What an Earl Wants (33 page)

“But even Palmer said—”

“He’ll come around when he sees how happy we are together.” Still holding her hands, he got down on one knee.

Tears blurred Quincy’s vision. She barely heard him over the thunderous pounding in her ears.

“I have been utterly heartbroken since the moment you left. I think your duty now should be to alleviate my misery. I’ll buy you all the cottages you want, if only you’ll live in one of them with me.”

Though her thoughts were in tumult, she knew she could not give in. “But this one…” She gestured at the cottage behind her.

“Would make a lovely wedding gift for your sister. I think she and Leland would be quite happy here.”

Mel and Leland? She nodded. A good match.

His voice broke when he spoke again, and she now realized the twinkle in his eye was an unshed tear. “I can face anything if the woman I love is at my side. You make me whole, Quincy. I need you, because I love you. Will you marry me?”

His upturned face was almost her undoing. Logic and duty be damned, she wanted to say yes, she wanted Sinclair. Wanted him as she had never wanted anyone or anything before. Wanted him with every fiber in her being.

But even more than all that, she wanted him to be happy. And he never could be, not in the long-term, not with a scandalous wife.

Her throat choked with unshed tears, Quincy pulled him to his feet. He did not let go, even as he towered over her, twining their fingers, caressing her cheek with one hand.

“Jo?”

She closed her eyes, leaning into his caress, for one brief moment. “Nothing has changed,” she whispered. It took several attempts at swallowing the lump clogging her throat before she could speak again. She cursed the hitch in her voice. “You feel this way now, but once my secret is revealed, once you and your mother are the object of scandal again…I can’t put you through that. Either of you. I won’t.”

His shoulders slumped. One hand dropped to his side, though he still held her fingers. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he gripped her shoulders with both hands.

“All right. We’ll forget this conversation happened. But you still need to come back to London. I, er, wasn’t entirely truthful, earlier.” His gaze dropped to their boots as they stood toe to toe, close but not quite touching.

Her heart pounded anew. “What…Who—”

“My mother.” He chin almost on his chest, he looked at her through his sinfully long lashes.

“Is she—”

“She was making such great progress, with a suitor, with hiring and training orphans, but I fear…” His gaze slid away again.

“What? What has happened, Benjamin?” The intimate appellation slipped out. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I fear she has taken on more than she can handle in her fragile state.”

Of their own volition, her hands wrapped around his arms, stroking the firm muscles beneath his dusty coat.

“She has expanded her efforts,
your
efforts, of rescuing the orphans and vagrant soldiers, by founding a charity. She is planning a ball to kick it off. She is very determined, but I fear it is too much for her. If the event is not successful, if the charity is not well-received, it may set her back. I don’t want her to regress, to become a recluse again.”

“I understand your concern, but I don’t see how I—”

“You could help Mama, make certain of the ball’s success.”

“But I’ve never planned so much as a card party, let alone a ball. She needs—”

“She needs
you
. She
likes
you. She’d accept your help where she would refuse it from anyone else. And you are the most managing female I know. You could have planned Wellington’s assault at Vittoria. A ball will be a snap for you.”

Quincy’s cheeks heated at his praise.

“Are you going to make me beg you to help my mother?”

It meant returning to London in Sinclair’s company, spending time in his home again. Being near him, yet not being able to have him. Exquisite torture. Agonizing joy. She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet, landing against Sinclair’s chest. His arm went around her, a haven of security. “I could,” she said into his cravat.

“Could help Mama?”

“Could make you beg.”

He tipped her chin up with one finger. “Please?”

She fell into his warm brown eyes, twin pools of melted chocolate. Lost. How could she deny this wonderful man such a simple request? “Yes.”

Sinclair let out a whoop, and before she had dealt with the shock of that, he wrapped both arms around her and swung her off her feet, spinning in a circle, her skirt fluttering in the breeze.

He set her down and kissed her on the forehead. Instead of releasing her, he kept his arm around her shoulder as she faced the workmen who had stayed close by, unabashedly eavesdropping.

Quincy cleared her throat and clapped her hands. “All right, back to work! We’re running out of daylight!” In a softer tone, she called Davey to her side. “I have to return to London for some unfinished business. I’m relying on you to see that everything is finished as planned, and on budget.”

“Yes ma’am, Miss Quincy, you can rely on me.” He tugged his forelock, started to leave, but turned back. “She’s an odd duck, but a right ’un,” he confided to Sinclair before walking away.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Sinclair said.

Quincy frowned, trying to decide whether she should take umbrage or not. She’d just realized his calling her a “managing female” was a compliment, and now she was an “odd duck.”

“It’s too late to head back to town tonight,” Sinclair said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “How about giving me the grand tour?”

She proceeded to show off her property, enjoying the weight of his arm across her shoulder. His walking stick was nowhere in sight, but he didn’t need it with her at his side. She wrapped her arm around his waist, happy to assist him over the uneven ground. The added closeness of walking as though joined at the hip, pressed to each other’s sides from ribcage to thigh, was purely coincidental. Pure bliss.

Back in London, Sinclair accompanied Quincy to the door of her family’s quarters within Leland’s house, and left her only after obtaining her promise she’d call on his mother in the morning.

Then he went in search of his mother, to convince her to move back home so she’d actually be there when Quincy came to call.

He found Lady Fitzwater and his mother having tea in the front parlor. “Mama, would you care to stroll in the garden with me?” he said as soon as the niceties had been observed.

She raised her brows, but agreed, and soon they were outside in the relative privacy of the garden. He tried to hide how heavily he was leaning on his walking stick but she noticed anyway, and sat on the bench nearest the door.

She patted the seat beside her. “Out with it, Benjamin. What have you done now?”

Sinclair flipped his coattails aside and sat. Live toad, first thing in the morning. He cleared his throat, clasped his mother’s hand, and looked her in the eyes. “Have you considered founding a charity for orphans? You could hold a ball for it.”

Quincy’s knock on Sinclair’s door the next morning was answered by Thompson. “Is Harper ill?” She handed her bonnet and shawl to the footman.

“No, Miss Quincy, he’s um, on holiday. Yes, on holiday.”

The butler must not have gone on holiday in some time. She followed Thompson upstairs to Lady Sinclair’s salon. He announced her at the doorway, then left with a deep bow.

Lady Sinclair greeted her with a hug. “I’m so glad you agreed to come back and help me with my little project,” she gushed, leading Quincy to her escritoire. Lady Sinclair pulled papers out of the top drawer. “Here’s what I have planned so far. I’m afraid the house is still at sixes and sevens, so we’ll need to hire outside staff for much of the work. What do you think?”

Quincy studied the notes. Heavens, so little had been worked out, one might think they had started planning the ball only yesterday. Good thing Sinclair had enlisted her support. “I think it will be a smashing success.”

Lady Sinclair beamed at her, then drew more paper from the desk drawers, along with pens and ink, and they started making lists of things to do, people to see. Caterers, musicians, florists, additional staff, and the all-important guest list of those likely to support the charity.

They worked through the day, stopping for meals, and started again the next morning. Lady Sinclair was pleasant to work with, an amiable companion, but Quincy longed for somewhere, and
someone
, else. She had felt far more at home in Sinclair’s library, with its mismatched oversized furniture, than with the delicate pieces in his mother’s salon. And as for working with Sinclair…

But at no time did she hear his voice, hear his distinctive tread in the hall outside. She had no valid excuse to go down to the library and see him. With a sigh, she returned to penning the invitations.

“We shall deliver these in person,” Lady Sinclair announced after lunch.

“We?”

“Of course. But first we’ll see what progress Jill has made on your wardrobe, then we’ll go out to Bond Street and get any necessities you are still lacking. Tomorrow we can begin our morning calls and deliver the invitations. We’ll have ever so much fun!”

“We,” it turned out, meant Lady Sinclair, Lady Fitzwater, Grandmère, and Mel. Quincy felt like driftwood caught up in the tidal wave of the Trio and her sister. They draped and pinned her for more dresses, dragged her from shop to shop, and Mel continued her barrage of questions about their cottage and its renovations.

Quincy allowed them to help her choose feminine accessories while shopping, but steered them toward the more practical, economical choices. She never lost sight of the fact that she would soon be moving to the cottage. Sturdy was more important than pretty.

At what must have been the tenth shop they visited that afternoon, Lady Sinclair perched another bonnet on Quincy’s head while the Trio debated its merits. It was the same bonnet she had seen in the window, next to the tobacco shop, the day she’d had lunch with Sinclair and his friends at their club.

Not too fussy, not too plain, Quincy loved it. Then she saw the price on the dangling tag. She removed the bonnet and set it back on the shelf. “We’ve already bought so many things. I really don’t need this.”

As Lady Fitzwater and Grandmère began to protest, Lady Sinclair gave her a nudge. “My treat, dear. Tell me again how much money you made for us with Benjamin’s mining shares?”

Quincy grabbed the bonnet. “You’re right. You can afford it.”

“Did I miss something, Margaret?” Lady Fitzwater said, interrupting their shared laugh.

“Never mind, Fitzy,” Lady Sinclair said. She gestured for her footman waiting outside to come collect their purchases, and they were off to the glovers next door.

After the fittings and shopping excursion came the dreaded morning calls. Now that Grandmère’s ankle had healed to the point she was able to get about with a cane, she and Fitzy had joined Lady Sinclair’s cause, and all insisted Quincy and Mel be included in the social rounds. Quincy wasn’t sure if the added numbers would provide a distraction from any social gaffe she might make, or increase the pressure on her, thereby increasing the chances of making a gaffe in the first place.

“I’ve been meaning to compliment you on your manners, Miss Quincy,” Lady Fitzwater began as the Sinclair coach pulled away from Lady Bigglesworth’s town house.

Wedged between her sister and grandmother, Quincy fidgeted with her gloves. “Oh?”

“You’ve done quite well. You haven’t tried to cross your legs even once in the last two days, and your stride is most ladylike.”

“Most of the time,” Melinda added.

“I believe,” Lady Sinclair interrupted before the sisters could argue, “that her manners are always appropriate to her situation. Whatever her situation may be.”

“Hear, hear,” Grandmère added.

“Thank you, my lady.”

The coach pulled up at another grand house. Quincy descended the coach steps with caution, sure she would slip up now that Lady Fitzwater had complimented her. The five ladies were shown into the drawing room and announced. Nearly a dozen other people were already gathered, and Lady Sinclair made the necessary introductions.

Quincy remembered to curtsy and murmur something appropriate, and their hostess, Lady Danforth, poured tea and passed a plate of cakes. Quincy had never met most of the people before, but she knew of them, thanks to studying
Debrett’s
prior to choosing Sinclair. The tedious conversation was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Lord Danforth, who took a seat beside his wife.

The strain of remembering everything she should or should not say or do threatened to segue into boredom. Where was the forward Miss Ogilvie and her hussy of a companion when one needed a diversion?

The butler announced the next group of callers, which included the Duchess of Warwick.

Melinda choked on her tea. Quincy glanced at Grandmère, who shrugged.

Serena sailed into the room with two other ladies and a cloud of perfume. More introductions, tea and cakes, and polite nothings murmured all around.

“I am surprised to see you in Town, Miss Quincy,” Serena said. “I did not think you had the blunt for a Season.”

Two could play this game. “I’m surprised to see you in Town also, your grace. I heard you were on a repairing lease in Northumberland.”

Serena flushed. Quincy bit back a grin. Score one.

“I went home briefly on account of…an old friend, but everything is fine now. I fully intend to enjoy the rest of the Season while my husband takes the waters in Bath.” Serena leaned forward, her expression concerned. “Are you certain you wish to stay for the Season? It can be dangerous as well as expensive—many girls accidentally ruin themselves.”

Melinda gasped at the veiled threat.

Quincy refused to react with anything but icy disdain. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.” She stood up, more than ready to leave. Melinda and Lady Fitzwater stood also, as did Serena, while Lady Sinclair helped Grandmère up. In the shuffle as Serena stepped away, the tip of Grandmère’s cane scooted out and Serena tripped. She fell, landing in Lord Danforth’s lap.