What Ales the Earl

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Er, Lady Susan. Perhaps we should return to the inn. Lord Darrow’s mother and Lord Muddlegate must be wondering where we are.”

  Good Lord! Mama’s here, too?

  He turned his glare to Letitia, who had the grace to shrug apologetically.

  Lady Susan plowed ahead. Apparently, the dolt thought his silence meant he was suitably penitent rather than literally speechless with rage.

  “I don’t mean to object to the liaison itself, you understand,” she said haughtily. “Of course not. I know the ways of the world. You are free to have as many whores and bastards as you like. Do not, however, make the mistake of introducing them to me ever again. You must know how demeaning that is.”

  He found his voice. “Yes. You are correct. Very demeaning. You can rest assured I’ll apologize to Mrs. Barnes when next I see her.”

  Lady Susan had been smiling—well, smirking—until he’d mentioned Pen.

  “Apologize to Mrs. Barnes? Whatever for?”

  “Lady Susan, we really ought to go,” Letitia said.

  Neither Lady Susan nor he paid any attention to Letitia’s feeble attempt to avert disaster.

  Except it wasn’t disaster, at least for him. It was a blessing in disguise.

  Well, hardly disguised. He’d known in his gut that marrying Lady Susan was a bad idea. Why else had he put off offering for her again and again? His conversations with Pen had forced him to face the fact that not only did he not love Lady Susan, he didn’t like her. And now, seeing how she’d treated Pen and Harriet . . .

  There wasn’t a word strong enough to describe how much he loathed her.

  And yes, he’d acknowledge she had some grounds for complaint. The general rule in Society was that a man should see to it that his mistress and his wife never met. But Pen and Lady Susan had met, quite by accident. Pen had behaved with generosity and poise while Lord Langley’s spoiled daughter had acted precisely like the small-minded harpy she was.

  Bloody hell, Pen was a person. She deserved to be treated with basic respect, no matter what her station in life. And Harriet was an innocent child.

  “For introducing you to her, of course,” he said, keeping his voice level. “Though I do believe, now that I think of it, she introduced herself.”

  What other woman would have had the presence of mind to do what Pen had done—to take control of an awkward situation and protect their daughter from insult?

  Lady Susan looked momentarily confused by his choice of pronouns, but then latched on to his second sentence. “Yes, I believe you are correct. She did introduce herself. Such a bold piece! Once we are married—”

  “Pardon me?” Aha! The jade had given him precisely the opening he wanted.

  “Lady Susan,” Letitia said, still trying to avoid the disaster she saw barreling toward them. “I really do think we should go back to the inn and let the earl continue on his walk by himself.”

  Lady Susan might as well have been deaf, so completely did she ignore Letitia. She kept her eyes—her glare—on him, while swatting her hand in Letitia’s direction as if his sister-in-law was nothing more than an annoying, buzzing insect.

  “I said, once we are married—”

  He cut her off. “That’s what I thought you said. Wherever did you get the daft notion we are going to wed?”

  Lady Susan’s mouth dropped open.

  “Lady Susan, please.” Letitia went so far as to tug on the woman’s arm. “It’s time we returned. Clearly Lord Darrow is eager to continue his walk. Let’s give him the solitude he needs to consider . . . matters.” She looked at Harry.

  He gave her a small smile. It was all the icy fury currently coursing through his veins would allow. But he did sincerely appreciate her effort to remove the harridan before he did or said something he would regret.

  Letitia blinked, gave him a wobbly smile in return, and then looked worriedly at Lady Susan—who angrily shook off her hold.

  Zeus! Lord Langley’s daughter was like a terrier with a rat, he being the rat. Her brows had snapped down into a deep scowl, and she flashed her teeth in what was more a snarl than a smile as she, well, growled, “I am perfect for you. I’m young enough to give you an heir, I’m attractive, and I’m an earl’s daughter. And I’ve said I’ll turn a blind eye to your little”—she flicked her fingers in the direction Pen had gone—“peccadillos.”

  He hadn’t thought he could get any angrier, but—surprise!—he could.

  If Lady Susan were male, he could vent some of his fury with his fists.

  If she were male, they would not be having this “discussion.”

  “Of course, we are going to be married,” she said. “Everyone expects it.”

  He raised both brows in feigned surprise and said, with a precisely calculated edge of disdain, “They do? How . . . odd.”

  “There is nothing odd about it.” Lady Susan stomped one slippered foot on the path. “I expect it. Why else do you think I wasted my time at the Duke of Grainger’s house party? You were the only eligible male there—at least the only one shopping for a wife. My father spent the entire party waiting for you to ask for my hand.”

  “And I never did, did I?”

  Lady Susan stomped her foot again. Letitia had—wisely—given up and stepped back out of the fray, clasping her hands in front of her, likely to keep from wrapping them around his or Lady Susan’s neck.

  To be honest, he probably should apologize for raising Lady Susan’s hopes. She did have some basis for complaint—he’d shown a marked interest in her—

  No, to be fair, she was right. He had intended to offer for her. He’d just changed his mind.

  Thank God.

  He drew in a breath to beg her pardon, but the woman spoke first, throwing her hands up in the air.

  “I cannot believe this!” She was stiff with anger, her words coming in short, sharp bursts. “I wasted the entire Season on you. The entire Season.” She jabbed her finger at him with each word. “I could have got any number of lords—Arronder or Whatenly or Neardorn—to come up to scratch if I’d exerted the slightest effort to do so, you know.”

  That was no great surprise. The three lords she’d mentioned still needed to get an heir, but none could be considered a catch. Arronder was in his fifties. Whatenly wasn’t much younger and had already buried two wives. Neardorn was Harry’s age, but had long been rumored to prefer men to women.

  “My father told me I’d played my cards wrong when the Season’s last ball came and went and you still hadn’t offered. But your mama said—and your sister-in-law, too—” She glared at Letitia.

  Letitia glared back and opened her mouth to respond, but Lady Susan swept on.

  “—told me not to give up hope, that you’d promised to find a bride this year and would keep your word. That I was the only one you were courting. And then I got invited to the duke’s house party. So of course, I thought you would finally—finally—pop the question there. But no. Instead, you ran off.”

  That assessment wasn’t far from the truth, unfortunately. But he was glad he’d turned craven. If he’d stayed—hell, if that rainstorm hadn’t come in right when it had—he’d have sentenced himself to a life of misery with the dreadful Lady Susan.

  Grainger had done him an enormous favor. “The duke asked me to attend to a matter for him.”

  Lady Susan sniffed derisively. “That’s what I was able to wheedle out of the stableboy as well, but now I see what you were really up to.” She shrugged. “As I said, you are welcome to have as many whores as you like. In fact, I’d much rather you take your animal lusts out on those common females who can better withstand such attentions. As an earl’s daughter, I expect constraint and courtesy in the marital bed.”

  Now didn’t that sound jolly. Thank God he hadn’t offered for this earl’s daughter. And yes, this was precisely what he’d thought she wanted—what he’d told Pen she wanted. But hearing her actually say the words—

  His stomach twisted.

  No, he
could not live with such a cold fish—and he certainly couldn’t bed one. If he tried, he’d likely find himself unable to perform for the first time in his life.

  And hot—very hot—on the heels of that thought came the memory of what he’d done with Pen in the cottage last night.

  “You have no experience, Lady Susan,” Letitia said quietly. “You might find your marital duties not so very objectionable once you know more precisely what they entail.”

  Oh, Lord. Could this conversation get any more awkward? He didn’t want to know anything about his brother’s marriage.

  Lady Susan, of course, had no compunction about wading into matters that did not concern her. “I am not an idiot. Nor an infant. I’ve heard what men do to their wives and it sounds very uncomfortable.” She gave Letitia a hard look. “And don’t tell me you liked it. I believe you banned the late earl from your bed, did you not?”

  Letitia turned red and her entire body seemed to droop. “I did, but only because the doctor told me I would die if I conceived another child so soon after I’d lost the last one.”

  Lord! His mother had told him about the miscarriages, but she hadn’t shared that last bit. “I’m sorry, Letitia,” he said, reaching out to clasp his sister-in-law’s shoulder.

  She smiled wanly back at him.

  And then Lady Susan barged into their moment of rapport.

  “See? It is just as I said. Gently bred ladies are too delicate for”—her nose wrinkled in disgust—“male lust. Wed me, Lord Darrow, to get your heir and then have your fun”—she waved her hand distastefully in the direction Pen had gone—“with your bit of muslin.” She laughed. “I mean, it’s not as if you can marry her, right?”

  He stared at her.

  Why can’t I marry Pen?

  He was a bloody earl, for God’s sake. If he couldn’t do as he wished, who could?

  He felt himself start to grin.

  “Thank you for your generous offer, Lady Susan, but I must decline.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Of course, Lady Susan didn’t accept that.

  “What do you mean, you must decline? You can’t decline. You need an heir, don’t you? You even promised your mother you’d find a wife this Season, and the Season is over. I’ve said I’m willing to marry you and look the other way when you engage in your extramarital escapades.” Lady Susan snorted. “What is the problem? Of course, you’ll marry me.”

  Anger and disgust jostled with each other in his breast, but the emotion that prevailed was relief. Zeus, he’d had a narrow escape.

  He tried to remain polite. “Yes, I need an heir. And yes, I promised my mother I’d find a wife this Season. But no, I won’t marry you.”

  Lady Susan put her hands on her hips. “Oh? So, then who are you going to marry?”

  He probably shouldn’t tell her, but if his suit was successful, she’d find out soon enough. And, much as it reflected badly on him, he couldn’t resist throwing his decision in her supercilious face.

  “I hope Mrs. Barnes will agree to marry me.”

  Lady Susan’s reaction was all he could have hoped for. Shock widened her eyes and caused her jaw to drop, and then anger swept in to tighten her features.

  Followed, unfortunately, by corrosive spite, something he should have anticipated.

  “You’re going to marry your whore? Good God! Are you mad? I’m sure the woman doesn’t know the first thing about running an earl’s household. More, I’d be shocked if any of your servants wish to be ordered about by the creature. Do you think they will like having one of their own put above them? Not to mention the ton will never accept such a common, low-born woman. Every door will be shut against her. You’ll be the laughingstock of London.”

  And you will still be on the shelf. Everyone will speculate about what fatal flaw kept the Earl of Darrow from offering for you.

  He thought the words, but managed to keep from saying them. He was very proud of his self-control. “Are you quite finished?”

  “No!”

  Her hand flashed up, but his reflexes were excellent. He blocked her arm before her palm connected with his face—and then he blocked her other arm.

  “I will tolerate your vituperation this one time, madam,” he said, leaning toward her, holding her gaze with his—and keeping a loose grasp on her wrists so she couldn’t try once more to slap him. “But do not think to repeat this scene ever again. And if I catch the faintest whisper that you said or did anything to impugn Mrs. Barnes’s character, I will let it be known exactly what I think of you.”

  He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes and felt a faint brush of pity. It could not be easy being an older woman still languishing on the Marriage Mart—

  And if Lady Susan wasn’t such an annoying, whining, grasping female, she’d not be in that position.

  In any event, the fear was gone, replaced by temper.

  “Are you threatening me?” she spat at him.

  “No,” he said coldly. “I’m promising you.”

  Her eyes widened, and then she pulled back. He let her go.

  “You, sirrah, are no gentleman.”

  He shrugged. There was no point in prolonging this encounter.

  She looked at Letitia. “I should never have listened to you when you suggested this”—she threw him a dark scowl—“person was interested in marriage.”

  “And I should never have mentioned the possibility. Clearly you two will not suit.” Letitia’s tone was flat.

  Lady Susan glared at her as if she expected her to say something more, but Letitia held her tongue.

  “Well! I am going back to that horrible inn now,” Lady Susan finally said, waspishly. “I would insist on returning to London today if we hadn’t just arrived, but the roads in and out of this pitiful village are so dreadful I’m sure the coachman would not agree to travel them again so soon.”

  And then she raised her chin and focused on Harry. “So, you are in luck, my lord. You have a few hours to reconsider your foolish decision. If you come to your senses before the morning, you might be able to persuade me to have you after all.”

  Years of good manners turned the laugh her words had surprised out of him into a cough. He didn’t trust himself to speak though—he was certain to say something cutting—so he just bowed wordlessly.

  She frowned at him, and then she frowned at Letitia. “Are you coming?”

  Letitia shook her head no.

  “Well!” Lady Susan looked at Harry again. “Well!” Then she turned on her heel and stormed off down the path.

  “She’s right, you know,” Letitia said as soon as Lady Susan was safely out of earshot.

  “About what?” He was afraid he knew all too well.

  “The ton will never accept Mrs. Barnes.”

  No. That couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t let it be true. He’d—

  First things first.

  He sighed. “I hope you are wrong, but that is not my most pressing problem at the moment.”

  “Oh? What is?”

  “Getting Mrs. Barnes—Pen—to accept me.”

  Letitia’s eyes widened. “What? Surely she’ll jump at the chance to be a countess.”

  “Not Pen.” She should jump at it. It would solve all her problems—and his and Harriet’s as well. But one never knew with Pen, she was so bloody independent and strong-willed.

  Letitia looked doubtful, but nodded nonetheless, apparently willing to accept his view of the matter. “She seemed poised and self-assured. Is her birth really dreadful?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m afraid so. Her father was a tenant farmer—an often drunk one.”

  “Oh, dear. And her mother?”

  “Died long ago. I don’t think Pen remembers her. But I’m confident she wasn’t of the gentry, either.”

  Letitia shook her head. “Then I think you’d better wait until next Season and try your luck again on the Marriage Mart. I know you promised to marry this year, but it’s very unlikely a few more months will m
ake any difference.”

  He snorted. “So, you’re not going to urge me to go groveling to Lady Susan?”

  Letitia laughed and then wrinkled her noise in disgust. “Definitely not. I do apologize for putting her in your way. I had no idea she was so dreadful.”

  “Well, to be fair, neither did I.” He’d known he didn’t love her, but who expected love in a ton marriage? And she didn’t love him, so he wouldn’t be breaking her heart—if she had a heart to break.

  “She wanted to be a countess, and I needed an heir. I thought we’d rub along together well enough.” He shuddered. “I almost offered for her at Grainger’s, you know. Lord, that would have been a disaster.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Letitia smiled. “Chalk it up to a lesson learned. You’ll be more discerning next time.”

  Next time . . .

  God, he didn’t want there to be a next time. He couldn’t face any more balls and soirees, all the false gaiety, the batted eyelashes and coy looks. None of the women he’d met in London had cared a farthing about him—they just cared how many farthings he had in his bank account.

  “I’m done with the Marriage Mart.”

  “Harry—”

  “I’m serious. I’m determined to ask Pen if she’ll have me.”

  His sister-in-law frowned, but he went on before she could present the arguments she’d clearly marshalled. “I love her, Letitia. I think I always have.”

  Letitia rolled her eyes.

  He’d seen her daughters do that, but never her.

  “Love? Pshaw!” she said dismissively. “I suspect it is far more likely you are in lust with Mrs. Barnes.”

  “Letitia!” Yes, lust was part of what he felt—a large part—but it certainly wasn’t the entire story . . . was it?

  Can I be sure?

  Of course, he could. He’d had plenty of experience with lust. This was different.

  “Think, Harry. You’ve just met her again—and discovered you have a daughter. Of course, your emotions are disordered. Give it time. It will pass.”

  “No. You’re wrong.” What Letitia said made sense. It was reasonable, even wise—in other circumstances.

  She didn’t know how deep his feelings ran.