Page 41 of An Earl Like You
Eliza slid from the bed. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
His curt tone stopped her cold. She bit her lip, and got her dressing gown, thoughtfully laid out by Mary. She wrapped it around herself and went to stand beside him. “Is it very bad news?”
Hugh said nothing. His face was hard, and he looked to be deep in thought. Eliza simply waited. It must be something very shocking or alarming, but until she knew, it was best not to say anything.
“I have to go out,” he said abruptly.
Now? Her heart sank at the thought that they would not get to resume their very pleasant activities on the bed. “Is there anything I can do?” she ventured.
He glanced at her, and she took a step backward at his expression. It was bitter, almost angry—but it changed as soon as his eyes met hers. A rueful smile touched his lips. “You can wait for me, just like this, Lady Hastings. The thought of it will bring me hurrying back as quickly as I can.”
“Oh.” She smiled in relief. “If you wish...”
“I do wish.” He pulled her to him and gave her one more searing kiss. “This is my wedding night, you know.”
“It’s not night yet,” she said breathlessly.
“And I regret losing even one hour of it to anyone else.” He retrieved his jacket from the floor, and put on his shoes. “You might take a nap while you can.”
Eliza was blushing with happiness when he left. It was still daylight, so she rang for Mary to help her dress again. She might as well see her new home, and the obliging housekeeper gave her a tour from the cellars to the servants’ rooms under the eaves.
Hugh didn’t come home, not when the dinner hour arrived and Mary told her the other ladies had ordered trays in their rooms. Eliza supposed they had planned to give the newlywed couple some time alone, so she also requested a dinner tray. She took Willy for a walk with a footman half attending, half directing her through the square nearby. Willy bitterly resented being kept on a lead, and Eliza was relieved to return home and send him to the kitchen for his dinner.
But Hugh did not come back, even as the streetlamps were lit and she watched a dozen carriages come and go at houses nearby, marveling at how bright and busy London was compared to Greenwich.
And he still hadn’t come back when she found herself yawning and dozing off in her chair. With a sigh, she called for Mary again and got ready for bed. Willy gave her a sad look, so she patted the mattress beside her. With a single leap he was on the bed, circling several times before curling into a furry lump beside her. Eliza stroked his head and smiled, but somewhat sadly. She had not expected to spend her wedding night with Willy.
Hugh was ready to smash in Reginald Benwick’s handsome face.
He had been on the verge of making love to his bride, savoring one of the most unexpectedly wonderful aspects of his situation, when the young man’s note arrived. Virtually steaming with outrage and arrogance, it demanded to know if it was true that Hugh meant to marry Edward Cross’s daughter. If so, Benwick wrote, it would severely damage his inclination to tie himself to Hugh’s family, and he demanded Hugh call on him at once to explain the matter.
Edith had refused to speak to him for almost a week now. She had gone to the wedding only because their mother required it. Hugh knew that if he didn’t act immediately, her fury would be twice as terrible. He could live with that, but he could not ask Eliza to do the same. He’d seen the cold way Edith looked at his bride, and it pushed his patience to the end. Edith was being a child, but the best way to improve the situation was to mollify her and speed up the engagement to Benwick. Once Edith was a married lady herself, she would forget her sulks over Hugh’s marriage.
So he left his wife, ravishingly mussed and mostly undressed, and went to Curzon Street. Benwick was waiting for him with his father, Viscount Livingston. And both of them erupted in fury when Hugh informed them that he had married Eliza Cross that morning.
“Intolerable,” raged the viscount, face purple. “I thought you had some discernment! What would your father say?”
“I expect he would congratulate me,” said Hugh evenly.
“Not for wedding the daughter of that scoundrel—no, not for all the money in the world.” Livingston was a tall fellow, with a paunchy belly and a mane of graying hair. His son stood behind his chair, his nose in the air, as if Hugh had also taken on the reek of whatever tainted Edward Cross. “That was it, wasn’t it?” pressed Livingston. “The money?”
“That is none of your concern.” Hugh was keeping his temper, but only just. “I fail to see how it involves you.” He transferred his attention to Benwick. “Is this your doing?”
“I never approved of your interest in that woman,” was his prissy reply.
“How fortunate you want to marry my sister, then, and not me,” returned Hugh. “I daresay you and Edith shan’t have to see my wife more than once or twice a year.”
Livingston snarled. “They’ll be relations! That—that gutter-born wench shall bear the Hastings heir, and how, sir, how shall my son avoid it then? He will be expected to recognize the brat!”
Hugh came to his feet. “Livingston, watch yourself,” he said coldly. “Confine your remarks to the marriage settlements or we shall have to speak only through our attorneys.”
“Bugger the settlements,” declared Livingston. “And the attorneys.”
Hugh blinked. “What?” Just a few days ago he’d sent word to his solicitor to draw up a settlement, with ten thousand pounds to Edith. Cross had kept his word and the money was sitting in Hugh’s bank, ready to deliver to Benwick.
Livingston’s eyes gleamed. “That man cheated me out of twenty thousand pounds. Cross is a viper—if you don’t know it yet, you will. Take this as a well-meant warning, Hastings. Find a way to annul the marriage. Send her back before it’s too late.”
