The Bookseller and the Earl Read online

The townhouse was in a row of houses, very typical of the area. It appeared to be one of the larger ones, with at least twelve rooms. The marble steps leading to the front door were worn in the center from all the feet hurrying up and down over the years.

  Grayson straightened his ascot and made his way to the front door, which was immediately opened by a pleasant looking butler before he’d had the chance to drop the interesting knocker. “Good evening, Lord Berkshire.” He bowed. “You are expected.”

  Grayson shrugged out of his coat, handed his hat to the butler and followed the man down a well-lit corridor. The townhouse had been tastefully decorated, the wallpaper lining the entrance and corridor a pale rose and green. The highly polished wooden floor was covered with a plush sage green runner that muted their steps. Gas lights had been installed on the walls to replace the normal candle sconces. In all, his impression of the Mallorys was of a family with good taste, one that did not display avarice. They stopped at a dark oak pocket door that the butler slid open.

  “Lord Berkshire,” he announced.

  Mrs. Mallory hopped from her seat as if kicked from behind. Mr. Mallory stood, and his daughter joined him. “Good evening, my lord. We are so very happy you have joined us for dinner,” Mrs. Mallory simpered, a bright smile on her face, and most likely wedding bells ringing in her ears.

  “Berkshire.” Mr. Mallory crossed the room, holding out his hand, which Berkshire shook. “Brandy?”

  “Yes. That would be fine.”

  As the man poured drinks for them all, brandy for the men and sherry for the women, Grayson remembered what he knew of the family. Mallory was the third son of the Earl of Lindsay. With two older brothers, there was never a strong chance that he would inherit, and since his oldest brother had already produced three sons, it was a moot point.

  Mrs. Mallory had been a baronet’s daughter and had been declared an Incomparable the year she made her come-out. Due to her beauty and charm, she’d married the son of an earl. While not perfect, since he had no title, it had moved her up a bit on the social ladder.

  In addition to Miss Mallory, there was a son, Marcus, who Berkshire knew from Eton, although Mallory was four years behind him in school. They also belonged to a few of the same clubs, however, Grayson spent very little time at his London clubs since his marriage ended and he’d relocated to Bath to lick his wounds.

  “Adeline tells me your son has a hearing problem.” Mrs. Mallory took a sip of her sherry, but appeared to be genuinely interested, not just making conversation, which relaxed him a bit. He was always a tad on the defensive side when the subject of his son was brought up.

  “He is deaf.” Might as well call it what it is. “The doctors don’t believe he can hear anything at all. They are not certain if he was born that way, or if it occurred due to a childhood illness.”

  “I understand it is your purpose in making this trip to visit with an organization of deaf-mutes here in London,” Mr. Mallory said, leaning forward, his brandy glass dangling between his spread legs.

  “Yes, sir. I have been in contact with the man who heads up the group and he has agreed to meet with me—and your daughter—to provide us with information and names of those who might be interested in teaching my son sign language.”

  Mrs. Mallory studied her drink, running her fingertip over the rim. “How interesting that you requested Adeline to go with you.” She took a sip and smiled at him, saying no more.

  Ah. Now was the time to be very careful. Mrs. Mallory had a look upon her face that had been directed at him numerous times from numerous mamas in numerous ballrooms before he married Margaret, then again after he’d come out of mourning. “I respect her opinion, and she has shown a great deal of interest in my son—”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Mallory jumped in, “Adeline just loves children. Don’t you dear?” She patted Miss Mallory’s hand then looked back over at Grayson. “She would make a wonderful mother. And wife, of course.” She smiled in his direction; her eyes bright with . . . something.

  Miss Mallory made a slight groan and he downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.

  Chapter Seven

  Addie suffered through the dinner with her parents and Lord Berkshire, barely choking down her food as Mother raved on about her accomplishments—very few—her social graces—absolutely none—her love of children—what woman doesn’t love children?—her household management skills—Mother never let her do any of that—and, what a wonderful wife she would be. Groan.

  To his credit, his lordship swallowed every bit of nonsense she threw at him, right along with the roast beef and potatoes. He smiled and nodded so much he began to look like a marionette with Mother pulling the strings.

  “Adeline, why don’t you show his lordship our gardens?”

  “It’s raining out, Mother.”

  Her mother glanced out the window at the downpour, the rain pelting against the window like pebbles. The wind whipped the trees, the last of the autumn leaves scattering over the yard. A flash of lightning lit up the room. “Oh, yes. I had not noticed.” She turned to Lord Berkshire. “Adeline just loves flowers.”

  “And thunderstorms,” Addie mumbled.

  Lord Berkshire choked on his tea.

  “In that case, I insist you entertain us with the pianoforte, Adeline.” She beamed at his lordship again. “Adeline sings like an angel.”

  No, Mother. I sing like a pig frantically racing from the butcher’s knife.

  “My throat is a bit sore, Mother. Perhaps we can just retire to the drawing room. Maybe play a game of cards, or chess?”

  To her eternal gratefulness, Berkshire wiped his mouth and placed his napkin alongside his plate. “I am afraid I must return home, Mrs. Mallory. I have things I must do this evening to prepare for my meeting with my man of business in the morning.”

  Mother’s shoulders slumped slightly, and her brilliant smile lost some of its glow. “Oh, how very sad. Not that your meeting is sad, of course,” she quickly added, “but we would have enjoyed your company much longer.”

  “Maybe he can move in,” Addie spoke so softly that only Berkshire could hear her. He grinned.

  “I must thank you for the charming company and wonderful dinner. Your cook is to be commended.” He pushed his chair out and stood.

  “We are having a dinner party next week. You must attend. Just a small gathering.”

  “Dinner party?” Adeline asked.

  Mother glared at her. “Yes, dear. Remember I told you about it earlier?” Her smile would give nightmares to a young child.

  Can one die of embarrassment?

  “My lord, did you bring your carriage?” Mother glanced out the window, finally acknowledging the ferocious storm raging beyond their walls.

  “No. Actually I rode my horse.”

  “They I insist you take our carriage. We can arrange to have your horse delivered back to you tomorrow.”

  Berkshire offered a slight bow. “Thank you. I appreciate that kindness.”

  Now it was Mother’s turn to blush. In her unnerved state, she turned to Adeline. “See his lordship out, dearest.” She poked her in the arm. No doubt Addie would be black and blue in the morning. Rubbing her arm, she stood as Berkshire drew her chair out.

  They left the dining room and headed to the entrance hall. “I am so, so sorry for my mother.”

  “No need,” Berkshire said, as he accepted his hat and coat from Grimsley. “My mother was not much different. I think there is something about the birthing process that turns normal, lovely women into scheming matchmakers extraordinaire. Some of the mothers I have encountered would have made excellent field marshals during the Napoleonic wars. We might have defeated him sooner if they had.”

  They chatted for a few minutes until Grimsley announced the carriage awaited him in front of the townhouse. Berkshire turned to her once he had shrugged into his coat. “May I call for you tomorrow to take a ride with me and Michael? I’m hoping the weather will clear by then and he might enjoy Hyde
Park.” He took the umbrella that Grimsley held out to him.

  Now why did her heart take an extra thump? Was it the way he looked at her? The closeness of his body? The familiar light scent of bay rum and starched linen that always drifted from him? “Yes, I would like that.” Her voice came out breathy. For heaven’s sake. Apparently, Mother was not the only woman in the family who could embarrass herself.

  Berkshire glanced out the small window next to the front door. “If the rain continues, perhaps we can take him to one of the museums.”

  She nodded, suddenly unable to form words as she looked into his dark brown eyes, similar to the lovely chocolate she drank each morning. She’d never noticed the golden specks before.

  “Would two o’clock be acceptable?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat since the word came out a squeak.

  He studied her for a minute as if thinking about something and started to reach out to her. Then he glanced at Grimsley standing there, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice them. Berkshire nodded briefly, turned and left the house.

  Addie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. The headache forming at the back of her head was slowly making its way up to encompass her entire head. What she wanted more than anything was to climb the stairs, order a hot bath and a tisane, then sleep. But Mother had to be dealt with, or this visit would turn into a disaster.

  “Mother, I think you frightened Lord Berkshire.” She entered the dining room just as her parents were rising from the table.

  “Nonsense.” They both sat back down, most likely ready to do battle. Mother shook her head. “If you want to bring the man up to scratch, you have to move forward. It never hurts to do a bit of nudging.”

  “Nudging? Mother, you practically slammed him over the head with a hundred-page marriage contract. And there is no ‘bringing him up to scratch.’ I explained to you before that I am only here with his lordship to provide an opinion on who he might hire to teach his son sign language.”

  Mother pointed her finger at Addie. “Do not fool yourself, young lady. I saw the way he looked at you. And he certainly needs a mother for that poor little boy. And it would solve your problem, as well.”

  “What problem would that be, Mother?” Addie held her breath, fearing what her mother would say, but knowing in her heart what she would hear.

  “You, working at that store. You could give all of that up and take your proper place in society. I’m sure Lord Berkshire would love to once again live in London and assume his parliamentary duties.”

  “No. In fact, Lord Berkshire prefers to live away from London. As far as his parliamentary duties go, he is apparently able to attend to them from Bath.” Addie took a seat and poured another cup of tepid tea, rather than ask for a fresh pot to be brought. Maybe it would help her headache.

  Her mother drew her always present white-laced handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress. She patted the corner of her dry eye. “I don’t understand you, Adeline. Every woman wants the financial security of marriage and a home of her own.”

  “I have security, and I have a home.”

  “I want to see you settled before I die.”

  Drama. “Mother, I am settled, and I am certain you have many more years to live.” And badger me.

  “But you don’t understand.” More patting of her dry eyes. “I want grandchildren before I am too old and feeble to lift them.”

  Addie wondered for a minute how rude it would be to bang one’s head on the dining room table. Too rude, for sure.

  “Mother, you know I love you. And Father, as well. However, right now I am very tired from our journey today and would like to retire. I beg you not to be quite so ‘enthusiastic’ with Lord Berkshire. He is in London for a specific purpose. To find help for his son. That is why I am here, as well, to help him help his son.”

  Mother patted her hand. More dry eye patting with her other hand. “Very well. I imagine you are fatigued. I will have Molly—our new maid—draw a bath for you and send up a tisane.”

  Addie let out a deep breath. “Thank you.” She stood and kissed her parents on the cheek. “I wish you a good night, then.”

  Just as she reached the door to the corridor, Mother said, “I made an appointment for us to visit the modiste in the morning to have a new gown made up for you for our dinner party next week. I am sure Lord Berkshire would think you quite lovely in a pale rose gown.”

  Addie held in the scream that wanted to rip from her throat.

  Grayson checked his timepiece, then tucked it away in the small pocket on his gray and black striped vest. Two o’clock. Right on time.

  He hurried up the steps to the Mallory townhouse, grateful for the bright sun that had followed the storm the night before. The sunshine matched his spirits, and he found himself whistling as he walked, his spirits high. He tried not to believe it was because he was going to see Miss Mallory, but a little bit of honestly refused to allow him that deception.

  Yes. He did like Miss Mallory. A lot. But it could never go further than that. The fact that Michael took an instant liking to her only helped. Or made it worse, depending on how one looked at it. He did not want to fall in love again. Once was enough when it ended the way his marriage had.

  Michael and Mrs. Banfield waited in the rented carriage for him to collect Miss Mallory for their ride to Hyde Park. The grounds would be too wet to stroll, but they could take a nice ride and then maybe stop for tea at Gunter’s.

  The butler had the door opened before his foot reached the top step. “Good afternoon, my lord. Miss Mallory is expecting you. Please follow me to the drawing room.”

  Grayson tried very hard to remain a gentleman, and not groan when he saw Mrs. Mallory waiting for him, perched on the arm of the sofa. She popped up and broke into a huge smile when the butler announced him.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Mallory. Are you having a pleasant day?”

  She held her arms out to him as if they were long-lost relatives. “Yes, quite pleasant. Especially now that you have arrived.”

  Not sure if she intended for him to take her hands, or if she was—shudder—going to hug him, he stepped back and elected to take her hands. “You are looking well.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She turned to a small table alongside the sofa and picked up a cream-colored envelope and held it out to him. “Here is your invitation to dinner next week. It will be a small gathering.”

  Grayson sighed inwardly. He’d forgotten how members of the ton thought a small gathering was the size of the House of Lords. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

  Liar. He’d rather bang his head against the wall for a half hour than attend a dinner party with members of the ton. He’d never enjoyed life in London, preferring instead a quiet life in Bath or at his country estate. Margaret had always wanted to attend as many events as she could during the Season, and then again during the holidays.

  His ideal evening was sitting in a comfortable chair next to his fireplace, a glass of fine brandy in his hand, Michael sitting at his feet playing with his toys and . . .

  He would not allow himself to add the final component. Yet, his brain did not cooperate, and it shouted: Miss Mallory sitting across from me, reading a book, or working on her sewing.

  It was then that he realized Mrs. Mallory had been speaking to him. Luckily his automatic responses, learned from childhood, was to nod and smile.

  “So you agree?” Mrs. Mallory broke into a brilliant smile.

  Blast. What had he just agreed to?

  “I am sure you will enjoy this new actor. From what I’ve read he is quite good in The Two Gentlemen of Verona.”

  Dear God. Two Gentlemen of Verona, what he considered to be one of the worst of Shakespeare’s plays, and from what he’d heard, he was not alone in his assessment.

  “I am sure I will.” Luckily at that moment, Miss Mallory arrived to rescue him from her mother before he promised any number of things for which he had no time.

&
nbsp; “Good afternoon, my lord.” Miss Mallory was a vision in loveliness as she swept into the room. Her mother’s eyes lit up as she studied her daughter.

  “You look lovely, Adeline.” Mrs. Mallory directed her beaming bright smile in his direction. “Doesn’t she look wonderful, my lord? That carriage gown is stunning.”

  “Yes. Indeed.” Despite her mother’s annoying matchmaking attempts, Grayson was sure he had just given the woman even more ammunition by how he also regarded Miss Mallory. Except he wasn’t admiring how winsome she looked in her carriage gown, he was imagining how she looked underneath all the layers of clothes she wore.

  The vibrant lavender of her gown hugged her waist and hips, emphasizing her lovely curved figure, and turned her deep blue eyes violet. A sweet little matching hat sat on top of her head, black netting falling over her forehead. A few ringlets had been left to dangle alongside her cheeks, with the rest of her hair drawn back in a chignon.

  When Mrs. Mallory cleared her throat, he realized he’d been staring at her daughter with a hunger like a green youth.

  “Where’s Michael?” Miss Mallory pulled on black kid leather gloves and smiled up at him.

  Michael?

  For the love of God, he had to pull himself together before he made a complete arse of himself. “He is waiting in the carriage with Mrs. Banfield.” He turned to Mrs. Mallory, who regarded him with a very dangerous looking smirk. “That is Michael’s tutor. She will act as chaperone.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there is a need for a chaperone at Adeline’s age.” She waved her hand in dismissal, leaving him with the belief that she hoped Adeline would be compromised to hurry up the wedding he had no doubt she’d been planning since his arrival.

  “Oh, if he’s been waiting all this time, we should hurry.” Miss Mallory took the few steps to her mother and kissed her on the cheek.

  As they reached the front door, Mrs. Mallory hurried after them. “Please take tea with us when you return, my lord.”

  Miss Mallory came to an abrupt halt and he swore he heard her teeth grinding. “Actually, Mother, we are stopping at Gunter’s for tea, so that won’t be necessary.” She then gave his back a very unladylike shove toward the open door. “I will see you later.”