Page 3 of An Earl Like You
“Really?” Willy was lying obediently at Eliza’s feet. He was a very well-behaved dog, as long as there was the chance of something tasty to eat. Eliza liked to reward good behavior. She slipped him a bit of bacon. “He didn’t ask if I were married before jumping into my arms and coming home with me, so I doubt that’s true.”
“A lady ought to be out dancing with gentlemen, not feeding her breakfast to a dog.”
Eliza rolled her eyes and fed Willy another small bite of bacon. “Yet more proof that I am not a lady.”
“But you could be. You should be.” Papa’s brows lowered as he chewed, looking like a man working furiously at a problem. “If you would only—”
“Papa.” She put down her cup and fixed a severe look on him. “Stop.”
He grunted, but let the subject drop. Willy, energized by the bacon, jumped up and began sniffing around the floor under the breakfast table.
“I thought we agreed the little beast would stay in the garden,” said Papa.
“It’s raining.” But Eliza pointed at the basket in the corner. Willy’s ears sank, and he gave her a tragically sad look. Eliza kept pointing and finally Willy heaved a sigh and trotted to his basket. He settled his head on the edge and continued to watch her with alert brown eyes.
“Dogs don’t mind a trifling spot of rain. He’d go right out if I tossed a bit of kidney out the door.” Papa speared a piece on his fork and cocked his head. Willy’s ears went up.
“Papa.” Eliza frowned. “Don’t tease him.”
“I’m not teasing. I’d really throw it.” Papa ate the kidney and put down his fork.
Eliza gave him a stern glance and changed the subject. “Sophie asked me to tea with her and Georgiana the day after tomorrow,” she said. She had tea regularly with her friends, but always reminded her father. “And Mrs. Reeve sent her regrets that she and Mr. Reeve cannot dine with us tomorrow after all.”
“Good news on both counts,” said Papa with pleasure.
“Mrs. Reeve is a very kind lady.” Eliza noticed her father’s cup was almost empty, and she poured more coffee for him, adding a drop of cream, as he liked it. “If you would simply make a donation to the church, Mr. Reeve would cease asking.” Mr. Reeve was the vicar, and not as gentle-mannered as his wife.
“When Mr. Reeve holds his sermons to less than an hour, I’ll give him money.”
“I don’t think he’d take that well.”
“I don’t think a church needs gold chandeliers and marble altars. We’ll see who’s more determined to get his way.” Edward Cross drained his second cup of coffee. “I’m meeting Southbridge and Grenville today. I’ll be out late.”
“Don’t lose too much,” she returned. She knew Sir David Southbridge and Robert Grenville were not only business partners of Papa’s but gambling mates, as well. They never wagered against each other, but all three were ruthless competitors, in business and at cards. When Papa arrived home after late nights with them, usually much the worse for drink, he’d tell her stories about Grenville wagering thousands of pounds at the tables, or Southbridge’s steely nerve in risking shares of his trading company on a horse.
“Lose!” Her father looked affronted. “I’ll not be ordered about by a girl who waits hand and foot on a ragged mongrel.”
“Now, Papa,” she remonstrated, “you’re looking much less ragged since you let Jackson trim your hair.”
“Impudence!” he grumbled. “Why the Good Lord gave me a clever girl, I’m sure I don’t know.”
She beamed at him. “Who else would put up with you like I do?”
He gave her a narrow glance. “Ought to be putting up with a husband.”
“I don’t think that would go well,” she replied. “I couldn’t put up with any of the fortune hunters and idiots who called on me.”
He made a face as he pushed back from the table and got to his feet. “There’s no need for you to marry a clever man! You’ve got enough brains for both of you.”
“And more than enough fortune. I know.” Eliza folded her hands and assumed a dreamy expression. “Surely there’s some viscount or baronet out there, titled and handsome but dull-witted and utterly penniless, who might be willing to have me.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “That’s not what I meant.” She wrinkled her nose and finally he laughed. “I love you, Lilibeth,” he said, calling her by her childhood nickname as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“I love you, too, Papa, even though you long to be rid of me.” But she said it with a fond smile.
Papa snorted. “Rid of you! As if I’m wrong to want my girl settled in a home of her own. Serves me right, eh?” he said to Willy, who barked in reply. “She runs circles around me with my own words.”
“I just want you to know I’m happy,” she protested. “Even as a spinster. If I never meet a handsome, charming, dull-witted, impoverished baronet, I shall still be happy, with you and Willy and my friends.”
