Page 7 of A Deal with the Earl (Necessary Arrangements 1)

Chapter 2

Travel to Hampshire was dreadful. Julie’s father hadn’t spoken a word to her, ignoring her as always. However, she had an eerie feeling he was studying her from across the carriage the entire time. She shielded herself with a book and refused to acknowledge him. Her chaperone, on the other hand, was chattering on all the way, just as she always did. Occasionally, she would mutter something under her breath when the carriage hit a hole in the road, and her embroidery either slipped from her fingers or she messed up a loop.

Julie spent her time thinking and calculating ways she could leave the house party unattached. Throughout the years, she had come up with elaborate ruses to discourage the most eager of gentlemen who passed her chaperone’s stern standards. She learned rather quickly what put her in the gentlemen’s bad graces. Gentlemen disliked young ladies who had opinions of their own, who weren’t afraid to be outspoken, and who pointed out gentlemen’s flaws, as Julie did. Gentlemen, she noted, as a rule, liked their egos flattered. But even that wasn’t always enough.

There was an old marquess, one who was most adamant to marry Julie, and she could not shake him off no matter what she tried. Lord Lansdowne. He was fascinated with everything about her. Lansdowne was at least thrice her age, twice her girth, and generally smelled of rotting fish. He pawed her and slobbered all over her during dances, raking her with his lecherous gaze across the ballroom, and aspired to sit by her during every dinner. He had the rank and the influence to fit the bill for her father, and he was in need of a young heiress to bear his children. Out of desperation, she used the last card she had up her sleeve. She unleashed a rumor about Mary.

She told the ton everything about her little sister. How she was born different, how their father sent her off to the asylum. Julie felt shame for using the innocent angel in such an atrocious way, but she had no choice. If she were to fight for her future, she had to use everything at her disposal and all her wiles.

The worst was that the old marquess wasn’t even dissuaded by it. She alienated every single person except for him. While the rest of the ton snickered behind her back, shunned her, and otherwise ignored her existence, he only pressed his suit. In fact, now that it was apparent she would not have another contender for her hand, he was most eager to marry her. Where her earthly means had failed her, providence had intervened. Before any papers could be drawn for the betrothal, the marquess affected some sudden health issue. He had to withdraw to Bath to take to the healing waters.

That last effort to stave off the unwanted suitors had worked, however. No one wanted anything to do with Julie. She spent the rest of the season a friendless wallflower. Her father was furious, and her chaperone scandalized, and that’s how Julie’s latest season concluded.

Julie wasn’t looking forward to another season like this, but if her father had his way, she would be married before it even started. She didn’t know whether Lansdowne was now in better health and would resume his suit. She was afraid that he was the reason for their hasty Hampshire trip.

They arrived an hour before dinner. Julie’s stomach was churning in hunger and agitation. She was afraid of what awaited her during the party and resolute not to show her state of rising anxiety. So, she changed and hurried toward the dining room.

“Do not hurry so, young lady. Ladies never hurry.” Julie heard the stern voice of an older woman as she reached the sitting room and was about to open the door. She turned and saw a thin, white-haired old woman, with the ramrod stature only the extremely well-bred possess. She wore a dark blue gown and a sapphire necklace on her wrinkled neck.

Julie curtsied automatically. “Apologies, My Lady,” she murmured to the floor.

“Good, now hold that door open for me, would you?” the old lady commanded in a brisk tone while she shuffled into the room holding a walking cane.

Julie followed, closed the door behind her, and looked about the room. There were the same people she’d seen hundreds of times during social events, but not a friendly face among them. Julie ambled toward her chaperone. Mrs. Darling was scanning the room for potential suitors like she always did.

“Look, there’s Lord Ashton.” Mrs. Darling tilted her fan toward a gentleman standing by the hearth in a group of men. “Isn’t he nice?” She smiled artificially.

“He told me that women who read should be muzzled,” Julie intoned evenly, although an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine. Lord Ashton was another one of her suitors. The one she’d driven away with her sharp tongue.

“I don’t know about all the women who read, but he wasn’t wrong about you,” the woman said in disgust.

Julie swallowed a retort and continued her search about the room for an escape.

And that’s when she saw him. The most beautiful, impeccably mannered, incredibly charming man in all of London. All of England, perhaps. Her salvation. Viscount St. Clare.

He was also a known rake and libertine. He seduced everything female that moved, bedded every lord’s wife, sister, and daughter. Not only had he shamelessly ruined the reputations of dozens of women, but he also emphatically refused to marry them. He refused to duel over them either. He was her ideal solution. The perfect escape. He would ruin her and refuse to marry her, as he had done so many times before. She would be free to live her life and wait for John. With those thoughts churning in her head, a calculating smirk tugged at her lips.

She was studying the beautiful face of her future savior when she caught the gaze of another man, standing by St. Clare’s left arm. He was about a half-inch shorter than the viscount, with dark, almost black hair and opaque eyes. She couldn’t make out the eye color from here, but she knew they were light, though not the viscount’s light blue. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with stern features. Ladies probably swooned over his masculine appeal, but something about his cold, opaque eyes, and the way he was looking at her, made Julie shiver uncomfortably. He seemed too harsh, too forbidding, uncaring, just like her father. Julie hastily turned away.

It was uncommon, to say the least, to meet a man for the first time after three years in a social whirl. It’s not as if men traveled extensively to the Continent with the war raging. Unless he was a soldier. Like John. She turned to take a peek at him again, but he was gone. Giving one last look about the room, she concentrated her thoughts on St. Clare instead. How was she to seduce him? Did she ambush him, or should she just come out and ask him directly to ruin her? An experienced rake, such as himself, got propositioned by ladies all the time, she was sure. The difference was, she didn’t know what to propose. A liaison? A tryst? She had heard the words several times, but she didn’t know what they entailed.

Her thoughts were interrupted when guests were invited into the dining room. A moment later, she heard a low masculine voice rumble beside her, addressing Mrs. Darling, and her delighted chuckle in return. Julie turned and froze in surprise. There, standing by Mrs. Darling, and looking intently at Julie, was that same stranger whose opaque eyes she’d been staring at but a moment ago. She blinked several times while her chaperone performed the introductions. The sitting room was filled with a loud buzz, and Julie was too busy gaping that she didn’t hear the stranger’s name clearly. Did Mrs. Darling sayClydesdale?The name sounded familiar. Julie curtsied, then extended her hand when he offered to escort her into the dining room. It would figure that the only person Julie wasn’t acquainted with would be the one to accompany her to dinner. He wasn’t aware of the rumors.

Julie was seated to the right of the stranger at the table. She sat only one seating place away from their host, the Duke of Rutland, which was incredibly odd. Julie looked at the other side of the table and saw the old lady who’d chastised her for walking too quickly just a few minutes ago. She must be the infamous Dowager Rutland then, the duke’s mother. And to Julie’s left, her stranger must be none other than the duke’s only son. Julie peeked at him beneath her lashes. He was as forbidding as the first time her eyes met his, but he was looking straight ahead now. Clydesdale. Yes, now she remembered; he was the Earl of Clydesdale and the future Duke of Rutland. Julie’s heart started beating uncontrollably fast. A duke’s heir. He was eligible by her chaperone’s standards, and from what she’d heard of him, he regularly avoided events within the ton. Until now.

Julie’s mouth went dry. Their travel to Hampshire wasn’t a coincidence; she was certain of it. Something was very wrong.

The first course started with servings of mackerel with fennel and mint, and everyone ventured into eating and conversation. At the same time, Julie just stared fixedly at her plate.

“You don’t like the food?” Clydesdale asked, his voice a deep rumble.

“Oh, no.” She frowned. “It’s wonderful.”

The earl regarded her curiously. “You haven’t tried it.”

It was bad manners for him to indicate that, especially when she was trying hard to be polite. On the other hand, why did she bother? If her guess was correct, seating her next to him during dinner was a clear indication of his suit. She needn’t be polite to him. She should dissuade him.

She shrugged and looked straight into his opaque gray eyes. “I detest mackerel,” she said, although it was not the truth.

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