The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Lorraine Heath

  Young buck with a wooden smile. “Stag in the woods,” she said instead.

  “How clever!” Lady Penelope enthused. “But I would have gone with deer in the forest.”

  “There’s no right or wrong,” she assured the young lady. “It’s whatever will help you remember.”

  “What’s this, then?” Lord Dearwood asked.

  “Miss Trewlove plays a game so she can remember everyone’s name.”

  “Well, not everyone’s,” she said, heat warming her cheeks. “Sometimes it doesn’t work and I forget what I associated with the person and think it would have been simpler to memorize the name.”

  “I’d like to hear about that game at some point, but for now, Miss Trewlove, I was hoping you’d honor me with a dance.”

  The three ladies gave a gleeful squeal before skittering away. Definitely younger than she was.

  Fancy smiled at Lord Dearwood. He wasn’t unattractive, was probably as old as her brothers, and something about him indicated he was a man who enjoyed far too much vice or at least food and wine. Perhaps it was the way the buttons on his waistcoat were straining against the cloth. “I’d be honored, my lord.”

  Offering his arm, he led her to the edge of the dance floor. “We’ll wait for the waltz to end, shall we?”

  “Would you mind signing my card whilst we wait? I thought to keep it as a souvenir.”

  “Certainly.”

  As she watched him scrawl his name, she couldn’t help but think of a man with larger hands, longer fingers, more elegance in his movements. She really needed to rid herself of thoughts of Mr. Sommersby. “Are you enjoying the ball thus far?”

  “Oh yes, especially now that you’ll be dancing with me.”

  She felt the heat of a blush rushing up from her décolletage into her hairline at the flattering words that were spoken with such sincerity. “That’s exceedingly kind of you to say, my lord.”

  “Not at all. I owed your brother a bloody fortune.”

  Everything within her stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

  His wide grin reminded her of one she’d seen on a chimpanzee at the zoological gardens. “He’s canceling my gambling hell debt.”

  She couldn’t stop her voice from going flat. “If you dance with me.”

  “Precisely.” He nodded toward the floor that was clearing of couples, as others moved into place. “Shall we?”

  “With all due haste.”

  It was an odd thing to be held by someone she’d only just met, and she was grateful the quadrille limited how long and how often he touched her. The other couples who served as partners in this particular square were a somber lot, and she wondered if they wished she wasn’t there, although she did catch a few side glances as though they were curious but didn’t want anyone to know they were. Although perhaps they knew the truth of the situation and were as uncomfortable as she was with the fact that a bribe was required to get a bloke to dance with her.

  Chapter 13

  It was difficult to concentrate on reading when Matthew’s gaze kept wandering to the darkened window across the way. He had shoved a chair in front of his and taken up position after returning from the reading lessons. Ever since Fancy had bid them a good night, he’d been tormented envisioning her at the ball dancing with one lord after another.

  While the decent part of him hoped her dance card would have a scrawled signature beside every dance, the selfish part hoped she took no pleasure from the attention.

  Damn it all to hell, he felt like a rotten cur.

  After returning to his terrace, he’d considered going to the ball. He even had evening attire on hand. God alone knew why his valet had decided to pack it. He’d certainly had no plans to attend any formal functions, although it was always possible an obligation he couldn’t escape would arise.

  Earlier he’d gone to the bother of drawing a bath. Soaking in the steaming water had managed to give him time to put matters into perspective and to debate the disadvantages of attending the ball. At the edge of his mind he recalled promising dances to at least two dozen women, so dance cards would be dangled in front of his nose like carrots to get a horse moving. First and foremost, however, was the matter of explaining himself to Fancy.

  “You wanted to meet the Earl of Rosemont. Funny thing. You’ve already met him. He is I.” He imagined delivering the news with a bit of a laugh and a broad smile. Unfortunately, he couldn’t envision her receiving it with equal good humor. She would no doubt be hurt, possibly livid. Revealing himself in such a public arena was such a dreadfully bad idea.

  However, if she did manage to overlook his failure to elaborate on his identity when they met, he would no longer be able to discern if what was developing between them—friendship or something more—was influenced by his title. Might she seek to lure him into a conservatory?

  All the lengths that are necessary.

  She had declared those words, and they’d resounded as a promise, a vow. Although she claimed she would draw the line at deception, he’d learned that a woman’s words couldn’t always be trusted.

  He rather liked that she didn’t know his full identity, that when she looked at him, she wasn’t doing it through the lens of his title. So he’d left his bath resolved to stay in and let her have her night. To flirt and be flirted with, to dance the evening away, to have a debut that was all she hoped for. Even if it didn’t include the Earl of Rosemont.

  Once more he glanced toward her window. The ball would no doubt go on until two in the morning. For him, the minutes were ticking away into an eternity.

  After her fifth dance following the one that she’d shared with Dearwood, she was more than displeased with the additional information she’d gleaned and went in search of her brothers. While they were tall, a good many men were equally so, which made it difficult to spy them in the crush of the crowd. She did wish Beast had attended. He was a good head taller than most, which would have made him easier to spot. Then she caught sight of them on the far side of the room, near one of two fireplaces. Quickening her pace—

  “I say, Miss Trewlove.”

  She came to an abrupt halt as a tall, narrow-shouldered gentleman stepped in front of her. What was his name? Good Lord, with more important matters weighing on her mind she couldn’t think.

  “Will you honor me with a dance?”

  Blond. Broad. Blue Eyes. Viking. Fiords. “Not at this moment, Lord Beresford.”

  She made to move past him, and he wrapped his gloved fingers around her upper arm. The scathing look she cast his way had him immediately releasing his hold, appearing somewhat contrite.

  “But it’s simply not done, Miss Trewlove. To rebuff a gentleman’s request for a dance.”

  “I’m not declining altogether. Just not right now.” She held up her wrist, the dangling dance card twirling. “I have a few dances left. Select the one you’d like. Just not this one.”

  With great deliberation and very slowly, he printed out his name as though he anticipated she might like to use it for an embroidery pattern at some point. He beamed at her. “A waltz.”

  “I look forward to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting for his permission, she threaded her way around people, having to stop twice more to impatiently allow gentlemen to sign her dance card. Who would have ever thought she wouldn’t take delight in the attention? Finally, she reached her brothers, grateful Gillie was there as well, so she could confront them all in one go. Thankfully no one else was near. It seemed when the Trewloves were gathered en masse, people were wont to keep their distance. Her siblings all seemed to be in good cheer, chatting, laughing, sipping what appeared to be scotch—probably from Gillie’s personal stock.

  “Have you no faith in me?”

  They all swung around so fast at her words that it wouldn’t have surprised her to learn they’d each gone dizzy.

  “What are you on about?” Gillie asked sincerely. “Of course we have faith in you.”

  “Then why are you bribing
men to dance with me?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Aiden is canceling any debt owed to his club, Finn is offering breeding or training services, and Mick is offering investment advice. Are you saying you’ve not offered anything to entice the fellows into dancing with me?”

  Gillie’s jaw tightened as she glared at their brothers. “You daft dunderheads. You didn’t.”

  “No one was dancing with her.” Aiden’s voice was clipped, harsh, and she could sense how much it angered him that they’d been ignoring her. He’d always concerned himself with ensuring women were happy. It was one of the reasons his newest club catering to ladies was such a success. While the knowledge lessened her own hurt a bit, it couldn’t erase it completely when viewed from a different perspective.

  “You didn’t believe I could entice them on my own?”

  “Eventually, yes. One dance and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand. But they weren’t moving fast enough to suit me.”

  “It is not you they have to suit.”

  “If they want to marry you, it damn well is.”

  She loved her brothers, but at the moment at least one of them was in need of a smack across his head.

  “We were trying to make the night unforgettable for you,” Finn said, looking somewhat chastened. He’d always been the more sensitive of her brothers.

  “Well, you’ve certainly managed that.” She held her hand out toward Gillie. “May I?”

  Her sister glanced down at the tumbler she was holding. “It’s scotch.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  Gillie handed her the glass, and Fancy took a good healthy swallow, licked her lips.

  “You’ve had it before.”

  “I’m not as innocent as you all think.”

  “The quiet ones never are,” Finn said softly.

  “I am, however, rather mortified.”

  “We meant well,” Mick stated tenderly.

  “I know you did. It’s the only reason I won’t stay cross with you for long. But if gentlemen believe you’ll offer them some sort of compensation for showering me with attention, they’ll never dance with me on their own volition. They’ll be waiting for the payoff, and to be honest, it should be me.” She grimaced. “And the dowry you’ve all so graciously put together.”

  He scowled. “They should want you without the dowry. But our origins prevent you from being accepted without it. Still, once these nobs get to know you, as Aiden implied, they’ll love you as much as we do.”

  It was impossible to ask for a more loving, supportive family. She took another sip, allowing the heat to relax her. “I appreciate the sentiment. However, after everything you all have done for me over the years to get me here, it’s now time to shove me out of the nest and let me fly. I’m fully capable of flying.”

  “It’s hard to realize you’ve grown up.”

  “Well, I have.” The music drifted into silence. She downed what remained of the scotch before giving the glass back to Gillie. She lifted her wrist. “I have another dance claimed, so I must be away. Please, don’t interfere again.”

  “I think they’re duly chastised,” Gillie said.

  But knowing her brothers, she feared they’d unintentionally clipped her wings.

  “I daresay your debut was a rousing success,” Aslyn announced with enthusiasm as the carriage traveled toward Mick’s hotel.

  Apparently, Mick had yet to tell his wife how the rousing success had come to be. “Yes, I was quite taken aback by all the attention.” After confronting her brothers, she’d stopped prodding her dance partners in order to determine why they’d approached her. She didn’t want to know if they had no success at gambling, investing, or horse management. Instead, she’d made inquiries regarding their estates, hobbies, and pleasures. Some seemed taken aback that she had such an interest in them, but all welcomed the opportunity to talk about themselves.

  “The next ball should go even better.”

  It would occur the following Wednesday and would be hosted by Aslyn’s former guardians, the Duke and Duchess of Hedley. Again, people would come out of curiosity because the couple never entertained. But they were doing so because Mick had asked. Her family was calling in favors. She didn’t want to consider the cost to them or their pride—all so she could have the fairy-tale life they’d envisioned for her. Which made it difficult not to forgive them for tonight’s error in judgment.

  “I’ve bought a bit of acreage on the outskirts of London,” Mick said. “I’ll be adding that to your dowry.”

  “No.” The word came out succinct and to the point. “I appreciate it, but you’ve given me far too much already. Lessons, allowing me to use your building for my shop, a dowry that is a yearly income, not simply a sum, and now my Season. I can never repay—”

  “Family doesn’t repay.”

  “He’s stubborn, Fancy,” Aslyn said.

  “Yes, well, so am I. For most ladies, a five-thousand-pound dowry would be more than enough. But mine is five-thousand-per-year as long as I draw breath, which I am planning to do a very long time. It’s as we discussed earlier. You can’t continue to entice gentlemen to want me. If they aren’t content with my dowry as is, then they aren’t worth considering. I’d be happier as a spinster managing my shop. Perhaps then you would let me purchase it from you.”

  “You know my reason for not putting the building in your name. When you marry, your husband could do anything with it he damned well pleased. Turn it into a bordello. Neither you nor I would have any control over his actions.”

  “But if I were to not marry—”

  “It would break Mum’s heart, Fancy.”

  What of her heart, what of her dreams? What if she found herself falling for a man who possessed no title? Still, she simply nodded.

  “I remember when you were born, how she cradled you in her arms, tears in her eyes. I’d never seen her weep before. She was always so strong. From the very beginning she had dreams for you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d be dead if not for her.”

  She knew that as well, knew not all baby farmers took such loving care of their charges. “I’m not ungrateful, Mick. But, please . . . don’t add anything else to my dowry.”

  “As you wish, but some lord is going to be very fortunate to have you, sweetheart. I intend to make certain he’s worthy of you.”

  Glancing out the window, she couldn’t help but feel that her marriage to a noble would be the crowning achievement of all he’d worked toward. Although she knew a good many young ladies would envy her position, she sometimes found herself wishing she had no dowry at all so no doubts would creep in regarding the reasons a man had asked for her hand. If one ever did. She was truly in no rush to take a husband. If she had two or three Seasons, she wouldn’t be disappointed. Her shop sustained her. For now, it was all she really needed.

  “I’d like to go see Mum in the morning, let her know how the night went.”

  “You won’t mention—”

  “No, I’ll not mention how you and the others interfered,” she assured him.

  “What’s this?” Aslyn asked.

  “I’ll explain later.”

  She’d like to be a fly on the wall when Mick did that. She suspected her sister-by-marriage would have a reaction similar to Gillie’s.

  “What time would you like the carriage readied?” Mick asked.

  “Seven.”

  In the dark confines, with only the occasional streetlamp casting light to wash away the shadows, she saw the flash of Mick’s smile. “Most ladies would sleep the morning away after attending a ball.”

  “I want to be back early enough to open the shop on time.”

  “I think people would understand if it opened later than usual.”

  “I’m as serious about my business as you are about yours, Mick. I’ll be unlocking the door at nine.”

  When the carriage came to a stop in front of the hotel, Mick leapt out and then hand
ed Aslyn down before reaching back in for Fancy. Once her feet hit the bricked walk, she rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Good night.”

  “I’ll see you safely home.”

  “Mick, I’m across the street. No one is about.” It was after two in the morning and the streets were quiet, every business shut down for the night.

  “Still.” He escorted her to the shop and waited until she’d closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

  When Mr. Tittlefitz had locked up, he’d left a gaslight burning low to welcome her home. Shadows quivered around the bookshelves. With her back against the door, she inhaled the beloved fragrance of ink, paper, leather, and binding that filled shelf upon shelf. If she could find a way to capture the scent, she would dip candles in it and burn them throughout her future residence so she would always be comforted. She did hope her husband had an extensive library, was a reader of books. Could she marry someone who wasn’t?

  Shoving away from the wood, she headed up the stairs, her steps increasing in tempo as she neared her private rooms.

  She didn’t know what was driving her, knew only that she wasn’t where she wanted to be. Dashing through the front parlor, where low light greeted her, she rushed into her bedchamber and came to a stop at the window, the draperies falling on either side of it.

  Warmth, joy, and relief swamped her at the sight of Mr. Sommersby standing with his arms upstretched and spread wide, his hands pressing against the window casings. In spite of the late hour, he was still awake, looking out, the unbuttoned cuffs causing his sleeves to have slipped down to his elbows, his throat visible because of his disheveled state, and she wondered if he’d been waiting for her return. Placing her forehead to the cool glass, she feared he’d think her forward if she were to knock on his door at this late hour. It was ridiculous how much she longed to speak with him, to tell him of her night.

  Then he was gone.

  But still she stood there, waiting for him to douse the light before crawling into bed. Was any man with whom she’d danced thinking of her at the moment? Did they wonder if she’d gone to her slumber, if she’d carried them into her dreams? She wouldn’t. Not a single one. But Mr. Sommersby—