Page 24 of An Earl Like You
His mother’s brows rose. “Edith thought it was dreadful.”
“Did she?” Hugh frowned. “I must have become confused and wandered into the wrong production...”
“And right into Edward Cross’s box?” She gave him a reproving look. “He’s not your usual companion, dear.”
Hugh felt no obligation to speak highly of the man. “Not at all. But he believes there may be ore at Rosemere and he’s mad to find out.” He made a distasteful expression. “Nothing will come of it, I’m sure.”
“Rosemere!” His mother’s eyes went wide, and she pressed one hand to her throat. “You wouldn’t really let that man dig up the grounds of Rosemere, would you? It’s bad enough we must let it out to tenants when we might be there ourselves, where your father and I were always so happy—” She stopped, her lip quivering.
Hugh reminded himself that if things went well with Eliza Cross, if he did indeed end up married to her, Rosemere would never be in danger again, either from tenants or speculators looking for ore in the fields. His mother would be able to spend the rest of her life there, mourning and venerating his father, who had put Hugh in this impossible position, and he would never need to spoil her memory of him.
But for now, he had to keep up the pretense. “I’m sure nothing will come of it,” he repeated with a wave of one hand. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mother.”
Her eyes shone with gratitude. “Of course not. I should have known better, dear, forgive me—I know you would never do something so abhorrent, not only to me, but to the very honor of Hastings. Rosemere is your birthright.”
Rosemere was mortgaged to the eaves of its mansard slate roof. The elegant new wing, with its splendid plasterwork and silk-upholstered furnishings and crystal chandeliers, had been built with Edith’s dowry. The landscaping must have cost Henrietta’s dowry, and the two hundred acres his father had bought five years ago, to provide privacy and an unimpeded view of the sound from the house, would have funded a widow’s dower for his mother. Rosemere hardly felt like Hugh’s at all.
For a split second he thought of what Eliza might do with the property. Her garden was a riot of color, from the roses sprawling over every arbor and fence to the irises and lilies raising their regal heads above the humbler grasses and ferns. Hugh liked it. Rosemere, for all its beauty, had neat, bounded gardens that might have been outside a Tudor kitchen, where one felt constrained and restricted, not at ease.
“I am determined to be a good steward of Rosemere,” he told his mother.
She smiled in relief. “I know, dear. So like your father.” She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and Hugh closed his eyes at the rush of resentment in his chest. He was tired of hearing how like his father he was, particularly from people who couldn’t know how wrong they were.
That thought made it easier to say what he must. “I must confess another motive in joining Cross the other night. His daughter was with him, and she invited me.”
“His daughter?” The countess raised her chin, a flash of apprehension in her eyes. “You can’t mean...”
“Mother.” He took her hand. “It was a surprise to me, but she’s nothing like her father. I think you would like her a great deal, if you met her.”
“The daughter of the man who wants to dig up my beloved Rosemere? You think I should receive her?”
He ignored her shocked tone. “Don’t you trust my judgment?” He gave a crooked grin. “It’s improved a great deal since I assured you Robert Fairfield was a modest fellow, and wouldn’t lead me into any trouble at school.”
Her face softened. “You were both boys! Boys are full of high spirits, and any woman who thinks her child won’t get into trouble doesn’t deserve to have a son. Besides, I know his mother.”
“I don’t recall you being so understanding when we set fire to the tutor’s laundry,” he said with a laugh. “But you can trust me on this.”
Still smiling, she sighed and touched his arm. “I will. But I hope you consider carefully what it would mean to bring a girl like that into our circle.”
“Good heavens, I didn’t mean to suggest we adopt her,” he said in mock indignation. “I only said I think you would like her, if you ever happen to meet her.”
“And I know very well what that means,” she retorted. “I said much the same thing to my parents when I first met your father.”
He reeled back as if struck. “Good gracious, Mother. Do you mean to suggest I’ve met the woman of my dreams, and am just too thickheaded to realize it yet?”
“The daughter of a common speculator would be a very odd choice,” she pointed out. “I hope you aren’t being swayed by a passing interest.”
On the contrary; he had a deep and abiding interest in saving his estate. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “You know me better than that. I’m off to Tattersall’s and won’t be home until late.” He still spent his days as if he hadn’t a care in the world, about money or anything else.
She bade him farewell and left, her expression clear. Hugh knew it meant she believed he would never do something so shocking or crass as to court a Cit’s daughter. He could only hope she would be swayed by Miss Cross’s obvious kindness and warmth when the time came for him to tell his mother he meant not only to court her, but to marry her.
The flowers caught Eliza off guard. It was a small posy, wrapped in silk ribbon, but with a note that threatened to topple her world off its axis.These are nothing to the beauty in your own garden, but they made me think of you. Your servant, Hastings
She read it approximately fifteen times before believing it was real. The posy she put into a vase herself and set on the windowsill by the pianoforte, where she could see them as she practiced. But her fingers seemed to have lost any sense of the keys, and she finally closed the cover.
The card taunted her, lying next to her music. She picked it up and read it again. The Earl of Hastings had sent her flowers. And there was little to explain it, except the remote, incredible, virtually impossible chance that he was flirting with her.
Eliza had received flowers before. During her Season, Papa had taken a house right in the center of London to make it easier for her to attend balls and soirees and take drives in the park with gentlemen. And gentlemen had come—they asked her to dance, and to walk, and to drive. Some sent her flowers. But it never took long for Eliza to realize that each and every one of them was there because of her dowry. The man who proposed to her the second time they met. The baronet who called her his dear Emily. The dashing army captain who sent a sonnet in praise of her fine dark eyes, having never noticed her eyes were green. Even one of Papa’s associates, thankfully one of the younger ones, had called on her—although he quickly admitted he thought they made a good match because of how well he got on with Papa.
