The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  Chapter Thirty

  Merton had been smiling as he watched the two women ascending the staircase, but the smile faded as he turned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come into the library. I could use a brandy.”

  Ashleigh poured a stiff measure, handed it to Merton, and then poured one for himself. Merton took a deep swallow and then burst out, “She could have been killed. The bastard damned near killed her.”

  Ashleigh froze, and then turned to Merton. “It was not an accident then?”

  Merton gave his head a shake. “Not an accident.”

  Ashleigh waited attentively while Merton paced angrily around the room.

  “I took Miss Rokeby out for a sail. We were just turning back when a board about a foot long popped out of the bottom of the boat.”

  “Popped out? What on earth do you mean? Boards don’t pop out of boats.”

  “I mean that one minute the bottom of the boat was intact, and the next minute a board was bouncing about on top of a rush of water. What’s more, its ends were perfectly straight, no jagged breaks.”

  Ashleigh did not have to be a sailor to know what that meant. Wood does not break in a straight line and boats—even small sailboats—are not built with boards only a foot long. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was fortunate you were close enough to shore to swim for it.”

  Merton grinned at that, a bit of good humor returning. “We weren’t really, but Miranda sat on the hole and bailed with her bonnet. You should have seen her, Peter. Cool as could be. She bought us time to get in close enough to swim ashore. She was magnificent. You can’t imagine it. Through the whole thing, no vapors, no fainting, no tears. She is wonderful.”

  “Yes, one can see that you are quite taken with the young lady. I thought I was going to have to pry your fingers from her to let her go upstairs. Does she realize that your—adventure—was no accident?”

  Merton shook his head. “She knows about my time in the navy, and she knows about the fire. I didn’t want to give her any additional cause for worry.”

  Ashleigh raised a brow but said only, “Speaking of worry, have you sent a message to the Hall? Her family will be worrying by now, to say nothing of your own. You must have set out hours ago.”

  “No, yesterday.”

  “Yesterday!” Ashleigh exploded, jumping to his feet. “Good God, man, what are you thinking! Her family must be distraught! I can understand your not wanting to say anything to your own family, in hopes that your would-be assassin will betray himself somehow, but you cannot inflict that kind of distress to hers. You must be mad.” He began to pace about the room himself, then came to a sudden halt. He looked at Merton and spoke slowly, musingly. “If you have been missing since yesterday, why have I not heard about it? I would expect everyone along this coast to be out searching for you.”

  “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you,” said Merton, “but there does not seem to have been any alarm. I wonder what sort of story someone thought up to prevent that. Claimed that we eloped, probably. It’s only her uncle and his family that are visiting, and they might believe that. I doubt they know Miranda all that well, and they don’t know me at all.”

  Ashleigh gave him a sour look. Personally, he would have no difficulty believing that Miss Rokeby might lure Merton into an elopement in order to become a countess, and he could easily see his friend engaging in such harebrained action.

  “But such a tale would not satisfy her parents,” Merton continued, oblivious to his friend’s train of thought. “They are still in London, and the aunt and uncle are probably in no hurry to tell them Miranda has vanished. They may think her parents will be less upset to hear about a marriage than an elopement. If we go straight to London tomorrow, we may be able to arrive before they have heard anything. Then I can speak to them and get a special license and Miranda and I can be married right away. Meanwhile, I do need to send a message to Hodgson. He will be able to keep an eye on the others.”

  Ashleigh stared in disbelief for a moment, then took a swallow of brandy. “Tom, do I understand you correctly? Someone has tried yet again to kill you. You seem to agree that it is probably a member of your family. You suspect that they have tried to cover this up, or at least delayed any search, by suggesting that you have run off to be married. And what is your response to this? You will run off to be married. Have you lost your senses?”

  Merton had a mulish look on his face. “No one will be trying to kill me if they do not know I am alive. Miranda and I can be married safely in London and then present my family with a fait accompli.”

  Ashleigh considered that he was maintaining an admirably calm demeanor. He did not even raise his voice. “Do you not think you are being a trifle precipitous? Even without the threat to your life, one might consider that you are rushing matters. I say nothing against the young lady, but you have known her for what? Little more than a week? You barely know her. She may be Carraby’s niece, but her father is simply some American businessman and she has lived all her life in the colonies, or whatever they call themselves—hardly a suitable background for a countess. Much though you may try to ignore it, you owe something to your title, to your grandfather’s memory if not to the rest of your family.” He held up a hand when Merton seemed likely to erupt. “Don’t you think there are more pressing matters than marriage to deal with?”

  Merton looked back at him. “No. There is nothing more important.” He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace about. “I can’t think that way anymore, Peter—worrying about suitable backgrounds and what’s owing to the title. It’s all rot. I can’t look at the world the same way I did before. I know that there are good men below decks as well as in the House of Lords. And I know there are cowardly swine in both places as well.” He shook his head. “My grandmother wants me to marry a lady, but Miranda is a queen. She’s stronger, prouder, she’s ten times more alive than those silly girls they parade at Almack’s. All those girls, my grandmother, my aunt, they pretend the world outside their own little circle doesn’t exist because they don’t know how to deal with it. They’re afraid of it. Miranda isn’t. She wants to see the world out there, the world as it really is. She wants to face it.” He looked at Ashleigh. “Don’t you see? She’s the only woman I could possibly marry.”

  Ashleigh was still shaking his head, so Merton heaved a sigh and continued. “If you wish to be quite cold-blooded about it, if I die unwed, Edgar gets the title and bankrupts the estate and destroys everything I’ve tried to do. If I marry, there is at least a chance that I will leave an heir.” He sat down and took a swallow of brandy himself. “That is why you have to promise me something. If anything does happen to me, promise me you’ll take care of her. She will have to be protected.”

  “Then don’t marry her yet,” said Ashleigh impatiently. “That will keep her perfectly safe.”

  Merton glared at him.

  “Ah.” Ashleigh contemplated his brandy. “Made certain of you already, has she?” Merton was on his feet in an instant. fists clenched. Ashleigh held up a hand in surrender. “All right, all right. No offense intended. I’m sure the lady is everything that she should be. Nonetheless…”

  “Nonetheless nothing,” Merton interrupted. “Tomorrow morning, I must take her to London and speak to her parents. Everything else can wait.” He sat back down and shook his head. “Peter, you don’t understand. I can’t explain it to you. I can’t even explain it to myself. We belong together. She—she completes me. She makes me feel whole, and I believe she feels the same way. It is not just that I want to marry her, but I must. I need her to be with me, beside me, always. And in case anything does happen to me, I have to know she will be safe. I must have your promise.”

  Ashleigh did not understand. In his experience, marriage was, at best, an affair of courtesy and good manners. Affection, if one were fortunate, the mutual satisfaction of having fulfilled one’s responsibilities, but need? Yearning? However, Tom was clearly in no condition to listen to reas
on. He had always been mule-stubborn. Once he had made up his mind to something, it was virtually impossible to sway him, so Ashleigh nodded in resignation. “Very well. You have my promise. And a carriage will be at the door at nine. But just now, could I persuade you to have a bath and put on some clothing?”

  Merton rose with a grin and made for the door. “Wait until you meet her at dinner,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  Ashleigh watched his mercurial friend depart and sighed. Tom had never been inclined to caution, but he usually managed to keep free of marriage-minded misses. This American harpy was obviously determined to be a countess and, under the circumstances, she was an unnecessary distraction. There was still dinner to go, however. Perhaps he could demonstrate to both her and Merton just how unsuitable a marriage between them would be.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lady Talmadge had made good on her promise to send clothing and a maid. The primrose muslin trimmed with light blue ribbons had required only a few pins to adjust the fit, Lady Talmadge being of much the same height as Miranda. The blue slippers were only a trifle too tight, and Miranda thought she would be able to manage without shaming herself by limping. Apologies had arrived along with the garments. They were not in the latest fashion, since Lady Talmadge had spent much of the past year in mourning, but she had thought Miss Rokeby would dislike dressing in black. Lady Talmadge was quite right, thought Miss Rokeby. She had no desire to appear at a disadvantage when she next faced the duke.

  The little maid, whose name was Beth, had also helped Miranda work the remaining tangles out of her hair. A lengthy swim followed by a night in a barn had produced more snarls than Miranda would have thought possible. Now Beth, clever girl, was putting the finishing touches on a hairstyle that was becoming but did not pull at Miranda’s poor, tender scalp. They managed well enough together, if somewhat silently. Some casual conversation was required, but Miranda was disinclined to talk about her adventures or about the situation at Schotten Hall. Beth, in turn, volunteered no information about her employers, which was no doubt admirable, so Miranda managed to subdue her curiosity and ask no ill-bred questions about the duke and Lady Talmadge. That left them with such innocuous topics as the weather, Beth’s home in a nearby village, and Miranda’s home in Boston.

  When a knock came at the door, Miranda assumed it was a footman come to lead her to the dining room. It would, she thought, be quite possible to wander for years through the halls of Kelswick, and she had no desire to do so. To her delight, it was Merton.

  He smiled at her. She smiled back. “Leave us,” he said with a wave to the maid, never taking his eyes off Miranda, who nodded agreement. She felt the world righting itself around her. His Grace, the Duke of Ashleigh, might wish to demonstrate that she was unworthy to wed an earl, to live in his rarified world, but this was Tom.

  He pulled her to her feet, enveloped her in his arms and kissed her. It began slowly, that kiss. It was questioning, as if he were not quite certain of her. When her response could leave him in no doubt, it became deeper, hungrier, full of both promises and demands.

  “I’ve missed you,” he murmured when they separated enough to breathe.

  She smiled. “It has been what, two hours?”

  “Too long.” He lifted his head to look at her. “We will leave for London in the morning. I will talk to your parents and get a special license. We can be married before the week is out.”

  She gave a theatrical sigh.

  He looked suddenly worried. “That is what you want, is it not? You have not changed your mind?”

  “Of course not. It is only that you never actually asked. I always fancied having the opportunity to say, ‘Oh, sir, this is so sudden.’” She held out her arm in a theatrical gesture suited to the words.

  He relaxed, but then looked at her with his slow smile. “But I did ask you, last night. You lifted your arms and gave me the answer every man dreams of.” Pulling her close again, he murmured into her hair, “Certainly the answer I dreamed of. Do not try to change your mind. I will not allow it.”

  She laughed, a low, slightly wicked laugh that made him laugh in response. “In that case, my lord, I believe I must obey.”

  “I see I shall be acquiring a most obedient wife.”

  “Assuredly. Just so long as you remember to order me to do only those things I wish to do.”

  They held each other in a peaceful, contented embrace, breaking apart with a sigh only when they heard others in the corridor outside. He gave her his arm and led her down to the drawing room.

  Like every other room Miranda had seen so far in this monument of a building, the drawing room had more than its share of marble, this time in the twin fireplaces at either end of the room. Miranda was not sure that even two would be sufficient to heat a room this size come winter. At this time of year, of course, no fire was needed, but Lady Talmadge and Ashleigh stood in front of one to await them. Both looked frostily elegant, dressed in black with only the lady’s hesitant smile to relieve the chill.

  Miranda favored them both with a brilliant social smile and an elegant curtsey. “Lady Talmadge, Your Grace.”

  “Miss Rokeby.” Ashleigh inclined his head. “I trust that you have been made comfortable and that your room is to your liking.”

  “Indeed, you are a most gracious host. One could not but be impressed.”

  “Favorably, I trust.”

  “How could it be otherwise, Your Grace?”

  Lady Talmadge made a choked sound that in a lesser being might have been a suppressed giggle. Ashleigh blinked slightly at the ambiguity, and Miranda offered another icily brilliant smile. He seemed to be somewhat taken aback. Good. Did he think she would toady to him because he was a duke? Any goodwill she felt toward him was because he was Tom’s friend and had helped immediately when called upon. He clearly disliked her, and she was not going to fawn on him in an effort to change that.

  “It seems a trifle chilly in here,” observed Merton. “Perhaps I should perform the introductions again. Miranda, this is Peter, my oldest and dearest friend, and his sister, Alice. Alice, Peter, this is Miranda, who will soon be my wife.”

  Lady Talmadge smiled. “Miss Rokeby, I would be very pleased if you would call me Alice.”

  Miranda smiled back. “And it would make me most happy were you to call me Miranda.”

  Ashleigh looked as if he had swallowed something indigestible.

  Miranda looked at Tom and sighed. “I think the duke may not be comfortable with quite that much informality. Perhaps he would prefer that I continue to call him Your Grace?”

  “No,” said Ashleigh, “no, please do call me Peter.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “And may I call you Miranda?”

  She looked at him for a moment and then smiled honestly. “I would like that. And I promise that I will never call you Peter in public. I assure you that I can mind my manners when I put my mind to it.”

  Ashleigh managed to smile as well, but with an unusual uncertainty, and he actually looked relieved when dinner was announced. He gave her his arm to lead her into the family dining room, while Merton led Lady Talmadge in.

  The family dining room, though smaller than the formal dining hall, could seat twenty with ease. Even with all the leaves removed, the table was ten feet long, covered with spotless linen and each place setting was arrayed with a battery of implements for every possible edible. On the immense mahogany sideboard was a correspondingly immense ormolu tureen. It could easily have held soup for twenty, and probably did, since the footman did not have to reach in at all to dip out soup for four. Miranda was amused. It was a delicious and delicate cream of cauliflower soup, and she hoped the servants would enjoy the leftovers. Either that or the duke and his sister would be eating it for the next two weeks.

  Aunt Fanny would be in heaven were she to be invited to dine here, but it seemed unlikely that the duke had ordered this excess to give Miranda pleasure. Did the duke assume she had never seen such splend
or before? Did he hope she would feel overwhelmed? Perhaps she would wait awhile before letting him know that she and her parents had dined several times with the regent, who had also expected his ceremony to overawe the Americans. He had not succeeded any more than the duke would.

  Merton regarded the array with raised brows and a slight smile, but said nothing. Lady Talmadge looked at her brother curiously, but he ignored her.

  Ashleigh took the lead in directing the conversation, alternating between talking to Merton about old school friends and mutual acquaintances, and then apologizing to Miranda with a smile intended to charm for talking about people she had never met, events she would know nothing about, and asking her how she enjoyed the shopping in London. He would draw Alice into the conversation, but she seemed half-surprised to be asked for an opinion and offered nothing beyond a few obvious commonplaces. She would then shrink back as if she might have offended by speaking. Miranda pressed her mouth into a thin line and looked at her fork as if contemplating its potential as a weapon. Merton shrugged apologetically at Miranda.

  Next, the duke chatted about the anticipation surrounding the coming birth of Princess Charlotte’s child, and speculated about the ceremony that would surround it. He turned to Miranda. “This must seem strange to you, but as peers, Tom and I must of necessity be concerned with those things that affect the governance and the future of the nation.”

  “Not at all, Your Grace,” she replied with a purely social smile. “After all, in my country, everyone is expected to concern himself with such things.”

  “Please,” said Ashleigh, with a similar smile, “you were to call me Peter.”

  She waved that off. “Peter is for a friend. Since you seem to be trying to demonstrate that I am a brainless, encroaching flibbertigibbet, totally unsuited to be a countess, I find it difficult to think of you as a friend. I will grant, however, that you may think that you are acting as a friend to Tom. That is why I have not thrown anything at you.”