The Seduction of an Earl by Linda Rae Sande Page B

with him or Lady Charlotte. “Have you heard if her father is ... recovering?” he wondered, not having ascertained the truth as the to health of the Earl of Ellsworth since returning to London.
    Moving to stand by the earl’s side, George nodded to his wife. “I know you two are dying to gossip,” he whispered, giving her a peck on the temple as if he was dismissing the friends. When the women were out of earshot, having moved off to join a group of other young matrons forming in one corner, he returned his attention to Henry. “Truth be told, the Earl of Ellsworth is in quite good health, although he does have a bump on his noggin,” George said sotto voce.
    Henry’s eyes widened, wondering at George’s need to keep the news quiet. “That is certainly good news,” he replied, although there was a part of him that thought the man deserved to die for what he had done to Charlotte. How could a father horsewhip his daughter, even if he was in his cups when he did so?
    “News that must be kept under wraps for at least a few more days,” George intoned, his voice still low. “According to my sources, Lady Charlotte’s cousin is to be charged with attempted murder and embezzlement, but until he has been dealt his sentence, he must believe the earl is on his deathbed.”
    Noting the man’s seriousness, Henry nodded. “I understand. I ... I just came from Sussex yesterday,” he said, deciding to share his knowledge of the situation with George. “Lady Charlotte was in good health and,” he paused, wishing Charlotte was truly in good health – the stitches along her whip scar were still in place just yesterday – “If the Duke of Chichester did not lose his nerve, the two of them will be saying their wedding vows in a couple of days.” The words tripped off his tongue, sounding somehow right despite how he’d felt about the situation just a day ago. My, how things have changed in only a day , he considered.
    A slow smile spread over George’s face. “Your news is the best I’ve heard in days,” the viscount claimed. He glanced to where his wife stood with the cluster of friends, a look of obvious adoration on his face. Turning his attention back to the earl, he said, “If I may say so, it seems to me our uncles were men of a similar mind.”
    Henry wasn’t familiar with George’s predecessor, so he gave George a cocked eyebrow. “How so?” he wondered, noting George’s sudden interest in him instead of the wife that was still gossiping with her friends.
    “My uncle was a miser,” he whispered, leaning in toward Henry so that he could be heard over the growing din of the ballroom. He thought of adding, “and a molly,” but decided he did not know enough about Randolph Forster to make the comment inclusive.
    His head angling a bit, Henry finally nodded, deciding it wasn’t treasonous to admit his uncle had been tight-fisted. “Mine, as well,” he murmured. “These past two years have been a struggle just to return the Gisborn lands and buildings to some semblance of normalcy.” He frowned. “When did you inherit?” he asked, wondering if George’s viscountcy had suffered the same lack of oversight and care.
    “Just over a year ago,” George answered. “I, too, have been spending a good deal of blunt trying to right the wrongs of so many years of deferred maintenance.” This last was delivered with a definite hint of disgust.
    “Oh, I like that terminology,” Henry said in admiration, taking a drink of his champagne.  “May I inquire as to how you have handled your tenants’ cottages?”
    George nodded to the earl’s compliment and helped himself to a glass of champagne from a footman’s tray. “Since I don’t have much in the way of farmland, I don’t have many tenants, but all ten families have new cottages as of last month,” he said, not intending for the pride he felt to come through in his statement.
    Good grief! “You must have an estate manager very different from