When the ladies had begun calling after the letter appeared, he’d studied each one, wondering how she planned to entrap him. They’d each been so eager to gain his attention. With so many vying for the role of his countess, the competition was fierce. How many would decide drastic measures were required to gain what they wanted? He knew full well it wasn’t him personally but his title that called to them.
“Speaking of forgiveness, have you forgiven me for carrying out Elise’s wishes?” It was his sister Elise had entrusted with her letter.
“I don’t hold you responsible. You didn’t know the trouble it would cause.”
“Honestly, I don’t understand why you can’t see that she did it with your best interest at heart.”
“May we speak of something else? Are you making the most of the Season, attending balls?”
She brightened. She thrived in a social environment. He suspected Miss Trewlove would as well. He wondered if she’d been pleased by his package when it arrived and had no doubt that it had been delivered because Jenkins was dependable and would see to the task. He wished he’d been in the store browsing when she’d opened it so he could have seen her reaction. Even knowing it was an incredibly valuable item, far too costly for a gentleman to give a lady, he had no regrets for sending it to her. He had little doubt if she knew from whence it came, she’d have not accepted it. Anonymity had been his only course of action.
“Oh yes,” Sylvie enthused, bringing him from his thoughts. “Of course, I’m accosted at every event, mostly by mamas wanting to ensure I alert you that their daughters are available. You could have your pick of the lot, you know.”
Because of the damned letter. He could even have Fancy Trewlove, if he wanted. All he had to do was confess his identity, and she would fall at his feet like all the others. Only he didn’t want her to want him because of the letter or his title or the fact that he could place her on a pedestal within Society. He longed to be wanted for who he was without all the paraphernalia that came with being what he was.
He wanted to feel again the way he’d felt last night. His time with her had been refreshing. No insincere flirtation, no seeking of attention. Simply an enjoyment of each other’s company, an easing into a friendship, without pressure or expectations.
“Will you be attending the Duke and Duchess of Thornley’s ball?” He’d found an invitation to it in the stack he’d taken from his residence in the early hours of the morning. He imagined Fancy clutching the clipping from the Times to her breast. Do, please, invite the Earl of Rosemont.
“Absolutely. That affair is all the talk. I wouldn’t dare not go. You no doubt received an invitation. You should attend.”
“I’m not in the mood to be accosted by every mama in attendance.”
“You will never find happiness if you keep yourself cloistered away. Honestly, Matthew, you must get on with things. You’re all of twenty-seven and our family has a tendency to have difficulty breeding—if you delay much longer, you might not get your heir.”
“I’m not in want of a brood mare, Sylvie.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were, but surely with a bit of effort, you could find a woman well suited to you, more suited than Elise, say.”
Saved from having to comment on his sister’s assertions when the butler arrived to announce that dinner was served, he followed the couple to the formal dining room with every bit of silver perfectly aligned. Suddenly he had an intense urge to be sitting on steps outside a raunchy theater, eating a meat pie, and wiping crumbs from an incredibly delectable mouth.
Fancy didn’t open her shop on Sundays. It was a day of rest, although she seldom rested. That morning she’d attended church with her mother and then helped prepare a lovely meal. All her siblings, except for Beast, and their spouses were gathered elbow to elbow at the long oak table that dominated the room in the small dwelling in which they’d all been raised. As the family had increased in size, so her siblings had replaced the table, but it was time for a bigger one, especially as soon, with luck, Fancy’s husband would be joining them for the monthly Sunday luncheon when they gathered to catch up. It seemed of late, their lives were all going in different directions and so they made a point of not losing touch with each other.
“Two more nights, my love, and then you step from this drab world into a fancy one. Are you nervous?”
Fancy gave a light, staccato laugh. “I wasn’t until you mentioned it, Mum.” She’d been striving very hard not to think about the upcoming ball, about how everything would change. Although yesterday morning’s delivery had gone a long way to keeping her thoughts occupied.
“Are you going to wear the white frock with all the pearls?”
While her sisters-by-marriage had suggested she go to Paris to have her ball gowns made, and had even offered to accompany her, she’d decided to use Gillie’s seamstress instead. The young woman, extremely skilled with a needle, was striving to build her business, an endeavor aided by the fact that one of her clients was now a duchess. Fancy had also liked the notion of staying in London so her mum could accompany her, and help her select the fabric and styles. Knowing her mum wouldn’t attend any of the balls, she’d wanted to include her in as many aspects of her Season as possible. “Most certainly. It’s my favorite of the lot.”
“How will you wear your hair?”
“We’ll bring her by on the way to the ball, Mum, so you can see her in all her splendor,” Mick said.
“That would be lovely, Mick.” Reaching out, Mum placed her hand over Fancy’s where it rested on the table. Fancy always sat to her left, near her mum’s heart—or so her mother would say when Fancy was younger and she was telling her where to sit. Tears pooled in her eyes. “You’re going to have your fancy life.”
“I have a fancy life now, Mum. I’m happy, more than happy actually.”
“But it’ll get even fancier. I’ve wanted this for you for so long. It’s a dream come true, you know? To see my gel treated like royalty.”
She was a long way from that, although she’d certainly felt special the last time that she was in Mr. Sommersby’s company. She was rather glad they’d sorted things between them. “I know, Mum.”
“You’ll win them all over.”
“I shall certainly try.” Then because she didn’t want to think about her upcoming introduction into Society, she turned to Aiden’s wife, Selena. “How are your sisters enjoying Europe?”
Selena had three sisters. Constance and Florence were twins, the same age as Fancy. Alice was seventeen. Her brother was the Earl of Camberley.
Selena smiled softly. “Based on the letters I’ve received, they are having a marvelous time. The twins are worried they’ll be a bit long in the tooth to make a good match when they have their coming out next year, but they understand the wisdom in waiting. They’ll have a more successful Season once Camberley has put himself and his estates to rights.” Reaching over, she rubbed her husband’s hand, bestowing upon him an expression of warmth, love, and gratitude because he was responsible for ensuring her brother got his financial affairs in order so he could regain his standing among the ton.
“I do hope you’ll give them my best when you write them. And who knows? If all goes well for me this year, I’ll host a ball in their honor upon their return.” The twins were to have had their coming out the year before but when Selena’s husband had passed, they’d all observed a proper mourning period. While Selena’s morals were now questioned since she’d married within a few months of her husband’s death, having been a duchess for years, she knew how to project power. Her sisters weren’t going to suffer overly much because of her scandal. What was one scandal in a family that hadn’t any? Whereas Fancy’s family was one of naught but scandal—whether it revolved around the circumstances of their birth or the roads they’d traveled in life. Each had then brought scandal to the one they’d chosen to marry. Born in sin, raised in sin, it seemed they were all destined to die in sin. Every season marked them as sinners
.
No matter that their mother read her Bible every day. Several times they’d tried to convince her to take on a maid-for-all-work at least, possibly a cook. But she refused anything that would make her life easier. Sometimes, Fancy wondered if her mum was punishing herself for some reason.
She’d been unable to object, however, when the lads had gutted the residence and rebuilt a warm and comforting abode within. Nor could she stop them from having coal delivered on a regular basis. Shop owners extended her mum all the credit she required because they knew the Trewlove siblings would make good on any debts owed. Fancy wasn’t yet in a position to make much difference, but when she married, she could carry a greater portion of her share. Perhaps she could even convince her mum to move in with her so she could spoil her, if she married a man who would be so generous. That was her goal, to find a man who would not only accept her but accept her family.
After the meal, when her siblings’ children had awakened from their nap, Fancy played with them, imagining it was likely she’d have her own child within the year. Lords were keen to gain their heir as soon as possible, and she was determined to be a good and dutiful wife. But when she thought of the boy she might deliver to her husband, she imagined him with dark hair and striking green eyes.
Walking into her shop later in the afternoon, Fancy couldn’t help but think of Mr. Sommersby and how a misunderstanding had nearly led to them not becoming friends. Although perhaps she was being overly optimistic there, and they were more acquaintances than friends. She rather wished he’d be at the ball—a familiar face among the crowd. A gentleman of leisure, he might be welcomed. Although as he was residing here and not in a more exclusive fashionable area, it was doubtful he associated with the aristocracy.
No, if she was to spend any more time with him, it would have to be here. Although perhaps she’d enjoyed their evening together far more than he had. At one point, as his thumb had traveled over her face, she’d thought he was on the verge of kissing her. Had wanted him to. Out of desire more than anything, but also curiosity. She didn’t want to be a complete innocent when she made her debut. She was well aware the men who would dance with her had no doubt kissed a staggering number of women. They wouldn’t be judged as immoral. But women, women were supposed to remain pure, untouched, pristine. But sometimes she had an urge to get a little dirty.
However as a by-blow, she’d never be seen as pure. She might as well do a little something to earn the judgment. Perhaps she should have kissed him, rebelled just a little.
But she wanted to do nothing to put her own dream at risk, her dream of finding a man who would love her, in spite of her beginnings. Her only fear was that a time might come when she would have to choose between fulfilling her mother’s dream or her own. It caused a roiling in her stomach to even contemplate marrying a man she didn’t love. Taking into her body a man who stirred nothing in her heart would in all likelihood destroy her.
As though sensing her morose thoughts, Dickens rubbed up against her leg. Bending down, she lifted him into her arms. “I’m being a silly chit, worrying about things that might never be. I must make the most of my freedom while I have it. And it’s a glorious day outside.”
She climbed the stairs to her lodgings, set Dickens on the bed, and proceeded to change out of the elegant frock she’d worn to church into something with fewer flounces. She pinned a smaller hat into place. The wind had nearly ripped the broad-brimmed one from her head as she and her mum had walked home from church. A smaller one would serve better.
Taking her key from her reticule, she slipped the brass into her pocket. Strolling over to the corner, she picked up her kite. Dickens mewled. Meandering by him, she gave his head a quick scratch. “Yes, I’m going out for a while.”
Once outside, she walked past the mews and the street upon which Mr. Sommersby lived, carrying on past other streets and residences until she reached the park. Mick had set aside several acres of land where people could take a leisurely stroll or children could play without worrying about being trampled. A pond had been created in the center of it, saplings planted here and there that would eventually provide shade.
She sought the open area where already kites were soaring. Lifting hers, she tested the wind before taking a quick jaunt, hearing the snap of the breeze catching her kite, feeling the tug. Reeling out the spool of string, she slowed, finally stopped, and watched as the kite took flight, wishing she could be up there soaring with it. As excited as she was about the coming ball, she dreaded it as well, feared disappointing her family, disappointing herself. What if no lord—
“Are those books on your kite?”
Swinging her head around, she was taken aback by the joy that spiraled through her at the sight of Matthew Sommersby standing beside her, gazing on her almost affectionately. The thick carpet of grass had muted his approach. “My brother Aiden painted them on the paper for me. He’s terribly skilled, created all the framed artwork in my shop.” And she was babbling. “You didn’t dine at the Jolly Roger last night.”
“No. I dined at my sister’s.”
“You have a sister?” For some reason, she’d had the impression of him being all alone in the world.
“I do. She’s older. Can be a bit dictatorial and interfering at times.”
As the youngest in her family, she could certainly relate. “Was she so last night?”
He chuckled low, and it was a sound that reached deep within her to warm her soul. “She was, as a matter of fact. Took me to task on a number of matters.”
“Will you avoid her, then?”
“No. It’s only the two of us now, as our mother has also passed. My sister is married to a good man. Has a daughter. A rambunctious little thing. It occurred to me too late that I should have stopped in your shop and purchased her a book. I shall remedy that the next time I go to visit.”
“I look forward to helping you select the most perfect book.” But then she was beginning to realize she looked forward to any excuse to be in his company. Not wanting to give him a reason to move on, she asked, “Do you not have a kite?”
“No.”
“Would you like to fly mine for a bit?”
“I’d not deny you the pleasure you’re obviously enjoying from your own efforts.”
“My pleasure would only increase if you were enjoying yourself.”
Although his hat shaded his face, something dark, like yearning, flashed across his eyes before he averted his gaze. “Your brother was wise to set aside land for a park. It’ll increase the value of his residences, make them more appealing to his tenants.”
“He let me help plant the saplings. I look at the children playing today and imagine them years from now with their own children rollicking about in the shade the trees will provide.”
His gaze came back to her. “You like giving to people, even if you’re not there to see them receiving your gifts.”
The sun had either come closer or she was embarrassed by his words because her cheeks felt as though they were suddenly aflame. “It’s a fault of mine I suppose.”
“I’ve yet to find any fault with you, Miss Trewlove.” His attention swung up to the sky, to the kites floating toward the heavens, and she was relatively certain he was now embarrassed as his cheeks sported a reddish hue.
“That’s not quite true.” She knew he found fault with her hunt for a lord.
He glanced down at her. “No, it’s not.”
“I prefer honesty between us, Mr. Sommersby.”
“Then I find no fault with your company. How’s that?”
It made it her feel as though her entire body was smiling. “I’ll accept it as a compliment.”
With a nod, he turned his attention back to the sky.
“What is your favorite memory of flying a kite?” she asked.
“I’ve never flown one.”
“Never?”
“My parents didn’t allow for such frivolities.”
“It’s not frivolous if it b
rings joy, helps one relax. You must give it a go.”
“I will either lose hold of it and it will go flying too close to the sun and burn or I shall send it plummeting to the earth where it will crash into a thousand pieces. In either case, it will be of no future use to you.”
“Nonsense. But if it should happen, I can always build another. The wind will fight you and try to steal the kite, but you are lord and master here. I’ll guide you.” Without thought, she stepped in front of him. “Place your hands over mine where they rest on the spindles.”
“Miss Trewlove, I’m not certain this is wise.”
“It’s only a kite, Mr. Sommersby. Come along, don’t be shy.” It seemed an eternity passed before his arms circled her and his hands came to rest on hers as they clutched the wooden spindles of the reel that Beast had carved for her so it was easier to control the length of string that kept the kite tethered to her—in much the same manner that Mr. Sommersby was now tethered to her. She’d not considered how his strong, muscled arms would bracket each side of her, how his chest would press lightly against her back. She felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon going through a transformation, although she wasn’t quite certain what would emerge at the end of it. Never before had she been so aware of a man. In spite of the fact that he was layered in clothing—shirt, waistcoat, coat—the heat from his skin still managed to mingle with hers. So much heat that she felt as though she were candlewax and melting. Her knees threatened to give way at any moment. She was at once grateful they both wore gloves and tempted to jerk them off so the silkiness of her hands could brush against the roughness of his palms.
Her mind was devoid of thought, as the acute awareness of his nearness overwhelmed her in a most pleasant manner. “Are you enjoying Dick Turpin’s adventures?” she heard herself ask.
The Earl Takes a Fancy Page 9