First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

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First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel Page 29

by Anna Bennett


  She’d barely finished her sentence before he pulled her head toward his and took her mouth in a kiss so tender and deep that she felt it from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. God, she ached for him.

  He joined her on the sofa and trailed kisses up the column of her neck. “Now that the threat of blackmail had been eliminated, I suppose you’d prefer a longer, traditional engagement.” He traced the shell of her ear with a fingertip. “A reading of the banns and such.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured happily. “Gretna Green has much to recommend it at the moment.”

  Chapter 35

  “Your father would have had an apoplexy if you’d eloped,” Mama said to Fiona. She contentedly sipped her tea in the drawing room at the Fortress where she, the countess, Lily, and Fiona had gathered to plan the wedding celebration.

  “Are you certain you wish to have the breakfast here?” her stepmother asked. “They’re still repairing the damage from the tree, and the garden is rather … wild.” Fiona had to give Mama credit—she was trying to be diplomatic.

  “I’m certain.” It seemed impossible to Fiona that only a fortnight ago Gray had proposed. Fiona had persuaded Mama and Lily to return to the Fortress so they might make arrangements for the wedding at the village church.

  But truthfully, Fiona was less interested in selecting the flowers and menu items than she was in stealing a few private moments with Gray. “The terrace will be cleared off soon, and I don’t mind that the garden is a bit untamed. It feels rather exotic that way.”

  Mama clucked her tongue. “Exotic indeed.” But she could tolerate a few weeds if it meant her daughter would be a countess.

  “Shall we invite Miss Haywinkle to the wedding?” Lily teased. She sat at the desk, quill poised above the guest list.

  “I think not,” Fiona said with a shudder. “She’d spoil the fun.”

  “I’ll not have anyone counting how many glasses of champagne I’ve tipped.” The countess’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve been waiting for this day for far too long.”

  So had Fiona. Her heart felt light enough to fly away. “I brought a small gift for you,” she told the older woman. She retrieved the framed landscape she’d hidden behind the settee and placed it on the countess’s lap.

  She raised her lorgnette and studied the sketch for several moments. Her watery gaze lingered on the pink clouds streaking across the sky, the lush fields stretching toward the horizon, and the proud Fortress holding court at the center of it all. “It’s magnificent,” she said, her voice suspiciously raspy. “And the view from atop the rock is just as I remember it from decades ago. I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to know you see it the same way.”

  Fiona hugged the countess’s soft shoulders. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “It is beautiful,” Lily sighed. “I should add it’s not easy living in the shadow of such a talented older sister.”

  “Your day is coming,” the countess predicted. “Probably sooner than you think.”

  “I hope so,” Lily replied. “Have you decided where you’ll hang your picture?”

  The countess paused to consider the question. “The library, I think. As a symbol that we can keep the best parts of our past and let go of the rest. I’m so glad you convinced Gray to keep the shelves and books. It’s going to be a lovely, peaceful place when it’s finished.”

  Fiona smiled. “I hope so.”

  “This looks like a momentous gathering.” Gray strode into the room wearing the sort of wicked grin that never failed to make Fiona’s belly flutter. “Deciding the fates of kings and nations, are you?”

  “You’re not far off.” His grandmother beamed at him.

  He reached for Fiona’s hand, pressed a kiss to the back, and addressed the room at large. “May I borrow my betrothed for a moment?”

  “Of course,” everyone chimed, giving one another sly looks.

  Fiona’s breath hitched as Gray led her from the room. “You rescued me from a heated debate over the merits of lilies versus tulips.”

  “I love nothing more than rescuing you.” He stopped in the hallway, pressed her back to the wall, and kissed her till her toes curled in her slippers. “Have I mentioned yet this morning how amazing you are?”

  “Twice,” she said. “And the day is still young.”

  “There’s something else I want to ask you while we’re alone.”

  “This sounds promising.” She leaned into him. “Go on.”

  “I received a letter from my contact at the London Hearsay yesterday. Apparently, the reaction to your sketch was extraordinary. Letters from readers have been pouring in ever since it appeared in the paper. They loved the passion and the mystery behind your drawing and have been demanding to know who the couple are.”

  “That’s sweet,” Fiona said. “Our little secret.”

  “What would you say if I told you the Hearsay wants more of your drawings?”

  She blinked at him, incredulous. “Truly?”

  “To feature in a weekly column. One of your sketches and a few romantic lines accompanying it every Saturday. You can remain anonymous if you like. And they’re willing to pay you handsomely.”

  Her drawings. Published. Happiness bubbled up inside her, and she threw her arms around his taut waist. “That would be incredible, but you penned the romantic verse. Are you willing to become a professional poet?”

  “Not bloody likely. I’ve retired for good. You’ll have to find someone else to fill the role. Someone with charm and wit to spare.”

  Excitement sparked in Fiona’s chest. “I think I know the perfect person.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Fiona stood atop a flat rock overlooking the river—holding the rope swing.

  “I’ve reconsidered.” Her knees knocked together uncontrollably, and coarse fibers itched against her sweaty palms.

  This was a horrid idea. She hadn’t been in her right mind when she’d agreed. Gray’s slow kisses and tender caresses had drugged her till she scarcely knew what she was saying, and now she found herself standing on a cliff—fine, perhaps it was more of a gently sloping embankment—wearing nothing but her chemise, about to risk life and limb as she hurled herself into the river below. Blast.

  Gray was grinning as he treaded water a few yards below her, his broad bare shoulders glistening in the summer sun. “Just hold on and jump,” he called to her. “Release the rope when you’re directly over me, and I’ll catch you.”

  “Excellent. I’ll succeed in breaking both our necks,” she said dryly.

  “No, you won’t. Trust me.”

  She took a deep breath. Yes, she did trust him. And now she was going to prove it once and for all. Before she could change her mind, she clutched the rope, stepped off the rock—and sailed through the air.

  Her hair whipped around her shoulders, and her chemise billowed as she floated over the river. It was the most exhilarating, glorious feeling she could imagine—almost.

  A second later, she remembered to release the rope. She plunged into the water, right into Gray’s strong arms.

  “I did it!” she cried, clinging to him for dear life. Perhaps she hadn’t glided over the water like a swan. Her toes had dragged awkwardly across the surface and she’d flopped on her belly for the landing, but she’d taken a leap of faith … and survived.

  “I’m proud of you,” Gray murmured, warming her inside.

  Still breathless, she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and touched her forehead to his. “I hope you enjoyed that little spectacle, because one swing on the rope was quite enough for me. There shan’t be a repeat performance—ever.”

  “Not ever?” He arched a dark brow. “What if an army of spiders surrounded you and the swing was your only means of escape?”

  She shuddered. “If spiders attacked me, I’d faint before I could jump.”

  A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “What if I blackmailed you?”

  She blinked at him, incredulous.
“What could you possibly blackmail me with?”

  “A letter,” he drawled. “A letter in which you made a rather bold—some would say scandalous—proposal.”

  “Gray!” She splashed him in the face.

  “I could send it to the London Hearsay,” he said, grinning.

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Miss Haywinkle will be so disappointed.” He shook his head in mock dismay.

  Fiona shrugged. “I suppose it would be a bit humiliating, but I shall never regret writing that letter.”

  “Good. Because I cherish it. And I cherish you.” He spun her in circles, as though they were waltzing through the water. Only thankfully, there was no orchestra to bump into, and no way Gray would let her fall.

  “I was thinking I’d like to do a little sketching while we’re here,” she said.

  “Anything you want.”

  “Even if it requires you to pose without your shirt?”

  He responded with a chuckle so deep she felt it in her toes. “I’m certain you’ll find a way to persuade me, siren.”

  She was feeling rather confident of it, too. And as they splashed toward the shore, kissing and laughing, Fiona knew this sketch of Gray would surpass anything she’d drawn before.

  Perhaps she would send a copy to Miss Haywinkle.

  She’d wager the headmistress would find it quite, quite instructive.

  Author’s Note

  Thanks so much for reading Fiona and Gray’s story—I hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing this book, and Fiona’s diary entries were especially fun. They reminded me of my own diary-writing days and the unique thrill (and risk!) that comes from writing down such personal thoughts.

  My very first diary, a pink and white notebook with a lock, was filled with secret crushes, middle school drama, and the gloriously awkward details of my first real kiss. Predictably, my brothers discovered where I hid the notebook and picked the lock. You can guess how mortified I was when they memorized and recited a few passages at Thanksgiving dinner. Trust me, diaries provide the best blackmail material.

  I kept another journal in college during a semester in London. Long before the days of camera phones (ahem), I tried my hand at sketching the places I visited—ancient castles, awe-inspiring cathedrals, and lush gardens. I wrote about seeing the Rocky Horror Picture Show play in Bath and having a few too many pints at the university pub. Now, flipping through those pages helps me remember the semester through my twenty-something eyes.

  In a small way, these diaries served as the inspiration for Fiona’s. And if you’ve ever kept a journal, you know just how powerful they can be. In diaries, we reveal the secrets we wouldn’t dare tell our best friends. We relive life’s poignant moments—the ones that crushed our souls and the ones that made our hearts sing. Most of all, we make sense of the world and tell our own truth, in the moment, the best we can.

  And that’s why I can’t wait for you to read the next Debutante Diaries story, THE DUKE IS BUT A DREAM. You’ll see that Lily is taking the diaries to a whole new level—by sharing them with all of London. Of course, this doesn’t sit well with a certain disapproving duke, and that’s precisely where the adventure begins …

  As always, happy reading!

  Anna Bennett

  Read on for an excerpt from The Duke is But a Dream, the next charming novel in the Debutante Diaries series, available soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!

  The Debutante’s Revenge: Issue #12

  If she wishes, every young woman on the marriage mart should experience a romantic kiss before she is betrothed. She should know the sensation of a man’s lips brushing against hers and the pressure of his hand at the small of her back. And if she should desire to deepen the kiss to include the tangling of tongues or caressing of skin, there is no harm in it—as long as she may trust the gentleman involved.

  A man wouldn’t dream of committing himself to a woman for the rest of his life without experiencing a taste of passion. Why, then, should a woman?

  Miss Lily Hartley carefully observed her older sister’s expression as she read the paragraphs Lily had drafted that morning for their wildly popular weekly column in The London Hearsay. Noting Fiona’s widened eyes and arched brow, Lily braced herself.

  Her sister lifted her gaze from the paper and swept an auburn curl behind her ear. “You truly believe this?”

  Lily plucked a silk pillow off the settee in her sister’s drawing room and hugged it to her chest. “Absolutely. It’s only fair, Fi. Why must there be different rules for men and women?”

  “Have you kissed someone?” Fiona help up the paper tentatively. “Like this?” Lily didn’t detect a trace of censure in her sister’s voice—but she did hear a touch of worry.

  Lily sighed, deflating. “Much to my chagrin, no.” She found it tragically ironic that the anonymous author of The Debutante’s Revenge, the column that had scandalized matchmaking mamas and chaperones throughout London with its salacious advice and provocative drawings, had never been properly ravished.

  Fiona blew out a long breath. “That’s good.”

  “Good?” Lily asked, incredulous.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “I know.” But perhaps Fi wasn’t aware that Lily was already hurting. Over the last few months, she’d watched wistfully as her sister fell in love and married a handsome earl who adored her. Lily couldn’t have been happier for Fiona, but she missed having her at home. Everyone said Lily’s turn was coming, but so far, no Prince Charming had appeared on her horizon.

  At least she and her sister would be together for the next fortnight. Fiona’s husband, Gray, was traveling to Scotland to conduct some business, and Fi had invited Lily to stay with her while he was gone.

  Lily walked to the desk and shuffled through a small pile of Fiona’s sketches, each one dreamier than the next. A vignette of a broad-shouldered soldier bowing over a young woman’s gracefully extended hand. A man and woman seated on a park bench beneath a parasol, their heads intimately inclined toward one another. The silhouettes of a couple facing each other, their bodies only a breath apart—as though they were on the very brink of a kiss.

  Lily brought the last drawing to the settee where Fiona sat and handed it to her. “I didn’t think it possible, but you grow more talented with every sketch. We should pair this one with the column I just drafted. It’s a perfect match.”

  “Very well. But perhaps we should temper the advice in the column. What if a naïve young lady read this issue and acted upon it? She could be ruined. Or forced to marry.”

  Lily frowned. “The column isn’t meant to be taken as gospel. Our readers know the advice is on the daring side and a bit tongue-in-cheek, but truth lies at the heart of all we say. We should not shy away from that truth.”

  Fiona set aside the sketch and pulled Lily into an unexpectedly fierce hug. “You’re absolutely right. Someone needs to champion all the shy debutantes and meek wallflowers out there, and I can think of no one better than you.” She pressed a kiss to Lily’s temple. “And don’t worry.”

  “Please, don’t say my time will come.” Lily wriggled away from her sister’s embrace. “In any event, I’m eager to deliver the column and sketch to the Hearsay’s offices.” She peered at the elegant clock on the mantel. “It’s only an hour until they close—I must leave soon. When I return I’ll arrange to have some clothes sent from home. Just think, we’ll have two weeks together. We shall stay up late chatting, raid the kitchen for midnight snacks, and lounge about all day.”

  “It will be lovely,” Fiona agreed. “Like old times.”

  Lily nodded. “Just like it used to be.” Except that now Fi had a doting husband and a home of her own. For all Lily knew, Fi was expecting a babe already. The gulf between them seemed to widen daily. “I’m going to change. Are my clothes still in the trunk?”

  “Yes.” Fiona smirked. “Unless one of the maids mistook them for dust rags.”

  “Heaven forfend.” Lily’s disgu
ise was one of her favorite parts of the job.

  She, Fiona, and their dear friend Sophie had agreed that no one must discover they were the creative forces behind The Debutante’s Revenge. Though the column was all the rage, it also had plenty of detractors—aristocrats who found the advice too scandalous, too shocking, and too true. Which was why no one could know about the three friends’ involvement. One whisper of their connection to the column would destroy their reputations. They had no wish to be cast out of polite society or bring shame upon their families—not before Lily and Sophie had made fine matches. And especially not before they’d had sufficient opportunity to convey all they wished to say to the young, female population of London.

  So, each week, Lily took the precaution of donning her disguise prior to delivering the column to the newspaper’s offices. The editor assumed she was merely a scrawny messenger boy.

  Lily hurried to the guest bedchamber where she slept whenever she visited her sister and brother-in-law’s house, closed the door, and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. Buried deep in a corner of the trunk were an old pair of boy’s breeches, a dingy white shirt, and a jacket with patched elbows along with socks, shoes, and a cap.

  She unlaced her gown and let the deep green silk slide off her shoulders before removing all of her undergarments and tightly binding her breasts with a long swath of linen. She wriggled her hips into the breeches, which were vexingly snug across her bottom—but that couldn’t be helped. A few minutes later, she stood before the full-length mirror and carefully tucked the last long strand of dark hair into her cap.

  Her transformation was complete. A lad of fourteen or so stared back at her, smooth-faced and slight of build. As long as she kept her head down and her stride sure, no one would suspect she was a woman, much less the authoress of The Debutante’s Revenge.

  And they definitely would not suspect she was Miss Lily Hartley, heiress and sister-in-law of the Earl of Ravenport.

  Enjoying the familiar ease and comfort of her breeches, Lily slung the strap of her leather bag across her body and hurried downstairs into the drawing room. “I’m ready to go,” she announced, expecting only Fiona.

 

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