Captivating the Cynical Earl Read online

  He and Tom had used to laugh about it, and even on occasion to wager on the progress of some or other Incomparable, trying to predict which enamoured fool would be unlucky enough to win her hand. Being a logical creature, Jack had no time for such nonsense and neither, he had believed, had Tom. Indeed, they had spoken of it, many times. Their pact had been to devote their energies to restoring the family fortunes and they had agreed to not allow themselves to be distracted by ladies—beyond, of course, the fleeting affaires that were commonplace among the ton. Marriage could wait.

  Yet here was his brother, with the appearance of sincerity, informing Jack that not only had he married but he had married for love. It simply could not be true. Therefore, there had to be some other reason why Tom had spouted such nonsense.

  Throwing the letters down in disgust, Jack paced the floor, his long legs eating up the space. Five strides. Turn. Five more. When Jack had left for France three months ago, Tom had given him no hint of this. So what reason could there be for Tom to have married this Godwin wench, and so quickly?

  The anger he was feeling towards his brother was laced with confusion, as he considered again the seeming sincerity with which Tom had declared himself to be enamoured of his wife. Jack’s brow creased. Tom was not as heedless as to throw all away on the basis of a sudden tendre. It was not in his character. Jack pondered this, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. Tom had never before, to his knowledge, thought himself ‘in love’. Like Jack, he was a rational man who had no room for such nonsense. There must be more to this.

  He frowned. Might this girl—this Eleanor Godwin—have some hold over him? At this moment he could not think what would induce Tom to marry in haste, hide it from his only relative, then spout nonsense about ‘love’ to justify it. Yet the alternative—that his hitherto sensible brother actually believed himself enamoured of this unknown girl—did not bear thinking about.

  He refilled his glass and drank long and deeply. Staring into the fire, his fingers drumming on the desk, all at once inspiration came to him. Perhaps Tom had compromised the chit. Like Jack, Tom had had his fair share of amorous adventures, but they normally focused on women who understood that marriage would not be an option. Could Tom have been so foolish as to have pursued a girl he ought to have avoided? He groaned at the thought of Tom caught seducing some willing wench, and an outraged father forcing them both to the altar. Or, indeed, forcing Tom only, for such cases were, he understood, generally deliberately engineered by the enterprising young lady and her avaricious parents.

  Ah, Tom, why did you not come to me?

  The answer came to him immediately. Tom would have been mortified to find himself trapped in such a way, and his pride would probably have prevented him from confiding even in his own brother. Besides, Jack had been out of the country, and for an unusually long period. Generally, Tom and Jack had been inseparable these many years, ever since Tom had joined Jack in Herald’s Hall Boarding School—or Hell’s Hall, as the scholars had dubbed it.

  Entrapment. The notion sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. If it were true, then the person or persons responsible would pay. His fingers tightened into a fist. Noticing, he slowly unlocked it, reminding himself to be cautious. If this Godwin family had indeed successfully trapped the Hon. Thomas Beresford into marriage, then they had to have been clever, for Tom was no fool. Not usually, at least.

  Searching his memory for any signs of coercion in Tom’s account, he was disturbed to find that there had been none. Tom had had every appearance of sincerity. He toyed again with the possibility that Tom genuinely thought himself to be ‘in love’, then dismissed it almost instantly. He and Tom were of one mind on such matters. So whatever rationale had been behind Tom’s hasty decision to become leg-shackled, Tom was determined to conceal it from his own brother.

  Very well. Now, how to remedy the situation? His brow creased. Marriage was so...so permanent. Even if it had been simply a betrothal, Jack would have contrived a way for the girl to cry off—yes, even at considerable expense. If the greedy Godwins had planned to milk him for life, he would have found a way to make the betrothal so intolerable that they would have changed their minds. Paying off a disgruntled betrothed lady would still have been cheaper in the long run than Tom burdening himself with a wife!

  Marriage, Jack knew, was a business transaction. It involved the transfer of money, land and property in exchange for security and a good position in society. Jack himself would have to marry—to a well-behaved girl of impeccable bloodlines and substantial wealth. As Earl of Hawkenden, with a good fortune and an appearance that many ladies found pleasing, he understood that once he decided to wed, he would have the pick of that season’s tiresome virgins. The earldom must be passed on to a son, so he would in time require an heir for the considerable wealth he and Tom had been assiduously building.

  Tom’s unexpected tidings might alter the case. Jack frowned. Marry he must—but perhaps not yet. If this season had to be spent addressing Tom’s encumbrances, then so be it. Something inside, he recognised, was relieved at the notion that perhaps he could delay playing empty games of courtship for another season, yet the expectation of securing an heir still weighed heavily upon him.

  His dalliances to date had been with willing widows and courtesans, and he found the Almack’s virgins to be insipid and uninspiring. Hmm... Never one to shirk his responsibilities, Jack recognised the selfish wish to avoid the parson’s mousetrap for a while longer, although thirty, he had always believed, was the right age for an earl to choose a wife.

  He could not hold back a bark of bitter laughter. Here he was, avoiding the notion of matrimony, yet Tom had hastened to the altar without as much as a by-your-leave. The irony was clear. As Earl, he had to wed, but Tom had no need to marry at all.

  If Tom’s marriage was real, and unalterable, then some of their carefully earned wealth could be wasted, thrown away on an undeserving chit who would likely cost a small fortune on her upkeep—not to mention the considerable expense of any children that came along.

  Unnecessary children. A nephew could, of course, become Jack’s heir, but the notion did not sit comfortably with him. Marry he must, and he would damn well sire his own heir!

  Wishing his as yet unborn nieces and nephews to perdition, Jack considered the problem, his quick mind continuing to puzzle over this unexpected turn of events. He and Tom had always been of one mind on serious matters. Marriage, he mused, had certainly not been on Tom’s horizon the last time they had met. Tom had been preparing to travel to a Christmas party—somewhere in Kent, Jack now recalled.

  Jack’s three-month journey to visit their various holdings and business interests in France had been fruitful—although it had lasted longer than he had originally anticipated. He had enjoyed a quiet Paris Christmas, far removed from any disturbing reminders of how Christmas ‘should be’. He had no time for such nonsense.

  Merton, his man of business, had kept all of the London-based financial threads from tangling, but Tom and Jack now needed to pick up those threads and make decisions on a wide range of matters. In the coming days Jack had intended to spend a great deal of his time with Tom and Merton, working through all of the various strands of the business empire. Tom’s marriage and the resulting quarrel interfered with those plans and necessitated a change in Jack’s priorities.

  ‘Damnation!’ Setting down his glass, he rang the bell for his valet. Now that he and Tom had disagreed so vigorously, it even made it temporarily more difficult for him to gain an introduction to his unwelcome sister-in-law. Nevertheless, he would manage it. Somehow.

  Chapter Two

  ‘It is such a joy to see you!’ Nell’s hug was just as warm and genuine as ever, and Cecily was delighted to sense the happiness radiating from her friend.

  ‘When we arrived in London,’ Nell continued, ‘I knew you would be the first person I should like to call upon—and the fact that you
are now staying with Beatrice makes it much easier. I shall visit both of you at the same time and mean to do so regularly.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it!’ Cecily smiled at her friend. ‘When did you arrive in the city?’

  ‘The day before yesterday. We have been busy—er, settling into our house. Like Beatrice, we have rented a place for the season, although eventually Tom wishes to buy a townhouse for us. We are in Duke Street, a little further out, but it will suit us very well.’

  Cecily glanced across the room at Mama and Beatrice. Mrs Godwin was ringing the bell to ask for tea. ‘Is it strange to be your stepmama’s guest? Instead of being simply her stepdaughter, I mean.’

  Nell laughed. ‘Being a married lady has brought me many new experiences.’ She looked a little mysterious for an instant, then giggled. ‘Some of them are rather disconcerting.’

  ‘Strangely, you look exactly the same,’ Cecily declared. ‘I am unsure why, but I thought that being married would make you look different somehow.’

  Nell smiled. ‘I do feel different, it is true.’

  There was the smallest of pauses, and Cecily could not think what to say. While being around Mama meant that she was more aware than most young ladies of the goings-on of the ton, some of the mysteries of marriage were still unknown to her. ‘What a pretty dress!’ she offered. ‘But have you no new clothes that are more suited to your status as a married lady?’

  Nell smoothed her printed muslin morning gown, sighing. ‘It is true that as a young matron I can now wear more colours and different styles—yet I am still wearing my missish dresses. It is one of the many consequences of having married so quickly.’ Her face brightened. ‘Now that I am in London, I shall have such fun ordering new clothes! Do come with me to visit the dressmakers!’

  ‘Of course I shall. What an adventure!’ They chatted on, eventually agreeing to meet the next day to visit various London dressmakers. Cecily, naturally, had no intention of making any purchases. Mama had bought her a few new dresses, but much of her wardrobe was from last year. She felt no envy towards Nell, who could now, it seemed, afford the best of everything. Last season’s dresses would do her very well.

  ‘I do have an evening gown that will be suitable for tonight, although it may be the last time I get to wear it. Wearing grown-up clothes also means saying farewell to some of my favourite young-lady gowns. Are you going to Lady Jersey’s soirée tonight, Cecily?’

  ‘Eh? What’s that?’ Mama, her hearing acute when something of relevance was under discussion, interrupted.

  Nell opened her mouth to reply, but her stepmama intervened. ‘Lady Jersey has invited a select few to her house tonight for the first soirée of the season. Although the season will begin properly at the end of the month, Town is already surprisingly busy.’ Beatrice preened a little, smoothing her fair hair. ‘I shall, naturally, be attending. I have secured invitations for both myself and my stepdaughter, but I have not yet told Lady Jersey of Nell’s marriage.’ She giggled. ‘I cannot wait to reveal to everyone that she has managed to catch the brother of an earl!’

  Oh, dear.

  Ignoring Nell’s flushed reaction to her stepmother’s vulgarity, Cecily focused on more pressing concerns. They had not been invited, yet Beatrice had. Her mama would be displeased.

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Mama, ‘I must pay an afternoon visit to her ladyship later.’

  Cecily, with some determination, refused to allow a pained expression to cross her face. Mama could be rather...direct at times.

  ‘I do hope you will be invited,’ said Nell softly. ‘My husband is already committed to meeting some of his own friends tonight, so I shall be with Beatrice at the soirée.’ Her mouth turned down a little at the corners. ‘Now that we are in London, he and I shall have less time together than before, I think. Tom has many matters of business to attend to, and friends he must not neglect. As do I!’ She smiled. ‘I am so happy that we are in London together!’

  Cecily nodded. ‘London is always more tolerable when we are both here at the same time.’ They hugged spontaneously, Cecily’s heart warming at being with her dear friend again.

  ‘Now then, girls,’ Beatrice called briskly from her settee, frowning at their unseemly display of affection. ‘Come and join us, for I need your advice about what to wear tonight.’

  With a quick shared glance, they crossed the room to the older ladies, and had no further opportunity for private conversation. A little later, Nell departed. She had arranged to meet her husband for tea, as they would not be together in the evening, and she did not wish to be late.

  ‘Well!’ Beatrice was all smiles after her stepdaughter’s departure. ‘Nell is in high spirits, I think. I am glad of it.’

  ‘And why should she not be, with such a fine-looking young gentleman as her husband?’ Cecily’s mama adopted a knowing air. ‘I do hope he is entertaining her well these nights.’

  Beatrice laughed, a hand over her mouth. ‘My dear Fanny, you are positively shocking!’

  Mama grinned. ‘I know. But have you seen those Beresford boys? Those thighs! That bottom!’ She sighed. ‘If I were but ten years younger...’ They both laughed raucously.

  Cecily, as she often did when Mama’s conversation became too warm, kept her head down and pretended not to understand them. The meaning was clear, however. They were referring to Nell and her husband’s marital activities. Was that what Nell had meant when she had referred to many new experiences?

  ‘Cecily!’ Mama’s tone was sharp. ‘You are daydreaming again, child! We shall go to Lady Jersey’s in a quarter of an hour, so go and make yourself ready. And remember, your behaviour and appearance reflects on me, so make sure you do not disappoint me!’

  Cecily suppressed a sigh.

  Am I never to be a person in my own right?

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  * * *

  Jack, having submitted to his valet’s ministrations for what felt like the longest half-hour of his life, sighed with relief when the man finally helped him into his plain black evening jacket. It was new, commissioned for the season, and was uncomfortably tight. With an unvoiced curse towards the absent tailor, Jack dismissed his valet. ‘You may go.’

  As soon as the valet had departed, Jack crossed to the side table in his spacious bedroom and picked up the letters from Tom. He had brought them upstairs when he had left the library, knowing he would read and reread them, searching for clues as to Tom’s state of mind. Quickly selecting the earlier letter, his long fingers deftly unfolded the paper. This was the communication where Tom had talked of his wedding, and Jack wished to again check the date.

  What he read made his blood turn cold. They had married at the end of January, yet to his knowledge Tom had only met the girl when he’d travelled to Kent for Christmas. He had married the creature after knowing her for only one month. A single month? He frowned. Not enough time for him to have got her with child and her family knowing of it.

  Leaving the bedroom, he strode along the landing then down the ornate staircase, his eyes sliding over the enormous paintings adorning the walls. In the hallway, the footman was waiting, and Jack donned his cloak, hat and top boots without a word. Outside, the carriage awaited.

  ‘Where to tonight, sir?’ The coachman holding open the carriage door, clad in a multi-caped greatcoat and a neat hat, looked appropriately neat and well turned-out, as befitted the Earl’s status.

  Jack climbed neatly into the carriage and settled himself on the silk damask-covered seat before replying. ‘First, my club, then to Lady Jersey’s.’

  Chapter Three

  For the second time in just a few hours, Cecily followed her mama out of the carriage and up the shallow stone steps to Lady Jersey’s well-appointed townhouse in Berkeley Square. She and Mama had paid an afternoon call and come away having secured gracious invitations to tonight’s party. Cecily had to admit that her mama’s charm ha
d not lost its potency. Lady Fanny was received everywhere and knew just how to make friends with the most influential people in society.

  As they had been driving away in the rumbling carriage earlier, sunset had gleamed red-gold on the mottled trunks of the plane trees in the beautiful gardens. The trees were already in bud, their knobbly branches swelling with green shoots and hopefulness.

  It is springtime, Cecily reminded herself now. A time of new beginnings and fresh starts. She was looking forward to an evening in Nell’s company.

  * * *

  An hour later, and Cecily declared herself content. The company and entertainment were good, the ratafia and wine plentiful, and both Cecily and Nell were enjoying the pre-season gathering of those members of the ton who had decided to return to London early.

  Although she would never say so, Cecily was secretly rather glad that Mr Beresford was at his club tonight, for it gave her the chance to spend some pleasant time with Nell.

  Word had not yet circulated about Nell’s marriage, for which she seemed grateful, preferring the anonymity of a place among the debutantes. Mr Beresford was informing his brother of the marriage, and until he did so there was to be no London announcement. Even Mrs Godwin had agreed to be silent on the matter—for now.

  Cecily and Nell, at twenty and nineteen, would be considered almost beyond redemption in the Marriage Mart—young ladies who had failed to secure a husband in either of their previous seasons. This was despite the fact that Nell’s papa had died—rather inconveniently, it had to be said—just as Nell had turned seventeen, and so she had missed out on making her debut. From next week Nell would wear an elegant matron’s gown and a lace cap at evenings such as these, marking her as a married lady, but for now the gathering throng in Lady Jersey’s elegant drawing rooms would assume them both to be unwed.