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

by Patricia Haverton

  “You are not shy at all, are you?” asked Lord Newhorn.

  “There are many ways of being shy,” Penelope hedged. “Not wishing to simper and wave a fan about could be one of them.”

  “I will own that I, too, enjoy conversing without the artificial twaddle usually carried on by the Ton. Is it something that is taught to young ladies?”

  “Indeed, it is. You might be astonished to learn that conversation was a course at the Finishing School for Young Ladies my sister and I attended. We learned a great deal about how to talk nearly constantly while saying nothing at all. I think my sister finds the process even more abhorrent than I.”

  “Shall I walk you home, Miss Chapman?” Lord Newhorn asked.

  “You may walk with me for a short way. But I would truly rather not share with my uncle how often we are meeting in the park. I am not certain he would find it perfectly acceptable. But as long as he does not know about it, he is unlikely to forbid it.”

  Lord Newhorn chuckled at this sally. “Easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission?”

  “Something like that.”

  They called the footmen to help gather up the remnants of the picnic feast. There was surprisingly little left of it.

  Lord Newhorn lent her his arm that she might descend the rock steps down the hillside without tripping or catching up her dress. At the bottom, he bowed over her hand, his lips barely touching its back. An electric thrill ran up her arm and shivered her insides. What was this strange feeling?

  She walked away from the stone steps, then turned at the corner to look back toward Lord Newhorn. He was standing still, watching her. She waved, and he waved back. Then he turned and started walking away in the other direction.

  Penelope briskly started walking. When she next looked back, she did not see him. She then beckoned to James. “We need to make sure that Edith gets home all right,” she said in a low voice.

  The wizened footman nodded, a look of relief on his face. They went along quickly to Lady Agatha’s little gate house.

  Upon arrival, they found Mr. Harrington just in the act of handing Edith into a rented carriage. She was accompanied by one of Lady Agatha’s own maids. “Ah, there you are!” he said with relief. “Pater has summoned me to family dinner tonight, but I wanted to make sure that Edith made it home all right.”

  “Thank you very much,” Penelope said. “I was not looking forward to walking all the way back to our townhouse.”

  “Nor would it have been particularly safe in the growing dusk,” commented Mr. Harrington. “If you do not mind, I will ride with you, then take the carriage on back to my parents’ home.”

  “That seems an excellent plan,” Edith said quickly, before Penelope could comment at all.

  The two ladies got into the coach with Mr. Harrington, and the two footmen, James and Jace, climbed on behind.

  “Did you have an enjoyable day?” Penelope asked Edith.

  “Wonderful,” her little sister replied. “Lady Agatha is beyond kind. When she arose from her nap, we had a wonderful tea and an exceptionally jolly time playing with Indigo.”

  “I had an enjoyable time, as well. Lord Newhorn is remarkably well read.”

  “What books did you discuss?” Mr. Harrington asked.

  “Mrs. Shelly’s Frankenstein, and Polidori’s Vampyre.”

  “Penny! You didn’t!” Edith exclaimed.

  “Well, our goal has been somewhat to push him away. If that won’t do it, I have no idea what will.”

  “Lord Byron’s verses,” Mr. Harrington commented in lowering tones, “for more mawkish twaddle I think I have never read.”

  Penelope laughed. “Have no fear. I’ve not read them, nor have I any intention of doing so. The gentleman has something of a reputation, does he not?”

  “He does,” said Mr. Harrington. “I would not leave a sister of mine alone with him. But, some people find him to be both handsome and charming.”

  “Well, that is neither here nor there, since none of us are likely to meet him. What is a more pressing matter is that Lord Newhorn is likely to call upon us again, and he is going to soon find it odd that I will only meet with him in the park.”

  “I have it!” Edith said, “I shall be ill. No, Penny shall be ill. Oh, dear, that came out all mixed up.”

  “You mean that the young lady he knows as Penelope Chapman will be ill?”

  “Yes. And if ‘Penny,’ that is me pretending to be Penny is ill, then Lord Newhorn cannot possibly expect ‘Edith,’ that is, Penny pretending to be me, to entertain a gentleman at home.”

  “Excellent! You are a genius, Edith,” Penelope praised her sister. “Now, it cannot be too serious, and it should not be contagious because that would keep the pretend Edith from leaving the house.”

  “Why not an ordinary migraine?”

  Penelope frowned. “Wouldn’t last long enough.”

  “An attack of feminine hysteria,” Mr. Harrington suggested. “That is unpredictable, frequently comes with migraine, and could certainly clear the house of anyone with sense.”

  Edith giggled. “Someone you know?”

  “Lola,” Mr. Harrington growled.

  “Not Lola!” Edith protested.

  “Lola, any time her father forbids her to do something. I told him she was just throwing a temper tantrum. But no, that won’t fadge. Everyone must walk around as if she were dying until she gets her own way.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an illness,” Penelope said. “And besides, if Edith decides she wants to go to the market or visit Lady Agatha, and she is seen, it will give the whole show away.”

  “Let’s go back to the migraine,” Edith said. “I do get them, and so does Penny occasionally. They aren’t contagious, but they do require people tiptoeing around the house. So no matter where or when Lord Newhorn wishes to visit, I will have the headache that day and hide out in Stella’s room.”

  “Perhaps a bit clumsy,” Harrington said, “But probably workable. It has the virtue of being simple, at least. Besides, if Edith decides that she does want to go out, she can have a miraculous recovery.”

  “So it is agreed,” Penelope looked at both her companions. “We will all have to cooperate to make this go as planned. Just as long as I am not required to read Byron’s poetry, I am prepared to discuss books, political events, horses, and dogs all day long.”

  “Cats,” Mr. Harrington added, laughing. “You forgot to put in cats.”

  They were all laughing merrily as the ladies exited the carriage.

  But later that night, as she lay in her bed, Penelope was no longer laughing. She wasn’t at all sure that Lord Newhorn had been put off by their book discussion. Nor was she at all sure she wanted him to hold her in aversion. But what will happen when I must tell him the truth?

  Chapter 24

  When Horace returned from his business trip, he was relieved to find the townhouse still and quiet, other than the ordinary domestic noises associated with the kitchen and maintenance of the public rooms.

  Marpole took his hat, coat, and gloves.

  “How are things, Marpole?” Horace asked.

  “They are as they should be, My Lord,” Marpole replied. “The young ladies spent the day visiting friends, but they are at home, snug in their beds, according to their maid’s account. The horse with the sprained fetlock is responding nicely to treatment and your favorite hunting hound has a new litter of puppies.”

  “Good! It will give Edith something to fawn over that will not make me sneeze.”

  “Excellent thinking, My Lord. I shall be sure to mention it to her in the morning. Since she just whelped today, I am sure that there will be plenty of time for introductions. How was your trip?”

  “As planned, although not quite as I would have liked. Still, half a loaf is better than none. I am, however, very tired. Could you have a small supper sent up to my rooms?”

  “Of course, My Lord. I will see to it at once.”

  When Horace reached
his rooms, he sat down in the wingback chair beside the fireplace. Smith, his valet, eased the boots off his swollen feet. “Your gout is troubling you today, My Lord?”

  “Yes. It has been particularly painful within the last three or four hours. I thought the coach would never reach London.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “In part. I have been able to negotiate a stay of execution, as it were. When the Merry Golden Tree and the Golden Hind dock, and the goods in which I invested are delivered, our fortunes should recover to some degree. Even so, it is my hope that I might be able to see both my nieces married, or at least one of them, before I am no longer able to assist them. My brother was exceptionally improvident, and my own recent ventures have been remarkably fruitless.”

  “Let me fetch you some of that cherry wine that seemed to be of such benefit during your last bout,” Smith suggested.

  “That would be excellent. Marpole will be sending up a small supper. I am not particularly hungry, but I have not eaten since breakfast.”

  Smith brought a cushioned stool as well as a lap tray that would fit over Horace’s lap. He then settled the Earl’s feet upon the stool, placed a wine glass of cherry cordial by his hand, and carefully drew off his stockings.

  Horace sighed with relief as the aggravating fabric was drawn away, and Smith then applied a soothing ointment to his tormented feet. “Ah, Smith. You do have the magic touch.”

  “Let it not be said, My Lord. It has not been that many years since many a good herbman went to the torch just for such simple comments as you have just made.”

  “I meant nothing by it, Smith. But I will keep that in mind. Perhaps you should have become a physician.”

  “A great deal of learning precedes becoming a physician, My Lord. For those of us born Cheapside and beyond, such learning is unlikely.”

  “Selfish though it might be, Smith, the world’s loss is my gain. Without your assistance, I should have been an invalid months ago.”

  “Surely not, Lord Castlemount. You are simply made of stern stuff. I do my poor best to relieve what I can.”

  “And I do thank you for it,” Horace said.

  A tap at the door interrupted further conversation. It was Jace, the most junior footman, with a tray of food. “Mr. Ventor says that the physician sent around a list of the foods you were to eat, and the ones you should not. This here’s a clear broth, some fresh-made brown bread from our own kitchen, a paste of fresh fruit to spread on the bread, and a cup of cherry juice, fresh squeezed. An’,” he added almost as an afterthought, “A cup o’ willowbark tea.”

  “Jace, you are a most astute fellow.”

  “T’warn’t me, m’lord, t’was Mr. Ventor. He says to remind you that your physician says you’s ta drink all your tea, not pour it into yer thunder mug.”

  “Thank you, Jace, that will be all,” Horace said repressively. A fine thing it was when even the servants bullied one about!

  When the footman had gone, Smith said, “Don’t be too hard on him, My Lord. He is loyal, and he is worried. He’s a fine lad.”

  “Thank you, Smith. I know he is, and we are lucky to have his long legs and devotion to the household. But I am tired to the bone tonight.”

  “The tea will help, My Lord. You can mix the cherry cordial into the cherry juice and have it after.”

  “A fine thought, Smith. Very well, I will drink down my medicine. There now, all gone and not into the thunder mug or up my sleeve.”

  “Very good, My Lord. And here is your cherry juice.”

  “Thank you, Smith. It was a kindly thought to have it as a chaser. I will tell you, getting old is not all that it might be.”

  “So I do know, My Lord. Now, do eat up that nice chicken soup. It will strengthen you for aught that lies ahead. My dear old grandmother used to say there was scarcely anything that wouldn’t benefit from a bowl of chicken soup and Mr. Ventor does it to a turn.”

  Horace sipped the chicken soup, dunked the brown bread into it, and sipped some more. His physician and Smith’s grandmother might have the right notion, he thought. He felt better for the warm food, and the gentle warmth of the cordial laced cherry juice spreading through his system.

  His feet hurt, but that was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. What if he could not get his nieces properly situated before his house of cards came tumbling down? The business deal with Lord Newhorn would patch some of the holes in his leaky financial tub, but after today he was not at all sure it would be enough. If the figures Bastion had showed him after Lord Newhorn left were correct, he was but a short step from the poor house. His quick trip to the docks to speak with his shipping agent had brought him no greater peace of mind. The ship that should be bringing trade goods from China had still not docked.

  What would become of his darling girls if he could not come about? Would they be cast out into the world to fend for themselves? Penelope might have the strength of mind to manage, but dear Edith would not. He had great hopes of a betrothal between Newhorn and his youngest niece. Truly, he did, even though Newhorn had assured him that their business arrangement was not dependent upon marriage.

  Horace leaned back against the worn satin squabs of the wingback chair. There was something not quite right about the figures Bastion had shown him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps he should have another accountant look at it? But no. His brother had hired Bastion, and he had been keeping the Castlemount accounts nearly forever. It was so convenient, having him right there in the same building as his solicitor.

  There was just something . . . but the fatigue, worry, and slow relief from the pain in his feet took the thoughts away from him, and he found himself beginning to be drowsy.

  From a great distance it seemed, he heard Smith say, “Ready for bed, My Lord?”

  “Yes, Smith. Thank you.”

  Horace allowed himself to be assisted to his feet, helped out of his suit and into a clean nightshirt. In short order, he was tucked up in his comfortable bed. What will happen to my nieces if I cannot find suitable marriages for them? The wolf is at the door, I must find a window where they can go out before it has made its way in. His thoughts tumbled and churned until the cherry cordial won out, and he fell asleep.

  Chapter 25

  Alfred Harrington hurried up the steps of Bastion, Bastion, and Harrington. Helping Penelope and Edith these past two or three days had taken a toll on his reputation with the elder Mr. Harrington’s firm. Although his father was a full partner, that did not mean that Alfred would get much more leeway for being late or absent.

  If I am not careful, I will lose my position and will have no hope of being able to wed Edith.

  As he hurried past the door of the accounting firm, he saw that Robert Bastion was already at his desk, even though it was still early. As Alfred passed, the fellow glanced up and slid something in the drawer with that subtle wariness that often indicates having something to hide.

  He is certainly here early.

  Another gentleman sat in the room. Lord Steelfrost, Alfred realized with start. Wonder what he is doing here? I had no idea that he was doing business with Bastion. Must be a new client.

  Alfred hurried on up the stairs and pulled out his chair that sat in front of a battered desk stuffed into a back corner. Fortunately, the corner had a window, else very little light would have penetrated that space. The senior partners were notorious cheeseparers when it came to office supplies.

  He drew back the heavy drapes and raised the blinds. Weak sunlight, for the day was overcast, filtered into his little office space.

  Ah, sunlight! Without you, I would be buying candles for my workspace.

  Having put a little light on the subject, so to speak, he sat down and began quickly and neatly copying the briefs that had been assigned to him two days ago, before he had spent the afternoon helping Edith.

  Dear Edith. Alfred paused in his copying for a moment. Edith was such a sweet, biddable young lady. She was so tender
hearted. Had I not happened by when Lola was taking on those young thatch-gallows, the two of them might have been seriously harmed.

  Not that it had taken much to put the ruffians on the run. A tweet from his whistle, and a show of force in the form of his two fists, and they were ready enough to take to their heels. It had not been a challenge at all.

  Alfred carefully cleaned his pen nib, took out his pen knife and re-sharpened it, then resumed his labors. Edith. I will do it all for her, and in four years when I have an established practice, I will buy a house big enough for the two of us and one or two servants. Then they would fill it with beautiful babies that would surely take Edith’s mind off kittens and puppies. But if she still wants them, she shall have as many as she likes.