Page 22 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“Can you grip?”
“Barely.”
“Well, then!” she said triumphantly. “Strengthen those muscles and you’ll likely ride again. And in the meantime you can write and draw—even fence.”
“Fence?” He brightened.
“Well, they only use one hand to hold a foil, do they not?”
He blinked. “I hadn’t thought of fencing. The balance . . .” his voice trailed off.
“Can be adjusted for, I’d wager. Give it a try?” A pile of gnarled branches lay next to an apple tree. She took up two and handed him one—and then brandished hers. “Have at me,” she said on a laugh.
He stared at her and the branch in his good hand for a moment, then slowly smiled. Standing, he thrust it at her. “En garde,” he said.
She laughed and smacked his branch with her own . . . and they were off.
Chapter 5
His plan was working perfectly. The rumors of Hart’s betrothal flew through theton—and everyone’s attention shifted toward his unknown fiancé. Disappointed debutantes abandoned him and concentrated on catching a glimpse of her. Instead of spying out Parliamentary schedules, they stalked the shops of Bond Street, left cards and delivered invitations to Herrington House.
Hart was left to his committees, the business of the earldom and his agricultural interests—exactly the way he’d wanted.
Why then, did he feel this vague dissatisfaction? Why did his brain constantly wander off topic to wonder how she was adjusting, who she was meeting, what she was wearing? Why was his head not filled with plans for abundant fields instead of images of abundant curves?
He didn’t know, any more than he knew why his feet were carrying him towards Herrington House this afternoon instead of toward his club where he could search out his friend Peter Grant so he could find out what he’d missed at that lecture the other day.
And yet, here he was, arriving at his own doorstep and being informed that his mother was not at home just as if he was a visitor and not The Earl.
“I’m here to fetch some papers from the study, Bridges,” he said testily. “Get out of the way.”
He pushed past and took his time finding just what he didn’t really need in the first place, but after thirty minutes his mother and Emily had still not returned. Sighing, he gathered up some papers.
“Tell Mother I called,” he began to tell Bridges, then stopped. “On second thought, where did they venture off to this afternoon?”
“The countess has asked me not to share her schedule, my lord.”
“She didn’t mean with me, man!” Hart exclaimed.
The butler raised a brow.
“Who do you think pays your salary, in any case?”
The man’s hesitation evaporated. “She’s at her sister’s, Lady Feltham’s.”
“Thank you,” Hart said with a good dose of sarcasm, as Bridges opened the door. “I’ve been meaning to head over to see young James, in any case.”
He stopped suddenly, as a trio of ladies stood waiting on the stoop.
“Oh, forgive me. Mrs. Paxton, is it not?”
“Indeed.” The older lady curtsied. “How kind of you to remember. And this is my daughter, Miss Paxton.”
“Miss Paxton,” he inclined his head. The third girl was dressed in a more plain fashion and not introduced, so he assumed she must be a maid. “So sorry, ladies, but my mother is not at home and I am on my way out.”
“Of course, my lord.” Miss Paxton cast him a questioning look. “And are we to offer you felicitations on your engagement, sir? The rumors say as much.”
“Ah, yes.” It felt different to tell the lie himself. “Well, there’s been no announcement yet, but yes.” He pushed past. “If you’ll excuse me? Good day.”
