The Earl's Perfect Match

by Kimberly Nee

  “Perhaps you should stop looking at them as if they were some sort of gods and started seeing them as they are—mere mortal men.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” Elena patted her hand again. “Remember, they aren’t any better than you. You’re just as pretty as Rosamund. Just as worthy as Eleanor. Far nicer than Christina on her best day.”

  “And as articulate as an ass.”

  Elena couldn’t help her chuckle, although she did muffle it with one hand. “You’re being a little too hard on yourself, I think.”

  “She doesn’t love him, you know.” When Elena looked quizzical, Cordelia clarified her words. “Lord Dunning and Rosamund. She doesn’t love him. Aside from the marquess, he’s the most eligible bachelor in Berkshire, with the loftiest title. That’s what she cares about. It’s the only thing she has ever cared about.”

  “I know.” Elena tried to ignore the pang of sadness at the realization that, in only a few more hours, Lord Dunning would be beyond her reach permanently.

  “He does believe in the curse, doesn’t he?”

  Elena pressed her lips together and nodded. “He won’t admit it, but yes. I think he does.” He must. Why else would he be so adamant about not marrying a woman who might care about him?

  “He would be wise to discount Lady Rosamund.”

  That was not what Elena expected her to say, and she gave Cordelia a long look. “I beg your pardon?”

  “If he was wise, he’ll ask someone else.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Cordelia rose from the sofa and moved to the bar, where she ran her hand over the lid of the rosewood box. Her eyes flicked up to meet Elena’s. “Because she is an only child. As is her mother and so on. They have”—a hint of color rose in her cheeks—“trouble where babies are concerned.”

  “Trouble?” Elena repeated slowly. “You mean…in carrying them?” She waited and when Cordelia nodded. “And does his lordship know this?”

  “How would he? It isn’t something the family shares.”

  Heat stung Elena’s cheeks. “No, I don’t suppose they would.”

  “We aren’t like you.” Cordelia traced the emblem on the box’s lid with one forefinger. “We keep everything under wraps for fear of being embarrassed.” She looked up, her expression wistful. “It must be quite freeing, to not worry about such things.”

  Freeing, perhaps, but it also brought about an entirely new dilemma. If Bennett sought a wife simply to beget an heir, could he—and would he—chance a wife who might not be able to fulfill that duty? And if he didn’t know, wasn’t she obligated to tell him?

  “He should know,” she mused.

  Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

  With a low sigh, Elena filled Cordelia in on how she was helping Bennett, finishing with, “And so I need to tell him.”

  “You should.” A hint of a smile crept into Cordelia’s eyes. “For that means you could pursue him, if you wish to, that is.”

  For one mad moment, Elena thought the same thing, but then reality reared up with its sharp teeth. “No. I couldn’t, Cordelia. I’m not suited for him.”

  “Why not? You would learn to adjust in time.”

  “Be that as it may, this world is not mine and I don’t belong in it. I think”—she couldn’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from her voice—“we all saw that last eve.”

  “And we’ve also ascertained that Ros can be quite cruel when the mood strikes her.”

  Elena could only stare. Cordelia was a surprise, to say the least, and she found herself smiling. “I thought you would be like that as well.”

  Cordelia shook her head. “I hope you don’t feel that way now.”

  “Not one bit.”

  “Good.” A smile lit up Cordelia’s face. “There is no reason why you shouldn’t try to win his lordship’s heart. He already thinks highly of you and it would serve Ros right.”

  Yes, it would, but that didn’t change the fact that Bennett still refused to consider a woman he might come to care for. Judging by his kiss, she firmly fell into that category and she saw no way to change his mind. So, like Cordelia, she ached with wanting something—someone—she could never have.

  …

  From the moment he arrived at the stables, all Bennett wanted was to turn around and return to the house, where he could lock himself in his study and shut out the whole damn world. For some reason, Rosamund had practically glued herself to his side, chattering on about this inanity and that and whenever he fell silent, she was quick to ask, “What are you thinking?”

  The last time she’d asked, he had come close to snapping, “Throttling you into silence!” but restrained himself, although the image of her horrified gasp did almost make him smile.

  As they rode along the narrow path that wound through the woods, he couldn’t help feeling he was about to make the greatest mistake of his life. And once he proposed to Rosamund, there would be no backing out.

  He had one chance and one chance only.

  She prattled on about something—what it was he didn’t know, as he was only half listening. All the while, he couldn’t get the vision of Elena out of his mind. It wasn’t fair to Rosamund, but he couldn’t help but compare them and she came up sorely lacking. Elena wouldn’t care about things like parties and the Season, and London in the autumn, and how everyone would fight tooth and nail for an invitation to Dunning Court. She would care about making Dunning Court into a home instead of a showplace, would care about him as a man instead of a title. She didn’t see herself as a proper lady, but she had no idea just how wrong she was.

  She would be a wonderful mother.

  Something stirred inside him at that. A new vision leaped to his mind—a serene Elena with a child in her arms. His child.

  Their child.

  But then reality crashed in once more. If he let her love him, she would grieve for him, would mourn the loss of everything he could possibly promise her.

  If he didn’t allow her to love him, he would mourn the loss of what could be, but she would remain unscathed. He would rather be miserable, than be the reason why she suffered instead.

  He stiffened in his saddle. Better she be unhappy now, and find someone else to love—the way Claudia and Galen had found one another.

  “Are you even listening?” Lady Rosamund frowned as he forced himself into the present once more.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been going on and on about how lovely the weather is, and you’ve been nodding and muttering, ‘I see,’ and making no sense whatsoever.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he replied. “I didn’t sleep well last eve. I’m a bit stiff all over, and I’m afraid I’m still in a bit of a fog.”

  “Well, I do hope you snap out of it before I conclude that you aren’t the least bit interested in anything I have to say.” She smiled flirtatiously at him. “You know, I must confess, there was something so exciting about watching you tussle about with Lord Huxley last eve.”

  He managed a smile. “I’ll remember that the next time I’m forced to defend a lady’s honor.”

  Her smile wavered, but remained in place. She picked up on the slight insult, but apparently chose to ignore it. A lady’s honor. Not her honor, but a lady’s honor.

  Bloody hell. It would all be so much simpler if he could’ve just fallen in love with Rosamund instead of with Elena.

  Wait.

  Since when did he worry about falling in love with anyone? Love was to be avoided, no matter what, because it would lead only to heartbreak.

  True as that may be, his heart refused to listen to reason. For the first time in his life, his mind couldn’t overrule it.

  “By the way, my lady,” he said suddenly. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

  Her smile became almost luminous. “But of course, my lord.”

  “About the incident with the kohl.”

  That luminescence faded and h
er spine stiffened. “We never meant any harm, my lord,” she said, her tone already defensive.

  “Be that as it may, I don’t appreciate you and the others making sport of Miss Sebastiano. She is a guest here and a bit unsure of our ways. It was cruel and thoughtless of you to do.”

  Rosamund’s jaw tightened, but she managed to look contrite as she said, “Of course. I apologize for spoiling last eve. It won’t happen again.”

  He knew it wouldn’t, since Elena wasn’t about to trust Rosamund or the others. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  With that, he turned his attention back to the ride, while she resumed her chatter once more. He tried to pay a bit more attention this time, and it was easier, as Rosamund rambled on about the weather. Still, it made the time pass a bit more quickly and somehow, he suffered through the rest of the ride and managed to make it to his room without incident. He stripped off his riding clothes, tossing them haphazardly into their waiting basket, and flopped down across his bed.

  “My lord?”

  Bennett groaned as his valet, Stanton, came into the room. “Yes?”

  “A missive came for you while you were out.”

  “Just put it on the desk.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Stanton waited a beat and then added, “Do you wish a bath before dressing for supper?”

  Bennett opened his eyes to glare at the valet, who remained unperturbed. “I suppose.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  “Anything else, Stanton?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Good. If you don’t mind…” He gestured toward the door with one hand. When he was alone once more, he dragged the pillow over his face and let out a yell. Complications. Why were there always so damn many complications? Why couldn’t he simply float through life the way so bloody many people seemed to?

  Cursed blood.

  Damn it all to Hell. He shouldn’t believe in curses. He was a rational, grown man, for the love of God. A rational, grown man who believed in ghosts and curses and things that went bump in the night, apparently. But what if he was wrong? What if he wasn’t doomed to die within the next five years? What if he lived a long and healthy life?

  Married to the wrong woman.

  Chapter Sixteen

  To her surprise, when Elena and Conn entered the dining room, there was no sign of Lord Dunning, and although Lady Rosamund was there, she looked decidedly in a state—and not in a good way. Her eyes were mere slits, her mouth turned down into a scowl, and her cheeks looked a bit mottled, as if she’d been crying. When she looked up, Elena almost stepped back from the force of the pure green hatred in Rosamund’s normally tranquil eyes.

  But the lady wasn’t about to create a scene. Whatever fury raged within her, she kept to herself as both Conn and Elena sat. However, her eyes remained on Elena and the daggers in her glare grew sharper each minute. Elena refused to look away, and gave an inward sigh of relief when Lady Rosamund finally did. Then, bending toward Lord Shelton, she asked, “What’s going on? Where is Lord Dunning?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.” He sipped his wine before adding, “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. He was fine all afternoon. A little sore from his tussle with Huxley, but I can’t imagine sore enough to keep him from supper.”

  Perhaps not, but he might have been achy enough to opt to remain in his chambers rather than meet with Lady Rosamund in his study. Elena’s heart rose, although she tried to keep it in check. That was most likely the reason behind Lady Rosamund’s fury. She was all set to accept Bennett’s proposal, and here she was, obviously proposal-less, if there was such a word.

  Which meant Elena still had time.

  However, she was surprised to see Galen, Claudia, and the Santa Cruzes in their chairs, although to her relief, not a one looked upset any longer. Thank goodness. One less thing for her to worry about.

  Matthews came into the room and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I’m afraid Lord Dunning is feeling a bit under the weather this evening and will be unable to join you for supper. But he said you are to enjoy yourselves and there are entertainments in the game room, while those who will be partaking in the wedding are to meet at the chapel after dinner.”

  Elena exchanged looks with Conn, but said to Shelton, “It looks as if you’re right. Perhaps I was wrong and his cheek is broken,” she added offhandedly. “I don’t suppose you would know if there is any sage or juniper in the kitchen?”

  Shelton’s forehead creased, and he frowned as if she’d just asked him to jump naked into a thicket. “How on earth would I know that? I don’t make a habit of investigating the kitchens.”

  She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and rose from her chair. As the others made to get up, she held out a hand. “Please don’t. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

  Claudia looked across the table at her. “Do you need me, Lena?”

  “Thank you, no.” Elena gestured for her to remain seated. “I just need to…ah…step out for a moment.”

  “Elena—” Conn began.

  “It’s all right. I’ll be back directly.” Elena forced a smile to her lips. Damn it. She’d just given them all yet another reason to stare at her.

  Still, she left the dining room, and since she didn’t know the servants’ passages well enough, made her way down below to the kitchens using the main corridor. It took a bit longer when she got herself turned around and managed to find the fruit cellar instead, but finally she stepped into the huge, bustling kitchens.

  “Beg pardon, m’lady,” a young girl said, looking up from the pot she stirred, her eyes wide. “Can I help ye with something? You really shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Matthews. Is he about?”

  “Mary, who are ye talkin’ to?”

  “Miss Sebastiano, Mrs. Buchanan.” Mary gestured to her with the spoon she’d been using to stir whatever was in the pot. Creamy liquid dripped from the spoon to splatter on the floor. With a gasp, Mary shoved the spoon into the pot, then ducked to wipe up the floor with a towel before she resumed her stirring. “She be lookin’ for Mr. Matthews.”

  “May I help you, Miss Sebastiano?” A tall, severe-looking woman with thick white hair skinned into a tidy bun at her nape emerged from a corridor on the right. “I’m Mrs. Hawes, the housekeeper.”

  “Perhaps. Do you have any juniper berries or sage about?”

  “I have some juniper,” Mrs. Buchanan replied, skirting the ovens to make her way to the cupboards. “We aren’t serving venison this evening.”

  “It isn’t for the guests, but for Lord Dunning,” Elena said.

  “Whatever for?” Mrs. Hawes asked.

  “He had a bit of a row with Lord Huxley last eve, and I think today he is paying the price.”

  “I heard about that from Molly,” Mary broke in, her eyes gleaming. “She said his lordship knocked Lord Huxley flat onto his back and broke his nose in the process.”

  “If you’ve time to gossip, you must not have enough to do,” Mrs. Buchanan scolded, taking down a small tin to hand to Elena. “Please remember, however, this is all we have on hand.”

  “Oh, of course. I only need a few, Mrs. Buchanan. Thank you.” Elena offered up a warm smile. “But may I trouble you for a pestle and mortar as well?”

  Mrs. Buchanan muttered something beneath her breath about letting servants do their work, but she handed Elena the heavy marble pestle and mortar.

  After promising to return them as soon as possible, she left the kitchen—and them to gossip about her, no doubt.

  At the foot of the staircase, she paused, staring up into the shadows. How the deuce was she supposed to find Bennett? She had no idea how many rooms there were up there, and she certainly couldn’t knock on each door until she found the right one.

  Voices reached her ears, growing louder as they approached, and she eased into a shadowy alcove as two footmen neared.

  “You don’t think his lordship
is really that sore, do you?” the first footman asked. “It’s not like him to not come down when he has guests.”

  The second footman shrugged carefully, a tray in his hands. “I saw the tussle and I can see his hand hurting, but not so much that he’s unable to come to dinner. But then again, who am I to question? Now, Mr. Matthews was looking for you, so you’d best be off, and his lordship is waiting for his dinner.”

  “Yes, Adams.”

  Elena pressed herself deeper into the alcove to keep from being seen as Adams started up the staircase, while the other footman went in search of Mr. Matthews. She waited until Adams reached the top, then silently followed him, ready to explain why she was behind him, if necessary.

  Fortunately, that need never arose. Adams stopped at a doorway and she pressed herself flat against the closed door of the room two down.

  Adams knocked. “My lord?”

  The door opened and Bennett said, “Ah, good. You can put it over there, Adams. Thank you.”

  The door closed briefly and Elena hurried to move farther down the corridor, so Adams wouldn’t pass her on his way back below. Although she was confident he wouldn’t see her, she still held her breath until he vanished downstairs once more. She’d done it. She’d found Bennett’s private rooms and did so without being caught.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs and her mouth went uncomfortably dry as she came face to face with the closed door. Just on the other side was Bennett’s personal space, his private sanctum.

  She drew in a long breath to calm her rattled senses and then carefully knocked on the door.

  “What did you forget, Adams?” Bennett sounded weary and not at all happy at the intrusion.

  “My lord, it’s Ele—” She caught and corrected herself. “It’s Miss Sebastiano.”

  “Miss Sebas—” A quick flurry of steps sounded and then the door swung open. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “May I come in?” She held out the tin and pestle and mortar. “For your aches.”

  “For my—” He leaned around her, peering in first one direction, and then the other, along the corridor. Then, catching her by the wrist, he tugged her into the room and quickly closed the door. “Do you know what would happen if you were to be caught in here?”