The Earl's Hired Bride by Deb Marlowe

Author:Deb Marlowe [Marlowe, Deb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deb Marlowe

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They were definitely not living in each other’s pockets. Emily’s last several days had been filled with shopping and planning. She’d grown more comfortable with the earl’s mother and managed to sneak in a few moments with her own at Madame Lalbert’s shop. But she scarcely caught a glimpse of Hart.

She told herself that she didn’t mind. This was the arrangement she’d agreed to. But she found herself listening for his arrival and eagerly anticipating the start of their masquerade.

“Our first foray will be to call on the Marchioness of Feltham,” the countess informed her at last. “She’s my sister. We haven’t seen each other in months, and she’s just arrived in Town, so we’ll spend the afternoon catching up and receiving callers with her, instead of limiting ourselves to the usual fifteen minutes.”

“Will the earl be joining us?” It was just a casual question. She repeated the thought to herself in hopes of believing it this time.

“No. This is exactly the sort of thing he’s hoping to avoid,” his mother said.

Emily nodded. She was not disappointed, merely nervous.

Perhaps she’d better repeat that one too.

But all went well. The marchioness was kind and welcomed her as if a relation of her sister’s husband was a relation of hers. No one questioned her identity for a moment. She smiled and nodded and took tea and pretended interest as Lady Hartsford and her sister gossiped.

Her day brightened when Mrs. Carmichael and her daughter Mary came to call. Emily invited the girl to sit next to her. They had a delightful time getting to know one another and discussing London’s public parks and gardens.

“You seem so knowledgeable about the city, Miss Latham,” Miss Carmichael remarked. “But didn’t you say you’d only just arrived?”

“I spent time here as a child,” Emily fibbed. Well, technically it wasn’t a lie. She did tell the manufactured tale of her lost wardrobe and described in detail the ball gown that Madame Lalbert and her mother were laboring over—and she invited the girl to come along for her first fitting. She would get the girl into a more flattering wardrobe yet.

The Carmichaels departed, however, and Emily grew bored. An old acquaintance had arrived next and the sisters were busy reminiscing with her. Unnoticed, Emily stood and walked about the room. She stopped at the set of French doors that led to a small terrace. The marquess’ home was one of London’s few freestanding mansions, which meant it had a substantial garden by city standards. Emily gazed out upon the beauty of it and marveled at the luxury.

It took her a few minutes to notice him. A young gentleman, barely more than a boy, sat in the shade. He looked pale and wan. He held a book in his lap, but stared dejectedly out at the garden instead of reading.

Emily glanced back. The women were deep in childhood memories. She slipped out. Approaching, she peered over his shoulder at the book he held.

“The Lady of the Lake,” she said.

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