Intentions of the Earl (8 page)

After bowing, watching their curtsies, and
kissing three sets of knuckles, Andrew took a seat on the settee
next to Spacey and wondered where Brooke was. Knowing it would be
impolite to ask without at least acting interested in them first,
he said, “I trust you have all had a chance to visit the excellent
museums London has to offer?”

“Museums?” Liberty asked sheepishly, looking
at him under her lashes. “Well no, I don’t believe we’ve been
yet.”

“Oh, Liberty, don’t play coy with the man,”
her sister broke in, ending Liberty’s awkward flirting. “We all
know that
you
have no interest in museums, so stop hedging
for an invitation. Your interest in a museum is about as great as
my interest in men, and we all know that’s nonexistent.”

Andrew looked at Spacey, ignoring Mrs. Banks
reprimanding her for her vulgar comment. He was too caught up on
the idea that Spacey had zero interest in men. Did that mean she
was interested in women? He knew that some men were only interested
in other men, but he’d never met, or even heard of, a woman who had
those interests. If that were true, he could use that information
to send the Banks packing instead of compromising Brooke. Seizing
the opportunity, he asked, “What do you mean you have no interest
in men, Miss Banks? I was under the impression all young ladies
wanted to marry and have children. Does that not interest you?”

Her face took on an even more distant look,
if that was possible, and she shrugged before saying, “That is the
dream of most, but not all.”

Andrew nodded. That wasn’t enough of a
confirmation for him to start rumors to the effect that she had
“different” interests. He needed hard proof, such as a verbal or
physical confirmation, otherwise it was too risky to try to expose
this. She could turn up at a ball the next night and dance with
every man in attendance, that alone would disprove any rumors.
Plus, he’d never heard of such interests before, so the
believability was already fragile. Best to leave that cat securely
in its bag.

Trying to take on an air of comforting older
brother, Andrew said, “Well, one day you may change your mind. I am
sure there are many good men out there who would love to have you
as their wife.”

Mrs. Banks just tittered and cooed.

Liberty snorted.

Spacey shrugged.

Andrew cleared his throat. “I’m very
flattered you invited me to join you for dinner tonight,” he said,
trying to get a conversation going, he hated silence.

“We are flattered you agreed,” said Mrs.
Banks.

“As if he had a choice,” Spacey muttered.

With a sharp look from her mother, Spacey
took on an apologetic look then started to fidget with the sleeve
of her orange gown.

Andrew didn’t much care for the color orange,
but on Spacey it seemed to fit. He couldn’t explain why, maybe it
was because it was a pale orange, not a bright, vibrant or burnt
orange, but pale, almost like a peach. It suited her well.

Feeling as if he needed to say something,
because once again the silence was becoming unbearable with
everyone looking at each other and nodding, Andrew asked of no one
in particular, “If men and museums are not of interest, what does
hold your attention?”

“Reading,” Liberty answered quietly.

“Ah, reading,” Andrew repeated, trying to
think of something to ask to get her, or anyone for that matter, to
talk. “What kind of books?”

“Etiquette,” Spacey tersely answered for her
sister, and watched in quiet enjoyment as Liberty blanched.

Andrew thought Spacey was probably being
brutally honest with her answer, but how could he comment? He
couldn’t. Instead, he just looked around the room, hoping for
something to end their torture.

But no redemption came.

He sat with three of the four Banks women for
a quarter of an hour, staring, nodding, and murmuring when
necessary. All the while he wondered where in the world Brooke was.
He hoped she would be there soon. It was not his plan to spend the
evening with her sisters and mother; he had come specifically to be
with her.

Finally, Andrew decided enough was enough.
“Pardon, but are we to be joined by anyone else for dinner?” There,
he’d asked, and not in a way sounding too eager or impatient, or so
he hoped.

Mrs. Banks was too clever not to see what he
really meant. “Yes, my husband will join us soon. He just returned
from visiting a country vicar and he will be down shortly,” she
informed him. She flashed him a knowing smile. “But I get the
feeling that is not who you were asking about. Was it?” Not really
making him answer her, and embarrass himself, she continued,
“Brooke will be down any minute. I thought she would have been down
by now, but she might have had trouble with her gown.”

“Gown trouble?” Andrew asked dubiously.
“Surely her maid can take care of that quickly.” When Spacey
laughed out right, Liberty gaped at him, and Mrs. Banks turned red,
his brows snapped together and he ventured, “She doesn’t have a
maid, does she?”

“No, my lord, she does not,” Mrs. Bank
replied without any emotion. “In America people do not usually have
a personal servant. Not only does society not dictate it, but the
ladies there are usually a lot more independent.”

Andrew took in her statement. He wasn’t sure
how to respond, but didn’t want to leave them feeling embarrassed
or insulted. Finally, he said quietly, “I can tell that your girls
are very independent.” He personally had only a scant number of
servants, all of which did multiple jobs, but none acting as his
valet—he’d always thought it was uncomfortable having someone else
dress and groom him.

Again they sat in uncomfortable silence,
continuing exactly where they’d left off: staring, nodding, and all
waiting for an outside source to put them all out of their
misery.

Finally, their redemption came in the form of
one Mr. John Banks.

Andrew had never seen John Banks before, but
he recognized him instantly when he walked in. He looked exactly
like his brother, Baron Watson. Both were slightly taller than
average and had pale skin, light blue eyes and blond hair. Seeing
him, Andrew realized that while Brooke resembled her mother with
her petite frame and dark hair and eyes; Madison favored their
father in the looks department. Glancing at Liberty, he could see
she was more of a mix of the two.

As John strolled in, he looked fondly at his
wife and daughters before noticing there was a guest in the room.
John quickly bowed to Andrew then looked to his wife to introduce
them. “John, this is Andrew Black, the Earl of Townson, and this,”
she said, gesturing to her husband, “is John Banks, my
husband.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Andrew
said, with an easy, if somewhat dim, smile.

“It is my pleasure, my lord. I wasn’t aware
we were entertaining such lofty guests. What do we owe this
pleasure?” John asked with a hint of disbelief.

Before Andrew could answer the question that
was clearly leveled at him, Mrs. Banks jumped in. “He was
invited.”

Still being a little out at sea about that
explanation, John’s gaze shot to his wife and his clear blue asked
her velvet brown eyes an unspoken question: why?

“I personally invited him to dine with us.
He's courting Brooke,” she said, beaming brighter than a five
hundred candle chandelier. Then, because she could definitely be
termed a matchmaking mama, and had the subtly of a sledgehammer,
she squeaked, “I believe he has a
tendre
for her. Oh, isn’t
it exciting!”

John, probably used to his wife’s theatrics,
just nodded.

Andrew, not used to the same theatrics, could
feel red creep up his neck and face. Now, everyone thought he was
besotted with a girl he barely knew. What could he do? Deny it? No,
because that could put a swift end to his visits with Brooke and
make his mission difficult, if not impossible; plus he liked seeing
her, he was not completely sure why, but he enjoyed her company all
the same.

Following a mental shrug, Andrew went for it.
With his best smile he looked straight at Mr. Banks and said, “I do
enjoy your daughter’s company,” that was true enough, “and I
believe she has the same interest in me. So naturally, if you’re
agreeable, I should like to court her.”

“This is highly unusual, young man, you do
realize that, right?” John asked.

Andrew knew what he was referring to. Usually
when men asked to pay address to another man’s daughter, he did so
in the privacy of her father’s study, without an audience of the
rest of the family, and certainly not after being invited to dinner
by the girl’s mother. Andrew sorely hoped the Banks family was not
so high in the instep that John would deny Andrew’s request to
court her.

“Yes, sir. I do know that this courtship has
taken place in an unusual manner, and I do apologize for it. I give
my word that I will conduct it from this point on with more
attention to what is proper and the respect due you and your
daughter, sir.”
Stop talking Andrew
,
he
told himself.
If you keep giving your word to conduct things
properly, it will be even more difficult when it comes time to ruin
the chit. Can’t lose sight of the goal
, he reminded
himself.

“I am pleased to hear it, my lord,” John
said, nodding with approval.

Resuming their seats to wait for the missing
Banks daughter to make an appearance, Andrew caught a glimpse of
Liberty’s pinched up face. He knew what had gotten her face all
pinched up without even asking. Once again, he had breached
society’s mandates by not asking her father for approval to court
Brooke. There was a lot Miss Liberty was going to need to learn,
not everything follows propriety. But that wouldn’t matter to her
in a few months when she’d be on her way back to America. Andrew
allowed himself a little smile, in a month, hopefully no more, the
Banks family would be on a ship back to New York, and he’d be out
of London at his country estate turning a profit. It was a good
thing he’d be turning a profit because he was about to enter into
self imposed exile.

Andrew was entertaining further thoughts
about what his life would be like in a month or so when Brooke made
her entrance. When he saw her, she rendered him
breathless—literally.

Chapter 7

Brooke’s entrance into the drawing room was
deliberately slow; she was making sure to attract as much attention
as she could, and it worked. Andrew had thought Spacey was the most
beautiful of the three. But just now, his opinion had forever been
altered, and from now on, Brooke would hold that title.

She slowly looked around the room, stopping
to look at the face of each person in the room. She saw the look of
shock on her father’s face. The twin looks of surprise from her
sisters. Her gaze met her mother’s and there Brooke saw her mama
beaming with pride and love. Finally, her gaze swung to where
Andrew was sitting down, and unsuccessfully she tried to stifle a
giggle.

Belatedly, Andrew stood up, murmured an
apology for not rising sooner, and took a deep breath. He felt
embarrassed that he had made such a fool of himself by gasping, and
forgetting to stand up when she walked in. Nothing could be done
about it now; he would just have to make the best of the situation.
He was not the only one so struck by Brooke’s beauty that manners
were forgotten. Looking around, he noticed Liberty not only did not
say anything about his mistake, but her face didn’t indicate she
even registered it.

Andrew truly did feel remiss about not
standing up when Brooke made her grand entrance. He felt as
uncomfortable about it as if he were at a wedding and did not stand
up when the bride walked down the aisle. He slowly shrugged off the
feeling, and continued to look her up and down. She was
breathtaking, and he should know.

She had on a beautiful gown made of different
swaths of red material. Some were silk, some velvet; the bodice
swooped moderately to give everyone in the room a modest glance at
the delicate slope of the top of her breasts. He could tell the
gown had originally been made for someone shorter because he could
see more of her cream colored slipper than she probably intended to
show. But that didn’t matter, she shined like one very well
polished ruby, and caused him to strain to think of anything
coherent to say.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and waited
for someone else to break the silence, hopefully it would be
something that would pull him out of this fog.

Brooke looked proud of the reaction she had
created. “I spoke to Turner before coming in. He said dinner was
ready,” she said, smiling.

The group nodded their understanding; not
bothering to notice, or care, that their butler was not going to
come and get them as was customary. The group formed a line and
began to walk down the hall toward dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Banks led the group, and when
Mr. Banks tried to make a turn for the dining room, his wife gave
him a slight squeeze on his arm and lightly pulled forward and
whispered as quietly as she could, “We’re eating in the parlor
tonight, it’s more agreeable for entertaining guests.”

Mr. Banks gave a nod of agreement about the
new dining location. He leaned his head close to his wife’s ear.
“Though the parlor is more agreeable, I do wonder if it would be
easier on everyone’s digestive system to eat outside.”

Mrs. Banks gave a little smile at her
husband’s remark.

At the back of the line, Brooke lightly
rested her hand on to Andrew’s arm while he brought his free hand
up to cover hers and give it a light squeeze. He enjoyed that she
became a little less graceful in her step when he did so.
Apparently she wasn’t as immune to him as she would have him to
believe.