The Earl I Adore (12 page)

Julia wrinkled her nose, obviously not pleased. “Come now, Evan. Surely you wouldn't be so gauche as to invite someone to another man's home.”

He sent a warning look in his sister's direction. “First of all, it's not in Wright's home. It's at a park on the river, near some ruins or some such thing. Secondly, yes, I think I am exactly that gauche. One of the perks of being an earl.”

Blowing out a breath, she came to her feet. “Fine, do whatever you like. I think I'll retire for the evening.”

He rose as well, and stepped forward to offer her a peck on the cheek. “Good night. Tomorrow is Sunday, so no official festival activities will be held. However, after church I'd like to go spend the afternoon exercising poor Wolfgang. I've neglected him terribly this week. Would you like to join me?” She hadn't brought her mare along, but he was certain they could find a proper substitute.

She gave a decisive shake of her head. “No, thank you. I'll probably just catch up on my correspondence. I'm not used to so much activity in a given week.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, offering a little wave as she turned and headed to her chambers.

It was just as well. Besides the exercise, he wanted the ride to help clear his mind. He was well aware he hadn't been quite his normal self this week. Why? He leaned over and retrieved his brandy, downing the rest of it in one gulp. The image of coffee-colored brown eyes and a dimpled smile flashed through his mind as he rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled.

Why indeed.

*   *   *

Breezing into Sophie's drawing room with a triumphant smile the next day, Charity spread her arms. “I have good news.”

“Oh?” Sophie rubbed her hands together, expectant smile in place. “Do tell, my friend. I could use a very large dose of happy news right about now.” Even the weather was depressing this morning, with gray skies and drizzly rain. Charity was a dear for coming to call in the first place.

Charity dropped her arms and angled her head in concern. “I don't think I like the sound of that. Have you had a bad day?”

“If you consider being lectured by my mother about
how very dire my situation is, and her not so gentle urgings to be more dedicated to winning the affections of Lord Evansleigh as bad, then, yes, I have had a very bad day.” As if Sophie needed any reminder, for heaven's sake. It was her own future at stake. The supremely uncomfortable conversation had taken place at the breakfast table that morning, and had hung over her like a cloud since then.

Charity's eyes widened in disbelief. “
More
dedicated? From what I've heard, you couldn't be more dedicated if you tried.”

“
Exactly
. Unless she wishes for me to propose to
him,
I am quite at a loss as to how to proceed any more boldly than I currently am.” Other, more scandalous things came to mind, but Sophie could hardly imagine herself grabbing the earl's lapels and pulling him down for a scorching kiss. On second thought—she most definitely
could
imagine it, she just couldn't actually do such a thing. Still, the passionate thought sent a surge of warmth through her veins.

“Well, then, I am doubly glad to be the bearer of good news. Hugh is actually old friends with Lord Evansleigh—school friends, in fact. He says he is happy to help in any way he can, provided we can come up with a way for him to do so.”

“How very kind of him to be so willing.” Sophie had to admit she was surprised. The baron was not exactly a social person. For him to be willing to aid in Sophie's efforts meant a lot.

“Yes, I told you I could convince him,” Charity responded primly, her smile sly.

Sophie bit back a grin. Perhaps it had been more for Charity's sake than Sophie's, but regardless, it was still sweet. “Kudos to your powers of persuasion. Did he have any ideas about the gala?”

“He suggested we bring it up at Thomas's—Mr. Wright's—party. An easy, casual segue made in the company of friends.”

“Yes, it would be so much easier if someone like Hugh could bring it up. I am quite nervous of appearing pushy or overly eager.”

“Nothing to worry about with us around. What are friends for if not to make times like these bearable?” Coming around to the sofa, Charity settled into the corner and gestured for Sophie to join her. “Speaking of which, I want to know how you are doing.”

Sophie gave a short laugh. “I'm surviving, if only just.” She shook her head, her smile fading from her lips. “Do you know, I've been in love with him for over a year, yet I've seen him more in one week than I have in my entire two Seasons combined?” It was strange to think that so much emotion could be wrapped up in so little time with him.

Charity nodded, her eyes pensive. “Now that you've doubled your time with him, do you feel the same? Different? Better? Worse?”

“Yes.” When Charity smiled, Sophie sighed and continued. “I'm no longer a nervous wreck around him, which is good, because in the beginning I could hardly get a proper word out. But he's become real to me. Not just a handsome gentleman with kind eyes who asked the less than popular new debutante to dance.”

“So, different, then.”

“Different, yes. But my heart still pounds whenever he's near, and my stomach flutters like a stack of papers caught in a windstorm. The difference is, I can actually hold a conversation with him now.”

“And do you like what you hear during these conversations?”

“Not always.” Hearing his lack of interest in her, for one, was less than pleasing. “But I like talking with him, and I think he doesn't mind talking to me.”

For a moment, Charity didn't say anything. She sat there, twirling a lock of her copper hair around her index finger as she thought. “Let me ask you this. If your sister had never eloped, if everything were still as it was before I left, would you wish for ways to spend more time with him?”

“Want to? Yes. Be able to? I sincerely doubt it.”

“After how things happened for me, I'm beginning to think that everything happens for a reason. No, that's not right,” Charity said, releasing the curl and brushing it from her face. “It's more that good can come from any situation. After all, it was through Hugh's suffering that we found each other.

“And your sister did something with terrible consequences. But I have every faith that you can turn this into the push you need to try for what you really want.”

“Do you really think that I can do this? Entice the earl, I mean?”

Charity nodded with absolute confidence. “I'd wager you already have. You simply need to let him see that time is of the essence.”

Sophie's eyes bulged. “You want me to tell him about the elopement?”

“No. Well, yes, but not just yet. What I mean is, give him a reason to believe the window of opportunity to court you may very well be closing.”

It was a suggestion she would never have expected of Charity, the most prudent and thoughtful of the three of them. “You wish for me to lie and tell him I have another suitor?”

“No, silly. I want you to tell him
truthfully
that you
wish that you could have more time together, but that you'll be leaving soon and are unsure as to when you might see him again, since you won't be doing another London Season.”

A wisp of regret slid through Sophie's veins. “My, that is forward. But you're right, I think. I can't have him thinking we have all summer to enjoy each other's company. At least I
hope
he's enjoying my company—one never can tell for sure.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “Very well. When I see him at the party tomorrow, I shall do my best to tactfully convey just that.”

The goals for tomorrow's outing should be simple: Find Evan and somehow separate him from the others; be utterly delightful, charming, and engaging; and somehow casually drop into the conversation that if he hoped to have a catch like her, he'd best hop to it. What could be easier than that?

G
iven who was hosting the party, Evan was pleasantly surprised by the venue when he, Julia, and Harry arrived shortly after one the next day. Two tents dotted the grassy field, each with a handful of tables and chairs arranged in the shaded area. A buffet was set up under one, with cold meats and cheeses, grapes, strawberries, apricots, and bread artfully displayed on varying tiered platters. What looked to be lemonade awaited at the end, along with half a dozen fruit pies for dessert.

“My goodness—this is quite the spread,” Julia murmured. Her eyes darted around the roughly two dozen people talking, playing cards, inspecting the archery setup, or wandering down to the path lining the riverbank.

“Quite nice,” Harry said, giving an approving nod. “Wouldn't think a vicar would hold such an extravagant party.”

“You're forgetting he's the son of an earl,” Julia replied, flicking a disapproving look his way.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Actually, though this is charming and well laid out, I'd hardly call it extravagant. Only a handful of servants and simple fare, no expense of candles or decorations, and entertainment had with little
more than a few packets of cards, half a dozen hay bales with paper targets, and people's own conversational skills.”

It was clever, really. The location was so beautiful, surrounded by woods on three sides and the river on the other, that it was easy to imagine they were on the finest of estates.

“Oh, look—there's Sophie.” Julia waved, and Evan followed her line of sight to a small group clustered around the archery stand.

A yellow-gowned figure waved back, her arm moving in a wide arc above her head. Evan smiled. He liked that she favored the color yellow. It certainly made her easy to find, but it also fit her personality so very well. “And our host, too, I see,” he said, spotting the vicar's distinctive white-blond hair. “Might as well start there.”

They made their way down the hill and across the field. As they approached, Evan could make out the other people in her group. The tall, willowy blonde, Miss Bradford, stood beside Sophie, talking to Mr. Wright, while Cadgwith and Miss Effington had their heads together a few feet away.

Wright smiled when he saw them and lifted a hand in welcome. “Greetings! So glad you all could come.”

Julia returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “Thank you, Mr. Wright. It's
so
nice to see you again.”

Evan caught a slight narrowing of Harry's blue eyes. Perhaps those childhood feelings weren't as distant as Evan had imagined. Poor sap. Even if Julia were open to the prospect of suitors—which she absolutely was not—she certainly wouldn't give their young neighbor the time of day.

Stepping forward, Evan began the introductions. After everyone was properly acquainted, Wright clapped his hands together and addressed the group at large. “I
think some activities are in order. Who here shall participate in our archery contest? It is the only sport at which I have any talent, so I am hoping to have plenty of competitors to trounce.”

Harry was the first to speak up. “I am better with a fishing pole than an arrow, but I'm willing to give it a go. Especially if my lady would give me her favor.” He dipped into a theatrical bow toward Julia, who looked at him as if he were straight from Bedlam.

“You must be forgetting that I've seen you shoot. I'll be keeping my favor for myself, thank you very much.” She looked to Mr. Wright. “Are we to have a ladies' tournament as well?”

Miss Bradford stepped forward, her bright blue eyes sparkling beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Oh yes, please! I've not picked up a bow in years, but I used to be quite good.”

“I was the best of my sisters,” Sophie said, nodding proudly. “Which means I was the only one who ever managed to hit the target. Still, I think I'm willing to try again, provided no one is within a hundred paces of the target.”

Giving a little shrug, Miss Effington grinned. “I'm absolutely terrible at it, but it is great fun. I'm happy to participate.”

Mr. Wright put his hands on his hips and looked around at the group. “What say you, stragglers? Hugh, what about you? I vaguely recall shooting some arrows with you and your brother when he and my sister were first married.”

Cadgwith snorted, his scarred eyebrow lifting in disbelief. “Vaguely? I imagine you remember very well trouncing the two of us. You crowed for days about it.”

The vicar winked, his expression nothing short of
devilish. “Then now is the perfect time to redeem your reputation.”

“No, I—”

“Please, Hugh,” Miss Effington broke in. “It will be fun. Unless you think it's best not to,” she added quickly, slipping her fingers into his.

Cadgwith paused for a moment, appearing to give the request serious consideration before finally giving in. “If it pleases you, then by all means, count me in.”

Evan almost grinned—he knew the look of a hopelessly besotted man when he saw one.

Rubbing his hands together, Wright turned his attention to Evan. “And you, my lord? Shall we make it an even eight and have four teams of two? Much more fun than splitting the tournament between sexes, I should think.”

With seven pairs of eyes on him, Evan spread his hands. “I suppose I could join in.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Oh, don't let him fool you. He's won at least three of the five archery contests he participated in at the county fair.”

“That was years ago,” he protested, though without much of a leg to stand on.

“Still, it's not as though you've forgotten how to draw a bow. You and I shall be a formidable pair.”

“I think not,” said Harry, his hand settling at his hip. “We should be evenly distributed over talent in order to be fair.”

“I agree,” Miss Bradford added, looking between them. “A fairly matched spread will make the outcome less certain, therefore much more exciting.”

Wright nodded. “Excellent point. Very well, let me see. If Lady Julia is the best female archer, then I think it best you partner with Sir Harry.”

Julia's shoulders sagged, but she didn't balk. “Very well,” she grumbled. “Do try not to hurt yourself,” she tossed in Harry's direction.

Moving on, the vicar pointed to Miss Bradford. “I think you and Cadgwith should do well together, and Miss Effington, I'm honored to offer myself as partner. That leaves Miss Wembley with Evansleigh.”

Sophie turned to Evan and offered an apologetic smile, her normally dark eyes looking bronze in the bright sunshine. “Apologies, my lord. I shall strive to actually hit the target.”

He shrugged, not at all sorry for the pairing. “I have faith in you, Miss Wembley. So long as you don't hit me, I think we shall do just fine.”

“I shall do my best, but no promises. All I can say is that you would do well to stay behind me.” Her self-deprecating grin was endearing enough to make him chuckle.

After a flurry of working out equipment, each team chose a target, and they started with a few practice shots. Evan and Sophie had ended up on the second-to-last target, which situated them nicely beneath the shade of a wide oak. Sophie removed her bonnet and set about donning the protective brace and glove while Evan tested out the borrowed bow. It was completely different from the one he was used to, but after a few shots, he was able to compensate for the difference. He'd always liked the feel of a well-made bow in his hands. The balance, the curve, the tension—it was the perfect mix of beauty and function.

“Julia was not exaggerating,” Sophie said, admiration coloring her words. “You're quite good. And to think I had no idea you were an archer. Although I guess I wouldn't, seeing as how we've only met in ballrooms
before this week, and you'd hardly wear your quiver to a dance.”

Her compliment had him standing a little straighter. “Thank you. My uncle taught me when I was young, and I've always enjoyed the sport.” He drew another arrow, paused to evaluate the wind, and aimed to the left of the bull's-eye. When he released, the arrow struck the white space an inch to the right of where he'd intended. Not bad.

Turning back to Sophie, he said, “My mother has never liked visitors at Leighton Hall, so archery was a sport in which I could engage on my own, if I chose. Julia tagged along quite a bit when I was younger. She's practiced more and more in recent years, whereas I have practiced less.”

She tugged at her leather vambrace, pulling it higher on her wrist. “My father attempted to teach his daughters the sport, but quickly gave up. I wasn't being facetious when I said I was the only one to hit the target. And I'm being
very
loose with the interpretation of the word
target
; it was twice as big as the ones here.”

She fiddled with the lacings on the brace, but couldn't seem to get it properly tightened. “Allow me,” he said, holding his hand out.

She smiled and offered up her arm. He adjusted the brace's position before tightening the laces. The dark leather was supple, but not nearly so much as her pale skin. Not wanting to leave any marks, he checked to make sure the strings weren't too tight before tying them into place. When he was done, he released her arm with surprising reluctance.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she pulled her hand back.

“Of course,” he replied, dipping his head in a shallow
nod. It seemed so easy to be with her. He'd always been overly careful not to spend too much time with any one female, but somehow their rapport seemed to come naturally. He simply didn't feel as though he needed to be on his guard with her. Clearing his throat, he tipped his chin toward the bow. “Let's see if your skills improved, shall we?”

“Don't get your hopes up,” she warned, but pulled an arrow from her quiver anyway. After carefully positioning it, she drew the bowstring taut and closed one eye in order to sight down the shaft. Right away, he could see that her form was terrible: the bow underdrawn, her fingers too high, her aim too low. He held his tongue, though, waiting to see how she would do. When she released, the arrow flew wildly through the air, flirting to the left and landing short by at least ten paces.

She cringed and looked back at him, the very picture of sheepishness. “I think it is safe to say my skills, such as they were, have actually managed to worsen.”

“Right,” he said, stifling a laugh. “I think perhaps a lesson in form would help.”

“I think perhaps we are too late for that,” she said, pointing to the vicar.

Wright lifted a mallet and rapped it against a small gong. When he had everyone's attention, he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to have a small, friendly archery competition. The rules are, each member of the team will shoot four arrows. Whichever team has the highest points by the end will win bragging rights for life, or until such time that we compete again.”

With that, the competition began. As host, the vicar took the first shot, hitting a respectably short distance from the bull's-eye. Miss Effington followed, winging the petticoat of the target, but still close enough to count. A
little cheer went up from the spectators, and she bowed prettily.

Harry and Julia were next, and between them they managed to earn five points. “Not bad,” Sophie whispered beside Evan. “I think Sir Harry isn't near as bad as Julia made him out to be.”

“Not surprising,” he responded, shaking his head. “Julia has always been harsh to poor Harry. He was a bit of a besotted fool in our childhood, and she's never let him forget it.”

“Really?” Sophie raised her brows, watching the pair with increased interest. “But he seems so young.”

“He's only two years her junior. Still, she'd best learn to be nice. He's a gentleman now, and she needs to treat him that way.”

“In her defense, sometimes it's hard to change one's opinions after they've been formed.” She glanced over to Evan, her smile wry. “It's a wonder you're even talking to me, after the way things started with us.”

His lips curled in a slight smile as he shook his head. “I can't imagine anyone ever being cross with you for any amount of time—myself included.”

She tilted her head, surprised by his comment. “Why is that?”

“You, Miss Wembley, are the very picture of irrepressibility.”

“Am I to assume that is a good thing?”

“Absolutely. It's a very admirable trait.” The girl reminded him of a glass of champagne. Effervescent, light, and sweet.

Her dimples belied the smile she tried to hold in check. “In that case, thank you. Oh,” she said, standing at attention. “It's our turn.”

His first shot was the best of the round, nicking the
bull's-eye and earning them nine points. He nodded in acknowledgment of the applause, then turned to Sophie. “Are you ready?”

“That depends,” she answered, lifting her bow in place. “Are you safely behind me?”

He chuckled. “Well out of harm's way.”

This time her arrow managed to flirt in the other direction, nearly hitting the target Julia and Harry were using. Sophie's nose wrinkled in dismay as she dropped her bow to her side. “Well, that was embarrassing. At least I can make the others feel better about their own shots.”

Julia laughed merrily, the sound clear despite the fifteen paces between them. “A little more to the left next time, if you please. We're happy to take any points you'd like to give us.”

Sophie's hand went to her waist, even as she laughed in response. “Go ahead, mock away. Even with my terrible shot, Evan's still better than the both of you.”

Evan?
He looked at her in surprise. Granted, he'd been thinking of her as Sophie for days, but he hadn't called her that.

“What?” she said, noticing his expression.

“Nothing. I was just thinking we need to go over that form of yours if we are to have any hope of earning bragging rights.”