Earl Lessons by Valerie Bowman

Chapter Thirteen

Annabelle was already wearing her traveling boots and pelisse when David arrived the next morning. She tied her bonnet beneath her chin, noting with a smile that he seemed positively relieved to see that she was still planning on leaving the house for once.

“We’ll take Cara with us,” Annabelle explained as David opened the front door for her. “After all, a young lady must be chaperoned at all times.”

“Yes,” he replied, nodding. “I know that from Marianne’s adventures. But why isn’t Lady Angelina coming?”

Annabelle sighed. “Poor Mama is out at the flower shops this morning, asking them not to deliver any more. She says the household cannot take it.”

David glanced around the foyer still filled with loads of flowers in various states of decay. “I wondered why the delivery line wasn’t as long this morning,” he replied with a laugh. “And I cannot say I blame your mother for wanting it to stop.” He helped Annabelle down the stairs, past a smattering of delivery boys holding flower vases, and out into the waiting coach. Annabelle’s maid followed them.

Not half an hour later, Annabelle and David were in Hyde Park riding atop his curricle, while Cara sat properly in the back, tending to her sewing. The vehicle was clearly new, and the lovely horses pulling the thing were spirited yet well-trained. Annabelle couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden in such a fine vehicle. She directed David up a busy dirt road near the Serpentine until they came to a more private lane that led down to the water’s edge.

David expertly maneuvered the horses along the narrow path. “Stop here,” she called when they came to a spot where she knew they would have privacy to talk.

David brought the horses to a standstill, let the reins go slack, and turned to face her. “So, if I meet a lady I fancy at the ball, I should plan to ask her to go riding in the park the next day?”

Annabelle folded her gloved hands together in her lap. “Yes, well. First, you must ensure you’ve made her acquaintance outside of the ballroom. An introduction in the ballroom is fine for a dance, but to greet her on the street, you must pay her a call first and receive a proper introduction.”

He frowned. “You must be jesting.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Do I look as if I’m jesting?”

“No.” He sighed. “Very well, so I pay her a call, get a formal introduction, and then I may ask if she’d like to go for a ride in the park?”

“Yes,” Annabelle replied. “A ride in the park, or to get an ice at Gunter’s, or perhaps you could invite her and her mother to the opera or the theater.”

David groaned. “I detest the opera.”

Annabelle laughed. “So do I. But it’s a highly approved outing. That is, of course, after you’ve received her parents’ approval. Then, she must be chaperoned at all times—and you must know, the papers will report upon it immediately.”

David’s brows shot up “What? Why would the papers possibly care?”

“The papers are quite attuned to the Season in London. There are entire pages set aside for gossip and innuendo. You’ve already been reported on extensively this Season. You and Marianne. Don’t you read the Times?”

David groaned again. “I read it. But Bell already warned me to steer clear of the gossip pages, lest I become tempted to find the authors of such pages and sock them in the jaw.”

Annabelle laughed. “Yes, well, perhaps that’s for the best, then. But let me assure you, yours and Marianne’s arrival in London has been nearly the biggest story this year, next to Lady Frances’s father, Baron Winfield, being arrested for treason.”

“Yes, I was there for that,” David replied. “Sad scene to see a traitor to his country.”

Annabelle leaned toward him. She’d forgotten that part of David’s rescue from the French prison camp involved Beau and Marianne capturing Baron Winfield. “Tell me, is it true that he and his mistress turned on each other at the end?”

David shook his head. “I seem to recall something like that, but honestly, I was so pleased to see Marianne and Bell, I don’t recall many of the details. I hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.”

Annabelle gasped, clapping a gloved hand over her mouth. “Weeks?” She’d had no idea his experience had been that awful. She slowly lowered her hand back to her lap. “I’m sorry you had to go through such an ordeal.”

“Are you jesting?” David cracked a smile. “It was nothing compared to being forced to fit into London Society.”

Annabelle shook her head and promptly changed the subject. “Come. Help me down. We’ll go for a walk by the water.”

David glanced about. “Is that usually how it’s done…when riding in the park?”

“No,” Annabelle replied, with a sly smile. “But you said you wanted to get out of the drawing room, didn’t you? Besides, it’s only you and me. No one will be the wiser. Cara won’t say a word.”

David didn’t say another word, either. He hopped down from the bench and made his way over to her side of the curricle. He raised both arms to help her down.

Annabelle braced her hands on David’s shoulders as he lifted her off the seat and placed her gently on the grass. When it was done, she was awkwardly staring up at him, her hands still atop his broad shoulders. Even through her gloves, she could feel his coat was not padded. More than she could say for a variety of gentlemen whom she’d danced with through the years. She gulped and snatched her hands away as if they’d been burned.

Placing both hands firmly behind her back, she turned toward the small dirt path that led to the water’s edge. “This way,” she offered, taking off at a decent pace. David gamely followed.

They made their way down to the water and both silently walked along the bank for a few moments. Reeds and trees blocked their view across the entire expanse. They were in their own private spot, where spring daffodils had begun to bloom, and bright green grass was shooting up all over.

David stopped. Bracing his legs apart, his arms folded behind him, he stared off across the expanse, clearly lost in thought. Annabelle tentatively watched him from several paces away. He looked so confident and certain of himself. Like an army captain, about to give orders to a group of men. His jaw was rock hard, and his eyes had narrowed on the horizon. The fact that he was anxious about attending a silly ball remained unbelievable to her. David had been involved in the things that truly mattered. He’d stared death in the face. There was no way the ton would break him. He was too strong. She could sense it. He would do fine.

She gave him a few moments of privacy before walking over to stand next to him. “A penny for your thoughts, my lord,” she said softly.

He moved his hands on his hips, still staring out at the green water. “Honestly, I was thinking how much I’d like a cigar right now.”

Annabelle laughed. “You know I don’t normally smoke, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to tell you the truth on that score for days now.”

He arched a brow and smiled at her. “You could have fooled me after your performance in the Harrisons’ gardens. You seemed to know precisely what you were doing.”

She readjusted her bonnet, pulling tight at the bow. “I admit, I sneaked a cheroot from Beau’s study a time or two, mostly because I cannot countenance the fact that women aren’t allowed to do certain things based solely on their gender.”

David pulled open his coat and retrieved a cigar from a pocket. “Would you like to share one now? I won’t judge you for it.”

She glanced around, feeling positively scandalized and a bit excited. “Should we dare?”

David shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We seem to be quite alone here.” He pulled a flint from his coat pocket and struck it against a rock near his feet to light the cigar.

“Ladies first,” he said, offering Annabelle the cigar.

“No. No, you go ahead.” She waved it away.

He shrugged again and took a long, deep pull from the cigar, closing his eyes and blowing out the smoke in the opposite direction from Annabelle. Then he offered it to her.

She took it apprehensively, feeling nowhere near as confident as she had that night in the Harrisons’ garden. It was quite different when one didn’t feel as if one had the moral authority. Now she was simply a young woman standing near a lake in the light of day with a handsome young man, doing something illicit. A thrill shot through her. She loved that David wasn’t appalled by the fact that she would smoke a cigar if given the chance. Holding the thick middle of the thing, she put it between her lips and sucked in. The heady smoke stung her mouth, and she blew it out with a long sigh.

“I’m trying to quit, for Marianne’s sake,” David said, as Annabelle handed the cigar back to him. “She thinks it’s a nasty habit. She’s probably right.” He took another long pull and returned the cigar to her.

“Younger sisters can be pests, can’t they?” she replied with a laugh, taking another pull herself.

David’s voice was soft. “I’d do anything for Marianne.”

Annabelle’s mind flashed back to a vision of young Beau lying unconscious on the floor of Mama’s bedchamber, bloody and bruised. “I know what you mean. Beau would do anything for me, too,” she breathed, handing David the cigar again.

“I know I don’t need these things,” he said, lifting the cigar. “But…it’s…comfortable. Familiar, I suppose. Makes me feel as if I’m back in the army. Where I belong.”

Annabelle furrowed her brow. “Why do you say that? You belong here now, of course.”

“Do I?” He looked at the ground, kicking at the grass with one boot. “I don’t even know what ‘here’ is. It feels as if I’m playing dress-up, inhabiting someone else’s life. I know how to be an army captain. I know how to be a woodworker’s son. I have little idea how to be an earl.”

Annabelle frowned. Sadness tugged at her heart. She’d never stopped to think about how different everything must be for David in London. He’d been an army captain, used to risking his life and sleeping in tents with only one book to read. Meanwhile, she and her set were sleeping in perfect peace, in luxurious beds with fine linens, with five-course meals and plenty of cream for coffee. David had been called away from everything he knew, everything he was familiar with, to come to London and be the Earl of Elmwood.

“I suppose it won’t help to tell you it’s much safer here,” she offered with a small smile.

A humorless smile touched his lips. “It’s safe here because of the men fighting out there.” He looked off into the distance, taking another long pull from the cigar.

“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course.”

“Listen to me today,” he said, turning toward her and shaking his head. “This is no doubt an inappropriate conversation for a supposed courting.”

Annabelle nodded. “Yes, well. I would say it’s probably not fodder for a real courtship, David. But I do understand. I’ve never had to leave everything I know and am familiar with, but I have spent my life feeling as if I don’t completely belong here either.”

Nodding, David offered her the cigar again. When she shook her head, he tossed it to the ground, rubbing it out with his boot. “Well, before we get back to the lesson, I’m hoping you’ll allow me to show you how to do something for once, my lady.”

She watched as he went off into a nearby copse of trees for a few minutes and came back with a thick stick.

“We have a retriever at our country house who can do that, too,” she announced with a laugh.

He gave her an ironic stare. “I’m not done yet. In fact, I haven’t even begun.”

Annabelle watched him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. What in the world did he intend to do with a stick, of all things?

He fished in his inside coat pocket and pulled out a rather formidable-looking knife.

Annabelle’s eyes widened. “What is that for?”

David grinned at her. “It’s for whittling.”

“Whittling?” Her eyes went wide.

“Yes, and woodworking. My father taught me. I can make all sorts of furniture and things. In fact, he and I once refitted the entire interior of a ship.”

“Really?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

He gave her a skeptical look. “You’re thinking it’s not a terribly useful skill for an earl, aren’t you?”

“No, not at all,” she replied. “I was thinking you never fail to surprise me.”

He grinned at that, but kept his concentration on the stick and knife in his hand, where he’d begun carving.

“What other unexpected things do you know how to do, my lord?” she asked as she carefully picked up her skirts to climb over a fallen tree.

He glanced up from his work. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the fallen log.

Her brow furrowed. “Shall we what?”

“Shall we sit? Here?”

“On this log?” she asked, pursing her lips.

He chuckled. “Never mind. I suppose a lady as fine as yourself would never do something as primitive as sit upon a fallen log.”

“Now, wait a moment,” Annabelle replied, suddenly quite offended that he’d think so little of her. “I was merely surprised because I didn’t realize we were going to sit. I’m perfectly capable of sitting upon a log.” As if to prove the point, she promptly lowered herself onto the log, allowing her skirts to fan out around her.

While he watched with a grin on his face, she pushed her legs out in front of herself and crossed her booted ankles.

“I thought a lady wasn’t supposed to cross her legs,” David pointed out.

Annabelle winked at him. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He threw back his head and laughed at that before taking a seat beside her. His knees stuck out due to his height, but he continued diligently working on the stick with the knife.

“You never answered. What other things can you do?” Annabelle prodded.

He rubbed his chin with the back of his wrist and appeared to contemplate the question for a moment. “Let’s see. I can cut down a tree with an ax to make lumber. I can raise chickens and pigs. I can make a fire with only a stick and a rock, though I do prefer a flint. I can shoot the button off a French officer’s coat at fifty paces, and I can dance a waltz. But you already knew that last one.” He winked at her this time.

Warmth shot through Annabelle’s middle at his wink. The man was too handsome by half. And the things he’d said nearly took her breath away. How terribly unexpected of him. Everything he’d listed were all much more interesting than the things the gentlemen of the ton could do. Race a horse. Gamble. Drink heavily. Who cared?

“Those are quite impressive feats.” She concentrated on her feet so she wouldn’t swoon if he winked at her again. She’d never swooned before. She’d always thought it was silly. But then again, she’d never been winked at by David. The man’s hooded eyes and chiseled jaw might make a non-silly lady swoon. Or at least want to swoon, and that wasn’t good, either.

“In the army, I was known for being able to climb the highest tree and run the fastest,” David continued.

“Yes, Marianne mentioned you were a fast runner.” Hmm. She had a scuff on her boot. She’d have to inform Cara when they returned home. What else could she distract herself with?

“Marianne told you that?” His brow was furrowed. He shook his head. “Regardless, something tells me none of those things will be particularly useful to me as an earl.”

“You never know. As the Earl of Elmwood, you may be called upon to whittle something.” She smiled at him.

He shrugged. “If I’m lucky.” But there was a look in his eye that told her he meant it.

She leaned forward to catch his eye again. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You don’t feel as if you have the skills to be an earl.”

“I don’t. You’re teaching me everything I need to know. And everything I already know is useless.”

“That’s not true, at all.” She studied his face. How could this man possibly think he was unworthy of his title?

“Isn’t it? Aside from the waltzing, has there been one thing I already knew how to do? I know how to be an army captain. I don’t know how to be an earl. I was never meant to be one.”

She nearly gasped. “Of course you were meant to be one. You were born the eldest son of the former earl’s only son.”

David shook his head. “I may be an earl by rights, but that’s not what I meant. I mean I’m not cut out for it. I don’t think my father ever intended to tell me the truth. If I hadn’t been a prisoner of war and found by the Home Office, I would still be in the army right now. That’s where I truly belong.”

Annabelle bit her lip. She wasn’t certain what to say. She’d never been in such a situation, sitting next to a man with a title who wanted no part of it. In her world all the men with titles were like peacocks, strutting around with them, proud of them. Well, perhaps Beau and his friends weren’t overbearing about their titles, but they certainly understood their duty, and didn’t want to renounce their positions.

“Perhaps it was meant to be,” she finally said softly. “Perhaps everything that happened has led you back to who you were meant to be.”

He gave her a wan smile. “Thank you. For trying to make me feel better.” He cleared his throat. “That’s quite enough about me. What are you good at, my lady?” he asked, his knife flying over the stick, while bits of bark and thin pieces of wood flew off it.

She laughed. “Oh, I’m ever so accomplished,” she batted her eyelashes at him so he’d know for certain she was jesting. “I can do all the things a young lady of good breeding can do.”

“Such as?”

“I can play the pianoforte with reasonable skill. I can dance all the dances necessary at a ball. I can read and write. I can paint with watercolors. I can even do needlework both plain and fancy.”

“Fancy, eh?” The smile he gave her made her knees wobble.

“Oh, yes, and on top of all of that, I daresay I’m an expert at the art of flirtation.”

“Really?” His brows shot up.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been known to flirt with the best of them.”

“Very well. If you were flirting with me, what would you say?”

She felt her cheeks heat. She couldn’t flirt with him. Not with him. She was actually attracted to him. The whole reason flirting worked was because it meant nothing, one was only engaging in meaningless talk. Flirting with someone she actually wanted to kiss—oh, dear, she wanted to kiss him—was an entirely different proposition altogether. If it were possible to kick herself while sitting atop a fallen log, she would have done it. Why, oh why, had she mentioned flirting? In his presence?

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she breathed, feeling like a complete fool. “I…I couldn’t possibly flirt with you.”

“Why not?” He looked hurt. “Am I not the sort of chap you’d flirt with?”

Yes, actually. She plucked at the ribbon beneath her chin. “It’s only that…flirting is best done at ball and parties, when I have a fan in my hand.” Dear lord. That was perhaps the silliest thing she’d ever said.

“A fan?” He frowned. “What does a fan have to do with it?”

“Everything,” she rushed to assure him. “I suppose that’s yet another lesson for you. Fans have many subtle meanings.”

Still whittling, David cocked his head to the side. “Fans?” The look on his face was beyond skeptical. He sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but go ahead and tell me. I’ll do my best to try and remember.”

Annabelle cleared her throat, and folded her hands in her lap, beyond pleased with herself for turning the conversation away from a demonstration of verbal flirting. “If a lady is carrying her fan open in her left hand, it means, come and talk to me.”

His brows drew together in a thunderous expression. “Seriously?”

“Yes.

His eyes were narrowed. “How is one supposed to know the message is meant for him?”

“She will catch your eye,” Annabelle insisted, plucking at the collar of her pelisse.

David frowned again. “Very well. What else?”

“If a lady carries her fan in her right hand in front of her face, it means follow me.”

His brows shot up. “Really? What else?”

“If she carries it in the left hand in front of her face, it means she is desirous of an acquaintance.”

“Left hand in front of face. I hope to remember that one, at least.” He chuckled.

“If she draws it across her eyes, she is saying she is sorry.”

He nodded at that, still focused on the stick in his hand.

“If she twirls the fan in her right hand, it means she loves another.”

He winced. “Another good one to remember.”

“If she drops it, she means to say that you shall only be friends.”

His lips formed an O and he scowled. “Too bad.”

Annabelle waved her hand in the air. “Fanning slowly means she’s married, fanning quickly means she’s engaged. And finally, if she touches the tip of the fan with her finger, she is saying…kiss me.”

David’s head snapped up. “Does that happen often?”

“I couldn’t say—these are all more theoretical in nature. I, for one, rarely use my fan for anything more than cooling myself at the opera.”

David laughed. “But you could be telling some poor chap across the way that you’re engaged.”

Annabelle laughed too. “No doubt I’ve done that more than once.”

“It sounds like a lot of nonsense to me, but at least I’m done with my whittling project.” David held up his creation and Annabelle realized that in the short span of time they’d been talking, David had fashioned a rudimentary flute out of the stick. He put the knife back in his pocket and lifted the flute to his lips and blew through the opening he’d made in the end. A high-pitched whistle came out and he played a little song for her using his fingers on the small holes he’d carved into the stick.

When he finished, she clapped and laughed. “Now, that is impressive. Any earl should be proud to have such a skill.”

He stood, offered her his hand, and helped her to her feet before handing her the flute. Then he bowed. “For you, my lady. Thank you for teaching me all the things I need to learn. I can only hope I don’t embarrass you and your mother.”

“Nonsense,” Annabelle replied. “You’ll be a smashing success at the Talbots’ ball.”