Page 22 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

Her cousin, Lady Celinda Grantham, that would be. Surely Miss Locke had spoken to someone else or danced with another gentleman? But if Letitia had not seen anyone approach her… Gentlemen were, while not plentiful, at least available in sufficient numbers. Had none of them offered to dance with her? That stricken look on her face might be the key. Would no one partner Miss Locke? It would explain why she had accepted his request for the supper dance, despite what she apparently thought of him. Better him than being a wallflower, he supposed.

He’d not noticed before—he’d wanted to avoid her more than have her take notice of him—but come to think of it, Ainsley had mentioned she was in her third Season. Was she as desperate as Marcus himself? And would this circumstance make it easier to pursue his suit with her or more difficult? How she’d react when she found out he was marrying her to pay off a wager didn’t bear thinking about. Especially in light of that list.

Memory of that stricken look, however, sent a pang of sympathy straight to his heart. If he was going to marry Kate Locke, he needed to learn to care for her and make her care for him if they were to have any sort of life together that didn’t include misery for them both. Marcus nodded, his resolve like granite.

He’d focus on wooing Miss Locke in earnest, on mending his own faults as much as possible, and making her fall in love with him, even if it killed him.

Chapter 10

“These just arrived for you, miss.” Parker held a huge cut-crystal vase filled with lovely pink and cream roses, interspersed with tiny, delicate daisies.

Kate, just coming to sit down to breakfast Monday morning, frowned even as she leaned forward to sniff the fragrant blossoms. Beautiful flowers, but who had sent them? “Is there a card?”

She’d danced only the two dances with Lord Haversham Saturday evening. And had a brief conversation with Lord Finley at supper as he’d waited on Celinda. Much as she’d like to believe the bouquet was from him, she wasn’t about to try to fool herself. Which made the arrival of the flowers even more intriguing. She searched over the blooms and finally plucked the card from amongst the greenery and opened it.

With my heartfelt gratitude and admiration for my excellent partner. May I call upon you this afternoon?

Lord Haversham

She jerked back from the blooms as if stung. Her cheeks heated a second later. Lord Haversham. Why the devil did he wish to call upon her? They’d shared the supper dance without incident, although she’d noticed his lordship talked much less wittily and more, well, conventionally. Topics like the weather and the decoration on his sister’s gown were the high points of the conversation.

Now this morning he sent flowers and wanted to call?

“Put them in the foyer, please, Parker.” She tapped the card against her fingers. What did he mean by this request? Had he thought her granting him the supper dance meant something? It did, but certainly not what he might’ve thought it meant.

She’d stood beside Celinda and watched all her social aspirations disappear like a thin mist at dawn. No one would ask to dance with her. Young Mr. Pine had cast looks at her briefly—until his cousin, Lord Seaford, with whom she’d argued two years ago, had whispered vehemently in his ear, and they’d then decamped to another part of the house. From the corner of her eye, she’d spied Lord Eastland speaking earnestly to another young gentleman, gesturing toward her and shaking his head. Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, she’d become the pariah of the ton.

Only Haversham had offered to dance with her. Rather than be the obvious wallflower, she’d accepted him. Kate closed her eyes, reliving the moment, which had been a country dance. Haversham danced like a dream. While his partner, she need never worry about putting a foot wrong. Supper, however, had been more trying, the conversation focusing on equally mundane topics.

By the end of the evening, she’d thought she’d go mad with the inconsequential prattling of their dinner partners. Usually, Haversham could be counted on for invigorating repartee. Last night, however, his wit had been much more subdued as they’d sat with Celinda and Lord Finley, and Lady Letitia and Lord Carstairs. Her right-side conversation was nearly void as Celinda talked mainly to the viscount. Across the small table, silence reigned, save for a quiet “Pass the salt, please,” from Lady Letitia. Haversham’s clever quips alone, uttered sotto voce, had kept her amused, though they’d been fewer than usual. She had to give it to the man. He had a wit sharp enough to slice cheese. She almost looked forward to trading barbs with him.

Which brought her full circle back to the foyer and the flowers she’d continued to sniff and stroke. They were heaven to touch. She stepped back and headed for the receiving room. It would be no trouble to allow Lord Haversham to call. In fact, it might be the highlight of her afternoon. Perhaps she could engage him again about his sister’s restriction where the waltz was concerned. If he’d only lift his edict on that dance, perhaps Lady Letitia would rest easier about dancing in general. She seemed a sweet lady, but she’d likely never catch a husband if she continued to refuse to dance. Kate would have to come up with some clever arguments that made her point and set Haversham down a peg.

She hurried to the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper, ready to write a brief note agreeing to Haversham’s call. The first sheet she pulled out, however, was her unfinished list of things she hated about the earl. Kate stared at it, going from one item to the next, looking to see if she’d been fair to the man. The first five traits she would confidently stand by. Lord Haversham was, without a doubt, an unkind, arrogant hypocrite who was rude and acted superior. At least some of the time. However, she wasn’t certain she should label him lazy. She truly didn’t know enough about him or the workings of an estate to determine that. And the froggy comment was just spite on her part, although she would have to keep it or else come up with yet another thing she hated about Haversham. She’d found enough fault with him when she wasn’t trying to list them all. Why was it so hard to do so now?

Shaking her head, she tucked the list under the stack of foolscap and pulled a fresh sheet to her. She’d have to avoid Nathan until she could come up with the final three things. Perhaps this afternoon’s encounter would help her determine them. Unfortunately, Kate had the sinking feeling the opposite might occur instead.

* * * *

Marcus sat outside Locke Terrace in his curricle, screwing up his courage to enter The Manse, as Ainsley affectionately called his townhouse. He still couldn’t believe the note he’d received two hours ago. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the neat hand once more.

You may call upon me this afternoon between 3:00 and 4:00.

Brief and to the point, but he carefully folded it and tucked it away. It hadn’t contained any barbs, so that was a step in the correct direction. Of course, she might be luring him into an ambush, but he had to take the chance. He didn’t plan to stay long—if he could just convince himself to climb out of the vehicle.

No matter how ridiculous he felt, he had to knock on the blasted door. He jumped down, strode up to the looming jet-black door, and knocked rapidly.

Parker opened it immediately, his impassive face betraying their long acquaintance by a slight twitch of his lips. “Lord Haversham. I am afraid his lordship is from home at the moment. If you would like to leave your card, I will make sure he receives it the instant he returns.”

Marcus shifted on the stoop. Deucedly awkward, but there was nothing for it. “I, uh, am come to call on Miss Locke today, Parker. I believe she is expecting me.” He tried to ignore the look of profound shock in Parker’s sunken brown eyes.

“Yes, of course, my lord.” The butler regained his outward composure, ushered him in and closed the door. His hand slipped from the latch, and the door slammed with a loud boom. “My pardon, Lord Haversham.” Parker straightened his shoulders and headed into the house, the tips of his ears growing cherry red.

Lord, if he’d rattled the unflappable Parker, this visit must be a nine days’ wonder.

The butler led him to the morning room, where the early afternoon light gave the pale blue-gray walls a glow. A comfortable room, with pale blue jacquard-covered sofa and chairs, made uncomfortable now by the figure at the bay window overlooking the rear gardens.

Marcus shook himself and assumed a pleasing smile. If he was going to marry this woman, he’d have to stop dreading her company.