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

by Patricia Haverton

  Alfred had only the vaguest idea about how to make this dream into a reality, but he had a good idea that it began with getting his work caught up so that he could not only impress his father, but James Bastion and Matthew Bastion, the senior partners, as well.

  He was soon well into the rhythm of reading and copying, when something about the document on which he was working caught his eye.

  It read: “. . . and in the event of a default, the debt shall revolve into the accounts of the Honorable Timothy Wilde, Earl of Steelfrost . . .”

  Alfred went back and reread the document. As he read, his eyes got bigger and bigger, and his face whiter. By the end of the page he was shaking with anger.

  I cannot believe what I am reading.

  He picked up the original and his copy and nearly flew up the stairs to the offices of the senior partners. He tapped on his father’s door and without waiting for an answer burst into the office . . . and stopped. Lord Steelfrost sat in the client chair in front of his father’s desk.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” Alfred stammered. “I didn’t realize you had anyone with you. I’ll come back later.”

  Alfred backed out of the office, and nearly fled down the stairs to his cramped corner. He read through the document again, fighting down the impulse to crumple it up in his hand. Instead, he copied it out in fair hand not only the two times required, but two more times as well. When the ink had dried, he carefully folded the extra copies and slid them into his pocket.

  By exercising extreme diligence, Alfred had made good progress on the stack of originals on his desk by the time his father came downstairs and loomed over his desk. It was not a matter of intent, Alfred decided. The senior Mr. Harrington was a large man. He was both tall and broad. Only a little of it was beginning to tend toward fat.

  “Well?” he demanded. “What was so infernally important that you barged in on a client?

  Wordlessly, Alfred reached into his pocket and drew out one of the carefully copied sheets and held it out to his father. Mr. Harrington read through it, stopped, looked again and then reread it.

  “Hmmm,” he said. “something’s not quite right here. Are you sure you copied it correctly?”

  Again without speaking, Alfred handed his father the original document, and the second fair copy.

  Mr. Harrington frowned at the document, reading it very slowly. “Well,” he said. “Well, well, well. I almost wish you had pulled me out of that meeting and brought this to my attention. But there is almost always more than one cure for a disease and more than one solution to a problem. I think we shall give our conspirators just a little more time and feed them enough rope to hang them. What say you, my son? Do you think your friends will have resolve enough to stand up under pressure?”

  “More than enough, Father. What do you have in mind?”

  Mr. Harrington, Sr., looked around the dusty corner where Alfred usually worked. “Come up to my office,” he said. “Let’s discuss this in a place that is a little more private.”

  Chapter 26

  Penelope woke early and hurried downstairs to see if any mail had come. The receiving table was innocent of any mail at all save for two newspapers. Well, no matter, she would simply have breakfast and see what was in the morning news.

  The staff had, as usual, served up a lovely spread. Penelope loaded her plate without paying a great deal of attention to the food, and sat down to read.

  There were the usual endits about Lady This and Lord That, along with hangings, notices of bankruptcies, and similar items.

  One account in particular caught her eye. “Golden Hind and the Merry Golden Tree, both sunk without trace.”

  “I wonder how they know they both sank if there is no trace?” Penelope wondered aloud. “Oh, well. I suppose someone must have witnessed them going down. Although that is hardly ‘without trace.’”

  “I believe,” Marpole said, as he brought in a fresh pot of tea, “that such headlines could either be considered poetic license or fraudulent reporting.”

  “It seems more than a little unreliable to make claims that cannot be backed up with at least an eye-witness or some bits of floating debris.”

  “But you must admit, it does make a dramatic headline,” Marpole noted. “Would you like a fresh cup of tea, Miss Penelope, since I am standing here with the pot in my hands?”

  “Thank you, Marpole. I would very much like one. You know, I cannot begin to think this is responsible newspaper writing.”

  “I rather doubt that it is, Miss Penelope. Confronted with the truth, I think these writers would vanish away like pickpockets before the constabulary at a fair.”

  “You might be right,” Penelope said, turning the page to the financial section of the paper. “It looks as if we might be paying more for tea. The ships in question were carrying several sorts of items that are sold in shops here in London.”

  “Hmmm,” said Marpole, picking up the paper. His eyebrows shot up, and he turned a little pale. “Do not show these papers to your uncle until after he has had his breakfast. Smith says that he was very tired, and more than a little ill when he came in last night. Here, take these with you up to your rooms. You can bring them back down later.”

  Penelope took the offending papers away with her, wondering what it was in them that would cause such a reaction from Marpole. The elderly butler was usually completely oblivious to anything having to do with the family unless it concerned what to feed them, who to introduce and how. Was it the ships? The higher price of tea?

  When she reached the suite of rooms she shared with her sister, Penelope dropped the papers on their small receiving table and promptly forgot them.

  “Are you going out, Edith? It certainly looks as if you are.”

  “I am,” Edith said with determination. “I am going to go pay an installment on our debt to Lady Agatha.”

  “You just want to play with Indigo,” Penelope teased.

  “That, too. But I really like Lady Agatha, Penny. Sometimes she is a little vague, as if she has forgotten what year it is. But other times she says things that are both wise and funny at the same time.”

  “Will you be welcomed?”

  “I believe so. Yesterday we started reading Sense and Sensibility together, and she asked if I could come again today and read to her. Her eyes are failing, you see. And before you ask, yes I will want to see Indigo and play with him.”

  “What about our plan that you would be sick if necessary?”

  “We can still do that if we must. But Penny, this is so much better. I won’t have to hide in Stella’s room or worry that Uncle Horace will ask me uncomfortable questions.”

  “Well, that is true enough. I suppose it can’t hurt to help amuse the poor dear. She seemed kind and gentle when we were all there.”

  “Oh, Penny, I believe that she is. She has such a kind way of explaining things. I will take my miniature embroidery with me to while away the time when she is napping.”

  “I am glad that you are paying our debt to her by reading to her,” Penelope said. “I will own that I wondered how I could be a companion to her and pretend to be you at the same time. This will be much easier, as long as we take care that people do not become confused about seeing us in two places.”

  “I don’t think there is any worry about that,” Edith retorted. “Lord Newhorn does not seem to be a morning person.”

  “True enough. We have usually met in the afternoons. But I do not think we should rely on that. I will take care to be here, putting my feet up and living the life of ease while you slip away to amuse Lady Agatha.”

  “Oh, you,” Edith sputtered. “You always do that. I know you won’t because you never do.”

  “I like to relax now and then. I’m not always working,” Penelope protested. “But you are right. I shall probably try to get my writing caught up or put a few stitches in my piecework. Take James with you, and be careful on the way.”

  “I will. But what about you?”

&n
bsp; “Oh, James can come back and go with me when I go out. I’ll send him with the small carriage to pick you up, so you need not walk back home.”

  “That would be convenient.” Impulsively, Edith hugged Penelope. “Oh, Penny, you are the best of sisters.”

  “You make it very easy to be a good sister, Edith. Thank you for thinking of that poor, lonely old soul.”

  “Do not think that I am making a sacrifice, Penny. I think you are missing out on enjoying her companionship.”

  “I will have to come with you some of these days, just not today. I am still waiting to see if Lord Newhorn will drop off a card, and I truly am behind on my journaling.”

  Penelope helped Edith finish dressing. They often acted as lady’s maid for each other because it allowed Stella to help out with the rest of the house. Since Stella was more of a mother to them than maid, they were both glad to be of assistance.

  When she had seen Edith off, Penelope settled down to catch up on her journaling. She opened it and wrote, “Uncle Horace has found a gentleman to whom he wishes Edith to be wed.”

  She stopped writing, looked at the words, and frowned. She had made a pact with herself to always be truthful in her journal, but how could she write about the events of the last few days? If she wrote down what she and her sister were doing, it increased the risk of discovery. She did not think that Stella or her uncle read her accounts, but could she justify writing about this secret? She decided to simply avoid the subject. She would fill things in later, when the truth came out. And come out, it must, but not just quite yet.

  Penelope skipped a page so that she could fill in the missing events, and wrote, “Uncle Horace seems extra tired and particularly anxious that at least one of us should marry well. There was an account of two ships missing at sea. Marpole desired me to bring the newspapers upstairs and to keep them from my uncle. This is unusual behavior for Marpole, who is meticulous about making sure the papers are available to Uncle Horace so that he can read them while he drinks his morning tea.”

  Penelope stopped and thought. Why had Marpole looked upset? There must be something special about those ships.

  She resumed writing. “I have met Lord Newhorn.” That should be sufficiently neutral. “He has a very strange reputation, but in person he seems quite unexceptional. One has to wonder what mystery is about his being banished from England. It seems unlikely that it was just over a duel, since many young men make that particular foolish error.”

  Penelope frowned at the page, trying to order her thoughts sufficiently to write them down. She was interrupted by a tap on the door. “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Marpole,” came the reply. “Lord Newhorn sends up his regards and asks if Miss Chapman would care to go out walking today.”

  “I’ll come down and speak with him, Marpole.”

  “Very good, Miss. I’ll put him in the little parlor.”

  Penelope got up and went to the door. “Edith has gone out, and taken James with her. Could you send Jace to me? We shall probably take a walk in the park.”

  “Very good, Miss Penelope.” She could hear his feet shuffling away in the hall.

  Penelope gulped. Oh, my goodness gracious! I’ve got to get Lord Newhorn out of here before Marpole gives the whole show away!

  Hastily, she closed her journal, put on her spencer and grabbed her parasol and reticule. Her feet fairly flew down the stairs. She was relieved to see that Jace was waiting for her on the landing. She heard Marpole announce in his best butler voice, “Miss Chapman will see you now.”

  “Lord Newhorn!” Penelope exclaimed. “I had not expected to see you here this morning.”

  “I came in the hope that you would go walking in the park with me today, Miss Chapman. I have enjoyed dining al fresca with you, and hoped you would allow me to share a special treat.”

  “I would be delighted, Lord Newhorn. I am aquiver with anticipation.” And with the need to get you out of here! Could he possibly have shown up at a worse time?

  “Then your carriage awaits, Miss Chapman,” Lord Newhorn said. “Shall we go? I see that you already have your walking things.”

  “Carriage? Are we not walking?”

  “We are walking in the park, not to the park,” Newhorn explained. “I have just a few things that would not fit in a hamper.”

  “What kind of things?” Penelope asked suspiciously.

  “Strange and wondrous things. I can scarcely contain myself, but if I say more, I shall give the whole show away.”

  “Then, by all means, let us go,” Penelope said. “Marpole, if my sister returns before I do, will you please tell her she can find us in the park and can join us there.” Since I told her that I would send the carriage for her, I can be fairly certain that she will not.

  When they reached the park, Lord Newhorn handed Penelope down out of the carriage himself. When she was down, he offered her his arm and said, “Let’s just walk for a bit.”

  “Should we not retire to our usual spot for a bit of conversation?”

  “No, no. My staff can handle laying out the picnic. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Now I am truly curious,” Penelope said.

  “Indeed, Miss Chapman, that is my intent,” Lord Newhorn said, smiling down at her. “Let us allow the suspense to build a little, shall we?”

  Penelope smiled back up at him. “I suppose I have no choice but to allow it, unless I wish to turn tail and walk back home.”

  “Oh, pray do not do that. It will only be a short while before all will be revealed.”

  It was a nice day for a walk. Since most of the Ton had already left London for the countryside, they saw no one of a consequence as they strolled down the shaded pathways to the meadow where the cattle, dairymaids, geese, and gooseherds took advantage of the expanse of green growth.

  For a half pence, you could purchase a gill of milk to go with a biscuit or hot bun baked in the beehive ovens that stood along one edge of the field. You could also purchase fresh goose quills for a happence for the dozen.

  “Would you like some milk and a bun?” Lord Newhaven asked.

  “It is quite a rustic treat,” Penelope said, “But in truth, I’ve never acquired a taste for plain milk. I prefer a splash in my tea.”

  “Quite so,” Lord Newhaven replied, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll own I’ve not much taste for it either, but I thought I would offer.”

  “I will wait for the surprise you intend for me,” Penelope said. “Breakfast was not so long ago that I cannot walk a few steps further without perishing of hunger.”

  “I am glad to hear it. And also glad to know that you have the habit of partaking of a hearty breakfast. My physician tells me that it is the most important meal of the day, regardless of what time one should arise.”

  “Does he truly?”

  “Well, somewhat. It is true that he is also a strong advocate of cold baths, taken daily, rising early and retiring when the sun sets.”

  “Oh, dear! That must put him quite out of step with most of the Ton.”

  “It does. But the truth is, his patients live, which is more than can be said for many London physicians. Here, I think I have a few of his cards about me.”

  Lord Newhorn fished in his waistcoat pocket and brought out a silver card case. He opened it, and flipped through the pasteboards stored inside.

  “Ah, yes. Here we are. While I believe your household to be quite healthy, I highly recommend this fellow. He doesn’t have the best bedside manner, but he is a strong believer in country remedies rather than concoctions that are filled with mercury and who knows what.”

  “He sounds like an interesting fellow.”

  “He is. He has rooms at my club, so I have met him outside his professional capacity. He is not fond of cards, but plays an excellent round of billiards and often frequents the training rooms.”

  “Training rooms?”

  “Ah, that is right. Your uncle is probably not a club member. Many clubs set aside roo
ms for physical training.”

  “How very interesting. It is too bad similar things are not set up for ladies. As it is, we must get our exercise as best we can. My sister and I used to play at skipping rope in the long picture gallery at our country estate.”

  “Do you miss being there?”

  “I do. But Uncle wanted us both to have at least one season in London. We’ve been here for three.”