Earl Lessons: The Footmen’s Club Series Read online

  Besides, Lady Courtney was right. The man was sinfully good-looking. It wouldn’t take much to turn him into the Season’s catch. His clothing already appeared on-point. Everything she’d seen him wearing to date looked positively smashing on him. Beau had obviously already helped him in that department. It didn’t hurt that Lord Elmwood’s stomach was flat, his waist was trim, his shoulders were broad and— ahem. That sort of thinking was not helpful. She’d do well to think of Lord Elmwood as the brother of her future sister-in-law, who merely needed her help, and nothing more.

  As to that. Lord Elmwood clearly did need help. He was too blunt. Announcing to the room at large that they’d already met and asking to speak to her privately hadn’t been the proper thing to do, but something about his brashness had sent a rush up her spine. She wasn’t used to men saying exactly how they felt and behaving how they wished. She was used to the art of subtlety and the game-playing inherent in the ton, where strict rules governed everyone’s every thought and deed.

  It seemed a shame to cure him of such a novel habit, but Lord Elmwood couldn’t go around saying whatever he wished to everyone he met at parties. That wouldn’t do. Though the thought did make her smile. Heaven knew it would be refreshing to hear him take down a few of the most obnoxious blowhards with his brashness.

  No. No. She’d explain to Lord Elmwood precisely how he must say things in such a manner that they might be construed in more than one way. After all, if one could deny one’s misconstrued intent, one never had to answer for one’s insults. The ton loved nothing more than the least obvious way to say a thing. It was dreadfully complicated and took far longer than it should, but, well, it was simply the way things were done. And if she were to be a helpful tutor, she would teach Lord Elmwood the precise way things were done in their world.

  Propping a second pillow under her head and staring at the darkened ceiling, she spent more time than she cared to admit wondering why the man wasn’t already wed. According to Marianne, Lord Elmwood had left Brighton for the army at a young age. He’d been the eldest son, but the eldest son of a woodworker would do well to join His Majesty’s army.

  Apparently, he’d joined the enlisted ranks as a lad and worked his way up to a commission. He’d been a captain when he’d learned of his deceased father’s title and ordered to come back to London. The Crown, it seemed, wanted its noblemen safe and sound on good, solid English soil, which was the same reason Beau had to work for the Home Office instead of fighting in the wars. Beau had claimed to be married to his work until he’d met Marianne. Perhaps that was also why Lord Elmwood had yet to take a bride.

  But according to Marianne, her brother was interested in finding a wife. He had the title to secure, after all. Part of what Annabelle and her mother had been asked to teach him was how to go about properly courting a young lady of the ton. And there were quite a lot of them to choose from. The formal debut at the queen’s court had taken place last week—Marianne had made her debut and her beauty had been commented on by the queen herself—and the first ball of the Season was to be held in a matter of days.

  Annabelle had briefly flirted with the notion of asking Lord Elmwood if he would pretend to court her. An outrageous notion, yet one that might fool Mama for the remainder of the Season. But that would be selfish of her, Annabelle ultimately concluded. She still had no intention whatsoever of taking a husband, though Lord Elmwood, however, would no doubt prove to be a prime catch. She mustn’t deprive those poor, ignorant debutantes, who actually looked forward to marriage, of an excellent prospect.

  Annabelle turned onto her side and hugged the pillow to her chest. Even though Lord Elmwood had made it clear that she was the last lady in London he’d ever want to court, they’d left things on a high note. He would be coming by in the late morning tomorrow to begin their lessons.

  The thought filled Annabelle’s middle with butterflies. She tamped them down. After all, it was merely the challenge that excited her. She hadn’t had anything this interesting and worthwhile to spend her time on in years. She was about to make the newly minted Earl of Elmwood the most eligible gentleman of the Season.

  Chapter Seven

  When David arrived at Bell’s town house the next morning, it was as if he’d stepped into a conservatory instead of a foyer. Large vases of flowers lined every conceivable space in the entryway and stood side-to-side upon the table and along the wall near the salon. There were roses, lilies, daffodils, and a variety of other flowers he couldn’t even name, in all shapes, sizes and colors. The sweet smell was nearly overpowering.

  An older blond lady stuck her head around one of the vases on the corner of the longest table. “Oh, Lord Elmwood, is that you?”

  David straightened his back as if called to attention. “Madame?”

  The older woman emerged from behind the vases and presented her hand. She was wearing a dark-blue gown. “I’m Lady Angelina, the Dowager Marchioness of Bellingham. I’m so pleased to meet you. Pardon me for the informality, but I was away yesterday when you came to visit.”

  Not at all certain he was paying proper respect to a marchioness, David bowed over her hand, while she fell into a curtsy. Bell’s mother was lovely. Lady Angelina was around fifty years old and had a trim figure and a beautiful face. She looked like an older version of her daughter. There was some graying hair at Lady Angelina’s temples, but he certainly could see the family resemblance. She had the same arresting ice-blue eyes as both of her children.

  David decided to say the thing that lingered on the tip of his tongue. “I can only guess you had as many suitors when you were Lady Annabelle’s age,” he said, glancing about at the flowers.

  Lady Angelina flushed and David immediately regretted his remark. Damn. That was probably a forward thing to say, especially given that he didn’t know her well.

  “I had several offers my first Season,” the older woman replied, smoothing a hand over the top of her head. “But Lord Bellingham quite swept me off my feet and we married quickly.”

  “I see,” David said, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. He should limit his speech until he’d been properly tutored. He pivoted on his heel and cleared his throat. He’d already bungled the proper thing to say to a dowager marchioness. What was next? Er, what, precisely, was the proper thing to say when faced with so many flowers? “I’ve never seen so many flowers,” he finally uttered, feeling like an idiot.

  Lady Angelina shook her head and lifted a large vase of daisies into her arms. “They’re for Annabelle,” she said with a sigh. “Word has clearly got out that she’s back in London.”

  David frowned. “Lady Annabelle must have many suitors,” came the next sentence from his mouth. Excellent. He was clearly committed to saying obvious things today. Bad form.

  Lady Angelina lifted her gaze skyward. “You’ve no idea. It’s become quite tiresome…particularly because Annabelle has shown no interest in any of them.” The older woman set the daisies on another table on the opposite side of the hall.

  David nodded. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, she’s had a score of offers the last five Seasons and has turned them all down with hardly a moment’s thought.” Lady Angelina voice was filled with frustration. “Oh, but I must tell you I wouldn’t mention such a thing to you if you weren’t nearly family already. It’s considered ill-mannered to brag about one’s daughter’s marriage prospects, but truly, Annabelle is the most trying young lady. Beau and I have nearly given up on her ever choosing a husband.”

  David kept his mouth shut. The way he understood it, Bell was the one turning down the offers, not Annabelle. The marquess obviously took his sister’s wishes into account, however. That was good of him. David would have done the same for Marianne had she received other marriage offers before becoming betrothed to Bell.

  But a score of offers? David’s mind flashed back to the men at the club. What was it Lord Murdock had said? “Let’s just say that Lady Annabelle has been out for five Seasons and has
yet to pick a husband, despite having at least a score of offers, according to the gossips.” Apparently, the gossips were right. Perhaps that was why Lady Annabelle had behaved the way she had that night in the Harrisons’ gardens. If she were pursued to the extent that the men at White’s made it seem, if she were hounded by men the way these flowers implied, no wonder she’d been rude. But why didn’t she simply pick some chap and marry? That was certainly curious.

  “Pardon my distraction, Lord Elmwood,” Lady Angelina said, turning back to face him. “I sent Stockton for more water. I’ll show you to the salon. Annabelle is already there. We’re eager to begin your lessons.”

  David highly doubted that. Clearly the two ladies were only helping him as a favor to Bell, but regardless, he would take their assistance. “Thank you, my lady,” he said as he followed Lady Angelina toward the salon.

  When they reached the salon door, Lady Angelina opened it. Lady Annabelle was standing at the windows, sunlight streaming in and making her hair look almost silver. She was wearing a dark-pink gown and had a white rosebud in her hair. She looked stunning. David immediately wondered how he’d ever fit into this world with these beautiful, wealthy people. Apparently, it was in his blood, but it certainly didn’t feel that way at the moment. He’d much rather be back in a camp a thousand yards from a battlefield. Dirty and so tired he couldn’t sleep. That made sense to him. That was something he could handle. This was…nerve-racking.

  Lady Annabelle turned at the sound of the door opening and quickly crossed the deep rug to greet David. “Good morning, my lord. I trust you slept well.”

  “I did.” He nodded and cleared his throat. “And you?” Was it ill-bred of him to ask a young woman if she’d slept well?

  “Yes, indeed,” Lady Annabelle replied, with a smile. Apparently not. Unless she was only humoring him for the moment. He supposed he’d find out soon enough.

  Lady Angelina smiled and nodded at them both. “If we hadn’t had so many deliveries this morning, I would join you, but as it is, I’ll just leave the door open and you two can begin. I’ll be in the foyer if you need me.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Lady Annabelle said. She turned to take a seat on the settee near the windows and gestured to David to take a seat across from her.

  “Would you care for tea or coffee, my lord?” Lady Annabelle asked when they were both seated.

  David eyed her warily. “Let me ask you this…if I were calling upon a young woman I fancied, would I accept an offer of tea or coffee?”

  Lady Annabelle smiled and it lit up her eyes. She was even prettier when she smiled. “Well, first, you wouldn’t be calling on a young woman until afternoon,” she explained. “Social calls are made then. That reminds me, do you have your cards made up?”

  David nodded and fished inside his coat pocket. He pulled out a card and handed it to her.

  She read aloud his name, title, and address.

  Lady Annabelle studied it carefully. “Lovely engraving. Lovely vellum. Simple. Clean. This is an excellent calling card, my lord.”

  “Thank you. Your brother helped me to procure them.” At least he’d got the calling cards right.

  “And I notice it doesn’t say ‘Mr. Ellsworth.’” Her mouth quirked up in grin.

  He took the card back from her and stuck it into his pocket again. “That was an honest mistake. I’m not used to calling myself ‘Elmwood.’”

  “Understandable,” Lady Annabelle allowed. “As for the coffee or tea, yes, it would only be polite to accept if your hostess offered you either. Unless you were eager to leave.”

  David frowned. “Why would I pay a call on someone if I wished to leave immediately?”

  Lady Annabelle’s eyebrow arched, and she smiled again. “I see we have much to discuss, my lord. I can think of a half dozen reasons why one would pay a call on another person and desire to leave as soon as possible.”

  David frowned. “It wasn’t that way in Brighton. We paid calls on our friends, people we actually liked and wanted to spend time with.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that happens here too.”

  “But?” He drew out the word and cocked his head to the side, waiting for her explanation.

  “But there are also reasons why we pay calls we don’t want to prolong.” She finished by primly folding her hands in her lap.

  David sighed and scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Confusing, if you ask me.”

  She gave him a knowing smile. “I never said it wasn’t confusing, my lord. But I will teach you the intricacies.”

  David leaned forward in his seat. “Why must it be so intricate? And as for calling me ‘my lord,’ I truly wish you wouldn’t.”

  Lady Annabelle crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, blinking at him prettily. “It would be entirely inappropriate for me to call you anything else.”

  “My name is David,” he replied.

  “Be that as it may, we do not know each other well enough for me to call you by your Christian name, and you don’t know me well enough yet to call me by mine. Only close friends use each other’s Christian names.”

  He grinned at her. “Does that mean there’s hope once we get to know each other better?”

  Her mouth quirked up again in the smile he was quickly coming to realize was uniquely hers. “Yes, there’s hope.” She shook her head. “Now. Allow me to ring for tea, and then I suppose we may start with the proper usage of the cards.”

  “Coffee,” David said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I prefer coffee.”

  “Oh, of course. That’s fine.” Lady Annabelle rang for the butler, who appeared moments later and promised to return with the refreshments forthwith.

  As soon as the servant left the room, Lady Annabelle cleared her throat. “So, again, today you’re here early because I’m tutoring you, but normally one wouldn’t pay a call until early afternoon. If one is told by the butler that the lady of the house is not home or is indisposed, you would leave one of your cards with the butler and he would see to it that the lady received the card upon her return, or when she next came downstairs. Or perhaps he might send them up on a salver for her perusal.”

  David frowned. “Why would she refuse to see me if she were home?”

  Lady Annabelle smiled at him. “Perhaps she’s abed with a megrim. Perhaps she drank too much champagne the night before and isn’t feeling quite well, or perhaps she…” Her words drifted off awkwardly and she glanced away.

  “Perhaps she what?” David prompted. What did Lady Annabelle not want to say?

  She bit her lip. “Perhaps she doesn’t care to speak with you. Though I’m certain that wouldn’t happen to you…often.”

  David’s laughter filled the room. These lessons were already taking a turn for the ridiculous. “I see. But how am I supposed to know if she’s got a megrim or if she’s avoiding me?”

  Lady Annabelle tapped her cheek, clearly considering the question for a moment. “Well, when I’m avoiding someone, I don’t return the call. Even though that’s considered to be awfully rude. Just ask Mama, she’s constantly listing the calls I should be paying.”

  “I see,” David replied, giving her another smile. “I appreciate your honesty, Lady Annabelle. I would hate to pay a call on a young woman who wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “As I said,” she hastened to add, “I doubt that will happen to you.”

  “Really? Well, I’m completely out of my element and no doubt will say blunt and crass things to every lady I meet, so I’m not entirely certain how many of them will welcome my calls the night after a party. But I suppose I’ll find out, won’t I?”

  “Oh, but with your looks—” Lady Annabelle froze, and her cheeks turned bright pink. “I mean…” She tugged at the cap sleeves of her gown and glanced away conspicuously.

  David arched a brow. “My looks?”

  “Yes, erm. I mean that…”

  “Why, Lady Annabelle, do you find me to be—dare I say?—h
andsome?” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

  He could see her swallow a lump in her throat. It even made a cute little noise.

  “We shouldn’t be talking about such things,” she offered lamely.

  “On the contrary, I’d like to hear more,” he said, still grinning like a fool from ear-to-ear.

  Lady Annabelle plunked her hands on her hips and stared at him sternly for a moment, but she couldn’t keep from laughing. “I bet you would.”

  “No, seriously, please tell me. Am I handsome?” he prodded.

  She eyed him warily, narrowing her eyes on him. “Oh, come now. Don’t play dumb. Is it possible that you don’t know you’re handsome?”

  “I’m not certain, my lady. I don’t have half the occupants of London sending me flowers the way you do. So I doubt I’m as good-looking as you are.”

  Her blush deepened before she answered primly, “Gentlemen don’t receive flowers.”

  “What do they receive then?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Compliments, I suppose. If they’re fortunate. Though one hopes they would receive them with more…grace.” The stern stare was back on her face.

  He nodded. “Point taken. And I must say I consider it a great fortune that someone as coveted as you clearly are thinks I’m handsome, my lady. Thank you for the compliment.”

  Lady Annabelle nodded, but her cheeks remained slightly pink. “Yes, well, as I was saying—”

  “May I ask you a question, my lady?”

  “Very well.”

  “It seems you have your pick of suitors, why haven’t you chosen one?”

  A slight gasp emitted from her throat and David winced. “My apologies. Was that rude of me?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, well. To be honest, it’s not a question one should ask an unwed young lady.”

  David winced again. Damn. He’d already made more than one mistake this morning. “I take it back then. With apologies.”