Page 20 of Loving an Earl
“You have my permission to court her.” Bloody hell, had he just blurted that out before he’d genuinely convinced his heart, mind, and body it was the proper thing to do?
Hollingsworth laughed. “I don’t think I need it. She is a widow, after all.”
Edmund glared at Hollingsworth, daring him to question him again. “She is my uncle’s widow, therefore my responsibility. Forget her status as a widow and treat her as a debutante. She is, after all, only nineteen, and I will not have you ruining her reputation.”
“For the love of God,” Hollingsworth snapped. “She’s been married. She’s not innocent. Don’t you think that allows her certain freedoms?”
“Normally.”
The marquess didn’t look happy, but he huffed. “Fine.” His features softened and he looked at Blackstone. “I wouldn’t wait long before making your intentions known to Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I heard several gentlemen discussing her last evening, and nothing they said involved marriage. Since you both have been out of the country, I’ll let you in on a secret—there’s been a wager on the books at White’s for several years now on how long it will take to get her into someone’s bed.”
Blackstone growled.
“Relax, Duke, I don’t believe she has looked at any man since Fitzpatrick died. I think she’s been waiting for you to come to your senses and return to England. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He lifted his hat, turned his horse around and rode off carefully picking his way through the crowd.
“That was enlightening,” Edmund said as Hollingsworth rode off.
“Where the hell are the ladies?” Blackstone looked livid. “And when I get my hands on that blasted book at White’s, I’m tearing those pages out and tossing them into the fire. Nobody will ever win that bet because the point will be moot. No bet will exist. I’m a bloody duke now, and nobody will dare question me.”
*
“Do you seethem?” Emmeline asked Lilly as they rode in an open-air carriage. Their driver went along slowly behind other carriages and riders on horseback.
“No, but I caught a glimpse of Hollingsworth.”
“Hmmm.”
Lilly felt herself blush. “Don’thmmmme. It was an observation, nothing else.”
“I’m positive Blackstone said he was riding this afternoon. Perhaps we missed them,” Emmeline said as she moved her head from side to side, scanning the park.
“I have never seen or heard you pout before. You sound like a five-year-old.”
Emmeline leaned back and sighed. “If you were nearing thirty and considered to be back on the shelf you would be desperate to hurry Blackstone along, too.”
Lilly took Emmeline’s hand in hers, hoping to help soothe her worry. “I’m sorry. Perhaps you could take the reins, so to speak, and give him subtle hints. Although, by the way you looked at him today, he’d have to be blind not to notice your affection for him.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Yes and no.” What did Lilly know about anything related to matters of the heart, courting and letting one’s feelings for another show? What right did she have to think she was knowledgeable to advise Emmeline? She giggled. “I’m the last person who should be telling you anything. I know nothing. Listen to your heart and observe him. If I’m wrong about him and his feelings for you, I’ll eat the feathers on my hat.”
They both giggled.
Chapter Eight
That night, theyattended the opera as last-minute guests of Hollingsworth. Aunt Vivian insisted on chaperoning. Hollingsworth escorted them to the Opera House in his carriage, complete with his family crest. Lilly’s heart accelerated more the closer they came to their destination. She’d attended the opera twice with Henry and had loved every moment of it. They’d sat in the Langford private box, just the two of them, which made her wonder if Langford would attend tonight in that very box. She refused to acknowledge the little flutter her heart gave at the thought of seeing him.
Hollingsworth escorted Aunt Vivian inside while Emmeline and Lilly followed behind. Once they climbed the numerous stairs to his box, he seated Emmeline on the end, followed by Aunt Vivian, Lilly, and then himself.
The beauty of the Opera House, glowing beneath the candlelight, impressed Lilly. It was opulent, done in shades of cream with red accents, and fairly took her breath away.
“It is a beautiful theater, is it not?” Hollingsworth said, his voice deep and strong. He leaned slightly toward her and she caught a whiff of his musky cologne.
“Yes. I’ve been here several times with... Henry... my deceased husband.” Her tongue had gotten tied up. Referring to Henry asdeceasedalways pained her. “I never tire of admiring the grandeur and style.”
“Neither do I.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice for her ears only. “Before I forget, I invited Blackstone and Langford to share the box. I know they each have their own, but I wanted to give Mrs. Fitzpatrick time with Blackstone.”
So he knew. “That is very kind of you. Though I didn’t think it was so obvious about them.”
