Engaging the Earl

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Chapter Five

Emma shifted nervously in her seat in the pew beside Olivia. This was her first week at church since she’d begun working for the Roth family. While Lady Roth was a faithful church attendee, she hadn’t 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. She’d 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 she’d 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.

Emma’s seatmate was just as bad—though Olivia’s speculation was of a rather different sort. “That’s Mr. Beckett,” she said, nodding discreetly at a stout gentleman of perhaps four and twenty making his way down the aisle. “Pleasant man, good family, income of, I’d say, four thousand a year. Very fond of cats. You like cats, don’t you?”

“I … No, actually, I hate them,” Emma replied. Olivia looked momentarily disconcerted.

“Pity,” she murmured, before her expression cleared. “Still, there is his cousin, Mr. Wainwright—the one in the blue jacket. Handsome, don’t you think?”

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 man—tall, tanned, dark hair and eyes along with an irritatingly engaging smile …

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 Emma’s left. “Sorry I’m late,” he muttered to the rest of them.

Both Nick and Olivia whispered back words of greeting. Emma, however, wasn’t able to do much more than force herself to continue breathing. Why did Lord Westin’s 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 Westin’s 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, he’d turn his attention back to the minister so he wouldn’t 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, she’d known her share of charmers and rogues. In all fairness to the earl, however, Emma could hardly deem him a rake—but 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 minister’s impassioned plea for the congregation to show Christ’s love to others—which was really a yelled statement—roused Emma out of her thoughts. And she immediately felt ashamed for them. Here she was, in God’s 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 reverend’s closing as she’d been in the entire message.

Good job, Emma. Your first time back at church and you don’t 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 words—whatever they had been—of the message.

The reverend concluded his closing with a plea for the congregation to remember the Earl of Westin in prayer.

Emma’s eyes immediately swung to meet the man’s beside her—she couldn’t help the reflex. Was something wrong with Lord Westin? Was he sick? In trouble?

Naturally she was concerned. Who wouldn’t be? It didn’t 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 wasn’t as though his new “circumstances” wouldn’t surface eventually. There were too many wagging tongues in the ton to ever believe he’d 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 Marcus’s discomfort.

“His lordship might not appreciate me taking the liberty to discuss this with everyone …”

His lordship certainly wouldn’t.

“… but prayer is powerful. And I think we should ask God to give him courage …”

And restraint.

“… to accomplish his task.”

What?

“Being a voice for society’s abused and neglected is never easy. Lord Westin needs our prayers that he remain a tireless champion of God’s work.”

Marcus could have whooped with relief. But embarrassment quickly followed. The eyes of those in the congregation honed in on him. He’d 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 wasn’t a platform for him to build a political career. The earl wasn’t 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 he’d 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 didn’t 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.

“Are you all right?” Miss Mercer leaned over to whisper.

The lovely lady couldn’t have surprised Marcus more if she’d kissed him on the cheek.

Instead of answering, he turned to smile politely at her. “Am I that obvious?” he asked.

“No,” Miss Mercer rushed to assure him. “I was just watching closely.”

His strained smile shifted into an honest grin. When she realized what she’d said, Miss Mercer’s face flushed. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” she said.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Marcus said quietly instead of pressing her on her statement.

“Good,” Miss Mercer said on a sigh. Marcus wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a statement about his well-being.

“Emma, look,” Olivia hissed, gesturing in a manner that Marcus supposed his sister considered subtle. “There’s Baron Chivers—and he’s looking right at you.”

Marcus had heard of the baron. Actually, the man was supposed to be a decent sort—if a bit young still. And Chivers’s 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 hadn’t met the baron before, it wasn’t difficult to identify him. In fact, it would have been nearly impossible to miss him. He had his mother’s hair, his father’s 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 wasn’t 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 Mercer—even 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 sister’s house.

Not that he was vying to add his name into the sea of potential suitors, of course. He’d 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 Em—that is, with Olivia would be the perfect distraction.

“Unusual burst of activity, isn’t there, Mathis?” he asked the butler once he was shown inside.

“Thanks to Miss Mercer, my lord,” the old man said with a surprising grin.

That stopped Marcus in his tracks. He’d 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 she’d just swallowed an entire lemon. The mother, on the other hand, looked like she’d be glad to wipe the sour expression off her daughter’s face so long as no one was around to see her do it.

“I suppose my sister is …” he began asking Mathis.

Only to be interrupted with, “In the yellow parlor, my lord.”

“Of course,” 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.

“Marcus?” Nick asked in surprise. “I didn’t know you were coming by today.”

Why did Marcus feel guilty to be caught by his friend? It wasn’t as though he was doing anything wrong. He was paying a call on his sister … and on the woman he’d promised to help find matrimonial happiness.

When Marcus didn’t say anything, Nick steered him toward the stairs. “You don’t want to go anywhere near that part of the house. Trust me on that,” he said.

“Is that so?” Marcus asked, hoping that he didn’t sound overly interested.

Because he wasn’t … overly interested, that was.

“I can’t count how many people have been in and out in the last day or two. I think I’m going to have to send Mathis away to one of my country estates to recuperate for a while,” Nick said with a laugh.

“That bad?” 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.

“It’s almost humorous,” Nick said. “I think I understand better how you felt being responsible for Olivia all those years.”

Marcus thought back to having to fend off Olivia’s more ardent suitors and found that the thought of Miss Mercer receiving similar attention bothered him just as much.

But only in a different sort of way.

“Any offers for her hand?” Marcus asked, only joking in an effort to keep the conversation going while Marcus tried to figure out how much information he could pry for without Nick reporting to Olivia that he was interested.

“One yesterday,” Nick said without laughing.

“You jest,” Marcus said, so surprised that he almost stumbled on the steps. “Miss Mercer hasn’t even been out to any events in society yet. How would a gentleman know enough about her in only a few days of afternoon calls to want to marry her?”

Nick shrugged. “She’s very beautiful. The man came calling with his mother yesterday. Apparently, the young buck decided from meeting her that the two of them would suit very well.”

Marcus waited for some punch line … like that the gentleman had been the infamous Viscount Danfield, an errant suitor of Olivia’s who had loved his mother more than he loved good sense.

Nick didn’t immediately confirm or deny, however.

“It was Danfield, wasn’t it?” Marcus said, trying to prompt him to finish the joke.

Nick shook his head. “No. Baron Chivers.”

A proposal from the baron already? He certainly acted quickly. Too quickly.

Wasn’t there some fable or cautionary tale about a man who made up his mind too fast and how he was likely to quickly change it again? If there wasn’t one like that, then there should be.

“So was Chivers heartbroken when you sent him away?” Marcus asked as they finally crossed into Nick’s study. He was striding perilously close to sounding overly concerned. Yet he didn’t seem capable of stopping himself.

Nick looked at him, the expression inscrutable. “I didn’t send him away.”

It was beyond belief. “You’re going to let someone court Emma after only speaking to her once?” the earl asked, outrage and indignation lacing his words. All thoughts of discretion were forgotten in the haze of his incredulity.

Nick held out his hands in surrender. “Emma needs a husband … a fact which my wife reminds me of daily … hourly even. What kind of person would I be to turn away someone as kind as Chivers?”

“He’s an infant,” Marcus countered, immediately incensed by the suggestion that the baron might be a suitable match for Emma.

Nick gave him an odd look. “He’s only a few years younger than we are,” he said, his expression suggesting that Marcus was acting crazy.

“A few years can make a large difference,” Marcus defended.

Nick didn’t dispute that, but he also didn’t back down. “Emma can decide for herself if they suit,” he said, much too nonchalantly for Marcus’s liking.

The earl could feel himself getting angry. How would Emma, who had never been a part of society’s marriage mart, know anything about what would be best for her? That was why she needed Nick and Olivia to intercede for her. But obviously, his sister wasn’t going to be any help. Marcus had looked at the names on that list … and he hadn’t been overly impressed with any of them. Olivia seemed quite prepared to throw Emma at any gentleman who stood still long enough … except for her own brother, of course.

And now his best friend was also turning out to be a traitor. Stopping Chivers should have been the first thing Nick did. It would have sent a message to the other suitors—that any attempts to secure Miss Mercer’s affections were going to be taken seriously and handled with the utmost care and discernment.

Instead, Nick had essentially declared open season for any jackanapes who wanted to try and woo a beautiful woman.

“I actually think Emma will probably get along quite well with Chivers,” the marquess said as though he couldn’t bear to leave the subject alone.

Marcus couldn’t sit down like Nick invited him to do. He was suddenly filled with so much restless energy he thought unless he could pace back and forth the length of the whole house he’d have a fit.

“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” Marcus snapped.

Nick didn’t acknowledge the abrupt change in tone or the way Marcus looked like he might want to bloody Nick’s nose.

Nick shrugged, the gesture at once careless and calculated. “Actually, I believe Chivers is downstairs, without his mother this time. You may want to go see for yourself how they get along since you won’t take my word for it.”

Marcus was halfway across the room by the time Nick finished his thought. And Marcus was on the other side of the door by the end of it. And as such, and since he didn’t turn around, he couldn’t tell that his friend was trying … rather unsuccessfully, actually, to muffle his laughter.

Emma didn’t want to be rude to the guests, but wasn’t there somewhere else everybody would rather be? She understood that, at the moment, she was a curiosity, a stranger everyone wanted to inspect for themselves. But she was weary of the constant deluge of people with their endless questions….

Are you related to Mr. Albert Mercer, that wealthy recluse from Cornwall? “Yes, he’s my uncle.”

How long do you plan to remain in Town? “Until I’m needed back home.”