Romancing the Earl

by Heather Boyd

  Lenore pulled her robe tighter about her body and sniffed. “You always were a terrible liar, my lord. I really am ugly now.”

  “Nonsense,” he said quickly. The mark did not make her more attractive, though. He let his gaze drop down her body to her bare feet peeking out from under the hem. His breath caught as he realized Lenore might not actually be wearing very much beneath her robe. He swallowed hard. “You’re just the same as ever.”

  She sniffed. “Another lie to make me feel I’m not hideous.”

  “Shh,” he whispered and caught her eye. Nearly naked or not, his wife did need his support. He opened his arms, and she came out and stumbled toward him. Price pulled her into his embrace and held her close. “Your grandmother would disapprove if she heard you speak like that about yourself.”

  “She would, too.” She was breathing quickly and gripped his coat tightly in his hands. “Thank you for disagreeing with me,” she whispered. “But I can’t let anyone see me again.”

  “Of course not. Not for a while.” He spread his fingers wide over her back and discovered she wasn’t completely naked beneath. Stays, perhaps? “I’ll have the knocker taken from the door. Rest assured, Wharton will say nothing about the accident to cause you embarrassment later.”

  He swept his hands over her back in soothing strokes. Lenore sighed and burrowed closer against his chest. He placed one hand on the back of her head and felt a shiver pass through her body. “It’s all right, my dear. At least this happened now and not at the height of the season.” Price looked down at his wife, still clinging to him. It was the first time he’d held her, and he didn’t find it uncomfortable at all. “It will fade in a few weeks.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ll scrub my skin raw to be rid of it before then.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself.” He gulped. “I couldn’t bear for you to be injured?”

  She pushed away from him, and he felt strangely lost without the warmth of her body against his chest. She kept her eyes downcast, hand rising to cover her ink-stained cheek.

  “Does it hurt after all that scrubbing?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  Price caught her hand, noticed the ink there, too, and pulled it away from her face. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. He smiled despite the horrible ink stain. “Why don’t you spend the day upstairs in your room? Get some reading done. Washing will fade the mark a little more each day until its gone.”

  He put his fingertips on the puffy redness, gently dabbing carefully to see where it hurt most. “I recommend some ice wrapped in a cloth and holding it against your cheek. Ice will help with the swelling the scrubbing has caused, and numb the pain, too.” She winced only a little in one spot, and he moved his hand away. “I’ll ask Mrs. Baker to send some up, shall I?”

  Lenore shook her head. “I can do that.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish. Can I do anything for you before I go out?”

  Her lashes fluttered, and her face lowered. “No.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He hesitated, but what use could he be now, really? Lenore and the housekeeper had tried everything to remove the mark. “Well, then, I’ll be off. Wharton is expecting me to catch up with him.”

  There were still those horses that he wanted to buy as a gift for his wife. Perhaps that would cheer her up.

  “Enjoy your day,” she whispered as he turned to go.

  He took a few steps away, but then spun back toward his wife and dragged her into his arms again. He held her tight against him. “It really isn’t that bad,” he promised quickly.

  He stroked his hand down Lenore’s slender back and turned his lips to her brow. He kissed her there, hoping that by doing so, she would feel a little better about herself.

  Her breath hitched, and then she wriggled away. “Liar. I’d rather the truth than a fairy tale.”

  “Just trying to be a good husband,” he promised. “No more dancing with the dog for a while.”

  “I’ll wait for the right partner next time,” she promised, and then darted back into her room, closing the door firmly.

  He grinned as he walked away. He could not make the mark vanish overnight, but he could help the time pass more quickly. When the stain was gone, he’d take her dancing somewhere—without the dog present to cause another calamity. However, today, he had another idea of how to make his wife feel better about herself.

  He quickly changed his clothes and then ordered his carriage brought round, glancing at his pocket watch to check the time. There was just enough time to make one call, and then go on to the market to meet with Wharton before the auction started.

  Chapter 9

  “I simply couldn’t believe it when Lord Carmichael told us what had happened to you,” Sylvia cried as she studied Lenore’s tattooed face carefully. “This is even worse than he made out.”

  Lenore had almost refused to see Sylvia until she’d heard her husband had gone to request one of the Hillcrest women call on her today to cheer her up after the mishap.

  “He said it wasn’t so bad,” Lenore replied, defending her altered appearance. As the hours had passed since Hero had stamped her face in his paw prints, she’d become resigned to what had happened and her carelessness. She had left the ink bottle open. She had started singing and had encouraged her dog to start jumping about the room. Lenore had no one to blame but herself for this disaster. Hopefully her husband would not stay angry with her dog for too much longer.

  She pressed her fingers over her cheek, aware of the tenderness. In time, yes, the mark would fade away, and all she could do was be patient and hide herself from the world.

  The ice her husband had suggested she apply to her cheek had reduced the swelling a little, but it remained very sore, prickly from scrubbing with harsh concoctions. She had to leave it alone for the rest of the day or she might scar her skin.

  “I brought everything I can think of to help remove it.” Sylvia placed a wicker basket on the bed beside her and showed her the contents.

  Lenore was disappointed with what she saw there. “We tried all of that and more. I’ll just have to hide until it’s gone.”

  Stay in.

  Avoid society.

  Probably see even less of her husband if that were even possible.

  Sylvia bit her lip. “But that’s terrible.”

  “The alternative is being laughed at. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

  Sylvia’s eyes brightened. “What if we tried covering it?”

  “With what? I can’t wear a hood over my head night and day. That would be just as noticeable.”

  Sylvia chuckled softly. “I wasn’t suggesting any such thing. You could cover it with cosmetics like actresses paint their faces with. We could send out a servant to get some of what they use and try it out. I’m sure with a little practice and careful application, it could work well enough so you could go out with your husband at night with your chin held high.”

  She thought of her husband and felt a little disappointed in him for going on with his day. But of course, he’d made plans that he wouldn’t break even to stay at home and cheer her up himself. It had seemed hopeful when he’d held her, kissed her brow, but still he’d left her. His plans never seemed to be less important than her needs.

  But that was their arrangement. To live separate lives.

  “I’m sure we’ll manage something.” She sighed and got up to pace, wondering where he’d gone to today. Somewhere gentlemen went, most likely. Somewhere she wasn’t wanted.

  Sylvia caught up her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Are you ready to talk about it now?”

  “Talk about what?”

  Sylvia squeezed her fingers. “Come now, Lenore, dear friend. It’s obvious something was on your mind the other day when you stayed to chaperone me, and I can hazard a guess it’s to do with your absent husband. You can trust me to button my lips, too.”

 
; Lenore could use a friend who knew how to keep a secret, and Sylvia was someone she trusted. Sylvia was in the business of being above gossip and helping people with marriage. Lenore’s was a horrible, polite disaster, and she’d no idea how to change it into something better. When Price had held her today, she’d felt hopeful.

  But awkward.

  Shy.

  She didn’t know how to encourage him.

  She’d been married for weeks now, and only when she was not in her best looks had he paid her the slightest bit of attention. She’d appreciated the gesture for what it was, sympathy, but she had no belief anything had changed between them. It had been a hollow gesture, without intent behind it. She didn’t believe she’d see any more of him in the coming days than she already had.

  Sylvia pulled her to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I never see you together.”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t announced any dinners or gone to parties with him so far that I know. But he is always out, and you come and see us nearly every day. Not that we don’t want your company. Far from it.” Sylvia sighed. “But today, he called, told us what had befallen you, and then rushed off, saying he was in a hurry. I had hoped he’d return home to you, but he’s not here, is he?”

  “He had plans.”

  “Plans that never involve you?” Sylvia suggested.

  Lenore nodded, unwilling to pretend anymore.

  “And I suspect you haven’t the faintest idea what he does with his time, either. Tell me, do you suspect Carmichael has a mistress?”

  Lenore gaped, shocked at that question. “I never even thought of that.”

  “It’s always the wife who is the last to know.” Sylvia shrugged. “How well do you really know your husband? The aristocracy live by a different code of honor.”

  “I thought I knew him well enough to be married to him.” She took a deep breath. She needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge her for the rushed decisions she’d made in marrying Lord Carmichael without knowing him. If he did have a mistress, she didn’t know what she could do about that. She’d be humiliated, cast off before their marriage was even consummated. It would mean she’d misjudged Lord Carmichael’s character very badly, too. “Sylvia, I haven’t told anyone the truth. I promised not to discuss this, but now…”

  “You have my word and my discretion, always. I wont tell anyone, not even my cousins.”

  She took another deep breath before she dared to speak. “Lord Carmichael wrote to me. I know it was wrong to answer him, but we’ve been writing to each other every year at Christmas. He was drunk when he wrote this last time and it was very hard to read. I thought he was offering me employment as a companion for his wife. Lady Kelly’s current beau had revealed himself to be a scoundrel, and I rushed to abandon my position for what I thought was a better one.”

  “Go on. I’m sure there’s more,” Sylvia murmured.

  “He didn’t actually remember writing that letter until I arrived. Or that he’d offered marriage. It could have been avoided if I’d not misunderstood or stupidly shown the housekeeper and butler the letter. But since I’d been under his roof overnight, he was adamant. He pressed for a quick marriage between us. He said it was to save my reputation, because the housekeeper and butler might talk. They apparently understood his handwriting better than I did, and conspired to keep me there. I think Carmichael felt obligated to make the offer. You could say our marriage was arranged. By him.”

  Sylvia stared at her. “And now? How are things between you?”

  “I know little about him still. I asked for time to get to know him, but he’s never around to talk to. He never even told me he was spending Christmas at the Duke of Exeter’s estate this year. I fear he will go and leave me behind.” She swallowed. “My husband and I barely speak to each other, except at breakfast. You’re right, he doesn’t tell me anything he’s doing or what he’s done. It’s awful. We’re as much strangers as we were on the day we married.” Her lip trembled, and to her horror, a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away, angrily. “I don’t have the faintest idea how to be his wife.”

  “Many marriages feel uncomfortable in the beginning but given enough time…”

  “What if he does have a mistress? I fear he’s already forgotten he’s my husband,” she blurted out. “I think I might have made a horrible mistake when I agreed to it. I might have nice clothes and servants and a more comfortable bed, but I’ve never felt more lonely or out of place. And I’ve only myself to blame.”

  Sylvia gently folded Lenore into her arms and held her. “Oh my dear, you could have told any one of us and been reassured. We would never judge you for making such a marriage. They happen every day, and often become good ones, too. It helps everyone to talk about the challenges they face.”

  Lenore nibbled on her bottom lip a moment. “Have you ever heard of a marriage like mine becoming more?”

  “Sometimes, but I won’t lie to you. Not always.”

  She nodded. She had married Carmichael, knowing love might never find her, and yet she must have wished for it deep down.

  Sylvia patted her hand. “That’s not to say love couldn’t happen for you both. You’re lovely, and one day Carmichael will realize what he has found in you. Has he come to your bed yet?”

  Lenore was startled to be asked that question outright, but couldn’t ignore it. Sylvia might be unmarried, but she obviously knew a great deal about what went on in a marriage. Perhaps she could offer advice on that subject, too.

  She shook her head slowly and didn’t dare look up. Given the marriage remained unconsummated, it could be annulled…but then everyone would believe the fault lie with her.

  “Has he discussed it?”

  “Not since before we married. I told him I needed time to adjust, but now I wonder if Carmichael is glad.”

  Sylvia made a dismissive sound. “If you hardly spend any time with him, its impossible to know if that’s true or not. Don’t go imagining the worst about him without cause. If he does have a mistress hidden away somewhere, you must put your foot down about it and make him give her up. He chose you to be his wife. Never forget that.”

  Lenore shook her head, shocked. “I cannot ask him if he has a mistress.”

  “He’d only deny it if you did, I suppose.” Sylvia stood. “We need a plan.”

  “A plan for what?”

  “You chose to marry Carmichael, too, expecting to be a wife, and by God, you shall have him. You were the one who asked for time before consummating the marriage, is that correct?”

  “Yes, but now I—”

  Sylvia shushed her. “The solution is simple: You, my dear friend, must be bolder than you know how to be right now. It’s time to stop sitting at home, waiting for him to notice you exist. You’ve been too diffident with the earl. It’s time to carve out your own life, show him what he’s missing. He cannot go on as he pleases and ignore he’s a married man. You must take charge of your own marriage, and your future, too. You decided he’d be your husband, and he chose you for a wife, and so that is what you must be to each other.”

  “How?”

  “You will invite the earl into your bed. Seduce your own husband, and if there is another woman, he will give her up so he can keep coming back. We’ll need to be discreet in our planning, but we have time, thanks to that unfortunate ink on your cheek.” Sylvia grinned.

  Lenore returned her smile skeptically. “How can I possibly seduce my own husband? I’m a virgin, and so are you. I should know more than you do by this point in my life. I’ve never even seen him without his coat on.”

  She kept to herself that she’d seen his bare legs the day he’d proposed though.

  Sylvia leaned close. “My business dealings with men in search of a wife have opened my eyes to what men want. What they want is a proper lady in public, and you are already that, but they want a wildly exciting bed partner in the privacy of the boudoir. They want to feel they are the most handsome, desirable, skill
ed lover a woman has ever met. By the time we’re done, he’ll be mad for you. Unable to think of another woman.”

  “Do you really think that’s what he wants?”

  “He’s a man,” Sylvia said with a laugh. “He may not know it yet, but he’ll come around, I’m sure. I’ve learned they think of intimacy anywhere and anytime. Day or night. It amazes me now that they get any work done at all.”

  Lenore hadn’t thought her husband was like most men. Perhaps he was simply hiding that side of himself behind his polite smile. Lenore had been doing that, too, in a way, without knowing what she was missing out on. She had been the one to put a halt on him sharing her bed, after all.

  Lenore’s stomach fluttered with nerves, but she did want a real marriage, babies too, just as Carmichael had promised. She thought she might do anything at all to win her husband’s affections if they could be hers. She wouldn’t allow any other woman to stand in her way. The mistress had to go, even if he loved her. “I’ll do it.”

  Sylvia clapped her hands together quietly and cheered. “When will your husband be home?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” She bit her lip. “Not for dinner, certainly.”

  “Good. We have a lot to accomplish before you see him again,” Sylvia warned. “We’re going to reinvent Lady Carmichael to be exactly the sort of woman he craves more than anything in the world. It’s time to make Lord Carmichael chase after his wife.”

  Chapter 10

  Price stumbled from his room, late to take breakfast with his wife, but hoping to catch her still. He’d an invitation to offer if she hadn’t already made plans for the day. Unfortunately, he’d overslept, and his new valet had foolishly let him.

  His head was pounding in his skull. He’d definitely consumed too much drink last night while he was out with friends again. He’d been celebrating Wharton winning the most stubborn lord in parliament over to his cause.

  Lenore was usually in the dining room reading the paper at this hour, but today the room was bare of her, and the table cleared as if breakfast hadn’t yet been served. He turned around, pulled out his pocket watch, and checked the time again. Five minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked. He was definitely late and wondered where Lenore might be.