Good Earl Hunting

by Suzanne Enoch

  GOOD EARL HUNTING

  by

  Suzanne Enoch

  Copyright © 2012 by Suzanne Enoch

  Chapter One

  “I DON’T SEE how shooting a poor animal that’s been snatched out of its den, chased down by hounds, and cornered by an overwhelming number of enemies with superior weaponry is in any way sporting.” Theodora Meacham sat in the morning room of Beldath Hall and refused to join the half dozen other young ladies by the window.

  “Stop attempting to sound so superior, Theo,” her older sister commented from the cluster. “I only wish they would let us ride with them. I show quite well on horseback.”

  That, Annabel Meacham did. She showed well in everything, actually, Theo reflected, but today, at least, she was glad not to be her sister. Not when--

  “Oh, there he is!”

  The tittering at the window grew louder; they sounded like nothing so much as a flock of geese, Theodora decided, bending her head and determined to finish reading the page she’d begun several minutes ago. Generally she enjoyed Sir Walter Scott and his thinly-veiled criticisms of Society, but today it felt almost too...obvious, she supposed.

  Of course she knew who the he was – Geoffrey Kerick, the Earl of Vashton, had arrived last evening well after dinner. The rest of the females present had expressed worry that he hadn’t eaten and had decided that he must be doubly gallant to be willing to ride after foxes the very next morning after traveling most of the night. She was of the opinion that he’d arrived just when he did on purpose, so that he might make the most spectacular appearance, and that he’d likely stopped for dinner earlier at the Red Lion Inn just down the road and was nowhere near starvation.

  She wasn’t impressed. After dancing with him a grand total of twice during the entire London Season, she knew precisely what he was looking for in a female companion or a bride or whatever the girls claimed he must be seeking. Or at the least, she knew what he wasn’t looking for. Her. For one thing, she didn’t like the idea of grown men and large horses and large dogs chasing one poor, frightened fox who had no idea what the devil was afoot. For another, she refused to simper or claim ignorance about subjects with which she was quite familiar just so some man could step into the conversation and feel superior. Oh, she was a very poor simperer indeed, especially compared to some of the other ladies in the morning room.

  Annabel called her cynical, but she preferred to think of herself as a realist. How could the younger sister of the loveliest young lady in England be anything but practical about her own appearance, anyway? At the least she knew that Vashton hadn’t come to Beldath to look at her. No, her father had invited the earl to the festivities to meet a far better-suited female. Annabel Meacham. Her older sister.

  “If you disapprove of the hunt so strongly, Theo, I imagine you’ll be foregoing the picnic by the lake afterward,” Mary Hallsley commented, a giggle in her voice. “There’s to be a special prize presented to the man who takes the tail, after all.”

  Theodora sighed, closing her book and setting it aside. “As this is my father’s home, you know quite well that I can’t miss the picnic, Mary. But I certainly don’t have to sit here and listen to the lot of you planning your weddings, all with the same man. I’m going for a walk. Would anyone care to join me?”

  “No, thank you. If you want to be hot and red-faced when they return from the hunt, your own concern. Some of us care to look our best.” Rachel Henry did laugh, the others joining in.

  Halfway out the door, though, Annabel took her arm. “You don’t have to exile yourself, Theo,” she whispered, pulling her younger sister to a halt. “Simply because you and he didn’t deal well two months ago doesn’t mean you can’t be polite. He...he may very likely be a member of the family before long, after all.”

  Shaking her head, Theodora gave her brunette-haired sister a smile. “The pretty one,” most of their acquaintances called Belle, as if it didn’t signify that the comments also meant there was a second, less-pretty one. Her. But that certainly wasn’t a revelation. “Everyone knows why he’s here, Belle. I have nothing against him other than his general arrogance and lack of manners, but if he has the intelligence to marry you, all will be forgiven. And I’m not exiling myself; yesterday I went for a morning walk, and tomorrow I’ll go for another. In fact, yesterday you and six of our friends went with me.”

  “Ah, but we all need to change clothes before the hunt ends, my dear. No one wants to be seen wearing the same dress at noon that she wore to breakfast. Especially not today.” Annabel kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t be late for luncheon; the others will think you’re sulking.”

  The idea that she would sulk over being ignored by Vashton was silly, but she certainly didn’t wish to give anyone that impression. “That’s because they think we’re all in competition for the earl. They don’t realize he’s here for you.” She squeezed her sister’s hand and then continued down the hallway to the front door.

  This had been a very nice house party, with some of her and Annabel’s and her parents’s closest friends enjoying the crisp autumn weather together. Yes, the men had been doing some pheasant and grouse hunting, and yes, she knew that her annoyance today wasn’t about foxes. Her father, Viscount Beldath, had invited Vashton because Belle had decided that she would make the earl a good match. A hunt to disguise a hunt, when nobody was fooled by the ruse. Well, no one but her sister’s friends, but it was more likely that they knew and were only hoping to swoop in and steal the earl’s attention before any agreements could be made.

  Trask pulled open the front door as she reached it. “I’ll be back before luncheon,” she told the butler, and tied on the pretty yellow bonnet that matched her yellow and green walking dress.

  “Very good, Miss Theodora. Do you wish Sally to accompany you?”

  So the butler knew that no one else cared to tear themselves away from a possible view of the fox hunt today, either. “Heavens, no,” she replied. “Sally has enough work to do with everyone wanting new hair ribbons and piled hair today.”

  His lip twitched. “Enjoy your walk, Miss Theodora. We look to have rain by the weekend.”

  “You may be right, Trask.”

  With the sound of baying hounds reverberating off the hillsides toward the front of the estate, she headed through the garden on the east side of the house, deciding to follow the wooded stream beyond. Behind her a horn sounded, so evidently they’d sighted the poor fox already. Scowling, Theodora picked up a hefty stick and swished it against the tree trunks as she passed them by. A shiver of autumn leaves drifted to the ground in her wake. Her father didn’t like fox hunting, either; he had always called it a sport for the unsportsmanlike. But the rumor was that the Earl of Vashton couldn’t bear to pass up a good hunt, and so Lord Beldath had arranged for one.

  Ten minutes later the hounds were still baying and barking, which in her opinion utterly ruined the peaceful, bird-songed, autumn-scented morning. In fact, the dogs seemed to be getting louder.

  Theodora stopped, turning around just in time to see an orange blur flash through the undergrowth beside her and leap across the small stream. Oh, dear. Now the entire hunting party would be crashing through. If she’d had more than a moment she would have muddied the fox’s footprints or something, but all she had time to do was gasp and duck behind the closest tree trunk before chaos and dogs and horses and riders burst onto the trail all around her in an explosion of crimson jackets and yellow and orange leaves.

  If she hadn’t noticed the fox she likely would have been trampled. As it was, an off-balance horse came within two inches of stepping on her foot. Making herself as narrow as possible, she pressed against the tree while two dozen dogs and at least that many riders flung mud and shrubbery int
o the air as they splashed across the stream.

  When the last rider had finally passed by, Theodora stumbled back to the path. Mud caked half her gown, and she plucked the petal of a purple iris from her hair. “Stupid people,” she muttered, brushing at the sprigged muslin.

  “You’re unhurt, I hope?”

  Yelping, she straightened again. Seated on a big bay gelding across the narrow stream and hands crossed negligently over the pommel, he gazed at her. “What are you doing here?” she grumbled, wiping at her now-muddy fingers and then giving up, instead stalking over to bend down at the stream’s edge to wash her hands.

  “Riding after a fox,” the Earl of Vashton answered easily in the low drawl that could reputedly make women swoon. She felt a twinge herself, but it was certainly annoyance.

  Wonderful. He was not only arrogant, but obvious, too. Though considering that Belle wasn’t precisely subtle, herself, perhaps that was for the best. “Then you should be going, or you’ll miss hacking off the thing’s tail.”

  “Mm hm.” Instead of galloping away, he swung out of the saddle and led his horse through the shallow stream and directly up to her. “You look a sight.”

  “Yes, well, so would you if you’d nearly been trampled.”

  “Most people would know better than to go strolling through the middle of a fox hunt.” He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of his scarlet jacket and reached out to dab at her right cheek.

  If there was anything worse than being ignored and insulted by the Earl of Vashton, it was being pitied by him. He looked like a creature a painter would have imagined, tall with dark, wavy hair brushing his collar, eyes as blue as the midday sky, and a mouth that...well, that presently quirked in obvious amusement. Embarrassment biting at her, Theodora snatched the kerchief from his hand and rubbed her cheek. “Do go away. I don’t require your assistance.”

  “I’ve already nearly trampled you. What sort of gentleman would I be if I abandoned you here to go hacking tails off foxes?”

  “Two dozen other men nearly trampled me, as well, and I don’t see them anywhere.”

  His smile deepened. “And that makes me look all the better, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No.”

  “At least come out of the shrubbery, Miss Theodora.”

  So he recognized her. That was actually something of a surprise, considering how many women he’d danced with over the past Season, and how many of them had actually managed a pleasant conversation with him at the same time. She took another step back to the walking path and nearly fell over a tangle of ivy. “Don’t try to make me look like a lunatic,” she retorted, turning back to the house. “Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the most sensible person in all of Devonshire today.”

  She heard the clump of hooves on dirt as he fell in behind her, still leading his splendid horse. “‘In all of Devonshire’?” he repeated.

  “Very likely.” She supposed eventually she would have to be more pleasant to him, but she preferred to wait until he’d offered for Belle – just in case it didn’t happen and she didn’t need to go to the effort at all. “At the least I’m not preening or charging after a defenseless animal for no good reason.”

  “I see. Would you feel better if I flung myself into the mud and rolled about a little?” he asked.

  The image of such a well-sculpted...god rolling about in the mud made her snort despite herself. “That would only cause all the single ladies present to run out and offer you their handkerchiefs,” she returned, realizing that she still clutched his monogrammed silk. She attempted to hand it back to him, but he declined. The poor thing did look beyond redemption, so she tucked it into her gown’s single pocket. “And they might come after me with torches and pitchforks.”

  He laughed. “Then for your sake we’ll spare my wardrobe.”

  Vashton drew even with her and actually offered her his arm. It would have been rude to refuse him, so she wrapped her damp fingers around his crimson sleeve. It was for Belle’s sake, she told herself. “I still don’t understand why you’ve abandoned the fox hunt.”

  “Ah. Do you have any idea how many fox hunts I’ve been on just since the end of the Season?”

  “How would I kn–“

  ”Seven. Seven of the poor things have perished so that some papa or other could drag me out to see his darling daughter in the hope that our proximity and my killing that poor excuse for a dog would tempt me into marriage.”

  But if he knew who she was, then he knew that her own father had invited him to Devonshire for that very same purpose. Seven fox hunts? Her cheeks heated, however much she’d protested the entire enterprise. But her objection had been more about his suitability to marry Belle than it had been concern over the fox. Then she frowned. None of it was Belle’s fault. “You might turn down the invitations, you know. Otherwise you give the impression that you are indeed willing to be swayed for the price of a fox tail.”

  The earl turned his head, dark blue eyes meeting hers. “If I turned all down but one, say, then I would be accused of playing favorites, and I would very nearly be trapped into a marriage for the price of that one fox tail. This way I have at least a chance of escape. And of making my own decision as to who, when, and where I will marry.”

  Why in the world would he confess such a thing to her? “Perhaps you should be having this conversation with my father. Or at the least, with my sister, Annabel. She–“

  “When you and I waltzed at Lord and Lady Carmichael’s soiree you told me I had an overlarge sense of importance and an oversmall brain,” he interupted.

  So he remembered that. Theodora yanked her hand from around his arm and pushed at him. “You’ve apparently come a long way to give me an uncomfortable set of days, my lord,” she snapped, trudging along with path for the house and hoping that wasn’t the hounds she heard in the distance again. “And evidently to toy with my sister’s heart. That is indeed very small of you.”

  Was that truly what she thought? Geoffrey Kerick slowed, and Titan bumped into his back. “Devon isn’t that far from West Sussex,” he commented, pacing after the petite, black-haired chit once again. “And perhaps I enjoy having people speak their minds to me.”

  From the rear he had a splendid view of her swaying backside – and of her shoulders stiffening. Squaring his own in preparation for another verbal thrashing, he eyed her warily. No sense getting close enough for her to punch him in the nose. Not yet, anyway.

  Light green eyes flashed as she face him again, though from the color of her cheeks she was either embarrassed or flattered. He hoped it was the latter. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Instead she stomped back up to him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Are you implying that you’re here because of me?” Theodora Meacham tilted her head. “Or more likely, did you think that because I’m covered in mud and I was nearly trampled that I’m easy prey for a jest or two?”

  He grinned. “You are not easy prey, Miss Meacham. Of that, I am certain.”

  She continued to eye him suspiciously, but he only smiled back at her. For the moment, he had no intention of saying anything further if he could at all avoid doing so. After all, he’d attended seven damned fox hunts in six weeks. Whether they’d all left him thinking more favorably about a certain sharp-tongued, black-haired chit who hadn’t bothered to simper and flirt with him or not, at this moment he refused to do more than acknowledge that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her and that he wanted another opportunity to chat with her. He certainly couldn’t admit even that much to her today. Not when she clearly would rather see him drowned than even say a polite good morning to him. Not when everyone at Beldath Hall clearly thought he was there because of the older sister.

  All he could do this morning was take her verbal jabs until she decided they were even. Once they playing field was leveled, however...well, he’d never played a game to lose. Because in all his twenty-nine years, no one had ever attempted to stand toe-to-toe with him. Until Theodora Me
acham.

  Chapter Two

  LORD HELSEY LED the parade of riders to the lake, the fox’s tail lifted above his head as if he’d won the battle of Agincourt and the scruffy tuft of orange and white fur was the victory banner. The reception of young ladies likely wasn’t entirely what he’d expected, though, because most of them were already gathered beneath the white cloth canopy – and attempting to chat with the Earl of Vashton. They barely noticed the arrival of the mighty hunters or their prize.

  It must be nice to be so charming, Theodora decided, watching the earl hold court. An easy smile, a bit of witty conversation about the weather, the ability to make even the most desperate and self-conscious of the ladies present feel...flattered. She shook out her hands as her father dismounted from his gray hunter, Friday. This could have been another pleasant holiday. Instead, she was expected to spend her time helping Annabel to make a match with the most handsome, self-absorbed, arrogant man in England.

  She blinked. Handsome? Well, that was merely a factual observation, an acknowledgment of the symmetry of his features. It didn’t mean anything.

  “We lost Vashton halfway through the ride,” her father said in a low voice, leaning down to kiss her on one cheek. “Glad to see he didn’t fall and break his neck. That would not have sat well with anyone.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it would,” she returned dryly.

  The viscount looked past her. “I see Belle’s in the thick of things. Good. No one can resist that smile of hers. Including me.” His own smile faded, though, as he returned his attention to Theodora. “Is that mud on your ear?”

  Stifling a curse, she brushed at her earlobe. “I was out walking, and some mud spattered me,” she noted, deciding that he didn’t need to know that he’d nearly trampled her. He had enough to keep him occupied with nearly four dozen guests in residence and a match with an evidently reluctant groom to arrange.

  “Where were you that you were spattered with mud? All the other young ladies were here to watch for the end of the hunt. You know we want–“