The Bachelor Earl - Darcy Burke Page 0,1

“No!” from a few gentlemen, followed by more laughter.

“All right, then,” Mr. Sterling said, stifling his own chuckle. “I keep a hothouse with exotic flowers.”

“Ooh, that sounds lovely,” said the woman standing to his left. She took her turn next, and so the game—for that was what it seemed to be—continued around the room. Somewhere across the circle from Genie, she began to lose focus, her brain and body tired from the journey even though she simply rode in a carriage. What was it about travel that was so exhausting?

The sharp point of Cecilia’s elbow jolted Genie from her reverie. “Say that again, Lord Satterfield?” Cecilia said, fluttering her lashes.

“I said my favorite color is purple.”

Cecilia shot Genie an arch look that was clearly meant to communicate something. Then her lips pursed, and she dipped her gaze to Genie’s traveling costume. Which was…purple.

So? Genie glanced about and quickly registered that she was the only one in purple. She looked across the room and saw Lord Satterfield—that was his name, wasn’t it?—staring straight at her. Heat bloomed in Genie’s chest and spread outward, warming her blood and flushing her skin. It wasn’t just that he was staring at her. It was the way he was staring—he had the most arresting eyes, dark like a black coffee, with what should have been feminine lashes but that looked wholly perfect on him. He looked at her as if he simply couldn’t tear his attention away.

But then he did, as the game continued. Genie let out her breath, and only then did she realize she’d been holding it. She spent the next several minutes thinking about why she’d felt that sudden flash of fever. Perhaps she was becoming ill.

At last, it was almost her turn. She had no idea what she was going to say. Why hadn’t she spent this time thinking of something witty or at least interesting? Probably because she was the least interesting person she knew. Or so it seemed that was what she’d become.

Cecilia looked at her encouragingly. “It’s your turn,” she whispered.

“I’m…” Genie croaked. She coughed gently. “I’m the Dowager Duchess of Kendal, but then Cec—Lady Cosford already told you that. This is my first house party in some time. I, ah, like to dance.” How perfectly boring and predictable.

“Excellent, for there will be plenty of dancing!” Cecilia said, clapping her hands together. “Lovely, now we all know one another. We’ll adjourn shortly so that those who wish to retire for a time may do so before we gather for dinner. We’ll meet here at half six and then proceed to the dining room at seven. After dinner, there will be cards and dancing. Tomorrow, we have entertainments planned, including a picnic and a walk to the River Swift.” She looked behind her toward the doorway and frowned. “I do wonder where Cosford has taken off to.” She smiled brightly. “Ah well, he’ll be here soon, I imagine. If you haven’t yet been to your room, a footman will escort you. And here are some refreshments!”

Several footmen entered bearing trays of food and drink. Genie’s stomach growled softly in response, and she dearly hoped no one heard it. As tired as she was, apparently she was even hungrier.

The food—sandwiches, biscuits, and cakes—was set on a table situated in one corner of the room while the drinks went to another table in another corner. Genie went straight toward the food, but was almost immediately intercepted by the first gentleman who’d spoken, Mr. Sterling.

“This is my first house party in some time too,” he said with a half smile. “I’ve just come out of mourning.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Genie realized there hadn’t been a Mrs. Sterling. At least that she’d heard of. But then her attention had waned. Still, she’d caught many names, and wouldn’t his wife have been standing next to him?

Except there is no wife.

Genie thought back to the game. Had there been any wives? Rather, had there been any married couples? Save their hosts, of course. No, she didn’t think there were. How peculiar.

“I know you understand,” Mr. Sterling said. “It’s not easy to carry on after losing one’s spouse. Particularly with children. Do you have children?”

There was always a deep ache when someone asked that question. Genie had long ago learned to ignore it, bury it, and once in a while indulge it. Now was not that time.

“Just my stepson, but he is twenty-four and quite capable of managing on his own.” Mostly. He still allowed her