An uncomfortable silence settled upon them for several steps and then he asked, “Are you enjoying your visit to England?”
Thus would begin the inane conversation.
Remembering her father’s parting glance, Charley searched for some sort of intelligent answer. “It certainly is different than America.” Which sounded much better than saying that she couldn’t wait to return home to where people didn’t go about acting so ridiculously formal. Where people didn’t cook kidneys and other foods that ought never to be set upon a table.
The low chuckle that she barely heard made her think he understood her meaning all too well. “What strikes you the most?”
“Everything is so old and formal and ridiculously stuffy.” The words flew out before she could stop them. Perhaps she wasn’t the person best suited to establish connections on behalf of her father.
His laugh wasn’t quite as hushed this time and the breathy tone sent a shiver dancing down her spine. “Is there anything at all, even one thing about England that you might be partial to, Miss Jackson?”
“Your accent.” In fact, despite his boorish display of lordliness and in direct contradiction to the opinion she’d already developed about him, she really did like his voice. Rather than come across as stuffy and… British, the cultured tones caressed and cajoled at her in an effortless manner.
“The English accent varies significantly form shire to shire. Some even say it sounds different from village to village.” His lips tilted up just so, as he spoke, showing his teeth, which weren’t clenched but sort of… supporting one another.
He shrugged as though this wasn’t something he had much of an opinion on.
“It’s the same in America.” Charley slowed her speech to what she could recall from her visits to Knoxville. “Maah daddy’s raht hand mayan down in Tennessee takes forevah to git his poin’ across.”
The earl had stopped to gape at her almost as though she’d begun speaking gibberish. He blinked a few times before resuming his steps.
Charley felt a little embarrassed. Talking about whiskey production, however, could never embarrass her. “I suppose dialects are similar to soil, that way.” She hadn’t considered this until now and twisted her mouth thoughtfully as she contemplated her revelation. “A person needs to understand the regional characteristics, however, before they can identify the more precise nuances. People, on the other hand, do not act scientifically. They are less predictable.” She tapped her lips. Some behavior was quite predictable in humans.
“I understand your mother was English.” The earl’s comment interrupted her musings. “And that you are to reside with your grandparents indefinitely.”
“Visiting. I am only visiting my grandparents, Lord Westerley. Not,” she corrected, “residing indefinitely.” She’d rather go to work for Daisy’s prior employer than reside indefinitely with her grandparents.
“Of course, as my wife, you will move to Westerley Crossings.”
As his what? Move… where?She stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t been there to grasp her arm. “Excuse me?” Charley jerked to a halt and this time, it was she who stared at him as though he was speaking gibberish. Surely, she’d not heard him correctly.
“You mustn’t worry about our differences. My mother can assist in training you.”
Frustration thickened her throat. “Training me for what, exactly?”
“Why to act as my countess, of course. You can’t exactly preside over much of society,” the earl waved his hands in front of her with a quizzical smile dancing on his lips, “as you are, presently.”
And with those words, the appreciation she’d had for his voice evaporated.
Miss Charley Jacksonlooked up at Jules with her mouth dropped open and he found himself wanting to peer closer at her eyes. A myriad of flecks making up nearly every shade of green possible danced around each respective pupil. Emerald, forest, sage, mint with dark red lashes fringing them.
In this moment, they were wide with shock … Indeed, the expression on her face could be mistaken for nothing other than outright dismay.
Her father, it seemed, had not yet informed her of her good fortune.
Vague unease crawled over Jules. He’d thought he could avoid this entire wooing business by presuming it to be a done deal. What chit didn’t want to marry an earl? One who had all his teeth, no less, and if he did say so himself, one who wasn’t terrible to look at?
Was it possible her father had known what he was talking about when he’d insisted upon an actual courtship?
Perhaps he’d made a slight miscalculation.
She wasn’t nearly as tedious as he’d expected. And upon closer inspection, her looks were… striking—vibrant if one were to put a positive spin on them. Brash and ostentatious if viewed pessimistically. The disturbing sensations she provoked in him were likely due to the promise he’d made to her father. Without a doubt, it was the thought of matrimony itself that soured the contents of his stomach.
He fisted his hands at his sides as he recalled the game of cards he should have won the night before. A game that had changed his life, and soon, his future.
“As your what?” Her words echoed between them and were emphasized by two spots of red that appeared on her pale cheeks.
“You needn’t pretend it isn’t why you are in England. Why, I’d wager any lady worth her salt would change places with you in the blink of an eye. It’s quite the coup, you realize, for any young woman, let alone an American, to land a titled husband.”
