The Earl's Engagement (Love at Sea Book 1)

by Alice N. Palmer

He paused, and his voice grew louder as the wind around them picked up. “Yes…?” he prompted.

  “You’re sort of an actor, right?”

  He tilted his head to one side and frowned slightly. “Well, yes, I suppose I can act well enough.”

  “Can you mimic an English accent?”

  He nodded and replied in precise, aristocratic tones, “Of course, as if I were born to the manor.”

  “Could I hire you to pretend…,” she started. Then, she shook her head and turned away. “No, I can’t do this.”

  “It’s fine. Ask me.”

  “I need someone to act as my suitor,” she blurted, turning back to him. “To make my former fiance jealous.”

  “Why?”

  “I want him to leave his new fiancee and marry me, instead.” She paused, staring at the horizon. “He’s rich and my family needs the money.”

  Michael’s face froze.

  “I’m sorry. I’m British. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Of course, and for me, it’s practice as an actor. No payment necessary.”

  Anne frowned, and was about to reply when – from behind her – she heard a familiar voice.

  An Awkward Conversation

  “Anne! Anne!” Grace stormed towards them like a suffragette on her way to a demonstration. In the brisk wind, her grey hair had come loose from its pins, and she looked almost frightening.

  Anne saw the set to Grace’s jaw and, as her aunt reached them, asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Is he the one?” Grace demanded, gesturing towards Michael.

  Anne nodded.

  “Good, because we’re invited to dine at the captain’s table tonight.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “Because I’ll pretend to have a headache and take dinner in our cabin. Then, your young man can take my place at the table, presenting himself as your fiance. Assuming he has dinner clothes, that is.”

  Anne glanced at Michael. “Can you do that?”

  Michael paused for a few seconds, then nodded. “We’re doing a simple scene from Shakespeare’s ‘Cymbeline’. I’m sure they can manage without me, backstage.”

  Grace studied him closely, then nudged Anne. “Introductions…?”

  Anne blushed.

  “Of course. Aunt Grace, this is… err…,” Anne stammered, turning even more scarlet.

  Michael reached for Grace’s hand, and before bowing over it, explained in his English accent, “Michael Edgerton, recently of Loxford and, as you know, America.”

  Grace gave a somewhat girlish grin as she gently withdrew her hand. “Lady Grace Travers, sister of the Marquess of Dalry.”

  And then, with a quick nod to Anne, Grace turned and left.

  Michael chuckled. “Is she always so abrupt?”

  “With Aunt Grace, you always know where you stand.”

  “I like her.”

  “Good, but we need a title for you.”

  Michael sighed and shook his head slightly. “If we must, can I be the Earl of Loxford?”

  “Did you make that up? It’s perfect.”

  “It’s probably from a Jules Verne novel. Or perhaps Dickens.” To Anne, his shrug seemed a little theatrical.

  “Aunt Grace was right about dressing for dinner, so — ”

  “I’ll borrow something from the troupe’s wardrobe.” His grin turned mischievous as he added, “I’m sure they’ll have something to meet your aunt’s high standards.”

  Suddenly, the ship tilted again, and the couple were sprayed with a fine mist of salt water. Almost instinctively, Michael put his arm around Anne to protect her as he led her away from the Oceanic’s deck rail.

  “The sea is getting choppy,” he said. “Best get indoors, and I’ll speak with Stephen and the stage manager about dinner.”

  “You’re certain this is all right?”

  “It will be fine. I’ll probably be backstage before the play starts, anyway. Certainly before the performance is over.”

  ***

  At 7 PM, Michael was at Anne’s door with a corsage.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, beaming at him. “How very thoughtful.”

  Michael grinned. “Actually, it’s an extra from tonight’s play, but I thought it was a nice touch for our dinner performance.”

  Anne’s cheeks burned. “You’re right, we’re both acting tonight, aren’t we.” How did I forget that?

  As Michael pinned the corsage to the cuff of her left sleeve, Anne added, “This makes our ‘engagement’ seem more believable.” And Owen was never this thoughtful, she realized with a start.

  “Shall we?” As Michael extended his arm, she rested her hand upon it and smiled up into his eyes.

  From behind her, Grace’s voice broke the moment. “Return her by 10 PM, young man. I’d like to see tonight’s play myself.”

  “Of course, Lady Grace, and I can reserve front row seats for you two.”

  As the door closed, Anne whispered, “Aunt Grace likes you. That’s unusual. Take it as a very big compliment.”

  “I will, and I like her, as well. She reminds me of my late mother. Similar dry humor, and no concerns about what she’s thinking.”

  “That’s Aunt Grace, exactly.”

  They walked, arm in arm, like a real couple might, admiring the modern electrical lights in the hallway on the way to the first-class dining saloon.

  A few minutes later, when Anne and Michael arrived, Owen and his fiancee were already seated near the head of the table. Fortunately, the table was large. Anne and Michael’s seats were a comfortable distance from any conversations with Owen.

  Still, Anne could see Owen’s eyes narrow as he studied her companion. But, before Owen could say anything, the captain arrived with the remaining guests.

  His accent was American. “Be seated, everyone, and let’s have introductions. I’m your captain, Philip Jenkins, and your host for this voyage.” He turned to Owen’s fiancee and asked, “And you are…?”

  She gave a calculated glance around the table. Then, with a tilt to her chin and a too-loud voice, she declared, “I’m Nellie Keeble from Beacon Street in Boston. My father owns the Keeble Ice Cream Maker Factory, the Keeble Stables, and he helped finance the Newport Casinos.”

  After a moment’s stunned silence, she added. “You know. In Rhode Island. All the best people go there.”

  A few guests exchanged glances. No one replied. Anne stared at her water glass and tried to smile agreeably.

  Next, Owen introduced himself as Lord Owen Phipps, the Earl of Sedley, and explained that he and Nellie were engaged to be married in September. Several guests offered their congratulations.

  Introductions continued around the table, reaching Anne and Michael shortly before the halfway point.

  My goodness, look at the muscles in Owen’s jaw twitch, she thought. Grace may be right. He’s easily made jealous. This may be simpler than I’d expected.

  Before Anne could speak, Michael put his arm around the back of her chair. “I’m Michael Edgerton, Earl of Loxford, and this is Lady Anne Travers. We’re engaged as well, but our wedding will be at Christmas, possibly at Balmoral.”

  That evoked several gasps and a far more enthusiastic response than Owen’s announcement had.

  Anne glanced at Michael’s smug expression and realized he was gazing straight at Owen. Well, that’s unexpected, she mused. Is that play-acting or genuine dislike?

  Once the introductions concluded, Owen’s voice boomed, “So, Lord Laxwell, tell us more about yourself. Where did you two meet? And where did you say you’re from?”

  Anne felt a sense of panic. She hadn’t expected this. They hadn’t crafted a suitable story.

  Despite that, Michael didn’t miss a beat. Taking his aristocratic accent to the next level, he tilted his head back so he looked down his nose at Owen. “It’s Loxford, and my family’s estate is, of course, in Loxford, northwest of London. We also own property in Gloucestershire, and a lodge near Balmoral. That’s wher
e Anne and I met, some years ago.”

  Owen squirmed but did not reply.

  Well done, Michael, she thought. He’s a better actor than I’d expected. Still, she knew this conversation could go awry if Michael slipped up in the slightest.

  Anne leaned forward in her chair and rubbed the back of her neck.

  Michael took the cue. With a marked look of distress, he said, “Dearest, is your headache still bothering you?” It was a perfect stage whisper, loud enough to be heard by all, but not apparently forced.

  Anne nodded and placed her hand hard against her lips, as if stifling tears.

  This time, Michael’s voice was clear and powerful. “Don’t worry, dearest. Let me escort you back to your cabin. I’m sure the captain will excuse us.”

  The captain rose from his chair as Michael did. The remaining men at the table followed suit.

  Captain Jenkins said, “I’m sure I speak for all of us, Lady Anne, when I wish you a good night’s rest and full recovery by morning.”

  Anne smiled at them in what she hoped looked like pained gratitude.

  With Michael’s arm around her for support, the couple left the dining hall.

  “I hadn’t expected that,” Anne whispered. “We need to agree on a story.”

  From behind them, Owen’s voice echoed in the hall as he rushed towards them. “Anne, wait.”

  When he reached them, he gave Michael an icy look.

  “I’m so glad you found happiness,” Owen said through a forced smile. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  Anne glanced nervously at Michael. “Of course, Owen. I’m sure we’ll see each other at breakfast.”

  Owen nodded. “Breakfast will be fine. A good start to our new relationship.” He glanced at Michael, adding, “As friends and neighbors.”

  Michael returned the icy smile with a lifted eyebrow.

  Sensing tension, Anne tugged on Michael’s arm. “Let’s see how Aunt Grace is doing, shall we?”

  After the encounter, Anne’s thoughts whirled. Owen’s “friends and neighbors” line didn’t fool her for a minute. She was sure he wanted a second chance with her. So why didn’t she feel happier? Wasn’t this what she wanted?

  Crafting a Tale

  As they returned to Anne’s room, Michael’s accent shifted back to his familiar American drawl.

  Of course, she thought. That performance was for Owen’s benefit. She chastised herself for feeling disappointed.

  Anne barely had the key in the door when Grace swung it open, yawning.

  “Sorry, I must have nodded off. Sea air, y’know.” She glanced back at the clock over the fireplace. “Was the dinner that brief? What happened?”

  Anne described Owen’s questions at the captain’s table, and her concerns.

  “He wants to talk with me, tomorrow,” she added.

  “Ooh, that’s excellent,” Grace wrapped her robe more tightly around her as she settled into an elegant brocade wing chair. Anne and Michael sat on the sofa opposite her.

  Grace leaned forward with a gleam in her eye. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  As Anne repeated the brief exchange, Grace’s eyes narrowed.

  “And he didn’t ask if you were truly ill, or if the ship’s doctor should be called?”

  Anne shook her head. “I’d said it was just a headache. Most of all, he wanted to talk with me tomorrow.”

  “Typical,” Grace sputtered. “That could mean anything, but let’s hope for the best.”

  Anne shrugged and continued, “We need a story to explain my, err, history with Michael.”

  “Indeed. A schemer like Owen can spot a lie at ten paces.” She tapped her chin with her fingers. “Let me think.”

  Anne and Michael exchanged glances.

  After a few minutes, Grace announced, “We have to handle this delicately. It’s a little early to assume Owen wants to resume your engagement, though of course that’s still our goal. And there is that Miss -”

  “Keeble,” Michael prompted. “Her father’s some kind of investor. Ice cream makers and gambling casinos, I believe.”

  Grace leaned back in her chair and chuckled. “Oh my, that is good news. The Duke will not be pleased with that association for his family. This changes everything. If we handle this well, you could be engaged to Owen again… well, as soon as tomorrow.”

  Anne felt a lump in her throat. She should be happy, but things were happening too quickly.

  She stood up and went to the table nearest the bedroom door. Her mouth was dry and her voice almost cracked as she turned and asked, “Sherry?”

  The others said yes, and – if they noticed Anne’s hands shaking as she poured from the carafe and brought them half-filled glasses – they said nothing.

  After returning to her seat, she cleared her throat. “Perhaps Owen’s family needs the money? He lost nothing in the bank failure that nearly ruined Father, but this past year’s drought, and all those tenants…”

  Grace laugh sounded forced. “All the more reason Owen should marry you instead of a gambler’s daughter. Unlike her, you bring a title, and good British property when you inherit. The American economy has been up and down. If they have another financial panic, Miss Keeble’s fortune may not be worth much.”

  Michael objected, “But a marriage of convenience? Surely, Anne deserves better.”

  Anne sat down and stared into her glass of sherry. Her voice was low as she stated, “It’s how we do things in England. So, it’s Owen or an even worse gentleman.”

  She looked pointedly at Grace, who nodded sympathetically.

  “As the Irish say, better the devil you know…,” Grace shrugged and let her voice trail off.

  Anne tossed back the remaining sherry in her glass. “You’re right. I believe Father’s finances are even worse than he’s let on. As things are now, Owen is my best choice.”

  Grace agreed. “It will be a bit of a tangle, with his current fiancee and all. But yes, it’s best for both of you and, of course, your families.”

  She explained to Michael, “Our properties are next to one another. That won’t mean much to an American. But with our estates combined, our future income could be significant.”

  Michael sputtered and started to speak, but Grace cut in, “Not everyone can live the carefree life of an actor.”

  Anne felt a genuine headache coming on. “I’m tired, and we need a story to explain this engagement. Michael already styled himself as ‘Lord Loxford’. And, what did you claim… was it two estates?”

  He shrugged. “I believe I said three.”

  Over the next few minutes, they invented Michael’s past. Mostly, Michael did the talking.

  He would be the oldest son of a moneyed family, and after Oxford, he chose an unorthodox “Grand Tour” in America: Boston, New York City, Savannah, and some of the “Wild West.”

  Then he returned to Boston, his favorite city, and bumped into Anne at an art opening they’d both attended. Resuming their friendship that had begun at Balmoral, Michael had swept her off her feet, or perhaps vice versa.

  Now they were returning to England, and he might be a bit of the Prodigal Son, but he’s ready to accept his responsibilities. His father – also a Duke, like Owen’s father – is elderly and has been ill recently.

  The story sounded convincing.

  “Ooh, oldest son of a Duke? That’s a nice touch,” Grace agreed. “But what about a ring? To seal the engagement, you need a ring.”

  Michael had an answer for that, as well. “That’s another reason to return home. Anne will wear my late mother’s ring, after we have her father’s blessing, of course.”

  “Of course,” Grace echoed.

  Anne tilted her head and raised one eyebrow. Michael had crafted that story with amazing ease.

  “I’m part of an acting troupe,” he reminded her. “Every day, we tell stories. Mostly, we use others’ words – their plays – but sometimes we embellish with our own ideas. It’s natural to actors.”

&nbs
p; “But you’re not actually an actor,” Anne reminded him.

  “No, but I’m learning to be an actor. For now, I’m just an understudy.”

  Anne picked at the embroidery on her gown. “Oh. That makes sense. Now I understand.”

  For just a brief time, swept up in his story about being a titled lord, she’d forgotten his work. Actors are unsuitable, she reminded herself firmly. Owen is my future, not someone like Michael.

  Grace’s voice seemed a little too loud as she interjected, “Not to be rude, but I’m ready for sleep. You two should say goodnight.”

  Then, after a moment’s pause she added, “Thank you for your assistance, Michael. Should we be paying you for your time?”

  To Anne, that question was like ice water thrown over her. She forgot that, on the deck, she’d offered to pay him. At the time, Michael seemed to brush that aside.

  Grace opened the panel in front of the cabin’s vault and glanced back at Michael with a questioning look.

  After a moment’s awkward silence, Michael’s smile was back. Not his usual easy smile, but something more forced. “Thank you, but no. As I told Anne, I’m doing this for my own… amusement.”

  At the door, he took Anne’s hand and kissed it, adding an elaborate, theatrical flourish with one arm.

  And then he was gone.

  Anne shook her head and sighed. “It’s all a play, to him.”

  Grace nodded. “What did you expect? He’s training to be an actor.”

  “I know.”

  “He probably thinks this is good practice. And perhaps there’s some rebellion in him, against the English. Remember, we were still fighting the Americans less than a century ago.”

  “I know,” she repeated and sighed.

  “Anne, dearest, you’re not forming a tendre for him, are you?”

  “Never. That would be beyond stupid.” But even to Anne, those words sounded hollow.

  She slept poorly that night and blamed it on nerves. To win back Owen, she had to say precisely the right things at breakfast.

  She need not have worried. Owen had a plan of his own, and it wasn’t what she expected.

  An Odd Proposal