How to Catch an Earl with Ten Lies: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Patricia Haverton

  Edith heard the soft tap that meant James was back, then she heard Stella go answer the door.

  “Any news?” Stella asked.

  “Aye,” James said grimly. “I’ll need to speak to Miss Penelope. Is Miss Edith about?”

  “Playing with her kitten, I think,” Stella said. “Shall I fetch her?”

  “Take this bit o’ fish to her. An’ I’ve got some ribbons, as Miss Penelope directed. If ye’ll bring out the sand box, I’ll go be cleanin’ of it for ye, directly after I speak to Miss Penelope.”

  “That is kindly of you, James,” Stella affirmed. “Give me a moment, and I’ll see to it.”

  Edith scooped up Indigo, and opened the door to Penelope’s dressing room so that Stella could enter.

  “James has brought a bit o’ fish for your kitty, and some news I think. I’ll go speak with Miss Penelope whilst you feed your baby.”

  Edith took the smelly brown paper parcel and opened it out on the floor of the dressing room. Indigo promptly pounced on the fish and began gnawing at it, growling ferociously.

  “I don’t want your nasty fish,” Edith said. Her air castle came tumbling down. Perhaps having a cat who turned into a prince wouldn’t be quite so nice after all. But then, a prince would perhaps be grown up and have better manners than a little street kitten.

  “That is just as well,” Penelope said from the door. “Come. Let’s discover what James has found out.

  The two girls went out into their little sitting room. Stella set out the inevitable fresh pot of tea, and brought a thick meat sandwich for James. They did not stand on ceremony within these chambers, and James had been on duty since well before luncheon, with no sort of meal other than the biscuits and lemonade at the park.

  The wizened little footman sat down at the table, and bit into the sandwich without any ado.

  The girls watched him eat, knowing that he would not say anything until at least half of the sandwich was gone.

  Sure enough, when exactly half of the sandwich had been eaten, he said, “The printer’s boy did know something. An’ he was able to find an old copy of the newspaper that told about what went on an’ got him exiled.”

  Reaching into his coat pocket, he drew out a folded broad sheet and spread it out on the table.

  The paper was of poor quality, and it crumbled a little at the edges. The ink had made holes in it at some places. Still, it was legible, and the lurid headline said a great deal.

  “Peer’s son deals nearly mortal blow in illegal duel.”

  The newspaper article went on to say, “Benjamin Gray, heir to Newhorn, recently shot and severely wounded a peer in a duel. Rumor has it that a femme fatale was the cause of the disagreement. Some believe that the lady in question was wed to the peer, while others suggest that it was Gray’s mistress. In all events, Benjamin Gray, in company of his father, was seen to board Even Star Rising as it set sail on the morning tide.”

  “Good heavens!” Edith cried out. “How perfectly dreadful!”

  “Indeed,” Penelope said, grimly. “I cannot let this go forward. Truly, I cannot. Whatever was our uncle thinking?”

  Penelope stood up from the small table. “I’ll put a stop to this,” she said. “I simply will not put you in the hands of a wastrel and a scoundrel, Edith.”

  “Thank you,” Edith said gratefully. “I have no desire to be wed at all, and to be wed to such a man! Oh, dear, Penny, thank you for looking out for me.”

  “You are welcome, Edie. You know that I will always be there for you,” Penelope said. “I have no idea what this man’s motivation might be, but it looks to me as if marrying him might be opening the door to years of misery. I shall go right now and tell Uncle Horace so.”

  “I’m afraid you will have to wait,” James said. “He told Marpole that he was going out of town on business and would not be back until tomorrow.”

  “Then I will have it out with Lord Newhorn tomorrow. This betrothal will not happen.”

  Chapter 11

  Morning brought a fog and lashings of rain. Clearly, it was not a day when Penelope could meet with Lord Newhorn in the park. In any case, a note came round in the beginning hours of visiting time.

  Lord Newhorn begged to be excused from meeting with Miss Edith Chapman. “Called away to speak with my man of business,” the note said.

  Penelope thanked Marpole for delivering it, flounced back upstairs to the sisters’ sitting room, and flung herself onto the couch.

  Edith looked out from what had once been Penelope’s dressing room, but that now seemed to be designated the cat’s room. In self-defense, Penelope had removed her washstand and personal items after closing the dresser and wardrobe firmly.

  Who knew that one small cat could be so much trouble? He had eaten her favorite ribbon, spit up the remains on the seat of her dressing table chair, and scattered her hairpins.

  “Trouble?” Edith asked.

  “You might say that. Our uncle is out of town, now Lord Newhorn has sent around a note that he is meeting with his man of business.”

  “Oh, good! That means that you won’t need to go out and meet him in all this dreadful rain. Come play with me and Indigo.”

  “Indigo and me,” Penelope automatically corrected. “I won’t have to go out in the rain, but I won’t be able to do anything about our situation today.”

  “Perhaps that is a good thing, Penny. I don’t want to marry him, but I do think you should speak with Uncle Horace before you do anything rash.”

  “I think the rash thing has already been done. What could Uncle Horace be thinking? Surely he knew about this.”

  “He must have had some good reason. Let it go for now, Penny. There is nothing to be done right now. Come play with us and be comfortable for a little while.”

  “How can I be comfortable with your future all in a muddle?” Penelope grumbled. But she stood up and went into the dressing room to play with the cat.

  Penelope had to admit that Indigo was a cunning little thing. After two days of good food and much brushing, he was starting to fill out. He showed no signs of ever having been afraid of either of the sisters. He cleverly balanced on his back legs, batting at a feather on a string. Then he chased it and pounced on it.

  At length he grew tired, and settled down to lazily batting at the feather when it was pulled near him.

  Edith opened the tin of dried fish James had procured for them, and took out two flakey little fish. They smelled of the ocean and smoke. Indigo pounced on them immediately.

  “You know Uncle Horace isn’t going to let us keep him,” Penelope said.

  “I know he won’t want to, but I have a plan,” Edith said.

  “A plan?”

  “Yes. I will tell him it is a gift for my bridegroom.”

  “Egad!” Penelope stared at her sister. “Edith! Have you completely lost your mind! I’m about to tell Uncle Horace that neither of us want to marry this man, and you intend to tell him that the cat is a bridal gift?”

  “Well, I might not have thought it all the way through,” Edith said. “But I didn’t say what bridegroom.” Edith dropped her eyes to the little cat and stroked one finger along his back. This elicited a growl, and Indigo dragged his prize away from Edith.

  “Edith?” Penelope turned her head sideways and looked at her sister out of one eye, then she turned her head the other way, and looked at Edith out of the other, as if she were a parrot. “What are you not telling me?”

  Edith blushed bright pink. “Well, it might not have been Lola who beat the mean boys away from the kitten.”

  “Might not have been?”

  Edith squirmed under her sister’s glare like a butterfly caught on a pin. “It might have been someone else. A gentleman someone.”

  “Oh, Edith! I trusted you. What were you doing while I was lying about reading? I shall never forgive myself.”

  “Oh, Penny, it was nothing, really. Lola’s cousin Freddy walked us to the market and back. It was all very unexc
eptional, and we were not alone together for even a minute.”

  “Oh, Edith! You know that Lola isn’t enough of a chaperone. She is too young. Please tell me you at least had a maid along?”

  Edith twisted her hands together, and the silence in the room stretched.

  “Well!” Penelope said. “Done is done. But I’m truly surprised at you, Edith. I’m trying to remember … Freddy, would that be Alfred the Fat and Pimply?”

  “Don’t be mean, Penny. He couldn’t help the pimples. His mama was always feeding him comfits and iced cakes. Anyone would have had spots and been chubby! His papa insisted that he go away to school, and he is much more fit now.”

  “Well, I suppose that is all to the good. How old is he now?”

  Edith looked down at her hands. “Twenty-two.”

  “Oh, Lud! He’s barely out of the school room!”

  Edith’s head came up, and two spots of color shone on her cheeks. “He has finished reading Law at Oxford, and he is apprenticing with his father’s firm. Lola says that the senior partners are very pleased with him and his prospects are good.”

  Penelope dropped her head in her hands and moaned. Then she lifted it and said, “Edith, do you realize that Freddy isn’t likely to be able to support a wife for some years to come? Please tell me that you have said nothing to anyone about your feelings.”

  “It is more than feelings,” Edith declared. “We . . . we have an understanding.”

  Penelope breathed in deeply. “An understanding. Well, I see why you so vociferously do not wish to be engaged to Lord Newhorn. Edith, my dearest, you do know that gentlemen frequently profess to an understanding, then step over the bounds of nicety?”

  “Oh, Penny! I would never! We have not even held hands. But, Penny, dear sweet Penny, please try to understand. Little fat Freddy has grown up to be fine, handsome Alfred. One day, he might even enter Parliament.”

  Since she did not fully understand the process herself, Penelope did not attempt to explain the intricacies of becoming an MP. Instead, she pointed out the obvious, “Edie, Freddy’s father is only a knight, and not even a hereditary knight. He will not be able to pass his title to his son.”

  “Oh, I know,” Edith said. “That is why Freddy is studying so very hard. He hopes to do something great very soon and to win his own knighthood.”

  Penelope merely pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Welladay. Who are you, and what have you done with my sweet, shy, compliant sister?”

  “Nothing,” Edith laughed. “I’m still me. But, oh, Penny dearest, he is the sweetest gentleman. So kind, so . . .so strong and good. I think we shall deal wonderfully together if we just have the chance.”

  To this, Penelope simply groaned and hid her face in her hands.

  Chapter 12

  Benjamin woke to an insistent tapping on his door. “Who is it?” he called.

  “Simmons,” came the voice of his valet. “May I come in, My Lord?”

  “Yes, yes, by all means come in and stop that infernal racket.”

  “Lord Newhorn, I am so sorry to disturb you this early, but there is a lady downstairs who says she must see you right away.”

  Benjamin hauled himself up on his elbows. “A lady?”

  “Yes, My Lord. And she says that it is urgent that she speak with you.”

  “Have Grantham put her in the small parlor, then help me organize myself.”

  Simmons withdrew and was back in a few moments. “Grantham has ordered up tea for both of you. Will you have formal or casual attire, My Lord?”

  “Casual. I had no plans in particular today, although I had it in mind to go out walking in the afternoon.”

  “Very well, casual it is. But I do not think you will enjoy walking today, My Lord.”

  Benjamin drew the tails of his nightshirt about him, shivering in the chilly air, and padded over to the window. Rain fell in sheets past the diamond shaped, leaded windowpanes and obscured the street below.

  “Hmmm. I see what you mean. Well, we shall see what the weather is like in a while. For now, I shall dress and go down to see what this lady wants. Did you recognize her?”

  “No, My Lord, I did not. Nor did she give me her card.”

  Benjamin did not linger over his neckcloth or cravat, but quickly assembled himself and shrugged into his morning coat with Simmons’s help.

  When he reached the little parlor, Grantham opened the door with a flourish. “Lord Newhorn,” he announced grandly.

  Benjamin glanced at him. This was not Grantham’s usual way of announcing his arrival. As he rounded the corner, he nearly gaped in astonishment.

  “Cynthia?”

  A slender woman, dressed in black bombazine, a black chip hat with an ostrich feather and a clocked half-veil stood to greet him. She curtsied gracefully. “It is good to see you, Lord Newhorn.”

  Benjamin extended his hand, and she laid her black gloved fingers into it, and he bowed over her hand.

  “You are looking well, Cynthia. I hear that you are running a successful business.”

  “A respectable business, thanks to your intervention and the support of your family. Oh, you silly boy, why did you ever challenge Steelfrost?”

  “Because you in no way deserved the consequence of the rumors he was spreading. My only regret is that the ball I put in his shoulder was not fatal.”

  “Be glad that it was not. Wounding him was bad enough, but had you killed him, I am not sure a pardon would have been possible.”

  “Was my father able to squash the rumors?”

  “Quite ably, and revealed the true source of the information flow. It was thanks to your funds and your parents’ support that I was able to leave the theater and start a school for young ladies instead.”

  “I am glad to hear something good came of it, after all.”

  “It is good to have you back in London, Lord Newhorn. But I am terribly sorry for the reason. I had hoped to have occasion to express my condolences, but that is not why I am here this morning.”

  “I did wonder what brought you out so early and in such weather,” Benjamin said.

  “Steelfrost is in London, and I think you should know that he is out to discredit and discomfit you in any way that he can.”

  “Has he not always?”

  “You might be right, at that. I think between the two of us, we put paid to some grand plan or other that he had concocted.”

  “Oh, that I knew. Fortunately, it turned out that patriotism paid better than treason, so he has turned aside from that mad course.”

  “Has he? I do wonder. I have a student who is the younger daughter of a particular house. The young lady confided in me that her Uncle Timothy had laid some grand plan to discredit you and put your house in disgrace.”

  “I don’t suppose she confided as to how he planned to do it?”

  “Oh, dear, no. That would be too easy, Lord Newhorn.”

  “Please, call me Benjamin. The title does not sit well upon your lips.”

  “There’s my Benjamin. Always well-spoken, always setting everyone at ease. Well, so I shall call you when we are alone, for old times’ sake.”

  “As long as we understand that it is for old times’ sake, Cynthia. Or should I call you Miss Linguere?”

  “It is Mrs. Albright now, old friend. Sadly, Mr. Albright was somewhat past his prime when we were wed. I did have some hope that marital bliss would be of longer duration, but I awoke one morning, scarcely three months after we were wed, to find him cold and stiff beside me.”

  “That must have given you quite a turn!”

  “It did. Especially since I feared that I would be blamed for it. But as it turned out, his physician had discovered an irregularity in his heart beat some months before, so I was fully exonerated.”

  “I am glad to hear that you were not dragged through the courts.”

  “Oh, so was I. Again, I think I might have your father to thank for it. His solicitor saw to the will and inheritance. Although I ha
d not intended it so, I discovered that dear George had left enough capital to net me one hundred pounds a year.”

  “You are quite the catch, then I should think.”

  “Perhaps. But, Benjamin, I have no intention of seeking matrimony. Poor Mr. Albright’s death has left me essentially in control of my own life. I have no intention of going back to dependency.”

  “Bravo. Good for you. You always had pluck, Cynthia.”