I Love the Earl by Caroline Linden

Dowling did nothing wrong. In fact, he did everything right. I—I believe I am in great danger of being hopelessly in love with him.”
    “Oh, Miss de Lacey,” began Miss Cuthbert in a wobbly voice.
    “Brilliant,” exclaimed Clarissa, beaming. “I knew it! He could not be so charming and so bloody beautiful and not win your heart! Freddie will be so pleased to hear it, he regards Dowling as a great friend—we shall be like sisters!”
    Margaret held up her hand, not smiling. “It isn’t as simple as that. If you haven’t already heard, you soon will. Lord Branwell, who was Dowling’s guardian when his father died, is telling terrible stories impugning Dowling’s decency and intelligence. He told my brother last evening Dowling is only after my fortune, and now Durham says he forbids me to see Dowling again.”
    Clarissa’s mouth opened, and closed. “Oh dear,” she whispered.
    “But you wish to see the gentleman again.” Miss Cuthbert sounded wistful. “You favor him.”
    Margaret gave a tiny nod. “I do.” She had been awake all night, sorting through her feelings and the facts of her situation. “Yes, I favor him. Greatly.” Clarissa wiggled in her chair, beaming again. “Miss Cuthbert, I know you advised me he is unsuitable—”
    “Nonsense,” said her companion quietly. “I was hasty. He’s not as eligible as some, it is true . . . But he is an earl of good character. I have never heard him called rude or debauched. Most of his troubles stem from his dire financial circumstances, which he hasn’t lied about or hidden, as some of our class do. I—I believe you might do far worse, Miss de Lacey.”
    “She could hardly do better,” put in Clarissa as Margaret stared at her companion in surprise. “Dowling has a lovely estate. His father was a bit of an eccentric, always collecting books and paintings, his mother took herself off as soon as he was cold in his grave, and then Dowling was left to the idiotic care of that Branwell, who is, you must admit, one of the silliest and stupidest of men.”
    “He is,” Miss Cuthbert confirmed.
    “My mother says it’s a miracle Dowling is half as decent as he is. She’s had her ear out for anything about him, now he and Freddie are inseparable. That Viscount Clyveden is a scoundrel, but even he is kind to his mother, which says so much about a man, I think.”
    “It does,” Miss Cuthbert agreed. “And Dowling has been so gentlemanly toward Miss de Lacey.”
    Clarissa nodded. “No man could be better! Margaret, you are quite right to favor him, and I will do everything in my power to help you if you wish to run away with him.”
    “As will I,” declared Miss Cuthbert, bright spots of color in her cheeks.
    “Excellent.” Margaret clasped her hands together in relief. “I knew I could depend on you both, although I don’t wish to plan an elopement just yet. I merely want to see Lord Dowling again, alone if possible, to make everything clear between us. And it would be best if I can manage it without my brother knowing.”
    Miss Cuthbert and Clarissa proved themselves born conspirators. It took the three of them half an hour to settle on a suitable façade: a masquerade ball at Carlisle House in a few days’ time, with notice of her costume sent ahead to Dowling so he might find her; and an alternative plan, should Francis grow suspicious and decide to accompany her to the masquerade despite his dislike of them. Clarissa would have Mr. Eccleston hire a carriage to wait outside, so Margaret and Dowling could slip away if desired. Clarissa eagerly volunteered to tell any necessary lies to cover Margaret’s disappearance.
    “Oh, what a caper!” She giggled. “All in the pursuit of true love. I vow, Freddie will be so charmed when he hears of it.”
    “As long as he understands, and conveys to Lord Dowling, the importance of secrecy,” Miss Cuthbert told her sternly. “You mustn’t say a word to anyone else, Miss Stacpoole.”
    Clarissa