Why Earls Fall in Love

by Manda Collins

  “If you must know it was me,” Lydia said from the doorway. “I wished to know if she had something for me to wear to the assembly rooms tomorrow evening,” she said. “But that’s not to say I intended for her to find your paramour had stolen her bracelet, Con,” she said with all the arrogance of a girl just about to make her come-out. “I am entitled to ask my aunt if I might borrow her jewels, you know. It was simply bad luck that your Mrs. Mowbray was found to have sticky fingers.”

  “You haven’t been a great fan of Mrs. Mowbray from the first, have you, Lydia?” Con asked, his eyes narrowing as he considered whether she’d disliked Georgina so much that she’d frame her for theft. “Did you perhaps slip the cuff into Mrs. Mowbray’s bedchamber while we were out at luncheon?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” his cousin said with a roll of her eyes. “I might not be the woman’s greatest champion but I wouldn’t do something that would upset Aunt like that. It’s hardly likely to make her more willing to lend out her bits of jewelry, is it?”

  He had to admit she had a point, though Con was still annoyed at the cavalier manner in which both his cousins referred to Mrs. Mowbray. As if she weren’t worthy of their respect as any other lady would be.

  “Then who is responsible for the bracelet’s presence in Mrs. Mowbray’s bedchamber?” he demanded, frustration making him clench his fists. Because if neither his cousins nor any of Lady Russell’s other servants were responsible for the planting of the jeweled bracelet in Georgina’s room, then that meant the person who blamed her for her role in Ormond’s death had found some way to infiltrate his aunt’s household.

  He turned to go after Georgina, but stopped in the doorway of the drawing room. “I want both of you to know that I will tolerate no more loose talk about Mrs. Mowbray. And that goes for you and the servants in this house. Aunt, I cannot control.”

  “Why on earth are you so concerned about her, Con?” Clara asked. “I vow I’d come to like her during our stay here, but she’s hardly the sort you normally gravitate toward.”

  “Don’t you see, Mama?” Lydia said in a bored voice. “He’s smitten with the little companion. If it weren’t so revoltingly vulgar I’d say it was sweet.”

  “Con?” Clara raised her brow at her cousin. “Is she right?”

  “As a matter of fact,” he said tersely, “she is. If she’ll have me, I’m going to marry her. But if either of you so much as breathes a word of it to her or anyone else, I’ll see to it that neither of you receives anything from the estates ever again.”

  “You can’t do that!” Lydia hissed. “Can he do that, Mama?”

  “He’s the earl, dearest,” Clara said, watching the door long after Con had left them. “He can do whatever he wants.”

  Sixteen

  “And then I left,” Georgie said, her hands wrapped round the cup of tea Perdita had pressed into them after one look at her stricken face.

  She’d spent the majority of her walk from Henrietta Street to Laura Place going over the events in Lady Russell’s house in her mind and still she could not account for the way Lady Russell had turned against her. Georgie had been accused of being many things over the course of her life. But never had she ever imagined being accused of theft. Not only was it something she’d never considered—with the exception of a bit of marzipan from a cake when she was five—but she’d never really wanted something so badly she’d be willing to steal it. Material things simply weren’t that important to her unless there was some sort of sentimental value to them. One look at her wardrobe would confirm that, she thought mirthlessly.

  Now, however, her puzzlement had turned to a kind of sorrow for the loss of Lady Russell’s good opinion. Georgie had begun to think of her as a friend rather than just an employer. And now that friendship had been shattered by someone wishing to cause her harm. Even if she were able to prove to Lady Russell that she’d not stolen the bracelet, they would never return to the easy footing upon which they’d existed for the past several months.

  “I do wish we could find out who is trying to discredit us once and for all,” Perdita said with a fierceness that startled Georgie. Her friend had always been loyal, but there was an underlying layer of intensity in her voice now.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, your grace?” she asked, trying to discern from Perdita’s face if there was anything other than simple concern there. “You’ve been awfully … fierce of late.”

  Perdita stared into her teacup before replying. “I am simply weary of this business. And I cannot help but feel responsible for all of it. If it hadn’t been for me, neither you nor Isabella would have been there that night. Neither of you would have attracted the attention of this malevolent creature. It almost makes me wish I’d let Gervase have his way with me and left the two of you alone instead of asking for your help.” She set her cup and saucer on the table and rose to poke at the fire, her back ramrod straight as she knelt before the fireplace.

  “Dearest Perdita, look at me,” Georgie said, putting her own cup down and going to her friend. She knelt beside her and slipped an arm around her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. It was Gervase’s crime. Not yours. And I know that Isabella would agree with me when I say that I would do the same thing again if I were given the chance to relive that night. You were in very real danger. Gervase held a knife to your throat and intended to kill you. I have little doubt of that. And if that had happened do you really think Isabella and I would have been better off? That we might have happily gone on without you in our lives? For I can tell you that I, for one, would not have preferred that outcome one bit.”

  All the while Georgie spoke she felt her friend shaking as silent sobs shook her slim body. It was a skill they’d all three—she, Perdita, and Isabella—perfected. Sometimes because they didn’t wish their violent husbands to have the satisfaction of seeing that their blows had hit their marks. Sometimes because they didn’t wish anyone else to know their shame.

  When Perdita had calmed, the two women rose and ensconced themselves on the facing settees and Georgie poured them both more tea.

  “I was supposed to be comforting you,” Perdita said with a rueful smile. “Not the other way round.”

  “There is no ‘supposed to be,’” Georgie said firmly. “We are both the victims of this ridiculous person. Whoever he might be.”

  “Or she,” Perdita said with a raised brow. “I shouldn’t be surprised for a moment if he turned out to be a she.”

  Georgie’s temples began to throb. “I so wish that made me feel better. Instead it’s just widened the pool of possible suspects.”

  “Sorry,” Perdita said with a slight shrug. “I simply didn’t wish you to let your guard down with ladies.”

  A cough from the doorway made them both turn to see the butler. “Lord Coniston and Lord Archer are here and wish to know if you are receiving visitors, your grace.”

  Perdita told him to send them in, and Con strode in followed by Archer. Both men looked grim.

  “I’ve arranged for your things to be brought here by two of my aunt’s footmen,” Con said without preamble as he took a seat beside Georgina. “I cannot recall when I’ve been more angry at my family.”

  “I don’t wish for you to quarrel with them on my behalf, Con,” Georgie said, turning to take his hand. “This is the fault of whoever bears a grudge against me for Gervase’s death. It has nothing to do with your aunt, and if I were in her position I’m not sure I’d have made a different decision about the matter. How she handles this will have an effect on her authority with her other servants. And if she proved too lenient with me, they might see it as an invitation to relax their own standards.”

  “But you aren’t a servant,” Con protested. “Not in the same way that they are. You are not of the nobility perhaps but you are from solid gentry stock and as such you are above them in station no matter that you were employed as my aunt’s companion. And aside from all that, there is the fact that you d
idn’t steal the bracelet. I know that as well as anyone since it wasn’t in your bedchamber last night when I—”

  He stopped, realizing perhaps that he’d just revealed that he’d visited an unmarried lady’s bedchamber in front of two witnesses.

  “Oh, don’t mind us,” Archer said from where he was lounging on the settee beside Perdita. He made a show of leaning forward to pick up the teapot. “More tea, Duchess?”

  Her eyes bright with interest, Perdita offered her cup to Archer. “Though you do know it’s highly irregular for a gentleman to serve tea, do you not, Lord Archer?”

  “Somehow I think that’s not the thing that’s the most irregular in this room at the moment,” Archer said, putting the teapot back down. He stretched an arm out along the back of the sofa and waved his hand at Con and Georgie. “Do continue,” he said with an innocent smile. “I am finding this conversation quite fascinating.”

  “If you wish to retain possession of your liver, Lord Archer,” Con growled, “you’ll forget you just heard that.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Perdita said with a dismissive wave. “As if we’d gossip about the two of you outside of this room. I’m simply pleased that my own suspicions turned out to be correct.” She turned to the man beside her. “Lord Archer, you owe me a guinea.”

  Georgina gaped. “You wagered on whether the two of us might…”

  “Fall in love?” Perdita asked sweetly. “Of course we did. There’s little else to do for amusement in Bath. Especially given the fact that we expect to be ambushed in some way or another by the person making your life so difficult these days.”

  At the mention of the trouble hanging over her head, Georgie sobered. “Yes. Always back to that. I don’t even see how we can think of anything else at this point. I cannot possibly continue on as a lady’s companion with a theft accusation hanging over my head.”

  “If it comes to that,” Perdita said with a frown, “I will write you a letter of recommendation. But I shouldn’t think you would wish to find another position considering…” She looked pointedly at Con and then Georgie.

  Georgie felt her heart rise up into her throat as she squirmed under her friend’s gaze. There had been no talk between herself and Con last night about any sort of permanent arrangement between them. Indeed, she’d gone into it without expectations. She’d already been married once before and it had been a disaster. She wasn’t sure she wished to marry ever again. Even someone as decent as Con.

  “Nothing has changed in my circumstances,” she said finally. Which was the truth. She didn’t allow herself to look at Con lest he decided to take offense. “If I am to keep a roof over my head, I’ll need to find another position.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” Con said, turning to Georgie. “Just because I didn’t say anything last night…”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Georgie assured him. “Please, my lord. Later.”

  Though he looked as if he wanted to argue, Con nodded. “All right.”

  “Now,” Perdita said, breaking into the awkward silence that had fallen. “Why don’t I show you to your bedchamber, Georgina? And you can perhaps have a lie-down before dinner.”

  Allowing herself to be shepherded from the room by the young duchess, Georgie hoped she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.

  * * *

  “Damnation,” Con said after the ladies had left the room. He thrust a hand into his dark curls, yanking on the ends a bit. “What did she mean she wishes to continue being a lady’s companion, for God’s sake?”

  “I daresay she means that she wishes to continue being a lady’s companion,” Archer said, relaxing back against the settee.

  “Don’t be an ass,” Con responded, stalking across the room to pace before the fire. “A woman never means exactly what she says. If that were the case then there would never be any arguments with them.”

  “Surely not all the time,” Archer responded. “Can there really be a hidden meaning behind ‘you’re standing on my gown’ for instance?”

  “Oh,” Con growled. “You know what I mean. They’re always saying one thing and meaning another. In this case, it sounds to me as if Georgina is telling me that she’d rather be a damned paid servant than stoop to marriage with me.”

  Lord Archer sighed and stood, walked over to a sideboard on the other side of the room and poured out two glasses of brandy.

  “Here,” he said, pressing one of the glasses into Con’s hand before taking a drink of his own. He walked back over to the settees and resumed his seat. “Now, first of all, I don’t think she’s professing a preference for continuing to be a companion. In the absence of an offer from you, however, she is still going to need to find some way of making a living. She has no widow’s portion, does she? Or what she has is little enough that she had to seek out employment. If that is the case, then what choice does she have?”

  “She has the choice to marry me.”

  “But,” Archer continued patiently, “you’ve not asked her. She can hardly announce to the room at large that she’s going to marry you. And it is entirely possible, though I know you don’t want to consider it, that she does not wish to marry again. I am not saying whether this is the case or not, but it’s a possibility that you’ll need to consider.”

  “Damned coil,” Con said, shaking his head. “Why did this bastard have to choose today as the day for framing her for theft? It’s almost as if he waited until the first time we—”

  “Got to know one another a little better?” Archer supplied with a raised brow.

  “Yes,” Con said with a roll of his eyes, “that. It’s almost as if this man chose the morning after that to put the theft accusation into motion. Though I suppose if I were a better man I’d have proposed before we—”

  “Held hands?” Archer supplied helpfully.

  “God, you really are an ass, aren’t you?” Con complained. “Yes, held hands. I should have asked her to marry me before we held hands. Then at least I would know that she wouldn’t insist upon some ridiculous plan to strike out on her own again with only the pistol in her reticule for protection.”

  Archer nodded. “I remember that now. I’d completely forgotten about that pistol of hers.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” Con said cuttingly. “If you’re as annoying to her as you are to me she might just have used it on you.”

  “Oh, now,” Archer chided, propping his ankle on his knee. “You only find me annoying when I’m right. Which, I’ll admit, is more often than not, but still.”

  All traces of banter gone, Con allowed his forehead to rest briefly on the mantelpiece. “What the hell am I going to do first? Ask for Georgina’s hand or catch this bastard who’s threatening her?”

  “I know what I’d do if it were me,” Archer responded, his voice sincere. “I’d settle things with Georgina. If you’re going to defeat this bastard who’s threatening her, then you need to be able to work together without this marriage thing hanging over your head.”

  Turning, Con stepped over and collapsed onto the opposite settee. Taking a long drink of brandy, he leaned back in the seat. “I suppose you’re right. But I wanted to do the thing properly. With my mother’s rings and at the proper time and place. Not in some ramshackle fashion while she’s feeling vulnerable and disgraced.”

  “If I know ladies,” Archer said, a bit of humor returning to his eyes, “and I can assure you that I do, I’d say that she won’t care about all that folderol. A different sort might. One who stands on ceremony and is constantly concerned about rules of precedence and things like that. But that’s not the Georgina you know. She’s a no-nonsense, practical sort of woman. She might appreciate a bit of ceremony on your part, but she won’t reject you out of hand for lack of it. If she loves you, she’ll take you however she can get you. Wouldn’t you say the same for yourself?”

  That was true enough, Con thought. He didn’t stand on ceremony and neither did Georgie.

  “For once, Archer,” he said to the man acros
s from him, “you’re right about something.”

  He rose and said to the other man, “Come with me. There are some preparations I need to make.”

  Without demur, the other man followed him.

  Perhaps, Con reflected, he wasn’t such an ass after all.

  Seventeen

  In her bedchamber, which was finer than her room at Lady Russell’s house, Georgie stood at the window looking out over the crescent while Perdita busied herself with little adjustments throughout the room. She was grateful for her friend’s hospitality. Indeed, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done without Perdita offering her someplace to stay. But she was somewhat uncomfortable with the opulence of her accommodations.

  “You really don’t need to do all of this,” she said once again, turning from the window to see Perdita opening the door to a footman with Georgie’s trunks. “Oh, lovely. Please just put them in the dressing room.”

  When the footman was gone, Perdita walked over to where Georgie stood and hugged her. “I am so glad you’re here, though the circumstances are perfectly dreadful.” Pulling back, she led Georgie toward the small sitting room attached to the suite and gestured for her to sit.

  Georgie felt rather like she was being prepared for a motherly scold. “What’s amiss?” she asked. “Aside from the person trying to discredit me, of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Con?” Perdita asked, her hands spread open as if she were asking the world at large. “I knew there was something different at the picnic, but I couldn’t be sure. Do you know how wonderful this is?”

  Her face burning, Georgie felt sheepish. “I could hardly announce it in the carriage,” she protested. “And besides, he was your betrothed. I couldn’t know whether you still had feelings for him or if perhaps you regretted breaking things off with him.”

  “Despite the fact that I’ve said, repeatedly, in your presence that I am ever so glad that I broke things off with him?” Perdita did not look convinced by her friend’s evasion.