The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  After all, he was an earl, and as Aunt Fanny kept drumming into her, a title was a matter of great importance here in England. An earl married a lady of wealth and breeding, not an American. She might have the wealth, and her mother might be the daughter of a viscount, but her father was in trade. Over here, a gentleman could be a drunkard, a profligate, a wastrel—all of these were perfectly acceptable. To be in trade was not. And an earl who wanted to design and build ships? Clearly an aberration caused by his sufferings in the navy. He would doubtless come to his senses soon enough. He would drop that nonsense, marry suitably, and become like all the others. At least that was what Aunt Fanny thought. Perhaps she was right. Maybe the reason he talked so easily and so openly with her was that he didn’t consider her someone he might marry. She was just a friend.

  Perhaps he really would marry Lydia as Aunt Fanny hoped. The thought seemed to drop down into her stomach and sit there like a rock. She told herself it was not simply jealousy she was feeling. It wasn’t. Lydia would be miserable married to him. Aunt Fanny would be ecstatic to have her daughter become a countess, but that wasn’t something that would make Lydia happy. Lydia needed someone kind and gentle. Merton might be kind, but it was the kindness of a strong man who will protect a weak creature from cruelty out of a sense of justice, not from any empathy with the weak.

  Why, oh why, did everyone want him to marry Lydia, when that would make them both miserable? Why did he have to be the only man she had ever longed for, ached for?

  She could say nothing. If she tried to interfere, it would seem like jealousy. And she could not, in all honesty, say it was not. Part of her wanted to flop down and sulk, part of her wanted to curl up with a pillow (unfortunately unavailable) and weep, and part of her wanted to sail forth into the midst of the gentlemen at the picnic, flirt madly and show everyone that she was having a wonderful time.

  While she was trying to gather herself together so she could proceed on that last course, Lydia came hurrying over to her. “Miranda, there you are. I must tell you what happened.”

  Miranda pasted a cheerful smile on her face. “It seems you had a pleasant ride with Lord Merton.”

  “Indeed. I am so relieved, you can have no idea.”

  Miranda kept smiling but it required considerable effort. “I see that you no longer find him frightening.”

  “No, he is no longer frightening at all,” said Lydia happily. “Of course, I suppose I would still find him frightening if I thought I might have to marry him, but he agreed that we would not suit at all and promised he would not ask for my hand.”

  Miranda blinked. “He promised not to ask for your hand? And that is what has made you happy?” She wished the world would hold still. It seemed to keep turning topsy-turvy. She put out a hand to lean on the nearest tree. The roughness of the bark helped to steady her.

  Lydia kept flitting about, almost dancing for joy. “I cannot tell Mama, of course. She would get in a terrible taking. Do you mind if I sometimes come along with you when you go for walks and such with him? I’ll try not to be in your way, but it will be much simpler if Mama thinks you are chaperoning me, rather than the other way around.”

  “If you come along…” Miranda sounded a trifle dazed.

  “He didn’t even try to deny that he is interested in you, you know.” Lydia beamed at her cousin. “He was a bit worried that you and George might have some sort of understanding, but I told him you only did that to tease Mama. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind?”

  “There are women who enjoy provoking their admirers to jealousy,” said Merton, appearing suddenly beside her.

  She turned and looked at him. There he stood, so tall and strong, so, so honest. How could she have thought he might dally with her while planning to marry her cousin? “I do not enjoy that sort of game, my lord.”

  “Good,” he said. “No more do I.” They stood there looking at each other, half-smiling, and feeling strangely peaceful.

  Lydia watched them, and then grinned. “Now that that is settled, I’m afraid we will have to go back before Mama and Lady Merton come searching for us. Fortunately, Lord Merton, you have two arms and so can escort both of us.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When frivolity still flourished at Versailles, there was a fashion for picnics. Footmen by the dozen in their splendid liveries would carry out tables and chairs, linens and china, crystal and silver. They would be followed by still more footmen, carrying out platter upon platter of delicacies, hot and cold. Musicians would entertain, and the courtiers would dine. When it was time to return to the palace, all would exclaim over the delights of the simple life.

  When arranged by Lady Merton, a picnic at Schotten Hall was not quite that elaborate. The china, crystal and silver put in their appearance, along with linen napkins. However, there were tables and chairs set up in the shade of a beech tree only for the older members of the party—Lady Carraby, Mr. Browne (who had somehow inserted himself into the party), the elder Mrs. Wortham, and Lady Merton herself. Lord Carraby had stayed behind, ostensibly to catch up on his correspondence.

  The younger guests were assumed to be able to sit on the blankets provided on an open space nearby. Servants had carried all the food and other comforts to the site, but the gentlemen were deemed competent to unpack the hampers, prepare plates for the ladies, and fill the glasses.

  Merton found it not at all difficult to seat himself between Miss Saunders and Miss Rokeby. He was an exemplary host insofar as he saw to their comfort and filled their plates, but he had curiously little to say. The same was true of Miss Rokeby, but the two of them had many glances to exchange, in which they assured each other that they were in agreement about which of their companions’ remarks were amusing and which were simply foolish.

  Miss Saunders, freed from the threat of an unwanted proposal, had found her voice, after passing the previous days in subdued silence. She chattered happily, much to the pleasure of her mother, who attributed her high spirits to an understanding of a different sort with Merton. Her cheerful chatter also drew the attention of several of the young men among the guests, who suddenly realized how pretty she was and wondered how they could have overlooked her earlier. Mr. Philipott even inquired if she was newly arrived.

  An expedition to explore the ruined castle that had been the excuse for the picnic was proposed and seconded by the adventurous, but the more delicate of the young ladies preferred to remain seated on the blankets in the shade, and several of their admirers remained to keep them company. Miss Rokeby, it need hardly be said, was one of the first on her feet, helped to rise by Lord Merton. Miss Saunders assured them she did not object to their departure, especially since Mr. Rollins promised to watch out for her. The younger Mrs. Wortham elected to remain behind as chaperone, while her husband chose to go for a ride, setting out on his hack for no specified destination.

  The ruined castle was quite, well, ruined. There was nothing remaining of the roof. There were a few small piles of stones that seemed to have tumbled in more or less straight lines, allowing visitors to assume that they indicated walls, but the ruins lacked anything that could reasonably be considered rooms. The only sizeable piece of the castle that remained was the outer wall of a tower with a staircase running up it and leading to a small platform. One side of the staircase was against the wall, but the other was completely open, so it was the almost unanimous verdict of the party—proclaimed with some relief by most of the gentlemen—that climbing the staircase would be much too dangerous for the ladies.

  Almost unanimous.

  By the time that verdict had been pronounced, and the rest of the party had turned back, Miss Rokeby was nearly at the top of the tower, and Merton was right behind her—not because he feared for her safety but because he wanted to show her his favorite view.

  Her reaction to it was everything he could have wished. She gave a small gasp and then stood there silent with a small smile of joyous awe as she looked and
looked. Far below them, waves lapped at the shore, but beyond that there was nothing but sea and sky. Off in the distance, dark clouds were gathering. But here, the sky above them was clear and blue. The wind tossed up frosty whitecaps on the surface of the sea and atop the castle wall, it snatched at Miss Rokeby’s bonnet.

  “Feel free to remove your bonnet, Miss Rokeby,” Merton said with a smile. “I shall not be distressed if your nose turns red. Unless, of course, it pains you.”

  Miss Rokeby made a face at him, wrinkling up that quite nice straight nose, and she took off her bonnet. The wind promptly began to take liberties with her hair, pulling tendrils loose from the pins. It was as he remembered from the first time he saw her down by the shore. The sun caught those tendrils, giving her a golden crown. He reached out a hand to let the tendrils tickle his fingers.

  She tilted back her head, closed her eyes and smiled. “I love the feel of the wind and the sun. They are so—so cleansing, somehow. They clear away all the artifice.”

  “Artifice?” The wind was blowing more bits of her hair loose. He wanted to pull out the pins and let it all blow free in the wind.

  “All the pretending to be precisely what everyone expects me to be, nothing more and nothing less. A proper young lady who never disagrees with a gentleman, who never has any thoughts of her own, who is content to walk sedately along the prescribed path and never wonder if there might be anything else.”

  His laughter echoed through the ruin. “I fear you are not terribly successful in your pretenses.”

  “I was doing quite well in London,” she protested, but with a smile. “Any number of gentlemen thought I was a complete ninny.”

  “Ah, but I came upon you unawares with your cousin on the cliff, and you betrayed yourself. Then I had to fear that you might think I owed my being to a title and a tailor.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “No, my lord, I could never think that.”

  He had moved without quite realizing it. She was only inches away, between him and the wall. “My name is Tom,” he said abruptly.

  She stilled, then said, “Tom. And my name is Miranda.”

  He felt himself leaning toward her. She was still looking up at him, though the smile had faded a bit. His arms had somehow wrapped around her and pulled her to him. Her head tilted back, and his lips brushed gently across hers before they settled down. Her lips were every bit as soft as he had imagined. All of her felt soft as he pulled her body against his. Her hands began by resting against his chest but then moved up and over his shoulders, around his neck, and she was pulling him to her just as he was pulling her to him. His tongue teased her lips open and slid between them. She made a little noise of surprise and stiffened for a moment. Then she relaxed and her tongue made a tentative foray of its own.

  Yes. That was all he could think. Yes. Yes. This was… yes.

  It was not a long kiss, as these things go. At least, he did not think it was a long kiss. It seemed to be only moments, and an outsider might have dismissed it as a pretty amateurish affair. She was not experienced in such things and, to be honest, he had no great experience himself. But when he lifted his head from hers, it seemed as if the whole world had changed. He looked down at her with what he was sure must be an idiotic grin on his face. He couldn’t stop grinning, and he couldn’t say anything because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He was just so damned happy.

  At first, she had just leaned back against his arm, looking dazed, her lips parted. Then she had looked down and began fiddling with the edge of his cravat. He could see the blush on her cheeks and a little smile kept tugging at her lips. She started to look up, but then took a step away and turned back to the sea, perhaps looking for an answer to the question of what to do next. He followed her glance, but there were no answers riding on the waves, only a blue dinghy with a yellow stripe.

  “Look at that boat there, sailing before the wind. It’s almost flying!” She looked back at him. “Do you ever wish you could just get in a boat and keep sailing on and on?”

  “All the time,” he laughed. Then he had a thought. “Would you care to go for a sail?” She turned to him with a look of delight that made his heart stop. If the thought of a sail could bring a look like that to her face, imagine how she would look when… “Down here, by the shore,” he continued when he resumed breathing, “in that boat house, I have a small sailboat. She’s faster than anything I have ever seen for her size. We could have a good run with this breeze.”

  “I would love it!” She turned to run down the stairs but then halted. Her face, her shoulders, her entire body drooped. “Aunt Fanny would have a fit. She will never agree.”

  “Then we will not ask her. I will tell one of the footmen to let them know we have gone for a sail when they start asking about us. By then, we should be safely away. And we will be back in plenty of time for dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Back at the picnic site, the young people who had turned down a climb up the ruined castle wall decided instead to wander along the paths in the woods. Mr. Rollins preened himself on his success in drawing Miss Saunders away from the others, unaware that her need to remove a pebble from her shoe had been a ploy to achieve precisely this end.

  There was, of course, nothing improper in Mr. Rollins’ intentions. He could not have behaved with greater propriety had they been surrounded by the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s. Happily, this behavior seemed to find favor with Miss Saunders. As they strolled along, with her hand resting gently on his sleeve, they discovered themselves in perfect accord on any number of weighty issues.

  “Do you ride, Miss Saunders?” he asked.

  “Well, I do, but I only truly enjoy it on my mare, Missy. My brother laughs at me and calls her an old slug because she is getting old and never wants to gallop or even trot. I’m afraid that’s why I like her.” She ducked her head. “I’m sure you must think me a dreadful coward.”

  “Not at all, Miss Saunders,” he hastened to assure her, feeling a bit relieved. “I myself prefer a gentle ride with time to look about me. I fear I am not one of those neck-or-nothing gentlemen who like nothing so much as a five-mile race across the fields in pursuit of a fox.”

  “Oh, yes! My brother insists that it’s terribly exciting and all, but I can’t help feeling sorry for the fox. I know I shouldn’t because the foxes steal poultry and that’s very hard on the farmers, but still, it seems so unfair. All those men and hounds after one little fox.”

  He smiled and patted her little hand. “The sentiment does you much credit. I can understand the need to control vermin, but there is something distasteful in the desire for the creature’s blood.”

  She looked up shyly through her lashes.

  He looked down protectively.

  “Tell me, Miss Saunders, have you read that novel everyone seems to be talking about, Waverley?”

  “Oh, yes! I found it quite thrilling. Those poor, deluded supporters of the Pretender! And yet, it was impossible not to admire their loyalty and honor.”

  “Indeed!” He smiled, delighted to have found a kindred spirit. “They say that the author is actually Sir Walter Scott, the poet.”

  “I must admit, I like his poetry even more that Waverley.”

  “As do I,” he declared. “Can anything be more sublime than The Lay of the Last Minstrel?

  “Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below and saints above,” she quoted.

  He looked into her eyes and continued the verse, “For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”

  Miss Saunders sighed with delight, and they walked on in silence for a time.

  Mr. Rollins did not think he had ever thought so well of himself as he did today, walking with Miss Saunders’ hand resting lightly on his arm and her eyes—her beautiful blue eyes—looking up at him with admiration.

  He cleared his throat. “Will you and your family be returning to London after this visit?”

  Miss Saunders shook her head regretfully. “
My brother will, but my parents and I will be returning to our home.”

  “Ah. Will you miss London?”

  “Not really,” she said. “It’s all very exciting, I’m sure, but I soon have my fill of balls and routs and crowds. Some people, I know, find the country dull, but I enjoy the peace.”

  “Yes. In London one is surrounded by acquaintances, but in the country one can enjoy the company of friends.”

  “How very true, Mr. Rollins! You put it so well.”

  Mr. Rollins did not think he had ever been so well appreciated, even by his mother. He did not want to lose this connection with Miss Saunders. But how to keep it up if she was off to the country?

  “Whereabouts is your family’s home?” he asked.

  “In Oxfordshire, near Abingdon,” she said. “And where is yours?”

  “In Gloucestershire, but my godmother lives near Abingdon, Lady Cholmondly. Do you by any chance know her?”

  “Lady Cholmondly? But yes! She lives quite near us and is one of my mother’s dearest friends.” Miss Saunders beamed with delight.

  Mr. Rollins beamed right back. “I was planning to pay her an extended visit. Would it be permissible for me to pay a call on you while I am in the neighborhood?”

  She ducked her head shyly. “I’m sure I—my family—would be pleased to receive you.”

  They returned to the picnic blankets feeling quite pleased with the events of the afternoon.

  An hour or so later, Lady Merton suggested to Lady Carraby that the picnic had gone on long enough and it was time to return to the hall. However, when they reached the blanket where they had left Merton tending to Miss Saunders, they found Miss Saunders being fed a grape by Mr. Rollins. Lady Carraby glared at her daughter in silence because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Lady Merton blinked in surprise, then looked around for the blond hair and tanned face of her grandson. She did not find him.