The Earl Claims a Bride

by Amelia Grey

  “Oh, I, well I—”–

  “I can understand you wanting to be protective of the artist and keep him all to yourself,” the duchess said, handing the fan back to her. “He has an exquisite touch and delicate flair. I wonder how he managed to get such a realistic shimmer to the brook.”

  “A fine layer of silver and gold dust is sprinkled on the paint while it’s still wet.”

  The duchess smiled. “Clever. Have him send over some of his work for me to choose from. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “I can’t do that because I____”

  “All right, never mind,” the duchess said, once again not allowing Miss Rule to finish her sentence. “He can use a courier to deliver them if he wants and remain anonymous. I don’t mind a little intrigue. In fact, at my age I rather like it. Good painters are always such prima donnas, aren’t they? So tell him I insist he have someone bring his work to me within the next few days. I’ll make it worth his while.” She looked back to Harrison and smiled. “Good to see you, my lord. Good evening, Miss Rule.”

  She was gone as quickly as she’d appeared.

  “Is she always so intimidating?” Miss Rule asked, watching the duchess walk away.

  “Yes. And that’s the way she likes it.”

  “You’ve known her a long time?”

  “I met her my first year at Eton. She’s not friendly to many people. You should feel honored she even spoke to you.”

  “In that case I am.” Miss Rule paused. “What will she do if I don’t identify the artist or have the person send her his work?”

  “She would have ways of finding him, but why would you not? The artist who painted your fan should be greatly flattered. If the duchess likes what she sees she will probably buy a fan to match every gown she has. If she does, all the ladies in the ton would want one from him.”

  “You jest.”

  He queried her with his expression. “Do I seem the kind of person who would tease you about this?”

  “If you thought it would shock me, yes.”

  “I only tease when I have reason to, and in this I don’t.”

  Something caught her attention and he looked in the direction of her gaze. A gentleman dressed in military attire, but by the disappointment he saw in her eyes it was easy to guess not the officer she was looking for.

  Suddenly Harrison thought, No.

  Hell no.

  He wasn’t going to go through that anguish again. He would bow out now before his feelings for Miss Rule went any further. Yes, he was attracted to her. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and take him to task. He liked that and he didn’t mind her frosty attitude. She was spirited and desirable. Usually he welcomed a bit of unfriendly competition—as long as he won in the end.

  But he knew already there was something different about Miss Rule and he had no yearning to fight another man for her heart. He’d been down that road. He didn’t want to travel it again no matter how attracted he was to her. It was best this end right now.

  “You don’t want this marriage, Miss Rule, and neither do I. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise for the rest of the evening, is there?”

  She blinked rapidly. “I don’t understand. I know I’ve been quite outspoken and objectionable at times.”

  His jaw clamped down tightly before he released it and said, “You are not objectionable. I find you refreshing.”

  “Then you must marry me,” she said, standing her ground, not seeming the least cowed by his imposing frame.

  “I must? I put orders in the same category as rules. I don’t like them and I don’t follow them.”

  “I was told you would marry me if I was acceptable. You admitted you found me acceptable.”

  He gave her a curious look. He could see the turmoil she was going through flash in her face but did nothing to help her. She was the one who had just built the wall between them with her vow that her heart belonged to another. It wasn’t a wall he wanted to tear down or climb over.

  “That was before I knew your heart belonged to another man,” he answered in a tight voice. “Just how desperate do you think I am for a bride?”

  Her gaze didn’t waver from his eyes. “Desperate enough to consider marrying me in the first place.”

  Harrison hesitated. Yes, because the threat of prison loomed. He had to rebuild Thornwick. He had to restore his father’s and his brothers’ legacy and he couldn’t do that from Newgate.

  He saw uncertainty in her eyes. Still he said, “I did consider it. Now I’ve reconsidered.”

  “I know I’ve been less than pleasant tonight but I do know how to be contrite and amiable. If you don’t agree to at least consider marrying me my father will go to debtors’ prison. I have no choice but to ask you to give me another chance. The Prince will only pay his debts if you agree to marry me.”

  What would he want with a contrite and amiable lady? Couldn’t she tell he actually liked her strong spirit and boldness? It wasn’t her he objected to. It was her proclamation that her heart belonged to another. Did she really think he’d want to take her to his bed and let her bear his children knowing she loved another man?

  He saw regret in her deep-blue eyes. He felt it, too. She didn’t want her father to go to prison any more than Harrison wanted to go. He could understand that.

  He almost relented.

  Almost.

  But then he remembered the pain of the past and instead, he said, “You should speak to your army officer about that.”

  Chapter 6

  What do I fear? Myself?

  Richard III 5.3.183

  What was she going to do?

  The music continued to play, and the dancers twirled with delight. Angelina watched the handsome, tall, and broad-shouldered man walk away from her. She cringed inside.

  It took all her willpower not to chase after him and ask once again that he change his mind about marrying her so she could save her father. She realized now that it had never crossed her mind when they were sparring that he might actually reject her.

  Her beauty wasn’t legendary, but most would consider her pretty. She was intelligent and well-schooled in all the finer things a young lady was supposed to know. She didn’t have many vices, or none really, except not knowing when to back away and be quiet. It must have been at the back of her mind that since the Prince had sanctioned the arrangement, it would happen. Otherwise, she surely would have held her tongue and played the part of a young lady whose only goal in life was to be the wife of a titled gentleman.

  Why had she been so confrontational with him?

  Because he made it so easy.

  It was as if he said things deliberately to get her temper up. And he had.

  Why had she mentioned Captain Maxwell?

  Because Lord Thornwick was so self-confident, so arrogant, and so handsome. I needed to let him know I’m not dying to marry him.

  How could she have bungled her meeting with him so badly?

  Because he wasn’t what I expected him to be.

  Most of the time, she was calm, reasonable, and in control, but she’d felt flushed and out of breath just looking at the earl. There was something about him that made her want to challenge him, match wits with him, bandy barbs with him. And it wasn’t just what he said, it was how he looked at her, too. When his gaze had swept so lazily up and down her face as if he was trying to memorize her features, her stomach quaked. She experienced something that could only be described as wonderful skimming along her breasts and sailing down into the lower recesses of her abdomen. Just thinking of that feeling brought back the tingling, rippling, enjoyable sensations. The only way she knew to counter the strange reaction to him was to think of Captain Maxwell.

  Now her father would be heading to prison—and all because of her inability to just play the part of the quiet, demure young lady men adored and pretend all she’d ever dreamed of was marrying a titled gentleman such as Lord Thornwick. That was all she had to do and she couldn’t manage it to save her fat
her.

  She sucked in a deep breath and watched Lord Thornwick disappear into the crush in the ballroom. She was furious with herself. Why couldn’t she have been the kind of young lady her father expected her to be: dependable, obedient, and pliant?

  Even now when she should be lamenting over her father cold, hungry, and wasting away in prison, everything the earl had made her feel was what was in the forefront of her mind. What kind of daughter was she? And what was she going to do now that she had failed her father?

  “Angelina, what’s wrong?” her grandmother asked, walking up to stand beside her. “You keep staring at the crowd.”

  “Granna,” she whispered softly. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

  “Oh, dear, that doesn’t sound good. I knew something was wrong when you and Lord Thornwick never took the dance floor. What happened?”

  I was outmaneuvered, she thought, but she said, “I failed Papa.”

  The dance that Angelina was supposed to have with the earl ended and the chattering and laughing couples started leaving the floor and mixing back in with the crowd. Some of the dancers greeted her and her grandmother; others smiled and nodded as they passed by.

  When the bulk of the crowd was gone, her grandmother said, “Let’s move to a quieter place where we can talk.”

  Before Angelina and her grandmother could make their way to a corner, a friend stopped to introduce a shy but nice gentleman to Angelina, whom she promised a dance later in the evening. Finally, she and her grandmother made it to a far wall near a large urn that had been filled with colorful flowers and greenery.

  “Now tell me what happened before someone else steps up and interrupts us,” Granna said.

  Angelina peered down into her grandmother’s light-brown eyes and quietly said, “The earl isn’t going to marry me.”

  “Mercy!” she exclaimed. “How do you know this?”

  “He told me,” Angelina said.

  “I don’t understand. You have the right heritage. You’re beautiful. Intelligent. What could be his problem?”

  Angelina hated admitting it but said, “I foolishly told him my heart belonged to another.”

  “Oh, dear,” her grandmother said again as the edges of her mouth dropped.

  “He made it clear he has no interest in marrying a young lady who already loves another man.”

  “I have to admit, Angelina, that was not an appropriate cat to let out of the bag to a possible fiancé—or a suitor, either.”

  “Oh, Granna, do you think I don’t know what a horrible mistake that was? You are not helping me,” Angelina said, squeezing her fan tightly into her hand.

  “I must be honest with you, dear, or I will be of no help at all. Men, especially titled gentlemen, have extremely high opinions of themselves. And quite frankly, no man wants to play second to another. Especially not in his wife’s heart or in her bed.”

  Angelina felt wretched. “I’m sure you’re right. Granna, why couldn’t I have just stayed quiet, listened to him, and smiled prettily at him in all the right places? Why do I never know when to just hold my tongue, be quiet and submissive, and leave well enough alone?”

  Her grandmother laughed softly. “Because you are just like your mother. Not in looks, of course, but she would argue with a lamppost and would rather chew nails than not have the last word in any conversation with friend or foe.”

  “Tonight I wish I weren’t like her.”

  “Now, don’t say that,” her grandmother admonished with no punishment in her tone. “It isn’t easy to change who we are. She loved it that you have her fighting spirit.”

  “It’s just that the earl was so sure of himself, and so devilishly handsome that I found myself doing what I usually do and speaking my mind with no thoughts of consequences. What am I going to do? I can’t let Papa go to prison.”

  Her grandmother pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know that there is much of anything either of us can do.”

  “But I’m the reason Papa ended up in debt in the first place. He wanted to have a larger dowry for me. And I was the one who was supposed to get him out of debt.”

  “This is not your fault, Angelina. None of it. It’s all your father’s doing. You would have made a fine match without an impressive dowry. I won’t allow you to blame yourself for his bad judgment and his troubles. Now, I suppose there is always the chance that if Captain Maxwell wants to marry you, maybe he has the means to help your father if the Prince won’t do it without your marriage to Lord Thornwick.”

  Captain Maxwell. Angelina had scarcely thought of him since she’d met the earl. When Lord Thornwick was around he took up all the space in her mind. There was no room or time to think of anyone else. “I haven’t seen him or his aunt tonight, have you?”

  “No. It’s been a few weeks since I spoke to her, but last I did she expected her nephew to be home soon and attend the ball with her tonight.”

  “Perhaps he hasn’t made it back from India yet,” Angelina said a bit wistfully.

  “That’s very likely. Sailing from India is a long voyage, dear, and many things could happen to cause delays.”

  Angelina looked down at the fan in her hand. She spread it open and stared at the painting. It was beautiful. A pond with lily pads, and flower-filled banks, and colorful butterflies. She remembered that the duchess wanted to see more of the artist’s work. Angelina should have told Her Grace that she was the artist.

  “The duchess wants the artist who painted my fan to send her some of his work,” Angelina said.

  Her grandmother gave her a curious look. “Which duchess?”

  “The Dowager Duchess of Drakestone was passing by and saw my fan when I had it open. She knows Lord Thornwick so she stopped. She wanted to know who painted it because she wants to buy some fans.”

  Her grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “She talked to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised but pleased you caught her eye. What did she say when you told her you painted that fan?”

  “I didn’t have time to tell her.”

  Granna gave her a disapproving glare. “Really, Angelina, you should have. Now she thinks she can get one.”

  “Her Grace interrupts often and talks fast. She even answered the questions she directed at me.” Angelina ran her fingertips over the fan as an idea took root and formed in her mind. “Lord Thornwick said she would probably buy a fan for every gown she has.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure she already has plenty of fans for every gown and every occasion.”

  “She could buy some fans from me, Granna.”

  Her grandmother laughed. “No, she couldn’t. She’ll have to find her own artist if she wants more fans.”

  But Angelina continued. “If she buys a fan or two from me, all the ladies she knows will want to buy one, too.”

  “Angelina,” her grandmother said, using a rare warning tone.

  “I have several fans already painted, you know.”

  “Of course I know,” she answered cautiously.

  “I could paint more.”

  “Hush that kind of talk.”

  “No, wait, Granna,” Angelina said, eager to spill her idea. “Maybe all is not lost yet. I’ve very obviously lost the earl, and even if Captain Maxwell were here I have no inkling if he would or could help Papa. If I can find a way to sell my paintings, though, I could make money.”

  “Angelina, no,” her grandmother said emphatically.

  “Hear me out.”

  “No, I will not listen to this preposterous idea,” her grandmother said as if that put an end to Angelina’s plan before she voiced it.

  “You said yourself that the earl would not be a good match for me.”

  “Yes, he’s an outrageous rogue but he’s still an earl. You would be a countess. Besides, it’s never completely wrong to accept an offer of marriage from an earl.”

  Suddenly Angelina wasn’t convinced that Lord Thornwick was the only way to save her father. “But there’s no
t going to be an offer now. And the only way to keep Papa out of prison is to pay off his debt. I have no money, but I do have things that are worth money. Most of my fans have either silver or gold dust in them, and some both. That should make them worth a lot of money.”

  “You don’t know what you are talking about, dear. You have no knowledge of this sort of thing and it wouldn’t be acceptable for you if you did.”

  “I agree but I’m quite capable of learning and I will. You know yourself that everyone who sees my miniatures says they are far better than what they pay enormous amounts of money for in the shops. I can sell my collection of snuff and mourning boxes that I’ve painted. I must have at least twenty of those and some other things as well.”

  Her grandmother looked aghast and was speechless for a few moments.

  “A granddaughter of mine selling her paintings in a shop! Going into trade?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she looked around to see if anyone was close enough to have possibly heard as her hand clutched the pearls at the base of her throat. “Merciful heavens, Angelina! Never! And your father would never approve, either. He would happily go to prison before he’d let you do something so common. I don’t want to hear mention of it again.”

  Angelina smiled at a nosy lady who was looking curiously at her while her grandmother ranted. An idea had already popped into her mind: She could borrow her maid’s cloak and slip out while her grandmother took her afternoon rest. That was one possibility. Still, would she find a shopkeeper willing to do business with a young lady who wasn’t properly chaperoned? Probably not. Her only choice was to talk her grandmother into helping her.

  “I can’t sit around and do nothing, Granna.”

  “You will have to,” Lady Railbridge answered firmly.

  “No. If I can fix this, I must.”

  “This trouble is your father’s making, not yours. He will have to figure his own way out of it. We don’t even have an idea of how much he actually owes. It has to be quite a bit more than the cost of a few paintings and a dozen or so fans. He indicated that he’s in debt to more than one lender, too.”

  “Then I must get started right away and paint more. If the duchess likes my fans, other ladies will, too. I will paint day and night to keep up if I must.”