Page 11 of An Earl Like You
“Miss Cross?” The Earl of Hastings offered his arm to her. Eliza jolted in alarm; she had not expected to touch him. But Papa had already turned and walked out of the room. Gingerly she put her fingertips on his forearm, unable to stop the tiny shiver that went through her as his muscle flexed.
The dinner passed like a dream. Lord Hastings was much more formal with Papa than he had been when it was just the two of them, talking about dogs, but Eliza had expected that. She knew her father had a certain reputation for being hard and ruthless in business, and he’d said Lord Hastings came on business. Most people who did business with Papa acted with reserve. They didn’t know her father had a soft and loving heart, but she suspected she might be the only person who saw that side of Papa regularly.
There was no talk of business, though. Instead Papa seemed determined to bring up every difficult topic under the sun. He quizzed Lord Hastings about the prospect of parliamentary reform. He asked the earl for his thoughts on Catholic suffrage. Next came the Corn Laws, and Eliza began to fear her father would give offense. When Papa began pressing the earl to say clearly whether or not he supported the laws, Eliza had enough. She’d listened in silence, but it was clear to her their visitor was not enjoying himself. His dark eyes were flat and unsmiling, and his answers grew shorter and more clipped. She wondered why her father was hounding his guest, as if he were judging the earl instead of trying to court his business investment.
“Enough of that, Papa,” she said in light reproach. “I wonder if Lord Hastings has seen the new production ofLionel and Clarissaat the Theatre Royal.”
The smile Lord Hastings gave almost bowled her over. It was warm and relieved and filled with gratitude. Apparently he had not enjoyed the political conversation any more than she had. “I have not, Miss Cross, but my mother and sisters assure me it is marvelous. They particularly enjoyed the melodrama accompanying it.”
“Did they?” She smiled in surprise. “Papa, may we see it? If Lady Hastings and her daughters have been, it cannot be improper.”
“Perhaps.” Papa leaned back and gestured for more wine. “Would your friend Lady Georgiana Lucas accompany us?”
Eliza gave him a warning glance under her eyelashes. He was prone to mentioning Georgiana, sister of the Earl of Wakefield, when he wished to impress someone. “She might, if you take a box and Lady Sidlow gives her permission.” Countess Sidlow was Georgiana’s starchy chaperone in London, and she was not fond of theater. Georgiana was not usually permitted to go. “Will you take us?”
Papa chuckled. “You know I can’t refuse you, my dear.”
She beamed at him before turning back to the earl. “How old are your sisters, Lord Hastings?”
“About your age, Miss Cross,” he said. “Edith is the elder, and Henrietta the younger. Edith is in her first Season this year, and Henrietta is eagerly anticipating her own next year.”
That meant the Hastings girls were a few years younger than Eliza, who was three years past her Season, even after persuading her father to let her wait until she was nineteen. “How exciting for her. Is Lady Edith enjoying it?”
“Very much. She is especially pleased by her court gown.” He said it with a wry lilt to his voice, which also made Eliza smile.
“Any new gown is worth a moment of delight, let alone one that fine.” She had seen Georgiana’s magnificent court gown, though never had one of her own. Not even Papa could get her presented at court, much to his irritation and Eliza’s relief.
“Ladies and their shopping!” Papa shook his head. “I’ll never see the fascination with silk and lace.”
“Fortunately that age of fashion is over for gentlemen,” Eliza said pertly. “Although you would look very handsome, Papa, in a long wig, with a velvet coat dripping in gold lace, and of course the heels worthy of Charles II.”
Lord Hastings made a faint sound that might have been a smothered laugh. Papa raised one brow at her, his mouth twitching. “Fortunate indeed. Keep your laces and ribbons and all those other fripperies.”
“I will, thank you.”
“They are far more suited to ladies,” said Lord Hastings. He raised his glass to her. “Every lady of my acquaintance does far better justice to lace and silk than any man ever could. Particularly you, Miss Cross.”
Her heart gave another sigh. She knew it wasn’t true, but he was very gallant to say so. “Thank you, sir.”
By the time dinner was cleared away and Eliza excused herself to leave the gentlemen to their brandy and their business discussion, she felt flushed and tipsy. She went to the drawing room and opened one of the tall windows that overlooked her garden. The soft scent of roses drifted up to her as she leaned out into the cool air.
Lord Hastings had to be the most handsome, charming, delightful man in all of London. After the first few moments she hadn’t felt awkward or shy with him, and not once had she stammered herself into embarrassed silence. She hadn’t even giggled, which was astonishing to her. For a moment she let herself imagine he might come to dinner regularly. Might compliment her regularly. Might stop by their box at the theater to pay his respects. Might smile at her in that way he had that suggested he found her interesting and charming...
Then she laughed a little at herself for spinning daydreams again. “Silly,” she whispered to the silent roses. “But at least it’s a lovely dream.”
Chapter 5
Hugh still wasn’t sure why he’d come.
It was a long trip to Greenwich, and he had no idea what Cross wanted to discuss. But it had kept him awake all night, thinking about why Cross might have bought his mortgages and other debts, and so here he was.
The one bright spot had been Miss Cross. Whatever her father was up to, Hugh was certain she had no part of it. She was shy for one thing, with a pretty pink blush whenever he teased her about the dog. Hugh probably wouldn’t have noticed her if she hadn’t burst into his life looking like a half-drowned scullery maid in pursuit of a dog, but he could tell her heart was warm, and she seemed without guile or calculation.
Unlike her father.
When the door closed behind her, as she left him and Edward Cross to the brandy the servants rushed to serve, he dismissed Eliza Cross from his mind and focused on her father. “Well?” he drawled.
Cross’s posture relaxed. He took a healthy sip of his brandy and lounged back in his seat. “How was your dinner, sir?”
