The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  “Perhaps it might be wise if we ignored this one,” Evelyn suggested, “to keep suspicion at bay.”

  “Och, let us not discount the East India so hastily. Not when I’ve an empty hull and a crew of men ready to set sail.” Sir Kennan pushed his untouched dish of coffee aside and eyed the Frenchman. “And we wouldn’t want Her Ladyship to be taking risks for naught.”

  Evelyn stooped and gave Brutus a scratch. “Hmm. I suppose it would be beneficial to sail past. Perhaps just to see what changes they’re making to her hull.”

  “Aye.” Sir Kennan snatched a biscuit from a passing maid’s tray. “And plunder the gold.”

  “For James,” Mr. Dubois added.

  Dipping the treat into his coffee, the captain grinned. “Hear, hear.”

  Evelyn sat a bit taller, pleased with the reception of her news. “After all, Hull’s men stole the chest from the Spanish. Why shouldn’t it be used to help the cause?”

  Sir Kennan grinned. “I knew I’d like you as soon as you stepped inside, m’lady.”

  “Oui, oui,” agreed Mr. Dubois. “Now, we’ve another matter to discuss.”

  “Oh?” Evelyn took the tiniest of sips.

  “You’ve caught Mar’s eye.”

  Suddenly overwarm, she slipped lower in her chair. “Hardly.”

  “I saw you in Hyde Park with him just the other day.”

  “He was there with his sons.” Evelyn did her best to sound as if her association with the Secretary of State for Scotland was of no consequence. “And my sister came along as well.”

  “I know an interested man when I see one—and it didn’t slip my notice that you danced with him more than once at the ball. It might be wise to draw yourself into Mar’s confidence.”

  “I am sorry, but I don’t think he’ll be inviting either Lady Phoebe or me for another outing. Saturday proved an unmitigated disaster.”

  “Alors. We need to know what the queen is up to—and the best way inside is through her cabinet ministers. The woman grows more reclusive by the day.”

  Kennan took a long drink of his coffee and then he scowled like a pirate. “Rumor is she’s plotting for the ruination of James—and only those on the cabinet are privy to her plans.”

  “Ma chérie, whilst your father is in London, he may entertain Mar or any number of Anne’s ministers. Do your best to listen in. I want to know the details of every discussion no matter how trite it may seem.” Dubois reached for her dish of coffee and took a drink. “Now to home with you before you’re missed.”

  Chapter Five

  It was good of you to come,” John said, gesturing to the chair opposite his writing table.

  The Duke of Kingston-upon-Hull slid into the seat. “I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive your missive.”

  “Good news, indeed.” John moved behind his desk and tapped the papers their solicitors had jointly drawn up. “I trust your man is in agreement that all is in order?”

  “Most definitely.” Hull smiled. “She must have made quite an impression for you to come forward with an offer so quickly.”

  “Well, if I hadn’t, someone might have beat me to it.” John started to reach for the quill, but stopped himself and folded his hands. Over the past couple of days he’d thought of little else aside from Evelyn. When he’d first met the lass, she’d seemed standoffish, but after the incident at the lake, she became endearing. In reflection, it was funny how an incident oft drew out the good nature in people.

  “Knowing your interest, I would have spoken to you before encouraging anyone else to court her.” Hull brushed his signet ring on his lapel. “I want only the best for my daughters—queen’s men through and through. Of course, your favor in courtly matters will always be appreciated.”

  “A-aye.” John gulped. He’d been dangling from the queen’s marionette strings for too long. And he’d paid his duty by sitting on her cabinet and keeping the royalists from ruining Scotland—but only just. What had he received for his pains? The moniker of “Bobbin’ John,” a politician who vacillated from one side to the other, unable to make a solid decision. Well, this was his chance to cut those damned strings.

  But first he needed to ensure this proposal met with the lady’s wishes and not only her father’s. “Before we sign, can you please tell me how Lady Evelyn received the news?”

  Hull shifted his gaze to his fingernails. “Of course any woman her age would be ecstatic. All young ladies dream of their wedding day.”

  “Even so soon after we’ve met? Do you think she’d prefer to wait?”

  “Why? Not only are you an earl, I daresay I’ve heard the whispers from the ladies in the crowd. You are most likely the best catch in London this season.”

  “I do not ken about other ladies, but Lady Evelyn did make mention of her reluctance to live away from home. I only thought she may desire time to grow accustomed to the idea.”

  “Hogwash. She will adore you and your sons. I guarantee it.”

  John plucked the quill from its holder. “Then let us not delay.” He signed his name in a bold hand, then watched while Hull did the same. “I must pay Lady Evelyn a visit and properly propose.”

  “Splendid idea.” The duke looked up from the contract. “Why not come for supper this evening?”

  “I’d like that—and perhaps I may take a moment with Her Ladyship in the parlor beforehand?”

  “Yes, of course, and then we’ll feast to our good fortune.”

  Standing in the drawing room, suddenly Evelyn couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because Lucinda had tied her stays too tightly. “You’ve signed a contract agreeing to my marriage with the Earl of Mar without first discussing it with me?”

  “Whatever is there to discuss?” asked Papa, as if signing contracts of intent to marry were an everyday occurrence for him. “An offer of marriage has been made by an earl. A quite venerable earl, for whom I have utmost respect. How could you possibly have an objection? You will be a countess.”

  Evelyn’s skin burned as she blinked. “He’s seven and thirty.”

  “Still a young man, perfectly able to sire children.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m one and twenty. He’s practically twice my age.”

  “Hardly. And what would you do with a young whippersnapper who has no worldly experience, who possibly hasn’t come into his title? Mark me, you will be far better off with Mar.”

  “And his two sons?”

  “Oh, please. With mortality what it is, there are few in the nobility who do not acquire a stepchild now and again.”

  Or a by-blow. With her sarcasm, Evelyn clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her flesh. “But, Papa, I hardly know him.”

  “I’m told you got on with him quite well at the ball and during your outing to Hyde Park.”

  “You’re told?” She threw her hands out to her sides. “What, did you have spies watching me?”

  “Good God, Evelyn, your disrespect is both annoying and ill-fitting for a woman of your station.” Her father pounded his fist into his palm. “I have entered into an agreement with the Earl of Mar, and I expect you to honor it.”

  She moved her hand to her throat and squeezed. Trapped and doomed to spend the rest of her days beneath the roof of yet another royalist. “Do I have no say in the matter?”

  “Of course you have a say…as long as you accept him. Bless it, Evelyn, if you waited another seven years I doubt you’d find Mar’s equal, and I will hear no whining.”

  Her head swam. “Please—at least give me some time to grow accustomed to the idea.”

  “On that I can agree, as long as you don’t dawdle. Discuss it with Mar this evening. He’ll be here for supper.”

  Porter’s knock came at the door and, to Brutus’s ear-piercing barks, Father grinned. “I’ll wager the man in question has arrived.”

  No! Evelyn caught her horrified expression in the mirror. How could Papa do this to her? First tell her about the earl’s suit of marriage and then
allow her no time to compose herself?

  Before he used the big brass knocker, John paced the footpath in front of Hull’s town house. Everything felt rushed. Not that he had a multitude of time. The queen would soon call a recess, and he’d be able to return to Scotland. He needed the dower funds to set his estate to rights on behalf of his sons, and, more importantly, those lads needed a mother—a well-bred woman able to prepare them for their duties as noblemen. Of course, Thomas was the heir, but if anything happened to him, God forbid, Oliver must be groomed as second in line.

  Evelyn fit the bill in almost every way. She might be a bit reluctant and nervous, but then so was John. If he were a single man with no children, he’d never marry again. Women were too bloody frail. And losing them brought agony which not only tore out his heart, it ravaged his very soul. Margaret’s illness had come on gradually at first. A hundred times he’d asked himself what would have happened if he’d called for the physician sooner. Though the doctor’s bleeding her seemed to serve only to make his dear wife weaker.

  Clenching his fists, John marched up the stairs, determined to see to his duty and commit to this marriage. He must act in the best interests of Thomas and Oliver. And he would do everything in his power to see to Evelyn’s happiness. Many highborn marriages thrived without love between husband and wife, and his would, too.

  With his resolution, he grabbed the knocker hanging from lion’s teeth and gave a solid rap, one that announced a man of purpose had come to call.

  At once the butler ushered him into the drawing room and closed the door. Evelyn stood alone in the center of the room, twisting a kerchief between her hands while an overweight Corgi growled beside her.

  John glanced at the hound, then looked from wall to wall. “I…ah…expected to be greeted by your father and your sisters as well.”

  “Are you disappointed, my lord?”

  “Not at all.” Surprised, flummoxed, taken aback? Aye. Tugging down his doublet sleeves, he moved farther inside to the tune of ferocious snarls—not quite the jubilant welcome he’d expected. “Do you ken why I’m here?”

  Her lips pursed into a line. “My father spoke to me not but a moment ago.”

  “But it has been days since I sent a missive to Hull indicating my intent.” John’s gaze dropped to Evelyn’s hands, her knuckles as white as her kerchief. Had the duke acted without discussing the marriage with his daughter? Surely not. John clearly remembered enquiring as to Her Ladyship’s feelings on the matter. “I know things are moving a bit hastily.”

  “Hastily? Things haven’t moved, they’ve jettisoned.”

  John rubbed his fingers across his clean-shaven chin. “You’re not happy with the prospect of marrying me?”

  The kerchief twisted. “I…might have grown more accustomed to the idea had there been a courtship, some time to come to know each other.”

  “Of course, and please let me say here and now, I want to be sensitive to your wishes. Providing…”

  “Yes?”

  As John took a step, the damned Corgi stood and barked. “Providing you are willing to agree to this union.”

  Her Ladyship ignored the dog while a pinch formed between her brows. “You’re asking me if I’m willing?”

  “Aye.”

  By the expression on Evelyn’s face, she was completely at a loss. If only the dog were as well. Fed up with the snarling overtones, John gave the hound a stern eye, which only served to bring on a deafening concert of barking.

  Evelyn pointed to a rug in front of the hearth. “Brutus, sit.”

  The Corgi immediately obeyed, waddling to the mat and turning twice before he lay down with his head between his paws.

  With a deep inhalation, John blessed the saints for the silence. “Forgive me, I have made a complete muddle of this. It has been far too long since I played the role of courtier, and I’m afraid it shows.” He gave a lopsided grin, stepped before her, and wrenched her left hand from its iron grip on the lacy linen. Then he dropped to his knee. “Lady Evelyn, this humble soul kneels before you not as an earl, but as a man. In the short time of our acquaintance, I have been duly impressed by your kindness and dedication to family…”

  He hesitated, trying to come up with a fantastic descriptor for her beauty, but every time he blinked he saw her breasts, gleaming wet from her dip in the loch. Thank God the vase of Great Maiden’s Blush roses caught his eye. “You are bonnier than a white rose, and it would be my greatest honor if you would agree to be my wife.”

  A lovely shade of pink flooded Lady Evelyn’s cheeks, though she did not meet John’s gaze. In fact, she seemed overcome with fear as her hand perspired between his palms. Was she nervous?

  John kissed the back of said sweaty hand. “You have my vow that you will want for nothing.”

  She stared at her knuckles.

  His mouth grew dry. Blast it all, he should have come better prepared. “And do not worry about the lads, they will love and respect you.”

  “But what about us?” she asked, her face stark and sober. “Surely, you are not in love with me.”

  “Love?” His neckcloth suddenly grew too tight.

  “Am I correct to presume, then, that this is a marriage of convenience?”

  To be perfectly honest, the only convenient part of the affair was the lady’s dowry. “Ours will be a marriage based on mutual respect, a foundation upon which we can build a lifetime of happiness.” In no way would he allow her to force him to say he would come to love her. If those words slipped through his lips, she would expect something he wasn’t prepared to give.

  “Please,” he beseeched, his knee grinding into the hardwood. “What can I say to soothe your concerns?”

  Her eyes grew round while she drew in a deep breath as if she had many things to say. “Nothing.”

  He chanced a smile. “Then you will marry me?”

  With a single nod and the resemblance of a smile, Her Ladyship gave her consent.

  Satisfied with her cautious agreement, John reverently kissed the back of her hand and stood, but not before Brutus sprang to his feet with a renewed round of grumbles. “I promise you will not regret your decision.”

  “If only it had been mine to make,” she mumbled, but then offered a warm smile. “Shall we enjoy a long engagement?”

  John took a step back. If he hadn’t spoken to Hull himself, he would be certain Her Ladyship knew nothing of the terms of the agreement. “Not too long,” he ventured. “Parliament will recess soon, and I intend to return to Scotland with my new countess on my arm.”

  “Countess. It has such a ring.” Turning a bit pale, the lass sounded as happy as a death knell.

  John’s gut twisted. Had he mistaken the perspiration on her palms for nerves? “Are you not well?”

  “I…” She drew a hand to her head and swayed.

  Before she collapsed, he pulled her into his arms. “You’re ill.” Ice pulsed through his blood as he picked her up and headed for the settee, accompanied by the snarling dog, now mounting an attack as he sank his bloody teeth into John’s heel. “I’ll call for a physician at once.” He kicked his foot, but that only served to make the dog’s teeth gouge a bit farther. “But no bleeding. I swear no one in my care will ever suffer the lance again.”

  “No,” she said, rather abruptly for a woman who had nearly swooned. “There is nothing wrong with me. Nothing in the slightest.”

  “Oh?” Vicious Corgi or not, John wasn’t convinced. Sickness must be dealt with quickly before it had a chance to take root. “That’s exactly what Lady Margaret said a sennight before she succumbed to a fever and died.”

  “I assure you I am not ill in the slightest. I merely felt a tad light-headed given this unexpected news.” She jabbed him with her elbow—quite powerfully. What a welcome he’d received—a sharp elbow accompanied by sharper teeth. “Put me down at once.”

  “Brutus, come behind!” The door to the drawing room swung open and the dog released his hold on John’s ankle, ran
to his master’s side, and wagged his tail as if he expected to be rewarded for mauling their guests.

  “Not wasting any time, are you, Mar?” said Hull as he sauntered into the room.

  “Forgive me.” John swiftly deposited the lass on her feet, noting a bloodstain spreading at the back of his hose. “I feared Her Ladyship had fallen ill and swooned.”

  “Evelyn?” The duke chuckled. “My daughter might enjoy gardening, but she is no delicate flower. I say, she hasn’t been ill a day in her life—have you, dear?”

  “No, I have not.” Lady Evelyn tucked her kerchief into her sleeve. “I simply had a touch of light-headedness. Perhaps my stays are a bit too tight.”

  “Youth.” Hull chuckled as he gestured to the corridor. “Let us retire to the dining hall and feast to our good fortune.”

  By the time the third course finished, Evelyn was still shaking. Why hadn’t she put up more resistance? True, Papa had been emphatic that she must perform her duty. He was her father, and she must obey his wishes. An advantageous marriage to a peer was what she’d been bred for, and he would hear no argument.

  And Evelyn well knew any objection on her part would fall on deaf ears.

  But her resolve had grown weak when the earl had asked if she was willing to marry him. Did such a man care about her opinion? Or was Mar being polite? Of course, Evelyn’s thundering heart had betrayed her, nearly beating out of her chest when the drastically attractive earl had dropped to one knee and proposed. How could any woman resist a man who gazed at her with eyes like a winter sky, a face as beautiful as Michelangelo’s sculpture of David, and a scent so intoxicating it had taken her breath away?

  Deep down, her conversation with Mr. Dubois had silenced her tongue. He’d been very clear when he told her to grow close to any dignitaries who might come to the town house.

  But surely he didn’t mean marry one of them? Good glory, what have I done?