The earl, clearly seeing his duty from all three eager female faces, said a trifle too coolly, Arabella thought, “Monsieur, allow me to ask you to remain at Evesham Abbey for a time, if, that is, you have no other pressing engagements. Of course if you do—”
“I was going shooting with friends in Scotland,” the comte said quickly, splaying his hands in the French manner that quite made the earl want to hit him. “But I assure you, my lord, that remaining here would give me the greatest pleasure. And such very lovely pleasure.” From that moment on, the earl thought that Gervaise de Trécassis should be shot.
“Excellent, comte,” Arabella said.
“Ah, please call be Gervaise. Unfortunately, my title is only that—a title that has only emptiness. You see before you a simple émigré, torn from his home by that damnable Corsican upstart.”
“How horrid for you,” Elsbeth said, and there were indeed tears in her eyes.
Oh good Lord, the earl thought. He wanted to puke.
“Yes, but I have survived. I will continue to survive and retake what is rightfully mine after that Corsican is defeated or dead. You have the soul of an angel, my dear Elsbeth, to feel so for me. How like your mother you are. My aunt Magdalaine was a goddess, a lovely gentle goddess.”
It was difficult, but the earl managed to keep his snort behind his teeth. However, his black eyebrows shot up at the caressing tone in the young man’s voice. He thought he read an almost imperceptible calculating gleam in those flashing black eyes as they rested on Elsbeth, and thought cynically about Elsbeth’s ten thousand pounds. The comte was certainly dressed like a rich young dandy, and the earl wondered even more cynically if Evesham Abbey would be descended upon by dunning tradesmen.
“My dear boy,” Lady Ann said, lightly tapping her fingertips on his buff sleeve. “It is nearly time for luncheon. Let me ring for a footman to take up your luggage. We can spend the afternoon getting better acquainted.”
The comte bestowed upon her a boyish grin, calculated, Justin thought, to stir Lady Ann’s maternal instincts. And when he murmured over her hand,
“I am your slave, my dear lady,” the earl thought he would puke again.
By evening’s end, the earl had decided that the young man was no one’s slave. Indeed, it seemed that all the women had quite fallen under his charm. Even his Arabella appeared to accept the comte’s presence without question. She had smiled more in the young man’s presence than she had since Justin’s arrival. He didn’t like it one bit.
During the next several days, the earl was left to wonder if he was still betrothed. He saw little of Arabella. If she wasn’t in long fittings with the seamstress and Lady Ann for her bridal clothes, she was riding with the comte, fishing with the comte, exploring the countryside with the comte, visiting neighbors with the comte, all in all treating the earl—her own betrothed—with complete indifference. Even at his most infuriated, the earl would never fault her with flirting with Gervaise de Trécassis. No, what he saw was a young woman being pulled from her grief.
He watched many times with amazement her exuberance and vitality. It was just a pity that he didn’t appear to be able to bring this out of her.
That Elsbeth accompanied Arabella and the comte on all their jaunts didn’t help. He felt the weight of injustice. However, since he was an earl, a very important man, actually, he felt it important that he remain cool and in control. Thus he tended to treat the three of them like an amused and tolerant uncle. It made Lady Ann arch her fine brows at him, and, had he but known it, made Arabella grind her teeth.
The earl found his only ally to be Dr. Branyon. It was the doctor who said in a measured voice one evening as Lady Ann and the three younger members of the group were playing whist, Arabella partnered by the comte,
“Undoubtedly the young comte is harmless enough, though I do find his sense of timing to be almost suspiciously flawless, shall we say. I ask myself why he did not make himself known years ago. After all, the late earl was his uncle by marriage. Why did he wait to come here after the earl, his uncle, had died? Yes, it bothers me, this timing of his.” The earl said slowly, watching the young man adroitly lose a hand to Lady Ann, which only made Arabella grin at him, “That is an excellent observation. Perhaps the comte’s prior activities bear closer examination.”
“He cannot have much prior experience for he is very young. I asked him his age and he told me he was twenty-three. That is only four years younger than you, Justin. He seems a mere boy to me.”
“And I appear an old man?”
“No, but you are a man. You know who and what you are. As for the comte—” Dr. Branyon shrugged. “I find myself wondering what he is thinking. And he is thinking, mayhap even scheming. I don’t like it.”
“That inexhaustible charm of his, I begin to believe he was born with that. He is very good. Better than most men twice his age. Scheming? We will see.”
The comte suddenly threw up his hands in mock despair at that moment and exclaimed, “Elsbeth, you have trumped my spade. I had not expected it.
Arabella, forgive me for my lapse—but what can I expect when I am surrounded by three beautiful women? I am just relieved that I managed to win two hands.”
“You were too careless, Gervaise,” Arabella said. She was a fierce competitor, but she was still smiling. “Congratulations, Elsbeth, Mother.
Well done.”
“I wonder if you
