Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,52
upcoming ball.”
As his mother’s words rolled through him, Jules wished he’d not taken that last swallow of the scotch—or perhaps the last twenty or so…
He ought to have come down with a clearer head. “Perhaps in due time.” He needed to have a serious discussion with his mother in the morning. Drawing this out wasn’t doing anyone any favors. Not him, and definitely not Felicity. With Jules out of the way, she would be free to entertain offers from other bachelors. And there would be several. She was a lovely and intelligent lady and would make some man very happy, he was certain.
But not him.
His mother frowned but then shifted her gaze back to where the bevy of ladies conversed at the opposite end of the room. She frowned at Bethany but then flicked her gaze to the window and frowned again. “Mr. Jackson should have sent his daughter back to her grandparents. My understanding is he’ll return to America without her. Lord and Lady Thornton certainly have their work cut out if they’re going to mold her into the sort of lady even the lowest of English gentlemen would be willing to settle for. Although,” She tightened her jaw. “I suppose she will come along with a hefty dowry.”
Even his scotch-addled brain couldn’t soften the blow of his mother’s words. Ah, but you’re wrong, Mother. Jules fixed his gaze across the room. I’ll settle for her…
Charley’s shoulders hunched and the smile she occasionally flashed was forced, and yet she looked utterly beautiful. Wearing a dusty rose gown, her hair had been swept onto the top of her head with a jeweled clasp that matched the pendant at her neck. Heat shot down his spine as his gaze followed the few rebellious curls trailing along her cheek, dangling into a swirl, and ending at her décolletage. “I don’t think she’ll have any troubles.”
“I beg to differ. Not when compared to the likes of Tabetha or Felicity. Or even Bethany, for that matter.”
“What’s wrong with Bethany?” He turned back to ask.
“All her fidgeting aside, she does nothing whatsoever to attract a husband. What man wants a lady who cannot sit still?” His mother shrugged. “Which, all in all, is fine. She can keep me company in my old age.”
“She’s not yet three and twenty. I’d hardly consider her on the shelf.”
“We’ll see.”
Jules glanced back across the room.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother.” Moments such as this, Jules wished he could keep his mother in check half as well as his father had been able to. And yet on the occasions he was tempted to put his foot down, his guilty conscience always stopped him. If not for Jules, she would still have her husband. His sisters would still have their father.
Feeling far more sober than he had when he’d entered the room, he made a short bow with a frown.
She captured his arm as he went to step away. “Do consider making your offer to dear Felicity within the next few days, won’t you? The poor girl has waited long enough.”
Jules clenched his jaw and cracked knuckles on both of his hands. “You’ll be the first to know,” he finally answered.
Satisfied, his mother released him and, with a cheerful smile, moved away to join a few nearby elderly guests.
Everything she’d said about Charley set his teeth on edge… the chaperone, the criticism, even the consideration that her value lay only in the money that would come along with her. But now wasn’t the moment to challenge his mother on any of this. He’d have that conversation with her soon enough, and in private—when he informed her of his intentions to make Charley his wife.
Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the day after.
Presently, his greatest irritant was the fact that the woman he was courting was looking up at Chase and laughing with a smile that Jules inexplicably wanted to claim for himself.
Chapter 15
MY DEAR LORD WESTERLEY
Sitting in the drawing room following the evening meal, Charley couldn’t shed the feeling that she’d done something terribly wrong. When Lady Westerley had arrived at her chamber earlier and introduced her to Mrs. Crabtree, she’d felt more like a disobedient adolescent being scolded than a guest being afforded a courtesy.
And from that moment on, Mrs. Crabtree remained no less than three feet from Charley’s side, whispering instruction and criticism in her ear at every turn as the evening wore on.
The afternoon of scotch tasting in the cellar had been delightful. All of it. Not just the tasting of the