Engaging the Earl
It had been three days since Lady Roth had dismissed her without a letter of reference. Three days since she should have gone straight home and confessed everything to her parents. Emma hadnât been able to do it yet, though. She hadnât been able to fortify herself enough to see her motherâs and fatherâs hearts break.
Waiting, in the hopes of having some good news of a new position to alleviate the bad tidings of her lost job, was perhaps the most asinine plan Emma had ever concocted. But staying with Nick and Olivia made it so easy for her to not go home yet, to keep the problems to herself for a little while longer. To hope that some wonderful new opportunity would come to light soon.
Emma had already written to the different agencies in London, praying that they might have families in need of a governess. And while her personal contacts werenât extensive, Emma had sent missives to anyone she could think of, asking if they, or anyone they knew, needed a governess or even a ladyâs companion. Too little time had passed for her to receive any replies.
Father, let me find a job, had become a constant prayer. And let me forget about that irksome earl, had become a constant follow-up.
And while Emma was an avid believer in the power of prayer, she never felt any kind of confidence afterward that her entreaty would take care of the matter where Lord Westin was concerned.
Her life had spiraled so far out of her control that Emma wasnât certain sheâd ever be able to rein it back in. Like a leaf tossed about by the gusting wind, she had little say over what happened to her anymore. And it scared her. Giving up control didnât come easily to her. Surrendering her concerns to God sounded fine in theory, but it was one of Emmaâs biggest struggles.
âWhy am I not surprised?â
Emma started from her position on the branch, shaking the stout limb until she feared she might fall.
âCareful,â the voice cautioned her.
She looked down toward the ground, wishing she could disappear farther up into the tree when she saw that it was Lord Westin standing below her.
Where had he come from?
âYouâre not about to drop out and knock me down, are you?â His mouth curved in a smile, and Emma felt her own lips upturn in response.
Emma said, smirking, âNot unless you provoke me.â Which, considering their short, volatile history, was a distinct possibility.
Lord Westin, once assured that she wasnât going to be taking a nasty tumble, stepped back a few feet. He leaned almost negligently against a gatepost opposite her tree. âIâll try to be mindful of that, then.â
Emma tried to look as stern as possibleâsomething a bit difficult considering the undoubtedly ludicrous picture she presented. âYou would do well to do so.â
âSo, are you in the tree for any particular reason or are you indulging a long-held desire to be a bird?â The gleam in his eyes teased her.
âI thought it might be a peaceful place to contemplate,â she hedged.
For a moment, Emma was afraid heâd mock her, but Lord Westin nodded solemnly. âUnderstandable.â
The two of them stared at each other for a few moments ⦠it couldnât have been too long, just enough time to make Emma look away uncomfortably. She hated the fact that her wit and social graces seemed to fail her when he was around.
âDid you wish to be alone?â she asked finally.
âNot really,â he replied.
Emma waited for him to say more, but Lord Westin didnât offer any explanations.
âAre you sure?â she persisted, âBecause I could leave if you wish me to.â
âNot at all. You were here first.â As he shook his head, Emma noticed how delightfully mussed his hair looked.
Emma couldnât think of anything else to say. She decided that whatever the rest of the conversation held, it would be preferable if her part took place on the ground rather than in the air. Emma thought about asking him to help her down, or at least asking him to turn around so she could descend with a shred of her dignity intact. But without knowing how she would possibly phrase either question, Emma stared at the distance from her feet to the ground. And she jumped.
Lord Westin was at her side in an instant, steadying her by wrapping his arm around her waist.
âAre you all right?â he asked, looking her over as though sheâd fallen headfirst.
âIâm fine, Lord Westin,â Emma said, trying to step back and regain the distance between them.
âDonât do that again.â His voice was harsh, commanding. His jaw was set, and his hands were a vise around her.
Her chin raised, and her eyes glinted in defiance. âHow do you think I usually get down?â
Grudgingly convinced that besides being perhaps addled in the head, there was nothing wrong with her, Lord Westin released his hold and stepped away.
As soon as he let go of her, she felt the most disconcerting stab of emptiness.
âI stand in amazement that you made it to adulthood,â the earl drawled.
Emma could tell he was trying to calm his own panic by the way he was breathing slowly, exhaling audibly. It was oddly pleasant to have someone so concerned about her welfare even if âshow concernâ for the earl seemed to translate to âbe bossy and insufferable.â
âYou and my parents,â she quipped.
His expression sharpened with interest. âYour parents? I havenât heard much about them.â
Thereâs a very good reason for that.
For a moment, she couldnât think of a single thing to say. âItâs not like youâre brimming with stories about yours,â she countered. If sheâd been thinking more clearly, Emma would certainly never have brought up the undoubtedly painful subject. She knew from previous conversations with Olivia that their mother had committed suicide after her husbandâs death.
The Earl of Westinâs face shuttered, becoming a blank mask.
âIâm sorry,â Emma said, her voice earnest. She even took a few steps forward, thinking she might grab his hand ⦠some physical touch to try and imbue her regret into him.
âDonât apologize.â His voice was gruff, although not angry.
But she couldnât leave it there. Emma already felt like a brat for firing back at him. So in an effort to offer an olive branch, she said, âI shouldnât have brought up such a painful subject. Olivia has told me about your motherâs â¦â Emmaâs words trailed off as her brain caught up to what sheâd nearly said. In her rush to apologize sheâd forgotten that the circumstances of the former Lady Westinâs death were a secret.
Society would shun Olivia and Marcus if it were known that their mother had taken her own life. âTh-that is to say,â she stammered, âshe has told me what a struggle it has been for you both to come to terms with your losses.â
He gave her a considering look. âI see that Olivia has told you a great deal, indeed. The two of you must be quite close.â
Emma nodded. âI donât know what I would have done without her these past few days.â
The considering look sharpened. âAnd just how many days have you been here? Since about the night that we met?â
Emma shrugged. âLady Roth didnât appreciate my tardiness.â She tried to sound unconcerned. Lord Westin didnât need to know how devastating and upending her termination was. Or how confused and adrift she felt over what to do next ⦠join Olivia in a husband hunt or confess to her parents and beg for their forgiveness?
He frowned. âSheâs not exactly a sympathetic figure, is she?â
âI see youâve met her, then â¦â she joked.
His chuckle was low and warm. âSo, what are your plans now? I know my sisterâs plans for youâbut youâve already shown that youâre entirely unwilling to fall in line with othersâ expectations.â He cast a significant glance up at the tree sheâd so recently conquered. âDo you agree with her intentions to find you a husband?â
Emma averted her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. âIâm still trying to figure that out,â she said quietly.
Despite her attempts to look away, brown eyes bored into hers. The inspection was so steady that Emma had to force herself not to be the first to break the connection. âWhat do you want?â he asked.
Why did she feel like the question was something more than it seemed?
âTo be happy.â
Her words hung in the air, almost taking on a life of their own. No matter how awkward she felt or how much she might have wished that she hadnât been quite as frank, it was too late to change the moment.
And when Lord Westin whispered, âMe, too,â she was fine with that.
When Marcus saw the wistfulness in Miss Mercerâs eyes, he couldnât help but be moved. Heâd come into the garden with his mind full of all of his own problems. Another round of endless hours spent analyzing his accounts had brought him no good news. But Miss Mercer, in a situation far more pitiable than his, still seemed to cling to hope for the future. He admired her for that.
What would bring her the happiness she sought? Was it a husband, as Olivia seemed to think? She would hardly be the first woman in London to seek happiness in a wealthy match. Yet Marcus didnât really think that she was a single-minded husband-hunter. While he couldnât claim to understand the feminine mind, something about the fiery young woman being so materialistic didnât quite ring true to him.
But could he really deny his help in trying to make Miss Mercerâs life better? Since sheâd lost her job, maybe finding a spouse was her only hope.
He chose not to examine the way that thought rankled.
Marcus had come to call on Olivia today with the sole purpose of telling her that he couldnât participate in her matchmaking scheme. Getting his affairs in order to enable him to live on his new and much-reduced income would be an enormous undertaking. Heâd have little time to devote to arranging routs and luncheons to find Miss Mercer a husband. But now, in light of her wistfulness, Marcus found himself reconsidering.
As he stood there looking at her, Marcus resolved that he wouldnât tell his sister ânoâ just yet. Admittedly, he wasnât thrilled with the prospect of what he was going to have to do, but if it would bring a smile to Miss Mercerâs face ⦠well, that might make the ordeal worth it.
Chapter Five
Emma shifted nervously in her seat in the pew beside Olivia. This was her first week at church since sheâd begun working for the Roth family. While Lady Roth was a faithful church attendee, she hadnât wanted to be bothered with having her offspring underfoot during her time with God. So Emma had always been relegated to staying at the house with the children. Sheâd always tried to find a moment to herself at some point during the day to say her prayers and read some passages from her Bible, but sheâd wished for the chance to attend a regular worship service again.
A wish that she was regretting now.
Oh, the church itself was lovely, and she had no reason to believe the service itself would be otherwise, but even though they had arrived only ten minutes earlier, the stares were already starting to grate. The other churchgoers had quickly noticed the unfamiliar face in the Huntsford pew and were abuzz with rumors and speculation.
Emmaâs seatmate was just as badâthough Oliviaâs speculation was of a rather different sort. âThatâs Mr. Beckett,â she said, nodding discreetly at a stout gentleman of perhaps four and twenty making his way down the aisle. âPleasant man, good family, income of, Iâd say, four thousand a year. Very fond of cats. You like cats, donât you?â
âI ⦠No, actually, I hate them,â Emma replied. Olivia looked momentarily disconcerted.
âPity,â she murmured, before her expression cleared. âStill, there is his cousin, Mr. Wainwrightâthe one in the blue jacket. Handsome, donât you think?â
While she nodded, Emma remained uncomfortable. Mr. Wainwright was likely considered handsome, by most women. It was hardly his fault that he did not quite match her idea of a truly handsome manâtall, tanned, dark hair and eyes along with an irritatingly engaging smile â¦
She was relieved when the minister began welcoming the congregation, signaling that the service was about to begin. But her relief shifted to shocked dismay when the Earl of Westin slid into the empty space to Emmaâs left. âSorry Iâm late,â he muttered to the rest of them.
Both Nick and Olivia whispered back words of greeting. Emma, however, wasnât able to do much more than force herself to continue breathing. Why did Lord Westinâs presence seem to take the air out of the room? It was disconcerting. And even more disconcerting was the fact that none of the other gentlemen Olivia had pointed out had affected her nearly so strongly.
As she tried to ignore the fact that the lack of room on the pew meant that Lord Westin was practically pressed against her, Emma shot furtive looks at the other gentlemen in the congregation. Oh, they were all pleasant-looking enough. Some even could be called quite handsome.
Emma slid her gaze to the left. Her attempt at catching a discreet peek at the earl was thwarted when she caught his gaze. A corner of Lord Westinâs lips quirked in a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
Instead of responding to the wordless query as to why she was casting furtive glances his way, Emma stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. Hopefully, heâd turn his attention back to the minister so he wouldnât notice that her face was an undoubtedly unbecoming shade of crimson.
What was it about the earl that simultaneously bothered and intrigued her? Emma pondered that question seriously for a few minutes, but came to no conclusion. While not having a wealth of expertise on the subject of men, sheâd known her share of charmers and rogues. In all fairness to the earl, however, Emma could hardly deem him a rakeâbut a charmer, most certainly.
That assessment of him made Emma feel a bit better about the fact that she was quite unable to stop thinking about him. After all, it could hardly be her fault when the man was an accomplished flirt. She would simply do her best to avoid him ⦠well, as much as their close connection would allow.
The ministerâs impassioned plea for the congregation to show Christâs love to othersâwhich was really a yelled statementâroused Emma out of her thoughts. And she immediately felt ashamed for them. Here she was, in Godâs house, too distracted by the man sitting next to her to focus on anything else.
To add another sin at her feet, Emma had missed most of the sermon while rambling about in her mind. Whatever it was must have been fairly rousing because an elderly woman a few pews away brushed at gathered tears with a square of linen. A quick look to her right showed Olivia staring at the front, obviously as engrossed in the reverendâs closing as sheâd been in the entire message.
Good job, Emma. Your first time back at church and you donât even pay attention.
Saying a quick, silent prayer of repentance, Emma folded her hands demurely in her lap, ready to listen to the rest even if her mind became so full of other thoughts that it burst. And as was her luck, Emma was in time to hear the closing thoughts and the calls for the congregation to heed the wordsâwhatever they had beenâof the message.
The reverend concluded his closing with a plea for the congregation to remember the Earl of Westin in prayer.
Emmaâs eyes immediately swung to meet the manâs beside herâshe couldnât help the reflex. Was something wrong with Lord Westin? Was he sick? In trouble?
Naturally she was concerned. Who wouldnât be? It didnât mean that she felt anything other than supreme irritation at his presence. Emma was simply concerned, wondering what could be so dire that the earl sat stiff and unyielding beside her.
And why did he look so panicked?
Marcus tried to shutter the emotions running through him before Miss Mercer noticed something amiss. His hands clenched. Every muscle in his body clenched in anticipation. What did Reverend Beresford know? How much did he know, and who had told him? Most important, what was the minister thinking, bringing up his financial difficulties in front of the whole congregation?
It wasnât as though his new âcircumstancesâ wouldnât surface eventually. There were too many wagging tongues in the ton to ever believe heâd be able to keep something as intriguing as a shipwreck and lost fortune quiet. Marcus wanted more time before it came out, however. He wanted certainty, not merely grim speculation or even near certainty.
But Reverend Beresford seemed oblivious to Marcusâs discomfort.
âHis lordship might not appreciate me taking the liberty to discuss this with everyone â¦â
His lordship certainly wouldnât.
â⦠but prayer is powerful. And I think we should ask God to give him courage â¦â
And restraint.
â⦠to accomplish his task.â
What?
âBeing a voice for societyâs abused and neglected is never easy. Lord Westin needs our prayers that he remain a tireless champion of Godâs work.â
Marcus could have whooped with relief. But embarrassment quickly followed. The eyes of those in the congregation honed in on him. Heâd always tried to avoid any kind of attention for the work he was trying to do in Parliament. Seeking rights for the underprivileged and ignored wasnât a platform for him to build a political career. The earl wasnât fighting for any reason other than to right a wrong.
The stares had almost a tangible weight. Though he noticed the person closest to him was studiously avoiding his gaze. Interesting.
Marcus could honestly say heâd never been so glad to have a preacher begin to pray. At least then everyone should have their eyes closed instead of training them on him. When the congregation was dismissed, Marcus didnât stand right away. He wanted to give the curious folks time to make it out the door.
As though the rest of the family sitting on the pew wished to show their solidarity, neither Olivia, Nick nor even Miss Mercer moved. The four of them watched as others strolled along, chatting with their friends and acquaintances.
âAre you all right?â Miss Mercer leaned over to whisper.
The lovely lady couldnât have surprised Marcus more if sheâd kissed him on the cheek.
Instead of answering, he turned to smile politely at her. âAm I that obvious?â he asked.
âNo,â Miss Mercer rushed to assure him. âI was just watching closely.â
His strained smile shifted into an honest grin. When she realized what sheâd said, Miss Mercerâs face flushed. âThatâs not exactly what I meant,â she said.
âIâm fine, thank you,â Marcus said quietly instead of pressing her on her statement.
âGood,â Miss Mercer said on a sigh. Marcus wasnât sure if that was necessarily a statement about his well-being.
âEmma, look,â Olivia hissed, gesturing in a manner that Marcus supposed his sister considered subtle. âThereâs Baron Chiversâand heâs looking right at you.â
Marcus had heard of the baron. Actually, the man was supposed to be a decent sortâif a bit young still. And Chiversâs mother was actually one of the most giving, generous women Marcus had ever met. Baroness Chivers ran a charity for downtrodden ladies.
Marcus looked casually over in the direction his sister had indicated. Though he hadnât met the baron before, it wasnât difficult to identify him. In fact, it would have been nearly impossible to miss him. He had his motherâs hair, his fatherâs bearing and an absolutely besotted expression on his face as he stared unabashedly at Miss Mercer. The speed with which Chivers took an interest in Miss Mercer bothered him ⦠although Marcus wasnât precisely sure why.
Well, he had an idea of why, but it was better not to think about ridiculously foolish things. It would be absurd to be jealous. Even before the recent stress to his finances, marriage had not been in his plans for several more years, at least. And now, of all times, the burden and expense of a society wife was the last thing he could handle. Besides, he was all wrong for a woman like Emma Mercerâeven his sister, Olivia, had said so, and every ounce of reason and practicality he possessed told him that was for the best.
So why did it feel wrong to think of Miss Mercer becoming the wife of any man in London except him?
Chapter Six
Three days later, it had become widely known that there was an incredibly beautiful, unmarried lady staying with the Marquess and Marchioness of Huntsford. As a result, Marcus found himself having to fight a sea of callers to get in the front door of his sisterâs house.
Not that he was vying to add his name into the sea of potential suitors, of course. Heâd simply wanted to get away from his home and the pile of letters on his desk reminding him of the work he could no longer do, the assistance he could no longer offer. Some time spent with Emâthat is, with Olivia would be the perfect distraction.
âUnusual burst of activity, isnât there, Mathis?â he asked the butler once he was shown inside.
âThanks to Miss Mercer, my lord,â the old man said with a surprising grin.
That stopped Marcus in his tracks. Heâd never seen Mathis smile. Ever.
It was almost enough to make him remain in the foyer and interrogate the servant as to what had truly happened, but the door was opening once again to let in two more ladies, a mother and daughter. Marcus knew them by sight, although not by name. The younger of the two looked like sheâd just swallowed an entire lemon. The mother, on the other hand, looked like sheâd be glad to wipe the sour expression off her daughterâs face so long as no one was around to see her do it.
âI suppose my sister is â¦â he began asking Mathis.
Only to be interrupted with, âIn the yellow parlor, my lord.â
âOf course,â he muttered, hurrying to beat the newest arrivals in there.
But Nick caught him in the hallway before he could make it to the parlor.
âMarcus?â Nick asked in surprise. âI didnât know you were coming by today.â
Why did Marcus feel guilty to be caught by his friend? It wasnât as though he was doing anything wrong. He was paying a call on his sister ⦠and on the woman heâd promised to help find matrimonial happiness.
When Marcus didnât say anything, Nick steered him toward the stairs. âYou donât want to go anywhere near that part of the house. Trust me on that,â he said.
âIs that so?â Marcus asked, hoping that he didnât sound overly interested.
Because he wasnât ⦠overly interested, that was.
âI canât count how many people have been in and out in the last day or two. I think Iâm going to have to send Mathis away to one of my country estates to recuperate for a while,â Nick said with a laugh.
âThat bad?â Marcus asked. His voice was a little more dispassionate than he might have preferred it to be. Because there was an incredibly fine line between sounding too interested and not sounding interested enough. Either way was suspicious. And with someone like Nick, a former spy who thrived on the subtle clues a person unwittingly gave away, Marcus wanted to be certain not to draw any undue attention.
âItâs almost humorous,â Nick said. âI think I understand better how you felt being responsible for Olivia all those years.â