An Earl to Enchant (4 page)

“Both require long stories that I’m not prepared to go into tonight. So tell me exactly what were you going to ask my grandmother to do for you?”

A wave of dizziness struck Arianna again, but she fought it and said, “My father had always told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was to contact Lady Elder. He said because of our distant relationship to Lady Elder, that she would be willing to help me find an appropriate place to live in London and suitable companion who could help me reestablish a life in London. I don’t need monetary assistance. I’m far from destitute, and I don’t want you to think that. My father had his associate in London, Mr. Warburton whom I mentioned earlier, set up an account for me years ago. I have more than an adequate income from my father to sustain me.”

“I can look at you and your clothing and tell that, Miss Sweet.”

Arianna watched his gaze feather down her face, neck, and to her breasts, and then glide over to her hands and back up to her eyes. She knew without him saying a word that, even though she was disheveled from more than two months of traveling, she had found favor with him, and that same curling feeling of something wonderful that she had experienced earlier started flowing in the pit of her stomach again.

The only thing she could figure was that she was much too tired and weary to fight the fanciful notions that kept occurring. She cleared her throat and tried to focus on the discussion at hand.

“Even before he died, it was his desire for me to return to England, but I resisted.”

“That does not surprise me, but please go on.”

“He thought a gentle, older woman would help reintroduce me to Society and help fill me in on what I’ve missed these years I’ve been away. Of course, he also hoped that would lead to introductions of eligible gentlemen that I might allow to court me.”

“I see.”

Arianna cleared her throat once again. “I am well-schooled in world history, mathematics, and, of course, I’m quite proficient in the sciences. I believe I would be an excellent asset for someone who enjoys a lively discussion.”

“I can attest to that,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I did not intend to burden you with my life’s story. I should have left immediately when I heard the news about Lady Elder. I’ll get my cape and be gone.” She started to rise, but the scowl that formed between his eyes made her quickly sit back down.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Sweet. I will not allow you or your driver to go back out in this foul weather tonight.”

“But—”

“But this time for you, there is no but. You are staying here. My grandmother would roll over in her grave if I allowed you to leave at this hour of the night, and believe me, she has done enough of that already because of my cousins’ recent antics. Now tell me, when is the last time you had food?”

“This morning—” were the only words she managed to say as they both turned toward the drawing room door. Loud, hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then down the corridor. An older man and woman hurried in, both holding a lamp and both impeccably dressed in clothing befitting servants of the manor.

“My lord,” the man said, “We heard voices and came at once. I see the guest you were expecting has arrived.”

“Should I light a fire in her room, my lord?” the woman said eagerly. “It’s such a nasty night, or perhaps she’d like a cup of tea?”

Lord Morgandale slowly rose and said, “No, she is not the lady I was expecting but someone else. This is Miss Sweet. Miss Sweet, my butler, Post, and his wife, Mrs. Post.”

Arianna started to rise, but saw Lord Morgandale lift his masculine brow, and she quickly sat back down and said, “How do you do?”

Post was a small, thin man with big brown eyes and a sharp nose. His wife was a buxom woman a head taller than her husband. Her dark hair was pulled severely away from her face and knotted at her nape. Arianna assumed they had heard her when she was trying to get the earl to put her down and had taken the time to make themselves presentable before coming downstairs.

“Now that you are here, Mrs. Post, would you go to the kitchen and get Miss Sweet something to eat?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“But I’m not hungry,” Arianna offered quickly. “There is no reason for her to go to any trouble for me.”

The earl looked at her and said, “You also told me you didn’t faint. I learn fast, Miss Sweet.”

“A proper gentleman would not remind a lady that she had misspoken, especially when she had already corrected that mistake.”

“And I have no fear that you will correct this one once you eat.” He turned back to Mrs. Post. “Make it a simple plate of bread and butter, and preserves and milk. See that she eats it all, and help her get settled in a room. The one you had prepared for my other guest will do fine. See to her servants, as well.”

“Right away, my lord,” she said and hurried away.

“Post, go out to the carriage and bring in Miss Sweet’s maid and their trunks. Tell the driver where the carriage house is and to make himself comfortable there.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said and turned away.

Lord Morgandale walked over to a table that sat between two beautifully upholstered wingback chairs. She watched him pour amber liquid in a glass and bring it back over to her.

Arianna hesitated.

“You are very intriguing, Miss Sweet. At times, you seem very skittish, almost suspicious for someone who came to a stranger’s house in the middle of the night.”

She hoped her gaze remained steady, but her heart flipped at his words. She had good reason to be wary, but she didn’t want him to know that.

“When I arrived, I wasn’t aware this was your house.”

“And if you had?”

“I would have thought twice before stopping.”

Lord Morgandale smiled and then laughed. He extended the glass closer to her.

“What is it?” she asked, taking the glass from him.

“Brandy. Have you ever had it?”

She shook her head. “Wine, but not brandy. Why do you want me to drink it?”

“Don’t look so frightened, I am not trying to get you drunk so I can have my way with you. This will make you sleep as soundly as a newborn babe, and I think one thing you desperately need right now, Miss Sweet, is rest. So drink every drop.”

She started to put it to her lips.

“Wait,” he said and closed his hand over hers to stop her.

Their eyes met and held. Arianna felt a tingle that started at her breasts and flew all the way down to her toes. She wondered if the earl felt the same shocking feelings she felt when he touched her.

“Not now. Wait until you have eaten. It will be much easier on your stomach. But drink every drop.”

With his hand covering hers, she didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

“Mrs. Post will take over from here. If you need anything, just ask her. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, and we’ll talk further.”

He slowly removed his hand, letting his fingertips glide ever so slightly over her skin. His gaze wafted down her face to her lips and lingered there for a moment before lifting to her eyes once again.

She felt a sudden tightness between her legs, and to cover the sudden awkwardness, she said, “Thank you for allowing me to stay the night.”

“Good night, Miss Sweet.”

He turned and walked out of the room. She heard his footsteps going up the stairs. She heard a door open and close. Only then did she let out a tired, moaning sigh and fall against the back of the settee.

“
Bapre
,” she whispered.

So much for thinking she could handle anything and everything that came her way. She never expected to meet a man as imposing as Lord Morgandale. It took every ounce of her strength just to talk to the man.

Her gaze fell on a large painting of a regal-looking woman hanging over the fireplace. She couldn’t see it well with only one lamp lit in the room, but she assumed it was of Lady Elder. Arianna stared at the woman. She would never have come to Valleydale if she’d known Lady Elder had died.

When she arrived in London, perhaps Mr. Warburton would offer to help her find a place to live as well as help her find or reconstruct her father’s formula. They needed to do that quickly. It could even be too late if Mr. Rajaratnum had already sold the formula to someone else or to another country’s Apothecary Research Academy.

Suddenly Arianna felt weak and shaky again, and that angered her. She couldn’t accomplish anything in her current physical condition. The encounter with the earl had made her realize just how weak she was. She must find an inn or some place to stay so she could rest and regain her strength before she contacted Mr. Warburton. The earl was right. Only a few minutes on her feet, and she was completely exhausted.

Arianna swirled the amber liquid in the glass and watched it twinkle and glimmer in the light from the lamp. She didn’t understand why, but she felt safe in Lord Morgandale’s house. But that was no matter; she had to leave tomorrow. She must get her strength back, get to London, contact Mr. Warburton and convince him to help her fulfill her father’s dream, and establish his legacy to the world before Mr. Rajaratnum sold the formula to someone else and they took the credit that was due her father.

Three

My Dearest Grandson Lucas,

I think one of the reasons I always enjoyed the company of Lord Chesterfield was because he had such a wealth of knowledge and was never embarrassed to show it. Read this: “I am convinced that a light supper, a good night’s sleep, and a fine morning, have sometimes made a hero of the same man, who, by an indigestion, a restless night and a rainy morning, would have proved a coward.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

Morgan chuckled as he splashed cold water on his face and neck, washing away the residue of shaving soap. He was up early, which was unusual for him. And by some miracle, he wasn’t jug bitten. There was no doubt he had too much to drink last night, something he hadn’t done in years and didn’t want to do again anytime soon. He had gone to bed with a pounding head and roiling stomach, but thankfully, in the bright light of day, he felt fine.

While he shaved, he had studied over the tart-tongued Miss Sweet and the unusual events of the evening. After drying his face, he tossed his crisp white shirt over his head and then fit his collar around his neck. He had expected a delectable courtesan skilled in ways that were sure to make a man forget all other women he’d ever been with. Instead, he got a very different young lady at his door, an innocent, unwell lady of quality who was obviously in desperate need of his help, though he was sure she’d rather swallow her tongue than ask for it.

Stepping into his riding breeches, Morgan realized he’d been thinking about Miss Sweet since his eyes opened half an hour ago. He kept seeing her troubled, bright green eyes and her luxurious, light auburn hair spilling around her shoulders and down her back. He should have been able to tell that Miss Sweet was a lady of quality and innocence the moment she took the hood off her head. As Lord Chesterfield was so fond of saying: there were two things a woman just couldn’t fake, no matter how skilled she was at acting—innocence and quality.

Morgan chuckled lightly again as he remembered thinking, at first, Miss Sweet was Miss Goodbody and that she was simply playing a part for him in order to heighten his arousal. Making mistakes like that should be enough to compel him to swear off ever drinking brandy again and just stick to ale and wine, but it probably wouldn’t.

There were a lot of clues he’d missed that he shouldn’t have, and wouldn’t have, had he not been brooding, and he wouldn’t have been brooding had he not had too much to drink. He wouldn’t have been so confounded if he had not been so brandy-faced by the time Miss Sweet arrived that his powers of observation had all but vanished. But in the bright light of day and with a clear head, he was remembering little things. Was there something more than just her illness and exhaustion that caused her to get off that ship in Southampton and make such a hasty journey to Valleydale? She had seemed to be in a hurry when she first arrived.

In any case, Morgan woke with the realization he must assume responsibility for Miss Sweet, since she had traveled all the way to Valleydale hoping to receive assistance from his grandmother. Even if he didn’t want to help her, which, of course, he did, he would be obligated to simply for the reason that she was distantly related to his grandmother’s second husband.

Miss Sweet had told him a little about herself last night, but he wanted to know more about her. She intrigued him. Not just because she had lived in India for a time and had that alluring lilt to her soft voice. Not just because she engaged him in one of the liveliest conversations he’d had in years. There was something about her that drew him to her, and because of that he had made a few decisions concerning her welfare.

Morgan swiped his neckcloth off his bed. Long ago he had learned how to quickly wrap the three feet of cloth around his neck and under his collar to efficiently tie his neckcloth into a simple bow without the help of a valet or looking in a mirror.

He walked to his window and looked out over the spacious gardens and grounds at the back of his house. The late summer rains had been good for the flowers, roses, and shrubs. The trees were full of dark green leaves, and the yew hedge was thick and solid as a wall. The knot garden, with its intricate design built around a three-tiered fountain, was the masterpiece of the formal gardens, and it had been his grandmother’s pride and joy when she had walked the grounds.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and the clouds were scattering. It appeared as if there might be a glimmer of sun trying to shine from behind the gray skies. It would be a good day to spend at the stables to watch and help with the training of his thoroughbred horses. If the weather continued to improve, he would exercise Redmond in the afternoon. The young bay loved the opportunity to go for a long, fast run. But because of Miss Sweet, Morgan had a few things he wanted to accomplish before he headed to the stables.

He turned away from the window and grabbed his camel-colored waistcoat off the bed, slipped it on, and fastened the leather-covered buttons. He sat down on his slipper chair and tugged on his knee-high boots. He picked up his black coat and walked out of his bedchamber, stuffing his arms into the sleeves as he went.

When he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he went in search of Post but instead found the man’s wife. She was in the breakfast room preparing the table for his morning meal.

She looked up at him in astonishment. “My lord, I didn’t expect you up so early. I’ll have everything ready for you shortly.”

“There is no hurry, Mrs. Post. I have some things to do in my book room. Tell me, have you seen Miss Sweet’s maid this morning?”

“Yes, my lord, I left her just a few minutes ago. She was in the kitchen, preparing a tray of hot chocolate and toast to take up to Miss Sweet.”

“That won’t do. Miss Sweet needs to eat more than toast if she’s going to regain her strength. As soon as you’ve finished what you’re doing, prepare her a plate as you would for me, with eggs, quail, and scones with plenty of butter and preserves. See that she eats everything you put on her plate.”

The woman blinked rapidly and twisted the napkin she held in her hand. “But, my lord, but… but…”

“Stop stammering, Mrs. Post, and tell me what is wrong.”

“The maid said her mistress told her last night that she wanted to be on her way to London as soon as possible this morning. I’ll prepare her food right away, but she may not be willing to wait that long.”

Morgan frowned. He should have expected as much from the headstrong lady. The last thing she needed right now was more traveling.

“Go up to Miss Sweet’s room and tell her I insist she spend the entire day in bed, resting. She is not well enough to leave this house, and until I am satisfied that she is healthy enough to travel, she will remain here under my care.”

“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Post said nervously and turned away from the table.

“And, Mrs. Post, I’m sure Miss Sweet would like a tub of hot water sometime today. She’s been on a ship for only God knows how long. Until the rest of the staff returns, help her maid with whatever needs to be done to make her mistress comfortable.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mrs. Post turned again to leave but stopped when Morgan said, “The first thing I want you to do is to find Post. Tell him to go immediately and pay Miss Sweet’s driver and send him on his way. We will no longer require his services.”

“Right away, my lord,” she said, but this time she made no effort to move.

“And one thing more, Mrs. Post, if Miss Sweet has any questions about my instructions, which after my conversation with her last night I feel sure she will have, tell her I will be available to speak to her in the drawing room before dinner. Make that tomorrow evening, as I’ve already promised to ride over to Lord Hastings’s house tonight and must leave early.”

Morgan turned and headed toward his book room. He supposed he was minding Miss Sweet’s business, but obviously someone needed to. She wouldn’t be happy once she heard he’d sent her driver away. If she had no way to travel, it would ensure that she would be forced to stay under his care and get proper rest. When she was well enough to travel, he would see to it that she had a safe, comfortable coach to take her to London. Until then, she would have to accept his hospitality whether she wanted it or not.

Morgan whistled as he continued down the wide hallway to his book room. He paused at the door and shook his head in wonder. Why was he whistling? What had gotten into him? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d whistled like a carefree school boy walking along the coastline on a hot summer afternoon.

Was it because of Miss Sweet? He didn’t know why, but having her to take care of seemed to have evaporated all the restless feelings he’d had the past few weeks. For some reason, just having her in his house made him feel good.

Damn good, in fact.

He sauntered over to his desk and sat down. He pulled a sheet of foolscap out of his desk drawer, uncapped the ink jar, and picked up the quill. He thought for a few moments and then dipped the quill into the black liquid and wrote:

My Dearest Constance,

I find that I am in urgent need of your help with an important matter.

He sat back and studied on that sentence. That wouldn’t do. It made him sound needy, and Morgan certainly didn’t want her getting that idea. He laid down the quill, crumpled the paper, threw it aside, and retrieved another sheet.

He thought again and then wrote:

Constance,

I have a favor to ask of you.

“Good lord,” he mumbled to himself as he wadded the second sheet and threw it on top of the other discarded note. He didn’t like the sound of the second one any better than the first. The truth was that he had seldom asked anyone for help, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it.

But the fact remained that Miss Sweet was too weak to travel elsewhere, and that was the only thing that made it acceptable for her to remain under his roof without a proper companion. She needed another lady in the house other than servants. He wouldn’t want a hint of anything sullying her reputation.

There was also the fact that he couldn’t help Miss Sweet with the things she needed once she arrived in London. Constance had stepped in and helped Blake with Henrietta, so perhaps she would help him with Miss Sweet. But, Morgan realized as he drummed his fingers on the edge of his fine Louis XIV desk, Constance and Blake had been lovers for a short time, so maybe she had felt she owed him. And Blake was a duke. Few people turned down the request of a favor when asked by a duke.

But he had more than that going against him. Constance was in London, in her own home when she helped Blake with Henrietta. It was during the Season when Constance would be going out to parties every evening anyway. In order to help Morgan, she would have to first make the day-and-a-half journey from London to Valleydale. And while there were endless house parties scheduled throughout the area, Miss Sweet was not in good enough health to attend any of them. But with excellent care, there was hope she would be well enough to travel by the time Constance could arrive.

Morgan tapped the feather end of the quill on his chin and studied on what he needed to say. Surely he could think of a damn good reason to entice Constance to make the journey to Valleydale and assist him. He thought of offering her payment but quickly dismissed that idea. Not only would it probably offend her, but her husband had adored her and left her well taken care of in his will. She wasn’t in need of monetary assistance.

So what could he say to persuade her to quit the city for a spell in the country? What would tempt an unmarried woman to do something she might not really want to do?

He glared at the blank sheet of paper. What the hell was the matter with him? Why did it matter how he wrote the letter to Constance?

“Because I don’t want her to tell me no,” he whispered.

He just needed to state the facts, get it written, and get the damned thing on its way to London.

Frustrated, he took out another sheet of the foolscap, dipped the quill into the ink, and tried again:

My Lovely Constance,

My hope is that your carefree summer in London has been exceptional. But if for some reason that might not be the case, I have a special request that concerns a delicate matter, and I am certain only you have the skills and the countenance to manage this intriguing situation for me.