Hands clasped behind his head, Blake lay on the uncomfortable and ill-sized bed he had inherited along with the long-neglected town house. He should be making lists of needed repairs or meeting with his steward, but his mind kept returning to the events of the previous evening. Cursing his inability to forget an image, he reached for his notebook. If he sketched her, maybe he could focus on other matters. But he was deceiving himself—capturing her image on paper would only reinforce his ungodly desire for the woman.
His pencil flew over the parchment as he envisioned every physical detail. Lucy had undeniably grown into a beautiful woman, but it was the spark of her invigorating energy that intrigued him. He replayed their conversation. He would have to brush up on his social etiquette, for he had clearly offended her on the dance floor. What to say when dancing with a fascinating lady?
His interactions with the fair sex over the years had been limited, for the most part having no company but his own while on the Continent. Recruited by the Foreign Office immediately upon completing his exams at Oxford, he had spent little time these past years among the ton. He had built no repertoire of bons mots with which to flatter and flirt. All his efforts had been in service to the Crown, honing his natural skills of absolute recall and artistry.
Blake glanced at the stacks of boxes that lined the sidewall of his bedchamber. They contained numerous journals and rolls of maps he had compiled while on the Continent. Journals filled with portraits of royalty from various countries, along with dignitaries and the enemy. Some held images of key towns and their defenses. But the rolls of maps, evidence of his cartography skills, were his key possessions, for they had provided vital information for Wellington and his men. Blake understood his skills were critical to England and its allies’ success; thus he had remained on the Continent until the Corsican was exiled to Elba.
Blake held the drawing up. The woman staring back at him was not the image of the lighthearted and enthusiastic girl he had carried with him all these years. Fool that he was, he had fallen in love with the girl he had met during his one and only visit to Halestone Hall. Blake had believed those feelings well buried when Harrington had informed him about Lucy’s attachment to their neighbor Lord Taylor and how in love she was with him. He had been crushed to learn there was an understanding between both families that Lucy would someday marry Taylor.
Frustratingly, Blake had even liked the older boy with aristocratic good looks who was a protector of the weak when they attended Eton. Lord Taylor represented the quintessential heir to a title, honorable and well liked by all, who yet carried himself with humility and grace.
While Blake had inherited the title of earl nearly a decade ago, he was still uncomfortable among the prying eyes of the ton. The Continent was no different. His aristocratic features and fluency in the language had occasionally landed him assignments in the French court, but he had always been most comfortable traveling in solitude.
Returning to England meant resuming his responsibilities. And that he was no longer alone. He was constantly sought out day and night by servants, friends, and acquaintances. It was taking a toll on his nerves. An immediate solution would be to find a wife and retreat to his country estate, Shalford Castle.
After seeing and conversing with Lucy last night, he questioned if he had ever really been successful in burying his feelings for her. He had held on to her image, his perfect English lady. But did Lucy’s heart still belong to her beloved Taylor?
Before his mind could engage in any further thoughts of Lucy, Blake rose to prepare for the day. Unaccustomed to being waited on, he went to his wardrobe to retrieve a clean shirt.
From the middle of his bedchamber, Gordon said, “My lord, I believe that is my duty.”
Blake flinched as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. How long would it take to become accustomed to having others constantly nearby? Comfortable with servants at his beck and call?
“Gordon, I’ve dressed myself for the past decade—I’m certain I can manage without your assistance.” The man’s face fell, and Blake instantly wanted to retract his harsh words. “It will take me some time to adjust to being back in England. Bear with me; it will sort itself out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I need to send a message to Harrington. Could you assist me with that?”
“That would be Henderson’s job, not mine.”
Having been self-sufficient for his duration on the Continent and having never paid attention to these matters prior, Blake was making a hash of his reentry into English society. “Excellent. I’ll speak to Henderson directly then. I aim to attend the Hereford soiree this evening. Does that give you something to attend to?”
“Yes, my lord. I appreciate you informing me with notice.”
Blake glanced down at the intricately tied cravat Gordon had created without his notice. Tugging at the neck cloth, Blake said, “Gordon, I prefer simple, unassuming designs so as not to draw attention.”
“Understood, my lord.”
Gordon was a good and loyal servant. Blake didn’t want him seeking out another household. He had better placate the man. “For today this will be a nice change.” His valet must have interpreted his statement as a dismissal, for he promptly left the room.
I need someone who can assist me in assimilating back into the role of earl. Not someone, a wife. His mind had cataloged images of many beautiful women since returning to London, but only one lady remained at the forefront.
He padded over to retrieve the sketch he had left on his bed. Lucy was a confounding challenge. Could he convince her to explore the magnetic pull that was obviously evident between them?