Only an Earl Will Do (4 page)

Chapter Three

Henry slammed the front door of his home, startling the sleeping footman in the entrance hall, the young man falling off his chair and landing with a thump on the tiled floor.

He strode into his sparsely furnished library and slumped into a leather-clad chair, lumping his feet atop the small table before him.

Richard, asleep on the settee, one arm lazily thrown over his eyes, woke and looked at him. “You spoke to her, I gather?”

Henry gritted his teeth. “Yes, I bloody well spoke to her, and I’m no clearer on anything than I was when I first returned to England.”

His cousin chuckled and sat up. “What did she say? Don’t forget you’ve been gone two years or more. Things change. Women change.”

Henry looked into the hearth and watched the wood turn into black coal. “Aye, I know, but I thought she would at least tell me why she chose to forget the understanding between us and marry Newland.” She had given herself to him, honored him with her body, but she no longer trusted him, nor liked him very much, if he was any judge of her emotions.

“Look elsewhere before you drive yourself mad, man. You said yourself before leaving New York you no longer had feelings for the chit, so why get all high in the instep about things now?”

Because he’d lied, that’s why
. “Hmmm,” he replied, noncommittally. Having returned to England and being in the same room as Elizabeth had proved what a complete ass he’d been. Tonight in the conservatory he’d wanted to yank that defiant miss against him and kiss her bloody senseless. Prove to her that they were far from over or “done,” as she’d stated.

“I know you won’t like me saying this, but as your friend I fear I must. Father would like you to offer for Amelia. Now I know,” Richard said, silencing him with his hand, “you do not see her in such a romantic light, but perhaps after finishing things with Lady Newland you could look elsewhere, start afresh, and move on, as it were, with someone else.”

It was what Henry ought to do, but an unrelenting, restless fury wouldn’t abate. Something told him someone had kept them apart, had written to both of them to ensure such a separation occurred.

“Do ye know of any letters arriving for me from the Duke of Penworth that I did not receive? Lady Newland spoke of a missive that I did not know of.”

Richard looked up, frowning. “I do not, I’m sorry. Any mail that came into the residence was given to Father to look over before allocating it to whomever it was for. I’m sure had anything arrived he would not have kept it from you.”

Henry clenched his jaw, not so certain that that was true, but willing to let it go. For now. “Drink?” He lifted the decanter of brandy.

“If you’re pouring.” Richard sat up. “But as your friend and closest relative, please take some time and think on what I said earlier. The love you felt for Lady Newland, if it was love at all, could’ve been nothing but youthful folly.”

Henry gnashed his teeth. What he felt for Elizabeth was anything but youthful folly. Had he been like so many of his friends, flush with blunt, not a care in the world for finances, he would’ve married her as young as she was. “Amelia does not care for me in that way, Richard. No matter how much ye father may wish it.” He sat across from Richard, after handing him his drink, staring at the dark fire grate.

“You’re wrong. Amelia cares for you a great deal. Hell, we all do. But don’t you think it’s time you forgot about whatever happened between you and Lady Newland? A clean start and all that. And how often do you have your family from New York staying? I have not been to Whites yet; however will I face society back home if I do not look out the famous bowed window?”

Henry laughed, his cousin always managing to pull him from a sullen mood. “I shall take ye to Gentleman Jackson’s as well. A bit of sparring is what we need.”

“Indeed, but make sure you leave the face unharmed, if you don’t mind, good chap. I have ladies to court.”

“More like seduce.” Henry took a sip of his brandy, the golden liquid relaxing him finally. “A night at Covent Garden may suit ye. What say ye?”

“Oh, garden and night sound most intriguing. When do we go?”

Henry closed his eyes, groaning when the fiery glare of Elizabeth flashed before his eyes. “Not soon enough.”

…

Elizabeth sat at the edge of the Serpentine in Hyde Park and penciled in the last of the duck feathers she was sketching. She smudged the edges to give the image a little depth, then sat back and scrutinized her accomplishment. She would never be as good as her younger sister Victoria at drawing, but the effort wasn’t too terrible, she supposed.

“What do you think, Tony? Could my sketch win an art prize?”

Tony, her groom, walked over from the tree he’d been leaning against and stared down at her drawing. “Very good, my lady, if I do say so myself.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I think you’re being too kind, but I’ll keep it in any case. Samuel loves ducks.”

Her groom cleared his throat, and she looked up to see Lord Riddledale purposefully striding toward her. She inwardly groaned, her desire to roll her eyes only stopped by the years of proper manners drilled into her. Not wanting to have to deal with his lordship, she looked back to her sketch, hoping he’d not seen her. The shadow of his top hat landed across her paper and she knew her wish wasn’t to be. “Lord Riddledale, how nice to see you again. I hope you’re enjoying your stroll.” She didn’t look at him, just continued to study the birds that flitted about on the grass.

He shook his head—or his shadow did, anyway. “Not at all, Lady Newland. I find the air most troublesome this morning, full of coal, if I’m any expert on the matter.”

Ever the expert on everything.
She fought back a chuckle. “Oh dear, what a pickle you seem to be in then, for what can one do without air. I hope it hasn’t offended you enough that you’ve stopped breathing altogether.”
She could only hope.

“Do be serious, my lady. Of course one must breathe.”

She made a noncommittal sound. “As you can see, I’m drawing and enjoying the lovely weather.”

“How opportune it was to see you here, as there’s something in particular I wish to continue to discuss.”

She looked up inquiringly, hoping he wasn’t going to chat about his marriage proposal again. “What is it, my lord?”

“I wanted to know if you’ve given my declaration of marriage any thought.”

What an indomitable fellow. Elizabeth cursed her inability to let him down nicely. One would think after a year of marriage she would’ve learned the art of telling people what she thought and wanted. “You wish for an answer now? Here at the park?”

“Yes. And then I’ll know how to proceed.”

She frowned at the hardened edge to his voice. There wasn’t anything he could do if she said no. Riddledale stood before her, arms clenched behind his back and his lips pursed as if he’d eaten something distasteful.

“I’m sorry, Lord Riddledale, but I cannot marry you. Friendship is all I can offer, and I hope that is enough.”

His lips twisted into a sadistic snarl, and he sat down next to her, crossing one leg over the other. It looked less than comfortable.

“I thought you may say as much, and I do not mean to hurt you, so please remember this with what I have next to say.”

Elizabeth swallowed, not liking the turn of the conversation. “You cannot possibly love someone who’s given you no reason to seek her affection. We’ve been neighbors at Dunsleigh for many years, yes, but never in all that time have I sought your love.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve thought you the perfect candidate for my wife for some time. You’re young enough to bear my children, have in fact had a child, so there is no fault with you there. Your family is titled and well sought after within the ton, and you’re kind of nature. And I think a young son such as you have needs a guiding hand when it comes to estate matters etc. I shall run Newland Estate until Lord Samuel comes of age.”

Coldness swept down her spine at the mention of Riddledale having anything to do with her dear boy. “Does your decision to fix me as your wife have anything to do with real feelings, my lord? Or is it only my monetary value that holds sway with you?”

A light blush stole over his features, making his skin blotchy and red. “Of course not,” he huffed, his chin—that was a little too far set back in his face—jutting out with annoyance. “I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, but as the mother of an heir to Newland Viscountcy and a woman of independent means, you must see that I would never agree to an understanding unless I was fully engaged in heart and mind with the gentleman. I’m sorry, but I’m not, in this case.”

“You will be my wife, Elizabeth, or everything you hold dear will be ripped from under you.”

She looked at him sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Do not threaten me, Lord Riddledale. You forget yourself.” She stood, and he followed.

“No, you forget, Lady Newland. In fact, you seem to have forgotten a lot.” He laughed as if she’d said something amusing.

“And pray what did I forget that you seem so determined to remind me of?”

A laugh sounded across the lawns, and Elizabeth cringed at Henry’s uncanny ability to catch her at such a moment.
Could this day become any worse?

“I will speak with you at another time.” Lord Riddledale bowed and left. His retreat in the opposite direction of where Henry walked was hasty, to say the least.

Elizabeth took a calming breath and turned to face her next guests. She noted Miss Andrews hung off Henry’s arm like an annoying growth one could not cut off. The sight of them together irritated her more than it ought. She dismissed them and started to pick up her sketching supplies, fumbling with her paper in her haste.

What did she care if Henry had turned his attentions toward someone else? He was nothing to her. Nothing but a mistake of colossal size that had thrown her into a future she’d never thought to live.

“Good mornin’, Lady Newland.” Henry smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. If anything he looked as annoyed as she was at their meeting. Again. “I hope we weren’t interrupting your tête-à-tête with Lord Riddledale.”

Elizabeth pulled on her gloves, casting them a furtive gaze. “Good morning.” She passed her supplies to her groom who carried them over to the carriage. “And no, you didn’t interrupt anything of importance with his lordship.” Elizabeth looked to where the gentleman concerned continued to stroll along the Serpentine banks, wondering what he’d been about to say. She frowned, not liking the feel of Riddledale’s words. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me packing up to return home.”

Henry raised his brow, his gaze mocking. If only she knew what was going through his mind right at this moment. If it was anything like her own it was a kaleidoscope of thoughts, and not any of them good or helpful. She was a walking muddle these days.

“Would ye care to join us? We are heading toward Rotten Row. Miss Andrews would like to see the horses that are going for a run.”

“No, thank you. I really have dallied longer than I ought.” Elizabeth started toward her groom, relieved when he opened the carriage door preparing for their departure.

The touch of Henry’s hand on her arm pulled her to a stop. She faced him, her skin burning where he touched. How could he, after all their time apart, what he’d done to her, what she’d done to him, create such a reaction within her?

She cast a glance over his shoulder and noted his cousins had walked on to give them privacy.

“Why are ye being like this? Ye’re the one who married someone else, lass.” His whispered words were only for her to hear, and she yanked her arm out of his hold. Henry stepped back, his jaw hardening in anger. “I don’t understand, Elizabeth.”

“I’m not being anything to you.”

“Ye’re avoiding me, cutting me dead at every chance ye get.”

She continued toward the carriage, ignoring his question. “I have nothing to say to you, Henry.” Elizabeth grabbed her groom’s hand and stepped into the vehicle. Henry shut the door, but didn’t say another word, just watched her.

Elizabeth looked away from the confusion and hurt she read in his eyes and settled her skirts about her legs.

“Who was the letter from that ye supposedly received from me?”

“I told you last night.”

He shook his head, a dark lock falling over one eye and making him look more roguish than ever before. For the life of her she couldn’t look away. How many times had she pushed that lock away from his face, spiked her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down for a stolen kiss?

“No, you didn’t.”

His reply pulled her from her musings, and she hoped the heat she felt on her cheeks was only in her imagination. “It was signed by both you and your uncle.”

“I will find out who wrote that note, but there is also something else I wish to know. Ye never told me why ye needed me to return. What was the reason?”

She bit her lip frantically trying to come up with an excuse. “I ah…I confessed to my parents my feelings toward you had grown beyond friendship after you left, and Father, liking you as much as he did, wrote for your return.”

“Ye talk as if your family no longer wishes my association. Should I have sent that letter and denied ye marriage, I could understand being treated like I had the pox. But I did not.” He paused. “I deserve an explanation, Elizabeth.”

She couldn’t look at him, for surely he’d see the lie clouding her gaze like the dirty little secret that it was. All of Samuel’s future hung in the balance, his inheritance, his security. The way she played the next deal of cards between Henry and herself was of high import.

The last thing she wanted was to lie to him, but no matter who sent the letters, who received them and who did not, they were sent, and the damage was done. “Your denial hurt me, and therefore my family rallied around me, supported me. Mama and Papa knew, you see, of us lying together at the lake that day. I’m sure given the circumstances such reactions on their behalf are warranted.”

“I hope ye will tell them that I did not write the letter, and I will find out who did, ye can be assured of that, but I will not apologize for having ye, Elizabeth. Never that.”