The Cheer in Charming an Earl (The Naughty Girls) (12 page)

“Why? Is she ill?” He shifted as if to go find her, then stopped as if struck by a thought. “She
is
ill. Why the devil is she here?”

“Precisely,” Elinor agreed. “She’s overtaxed herself.”

It seemed Gavin accepted this, but then he suddenly jerked in Elinor’s direction and pinned her with a narrowed gaze. “You seem rather fit for a woman who’s convalescing, too.”

She beamed beatifically again. “Oh, but isn’t it wonderful I’m no longer hurt?”

Those narrowed eyes became suspicious slits. “Convenient, is what I’d call it.”

She was rescued by the advent of Aunt Millie herself in the entryway. Elinor, Grantham and Gavin all turned to regard her, an audience she seemed to appreciate. Indeed, Aunt Millie drew her fingertips along the polished wood of the door’s frame, then with practiced languor, sashayed toward Gavin. There was no sign of de Winter, unless one counted the wisps of ginger hair flying free from her coiffure or the uneven seam of her bodice skewed across her décolletage.

She gathered Elinor’s arm in hers and turned their backs to Grantham, as if subtly suggesting family business not be aired before earls. “Elinor, it seems we require a few
private
words with your brother.”

Gavin gaped at the voluptuous matron with such shock, Elinor almost laughed aloud. So much for her lie; Aunt Millie was clearly as healthy as a woman half her age. Yet Elinor was less concerned by the possibility that he’d call out her blatant falsehood and more relieved that he seemed to be innocent of her mother’s trickery.

Indeed, the longer he stared at their aunt, the surer she felt that he’d had no part in abandoning her to York. Rather, he seemed perfectly befuddled as he stammered, “Who, madam, are
you
?”

AUNT MILLIE laughed her throaty chuckle and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The practiced movement drew attention to the sparkle of an emerald earring as large as the tip of Elinor’s smallest finger. Good heavens! She could scarcely believe her mother had hoped for
her
to inherit Aunt Millie’s fortune. She’d feel inferior to her jewels, wearing such baubles.

But that preposterous idea couldn’t possibly be conceivable now that she knew from whence Aunt Millie’s treasures had come. Not that it mattered, as Aunt Millie was even less likely to cock up her toes in the near future than Elinor had supposed.

In point of fact, Aunt Millie offered Gavin a shallow curtsey. “I’m your aunt, of course. I’ve been informed that I’m still the spitting image of your mother. Don’t tell me you, too, believed I was dying?”

His gape confirmed it. Grantham seemed to find that interesting, causing Elinor’s stomach to flip with mild panic.

“Aunt Millie is an actress,” she explained quickly, before too many more questions could be raised. “It
does
relieve my mind to know I wasn’t the only one taken in by Mama’s ruse.”

Gavin glanced from Aunt Millie to Elinor and back again. “Blast it all, but I should have realized it.”

Elinor held her tongue. She dearly wished to ask him,
How?
How could he have possibly deduced their mother was concealing a scandalous twin sister from their family? It was
exactly
the sort of arrogant utterance a man would make. But Elinor kept her mouth closed. Aunt Millie was correct; the less said in front of Grantham, the better.

“I think my head is paining me again,” Elinor murmured. She brushed the backs of her knuckles against her temple and feigned swaying. A fit of the vapors would suit her about now, wouldn’t it? It was sure to distract the men from their questions. She needn’t even pretend too much; she felt a bit faint already.

Instantly, her brother and Grantham both leapt into chivalrous action. Only they didn’t share the same vision for her relief; at once she found herself being propelled toward the drawing room and led toward the front door.

“Ah, I—” She tried to pull her limbs away, but both men were too strong for her to counteract.

Grantham realized her distress first. He ceased tugging, though he didn’t release her hand. “Come, darling. Rest in the drawing room while I call for my carriage.”

Her brother squeezed her upper arm as securely as if he had the earl’s cravat in his fist again. “You’ll keep as far away from him as possible while I make sense of what I’ve seen and heard.”

Elinor forced herself to laugh as though he were being entirely ridiculous. “But Gavin, surely you don’t find fault with his
sofa
.”

He glowered. “All horizontal surfaces in this house are suspect.”

Grantham’s bark of laughter was so unexpected, Elinor winced. But her brother seemed to find himself amused as well, and a reluctant smile cracked his stony profile. “I can’t very well take both you
and
Aunt Millie up on my horse,” he finally allowed, and eased his hold on her arm enough for her skin to tingle back to life. “Moreover, I have a strong reason to believe there will be brandy on the sideboard.”

“Buckets of it,” Grantham promised.

Elinor frowned. The thought of her brother falling into his cups with Grantham alarmed her. What if they began to talk in earnest? “I may be well enough to ride, actually,” she tried, but the deal was done. The earl took her by one elbow, her brother tugged her other, and toward the brandy buckets they went.

Aunt Millie followed behind, chuckling.

THIS WAS, by far, the oddest spate of unexpected visitors Grantham could ever remember. As he escorted an innocent young lady, her irate older brother and their estranged aunt toward a drawing room that had served as a den of iniquity not three days since, Grantham gathered that Mr. Conley had learned of his sister’s accident via rumor. It seemed he’d ridden out posthaste and so had been unaware of her ultimately successful arrival at their aunt’s house—however distastefully
that
had come about.

As a brother himself, Grantham could understand how the other man might be skeptical of his intentions toward Miss Conley. They’d set eyes on each other only days ago. He, himself, could claim no preconceived plan to blurt out his proposal tonight. Moreover, it was clear from the family’s exchange that even they didn’t know each other as well as they’d thought. But while he wasn’t certain what sort of trickery had occurred among Miss Conley, her brother, their mother and their aunt, judging by the size and fierceness of Mr. Conley, Grantham was quite glad to have brought himself up to scratch before the massive farrier’s arrival. He much preferred to do things on his own terms.

Except now he felt compelled to put the situation to rights. This was his future brother-by-law. It wouldn’t do to have the man believe Grantham had ruined Elinor. Not when he’d shown such restraint in avoiding doing precisely that.

As they filed into the large drawing room, Lord de Winter rose and saluted them with his half-filled snifter of brandy. “And here I was contemplating how lovely it is to have a moment to think my own thoughts.”

“A waste of time,” Mrs. Rebmann drawled, floating from the rear of the procession to the front. She dropped into a wingback chair and proceeded to watch de Winter with a satisfied smirk.

Mr. Conley released his sister’s arm and took a step toward de Winter. “Who’s this?”

The earl raised his snifter to his lips and took a leisurely sip of his brandy, snubbing the question. Grantham sighed inwardly. De Winter
would
make it as difficult as possible to explain him away.

Resigned to introducing his scoundrel of a friend to Elinor’s brother, Grantham looped his arm around Elinor’s waist and led her to the couch. “Lord de Winter of Gillygate. He is a guest at Chelford through Twelfth Night.”

Elinor gripped Grantham’s arms tightly as he helped her recline against the cushions. Her skin was rather pale. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, her breath just a flutter against his cheek. Then her gaze dropped away as if the intimate embrace had embarrassed her.

He’d intended to go to the sideboard once he’d deposited his future bride, but something about her cheeks flushing pink and her gaze slanting in virginal shyness stopped him. He, Grantham Wendell, who had made so many mistakes in his life, had somehow earned the admiration of an innocent. The tug on his heartstrings was more like the heaving of a great, clanging bell than a gentle pull.

Her brother, Mr. Conley, stomped to the matching wingback chair beside his aunt’s and sat down hard on it. “Are you going to pour me a brandy or stare at my sister all night?” he growled at Grantham.

Grantham startled into action, realizing the man had left him with no seating option but the cushion beside his sister’s. It would seem his pursuit of Elinor was being tolerated, if not blessed.

He went to the sideboard and set out four snifters, then assumed Elinor would be inexperienced with strong spirits and traded one for a sherry glass. He was just sloshing brandy into the bowls when Mr. Conley grated at his back, “I take it
that
is the infamous kissing ball. Thank heavens there are no more berries on it, though I don’t want to think why.”

Nor did Grantham. Even across the room, he could discern that Conley had the right of it; the last berry had been plucked away, though Grantham had left it remaining in the hopes that Elinor might be persuaded to kiss him again tomorrow. There was only a single explanation for it, and he didn’t want to think too hard on it. His gaze flicked from the kissing ball to Mrs. Rebmann, whose eyes were locked with de Winter’s. Her satisfied smirk had turned to a full-fledged grin.

“Would you care for some refreshment?” Grantham offered Conley in an attempt to forget what he’d just seen. “Cook can send a cold pie and a glass of ale in while my carriage is being brought around.”

Conley took the snifter Grantham held out for him and tossed half of its contents back. “I won’t spite my stomach. But make it quick. I’ve no wish to remain here longer than I must.”

“It won’t be long.” Grantham went to the door and gave orders to a footman standing just inside the hallway. Then he returned to Elinor’s side, though he didn’t sit. She appeared to be dozing and he preferred not to wake her. Instead he turned to Conley. “I surmise you came to learn of your sister’s accident by word of mouth. Would you care to return tomorrow and see the scene for yourself? We had the carriage dragged to the carriage house, and I fear there’s not much salvageable about it. But it was your equipage. You might want to have a look.”

Conley nodded. He was studying the color and clarity of the remaining brandy in his cup, or so it seemed. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to acknowledge Grantham. “Aye, I’ll come. And my coachman? What became of him?”

“He was welcomed into my servants’ quarters,” Mrs. Rebmann answered. “You may see him as soon as you like.”

“Good. I’ll want to talk to him, as well.”

Grantham was just congratulating himself on making an awkward situation pass in an orderly fashion when Elinor sat up suddenly. “There is something else you ought to know—” she announced in a breathless voice. Then her eyes rolled upward and, with a small gasp of protest, she collapsed against the couch in a dead swoon.

Grantham sprang into action. He had her prone on the seat before anyone else had so much as put down their brandy. Only, as he was pushing her hair away from her face and gripping her small hands in his, he realized that even now, Mr. Conley had yet to make a move. “Your sister fainted!” Grantham chastised him. Not that he knew what he expected the other man to do, but calmly sipping brandy while Grantham panicked wasn’t it.

“So she did,” Conley mused, rolling his empty glass between his palms. He continued to look unperturbed. “Now what I want to know is…why?”