To Marry an Earl Page 2

  She had been quite busy these last two Seasons, unbeknownst to her parents. Instead of playing at London’s games, she had subtly steered away her admirers, convincing Father of the unworthiness of those beaus who would not be deterred.

  But all of that was now for naught. Kate wished she could believe that Father would change his mind when he was sober, but she knew him too well. Father did not change. He hadn’t changed when his gambling and debauchery had pushed their family to near ruination. He would not change now.

  Kate shuddered, her prospects dimming with the shadows in the room as she leaned against her bedroom door. Freedom had been so close, but now the future was only black. She would finally be escaping her father’s home, but at what cost?

  Chapter 2

  James Fenwick, the seventh Earl of Bowcott, was speechless.

  And, contrary to popular belief, that was a rare occurrence.

  He and Lucas—Lord Berkeley—stood in the entrance to White’s, staring at the crowd before them. They shared a look of perplexity.

  “What do you suppose has created this level of chaos?” Lucas asked in a low tone, handing his coat and hat to the butler.

  “Perhaps someone’s been called out and the crowd has arrived to view their ultimate demise,” he suggested.

  Not catching his subtle humor, Lucas shook his head. “They would not be congregating in White’s for that. It seems they are mostly interested in the betting book.” Lucas nodded his head toward the object in question.

  A familiar face appeared at the edge of the crowd; the last of their trio was angling toward them.

  “I imagine Henry will enlighten us,” James said, indicating his friend with a wave of his hand. They’d all been friends since their meeting at Eton at age twelve, yet despite their close friendship, they had differences aplenty. With his average height, Henry was the outlier in their group. James and Lucas both boasted tall, broader frames. Henry’s disposition was also different from the other two—buoyant, while his friends were generally more solemn.

  “Have you heard?” Henry said with his signature grin when he was still several feet from them. “Old Harcourt finally lost his mind.” He motioned with his head of golden curls to the group near the betting book he had, apparently, just vacated.

  “What do you mean?” Lucas voiced James’s own thoughts, which were momentarily muddled by the familiar name. His two friends steered through the crowd to find a table. James followed dumbly behind, ears straining for confirmation of whom the two were speaking.

  “I mean, the old man is practically selling his own daughter to the highest bidder. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  For the second time in less than a quarter hour, James found himself speechless. Kate? No, they couldn’t be speaking of her.

  “You cannot be serious,” Lucas said with disgust as he settled at the table.

  “I am, indeed. Surprising as that may be. The man himself was here last night, letting Baron Nobsley know he is anxious to see his daughter settled and will only take the best for his daughter.” Henry scoffed. “As if he cares about the best of men; he only wants the best purse strings.”

  “So that’s the reason for the group?” Lucas asked, eyeing the crowd with an indecipherable expression.

  “Yes. Word spread quickly, and every man wants to place a wager on who’ll get the girl or learn who’s already angling for a chance at her. Sizing up their competition too, I’d bet.”

  Lucas grunted, but that was all the response Henry needed to elaborate. “Clearly, all of London is bored silly, what with the Season ending, to take up this bit of gossip so freely. But she is a bit of an anomaly . . . that beautiful and in demand, yet two Seasons with no husband. I suppose these pathetic fellows are hopeful they can claim the conquest of marrying her, even without a dowry. It’s enough to create a stir.” Henry lounged in his seat, observing the room with lazy interest, his demeanor quite contrary to the stampede of thoughts running through James’s head. “Regardless, man’s unhinged. He’s not going to get the finest crowd going about it this way. Been drawing the bustle too freely if you ask me. I’d venture he’s one step from ruin to be taking measures this drastic.”

  “What do the wagers say?” James finally entered the conversation, his words coming out too loud. He could voice his true questions, but he wasn’t sure yet if he wanted these men, his friends, to know of his history with Kate.

  Henry eyed him curiously before speaking. “They’re saying Chelmsford already met with Harcourt. But currently, the Earl of Norwich seems to be a favorite. No one knows yet whether he’ll actually throw his hat in the ring, but we all know how the man likes a beautiful girl on his arm.” Henry grimaced, bitterness tinging his words marginally. Norwich had tempted away a girl Henry had been courting two Seasons before. Henry had been besotted, but ultimately, she’d chosen the earl over the baronet. Not that anything had come of it in the end—Norwich had moved on to a shinier target, as always, and the girl had retreated to her family’s country home in embarrassment.

  James felt a pang of regret for his friend, but it was shadowed by a rush of anger toward the earl in question. Anger that had nothing to do with Norwich’s past and everything to do with his potential future.

  “The man’s a rake, and Harcourt’s even bigger a fool if he lets his daughter marry someone like that.” Lucas spoke true, but they all knew Harcourt was a fool, and if a potential suitor’s pockets were deep enough . . .

  Silence lapsed for a moment.

  “James, you ought to try for it.” Henry’s mouth twisted into another grin as he sat up suddenly, hitting his hand against the table between them.

  James’s gaze shot to his friend, and even Lucas watched him curiously.

  Henry nodded, waggling his eyebrows at James. “You’re perfectly capable of winning her hand. Now that you’re an earl, you may as well enjoy the benefits. I can’t imagine any better benefit than London’s untouchable incomparable.”

  “Excuse me?” James ground out the words. Lucas’s brow furrowed at his tone. Henry didn’t notice.

  “No, really, hear me out.” Henry held his hands up, as if presenting a grand plan. “The woman is beautiful, well connected, and notorious for keeping aloof of any and all suitors. Despite her unfortunate father, every man in London seems to have tried to gain her favor and all for nothing. And then suddenly, here she is, on a shiny platter all for the taking. And you could—”

  “Henry.” Lucas’s warning tone caused Henry to stop his rambling. And not a moment too soon, as James was half out of his seat, temper flaring.

  Henry glanced between the two of them, then slouched back, muttering something about not meaning offense before silence lapsed again. Snippets of conversations floated around them.

  “Norwich is bound to—”

  “Harcourt lost half a fortune a fortnight past to some lucky fellow. Perhaps the winner ought to claim the man’s daughter in payment.”

  “If only my pockets were deeper, I’d—”

  “Have you seen the woman’s hair? Black silk, I swear it. And I would propose matrimony over her green eyes alone.”

  James ground his teeth. Blue. Kate’s eyes were blue. He was certain all these men were speaking of her. Katherine Cartwright, daughter of Viscount Harcourt. His hand clenched on the table, and his stomach twisted. He itched to rise from his seat and clock the man who’d just compared Kate to his new racehorse.

  Henry stood to get a drink, and Lucas raised an eyebrow at James, but James only averted his eyes.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Have you found a new solicitor yet?”

  As much as he might wish to dwell longer on Kate, James jumped at the change of topic, attempting to shake her from his head. At one time, he and she had been as close of friends as he, Lucas, and Henry were. But that was years ago. And if he continued thinking of her, he wouldn’t leave the club without bruising on his fists. Being that he was no pugilist, that would not be a prudent avenue of action. So he swallowed his ire. For now. “Yes, last week, thankfully. I do not know how the late earl used that other man. He was a complete imbecile.”

  Lucas nodded but said no more. He had never been one for idle conversation, and neither was James, much as he may have appreciated a distraction. Soon enough, Henry returned, and their talk turned to more neutral topics. Yet James’s gaze continually moved toward the betting book.

  Running his hands down his pant legs, he gripped his knees beneath the table. What was her father thinking? What did this mean for Kate? He had almost unconsciously kept track of her despite his own tumultuous life over the last Season. He’d never seemed able to rid his mind of her since their parting . . . or gain the confidence to do something about that fact. Not that he’d had the time or ability until recently.

  James had inherited the earldom by surprise only to have his inheritance questioned by a distant family member who felt they had a claim to the title. Due to the ineptitude of the former earl’s solicitor, and various unentailed properties convoluting the line of succession, it had taken months to adequately clear things up. In the end, it had come about that the cousin in question had been entitled to one unentailed property but not the title itself. James had gratefully handed over that manor in Sheffield, happy to have the whole thing sorted.

  “You are exceptionally contemplative today, James,” Henry spoke over James’s thoughts.

  James raised a goading eyebrow to hide the truth of his inattention. “Yes, Henry, I’ve been contemplating what possessed your valet to dress you in that shade of green. It is ghastly.”

  Henry tugged at his waistcoat, preening. “Well, pe
rhaps you don’t have quite the eye for fashion that I possess . . . but truly, you are not often this reticent.” Henry shifted in his seat and shot a look at Lucas, seeming uncomfortable. “If it’s about what I said before . . . you know I didn’t mean to disparage the woman. I was simply jesting. The whole situation is laughable, really.”

  James looked between his friends, deciding whether to divulge his history with Kate, to explain what had made him so defensive, to speak of their long friendship that had been cut short three years ago. But his mind was swimming with information, and he needed to sort it all out. Alone.

  “No offense taken, Henry.” He pulled out his watch fob, pretending to inspect it, before standing. “Seems I must be off, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed slightly to his friends and spun on his heel before they could stop him.

  Once free of the excited crowd, he sent his carriage off without him. He would be able to think better if he walked. For nearly a mile, he meandered toward home, his thoughts bouncing about but never gaining a foothold. Kate’s face swam before him, as clear as the last day he’d seen her. It did not help his confused thoughts. Engaged by her father? If he knew Kate at all, it was without her consent. And that made his chest ache to think on. Could he help her? Would she let him? He maneuvered around horses, shoppers, and carriages before nearly colliding with an ornate curricle that was slowing in front of the walk he’d just stepped off. James stumbled backward as a man alighted from the equipage.

  A scowl overtook James’s face. Norwich.

  The finely dressed bounder gave James a slight, somehow mocking bow and swept past him to the townhome behind. Momentarily flooded with annoyance, James turned.

  And found himself stationed in front of Harcourt’s London residence.

  Everyone knew this house, as the man was infamous for his card parties. Not that James had ever gone. And now Norwich was disappearing behind the great black door flanked by two sets of columns. James cursed again. He was developing an unhealthy habit of profanity that afternoon.

  Rooted to the spot, he stared at the now-closed door. Open hands rested on his hips as he glared at the offending stone and shrubbery. There could only be one reason for Norwich’s presence here.

  Torn between wanting to call Norwich out for daring to present himself as a possible husband for Kate and fleeing the scene, James needed only a moment of debate. He marched up the steps, and his hand pounded with the knocker before he even registered what he was doing.

  In the instance before the door swung open, James wondered how Harcourt was managing the fees for a home such as this if he was truly as deeply in debt as London believed.

  When the butler opened the door, James enjoyed a brief musing that the man looked remarkably like a turtle. His neck was incredibly long and his chin rather small. His expression, however, was that of a man who’d smelled something unsavory. It wiped the amusement from James’s thoughts. Assuming his newly acquired stance and air of a highly esteemed member of the bon ton, James reached for a calling card and presented it.

  The butler seemed taken aback, though he hid it well. Likely, with the exception of Norwich, the man hadn’t presented very many high-ranking, or worthy, members of Society to his master throughout the day. Served Harcourt right.

  But not Kate.

  James then had a terrifying thought. Was Kate in London? Was there a chance of her seeing him without explanation after all these years, in her own home? This was foolishness. Norwich could have unrelated business with the viscount. James didn’t need to attempt to . . . do what? Even if Norwich was proposing matrimony to Kate, what could James do about it? Did James intend to propose himself? Did he intend to begin the day without a thought of matrimony, then end it betrothed? Even if he did, Kate’s father would never consider James over Norwich, not with their history.

  The butler stood stiffly against a far wall, having taken James’s hat and coat, and James stood just as stiffly in the middle of the entry. He shifted his weight, clenching and unclenching his fists and jaw for several minutes, debating the idiocy of his current situation. After nearly a quarter of an hour, he’d convinced himself that he would not be able to compete with the likes of Norwich, much as he’d like to. And he would like to. Regardless, Kate would never have him.

  Confidence fleeing—if it had ever even been there—he turned to leave. But at just that moment, a door off to the right opened, and Norwich stepped out.

  “It was a sincere pleasure, Lord Harcourt, to be able to discuss this business with you. I look forward to our continued conversation.” He caught James’s eye as he strode into the front hall, giving a self-satisfied smirk. “Bowcott! What a pleasant surprise to find you here. I do hope you are passing a pleasant afternoon.” Norwich pulled his watch fob from the pocket of his waistcoat and peered at it. Surprise? The fop had just run into him outside this very house not twenty minutes before. But then Norwich lowered his voice as he passed. “Sorry, old boy. Seems you’re just a moment too late to the party.” He smirked again, inclining his head in a mock bow, as the turtlenecked butler opened the door.

  James’s blood boiled. Distractedly, he heard the butler announce him to Harcourt.

  “The Earl of Bowcott, my lord.”

  “Send him in,” came the gruff reply.

  As James walked toward the library doors, his thoughts found solid ground. Where before he had been floundering, acting on a whim, he was now resolved. There was no chance of him allowing Kate to marry that cur. James’s suit would prosper, and he knew just how he would manage it.

  Chapter 3

  The carriage rolling down the lane leading to the Harcourt country residence notified Kate that Father had returned, even before Betsy rushed in to say a maid had seen Lord Harcourt alighting. A pit settled in her stomach once again as she thanked Betsy and informed her she intended to go down directly rather than waiting to be summoned. For the past four days, each time she thought of Father and his ridiculous threat, she felt the same painful twisting in her stomach. She’d tried ignoring the thoughts altogether. But it was hard to ignore something of this magnitude.

  There was hope though. Four days was not time enough to have gone to London, sold her to a man of his choosing, and returned. Was it? Somehow, the dread only settled further.

  With effort, she pulled herself off the damask-upholstered window seat and moved in the direction of her door, determined to see the problem head-on. There would be no hiding this time. Or ever again, she supposed, if he truly made good on his threat to marry her off. Any man who was willing to purchase a bride, despite the likely social ramifications, must indeed be insane. There was also the fact that Father would have to approve of him, and anyone that he approved of would have to be just as horrid as he.

  Oh, but she had hoped to escape marriage in the end. She had hoped to escape everything.

  A step from her door, she allowed herself a brief moment of resignation and despondency. Her ever-perfect posture failed her for the space of a breath as she lifted a hand to her temple and rubbed a spot that was growing painful.

  She only desired to control her own future. Unfortunately, she had been born into a life that rarely allowed such a thing. With a father nearly shackled by vice and a mother who could offer nothing more nurturing than passing affection to her daughter, Kate’s only chance at freedom lay in escaping her parents’ control. But the only opportunity of escape afforded to a young woman of her station was marriage, and she was well aware that life with a husband would be just as binding. So she’d decided on another venture and had been so close. Yet now, despite all her efforts, she was to marry some nameless, witless man.

  If only James had never left. He might have helped her escape.

  But he had left, and as usual, those types of thoughts only rendered her all the more miserable.

  She shook herself and squared her shoulders once again. Father may control her life, but she controlled her perspective on it, and she was determined to not fall beneath the weight of his decisions.

  Her determination did not last. Hardly five minutes later, Kate stared, slack-jawed, at Father’s triumphant face. “An earl?” Shock colored her words, despite her self-imposed rule to not show emotion in front of him. “You’ve had me betrothed to an earl?”