Loving Lord Egleton: A Regency Romance (Regency Matchmakers Book 3) Read online

  Hannah felt a fluttering in her stomach as he smiled. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted politely, coming to a stop in front of them.

  “Good morning,” they replied in unison.

  “What a pleasant surprise to see both of you here,” Martin said, glancing between them.

  Hannah reached up and ensured her straw hat was straight on the top of her head. She always found herself fidgeting when Martin was around.

  Kate spoke up. “Hannah decided she required a new hat,” she shared.

  Martin’s brow lifted. “Another one?” he asked in amusement.

  “A woman cannot have too many hats, my lord,” Hannah said in a soft voice.

  “I suppose not,” he agreed.

  A small silence descended over the group until Kate said, “We were sorry to hear about the death of your grandfather.”

  All humor was swept off Martin’s face. “I’m afraid it still doesn’t seem real.”

  “I can imagine that to be the case.”

  “My father is now the Marquess of Darby, and I inherited one of his lesser titles,” Martin said. “I haven’t gotten used to being an earl yet.”

  Marianne laughed. “I daresay it should come quite naturally, especially since you have been lording over me since I was young.”

  Martin frowned. “That’s not true.”

  “It is entirely true,” Marianne replied with a smile.

  Hannah laughed at her friend’s exuberance. “That is terrible of you to say.”

  “Thank you, Miss Blackmore,” Martin said, meeting her gaze.

  She held his gaze for a moment before she felt her cheeks growing increasingly warm. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from blushing whenever he was around. At times, it felt like a curse.

  Martin continued. “You’d think Marianne would be nicer to me, as I am escorting her to pick up a hat from the milliner’s shop.”

  “Why didn’t you send a footman to pick up the hat?” Kate inquired.

  “Because I am dreadfully bored,” Marianne declared. “If I had to spend one more moment in my townhouse, I feared I would go mad.”

  “Surely it can’t be that bad?” Hannah asked.

  “I assure you, it is,” Marianne replied. “Besides, Grandfather wrote it in his will that he doesn’t want us to grieve him for six months. He said two months was sufficient.” She waved a hand over her dress. “That is why I am in half-mourning clothes already.”

  “That was most generous of him,” Kate acknowledged.

  “It was,” Martin said. “Grandfather was always one to balk at tradition.”

  “However, my mother is adamant that I withdraw from attending balls and social events until next Season,” Marianne revealed with amusement.

  Martin chuckled. “As you can see, my sister is not too disappointed with Mother’s command.”

  “No, I am not,” Marianne agreed firmly. “I dread attending balls and soirées.”

  “You are the daughter of a marquess now,” Martin said. “It is expected of you to attend these social functions, and to do so with a smile on your face.”

  Marianne let out an unladylike groan. “That sounds miserable.”

  Kate interjected, “Well, we should be on our way.”

  Martin offered them a slight bow. “As usual, I have enjoyed our chats,” he said cordially.

  Turning her gaze towards Hannah, Marianne asked, “Will you please come call on me?”

  “Is your mother allowing visitors?” Hannah questioned.

  “She is,” Marianne confirmed with a bob of her head.

  “Then I shall call on you tomorrow.”

  Marianne clasped her hands together. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Thank you.”

  Martin shook his head. “I should be offended that you haven’t been enjoying my company.”

  “Do not take offense where none is intended,” Marianne remarked. “I’ve just been missing my dear friend.”

  Hannah smiled at her. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  With a parting glance at the Pembertons, Hannah and Kate resumed walking down the pavement. Hannah was pleased she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself around Martin. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always the case.

  2

  Martin Pemberton, the Earl of Egleton, watched his sister as she stared out the window of the coach. He couldn’t help noticing the small frown on her lips, nor could he ignore the deafening silence.

  “Whatever is the matter?” he asked.

  Marianne brought her gaze to meet his. “Why do you suppose something is wrong?”

  He lifted his brow in response. “You’ve hardly spoken a word since we ran into Hannah and Kate.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Out with it,” he ordered.

  Marianne sighed. “I’m tired of being cooped up in our townhouse,” she said. “I want to be able to ride my horse through Hyde Park, just as I did before Grandfather died.”

  “But you are in mourning.”

  “Half-mourning,” she corrected, “but Mother and I do not agree on what is appropriate during this stage.”

  “You and Mother have never seen eye to eye before.”

  “I am well aware of that fact, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have a desire to change my situation.”

  “Sadly, we can’t leave Town while the House of Lords is in session,” he reminded her. “Father has taken up his seat and has responsibilities here.”

  “Perhaps I can convince Mother to depart for our country estate early.”

  “You could always try, but I daresay she won’t leave Father.”

  Marianne slumped back in her seat. “You’re right, of course, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “You could always spend your time perfecting your needlework,” he suggested.

  She shot him an exasperated look. “Why must I have been born a girl?” she asked. “I have no true freedoms, and my only grand accomplishment out of life will be if I marry well.”

  “Marriage would bring security for you.”

  “Perhaps I wish to remain a spinster,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “That will be your choice,” he said. “I’ll ensure you are always taken care of, regardless of your circumstances.”

  “You are too kind, but I’m afraid I want more out of this life than what is expected of me.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I’m not sure, but I do know that I don’t want to live a dull, predictable life.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with predictable,” he attempted.

  She blew out a puff of air. “I disagree,” she replied. “It sounds entirely un-fun.”

  Before he could respond, the coach came to a stop in front of their whitewashed, three-level townhouse. A black iron fence surrounded the property and three stairs led up to the main door.

  A footman opened the coach door and Martin stepped out, then he reached back to assist his sister.

  The main door opened as they approached, and their butler greeted them politely. “Good afternoon,” Moreland said.

  Martin led his sister into the entry hall before dropping his arm. “Good afternoon,” he replied as he reached for the top hat on his head.

  Moreland closed the door and turned towards them expectantly. “Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked as he accepted the proffered hat. “I am pleased to inform you that Mrs. Snarey has whipped up a fresh batch of biscuits.”

  “No, that won’t—” he started.

  Marianne interrupted, “Yes, I would.”

  Moreland tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I will see to it, milady.”

  “Thank you.” Marianne glanced over at Martin. “I am not one to turn down biscuits, for any reason.”

  Martin smiled at his sister. “I do not fault you for that,” he replied.

  His mother’s voice drew his attention. “I am glad to see that you are finally home,” Frances, Lady Darby, said in exasperation as she w
alked gracefully down the stairs. She was dressed in a black crepe gown with a black cap covering her fading brown hair.

  “That we are,” Martin confirmed.

  “I would have preferred it if you had sent a footman to pick up the package from the milliner’s.”

  “I am well aware, but Marianne was rather insistent on going herself,” Martin replied.

  His mother turned a disapproving look towards Marianne. “I would be remiss if I did not remind you that it is entirely inappropriate to be in Society during this time.”

  “Grandfather hated mourning traditions,” Marianne argued. “He thought they were rather ridiculous and didn’t want us to put our lives on hold.”

  “Be that as it may, it is our privilege to grieve for him properly,” her mother pressed. “It makes me truly wonder if you miss him at all.”

  Marianne visibly stiffened. “If you will excuse me, I find that I need some time alone,” she declared.

  “That was terribly unfair of you to say,” Martin said as he watched his sister walk away.

  His mother’s stance softened slightly. “Perhaps I did go too far with that last comment.”

  “We are all grieving Grandfather in our own way.”

  “I find that I miss him dreadfully,” she admitted.

  “As do I.”

  She turned to face him. “Your father is waiting for you in the study,” she informed him. “He wishes to speak to you before he adjourns to the House of Lords.”

  “Then I’d best not keep him waiting any longer.” He headed towards the rear of the townhouse where the study was located.

  As he stepped into the square room dominated by woodwork, he saw his father sitting at the desk, hunched over ledgers.

  “Mother mentioned you wished to see me,” Martin said as he closed the door.

  Ralph, Lord Darby, glanced up. “You have done an impressive job with the ledgers,” he commented.

  “Thank you.” Martin was pleased by the rare praise.

  “I appreciate you handling all of our properties and investments so I can focus on politics,” his father said, leaning back in the chair.

  “Isn’t that how it has been done in our family for generations?”

  “It has,” his father confirmed. “I was worried you wouldn’t be up to the task, but I am pleasantly surprised to be wrong.”

  Martin frowned at that statement, which could only loosely be classified as a compliment. “Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”

  His father maintained his gaze for a moment before saying, “No, I’m afraid I have something much more serious to discuss with you.”

  “Which is?”

  “It is time for you to do your duty and marry.”

  Martin’s brow shot up. “I beg your pardon?” He had not expected that.

  “You are twenty-eight years old and an earl,” his father continued. “I was in the same position when my father arranged a marriage for me.”

  “I am well aware, but our situations are different.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Regardless, I have no desire to marry at this time,” Martin pressed.

  His father rose from his chair and walked over to the window. “I have taken the liberty of speaking to Lord Whittingham about arranging a marriage between you and his daughter, Lady Isabella,” he said. “She would be a fine wife for you.”

  “Father—” Martin started.

  His father raised his hand, stilling his words. “She would come with a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds and is quite accomplished, from what I have been told.”

  Martin pressed his lips together. “I would prefer to find my own bride.”

  “But you have made no effort to do so,” his father countered.

  “That may be true, but—”

  His father cut him off. “This union would work quite nicely for both of our families,” he shared. “I shall draw up the contracts, and you will marry after the banns are posted.”

  Martin steadfastly held his father’s gaze. “No,” he said firmly.

  His father looked at him curiously. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”

  “I did,” Martin replied. “I have no desire to marry Lady Isabella.”

  “Then, pray tell, who do you intend to marry?” his father asked, not bothering to dilute the mocking tone in his voice.

  “I know not.”

  “You can’t keep wasting your life,” the marquess argued. “You need to secure an heir, and quickly. That is your duty.”

  Martin walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter. “I will make an effort to secure a bride this Season,” he said as he poured himself a drink.

  His father crossed his arms over his chest. “I will give you a month.”

  “One month?” Martin repeated back in disbelief.

  His father nodded. “You have one month to secure a bride, or else I will pursue a marriage between you and Lady Isabella.”

  “I daresay that is not enough time,” Martin asserted as he picked up his glass.

  His father huffed. “It is more than enough time,” he declared. “It is not as if you are to marry for love.”

  Martin stiffened. “Perhaps I do want to marry for love.”

  His father barked a laugh. “Love is not a prerequisite for marriage,” he stated. “It is merely what poets spout to sell their nonsense.”

  “That is not true.”

  “In our circles, mutual toleration is the best we can hope for.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t enough for me.”

  His father shook his head. “Your head has been filled with nonsense,” he declared. “Given the right circumstances, love can be achieved, but it takes many years to obtain.”

  “I disagree with that,” Martin said.

  “Then go prove me wrong,” his father stated with a wave of his hand, “but I am only giving you one month to do so.”

  “Why are you so adamant that I marry Lady Isabella?”

  His father uncrossed his arms and dropped them to his sides. “Lord Whittingham and I would like to unite our families through marriage. I assure you that it is quite a strategic match and would benefit both parties.”

  “How does Lady Isabella feel about marrying me?”

  His father furrowed his brows. “Why would she take issue with it?” he asked. “You are an earl and will one day be a marquess.” He glanced over at the long clock in the corner. “I’m afraid I need to depart for the House of Lords.”

  Martin took a sip of his drink. “I wish you luck.”

  His father walked over to the door and opened it. “You have one month, son,” he warned. “I should remind you that I am not a patient man, so you should consider yourself lucky that I have agreed to this madness.”

  As his father walked out of the room, Martin gulped down the rest of his drink and put the glass down on the cart. What was he going to do? He had no desire to marry Lady Isabella, but no young lady had caught his eye this Season. He refused to go along with his father’s whims.

  Perhaps it was time to seek out someone who could help him with this problem. A matchmaker. Fortunately, he was friends with the best matchmakers in Town.

  Hannah smoothed down her ivory ballgown with its square neckline as she sat across from her sister and brother-in-law in the coach. She had to admit that she was rather excited for the ball this evening. She enjoyed dancing and never did lack for partners. She was well aware that she was highly sought after for her dowry and familial connections. She was flattered to receive so much attention from the gentlemen, but she only sought approval from one man.

  Lord Egleton.

  She had fallen in love with him the moment he had carried her to her country estate after she slipped and fell on some ruins. Even though she was young, she knew that Martin was the man of her dreams. He was undeniably handsome, and his rich, baritone voice seemed to calm her very soul. When he spoke to her, he made her believe she was uniquely special, and he made her feel thi
ngs without ever being touched.

  She wasn’t entirely sure if he would be at the ball this evening, despite being close friends with Miss Olivia’s family. Martin didn’t appear to share the same love of social gatherings she had. Ever since his grandfather died, his appearances had been sporadic. That didn’t stop her from dreaming about dancing with him and being held in his arms, though.

  Kate’s voice broke through her reverie. “I am rather eager to see Miss Olivia this evening.”

  “As am I,” Hannah agreed. “It has been weeks since we last saw her.”

  The coach jerked to a stop in front of a lavish townhouse, and she couldn’t help but admire the massive white columns that framed the main door. The coach dipped to the side as the footman stepped off the perch, placed the step down and opened the door. Edward exited first and reached back to assist the sisters.

  Once her feet were on the ground, Hannah slipped her gloved hand out of Edward’s and clasped her hands in front of her.

  “How exciting,” Kate murmured as she came to stand next to her. “It has been quite some time since we visited Lady Vincent’s townhouse. I had forgotten how magnificent it is.”

  “It would appear they have spared no expense. The entire townhouse is lit up,” Edward commented.

  “It is not every day that your daughter is engaged to be married,” Kate said.

  “Quite right,” Edward replied.

  As they followed the line of people into the townhouse, Hannah found herself admiring the dark blue walls in the entry hall and the beautiful artwork on the walls. They stepped into the ballroom, which was immensely bright with sconces lining the walls and a large, ostentatious golden chandelier hanging from the middle of the domed ceiling.

  “It is deucedly hot in here,” Edward muttered under his breath.

  “I consider it charming,” Hannah countered.

  Edward huffed. “I would prefer to stand by the open doors in the back of the ballroom.”

  “I am not opposed to that,” Hannah replied, scanning the room for any sign of Lord Egleton.