Page 8 of An Earl Like You
“Sorry, miss,” said Louisa hesitantly. “I didn’t know he’d run like that.”
Eliza mustered a wry smile. “In the future, keep the door closed, and don’t be alarmed if he races around before going out. He won’t hurt you.”
The girl smiled nervously and curtsied. “No, ma’am.”
Suddenly Eliza understood. Louisa was young, only fourteen or so, and Eliza had been just the same at that age. “Are you frightened of dogs, Louisa?”
Her eyes grew wide. “No, miss,” she said in a very small voice. “Not—not much, anyway.”
Eliza gave her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. Can we try to help you over it, with Willy?”
Blushing, the girl nodded. Cook’s voice rang out then from the kitchen, calling Louisa sharply to come wash some pots, and Louisa ran off with a hasty curtsy. Eliza took off her sodden apron and hung it on a peg behind the door. She put away the tin of soap and the copper tub; someone else had already emptied and rinsed it.
When Willy came back to the door and barked to come in, she gave him a rough toweling until his short fur stood up all over, giving him a wild and fluffy look. She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re still a bad dog,” she told him, and he licked her face as if to apologize for it.
She took him to her room via the servants’ stair, both to spare the carpet on the main staircase and to avoid any chance of meeting Papa or his guest. If she ever met the Earl of Hastings again, Eliza would much rather be clean, dry, and prepared for the encounter. She should have a clever comment ready about their first meeting.
I apologize for not falling at your feet this time, my lord, she imagined herself telling him with an artless laugh.
No, that would remind him too vividly of her graceless sprawl on the floor.
Willy sends his regards, my lord, and begs me to assure you he has much better manners than he displayed the other day, she could say ruefully, casting all the blame onto the dog.
Or:Shall we begin again, my lord, and forget the time my dog charged at you?She batted her eyelashes at her reflection, pretending the handsome Lord Hastings was the one smiling back at her, or even not smiling but watching her with that little quirk to his eyebrow hinting at deep, private amusement over their first, disastrous meeting. He might find it charming, and remark that she was far prettier without an ugly apron on; she would bow her head and smile in acknowledgment of the gallantry. Then he might ask her for a dance, or at least fetch her a lemonade, and from then on they would be... friendly.Yes, Hastings came to dine last night, she imagined telling her friends casually, as if such a thing happened all the time.
Such a thing had never happened. Such a thing probably neverwouldhappen. And she was both silly and naive to think Lord Hastings might find her charming.
“Ugh!” Eliza made a face at herself in the mirror. “I should hope I never see the man again,” she said to Willy. “He surely thinks I’m half mad, thanks to you.” The dog yawned, then trotted to his basket in the corner and curled up in it, tired from his race through the hall and then his romp in the garden. Eliza shook her head even as her heart melted a little. She rang for her maid to help her change out of her wet dress, and tried to dismiss handsome earls from her mind.
“I must apologize for the dog,” said Cross as he closed the door of his study. “My daughter has a tender heart.”
Hugh nodded once in acknowledgement. “An admirable trait in a woman.”
Cross paused, giving him a sharp look. “Yes.” He went around his desk. “Won’t you sit down, Lord Hastings?”
Hugh took a very comfortable armchair. Nothing elegant by Chippendale in here; it was large, easy furniture, upholstered in the softest leather. Everything in the house that he’d seen had been that way—no slavish deference to fashion, but a refined comfort in materials of the highest quality. If he’d had any doubts about Cross’s wealth, they were gone now.
It had been a fortnight or more since their odd conversation at the Vega Club. Hugh hadn’t thought much about it after that night, and he hadn’t seen Cross again except from across the room. Hugh had not expected to speak to the man again in his life, but it seemed Cross had other ideas. What he didn’t know was why.
His host offered him a drink, which Hugh declined, and finally took his own seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?”
“I received a letter from Sir Richard Nesbit,” said Hugh. “As a courtesy, informing me that he’d sold some debt markers he held from my father.”
“Very accommodating of Nesbit.”
Hugh inclined his head, even though he thought Sir Richard was a very dodgy fellow. “Why did you buy them?”
Cross leaned back in his chair. “I believed the investment was promising.”
“Oh?” Hugh raised one eyebrow. “What investment?” The markers Nesbit held had been from a horse race five years ago. Joshua had wagered three thousand pounds on a colt who finished last in every heat. Hugh considered the debt invalid, but Nesbit still held the signed note—until Cross bought it, apparently at full value.
“You, my lord,” Cross said easily, a smile on his face. “You are your father’s son, are you not?”
Hugh ground his teeth together behind his austere expression. “Nesbit had no legal claim. It was a debt of honor of my father’s, and he’s dead.”
Cross waved one hand. “Ah. Then Nesbit got the better of me.”
“Why?” repeated Hugh, his voice soft and even.
