Page 3 of Joy to the Earl
“But you like olives,” Wren pointed out, perplexed.
“Yes, but he finds them disgusting.”
“Oh, you really do know him.”
“More intimately than I care to remember.”
Wren’s eyes widened.“Intim—”
“Not like that!”Joy clarified.Though there had been the kisses.The kisses that nearly burned a hole in her heart.“I was a proper young lady.For all the good it did me.”
Joy took a swig of the cider, still hot enough to burn her tongue.Her eyes watered, but she refused to spit it back out, instead swallowing scalding liquid and letting it scorch its way down her throat.
She hated Douglas Sterling more than she hated moldy cheese or injustice.She hated him with the sort of power that came only from also having loved him.
Ten years ago, she had been enjoying her first winter in London before the beginning of the social season, which promised to be a great success for her.People already acknowledged Joy as a rare beauty (despite her freckles), perhaps even the diamond of the season…if Fate smiled upon her.Douglas had begun to court her, drawn to her despite her acerbic tongue (according to her mother) and her inappropriately political remarks (according to her father).Yet he called on her again and again, and they were never at a loss for something to say to each other.
The consensus among thetonwas that he would doubtless propose before another rival appeared, even though there were shrewder matches to be had.He seemed besotted with Joy; evidently her lack of dowry or annual income would not be a significant impediment.Joy had believed this herself, and was overjoyed to have found a gentleman who placed love and affection above purely monetary concerns.
And then at a party on Christmas Eve she learned that he had proposed to another lady altogether!She remembered everything about that night.She remembered the red velvet dress she wore.She remembered the smell of evergreen boughs and spiced rum punch.She remembered the gentle strains of a violinist, interpreting ancient carols for the pleasure of the guests.And she remembered multiple people coming up to her expressing sympathy for the unreliability of a man’s attention.
The woman to whom he had proposed was considered very pretty indeed, and of more refined stock.More salient, the lady had an income more than ten times Joy’s own, and was reputed to have expectations of even more—should certain uncles shuffle off this mortal coil in a fortuitous order.
Douglas did not warn Joy of this decision, and he did not explain himself afterward.He never called upon her, he never wrote to her, and she never so much as passed him on the street.She certainly never wrote to him, and resolved that she would rather die than exchange another word with the man to whom she would have pledged her entire life, only to be cast aside when a more profitable proposal came along.
Joy realized that she was wool-gathering while Wren was waiting on tenterhooks for a useful explanation.Aloud, she said, “He married someone else.A very wealthy young woman with an excellent pedigree.”
“Pedigree?Like a horse?”asked Wren, wrinkling her nose.
“Very like.And his heir was announced just over a year later, so she was obviously the perfect wife, to produce a son so quickly and efficiently.”
“And are they a happy couple?”
“How should I know?”Joy asked.“I stopped following society gossip after society was done with me.My own marriage was hardly the stuff of dreams, and my husband’s circle was decidedly commonplace.I did not have any reason to cross paths with an ea….with Mr.Sterling again.”
Yet now, here they were, both stranded at the sign of the Boar’s Head.Both stuck under the same roof until the weather decided to release them.And worse, he had performed a kindness that she could not ignore.Perhaps she could have rationalized the action if he had known who she was when he made the offer to give up his own room.She could’ve said he was only speaking out of guilt, or thought this somehow evened out the extraordinarily uneven score between them.
But he hadn’t clapped eyes on her when he told the innkeeper of his offer, and he’d obviously been just as stunned as she was when they encountered each other in the foyer.
How could so cruel and self-serving a gentleman perform such a selfless act?Was it the magic of the season?she wondered sourly.
For her part, she wished with all her heart to be magically whisked away to anywhere else in England.No, strike that.She would take any destination in the British Isles, no matter how remote or miserable, so long as he was not also there.How could she sleep at night, knowing that he also had a bed nearby?Should she inquire politely about his wife, and what would she say if he inquired about her husband?How could they possibly have a civil conversation and pretend that he had not broken her heart and altered her life’s path with one simple decision?
“Ma’am?”a feminine voice called.From the door, Beatrice, another of the innkeeper’s daughters, beamed at Joy.“The gentleman wished me to tell you that your room is ready.”
Chapter 2
It didn’t take long forDouglas to pack up his small valise and make himself scarce from his one-time room so Joy could have it.Not that she would ever thank him for it.
Douglas could not stomach the look that Joy had given him when she saw him in the foyer: complete disdain.He never dreamed that he’d encounter her again, let alone in this strange out-of-the-way place where he hadn’t even planned on being at all.When he stepped through the doorway and saw her standing there, with her disheveled but still lovely pale blonde hair, and the sky-blue eyes above those prominent cheekbones that were so often pink with exertion or laughter or the blush of love, he knew it had to be her.
Well, certainly there were other women in England with pale blue eyes and light blonde hair.But there could not be another woman who possessed those features and also was so smothered in freckles that truly more of her skin seemed to be freckled than unfreckled.While freckles were often considered unfashionable or unsophisticated, and many women tried dubious remedies to make them fade away, Joy had never done so, probably because she had immediately recognized it as a lost cause.He remembered having told her that he would personally punish any shopkeeper who sold her a freckle remedy, because he thought they enhanced her charm.
What he didnotsay then, and now would never have a chance to say, was that he was obsessed with her freckled skin.He often wondered what the total number of the freckles on her body was, and if it would be possible to kiss every single one individually.He wondered if the expanse of freckles continued past the neckline of her gowns and covered the parts of her that were hidden as thickly as they did on the parts he could see.He had an almost unholy need to have that question answered, but there was absolutely no legal or honorable way to do so, and thus he remained in frustrated ignorance.He wanted that lack resolved that if he was ever in a position to do so.
He would begin by kissing every freckle he could discern, starting with the tip of her left big toe and proceeding up and then down her body until he came to the end on the littlest toe of her right foot.He was quite sure that he would lose count numerous times and have to start over.He didn’t have the concentration that counting her freckles would require.However, he did believe that he possessed the stamina to begin the work anew as often as would be needed.
But that was before, before he’d allowed himself to be convinced by the arguments of his parents and his circle of so-called friends, and abruptly shifted his focus in courtship to another woman considered more suitable for his station and ambitions.The woman who would become his wife did not have a single freckle, not even on her face or hands, which was all he’d seen before the wedding.Surely that was the warning sign he should have heeded a decade ago.But he did not.
