Earl's Well That Ends Well

by Jane Ashford

  “May?” asked Teresa, dismayed.

  “Some recover from this sort of injury. Others do not. It is difficult to tell why.”

  Lord Macklin looked as grim as Teresa felt. “Leave instructions about what she requires,” he said. “We will see that they are carried out.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The doctor looked from him to Teresa and back again. “These girls have been badly treated. I hope something is being done about that.”

  “The matter is in the hands of a magistrate,” replied Lord Macklin. “All that can be done will be.”

  Teresa wondered a little at the way he phrased this.

  “Ah. Good,” said the doctor. When it became clear that he would be told no more, he rose and took his leave, promising to send the medications he recommended with all speed.

  And then Teresa was left alone in the grand drawing room with its noble owner. He sat beside her, the partner who had helped her accomplish…miracles really. And he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He was a man like no other.

  If she reached out, she could touch his hand, his cheek. The love she felt for him filled her. “I would like to thank you,” she said. “For helping me get them out.”

  “As who would not?”

  “So very many people. You know how girls in their position are valued by most of society.”

  “Not at all, you mean.” He looked vexed. “I admit I never paid much heed. You have shown me so many things.”

  Teresa’s throat was tight with emotion. “You are extraordinary.”

  “I hardly think so.”

  “That is part of what makes you so.” She hadn’t understood that such men existed. She hadn’t believed until he proved it to her. Now he drew her irresistibly. She wanted to nestle into his arms. She wanted to throw off every scruple, forget everything but him.

  “That word applies better to you,” he said with one of his dizzying smiles. “But I’m pleased that you think so. I want you to think well of me.”

  “I?” He said this even though he knew the truth of her past? She’d fallen in love with this English earl because of the way he treated her. She’d been certain his attitude would change when she told her story. How had it not? She leaned closer. Her fingers brushed his sleeve. His lips were right there. She moved the last few inches and kissed him. Tentative at first, questioning, merely exploratory. At his immediate, ardent response, she slid her arms around his neck, pressed close, and lost herself in the embrace. Soft, all-encompassing, replete—a kiss like no other. She’d thought of him once as an ocean wave that knocked one tumbling and then dragged irresistibly toward the depths. Here they were, engulfing her. And she didn’t care. She surrendered to that passionate tide.

  Lord Macklin pulled away from her. Teresa reached for him with a soft protest. “I cannot,” he said, his voice uneven. “You are a guest in my house. Under my protection. Any… It would be quite wrong of me.”

  “I don’t require protection from you,” she replied. The truth of it rang through her as soon as she spoke, leaving her shaken. Here was the heart of the matter—trust.

  But he edged farther back and then stood up. “I had better go before…”

  The always immaculate earl looked mussed. His neckcloth was twisted.

  “One cannot resist the irresistible,” he murmured. “But I must.”

  The ever-articulate aristocrat spoke in disjointed phrases. Teresa reveled in it.

  “When this visit is done…” With one searing look at her, he strode out.

  Lord Macklin did not appear at dinner that evening. Nor in the drawing room afterward. Teresa assumed that he slept in his bedchamber, a few doors down the hall from hers, through the night. She was tempted to find out, but she knew he would not like it. So in the end she too resisted.

  Rising early the next morning she found no one else in the breakfast room when she went down. The earl had gone out, she was told, and it appeared that the girls were taking advantage of the unaccustomed luxury and sleeping as long as they liked. She was glad; they needed the rest after their ordeal. Having eaten, Teresa sought out the housekeeper and talked with her as she’d planned. Mrs. Garting was stiff at first. But she gradually unbent as Teresa told her tale—all true but carefully tailored to her audience. By the time she’d finished, the atmosphere had lightened, and she thought the earl’s staff would be less prickly from now on. She went to sit in the drawing room, not sure quite what to do with idleness after the recent intense activity.

  The butler came to her there to report that she had callers.

  “But no one knows I’m here.”

  “These ladies appear well informed, madam.”

  She hadn’t expected the rumors to begin quite so soon. Teresa sighed. She didn’t feel like fending off curious gossips, coming to pry all the details out of her. All alone. Then she remembered that she had a high-nosed butler at her command. “Tell them that no one is at home to receive them.”

  “Yes, madam.” Chirt looked as if he would enjoy it.

  But a few minutes later Teresa heard a chorus of voices approaching, and in the next instant three young ladies burst into the drawing room. Chirt followed on their heels with an outraged expression.

  “I cannot believe you would deny us,” said Miss Charlotte Deeping.

  “You left us out of everything,” complained Miss Sarah Moran. “It’s not fair.”

  “Tom told us what you’ve been up to,” said Miss Harriet Finch, in response to Teresa’s startled expression. “Part of it, at any rate. I suspect he left out a good deal. No, I’m certain he must have.”

  “And so we have come to hear.” Miss Deeping plopped down on the sofa next to Teresa. She looked as if it would take several strong footmen to remove her. “And if you think you can fob us off, you will find you are mistaken,” she said, confirming this impression.

  Miss Moran and Miss Finch also sat. They looked like fashionable debutantes, decked out in gowns and bonnets for morning calls, but the stares they fixed on Teresa were worthy of a wolf pack.

  “It’s all right, Chirt,” said Teresa. “Thank you.”

  The butler turned away, clearly incensed. He walked out, somehow managing to express profound disapproval with his back.

  “He thinks we’re dreadfully rackety,” said Miss Moran.

  Miss Deeping made a dismissive gesture. “Tell,” she said to Teresa.

  She didn’t care to be commanded. But more than that, she wasn’t sure how much the young ladies should be told about the sinister house in the country.

  A movement at the door caught her eye. The earl looked in and then ducked back out of sight. “Lord Macklin!” called Teresa.

  After a moment he reappeared. His expression made it obvious that he had intended to escape. Teresa laughed at him. He smiled ruefully when he saw it.

  A clamor rose from the three visitors, accusing the earl also of leaving them out of the adventure. They began to sound like children deprived of a promised treat.

  “Enough!” said Teresa. She looked at Lord Macklin and pointed to an armchair. He sat down. She stood up. “You have no actual right to information, you know,” she said to the young ladies. “You are not owed an explanation.”

  They looked surprised, hurt, offended, according to their various personalities. Teresa felt a mixture of weariness and compassion.

  “We helped investigate,” said Miss Deeping.

  “We asked all sorts of questions,” said Miss Moran. “How can you say that we…”

  “We are not speaking of a pet raven stealing trinkets here,” interrupted Teresa.

  Now she had provoked them all. A row of frowns confronted her.

  Teresa suddenly felt far older than these young ladies. “Evil exists in the world, you know.”

  “We are well aware…” began Miss Deeping.

  “You d
on’t know what real evil is, and perhaps you shouldn’t have to,” Teresa interrupted.

  “We may be ignorant,” replied Miss Finch. “It does not follow that we should be.”

  “You could consider it good luck,” said Teresa. Much of a person’s destiny seemed to come down to luck.

  “I do not,” said Miss Moran quietly.

  Teresa was surprised that it should be this girl who objected.

  “Knowing is always best, I think,” the girl added. “One should never refuse to learn.”

  “But once you learn a…dreadful thing, you cannot erase it from your memory.”

  “Talk, talk, talk,” said Miss Deeping. “The truth is you have gone off on adventures without us, and you have no intention of explaining.” She looked from Teresa to the earl and back again.

  Her petulance goaded Teresa. “The opera dancers we were seeking, and two other girls, were imprisoned in a place where men came to do whatever they pleased to them. Vile, unprincipled men. The girls are lying upstairs, bruised and still frightened. Odile may die from the mistreatment she received.”

  This brought a shocked silence. Lord Macklin, who had raised a cautionary hand, let it drop.

  Miss Finch murmured a curse.

  “But why would anyone…” Miss Moran began. She fell silent.

  “Evil,” said Teresa. “In the world.” She’d achieved the effect she was looking for; she had shaken them. And now she was sorry she’d lost her temper.

  “How did you…” Miss Deeping began. She stopped and shook her head. “It’s not just an exciting story.” Miss Moran swallowed, her blue eyes wide.

  “I hate people,” said Miss Finch. She was looking out the window as if she could eliminate a few passersby with her stony gaze. “Nearly all of them are despicable.”

  Even more, Teresa wished she hadn’t spoken.

  “Helping can be an adventure too,” said Lord Macklin.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “The old tales are full of swordplay and derring-do, but adventure is not only physical danger. As I discovered this past year.”

  “Whatever it is, we are supposed to have nothing to do with it,” said Miss Deeping. She sounded thoroughly disgruntled.

  “Not necessarily.”

  Teresa was surprised by his intervention. She didn’t understand what point he was making.

  “Are you going to suggest that we become smug Lady Bountifuls, distributing largesse?” asked Miss Finch. “If you knew how many people have come to me for donations since I inherited! I find their attitude…”

  “Grasping?” the earl interrupted. “Undeservedly entitled? Condescending?”

  Miss Finch nodded, looking surprised.

  “I hate being patronized,” said Miss Deeping. “Half the haut ton seems to think they know better than I ever could. About everything!”

  “I don’t think anyone enjoys being treated so,” said the earl.

  “As if you’d know,” muttered Miss Deeping.

  “Charlotte!” said Miss Moran. “There’s no need to be rude.”

  Miss Deeping murmured an apology. Lord Macklin waved it aside. “I was patronized as a boy,” he said. “I admit it has been a while.”

  When his eyes twinkled in that way, he was irresistible, Teresa thought. What if she refused to resist? The thought was so enflaming that she nearly missed the next remarks.

  “What do you mean by help?” asked Miss Finch. She had a gift of staying with the topic at hand. “And why do you call it an adventure?”

  “The adventure comes in discovering the kind of help people really want. Not what you may believe they want, or think they should want. Particularly the latter. That discovery takes one in unexpected directions.”

  “Isn’t finding out just another kind of patronizing?” asked Miss Finch.

  “You are quite an intelligent young lady,” the earl replied.

  Miss Finch blushed with pleasure.

  “And the answer is, it can be,” he went on. “One must make an effort to be sure that it is not. Beginning with respect. Discussing matters as equals and not, as you said, Lady Bountifuls. And then observing behavior as well as talk. Action may not match words. People may not know their true wishes. The process is not easy.”

  He spoke to the young ladies as if they mattered, Teresa thought, just as he’d always treated her with respect. How had a privileged nobleman become this unusual man?

  “That doesn’t sound like adventure to me,” said Miss Deeping. Seeing Teresa’s eyes on her, she sighed. “Yes, I understand what you have said.”

  “The opera dancers need help,” said Miss Moran slowly. “Especially the ones staying here. But all of them have a hard time of it.”

  “Perhaps we could find better places for them,” said Miss Deeping. “Some other sort of employment.”

  Miss Finch shook her head.

  “They like to dance,” said Teresa. “Most of them love the theater. They don’t wish to leave.”

  “Better pay?” asked Miss Moran tentatively.

  “You would suggest that we ask them,” said Miss Finch, with a nod to Lord Macklin.

  “In doing so, you would enter another world,” he said.

  “And that is the adventure,” said Miss Deeping. “I do understand.” She didn’t seem entirely reconciled to the idea.

  “May we see them?” asked Miss Finch.

  “When they are more fully recovered,” answered Teresa.

  It was agreed that she would send word when this time came, and the group started to break up. But they had scarcely pulled on their gloves when Chirt marched in with a large figure at his heels. “Miss Julia Grandison,” the butler announced in a deeply aggrieved tone. Arthur had no trouble interpreting his expression. Chirt resented the chaos that had overtaken his well-ordered household. And he was just waiting for the right opportunity to express his outrage. “She did not care to wait below,” the man added in sepulchral tones.

  “What do you think you are doing, visiting a man’s home?” boomed a familiar voice as the formidable lady sailed in behind him. She raked the young ladies with her harshest glare.

  “Señora Alvarez is here,” said Miss Deeping.

  “Indeed? Well, she should know better. Or perhaps be better.”

  “I can only aspire,” said the señora. Arthur stifled a laugh.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Miss Grandison took an armchair as if it was a throne. “The most extraordinary rumors are flying about town,” she said. She frowned at Arthur. “They are saying you have filled your home with opera dancers, Macklin. Dozens of them!”

  “There are only…” began Miss Deeping, then fell silent as both Teresa’s and Miss Grandison’s sharp gazes swung to transfix her.

  “Well,” continued Miss Grandison. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing,” Arthur replied. He had to keep reminding himself not to gaze at Señora Alvarez like a lovelorn boy. He could think of nothing else since that searing kiss. He ached for her, day and most particularly night. To be so near and not touch her—it was maddening. His only consolation was the conviction that she would welcome his suit when they were done with this visit. Which already felt interminable.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Miss Grandison.

  “I owe no one explanations,” he replied.

  “You will allow malicious tongues to wag?”

  “I doubt I could stop them.”

  “How fortunate to be a man,” murmured Miss Finch. Señora Alvarez gave her an appreciative sidelong glance.

  Momentarily, Miss Grandison seemed at a loss. Clearly, she had expected to mow down opposition. But for what purpose? “I wish to speak to these opera dancers,” she said then. “At once.”

  Ah, that was it. “About your brother?” Arthur asked.
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br />   “I require only a bit more information.”

  “No,” said Señora Alvarez.

  Miss Grandison turned on her. “You do not wish to make an enemy of me, my good woman.”

  “I would rather not. But I will not expose the girls to your interrogation.”

  Arthur agreed with this. They were in no shape to endure the formidable lady’s questions.

  “I believe I can talk civilly to anyone,” said Miss Grandison.

  “Your idea of civility will intimidate them,” said the señora. “Find out about your brother from someone else.”

  Miss Grandison made a sour face. “The men close ranks, you know. And many of the women as well.”

  Señora Alvarez looked as if she was quite familiar with this tendency.

  “Those who recall me under the overturned punch bowl seem to rather enjoy the memory. I’m sure I made a most amusing picture.” The older lady’s tone was bitter.

  “I am sorry.” The señora sounded sincere. “But would it not be better to let the past go? Is it really necessary to humiliate him? What about your brother’s wife? Do you give no thought to her?”

  “He treats her with contempt,” replied Miss Grandison coldly. “But she is too timid to pay him back herself. He ought to be taken down a peg.”

  The three young ladies looked as if they agreed with this description, which was telling. There was a short silence. Arthur saw no need to fill it. Señora Alvarez was more than holding her own. She was the equal of anybody.

  “I will ask the dancers more about your brother,” she replied finally. “When I think they are up to it. I cannot predict what day that will be.”

  The two women’s eyes held. Neither wavered. Arthur decided one would have to judge the face-off as even, ending in mutual respect.

  “Very well.” Miss Grandison stood and hovered at her full impressive height. “I will bid you farewell. Are you girls coming with me?”

  “We will stay a bit longer, ma’am,” said Miss Finch. Only to avoid Miss Grandison’s company, Arthur thought.