Ann Lethbridge - An Earl For The Shy Widow

Besides, strangely enough, he was looking forward to seeing Lady Petra again. Which wasn’t moving the next project on his list in the right direction.

According to his man of business, who had his office in Sevenoaks, he was not entirely destitute. He’d offered the heartening news that if Ethan was careful in the management of the estate, and if he perhaps found himself a suitably wealthy bride, he should come around very nicely.

The noose tying him to this estate was growing ever tighter, but he still had hopes of returning to his army career. After much discussion, Ethan had reluctantly agreed to the man of business making discreet enquiries regarding the availability of such a bride. He had indicated his preference for a sensible woman who would understand the concept of a marriage of convenience. Preferably one who had some experience of country living and all that it entailed, so he could leave matters in her hands. There were to be no commitments or promises until Ethan had met the lady.

He marched up to the ladies’ front door and rapped the knocker. After some discussion with O’Cleary, he’d decided not to wear his uniform. Since a military man had little use for civilian clothes, his wardrobe was limited, but he did have a coat he’d bought from Weston on a whim during one of his visits to London. It wasn’t exactly evening wear, but O’Cleary had agreed it would do for dinner in the country. Though why on earth the batman thought himself an expert in the matter Ethan didn’t know.

A maid guided him to a small parlour at the front of the cottage.

The two ladies rose to their feet when he entered. He gave them his warmest smile and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies.’

They dipped their heads in unison.

‘Please be seated, Lord Longhurst,’ Lady Marguerite said. She glanced at the servant. ‘That will be all, thank you, Becky. May I offer you some sherry, Lord Longhurst?’

‘Thank you.’

He took his glass when she poured one for each of them. Both ladies perched on the sofa. He sat opposite in the armchair and raised his glass. ‘To your very good health.’

‘Your health,’ they replied.

He took an appreciative sip of his drink. The sherry was of excellent quality.

A silence descended. Ethan dragged out his party manners. ‘What a snug house you ladies have.’

‘Thank you,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We like it very much.’

‘There is one thing I do not quite understand,’ he said, recalling some earlier musings. ‘The village has your family name and yet your family does not own any property in these parts, apart from this cottage.’

‘It is quite a long story,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘But it is not an unusual one. It dates back to Oliver Cromwell’s rule.’

‘Do not tell me your family once owned Longhurst Park?’ Blast, he had not anticipated that when he asked the question, though he should have. He really ought to find out more about this branch of his family’s history. He just hadn’t thought it important before now.

‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said. She chuckled. ‘Actually, it is Lord Compton who is the usurper.’ Her amusement lit her blue eyes like sunlight dancing on water. He found himself enchanted. He suppressed the sensation. He had seen that sort of conspiratorial amusement on his mother’s face. It had been a lie then and was likely one now, too. Ladies’ smiles were not to be trusted, even if they were pretty and enticing.

‘Petra, you really should not say such things,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘It is all water under the bridge. While Compton Manor, then known as Bedwell Hall, did belong to our family, our ancestors supported the idea of a republic. After the Restoration, we lost the title and the land. Charles the Second bequeathed Bedwell to the Comptons, all except this cottage, which was occupied by an elderly lady who had maintained her loyalty to the King.’

‘A very stubborn old lady apparently.’ Once more Lady Petra’s eyes twinkled. ‘My family says I take after her.’

Lady Marguerite shook her head fondly at her sister. ‘You are not stubborn, my dear, unless you do not get your own way.’

Both ladies laughed. Once again Ethan was struck by the younger sister’s angelic beauty. Her laughter was a sweet light sound and her eyes gleamed with mischief. She was the sort of woman who stood out in a crowd and drew every man’s eye when she smiled. The sort of woman who would lead a less sensible man a merry dance.

His suspicions about her having an ulterior motive returned in full force. He really should have declined this invitation. He certainly did not want to create any false impressions or hopes.

Lady Marguerite continued the story. ‘It wasn’t until the Stewarts were gone that our family wormed their way back into the good graces of the royals and were granted the property in Gloucestershire. Danesbury is where Westram has his seat now.’

‘Yet you choose to live here in Kent?’

‘Yes,’ Lady Marguerite said, lifting her chin as if she expected him to take issue with her words. ‘We like our independence.’

Lady Petra nodded her agreement.

Perhaps he was misjudging her motives after all.

The maid peeped in. ‘Lady Marguerite, I am to tell you dinner is served.’

‘Thank you, Becky,’ she said, standing.

‘May I?’ Ethan offered both ladies an arm. He escorted them into a small dining room overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The French doors were wide open, admitting a light breeze along with the scent of roses.

He seated the ladies and then took a chair. ‘Your garden is beautiful,’ he said.

‘That is Petra’s doing,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘She has a talent for making things grow.’

Lady Petra smiled. ‘I have always had an interest in plants. How about you, Lord Longhurst?’

He grimaced. ‘I enjoy eating what the land produces, my lady, but my knowledge beyond that is severely limited. But not for long, I hope.’

The little maid carried in an assortment of dishes, including a magnificent roast of beef, assorted vegetables and puddings.

Having carved the roast and made sure each lady’s plate was full, Ethan got down to eating his own meal with a will. Food like this had not been coming his way recently.

The conversation, led by Lady Marguerite, revolved around the weather, the need for a church roof and some information about other families in the neighbourhood.

Finally, Ethan, put down his knife and fork. ‘That was the best meal I have had in months, if not years.’

Lady Marguerite looked pleased. ‘Surely you exaggerate, my lord.’

‘Not at all. Everything was cooked to perfection. Your chef is to be complimented.’

‘Actually, she is not our cook,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We hired her for the day.’

He frowned. ‘Do cooks hire themselves out by the day?’

‘Not as a general rule, but she is looking for a permanent post near to Westram. We do not need a full-time cook, unfortunately.’

Everyone needed a full-time cook if they could afford one. Again, his irritation at Westram’s niggardliness with his sisters raised its head. But it was none of his business. Indeed, he had no idea why he would care.

‘Perhaps you would like to hire her,’ Lady Petra suggested idly. Too idly. He narrowed his eyes on her face. Why was she so interested in his household arrangements? The sort of arrangements that would normally be within a wife’s purview. Was she seeing herself in that role? No doubt she thought an earl would be a very good catch.

Even so, the thought of having meals like this on a regular basis was so tempting as to make Ethan’s mouth water.

‘Are you sure I would not be depriving you of her services, if I hired her?’