia said shakily. “I didn’t even know you were an earl until Botti announced you, or rather, until you came in, I mean—”

  Charles had locked the door, strode forward and wrapped her in his arms while she tried to stammer out an explanation. Without waiting for her to give him permission, he lowered his head and kissed her, his lips artfully erasing all the questions from her head.r />
  When he finally released her, Julia was having difficulty remembering any of the reasons she’d thought they shouldn’t be together.

  “Now, before you have a chance to pepper me with questions that are neither here nor there, let me lay out the facts that truly matter: I am the Earl of Dresford. I am most certainly not destitute. The person sorely in need of two thousand pounds to cover gambling debts was your would-be lover Robeson—”

  “He was never my would-be—”

  Charles kissed her again before saying, “It’s rude to interrupt, though why I should expect better behavior from you, the girl I’ve been chasing all over England—”

  “Hardly all over England.”

  “—who has terrible taste in poetry and, myself excepted, men—”

  “You’re straying from the point.”

  Charles unwrapped his arms from around her, so that his hands could slide down to rest upon her hips and the gentle curve of her buttocks. “Yes, and I still remember how that ended last time.”

  Julia blushed. She looked into his eyes and then her gaze fell upon his mouth, remembering all of the wicked things she’d allowed him to do, had encouraged and begged him to do.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t speak of such things, in broad daylight.”

  “A proper young woman wouldn’t have seduced me in the first place.”

  “I didn’t seduce you.”

  “You most certainly did. If you hadn’t insisted on making love that day, we could have saved ourselves quite a bit of heartache. If you’d only let me explain then—”

  “And yet still, I’m in the dark,” Julia smiled a bit, beginning to enjoy herself, the tension that had held her imprisoned this past week finally seeming to drain away from her body. It was all going to be okay, wasn’t it?

  “I blame you entirely. You’re always derailing me.” He kissed her when she would have argued again and then gave her bottom lip a slight nip when she protested his tactics. “I learned from the best—seduce first, ask questions later.” His hands traced her back, and he dipped his head to kiss her neck, lingering on the soft spot near her collar which he knew she was particularly susceptible. He waited until she was clinging to the lapels of his coat before continuing. “So, as I was saying—I do not need two thousand pounds, and I rarely gamble. I believe the most I’ve ever lost was on the order of one hundred pounds, when I was quite young and impressionable, after which my father found out and gave me a lecture I wouldn’t soon forget.”

  “So you didn’t need the money?” Julia could feel tears gathering in her eyes, though she couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why she’d decided to cry now, when her eyes had remained stubbornly, stoically dry throughout the past six days.

  “No, dear heart, I don’t need the money. In fact, two thousand pounds is exactly double what I’d offered Robeson for the damned Rembrandt his father bought and which I was trying to acquire.”

  “You were going to spend a thousand pounds on a painting?” Julia’s look and tone were incredulous.

  “Yes, well, I have no doubt that you’ll lecture me on my recklessness, my irresponsibility, and the needs of the poor and destitute. I’ll even promise to listen, so long as you accede to my one and only request.”

  “But you’re an earl.”

  “Hardly something I can help.”

  “You can’t want to marry me. I’m the spinster daughter of a vicar.”

  Charles kissed her again, “That is the most ignorant, prejudiced thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re a perfectly acceptable termagant—”

  “Not a termagant, not even close to being shaped like one.”

  “—and will no doubt be a terror in all the charitable circles. I’m sure that you’ll badger me and all my poor, unsuspecting friends into donating countless sums to your various causes and projects. Just think of all the good you’ll be able to do as the Countess of Dresford.”

  “But I don’t know the first thing about being a countess. I mean, I can’t marry an earl.”

  “If I don’t mind the fact that I’m an earl, why should you?”

  Julia closed her eyes, afraid to open them for fear that this was all a dream that would revert to reality as soon as she had the temerity to look again.

  “Will you marry me, you ill-tempered vicar’s daughter?”

  “I can’t,” Julia protested. “I don’t know the first thing about how to host . . . anything. I’ll ostracize you from all your friends, I’ll—”

  He kissed her again, his hands anchoring her hips and body against his more firmly. “Will you marry me, my brazen little innocent?”’

  Julia blushed. “I’m just not—”

  Once more he kissed her, and this time, he didn’t pull back until they were both breathless and panting from his efforts. “Will you marry me and put me out of my misery, my dearest love?”

  “You love me?”

  “I’ll admit it if only if you agree to marry me and promise you won’t be one of those demanding wives who has to be told endlessly, day after day, of her husband’s devotions.”

  It was Julia’s turn to kiss him this time. She lifted her arms from where they’d been held trapped, between their bodies, and curved both arms around his neck. “I’ll marry you,” she whispered. “But only if you tell me twice a day how devoted you are.”

  Charles, the Earl of Dresford, whom she had once thought was a cold, uncaring man, incapable of shaving, unable to smile genuinely, grinned broadly. “Agreed,” he said before dipping his head to claim another kiss.

  Thank You!

  Thank you for reading Worth Winning!

  This is my first historical romance, and I would very much appreciate your honest review, feedback and comments, regardless of if they are positive or negative.

  If you’d like to find out more about what I’m writing next, or more about what it was like writing this book, you can find me at www.parkerelling.com (it’s a very new blog, but I’ll try to post updates).