by Regina Scott
James inclined his head. “Of course. I wouldn’t have suggested it except I heard you were looking for a new wife for Thorgood.”
She frowned at him. “What has that to do with the matter?”
James kept his face neutral. “Naturally, I assumed you would prefer to invite one of the ladies to travel with you so you could interview her more thoroughly. Unless you want Mother’s assistance?”
His mother looked up with a helpful smile.
“No,” the countess said with a curl of her lip. “That will not be necessary. Very well. When we leave for Somerset, you may visit your son, Marjorie.”
His mother beamed. “Wonderful news. Thank you.”
“Actually,” James put in with his most ingratiating smile, “to save you the trouble of going out of your way, I thought I could take her with me now.”
The countess blinked. “What?”
“He’d like me to leave today,” his mother said, as if the countess could have mistaken him.
“I understand that,” Lady Howland snapped. “Really, the pair of you are entirely vexatious. Perhaps you deserve each other.”
“Oh, I…” his mother started, but James lay a hand on her shoulder.
“I only thought to spare you the travel time, my lady,” he told the countess. “Detouring through Grace-by-the-Sea would add several hours to your trip. But if you are willing to stomach the discomfort, the dust…”
She held up a hand. “Even this discussion fatigues me. Go. But I expect you back by the end of June, Marjorie.”
James bowed but made no promise. “I’ll leave you to pack, Mother. The weather has been uncertain. Bring both your summer and winter clothes, and feel free to take every bit of your wardrobe. I have a coach.”
“How did you acquire a coach?” the countess demanded. “The earl has been remarkably difficult with our town coach. Last time I called for it, I was told it was no longer in the coaching house, as if it would be anywhere else.” She humphed.
Jonas, the Howland butler, appeared in the doorway just then. Black head high, silvery gaze out in the middle distance, he spoke with the solemnity of an archbishop crowning the new king of England. “Pardon the intrusion, your ladyship, but the earl requests Mr. Howland’s company.”
Neither his mother nor the countess moved to protest as James followed the butler out.
“How angry is he?” James asked as he walked the familiar carpeted corridor toward the earl’s study on the opposite side of the house.
“About as angry as the year you advised him to raise the salary of the staff or risk losing them,” Jonas said.
That had been a memorable quarrel. But he’d been fresh from university, his father still alive and groveling, and James had thought he knew better how to handle the earl.
He’d learned otherwise since then.
“Any particular issues I should avoid mentioning?” James asked as they neared the paneled door.
“Viscount Thorgood’s future and the price of coffee,” Jonas advised. “And may I wish you the best of luck, sir.” He opened the door. “Mr. James Howland, my lord.”
James moved past him into the room and heard the door close behind him.
He couldn’t help glancing up at the ceiling, painted brown and gold to etch out a map of the world, as if the earl owned all of it. Glass-fronted bookcases across the back of the room held tomes of law, history, and philosophy, though James doubted the earl consulted any to guide him. Another man might have sat behind the teak desk, spread papers about to look as if he had been studying them. The earl’s desk was clean. Other men did his studying and merely brought him their conclusions to be accepted or rejected on his whim.
His lordship was seated on one of two black leather armchairs near the white marble hearth, book open in his lap, gaze on the door.
“James,” he said. “Explain yourself.”
And that should be his cue to shuffle forward, head bowed, like a schoolboy summoned before the headmaster. James held his ground and met the earl’s gaze.
“The situation in Grace-by-the-Sea has changed. I thought I should apprise you personally.”
The earl’s heavy-lidded eyes were half closed, as if the conversation already bored him. “What could possibly be so urgent?”
“I chartered a militia.”
His face didn’t change, though he leaned back ever so slightly in the chair. “I gave you direct orders to do no such thing.”
“You did,” James acknowledged, moving closer. “But since receiving your orders we discovered smugglers in the cove.”
He dropped his gaze to the book, as if it was far more important than James would ever be. “You are the magistrate. Surely you are capable of dealing with such matters.”
“It took the entire village to rout them,” he said. “And they are in Weymouth, awaiting trial. But in the process of removing them, I discovered that someone had placed a beacon in the castle. I thought it was the smugglers, but we’ve stumbled upon strangers in the night. Do you know anything about the matter?”
The earl’s nostrils flared. “If I did, I would either have instructed you to be alert or told you to look the other way.”
That was what James had feared. “I thought perhaps that was what you had done—told me to look the other way and forget about chartering a militia.”
He sighed as if he was tired of dealing with recalcitrant underlings. “I had other reasons.”
“So, you are not in the habit of funding smugglers or French agents,” James said, knowing the statement was dangerously close to a challenge.
The earl shifted on the chair. “If you must ask the question, you are not the man I thought you were.”
Slippery. But he always had been. “In any regard, to protect your holdings, I thought it best to have armed men keep an eye on the castle from here on out.”
He looked up at last. “And have they uncovered the miscreant using the castle?”
“Not yet, which is one of the reasons I am concerned about Miss Faraday living there.”
His smile was grim. “On the contrary. If her life is in danger, she may be more amenable to changing her attitude.”
James took a step closer, and the earl’s eyes lit. He was spoiling for a fight, and James knew who would win.
“She certainly has some interesting opinions,” he said, keeping his voice level. “She seems to think we’re nearing Dun Territory.”
The earl’s gaze flickered. “I will not have rumors threatening this family.”
“Nor will I,” James told him. “I assured her she was mistaken. If there was something wrong, I would have been asked to transfer funds.”
“You have wasted your time,” he said. “All of this could have been put in a letter.”
“Perhaps,” James allowed. “But I wanted to add my voice to hers. Miss Faraday has a right to her own future. She is of age. She can marry who she likes.”
The earl set his book aside and slowly rose to his feet. The banyan enclosed a figure that was thinner than James remembered, but perhaps he was seeing the earl as merely a man for the first time.
“You dare to presume to lecture me about what is best for this family?” the earl asked, gaze drilling into his. “Perhaps you need a reminder where you live, your purpose for existing.”
James bowed. “Like my father and grandfather, I have ever served the House of Howland.”
“And, like them, you do not deserve the name.” The earl raised his chin. “Get out of my sight. And tell Miss Faraday since she sees fit to darken my name with claims of insolvency, I have no further interest in storing her belongings. I will put her harp on the market this very afternoon.”
James bowed again. “My lord.” He backed from the room.
But he would never back down.
Chapter Twelve
If she spent the entire four days thinking about James, Eva knew she would go mad. So, she was very glad she had an appointment Monday afternoon with the leasing agent
.
“I have several properties that might suit your needs,” Mrs. Kirby said as she, Eva, and Pym set out from the magistrate’s house. Eva had decided to take the man-of-all-work with her so he could consider the houses from James’s point of view. It wasn’t as if she knew her betrothed well enough to select a house for him.
Her betrothed. Soon her husband. Something zinged through her, as fast as one of Maudie’s fairies. It was the excitement of choosing a home. It had to be.
The first house Mrs. Kirby suggested was a tall stone cottage on High Street, and Eva objected to the busy thoroughfare.
“Though I like the look of that one,” she confessed as they started up the hill past an elegant house with a fanlight shaped like a cockleshell.
“That’s Shell Cottage,” Mrs. Kirby said with a smile. “It was leased for the summer, but the lady has graciously agreed to relocate so that Miss Chance and her betrothed can make it their home when they wed. Miss Chance was raised in the cottage, you see. It was her family home until her father died last year.”
“How nice that she can return to it now,” Eva said. Her father had moved five times since they’d left the rented room where she had been born, always to larger, more impressive surroundings.
“If you want to deal with those having money,” he’d said, “you must look as if you have money yourself.”
She would have far preferred a home with warm memories attached to it.
The second house was along a quieter street but at the very back of the village closer to the top of the hill.
“It seems too far for everyone to go to find their magistrate,” Eva said. “And I don’t think James would approve appearing above them.”
“But he is above us, merely by the fact that he is a Howland,” Mrs. Kirby pointed out.
Did they all subscribe to the myth that the earl was omnipotent? What a wretched way to live.
As if Pym saw the set to her face, he stepped in politely. “It’s a long way to the market as well. Perhaps something more centrally located.”
Mrs. Kirby led them back down the hill and turned onto Church Street. “The summer leases have all been set, so there are only a few houses available at the moment. There is one more that might suit your needs, but I hesitate to point it out. I’m not at all sure Mr. Howland will approve.”
Eva glanced at Pym, who shrugged. But as the leasing agent stopped before a thatched-roof house just down the street from the magistrate’s home, the servant drew himself up and scowled at her.
“That house isn’t for let,” he declared.
Mrs. Kirby raised a brow. “It most certainly is. The Turpin lease lapsed this past March.”
“No one alerted Mr. Howland,” he protested. “He would have had something to say in the matter.”
“Very likely,” she said, voice coming out clipped. She turned to Eva. “Butterfly Manor may look smaller than the others around it, but there’s an addition at the back. I think it will suit you perfectly. You’ll just need to convince the magistrate.”
Eva looked to Pym. “Why would James protest, Mr. Pym?”
He nodded toward the pretty stone cottage, where gold, blue, and yellow butterflies hovered among the flowers that crowded the front garden. “This was his grandfather’s house, where his mother was raised, miss. The earl had insisted that Mr. Howland could not marry her. The magistrate’s father disobeyed him. It was the bravest thing he ever did, but the earl insisted we couldn’t associate with them from then on or he would bring trouble on everyone. I doubt Master James has set foot in it since he was a lad.”
Anger pushed up inside her. Eva squared her shoulders and turned to the leasing agent. “I would very much like to see this house, Mrs. Kirby.”
With a nod, the leasing agent opened the latch on the wrought-iron gate and let them in among the flowers. Such fragrance had never smelled sweeter.
Inside, the rooms featured creamy plastered walls and warm wood molding. The main floor boasted a sitting room overlooking the harbor, a dining room with a table opened to seat twenty, and a study lined with bookcases, with a kitchen and a servants hall in the addition. On the chamber story, there were four large bedchambers, each with its own dressing room, and ample room for the staff above.
“With a connecting door between the master’s and mistress’s suites,” Mrs. Kirby noted.
Eva’s cheeks heated. She looked to James’s manservant. “What do you think, Mr. Pym?”
His eyes were bright, as if with unshed tears. “I think Master James would be pleased, miss. If you’re certain it’s what you want.”
Eva nodded. “It’s perfect. We’ll take it.”
“We will, of course, have to wait to have Mr. Howland sign the lease,” the agent explained as they descended the stairs. “And his lordship must agree to the lease, but that’s only a formality, especially given Mr. Howland’s standing.”
The house felt suddenly confining, and Eva was glad to step out into the sunlight. “Then this land belongs to the Earl of Howland.”
“Actually, it belongs to Lord Peverell,” she said as they crossed through the garden. “His holdings and that of Lord Howland bisect the village. It’s an odd arrangement, but one that has stood us in good stead over the years.”
And stood her in good stead now. Very likely the Earl of Howland would refuse to allow James and her to set foot on any of his properties, but he was less likely to be able to sway another aristocrat.
“So, when may we move in?” Eva asked as a butterfly danced past her face.
“A week after Mr. Howland signs the papers, most likely,” Mrs. Kirby said, letting them out the gate. “That will give us sufficient time to have them signed by Lord Peverell’s agent as well. When do you expect the magistrate back?”
“He should be available to sign the papers on Saturday,” Eva said. “I’ll send him to visit you at his earliest convenience.”
“I’ll have the lease prepared and waiting for him,” she promised. “And congratulations on your upcoming wedding, Miss Faraday. You marry into a prestigious family.”
Perhaps not as prestigious as the leasing agent thought. “Thank you,” Eva said. Mrs. Kirby bobbed a curtsey and headed back down the street. Pym and Eva crossed the street for the magistrate’s house.
“Mrs. Howland will be overjoyed by your choice, miss,” Mr. Pym said. “She missed her family home so much.”
Eva couldn’t imagine being able to look just down the street and know she wasn’t allowed to visit. “The earl really is a horrid fellow. Why did he take the Turpins in such dislike?”
“Oh, it wasn’t the Turpins,” Pym said as he held open the door for her. “It was the fact that Mr. Howland had disobeyed him. His lordship tends to punish those who fail to fall in line.”
“Then James and I will just have to find a way around him,” Eva said.
“We’re all hoping that to be the case,” Pym assured her. “There are a few things in the house that Mrs. Howland brought with her on her marriage. Those should not be left to the earl. If I may show you?”
She spent the rest of the afternoon conducting an inventory and making more lists. Mrs. Howland had brought most of the linens with her, but the silver and plate belonged to the Howlands and would have to be left behind. Her father’s staff had always made such decisions before. All Eva had had to do was climb into the carriage and step out at her new home. There was something rather pleasing about making the decisions herself.
She spoke to the vicar Tuesday morning, but, as she could not set a date until James returned, the best she could do was talk about options and possibilities.
“Will you want to be married quietly like Mr. Howland’s parents?” Mr. Wingate, the vicar, asked. “Or will you want something grander? I know many in the village would appreciate the opportunity to wish their magistrate well.”
She certainly didn’t intend to hide her marriage. But it was rather daunting to think of it as a village event. She let the vicar know she
would send James to see him as soon as he returned.
“I’m making a great number of promises for your master,” she told Pym when she reached the house again. “I hope he’ll be amenable.”
Pym smiled. “Master James is as determined as you are to make this arrangement work. Have you given any thought as to who you’d like as your attendant?”
There was only one choice. And that meant she must visit the spa.
She didn’t mind in the least. It was an elegant space, with fluted columns and potted palms. Ladies—Mrs. Harding and Mrs. North among them—lounged in white wicker chairs along the light blue walls or by the windows looking down to the sea. Gentlemen strolled the parquet floor. So did Miss Tapper, her companion watching from the safety of the far wall. Eva spotted Lord Featherstone and Mr. Crabapple playing chess near a stone fountain where mineral water bubbled. Mr. Harris stood with arms crossed as if studying their every move.
“Miss Faraday,” Miss Chance greeted her from her place behind a tall desk holding a large book. “Maudie is at the harpsichord at the moment, but I know she’ll want to greet you too.”
As if to prove as much, the song ended in a crescendo its composer had never intended, and Maudie hopped up from the lacquered instrument in the corner and scurried to their sides.
“Eva! You look tired. You need a drink.”
Eva blinked, but Miss Chance put a hand on her arm. “I believe my aunt means a dose of the mineral waters would do you good.”
Maudie frowned. “Well, of course that was what I meant. I don’t understand why I must keep repeating myself.”
Miss Chance released Eva with a smile. “Why don’t you go pour her a glass, Aunt? I’ll just acquaint her with some of our offerings.”
Maudie toddled off. Miss Chance leaned closer.
“I’m sure the magistrate told you about our assembly on Wednesday evenings. I merely wanted you to know that Lark and my brother, Alex, were on duty at the castle Sunday night and last night, and they spotted nothing unusual.”