Marianne was right. He needed someone to teach him how to be an earl. After all, he, his sister and their brother, Frederick, who had died a hero in the war, had grown up in a small cottage in Brighton, none of them having any idea their father was the only son of the Earl of Elmwood. They thought Father was a woodworker, for Christ’s sake. Not a bloody earl.
Marianne had served as a lady’s maid until she’d met the Marquess of Bellingham, who’d asked her to marry him after two cases of mistaken identity and a trip to France. And now, here they were, two siblings who knew little about the infamous ton, both thrust into the roles of earl and soon-to-be marchioness. David would think it all ridiculous if it didn’t happen to be true. Such was his life at the age of nine and twenty. Far, far different from the way he’d imagined it.
At first, David had assumed taking a seat in the House of Lords would be nothing but welcome. He’d use his newfound power to get bills passed that would help military men and their families. David still looked forward to that part of his new role. It was the other part he dreaded—the endless round of social calls and ridiculous amounts of etiquette that he continued to breach—that was driving him mad.
He sucked in and expelled a large puff of smoke as he leaned back against the cold brick wall behind him, closing his eyes. No. He wasn’t about to give up his cigars quite yet. A good smoke was sometimes a soldier’s only friend on a freezing, lonely battlefield that smelled like gunpowder and death.
Delicate feminine coughing met his ears and his eyes shot open to see a stunning blond woman step onto the verandah waving smoke away from her face.
“Pardon me,” she said in a tight, unhappy voice as she continued to cough.
David pushed himself away from the wall and waved his arm in the air, trying to dispel the smoke. “I’m terribly sorry.” Excellent. Knowing his luck, he probably just blew smoke into the face of one of the royal princesses.
The blond woman gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “You should be,” she shot back, pulling an obviously expensive fur-lined pelisse more tightly around her shoulders.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.” His gaze took in her lovely and equally expensive-looking pink evening gown that was partially covered by the pelisse. Diamonds wound around her throat and were entwined in her light hair. She had the most heavenly ice-blue eyes, illuminated by the candles on either side of the nearby doorway. He glanced around. She was young and lovely and appeared to be…alone. That was unusual.
“My apologies, my lady…er, you are a lady, aren’t you?” Damn. He was a fool. He didn’t know much about Society rules, but he was fairly certain asking a lady if she was a lady was a breach.
She arched a blond brow at him and laughed. “What do you think? Do I look like a lady?”
“Yes, well, er, uh, you look beautiful,” he managed to choke out, wanting to kick himself for his inanity. What exactly was one supposed to say when one encountered a heavenly creature alone in a dark, cold garden? Nothing in his army career had prepared him for such an event. If she were a French solider, he would have shot her. Tried to, at least. If she were an English soldier, he would have offered her a cigar. Instead, he stood blinking at her like an idiot waiting for her to say something else.
“Allow me to save you trouble, Mr. …” She paused, waiting for him to supply his last name.
“Ellsworth,” he spat out. Damn again. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone his name was Mr. Ellsworth. Not any longer. Not since he’d become the bloody Earl of Elmwood. But how could he correct himself to this vision of loveliness? He’d already proven himself to be an idiot, he didn’t dare add more proof.
But wait. What had she said? Save him trouble? He frowned. What could she possibly mean? He was about to drop the cigar to the ground and crush it beneath his boot when she reached out and took the thing from him in her gloved fingers. He watched in awe as she brought it to her lips and took a drag, blowing the smoke up into the cold air above his head. Who was this young woman? Had he met her earlier when the company had been gathered in the sitting room? He doubted it very much. He would have remembered her. She wasn’t someone you’d easily forget.
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Have you been here all evening?” he asked, uncommonly curious how he might have overlooked her presence.
She laughed and it was a harsh sound. “Not all evening, no. I’m afraid I’m often late to such gatherings. I slipped in halfway through dinner. On purpose. Makes the evening less of a chore.”
“A chore?” he echoed, somewhat surprised that a woman who so obviously belonged here would be so clearly unhappy at a dinner party.
She eyed him up and down as if assessing every stitch of his clothing. He was suddenly glad his soon-to-be brother-in-law, the Marquess of Bellingham, had helped him purchase a new wardrobe suitable for an earl. “You can save the pleasantries, Mr. Ellsworth. I know your game.”
“Game?” He blinked at her. What the devil did she mean by that?
She sighed and rolled her eyes, taking another drag from the cigar. “Yes, I’ve seen it before, a hundred times. You saw me leave the table and you followed me out here. Only you’re pretending you didn’t follow me. You’re pretending you didn’t even know I was here. That’s what I’m to believe, is it not?” She blinked at him aggressively.
David scrunched up his nose and crossed his arms over his chest, regarding her as thoroughly as she’d regarded him moments earlier. Did this young woman truly think he had come out here in search of her? “You may believe whatever you like, Miss…”
She rolled her eyes and laughed a haughty laugh. “Oh, and now you’re going to pretend as if you don’t know my name, either.” She shook her head and pulled her fur more tightly over her shoulders. “Really, you men must begin coming up with more original schemes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this one. It’s grown quite stale, I assure you.”
David made a noise that fell somewhere between a huff and a groan. Who did this young woman think she was? She couldn’t possibly be one of the royal princesses. He highly doubted any of King George’s many daughters would be traipsing about smoking cigars in a garden and being rude. “My apologies if my ‘scheme’ is ‘stale’, Miss. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to come up with something more original.” He gave her a tight smile.
“I’d say you didn’t,” she scoffed. “Now, don’t tell me. You’re going to offer to escort me back to the dining room, and then you’ll ask me if you may pay me a call tomorrow. Allow me to save you time. You may escort me back to the dining room, but no, you may not pay me a call tomorrow, or any day.” She finished her little speech with a prim nod.
David pulled the cigar from her fingers and took another drag on it himself. If she was going to be rude, he’d show her rude. “That’s quite all right,” he replied with a false smile pinned to his face. “Because the truth is that not only do I have no intention of escorting you back to the dining room, but I wouldn’t pay you a call if you were the last lady left in London.”
With that, he dropped the cigar, crushed it beneath his boot, turned on his heel, opened the door, and strode inside. He didn’t so much as give her a backward glance. As he marched toward the dining room, alone, he had a self-satisfied grin on his face. He would not soon forget the look of pure shock and outrage that had appeared on the young woman’s face at his words.