West End Earl by Bethany Bennett
Chapter Sixteen
Pardon me, milord. Lady Emma has arrived, and I’m afraid she’s in a state of distress.”
Cal cracked open one lid. Kingston stood by the door, pointedly not looking at the occupants of the bed. Glancing over at Phee, Cal got an eyeful of pert breasts and creamy skin his valet didn’t have any business seeing. Throwing the blanket to cover her, Cal rubbed his eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Three in the afternoon, milord. I brought a pot of coffee, since I believed a restorative of some kind might be warranted.” Kingston cleared his throat delicately. “I took the liberty of bringing more than one cup.”
They’d taken a nap after a spontaneous afternoon romp between the sheets. To be fair, he and Phee had hardly left the room for two weeks. “Restorative before dealing with my sister? That bad, is it?”
“She is less than happy, milord.” Kingston, king of the understatement. “Shall I bring the cart in?”
“Please.” Cal donned the robe draped over a chair nearby. Behind him, Phee didn’t stir. That woman could sleep through anything. But he’d bet on her coming awake once she smelled coffee. The bedroom door opened, and his valet pushed a cart into the room. Coffee and small bite-sized things triggered Cal’s stomach to gurgle happily in anticipation.
His valet didn’t meet his gaze as he fussed with items on the cart that didn’t need adjustment.
Cal lowered his voice in case Phee woke. “Kingston, I know you saw her. I have no choice but to trust in your loyalty and discretion in this matter.”
Kingston straightened and finally looked him in the eye. “You can rely on me, milord. In the future, shall I bring two cups with your morning coffee tray?”
A smile kicked up one corner of Cal’s mouth. “I’m sure she would appreciate that.” Kingston nodded and turned but stopped when Cal said, “Kingston? By holding your tongue, you are protecting someone precious to me. And she has a damn good reason for having this secret.”
Another nod, then he left. Cal poured his coffee, then another for Phee, adding cream until it turned the shade she preferred. He blew on the surface, then took a sip before carrying the cups to the bed. The room smelled like them, like warm sex and fresh coffee. If Emma wasn’t waiting for him—mid-meltdown, by the sounds of it—he’d love to wake Phee in a way that would guarantee more time in bed. Over the past two weeks, he’d learned the trick to waking her without triggering a defensive panic. Once he said her name a few times—just enough to make her eyelashes flutter as she surfaced from dreams—it was safe to approach the fair maiden with the wicked right hook.
He hated to go. Guests would arrive tomorrow, and then official host duties would interrupt their current habit of whiling the days away, lost in one another, sans clothing.
She wouldn’t like that his valet knew her secret, which made Cal hesitant to tell her. After all, it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it. Kingston would be either honest or not. But he hadn’t said anything when he’d thought she was a man, and that was rather more salacious gossip. Cal trusted him with his own secrets, but entrusting anyone with Phee’s was a weightier thing. He pushed the worry aside and shelved it with everything else he couldn’t do a blasted thing about.
He could, however, wake his lover with coffee and then go deal with his sister. “Phee, time to wake up.”
Without opening her eyes, she scrunched her face and rolled over, stealing his pillow in the process. Unbelievably adorable. But then, nearly everything she did made him smile. Amidst the many things he juggled at the moment—his father, Emma and her Season, Miss Cuthbert, this house party—Phee was the only thing he found complete joy in.
“Fine, then I’m stealing your coffee.” The threat wasn’t serious, as the better part of a pot remained on the cart.
She slept on. With a shrug, Cal drained his cup, then dumped the coffee he’d poured for her into his own cup. No coffee left behind. Especially when there were sisters to deal with.
Being a gentleman, though, he moved the cart to her side of the bed so she’d see the offering when she awoke. He dashed off a quick note—Emma arrived. Off handling her. Please eat—and drew a heart at the bottom on a whim, then threw on clothes and went to face his sister’s histrionics.
* * *
When she awoke, it was to a pot of warm coffee and enough bite-sized nibbles to satisfy the appetite she and Cal had created before they’d passed out in postcoital bliss. A clock on the mantel chimed half past three.
With a lazy stretch, she poured herself a cup and read the note beside the coffeepot.
Damn. Emma was home.
It would take only a moment to dress. Moving to stand before the oval mirror, she donned a shirt and turned sideways to examine her reflection. The pads of her fingers slipped under the fabric and skimmed along her taut belly. Thanks to regular meals, her bones didn’t jut out at each joint like they used to, and her breasts and bum had tiny curves to them. Fine. The chest curve was minuscule. More nipple than anything.
No matter her overall frame, the heart shape of her bottom was something she’d always liked. She smiled. This might be as plump as she’d ever get, but the thought didn’t bother her as it once would have. For years she’d been trapped in a tug-of-war with herself—feeling grateful that she could pass as a boy, while despairing because she didn’t look like the women in paintings and sculptures. She might not have honest-to-God cleavage, but her bum was rather spectacular, her legs were long, and her arms were strong.
A pair of breeches lay on the floor nearby where they’d been abandoned earlier. Those would do until it was time to change for dinner. Tying her cravat in the mirror, she smoothed the linen around her throat and slipped into her coat.
Odd that she’d stepped into her brother’s shoes over a decade before, but only now did it truly feel like a costume. After a couple of weeks of being wholly herself behind closed doors, suddenly pretending to be her brother felt nearly impossible. The coat was too tight across the shoulders, the cravat made her chin itch, and she couldn’t moon over her lover like a ninny when she wore these clothes. Months of maintaining the lie loomed ahead of her before—well. Who knew what would happen then. Her stomach clenched at the thought. No matter how tempting the treats on the cart, she couldn’t eat a bite.
Downstairs, it was easy enough to find the siblings. One need only follow the volume of Emma’s diatribe. Phee hadn’t lived with them long, but she’d learned to navigate Cal’s sister purely by tone of voice. Right now, Emma was irate. Past the point of reason and apparently blaming Cal for whatever had upset her.
Common sense and self-preservation urged Phee to turn around and walk the other way. When Emma used that tone, nothing good came of it. There would be flouncing, and no one would leave the conversation happy.
Phee hovered outside the drawing room, wondering if joining them was the wisest course of action or if she should leave them to their little family drama—after all, it wasn’t her place to intrude. Yet it felt more and more like her place was next to Cal.
The door flew open and Emma burst through—red-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks, with one hand clamped over her mouth. Phee stepped aside, providing clear passage for the dramatic exit. The girl didn’t get far before she lurched to a stop and grabbed a ceramic vase from a table. The perfectly formed conical shape echoed the sound of her retching, magnifying the noise in a way Emma would surely find mortifying when she remembered the incident.
Phee rushed forward before she thought it through, running a soothing hand over Emma’s back as she was sick. “Cal! I need a drink for your sister, please.”
Emma shuddered, head still over the foul vase. “I’m fine. Just travel sickness from the carriage.”
The girl was awfully blasé about vomiting into a priceless piece of porcelain in the front hall.
“Maybe you should rest in your room until you feel more the thing,” Cal said, approaching them with a worried frown.
Wiping her mouth with her hand, Emma nodded. A greenish cast to her usual peaches-and-cream skin lingered. “I’ll do that.” She set the vase aside and climbed the stairs to the family wing without looking back.
Phee and Cal both eyed the vase. She shot him a look, and he wrinkled his nose.
“I’ll do it.” She rolled her eyes. “When I return, perhaps you can tell me why she was so upset.”
“You don’t need to clean my sister’s sick. You aren’t a servant.” Grimacing, he held the vase out at arm’s length. “Where are we taking it?”
“Rubbish pile would be best, I think. In the garden.”
“As to why Emma was so distraught—she discovered Roxbury took money to stay away from her. All hell broke loose. Claims I’m ruining her life, et cetera.”
“You paid off Roxbury? When did that happen?”
He shrugged. “A few weeks ago. Before Vauxhall, so we know he didn’t honor his side of the agreement. The money was his idea. I didn’t like it, but it seemed expedient at the time.”
The idea of someone demanding money to leave a woman alone struck her as icky in every way. At least it hadn’t been Cal’s idea. But Lordy. “You’re awful calm about Emma’s fit.”
“You should have seen our mother. Emma needs to step it up if she wants to impress me. Although this”—he nodded toward the vase—“was a nice touch.”
An hour later, Emma bounced into the morning room, all smiles once more. Any trace of her earlier illness and the fit about Roxbury appeared to be in the past. Cal took the mercurial change in stride, but Phee couldn’t help wondering at the shift. No matter how many side-eyed glances Phee gave her, the girl’s cheerful demeanor stayed in place.
Maybe her sickness had been a lingering travel ailment.
Phee shook her head. It didn’t matter. At the end of the day, Lady Emma wasn’t her problem. This party wasn’t her responsibility. She wasn’t the mistress of Lakeview.
After selecting a book from the library, she retreated to her room. The lush chambers were familiar now. The massive bed and a charming view of the surrounding fields were designed to cradle a lady in the lap of luxury, but today it was wasted on her. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the book, her mind wandered until she finally set it aside and paced the thick carpet.
Between Emma’s presence in the house and the imminent arrival of guests, Phee might be stuck in her own bed for the foreseeable future. If nothing else, she and Cal would need to be extremely circumspect. Even knowing what could happen if people thought the Earl of Carlyle and his employee were lovers, spending her nights apart from him made her want to pout and stomp her foot like a child.
And therein lay the problem. The ease with which she’d fallen into this romance should frighten her—but the fact that it didn’t was a concern of its own. In no time at all, he’d moved from being an important part of her life to being the center. Which, given the way her life usually went, could lead only to disaster. Everyone important died or betrayed her. Except maybe the vicar. But that logical fact had no place in this mess of emotions.
For two blessed weeks the rest of the world, her future, Milton, everything had disappeared. Nothing else had mattered, and it had been so lovely to relax. To enjoy Cal. Now reality roared again, clanging louder after the peaceful reprieve. Everything seemed so far out of her control, and thinking of all the unknowns made panic bubble inside her as she considered her options.
Returning to London meant walking into danger. Running off to another village and changing her name meant leaving Cal. And she wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.
These weeks had been a gift. Regretting Cal would be impossible, even if it meant she walked away with a broken heart at the end of all this. And there very well could be an end, although she didn’t want to think about that. Cal talked as if they would be together in the future, but how could that work?
The only sure shot at happiness within her reach would be to curl up with him in the big bed behind her and let the world disappear again. During those times she’d discovered pieces of herself she’d thought out of touch forever. The man acted like a truth serum, forcing her to be honest and wholly herself, rather than exist within her brother’s persona. But honesty and vulnerability went hand in hand. Without a facade, she had nothing to hide behind.
He’d changed everything. Or perhaps he’d merely been present for the change. After all, he’d witnessed her shedding Adam’s clothes and held her as she’d taken those initial steps to embrace the woman she could be. And he’d done it while making her feel safe. Safety was the ultimate luxury. Was it any wonder her heart had tumbled into his hands—whether he knew it or not? Such a quick slide it had been from friend to lover to beloved.
Staring out at the bucolic scenery, Phee waited until the unease gave way to clarity. Even if she didn’t know what the future held, even if she had no right to sleep in the family wing of this grand house, she would take her happiness where she found it.
And right now, she found it with Cal.
* * *
Baron Rosehurst and Miss Cuthbert were the first guests to arrive. As soon as the baron stepped through the front doors, he craned his neck about, gawking at the soaring ceiling and grand sweeping staircase, then said in an echoing voice, “This will all be yours, Violet. Take note of the staff and household practices. It’s your job to make them better.”
Oh God. So that was how this was going to go. Cal’s cheeks felt as immovable as steel, unable to muster a polite smile. To her credit, Miss Cuthbert closed her eyes in clear mortification before saying calmly, “Nothing is settled. Such talk is inappropriate, Father. Lord Carlyle is our host. I am merely a guest in his home.” Turning to Cal, she said, “Which is lovely, milord. I apologize for my father’s comments. He’s tired from traveling. I have no doubt your staff are efficient and will ensure everyone’s stay is comfortable.”
Well, if nothing else, that pretty speech saved Miss Cuthbert from damp sheets on her bed. The baron might not be so lucky, and frankly, Cal wouldn’t blame his staff one bit if they let the standards slide a bit in that bedchamber.
He returned Miss Cuthbert’s efforts with a grateful smile, then offered a tight nod to her sire. “Baron Rosehurst, welcome to Lakeview. I hope you’ll enjoy your brief stay in my home.”
If he could get through this house party without strangling Rosehurst, he’d count himself—and the baron—lucky.
Over the next three hours the center hall of Lakeview became a bustling hub of barely controlled chaos with servants scurrying about and guests greeting one another. At one point a petite fluffy dog joined the fray, and for the life of him, he had no idea whom it belonged to.
He kept checking the stairs, hoping Phee would make an appearance, but it would seem Adam Hardwick intended to keep a low profile. Or she’d gone into hiding entirely. Not that he blamed her. Dealing with Rosehurst and his daughter for the next weeks wouldn’t be fun for her.
If he had his way, he’d cart Phee to his room and lock the door against everyone else in this house. But if he did that, he’d never fulfill his promise to Miss Cuthbert. And then someone would have to deal with his father’s harebrained bet, and he’d never marry off his headstrong sister.
Smile. Make a joke. Don’t step on the yippy little dog.“Whose dog is this?” he asked the room at large. A maid stepped forward and saved the animal from getting trampled.
He still didn’t know whom it belonged to.
No matter. He blew out a breath.
Only one guest hadn’t arrived—the reclusive Duke of Gaffney, his best chance at a match for Miss Cuthbert. If it hadn’t been for their budding business dealings and the promise of face-to-face talks, Cal never could have gotten Gaffney to Lakeview.
The soft poet heart of Lord Hornsby might appeal to Miss Cuthbert, but Gaffney’s ducal coronet would satisfy the baron. Hell, it would satisfy any papa with sense.
He’d instructed his staff to seat Miss Cuthbert between the two lords at dinner each night. With any luck, one of them would spark a mutual attraction.
Lords Warrick and Ainsley were extra insurance, in case the poet or the higher title didn’t stick. Both men were in their prime, handsome, charming, intelligent, and amusing. Surely one of them would interest Miss Cuthbert. And if not her, perhaps Emma.
The hard part of planning this had been finding other women that would be enjoyable company for the party, without distracting from the appeal of his sister and Miss Cuthbert. As crass as that sounded, it served his interests to shine a light on them, and inviting competition didn’t make sense. Miss Georgina Lowden and Miss Lillian Fitzwilliam fit the bill perfectly. Miss Georgina was a quiet woman who did her damnedest to blend into the wallpaper at every social occasion but came from an old family. Miss Lillian had been out for several Seasons but hadn’t brought a suitor to scratch—possibly because of her social-climbing mother and a rather brusque personality.
Through the doorway, he spied a carriage with a ducal crest on the door. Meeting the duke at the top of the stairs, Cal offered a warm handshake. “Gaffney, so glad you could make it.”
The newest duke in the realm shook his hand and returned the smile with one of his own. “Carlyle. Thank you for giving me a reason to avoid London for a while longer,” he said, showcasing a charming dimple. Yes indeed, the ladies would love him.
“Come inside. Your room is ready, but if you choose, there’s some excellent brandy in the library. I’ve had Cook procure some of our local hard cider with you in mind, as well. Perfect on a hot day like today.”
If Miss Cuthbert didn’t turn on the charm this evening at dinner, Cal might have to take drastic measures. Lock her in a closet with each eligible bachelor or something. Because come hell or high water, he would not be marrying the baron’s daughter.