The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  “We were married yesterday in London. Grandmama, I am afraid you are now officially a dowager countess.”

  “Married,” shrieked Arabella, “a runaway marriage with a, with a nobody. That is just what one would have expected of you. Nothing less than a scandal. Have you no thought for your family? How ever will we live it down? People will cut us. No one will even speak to us—and even so, I suppose you expect us to bring the chit out and somehow give her countenance!” She looked on the verge of angry tears. Her hands were clenched, as if about to beat him.

  “I do not think you need worry yourself about that,” said Mrs. Rokeby calmly. “Lord Merton?”

  Called to himself, Merton apologized for his failure to make the necessary introductions, and did so.

  Mrs. Rokeby then smiled condescendingly at Arabella. “You need not worry yourself over bringing Miranda out. Lady Castlereagh has promised to present my daughter at court and introduce her to the ton.”

  “Lady Castlereagh? But she is one of the patronesses of Almack’s.” Pamela looked incredulous.

  Mrs. Rokeby turned the smile on the younger woman. “Yes, my dear. Emily is an old friend of mine from the days before we were married, and we have corresponded regularly over the years, despite the recent unpleasantness between our countries.”

  Pamela pulled herself up and managed to sniff. “Well, everyone knows Lady Castlereagh is a trifle odd.”

  “But even so, the scandal of such a hasty marriage,” persisted Arabella.

  “I hardly think you need worry about that.” Lady Talmadge, looking every inch the countess that she was, smiled condescendingly in her turn. The nuances of the ton might not be the most important of topics, but it was the one area in which she was sure of herself. “The prince regent was most gracious in his congratulations at the wedding breakfast. I cannot imagine that anyone would dare to suggest that there was anything scandalous about a wedding so honored.”

  “The prince regent,” whispered Pamela. She paled. Her mother-in-law simply gaped.

  Lady Merton—the Dowager Lady Merton, that is—took her grandson’s hand and looked up at him. She looked shaken. “Merton, I have misjudged badly, have I not?” When he smiled and shrugged in response, she turned to Miranda contritely. “Welcome to the family, my dear. I am so very ashamed of the things I said to you, of the things I thought.”

  “That is all past and forgotten,” said Miranda, and leaned over to kiss the older woman’s cheek.

  Throughout, Lady Carraby had been sitting with her mouth hanging slightly open. She reached over, took her husband’s hand, and spoke in the barest whisper. “I, too, have misunderstood, I trow.”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “Yes, my dear, but do not fret. If I know my sister, she has been amused rather than offended.”

  Edgar, overlooked as usual, had retreated to a corner of the room. He leaned against the wall and observed with a slightly sardonic smile.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The news that Miss Rokeby was now Lady Merton spread through the servants so rapidly that even the scullery maid knew it before the first cries in the drawing room had subsided. That news, of course, prompted a flurry of activity. Bedchambers for the new visitors had to be aired and prepared, their trunks brought in and unpacked. Since the earl and countess intended to share a room tonight, there was no need to move the now-dowager immediately, freeing servants to begin setting up baths and heating water.

  Down in the kitchen, Cook took a deep breath, surveyed her pantry and her troops and began issuing orders. Yes, there would be six additional guests for dinner, including her new mistress. What is more, that new mistress had just come from having her wedding breakfast graced by the presence of the prince regent.

  The new Lady Merton’s first dinner at Schotten Hall would not be found lacking. Not if it killed the kitchen staff, and Cook was going to kill the new kitchen maid if she did not clean the chickens more quickly. Much more quickly.

  Upstairs, the new arrivals settled into their rooms and enjoyed lengthy soaks to ease the aches of their journey. Lord and Lady Merton discovered the pleasures of helping each other to bathe, and Merton contemplated the possibilities of a tub large enough for two.

  Mr. Rokeby smiled, a bit grimly, as he contemplated a gathering that looked likely to confirm all his prejudices about the aristocracy—degenerates and wastrels, worse than useless—prejudices that had been a bit jostled by his encounters with Merton and Ashleigh. Mrs. Rokeby smiled with slightly feline pleasure as she recalled her sister-in-law’s discomfiture at the realization that even though they were Americans and untitled, the Rokebys moved in much higher circles than the Carrabys did.

  The dowager countess found herself in a turmoil and was inclined to dither. On the one hand, her grandson had finally made her the dowager, as she had been urging him to do. On the other hand, he had done so by marrying the young lady she herself had considered most unsuitable. But then, it seemed that the young lady was actually quite suitable, in her connections at least… though perhaps not entirely in her attitude… although no one could actually fault her behavior… except, of course, for the elopement. But if the prince regent approved… it was really quite confusing. At least she did not have to leave her old room on the instant… but really, the earl and countess sharing a room… it was so… so…. whatever was Merton thinking?

  Eventually, her lady’s maid managed to convince the elderly Lady Merton to drink a tisane and lie down for a nap. When that was accomplished, the lady’s maid retreated to the dressing room and sat down herself, quite exhausted from all the emotion.

  Other maids were less fortunate. Mrs. Edgar Wortham’s maid considered herself fortunate to escape with only a single slap, though it was a powerful one, and she knew better than to make any suggestions whatsoever. Pamela did not actually speak so much as hiss as she paced about her room, eyes glittering, and several glass and porcelain items ended up as shards on the floor. The maid retreated as silently as she could to mend the dress that had been violently discarded, and left her mistress wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting in a chair, hands clenched on the arm rests, and staring fiercely into the empty fireplace.

  Mrs. Bertram Wortham’s maid spent the best part of an hour fetching tisanes and headache powders and compresses dipped in lavender-scented water to ease her lady’s suffering. The lady’s suffering eventually subsided, and the lady herself lay down, emitting only the occasional whimper.

  Lady Carraby’s maid found herself with nothing to do, since that lady wanted nothing more than to retreat to the privacy of her room and hide her embarrassment. The maid would have been delighted to settle down to a good gossip with someone, anyone, but all the other servants were rushing about in various pothers. She found it all quite frustrating.

  The gentlemen, of course, all managed to hide themselves away to nap or drink as the spirit moved them, quite undisturbed by the household turmoil.

  Dinner was not the most comfortable gathering ever held at Schotten Hall, despite the best efforts of the staff. Ashleigh and his sister having departed for their own home, it was a family gathering, insofar as the rest were united by either blood or marriage, if not by bonds of affection. At least Browne’s abrupt departure meant that they were not thirteen at table.

  Miranda, now Lady Merton, presided for the first time over her table. There had been a moment of confusion as the party first entered the dining room when the dowager Lady Merton started to step toward the seat that had been hers for over half a century, but she gracefully laughed at herself and pointed out, “Now, I finally have an opportunity to sit at my grandson’s side.”

  Miranda acquitted herself well. With the help of both her mother and the dowager countess, she kept an easy conversation going so that the barbs of Pamela and Arabella were blunted and their silent sulks were ignored.

  Edgar, unlike his wife and mother, found it difficult to keep from smiling. The party was only halfway through the soup when he said, “It’s goo
d to have you back, Tom. Now there’s no reason for me to delay.”

  Tom tilted his head and turned to his cousin. “Delay?”

  “Yes.” Edgar’s smile broadened. “I’ve been planning to move to Saltham, and now that you’re back here at the helm, so to speak, we can begin packing tomorrow.”

  “Saltham?” Tom knew the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Oh, right. Saltham. That’s your estate up in, in Cheshire, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Edgar couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  Tom dug into his memory. “There’s some sort of mining, isn’t there?”

  “Salt. We mine salt in Saltham.” Edgar’s smile eased into a grin. “Not terribly glamorous, but definitely useful. War or peace, winter or summer, people need salt.”

  Pamela made a small sound, suspiciously like a sob, but Arabella burst out loudly, “That is absolute nonsense. You will not drag us off to Cheshire. I absolutely refuse to go.” She sat stiffly in her chair, her mouth a tight line beneath her nose.

  Edgar looked at her and shrugged. “You need not come if you do not wish to. I’m sure your portion is more than sufficient for you to find accommodations in Bath, if you prefer.”

  With a shriek, she sprang up, knocking over her chair, and fled from the room. Pamela looked around the table, stood more slowly, murmured, “If you would excuse me,” and followed her mother-in-law. The others watched in silence.

  Then Miranda looked at the footmen and said, “I believe we are finished with the soup.”

  *

  Miranda was sitting up in bed, a candle by her side and a periodical, several years old, open on her lap when Tom finally came upstairs.

  She frowned at him. “If I am to spend my evenings entertaining myself with a book, your library is in sore need of attention.”

  He lifted his head and managed a smile. “Our library. And I apologize. I will do my utmost to compensate for my neglect.” Reaching for her, he set about doing just that.

  Sometime later, he was reclining with her head on his chest. “You were right,” he said.

  “I like to think that is always the case.” She could feel the laughter rumble through him. “What was I right about this time?”

  “Edgar. He is not our villain.”

  “Mmm. It was not enough that I said so? You felt the need to confirm it?”

  He gave her a little shake. “It is more that Edgar felt the need to confirm it. He was so proud of finally asserting himself, and he apologized for the neglected state of things when I returned.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Ashleigh and Admiral Kendrick, along with some others, insisted that since there was no evidence that I was dead, he couldn’t take over, leaving the estate pretty much in limbo. At the same time, his mother and his wife went on a wild spending spree, all of it on credit, convincing the merchants that Edgar would soon inherit.”

  “Poor Edgar.” She was more amused than sympathetic.

  “Yes, poor Edgar.” Merton stopped smiling. “He said he never wanted to be the earl, but his mother kept pushing him. Looking back, I can see that was true. Before his father died, they lived at Saltham, and Edgar always wanted to go back.”

  “Well, why didn’t he?”

  “He was only ten when his father died. His mother insisted that they move down here to live with my—our—grandfather.”

  “And I suppose a child is not in any position to argue.” Miranda thought about it. “Then, as he grew up, he must have been in the habit of giving in to her. She is a rather forceful person.”

  He snorted. “A charitable description.”

  His wife ignored him. “And along came Pamela—the wonder is that he ever managed to break loose.”

  “He hasn’t yet. Not really. So far, all he has done is say that he’s leaving.”

  “Poor, foolish Edgar.”

  Merton grinned. “A henpecked man always looks foolish. Remember that, my lady, if you ever begin to nag me.”

  “I will never nag, my lord. I cannot imagine that there will be any need, since I expect that you will obey my orders instantly.”

  He flipped her onto her back and loomed over her. “I will, will I? And what sort of orders will you give, oh my queen?”

  “Mmm, let me think. I might perhaps tell you to kiss me here.” She pointed to her left temple. He obeyed promptly. “And perhaps over here.” Her finger trailed along her throat to stop just above her collarbone. His lips followed close behind.

  “True, my lady, it appears there will be no need for you to nag.” His voice had grown hoarse, and then there was no further need for conversation.

  As the gray dawn light came seeping through the curtains, Miranda awakened and thought. She gave her husband a poke, enough to produce a grunt, indicating he was no longer completely asleep.

  “He could be lying.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Edgar. He could be lying, you know.” With that, Miranda rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Merton, however, was jolted awake and lay there, thinking, until a maid came in to prod the fire and open the curtains.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Montague had left the area shortly after Merton’s disappearance, confident that his bit of sabotage on the boat had served its turn. He settled himself comfortably into the Norfolk Arms coaching inn at Heathfield to await the next installment of his payment. Payment would, he was confident, continue for a good many years once Merton was dead and Edgar Wortham was the new Lord Merton.

  Payment would include easing his entry into the upper reaches of society. It might be too late for advancement in the navy—he would curse Merton forever for that lost chance—but he was, after all, a gentleman. There was no reason why he should not take his place in the ton. It was only a lack of money that had held him back, and that was about to change.

  For the time being, he was content with his accommodations. They might not be luxurious, but they were adequate. His room had a good bed and a good fire and was large enough to provide ample room for a pair of comfortable chairs and a table that served as both desk and dining table.

  He had just finished dinner and was planning to spend the evening in the conviviality of the common room when one of the inn servants brought him the message.

  He read it quickly, then, with increasing fury, read it again. Jumping to his feet with an oath, he flung it into the fire. Damnation! The bloody bastard had more lives than a cat!

  He paced back and forth for a while before he came to stand by the fire, his elbow on the mantelpiece and his head resting on his fist. He needed to go down to the common room, but not for pleasure. The ale would likely curdle in his gut. But he needed to know what people were saying, what they knew about Merton’s reappearance.

  It might be nothing, but they were only a dozen miles away, not too far for rumor and gossip to travel. It was not as if he could be certain he was given all the information he would need if he was to get out of this.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Lord Carraby and his family departed the next day, a parting made somewhat awkward by Lady Carraby’s continued embarrassment over the way she had initially patronized the Rokebys. Lord Carraby and his sister smiled privately over that.

  “It has been good to see you again after all these years,” he said. “Our foolish father and these foolish wars have kept us all apart too long.”

  “We shall travel more frequently, now that Miranda has wed an Englishman, and you must travel as well.” When he shrugged, she seized his shoulder and gave him a shake. “Charles, I swear you are as lazy now as you were when you were a boy. Perhaps a visit to America will wake you up. And I suggest you send that boy of yours to us before he turns into a worthless fribble.”

  Carraby looked over at his son with a slight frown. Even dressed for riding, with tight buckskin breeches and beautifully polished boots, George sported a high collar above an elegantly arranged cravat and pale yellow gloves. “You may be right.
There is nothing wrong, but…”

  She looked at her nephew and nodded sharply. “Precisely. There is nothing wrong, but neither is there anything right, and there is a good deal that could be. He is not a fool, but he could easily dwindle into foolishness. Send him to us, and I will wake him up.”

  Carraby laughed. “Ah, Elizabeth, it is fortunate that you married a man who likes to be doing.”

  Miranda and Lydia parted with many hugs and a few tears intermingling with promises to visit soon and often.

  George and his mother said all the proper things—good wishes for the earl and his bride, appreciative thanks for hospitality received—and climbed into their carriage with the vague feeling that they did not really understand what had been happening.

  After that, the days passed uneventfully. Merton sent some men after Browne with no great hope of catching him. To no one’s surprise, they came back with the news that he had taken a boat at Dover bound for the Continent. Messages were sent to various ports asking that a watch be kept should he decide to return, but no one thought that likely.

  However, when he was consulted, Hodgson pointed out that it was quite possible for Browne’s departure to be a ruse. He could have doubled back and be hiding somewhere in the neighborhood. Merton did not find this convincing. Browne was not one to put himself at risk.

  Montague, however…

  Merton could easily believe that Montague was still in the area, skulking around, waiting for another chance to strike. Any men who could be spared from the estate or from the shipyard were out scouring the neighborhood and warning all the innkeepers. Montague would not find a refuge easily.

  Pamela discovered that some of her jewels were missing, including a favorite ruby pin. She smashed several pieces of porcelain to relieve her feelings but decided that, on the whole, it could be considered a small enough price to pay to rid herself of a father who had grown increasingly expensive to maintain while not providing her with any benefits. Not that he ever offered her any assistance, she had come to realize. He had always used her for his own benefit. She would be better off without him. Far better off.