Page 11 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

He stilled. What on earth was he thinking? He didn’t even like the woman and she had clearly been pushing her sister in his direction…as a potential wife? The idea slipped between the tight guard he kept on such thoughts. He had put aside all thoughts of marriage, for now. He had one goal in mind: to restore the reputation of his family name. And, in doing so, to prove Eloise had been wrong to reject his suit. After that…there would be time enough for thoughts of marriage.

He opened the drawer of his dressing table and selected a handkerchief from the pile placed there by Mrs Spragg or one of her minions. The other one, the one returned to him by Miss Dearing, he placed in the box on top of his dressing table. A box for trinkets, odds and ends. For some reason, he didn’t want to put it in his pocket or add it to the fresh washed ones in his drawer.

He hesitated, then headed for his study. He had to reply to this dashed invitation to tea. And, despite his misgivings, he was going to say yes. What she had said about him being an important member of the county had resonated. It wouldn’t be enough simply to restore the house. The Blackdown title was not merely linked to a bunch of bricks and mortar. At one time, the Ingrams had held influence in this part of the country, and at Court. And would do so again. Soon.

He walked over because he had no idea if they would be able to stable a horse, and besides, he needed the exercise. When he presented himself at the Dearings’ front door at the appointed time of three o’clock, he was admitted by an elderly woman in a neat white cap and brown dress. The woman—the housekeeper, he assumed—took his hat and shuffled ahead of him to announce his arrival. She ushered him into a drawing room with dark panelled walls from which portraits of men in ancient attire stared down at its occupants.

Three young ladies perched on high-back chairs around the edges of the room, which looked as if they might have been new in the previous century. The chamber had an unused feel and smelled of lemon and beeswax. A balding, scholarly gentleman heaved himself slowly to his feet, his shoulders stooped as if they bore a great weight.

‘Welcome, my lord,’ he said his voice hoarse. ‘I understand you have met my daughters, Miss Dearing, Miss Primrose Dearing and Miss Iris Dearing.’

The three young women rose and dipped curtseys. The beauty of Miss Primrose struck him anew. Without a doubt, while all three of the Dearing sisters could be described as handsome, Miss Primrose, with her classic blonde, blue-eyed looks, was incomparable. At her side, her sisters looked merely passable. If she were ever introduced to London Society she would have her pick of eligible bachelors. And no doubt pick the richest and most titled available; that was what beautiful women did.

‘We have indeed met,’ he said with what he hoped was a genial smile. ‘But never all at once. Good day, ladies.’ He bowed.

‘Please, won’t you sit down?’ the elder Miss Dearing said. She gestured to a chair and Mr Dearing sank gratefully into his own arm chair, as if standing was a great effort. The walking stick hooked over the back of his chair likely meant the old fellow had trouble walking.

Miss Dearing went to the bell-pull beside the fireplace and ordered tea when the housekeeper answered.

She returned to her seat beside her father, while Graydon found himself flanked by the two younger ladies. That suited him admirably. It meant he could regard the eldest sister without being dazzled by the younger.

In his opinion, the eldest Miss Dearing was easier on the eye, cooler to the spirit. He liked looking at those expressive eyes beneath her equally expressive eyebrows. While her face did not reveal her thoughts, her eyes gave a great deal away. At the moment, she was anxious, which was intriguing.

‘Wet weather for this time of year,’ Mr Dearing said, sounding as gloomy as the weather.

‘Indeed,’ Graydon replied. ‘The amount of rain we have had these past several weeks is severely delaying progress on my house.’

‘But will it be finished before summer?’ Miss Dearing asked.

‘That is to be seen,’ he said.

‘It would be a great pity if you cannot hold your ball during the summer months,’ Miss Primrose said in a light, sweet voice. ‘I have longed to dance beneath the stars.’

He blinked. Could he really be expected to listen to such romantic nonsense? With a start, he realised he had been enchanted when Eloise had talked in just that way. But he had been young then and easily taken in by a pretty face. He was a wiser man now. But the thought of dancing with her elder sister…

The tea tray arrived and silence fell as the maid placed the tray in front of Miss Dearing. A very young housemaid waiting near the door brought in a smaller tray containing little cakes and biscuits which looked home-made and rather appetising.

Miss Dearing poured the tea and Miss Primrose passed him his cup and offered him the plate of biscuits. They were delicious.

So, Miss Dearing considered both of her younger siblings to be ‘out’ and ready for the marriage mart. Likely, with one of them marrying him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Marriage was the last thing on his mind at present.

‘I very much doubt the house will be finished until September, at the earliest. And, even if it was finished earlier, I’m afraid I have no intention of throwing a party to satisfy local curiosity.’

Miss Dearing’s eyes widened.

Oh, there would be a ball. He planned on it. And all the important people in England would be invited. People who would not expect to mix with a lot of hayseed gentry.

Mr Dearing returned his cup to his saucer with a definite click. ‘Ah, Florence, you see I was right. The Ingrams always did consider themselves a cut above mere mortals when in fact they are the opposite.’

Graydon’s hackles rose. He hadn’t come here to be insulted.

‘And besides, my girl,’ Dearing continued, glowering at Miss Dearing, ‘If you think I would let you and your sisters go flaunting yourselves at balls and routs like mares at a horse fair, you are sadly mistaken.’ Mr Dearing shot a glare at his older daughter over the rim of his cup.

Miss Dearing had the look of someone whose wind had definitely been taken out of her sails. For a moment, Graydon wished he had said nothing. He felt a twinge of guilt, as if he had stolen something precious from a child.

Nonsense. He would not be manipulated by some female he barely knew to whom he owed nothing and whose parent held his family in such low esteem. It was time to take his leave. He put his hands on the arms of the chair, preparing to push to his feet.

‘There is another matter I would discuss with you, my lord,’ Dearing said. ‘Iris, please go and fetch the document I showed you last week.’