Earl's Ward (9781460320594)

by Scheidies, Carolyn R.

  “Glad you approve.” The earl smiled. “Come. Let me show you around.” He acted like a small boy showing off a prize. That picture made him more accessible, more human.

  He stopped. “Wait a minute!” Taking the kitten from Angella’s arms, he handed it to the disapproving butler. “Come now, Benson, ’tis but a little cat. Have her taken out into the kitchen. Cook can feed and see to the animal. Let the staff understand this is a pet.” He watched the staid butler gingerly hand the squirming animal over to a maid, who cooed over the kitten as she hastened to carry out the earl’s instructions.

  He also handed over her satchel to a waiting maid and instructed a room to be made ready for Angella.

  With a mischievous grin, the earl once more possessed himself of Angella’s arm. He steered her into the formal dining hall with its coffered paneled ceiling. Over the massive fireplace at the far end was the earl’s coat of arms. Danish marble medallions hung on the opposite wall. Statuary poised in carved niches on the walls, along with a series of mirrors reflecting the long polished refectory table and the solid leather-backed chairs.

  Several side tables with silver urns and dishes reposed along the walls as though waiting to be used. Like the great hall, it had a unique medieval feel.

  Angella shook her head. “I can almost believe that at any moment armor-clad knights and beautifully gowned ladies will burst through these huge doors.” She ran her fingers lightly over the door panels with plaques depicting the story of the prophet Daniel.

  The morning hall brought them into the present with the comfortable simple lines of Sheraton. The mantel was of an elaborate French design. The ceiling a confection of lace, like the intricacy of a snowflake, a design repeated in the blue of the rug that seemed but a deeper reflection of the ceiling. Large windows and French doors opened invitingly on to the gardens.

  A formal drawing room was done in antique red brocade, lit at intervals by carved figures holding aloft torches. The doorway, as well as the furniture, was gilded.

  * * *

  For all the lavish splendor of the other rooms of the hall, it was the library that appeared to impress Angella the most, or at least the books. The earl watched her eyes widen even farther, if possible, and heard her intake of breath as she gazed on shelf upon shelf of handsomely bound volumes in the carved and molded cabinets along the paneled walls. She did not look at the wooden ceiling imported at great cost from a fifteenth-century Italian palace or the exquisite French furniture. She barely glanced at the priceless collection of urns, vases and Egyptian and Chinese pottery lining shelves high on the walls above the cabinets.

  A sigh of pure pleasure passed her lips as she moved slowly over to an open cabinet. Like someone walking in a dream, she reached out to stroke the binding of a solitary book. She opened the book reverently, touching the pages as though they were a treasure she had no right to handle. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked up at the earl. “How wonderful it must be to have so many books at your disposal.”

  Moved, the earl smiled at her. “You may read any book in my library or place an order with my curator for more.”

  “It can’t be.” Replacing the book, she dashed the tears from her cheeks. “I...I told you...”

  “Shh.” The earl put a finger to her lips. “No argument now. I shall decide in due time what I am to do with you, but for now can you not simply accept my hospitality in the spirit in which it is given? I assure you, it is not lightly given.”

  She shuddered, perhaps remembering the lecherous vicar. The expression on her face spoke volumes. “Why. Why would you want to keep me here?”

  The earl heard the undertone of panic. Taking her arm, he forced her to face him. Anger flashed in his eyes. “How dare you think of me in the same terms as that odious hypocrite!”

  Angella stepped back, seemingly stunned not only by his towering rage, but by the ease with which he read her thoughts. “I know your reputation with the ladies. Don’t you think every silly maid in the village has repeated your exploits?”

  “I see. If I have such experience with women, tell me please why I would choose to ravish a skin-and-bones nobody like you?” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, what would you do if I did? You are without proper chaperone here in my domain, and I shall not have some half-witted annoying female relative live in just to provide you with such.”

  He took a deep breath before continuing.

  “The servants would not raise a finger to help you whatever I chose to do. Fact is, you have nowhere to go, no one else to whom to turn. Now, get off your high horse and comport yourself like the gently bred female you purport to be.”

  “Purport to be!” Angella faced him down, eyes blazing. “You pompous aristocrat. You are just like my arrogant grandfather. I did not bespeak your help, and I’ll do well enough without it. Now, I’ll collect my cat and be on my way. M’lord!” She made for the door.

  With a grunt of irritation, the earl hauled her back. “How dare you spurn my generosity? Right now, in the absence of your brother, it appears I’m your guardian. I’ll not have you traipsing off somewhere.”

  Angella stamped her foot in frustration. “I will not stay where my honesty is called into question.” She blinked back tears. “Isn’t it enough the ‘good’ people of Cambrage overset everything my father taught about love and forgiveness and acceptance? I expect to be treated with respect.”

  “Stop acting like a spoiled child, then.”

  “I am not!” Even as her voice rose, Angella cringed. “Well...”

  She let out a surprised squeak when the earl lightly picked her up and carried her up the wide staircase with its gilded banister to a well-appointed bedchamber. There, to the obvious surprise of the housekeeper who was readying the room for her, he dumped her on the bed.

  “Mrs. Karry, see that Miss Denning receives a proper bath. Let her sleep awhile, then find her a decent gown. I wish her to join me for dinner.” He grinned at Angella’s repressed outrage as he spoke to the matronly housekeeper.

  “By the by, Mrs. Karry, lock the door when you leave her. Not that she’d get far with that banged-up knee of hers.”

  He gave one last glance at Angella’s face before he turned to go. Whether it was red with embarrassment or anger he knew not, but he suspected the latter.

  Chapter 3

  Angella cringed with embarrassment. “I...I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

  The matronly housekeeper surveyed the young woman with some surprise. “You aren’t what I expected,” she managed to say.

  Angella got the impression the housekeeper expected a haughty sophisticate or a bedecked cyprian.

  Angella seemed to bring out the woman’s protective motherly instincts. “You’ll be fine, miss. I’ve raised eight children of my own. Jest don’t figure why the earl took you under his wing.” She shut her lips to keep from saying anything further and glanced around the room. “At least the maids did the room up right.”

  Angella, her arms hugging her chest, shivered in the chill of the room. The fire in the hearth, though lit, had not had time to warm the room and sent more noise than heat or light into the large well-appointed chamber.

  She doubted much of anything missed the eagle eyes of the motherly housekeeper. She also doubted the space needed more than clean sheets to make it presentable. The mahogany dresser glowed with its recent polish, the gilt mirror above it reflected the highly polished escritoire with its three shelves of books, as well as the dark wood armoire across the room.

  The books drew Angella’s interest. If she were not so cold, she would have limped over to examine the titles. As it was, she shook as if with fever. Her knee ached. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be still, but to no avail.

  The housekeeper noticed, and rushed to throw a blanket around her. Angella smiled tremulously. “Th-thank you.”


  Her gaze assessing, Mrs. Karry drew the blanket more tightly around her. “Denning. Hmm. You related to Reverend Denning? A good man that. Too bad he passed on.”

  Tears glistened in Angella’s eyes as she nodded. “My father.”

  Angella read sympathy in her expression when she spoke. “Have no relatives ta take you in, I take it? Shame that. I suppose the good people of Little Cambrage refused to help. Well, never you mind about that. The earl expects loyalty and obedience, but he is fair...he is. Like his father. Not many know that he has not been off in London with no care for us here.” She chatted familiarly, making Angella feel more comfortable as the woman directed the maids in preparing the bath on the rug by the fire.

  “I knows how often the manager goes in to London ta ask the earl’s advice. Often, he does. And that secretary of his is here leastways twice a month. Time the earl came home, though. Been gallivanting off in London far too long.” She continued talking as she hustled the slender young woman into the lilac-scented water.

  “He—he...di-didn’t...ch-choose...the...n-new...v-vicar,” stuttered Angella, allowing the garrulous housekeeper to assist her out of her gown and into the scented bath.

  Sighing, she sank into the hot water, letting the heat flow over her cold skin.

  It took forever for the warmth of the water to soak into her chilled body. Finally the warmth penetrated and Angella’s eyes closed drowsily. It had been so long since she had taken a full bath, not, in truth, since her father fell ill.

  Without assistance, she had been unable to manage either the tub or the heavy jugs alone, and her mother had been too busy nursing her father to help her. After her mother got ill, she had done little more than splash water on her hands and face, for she’d turned to nursing both her mother and father.

  Several women from the village helped out when they could, leaving food and washing the soiled linens, but others, fearing contagion, stayed away. When her father succumbed first, Angella had little time to spare for tears or grief. Day and night she stayed beside the bed of her mother, nursing her, willing her to open her eyes, praying for her recovery.

  Her desperate prayers went unanswered. With one last shallow breath, her mother passed on. She smiled in the end, glad to be meeting her husband on the other side. Never had Angella felt so bereft.

  After her mother’s death, Angella had given way to her grief. She wept until she had no tears left, then, swallowing the gigantic lump in her throat, she got up. Wiping her face, she sat at her father’s desk resolutely and took up a pen.

  Dipping into the plain ink pot, she began a letter to her brother. In her neat flowing handwriting, she explained the circumstances surrounding their parents’ deaths.

  Dear Edward,

  It is my grievous duty to inform you of the death of both Mother and Father.

  As I am alone now with no idea of how to go on, I pray you will see your way clear to return home at least for a time.

  I shall write Grandfather to acquaint him with the passing on of his daughter. I will tell him, also, of my need, but I sincerely doubt he will heed my letter any more than he heeded the letters Mother wrote since her marriage to Father.

  Wherever I go, I will try to leave word here at the vicarage so you can find my direction and come to me directly.

  I am sorry to be the one to give you this news, but as you know, there is no one else.

  If you’re wondering about Mrs. Adams, who so faithfully looked after us since we were children in leading strings, she passed on some six months past.

  Please come home, Edward.

  Ever your sister,

  Angella

  As she wrote, tears started again and dotted the stiff parchment. Folding it, she addressed it and sent it off posthaste. Her prayers went with that letter, along with her doubts.

  Would Edward receive the letter? Would he return? Even if he did, it would be months before she could expect him. What would happen to her in the meantime?

  The next task was more difficult. Reluctantly she sat and wrote to her grandfather. The returned, unopened missive taunted her.

  While she waited for word from Edward, she spent time with the one woman in the village who truly cared for her mother and did what she could for Angella. Unfortunately, she was infirm and not well situated herself and Angella refused to be a further drain on the elderly woman’s resources. The emotional support she received made up for what the dear woman was unable to supply materially.

  Angella thought back to when Reverend Carter arrived to take over the living. Could things have turned out differently? She didn’t see how they could have. Seeing a young woman in the vicarage he thought to be empty and ready for his occupancy, he looked her over. The young lad at his side grinned at her. Reverend Carter asked, “Who are you?”

  When she explained, he ran a finger over his lips as he assessed her person until she shifted, uncomfortable under his close scrutiny.

  “I...I had no place to go and did not know how long it would be before someone would be appointed to the living.” Angella paused. Something about the vicar made her uneasy, yet she had nothing on which to base her feelings. “I thought I’d hear from my brother or grandfather before you arrived.” She paused and waited for Reverend Carter to speak.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Are there bedchambers enough?”

  “Yes, three. As well as living quarters for the housekeeper. She lives in.”

  “I see.” Angella and the vicar’s son followed as the large man walked through the small vicarage. Angella tried to point out how well her parents kept things up. She showed him her father’s study, which had always been inviting and filled with books. The vicar merely grunted.

  “It will do for now. Temporary living at best.” He asked other questions Angella tried to answer to the best of her knowledge, but her heart sank. This wasn’t the sort of man she hoped to take her father’s place. He didn’t seem to care when she spoke about the congregation, he made derogatory comments about the vicarage and snapped at his son for little or no reason.

  Angella wasn’t even certain what to do. Yet at the end of the tour as they returned to the front room, Reverend Carter said, “I take it no one has offered to take you in?”

  Angella glanced at her worn shoes and up again. “No. Though, if someone would assist me, I’d go to Lucashire Hall.” She paused. “Mother suggested that I appeal to the Earl of Lucashire.”

  “I see.” A small smile tugged at the corners of the man’s mouth. It was not the nicest of smiles, but Angella thought she was being overly sensitive in the situation. After all, she’d lived in the house for the past ten years—happy years. She gulped back a sob. If the vicar turned her out, where would she stay the night and beyond?

  After a long, scary interval, the vicar nodded as though to himself. “Good. Very good. It should work out.” He all but muttered to himself. With a nod, he addressed Angella. “My dear, it behooves me as the keeping of the ministry to provide for my fellow vicar’s child. I shall allow you to live here with my son and me for the time being. We’ll see what the future holds.” His gaze narrowed as he waited for her reply.

  Despite her reservations, Angella breathed a sigh of relief when he invited her to stay on. Her relief did not last. The past few weeks went through her mind, stopping with her timely rescue by the earl. Was this God’s intervention or another horror to endure? She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Now as she sat in the bath, she relished the housekeeper’s hands washing her hair. The long tresses, heavy with water, felt clean for the first time in ever so long.

  “Miss Angella, we must get you out or you’ll get chilled again. The water is right cold.” Chiding the girl as if she was a child, Mrs. Karry helped her from the bath and toweled her dry. As she pulled a warm nightgown over her head, Angella exclaimed, “Where did this com
e from?”

  The housekeeper sat her down by the dresser to dry, comb and braid her hair. “’Tis left over from when His Lordship’s sisters were young.”

  Angella smoothed down the soft material. It had been a long time since she had worn something so fine. “How many sisters?”

  “Three. All married and scattered.”

  She yawned. Not long thereafter, Mrs. Karry tucked her into the large bed under the thick green coverlet.

  “There now. Sleep tight. I’ll be waking you in time for dinner.”

  “Thank you...Mrs. Karry.” Angella’s eyes closed and she slept even before the housekeeper left the room.

  * * *

  In the sitting room next to his bedchamber, the earl stared out at the darkening sky. Beneath the tall windows, flower and herb gardens, pleasure lawns and parks stretched away to the far wood where he had played as a child. Beyond them was the oblong lake where he and his sisters spent so many happy hours when he was but a lad in leading strings.

  He had been quite the pest, but his sisters, who were older, put up with him with good grace. It had been a long time since he had seen Ellen. She seemed happy, if sometimes rather lonely, with her baron and three children in Lancashire. Many a time she invited him to visit, but he never found the time. He wished now he’d gone, if only to get to know his nieces and nephew.

  As for Doris, he hadn’t seen her since the laird took her away to live with him in his castle in the Scottish highlands. From her scarce letters, he knew she had one son and longed for more. This he learned from Darlene, his youngest sister, whose eyes still flashed with laughter whenever he saw her. She once assisted him in his shenanigans. She, too, was married and had... Was it three or four little ones? Always one more in the basket. She always did love little ones. He thought, now, he should have spent more time with her, too.

  He well knew why he stayed away. Being closer to him in both age and temperament, she was not above scolding him for neglecting his responsibilities. He justified himself quickly. It was not as though he did not take care of his family. As of last count his purse stretched to three aunts, two great uncles, and a host of cousins and other distant relatives. He knew at least four relatives in the ministry owed their living to him.