Why Earls Fall in Love (4 page)

“I would hardly call it cowering,” said Georgie with a roll of her eyes. “It’s more that I do not know how to be comfortable in your company.”

He was clearly nonplussed by the whole situation, Georgie could see that by the shadow that lurked behind his affable smile. Still, he did not give up or decide to wash his hands of her. “I hope that over this week, Mrs. Mowbray, you will give me the chance to prove to you that I am not the brute you think me.”

Before she could protest his characterization of himself as a brute, Coniston continued, “In fact, I insist upon it.”

“Oh, but surely there’s no need,” she began, feeling a bit sheepish at his declaration. Even if she didn’t find him the most comfortable companion, he was under no obligation to ease her mind.

“I believe there is every need,” he said firmly. “And I warn you I won’t take no for an answer.”

Georgie sighed. She supposed she had no choice. And at least this might allow her to gain enough familiarity with him that Lady Russell would not be made uncomfortable by her own unease.

“All right,” she said with a rueful smile. “But you must agree that if by the end of the week I still feel this way, then you will leave me in peace with my shyness.”

He held out his gloved hand. “Agreed.”

This might not be a particularly comfortable week, Georgie thought as she shook his proffered hand, but it would certainly be interesting.

Two

Dinner that evening was a spirited affair, with Lady Russell’s nieces and nephews recounting stories from their childhoods and their time on the Coniston estates in Essex. Though he’d not particularly looked forward to a week in the company of his relatives—who could be a trial if one were in the wrong sort of mood—Con enjoyed himself far more than he would have expected.

He was displeased to notice, however, that Mrs. Mowbray was ignored by virtually everyone. Her dinner companions were his uncle Bertie, who was deaf as a post, and his cousin Lydia, who was, as far as he could tell, as shallow a young lady as he’d ever met. Since Mrs. Mowbray could contribute nothing to her popularity in the
ton,
Lydia saw no reason to pay her any mind. There were far more important people to converse with, such as their cousin Roderick who drove a high-perch phaeton and had once dined with Byron.

His aunt’s invitation for the week’s festivities had come as something of a shock to Con on two fronts. First, that his aunt was celebrating her seventieth birthday. It was impossible to imagine that the vital woman who had cared for him when his own parents had been too self-involved to do so was at an age when it became reasonable to speak about bequests and inheritances. That in itself had been enough to ingest, but along with her announcement of the birthday celebration, his aunt had included a request that he attempt to learn just what it was that bothered her companion so much. Of course, Con hadn’t known at the time that her companion was Mrs. Mowbray. But her identity did not change the fact that he would do whatever his aunt asked of him, which in this case included assisting the woman who wished he would go to the devil.

When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after the obligatory port and cigars, Con noted that Mrs. Mowbray had retired to a seat in the corner with some sewing while the rest of the ladies chatted animatedly on the other side of the room.

“Con!” Lydia greeted him as he entered the room with the rest of the men. “You are just the man we need! I’ve been trying to convince Mama to let us take an excursion to the abbey ruins at Farley Castle tomorrow. She says we’ve only just arrived and should go to the Pump Room first.” She gripped him by the arm and pulled him into the circle of ladies—the younger on the left and the elder on the right. “Everyone knows that the only people who come for the Bath season these days are unfashionable ladies who failed to take during their London seasons, and elderly people who come for the waters. It’s so deadly dull. I cannot possibly remain here if we’re to be confined every day to the Pump Room for our entertainment. And the assembly isn’t until Wednesday evening.”

Unsurprised to hear his cousin’s complaints, he extricated himself from her viselike grip on his arm. “What can I possibly say or do to change your mother’s mind, Lydia?” he asked, with a glance at his cousin Clara, Lydia’s mother, who frowned at her offspring. “She’s correct to say that you’ve only just arrived. I doubt you’ve even said two words to Aunt Russell.”

“I have too.” Lydia pouted, drawing a series of surreptitious eye-rolls from her fellow cousins. The girls were used to her exaggerations and dramatics, and the boys were simply indifferent. Aunt Russell, Con noticed, was pretending to snooze, but taking in every word that was said. “I’m sure she’d be perfectly content with us going on a bit of an excursion tomorrow. Wouldn’t you, Aunt?”

“Lydia,” her mother chided, “hush. Let your auntie rest.”

“I’m not asleep, Clara,” the old woman said, opening her eyes. “I was simply resting my eyes for a bit.” Turning to her great-niece, she said. “I do not suppose I would mind for you young people to take in the outdoors hereabouts. It was not so very long ago that I was young, you know. And I remember being incredibly impatient with my parents for trying to keep me cooped up indoors. Of course, back then Bath was the height of fashion and all my friends and I were desperate as could be to be seen in the Pump Room. How things change.”

“Aunt, you are being too polite,” Clara said firmly. “I won’t have my daughter offering you such disrespect. Lydia, I’ve a great mind to send you back to stay at home with your younger brothers.”

Seeing the mulish set of his young cousin’s jaw, Con interceded on her behalf. “Clara, would you be more agreeable to Lydia’s scheme if Mrs. Mowbray and I agreed to go along with them? That way you and the rest of the parents could have the day to yourselves. And I do think that Aunt is sincere when she says that they should go.” And the time alone with Georgina would give him a chance to make her more comfortable around him.

Seeing that Con was serious, Clara looked to her aunt who nodded her approval. Raising her hands in capitulation, she said, “I suppose if you are willing to go along, I cannot object. But only if you wish to do it, Cousin. I know what it is like to lead a dozen or so young people on an expedition. And what of poor Mrs. Mowbray? She hasn’t even the excuse of being related to these wretches to save her.”

But to Con’s surprise and pleasure, Mrs. Mowbray had left her sewing and come to stand near the little group. “I shouldn’t mind it at all, Lady Clara,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been wishing to see Farley Castle myself, so Lydia’s suggestion is quite welcome. If, that is, Lady Russell can spare me.”

“Of course I can, my dear,” said Lady Russell with a delighted smile. “I was just beginning to feel a bit guilty for keeping you tied to me all this time and this excursion is just the thing to relieve my conscience.”

“Do not argue with her, Mrs. Mowbray,” Con said before Georgina could object again. “Just agree to come with us.”

“As long as Lady Russell is agreeable,” Mrs. Mowbray said with a smile, “then so am I.”

A huzzah from the young cousins went round the room.

“You won’t regret this, Mrs. Mowbray,” Lydia said brightly, as she led her cousins to the other side of the room so that they could discuss the next day’s outing.

“Thank you, Con,” Clara said with feeling. “I will feel much better knowing you and Mrs. Mowbray are looking after Lydia and the others. They can get up to mischief at times.”

“Better you than me,” said their cousin Lord Payne, from his chair near the fire. “I’d rather visit the tooth drawer than be ordered about by Lydia. That chit has the devil’s own mind when it comes to scheming.”

“What a horrible thing to say about my daughter,” Clara said with a laugh. “Not that I don’t agree, but even so, it is horrible.”

“I know how to handle Lydia,” Con said easily. “I’ll simply let her think that everything is her idea. She may order me about as she likes, but I will only obey her as I wish to do so.”

“But what of Mrs. Mowbray?” Aunt Russell demanded. “I won’t have my companion being treated like a glorified housemaid. By Lydia or anyone else.”

At her words, Con’s eye flew to Mrs. Mowbray, who only betrayed her embarrassment with a slight flush. “Lady Russell,” she said in a soft voice, “you mustn’t trouble yourself. I am sure that Miss Lydia will be all that is proper. Besides, I truly do wish to visit the ruins, so her notion to go there was a very welcome surprise.”

“Then it’s settled,” Con said, wanting to spare Mrs. Mowbray any further upset. “We shall all go and enjoy the ruins. I for one am looking forward to bringing my sketchbook. It’s been some time since I simply focused on capturing a scene in charcoal.”

At that the conversation turned, and to Con’s relief, no more was said about Mrs. Mowbray’s position in the household.

*   *   *

Georgie closed her bedchamber door firmly behind her and relaxed for the first time all evening.

Located at the far end of the corridor, her room was small enough that she had at first wondered if it had begun life as a closet. No matter how small, however, she loved the tiny chamber. First as a child, then as a wife, living in the army’s world of limited privacy she’d longed for nothing more than a room of her own. So, any place that had a door and didn’t require her to share with someone else Georgie counted as a luxury.

Not to mention that having this tiny room was the first step toward her ultimate goal of owning a small cottage in the country, just as she’d always dreamed. Though her wages from Lady Russell were hardly more than room and board, Georgie tucked every bit into her nest egg in the hopes that one day she would be her own mistress.

Stepping further into the chamber, she lit the lamp beside her bed with the taper she’d used to come upstairs, appreciating the glow of light on the rosewood furnishings.

What a change this evening had been from the night before, she reflected, stretching a bit to relieve the tension in her neck. She’d known that the arrival of Lady Russell’s family would herald an end to the peace she and her employer had enjoyed since she’d taken the position as her companion three months ago, but she hadn’t realized just how trying the family would be. And at the top of her list was the enigmatic Lord Coniston, who had kept a watchful eye on her all evening.

From the moment he entered the drawing room, she’d felt his scrutiny like a staying hand. She could understand why he felt so protective of his aunt. Lady Russell had told Georgie about how she and her late husband had acted as surrogate parents to the young boy while his own parents lived out their tumultuous romance in London and Paris and wherever the whims of their fast set took them. He would of course wish to ensure that his aunt’s companion was someone he could trust. Despite her friendship with Perdita, he needed to vouch for her himself before he let her remain in his aunt’s employ.

Unbuttoning her gown, which had been made with the fastenings in front since she hadn’t a maid of her own, Georgie didn’t wait to take it off before she began to loosen the stays beneath. Sighing with relief, she set about making herself ready for bed, washing with the cold water in the basin, changing into a nightgown, and brushing out her hair before the small mirror on the makeshift dressing table.

As she followed her nightly routine, the various bits of conversation and chatter she’d overheard that evening played through her mind. At the forefront, always, was Lord Coniston.

She had to admit, she thought, braiding her long blond locks so that they wouldn’t get tangled in the night, that he was as handsome a man as she’d ever seen. More than once during his betrothal to Perdita she’d noticed as much, though of course she had not allowed herself to think more than that. Yet, despite the dissolution of his betrothal, he was still off limits. Not only was he her employer’s nephew, he was also an earl. While she was simply an army man’s daughter who’d had the good fortune to form a friendship with a pair of aristocratic sisters.

Now Georgie felt as close to Isabella and Perdita as if she were related to them by blood. But, as she was reminded when Lord Coniston looked at her, no matter how comfortable she felt with the two aristocratic ladies when they were alone together, there was still an ocean’s width of difference between them when it came to how the rest of the world perceived them. And she needed to remember that when dealing with her employer’s nephew, who for all that he’d set out to win her over, was still an earl and could demand to be treated as such by the likes of her.

While she prepared for bed, the wind outside had picked up a bit. The years of following the army had left her with an abiding need to breathe fresh air when she could, so Georgie had left the window open earlier that day. Now, however, the evening was growing chilly, so she stepped over to close the window and the curtains for the night.

The moonlight was bright, and as she paused to appreciate the way it illuminated the world outside, she was startled to see a figure standing in the garden below. Taken aback, she shivered as she realized the person—a man—was peering up at her. When he lifted his head a bit and the moonlight shone on his face, she let out a startled cry.

The man was her dead husband.

*   *   *

Despite the early hour, Con had decided against going out to the tavern with his younger male cousins and instead retired to his bedchamber to look over the papers his estate agent had given him before he left for Bath. He’d learned the hard way that ignoring his holdings could lead to trouble—a missive from his steward read too late had led to a costly repair to the roof of Coniston Grange last summer—and he was not so wealthy that he could afford another such mishap. Besides, when his cousins had tried to tempt him out with the promise of pretty wenches, for reasons he was not willing to contemplate, his mind had conjured up the image of Georgina, her blond hair gleaming in the lamplight.

He must be more fatigued from the journey to Bath than he’d thought. She was an attractive woman, he conceded, but hardly the sort to inspire flights of fancy. As his aunt’s companion she was out of bounds anyway. Instead of carousing with his cousins, he’d do much better to get some rest and put the pretty, if stubborn, lady from his mind.