Page 17 of An Earl Like You
The other way lay in sacrificing himself. It would be easier at first, though there was a chance he could end up regretting it for the rest of his life. Still, he’d known, deep down, that it would probably come to this; the only surprising part was the girl. He thought of Eliza Cross’s pink-cheeked smile as she spoke of her dog, and the gratitude in her eyes when he turned the pages of her music. She wasn’t scheming to manipulate him. She seemed to be a perfectly lovely girl. She had a fortune he desperately needed.
He took a deep breath. “Edith might not be the only one reciting vows soon.”
“But Henrietta isn’t even out—” His mother’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean...?” she whispered in amazement.
He managed a rueful smile as he held up his hands. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’ve met a young lady, is what I ought to have said.”
“Who?”
“No, no, I’ll not say a word until I know if she returns my regard.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted Miss Cross to fall for him or not. If she didn’t, he’d still get a dowry for his sister. But either way, he intended to court her.
There really wasn’t much of a choice.
Chapter 7
Eliza had just dug up another pernicious weed from her garden, clearing a space for the young rosebushes that were finally ready to be planted, when the butler came to find her. “Lord Hastings has come to call, ma’am.”
“What?”
Roberts blinked at her dismayed exclamation. “I informed him that Mr. Cross is not at home, and His Lordship then inquired if you were.”
Eliza looked around, her heart sinking. Once again, she was wearing an old dress, dirty and crumpled from gardening. Her hair was tied up in a severe knot and flattened beneath her ancient straw hat, and her arms were streaked with grime and little bits of the weed she’d been hacking out of the rose bed. Lord Hastings had a terrible knack for catching her at her worst.
The butler’s question was waiting. Slowly she climbed to her feet. Papa liked the earl; he hoped their business venture came to fruition. He would be disappointed if Eliza hid in the potting shed and sent Lord Hastings back to London instead of receiving him in her father’s stead like a proper lady. She would have to do this.
“Beg His Lordship’s pardon,” she told Roberts, “and tell him I will be with him soon. Offer him something to drink. Tell Martha to prepare tea—a full tea, not just a few cakes—and send for Mary to attend me at once.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and swiped the hat from her head. “And put Willy in the kitchen garden,” she added, catching sight of the dog. He was sleeping under the bench by the fountain now, but he’d spring to life the moment she started toward the house.
Roberts nodded, and Eliza picked up her skirts and ran.
It took over a quarter of an hour to reach her room, frantically scrub the dirt from her face and arms, change her dress, locate proper slippers, and have her maid, Mary, brush out her hair. Eliza closed her eyes in despair as Mary fussed over it, and finally told the girl to wind it up into a simple chignon. She flew back down the stairs, slowing to a walk outside the drawing room even as her pulse still raced. She told herself it was the exertion and not the prospect of facing a handsome man, but when the footman opened the door and she walked in to see Lord Hastings rising to greet her, her heart gave a leap that had nothing to do with her mad dash down the stairs.
“I’m so sorry, my lord, for keeping you waiting,” she said breathlessly, making her curtsy. “My father is not at home and I did not expect visitors.”
He smiled. Today his dark hair was tousled into loose curls, and his dimple appeared with devastating effect. “It’s my own fault, Miss Cross, for not sending word to your father first. You’re very kind to receive me.”
“Nonsense.” She caught herself before the nervous giggle could break free. “It’s quiet out here in Greenwich. Visitors are always welcome.”
Bless the heavens, Roberts tapped at the door and brought in the tray she had ordered. Eliza busied herself serving. Lord Hastings accepted a small plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea with just a splash of milk and a tiny bit of sugar, which made her heart take another silly leap. She took her tea exactly the same way.Which means exactly nothing, she told herself.
“Do you like Greenwich?” he asked politely.
Eliza’s eyes went wide. “Greenwich? Yes. Oh.” She bit her lip, remembering. “I said it’s quiet. It is very quiet, much more so than London. My good friend Georgiana Lucas lives right in Cavendish Square, and she tells me it’s noisy at all hours.”
“It is,” he agreed with a faint smile. “Is she the sister of the Earl of Wakefield?”
“Yes.” Too late Eliza realized she ought to have called her friend Lady Georgiana. “Are you acquainted with her?”
“No, but I hear of her. My sisters think she is one of the most elegant ladies in London, and more than once they have come home from a walk in the park near fainting with rapture over the dress Lady Georgiana wore.”
Eliza laughed. “They are correct! Lady Georgiana has exquisite taste.”
Again his eyes crinkled in that almost-smile. “I must say the same of you, Miss Cross, if you’ve had the decorating of this house.”
This time she blushed with pleasure. House decorating was, she felt, one of her few talents. Papa had thrown up his hands and said she could do whatever she liked to any room but his study, and so Eliza had indulged her every fancy. The drawing room was her favorite, in soft yellow with crisp draperies of ivory silk. The furniture was light but comfortable, upholstered in striped damask, and all the lamps and ornaments were crystal. The tall windows looked out over the lawn spreading down to the river, and on sunny days the entire room glowed.
“I have,” she acknowledged, trying to smother the bubbling delight inside her. “My mother died when I was a child, and my father would cover the walls with oak paneling and hang velvet draperies everywhere, if it were left to him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Very manly, but also very dark.”
“He was wise to give it into your hands.”
