To Wed the Earl

by Anthea Lawson

  “Charlie?” Her voice trembled.

  “Here,” he said, sounding a bit breathless himself.

  He had been thrown to the grassy verge, next to a spray of yellow flowers. They were incongruously bright against the dun of his coat. He slowly got to his feet and brushed off his breeches.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I… I think so,” she said.

  She sat up and made a careful inventory. All her limbs seemed to be functioning, though a deep ache pulsed in her left shoulder. When she drew in a long breath, her ribs twinged in protest.

  “Can you stand?” Her brother offered his hand and gently pulled her to her feet.

  She swayed, then caught her balance. Her legs felt like thin twigs beneath her skirts.

  “Is Dapper unhurt?” She glanced at their horse, standing a short distance up the lane.

  He was anchored by the shambles of the curricle, his chestnut head drooping. Charlie unharnessed him and led him a few paces.

  “He’s favoring his hind leg a bit, but I think the old fellow will be all right.” He thumped the horse’s muzzle, and Dapper gave him a snort.

  “You’re limping, too.” Miranda glanced at the wreckage of their vehicle, the glossy black paint covered in dust, the broken axle giving the curricle a crazed tilt. “We must return to Edgerton Manor – Wyckerly is too far.”

  Her brother nodded. “Can you manage?”

  She took a half-dozen careful steps. As best she could determine, she was only bruised and shaken.

  “I can walk.”

  Gathering the horse’s reins in one hand, Charlie turned back toward Edgerton Manor. “If you find you can’t, we’ll boost you up onto Dapper’s back.”

  The air held the first taste of evening’s chill. Miranda glanced over her shoulder at the curricle listing in the shadows of the lane, and a shiver scraped the back of her neck. She and Charlie could have been badly injured. They were lucky to be walking away from the accident with only scrapes and bruises.

  Back at the estate, Lady Edgerton greeted them with consternation. Edward dispatched servants for the doctor and to Wyckerly, and insisted that Miranda and Charlie stay the night.

  “By the time Doctor Crewe arrives, it will be full dark,” he said. “You’ll sup with us, and the servants are preparing rooms for you. Tomorrow you may return to Wyckerly, but not before.”

  Charlie took it all with his usual good humor, though Miranda noticed he winced when he rose from the supper table. As for herself, she ached all over. The doctor had proclaimed nothing broken, but her ribs and shoulder throbbed terribly.

  “Oh, miss.” The maid shook her head as she helped Miranda out of her gown that evening. “Them bruises look right painful. I’ll fetch you a compress from the kitchens, shall I?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Wearing a nightdress borrowed from Lady Edgerton, Miranda climbed beneath the smooth, unfamiliar sheets. She wished she were at home in her own bed, with her parents just down the hall. Instead, she must content herself with the warm, herb-scented compress wrapped about her ribs.

  She woke in the night with pain radiating through her. The compress at her side was cold and damp, which would explain why she had been dreaming of a large newt curled up next to her. Miranda pushed it out of the bed, her shoulder twinging in protest at the movement.

  Edgerton Manor was filled with the quiet noises of any house settling in for the night – a creak here, a squeak there – but they were not comfortable, nor familiar. Neither was the bed. She turned on her un-bruised side, then over again on to her back. She took twenty long breaths in and out, and then twenty more. No use. Sleep had fled.

  At home, on the rare nights she could not sleep, she would light a candle and read by the dim light until dreaming overtook her.

  Her fingertips found the candlestick in its holder beside the bed. A few coals still glowed on the hearth, shedding a faint red light against the mantel. She slipped out of bed, the carpet thick and rough beneath her bare feet, and held her candle to the coals. The banked warmth curled up against her hands as the wick flickered, then caught.

  Lady Edgerton had also lent her a wrapper – blue Chinese silk, draped at the foot of the bed. Miranda put it on, drawing it carefully over her injured shoulder, then took up her candle again and surveyed the room.

  There were no books. Really, it had been too much to hope for.

  It was humorous, in an ironic sort of way, that once again she planned a midnight raid on the library at Edgerton Manor. At least this time she would not be sneaking through the gardens – and she would have light.

  Somewhat to her disappointment, the earl did not come upon her as she browsed the shelves. At last, with a treatise on the botanical oddities of the West Indies tucked under her arm, Miranda left the library. She closed the door quietly behind her and turned to the darkened hallway.

  “Miss Price.” Edward’s voice came out of the soft blackness.

  Miranda let out a startled squeak, and the book fell to the carpet with a thud. She raised her candle, and there he was, wearing a dark dressing gown that blended with the shadows. Only his hair, his face, and his hands were visible.

  “You surprised me,” she said.

  “My apologies. Do you intend to make a habit of skulking about my library?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She bent to retrieve the book, then winced as her side and shoulder protested the movement.

  In an instant, he was at her side. He scooped up the book, then gave her a concerned look.

  “Give me the candle – I’ll escort you back to your room.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a candlestick, my lord.”

  One eyebrow rose slightly but he did not insist. He did, however keep possession of the book.

  Miranda continued down the hall toward the staircase, Edward at her side. For a tall man, he was surprisingly light-footed. Of course, she should have recalled how easily he had surprised her that first time in the library.

  The candle flame picked out the gilt edges of picture frames, slid over polished tabletops. She could think of nothing to say to him – and really, they did not want to be found like this, both in their nightclothes, walking the halls together. It did not look well, no matter how innocent.

  “Watch the fifth tread,” he said in a low voice when they reached the stairs. “It squeaks in the middle.”

  She nodded. How many times had he stolen out at night, that he knew the telltale noises? And what mischief could he possibly have gotten into here, in tame Dorset?

  At the fifth stair, she was careful to place her feet on the outside of the step. He followed soundlessly behind her. The carpet at the top of the stairs was a different texture under her bare soles, not quite as silky as on the main floor. Three doors down she paused.

  “My book, if you please.”

  “As long as you promise not to steal it.” He glanced at the cover as he handed it over. “Curious Flora of the West Indies. What, no celestial geometry?”

  “I ache too much to concentrate on higher mathematics.” She had not meant to admit it, however.

  He stepped closer to her, his fingers catching her chin. He studied her face, the barest line between his brows. Then his gaze met hers, and she was falling, falling into those deep blue pools she had sworn never to drown in.

  “Miranda.” Her name was a whisper on his lips.

  The candle in her hand trembled, the light shivering over his gold-streaked hair. She felt suddenly caught up in the silent center of a whirlwind – furious forces on either side of her, but nothing but sweet, deep pressure within. Her breath was a faint movement of air over her lips.

  Edward bent, and something tightened inside her, at her center. Her gaze dropped to his mouth as he leaned closer.

  Then he shifted, his lips brushing her forehead. He stepped back, and disappointment flooded her. She had thought… she had hoped…

  “Rest well,” he said, his expre
ssion shuttered. “Goodnight, Miss Price.”

  “Wait.” She held out the candlestick. “Take the candle.”

  “No need.”

  He turned and moved down the hall, a bright, silent shadow. Four heartbeats later, he was gone.

  She swallowed, her throat suddenly aching. What a fool she was.

  The doorknob was cool under her hand. She twisted it, her shoulder protesting, and slipped into the room. The bed waited, patient and cold. She set the book and candle on the nightstand, all taste for reading gone.

  The truth stung her tongue, like the smell of smoke from the snuffed candle. She did not hate Edward Havens – not at all. In fact, she suspected she never had, even after that dreadful day.

  It took a very long time for sleep to claim her.

  ***

  The next morning, Miranda’s ribs protested as she slid out of bed, but her shoulder did not ache nearly as much. With the maid’s assistance, she dressed in the blue muslin gown she had worn the day before. There was dirt ground in near the hem, more than a quick brushing-off could cure. At least it was fairly unnoticeable.

  Miranda took the stairs slowly, gripping the polished banister to keep her balance. The fifth step creaked beneath her boot. It seemed she was the last to arrive in the morning room for breakfast. Edward, his mother, and Charlie were gathered about the sunny table. The silver tea service shone cheerfully, and the sideboard was filled with platters of food – kippers, toast, bacon, eggs, and fruit.

  Charlie was already halfway finished with a plate of eggs. He looked in perfect health, as though curricle spills were an everyday occurrence.

  “Good morning, Miranda” he said, ever chipper.

  Lady Edgerton set down her cup of tea. “How are you feeling today, Miss Price? Did you sleep well?”

  Miranda did not glance over at Edward. “Yes, thank you. I am much improved.”

  “May I fetch you a plate, Miss Price?” Edward asked. “Since your brother is too engaged with eating to offer.”

  “I am getting my strength back up,” Charlie said. “Besides, I knew you would be gentleman enough to offer.”

  “I…” She lifted her shoulder, then winced at the movement. “Thank you, Lord Edgerton. Bacon, eggs, and toast if you please.”

  Lady Edgerton poured her a cup of tea, then handed her the delicate, rose-decorated china. Miranda stirred a lump of sugar in, the spoon clinking round the edges of the cup.

  Edward set a plate before her, and she nodded her thanks. He certainly was acting the gentleman.

  Except for his innuendos that first night he had caught her in the library, he was exceedingly well-behaved. Indeed, last night had provided ample opportunities for him to prove himself a scandalous rake – and all he had done was kiss her forehead, as though she were a child.

  “Your parents will be coming to fetch you in their carriage at half eleven,” Lady Edgerton said. “They wanted to rush over last night, but I directed Dr. Crewe to stop at Wyckerly and reassure them by sharing his diagnosis of you both. No need to upset the entire neighborhood.”

  Miranda was surprised her mother hadn’t rushed over straight away. Yet… there had been that spark in her eyes when Charlie announced they would spend the day at Edgerton. Could it be that Mother harbored designs on her daughter’s behalf? Toward Edward?

  Ridiculous. Miranda took a swallow of tea, then chased the notion down with a bite of toast for good measure.

  “We could walk home,” she said, though her ribs twinged at the thought.

  “Nonsense,” Lady Edgerton said. “You are to rest, as Dr. Crewe instructed.”

  “And not in front of the account books, either,” Charlie added.

  Miranda shot a glance at the clock on the mantel. “But it is scarcely nine o’clock. I could easily spend an hour going over – ”

  “No,” Edward said.

  She glanced over at him, and felt a faint flush rise in her cheeks. His hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes…

  Miranda pulled her attention away, and pretended to study the view outside the window. The morning light lay warm and inviting over the flowerbeds, illuminating the blue and white Canterbury bells nodding in the breeze, the pink roses sunning themselves over the arbor.

  “Perhaps I will sit in the gardens, then,” she said.

  And if she recalled the figures from the estate books while admiring the roses, no one would be the wiser.

  “Very good,” Lady Edgerton said. “I will sit with you, and we can discuss the ball.”

  “The ball?” Miranda blinked.

  “Mother.” Edward crumpled up his napkin and set it on the table. “You needn’t tax Miss Price with details.”

  “Well.” His mother gave him a frosty look. “Since you won’t discuss them with me…”

  “That would be lovely.” Miranda summoned up a smile. “Am I to understand you are hosting a ball here?”

  Lady Edgerton’s blue eyes sparkled as she turned to Miranda. “A ball and a small house party, in a fortnight’s time. Your family is invited, of course. Remind me to give you your official invitation before you depart this morning.”

  “Who else is coming?” Charlie asked, pushing his plate aside.

  “From London, Lady Montfort and her daughters. And the Davenports, of course.”

  “Of course,” Charlie echoed. He shot Edward a look, brows raised.

  Miranda did not know what significance the Davenports held, but the frown on the earl’s face hinted at secrets.

  “The Davenports have a daughter as well?” she asked.

  She was beginning to sense a pattern – one that made her oddly uncomfortable. Or perhaps that was simply her bruised ribs, aching from the strain of sitting perfectly upright.

  “Yes,” Lady Edgerton said with a smile. “Leticia is a lovely girl. I believe she and Edward have encountered one another about Town.”

  Her son shifted, his frown growing more pronounced.

  “It’s a veritable bouquet of young ladies,” Charlie said. “Once you add Miranda in, that is.”

  Yes – a daisy among hothouse flowers. It was clear Lady Edgerton was hoping to find a match for Edward, a lily or an orchid to bloom companionably by his side.

  “Viscount Trelling and his family will attend the events, as well,” Lady Edgerton said. “So you see, we shall have quite a convivial gathering in attendance. Come, Miss Price, let us repair to the gardens. I was thinking of planning a picnic one day, and perhaps an outing to view the swans, if the weather holds. Here, take a parasol.”

  Lady Edgerton handed her a lace-trimmed one from the stand by the side door and, still talking, led the way out.

  Miranda followed, giving up her thoughts of numbers. She did not mind passing the time with Edward’s mother, and it was good to see Lady Edgerton returning to her former, sparkling self.

  And truly, she understood that Edward must marry someone. If she had once dreamed that it might be her, well, those had been childish imaginings.

  She knew better now.

  ***

  The Havenses second-best carriage was still finer than the one Miranda’s family owned. The leather seats were decently sprung – although two hours of jolting along on the country roads was enough to make anyone uncomfortable. The dark blue velvet curtains – as deep as Edward Havens’s eyes – were drawn back from the now-dusty windows displaying a view of Dorset’s coastline.

  Indeed, the carriage was fine enough. It was the company that set Miranda’s teeth on edge. Miss Trelling, who shared her bench, was a pleasant girl, but seated opposite were the Davenports. Lady Davenport seemed amiable, though she was clearly cast in the doting mama mold. Her daughter Leticia, however, was the least agreeable creature Miranda ever had the misfortune of meeting. If the ballrooms and parlors of London were full of such ladies, she was entirely happy to remain in Dorset for the rest of her life.

  “I find country outings to be so quaint,” Miss Davenport said. Then her perfect blue eyes widened as sh
e glanced across at Miranda. “Oh, do forgive me. I keep forgetting how infrequently you’ve been to London.”

  Miranda kept a smile pasted on her face, though it made her cheeks ache. “Yes, I find that the soot and din of Town doesn’t agree with me. But some people are less sensitive to such things.”

  It had been like this for the past hour and a half – verbal slings and barbed words flying back and forth between them. Miranda felt lacerated, but she was not going to let Miss Davenport come off the winner.

  “Well.” Miss Davenport wrinkled her nose. “Luckily, Lord Edgerton is quite fond of London living. Once I wed the earl, we’ll spend most of our time enjoying the true gentility that only is offered in Town.”

  Lady Davenport stirred and gave her daughter a mild glance. “Letty, do not put the cart before the horse. The earl has not yet declared his intentions toward you.”

  “Not yet – but I have no doubt of the outcome.” Miss Davenport’s smile was sparkling, but her eyes held a cold calculation.

  Miranda drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders and turned her attention out the window. The green countryside appeared the same as the last time she had looked.

  She would love to thwart the scheming Miss Davenport, though she had little hope of it. The young lady was beautiful, with her porcelain skin and raven-dark hair. She came of an excellent family, and seemed everything an earl would require in a wife – except for her unpleasant nature. Surely even the worst of rogues did not deserve such a wife.

  Miss Trelling, a rather shy girl to begin with, had spoken no more than two words during the entire journey, but now she gave a quiet cough.

  “I believe Abbotsbury is just ahead,” she said.

  Although she had lived in Dorset her entire life, Miranda had never been to see the swans at Abbotsbury. A pity she had to endure the current company to do so. The carriage ride back would doubtlessly be equally unpleasant.

  “Thank goodness,” Miss Davenport said. “This carriage truly needs refitting. The curtains are dreadfully shabby, and leather seats have gone out of fashion.”