The Earl Takes All (24 page)

She did feel like his wife, in manner, deed, and commitment. “You make me blush.”

“I intend to make every inch of you blush later.”

“Your mind always travels to the bedchamber.”

“Who said anything about a bedchamber? I was thinking on the desk in the library.”

“Grey!” She didn't know if she'd ever become accustomed to calling him that.

“Or perhaps in the garden among the roses.” He was smiling wickedly. She could clearly see herself stretched out on the verdant grass, him raised above her, the stars a backdrop behind him while she—­

“Lord and Lady Greyling.”

At the sound of the deep voice, she very nearly squeaked like a frightened mouse and jerked on the reins. She managed to bring the mare up short without causing her to shy away from the couple, on matching black horses, who had drawn even with them. The Duke and Duchess of Avendale. He, dark and foreboding; she, fair, but with a shrewdness in her eyes that indicated not much escaped her notice. The one thing that Julia took comfort in was the knowledge that Rosalind Buckland, a commoner by birth, had only recently entered the ranks of the nobility and didn't know her or the Earl of Greyling well enough to discern if anything about them was different. They were the perfect couple for easing her back into social situations.

“Your Graces,” Edward said.

“Our condolences on your loss,” the duke said, and Julia wondered how far into the Season they would have to go before people stopped offering condolences. Not that she didn't appreciate them, but they made her feel uncomfortable, as they believed Edward was dead. Their sympathies were more for the earl on the death of his brother because they didn't realize she had lost a husband.

“We appreciate your sentiments,” Edward said.

“We also hear that congratulations are in order,” the duchess said, smiling kindly at Julia.

“Yes, the countess gave birth to a beautiful daughter just before Christmas,” Edward offered, and she was conscious of the fact that in this instance he was careful not to refer to her as his wife. At the time, another had been her husband. “She greatly resembles her mother.”

“I can see shades of her father in her,” Julia assured them. “Especially as she is beginning to move about more. I believe she's going to be quite the adventuress.”

“Traveling the world?” the duke asked.

“I hope so. I hope she's fearless.”

“There's no reason she won't be,” Edward said, and she knew what she'd known all along: With his guiding hand, her daughter would be fiercely independent, able to hold her own in any situation.
Her daughter?
Theirs. Hers, Albert's and Edward's.

The duke and duchess lingered a few more minutes, talking about the weather and the gardens and topics that suddenly seemed incredibly trivial, subjects that Julia had once taken delight in expounding on. But now she couldn't seem to work up the enthusiasm.

As the other couple trotted away, Edward guided her in the opposite direction.

“Do the condolences bother you?” she asked. “They don't know who they mourn.”

“They're not really mourning. They're simply being polite.”

But they would be mourning if they knew they'd lost one from among their ranks. Someone from among the royal family would have no doubt attended the funeral. She didn't want to travel this path, didn't want to consider the unfairness of it. People were offering words without realizing the truth of it all.

“Julia, it's all right,” he said, and only then did she realize how deeply her brow had furrowed, how tightly her hands clutched the reins.

“In the country, we'd moved beyond mourning. I don't know why I didn't realize that here people would remind us of it. I'm trying not to be troubled by it.”

“In a couple of weeks it'll all pass.”

And that would be when they could truly settle into the lie that they were husband and wife.

Chapter 23

T
onight
would be the real test. Ladies were much more discerning than gentlemen, and while Edward had managed to run the gauntlet of the House of Lords without mucking things up, and Julia had handled morning calls with aplomb, he knew the Ashebury ball would prove a challenge, as they would be appearing as a couple at the well-­attended function. Especially troubling was the notion that Albert may have had discussions with people, and those people might expect him to know what they were talking about when he wouldn't have a bloody clue.

Watching Julia put on her ear bobs, he'd much rather stay here and take them off, along with her gown. “We don't have to go.”

She caught his gaze in the reflection. “It's the Duke and Duchess of Ashebury's first ball since they married. People will find it odd if the Earl of Greyling doesn't make an appearance.”

He moved up behind her, pressed a kiss to the nape of slender neck. “Then we shan't stay long. How does that suit?”

“We might have a marvelous time. I want at least two dances with you.”

“Only waltzes.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Tonight she was radiant in a gown that shimmered between black and blue, depending on the light. It gave her a sleek look, certainly not the body of a woman who a little over half a year ago had given birth. He knew some women who seemed to grow wider with each child, but Julia looked as though she'd only recently had her coming out. Slender and svelte.

“Keep looking at me with so much heat in your eyes, and we might not even make it through two dances,” she teased.

“I'm familiar enough with Ashe's residence to know where every dark corner lurks. Don't be surprised if I decide we should make use of one or two before the night is done.”

Rising, she gave him a seductive smile. “I think we should try for three or four at least.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Is it any wonder I love you?”

He leaned in, only to find her gloved finger proving a barrier to his destination. “I know what you're thinking and I know where it will lead—­to my having to redress and have my hair put back up. We'll be late. The Earl of Greyling is never late.”

The Earl of Greyling needed to consider changing some of his habits. Perhaps he could chalk it up to being a new father.

“So be it.” He offered his arm. “But you'll make it up to me later by screaming my name until it's echoing off these walls.”

She looked at him through half-­lowered lids. “I was thinking tonight that you would be screaming mine.”

“Bloody hell.” Grabbing her hand, he began dragging her toward the door. “Let's get this over with. I want to be back in this room within the hour.”

Her laughter followed them out.

J
ulia
had known that once they arrived there would be no hasty leaving. This was one of the first balls of the Season. Much gossip was to be caught up on, news to be shared, debutantes to speculate over, matches to predict.

She managed to enjoy one dance with Edward before she was snagged by a trio of ladies whose first Season had been rather unremarkable and who were hoping for better with their second.

“I was so sorry to hear of Mr. Edward Alcott's passing,” Lady Honoria said. “I wanted to attend the funeral but Mama said it wouldn't be appropriate.”

“I shall miss dancing with him,” Lady Angela offered.

“I shall miss his stories,” Lady Sarah murmured on a sigh, as though he'd recounted them just for her. “And his dashing good looks.”

“How can you miss his dashing good looks when you have only to look at his brother to see him again?” Lady Honoria asked.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“I nearly fainted dead away tonight when I first saw Lord Greyling,” Lady Angela admitted on a laugh that grated on Julia's nerves. “Until I remembered they were twins. I thought he was a ghost for a moment there.”

“It must be so odd to have someone look exactly like you.” Lady Sarah gave Julia a pointed look. “Did you ever confuse them?”

“No,” she lied. “The more one was around them, the easier it was to tell them apart.”

“He was such a scalawag,” Lady Honoria said. She glanced around as though she expected that scalawag to jump out of the crowd at any moment. Then she leaned in and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “He gave me my first kiss.”

“No!” Lady Angela exclaimed.

“Yes. In a dark corner of a terrace at a ball.”

Julia did not want to hear this, did not want to hear the details of Edward's exploits, although to be fair neither had she wanted to hear those of Albert. It wasn't a bad thing for a man and wife to keep some mystery about them.

“I wish he'd kissed me,” Lady Sarah whined in a high-­pitched voice that was rather like silver scraping over silver. It sent an awful skitter up Julia's spine.

“He might have this Season,” Lady Honoria said. “He would only take you out if he knew you weren't trying to trap him into marriage.”

“I would have tried to trap him,” Lady Regina confessed.

“Not I,” Lady Honoria told her. “He was jolly good fun and I enjoyed his company, but he wasn't titled and I don't think he was the sort to take his vows seriously.”

“He takes his vows very seriously,” Julia blurted before she could consider the ramification of her words. “I mean, he would have had he had the opportunity to marry.”

“I'm not sure,” Lady Honoria insisted.

“I'm absolutely positive,” Julia said, unable to bear the thought of these silly girls thinking the worst of Edward, of not truly comprehending the decent, good person that he was. “He was an honorable man. And as I am—­was—­his sister-­by-­marriage, I had the opportunity to know him far better and observe him in many more situations than you did.”

“There was certainly nothing honorable in his kiss. It was frightfully wicked. He promised me another one this Season and now I shan't have it.” While the other two girls giggled, Lady Honoria produced an exaggerated pout.

Julia had an insane urge to pull that jutting lower lip down to the girl's knees. “Yes, well, we certainly want to concentrate on how inconvenient his death was for you.”

“I meant no offense.”

Yet she'd taken offense. They were disparaging him, mocking him, and she hated it, hated that they didn't know him as she did. They saw him as offering little more than kisses in the garden. “My apologies. We're still mourning his passing.” Not that she thought she had anything for which to apologize. She simply wanted these girls gone from her presence before she said something rash, before she did something to threaten the new life she was striving to build.

“We just wanted to express our sorrow over your loss,” Lady Sarah said, before ushering the others away as though she were a mother hen and they were her chicks.

Thank God. She needed another dance with Edward to help settle her nerves. Or a glass of brandy. She wondered where she might find that. She'd been to the refreshment room earlier and there was only lemonade and sparkling wine to be found there. Still, wine was better than nothing.

“Julia.”

Turning, she smiled at the friendly and familiar face. “Ashebury.”

“Surely after all these years you can call me Ashe.”

“I'll try.”

He glanced around as though seeking a secluded spot. “Let's dance, shall we?”

“You're in luck, as my dance card isn't filled tonight.” It had been before she married. Every ball had been a whirlwind of dances. Tonight she hadn't even bothered to bring an extra pair of slippers.

She'd waltzed with Ashe a dozen times, had always been comfortable with his presence, but for some reason tonight words escaped her. He knew the truth, and she didn't know quite how to respond to that. “It's a lovely ball. So well-­attended. It speaks to how much you and your wife are loved.”

“I suspect it speaks more to curiosity. Minerva and I seem an odd match.”

“I never thought so.”

“Speaking of odd matches—­”

“Don't,” she commanded in a low sharp tone.

“I just never saw the two of you together.”

“He's changed.” Only he hadn't really, had he? She simply saw him differently, saw him as he truly was. She shook her head. “It's not that. I never really knew him before. Don't think he really knew me. We're quite compatible. More than compatible. I love him.”

Drawing her closer, leaning in, he swept her in a circle as he whispered, “He is not Albert.”

“I am very much aware of that. He resembles him not at all. I wouldn't be with him if he did. He is not a substitute for . . . what we have is very different. But it's what I want. What I need.”

“I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want him to get hurt.”

“Life offers us no guarantees against being hurt. He would not hurt me, not on purpose.”

He grinned wryly. “That I know to be fact. Even at his worse, when he is three sheets to the wind, there is good in him.”

“People don't seem to truly know him. I think it's because he never wanted to outshine his brother. He accepted his place as the second, the spare. In his journal, my husband wrote that fate had made a mistake in allowing him to be born first. It's funny how we sometimes allow Society and our place in it to determine our behavior, even if it goes against the grain. You're his friend; you grew up with him. You must know how incredibly worthy he is.”

“His worthiness has nothing to do with my misgivings. I would defend him to the death, and I will stand by him on this. And by you. If you ever need me for anything, do not hesitate to call on me.”

“Although I am sorry that you lost your parents when you were a child, I am grateful for your place in Albert and Edward's life.”

“And now in yours.”

“And now in mine.”

The music drifted into silence. He kissed the back of her hand. “Fortunate men, my friends.”

Laughing, she arched a brow. “To have your friendship?”

“To have your love.”

I
t
was an odd thing to find himself at a ball, not flirting with young single ladies, not making matronly ones blush, not arranging trysts in the garden—­although he had thought numerous times about slipping Julia out for a rendezvous among the roses.

He'd danced with her because it was his favorite thing to do at a ball, danced with Minerva out of politeness—­and curiosity. She seemed to have no suspicions regarding his true identity. He'd listened to a couple of lords debating some political question; he'd spoken to one lord about the changes in agriculture. He'd introduced a young swell to an even younger lady, which left him feeling as though he were matchmaking. Strangely, he enjoyed it all. He didn't miss the marriageable women batting their eyelashes and fans at him. He didn't miss the flirtation or sneaking out for a forbidden encounter behind an ivy-­covered trellis.

He was content in his new role of earl and husband.

But that didn't mean he was completely satisfied with the activities in the ballroom. He was in need of a drink and a hand at cards. Just one.

A
fter
Ashe left her, Julia skirted the edge of the ballroom, greeted one person, then another, avoided lingering. She couldn't quite settle in. Recalling her earlier thought regarding refreshments and the benefits of champagne, she decided a trip to the refreshment room was in order. She was halfway there when the Duke of Lovingdon approached her. “Your Grace.”

“Lady Greyling, I understand congratulations are in order. I spoke with your husband earlier. One would think he thought he was the only man to ever have a daughter.”

She smiled. Edward couldn't love Allie more if he had fathered her. His feelings toward her were honest and true. “He is rather fond of Lady Alberta.”

“Can't say I blame him. Daughters tend to wrap themselves around our hearts so easily. I mentioned to Greyling a bill I'm working on that is designed to better protect infants. He made some rather good observations, and I have the impression he's willing to work on it with me. Perhaps sometime soon we could get together for dinner. I won't talk politics during the meal, but I'm not adverse to getting a man's opinion over port.”

Edward told her things had gone well in Parliament but he hadn't shared any specifics. For him to be working on a bill with one of the most powerful men in Great Britain was certainly worth mentioning, would elevate his status and good opinion among his peers. Not that the Earl of Greyling required any elevating, but after listening to those silly girls earlier, she wanted Edward to stand out on his own, to stand apart from the title, even though no one would realize he was Edward. She felt as though she were spinning in circles, that she couldn't quite grasp what was and what should be.

What she did become incredibly aware of, however, was that the duke was waiting for an acknowledgment to his earlier comment. One did not require dukes to wait while she sorted out her thoughts. “We would be most delighted to dine with you and your wife.”

“You'll no doubt receive an invitation in the next few days. Protecting children is a passion of ours. I'm looking forward to working with Greyling. Through our combined efforts, I've no doubt we can make an incredible difference. Please forgive my rudeness in not immediately offering my condolences on the death of Mr. Alcott. The loss of one so young is always a tragedy.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate your kindness.”

“Now if you'll excuse me, I must find my wife. I believe her next dance belongs to me.”

As he walked away, she couldn't help but think that it would be Edward helping him to make an incredible difference, but he would receive no credit for it because people thought he was in a grave. He'd settled for a life of never being recognized, in order to have her as his wife. As much as she wished it so, as easy as it had been to live this life while they were in residence in the country, here she was finding it extremely difficult to hold onto the illusion that she was his wife. Here there were constant reminders that she alone might be the only person who knew the true worth of the present Earl of Greyling. One of the few who knew that the seventh earl had died and the eighth actually now held the title.