Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,41

in front of him.

Jules narrowed his eyes. “You may pretend all you wish, but you’ll find yourself pretending you aren’t marrying me as you walk down the aisle of St. George’s.”

It was a little unnerving that her response to his statement was to burst into laughter.

Twenty minutes later, after delivering Charley safely to her chamber, Jules stepped into the room that never failed to provide the masculine residents of the house with a respite from feminine company.

“You didn’t show up at the stables.” Mantis glanced up from the billiard table before shoving the cue through his fingers sending the colorful wooden balls rolling in all directions on the table. “Brightley caught us just as we were heading out. Said he was looking for you.”

Felicity’s father.

Jules straightened the index finger on his left hand until his knuckle made a satisfying cracking sound. He would need to have a discussion with the man, who’d been a good friend to his father for as long as Jules could remember. Now that Charley had consented to his courtship, Jules would have to have that difficult conversation soon.

“Damnedest thing.” Chase crossed one leg languidly over the other from across the room, where he sat near the hearth. “Your betrothed having an acquaintance with the American president. And then to mention it in mixed company.”

“Is Miss Jackson your betrothed yet?” Mantis lumbered away from the felt-covered table and looked over at Jules.

“Not yet.” Jules poured himself an early morning drink. “But she will be.”

Chapter 12

CAPTURING TIME

“If this was a summer house party, all of us would travel to some ideal picturesque location on the estate and paint outdoors.” Bethany took Charley’s arm as the group of mostly young ladies strolled through the foyer. “But seeing as it’s only March, Mother has had the ballroom converted.”

“What if one doesn’t paint?” Charley remembered the few attempts she’d made under her mother’s tutelage when she’d been younger. By the sixth or seventh lesson, her mother had given up on her completely and they’d moved on to the pianoforte. Charley had envied the music her mother had been able to coax from the instrument so effortlessly.

But for Charley, the proper keys had always eluded her fingers and the notes on the page danced chaotically before her eyes. That particular exercise had proven an even less successful endeavor than the painting.

It had not been long after that that Charley had begun making excuses to visit her father in his office and at the stills. Her mother had resisted at first, but Charley knew that she’d also been secretly relieved.

“Of course you can paint!” Felicity glanced over at her. “All young ladies do.”

Not this one, Charley corrected her silently.

For today’s activity, tarps had been draped on the floor and over easels set up in a circle on the far side of the room. A wooden block was placed in the center of the circle.

“Everyone, please select your easel and prepare to create your masterpiece. Highly esteemed Monsieur Jean Luc Lemaitre will be available to offer his assistance.” Lady Westerley stood beside a small man with a beret cocked sideways on his head and wearing a paint-covered smock. “This will be an excellent opportunity for each of you to improve your skills.”

Bethany stopped at one of the easels, where she released Charley’s arm, allowing her to claim the one beside it. Felicity took the one on the opposite side. Farther around, Tabetha was giggling with Lady Lucinda, and on the other side of them, the other Blackheart twin, Lady Lydia watched in earnest.

“Here you go, Miss Jackson.” A maid appeared at her side. “To protect your gown.”

Charley inhaled nervously. She hadn’t bargained on taking art lessons today. In fact, if Bethany had not appeared at her chamber shortly after Lord Westerley left her there, Charley had planned on finding a good book and a quiet place where she could hide.

From the other guests but also from Lord Westerley.

When she’d first met him, she’d expected to find him boring, annoying. And then he had proven to be neither. What had she been thinking to consent to his pretend courtship? Surely, that would mean exposing herself to more of his charming company. Would he pretend to show her affection? Because that was what a courtship was, after all.

Only in the case of a real courtship, there was no pretending.

Ours won’t be a pretend courtship. What did that even mean?

He was just so certain of himself. Charley buttoned up the large smock and watched as two