Page 100 of One Night with an Earl

“How intimate would the dinner be?”

“Do not be difficult, my boy. It’s no secret you have been happier lately. Why would I not hope for the best for my grandson?”

“You already pointed out my newfound lightheartedness.”

“Do not seek to deny it, although you still spend too many hours hunched over those damnable ledgers.” She waved a hand at his paper-strewn desk to make her point.

“I take offense to the hunching. I don’t hunch.”

She tapped her foot. “Will you accompany me to the Malverns’ for dinner or not?”

His initial instinct was to decline the invitation. He’d already begun distancing himself from the Malverns. He hadn’t asked Penelope to dance at Lady Longston’s birthday ball and hadn’t called on her since their visit to Rosedown. Eventually, his disinterest would become obvious, and in his opinion, it was also the best way to avoid any hint of scandal.

But he owed his grandmother more, and it was time for her to learn the truth.

At least part of it.

“I’m sorry to tell you that matters between Lady Penelope and myself have not evolved into anything more than friendship. I have no interest in courting her, just as she has no desire for me to do so.”

A heartbeat passed. Then several more before the dowager responded. “I see.”

“Is that all you have to say?” He expected an outburst or some kind of protest.

“I believe we should accept the dinner invitation and give the Malverns the courtesy of informing them face to face.”

Clearly, she meant Lady Malvern. If that’s what it took to end the charade, then he’d comply. “Fine. But tell me what you are thinking.”

The corners of her eyes wrinkled as her gaze sharpened. “That I’m not wrong about your interest in someone. If not Lady Penelope, then who is the mystery lady?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ana’s ears perked to the sound of the Earl of Drake’s distinctive voice in the vestibule. Seconds later, Lady Malvern’s all-too-grating trill followed. She recognized other voices. The dowager’s steady tone. Penelope’s courteous, softer voice.

They were first led into the family parlor rather than the more formal drawing room. Ana knew the significance of the intimate, comfortable space, and she suspected the dowager knew as well. Ana was well aware of the intended purpose of this visit—Lord Drake’s grandmother and Lady Malvern sought to advance a courtship between Oliver and Penelope, possibly even a betrothal. She no longer worried as to either lady’s plans. The Earl of Drake would not offer for Penelope.

Ana was not invited to accompany them. A chaperone wasn’t needed, not with Penelope’s mother and the dowager present.

Still, Ana longed to see Oliver, to catch a glimpse of his face. She pressed her back against the wall and peeked around the corner.

Penelope came into view first, and she looked lovely in a pale-purple gown adorned with lace at the bodice and the hem. Head held high, she walked into the parlor. The dowager and her ladyship followed, idly chatting about the weather. Finally, Oliver’s chiseled profile came into view. Handsome and confident, he waited until the women entered before he walked into the parlor. What was he thinking at that moment?

How would he end his charade of courting Penelope? What excuse would he use? Would Penelope speak up first to reject him? How would the older matrons react?

Oh, how Ana longed to be a fly on the flocked wallpaper. She longed, even more, to wear Oliver’s diamond necklace and waltz into that room for all to see.

It is me he wants. The unassuming, unattractive, spinster—the chaperone.

For the first time, she deeply desired to publicly acknowledge their relationship. The shock of her own selfishness was oddly disconcerting.

It could never be. Why torture herself?

Because your heart is no longer yours.

Somewhere, somehow, she’d gifted it to him, and she was only whole when they were together. The nights—which had seemed long in the beginning—had become far too short. Meanwhile, the days dragged on endlessly, as if she walked around in a haze until the droll, dull hours of sunlight waned into the daring hours of darkness.

Here she was sneaking around the house, waiting around corridors, just for a glimpse of him. It was humiliating and haunting. She stiffened her spine. If she wanted to see him, then she would have to take the initiative.

She took a breath and entered the parlor. “Good afternoon, my lady,” she addressed the dowager before turning to the earl. “My lord.” Ana then turned to Lady Malvern. “Shall I send for tea?”