The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  Miranda and Tom gradually eased into acceptance that the danger was over, though they preferred to keep each other in sight or, better yet, within reach. They were even beginning to smile again when a message came from Newhaven. A body had washed up, the body of a young woman. The harbormaster knew the earl had been seeking information about a young woman, and wondered if someone might be willing to look at the body, just on the chance, so to speak.

  Since Miranda was with him when the message came, there was no way Tom could keep the information from her. Not that he would have been able to go off to Newhaven without her knowing about it.

  “Is it likely?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It was a stormy night. It is likely enough that the boat might come to grief. Or that she might have been washed overboard.”

  “Or been helped overboard. The jewels would have been a temptation.”

  “And a captain willing to risk his vessel of a few jewels might easily succumb to temptation.”

  She sighed. “Ought we to tell the others?”

  He thought for a bit, then shook his head. “I will go myself.”

  “And I will go with you.”

  He shook his head. “Miranda, whether it is Pamela or not, the woman has been in the sea for several days. You do not know what a body looks like under those circumstances.”

  She dismissed his objections with a wave of her hand. “I have no wish to look, but I would truly prefer that you not go off alone.”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh, so she thumped him on the arm. He smiled. “I must admit, I would rather not leave you behind.”

  *

  “We’d’ve buried her straight off in the ordinary way—not that I mean we have bodies of young ladies washing up in the ordinary way, my lord.” Captain Stevenson, the retired naval officer who served as Newhaven’s harbormaster, spoke as stiffly as he stood. When it had been disclosed that the villain who had attempted to murder the Earl of Merton was none other than a former naval officer, he had been outraged. That his harbor had been used as the planned escape route was intolerable. Nothing he could do to cast light on the fate of one of the accomplices would be too onerous. He would gladly place all the resources of his harbor at the service of the earl. Notifying him of the discovery of a body that might—only might—be that of the guilty woman was the merest trifle.

  However, the presence of Lady Merton was another matter.

  That a nobleman should permit his lady to accompany him on such an errand, that he could allow her to even enter the building in which the body was held, was beyond the captain’s comprehension.

  Consequently, Captain Stevenson was pretending that Lady Merton was not present.

  Lady Merton, walking sedately behind the captain and her husband, was finding this amusing. The wink Merton gave her when he looked back suggested he shared her amusement.

  Her amusement ended when the captain opened the door to the room where the body was laid out. Although a sheet covered the dead woman from foot to head, it was not quite wide enough to cover the hair that trailed down almost to the floor. Miranda could not hold back a slight gasp. At the same moment, Merton turned to prevent her coming any closer. Captain Stevenson stood there, disapproval radiating from every inch of him.

  Miranda was more than willing to turn aside from that room. The door closed, and she could hear murmuring voices, though no words could be distinguished.

  It was not long before the door opened again, and Merton appeared with the captain beside him, both of them looking solemn. “She will be buried in the family plot, of course,” said Merton.

  “I understand, my lord,” said Stevenson. “There has been enough talk. No need to cause more.”

  Merton nodded. “I will see that arrangements are made. You have been most considerate, Captain.”

  Miranda took his arm and they departed sedately and silently. She was too confused and uncertain to know what to say, and her distress worried him. She remained silent while they closed themselves in the carriage for the ride home.

  He knew something was distressing her, but he could not imagine what it was. “I shouldn’t have let you come with me,” he said, putting his arm around her to pull her close. “I should have realized it would be too upsetting. Forgive me.”

  She pushed away and returned to her corner of the seat, keeping her face averted. “No, it’s not that.”

  “Well, something is obviously the matter. What is it?”

  He could see her stiffen as she turned to look at him. “You identified that woman as Pamela. How could you do that?”

  He shrugged. “The dress, or what was left of it, seemed to match what I recall of hers. And she seemed to be about the right size.”

  “Tom, you know that wasn’t Pamela’s body.”

  He didn’t think he should say that it made no difference, so he tried to soothe her. “You didn’t see her. It wasn’t easy to recognize her.”

  “I could see her hair hanging down before you closed me out. It was brown, much darker than Pamela’s hair.”

  “It was darkened by the water.” He offered the suggestion hopefully.

  “Don’t treat me like a fool,” she snapped. “That wasn’t Pamela’s body and you know it.”

  The carriage hit a bump, jostling them in their seats and giving him a moment to sort out his answer. He heaved a sigh. “Think about it, Miranda. So long as Pamela is alive, Edgar is married to her. Once she has reached the Continent, she is not likely to return, knowing that if she does, she will be hanged. Edgar will never know if she is alive or dead.”

  “I would not have thought that would matter to him.”

  “Of course it will matter.” He was growing impatient. “If no one knows if she is alive or dead, he can never marry again.”

  Miranda considered. “Divorce? Could he not apply to Parliament for a bill of divorcement?”

  Tom shook his head. “He would have to prove adultery and, as far as I know, that is one crime of which she is innocent. No, so long as Pamela is alive, Edgar is trapped.”

  Miranda smiled slightly. “I have been told that there are some men who might consider that a desirable situation—he would have the protection of the married state without any of the obligations.”

  That was better. She was seeing the humor in the situation, so he smiled as well. “Can you really imagine Edgar as a rake? No. Now he will be able to go to Saltham, establish himself as a worthy landowner, find a nice, worthy girl, and settle down with her to produce a brood of worthy children. He will be able to have the kind of life he always wanted. What is so dreadful about that?”

  “But…” She was frowning and looking worried again. “But surely there are laws about this sort of thing. People can’t just go around misidentifying bodies.”

  “Of course there are laws.” His impatience was returning. “And I am not breaking any laws. I am just… just making a mistake that will simplify things.”

  “And you can do that, no one questions you, because you are an earl.”

  Ah. That’s what was bothering her. “Yes, I can do that because I’m an earl. I am treated differently, things are permitted to me, because I have a title.” He held up his hand to stop her when she was about to protest. “I have privileges other men do not have, and you are right. That is not fair. But along with those privileges there are responsibilities, and one of my responsibilities is to take care of those who are dependent on me, whether they are members of my family or tenants on my land or workers in my shipyard. They rely on me to protect them. And if I do not look out for them, who will?”

  “That is fine when the earl is a good man, like you. But what if you were not a good man? What of all those trivial fools I met in London? Are they busily protecting their dependents? Do they ever even think about their responsibilities? People should not have to rely on chance to provide them with protection. The law should protect everyone. And it should not allow special privileges for those who have a title.”

 
; He did not know if he wanted to laugh or weep. “My love, in an ideal world that would be true. But we do not live in an ideal world.”

  He stopped and frowned. Surely someone had said something like that to him not so long ago? He shook off the thought and continued. “Your father may not have a title, but he is a powerful and important man in your country. That is why he had access to important officials in this country. Do you suppose Castlereagh welcomes everyone into his home? Do you suppose every foreign visitor is invited to dine at Carlton House?”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Didn’t you join me in hiding the truth about what Hodgson had done? We were lying to protect his memory, to protect the memories of those who had loved him. Do you honestly regret that?”

  Her mouth opened and then closed. Her shoulders sagged. “No, I don’t. Not really. But…”

  “Still another but?”

  “Yes.” She put her head up to face him. “That woman. I can understand why you identified her as Pamela to protect Edgar, but what if there is another Edgar searching for her? Or parents? Or friends? And they will never know what happened to her.”

  “Yes.” He drew out the word. “I had not thought of that. When bodies wash ashore, they are rarely claimed, but someone could come looking for her.”

  She waited while he thought. The only sound in the carriage was the clatter of the wheels as they bounced over the bumps and dips in the road.

  “She did not have any jewelry to identify her, no ring. Or if she did, the sea took it away. But I could see to it that her dress is preserved, and a lock of her hair. That might be enough if someone comes searching. But I won’t take back my identification.” He looked sharply at his wife.

  “No,” she sighed. “I don’t suppose you will. I’m not even sure there would be any point in doing so.”

  “It is unlikely that anyone will look for her.”

  “I know. I don’t think that was even what bothered me.”

  “Then what was this all about?” He couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.

  “I never quite understood what it meant that you’re an earl. That your title matters in ways I had not realized.” She tilted her head as she looked at him. “It may take me a while to grow accustomed to it.”

  “I have never thought too much about it myself. I just accepted it. We will accustom ourselves to it together.”

  This time when the carriage lurched around a curve, she slid to his side and remained there.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The funeral took place a few days later. Merton attended to support Edgar, and they were the only official mourners. A number of the tenants and villagers attended as well, more out of curiosity than sorrow. The announcement of her death appeared in the papers, but no one wore mourning clothes. It was as if Pamela had never been.

  The remaining weeks were peaceful. Autumn arrived with its mellow fruitfulness and the soft sun warmed the shortening days. The Rokebys saw their daughter and her husband growing closer and closer to each other. By the time their ship departed, they had grown resigned to Miranda’s marriage and her residence in England, that resignation helped by the promise of frequent visits.

  Lady Merton decided that she was delighted to be a dowager countess, and threw herself into the renovations and decoration of the dower house. Although Merton and Miranda both assured her that she was welcome to stay at the Hall, she was determined to leave.

  “I have never actually had my own house before,” she confided to Miranda. “The Hall was my husband’s, and he had very decided opinions as to how it should look. Merton never wanted to change anything, and then Pamela came along and created her house of horrors. Now Merton has turned it back into his grandfather’s house, and if you wish to make it your own, you will have to be firm.”

  She returned to her contemplation of paint samples and fabrics with a smile. There would be a great deal of pink, she decided, and rose and peach, with flowers. Flowers everywhere. In the fabrics and in the wall hangings, and painted on the china. She could have feminine froufrou everywhere, and no one would complain.

  Edgar went about looking like a man suddenly set free. Of course, he was a man who had just been set free. He began packing for the move to Saltham. No, he told his mother, it would not be a visit. He was going to live there. He reminded her that if she didn’t care for the seclusion of Cheshire, she could take a house in Bath, where she could live quite comfortably on her portion.

  Arabella shrieked, but no one took much heed. She complained vociferously to her mother-in-law. Lady Merton replied that taking a house in Bath seemed like a capital idea. She was sure Arabella would be quite happy there, far happier than she would be in Cheshire.

  Eventually, Arabella capitulated.

  Not long after the new year came the announcement that Lydia was betrothed to Mr. Rollins. Miranda was delighted, and a flurry of letters went back and forth. Lydia begged Miranda to come to London to help her select her bridal clothes, so naturally Miranda did, and enlisted the aid of Lady Talmadge as well. The presence of the sister of a duke as well as a countess, even if the countess was only Miranda, subdued Lady Carraby sufficiently to ensure that Lydia was allowed some voice in the selection of her wardrobe.

  Merton and Ashleigh, who had accompanied the ladies to London, invited George to accompany them on a number of occasions. Listening to their discussions of politics and noting the attention they gave to the minutiae of estate management, he began to think that perhaps dandyism ought not be the height of a gentleman’s ambition, and perhaps one ought to limit one’s gambling. Especially when there would soon be no sister with pin money to help pay one’s debts.

  Miranda and Alice also provided Lydia and Mr. Rollins with some support when it came to choosing the wedding date. Lady Carraby had wanted a wedding at the fashionable Church of St. George, taking place in May, early in the Season, when everyone would be in London. Miranda convinced her to approve instead a wedding on February 11, just before the beginning of Lent, taking place at St. Botolph’s in Schotten, with a wedding breakfast at the Hall. In addition, Lady Talmadge offered to house some of the guests at Kelswick if there were too many to fit into the Hall.

  The deciding point was that Lydia wanted Miranda to be her attendant. Lady Carraby wanted to be able to say that her daughter’s attendant was a countess, but even she acknowledged that an obviously breeding countess—which Miranda was likely to be by May—would not be quite the thing.

  *

  “You are becoming quite countess-like,” said Tom as they drowsed in the early morning light seeping through the bedroom windows.

  “Countess-like?” Miranda laughed softly.

  “Countessish does not sound at all elegant, and it strikes me that your handling of your aunt has been decidedly elegant.” He had one arm wrapped around her so that she lay with her head nestled on his shoulder. “Having Alice invite her to Ashleigh House to discuss the wedding date was masterly.”

  “I thought so.” She smiled smugly. “She was so overawed by her surroundings that she would have agreed to Gretna Green for the wedding if we proposed it.”

  “And so you see the power of a title.”

  She sat up abruptly. “Good heavens. I did use the title, didn’t I?”

  “Mmm.”

  “She never would have paid attention to me if I were still Miranda Rokeby. It didn’t matter that a wedding here was what Lydia would prefer. It only mattered that a pair of countesses were suggesting it. And I didn’t hesitate.”

  Tom grinned. “But you only did it to make your cousin happy.”

  “It is precisely what I complained about when you did it. Precisely the same.” She looked horrified, then slowly shook her head. “It is frighteningly easy to use power when you have it.”

  “We will be careful,” he said, drawing her close. “But I cannot promise that I will not do anything I can to protect you and any children we may have.” He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Of co
urse, I will still always expect the best room at the inn.”

  “Oh, you… you aristocrat!” She swatted his arm and it ended in laughter.

  Epilogue

  The beautiful widow with the pale blonde hair had come to the café again, and she was alone again. As she did every day, she had ordered a croissant and coffee for breakfast.

  The waiter shook his head. A woman that beautiful should not be so sad. Although her French was almost perfect, she had a slight English accent, so he had saved an English newspaper that a customer had left behind. Perhaps it would cheer her up to have news of home.

  She smiled when he gave it to her, so he went away feeling gallant.

  Pamela felt suffocated in all the black clothing with the heavy veil, but it was an efficient disguise. She needed a disguise while she determined what to do next.

  The newspaper lying in front of her would not be much help. The one thing she could not do was return to England, where Merton would have people watching for her, hoping to hang her. Did he also have people looking for her here in Paris? It was likely. Where else might he search?

  With a sigh, she picked up the newspaper. At least she could make the waiter happy by seeming to be pleased by his offering. She glanced through the headlines until one caught her eye. “Peer’s cousin drowns”.

  She read the story quickly, then she went back and read it slowly. Crumpling the paper in her hands, she raised her head, scarcely daring to breathe as the news sank in.

  Good Lord!

  She was dead.

  They thought she was dead.

  Her body had washed ashore and she was now buried in the family tomb.

  For a moment, she was outraged. Merton thought to just erase her existence? Then, once she had stopped to think, she had all she could do to keep herself from leaping up and shouting for joy. She was free! No one was looking for her, not Merton with his contempt, not Edgar with his whining, and not her father, always looking for a way to use her for his benefit.