“Of course.”
Lady Ann placed her hand upon his arm and again felt a surge of pleasure course through her. She said shyly, “It would give me—give us great pleasure if you would stay to dinner. I will have cook prepare capon, your favorite, with almond sauce and those small white onions.” Her husband had hated capon. She determined to have it at least once a week now.
You do not owe me your gratitude, he wanted to shout at her. “As you wish, Ann,” he said instead. Through long years of practice, he kept other thoughts to himself. He patted her hand as he would a patient’s who had just followed his instructions perfectly. “Tomorrow, then, my dear.” Lady Ann stood silently at the door of the Velvet Room until Dr. Branyon had accompanied Crupper out of her hearing. She realized in that instant that she felt warm all over. Yet the evening wasn’t warm. The fire was banked. It was ridiculous. Goodness, she had a grown daughter.
She turned an absurdly youthful face to find the earl’s eyes on her, his look too intent for her comfort. Because she was not a young, inexperienced girl, she was able to smile at him, as if nothing at all in the world was on her mind and say, “Elsbeth, if you do not retire to your bed soon, I shall have to fetch some matchsticks to keep your eyes propped open. Come, love, say good night to Justin and come with me.” Elsbeth yawned, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Have I been such a boring companion, Elsbeth? Don’t spare me the truth, I can deal with it. After all, I have already dealt with far worse from your sister.”
“Oh, of course not, my lord. Not boring at all, I swear it to you, my lord.”
“Justin.”
“Yes, Justin, but that is difficult, my lord. You are a lord while I am not much of anything. You are very kind to let me call you by your name.” Damnation, her candor would smite the coldest of hearts, except for her father’s. Justin wondered if the late earl had even known his eldest daughter, if he would have recognized her if he’d passed her in his own house. “You may call me other names as well. I’m certain your sister will. She will show no restraint at all.”
“Oh, no, my lord, that’s not true. Arabella is perfect. It is I who am terribly gauche. I never know the right thing to do. I would love to be like Arabella. She’s so confident, so sure of herself. Yes, forgive me.
It’s just that I’m very tired and that’s why I yawned in your face. It has nothing to do with you, my lord, er, Justin.” Lady Ann rescued her stepdaughter. “Pay no attention to his lordship, my dear, he’s teasing you. As for Arabella, she is herself and I am glad you aren’t like her. One of each of you is just right. Now, off to your bed.” She clasped Elsbeth’s hand and leaned close. “We have much to discuss tomorrow, my love. Sleep well.”
Elsbeth’s dark almond eyes glowed. “Oh yes, Lady Ann, to be sure. I shall sleep like a log.” She turned and sketched her best curtsy to the earl, then nearly ran from the Crimson Room.
“You should have been a diplomat, Ann,” the earl said when they were alone.
“Ah, that mission seems to be reserved for you, brave, courageous men,” she said, still thinking about Paul Branyon, so many years of memories coursing through her mind.
“True, but I cannot image that it will always be so.”
“What will not always be so?”
“You weren’t attending. It is no matter. Ah, Dr. Branyon seems a charming man. Most devoted to the Deverill family.” He saw too much, she thought, merely nodding, saying nothing. He wasn’t like her husband, cold and distant, telling her what to do, many times paying no attention to her at all when she happened to be in a room he entered.
The earl tucked away her reaction and changed the subject. “I knew your husband for over five years, Ann. I find it quite strange that he never once mentioned that he had another daughter. She is a charming girl, but—” He paused.
“But what, Justin? Go ahead, say it.”
“If that is what you want. She is starved for love, for attention. She doesn’t have an ounce of guile in her, which could prove dangerous if she is not careful.”
“You’re right, of course. The earl, her father, did not allow her to live with us. She was but a small frightened child when he packed her off to Kent to make her home with his older sister, Caroline. I have maintained a constant correspondence with the child all these years, but of course it cannot be the same thing. I am certain that Caroline did her best by Elsbeth, but as you said, she is starved for love.” Lady Ann drew a deep breath. “I fully intend to remedy all the past ills Elsbeth has suffered.”
“But why did the earl treat her so?”
“I’ve often wondered that. I finally decided it must be because he loved Arabella so very much, he did not want to share her or himself. There was, quite simply, no one else for him.” Lady Ann added, “And for some reason that I could never discover, he bore some sort of grudge toward the de Trécassis family. That was his first wife’s family. The earl was never a very forgiving man, you know.”
“Does it not seem rather curious to you, then, that he bequeathed her ten thousand pounds?”
“Yes, I was shocked. Perhaps he regretted what he had done, but I am not at all certain that is true. I fear that we shall never know his reasons for doing so. Ah, Justin, do forgive me for being so very blunt about you and Arabella. Dr. Branyon wasn’t pleased with me. He said you held your tongue, but it was difficult for you.”
“Just a bit difficult.” The earl rubbed his chin, looking into the orange embers in the fireplace. “Let us just say that you did not leave me a great deal of latitude on the subject. Though I made up my mind several years ago that I would marry Arabella, it still comes as a shock to be thrust so baldly into the cauldron. You know, Ann, that I shall try to do my best by her.”
“If I had believed otherwise, my dear Justin, I would have fought the entire proposition with the ferociousness of a mother lion. Although I felt a great deal of doubt about the earl’s deception, I thought his decision to be the best solution. You know, it was all I could do to keep quiet while George Brammersley dallied about before you arrived. I spoke briefly to Arabella this evening. If naught else, I believe she begins to understand her father’s motives as well as my silence over the matter.
Still, it is difficult for her. It will be difficult for her for a long time, I fear.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Ann.”
“You are kind, but that isn’t true. Over the years I have become a very realistic woman, nothing more. Years of life do that to one, you know.
Perhaps it was wrong of the earl to wish to protect Arabella. You know how he felt.”
“Yes. If Arabella had known that there was an heir to the earldom, she would have been distressed.”
“An understatement.”
“Yes, her father thought and thought and worried. I remember him telling me that he couldn’t allow her to feel dispossessed.”
“Well, now it’s over. We will see what happens. Oh, Justin, what do you think of your new home?”
He laughed. “I feel daunted by such magnificence. I have never before in my life had more servants than I had relatives. Only this evening I noticed the truly vast number of gables and chimney stacks.” Lady Ann chuckled as a memory rose in her mind. “You must ask Arabella the exact number of gables. When she was only eight years old she came rushing into the library and proudly announced to her father that there were exactly forty gables on Evesham Abbey. She was such a sturdy little girl, her hair always a tumbled mess and her knees invariably scratched.
Oh, I don’t know but even then she was so full of life, so inquisitive.
Do forgive me, Justin. I do not mean to bore you. I cannot imagine why I thought of this. It was a long time ago.” The earl said brusquely, “That doesn’t matter. Anything you could tell me about Arabella could doubtless be of assistance. I do not believe that this marriage business is going to be an easy thing.”
“You are right about that. Now, if you really wish to hear this, very well. Back to Arabe
lla’s forty gables. A short time later, her father sent her to Cornwall to visit her great-aunt Grenhilde. No sooner had she left than he commissioned carpenters and bricklayers to add another gable to the abbey. When Arabella returned and bounded into his arms, he held her away and said in the most stern voice you could imagine, ‘Well, my fine daughter, it seems that I will have to hire a special mathematics tutor for you! Forty gables indeed. You have disappointed me gravely, Arabella.’ She said not a word, slipped out of his arms, and was not to be seen for two hours. Her father was beginning to grow quite anxious, nearly to the point of berating himself, when the little scamp comes running in to him, completely filthy and utterly frazzled. She stood right in front of him, her little legs planted firmly apart, grubby hands on her hips, frowning, and said in the most scathing voice, ‘How dare you serve me such a trick, Father? I forbid you to deny it. I have brought your bricklayer to be my witness that before there were indeed forty gables.’ As I remember, from that day on the earl ceased to pine about not having a son. He kept Arabella with him constantly. Even in the hunt, he bundled her in front of him on his huge black stallion, and they would go tearing off at a speed that made my hair stand on end.” The earl grinned, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “So are there forty or forty-one gables, Ann?”
“Under Arabella’s instructions, the earl had the forty-first gable removed. Such a little commander she was. Actually, she still is. It is part of her, Justin. It is something you will have to become accustomed to.”
The earl rose, stretched, and leaned against the mantelpiece, hands thrust into his pockets. “You’re right. I wonder if I will let her order me about? I never knew my mother, for she died birthing me, so there has never been a woman to order me to do this and that. I don’t believe I would allow her to do it, Ann. But we will see.” Lady Ann turned in her chair, her black silk skirts rustling softly.
“This forthright side of her—I believe it part of her charm. Poor George Brammersley, though, I fear her treatment of him sent the poor man to his room with a fierce headache.”
“Yes, well, just think of the shock to her, hearing her father’s conditions in his will.” He thought about his first meeting with Arabella earlier that morning, but said nothing of it. Perhaps that had been the greater shock.
“Well, this is progress indeed, Justin. Already you defend her high spirits.”
“High spirits, you say? Too pallid a description for your daughter’s dramatics. No, I should say rather that she has energy and resolution and, in addition, the sensibilities of a deaf goat.” What was there to say to that?
Arabella came down the great front stairs of Evesham Abbey the following morning feeling flattened. It wasn’t something she was used to. She hated it. Her situation, which she’d thought about it from every angle she could dredge up during the hours since she’d awakened at dawn, wasn’t enviable. She either had to leave Evesham Abbey or marry the new earl.
And, naturally, it was really quite simple. She knew in the deepest part of her that she could not leave her home. As for the new earl, she didn’t like him, didn’t want him around, didn’t want to speak to him, actually, didn’t even want him to exist, but she knew she would have to marry him.
So be it.
She walked through the large entrance hall, under the great arch, to a narrow corridor that led to the small breakfast parlor. Only she and her father ever breakfasted so early, and she looked forward now to being alone with her favorite strawberry jam and toast.
“Lady Arabella.”
Arabella turned, her hand on the doorknob of the breakfast parlor, to see Mrs. Tucker balancing a large pot of coffee near one dimpled elbow and a rack of toast near the other.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tucker. You are looking well. I am glad you’ve prepared my breakfast as usual. Please don’t forget the strawberry jam.
It will be a lovely day, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Lady Arabella, I am quite well and lovely. Well, the day will be lovely, that is.” Mrs. Tucker’s two chins wobbled a bit above her ruched white collar. She twitched her nose to keep her spectacles from sliding off. “You are feeling better this morning? I must say that I don’t like those scratches on your poor little cheek. The cheek on your face, naturally. As for your dear little chin, it is scuffed up like your knees were when you were a little girl, but naturally it is still a dear chin.”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Tucker, truly, chin and all.” She smiled at the housekeeper. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Tucker had been in her mother’s life before Arabella had even come into the world. She was also used to the way she spoke. The local vicar, however, was not. His eyes glazed over when Mrs. Tucker managed to corner him.
Arabella pushed the door open and stepped aside to allow Mrs. Tucker into the breakfast parlor first. She didn’t want her to spill that coffee or drop that toast. Arabella would kill for some coffee.
She turned to follow her through the open doorway, looked up, and froze where she stood, so surprised her normally agile tongue was lead in her mouth. The new earl sat at the head of the table, in her father’s chair, platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a haunch of rare beef arrayed in front of him and on both sides of him, his eyes upon a London newspaper.
He glanced up at the sound of a sharp intake of breath, saw that Arabella had turned into a stone at the unwelcome sight of him and rose. He said politely, “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker, that will be all for now. Please compliment Cook on the beef. It is cooked—or rather left uncooked—to perfection.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Tucker achieved a fairly creditable curtsy, fluttered her sausage fingers about her netted cap, and retreated from the room, patting Arabella’s shoulder as she passed her. Arabella called after her, “Please don’t forget my strawberry jam.”
“Will you join me, Lady Arabella? May I call you that yet?”
“No.”
“Very well, ma’am. Would you care to sit here?” He pulled out a chair beside his own at the table. “No, from the look on your face, I daresay you would rather take your breakfast and eat in the stable. Anywhere but near me. However, I would appreciate it if you remained. I believe there are some subjects that are of immediate interest to both of us, as loathsome as these subjects might be to you.” She sat down. She had no choice. She wanted to be churlish, but there wasn’t any benefit in it, as far as she could see. She would have to marry him.
She might as well speak to him. She would have to sooner or later. “Do you always eat breakfast so early? It is very early, you know, earlier than most people would even deem early. Perhaps you usually eat later in the morning? Perhaps this is just a very special day that sees you up and about so very early?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I am always early. Do sit down. My beef is getting cold.” He grinned, noting her riding habit, and said, “Not only do I eat early, I always like to ride early as well. Just after my breakfast. It would seem, ma’am, that you are in the same habit. Does that, perhaps, presage good things for the future? For us, I mean.” No way around it. “Probably so,” she said. She accepted his assistance into her chair and began to dish eggs and bacon onto her plate before he had again eased back into his place. Her strawberry jam sat beside her plate. But how did Mrs. Tucker know where she would be sitting? Ah, he’d told her, naturally. She began to spread the jam on her toast.
“Don’t you think it would be a mite more polite if you were to contain your enthusiasm for eating until your host was seated?” Her hand tightened involuntarily about the handle of her spreading knife.
Host? Surely the fork would slide easily into his heart. No, he didn’t deserve for her to kill him for that bit of gloating. No, stabbing him in the arm would be the appropriate thing. “You really aren’t the host, sir,” she said finally. “You just happen to be the lucky male who was born of the right parents at the right time. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“As were you, ma’am.”
“But I don’t claim to b
e the hostess. I am merely the poor sacrifice, tossed onto the marital altar by my own esteemed father.” He was, he supposed, pleased to hear some wit from her rather than curses rained down upon his head. “In that case,” he said, seeing her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth, “wait a moment while I take a bite of my toast. There, now continue with your eggs. Ah, you do like that jam, don’t you? Is it special?”
“Very. Cook began making it when I was a child. I used to sneak into the kitchen and she would spread it on scones, on cucumber biscuits, on anything in sight.”
He ate a thick slice of the rare beef, picked up his paper, and lowered his head.
“Would you please pass the coffee?”
The earl looked up from the newspaper.
“If, of course, a host does such things.”
“Certainly, ma’am. I begin to believe that a host does everything to keep the ship afloat. Now, I wonder if you will also consider me the master?
Here you are.”
The master? Curse his gray eyes, that were also her gray eyes. She said,
“Ah, and a page or two of the newspaper, if you please.”
“Of course, ma’am. I understand that it isn’t really the done thing for ladies to read newspapers, other than the court pages and the society pages, but, after all, you are Lady Arabella of Evesham Abbey. As your gracious host, it would be impolite of me to give you guidance. Is there any particular page you would prefer?”
Lord Deverill's Heir Page 6