To Release an Earl

by Ilene Withers

  Claire spent the next half hour in near panic, knowing her parents would arrive at any time and would see the smoke pouring from the window of her room. She had no story for this and could not even force herself to think of one. At last, the clothes began to burn, the flames building and slowly consuming them. Venturing back over, she used the poker again to make sure every bit of the cloth burned to ash. As the smoke cleared, she swung the window shut but for a crack, hoping no one would notice the smell.

  Claire did not leave her room until her parents returned. Even then, she sat listening intently until the door to her father’s study shut. It was only then she rose and stepped into the hallway.

  “There you are,” Olivia Stuart exclaimed as Claire entered the parlor, looking up. “Why, dear, whatever has happened to your face?” Mrs. Stuart rose from her chair and hurried across to her daughter, taking her chin in her hand as she inspected her more closely.

  “I went for a walk in the churchyard,” Claire stated honestly, “and I followed a little hare into the bower.” Looking her mother in the eye so she would not suspect anything was wrong, she continued. “I feel so silly. I tripped over a root and pitched face forward into the trunk of the old oak.” She wondered where she had learned to lie so. Reaching up she gingerly touched her lips. “I bit my bottom lip, and it actually bled!” She waited for her mother’s reaction as calmly as she was able to.

  “Why you poor girl. And here I thought you were the most graceful of all my girls,” she teased as she moved back to her seat. “It will heal with time.”

  It will heal with time. Claire clung to those words.

  “Is Papa coming to tea?” she asked, knowing she would have to go over the entire story again for him.

  “No. He said he must finish his sermon for Sunday. You know how he dislikes leaving it to the last minute.”

  Claire nodded a reply as her sisters entered the room. Holly, the youngest, hurried across to sit beside her.

  “What happened to you?” the ten-year-old asked.

  “I tripped over a root on my walk,” Claire answered, “and pitched headlong into a tree.”

  “The same kind of thing happens to me a lot.”

  Claire fondly reached over to tuck in a strand of the younger girl’s hair. This was what she needed— a dose of her merry, little sisters. “I know, and now I am much sorrier for you. It hurts doesn’t it?”

  Holly nodded. “I always cry.”

  “Your face is so bruised,” Fayre entered the conversation. “What are you going to do about London?” she asked bringing up Claire’s much-anticipated first season.

  “Your sister’s trip is a fortnight away,” Mrs. Stuart reminded her next to eldest daughter. “It will be healed by then.”

  Fifteen-year-old Kate perched on a chair beside Claire and scrutinized her. “The little cut gives you a bit of personality,” she said. “Beauty is so commonplace, but scars show real character.”

  Claire could not help but laugh at her sister while their mother asked Fayre if she had been letting Kate read her novels again.

  “They’re quite acceptable for her age,” Fayre declared. “You know I wouldn’t let the younger girls read anything inappropriate. Besides, Claire reads them first.”

  “She is a bit older, though,” Mrs. Stuart replied.

  Claire, thankful for the lively conversation around her, forced herself to join in with the fun. “And where would have I gotten them, Mama, if I had not found them lying around your sitting room?”

  Mrs. Stuart blushed a flattering pink. “It’s time to change the subject,” she declared. Switching her attention to her thirteen-year-old daughter, she said, “Anna, do you have anything to include?”

  Anna, a book open on her lap, was eyeing the small plate of teacakes. “Can we just have tea?” she asked.

  ****

  The morning sun poured through the window of Claire’s room forcing her eyes open before she was ready. She had slept restlessly, her thoughts filled with visions of her attacker. Throwing back the covers, she slid from her bed. When she walked across to the mirror, she saw the reflection of her tousled pale blonde hair and blue eyes. Her cheek seemed worse, she noted. It was a variety of colors now— black, yellow, and greenish-blue. However, her lip was less puffy and little soreness remained. The small cut near her eye was already healing. If only her soul would heal as quickly.

  Claire joined her family for breakfast. Her father and sisters spent several minutes teasing her about her colorful bruise, but she had a hard time joining in with the banter. Once the meal was over, she told her father she would walk with him to the church.

  Instead of entering the church, Claire made an excuse and went toward the cemetery. Taking a deep breath for courage, she walked around the corner, straight to the bower. Pausing, she closed her eyes for a moment as she remembered the sound of her own breathing, heavy and quick, and of the screams ripping from her throat. She could still feel his hot breath and cold touch on her skin. Willing herself to overcome her fear, she forced her eyes open. There was the oak, but there was no shawl beneath it.

  Claire searched again. It was indeed missing. Had he taken it? Had an animal dragged it off? Had it blown away in the wind? Not knowing what to do, she forced herself to go into the church where she collected a cleaning cloth and began to dust the pews. While she worked, her mind raced over the possibilities. She stood up as her father paused in his rehearsal. She heard laughter outside, and it wasn’t but a moment until the door opened.

  Claire’s heart sank when she noted one of the four arrivals was Lady Regina Norton. Miss Samantha Penworthy, the eldest daughter of the local squire and a close friend of Lady Regina’s, as well as two unknown gentlemen, made up the remainder of the party.

  “Vicar Stuart, Miss Stuart,” Lady Regina greeted them. “I am so glad you are here. We have guests, and I thought to show them our little church. You will do much better than I, Vicar, on detailing its history, if you wouldn't mind giving them a tour.”

  “I’d be happy to,” the vicar said, putting down his sermon notes and moving toward the group. “Come, Claire, and greet our visitors.”

  Claire, conscious of the discoloring of her bruised cheek, joined the small group with reluctance.

  Lady Regina introduced the gentlemen as “His Grace the Duke of Lamberton and the Right Honourable Earl of Roydon. You know my friend, Miss Penworthy, of course,” she ended. Then turning toward the two gentlemen she continued, “This is Vicar Stuart and his eldest daughter, Miss Claire Stuart.” The gentlemen, in turn, greeted each of the Stuarts.

  Claire could tell her usually calm father was a bit flustered at the thought of showing his small church to such an exalted personage as a duke. She wondered why such a person was visiting the Earl of Berwick’s family and then realized both gentlemen might well be friends of the viscount. There was little time to dwell on it, however, as the vicar took the lead and suggested the small group follow him for a brief history and a short tour. Miss Penworthy fell in behind him as the two gentlemen waited for Lady Regina to follow.

  “Do go on,” Lady Regina said. “I would like to visit with Miss Stuart for just a bit.” She waited until the others had moved away before continuing. “I think I have something of yours. It's in the carriage if you will come with me.”

  Claire had no desire to cause a scene. “Let me fetch my shawl,” she said with reluctance.

  “You won’t need it,” Lady Regina urged. “In fact, it is just what I have returned to you.”

  Claire’s heart sank as she followed the other girl outside and waited for Lady Regina to fetch the shawl.

  “I have had it cleaned for you,” Lady Regina said as she handed it to Claire. “Since you have it back now, why don’t we take a short stroll through the cemetery? The old tombstones are so fascinating, are they not?”

  Claire wrapped the shawl around herself, wishing she did not have to follow. They were quiet until they reached the far end of the graveyard.r />
  “I saw you,” Lady Regina began quietly. “In the bower with my brother,” she clarified.

  “It was not by choice,” Claire said, nerves trembling in her stomach.

  “I don't doubt it. My brother is a pig,” Lady Regina spat, “but you would be ruined if word of it got out.”

  Claire stopped. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Lady Regina frowned. “My father wants me to marry Lord Roydon."

  “What does this all have to do with me?” Claire inquired.

  “I love another gentleman.”

  “I don’t see how I can help.”

  “Don’t be so naive,” Lady Regina said. “When we are in London, I want you to convince the earl to marry you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Claire questioned.

  “If the earl proposes to you, my father will have to allow me to marry a man of my choice.”

  “Why don’t you just explain this to your father?”

  “As long as the earl is available, my father will not approve of anyone else. He was friends with the late earl, and the two of them decided years ago their children should marry,” Lady Regina finished.

  “Unfortunately, I just don’t know how I could help you,” Claire said. “I’m a mere vicar’s daughter, and he is an earl. I haven’t much of a dowry, so I can’t imagine we will even be at many of the same events. How I could convince him to marry me is beyond my comprehension.”

  Lady Regina faced her. “I understood you were going to be staying with your uncle and aunt.” She waited as Claire nodded. “Your uncle is a viscount and is well known,” Lady Regina pointed out, impatience in her voice. “Of course you’ll be at the same events, and it is up to you as to how you should convince him he wants to marry you.”

  “I still could not do as you ask,” Claire said.

  Lady Regina appeared smug. “I thought you might feel this way,” she stated, “which is why I have decided to disclose the information I know about yesterday if you do not. It’s the earl or ruin, Miss Stuart,” she ended with a look of determination on her face.

  Claire’s heart sank once again. All the memories of the assault came rushing back so strongly she reached out to clutch a nearby headstone. “It was not my fault,” she whispered.

  “Society won’t believe it. Look at yourself. They will deem what I tell them as true. I will say you are no better than you should be and used your beauty to try to compromise a viscount. You’ll be ruined,” Lady Regina said harshly, “and your sisters as well. It's hard to imagine they will make decent matches once the news is out. And your father’s position here…” she trailed off with a rather wicked chuckle.

  Claire reached a trembling hand up to rub at her brow. She had a pounding ache in her head and another in her heart. “I’ll do it,” she heard herself whisper.