Page 19 of An Earl Like You
Her smile brightened. “Yes. Very much.”
“This proposal he put to me—” Lord Hastings stopped and looked sharply at her. “He didn’t explain it to you?”
“Oh no, I’ve no idea,” she said quickly. “Sometimes he tells me, if he thinks it’s a silly idea. One friend of his has a plan to travel to Amsterdam by balloon. Papa thinks they’ll crash into the North Sea instead. Generally he assures me the things he does are far too dull to talk about and would put me to sleep. Trading shares of grain, and things like it.”
“Right.” Hastings regarded her in silence for a moment. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that I have decided to do business with Mr. Cross. Even if he doesn’t discuss things with you, you would sort it out soon enough. We’ll probably see more of each other, as your father and I work together.” His smile this time was a little crooked. “Now you’re forewarned.”
Eliza flushed a painful shade of red at how unprepared she’d been thus far. “How wonderful,” she said. “I’m sure Papa will be quite pleased to hear it.” The clock chimed the hour, making her jump. “Would you like to leave a message for him? I expect him home after dinner.”
“If you would pass on my agreement to his proposal, I would be very grateful.” He looked at his teacup, then drained it. “Thank you, Miss Cross. I must return to London.”
Oh thank heavens the visit was over. Eliza leapt to her feet. “I certainly will tell him, my lord. And I do apologize again that he was not here to see you himself.”
“No, no.” He also rose, and suddenly smiled at her, so beautifully dazzling she almost swayed on her feet. “It was an unexpected pleasure to see you instead, and I cannot bring myself to regret his absence.”
Flattering empty words, and yet Eliza felt her insides go up in flames like dry kindling touched with a taper. She walked out with him and managed to make a polite farewell, watching as he swung into the saddle of a handsome roan gelding. He tipped his hat to her, then rode off. Eliza exhaled, watching until he disappeared through the gates at the Deptford Road.
We’ll see more of each other, echoed his words in her mind.It was an unexpected pleasure to see you.
Eliza knew very well he had not meant them in any romantic way. He couldn’t possibly, being a charming, sophisticated aristocrat who was almost too handsome to be real. But still, he’d said those words, toher, without any prompting or prodding, and there was a very happy little smile on her lips when she went back into the house.
Chapter 8
Hugh spent some time thinking about how to proceed. It did not appear Miss Cross went out in society much, which was both for the better and for the worse. On one hand, it wouldn’t put his courtship of her right in front of theton’s face, perhaps sparing him any rude gossip for a while. But on the other hand, it would be far less convenient. He couldn’t simply plot to attend the same events she did, because she didn’t attend many. He would have to seek her out in Greenwich, which meant he’d have to come up with multiple excuses to go there. He sent a terse note to Cross pointing this out and telling the man it would be considerably easier if he would take a box at the Theatre Royal and escort his daughter regularly.
Cross replied that he had already done so, and expected to see Hugh there the next night.
Hugh did not tell his mother and sisters he planned to attend the theater. He had been avoiding them lately. All three spoke daily of the wedding plans, the trousseau, what Edith would need in her new household. Edith was aglow with happiness, and every sentence out of her mouth managed to mention Benwick in some way, reminding Hugh every bloody day of how urgently he needed to act. Henrietta, a generous and loyal sister, happily played along with Edith’s adoration. Rose was bursting with pride at having her eldest daughter engaged, and in a true love match; she had long openly wished her children would have the sort of marriage she’d had. Hugh found it hard to keep quiet when she said things like that.
In time, of course, they would have to know about Miss Cross. He hoped they would like her, and she them.
Hugh had deliberately gone to Greenwich when Cross was away, hoping to meet her again. Now that the choice was made, he wanted a fresh view of her. It was a vast relief to see that she was as he had thought the first time he met her, somewhat shy but kind and decent. He wasn’t sure what he thought of her looks yet. The first time he’d set eyes on her had not been promising, but even a beauty would have looked wretched in that dingy apron, smelling of wet dog. She’d been exquisitely dressed and even pretty when he dined at Greenwich, but then looked as if she’d been cleaning with the servants again when he called.
He told himself it didn’t really matter what she looked like, but it would be harder to persuade everyone he’d fallen in love with her if she went about looking like a scullery maid half the time. His mother had been a noted beauty in her youth, and his sisters took pride in appearing at their best, even for an afternoon at home. They would wonder in amazement if he claimed to fall in love with a girl who dressed like a shopkeeper’s assistant.
Hugh bought a ticket in the pit for the evening performance, and made his way through the throngs. It didn’t take long to spy Mr. Cross and his daughter; the man had taken the largest, most prominent box, one usually taken by a duke or royal personage. Miss Cross sat at the front of it, leaning forward in obvious delight. Her father appeared quite pleased with himself, sitting with his arms folded as he nodded to everyone who glanced his way. Hugh wondered if he knew people were staring at him because they were scandalized, not because they were admiring, then decided it was probably all the same to Cross.
He went up at the first interval. The door to the box stood open, but no one went in. The father and daughter looked rather lonely in the spacious box, sitting at the front with their heads together. Hugh cleared his throat and tapped on the door. Miss Cross looked up, and her lips parted at the sight of him.
“Good evening, Miss Cross.” He bowed. “Sir.”
“Lord Hastings.” She rose and curtsied, her cheeks pink.
“Am I intruding?”
“No, no, come right in.” Cross was watching, one arm propped on the rail, his eyes shrewd.
Hugh ignored him and strolled toward the daughter, his future wife. “Are you enjoying the opera?” It was some melodramatic production calledDevil’s Bridge. Hugh hadn’t registered a word of it.
She brightened. “Oh yes, very much! Are you, sir?”
He couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in her voice. She hadn’t exaggerated her fondness for theater. “I am. My sister saw this opera last week, and I’ve heard about nothing since but Miss Kelly’s performance.” That was marginally a lie. Edithhadseen the show, with Benwick and his parents, but she hadn’t cared for it, and the only words she’d said about the soprano star had been dismissive.
Miss Cross smiled. “Yes, Miss Kelly has excellent intonation.”
“Is your family here as well?” asked Edward Cross.
Hugh managed to smile as if it were no matter. As if he would bring his family and publicly introduce them to the man who had arrogated to himself Hugh’s choice of bride. “No. I have been enjoying the show from the pit.”
