The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  Merton laughed and put Miranda’s hand on his arm. “And you were worrying about your acceptance. Now our only problem is that we will not be able to leave until the prince does.”

  Of course, the prince did leave eventually. His carriage had barely turned the corner when the Earl of Merton and his countess climbed into their carriage for the ride to Hanover Square. It was not a lengthy ride. Lady Merton was barely mussed by the time they arrived and Lord Merton’s cravat still looked reasonably respectable.

  Before they had reached the door, the staff was lined up to greet them. Although all the servants, down to the kitchen scullery maid, had managed to get a glimpse of their future mistress earlier in the week, when she and her family had come to dinner, Miranda had not even seen most of them, no less met them. Merton bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet while she greeted each one, asking their positions and repeating their names to help imprint them on her memory.

  When the last one—the boot boy—had bobbed his bow, Merton seized his bride’s arm to pull her away. “A light supper later in our rooms,” he called to Caldicott. “We will ring.”

  Caldicott coughed to hide a smile and shooed the staff back to their duties as they seemed inclined to linger, watching their master and new mistress vanish rapidly up the stairs.

  With his arm about her waist, Merton ushered her into his room. The door to his dressing room was open, and his valet looked up. Merton waved him away. “You may leave. You will not be needed this evening.” While the valet was still bowing his acceptance of the order, Merton was pulling open the other door, the one that led to the countess’ dressing room. Miranda’s lady’s maid, who was unpacking the trunks that had been delivered earlier, looked up in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. Merton dismissed her for the evening as well.

  He returned to Miranda, who was standing where he had left her, looking uncertain. Merton took her hands and kissed them, first one, then the other, and then turned them over and kissed her bare wrists. “You won’t want to use the countess’ room yet. Pamela did dreadful things to it, and there was no time to redecorate it for you. You may decorate it any way you like but, in the meantime, you will have to share my room.”

  His voice sounded hoarse, and when Miranda looked at his eyes, they seemed to have darkened. “My parents have always shared a room.” The words came out as a whisper, though she had not intended that. He smiled.

  He reached for her, and one thing led to another.

  They never did ring for supper.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Browne was with his daughter and her husband when the letter arrived. He had been thinking that she looked remarkably cheerful these past few days, and he was not at all certain why that should be so. Merton’s marriage, however scandalous, could be of no advantage to her. He was still puzzling over her little secretive smiles when he opened the missive.

  He blanched.

  It was from Stoner.

  Merton had, indeed, gone to London, but the men he had hired had failed in their attack. Stoner warned that two of them, including the man Browne had dealt with, had been captured. They would certainly give any information they could in an effort to escape the hangman. They could not name him, but there was little doubt that they would describe him. That would be enough for Merton.

  He had to leave immediately. He had to leave the country. Dover was not too far. On horseback, he could be there by evening and catch a boat, any boat, to France.

  Pamela looked up at him. “Bad news, Papa?”

  He crumpled the letter, then realized there was no fire to consume it. He smoothed it out again and tucked it in his coat. “Yes, I’m afraid so, my dear. Ah, an old friend is in need of my assistance. I must leave immediately. But I fear I am a bit low on funds. Do you think you could manage…?”

  Pamela looked disbelieving. However, she said, “I am sure Wortham can oblige you, will you not, my dear?”

  “No.” Edgar did not even look up from the page of his book.

  “No? Whatever can you mean, my dear?” demanded Pamela, with an edge to her voice.

  “I mean ‘No’. I will not fund any more of your father’s gambling debts. I told you so the last time, and I meant it.”

  “Why you insolent puppy! How dare you—and after all I have done for you,” Browne blustered.

  Edgar turned a page. “As far as I know, you have done nothing for me but foist your daughter on me. That is hardly a favor for which I will thank you.”

  “How dare you say such things,” Pamela said, pressing one hand to her breast and the other to her forehead. Edgar was unable to appreciate the theatrical but graceful pose because he was still looking at his book. He shrugged.

  Browne decided he had no time for discussion. He hastened to his room to pack a small valise, stopping only to pick up a few pieces of jewelry from Pamela’s room.

  Pamela looked at the empty doorway, not entirely distressed by her father’s departure. He had been erratic of late. While he had never been a protective parent, in recent weeks he had been even more unreliable than usual. His departure would actually be something of a relief.

  However, her husband’s little rebellion could be more serious, especially since there were a number of bills on her writing table. Modistes, silk merchants, and milliners were beginning to press uncomfortably for payment. This was no time for Edgar to be difficult.

  She turned to her husband with a solicitous smile. “Is something bothering you, my dear?” she asked. He didn’t seem to be bothered. Instead, there was a slightly smug smile on his face. “Are you having some financial difficulties?”

  “No, I am having no difficulties.” He was looking even more smug. “However, I should point out that our financial position has changed now that my cousin has returned. We, or rather you, can no longer make use of the earldom’s income. My own income, which most would consider more than adequate, is somewhat smaller and will require us to make certain adjustments in the interest of economy. So I have decided that we will be moving to Saltham.”

  “Saltham?” Pamela didn’t recognize the name.

  “Yes, you must remember. Saltham is my estate.”

  Pamela did not like the way her husband was smiling. She did not like it one bit. Hesitantly, she repeated, “Saltham? I don’t believe we have ever been there.”

  “No, we haven’t, and I believe it is high time I took over the reins of management, so to speak.”

  Now she was definitely nervous. She could not recall Edgar having ever exerted himself in any direction other than toward the nearest decanter. She glanced over at the decanter on the sideboard and realized that it was still full. And the glasses beside it were unused. She felt suddenly uncertain, and she did not like the feeling.

  After a pause to lick her lips, she said, “You may be right, but remind me, just where is Saltham?” She held her breath, hoping for a location no more than a few hours from London.

  He wasn’t looking at her. “Cheshire,” he said.

  “Cheshire?” Her voice rose. “Cheshire?”

  “Mmm.”

  She couldn’t believe this. It was too cruel. Spending time here in Sussex was bad enough. Cheshire was the back of beyond. Nobody, absolutely nobody, lived in Cheshire. Yorkshire, or even Northumberland, perhaps, but no one of any importance, no one she knew or had even heard of, lived in Cheshire.

  Her fingers curled into fists as she brought her breathing under control. In a reasonably calm voice, she managed to say, “It must take a week to get there from London.”

  “If the weather is good and the roads are in decent shape, but a bit more most of the time,” he said. “You needn’t worry. We’ll be coming to London rarely, if ever.”

  “Your mother.” She knew she was grasping at straws if she was bringing up his mother. “Have you asked your mother?”

  “Asked her?” He sounded positively surprised. “No, I didn’t ask her. I told her my plans this morning.”

  “And?”


  He smiled. “I believe she is still suffering from an attack of vapors.”

  This was impossible. It couldn’t be happening. “What if something has happened to Merton?”

  “What could have happened to him?” Edgar did look at his wife now. He looked long and coldly. “He has eloped with Miss Rokeby. Isn’t that what you have been insisting must have happened?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The next day, Lord and Lady Merton managed somehow to get themselves dressed, breakfasted and into the carriage at a reasonable hour for the drive to Mivart’s Hotel. Here, they were joined by a second carriage, carrying the Rokebys, Ashleigh and Lady Talmadge. Greetings were accomplished, mercifully free from any bawdy comments, and the carriages set out for Schotten Hall.

  In the first carriage, carrying the newly wedded lord and his lady, there was some nuzzling accompanied by murmured endearments, but Lord and Lady Merton spent most of the journey asleep. Arms wrapped around each other to be sure, and hat and bonnet tossed aside to be out of the way, but still asleep.

  The passengers in the other carriage spent the journey in conference, planning their strategy. Since the Rokebys had never met Merton’s family, Ashleigh described them, with some added information from Lady Talmadge. “I have only the slightest acquaintance with them,” she said, “but I was in a position to hear any gossip, and I listened because I knew the family from my childhood.”

  “Tom is too honest, too straightforward for his own good,” said Ashleigh.

  Rokeby snorted at that. “You mean he’s too gullible.”

  “Not quite, but his first instinct is to trust people, especially those he has known for many years.” A corner of Ashleigh’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “For years, he had difficulty seeing his kidnapping as anything more serious than a prank gone awry. He could not imagine his cousin or aunt involved in anything more serious than petty bickering. I confess that I have generally found it difficult to view them as more than tiresome clowns. Like Tom, I considered that punishing the naval officers was sufficient. It was not until he realized that Montague was involved in this new attack, and that your daughter was endangered, that Tom began to take this seriously.”

  Rokeby was scowling. The situation had not seemed all that serious when Merton first described it. There had been a bit of danger, but it had sounded like something that could be handled easily enough. After all, who would be mad enough to risk the hangman’s rope for a trumpery title? But Ashleigh was hardly the sort to overreact. He was arrogant enough to assume that a glare was all that would be needed to send villains scurrying for cover. If he was talking as if the situation had been serious, it must have been serious, indeed.

  “But it is now over, is it not? I thought you and Merton said Browne was the villain.”

  “Yes, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find he has fled the country by the time we arrive. Browne is a gambler, and having Merton impressed, or hoping some thugs would take care of him is the sort of chancy thing he might try. Those efforts kept him well away from the actual crime. He would probably prefer to keep his gloves clean.”

  Mrs. Rokeby and Lady Talmadge looked suitably horrified. Rokeby looked contemptuous. “He sounds like the sort to run all right, and the sort to stay gone once he’s left. But what about the other fellow? The bastard who came near to killing my daughter.”

  Ashleigh smiled thinly. “Montague. A more dangerous proposition. Browne just wanted money. Montague wants revenge.”

  “Revenge for what?” cried Mrs. Rokeby. “He was the one commanding Tom on that ship. What on earth could Tom ever have done to him?”

  “He survived,” said her husband flatly.

  Ashleigh nodded. “He not only survived. He laughed at Montague when they came face to face in the admiral’s office. He laughed, and then he let Montague off.”

  Lady Talmadge looked confused. “Let him off? But I thought he and the captain were dismissed from the navy.”

  “I’m thinking the punishment could have been far worse,” Rokeby said. He looked at Ashleigh. “Am I right?”

  Ashleigh nodded. “Montague had an earl flogged. That alone could have gotten him hanged. And Hodgson would have cheered.”

  “Poor Dick,” Mrs. Rokeby whispered.

  Ashleigh looked at her sharply. “Hodgson blames Montague for the deaths of his wife and son, but that has always seemed to me an overreaction. It was an accident that killed them, after all.”

  Mrs. Rokeby shrugged. “In one sense it was, but the only reason Elspeth was in that part of town was that she had taken in sewing. She wouldn’t take any money from us. She insisted she could earn her own way while Dick was gone. And Billy should have been in school, but he was helping her make deliveries.”

  “I hadn’t realized…” Ashleigh was silent for a long minute. “Yes, that makes sense.” He lifted his head. “Unfortunately, it also makes a sort of mad sense for Montague. There’s a kind of contempt in the way that Tom let him off so easily to avoid a scandal for the navy.”

  “Yes,” Rokeby said. “That’s what I’ve been told. Utter nonsense, to my way of looking at things. That’s what comes of having aristocrats setting themselves above the law.”

  “I would not have put it quite that way. We were simply endeavoring to see that justice was done.”

  “Justice, was it? Dick didn’t see it that way, but what he thought didn’t matter, I suppose.” Rokeby grew heated in response to Ashleigh’s icy tone, but he bit off his words as his wife put a restraining hand over his. He took a calming breath, and continued, “But what do we do now? I don’t fancy the idea of a vengeful beast stalking my daughter’s husband.”

  Mrs. Rokeby patted her husband’s hand. “I know we will be staying for a while so you and Tom can talk about ships, so perhaps we can all keep an eye out for this Montague creature as well. If his motive really is vengeance, he must be thoroughly frustrated by now. That may make him careless.”

  Ashleigh nodded, thinking he should be grateful for her intervention. But what he felt was annoyed. He could not understand what had angered Rokeby in the first place. He and Tom—and the admiral—had simply been doing what was best for the navy and for the country. That was what aristocrats were supposed to do. Rokeby clearly didn’t understand the danger posed by the unrest across the country. Surely Rokeby could see that beside that, Hodgson’s unhappiness was unimportant.

  For that matter, Tom didn’t recognize the danger either. Not really. Convincing him that there were problems that could not be put to rest by a bout of fisticuffs, no matter how satisfying, was not going to be easy.

  The fair weather that had prevailed throughout the house party and on through the journey to London was about to depart. As the carriages neared Schotten Hall, the dark clouds that had been gathering on the horizon suddenly raced across the sky toward the travelers. The coachmen urged the horses to greater speed and the grooms tossed nervous glances behind them. After all, it was not the passengers who would be drenched should the storm catch them before they arrived at the Hall.

  They arrived in time. All the travelers, the servants in the baggage coach as well as their masters and mistresses, were safely indoors before the heavens opened.

  If the travelers were not dampened, the hopes and aspirations of some of those at Schotten Hall were most decidedly drenched by the entrance of Lord Merton and his bride.

  It was, thought Merton, an almost eerie reprise of the day he had returned from sea.

  Pamela gave a shriek, raised a hand to her forehead and collapsed neatly back in her chair.

  Arabella leaped to her feet and screeched.

  Browne, Merton noticed with disappointment, was missing. And Edgar—Edgar was a surprise. He was neat, sober, and actually looked pleased to see him.

  As did Lady Merton, who leaped to her feet with an exclamation of joy. Beaming and with arms outstretched, she stepped toward her grandson. “Tom! Oh, my boy, thank heaven you are safe.” She stepped into his arms
for a loving embrace.

  Shrieks of joy also greeted Miranda. These came from Lydia, who flew across the room to welcome her cousin with hugs and kisses, with George close behind.

  When the other guests had left, the Carrabys had remained, nigh as distressed as Lady Merton over the disappearance of their niece and their host. Now, Lord and Lady Carraby joined in the welcome with heartfelt relief. Not only were they delighted to see Miranda safe and sound, but they were most grateful to not have to explain to the Rokebys how they had managed to lose their daughter.

  The Rokebys watched the Carrabys with tolerant amusement, since their daughter was safe, and Ashleigh and Lady Talmadge did the same. They all watched Merton’s family with somewhat cynical assessments.

  Once the cries and shrieks had subsided enough for individual voices to be heard, Lady Merton stepped back and tried to change her smile of relief to a frown of reproof. “Really, Tom, this was not good of you. You should not have left us to worry so.”

  “Where have you been?” asked Edgar, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Why, I had heard that you all knew where I was.” Merton smiled kindly at his grandmother, less kindly at the rest of the group. “I understood that you all believed me to have eloped with Miss Rokeby.”

  “But the wreckage,” said Pamela, a hand at her throat.

  At Merton’s look of inquiry, Edgar nodded, “Yes, wreckage. We just heard about it this morning. Bits washed ashore, so Pamela thought you might have had an accident. But I’ve sailed with you. I couldn’t imagine you being such a dolt as to wreck your boat.”

  “Ah,” said Merton. “I had not known that wreckage had been found. Miranda and I went to London, as you had conjectured earlier, to see her parents. We wanted their approval of our marriage, and Miranda, of course, wanted them to be present at our wedding.”

  “You are going to marry her?” Pamela could not manage to make the question into a pleasant query, but even Lady Merton looked taken aback.