A Matter of Great Haste

Lady Edith ran her hands along her skirts, peering at herself critically in the glass of the shop’s window. Her heart was hammering hard beneath her stays; Edith imagined she would be able to see it, should she glance down. Her sister, Eleanor, had assured her that her outfit was perfect for every occasion, an innocent rosy pink with a stylish cut to the jacket and a jaunty hat to match, but Eleanor hadn’t known about this particular occasion. No, this time Edith had struck out entirely on her own. Sighing, she reached into her reticule and retrieved her father’s letter. She had read it so many times that it was nearly committed to memory; still, she re-read the paragraph of interest once again.

As you know, my dear, your situation in Town remains precarious at best. I have heard tell that you have caught Lord Sterling’s attention. Pray, is there truth to these rumours? She swallowed hard before continuing. If not, perhaps it might time to consider other offers. Perhaps the Lord Whitney might catch your eye in time? He has expressed an interest in you.

The thought of Lord Whitney made her shudder. To tie herself to such a miserly and mean man--

Surely, this was not how things were done. Hot embarrassment coursed through her, mingling with sore pride. Still, she was the daughter of the Lord of Harwood. Time and again, she had been reminded that this was to be her only Season; the family coffers were, she knew, mostly empty. A last push from her father had propelled her forward, that and the knowledge that there would be no Season for Eleanor without her success. Edith was to be their prize horse. It was difficult not to be cross with prior generations of Harwoods, those who had run their estate into the ground, but this was her responsibility now. Edith reminded herself sternly that she was not one to shirk those, even though this particular responsibility made her cheeks burn.

Granted, this was likely not precisely what her dear father had imagined, but anything was better than the loathsome Lord Whitney.

Holding her head high, she marched down the lane, pausing at the door of Lord Sterling’s townhouse. It had seemed large and imposing at his dinner party the week before; now its size seemed mammoth and intimidating. Praying for strength, she raised a gloved hand to the knocker and waited.

Her wait was not long; in short order, the door was opened by a man closer to the age of her father than to her own. Edith, fresh as she was from the country, assumed he was the butler.

“Good afternoon, I am Lady Edith of Harwood,” she faltered, trying not to fade under the man’s surely disapproving stare. “I was wondering if Lord Sterling might be available to receive my call.”

The butler glanced over her shoulder, no doubt looking for the chaperone Edith had been too humiliated to seek. It was daylight, proper enough in her most likely incorrect opinion. Tipping her chin, she fixed her best Lady Harwood look on her face and stared him down.

The butler, to her immense relief, relented. “If you’ll wait here, my lady.”

She allowed herself to be ushered into the doorway, where she was promptly left on her own. Wildly, she thought she ought to have brought smelling salts, though whether for her or the as yet absent Lord Sterling, it was yet to be seen. Unsure if she should remove her hat, she folded and unfolded her hands. Ladies do not fidget. How she missed the country; how she missed her mother. To come of age on a crumbling mostly forgotten estate did not quite prepare one for this. She knew the other ladies considered her a bit of a hooligan, a definite outsider.

Bewildered, she remembered imaging the man she might marry, a farmer perhaps or a landowner, who would not hesitate to court her and propose in due time, their love unchallenged and pure. Edith found herself, yet again, on unfamiliar ground. Sadness warred with her nerves. What if, after all of this bother, Lord Sterling said no? She was, after all, not quite on par with the other ladies.

It was with that pessimistic thought in her head that Edith caught sight of Lord Sterling, descending the stairs with a look of utter confusion on his face. Her pounding heart would have skipped a beat, had it been able; he was doing up the top button on his vest, clearly disrupted by her visit, and his hair seemed more dishevelled than usual. It was all the more bothersome that he was so handsome; had he been a more regular chap who had not successfully wormed his way into her heart, this might have been easier.

“Lady Edith,” Lord Sterling greeted, pausing in front of her. Lord help her, he even smelled divine, of old books and dark rooms and lingering smoke. “I seem to have misplaced your calling card.”

There was a rebuke there, subtle, or was it an excuse to set aside her improper conduct? Edith felt herself blush. There were so many rules here, although, she reminded herself, her mother might have laid an egg if Edith had dared to call on a gentleman alone, even in the country. Lord Whitney flitted through her mind. Was this not the very definition of desperate times?

“My sincere apologies, sir.” She dropped her gaze, as much out of nervousness as out of propriety. “If I may be so bold as to request just a moment of your time?”

She chanced a glance up from his polished shoes, just in time to see him school the tug at his lip into his more familiar solemn expression.

“May you be so bold, Lady Edith? I daresay I expect very little else from you.” Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “Mr. Moffatt, if you will be so kind as to request tea from Miss Hastings? We will receive it in the drawing room.”

The urge to run came out of nowhere, strong enough to make her twitch. Passing off her jacket and her hat to Mr. Moffatt, waiting, she allowed herself to be ushered down the hall. Lord Sterling’s drawing room was airy, natural light spilling from the windows. She suspected his first wife had had a hand in decorating it, as it was charmingly done in pale yellows. The thought of his former wife was both off-putting and upsetting. The gossip mill that was Town had made it very clear that Lord Sterling had no interest in a second marriage. Still, she told herself rather desperately, she was certain he was fond of her, and did every man not require an heir?

Two chairs flanked an ornate side table. Edith lowered herself into one, trying to squash her expression of surprise when Lord Sterling pulled his closer. Their knees were mere inches apart. She imagined she could feel the heat from his leg, all the way through her skirts. Certainly, this was not proper. It set her traitorous heart off again, and she longed to wipe her palms against her skirts. She felt every inch the country hoydon she was. The arrival of the tea proved a needed distraction. Edith busied herself with it, raising her cup to her lips to avoid speaking.

“Are you quite alright, Lady Edith?” Lord Sterling sounded genuinely concerned, though the twitch at his lips had returned. “I have come to expect a wide array of conversation topics from you, and you have scarcely said a word. Is the tea not to your satisfaction?”

Her tea cup rattled against the saucer when she set it back down. Somewhere, her mother would have a fit. Curse her shaking hands and this dreadful situation!

“I am finding this rather difficult,” she admitted, which was the truth.

“Conversing? Why, Lady Edith, might I offer you your own advice and suggest you practice?”

His lips twitched their way into a full smile. Out of nowhere, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She had received four kisses up until this point, all from the same gentleman, and she wondered how Lord Sterling would compare. The thought did nothing for her nerves or her composure. For the very first time in her life, Edith thought she might faint.

Lord Sterling blinked at her, obviously taken aback and concerned. After a beat, he rose. She watched him walk to an accent cabinet, where he made quick work of retrieving two glasses and a bottle of amber coloured liquor. He splashed some in each glass, offering one to her upon his return.

“I daresay this is improper,” she managed, though she drank some all the same. It burned her throat and made her want to splutter, but she welcomed its warm heaviness as it settled in her stomach.

“I daresay it is,” he agreed, leaning forward. His eyes were searching, and she made herself meet his gaze, trying to take strength in the warmth she felt there. “Now, shall you tell me what it is you risked your reputation to come here for?”

Still, she faltered. Taking another sip of her drink (and how!), she folded her hands in her lap, bunching nervously against her skirts. The sadness returned tenfold—certainly, she should be the one to receive a proposal. She and Eleanor had always played at court as a noble affair, and this felt anything but. Blinking, she startled when Lord Sterling’s hand fell to cover her own, squeezing her nervous fingers. She gazed at his hand, so much larger than hers, and drew a steadying breath.

“Lady Edith,” he murmured, voice as rich as the liquor in their glasses. “If I may be so bold, just Edith.”

She met his gaze, so steady and sure. She could fall in love with this man, she realized; was already half there, in truth. His thumb was stroking the outside of her fingers, and she could do this, she could.

“If I may be so bold,” she tittered. But no. She was Lady Edith of Harwood; more importantly, she was indeed just plain old Edith. Edith did not falter. Edith did not faint. “I have come hither to offer you a warning, of sorts.”

Lord Sterling sat back, though he did not release her hand. “A warning?”

“Yes, a warning, although I daresay I hope you will not feel that way when you receive it in its entirety.” His hand was distracting, and yet she could not withdraw her own. Abruptly, she realized everywhere he would be able to touch her, should he accept, and fought for bewildered focus. Onwards, brave soldier. “As I am sure you are aware, my family’s estate is less than stellar. Without a proper match, my father’s holdings will pass to my cousin. Surely you know of Mr. Woodworth?”

“Ahh, yes. He has been rather… vocal about what he stands to gain, should you not succeed this Season.” His hand altered position, fingers drifting upwards. She felt them brush the lace adorning the edge of her sleeve, before slipping aside to caress her wrist. It was somehow the most intimate touch she had ever known. Perhaps his own boldness surprised him as well. His cheeks were flushed, and she wondered if she imagined the hitch in his breath.

“Yes. You are a man of great intelligence, Lord Sterling.” It was humiliating that everyone knew her dire situation, empty accounts and a cousin salivating for her failure, a cousin not quite above sabotage, if truth be known.

“Edmund, if you please.”

“Edmund. An advantageous… That is to say… Surely you can see…” Good Heavens. “Father has deemed it of great importance for me to-to… to find a suitable match. As soon as possible, you see.”

Lord Sterling–Edmund–drew back at that, his expression completely unreadable. Her hand felt bereft without his touch, and surely this was not going well. Tears stung her eyes, but she was determined to push forward. She reminded herself that, though it felt like it, this was not the most difficult thing she had ever had to endure. Closing her eyes, she imagined her mother, alive and most happy. Mother, give me strength.

“I know you have expressed a certain distaste for society in general and marriage in particular. I know we scarcely know each other. I do not wish to pressure you. I only wish to warn you that my father will likely find it suitable to speak with you, as such. I have received another formal offer of courtship, and yet…”

His brow furrowed, though his stony expression did not falter. “May I ask from whom?”

“Lord Whitney.” It was vile to even say.

At that, Lord Sterling scowled. Rising, he began to pace in front of her chair. She watched him wander to and fro, fraught though she was with nerves. She should have brought her smelling salts, most definitely. Though he had not answered, it was impossible to ignore the fact that he had not answered. Dismayed, she gave into the urge to ball her skirt.

“That is not why I am here, though do not mistake that as an interest in the Earl.” Her voice was too high; she sounded half hysterical. “This whole matter of… this is all quite humiliating, as you can imagine. I merely wished—”

“You merely wished for an alternative.”

“No.” This was going terribly wrong. Edmund (how strange to think of him as such!) sounded offended. Rising herself, she cut off his pacing, drawing herself to her full height, still a head shorter than him. “I merely wished–hoped, really—that I might receive a similar offer from a man I feel… I feel a genuine affection for.”

With that, her nerve fled entirely. She dropped her gaze to her feet, thereby missing the softening of his. Seconds stretched into minutes, which felt as though they were in turn stretched into decades. She could hear the clock on the mantle ticking. Only why would he not speak?

His touch on her chin startled her, but then his hand was cupping her cheek. She leaned against it, steeling herself for rejection. Only his face was changed. He was still Edmund, of course, still solemn, but there was a light in his eyes she had not been expecting. She found his blush endearing—to think, a man as confident and successful as he might be bashful! She thought again of his first wife, feeling a rush of anger. Edith could not imagine betraying such a kind man, as rumours led her to believe had happened to him. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, his touch somehow firm and gentle at the same time. This close, his eyes were a truly magnificent colour.

“Are you proposing to me, Lady Edith?” If not for the seriousness of their topic, she might have found him teasing. His gaze landed squarely on her mouth, and all of the air left her lungs.

“No,” she murmured, surprised by the heaviness of her tone. It suggested of intimacy, of wanton things. She resisted the urge to clear her throat. “I am merely proposing that you… that you might propose, if you are amenable.”

There was no mistaking his smile this time. It felt as though her very heart took flight, not helped in the slightest by his hand, drifting downwards. She thought he might kiss her, as the moment felt all at once too much and not enough, but his hand traced a lazy path down her neck, ghosting along her arm before entwining again with her fingers. Without breaking eye contact, he raised her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips warmly against her knuckles. Edith, entirely lost in a sea of new emotions, felt it through her entire body.

“My dear bold and unconventional Edith,” he murmured, breath tickling her skin. “I would be deeply honoured to call on you formally, so that your father might know of my intentions.”

Surely, now he would kiss her. She was nearly certain she stammered out a reply; relief and excitement were heady feelings. He would not look away from her eyes; had barely blinked, in fact. She felt his gaze to her very toes. A genuine affection, indeed.

The clock on the mantle chimed the time, jarring and unexpected. The moment passed. Lord Sterling dropped her hand and straightened, looking somehow even more embarrassed. She suppressed a smile.

“I shall anticipate your visit.” It was impossible to keep the aforementioned relief and excitement out of her voice.

“Perhaps this evening? I have heard this a matter of great haste, what with your other offer.”

This evening seemed impossibly far and impossibly near. Flushing, she dipped into a curtsy, though she could not remember if that was what one did, precisely. Lord Sterling was smiling still.

“Your attention to this matter is greatly appreciated.” What a dim-witted thing to say, only his smile looked fond.

“My man will take you home.” Then, with an air of affectionate teasing, Edmund bowed. “Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again,” she returned.

**

NOTE: This story originally appeared on my Tumblr account, as fan fiction for Desire and Decorum, and was part of a series. It's a fun exercise to un-fan fiction stories!

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