The Earl's Revenge

by Allison Lane

  Mark smiled thinly at Miss Throckmorton before turning to the most surprising member of the company. “Mr. Hardwicke, welcome.”

  “Bridgeport.” Peter nodded coolly, his eyes glittering like slates in the sun that streamed through the open door. Mark had been right about this guest. If anything, Hardwicke’s sense of grievance had grown since they had last met.

  The others crowding into the hallway were mere irritants compared to the potential plagues he had already welcomed. Reggie Taylor hardly looked old enough to be out of school, a month on the town coating him with little bronze. He appeared besotted by Miss Throckmorton’s beauty. Poor Margaret Westmont seemed even more abject than usual after several days on the road, effacing herself in a corner while the important members of the party made inane comments about the Manor. But now she bustled forward to accept a sharp rebuke from her employer.

  Bridgeport cringed. His own snub was responsible for Caroline’s sudden irritation. Perhaps Miss Westmont would find congenial company in Miss Thompson and Miss Becklin. She was not stupid.

  He conducted the guests to their rooms, then thankfully retired to the library with Richard.

  Chapter Ten

  Mark poured two brandies and settled into a chair. “What happened?”

  Richard grimaced. “I’m not exactly sure. We were all gathered around the punch bowl at the Wharburton masquerade – it was atrociously hot that night – when someone, I think Mrs. Woodleigh, commented on your absence. Before I had time to think, they had all decided to pay you a visit. The most I could do was join them to give you at least one friend in the crowd.”

  “Ah well. I cannot imagine they will stay long. There is nothing to do and they will find me far too busy to cater to their whims. I expect their servants are already threatening to quit. You won’t lose Kesterton over this, I trust.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mark explained.

  “Oh, Lord!”

  “Willy and Ted are willing to assist you, of course,” said the earl. “But I don’t wish to be too obvious about it. Have you discovered anything more about that rumor campaign?”

  “Very little. Lady Wainright returned to town the day you left, fueling speculation about the duel by refusing to go into mourning.”

  “She will find herself ostracized if she keeps that up.”

  “It’s possible that she has no choice,” mused Richard with a frown. “The fleecing story might have more basis than we credited. Wainright was rolled up when he died, leaving his wife virtually nothing. Her ill-concealed liaisons have alienated her own family. She needs a new husband immediately if she is to remain afloat. But that is not your affair,” he added as guilt twisted Mark’s face. “One new rumor popped up the day you left.”

  “What now?” His weary voice cracked.

  “You were the challenger in that duel. It may have sprung from speculation over the choice of weapons, for everyone knows your respective abilities. Whatever started it, it suffered a quick death, for no one could supply a motive for such a challenge. The interesting thing is that after you left town, the rumors dried up – except for stories about you fleecing several gentlemen, including Hardwicke and Wainright.”

  “But all tales of murder, duels, and poison ceased?”

  “Precisely. The others have been around long enough to have taken on a life of their own. I have been unable to trace any of them to a source, which is frustrating. Lord A heard it from Lady B who got it from Mrs. C who claims her source as Lord A. Not quite that clean, but that is what it amounts to. I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I believe I may have discovered the source myself.”

  “Here?”

  “You sound shocked. Several days before I arrived – I dawdled through some side trips along the way – a number of vicious rumors began circulating locally. Oddly enough, the content differed from those making the rounds in town. Elaine claims that they were probably started by Cousin Harold, who arrived in Bodmin at precisely that time. I had not really believed her, but now that I know the stories stopped in London, it is probable.”

  Richard frowned. “But why would he wish to discredit you?”

  “I am not sure, but I have been thinking about our hypothesis of a man who was fleecing gentleman in my name. I never considered Harold in that guise, but Elaine related a number of tales of his youth that lead me to believe that he might be capable of such a scheme. If he fears exposure, perhaps he thinks discrediting me will prevent people from accepting my protests when the truth emerges.”

  “Is he that dipped?”

  “Frankly, I cannot say – yet. I just mailed a request for Cramer to look into his affairs. I would have thought the inheritance he received from my uncle was sufficient, and his mother brought even more into the family, but he may have lost it at the tables. He has always been a gamester.”

  “Let us hope that Cramer can learn the truth,” said Richard, draining his glass. “You cannot allow the man to blacken your name.”

  “I know. With luck, I will have an answer within the week. In the meantime, I will keep an eye on Harold myself. He is here.”

  “What? You must have lost all your wits, Mark. Suspecting that he is plotting against you, how can you invited the man into your home?”

  Mark shrugged. “I needed him to balance the numbers. And isn’t it better to watch him than to leave him free to spread his poison where and when he will?”

  “Perhaps, but your counting is off. If anything, you already had too many men.”

  “I know, which is why I asked Elaine to join us. But she would not come without Miss Becklin. I had no objection, of course. Indeed, it was easier, for Miss Becklin was helping Helen. But that overbalanced the numbers again. Hence Harold.”

  “My head is whirling. Helen? Miss Becklin? And Elaine?”

  Mark grinned. He had finally piqued Richard’s curiosity enough to force the questions. “Helen is my daughter.”

  Richard choked on his wine. “I thought she was in Yorkshire,” he said when he had stopped coughing and wiped the spots from his coat.

  “She usually is, but the manor needed a new roof, so she and her nurse came here for the summer. But the nurse broke a hip last week. Until the governess arrives, Miss Becklin is caring for her.”

  “The lady sounds intimidating. I suppose she is an elderly spinster or the vicar’s sister or some such. Is Elaine her companion?”

  “Wrong on all counts, Richard. Miss Becklin is about our age. At one time she was a governess, but she now has a legacy that leaves her independent. She agreed to temporarily take on Helen as a favor. Elaine is one of her former students, who has resided with her for some years, though I am not privy to their financial arrangements. In fact, now that I think of it, there must be something I do not know. Elaine is not the sort to accept charity, but I cannot imagine where she would acquire any income of her own. She swore her father disowned her.”

  “You aren’t enamored of the chit, are you?” asked Richard suspiciously.

  “Far from it. Her full name is the honorable Miss Mary Elaine Thompson.”

  Richard stared. “Not—”

  “Exactly. Viscount Grimfield’s only daughter, who has lived here since precipitously leaving London eight years ago. She goes by Elaine now. You will see her again at dinner.”

  * * * *

  Dressed in the same green silk she had worn to the squire’s, Elaine was one of the last to come down that evening. The first person she saw was the Marquess of Carrington. Her eyes blinked as he identified her, though she kept her face in a pleasant smile. Bridgeport must have warned him, for he betrayed no surprise at finding her there.

  “It has been a long time, Miss Thompson,” he said politely.

  “Quite,” she agreed. “I trust your journey has not tired you.”

  “We took as much time as I could manage on the road. I thought Mark deserved a little warning,” he added in a lighter tone, as he noted the twinkle in her eye.


  “Smart man.” She smiled. “You would have found no servants at all otherwise.”

  “None?” His brow shot up.

  “Well, the Burgesses were here.”

  “Mark claims you solved a riddle for him.”

  “Oh?” It was her turn to raise a questioning brow.

  “About the author of the rumor campaign.”

  “Ah. Scurrilous things, rumors, and even more so when deliberately planted.”

  “Unlike the one you started?” he challenged her.

  “You are a good friend to him, I see. That did not unfold the way I planned, for which I accept full blame. His humiliation must have been appalling. I only hope he can someday forgive me.”

  “Has he not done so?” Carrington asked.

  “Surely you know him better than that!”

  “Decidedly,” he agreed with perfect understanding as he offered her an arm. “Have you met the others?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  Carrington led her around the room, introducing her to the rest of the guests. Bridgeport had previously done the same with Anne and now remained by the window, talking with her and Miss Westmont.

  Elaine hid her amusement at her reception. Carrington had dropped his antagonism, but remained aloof, as if he had not yet decided what to think of the girl who had publicly jilted his best friend. The others did not connect Elaine Thompson with that long-ago scandal, so their thoughts were easier to read. All judged her a country dowd. There also seemed to be some confusion over her role in the house party.

  Mrs. Woodleigh and Lady Means examined her as if they were all competitors for some prize. Both were dressed to the nines in the latest style, but it was Mrs. Woodleigh who commanded the most attention. Despite being several years older than Elaine, she retained the freshness of youth and the beauty of an Incomparable. Blonde hair and blue eyes glowed above a matching blue gown that displayed her voluptuous figure to perfection. Elaine had no doubt what the rakish earl’s relationship was with the widow.

  Lord Means and Mr. Hardwicke had more male speculation in their eyes, Mr. Hardwicke even going so far as to pull out his quizzing glass. Mr. Taylor and Miss Throckmorton were too young to consider her as aught but the ape-leading spinster she really was.

  She joined Anne and Miss Westmont, exchanging a brief greeting with Bridgeport before he excused himself. The earl was even more fashionably dressed than at the squire’s dinner party, his black velvet jacket, embroidered white waistcoat, and dove gray pantaloons emphasizing the vast gulf between them.

  Elaine relaxed. He must also sense it. He would hardly wish to be seen pursuing someone so dowdy, so would turn his attention to his friends and leave her in peace.

  Mark led Richard to a secluded corner of the room.

  “I can hardly decide what to think of the chit,” Richard murmured. “She has a quick wit and does not seem the sort to run off like that.”

  “She had her reasons, and I must admit that much of the fault lay with her father, who lied to all parties, including me. But her manners were execrable nonetheless.”

  “You are not planning something stupid, are you?” demanded the marquess sharply, catching the undercurrent of pique in Mark’s voice.

  “Not at all.”

  Further conversation was impossible.

  “This certainly is a quaint house,” said Mrs. Woodleigh, joining the gentlemen. “How am I to summon my maid?”

  Mark shrugged. “Either send a footman – one will usually be stationed in the upstairs hall – or arrange that she attend you at a specific hour.”

  “Must I arrange everything in advance?” she asked suggestively, laying her white hand on his sleeve. Richard slipped away, leaving Mark to handle her in his own way.

  Mark dislodged those possessive fingers. “It is best. You know how few servants I have. The house will seem quite primitive.”

  She shrugged. “Margaret can earn her keep for a change. It is actually a charming idea. One can move around quite freely without being observed. How clever you are, my lord.”

  “Not at all. It is a cursed nuisance, if you must know. So much unexpected company will make things very difficult for my staff. And there is no way I can help them. I have far too much work of my own to be able to spend time with any of you.”

  But that was a little too blunt for her taste. “You must know I only came on this journey to relieve your boredom,” she pouted.

  “In the unlikely event I am plagued by any, I will let you know.” With an enigmatic smile, he moved on to speak with Reggie.

  Harold was the last to come down, mincing through the doorway barely five minutes before dinner. Mr. Taylor tore his gaze away from Miss Throckmorton to admire the dandy’s dress.

  Parrish had outdone himself this night – his lavishly padded turquoise satin coat broadened his indifferent shoulders; the judicious use of a Cumberland corset had shrunk his waist at least three inches; his cravat was arranged in an oversized oriental that stretched his neck to rival a giraffe’s and pressed his elongated shirtpoints perilously close to his eyes; and his valet must have found help to have stuffed him into such tight breeches. Harold quizzed the room with fashionable ennui, sniffed at Taylor’s own sartorial efforts, then turned to Mr. Hardwicke.

  “I am shocked to find you part of this group, Peter,” he stated in overly familiar fashion.

  “Why?” murmured Hardwicke coolly. Himself a Corinthian, he had little use for dandies and fops.

  “Terribly sorry, my lad,” apologized Harold, lisping affectedly. “My wretched tongue – flaps about on its own sometimes. I didn’t mean that the way it came out, of course, only wishing to express surprise that you would pay a friendly call on the man who fleeced you of your inheritance. Shows a magnanimity not many possess. I admire that.”

  “You mistake the facts, sir.”

  “Oh, quite, quite!” agreed Harold with an insincere laugh. “Of course there was no impropriety in that game. Watched most of it myself. The eyes don’t always see what they should, but what can one expect in such a crowd?”

  Elaine grimaced. Mr. Parrish continued in the same vein, his voice pitched so low that he probably thought no one could overhear. What was he up to now? Before she could share this very disturbing conversation with Bridgeport, Burgess announced dinner.

  The seating arrangements elicited speculative glances from some guests and annoyance from others. Elaine occupied the hostess’s chair opposite Bridgeport’s own. Mrs. Woodleigh’s pique increased when she discovered that she was positioned halfway down the table while Mark was flanked by Lady Means and Miss Throckmorton. She had to endure an entire meal stuck between Mr. Parrish and Mr. Taylor.

  By the end of the first course, Elaine detected a gleam in Mr. Hardwicke’s eyes similar to the expression she had seen in the eyes of many a rake during her sojourn in town, though never before directed at her. Even more disturbing were the expressions on other people’s faces. Harold was murmuring to Mrs. Woodleigh whose gaze grew fiercer as it flicked between Bridgeport and Elaine. Lady Means was casting sly looks at the earl, ignoring her niece, who flaunted herself shamelessly. By the end of the second course, Harold’s eyes showed satisfaction and Mrs. Woodleigh’s glared. Lady Means seemed annoyed after a lengthy tale drew only a halfhearted shrug from Bridgeport.

  Mark hid a growing irritation. Even Cook’s mushrooms tasted flat after listening to Lady Means murmur suggestive remarks whenever she could work them into the conversation. She was even more adept at using double entendre than he was. Her niece was flirting outrageously, batting her lashes and leaning forward so he could hardly miss the generous bosom barely concealed by a scandalously low-cut gown. Did Lady Means really believe him to be so slavish to his appetites that he could not resist such obvious charms?

  But failing to accept what was offered opened the door to further danger. If she was so desperate to marry off her niece that she would throw the girl at a man she still wanted for herself, might she ar
range a compromise to force his hand? It was a reality every unmarried gentleman had to consider. The greedy would stoop to any depth to win – as Oaksford had just discovered.

  With relief, he watched Elaine lead the ladies out.

  * * * *

  Elaine poured coffee in the drawing room, wishing for the thousandth time that she had not accepted this invitation.

  “It is too bad that you don’t have someone to help you understand the empty promises of notorious libertines, Miss Thompson,” purred Mrs. Woodleigh after five minutes of inane pleasantries that were apparently intended to establish an unbiased friendship. “You have made a disastrous mistake by linking your name with the earl. But I suppose you have no way of knowing his reputation.”

  “On the contrary, I know it quite well,” she replied smoothly, wondering if this was a disinterested warning or whether she was correct in her impression that the widow was one of Bridgeport’s mistresses. She supposed she should be shocked by that idea, but the earl had never been secretive about his activities.

  “If you have any aspirations in that direction, forget it, dear,” continued Mrs. Woodleigh. “Mark has no interest in provincial misses. So worldly a gentleman needs a more experienced lady. All of society knows he is planning to offer for me.”

  “I am not surprised.” She shrugged. “Like calls to like, as the saying goes.” Since Mrs. Woodleigh had just finished calling Bridgeport a notorious libertine, there was no mistaking the cut. With an overdone sniff, the widow retreated.

  Elaine sipped coffee to steady her nerves. This party might prove even worse than she had feared. So far Bridgeport showed no signs of being swept back into his London circle, appearing irritated at dinner and behaving coolly toward Mrs. Woodleigh earlier – though that could have been natural caution since one did not usually include one’s mistress in a respectable gathering. Worse, Mrs. Woodleigh was showing signs of unreasonable jealousy. How far was the woman prepared to go in expressing it? If the earl renewed his insistent flirting, would Elaine’s own reputation survive?