The Earl Claims a Bride

by Amelia Grey

  Angelina relaxed against the black velvet cushion, feeling as if this wild idea she’d had a few days ago might actually work. “I’m glad you thought about him, Granna. I’m sure between the two of us we can talk him into helping.”

  A few minutes later Angelina and her grandmother were waiting in Bishop Worsley’s sparsely decorated drawing room. The settee where they sat and two matching chairs were tasteful but worn. A large but simply framed mirror hung over the fireplace, and a large gold harp stood in one corner of the room. Somehow she thought it fitting that the bishop had a harp in his drawing room. There wasn’t much else, other than the small fire in the fireplace to give the room warmth.

  “Lady Railbridge, how lovely to see you again after all these years.”

  Angelina watched an impeccably dressed gentleman walk into the room with a beaming smile. He was average in height but carried himself with the confident stride of a much taller man. He had narrow dark-brown eyes and a full head of hair that was more gray than brown and tied in a queue, making him appear very distinguished. She believed him to be somewhere near the age of her grandmother. He took both her hands in his and kissed them. His smile was charming and his happiness at seeing her grandmother genuine, giving Angelina hope this would not turn out to be a bigger mistake than just staying the obedient daughter and marrying the earl of Thornwick.

  “And this must be your granddaughter Miss Rule.” He kissed her hand as well. “Sit down, sit down. I’ve asked that tea be prepared and brought in.”

  “Thank you for seeing us without previous notice,” her grandmother said as they returned to the settee.

  “Not at all, my lady. You are always welcome in my home.” He looked at Angelina. “You too, Miss Rule.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get right to the reason we are here and not take up more of your time than necessary,” her grandmother said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Angelina is looking for someone–to help her—er, ah, with her paintings.”

  He chuckled. “I’m flattered you thought of me, Lady Railbridge, but I have no talent or skill with painting. I couldn’t possibly help her perfect her talent.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “Not that kind of help. You misunderstood or perhaps I didn’t explain myself well. In any case, we need someone who will____be discreet and keep her name out of it at all costs.”

  His eyes narrowed and his gaze strayed to Angelina again. “What exactly do you want me to keep her name out of, Lady Railbridge?”

  Angelina could see her grandmother was struggling with exactly what to say so she said, “Granna, do you mind if I take over and talk with Bishop Worsley about this?”

  Granna gave her a grateful smile. “I would appreciate it, dear. I’m quite flabbergasted by the mere thought of explaining what it is we want to accomplish.”

  Angelina opened the satchel beside her and one by one laid out the paintings she’d brought with her on the small table between her and Bishop Worsley. “This is only a sample of what I have available. I’m hoping you can sell these for me.”

  He leaned over and inspected each piece. His troubled gaze darted from Angelina to her grandmother. He sighed before saying, “These are truly lovely pieces and quite well done, but I’m afraid I can’t sell them to any of the shops here in London.”

  That dashed Angelina’s hopes instantly. “Why not?” she asked.

  “Let me be blunt. Whoever you took them from might walk into a shop and see them.”

  Angelina and her grandmother gasped at the same time.

  “She didn’t steal them,” her grandmother answered indignantly.

  “I painted them,” Angelina whispered.

  “My apologies,” Bishop Worsley said quickly, his eyes looking Angelina over more carefully.

  Her grandmother picked up one of the fans, opened it, and started fanning herself. “I’m appalled you thought she had stolen these. As if she would!”

  Bishop Worsley’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. “I mistook your meaning when you said____never mind, it’s not important. I think I understand now what you are trying to do.”

  “Well, I should hope so.” Her grandmother leaned forward. “We must keep this quiet so no one will ever know Angelina is selling her paintings. We’d never be able to show our faces in Society again if anyone found out she’d gone into trade.”

  “So you want me to do it for you?”

  “Yes,” Angelina said, taking over the conversation again. “The truth of it is that we are in need of money. As much as we can get. This idea came to me when the Dowager Duchess of Drakestone was interested in my fans. She asked me to have the artist who had painted it send over some of his work. But of course I am the artist and didn’t want to tell her. We need someone who can take the fans to the duchess for her consideration and then take”—she motioned to the bounty on the table before him—“what she doesn’t want, along with the miniatures to a shop and sell them without anyone ever knowing I am the artist.”

  “It’s most important that no one ever know these are from Angelina,” her grandmother emphasized again.

  He pursed his lips tightly for a moment and let his gaze stray over the paintings again. Seeming satisfied, he said, “I can do this for you and keep your name out of it. I think fifty percent of the price would be fair remuneration to me for taking care of this project for you.”

  “Fifty percent!” Angelina scoffed. “That is outrageous. You might as well be a highwayman robbing me.”

  “Angelina!”

  “No, Granna,” she said, firmly. “What good will it do me to risk my reputation to do this if we only get half of what we will earn? Ten percent for you would be fair, Bishop Worsley. All you are doing is selling them. I do all the work.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know what this will entail, Miss Rule. I will have to ask around to find out who is buying. If things don’t go well at first, it might even include taking the lot of them from shop to shop and possibly back again to find interest and then to negotiate the best price.”

  Angelina thought over what he’d said. She supposed some money was better than none. “All right, twenty percent.”

  “Forty and not a pence less,” he said sternly.

  Angelina rose. “Thirty percent is as high as I will go. You will either agree to that or I’m walking out that door and will take my chances on finding someone else who is willing to make a fair agreement with me.”

  Bishop Worsley rose, too. His eyes penetrated Angelina with admiration. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Rule.”

  “I am desperate, Bishop Worsley, but I am not stupid.”

  “I never thought that for a moment. You are also very talented. These will sell. Thirty percent it is. I will see that you will be paid very well for your work, but I must be paid well for my services, too.”

  “Then we are in agreement. Thank you and thank you for the compliment,” she said and took her seat by her grandmother, who was looking quite pale. “It would be a godsend if I were paid well. But there is another wrinkle we have to deal with. I’m afraid I am also limited in the amount of time I can wait. I need them sold as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but some things can’t be hurried.” Bishop Worsley settled back into his chair. “What do you need the money for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Angelina looked at her grandmother, who gave her a slight nod. “I suppose it will be all right to tell you since we are now partners. I am trying to keep my father out of debtors’ prison. We may not be able to pay all his debts, but I hope to have enough so that they will see that if we are given more time, we can eventually fully repay everything.”

  “You’re a good daughter, Miss Rule.”

  She wanted to be, though at times she had her doubts as to how good she was. And she was sure her father wouldn’t think so if he knew she was going behind his back to make money.

  “Now I know Lady Railbridge wants to keep you out of these transactions, but that will
be impossible. I’m afraid that once I have identified a buyer you will need to go with me.”

  “Why?” Granna asked shaking her head. “I’m sure I can’t allow that. It’s too risky.”

  “No reputable shop owners or art dealers are going to be interested in these paintings unless they are certain they aren’t stolen.”

  “I understand,” Angelina said. “It’s not a problem. We will go, won’t we, Grandmother?”

  She threw up her hands, sighed, and said, “Why stop now? Of course we will do whatever you think is necessary to make this a success. Just let us know when, where, and what we need to do. I fear we are already in too deep to turn back now.”

  “Can you leave these with me?” he asked Angelina.

  “Of course. I have more. This is just a sample of my work. I can have the rest of them delivered to you tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Then there is only one more thing I need and I can get started.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A name. It’s a shame, but I agree with your grandmother. You can’t be Angelina Rule, so who would you like to be?”

  Chapter 11

  What bloody man is that?

  Macbeth 1.2.1

  Harrison kept watching the door.

  Most unusual for him. He didn’t like it but couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from straying to the landing at the entrance to the ballroom. He wanted to see Angelina again.

  He never should have kissed her. He knew better but his need to taste her lips wouldn’t be tamped down no matter how hard he tried. Desire for her had settled in his loins and it wouldn’t ease. She didn’t believe him, but he was truthful when he said her eyes were asking him to do it. Everything about her called out to him. His body kept urging him to do much more, and thankfully he had restrained himself.

  Harrison stood in the ballroom with two other gentlemen and feigned interest in their conversation. Every once in a while he’d add something to the subject they were covering but thankfully they were content to do most of the talking. That suited Harrison.

  He’d kissed Angelina without much forethought. Surely if he had thought about it, and thought about it intelligently, he wouldn’t have done it. Now he wanted to kiss her again. And next time he wanted to linger even longer over their kisses. He wanted to take his time tasting her sweetness, feeling her softness, and hearing her breathless sighs of pleasure. He wanted to hold her tightly to his chest, experience the warmth of her pliable body in his arms, and drink in her womanly scent once more.

  It was remarkable that she hadn’t been angry he’d kissed her, though she had been surprised. That was understandable. He had been surprised, too. He hadn’t gone there with the idea that he would kiss her. He hadn’t even gone there with the idea that he might see her alone. The best he’d hoped for was to get close enough to her to whisper that he would agree that her father could assume they would be married at the end of the Season.

  But thanks to the housekeeper giving them the time alone, he had kissed her and now he was reconsidering his vow to never again pursue a lady who had her sights on another man. Harrison was pleased to hear her say there hadn’t actually been a promise to marry made between them. There was the possibility that what she felt for the officer was a girlish infatuation and not the undying love poets were so fond of writing about.

  The only thing that would answer that for sure was when the captain returned to London. Sometimes those blossoming feelings of young love and desire were the hardest to shake. He’d had two years of personal experience with that.

  There had been a time he didn’t think he’d ever stop wanting Maddie to be his and not his brother’s. Now that both of them were gone, Harrison was glad he’d made his peace with his feelings for her after she had become his brother’s wife. It didn’t matter that it had taken the better part of a trip around the world to do it. Some things were worth the price you had to pay.

  Concerning what he was feeling for Angelina, he didn’t know if fate was blessing him or cursing him again. A curse, he decided. A curse that had obviously decided to haunt him. Was he destined to only truly desire a lady who had already given her heart to another?

  Harrison’s surveillance of the entrance finally paid off when he watched Lady Railbridge, Angelina, and her father walk into the ballroom. Angelina wore a flowing gown of a light coppery color that suited her pale alabaster-colored skin and golden-brown hair. He was about to excuse himself from the gentlemen he was standing with when he saw a young blade approach her. Harrison waited while they chatted, and then finally he watched the two of them walk off toward the dance floor.

  Impatiently, he waited through two more gentlemen and long dances, but as soon as the third bachelor escorted her back to her grandmother, Harrison eased up beside Angelina and said, “Lady Railbridge, Miss Rule, Mr. Rule, good evening.”

  After pleasantries were exchanged among the four of them, Harrison said, “I’ve noticed that you’ve already had several dances with no time to catch your breath, Miss Rule. Would you like to walk with me and get a cup of punch, or perhaps a glass of champagne, if you prefer?”

  “Must you hurry off at this moment, my lord?” her father asked. “I wanted to get your opinion of John Keats’ Endymion that has just been published.”

  Harrison didn’t know if he’d ever respect a man who gambled away his daughter’s future, but he had promised Angelina that he would lead her father to believe a match between them would be inevitable so he couldn’t avoid the man.

  “I haven’t read it,” Harrison answered without bothering to mention he hadn’t even heard of it. Whenever he wanted to read, poetry wasn’t his first choice. “What do you think of it? Should I pick up a copy or pass on it?”

  “It received a ferocious review from Blackwood’s Magazine. But I rather like Keats’ work. I mean, he’s a young fellow and deserves to be given a second chance, doesn’t he?”

  Mr. Rule’s blue gaze held steady on Harrison’s face, showing no signs that the man was referring to Harrison, himself, or anyone other than Keats when he spoke of second chances. Still, it reminded Harrison that he’d had a chance to redeem himself and the rebuilding of Thornwick would do that for him.

  “I don’t think there is a man around who wouldn’t want to be given one. If his poetry isn’t well received, I doubt it will force him to give up writing. Poets love to put their musings down for others to talk about.”

  “Very true,” Mr. Rule answered. “I’ve given poetry a try myself a time or two, but I’m no good at it. I’ve heard Keats is already working on his next poem.”

  “Do you know a lot about books, Mr. Rule?” Harrison asked.

  “I daresay as much as most,” he answered.

  That was good to know. Harrison hadn’t read many books since he’d left Oxford. Mr. Rule might be just the man to help him buy books for Thornwick once the library was rebuilt. He’d keep that in mind.

  A few minutes later Harrison and Angelina left her father and headed toward the champagne table. As they made their way through the crowd, he leaned in close to her and said, “By the way, you look absolutely stunning tonight, Angelina.”

  “Thank you. I—did you call me Angelina?”

  He smiled and nodded.

  She looked aghast. “You can’t call me by my name.”

  “Not in front of your father or when others are present. But when we are alone, I will.”

  “It’s not proper,” she argued.

  “I do a lot of things that aren’t proper, Angelina, including kissing you.”

  “I had a feeling you would get around to reminding me of that before the evening was over.”

  He chuckled softly. “I’ve given up drinking and gambling for days at a time, but there are a few vices I refuse to part with. I think of you as Angelina and that is what I want to call you when we are alone.”

  “You delight in troubling me, don’t you, my lord?”

  “No, but there have always been some rules I h
ave trouble following.”

  “My thoughts would be that you break more than you follow.”

  “Unfortunately, that would be true.”

  “What if you should forget and say my name…” Her voice trailed off. Suddenly her steps faltered and she stopped. Her gaze was looking past him.

  Harrison turned to see what had caught her attention. A gentleman dressed in a military officer’s uniform stood near the entrance to the ballroom. His back was to them, but Harrison knew by the faraway look in her eyes that he was the gentleman she had been searching for since the Season began. Her entire countenance softened.

  A knot tightened Harrison’s stomach.

  “Excuse me,” she said without looking at him. “I see someone I must speak to.”

  She never looked back at him, but started toward the soldier, weaving between the people, knocking their arms, bumping their shoulders, ignoring their greetings. Harrison stayed right behind her. He wanted to see the man, too.

  The captain was tall, with light-brown hair that fell to his collar. He was slim, almost too slim. His coat looked as if it had been made for a larger person. As they neared the soldier, a tingle of awareness prickled Harrison’s skin. Something wasn’t quite right.

  Harrison gave him another once-over and saw what had bothered him. There was a narrow black string tied around the back of his head. A thread of recognition wove through Harrison and with it a twitch of dread for Angelina. He knew what the narrow band meant.

  Angelina stopped and said, “Captain Maxwell.”

  The gentleman turned.

  She expelled a loud breath of shock and then quickly sucked in a deep gasp.

  “Damnation,” Harrison whispered to himself as he came up to stand beside her.

  Harrison was right.

  The man wore a patch over one eye. Beneath the small swatch of black fabric the reddened and discolored skin puckered with welts and indentions of scarring that looked very much like the healing from a wound that had destroyed the muscle and bone beneath the skin. The battle at Waterloo was over two years ago. This injury was new and still healing, so it had to have happened recently.