How Not to Marry an Earl

by Christine Merrill

  The staggering weight of the responsibility hit him again, as it did almost every morning, spoiling the glow of happiness. He wanted to crawl back between those delightful-smelling sheets, pull them over his head and refuse to come out. The men who had slept here before him had been birthed on clean white sheets, swaddled in silk and lace, and walked every step of their lives in well-heeled, bespoke boots until their inert body was arrayed on the satin pillow of their casket. And yet, when it had come to taking care of this place, they had failed.

  Of course, they did not have his sense of vision. And they had not had Charity Strickland to help them. He grinned. She had called him brilliant. He did not like to think of himself as such. But Charity had been quite adamant about it. She had grown misty-eyed talking, listing his accomplishments in a way she had not when complimenting his looks.

  That had been either his making or his undoing. She had not said she loved him in so many words. But she must have felt something very like that. She had looked at him last night as if he was the finest man on earth.

  Then she had let him love her. And at some point, the room they’d shared had become the paradise he’d awakened in. Her perfume on the rumpled sheets had scented his dreams. Her kisses had filled his heart with uncontainable joy.

  He had told her they would know in the morning if it had been a mistake. It was not. With such a woman at his side, the future might not be hopeless after all. He could share his life with her, his failures as well as his successes, and have no fear that she would turn from him, looking for a man who offered more.

  It was not until he had walked to the basin for a wash and a shave that he looked in the mirror and remembered that he had shared nothing with her. She did not even know his name. What had possessed him to let the lie go on so long? Why had he come here in the first place? If he’d meant to hide, he’d done it in the first place anyone would look.

  It had been because he had not really wanted to go. It was too late to call back the letter he’d sent to Pru, promising that he would return to marry her. Nor could Ed return from beyond to release him from the promise he had made to care for her. But if he was as smart as Charity seemed to think, he should be able to free himself from the trap Pru had set.

  She had been quick enough to call him aimless when Ed had been alive, continually reminding him that he was a ne’er-do-well and not half the man his older brother was.

  Her tune had changed immediately after the letter from England had arrived. It was some comfort to know that he had been clever enough to resist, when she had tried to seduce him before he’d left. Then, she had called his sense of honour naïve. In getting herself with child, she had found a way to use it to her advantage.

  Perhaps he was naïve. He had offered to return and marry her because it was the right thing to do, comforting himself that he would be walking away from a world of trouble here in England. Perhaps he would not be lord of the manor, but he had barely begun to see what he might make of himself in America, where a man might count himself rich if he had a little money and a pretty wife.

  He glanced at the miniature that was lying on the night table where he had dropped it on undressing the night before. Then he opened the drawer of the table and swept it out of sight. The little ivory oval had felt heavy as a millstone for some time. It was as lovely to look at as the woman who’d posed for it. But neither it nor she made him feel the way he did when he looked at Charity Strickland.

  She was what he needed now. He needed her wisdom as well as her love. He did not like being Comstock any more than she wanted to be his Countess, but he could not help who he was. He would tell her everything that had happened, from the moment he had received the life-changing letter telling him he must come to England. He would apologise for lying to her. He would tell her of his love.

  Then he would let her choose his fate. He would stay or go on her command. If she thought it right that he should marry Pru, he would do so. If not?

  He grinned. He would offer for her. For her, he would be Comstock or plain, old Miles Strickland, or spend the rest of his life as Augustus Potts, if that was what she preferred. And he would do it all on the continent of her choosing. He would be and do whoever and whatever it took to give her the life she deserved.

  By the way he felt after making it, he was sure that his decision was the right one. He was still poor, of course. And his life was still a disaster. But with the love of a good woman and a decent breakfast in him, he was one step closer to conquering the world.

  * * *

  He grinned at the servant coming down the hall towards him, full of the bonhomie that came the morning after the best night of his life. As the fellow drew closer, Miles had only a moment to wonder at the fact that he had not seen the man since the first day, when he’d taken the reins of the big black horse that had brought him here and walked it towards the stables. What was a groom doing in the guest wing of the main house?

  The groom smiled back at him in reassurance, revealing a set of huge teeth that would have been worthy of his charges. Then, without a word of greeting, he pulled back his fist and drove it into Miles’s stomach.

  All the wind in his body left in one woof and there was an agonising moment where he was convinced that it would never return. But through his distress, he felt the big hand of the groom cupped around the back of his neck, keeping him from collapse.

  ‘There, there, Mr Potts. It will pass.’ He added a thunderous clap on the back, which sent the air rushing back into his lungs.

  Miles looked up at the man through streaming eyes, still unable to speak.

  The groom grinned. ‘I was sent by the rest of the staff to give you that message.’

  ‘Huh?’ He attempted a response, but could manage nothing more than a wheeze.

  ‘Perhaps things are different in America. But when you are in service, it is never wise to give yourself airs and behave like a member of the family, eating in the dining room and swanning about the house as if it is yer own.’

  He could feel the first flame of anger, kindling behind the pain in his gut. He was the first to admit to his faults. But he had never swanned in his life. When he got his breath back, he was going to fill his gloves with scrap iron and give this fellow a lesson behind the stables on what was and was not swanning. But at the moment, all he could do was look up at him, eyes streaming from the pain.

  The man allowed a few moments of silence to let his words sink in before continuing. ‘Perhaps an auditor is a different kind of animal from a common servant, so we will let it pass.’

  Miles opened his mouth to bellow that he was no kind of servant at all. He was the Eighth Earl of Comstock. And though he had not yet had time to investigate the cellars of his new home, there had been something on one of the older house plans that had looked rather like a dungeon. Unless this lout wanted to find himself locked in it, he had best return to the stables, where he belonged.

  And then he stopped. He was still Potts until he had spoken to Charity. This was even worse than the gossip spreading after his visit to the village. The only thing that would be worse than lying to her would be having her hear the truth from someone else. So he closed his mouth and took the punishment he deserved.

  The groom stooped to look him in the eye, his breath smelling of this morning’s sausage and last night’s sour ale. ‘Whatever the Earl intends for you, I doubt it is to take liberties with his hospitality. I am sure he would not approve of anyone who would do harm to Miss Charity. Neither would we. We have known her since she was a wee girl, ya see?’

  Miles’s nod turned into a wince as the meaty hand on his shoulder tightened to pinch a nerve.

  ‘And if a stranger should court her without honourable intentions?’ He shrugged and gave a sad look. ‘I would not want to be that fellow. And that is all I will say.’

  ‘I understand,’ Miles wheezed. ‘No harm will come to her, on my li
fe.’

  ‘That is an excellent thing to swear on,’ the groom said, with another smile, giving him a slap on the back that nearly sent him through the plaster on the opposite wall. ‘For that is exactly what is at risk. Do you understand me?’

  Miles nodded again.

  ‘And if I was you I’d pack my bags right smartish and be on my way before something unfortunate happened.’

  Probably something involving a hammer. Miles nodded again.

  The groom nodded back to signify a bargain, then continued down the hall, whistling as if nothing had occurred.

  Now that he was not being held upright, Miles slumped against the wall, taking shallow breaths until the pain began to ease. This was what came of telling lies and not appreciating rank, even when it was forced upon a fellow. An earl could get up to whatever dubious behaviour he chose and face no consequences. But the fictional Augustus Potts had no such magic shield and he had best watch his back until Charity had accepted his suit.

  He dragged himself to his feet and wobbled down the stairs towards breakfast. Ready or not, the time had come to explain everything to Charity and throw himself on her mercy. Her anger was formidable, but a small thing when weighted against the risk that his own servants would beat him senseless to protect her.

  But when he arrived at the ground floor, he changed his mind. Gregory Drake stood in the doorway, offering his coat to the butler. At the sight of Miles on the stairs, he smiled. Then his mouth opened, ready to speak.

  Still too soon.

  Could he not at least make it to the breakfast table before all hell broke loose?

  ‘My...’ Drake’s greeting had already begun. In another second, the title would be out of his mouth and the shocked butler would be running to the basement to tell the staff. The whole house would know in the time it took him to find Charity and explain.

  Miles jumped the last few steps to the floor, reaching for the fellow’s arm as he spoke. ‘Mr Drake! There is an urgent matter I must speak to you about concerning the entail.’ He continued forward, pushing Charity’s brother-in-law back through the open door, shutting it behind them and leaving them both coatless in the early-morning air.

  ‘What the devil...?’ Greg Drake stopped, probably remembering that, no matter how mad he appeared, one did not speak disrespectfully to a member of the peerage. ‘My Lord Comstock—’

  ‘Until I tell you otherwise, I am no such thing,’ Miles interrupted. ‘Not to you, or to anyone who might be with you.’

  ‘I am alone,’ Drake replied in confusion. ‘For the moment, at least. I was in the mood for a gallop and set off on horseback at dawn. But Faith’s husband, James Leggett, is just behind me. Our wives will be arriving by carriage later this morning with the servants and the luggage. When the girls heard that you’d left London, they insisted that we come to the country to welcome the heir.’

  ‘God’s teeth.’ Miles cast a quick look at the closed door, hoping his outburst could not be heard though it. ‘You must intercept them immediately. There is a problem.’

  ‘Not with Miss Charity,’ Drake said in alarm. ‘Tell me she had not fallen ill.’

  ‘Her health is excellent,’ Miles replied. ‘But... There has been a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Charity misunderstood something?’ A slow grin spread across the other man’s face. ‘That cannot be possible. Charity Strickland does not make mistakes. She knows more than the rest of the family put together.’

  ‘Well, my identity is the one thing she is not aware of,’ Miles snapped. ‘She thinks I am an auditor named Augustus Potts.’

  Drake was staring at him as though he had suddenly gone mad, which was quite possibly the case. ‘Where did she get such a ridiculous idea?’

  ‘From me.’ There was no way he could imagine to explain the pass that he had come to, but he did his best. ‘Things between Charity and myself are at a rather delicate juncture,’ he said, carefully.

  ‘A juncture.’ He watched as his former auditor and future brother-in-law jumped to the logical conclusion. ‘With Charity.’ His expression changed from amused to incredulous.

  ‘That should not be a surprise.’ Miles gave him a warning glare. ‘It is what everyone in this country, from the Prince on down, has expected of me. But Charity does not expect it. In fact, she would be four-square against marrying me if she knew I was Comstock.’

  ‘Would she consider marrying Mr Potts?’ Drake said with raised eyebrows.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether she would or not,’ Miles said. ‘Mr Potts does not exist.’

  ‘And which of you sent me this letter?’ Drake asked, pulling the note Miles had sent him from a coat pocket.

  ‘Let us say that it was from both of me,’ Miles replied.

  Drake nodded. ‘Then I think it is wise that we blame it on Mr Potts. I have come to tell him that it is not legal to distribute pornography in England and the Earl of Comstock wants nothing to do with it.’

  ‘It is not legal in America, either,’ Miles answered. ‘But I did not ask about the legality. I asked how it could be done. The items in question were obviously meant for someone’s private enjoyment and were never intended to be part of the Comstock estate. They are too valuable to destroy. And I...or rather, Mr Potts cannot exactly hawk them on a street corner.’

  ‘Then, tell Mr Potts that I have the necessary contacts to make it happen and an estimate of the amount of money he is likely to receive should a discreet sale take place. I am ready to act, at your convenience.’

  Miles glanced at the numbers on the paper and smiled. ‘That is exactly what I’d hoped to hear. We will begin this afternoon.’

  The ever-efficient Drake reached into another pocket and produced a stack of letters and handed them to Miles. ‘I have brought your mail from London, as well. You received letters on the last two ships from America.’ He turned to look, as a horse and rider came galloping up the drive. ‘And this is James Leggett, just arriving. Since I am not sure which name you wish to use, let us spare you the awkwardness of an introduction. If you go back into the house, Mr Potts, I will explain matters to him, so he might ride back and inform the ladies.’

  ‘And I will go and talk to Charity,’ Miles said, with a sigh of relief. ‘The matter will most likely be settled by the time you arrive at the house. Even so, proceed with caution and give nothing away until I tell you to.’

  ‘Very good.’ Drake strode out to meet his approaching brother-in-law and Miles returned to the house, walking past the surprised butler, who was watching him with suspicion.

  ‘Confidential business for Lord Comstock,’ Miles said, giving him an arch look in return that dared him to enquire further.

  Then he went off to find Charity, before the fellow could summon a pair of stout footmen to beat an explanation out of him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charity awoke the next morning in her own bed, unsure of how she had got there. A vague memory surfaced of being wrapped in her dressing gown and carried down the hall, then tucked safely into her own bed with a final kiss. As he had walked, he’d whispered in her ear of the importance of being found where she was expected when her maid arrived.

  She had nodded sleepily and pressed kisses on to his bare chest, still not ready to let him go.

  In response, he had groaned and muttered something about her need to recognise that even a virile man needed his rest and that virgins were supposed to be easily satisfied, not insatiable.

  She smiled. After last night, the word did not apply to her. Then the smile faded.

  When she had gone to his room, she had thought that what they were doing was to be an isolated incident. It would be a final goodbye and the memory of it would act as bulwark against an uncertain future. Now that it had happened, she could not stop imagining a repeat of last night’s activities, as soon as she felt sufficiently refreshed.

&nb
sp; Then she remembered all the reasons she should not. Potts had made it clear from the first that he wanted to return to America and had not wavered on that point in any of their conversations. He had a fiancée and slept with her picture beside his bed. Even now, he might be waking to see Prudence smiling back at him from that miniature and regretting his weakness of last night.

  Worse yet, he might already be gone. The fact that Charity was in love with him made no difference. She had found him too late.

  But at least she had found him. The idea that he might love her in return had been a foolish one, of course. He was far too perfect for that. But if she had wanted to experience the kind of passionate affair normally denied to proper young ladies, he had been a perfect choice. He had taken her to paradise. Now he meant to disappear. She need never fear seeing him walking on Bond Street with another woman’s children or be forced to make nice to his lovely wife at some inescapable social gathering. She would have perfect memories, nothing more.

  It was what she’d told him she wanted. But what if she’d changed her mind? As she’d slept, when her mind was unfettered from common sense, she had dreamed of a long sea voyage and a ship pulling into a strange harbour. It had looked as she’d imagined his country looked, roughhewn, bustling with strangers and Red Indians. But there had been a familiar face waiting for her in the crowd on the dock. Potts had waved and smiled, and held his arms out to her as she had walked down the gangplank.

  Her dream might have been more accurate had she imagined the lady from the miniature standing at his side. For it was probable that he would marry Prudence the moment he returned.

  It did not matter what Charity might want or dream. She could not have him. In truth, she would not know what to do with him, even if she caught him. She had always assumed that a plain woman would end up with a plain husband. But seeing Potts disrobed last night had done nothing to dissuade her opinion that he was a god walking the earth. He was handsome, intelligent and when they were alone, he demonstrated skills that had nothing to do with auditing.