Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,34

love was the one thing that would keep Charley from leaving England. “Not that I want it for myself,” she reassured Bethany… and herself. Bethany’s acceptance of a spinster life somehow seemed… sadder than her own. Whereas Charley would go on to brew magnificent whiskies that would become famous throughout the world, Bethany would remain at her mother’s side. “I thought the English aristocracy all married, even if only for the sake of convenience.”

“Not all of us, Charley.” Her smile quivered. “Tabetha insists that I am running out of time.”

Charley allowed her own gaze to follow the direction of Bethany’s gaze as she watched the available gentlemen who seemed to be together most of the time. Some stood still while a few of them shuffled about, casually joking with one another.

“Are you in love with one of them?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Bethany flushed a little but dipped her head again. “Good lord, no. I’ve known most of them since I was a girl. I am not stupid enough to fall for any of them. They say that rakes make the best husbands, but I seriously doubt that’s the case where my brother’s friends are concerned.”

“What lies are you telling Miss Jackson about your brother’s friends?” Lord Westerley returned, holding out two glasses. One with the sweet purplish drink Bethany had requested and another with two fingers of what Charley suspected was port.

“Just that you and the fellows you consort with are nothing but trouble.” Bethany smiled fondly at the earl while Charley took the glass from him, excited to taste what he’d selected for her.

“Your sister says you won’t make a good husband,” Charley teased just as he took a sip of his drink and the words had him nearly choking.

“Not you. But you cannot deny that most of your lot are well-established rakes; Lord Chaswick, Manningham-Tissinton, Lord Greystone, even Blackheart and his brother.” Bethany laughed. “I’d venture so far as to conclude that a lady’s best chance at having a loyal and upstanding husband would be to choose one of the Spencers.”

“Good Lord.” Westerley’s eyes watered from coughing as he threw back the remainder of his drink.

“I wasn’t asking for references,” Charley felt compelled to inform him.

Watching her, he raised one hand to his cravat and stroked the fabric slowly.

This sent Bethany into her own fit of giggles. “I suppose, Westerley, that you will eventually make a decent-enough husband. When you finally make your offer.” And then she raised a finger in his direction. “If you don’t see fit to keep Felicity happy, I’ll come after you myself.”

Bethany’s words to her brother sent unease trickling down Charley’s spine, but now was not the time to chastise him.

So instead, she lifted her glass to her lips and met his gaze over the rim as she took a sip, thinking she ought to see at least a smidgen of guilt in his expression. Then the vibrant flavors hit her palate.

The drink was sweet and very strong. “What is it?”

Westerley shook his head.

“Cognac?” she guessed.

“No.”

“Not brandy?” This was interesting.

“A form of it,” he answered. “Twice-distilled wine.”

She lifted the glass to just below her nostrils and inhaled again. “The only kind of brandy I’ve tasted before is peach. There is so much I don’t know.”

He leaned forward and pretended to whisper. “All one needs to know is what they like.”

“Are you teasing Miss Jackson now?” Bethany chided and then took a sip of her drink. “I don’t know how you drink any of it, Charley. Distilling seems like such a masculine endeavor.”

“The basic idea of distilling is the same as it’s been for centuries.” Charley wondered that more people were not fascinated by the process. “It’s highly likely that the first people to ever distill were women. It’s like cooking.”

“Do you cook, Miss Jackson?” Lord Westerley sounded genuinely interested.

“I do.” She took another sip. “It’s not really all that different. Herbs, spices, various levels of heat, and time.”

“America must be a most unusual place to live. You have some very different ideas.” Bethany regarded her thoughtfully. The girl had the same color of hair and eyes as her brother. “But I like you anyway. Excuse me for a moment, won’t you? Mother wanted me to make certain Lady Turlington was satisfied with her chamber.”

Charley and Lord Westerley fell silent, leaving Charley nothing to do but take another sip of her drink.

“Do you like it?” He’d lowered his voice and leaned closer.

Charley felt warmed beneath his gaze. Or perhaps it was the liquor.