An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  Petra beamed. ‘Lord Longhurst, I had no notion you were coming to town.’

  She had. He’d mentioned it. Was that why she was here? Hardly likely, she’d already turned his proposal down. Unless she had changed her mind? If so, would he be glad or sorry? Good Lord, he had never felt so conflicted in his life. Or at least not recently. ‘Would you care to dance?’

  The request left his lips before he had time to think about the possible implications.

  Petra’s eyes widened a fraction and then she smiled. She glanced at her sister, who made a shooing motion with her fan. ‘Just don’t leave the ballroom.’

  Good lord, had Petra told her sister of their affair? The back of his neck became hot, much as it had in the church when that idiot Beckridge had lectured the congregation about sexual morals.

  He led Petra on to the dance floor.

  Their opportunities for conversation were limited and their words easily overheard, so he restricted himself to pleasantries until the end of the dance.

  ‘May I bring you some refreshment?’ he asked politely.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she replied in kind.

  He led her to a chair beside a small table at the edge of the ballroom and then sent a footman off to fetch a cooling glass of punch.

  She laughed when he sat down beside her. ‘Handled with the efficiency of a major.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t spend twenty years in the army and not learn something.’

  ‘How lovely to see you here.’

  ‘And you. You look as at home here in town as you do in the countryside.’

  She sighed. ‘I had forgotten how much I enjoyed dancing. Perhaps we can convince the landlord of the Green Man to hold the occasional assembly. We would need subscriptions from enough people to make it worth his while.’

  She was going to be returning to Westram.

  For a moment, he felt incandescently happy. Until he remembered his purpose for coming to London. When he returned to Longhurst, he would likely be returning as a prospective bridegroom, if not married already. His mood darkened immediately.

  ‘You don’t like the idea?’

  He forced himself to smile. ‘I think it an excellent plan.’

  ‘Mrs Beckridge will not like it,’ she mused.

  ‘Then together we will rout her.’

  She smiled. ‘As you did the other day.’ She blushed. ‘Oh, I should not have mentioned that.’

  ‘It is hard to forget. The woman was gobbling like a turkey when she left.’

  She laughed out loud. ‘It is a sight I shall never forget as long as I live.’

  The sight he would never forget was Petra as she came undone.

  They gazed at each other and he knew he was going to miss her for the rest of his life.

  ‘Would you really make Beckridge leave if she starts to gossip?’ Petra asked curiously.

  He sighed. ‘I would not turn him out, but I must say I find his sermons highly unpleasant and his wife even more so. I am thinking I might try to offer him some sort of lure to make him leave of his own accord.’

  Petra nodded her approval of his idea.

  Her sister walked purposefully over to where they sat, clearly intent on breaking up their tête-à-tête.

  Regretfully, Ethan gave up his seat. ‘May I fetch you some refreshment, Lady Marguerite?’

  ‘Please,’ she said with a stiff nod.

  He did as he was bade and sent a footman over with the glass of ratafia since he had already used up the requisite amount of time with the ladies and had no wish to give the gossips fuel for their conjectures. On moving away from the table, a guest touched his arm. When he turned he saw it was Pelham. ‘May I introduce my niece? Ermintrude, this is Lord Longhurst. Longhurst, my sister’s daughter, Miss Lambton.’

  Nonplussed, he stared at the girl. Why... He kept his face expressionless, but inwardly he cringed. This was the way the marriage mart worked. Pelham would not be so anxious to make the introductions if he knew the state of Ethan’s finances. So far, he and his man of business had managed to keep that to themselves. He bowed. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Lambton.’

  Finally, the girl raised her gaze to his face. She did not look at all happy to meet him. ‘My lord,’ she said, her voice dull.

  Her uncle whispered something in her ear and she forced a smile.

  Pelham rolled his eyes and leaned close. ‘She’s nervous,’ he whispered.

  Ethan set out to make the lady feel more comfortable. While he could not say that she warmed to him, she did deign to walk the circumference of the room on his arm. She responded to his remarks in monosyllables for the most part, but when a new set formed she agreed to dance with him. She danced with precision, but not with Petra’s grace and verve.

  When he allowed himself to glance over to the table where he had left Petra, she was gone. He had wanted to tell her what the future held. Clearly a ball was not the place to reveal his intentions.

  Perhaps she would consent to drive out with him. He’d discovered a natty curricle among the myriad articles in the back of the stables at his town house. It would be easy to rent a pair of horses to pull it. Unfortunately, the town house was included in the entail or he would have sold it in a heartbeat. The place was also in need of care and attention and a good clearing out. It, too, was stuffed to the gills with furniture and assorted knick-knacks. In fact, it was even worse than Longhurst Park had been.

  Chapter Ten

  Petra should have been surprised to receive Ethan’s note three days after the ball, asking if she would drive out with him at the fashionable hour. She was not. She was, however, surprised at how thrilled she felt at the notion.

  Marguerite absently agreed that it would be perfectly all right for her to accept the invitation. Her older sister clearly had other matters on her mind. She had been disappearing on errands of her own. On one occasion, two days after their arrival, she’d seemed particularly dispirited. When Petra had asked her point-blank what was wrong, Marguerite had smiled vaguely and said she would reveal all when the time was right. Then she’d locked herself away in her chamber for two days.

  Did Marguerite have a secret lover? Had she been rejected? Or was she still pining for Saxby and this visit to London had brought all her memories of her late husband back? Petra’s heart ached for her sister, but what could she do if Marguerite would not talk about her troubles?

  Ethan arrived a few minutes early, but Petra was ready and waiting in the drawing room when his curricle pulled up outside.

  With Marguerite nowhere to be seen, or to remind her of the proprieties, she dashed down the stairs before the doorbell rang. When the butler opened the door, she beamed at Ethan, who looked splendid in a coat of blue superfine with silver buttons. He whipped off his hat and bowed. ‘Lady Petra, how good to see that you are ready.’

  One of her brother’s footmen had taken charge of the horses and he held them steady while Ethan helped her up and once more took control of the reins. In just a few moments, they were moving out into the traffic and heading for Hyde Park.

  Ethan pulled around a parked brewer’s dray and neatly avoided a hackney carriage coming in the other direction.

  ‘The traffic is busy today,’ Petra remarked.

  The offside horse started at a piece of paper blowing across the road, but Ethan held him in check. ‘It is always busy in London, I think.’

  ‘And noisy,’ she added when three hawkers competed for attention for their wares at the corner of the street.

  He grinned at her and nodded. It was only a little less noisy when they turned into Hyde Park given the many carriages making their way sedately up the row, in order that their occupants would have plenty of time to see and been seen. And, of course, there were the pauses while acquaintances greeted each other and looked each other over.

&n
bsp; Fortunately, the weather, while cool, did not threaten rain.

  ‘That is a very fetching bonnet, Lady Petra,’ Ethan said, looping the reins expertly around one hand and half turning to face her.

  ‘Thank you. I made it myself.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You are very accomplished, I must say.’

  She smiled at the compliment and addressed the thought uppermost on her mind. ‘Did you have a purpose for inviting me to drive today, or was it merely for the pleasure of my company?’

  His lips twitched. ‘You are also very forthright. Which I like very much,’ he hastened to add.

  ‘Do you, indeed? Then I shall never hesitate to speak my mind when I am with you.’

  A short pause ensued. ‘I did advertise my fields for grazing and, as luck would have it, Compton needed somewhere to put his dairy herd, since one of his fields flooded and it will be weeks before it is fully drained. He also loaned me an old plough share. It needs repairs, but O’Cleary thinks he can mend it.’

  ‘That is good news.’

  He shook his head. ‘It is a step forward, but it is nowhere near enough.’

  ‘Perhaps you can lease out more fields.’

  ‘I will lease as many as I can, but even if I had animals on every field, it will not be enough to cover the expenses, unfortunately.’

  Dash it. She had hoped—‘Perhaps you need to marry an heiress,’ she said, thinking of her brother and Miss Featherstone. She had decided that was the only reason Red could possibly want to marry the woman, hence the reason for his haggard appearance.

  ‘You are not the first person to make that suggestion.’ His voice was dry.

  A pang seized her heart at the thought of him marrying someone else. Or perhaps it was because he, too, seemed content with something so cold-blooded as a marriage of convenience. She tried not to show her disappointment. After all, she had known he would have to marry sooner or later, but for some reason she had hoped it might be later. The back of her throat ached with...unshed tears? Surely not. She must have a cold coming on.

  ‘Do you have someone in mind?’ she asked calmly, hoping he would notice nothing amiss with her voice. ‘Or would you like me to make discreet enquiries among the ladies of my acquaintance? They often know about these things.’ She winced, fearing she sounded a little bitter.

  ‘You would do that for me?’ He frowned.

  ‘If you wish it?’ Was she mad? She hated the idea.

  ‘I see.’ He urged his horses a few steps forward and lifted his hat to a group of ladies walking along the path. ‘There is actually someone waiting in the wings, but I have not yet met the young lady in question.’

  He didn’t sound happy; he sounded stoic.

  ‘You would rather not.’ She felt a little more cheerful.

  ‘It is not my first choice to be sure.’

  Naturally he would not say more because he was a gentleman.

  ‘When you meet her, you might be pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘Why, Lady Petra, you sound as if you are trying to marry me off.’ His laugh had a hollow ring, though his blue eyes were twinkling. He was trying to make them both feel better about what was to come. And for that she was grateful.

  ‘What about selling your town house?’ she asked.

  ‘Entailed. It seems that the Longhursts have been a feckless lot and decided to make sure the property remained in the family.’

  ‘There is nothing else of value?’

  ‘Only my horse, but I would only have to buy another, so selling Jack would be a false economy. Even if I lease out the town house and the estate, it won’t bring in enough income to put the estate into anything like order.’

  Together they had worked out just how much would be needed. It had been an enormous sum.

  Back to the heiress, then... ‘Yes. It seems your hands are tied. I can think of nothing else you could do that would result in vast sums of money.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  People did marry for money and often they were happy. Sometimes they were not and if she were going to wish something for Ethan, it would be his happiness. ‘Would a bank give you a loan?’

  ‘It would, if I had any collateral.’

  They reached the end of the row and turned out of the park. Their hour was up.

  He sounded like a man preparing to lead a forlorn hope. ‘Perhaps you should think about it for a day or so. Something might turn up.’

  ‘I have done nothing but think about it.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I can certainly wait a day or two more, since the duns are not yet at the door.’

  ‘I am very glad to hear it. Do you go to the Frobishers’ ball next week?’

  ‘I have not replied to the invitation, but I can do so. Do you go?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps by then one or other of us will have come up with a solution.’ Other than marrying an heiress. She really hoped so.

  * * *

  Ethan sighed and threw the agricultural journal aside. He’d spent all afternoon going through every last article to no avail. There really were no shortcuts for a landowner. It took five years at least for every damned thing to get to a point of profitability.

  He’d received word from O’Cleary that the plough had been repaired and asking which field was to be turned over first, and could he please see about hiring a man to do the work. But if Ethan didn’t have money for seed, what was the point in laying out money on hiring a ploughman? He’d have to go home and see to it himself.

  Someone thumped on the front door with a fist. Ethan started. He’d not hired on any servants for the London town house, because he had decided that even though he slept here each night, he would neither pay calls nor receive any here. The house was a mess and it had to be cleared out before he could think of entertaining anyone. Another expense he’d have to face soon.

  In the meantime, if someone wanted to meet with him, then he met them at his club, where he took all of his meals, thus keeping his expenses to the minimum.

  Not having O’Cleary’s help here in town had been an inconvenience, but he was perfectly capable of dressing himself and shaving.

  The knock came again. He got up and looked down into the street and saw a very familiar face looking back up at him from beneath her umbrella. Lady Petra. Standing in the pouring rain.

  He wasn’t exactly dressed for afternoon callers, but nor was he going to leave her standing on his doorstep for any old passer-by to see. He tightened the belt on his dressing gown, wended his way round the multitude of furniture that took up every inch of floor space and opened the door. He quickly pulled her inside.

  She took in his state of undress and beamed. ‘I am sorry if this is an inconvenient time to call, but Marguerite went out and I had an idea.’

  ‘An idea?’ Hope lifted his heart. ‘Let me help you out of that wet coat.’ She undid the buttons and he eased her out of the nonsensical thing. The thin fabric offered almost no protection against the elements and barely skimmed the high waist of her gown. Her skirts were soaked at the hem.

  ‘Yes.’ She looked about her. ‘Sell everything. All the furniture. The lamps. The rugs. They can’t possibly be included in the entail. Surely that would help?’

  He gave her coat a shake and draped it over a chair. She took off her bonnet, stripped off her gloves and handed them to him. He draped them over another chair. He shook his head. ‘They won’t fetch anything approaching what is needed. Like the stuff at Longhurst, most of it is only fit for the rag-and-bone man or the fire.’

  ‘You already thought of it.’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘I had a man come round yesterday. He offered to take it all away as a job lot.’

  ‘You must pay him to take it?’

  ‘Yes. Only then can I lease out the house.’

  Her face fell. ‘And here I thought I had the answer.’

/>   ‘Thank you for the attempt, but you know you really shouldn’t be visiting me here. Wasn’t I supposed to see you at Frobisher’s ball tomorrow night?’

  ‘We are not going after all. Marguerite came home after lunch and announced that we are going home first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Why the haste? What has happened?’

  ‘I have no idea. Red is furious with her, but apparently she was able to pay him three months’ rent in advance for Westram Cottage so we can go home.’

  ‘And you came here because you thought you ought to let me know I would not see you at the ball.’

  She nodded. She gazed up at the picture in the hall. Like all the paintings in the house it had acquired a thick coating of dust and grime. ‘This picture looks familiar.’ She touched the surface and her fingertip came away with a black smear. She frowned and looked at the picture again. ‘It looks like a painting Marguerite tried to copy from a book when she was going through her Italian phase,’ she said slowly. ‘She enthused about it for an hour at least. His name is Canal something. I remember that because that was mostly what he painted. Venice canals.’

  Ethan knew nothing about art and artists. he simply knew when he liked something. The dealer who had come to value the furniture had only looked at one painting and had declared it a copy of a Reynolds, and a poor one at that.

  ‘There was a diary at Longhurst recording the grand tour of one Joshua Trethewy,’ he said. ‘The previous Earl’s father. I didn’t take much notice of it when I realised it didn’t have anything to do with the estate, but one of the pages I opened recorded several purchases in Venice of what he called “scribbles” that his mother had asked him to buy.’ Along with recording a great deal of other nonsense, like masquerades and the licentious behaviour engaged in by young men out on the town. If the tone of the journal was anything to go by, Joshua would indeed have bought second-rate copies of artwork and spent the bulk of his money on the ladies of Venice, about whose beauty and sensuality he waxed on and on.

  Petra turned away from the picture and stared at the clutter of furniture littering the hallway. Footmen’s chairs, carved chests, sculptures of assorted sizes and materials all higgledy-piggledy. ‘My goodness, it is the same as it was at Longhurst. Your cousin had some sort of problem, I think.’