She led him out of the study, making a point to leave the door ajar so it would not disturb her again. Then she took him back past the common rooms, down a hall and then another until they were nearly as far away from the Earl’s study as it was possible to be.
Finally, they stood in front of the last door at the end of the furthest wing. Since the key had been safely in her possession since Grandfather’s death, she had no worries about keeping this one closed, especially if it preserved her privacy.
Then she opened the door and waited for the reaction that visitors to the manor generally had. He would take one look at the forbidding corner room, shiver in the cold draught, squint into the gloom and ask if it were possible to remove the books they need to somewhere more pleasant.
He stood, frozen on the threshold, amazed.
‘This is your library,’ he said, undisguised awe in his voice.
‘As my family continues to remind me, it is not technically mine. It belongs to the Earl,’ she reminded him. ‘But previous Comstock heirs seldom availed themselves of this room. Perhaps the estate might not be in chaos if they had.’
‘They did not come here?’ He stepped into the room, staring up at the packed shelves reaching from floor to ceiling. ‘What was wrong with them?’
‘The family has always found the room too grim,’ she said, then added, ‘I am the only one who uses it.’
He gave an indifferent shrug, unable to look away from the shelves. ‘A little dark, perhaps. But I would hardly call it grim.’ Without thinking, he brought his hand up to caress the nearest leather spine.
He liked books.
It was not such an uncommon thing, really. She understood that a large portion of the population was illiterate. But though some of the people she knew did it grudgingly, all her acquaintances could read.
But she had never seen any of them look at the Comstock library with avarice instead of dismay. Though she did not mind it for research, the room needed light, airing and perhaps a complete redecoration to make it habitable for casual readers. There had been no money for frivolous redecoration in quite some time. Until there was, when the family needed a book they collected it and went elsewhere to read.
But Potts looked as if he had found heaven on earth. Her heart beat faster, as it had on the previous evening, while they’d played chess. The man was almost too perfect. In fact, he was too perfect. At any moment, he would say something disappointingly ordinary. It would break the spell he had cast on her, bringing her back to her senses and saving her from the embarrassment of having to ask for what she really wanted of him.
‘The furniture is uncomfortable,’ she announced, waiting for him to agree as everyone always did and suggest that they adjourn to the sitting room.
He pulled the book he had been touching off the shelf and dropped into the nearest chair, thumbing through the pages before finding a passage that interested him. ‘One could grow used to it, I’m sure,’ he said without looking up.
‘You are the first to think so.’
He barely seemed to hear, already engrossed in the book on his lap. His fingers spreading on the leather cover like a lover’s caress, toying with the cords on the spine, running a nail down the joint. She was unable to contain a shiver of desire and a flush of embarrassment at being jealous of an inanimate object.
‘It gets cold in the winter,’ she said to disguise her reaction, desperate for proof that he was mortal and disappointing, just like everyone else.
‘There is a fireplace,’ he replied, then glanced up at her with a frown as if annoyed at her continual insults to the room. Then he set his book aside and rose to pace down the shelves, forgetting her again. ‘Where would one even start?’
‘To look for the book that matches your key?’ she asked, trailing behind him.
He threw his arms wide and turned suddenly to face her, grinning again. ‘To read them. There are so many.’
‘I recommend, here.’ She took his hand and dragged him towards a set of shelves near one of the library tables. ‘Perhaps it is not the best method of organisation, but I keep my favourites close. There is Shakespeare, Scott, the poetry of Blake. There are novels, as well,’ she said. ‘I will admit to the guilty pleasure of reading them. The Castle of Otranto is an excellent way to pass a stormy evening.’
‘I agree.’ He was smiling at her choices, nodding in approval. ‘But Thomas Paine?’ he said, surprised to find it at the end of the row.
‘I told you before that we had books in England,’ she reminded him. ‘I am sure there are other works by Americans, if that is all you want to read.’
‘No. I want...’ He did not finish the sentence, but she could guess the rest. He wanted to read it all. He looked back at her, breathless with anticipation. ‘My family in America was not exactly opposed to the written word. Though they liked books, there was seldom time or money to enjoy them.’
‘You were poor?’ she said, surprised.
‘Not always,’ he allowed. ‘Sometimes we had money. Sometimes we did not. A rootless plant cannot be expected to thrive. And a rootless man?’ He shrugged again. ‘There is no point in accumulating possessions when one does not plan to stay in one place.’
‘You will have all the time in the world to read, while you are here,’ she coaxed.
He blinked, shocked back to reality. ‘I do not plan to stay for ever. And that is how long it would take to enjoy what is collected here. In fact...’ He swallowed. ‘I do not mean to be here very long at all. The situation here is hopeless. And I have promised...’ He stopped speaking aloud. But by the look in his eyes, a conversation that she was not privy to continued in his mind.
Then, as if coming to a decision, he turned his back on the books and looked at her instead. ‘I cannot allow myself to become distracted, when there are more pressing matters to deal with. It is time that we are honest with each other, Miss Strickland. I know what you are looking for and wish to help you.’
‘You do?’ she asked, putting a hand to her breast as another shiver went through her. It did no credit to him if he thought her a frustrated spinster who would be easily seduced. But since it was true, she had no right to complain.
‘The necklace you were wearing last night was paste, as is the rest of the set it belongs to. You think the Comstock diamonds exist somewhere in this house and you have been looking for them.’
‘The diamonds,’ she repeated. For a moment, she had forgotten all about them. It was as if they were playing chess again and she had just lost another piece.
‘The Earl suspected they were missing,’ he said, voicing her worst fears. ‘It is why he asked for an audit.’
Her sister Hope had spent months worrying about what might happen when the Earl arrived and learned that the most precious piece of the entail was missing. But Charity had made much progress in searching for them and assured her that all would be well by the time their American relative arrived at the house.
Now it appeared Comstock had known all along. She had no fears of his being angry, for she knew the stones were somewhere in the house. She could produce them, given a little more time.
But she had not anticipated that a handsome man would arrive out of the blue, smart enough to best her with her own plans but morally conflicted and eager to make a hasty departure afterwards, just as it became inconvenient for him to stay.
‘Please, Miss Strickland. Let me help you.’ He was smiling at her in a way that was not quite innocent. His eyes held the same glint of avarice she had seen when he had boosted her up the chimney thinking he would split the prize they found.
If he had known about the paste copies, then the only reason he was paying attention to her was in hopes of learning the location of the real stones. It was a good thing she had not actually fallen in love with him, or this revelation would be devastating.
At this, the rational voice in
her head offered nothing more than derisive laughter. Apparently, she would not be allowed to lie to herself and claim she felt nothing. The flame of desire at the sight of him had not abated on learning the truth. But it had kindled a second fire of rage that was almost its equal. She had been doing fine with her search until he had arrived and would do just as well without him.
He was the one who needed her.
‘You want to help me find the diamonds,’ she said, returning the same knowing smile he had offered her. ‘And I assume that there is a price for your help, Potts?’
He gave a half-hearted shrug, as if to say talking money with a lady was normally beneath him. But since there was no man about, what else could be done?
There would be a price for her help, as well. She gestured to the chair he’d occupied before.
‘Please, sit. Let us discuss.’
Chapter Eight
He had a library.
He also had problems and no time to be distracted from solving them. But it was hard not to be. Shelves around him stretched from floor to ceiling. There was a wheeled ladder attached to them, currently tucked into a corner, but able to run around the perimeter of the room on brass rails, to make it easy to reach to the very top.
And every single one of those shelves was packed with books. Some were in Latin, French and Greek. He did not know any of those languages. But if there were primers, he might learn enough to read.
If he had time.
Which he did not.
He had gone from assuming wealth to assuming poverty. Now that he had seen the house, the truth was somewhere in between. But auctioning the contents of this building would be embarrassing and time-consuming. What he needed was a handful of portable wealth, the sort that could be carried back to America in his vest pocket.
He needed those diamonds. And sitting across from him now was the exceptionally clever Charity Strickland, ready to talk terms.
He sat down and leaned forward with a respectful nod. ‘I am at your command, Miss Strickland.’
‘First, I must have your word that you do not mean to run off with everything we find,’ she said. ‘I was not planning to take more than four or five of the smaller stones for myself...’
‘You were planning to take them,’ he said, surprised. It was odd to be possessive of things he had not even known about a year ago. For some reason, it made him indignant to think of a family member pilfering from the estate. And it was an odd reason indeed, since he wished to do the same thing.
‘Only a few,’ she reminded him. ‘The whole parure has been absent for half a century, I think it only fair that I receive a fee for the finding of them.’
‘And what will the Earl say to that?’ he asked.
‘I have no intention of being here to find out,’ she replied.
‘You mean to run away from home?’
She laughed. ‘You make me sound like a wayward child, Potts. I am a woman, fully grown.’
A vision flashed into his mind of the flesh above her bodice on the previous evening and the calves he had seen before that. ‘My apologies, Miss Strickland. But I would have thought, since you are still unmarried, the bosom of your family is still the best place for you.’
‘And how long do you suppose it will be so, once the Earl arrives?’ she said. ‘There is a good chance that I will be forced into an exceptionally awkward marriage with him, for the sake of the family. I have no illusions about his fidelity, or even his affection. He is like to forget about me the moment the knot is tied. If he does not forget? He will want to mould me into the sort of woman he expects—quiet, co-operative and subservient to him in all things.’
‘He is not such a bad fellow as all that,’ Miles argued, annoyed that she had formed such an opinion without even meeting him.
‘It does not matter if he is good or bad,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘He is male. In my experience, all men want the same thing.’
‘They do?’ he said, thinking of the obvious.
‘Dominion over women,’ she stated. ‘Earls are even worse, for they feel it is their right to control everyone on their property. If Comstock does not wish to marry me, then I will be forced into a similarly uncomfortable union with one of his friends.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Miles said, for it had never occurred to him to do so.
‘There will be any number of men eager to curry favour with him, now that he has a title. If he does not know it already, he will soon learn that the family coffers are empty and the land unprofitable. He will find a rich man who is willing to trade that wealth for a family connection and they will work my future out between themselves.’
It was an accurate assessment of the men he’d met in London and their sudden eagerness to help him once they had learned his identity. He had been smart enough to see that such aid came with a price tag that did not always involve money. Some had even mentioned his cousin in Berkshire and her need for a husband. But it had never occurred to him what he might gain in marrying her off to a stranger.
‘You think that...the Earl is going to sell you to the highest bidder,’ he said, appalled.
‘My sisters and I were all destined for such matches, while Grandfather lived,’ she replied. ‘I overheard him making the plans before Faith had her come out. I was not yet seventeen, but was promised to a baronet of five and fifty.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘And then he was gone. With no money and no guarantee that an heir could be found, our value on the marriage mart fell precipitously and the suitors did not appear.’
‘But your sisters have both married,’ he said.
‘They have found both love and money,’ she said. ‘But their first instinct was to find the former, not the latter. When you are told from childhood on that the family exists to preserve the estate, eventually it is almost impossible to separate your wants and needs from whatever Comstock requires of you.’
‘But you wish autonomy,’ he replied. ‘And I suppose there is someone you favour who has nothing of value to offer an earl.’
She gave another short bark of laughter. ‘You think I need money for an elopement? You flatter me, Potts. I am a poor relation and a plain one. No man wants me for myself, nor is that likely to change.’
‘You are too hard on yourself,’ he insisted.
‘No harder than society has been, thus far. Before they found husbands, Faith and Hope refused several suitors for making comments about their “quiz of a sister”. It got so bad that I stopped going out with them, lest they reject a gentleman who was perfect in all ways but his assessment of me.’
If this was how she had been treated thus far, her low opinion of men made perfect sense. It made his blood boil to think of the men who had dared to insult her, a woman who had no fault other than a quick mind and an unguarded manner. Then he remembered that it was in his power to right any wrongs that had been done to her and see to it that she had the happiness she deserved.
‘Perhaps society has treated you unfairly thus far. But I am sure the new Earl will want to know of your concerns for your future,’ Miles insisted. ‘If you put it reasonably to him, as you just did to me...’
‘You are not an earl, Potts,’ she said, with an exasperated sigh. ‘You do not have the full weight of generations of nobility, reminding you that it is not your place to accommodate the wishes of others, it is theirs to accommodate yours.’
‘True,’ he said. At least, he did not feel like an earl. As an American, he found the idea that strangers were obligated to bend and scrape to him disconcerting at best and annoying at worst. He wanted to be long gone from this place before it started to seem normal. ‘But suppose that I was. If I had the power to give you anything you wished, what would you ask of me?’
For a moment, her eyes went wide, as though either the question or its answer had shocked her. Then, her control returned. ‘You mean
to know what I would ask of the Earl. I would not ask anything, Potts. I would tell him and you that I deserve the right to set up my own household and to keep it should I decide to remain unmarried. If I do decide to wed, I need a dowry that is tempting, but not large enough to attract fortune hunters. And money that is not controlled by the Earl of Comstock, so that I can choose the course of my future without risk of my allowance vanishing the moment I displease him.’
What she sought was perfectly reasonable. Even as little as he had in the bank, he could arrange for her future with the stroke of a pen. Or Comstock could, at least. Augustus Potts could do little but offer her commiserations. ‘I respect your right to choose your own future,’ he said at last, ‘even if I disagree with you on several points concerning the Earl and his plans for you.’
‘How kind of you to do so, Potts,’ she said, her mouth puckering like a tart cherry. ‘But I have no intention of waiting patiently for him to arrive, just so we can see which of us is right,’ she said. ‘My plan has always been to find the missing diamonds and sell a few of the smaller ones to establish myself. But enough of me. You wish to stake your own future, as well, don’t you?’
‘That is very true,’ he said.
‘Then before we go a step further, you must agree to take only a reasonable share. A few missing stones can be excused as loss. But if you think to walk away with too much, I will put my reservations aside and tell the Earl what you have done and he will see you hang for it.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, shocked at the vehemence of her threats. ‘I will take no more than what you wish for yourself.’
She shook her head in disappointment. ‘You surprise me, Potts. I have been poring through journals and diaries for several years and have taken the quest almost to its completion. And yet, after finding one clue, you think you deserve an equal share.’
How Not to Marry an Earl Page 7