The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Lorraine Heath

  His grin was devilishly wicked. “But I understand the rules. Don’t think for a moment I’m not tempted to set you on that table and take you here and now. But I would ruin you for anyone else.”

  Ruin me. Had she really just had that thought?

  “I don’t think you’re ready to pay that price,” he continued.

  She was not going to be disappointed he was a gentleman and not a scoundrel. He had the right of things. Being ruined would not fit at all into her plans. Although she had the impression that he wasn’t referring to ruining her precisely but rather that she would never find with any other man the satisfaction she would find with him. She might label him as arrogant if she wasn’t convinced that he was no doubt speaking the truth.

  Seeming to comprehend that she had no witty response to his claims, he bent down, picked up the stereoscope, and placed it back on the table.

  “Aren’t you going to look?” she asked. “You paid your penny.”

  “Oh, I’ve gotten more than my money’s worth.” Then he offered her his arm, and she wrapped hers around it.

  “Took ye long enough,” the barker said when they finally exited the tent. “Gonna have to ask for another penny.”

  Mr. Sommersby handed it over, and they strolled on. She had come here to distract herself from thinking about what tomorrow night would bring. But now she had to wonder if it would be possible to meet any lord whom she would desire as much as she did this man.

  Chapter 12

  “Once . . . up . . . on a . . . ti . . . time . . . theer . . .”

  “There,” Matthew correctly gently.

  The reader, a woman who appeared worn by life, her blond hair pulled back in an untidy bun, looked up at him with large pale blue eyes. “But I thought the e at the end made the vowel sound different. Like in time. The i don’t sound like the i in Tim and that’s ’cuz of the e at the end.”

  “Yes, well, there are exceptions. Some words you have to memorize rather than sounding them out.”

  She scowled. “Readin’s ’ard.”

  “At first. But it does get easier, and it’s rather worth the challenge of it.”

  She returned her attention to the primer, having more luck with the words that followed. The book was the sort used in schools. The alphabet was listed in the beginning, then two stories followed. She’d apparently already made her way through Cinderilla with Fancy and was now eagerly tackling Little Red Riding Hood. He suspected for many the primer Fancy gave them was the first book they’d ever owned. For some it was no doubt the first they’d ever held.

  Four others sat in the circle with him, following along in their primers, awaiting their turn to read the words aloud. He strove very hard not to make those gathered around him feel embarrassed when they stumbled. Even if one didn’t read perfectly, one was trying and that was the true accomplishment—seeking to better oneself, doing what was necessary to reach that end.

  Just as Fancy was seeking to better her lot in life by attending a ball tonight and snagging the attention of some lord. He was tempted to give her a list of swells to avoid, but then she’d wonder how he knew them, and he’d have to confess he was the one about whom the letter had been penned and published for all the world to see. The suddenly heralded Earl of Rosemont. She’d view him differently then, and he didn’t want to be looked upon like he was a prize to be won.

  He was continually distracted by the bumps, taps, and scrapes coming from the floor above him. An hour earlier, a veritable phalanx of maids had paraded past the doorway and taken the stairs up to Fancy’s lodgings. He suspected the servants had been sent over by Lady Aslyn. His mind kept envisioning what was happening up there as they prepared her for this auspicious night that could very well set her on a course that would take her away from her little shop.

  It didn’t help at all that the night before she’d put in his head the image of her standing before a mirror sans clothing. A bath would have been prepared. She would have lowered her nude form into it. The steam would float up to caress and coat her skin in dew, some gathering in that enticing notch at her throat. The water, if not the soap, would be perfumed, and she would arise from the tub like a nymph from a lake, carrying the scent of flowers in a meadow.

  Someone would use soft linen to remove the water droplets from her flesh. Another would brush the long silky length of her black hair. He imagined how marvelous it would feel to sink his fingers into the glorious strands or gather up the thick tresses and drape them over her shoulder in order to leave her nape unobstructed so he could place a warm kiss on either side of her ridged spine. The last thought caused a reaction in the lower half of his body that had him shifting uncomfortably in his chair, a reaction he should have grown accustomed to by now because it happened each time he thought of touching his lips to any aspect of her body. Her mouth, her fingers, her toes, her breasts—

  Christ, he needed to get hold of himself. Thank goodness, the noises above had quieted. Suddenly light footsteps began echoing from the direction of the stairs. In perfect alignment signaling pride as though they’d just achieved victory in a crucial military campaign, the maids marched by the open doorway.

  The room went quiet. No stammering of words or encouragement uttered, the girl in the red hooded cloak abandoned, her story no match for the suspense that had captured everyone’s attention, their gazes going to the empty portal where the servants were last seen. Because if they were done with their task and taken their leave, then could she be far behind? So like the others, he gave his full attention to the doorway and waited, as an anticipation he’d not known in years took hold and blossomed. An itch took up residence on the tip of his nose, but it went undisturbed as none of his muscles seemed wont to move.

  Then she appeared and stole his breath.

  Her white gown, what she might have worn had she been presented to the Queen, lovingly caressed her form, outlining the gentle swell of her breasts, the tuck at her waist, the rounding of her hips. Pearls adorned her throat. Miniature ones sewn in intricate patterns over the bodice caught the gaslight and winked as she strode into the room. A fan dangled from her wrist. Long white silk gloves traveled from her fingertips to just past her elbow, and he imagined a gentleman taking her for a stroll about the garden searching for a dark corner where he could roll them off and kiss the suddenly revealed flesh.

  Her dark hair had been gathered into an elaborate coiffure, held in place with pearl combs that stood out in stark relief against the black background of her tresses. Her brown eyes seemed larger, more luminous. Her cheeks sported a bright pink, no doubt a result of her excitement for the evening ahead. She smiled warmly, softly. “I simply wanted to wish you all a good evening before I leave.”

  “You . . . you look . . . uh, gorgeous, Miss Trewlove,” Mr. Tittlefitz stammered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tittlefitz. You’re most kind to say so. I do rather feel like Cinderilla after all the attention the kind maids gave me.”

  She slid her gaze over to Matthew. Only then did he realize that at some point her arrival had stirred him to come to his feet. She was waiting for him to speak. He was rather certain of it, and yet no words he uttered would do her justice. Still he could not allow her to leave with even a pinch of her confidence shaken. “No woman there shall outshine you.”

  Her cheeks turned a deeper hue. Her eyelashes fluttered, not in a teasing manner, but as though she were touched by his paltry compliment. Or perhaps embarrassed he should say such a thing. What had she wanted to hear from him? Whatever it was, he’d have spoken the words she yearned for—if he’d only known what they were.

  She looked back at the younger man. “You will lock up when you’re done here tonight, Mr. Tittlefitz?”

  “Yes, miss. You’re not to worry yourself. Mr. Sommersby and I have everything well in hand.”

  “And you’ll see Marianne home?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. Even on the most important night of her life to date,
she was still thinking of others, striving to play matchmaker, and he wondered if she ever selfishly put herself first.

  “Good night, then.” With poise befitting a princess, she disappeared from sight.

  Being introduced into Society was a nerve-racking affair that slowly morphed into a tedious, boring one as Fancy stood beside Gillie, welcoming the guests who descended the wide sweeping staircase into the elaborately decorated grand salon—with its massive sparkling chandeliers, ornate molding, and painted ceiling—after being announced in a deep, booming voice by the majordomo outfitted in a red jacket, heavy with gold braiding, gray knee pants, and white stockings that showed off his lovely calves, which looked to be natural. She was well aware footmen took pride in their calves, some even going so far as to pad themselves with false ones.

  Gillie’s lavender gown was not as revealing as some, but then her sister never had flaunted her femininity. Her duke was at her side, his eyes reflecting the sort of tenderness and fondness Fancy hoped to inspire in some young lord.

  She dearly wished her mum was here to see it all, but she felt out of place around such extravagance. One wall was naught but mirrors, which made it seem that so many more people were here than there were. The room was two floors in height, a balcony circling three sides, cutting it in half. Potted plants, ferns, and fronds lined the walls. Flowers seemed to be everywhere. It was all so glamorous. It was the world her mother had wanted her to step into, and yet the dear woman didn’t believe herself deserving of walking into this room tonight.

  Oh, she’d visited Gillie’s residence, but when only family was about. She shied away from meeting anyone she considered above her. Her mum’s refusal to recognize her own worth saddened Fancy.

  She had traveled in the coach with Aslyn and Mick. As promised, they’d stopped at their mum’s so she could see Fancy decked out in her finery. Her mum had wept at the sight of her—tears of joy, she’d claimed. Fancy desperately wanted tonight to be a success, to bring her one step closer to helping her mum realize her dream of Fancy having a posh life.

  On her journey here, Aslyn and Mick had run her through her paces to ensure she knew how to address everyone who was likely to be in attendance. Her family’s greatest fear had been that no one would show. It was a fear not realized. The room was practically wall-to-wall people. She wasn’t vain enough to think they were there on her account. No, she suspected the majority of them had come to gawk at the Duke of Thornley’s wife and measure her worth as she hosted her first ball. Although Gillie seemed far more relaxed than Fancy felt.

  It hadn’t helped calm her nerves any that when they’d arrived, the Duke of Thornley had casually told her, “Bertie sends his regrets, but affairs of state will prevent him from attending.”

  Bertie. Prince of Wales. Future king.

  Thornley had spoken his name as though he had an intimate friendship with the man, played lawn tennis and polo with him. He probably did. She’d never really given any thought to the fact that her sister’s husband spoke to royalty and no doubt did it with the same aplomb he exhibited as he faced the queue of guests waiting to be received. He seemed to know them all. After greeting someone, he’d turn to Gillie and say, “Duchess, I want to present to you Lord Whoever or Lady X or Lord and Lady Z or the Duke of Whatever.” Gillie would smile the smile that welcomed everyone into her tavern and made them feel right at home. “A pleasure. My sister, Miss Trewlove.”

  Each guest curtsied or bowed to Gillie—she was after all a duchess. Fancy received a few curt nods of the head, a good many quick touches of her gloved fingers, a few actual kisses to her fingertips, followed by “My pleasure.” Then on they walked to visit with those they knew, to enjoy refreshments, or take a turn about the dance floor while a twenty-piece orchestra seated in the balcony played the most enticing music.

  And so it went.

  The elaborate dance card shaped like a fan with a tiny pencil attached to it via a string that she’d been given by a young maid when she’d first arrived dangled from her wrist, not a single dance claimed. No waltz, no quadrille, no polka. She told herself it was because the gents didn’t know how long she would be receiving, but she fully understood she was expected to stand and greet for two hours, until half ten, unless the guests coming down the stairs dwindled to nothing.

  She wished she’d asked Gillie to invite Mr. Sommersby, for surely she would have, even though he wasn’t of the nobility, simply as a favor to Fancy. She wished she could look toward the stairs and see him descend them. Of course, then he wouldn’t be available to help with the teaching, although he could always arrive here late. People did. It was the reason the queue seemed never-ending.

  When she’d walked into the reading parlor, Mr. Sommersby had immediately snagged her attention. The slow way he’d come to his feet, as though entranced. While Mr. Tittlefitz had looked at her like she were a delight to behold, Mr. Sommersby gazed at her as though she were a dollop of clotted cream he would like to slowly lick. It was an absurd thought to have had at the time because the heat in his eyes was melting in its intensity. She’d been surprised he hadn’t actually crossed the room to her, had stayed where he was, his fingers clutching the primer, his knuckles turning white. She wondered if he’d left dents in the book.

  His reaction more than anything had helped to settle her nerves, had assured her that her gown and elaborately coifed hair didn’t make her appear foolish, reaching for something beyond her grasp. The way he had looked at her had convinced her that if he were here, he would claim a dance.

  If only some other gentleman would.

  It was an odd thing indeed to find herself comparing each gentleman to whom she was introduced to Mr. Sommersby. His hair wasn’t dark enough, his eyes not green enough, his shoulders not broad enough. His voice not rich enough. None of the polite words spoken sent delicious shivers along her spine, conjuring up images of forbidden acts and sultry nights.

  She’d thought—hoped—he might kiss her the night before after he walked her to her door. But he’d refrained and that was all for the good. She knew ladies of quality did not go about kissing men, and she was striving to be a lady of quality.

  Although she was left with the impression that they weren’t all above reproach. It seemed not all ladies arrived with their husbands, not all husbands accompanied their wives. It made it a challenge to match up couples, to sort out who was paired with whom when they were introduced a number of people apart. On the other hand, surely, she wasn’t expected to remember the name of everyone to whom she was introduced—although most likely she was. She’d been taught little tricks for doing so. Lord Winters of the red-tipped nose, Lady Winters of the ruddy cheeks as though both had just arrived fresh out of a winter storm. She was determined to get all the names right when their paths again crossed, to impress them with her feat. She wanted to be remembered as more than the bastard, wanted something other than her birth to distinguish her from all the others here who were not raised by Ettie Trewlove.

  “You’re late,” Gillie snapped.

  Fancy glanced away from the man to whom she’d just been introduced, Lord Brockman of the shiny pate and broad smile—balding, broad, Brockman—and knew a surge of warmth at the sight of her brothers Finn and Aiden, with their lovely wives, Lavinia and Selena, on their arms.

  “We purposely delayed our arrival to give you a respite from meeting strangers,” Aiden said. “We thought you’d welcome the familiar.”

  Gillie narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t thinking it’d give you less time around the nobs?”

  “Well, that, too,” Aiden said with a laugh.

  “You’re here now. I suppose that’s all that matters.”

  “Seriously, Gil,” Finn began, “we thought you’d appreciate a friendly face an hour in. Although to be honest, we did get held up with the crush of people arriving. Mum should see this. She’d be delighted.”

  “Is it only an hour?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Aiden turned t
o Fancy, gave her a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely.”

  “I don’t suppose Beast came,” she stated more than asked.

  “He’s not one for affairs such as this,” Finn said.

  “None of us are,” Aiden pointed out. “Yet here we are.”

  “It is more important for you, with your wives, to be accepted by Society,” Gillie said firmly. “Especially if you have any hope at all of seeing your children accepted.”

  Fancy fought not to feel self-conscious that her origins were plain and humble, that she would be faced with the same challenges of seeing her children accepted. While they knew nothing at all about Gillie’s true parents, the three brothers attending tonight did know who had fathered them and that noble blood ran through their veins. Whereas she knew she couldn’t claim so much as a drop.

  Aiden lifted her wrist. “What’s this, then?”

  “It’s a dance card.”

  “I know what it is. I had to sit through Mick’s lectures.” Mick had once had a lover who had taught him a good bit about the nobility and etiquette, and he’d shared all he’d learned with his siblings. When she was old enough, he’d taught her as well—although he hadn’t mentioned where he’d learned it. She’d picked up that bit eavesdropping on a conversation. “Why are there no names on it?”

  “It’s a challenge to know when I’ll be available since I’m unsure as to when I’ll be done here.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her lie, heaved a sigh. “How much longer must you stand here?”

  “An hour at the most.”

  Taking the pencil, he scrawled his name beside a waltz, then winked at her.

  Selena rubbed his arm. “We’re holding up the queue.” She bussed a quick kiss over Fancy’s cheek. “It’ll take a little time, but eventually it’ll fill up.”

  She remained optimistic that her sister-by-marriage spoke the truth.