Page 32 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

You arranged matters with precision.

Her fingers stilled briefly over the keys. Yes, she had. But was that not the point?

It was not more than a quarter hour later that Lord Langshire arrived.

Eliza greeted him warmly and guided him toward the pianoforte. After playing several pieces, she allowed herself a playful smile as she selected the Bach.

“I believe we must test a theory,” she said lightly.

He chuckled as she turned the sheet music upside down. Her attempt was valiant—but unsuccessful. The melody unraveled almost immediately.

“I believe that answers the question,” she said, glancing toward him with amusement as she set the music aside.

“Indeed, it does,” he replied, his tone warm with laughter.

“But I trust I have at least entertained you, my lord?”

“You have,” he said. “And I must add—you play beautifully. Particularly when the music is the correct way up.”

She smiled. “I shall accept that compliment.”

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Pere, then to the otherwise quiet room, before returning to him.

“It seems arriving early has its advantages,” he said.

“Indeed,” she replied with a soft smile. “Though I am not certain it is entirely fair.”

She rose and moved toward the tea service, allowing the moment to shift. “May I offer you some tea, my lord?”

“Not just yet,” he said, gesturing instead toward the window. “I was admiring the view.”

Eliza followed him, her pulse quickening slightly as they moved just far enough for a semblance of privacy—though still well within propriety.

“It is a pleasant view,” she said. “One can almost see the park—though London insists upon too many trees.”

He smiled faintly. “For once, I find there are not too many people.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Tell me, Lady Eliza … I would like to know more about your family.”

Eliza felt a tightening in her chest.

She managed a light, composed expression. “I fear there is very little of interest to tell. As you may recall, our estate lies just outside Ludlow, and I am accustomed to a quieter life.”

“Yes,” he said. “But I was thinking more particularly of your parents.”

She hesitated—only briefly. It was not an unreasonable question. But it required careful navigation.

“I cannot say I knew my father well,” she said, allowing her gaze to lower slightly. “He passed before I was old enough to remember him. My mother … was greatly affected by the loss, and my aunt and uncle took me in as their own.”

She lifted her gaze again, allowing a touch of genuine feeling to surface.

“It may not be entirely conventional, but I was well cared for.”

“I see,” he said gently. “We do not choose the hand we are given—but we may choose what we make of it.”