To Wed the Earl

by Anthea Lawson

  She would simply explain, he would let her go, and that would be the end of it.

  Moonlight spilled through the glass panes. The earl towed her directly into the light, then tilted his head and inspected her. His backlit form was a looming shadow against the silver night.

  “Ah,” he said. “Miss Miranda Price. Still a creature of mischief, I see.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks and she yanked her wrist out of his grasp. Once again, she was reminded of how much she disliked the man.

  “Now that you see I am not some thief sneaking in to steal your family fortune,” she said, “I shall bid you goodnight.”

  She pulled her cloak about her, keeping the book tucked safely beneath her arm, and reached for the latch.

  “Not yet.” He took her by the shoulders. “What are you hiding under your cloak?”

  His warm breath fanned across her cheek, spiced with the faint scent of brandy. Heavens, he was annoyingly close.

  “Nothing that concerns you.” Her heart hammered in her chest.

  “Miss Price – you are removing a book from my library. I think it does concern me.”

  She swallowed. “It’s mine. It was mistakenly delivered here earlier today. I merely came to retrieve it.”

  “In the middle of the night? Let me see the book.”

  Her breath caught. She couldn’t show him her journal! Among other things, it was full of scathing condemnations of him.

  “I assure you – ”

  “No need for assurances.” Faster than she’d thought possible, he flipped her cloak back and snatched the book. “I’ll verify it for myself.”

  “Sir!” She reached for her precious journal, but he spun away and strode back into the darkened room.

  As she followed him, her skirts caught on the corner of the table. In the time it took for her to regain her balance and catch up, he had deftly lit the sconce atop the mantel.

  “Give my book back,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “One moment.” In the light of the candle, he opened the tooled leather cover.

  “The journal belongs to me,” she said, trying to keep the edge of desperation from her voice. Edward Havens could not read her journal. “I demand you return it immediately.”

  One eyebrow rose and he shook his head, the light gleaming on strands of pure gold in his tawny hair. He shot her a glance from eyes so dark blue they seemed almost black.

  “I’m captivated by your character descriptions, Miss Price. I had no idea you aspired to be a novelist. Hateful Havens – the man sounds quite the villain.”

  Mortification rushed through her, a wave of heat rising from her toes to the crown of her head.

  “I was but a child when I began keeping this journal. You must forgive my youthful fancies.”

  This was dreadful – her worst nightmare. Edward Havens reading her journal, and mocking it in her presence. It was the very thing she had stolen over here to prevent. Such bitter irony that her actions had made this horror come to pass. She folded her arms tightly over her churning stomach.

  He flipped to the front page, a smile twisting his lips.

  “I see. Yes, five years ago was certainly a lifetime. No doubt you’ve become much wiser since attaining the ripe age of twenty.” He glanced down at the page again. “I see here that I am a scoundrel and a rake. Do you have a wide acquaintance with the type? West Dorset is reputed to be rife with such villains.”

  “I’ve heard the stories about you.” Heavens – how prim she sounded.

  But it was true. Ever since his father’s death a year ago, the new Earl of Edgerton had descended into debauchery and scandal. He was often mentioned in the London gossip rags – not that she would admit to poring over them looking for his name. No, she was most concerned for her brother’s reputation.

  “Stories from your brother, I suspect.” He closed the journal and thrust it toward her. “I wouldn’t believe everything Charlie tells you. It appears that a talent for fiction runs in your family.”

  She snatched the book from him and tucked it beneath her arm. “You are a terrible influence on him.”

  “No doubt.” His tone was dry.

  There was no use arguing with the man, not here in his own library. She had sent letters to Charlie, begging him to cease his acquaintance with Edward Havens, but her brother had refused to cut his old friend.

  “Well then. Welcome home, my lord.” She bobbed him a shallow curtsey. “I bid you goodnight.”

  She would not dwell upon the shame scorching her. The worst had happened – the earl now knew precisely what she thought of him. At least she had good company. Everyone else in Dorset was well aware of his wickedness. Except, perhaps, his mother.

  Miranda turned toward the French doors and gathered her cloak more tightly about her.

  “Wait.” He set his hand on her arm. “Did you come here alone?”

  Her heart stilled, like a hare suddenly in the hunter’s sights. Even she, plain Miranda Price, knew better than to admit to a man with his reputation that she was unescorted.

  “I…” She forced out a light laugh. “Of course not. My maid is waiting outside. In the rose arbor.”

  “I will take you to her, and see you both on your way.”

  “No need.” She pushed open the door and stepped into the moonlit garden.

  The earl was right behind her.

  “Miss Price, I cannot let you wander alone about my estate in the middle of the night. The rose arbor, you say?”

  He took her elbow in a firm grip and steered her down a path lined with color-leached flowers. At the end stood the solid, arching shadow of the arbor. The dark vines were spangled with blossoms, pink by day, now silver in the moonlight. Miranda swallowed and slowed her steps, but they arrived all too soon.

  “Empty,” he said. “It seems your maid has abandoned you. Not the most reliable of servants. I will have to see you home, myself.”

  There was something in his voice, a barely perceptible amusement that told her he suspected she had come by herself.

  “I shall have words with her,” Miranda said. “But in any case, it is late. I can make my way home without misfortune. No doubt you crave the comfort of your bed.”

  The moment the word was out of her mouth, she wished she could call it back. Heat flamed in her cheeks. Proper young ladies did not mention beds – especially not to scoundrelly earls. Especially not when alone with them, in their gardens, at night.

  “You are kindness itself,” he said. “My bed, however, is not particularly comforting. Seeing as how it is empty.”

  She stared at him, aware that her mouth was open in a soundless inhalation.

  “Forgive me, Miss Price. I know you are a young lady of sheltered sensibilities.” The amusement in his tone became more pronounced. “Of course, I was not suggesting you join me beneath the covers.”

  Her heart stuttered at the thought. That he would even say such a thing to her was shocking.

  Any doubts she had harbored about his reputation being exaggerated quickly evaporated. Certainly, the papers loved to speculate over his exploits. The Earl of Edgerton was rumored to be irresistible to opera dancers, widows, the wives of visiting dignitaries. Indeed, she had lost count of his supposed dalliances.

  And here she was, in the moonlit rose-garden with him. Once, it would have made her giddy with joy. She would have stared at his handsome features, delighted in the sheen of starlight over his hair, dreamed of being wrapped in his arms while he kissed her senseless.

  She stepped away from him and summoned her frostiest demeanor.

  “You, sir, are reprehensible. I’m surprised you feel the need to escort me home.”

  His mouth twisted. In the pale light it was impossible to tell if it was a wry smile, or something more bitter.

  “Despite your beliefs, I am not devoid of all honor. I presume the path to Wyckerly is still clear?”

  He gestured to the half-wild woods that lay beyond the formal garden. Althou
gh it was a good five miles between their estates by road, the secret path cut the distance to a quarter of that length.

  “Clear enough,” she said, though her cloak and hem were damp from brushing against overhanging bushes on the walk to Edgerton Manor.

  She lifted her chin and hurried to the border of the woods. If he wanted to follow, she could not stop him – but she would not endeavor to be pleasant to the man. Especially as he found it so amusing to mock her ‘sheltered sensibilities.’

  They walked in silence, broken only by the rustling of creatures in the underbrush and the distant hooting of an owl. At the half-way point – a small clearing marked with a fallen log – he cleared his throat.

  “Are you still pursuing your study of geometry?” he asked.

  “Yes.” He was not entitled to know more.

  “It seems you’re no stranger to my library.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice.

  “Your mother has kindly offered use of it to both my father and myself.”

  “Even at midnight?”

  She squeezed the book under her arm. “I told you. My journal was mistakenly returned along with the books that belong in your library.”

  “And you couldn’t wait until a more acceptable time to reclaim it?”

  “I didn’t want…” She squirmed inside at the thought of the few pages he had read. High time to change the subject. “Speaking of the late hour, is my brother now home as well? Weren’t the two of you traveling together?”

  “Yes – my coachman brought Charlie home as soon as I disembarked at the hall. No doubt he’s sleeping soundly. It was a long journey from London.” He let out a weary, somewhat theatrical sigh.

  “It’s not my fault you insisted on following me about the woods, when you could be… resting.” She would not say the word bed again.

  Ahead, the lights of Wyckerly shone through the thinning trees. She hurried forward, then paused at the edge of the lawn.

  “You may leave me here,” she said. “It would not do for me to be seen in your company.”

  “I don’t think it would do for you to be seen at all – but I take your point. Goodnight, Miss Price.”

  She gave him a quick curtsy, then hastened across the lawn. When she reached the shelter of the side door, she glanced back. At the verge of the woods, she could just make out the glint of his fair hair where he stood, watching her.

  ***

  Edward’s mother, Lady Edgerton, rose from the striped silk divan in the sitting room and bestowed a lily-scented kiss upon his cheek. Late morning light streamed in through the windows, burnishing the polished wooden floor – and showing all too clearly the toll the former earl’s death had taken on his widow.

  “Welcome home, darling!”

  “Hello, Mother,” Edward said. “You’re looking well.”

  It was only a slight exaggeration. A deep line scored her forehead, and her fair hair bore new strands of silver. Her face was thinner, and her eyes held a melancholy he suspected would never completely fade.

  Guilt curled about his ribs like smoke – insubstantial, yet difficult to breathe through. He should not have stayed away so long. But the official mourning period was now over, and it was time, past time, to take care of his mother again.

  “I had hoped to see you at breakfast.” She sat again, in a rustle of primrose-yellow skirts. “Come, sit with me. You will be keeping country hours now that you’re here? None of this lying abed until noon?”

  It was not noon – it was barely ten – but he did not want to argue the point. Edward firmed his lips and took the armchair beside his mother.

  “It was a late night,” he said, “but I will endeavor not to miss breakfast again.”

  It wasn’t as if there was much of anything to do late into the evenings here in West Dorset. Except escort young ladies home through the woods. He shook his head. Charlie’s younger sister had not changed one whit. She was still an oddly bookish girl – who evidently held him in great distaste. The bits of her journal he had read were florid in their descriptions of his vile character.

  In any case it didn’t matter. He had no intention of spending time in Miss Price’s company.

  “I was thinking,” his mother said. “We should hold a ball. Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

  A prickle of apprehension shivered up his neck. He feared his mother had only one objective in suggesting such an event.

  To find him a bride.

  “A ball?” he said cautiously. “I don’t intend to remain at Edgerton Manor for long. A fortnight should do to sort out the finances.”

  “You must stay longer.” There was no room for argument in her voice. “I have missed you dreadfully. Is it too much to ask for your company for a mere month?”

  “Mother, you may come up to London any time you choose. There is plenty of room in the town house.”

  She let out a sigh. “You know the city air does not agree with me – especially in the summer. Indeed, the country is delightful this time of year. And now that I am out of mourning, we shall make it a small house party! No doubt the invitees will be pleased to depart London.”

  Edward crossed his arms. Though part of him wanted to dissuade her, he was relieved to see her take an interest in social gatherings once more. She had mourned her husband for over a year. It was time she rejoined Society – even if it meant he had to suffer.

  “Whom do you plan to invite?” he asked.

  “Well…” There was a gleam in Lady Edgerton’s eyes. “The Davenports, of course – I have not seen them for some years, though Lady Davenport and I were very close in our youth. I hear their daughter Leticia has become quite a dark-haired beauty.”

  “Indeed.”

  And an avaricious one, at that. Miss Davenport had firmly set her sights on him. His friend Charlie found it amusing that, for once, Edward was the one being pursued. Edward found it far less gratifying. Especially after narrowly escaping a scene engineered by the lady that would have left him no choice but to marry her.

  There was no hope his mother wouldn’t invite them, considering her past friendship with Lady Davenport. He needed to take a great deal of care when dealing with Miss Davenport, or he would find himself shackled to her. And would that be so dreadful? an insidious voice inside him asked. At least the thing would be done, and easily enough.

  “Lady Davenport and I always dreamed of our offspring making a match.” His mother leaned over and patted his hand. “Not that I would dictate the direction of your heart.”

  “Of course not.”

  Only try to steer it. And it seemed Leticia Davenport had enthusiastically embraced the idea.

  “We shall invite the Montforts down from London, as well,” his mother said. “And the local gentry, of course. Viscount Trelling and the Prices.” She tapped her fingers against her skirts. “Five eligible young ladies in all – that would make a suitable selection, don’t you think?”

  He mentally discounted Miranda Price, and he suspected Charlie was quite fond of Miss Trelling, though whether he would ever come up to scratch on her account was hard to say. As for the Montfort girls, both of them were barely out of the schoolroom. Which left only one eligible young lady standing – Leticia Davenport.

  “I have no intention of marrying quite so soon.” Might as well put it bluntly.

  “Nonsense.” Lady Edgerton fixed him with her bright blue eyes. “You are seven-and-twenty. It’s past time for you to settle into the title. You’ve had a year of grace, Edward. The estate needs looking after – now and in the future.”

  The truth of it stabbed him. She was right. And though he was in no hurry to produce heirs, he had been derelict in his other duties as earl. Something had gone awry with the finances since his father’s death, something his London solicitor could not explain – other than to say the problem originated here, at the estate.

  So, here he was, finally ready to shoulder his responsibilities. But must he take on all of them at once?

  “
Speaking of estate business,” he said, “I’m meeting with Mr. Fowler to look over the accounts today. I’m sure the matter will be cleared up promptly.”

  Likely something had just been overlooked, and the precipitous drop in their income would be remedied straight away.

  “I’m so relieved you’re home.” His mother gave him a warm smile. “At dinner, you can tell me all about your adventures in London.”

  ***

  Four hours later, Edward had changed his mind. His neck ached from sitting in the hard office chair before his father’s desk, going over numbers. The cramped rows of figures in Mr. Fowler’s account book were beginning to blur in front of his eyes. Even the air in the room was dry and dusty, withering his brain with every breath. No solution to their sudden loss of revenues had presented itself.

  “That’s enough for now,” Edward said, sitting up straight and rubbing his forehead. He pushed the ledger away. “Perhaps we need to go further back in the books.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Seated across from him, Mr. Fowler closed the current ledger, his eye bright in his round face. “We can recommence this evening. I’m sure the answers are here somewhere, and with your help, I’ve no doubt we can find them.

  “No.” Edward was getting a headache from staring at those damnable numbers and trying to make sense of them. “Tomorrow afternoon is soon enough.”

  He needed fresh air, something to sweep the cobwebs from his head. Mathematics had never been his strong suit. He would go riding, drop in on Charlie and coax his friend to join him in a long, hard gallop. Fence-jumping seemed in order, as well.

  “Very good. Tomorrow afternoon.” Mr. Fowler slid the account book back into the shelves. “At least you can see that the rents have been down because of the need for improvements. The storm last winter took quite a toll on the home farm and your tenants. Extensive repairs were necessary.”

  “Yes, yes.” Edward waved the words away like annoying gnats. “I understand the necessity.”

  Still, although the figures made sense, something seemed amiss. The estate was producing far less income than in the past – by hundreds of pounds. Enough that his London solicitor had become alarmed and advised Edward to look into the matter promptly.