Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  “I hardly think being generous with his money when learning of someone in need is cause to call him a fool.” Tristan bit back his anger at her remark.

  “Perhaps. The photograph she included with her plea must’ve been quite an attractive one to make him do so. I admit that I can’t believe the gall of beggars these days. Did I tell you there was one outside of my modiste’s when I visited last week?” She shook her head as though still shocked at the idea. “They grow bolder each day. Something should be done.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Do you have any ideas on how to help?”

  “Help?” She looked appalled at the word. “That would only encourage them. They should be forbidden from standing outside shops that people like us frequent.”

  “People like us?”

  She frowned up at him as though not understanding why he questioned her. “The nobility shouldn’t be confronted by those types.” She gave a little shudder. “Many of them are dangerous.”

  “Was the person outside your dressmaker’s shop so frightening?”

  She waved her hand in dismissal. “Actually she was a woman not far from my age. She was quite thin, so at least she looked the part. Her attractiveness probably aided her.”

  Tristan could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  “What?” she asked at his stare. “I had my maid give her some money. Though I suppose that will only encourage her to try her luck at that spot again.”

  Unfortunately, Samantha wasn’t the only one who held such crazed beliefs. Many of their peers preferred to ignore the problem than deal with it. And if the beggars were out of sight, they were so much easier to ignore.

  “Did you hear that someone has taken up residence at Viscount Chivington’s on Grosvenor Square? The place has been empty since his death well over a year ago.”

  “Chivington? I don’t think I knew him.”

  “Daniel Stannus was his name. He went to university with my cousin so I met him on several occasions.”

  A roaring sound filled his ears. She had to be referring to Grace’s husband. Did this mean Grace had come to her senses and followed his suggestion? Or had Charles moved in?

  Oblivious to his surprise, Samantha continued, “Lady Elizabeth lives nearby and commented on it. I didn’t care for the viscount. He wasn’t the nicest man. He kept his pretty young wife tucked away in the country. I wonder if the mysterious widow has at last come to London to enjoy the Season. It’s been over a year since he died, so she’s out of full mourning.”

  “Do you know Charles, a cousin of the viscount’s?”

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “I thought you said you didn’t know Viscount Chivington?”

  “I didn’t. Allow me to escort you out.” Those words had her mouth gaping.

  “I wasn’t yet ready to leave.”

  “I have an appointment.” He didn’t care that he was lying. He wanted Samantha to leave. Immediately if not sooner. He had to know if Grace had reappeared in his life.

  “The Earl of Adair is here to see you, my lady.”

  Grace froze, heat filling her entire body. “Adair?”

  At the footman’s nod, she set aside her needlework and rose from her chair in her sitting room, pressing a hand to her stomach where nerves fluttered. Nerves and anticipation.

  While she’d known there was a chance she might encounter Tristan once they came to stay in the townhouse, she hadn’t expected it quite so soon. They’d only been here a few days.

  It took a moment for her to realize the footman was waiting for her response.

  “I’ll see him in the drawing room.” She said the words with as much confidence as she could muster. She’d been working hard on acting like a viscountess should, on forming her own opinion, and making that opinion known. Unfortunately, she still wasn’t always certain what that was. But she had no doubt that she wanted to see Tristan. She’d missed him terribly, thought of him constantly, and now he was here. She was nearly breathless with excitement.

  The footman bowed and disappeared.

  Grace drew a deep breath, smoothing her hands down the front of her simple grey gown. For the first time, she wished she had something other than the colors of half-mourning to wear.

  Not that it mattered. Tristan was engaged, therefore her appearance mattered little. He was merely calling on her out of kindness. How had he found them? She supposed she’d find out soon enough.

  His visit would give her a chance to apologize for leaving so abruptly. She could only hope he didn’t question her as to why. Surely upon seeing him, she’d realize that her growing feelings for him while at Crawford House had been more about the situation and her own desperation than anything else. While worry still filled her days, that terrible desperation had fallen away.

  Yet the flutters in her stomach told her she was only trying to fool herself. Her attraction to the handsome, somber earl couldn’t be denied. She shook her head at her ridiculous nerves. In truth, she would be pleased to see him. She’d missed him more than she cared to admit. At the very least, she could close the door on the unfinished business between them.

  She did her best to compose herself as she descended the stairs to the drawing room.

  Tristan faced the window. His shoulders appeared even broader than she remembered. His well-cut suit showed the narrowness of his hips and his long, muscular legs. Then he turned, as though sensing her arrival.

  His smile started in his eyes, warming them before slowly curving his lips. It stole her breath.

  “How nice of you to call on us,” Grace said, walking forward to stand before him.

  “You look well.” He reached out to take her hands in his as he studied her, making her grateful for the recent days of rest and good meals she’d had. “I hope you’ve recovered?”

  “I have. Thank you.” The heat of his hands did nothing to slow her racing heart. What on earth was wrong with her?

  “I heard that someone was staying here and those few details led me to hope it might be you and Matthew.”

  She released his hands, realizing she’d been squeezing them the entire time. Obviously, he was too polite to disentangle himself from her. “Please, have a seat.”

  “You decided against staying with your cousin?” he asked. To her surprise, he moved toward the settee and turned to her, waiting until she took a seat before settling in beside her.

  She must be making too much out of his behavior. He probably didn’t think twice about sitting beside her but that was not the case for her. “Circumstances were not what I expected, so we decided it best if we came here.”

  She’d taken great pleasure in sending Molly and her family a large basket brimming with food along with some money. She intended to send something every week with the hope that it would ease their lives.

  “I am sorry to hear that, but pleased I have the opportunity to see you again.”

  “I want to apologize for leaving without notice.” She hoped that was enough—that he wouldn’t ask why.

  “No need. I understand.”

  He did? Perhaps he could explain it to her, for she still wasn’t certain why.

  “How is Matthew?”

  Her affection for Tristan took another leap to have him inquire after her son. “Well, thank you.”

  “May I see him?”

  “He’d be delighted.” She rose to ring the bell to send for him.

  “How are you finding London? Have you started seeing some of the sights? Attended any balls?”

  “No. I would rather Charles and his wife don’t find us quite yet, so we’ve stayed in for the most part.” She glanced about, not feeling any more comfortable here than she had at her cousin’s home. Would she ever live in a place that didn’t feel as if she were merely visiting?

  Tristan rose and moved to stand before her. His expression was solemn as it held hers. “Grace, I feel compelled to remind you that if I heard news of your arrival, Charles eventually will as well. Now is your chance
to move into Society and establish your place.”

  Grace sighed, uncertain if she was capable of doing so and overwhelmed at the idea of even trying. “In truth, I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She hesitated, wondering if she dared tell him the truth.

  “What is it?”

  She looked up at him in surprise. Could he read her so easily?

  “I can see you have something on your mind.” He raised his hand to gently lift a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

  The gesture had her feeling dizzy and breathless, as if she’d spun in circles. Eyes closed, she leaned into his touch before she caught herself. He drew her in a way she couldn’t describe. He put her at ease, making her feel safe. When she looked at him, she knew beyond a doubt that here was a man she could trust. She was tempted to tell him things she’d never told anyone.

  Yet he also stirred her in a way that she’d never before experienced.

  Though she wanted to stand on her own and prove to herself that she was a capable woman and mother, would it be so wrong to share her concerns with Tristan?

  “Tell me,” he prompted. “I would help in any way I can.”

  “I grew up as a vicar’s daughter and lived a very simple life before meeting my husband.” She lifted her hands only to let them fall, trying to find the words to explain her dilemma. “I am not a viscountess in the truest sense.”

  “Perhaps not in the past, but you are now.” As she opened her mouth to protest, he placed a finger on her lips. “You are. No one could possibly dispute that fact.”

  “I suppose the problem is that I’ve never felt like one,” she whispered, trying to ignore how him touching her made her feel. “That was my husband’s mother, not me.”

  Tristan took her hand in his. “Not any longer. You are Viscountess Chivington. It’s time you embraced the title and all that comes with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Make your own place. Put your own mark on the title.” He glanced around the crowded, overly decorated room. “I would hazard a guess that this particular room is not suited to your tastes.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” she protested.

  He raised a brow as though to challenge her statement.

  She looked about, taking in the rose-colored wallpaper and the multitude of furnishings in various shades of pink. “I hate it,” she blurted without thinking twice. “I don’t feel comfortable in here.”

  “Then change it until you do.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  She bit her lip as she looked around the room. “What if my changes only make it worse?” When he didn’t respond, she turned back to him.

  “Truly?” His look of disbelief had her chuckling in response. “I don’t see how you could.”

  “You might have a point.” She studied the furnishings once again, the idea beginning to take hold. “But where would I start?”

  He stepped over to a nearby chair. The pink velvet, overstuffed chair was rather ugly and didn’t look comfortable. “Do you like this chair?”

  “No?”

  “Is that a question or an answer?” His smile lightened her thoughts, turning the daunting project into something fun.

  She studied the chair again then went over and sat in it to be sure. After wiggling about, she realized it wasn’t comfortable in the least. She tipped her head back and looked up at Tristan who stood directly behind her. “I don’t care for it at all.”

  His smile was her reward.

  Awareness curled through her as he leaned closer. For the briefest moment, she thought his attention shifted to her lips, but that couldn’t be.

  He straightened abruptly and moved to another chair, this one wing-backed in a slightly deeper shade of rose. “And this one?”

  She stood to look at the chair from several angles before taking a seat. As she leaned back, her shoulders brushed his fingers, sending a pleasant shiver down her body. A warm glow filled her as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Yes, but I don’t care for the color.”

  “Very good.” His heated gaze roamed her face, sending those shivers low into her belly.

  “You don’t like the color either?” she asked breathlessly, unable to move.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.” His quiet, deep voice rumbled through her.

  “It matters to me.” When his eyes darkened, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

  “Lord Adair!” Matthew’s excited voice called from the doorway. He ran forward to hug Tristan.

  Grace held her breath, waiting for him to push Matthew back as Daniel so often had.

  Tristan stilled, his surprise at Matthew’s enthusiastic greeting obvious. Then his arms came around Matthew to lift him up and return his hug.

  Grace’s heart melted into a puddle at her feet. She’d never cared for the way Daniel had treated Matthew, as though he were someone else’s child instead of his own. She’d thought that was the way the nobility treated their children. Actually, she knew that to be true as she’d seen it several times in the past.

  But once again, Tristan was showing her that what she thought to be true didn’t have to be so. The challenge lay in remembering he was here as a friend and nothing more. She couldn’t allow herself to be too attracted to him or too dependent on him.

  Surely that wouldn’t be so difficult. She ignored the niggle of doubt that formed in the back of her mind. Besides, she could use a friend along with some help if she decided to do as he suggested.

  Taking her place as Viscountess Chivington in Society held one large advantage—she would see Tristan even more. That was a temptation from which she couldn’t walk away.

  Chapter Eight

  “...in the year ending at Michaelmas 1868, 524 persons were apprehended in the two counties for begging from house to house, and 374 of them were committed to prison.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Tristan scanned the crush at the ball that evening, all too aware the one person he wanted to see wasn’t there. But the knowledge that he could see Grace on the morrow if he wanted to pleased him more than it should.

  He couldn’t begin to explain why he was so happy Grace and Matthew were back in his life. But there was no doubt it was true. Even now, his heart was lighter than it had been since they’d left him. However, he needed to find the strength to curtail the urge to kiss her. What he’d been thinking about doing in her drawing room couldn’t be repeated.

  He had to take care that he didn’t allow his pleasure to grow into anything deeper. It wouldn’t be fair to Samantha or Grace, and he never wanted to do or say anything that might hurt either of them.

  Perhaps his admiration for Grace was due in part because she was a breath of fresh air amidst so many others who pretended to be something they weren’t. She didn’t put on airs or act as though the world should revolve around her.

  Quite the opposite, in fact. Her background as a vicar’s daughter made her humble to the point of feeling unworthy of her position.

  He supposed they were alike in one respect—both trying to become someone other than who they presently were. In his case, it was deliberate, while for Grace, the changes she faced were borne out of necessity. Her son was a viscount, whether she felt like a viscountess or not.

  He didn’t think he’d managed to convince her to embrace her position as a titled lady. Not yet anyway. But hopefully he’d planted the seed, and she was actually considering it. All his instincts told him that would be the best way to protect both Matthew and her, especially while they were in London. The more people who knew them, the safer they’d be, plus they could enjoy all the city had to offer.

  Grace was like a butterfly, fresh out of the cocoon, ready to spread her wings but fearful to do so. He wanted to see her soar, to watch as she started to enjoy all life had to offer.

  Meanwhile, he intended to locate Charles and his wife and make sure they never bothered Grace and Matthew again. Hence one of the reasons for
attending the ball tonight. Surely someone of his acquaintance knew Stannus.

  “Wherever have you been?”

  Tristan turned to find his mother at his side. Holding tight to his good mood, he ignored her question and attempted to start on a better note. “Good evening. You look well.”

  Tonight, she wore a grey gown that included touches of rose around the neck, sleeves, and waist. Why did so many older ladies favor that particular color? Her dark hair was dusted with white at the temples and swept up into a twist at the back. Her blue eyes were much like his brother’s, but the similarities between them ended there.

  Though he’d hoped Nathaniel’s upcoming wedding would shift some of her focus away from him, that hadn’t been the case. She ignored Nathaniel for most part, as she’d done much of his life.

  Her determination to see Tristan married had become annoying. He well knew the terms of his father’s will, but she insisted on reminding him frequently. Apparently she realized the importance of keeping Crawford House. His betrothal had done little to ease her concern.

  “You’re late.” She frowned up at him.

  “Oh? I wasn’t aware that I was on a schedule,” he responded, his good spirits slowly slipping away.

  Had she been part of the reason for his father’s never-ending black mood? Somehow he doubted it. His father had seemed to enjoy the reaction his flashes of temper garnered, whereas Tristan detested it.

  The hurt look his mother wore sent guilt sliding through him. It didn’t matter that she’d mastered the expression long ago. It hadn’t had any effect on his father. At times, Tristan was certain she deliberately said things to provoke him. Whether it was her past experiences or the way she’d always been, there was no denying she was a difficult individual.

  But she was his mother, therefore he continued to try to maintain some sort of relationship with her, no matter how broken.

  “I expected to be notified by now of some of the details for your wedding. Have you and Lady Samantha set the exact date?”