First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

by Anna Bennett

  “Don’t make it sound so scandalous. Mary shall accompany me. You both may come, too, if you like.”

  Sophie frowned. “I don’t know—”

  “We’d love to!” Lily piped up. “And we really should be there. Somehow, you’ve managed to survive climbing rocks and riding a horse. We cannot anticipate that boating will go as smoothly.”

  A knock at the door startled all three of them.

  “Your mother?” Sophie asked.

  “No,” Fiona and Lily said in unison. Mama never knocked.

  “Come in,” Fiona called.

  A maid pushed open the door and rolled an elegant tea cart across the worn Aubusson carpet. “The earl instructed us to bring up a late luncheon for you, Miss Hartley. There’s tea, sandwiches, fruit, and a variety of sweets. Just ring if you’d like anything else.” She bobbed her capped head politely before leaving.

  “How thoughtful,” Sophie said with a sigh.

  One look at the food made Fiona’s stomach growl. “Am I permitted to leave my bed in order to eat?” she asked dryly.

  “Stay there,” Lily ordered. “I’ll prepare a plate for you.”

  “And I shall go to the drawing room to inform everyone that you are expected to make a full recovery.” Casting a glance at Lily, Sophie added, “After sufficient rest and pampering.”

  “Wait,” Fiona said. “I meant to ask—how did the two of you enjoy the picnic?”

  Lily grinned. “Soph spent a great deal of time conversing with Mr. Kirby.”

  Sophie shrugged shyly. “He’s very charming, is he not?”

  “He is,” Fiona agreed. “Perhaps he could join us at the river tomorrow, too.”

  “Would it be forward of me to suggest it?” Sophie asked, worried.

  “Of course not,” Fiona said—even though she wasn’t at all certain of the etiquette in these matters. “If you see him in the drawing room, be sure to mention it.”

  Sophie’s eyes sparkled as she left the bedchamber, and once she was out of earshot Lily remarked, “As much as I like Mr. Kirby, I’m not certain he’s the right match for our Soph.”

  “Why not?” Fiona took the plate her sister offered and bit into a chicken sandwich that tasted like a slice of heaven.

  “I can’t quite put my finger on the reason. I simply feel she deserves better.”

  Fiona considered this, then asked, “Have you changed your opinion of Lord Ravenport?”

  Lily popped a grape into her mouth and tilted her head. “I saw a side of him today that I had not seen before. When you fell from the rock, he was frantic—every bit as worried as I was. And afterward he was attentive and kind and … gallant.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Fiona mused. “Because I’m going to marry him.”

  Lily coughed, nearly choking on the grape. “The earl has proposed?”

  “If all goes well, we will announce our engagement before we return to London,” Fiona said, rather proud of herself for deftly dodging her sister’s question.

  The color drained from Lily’s face, and she slowly sank onto the bed beside Fiona. “You … engaged? That is, I knew it was only a matter of time, but I confess I’m not quite prepared to share you yet.”

  Her sister’s tearful expression erased any smidgen of doubt Fiona might have harbored about marrying Gray and using her dowry money to pay off the blackmailer. If there was one person in the entire world whom Fiona could rely on, that person was Lily.

  And Fiona couldn’t let her sister’s chance for a happy future be destroyed by scandal.

  “You are my sister,” Fiona said, squeezing her hand. “And I love you dearly. Nothing on this earth could weaken the bond between us.”

  “Not even a dashing new husband who happens to be an earl?” Lily whimpered.

  Fiona set down her plate and gave her sister a proper hug. “Don’t be daft. I’ll need you more than ever. I’ve no idea how a countess is supposed to behave.”

  “Just follow your heart, like you always have. You won’t go wrong. And promise me that you won’t change too much.”

  “I promise.” Fiona planted a kiss on the top of her sister’s head.

  “Have you been writing in your journal?” Lily asked. “Because one day, I shall demand to know all the juicy details of this courtship.”

  “I’ve been making a few notes,” Fiona said vaguely. “One day, many years from now, when we’re old and gray, we’ll swap stories and laugh at how naïve we were.”

  “I hope I have some stories of my own to tell.” Lily sniffled into Fiona’s shoulder.

  “You shall. I daresay, your stories will be the best.”

  * * *

  “I understand you’re taking Miss Fiona Hartley to the river today.” Gray’s grandmother smiled at him over the rim of her teacup. “It is a rare and gratifying thing when you heed my advice.”

  She and Gray had the entire breakfast buffet to themselves. He shoveled a forkful of egg into his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of scalding coffee. “Stubbornness is a trait I inherited from you. But I always listen to your advice—and value it.”

  “Then indulge me by allowing me to give you one piece more.” She reached across the corner of the table and affectionately squeezed his forearm. “Talk to Fiona. Tell her what transpired here. Trust her to understand.”

  His fork froze halfway to his mouth, and he slowly lowered the utensil onto his plate. “What makes you so sure I can trust her?” He’d intended for the question to sound casual, but the hitch in his voice betrayed his doubts about her feelings—and his doubts about himself.

  “My dear boy,” she said softly. “Some young ladies have lived such sheltered lives that any bit of unpleasantness sends them fleeing for the hills.”

  “Like Helena.” It was more a statement than a question.

  His grandmother made a face as though her tea were bitter. “Precisely.”

  “And you think Fiona’s different?”

  “I know she is. And you know it, too. She’s faced trials and tribulations of her own, but despite those hardships, her sweet and generous nature has endured. She’s made of stronger stuff than Helena … but do you want to know the real reason I adore her?”

  He nodded mutely.

  “Because there’s a softness in your eyes when you look at her. A tenderness I haven’t seen there since you were a boy. She brings out a side of you that has been buried for too long.”

  “I have responsibilities now,” he said with a shrug. “There’s little time for frolicking in the fields and swimming in the river.”

  “You have time for both the work and the fun,” she said, somber. “Take the advice of someone who now treasures every glimpse of blue sky and every fiery red sunset. Frolicking is good for your soul, and you’re never too old for it.”

  Gray took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Not long ago, Kirby told me the same thing—only much less eloquently. I believe he cautioned me about turning into a tedious ass.”

  “Ah, well,” his grandmother said diplomatically, “that’s because Kirby specializes in frolicking.”

  “Did someone take my name in vain?” Kirby strode into the dining room, a wide grin splitting his face. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He plucked an apple from the fruit bowl on the sideboard and bit into it with gusto. “What time do we depart for the river today?”

  Gray arched a brow. “Who told you I was going to the river?”

  “Miss Kendall invited me last night. Pentham and Carter, too. Do you think we can persuade the ladies to go wading?”

  Wonderful. Apparently, half the bloody world was going to accompany him and Fiona to the river.

  But he’d find a way to talk with her … and perhaps steal her away for a few moments.

  Gray snorted. “If anyone can persuade the ladies to shed their slippers, squish their toes in the mud, and generally ignore rules of propriety, it’s you, my friend.”

  Kirby smoothed the lapels of his jacket an
d grinned, inordinately pleased. “Why, thank you.”

  “I have some work to do before we go to the river, so excuse me. I shall see you both later.” Gray rose and pecked his grandmother on the cheek before heading to his study.

  In two days, the house party would be over, and, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to savor every moment he could with Fiona. The irony of the situation didn’t escape him—after all, the whole purpose of hosting the house party had been to drive her away.

  Instead, he was on the brink of asking her father for her hand in marriage—and, for once in his life, feeling wholly, uncharacteristically, inexplicably … optimistic.

  Chapter 22

  On Being Carried to Bed

  If, by some chance, my dear, darling sister, Lily, were ever to snoop through my personal effects, discover my journal, and flip through these intensely private pages, I have no doubt the title of this particular entry would catch her eye and cause her to begin reading precisely here.

  But despite the admittedly salacious-sounding heading, my sister is destined to be disappointed (at least in this instance), for I am pleased to report that Lord R. was a perfect gentleman. Given the circumstances, he could not have behaved more decorously.

  I shall happily elaborate.

  You see, I had turned my ankle and was not yet aware of the extent of my injuries. The earl insisted on carrying me up the front steps of the house and two flights of stairs to my bedchamber, where I was to await the doctor.

  Despite the considerable effort this must have taken, Lord R. never complained or displayed any obvious signs of exertion—besides the somewhat accelerated rise and fall of his chest. An exceedingly hard, well-muscled chest, which I only observed because of the necessary and not at all untoward contact of our bodies.

  For the sake of clarity, I should explain that my right side was pressed against his chest. With every step he took, my hip bounced lightly against his taut abdomen. The neckline of my gown, while not immodest, revealed a bit more than was seemly—but I daresay the earl did not mind. He wrapped one strong arm around my back and the other beneath my bottom. Some might consider this scandalous; however, in a medical emergency, one does what one must.

  I confess that his lips were quite close to my ear, and I could feel his breath upon my cheek. And as he angled me through the door and crossed the threshold of my bedchamber, he stared at my mouth.

  But then he gently, tenderly, laid me on top of the counterpane. There may have been a second or two when he seemed oddly reluctant to let go of me. Or a moment when his eyes went dark with desire. I might have briefly imagined circling a hand around his neck and pulling his mouth to mine for a kiss.

  But, alas, nothing of the sort happened.

  Why, then, am I so disappointed?

  Prior to that afternoon, Fiona had never ridden in the back of a wagon. Mama probably would have been horrified at the thought of riding in a conveyance that was also routinely used to transport hens, sheep, and even—heaven forfend—pigs.

  But Gray had ensured that the bed of the wagon was clean and the sides were sturdy. He’d fashioned low benches lengthwise along the sides using bags of grain that he’d covered with quilts.

  Fiona and Lily sat across from Sophie and Mary, and each time the wagon rumbled over a bump in the road or dipped in and out of a rut, they all clutched the wooden slats behind them and laughed with glee.

  Mr. Kirby drove the wagon, and Lord Carter sat beside him, while Gray and Lord Pentham flanked the wagon on horseback. Fiona supposed they were there to make sure no one fell out—or at least to scoop up anyone who did.

  When they all arrived at the riverbank, Gray and Lord Pentham dismounted and helped each of the women hop off the back of the wagon. When it was Fiona’s turn to alight, Lord Pentham happened to be closest to her, but Gray shouldered his way in front. He circled his hands around her waist, helping her float to the ground with miraculous grace.

  Gray craned his head to look behind her, in the wagon. “Where is your sketchbook?” he asked.

  “I left it in my bedchamber,” she said.

  “Ah. You don’t want to risk it getting wet. I don’t blame you.”

  The mere thought of her sketchbook falling into the water made her shudder, but that wasn’t the only reason she’d left it at the Fortress. “I didn’t want to be distracted today,” she admitted. “Or encumbered by pencils and pastels.”

  His smile made her belly flip. “How does your ankle feel?” he asked.

  “Much better. I’m afraid the only thing I bruised yesterday was my pride.”

  “That’s too bad.” His forehead creased. “I don’t suppose you could pretend your ankle was still sore?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Just play along,” he whispered.

  Addressing the entire party, Gray said, “I’m pleased to have you all here today. Kirby and I spent the bulk of our childhood here on the banks of this river—”

  “And a good portion in it,” Mr. Kirby interjected.

  Gray nodded as if to concede the point. “We are eager to show you its humble entertainments. We would encourage you to relax, explore, and enjoy to your hearts’ content. To that end, Kirby has agreed to lead a walk along the river, pointing out some of our favorite spots. Meanwhile, I shall escort Miss Hartley in the rowboat—to spare her tender ankle.”

  Mary was at Fiona’s side in an instant. “I shall accompany you, miss.”

  Gray winced. “It’s a very small boat.” He pointed at the tiny vessel behind him, which did not look entirely seaworthy in Fiona’s inexpert opinion. “Besides,” he continued, “it would be difficult for me to row and maneuver the boat with two passengers.”

  The maid bit her lip. “I’m supposed to be acting as Miss Hartley’s chaperone.”

  “And so you shall,” Gray said soothingly. “From the shore. We won’t be far away. And while your commitment to your duties is to be commended, I do hope that you will enjoy yourself during this outing, too.”

  Mary blushed at the compliment. “Very well.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. That was ridiculously easy. All it had taken was a smidgen of charm from the earl.

  The maid offered Fiona her parasol. “You’ll be wanting this.”

  “Thank you, Mary, but I shall be fine without it.”

  The maid looked skeptical but did not object. “Please be careful. Especially since you’re not able to … that is, since you don’t…”

  The earl turned to Fiona and arched a brow. “You don’t swim?”

  “Perhaps it’s escaped your notice, but I’m not the most coordinated of creatures.”

  “Well then,” he said, nonchalant. “I shall do my best to keep you from falling overboard.”

  Mary let out a chirp of dismay. “Miss Fiona has already endured one fall, and that gown…” She gestured toward the pink silk. “One plunge into the river water and it would be ruined.”

  Fiona snorted indelicately. “I’ve no intention of leaving the boat. Shall we be on our way?”

  Gray smiled and held her arm firmly as he helped her down a steep embankment toward a narrow strip of beach. The boat sat lopsided on the shore, half in the water and half out.

  “I normally keep the boat tied to the pier in the summer, but last time I walked to the end of the dock I found that several of the boards had rotted, and I didn’t want to risk you falling through,” he admitted.

  “How very thoughtful,” she said wryly. “However, suddenly I find myself less concerned with the structural soundness of the pier and more concerned with the fitness of this little gondola of yours.”

  “It’s a rowboat.”

  She cast a critical eye over the peeling paint inside and outside of the boat. Some of the weathered wood looked rather suspect. “I assume you’ve carefully inspected the boards that comprise this … this wherry?”

  “I have.”

  She swallowed. “And there aren’t any rotted planks or other defects that
we should worry about?”

  “The hull is watertight,” he assured her. “The only way your slippers would become wet is if a wave splashed over the side. Or if the boat capsized.”

  “Wonderful,” Fiona announced. “The fate of my favorite pair of slippers depends on your ability to keep us afloat.”

  Before she’d even finished her sentence, Gray easily lifted her by the waist and hoisted her over the side of the boat. She stood between two narrow benches and peered over the water side warily. The boat lurched a little as Gray released her, and she wondered if it was possible to be seasick while the boat still rested on the sand.

  “Sit on that bench,” Gray said smoothly. “I placed a cushion there to make you comfortable—and to spare your dress.”

  “Thank you.” She cautiously sat and clutched both sides of the boat while he gave it a shove and waded into the water behind it. “Your boots!” she exclaimed.

  “They’re old.” Bracing both arms on the stern, he nimbly pulled himself out of the water and deposited himself on the bench opposite her—rocking the boat like a diabolical cradle.

  Fiona shrieked and held on for dear life.

  The crowd on the shore gasped and craned their necks as though they feared she’d plopped headfirst into the water.

  Gray leaned close and placed a soothing hand over her white knuckles. “Easy. We’ll stop rocking soon, and as long as you don’t try to stand, it will be a smooth ride from here on out. Promise.”

  She barked a laugh. “Rest assured, the last thing I want to do is risk standing on this primitive … dinghy.”

  “Rowboat.” He grinned and picked up an oar from the floor as if making his point. “Try to enjoy yourself, Fiona. I’ll do the work. All you must do is sit back and enjoy the fresh air, the view—and the excellent company.”

  She let out a long breath and slowly raised her head to gaze at the shore where Lily and Sophie waved enthusiastically. “Be careful!” Lily called out. “And have fun.”

  Fiona would have waved back if it didn’t require her to let go of the side of the boat. So instead, she simply shouted back, “I will!”

  Slowly, her grip relaxed. Her heartbeat returned to normal. And she had to admit that she was already enjoying the view—not of the lush trees and wildflowers along the shore, but of the handsome man who sat across from her. The sun glinted off his dark hair, and a light breeze rustled the wayward strands that spilled across his forehead. His long, muscular legs were sprawled on either side of her hers, and even through his buckskin trousers, she could observe the subtle flexing of his thighs when he shifted positions. The fine wool of his jacket stretched tightly across his shoulders each time he pulled the oars through the water.