When the Earl Met His Match

by Stacy Reid

  George wanted to marry her. Lord Westfall wanted to see this done. And Hugh…he quite believed he would see them both ruined if they ever attempted to take Phoebe away. Her connections in the ton were incalculable. A hitch travelled through his heart. He wanted her for more than just her connections; he had wanted her from that very first letter, before he knew her identity.

  There was a dark voice inside wondering what if because if she loved this fool, she would choose to leave and run to him. While divorces or annulments were almost impossible to procure, with the right wealth and power, a man could let it appear that the marriage between Hugh and Phoebe never happened.

  I love no one. The cold memory of that utterance whispered through him.

  Hugh stared at her, rubbing the spot above his heart, which pounded. If you choose to leave, I will let you go.

  The stirring sounds rippled in the air as her fingers danced over the keyboard with such elegance and grace, it was as if he could see the notes dancing in the air. His father visibly shuddered as the music seemed to pierce his soul, and Hugh was glad to see his enjoyment.

  The doctor had visited yesterday and had attended the earl and the viscountess. Both had been given good reports, and Dr. Edwards had expressed his surprise that the old earl still lived. He had cautioned Hugh against hope, for his father was notably slimmer, and his heart was weaker. It would be any day now, but his father held on with impressive tenacity.

  And now, other pleasures the earl had missed were unexpectedly provided by the viscountess. It surprised Hugh that given her skills, she had taken so long to visit the music room. They stood and listened, an odd sort of pride filling his chest.

  “Such talent should be on display for the world to see and admire,” his father said in a low, bemused tone. “She’s an incredible player.”

  Yes, she is, Hugh silently agreed. She had taken his sister under her wing, and lately whenever he spied Caroline, he would search for the wild young girl he saw in the well-dressed and composed young lady. His wife and sister had become fast friends, and sometimes to his bemusement, he was irritated that his sister commanded so much of Phoebe’s time.

  Would I really let you go?

  The music drifted away, and silence lingered.

  “If you would join me, I could play anything you like,” she invited softly.

  Hugh stiffened. How did she know he was there? It was as his father shuffled inside that he realized she spoke for the benefit of the old earl. Emotions clutched at his throat, for his father had relentlessly avoided her and had been very abrupt in their interactions. She had not shown any offense or complained to him, yet it must have bruised her pride.

  “Anything?” his father demanded imperiously, making his way over to the armchair closest to her.

  Hugh sensed that she smiled.

  “As long as I am familiar with it.”

  “Without the sheets?”

  “Of course,” she said with a touch of arrogance, tossing her hair. “I’ve practiced for several hours in the morning for years.” She ran her hands lovingly over the keyboard and the fine edge of the instrument. “I even had a music tutor whom I surpassed in only a few months.”

  Hugh stiffened at the inflection he heard when she said music tutor. Were the music teacher and George one and the same? But what did it matter? Biting back the unknown emotions stirring to life inside, Hugh pushed the suppositions and their empty bearing aside.

  His father scowled, and she chuckled. Hugh was fascinated that she appeared undaunted by the earl’s ferocity. Peace and such delight settled on his father’s face when she started to play a sonata by Pleyel. Hugh drifted away to his study, leaving them to their pleasures.

  It had been a full three months since he had married Phoebe, and in that time, a slender, delicate thread of friendship had formed between them. More than friendship, but he was unable to put a name to the exact nature of their relationship. Hugh was only certain that he enjoyed her company immensely, and when he was away from the manor, his thoughts constantly turned to her.

  In the nights… He swallowed. Whenever he slept, she entered his dreams, like a thief, robbing him of rest and calm thoughts. That lack of control was enough to cause him worry. Then he had dismissed it. Though it felt unlike him, he could not perceive the danger in liking his wife. It was to their benefit that it was mutual liking and hinted that their future might not be miserable at all, but a very pleasant one.

  Yet there was a warning that lingered deep inside. It cautioned him that it was not prudent to give his trust and regard so easily. And though he tried, he could not dismiss that instinctive need to keep his emotions guarded from his wife.

  Why did you push the letters behind you, my Phoebe? If I’d not come upon you…would you have told me of your brother’s plans or that George wants you?

  Hugh leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, terribly curious at the dark, almost violent emotion twisting his gut into knots. Is this jealousy? Though Hugh admired the old earl very much, he did not want to be like him when it came to matters of the heart. Hugh preferred a simple, amiable liking and friendship than anything that might be tumultuous, passionate with the ability to break him and leave him a shadow of himself. He still did not understand how a man as powerful and self-assured as his father could have been brought so low by this foolish idea of loving a woman so much. But for the first time ever, Hugh recognized that his father’s warning on how easy it was to slide into that trap held some truth.

  His wife provoked his lust, she compelled his interest, and he sensed he was falling deeper into her each day and was quite unable to slow down his momentum.

  He picked up a packet of letters on his desk to riffle through his correspondence. It was quite interesting that neither the duke nor the duchess had responded to his letter. No doubt they would investigate him first before reaching out. But he still found it odd that they had not descended on him in search of their daughter. Though he had reassured them that she was safe, nothing could have kept him from going to his child who had been forced to run away from home.

  A knock sounded, and he rang the bell. The butler entered.

  “My lord, Viscountess Bamforth has called to see Lord Albury. I’ve informed the earl, but he gave no instruction on what I should tell Lady Bamforth. He only shooed me from the music room.”

  Every so often, the widowed viscountess would call upon his father, who diligently avoided her company. Hugh himself did not understand her determination given that his father hardly paid her any attention.

  “I’ve left her in the Rose parlour, my lord, and called for a pot of tea and cakes. I…the lady travelled with a few of her cats, my lord,” his normally unflappable butler said with an air of disgruntlement before smoothing his features into a professional mask of unconcern.

  “I will tend to the lady.”

  The butler nodded and shuffled out. Hugh quickly made his way to the music room. Caroline had gone riding, and he would have no interpreter to speak with the viscountess. His wife would have to speak for him. Hugh opened the door and faltered. His wife was positioned by the windows, her hand resting on her large belly, her head tipped back, the most wonderful laughter coming from her.

  Had he ever heard her sound so unrestrained and just lovely? Something undefinable tumbled inside his chest, and he would have given anything in this moment to have been the one to inspire such delight.

  “This is no laughing matter,” the earl grouched.

  “You are trying to climb through the windows! Surely you do not expect me to contain my humor.”

  It was then he noted his father had one leg thrown over the windowsill and one firmly in the music room, a black scowl on his face as he glared at his daughter-in-law.

  “If you would stop that bleating and help me, I could escape the damnable woman.”

  Amusement rushed through
Hugh when she stepped forward and lightly punched his father’s bony arm.

  “I am not bleating. It is a laugh. You should try it sometimes.”

  She only chuckled when the earl sent her another scowl. Her lively prettiness forcibly struck Hugh in the heart.

  “I do not think Lady Bamforth would dare barge in here without an invitation,” his wife continued. “That would be intolerably rude of her. Surely this mad escape is unnecessary?”

  “You do not know her and those damn cats she travels with. The last time I was obliged to take tea with her, they got their claws in me, and the damn woman thought it was charming.”

  “I’ve heard from Caroline that the viscountess is a gentle beauty and she likes you. Why is that so scary?”

  His father’s jaw slackened. “I do not like you, young lady—your manners are too boldly improper.”

  “Pffts,” she said with considerable animation, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek. “I can tell you are taken in by my irrepressible charm and hold considerable affection for me. Or why else would you turn to me to help you escape?”

  Her words had a softening effect on his father’s visage. In fact, the man seemed pleased. It could have been that kiss to his cheek.

  “I think that you like her, too, and you find it scary,” Phoebe said softly. “It is our nature to hide from things that are frightening, but I think you are made of sterner stuff. You should go and have a chat with her, perhaps even a stroll in your gardens. The flowers are beautiful.”

  A flush worked itself over his father’s cheekbones, then he sighed with heavy resignation. “I am dying, you know. It makes no sense to indulge in any flirtation.”

  Hugh wasn’t certain what to think about his father who would turn eighty in a few months talking about flirtation.

  She gently touched the old earl’s shoulder. “I understand, but I dare to say now is also the time to live life without regrets,” she said, a heavy throb of familiar grief in her tone. “My brother…Francis died with remorse in his heart. Since then, I’ve always thought that our lives are too fleeting to live with any sort of contrition.”

  It occurred to him that he hadn’t even begun to know the sincere heart of his wife, for in their long talks she had never mentioned this brother.

  I will enjoy getting to know all of you.

  The earl’s eyes lowered to her rounded belly.

  “Is that the distinction you used to act with recklessness?”

  Hugh stepped forward, ready to intervene. He wanted no words to be said that had the power to injure her heart, and his father could be harsh at times.

  “I daresay it was, and I cannot hold any remorse or guilt in my heart because my actions saved me from a life of unhappiness and guided me to meet Hugh. A meeting I believe should have happened last year when I took Wolf home with me. We were fated to meet, but something interrupted it.”

  The earl cast her a suspicious frown. “So, you are the one putting such nonsense in my son’s head! Fate! Pffts. A man makes his own destiny. There is no mystical power behind any bit of it!”

  His wife gasped, delighted. Her body, her face, every bit of her seemed to radiate vitality, strength, and delicacy. The need to wrap her in his arms and never let go surged through him. The immediacy of the urge confounded him.

  “Did…did Hugh also tell you that he thinks we were fated to meet?” She clapped her hands together in evident excitement. “Oh, please tell me about it. What did he say exactly?”

  His father sent her a look of such astonishment, Hugh smiled. He clapped his hands, and she whirled around, joy lighting her features. Her golden-brown eyes glowed with warmth and yearning. That look…how it unravelled him. The pleasure she took in seeing him never ceased to astound Hugh, and this smile that lit her entire face threw him into disorder.

  He’d learned that for a wife in the ton to display such obvious liking and admiration for her husband was intolerably bourgeois. Yet his wife did not seem to conform in that regard, either. She liked him…and did nothing to hide her feelings. Something inside him awakened, a terrible need he’d never felt before, and it was all for his wife.

  She took a step toward him only to falter with a sharp gasp, looking down in horror at the unexpected puddle of water at her feet. A spasm of pain crossed her features, and she paled alarmingly. “What is happening?” she cried fretfully.

  Hugh rushed to her side as she stumbled, and he swept her into his arms.

  “I am too heavy,” she tried to protest, before groaning and leaning her head weakly on his shoulder.

  He glanced at his father, who was scrambling to remove his leg from over the windows.

  “I will send for the doctor and midwives right away!”

  Her hands tightened around Hugh’s neck, and her eyes lifted quickly to his face. “Is it the baby?”

  He was not sure and hated that he could offer no reassurance. Hugh strode from the room with her in his arms and toward the stairs. Phoebe moaned, the sound of distress squeezing around his heart.

  “Dr. Edward said yesterday that it would be a few more weeks! Hugh, I am scared!”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, wishing he had the words to communicate that he was with her and there was nothing of which to be afraid. He made his way to the stairs and toward their wing of the house as gently as possible. Once in the room, he deposited her on the bed in a reclined position, putting a few cushions behind her back and the headboard.

  She lifted stricken eyes to his. “I am wet!” Then she groaned as another spasm gripped her.

  He sat beside her. “All will be well. I am here. The doctor and midwives will be summoned immediately.” And he prayed that he was right. The terror striking his heart was one he had never felt before. But he composed his mien, only wanting to offer her comfort.

  Servants bustled inside with basins of hot water and soft towels.

  He stood and bowed briefly. “I will go and ensure all the proper orders are relayed.”

  As he turned away, her voice halted him.

  “Hugh?”

  He whirled back to her. Her eyes were so vulnerable, sweat and tears glistened her cheeks, and she gripped the sheets on each side of her. “I am so very scared,” she said hoarsely. “I know it to be very improper…but will you stay with me, please?”

  Always, he silently reassured her but could not bring himself to sign it, for his very understanding of himself and his wants and needs were rattled. Hugh walked over to the bed and climbed on, resting his back against the carved oak headboard. He gently tugged her to his side, and with a pain-filled moan, she rested her head on his chest. A few maidservants sent them shocked glances, but he ignored them and held on to his lady wife, offering her the support she needed and the connection he had not realized he craved.

  “My baby is coming,” she murmured, her voice rough and fear filled. “I’ve looked forward to this day so very much, but now I feel shattered that I am so terribly frightened.”

  He dipped and kissed her forehead, which was already sweat dampened. She shivered at times, then she sobbed as a pain he could not imagine held her in its grip. And he did not let her go, even hours later when the doctor and midwives came. They tried to push him out of the room, but Phoebe held on to his hands and screamed.

  So he stayed, never taking his eyes from her face and lending her all the courage and strength she needed. He was there when she bit her lips until they beaded with blood, and he was there when a thin wail sliced through the air.

  She squeezed his hands with such strength, he wondered where she found it because mere seconds ago, she’d been exhausted.

  “She’s here?” she gasped, slumping back against the pillows.

  He tried to withdraw his hands, but she held on valiantly. Hugh wanted to warn her they might have a son, but he wisely kept quiet. He was tempted to lo
ok away from her face to see what the midwives were doing, but he resisted. Phoebe’s eyes darted left and right as she watched them keenly, at times squeezing his fingers and other times rubbing his abused hands in a soothing gesture, but not once did she remove her regard from the doctor and midwife. And then a shadow fell over them, and a smiling midwife placed a cleaned, crying wrapped bundle on her chest and said, “Here is ye daughter, milady. I’ll summon the wet-nurse you’ve selected.”

  An unknown feeling, a sensation of fear and awe, pulsed through him as he peered down at the small bundle in her arm. Phoebe remained frozen, her eyes wide as she too stared at the child. Tears rolled down her cheeks silently, and then she lifted her eyes to him.

  The emotions he spied slammed into his gut like a fist and left him reeling for breath.

  “Thank you for saving us,” she whispered with a tremulous smile. “My lord…please meet our daughter.”

  Our daughter.

  He glanced down and stared at the child, marveling at how tiny she appeared. The wailing died down as the child regarded the two faces peering at her.

  “I’ll protect you both.”

  Phoebe smiled, and it wobbled, tears filling her eyes once again. “We’ll protect you, too.”

  He almost waved a dismissive hand at this, but something strange and unexpected writhed through him. Hugh was beset with a powerful emotion he couldn’t quite describe. And for the first time in years, he wondered at the sensations burrowing deep inside his heart. He closed a mental fist around them before they floated away like ashes in the wind, like everything that made him feel eventually did.

  Do not leave. Stay with me, he silently whispered to the sensations as he reached out to brush a damp tendril of hair from his wife’s cheek with shaking fingers.

  Phoebe turned her cheek into the palm of his hand before peering down at the child. Hugh shifted closer. He touched the bridge of Phoebe’s nose, and she looked up at him.

  “Thank you for our daughter.”

  Chapter Thirteen