Talk of the Ton

by Eloisa James

  She fell silent, chastising herself for her boldness. Aunt Iris was always cautioning her about being too forward. It simply was not in her nature to mince words.

  She reflected on his mood. He certainly had been affected by her bringing up the topic of his marriage.

  “You are suddenly quiet,” he observed. “Last evening, at dinner, you did not have much to say. Today you declined to accompany us. I find myself wondering, Miss Alt, if you have some dislike of me.”

  The comment startled her out of her thoughts. “Dislike? Indeed, not. I do not know you at all, my Lord Hatherleigh.”

  He stretched out his long legs toward the fire. “I thought I made it clear that I prefer my name, my actual name, not my title, to formalities. My name is Miles.”

  Jenny looked away. “But that would be improper, my lord.”

  “Why? Are we not related?”

  “Only through marriage, and even that is a far connection. I am afraid our relation is not a close enough for convention, as you must already know.”

  “But we are just the two of us here right now. Surely no one will know.”

  It was an outrageous thing to say, invoking a feeling of intimacy. The two of them, the cozy fire, the flames reflected in his eyes like tiny imps dancing with mirth.

  Yes, he was teasing her, and suddenly she realized what a mistake she had made. She shouldn’t be alone with any man, of course, but him . . .

  “I fear I should not entertain your vanity,” she said.

  “Do not be afraid, Miss Alt,” he cooed with a mocking smile.

  “I am afraid, indeed, my lord, of impertinent earls who mistake cruelty for high hilarity.”

  He was taken aback, unable to speak for a moment before he said, “You think me cruel?”

  “You are making sport of me.”

  “Only because you refuse to say what it is you have against me. You have avoided my company, and I am curious as to why. Have I done something to offend?”

  “Besides sweeping into our lives like some great god from Olympus? But I suppose that is your habit and cannot be helped.”

  “My goodness, Miss Alt, you are an absolute terror! Those are indeed harsh words. And you have just confirmed what I suspected. I have imposed on you. And yet it was you who only yesterday assured me that it was all well. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ you said, and so charmingly that I was forced to believe you.”

  “You must suspect that my aunt had concerns initially. My cousin is making her debut this year, and your coming is a complication, yes. However, whatever concerns were raised seem to have been put to rest. Thus . . . all’s well and such.”

  “Yes. Cassandra has proven delightful company. I believe she is not sorry for my presence, so it is just as you say.”

  The sharp stab of jealousy was a physical thing, causing her to inhale sharply. So, he found Cassandra appealing.

  That was good. It would make Cassandra so happy.

  “But not with you,” he persisted. “You still have some concerns?”

  “It is just that Aunt Iris . . .” What was she to say? Her aunt’s nervous nature had been soothed once the earl arrived. The house was now filled with excitement. Aunt Iris was happy, busy with her new duties, and Cassandra was floating about on a cloud.

  “Ah. You are the champion of your fluttering aunt, then?”

  “Aunt Iris,” she said with a glare, “is not a ‘fluttering’ anything. She is the sweetest, most wonderful, well-meaning person I’ve ever met.”

  He considered her for a moment. “I’ve affronted your loyalty to your aunt. And you don’t hesitate the least to let me know it. I am impressed by your temerity. And you are not impressed by me at all. You are indeed a fascinating study.”

  “If that is a compliment, I thank you,” she said with an air of indifference, but she felt heat flare in her cheeks.

  “Why, I get the distinct impression that you do not approve of me.”

  “It is not up to me to approve of you, my lord.”

  “I find myself wondering if I should be insulted.”

  “I think it would be quite impossible to insult you,” she observed.

  “That is not true. I do have feelings, though you seem to think otherwise. And I am not impervious to others’ sensibilities. Though I do admit it was rather high-handed of me to impose myself on your aunt’s good nature, she is not worse for it.”

  “You did not know it would end that way.”

  “True. I had hoped it would not be an imposition, but I had to take that chance. I am in need, Miss Alt, of something from others, and a man like myself does not like to find himself in that state. I much prefer to fend for myself, and perhaps since I cannot do so in this circumstance, I might have been . . . presumptuous?” He lifted his brows appealingly, as if applying for her pardon.

  She wished she could remain stern, but he was charming when he wanted to be. “You would naturally not have a liking for being forced to do what you do not wish.”

  “Naturally. I am proud to a fault, I’ve been told.”

  She chewed her inner cheek, giving him a long, thoughtful look. Even now, his presence did something to her, without any reason or cause. What if he saw, sensed something? Surely a worldly man such as he might guess that he was having a stimulating effect on her.

  He spoke with a hint of scold in his tone. “And that is why I will not apologize, even if you are—as you obviously are—annoyed with me.”

  “The inability to admit wrong is, as my father used to tell me, a malady of those who have been overindulged.”

  His jaw grew tighter. She had finally broken his affability. “Folk wisdom. How charming.”

  “When you are used to getting what you want,” she continued, “you don’t really care about other people’s feelings. I think that is a very unfortunate way to be.”

  “I see I was correct. You do disapprove of me. No doubt you happen to have some handy advice for me. To help me to mend my ways, so to speak.”

  “Indeed,” she said with a toss of her head, “I think you are making sport of me again.”

  “You make it too enjoyable. Your mind is fascinating, and your wit is quick. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

  “You have turned the tables on me, Lord Hatherleigh. We were discussing you, not me.”

  “Were we? But I would rather discuss you.”

  “I would not. There is much I would know of you.” She was feeling reckless—was it even a wildness?—she had never before experienced. “I wish to return to the subject of why you find being an earl so disagreeable. You say that is why you prefer to be called by your Christian name.”

  “All right, I shall tell you. Very simply, I have never found anything of use in it. The one thing I’ve loved above all else in my life is my freedom. To go where I please, to do what I wish. And I am of a miserable bent to see it cut short for the sake of a duty that gives me no pleasure.”

  “But you say yourself that your house, your country life, the lands, and the happy existence you have there brings you enjoyment. Surely this is all to do with your being an earl. Would you rather be a shopkeeper?”

  His expression told her he was amazed at her boldness.

  Why could she not seem to hold her tongue with him? He affected her as no one else did, and she hardly knew herself.

  It was thrilling, in a way. Terrifying as well. But still thrilling.

  “I have never entertained the possibility. Perhaps I would. A bookshop, for you are fond of books, and therefore you would be a frequent visitor.”

  “You are not serious.”

  “No. I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. The rights and privileges of my class are not lost on me. But there are also obligations that cost a price that sometimes feels quite steep.”

  “You do not wish to be married.”

  “Oh, Miss Alt, I most emphatically do not.”

  She spoke carefully, giving each word great thought. “Do not think me unmov
ed, my lord—”

  She hesitated, seeing his look of displeasure at her address of him, then inclined her head. “Miles, then.”

  “Ah, you do me honor. Then we are friends?”

  “If you wish.”

  “You were saying . . . please go on.”

  “I do not wish to appear unsympathetic, but no one’s life is ideal. We are all of us bound by our duty, though those duties be different. Each of us is confined by our station in life in many different ways.”

  She thought he was going to shoot back a quick rejoinder, but he paused, peering at her with interest.

  “But some of us are better at accepting being confined, Miss Alt,” he replied gently. “I am afraid I find it intolerable.”

  “I am sorry,” she said sincerely.

  He made a sound, shaking his head. “Oh, Miss Alt, now you show me your kindness. What am I to say to that?”

  She blushed, feeling disconcerted.

  He leaned forward. “I almost wonder if you yourself do not know something of being trapped. You seem to understand very easily.”

  He looked at her intently, as if he were searching.

  She could not help but pity him. And, yes, she did know something of finding oneself trapped in a life that felt like a role one played for the benefit of others. And duty. Yes, she understood about that, too.

  She drew in a quick breath, resisting the pull of such sympathetic thoughts. She had to watch herself. She was vulnerable to him.

  “Tell me,” he continued in that same persuasive tone. “If you could have the life you dream, what would it be?”

  “That is an extraordinary question.”

  His triumphant look held a challenge she could not refuse. He stayed silent, and she thought about it. “I suppose,” she began, wondering if he would be horrified, “that I would like to be a Member of Parliament.”

  “You joke! And sit in chambers through all those boring speeches?”

  “I would not find them boring.”

  The laugh that escaped him was explosive. “Bravo! It would be a fit pastime for you, for you do love to debate. And that, Miss Alt, in case you were wondering, is a most sincere compliment.”

  “It is good of you, Lord Hatherleigh,” she murmured. She felt the hot flush of pleasure.

  He grinned. “Indeed it is. You have put me to a most harrowing test.”

  “You are teasing me again.”

  “But not meanly.”

  Cassandra entered, and Jenny noted the brightness of her eyes as she took in the scene. “What is this? I did not know you were in here, Jenny.”

  The earl came to his feet. “Miss Alt was keeping me in stimulating company.”

  Forcing a smile, Cassandra looked at her cousin. “Really? Thank you, Jenny. You missed a wonderful day today.” She took the seat close to the earl, and he resumed his. “Did we not have a wonderful time, Miles?”

  Cassandra was having no discomfort with the earl’s Christian name.

  “I was telling Miss Alt that it was quite enjoyable. Until the rain, that is.”

  “Yes, how dreadful. It spoiled our plan. We were to have tea at a hotel, Jenny. I was positively giddy anticipating everyone’s reaction when they saw me walk in with the mysterious Earl of Hatherleigh! But we shall do it some other time, shan’t we, Miles?”

  “I do hope so.” He turned to Jenny. “And I hope we can all enjoy such a spectacular outing. Perhaps we can plan it on a day when Miss Alt does not have other plans.”

  Cassandra’s eyes flashed with displeasure. She was not used to having to share any man’s attentions.

  “Oh, but Jenny is usually so busy,” Cassandra said. Her smile, for the sake of the earl, was tight. Her eyes glittered and seemed to give Jenny a warning when they flashed her way.

  Jenny felt a rush of panic. Somehow, Cassandra knew.

  Chapter Three

  Miles arrived at the Benedict house as scheduled, his sense of anticipation keen. He was to accompany the women to church today.

  The irony of his being excited to attend Sunday services made him grimace as he rapped on the door. He had not attended them in a very long time, but Iris had determined it was advantageous to do so. He had agreed readily, and not because Iris had proven herself amazingly skilled—and after her first fluster, immensely enthusiastic—in getting his reputation established, but because Miss Jenny Alt was certain to be accompanying them.

  She had declined every outing with him so far. But she could not do so today. It was church, and she would, as any well-bred girl does on Sunday morning, be accompanying her family.

  He was looking forward to seeing her. It annoyed him sometimes, amused him at others, to remember her pert mannerisms. She had a mobile mouth that expressed her every mood and a tiny upturned nose that flared when she was irritated with him. He had not taken much note of her at first, but the more time he spent in her company, the more alluring she had appeared, until he had concluded her quite pretty in a way that intrigued him.

  Cassandra was the beauty, and, yes, he was aware of her interest. She was not terribly subtle about it. It would be rather convenient, he thought, if he chose to make her his bride. She was certainly willing, and well-bred. The family connection was no problem.

  But he could not seem to get Jenny out of his brain. It vexed him, because he was not in London to seek emotional entanglements. He’d gone that route, and it had not turned out well.

  Cassandra rushed to him as soon as he was shown inside. “Oh, Miles, you are early! I suppose you are eager.”

  She tapped him on the forearm. He smiled at her. She was a lovely little bit, with perhaps too much energy for him. He’d not yet reached a conclusion on how she would fare in the country. It was not suited to everyone. That had been Marianne’s downfall. She’d grown bored. Then she’d grown wild.

  “Of course,” he said, with a small bow that delighted her. Then he looked for Jenny.

  She was not here, and he felt his spirits plummet.

  “Miles, dear, do you care for some toast?” Iris said, pointing to a tray upon which lay breakfast items. “On Sundays, we are most informal.”

  “Mama likes to hurry and get to church early,” Cassandra confided with a giggle. “She is afraid of the Reverend Morley.”

  Iris scowled and checked the mantel clock.

  Miles declined the offer of food but poured himself a cup of hot coffee from the tall, silver pot. He paid no attention to it until he took his first sip. Not coffee, but chocolate. He choked down the swallow and placed the cup aside.

  Jenny came into the room with a murmured apology for her lateness, and Miles felt a surge of satisfaction. He had been afraid she would somehow escape.

  Escape? What an odd thought. Escape what? Him?

  She did seem determined to avoid him. It made him crazy trying to imagine why, and even crazier trying to imagine why it mattered so much to him.

  Today, she was different; he noticed that immediately. Her hair was not so severe, with a few loose pieces curled around her temples. The new style flattered her.

  “Jenny, hurry and have your breakfast,” Iris called. She looked at the clock again.

  Sending the briefest of hellos his way, she went to the tray. Miles watched her, saw how the blush crept across her cheeks. That tender sign of embarrassment did something to Miles, that tight pulling sensation tightened inside him again.

  “Oh, Jenny,” Cassandra said, noticing her cousin, “your hair is a mess.”

  Immediately, Jenny put a hand to the coif. She was nervous, Miles saw. “Nonsense,” he said before he could stop himself. “It looks charming.”

  Jenny ducked her head and poured a cup of chocolate.

  “I must warn you, Miles,” Iris said, “that Reverend Morley is very exacting. I wish you to be prepared for him and not to take offense if he seems . . . er . . .”

  “A prig,” Cassandra supplied, then trilled a laugh again. “You must not allow him to bully you.”

  �
�I doubt that shall prove problematic,” Miles replied dryly.

  “Strict,” Iris said firmly, with a glare at her daughter. “Miles, dear, remember what we talked about. Parents with eligible daughters will be present. It would put them off if Reverend Morley were not approving.”

  “We wouldn’t wish Reverend Morley not to approve,” he replied. He risked a glance at Jenny. She was sipping her chocolate. “I do so detest it when I am met with disapproval.”

  She ducked her head again. So, she was determined not to confront him. This he found too annoying. He did not appreciate being ignored.

  Not by her.

  She’d been much in his thoughts. He’d thought about their conversations, how her eyes flashed and her mouth moved when she fought a smile. He had wondered what her scent was like. Every woman had a scent. Would Miss Alt smell of soap and simple rose water, a reflection of her prim exterior, or something spicy to hint at her lively spirit?

  He spoke pointedly to her. “Miss Alt, you do not seem overly concerned with promptness. Do you not care for the Reverend Morley’s approval?”

  Jenny grasped her cup. “The reverend has a right to expect his congregation to be in their pews when services start.”

  “And yet you were tardy today. Did you not sleep well last night?”

  Her back went ramrod straight. “I slept soundly,” she replied, not meeting his eye.

  “Ah, the sleep of the just. How I envy you.”

  Just as he’d hoped, she could not resist. “Is your sleep plagued, my lord?”

  Cassandra’s cold voice cut her off. “Really, Jenny. The earl’s sleeping habits are a monstrous crass topic for conversation.” She stepped between Jenny and Hatherleigh, cutting off his view. “Miles, pay no attention to her. I told you how ridiculous she was with these forward ideas. It is the folly that comes from reading so much.”

  “But it was I, Cassandra, who brought up the topic. Surely you are not chastising me?”

  She blinked and gave a little laugh. “Oh, no, Miles.”

  “I like a plainspoken woman, in fact.” He managed to don a falsely penitent look. “Although this preference is a recent discovery. I must confess to a perverse enjoyment when being taken to task. It is rather . . . invigorating, I find.”