The Earl Meets His Match

Chapter 15

The next few days required careful orchestration. Christopher was compelled to call upon Lady Belinda several mornings in a row, each time bringing her a little gift that would signify his intent to marry her. Har-ding was most helpful in suggesting certain items (a colorful pot of marigolds, for example, for the lady detested the usual cut bouquets) and dissuading Christopher from others.

“Not a volume of poetry, my lord. The duke has a well--known hatred for poets,” he said when Christopher had produced the little book for inspection at the shops.

“Hates poets?” Christopher made a face. “Why all this hatred for poets? My friend Chester has a father who harbors the same ill will -toward the breed, and I don’t understand it at all. They’re the most harmless creatures I’ve ever met. You may as well say the man hates cobblers.”

“I’ve known quite a few cobblers who can inflict some small amount of harm, my lord,” Har-ding said.

Christopher sighed and replaced the volume on its shelf. “No matter. If poetry is forbidden, I shall bring her something else. A folio of music? Does she play any instruments, do you know?”

“Several, my lord,” Har-ding said, and guided him into purchasing a blameless pamphlet of cheerful tunes.

His visits to the Greene family went just fine. He was charming and deferential -toward the Duke and Duchess of Rushford and played his part well when conversing with Lady Belinda. Belinda was a consummate scene partner, projecting a serene acceptance of Christopher’s interest. Soon it was time to request that Lady Belinda accompany him on chaperoned outings, which the duke allowed with enthusiasm.

“I haven’t seen her this content in a long while,” the duke told Christopher one day in private as he escorted him to the door after his morning visit had concluded. “She must be fairly receptive, Eden. Do try to keep it up.”

Christopher tipped his head back to tell the duke, who towered over him by at least a foot, “I will, Your Grace.”

The very next day found him taking a sedate turn around the park with Lady Belinda at his side. The weather was lovely, and as a consequence, the pathways were simply jammed with members of the ton wishing to be seen on their own promenades. It was a slow parade indeed as Christopher and Belinda were obliged to pause every few steps to greet their passing acquaintances, from dour viscounts to a cheery Verbena Montrose in a handsome walking dress.

Miss Montrose did not much hide her curiosity regarding their courtship, which Lady Belinda assuaged with a promise that they would take tea together soon. As they parted, Miss Montrose observed that they made a “striking pair,” which Christopher supposed was true. He had chosen an ensemble in shades of ivory touched off with a waistcoat of rich caramel and boots to match. Lady Belinda was wearing a dress one shade away from mourning clothes, a stark, haunting grey. They certainly made a memorable picture, Christopher mused.

He glanced over his shoulder at their chaperones. Trailing at a respectful distance were Har-ding and one of Belinda’s maids. Normally an older sibling or aunt would be called into service for such a dreary job—-shadowing young lovers and ensuring they didn’t do anything inappropriate was a dull, joyless task—-but as neither Christopher nor Belinda had many living relatives available, their servants would have to do.

Mary, the maid, seemed to be taking her duty very seriously if her hawklike stare in Christopher’s direction was anything to go by. She met his gaze fearlessly, and in her eyes was a promise of god’s wrath should he step out of line. Christopher gave her a pleasant nod in acknowledgment. He wished he could get Belinda alone for a moment to explain his unusual make and gauge her willingness to keep his secret, but Mary was making this impossible. Her distrust was only natural, however, as she was the only member of their little party who did not know that their courtship was all for show. Har-ding did his best to engage the girl in a bit of polite conversation as they strolled several yards behind their charges, but Mary gave him nothing but one--word answers at best, and at worst, an annoyed grunt. Christopher hid his smile and faced forward again.

“Your lady’s maid is as protective as a bull pup,” he said out of the side of his mouth to Belinda.

She gave a faint sigh and squeezed his arm where she held it. “Yes. She’s been with us for many years.” Christopher wondered if Mary had been employed in the household when the elder Greene child vanished. If so, it was no wonder the maid was keeping such a close watch on the duke’s remaining daughter.

He endeavored to turn the conversation to a lighter topic. “Ah, so does she know Har-ding from his boyhood as well?” He glanced back again, but could detect no trace of history between the two now--silent servants as they marched along. “They don’t look very friendly.”

“Ah, th--that is,” Belinda stammered, “Mary would not have known him well. His work was in the stables, not the house. It wouldn’t surprise me if she doesn’t recall him at all.” Her ears took on a pinkish hue, and she turned away as if fascinated by some ducks swimming in the lake.

Christopher frowned at this. “If Har-ding spent all his time outside the household, how is it you two became so close? Do you ride?”

“Yes,” Belinda said quickly, turning back to him. “I do—-did. I don’t any longer.”

“What a pity.” Christopher gallantly tried to hide his disappointment. “I would suggest you and I avail ourselves of some horses the next time I come calling, otherwise. Har-ding has accompanied me on many a morning ride back at Eden; he could tell you I’m a decent horseman.”

“Could we talk about something other than Har-ding?” Belinda said, perhaps more waspishly than she intended, for her cheeks colored to match her ears and she again looked away. This time, there weren’t even any ducks as an excuse.

Christopher pursed his lips and faced straight ahead. “Of course. My apologies.”

Belinda held his arm in brittle silence as they walked onto a pretty little stone bridge that led to the other side of the lake. She paused in the middle of the bridge, and what with the hold she kept on Christopher’s arm, he too came to a standstill. He turned to her with a questioning raise of his brow, noting how pale she’d turned. Over her shoulder, he could see Har-ding and Mary also stop some yards distant. With the crowds of people swirling around them, though, they were rather obscured from their chaperones’ sight.

“Are you well?” Christopher asked in low tones. “Shall we get you out of the sun?”

“No, I— I’m sorry.” Belinda shook her head, one black curl falling from beneath her bonnet to drape over her shoulder. Her eyes held a touch of desperation as she struggled for the words she wanted. Looking at her, Christopher couldn’t help but see how lovely she was, despite her obvious misery. It made one feel protective. If he were a different sort of man, he thought, he might even grow to love her.

“I know this situation we find ourselves in is rather strange,” he said gently. “You needn’t apologize. Not to me.”

Belinda looked bereft at this, and eventually said in a low whisper, “I’m afraid I am not a very good candidate for courting, not even for show. I’m no actress.”

“That’s all right. You’re doing just fine.” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but it seemed useless in the face of her unhappiness. Her eyes went red and tears appeared at the corners. “Oh dear. Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Christopher hastened to pluck his clean white handkerchief from his sleeve. “Tip your head back,” he murmured. “There we are.”

Belinda did as bidden, biting her lip to keep her sobs to a minimum. Christopher dabbed carefully at her eyes. He saw Mary surge forward two steps into the swirling crowd at the sight, and he called out to her in a cheery voice: “A bit of dust has gotten into Lady Belinda’s eye! She’ll be better directly. Come, let’s get you out of this wind.” He looped their arms together once more and led Belinda quickly down the slope of the bridge and through the knots of promenaders, ducking this way and that until he found a quiet bench nestled between some hedges, away from the crowds. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that they had lost their trailing chaperones in the confusion, though he doubted they had much time before Mary sniffed them out.

He guided Belinda to sit on the bench and gave her the handkerchief. Her tears were still appearing, one at a time, like crystals on her wan cheeks.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she availed herself of the handkerchief. “I don’t know what’s come over me, -really. Oh, that’s a lie.” She gave a humorless laugh and balled the sodden handkerchief in her lap. “It’s perfectly clear why I’m so steeped in misery. Isn’t it?”

Christopher flicked his coattails back and took his own seat on the opposite end of the bench. “Yes, I heard about what happened to your sister.” He thought of the tepid condolences he’d been offered following the deaths of—-well, his entire fam ily. He had no desire to parrot such nonsense. “I, too, have lost loved ones, though I know saying so will give little comfort. Such wounds remain fresh regardless.”

Belinda turned and stared at him, her lips parted in surprise. “Oh! You believe—-?” She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her hands worried at the borrowed handkerchief. “Please do not think me too monstrous for saying so, but that is not the source of my current sadness. That was years ago. It pains me, yes, but in truth I have,” she seemed to pick her words with extreme care, “made peace with it, of late. As much as one can, I suppose.”

Christopher frowned at this. “If not Lady Constance, then what—-?”

“I am in love.” Belinda stared ahead, her spine straight as a walking stick. She seemed shocked that the words had even left her mouth. “It’s awful. I love a man who is good and kind and beautiful, and I should be on his arm this afternoon instead of engaging in this absolute farce!” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, and she wept into Christopher’s handkerchief.

A grimace crossed Christopher’s face. He had very little exposure to women, let alone crying ones, and had no instinct whatsoever as to what he should do. He lifted a hand to lay on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, but then retracted it, unsure of whether it would be welcome. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he said. “What is keeping you apart from this love of yours?”

Belinda’s face surfaced from the damp linen of the handkerchief. It was red and puffy, but still quite lovely. “What else?” she snapped. “My father, of course.”

“Ah.” Christopher’s mind turned the problem over slowly. It reminded him of his longtime friend Chester and his own recent troubles with love.

In fact—-oh, piss and shit, he thought. Was that the reason he wasn’t permitted to gift Belinda books of poetry?

“Please tell me it isn’t Horace Chesterfield,” he groaned.

A fresh wave of tears overtook Belinda at the mention of the name. “I’d felt so lost and adrift since—-since that horrible loss was visited upon my family. But then I met Horace. He understood me completely. He wrote me lines upon lines that read like a mirror held up to my very soul.” She turned to him, her eyes fever bright. “Do you know what that’s like, to find someone like that and then be denied even their friendship?”

Christopher swallowed. He could, perhaps, commiserate. “Of all the bad luck,” he muttered. “You poor thing. Why on earth did you agree to this plan of mine?”

“As I said,” Belinda sniffled, “at least this way, one of us is made happy. And at least—-” She seemed to vacillate. “Living in the same household as Har-ding again would be a comfort to me, of course.”

They must have been exceedingly close as children, Christopher thought. But then again, he knew firsthand just how comforting Har-ding’s presence could be, so he did not question that. Still, it broke his heart to see the girl so terribly sad, and he felt it was his duty to point out the flaw in her thinking.

“If one afternoon in the park with me is enough to make you burst into tears,” he said softly, “how do you expect to survive a lifetime of feigning marriage?”

Belinda twisted the handkerchief between her fingers until Christopher was certain she would rip it into shreds. “I don’t know. Perhaps it will get easier. In time, the hurt will fade. Won’t it?” She looked over at Christopher, her red--tinged eyes wide with pleading. He felt the urge to lie just to soothe her, but he knew he could not.

“Having never been afflicted with love, I have no idea,” he said. He thought of how hopeless Chester had been at the ball, and how lovesick Belinda looked now. It wasn’t right, he thought, that two people who clearly adored each other be kept apart. What’s more, if she was as dear to Har-ding as she appeared to be, Christopher felt he should make some special -effort to provide succor. “Yet I think,” he said slowly, “if I am the cause of your distress, however unwittingly, I should take steps to help you.”

Belinda shook her head. “How can you help me, Christopher?”

“By making sure you marry the right man.” He sat up straighter, his resolve giving him spine. “My dear lady, I could marry any woman in the world, anyone at all, and my problems would be at an end. For you, only one person will do. Should we not ensure you are given a chance at real happiness?”

She regarded him closely. “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

“Of course I believe in it. I just don’t think I can wear it, what with my complexion.” He deftly brought the conversation back to its safer topic. “Look, do you want to be Chester’s wife?”

“More than anything,” Belinda said.

Christopher clapped his hands. “Then let’s make that a reality.”

“My father would never agree to it.”

“So you’ll elope.”

“But I am guarded so closely by our servants under the duke’s orders. What chance do I have of reaching Gretna Green before being caught?”

“You managed to sneak away from that ball to meet with Har-ding. Together, we can manage to sneak you away for a bit longer.”

“I don’t see how,” she said doubtfully. “You’d have to be the wickedest carriage driver in all of En-gland to outmatch my father’s horses.”

Christopher brightened. “Oh, is that all?”

From directly outside the quiet of their little protected alcove came the sound of footfalls and a worried voice calling out, “Lady Belinda? Lady Belinda!”

Belinda sighed. “That will be Mary.”

“Right. Not much time.” Christopher took her by her slight shoulders so they could share a look. He hoped his face projected all the confidence he felt regarding her plight. “Let me help. I can talk to Chester; better yet, I can pass letters between you. We can make arrangements within the week, if you both have the courage to try. Will you?”

Belinda stared at him for a moment, clearly torn. Then, at last, she thinned her lips into a hard line and nodded.

“Good,” Christopher said just as Mary, followed by a more sedately moving Har-ding, burst through the crowd some yards distant to find their little hiding place.

“There you are, m’lady,” Mary cried. “You were gone all of a sudden. I was so worried!” She cut a glare in Christopher’s direction, and he obligingly removed his hands from Belinda’s person.

“My apologies. Lady Belinda was overcome by the heat. I thought it prudent to find a place for her to rest in the shade with all due haste.”

Mary snapped her gaze to her mistress, an unspoken question hanging in the air. Clearly the girl was concerned about improper behavior unbecoming a gentleman. One word from Belinda and Mary would no doubt scratch out Christopher’s eyes.

“I’m feeling much improved, Mary,” Belinda said with a watery smile. “Lord Eden has tended to me with perfect alacrity.”

“That is what worries me, m’lady.” Mary cast Har-ding a sharp glance as if to say she blamed him entirely for his master’s lack of decorum.

Har-ding cleared his throat and suggested they adjourn for the time being, seeing as Lady Belinda was not feeling well. Christopher agreed readily, helping Belinda up from the stone bench with a perfectly innocent outstretched hand.

“Let us plan for another, grander outing in the future,” he said meaningfully. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to write to keep me abreast of your health.”

“I will,” Belinda promised, and with a look in Har-ding’s direction that was full of regret and apology, she took Christopher’s arm.

Once the lady and her maid were safely returned to Grosvenor Square, Christopher broke the news to Har-ding. They were walking back to Bloomsbury, and the day was still fine enough for the streets to be bustling with people and carriages. Christopher was glad that Har-ding was in his usual black attire and not his full livery, a concession he had only made because Christopher had pointed out that his duty today as chaperone meant he should stand out as little as possible among the ton in the park.

“Har-ding,” he sighed, “I won’t be marrying Lady Belinda after all, it seems.”

The man looked up quickly from his contemplation of the pavement, his face a mask of shock. “May I ask why not, my lord?”

“She’s marrying someone else.”

“Who?” Har-ding demanded.

“Well, a man she loves.”

“Chesterfield?”

Christopher inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Har-ding let out a noise that, in any other man’s nasal cavity, might be called a snort. From him, it sounded far too wonderful to be called such. “The duke will never allow it.”

“So you knew she had her heart set on another man?” Christopher asked. “And you proposed she should marry me anyway?”

“I knew she had given her heart away to someone she couldn’t possibly marry. That is why I made the suggestion.”

“I wish you’d told me,” Christopher said. He wasn’t angry, not necessarily. Only . . . “I’m rather disappointed in you.”

Har-ding startled as if he’d been struck across the face. “My lord, I did not think it relevant. Truly. You have said so often that you don’t believe in love—-”

Christopher stopped in the middle of the pavement and faced Har-ding. “I have said it is not an option for myself. For other people, I am all in favor of it. And in the case of my bosom friend Chester and the lovely Belinda, I don’t see why we shouldn’t do everything in our power to see them happily wed.”

Har-ding blinked twice. “If you mean to go against the Duke of Rushford, sir, you must understand the danger. Your own reputation is at stake, and you still require a wife.”

“And what sort of reputation will I enjoy,” Christopher said, “if I stand by and allow Belinda to be miserable for the rest of her days? You did not see her as I did today. Just the thought of being courted by someone who was not her Horace had her in tears. And Chester! He was inconsolable at the ball. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I married her. No, I must do something. It’s what any decent man should do.”

Har-ding stared at him. The rush of people around them seemed to fade into the distance. Christopher felt a lump in his throat.

“I know you and Lady Belinda are close,” he said, “and that doing this would mean you may not see each other as often as you might wish. But will you help me?”

There was a moment where it seemed Har-ding might scoff and tell Christopher he was on his own when it came to his mad plan. Yet after the space of two breaths, he stood tall and gave a firm nod, just as Belinda had. “As any decent man would,” he murmured.

“Wonderful.” Christopher clapped his hands on his man’s firm upper arms, holding him and giving him a friendly shake. He was overcome with affection for his loyal manservant in that moment, and had it not been for the very public thoroughfare they found themselves in, he might have given in to the urge to embrace him fully. As it was, he could only give Har-ding’s lithely muscled arms a squeeze. “I knew I could count on you, Har-ding.”

“Always, my lord,” Har-ding said, with no hint of a smirk to make Christopher think he was only joking. “May I ask how you intend to assist our star--crossed pair in making their escape? The duke is on high alert for any signs of elopement, and I fear he will put a stop to any move we make before we make it.”

“Well, here is what I was thinking,” Christopher began, and he pulled Har-ding along by the arm so they could continue onward as he explained.

If they ended up walking arm in arm as, say, a courting couple or a pair of bosom friends might, well, it was only so that Christopher’s whispered plan could be more easily imparted to Har-ding’s willing ear.