Page 63 of An Earl Like You
She blushed. “Oh, no...” She’d merely learned the hard way what happened when one was quiet and retiring and did nothing to counter vile rumors.
“You are,” he insisted, his eyes dark and intent on her. “And if there weren’t a hundred people watching, I might kiss you for it.”
Her heart skipped, jumped, and soared. Whatever she’d had to endure—from Edith’s animosity to the loss of Willy’s company to being required to attend society events like this one—it was all worth it. Because of Hugh’s love. He’d seen past her shy, plain person, right into the depths of her heart, and he loved her as she was. Eliza smiled at him, certain she looked like a lovesick idiot and not caring in the slightest. “Perhaps I was hasty, about wanting to stay for the rest of the musicale...”
He only laughed, low and sensual, as he drew her to his side and tucked her arm around his. “I shall make up for lost time tonight, Lady Hastings. You may depend on it.”
Chapter 24
The next week unfolded so splendidly that Hugh, without meaning to, fell prey to the seductive but treacherous belief that he would never have to tell Eliza the truth.
Her set-down of Benwick wasn’t without repercussion. The day after the Gorenson musicale, the first whispers reached his ears. Benwick had stormed out of the musicale in a bad temper, and Hugh wasn’t surprised to hear reports that Livingston was telling everyone at his club that Hugh, having only married for money, had got what he deserved with a rude, arrogant upstart for a wife.
Hewassurprised at the source of rebuttal. His mother was livid when she heard, and embarked at once on a tour of drawing rooms around London, assuring everyone that Eliza was the most delightful girl, that Hugh had seen her worth, and that Benwick was acting out of spite after his courtship of Edith was rejected. Edith had told her what Eliza said, and it sealed the dowager’s loyalty to her daughter-in-law.
But the most surprising thing, the thing that seemed to wipe away all the trouble and upheaval his marriage had caused initially, was Edith’s confession. She stopped him on his way out the door one day and asked for a word. He followed her into the morning room, hoping it wasn’t something else about the dog. He’d hardly seen Willy, and he knew Eliza missed having her pet around.
“I want to apologize,” said Edith when he had closed the door. She twisted her hands together. “For all the things I said about Eliza.”
“Ah.” Hugh resisted the urge to say anything else.
Edith bit her lip. “I thought it was important to be loyal to Reg—to Mr. Benwick. I believed his claims that her father was quite evil.” She looked at the floor. “And I felt rather superior for thinking so.”
“Now, I presume, you don’t.”
She raised her head, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. “No. Eliza defended me and lied to Lady Gorenson when she might have confirmed that I’d been j-j-jilted.” Hugh reached for her but she stepped back. “I was an idiot to listen to Reggie. And he was a liar, about her and many other things.”
“He was.”
She swiped at her eyes. “I’m very sorry. I wanted to tell you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Hugh said.
His sister took a deep breath. “You were very clever to marry her.”
That caught him off guard. “You think so?”
Edith nodded. “I thought she wouldn’t have any taste, but she has. I thought she would be crude and gauche, but she isn’t.” She glanced around the room with red-rimmed eyes. “And I suspect you gave Mama permission to decorate the house because she persuaded you, which has made Mama so happy.”
“Thank you, Edith,” he said quietly. “But perhaps you ought to say these kind words to Eliza.”
Her smile wobbled. “I did tell her, right after breakfast. I wanted to tell you, too, since I was so beastly to you.”
And Hugh felt a great weight lift off his chest. His mother loved Eliza. Henrietta adored her, and her dog. Now even Edith admitted she’d been wrong, and approved of Eliza. Again the feeling that he was going to get away with everything whispered through his mind, insidiously exculpatory, and he went to find his wife.
She was in the drawing room, a kerchief on her head and an apron over her dress. The walls had been painted a light green, the floor newly buffed and waxed, and she was directing servants who were hanging drapes of deep purple satin, gleaming richly in the newly brightened room. Hugh stood beside her and watched them angle the heavy rod into the hooks.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think you look quite fetching.”
She blushed. “I meant about the drapes.”
“Men don’t think about draperies, they think about undressing their wives.” He savored the way the blush spread down her neck, toward the neckline of her dress. “Come with me.”
“Where? Hugh!” she protested as he plucked the kerchief off her head.
“You’ve done quite enough.”For the house, for my family, for me.“Let’s run away for the day.”
