Page 25 of An Earl Like You
Once Eliza started turning aside the fortune hunters, she stopped receiving many callers. Her suspicions made her even more reticent and shy about talking to any man who approached her at a ball, and soon they stopped doing that, as well. Eliza almost fainted with relief when the Season ended and they went back to Greenwich.
Lord Hastings was different from those callers, though. He was an earl, which meant that if he wanted to marry an heiress, he could have found a duke’s daughter and been welcomed. He had seen her at her worst, soaking wet and smelly, and had not recoiled in disgust. He even had a way of charming her out of the horrifying nervous giggle that seemed to escape her lips any time a handsome man spoke to her... and yet he was the most attractive man she’d ever set eyes on, let alone spoken to.
What could he possibly mean by sending her flowers?
She mentioned it to her father that evening. “Lord Hastings sent me a posy of flowers today,” she said over the fish course, as casually as she could manage.
Papa’s fork paused in midair. “Did he? Were they pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like them?”
“Of course!”
“What’s the trouble, then?” Papa speared another bite of fish and watched her as he ate.
Eliza frowned. “There is no trouble, Papa. I was only surprised.”
“I thought you liked the fellow.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She did like the earl, a great deal. Eliza snatched up her glass and took a healthy drink. “He’s very charming. Exquisite manners.”
“Is that all?” He leaned forward, his eyes keen on her. “If you don’t like him...”
“No!” She pursed her lips. “I like him very much, Papa. He’s charming and amusing but I am astonished he would send me flowers.”
Finally, Papa smiled, his small, knowing smile. “Are you? I’m not.”
Eliza tensed in sudden suspicion. “Why not?”
“How could he keep from admiring you? You’re the finest girl in Britain, a man would have to be an idiot not to feel like sending you flowers.”
“Papa.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop. You know as well as I that it’s ridiculous—”
“No, I do not know that,” he returned. “He’s a fine fellow, I grant you, but why shouldn’t he admire you?”
She put down her glass. “We are not talking about admiration, and you know it. We are talking about why a man like him—an earl—would send me flowers.”
“Listen to me, Lilibeth.” He pointed his fork at her, suddenly very serious. “Never think a title makes one man any better than the others. What did he do to deserve it? Nothing; he was born to a man who inherited the position. Take away the coronet and arrogance, and an earl is just a man like any other.”
“Not quite,” she retorted. “He might marry the daughter of another earl, or a duke, or anybody he chooses—”
“The Duke of Exeter wed a commoner,” said her father, unmoved.
“Marry—!” Eliza shook her head. She’d been afraid her father would get this idea, and yet it felt almost reassuring. After a day of wondering what that posy could mean, just hearing Papa say it out loud made clear how ridiculous the thought was. The tightness in her chest eased. “Lord Hastings is not going to marry me.”
He shrugged. “Nothing says he couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry I mentioned it,” she said in exasperation. “It was a simple posy. He might have sent posies to a dozen other girls.”
“If I had to wager on it, I’d say no.” Papa gave her a sly look. “We’ll wait and see, eh?”
Chapter 11
Hugh took his time walking up the steps. Once he went into the ballroom and danced with Eliza Cross in front of all London, it would be much harder to retreat.
The host of this ball was his old friend Viscount Thayne. He had known the viscount since they were lads at Eton, but more importantly Thayne owed him a favor. Tonight it was being repaid: Thayne had told his wife to send an invitation to the Crosses.
