The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  “Well, he was not as tall as either of you, only a bit taller than I am. And he was narrow. I don’t mean the underfed kind of thin, but wiry. His face was narrow, too, with a rather pointy chin and a long pointy nose. I thought he looked rather like a rodent,” she added apologetically. “He had a scar, too, down the side of his face.” She traced a line from the corner of her right eye to just under her chin. “It looked like an old scar, quite faded, but still noticeable.”

  Merton stared at her for a moment before turning to Hodgson. “Montague,” he said.

  Hodgson nodded. “Sounded that way to me.”

  “Who is Montague?” asked Miranda.

  Merton leaned against the back of the bench and closed his eyes. “It is not over, is it, Dick?”

  “Who is Montague,” repeated Miranda, “and what is not over?”

  “Montague, Lieutenant Horatio Montague,” said Hodgson, “was the officer on the Ulysses who wouldn’t let Merton speak to the captain and saw to it that none of his letters were sent, who tore up my papers and threw them into the sea, who had Johnson flogged to death. The man who’s responsible for Elspeth’s death, for Billy’s death.”

  He clamped his mouth closed for a minute as if to stem the rising tide of bitterness. “Damn. I thought it was over. I thought I was finally putting it behind me. But it will never be over.”

  Miranda gave a gasp, then collected herself and said, “I can understand that you might want to kill him. I would be tempted myself. But why should he wish to kill you? And why now? It sounds as if he had ample opportunity.”

  Merton smiled, not pleasantly. “He tried often enough. I can assure you that I was always in the thick of it when we engaged the French. And when we finally made it back to England, he tried to keep me confined on the ship. I had friends aboard who enabled me to ignore his orders.”

  “Tom also had friends in high places, like a duke and an admiral,” added Hodgson dryly. “They knew who Tom was and saw to it that we got out of the navy. Then Montague and the captain were thrown out.”

  “Not even half-pay,” said Merton, still smiling. “What is more, they were both, er, persuaded that any prize money they had coming should be given to Dick and the families of his shipmates.”

  “Ah,” said Miranda, “he is after vengeance then. But only against you, my lord? Why not both of you?”

  Hodgson scowled. “To my way of thinking, he got off easy. Hanging would have been too good for him after what he did. Every time I think of Elspeth and Billy… but more likely he’s only after Tom because Tom is the one that matters. He wasn’t punished because of me or the other men he dragged off their ships. We were nobody important. It’s only because Tom is a lord that anyone cared.”

  “That’s not fair!” Miranda protested.

  Merton put a hand on Hodgson’s shoulder. “Dick…” His voice trailed off.

  Hodgson shook his head. “You both know I’m right. It’s only because you’re the Earl of Merton that anyone cared what Montague did. It’s only because you know a duke that anyone even found out about it.”

  Merton frowned slowly, prompting Hodgson to utter a snort of disgust.

  “No, Dick, I’m not denying what you say. I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s just that… Montague? Was it all just Montague?”

  Hodgson considered. “This could be, but I can’t see how Montague could make up the story that landed you on the ship in the first place.”

  “It could have been an impulse. I can see Edgar being drunk and spiteful enough to do it, and then panicking and being afraid to say anything after he sobered up. Or Browne, knowing he could trick Edgar into marrying his daughter.”

  He turned to look at Miranda, who was looking appalled. “I’m afraid you must be taking a dim view of my family by now. But they are not all like that. My grandfather was a truly honorable man, and my grandmother is full of kindness.”

  She nodded but didn’t comment.

  Merton hesitated, wanting more from her, but decided to wait. Instead he turned back to Hodgson. “At least now we know that Montague is in the area.”

  Hodgson shrugged. “Knowing isn’t enough to keep you safe. He’s a sly bastard. Be careful and don’t go wandering off on your own.”

  “I’m safe at home, Dick.”

  “You were safe in your own office yesterday.”

  “But now I know to be on guard. As do you. Watch out for yourself as well.”

  “I hope that’s enough.” Hodgson pulled away. “I’ll go talk to the men, see if any of them have seen anything, and ask them to keep an eye out for him.” He stopped for a moment. “To be honest, I thought it was one of your loving family, maybe hiring a cutthroat to get rid of you.” Then he thought again. “I might still be right. There’s no guarantee that he’s acting on his own. And while he may have helped keep you there, he isn’t the one that landed you on that ship in the first place.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  They watched him stride away toward the stable. Finally, Miranda turned to Merton. “What did he mean about your family?”

  Merton rubbed his temples and sighed. Just the thought of his family gave him the headache, but she would know sooner or later. After all, she had met them. It could not be too great a shock, and better she should learn it from him. “What do you know of my time in the navy?”

  Miranda shrugged. “I had heard that you had vanished and been given up for dead, but then it turned out that you had somehow been impressed and served in the navy as a common seaman. How it all came to pass is rather mysterious.”

  He took hold of her hands, pleased that she was not wearing gloves. He needed the touch of her, the feel of her skin. He lifted them to hold against his cheek for a moment, then lowered them but did not let them go. She was his, and soon she would know it. He sat there, staring at her hands enclosed in his on his lap.

  Finally, he spoke again. “I had been with a group of friends, and we had doubtless had too much to drink. Edgar was with us and he suggested that we try a new hell that had just opened. It was crowded, and I was somehow separated from my companions. I remember thinking the wine was sour. The next thing I knew, I was aboard the Ulysses and no one would believe me when I said I was the Earl of Merton.” He laughed bitterly. “Montague said he had been warned about me, he had been told that I was some bastard trying to pass myself off as the earl. He sneered and said that anyone could see I was no gentleman.”

  “But who would do such a thing? If someone was simply playing a trick on you, he would not have let it go on. Even if he was afraid that you would be angry, wouldn’t it have been better to end it quickly?”

  “Not if that someone wanted Edgar to be the earl.”

  She looked utterly confused. “It still makes no sense. Surely whoever did this, arranged this, must have known that sooner or later you would return.”

  Merton shrugged. “That I would return was in no way certain. Of the men on that ship when I was taken on board, not two in ten survived the war. But I suppose I should be grateful that someone was too squeamish to have me murdered directly.”

  Miranda was shaking her head in disbelief. “You think Edgar was responsible?”

  Merton looked at her with somewhat bitter amusement. “You consider him an unlikely villain?”

  “It is not that I think him too upright. It is simply that he is too… too…”

  “Too foolish? Too incompetent?”

  “Both of those. And completely under the thumb of his wife and mother. And insufficiently sober,” she added astringently.

  Merton shrugged. “It need not be Edgar himself. There are others who would be happy to see him as the earl—Aunt Arabella, Pamela, even Pamela’s father.” He made a disgusted face. “It’s a pretty picture I paint of our society, is it not? The wonder is that any man of sense would want to have anything to do with it.” He turned her hands, massaging the palms slowly with his thumbs. Her hands seemed stiff, rigid. He should not have told her about his family, he tho
ught regretfully. Her opinion of the aristocracy was already low enough. Now he would have to convince her that he was not like either his peers or his family.

  She had been looking off into the distance, but then she seemed to explode. “How dare they! How dare any of them!” She spun around to look at him. “They are all living on your bounty, are they not?” She barely paused for him to respond. “And they are living in your house. This title they so prize—it is yours, and they are nothing without you, yet they set themselves up to find fault with you. I have heard each one belittle you, time and again. And one of them—at least one of them—tried to kill you.”

  She was vibrating with outrage. He could swear those gold flecks in her eyes were lightning bolts. No, she was not distressed. She was furious, and on his behalf. It had to be on his behalf. He refused to believe it was nothing but a sense of outrage at injustice. She had to care for him. She had to, because his longing for her was, at the moment, overwhelming him. It was not simply lust, though the lust was certainly there, desire was part of it. But he wanted her. He started to reach for her.

  He was halted by a commotion off by the stables, and a tall, dark gentleman came striding across the lawn toward them. A scowling, angry gentleman who came straight at Merton, who scowled back and silently wished the visitor to perdition.

  “What the devil is going on?” the newcomer demanded as soon as he was within earshot.

  Miranda leaped to her feet to stand between Merton and the intruder. “Do not you dare to address Lord Merton in that tone. He has been injured and you are not to distress him.”

  Ashleigh—for it was he—halted and stared at her incredulously.

  Merton sighed with resignation. “It is quite all right, Miss Rokeby. He is a friend. Allow me to make known to you His Grace, the Duke of Ashleigh, sometimes known as my friend, Peter. Peter, allow me to present to you Miss Rokeby.”

  Ashleigh glared at Merton, then gave a curt bow to Miranda. “Miss Rokeby,” he said stiffly.

  She acknowledged him with the slightest of curtseys and a nod of the head. “Your Grace,” she replied equally stiffly. She then turned to Merton, who was now sitting there grinning. She sniffed. “Very well, then. I shall leave you gentleman to your discussion. But,” she turned back to the duke, “you are on no account to distress Lord Merton. He must rest.” She walked off to join her cousin and Mr. Rollins, head held high and spine ramrod straight.

  Ashleigh glared after her. “Who the devil does this Miss Rokeby think she is? The last person who spoke to me in that tone was Nanny Peters, and that was before I left the nursery.”

  “Miss Rokeby is Viscount Carraby’s niece. Her father is Joseph Rokeby, the American ship owner.”

  “Ah,” said Ashleigh, “an American. That explains it.”

  “It?”

  Ashleigh shrugged. “Her accent, her manner.”

  “Her failure to be impressed by you? By your title?” Merton laughed. “You had best grow accustomed to it. She is not particularly impressed by titles.”

  “Oh?” Ashleigh raised a skeptical brow. “That is no doubt why she is dangling after an earl.” The good humor fled instantly from Merton’s face, and Ashleigh raised a hand. “No, forget that I said that. I do not know the lady and I know nothing of her. Can we leave it at that?”

  There was a moment of tension before Merton’s expression eased and he nodded curtly. “Very well. What is it that brings you here in such a temper?”

  Ashleigh grabbed one of the garden chairs and brought it over so he could sit facing Merton. “What’s this I hear about someone trying to kill you?”

  Merton looked surprised. “I thought it was generally considered an accident. Barrels of oily rags have been known to go up in flames on a warm sunny day, you know.”

  “And you no doubt decided to lock your office door for a change and hit yourself over the head.”

  Merton shrugged, “I was simply wondering how the rumor got to you.”

  “I do not hear you denying it.”

  “The rumor?” Merton repeated.

  Ashleigh gave an exasperated sigh. “One of my grooms had business in your village here, and when it was concluded, he stopped off for some ale at the tavern. Some of your workmen were there, and they were angry about what had happened. They told the tale to some of your tenants, who were also angry when they heard it.” He paused and looked at Merton. “Edgar does not appear to be popular hereabouts. He was named as the villain of the piece. According to my groom, your survival was the only thing that kept them from charging up here to mete out justice to him themselves.”

  Merton shook his head. “I doubt it was Edgar himself who was responsible. He is an incompetent fool, and too rarely sober to accomplish anything.”

  “Would you not say it was incompetent to set a fire too quickly put out to do any damage?”

  “Oh, that was Montague who set the fire. It might have worked had Miss Rokeby and her cousin not arrived earlier than expected.”

  “Montague!” Ashleigh jumped to his feet and insisted on a full explanation. He paced back and forth while Merton told him all that had happened. At the end, he demanded, “Are you certain it was Montague? You didn’t see him yourself.”

  “Miranda described him very well—the rat face, the scar. I have no doubt.”

  Ashleigh started at the use of Miss Rokeby’s first name but did not comment. Instead, he said, “This is all your own bloody fault. If you hadn’t agreed when Lord Kendrick wanted to keep it quiet for the sake of the navy…”

  “And you agreed with him, as I recall, quite insistently. There were all those soldiers and sailors discharged and no jobs for them. Things were volatile, you said. We mustn’t stir up trouble, you said.”

  “I know, I know. I remember,” Ashleigh acknowledged. “And I was probably right. To be realistic, the situation hasn’t improved. If anything, it’s worse. I just told you about the mood in the tavern. Nonetheless, if you’d insisted, the admiral would have gone along with you and put Montague on trial.”

  “I know.” Merton nodded sadly. “Dick was furious. He blamed Montague for the deaths of his wife and son. I think he still does. He would see Montague torn to pieces if he could.”

  “Then why? Surely not to protect whichever of your relatives it was that landed you in his clutches. I would not have thought you held them in that sort of affection.”

  “Nor they me.” Merton gave a sort of half-smile. “Partly, I thought whoever was responsible would be punished over and over again, seeing me restored to my title and Edgar put firmly back in his place. Partly, I wanted to spare my grandmother the shame of having it all brought out. I think that, to this day, she does not fully realize what happened. She still thinks it was all some sort of bizarre mistake.”

  Merton shook his head. “And partly, you and the admiral and all those officials convinced me that bringing the navy into disrepute would make the situation in the country worse. But also—this is the part that is hard to explain.” He took a deep breath and looked off to the distance. “Whoever put me on that ship did me a favor.”

  Ashleigh threw his hand up and made a sound of disgust.

  Merton stretched out his legs and examined the toes of his boots. Finally, he looked up. “I told you it was hard to explain. But he gave me a chance to prove myself. No, don’t look at me as if I am mad. You had such a chance, you know. You may not have wanted it, but when your father died, your estate was in shambles. There were debts, mortgages, God only knows what. You were eighteen years old, your mother didn’t have the sense of a flea and thought that economizing meant not telling you about her bills, and you had to somehow take charge and bring it all about.”

  Ashleigh stared at him. “That was hardly a situation I would wish on anyone.”

  “Perhaps not, but you did it. You can look back and see that you accomplished something. No one can ever think you useless.”

  “You thought you were useless? I cannot believe anyone ever suggested
such a thing.”

  “No, no one said anything—except, of course, Aunt Arabella. But I had my grandfather before me. He taught me what needed to be done and how to do it. When he died, I was already an adult. I had even had several years to indulge myself in London before he died. And when I had to take on his responsibilities, all that was needed was for me to do just as he had done. I never even had to make a decision. My position and my privileges made everything so easy, and I had never even questioned them. Then all of a sudden, they had all vanished. My identity, even my name, had been stripped from me.”

  “You call that a favor?”

  Merton did smile now. “Well, I didn’t at the time. I was trapped and furious. I wanted to strike out at everything and was well on my way to getting myself hanged for mutiny. It was Dick Hodgson who convinced me to survive long enough to get my vengeance. The strange thing was that, after a while, I found a freedom I had never had, a freedom I had never known existed. I was just Tom Wortham, without the protection of my title, but without the expectations either. Nobody was going to bow down to me because of my name. If I wanted the respect of my shipmates, I had to earn it. And I did. I didn’t just survive. Oh, I made a fool of myself often enough but, eventually, I became a damned good sailor, as good as any man on board. And I think I’m prouder of that than I am of any title I inherited. Can you understand that?”

  Ashleigh shook his head impatiently. “Even if I understood—well, I suppose I do understand in a way—but that still does not explain your willingness to forgive Montague and whoever put you on that ship. That was simply reckless arrogance.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was.” Merton spoke slowly. “It never crossed my mind that it was not over, you know. With all my relatives gathered here for the first time since my return, I thought I could watch their reactions, their behavior, and see if I could determine who was responsible for my adventure. But I never thought that one of them would dare attack me on my own territory, so to speak. At least now I can be on my guard.”