My Kind of Earl

by Vivienne Lorret

  Dangerous was the answer and he decided to leave that thought alone.

  “I say that it is fortunate for you that I know the turnkey.”

  “You do?” She smiled at him, her eyes so bright and clear, they were almost violet in their brilliance. “Does this mean you’re willing to pursue your birthright, even without my incessant prodding?”

  He knew what she wanted to hear—that he knew he was Merrick Northcott, the infant that had somehow survived the fire. But he couldn’t allow himself to believe it. He knew the bitter disappointments that awaited him too well.

  Raven denied it with a shake of his head. “I’m doing this because, if I didn’t, you’d likely try something dangerous to manage it on your own. I already know you too well. I’m likely the only one of your acquaintances that can smuggle you inside the prison safely. And”—he paused to tuck a wayward chestnut wisp behind her ear—“it’s clear from the wistful sound of your voice whenever you speak of your uncle that you miss him.”

  “Greatly,” she said. “I am indebted to him for shaping my life into what it has become. He’s the one who first taught me to read, and that I could find answers in books.”

  His fingertips trailed along her jaw to the tip of her chin as he gazed down at her, feeling none of the chill that seeped in through the crack in the door, but only the warmth of that November sunlight inside him.

  “I have a sense that you would have found all the answers regardless,” he said. “It’s that lion’s share of determination in your blood.”

  Her lips curved in a smile so soft and welcoming that he wanted to feel it against his own. But before she could tempt him any further, Raven left her standing there, wishing he didn’t still have the taste of her on his tongue.

  Chapter 17

  A week later, a dingy yellow hackney drove Jane to Fleet, bumping along the streets on a dreary overcast morning. Peering through the small window, she saw Raven waiting for her outside the iron gate of the debtor’s prison.

  Beneath the brim of his hat, his storm-cloud eyes watched the carriage come to a stop. Without a word of greeting, he swiftly opened the door and slipped a parcel inside. “Put this over your head before anyone sees you. I had to pull some strings to make sure no one would be asking too many questions. From what I gather, everyone knows everyone else’s business around here. So, today, you’re the widowed sister of Bill-Jack Rollins.”

  “And who is Mr. Rollins?” she asked, unfolding a length of black lace from the unwrapped paper and slipped the mourning veil in place.

  Raven disappeared for an instant to toss a coin up to pay the driver and bid him to wait. Then he returned with his grumbled answer. “Just someone I knew from my other life.”

  Reaching inside with impatience, he set his hands around her waist, assisting her to the ground. He secured her arm in the crook of his, then cast a furtive glance around as they approached the gate.

  The turnkey eyed them with a brown-eyed glare and an intimidating set to his square unshaven jaw. The man was stocky-framed and sure of himself. He wore the brim of his hat pulled low, which cast eerie shadows over his features. And he had the look of a hardened prisoner, not of a man who kept them locked up.

  Jane crowded closer to Raven, a fierce shiver stumbling through her. Perhaps this wasn’t such a grand idea.

  The man set the key inside the lock and the mechanism tumbled with an ominous clank. Then the heavy door groaned open.

  With an impatient gestured, he bid them inside the fortified gatehouse before closing the door behind them. After a quick glance around, the man reached out and punched Raven on the shoulder, hard. “Why, you old dog.”

  “Hullo, Bill-Jack,” Raven answered with a reluctant grin.

  “Just look at us scrawny saplings now. All those days of trying to outrun Devil Devons ’as made the pair of us into ’andsome blokes. Yes, indeed. A’ course I see a few o’ the others from the workhouse, a time or two, strollin’ in to visit the tenants. But most of ’em are up to no good, if ye ken my meanin’. Not like us respectable types.” Bill-Jack puffed out his chest and guffawed, slapping Raven on the shoulder again. Then he turned to Jane and waggled his thick eyebrows. “And whot ’ave we got ’ere, a fine lady on your arm, eh? Must be someone special for you to bring ’ere. From what I recall, you ain’t too fond of boxes or places wif locks on the outside.”

  Raven stiffened beside her and beneath her hand, she felt the muscles tense. “Some things are better off forgotten.”

  “Yeh,” Bill-Jack uttered on a heavy exhale, his eyes appearing unfocused and distant. “But I still think about those two days you spent shackled in the cupboard while that devil got ’iself killed in the alleyway. Blimey! Must’ve been awful with the rats and such.”

  Jane’s breath caught and her gaze shot to Raven. His profile revealed nothing, but she felt the confirmation of the story in the shudder that coursed through him. But all he said was, “I’d rather not talk about that, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Her stomach turned, roiling at the frightful visions trampling through her mind. She’d been naive to imagine that being an orphan and having no family to comfort him had been the worst he’d suffered. What other horrors had he experienced?

  As if knowing her every thought, he flicked a disapproving glance down at her and issued a short, low growl.

  He didn’t want her pity. But that wasn’t what she was feeling. She hated what he’d suffered. If it was in her power, she would ensure that the rest of his life was wholly different than the beginning. And if she could just prove his identity and help to prepare him for society, then perhaps it would be.

  “A’ course. A’ course,” Bill-Jack said with a nod. “That’s all behind us now.”

  Raven reached out to shake his hand. “Much appreciated for all you’ve done today and”—he paused, and cleared the gruffness from his throat—“for all you did back then.”

  Bill-Jack pumped his fist and clapped him on the shoulder with a wink. “Who’d’ve thought the two of us would end up being the ones who survived it all? But I just followed your lead. Wily as ever, I always knew you’d come out of it. Born under a lucky star, you were.” Then he turned his attention to Jane and flashed a yellowed grin. “Take good care a’ this bloke, eh? If it wasn’t for ’im, I’d a starved to death nine times over.”

  “I will. I promise.” Jane extended her hand as well, and Bill-Jack grinned shyly as he wiped his own against his trouser leg before accepting. “Thank you for this favor. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Aw, it ain’t nothing. It’s like I said, if not for this bloke, I wouldn’t be ’ere. Now, I got myself a right good job ’ere and a family at ’ome. One little ’un and one more on the way.” He gestured with a jerk of his head. “That’s the door over there. Just follow me.”

  They walked through a courtyard, passing bedraggled children at their games, chatting women at their needlework, and harried men at their pacing. Entering the prison, they climbed the stairs to the gallery like mourners in a slow procession. All the while, she was still haunted by the images in her mind of Raven as a boy, locked in a cabinet filled with rats. Tears collected in the back of her throat, stinging the corners of her eyes.

  He expelled a resigned breath and bent his head to whisper, “Put it out of your mind. Don’t let it become part of you, too.”

  She wobbled her head in a nod and swallowed, glad he couldn’t see her eyes.

  Once they reached the upper gallery, she was able to focus on her surroundings. They moved through the narrow corridor, passing rooms on either side. Many doors were open, revealing lavishly furnished interiors with every luxury a man could want—canopied beds, brimming bookshelves, desks, tables and chairs.

  Bill-Jack muttered that those were special acquaintances of the warden, indicating with a sly slide of his thumb over his fingers that monetary compensation was involved.

  Reaching the last room at the end of the ha
ll, Mr. Rollins gave a curt knock on an oaken door with substantial black iron hinges. He slid a metal plate to the side, allowing the faint gray light from the room within to slip through the exposed grille. “Yev got visitors, Mr. P.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned the key in the lock. Jane stood in the doorway, waiting for the familiar sight of her uncle to appear.

  Instead, an old man with a haggard face and sloped shoulders slowly stepped forward. He was pale and thin, aside from a paunch that pushed at the buttons of his camel waistcoat. His hair was a disheveled combination of brown and gray, and his green cutaway had a frayed hem.

  His blue eyes raked over her and Raven with marked distrust.

  Too unprepared for this alteration in him, Jane belatedly realized that she’d forgotten to remove her veil. She did so in that instant and tentatively stepped forward. “Good morning, uncle.”

  “Jane,” he said flatly, his disapproving tone startling her even more.

  An uncomfortable laugh tittered out of her and she felt Raven’s arm at her elbow. “Are you not glad to see me?”

  Her uncle began to mill anxiously around the room, straightening an upended cup that sat on a desk of cluttered papers. This was not as elaborately furnished as those others, but sparse and void of warmth. While he possessed a bucket of coal for the fireplace, there were only two pieces in the grate. His bed was little more than a straw pallet elevated no more than six inches from the floor. He had a rug, but it sat beneath a trunk, which lay open to reveal the disorder of clothes and books within. And yet, she knew her father paid handsomely for his upkeep, as well as a steady allowance to assist in paying off his debts. So, where was all the money being spent?

  Surely a man who’d been in prison for a number of years would have wanted to make his room a home of sorts. Wouldn’t he?

  “You shouldn’t have come. Think of your parents. If my brother were to find out . . .” He cast a cursory glance to Raven. “And who is this?”

  “This is Raven. We are hoping you may have some information regarding his family. Do you recall tutoring a French woman to learn English?”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture before walking toward the window set high in the stone wall. “I’ve tutored many. It would be impossible to recall one without having my ledgers to consult.”

  “I hope you will forgive me, uncle, but I’ve looked through your ledgers. At least, the ones that are in the trunks you keep at our house. However, the dates we’re interested in are from the latter part of the year 1799, and I noticed that there aren’t any ledgers from that time.”

  The instant the words were out, Jane felt Raven’s intense scrutiny on her profile. She realized that she hadn’t pointed out this fact to Raven on the day they’d found the letter, but hoped he didn’t suspect her of withholding anything vital. After they’d discovered the image on the wax seal, all else had faded into unimportance.

  Until now, when every detail seemed crucial to proving his identity.

  Looking up at him, she saw that his brow was furrowed in contemplation, yet he offered her a quick nod of understanding.

  She turned her attention back to her uncle. “I was hoping that you might have those ledgers here with—”

  “No, I most certainly don’t,” he said before she could finish, his voice increasing in volume and agitation. “And why would I? It has been so many years since I’ve been part of that world. Most of it is lost to me. It will be many more years to come before I’ve paid all the . . . debts I owe.”

  “What about the name Northcott?” Raven asked, surprising her. “Ring any bells?”

  “It does not,” Uncle John responded hastily, without even pausing long enough to draw in a single breath or bat an eyelash. His left hand started to twitch, tooth-bitten fingernails snagging against the side of his trousers. “You never should have brought her here. My niece is the firstborn daughter of a viscount. She has responsibilities to her family and a reputation to uphold in society. She cannot gallivant around in a debtor’s prison. I don’t know who you think you are but it is clear that you must cease your involvement with my niece at once.”

  Raven bowed stiffly without another word, then took a discreet step back. But Jane stayed by his side, curling her arm around his. “Uncle, he does not deserve your scorn. It was all my doing.”

  “Jane, you know you are expected to marry well, to increase the wealth of the family, to set an example for those who follow. Whatever I have done to sully the family, you and your siblings must undo. It is imperative. Therefore, you cannot waste time dallying with derelicts,” he said, flicking a contemptuous glance to Raven.

  She stiffened, taking umbrage. “You have no cause to speak to him so harshly. You know nothing about—”

  “Go!” her uncle yelled, his color rising. Then suddenly, he came forward, advancing with threatening shooing motions, flinging his arms. “Go now.”

  She stumbled back, but Raven held her securely, guiding her safely past the threshold the instant before the door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the corridor.

  Jane was stunned. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand his extreme agitation, as well as his instant dislike of Raven. It made no sense. And whyever would he call him a derelict, of all things?

  Making one more attempt to gain something worthwhile from this hapless visit, she lifted her face toward the iron grille. “Uncle, if you remember anything about the Northcott family and your time with them, will you please write to me?”

  “I will not recall the name,” he shouted, adamant. “Now begone with you and do as I say. Take care that you abandon this newfound acquaintance of yours. It will come to no good.”

  That was the last glimpse she had of her beloved uncle. And with it, the last hope she had of discovering any information that might lead to proving Raven’s identity seemed to fade, as well. What could they do now?

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured, dejected. “He was never like this before.”

  Raven replaced the veil over her head. “Try not to hold on to this visit, little professor. Time in confinement will change any man. Some are hardened, while others break.”

  She nodded, taking comfort in his presence here with her, but not without a degree of guilt. After all, according to Bill-Jack’s account, Raven had firsthand knowledge about time in confinement.

  She swallowed down the tightness collecting in her throat as he drew her down the hall and toward the stairs. “I apologize for my part of this wasted morning. I truly thought he would know something, otherwise I never would have subjected you to coming here. I understand how you must abhor places like this. No wonder you were so gruff when I first arrived. Though, I wish you’d told me beforehand. I never would have put you through this.”

  “I wanted to do this for you,” he said quietly as they approached the gatehouse, curling his hand over hers. “But my mood, such as it was, had nothing to do with being here and everything to do with a rumor I heard before I left Sterling’s earlier this morning.”

  She lifted her face to his with inquiry and alertness, only to see him shake his head.

  “Not yet,” he said with a discreet nod toward Bill-Jack up ahead.

  He waited until they bid farewell and the gate closed behind them. Then, once they were next to the hackney, he continued. “Late last night, there were some gents in the card room talking about the Earl of Warrister’s return to London.”

  Jane gasped. “Do you think it’s true?”

  “They seemed convinced of it.”

  “Then he must not be as ill as we feared,” she said in a rush, her spirits leavened by the news. “And you know what this means, don’t you? There will be a caretaker or a housekeeper we could apply to for a tour of the house.”

  Raven made no comment, but she distinctly heard a grunt of interest escape his throat as he tried to appear aloof.

  She smiled at this and slipped her hand in his with a tender squeeze. “There’s no n
eed to be nervous.”

  “I’m not,” he said too quickly. Then he looked down at her through the veil and expelled a sigh as if he knew he wasn’t fooling her. “Not much.”

  When he handed her inside the carriage, she worried that he might simply send her home without even considering it. So she tried harder to persuade him.

  “No one would ever have to know. And”—she paused, hoping to incite his interest—“from what Ellie’s aunts have said, his lordship has quite the extensive library.”

  Raven’s expression remained unchanged.

  In that instant, she began to fear that his stubborn resolve would mark the conclusion of their quest. After this failed visit with her uncle, their final avenue had reached a dead end. There was no reason to further their acquaintance.

  Without his willingness to proceed—begrudging or otherwise—this truly would be the last time she would ever see him.

  In the silence that stretched on between them, she knew that they both realized it.

  He disappeared from the doorway, taking with him the only thing that brightened this dreadful morning. A bereft breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t prepared herself for goodbye. There was nothing in her reticule for this.

  Jane sank back in the seat, the veil hiding the tears collecting along the bottom rim of her eyes.

  But then something unexpected happened. Raven returned and, as he climbed inside, called up to the driver, “St. James’s Square.”

  Chapter 18

  Raven didn’t know how long he’d been sitting inside the carriage, peering past the window shade at the town house. But it was long enough that the driver banged his fist on the hood.

  “In circumstances such as this,” Jane said with a teasing tone from the other bench, “one usually walks up to the door and knocks. After all, if there is a housekeeper or caretaker inside, it is highly doubtful that he or she is privy to our thoughts and hopes of entering the house.”

  He slid her an unamused look. “I’m taking note of the surroundings. It’s important to keep a watchful eye no matter where you are.”