The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  Merton sat down again and stared into the fire. At length, he tossed back the remains of his brandy. “I can’t solve the country’s woes, but I can do something about my corner of it. They tell me that things down at Schotten have been neglected. I need to take care of that, and then I’m planning to start a shipyard there. There’s a cove that will be perfect for it, and it will provide some employment at least. I’ll need Dick’s help, and maybe the work will make things easier for him.”

  Ashleigh said nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Sussex, a year later

  Miranda Rokeby looked out at the Channel. The rise on which she stood was not very high—not even the height of some of the cliffs back home in Massachusetts. Still, it was high enough to let her turn her face into the wind and, for a change, the sky was blue, with only a few fluffy bits of cloud, and the sea was… not quite blue, perhaps, but at least not a threatening dark gray. She pulled off her bonnet and stood there, skirts, shawl and ribbons fluttering behind her, her light brown hair blown out of its ringlets, and laughed with delight. “Just look at those ships out there, flying before the wind, sailing off to all the corners of the earth!”

  On the path behind her, safely out of the breeze, her cousin, Lydia Saunders, huddled beneath her bonnet and parasol. “Miranda, have you no sense? Do get out of the sun. You will get freckles!”

  “Don’t fret, Lydia. I never get freckles. My nose just turns bright red.”

  “Miranda!” Lydia wailed.

  Miranda turned around and grinned. “Calm yourself, Lydia. I will not turn into a horror to embarrass you. Your English sun is never strong enough to affect an American.” She turned back to the sea. “There are two sloops—they’re too small to be going very far. That brigantine, though, it could be heading anywhere—India, Africa, even China. Those three fishing boats are keeping close together. What do you suppose they are after?”

  “Well, if they are fishing boats, I assume they are after fish,” said Lydia irritably. “May we go back to the house now? You have seen the sea, and Mama will be very worried if we do not get back in time to have a rest before we get dressed for dinner.”

  Miranda sighed. “I know Aunt Fanny means well, but I can’t imagine why she thinks we will need to rest. We haven’t actually done anything except sit in carriage for a few hours, and we will hardly require a great deal of energy to eat dinner.”

  “Miranda, you promised you would behave. We are visiting an earl, after all.”

  “Ah, yes, an earl. And since he is an earl, he possesses a dreadfully important title and is a dreadfully important personage, is that not true? Will he peer down his nose at us? I’m sure it will be a very long nose—all the titled gentlemen I have seen so far have very long noses. I suppose that is to make up for the lack of a chin. Will he lift his quizzing glass and sniff because you are only the daughter of a viscount and I, alas, am an American of no title at all? The shame of it all!” Miranda closed her eyes and posed dramatically with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.

  Lydia shook out her skirts and adjusted her bonnet. “You are just being silly, Miranda. I’m sure your mama will be very happy if we manage to get you married well. My mama says that is why she and your father brought you here to stay with us.”

  “Not really,” Miranda replied. “Mama wanted me to meet her family and have an opportunity to experience the world she grew up in before we go home next month. But I think her real purpose was so that I would not feel I had somehow been cheated of my heritage. So far, I certainly do not think I was cheated. From what I have seen of your noble peers, they owe all their importance to their titles and their tailors. Don’t any of them actually do anything?”

  Lydia pressed her lips flat and glared at her cousin. “Of course they do! They run their estates and they sit in the House of Lords and run the country. Most of the young men you have met have not yet inherited their titles, so they have not had to take on the responsibilities.”

  Miranda came down to the path and tried to look suitably chastened. “I see. Young men like your brother and his friends are just preparing for the duties they will have to take on eventually, is that it?” Lydia nodded, so Miranda continued, “I understand. I am sure George’s wheedling your pin money out of you to pay his gambling debts is excellent preparation—for something.”

  Lydia gave a gasp of protest, but it was drowned out by the rumble of a deep chuckle. A large, fair-haired man, blond curls tumbling in disarray, with his coat tossed over his shoulder, his waistcoat open, and his cravat hanging loose, stepped out from under the shade of an oak tree at the bend of the path that led to a harbor and grinned at the two girls. “It sounds like the perfect preparation for a career in politics,” he said. “I have no doubt that the young man will have a brilliant future in the treasury.”

  Lydia’s eyes widened in horror when her cousin grinned back and seemed about to engage the stranger in conversation. She grabbed Miranda by the arm, spun her around, and spoke in a low, fierce voice. “I do not know how things are done in America, but in England no gentleman would intrude on a private conversation between ladies to whom he had not been introduced, and no lady would ever speak to a stranger under those circumstances.” She pulled Miranda along as she hurried away.

  Since nothing short of lying down on the ground and throwing a temper tantrum seemed likely to make Lydia let her stay—and even that was unlikely to be successful—Miranda gave in. Lydia might be timid about many things, but she was ferocious in defense of propriety. Miranda did, however, look back over her shoulder. The stranger was looking after them, still grinning.

  *

  She had looked like the figurehead of a ship, standing there with the wind blowing her clothes against her, outlining a graceful figure. The way she smiled, as if she looked forward to whatever might come. Not what everyone would call beautiful, perhaps. Not a delicate little flower. She was too tall, she moved too freely. And she was laughing, not simpering. She was alive! Laughing at the idea of freckles or a red nose—he smiled at the memory. She and her friend were apparently part of the house party his grandmother, Lady Merton, had arranged. He had been annoyed with her for inviting people to his home without so much as a by-your-leave, but it no longer seemed such a dreadful imposition.

  Lady Merton had claimed that the party was to give the participants a respite after the rigors of the Season. Her real purpose, he knew, was to get him married to a proper and respectable bride. The prim little miss who hid from the sun was probably one of the candidates to be put on view. She was pretty, he supposed, in that pink and white sort of way—blonde hair, blue eyes, delicate features. A fragile little creature. He wasn’t interested.

  The American almost certainly was not one of his grandmother’s candidates but, in this case, he was definitely interested. Bits of her hair had been blown free by the wind and the loose curls were touched with sunlight, making it look as if she were wearing a golden crown. What color would her eyes be? He had been too far away to be certain. Brown, he thought, but they might be touched with gold as well. He wondered if she was as outspoken in company as she had been here, where she thought herself private. He suspected she would find it difficult to maintain a milk-and-water facade for very long—not that creature of sunshine. Even if she managed to keep primly silent, she would be a pleasure to look at.

  Thomas Wortham, Earl of Merton, followed the two young women down the path leading to Schotten Hall, a smile on his face. He had sent the carriage back, choosing to walk home from the shipyard in hopes of a bit of privacy before he had to face the guests. Now he strode along eagerly. This house party was likely to be bearable, after all.

  Besides, he had his own reasons for allowing it. Reasons that had nothing to do with marriage.

  Chapter Four

  Miranda sat nervously still while Susan arranged her hair in curls around the top knot and inserted flowers and ribbons to construct an elaborate fantasy on top of her head. She wanted to l
ook her best tonight and was not at all sure that allowing the maid free rein was the best way to do this. Susan insisted that she was a well-trained lady’s maid and was familiar with all the latest fashions. That was probably quite true, Miranda thought, as she looked in the mirror. Her hair looked quite as bizarre as that of many of the fashionable ladies she had seen in London. She turned her head a bit to get a better view. Well, to be honest, it looked rather attractive. She quite liked the curl dangling down by her ear. And the golden ribbon that was just a bit darker than her muslin gown somehow gave her hair hints of gold as well, instead of being plain brown.

  Her gown was one she particularly liked, pale yellow, instead of the white Aunt Fanny claimed all young, unmarried girls should wear. But Miranda thought she looked dreadful in white. This dress also had wonderful embroidery at the hem, elaborate arabesques in the same golden color as the ribbon in her hair. Miranda loathed doing needlework herself, but was delighted to admire the artistry of others.

  “There you are, Miss,” said Susan with satisfaction. “You look just lovely.”

  “Oh, you do,” said Lydia. “You look splendid.”

  Miranda laughed. “And you look enchanting, all pink and white.” Lydia’s gown of white muslin was trimmed with four flounces, all of which were in turn trimmed with lace and banded with pink ribbons. Her short sleeves were pink as well, and pink roses nestled in the curls of her hair. Miranda thought her cousin looked delightfully like a bonbon. “You truly are perfection, Lydia. Blue eyes, blonde curls, just a hint of pink in your cheeks—you’re exactly what a fairytale princess is supposed to be. Every gentleman in attendance will be enthralled.”

  Lydia smiled nervously, but Miranda had already turned away and said casually, “I expect the gentleman we saw by the sea will be here this evening, don’t you think?”

  Lydia blinked in surprise. “Gentleman? Whatever makes you think he is a gentleman?”

  Now it was Miranda’s turn to be surprised. “Why ever would you think he isn’t?”

  “Well, for one thing, he was walking around half-dressed. No gentleman would have intruded himself on us wearing nothing but a shirt. And besides, he was so… so…” Lydia waved her hands at her shoulders.

  “Muscular?” Miranda tried to choke down her laugh and it came out as a most unladylike snort. “Yes, he was, wasn’t he? Quite spectacularly so.”

  “Gentlemen don’t look like that.” Lydia was quite firm. “He looked like a brute. I thought him most terrifying.”

  “Oh, come now, Lydia. Your brother is always talking about Corinthians and sportsmen he admires.”

  “Yes, but if he were a gentleman, he would be fully dressed and it wouldn’t be… it wouldn’t be so obvious. Surely you didn’t think him attractive, did you?”

  “Attractive?” Miranda shook her head in mock despair. “With those broad shoulders, and those blond curls, and that glorious smile? He wasn’t attractive, Lydia. He was spectacular!”

  Lydia looked nervously at the maid, and Miranda knew why she was worried. Lydia’s mother wanted to make sure her daughter wasn’t affected by any of Miranda’s improper notions, and she wasn’t above interrogating Susan. This was not a conversation of which Lady Carraby would approve.

  As the two girls strolled arm in arm to the drawing room, Miranda whispered, “I have an idea. This evening, I will flirt madly with George. That will make your mother so nervous that she won’t pay any attention to you, and you’ll be able to talk to anyone you like. If you like the earl, you’ll be able to talk to him, and if you don’t like him, you’ll be able to avoid him and your mother won’t keep pushing you at him.”

  Lydia sighed. Miranda considered that Lydia sighed far too often.

  “Are you truly not interested in my brother?” Lydia asked. “Mama says that he is considered quite a prize catch.”

  “Don’t worry. George is a very nice little boy, but he is still a little boy, and far too young to think of marriage.”

  “He’s five and twenty,” Lydia protested. “Many men are married at his age.”

  “Five and twenty, is he?” laughed Miranda. “Half the time, I think he is still twelve years old, and likely to put a frog in my bed. You need not worry that I will interfere with your mother’s plans to find a splendid marriage for him. I’ll simply make her too nervous to watch you all the time.”

  *

  Merton examined himself in the looking glass. His grandmother would be pleased. His hair had been brushed almost into submission—the curls were reasonably subdued—and trimmed to a fashionable length. His linen was immaculate, his black coat fit with nary a wrinkle, his white waistcoat sported a subtle stripe of cream, and his cravat was a thing of beauty. His valet, arranging the final crease, had been moved almost to tears by the sight of such perfection—such rare perfection—and Merton had had to swear not to touch it.

  Would the sunshine girl be impressed, or would she dismiss him as naught but a title and a tailor? He wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably in the snug coat, but his valet looked so nervous that he stilled himself and walked carefully into the corridor.

  When he reached the top of the stairs and looked down, he wondered what her reaction to his home was. He had loved Schotten Hall from the day he arrived here, an orphan, at the age of ten. It had been calm and orderly both without, with its plain brick facade and neatly laid-out gardens, and within, where his grandfather set an example of self-discipline. It had been everything his early years had not. On his return last year, he had ruthlessly discarded all the “improvements” Pamela had inflicted on Schotten Hall and restored it to the way it had been in his grandfather’s day. Gone were the brilliant scarlets and blues in imitation of the Royal Pavilion, gone were the tables with crocodile feet from the Egyptian craze—and gone, thank heaven, was the mummy. Once again, the oak paneling and the oak staircase were visible in the hall, polished to a soft glow, and the wall rising above was painted a pale yellow.

  Halfway up the staircase was his grandfather’s portrait. The old man looked stern, the embodiment of the virtues of honor, duty, loyalty. The artist had captured the stern aspect of the fourth earl, true enough, but he had failed to capture the softer virtues the earl kept hidden from the world, the innate kindness and the indulgent love he had always felt for his wife and for the orphaned grandson who arrived on his doorstep. Merton had found the portrait in the attic, to which Pamela had banished it, and restored it to its proper place. He still missed his grandfather, he probably always would, but it was a comfort to see the portrait every day.

  Schotten Hall was once more as it had been when he was a boy, peaceful and welcoming. He found it so, at least. Would the sunshine girl agree, or would she, like Pamela, dismiss it as hopelessly old fashioned?

  “Am I here to watch your back, or just to irritate your relatives?”

  Hodgson had come up behind him while he was lost in thought. Merton returned to the present. “If my grandmother decided on the guest list, the families should be respectable enough so I don’t need to fear someone trying to trap me into marriage. However, my cousin and his wife and mother are here as well. If Pamela has managed to sneak one or two of her more avaricious friends into the house, you may have to stick close to my side.”

  Hodgson gave him a sidelong glance. “The way Ashleigh tells it, Pamela tried trapping you herself. She came upon you dozing in the library and had her dress halfway off before you could tell her you wouldn’t marry her under any circumstances, and she’d end up ruined without even the pleasure of a tumble.”

  Merton made a grimace of embarrassment. “He probably shouldn’t have told you that. She was humiliated enough at the time, especially when she realized that Ashleigh had been in the room the whole time. That was probably the worst of it for her, having him look down his nose at her in that icy way he has.”

  Hodgson shrugged. “He was just warning me about the lengths some will go to. If I’m to guard your back, I need to know what I’m guarding against.”r />
  “Well, you needn’t worry about anyone trying to trap me into matrimony. I can take care of that myself. I need you here for a different reason.”

  Hodgson looked curious at the more serious tone.

  Merton continued, “I’ve been keeping away from my relatives for the past year. My excuse is that I’ve been busy getting the shipyard going and taking care of the way the estate had been neglected. And, to be honest, I didn’t want to have to think about those years aboard the Ulysses. But I have to face it. Somebody arranged to have me pressed into the navy, and the only ones who had a reason are my near and dear.”

  His mouth twisted in a grimace. “They must be feeling safe and secure by now, but I find myself growing more and more curious about what happened to me. I need you to help keep an eye on them.”

  “Easy enough. But why now? What do you expect to happen?”

  “I don’t know. But my grandmother wanted this foolish house party. Maybe I can make some use of it.”

  They paused at the entrance to the drawing room, and Merton looked to see if his sunshine girl was here yet. He spotted her almost immediately. She had turned at the sound of new arrivals, and she was beaming with astonishment and delight. He felt immensely flattered, until he realized that she was looking at Hodgson.

  “Dick! Dick Hodgson!” she cried, and came running across the room to fling her arms around him.

  “Miranda! Little Miranda! Where on earth did you pop up from?” Hodgson swung her around in a circle.

  “Oh, Dick, it’s so good to see you! We were so worried. Papa was livid! For years, he’s been sending letters off to everyone—the English ambassador, the French ambassador, President Madison, every English official he could think of. I think he even wrote to the king. And Captain O’Rourk was so frustrated and felt so guilty.”