Mad About the Earl

by Christina Brooke

  Maddox had implied he intended to offer for Jacqueline when she turned one and twenty, with or without a dowry.

  But that marriage could never be. Jacqueline was out of her senses if she entertained the notion. Even mere friendship with the fellow was dangerous, if it came to that.

  Griffin was no expert in such things, but it seemed to him that Jacks was not in love with Tony Maddox. The fellow was a Devil with the ladies, however. If he chose to make Jacks fall in love with him, she might do so. And what woman didn’t unburden all her secrets to her lover?

  That would be fatal. He needed to remove his sister from Maddox’s vicinity and get her married off as soon as may be.

  Time was running out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Rosamund and her companion arrived at Pendon Place, no one came out to greet them. Diccon the footman handed Rosamund and Tibby down from the carriage and preceded them up the stairs. He rapped on the door with a pristine, white-gloved hand.

  While they waited for what seemed an inordinately long time for someone to answer, Rosamund gave Tibby a reassuring smile and looked about her.

  What she saw daunted her somewhat. The exterior of the house showed clear signs of neglect, a sad contrast to her recollection of its immaculate grandeur three years before. The lawn hadn’t been scythed for some time, and the graveled drive was dotted with weeds. On the house itself, the windows that weren’t covered in ivy were in dire need of cleaning.

  The place felt desolate, abandoned.

  If the exterior of Griffin’s lair looked like this, she shuddered to imagine the inside.

  The massive door creaked open a short way, and a round-faced gimlet-eyed woman appeared. She had apple-red cheeks and mousy hair caught up in a straggling knot at her nape.

  The woman jabbered something at them, which Rosamund found unintelligible but took as a demand to state their business.

  Diccon the footman looked down his nose at the woman. “Lady Rosamund Westruther and Miss Tibbs to see Lord Tregarth.”

  “Strangers, you say?” The woman peered at Tibby, then at Rosamund. “We don’t have no truck with them in these parts. The master, ’e don’t see no one a’tall.”

  “He will see me,” said Rosamund. “Fetch him and tell him his affianced wife is here.” She smiled. “Would you be so kind as to show us in?”

  She attempted to peer past the housekeeper, but the woman was a head taller than she and built like a sofa, so that was impossible.

  The housekeeper eyed her narrowly, as if she suspected her of intending to steal the silverware. “He’s not here and won’t be back till nightfall, so there’s no point in your waiting, is there? Affianced wife, did you say?”

  “Yes. I did,” said Rosamund. She took out her card and handed it to the housekeeper. “And you must be the housekeeper. Mrs.…”

  “Peggy’ll do, mistress.” She thought for a moment. “You’re that heiress.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “We don’t have much truck with heiresses in these parts, neither.”

  Rosamund struggled against an absurd desire to laugh.

  Diccon sniffed. “That, my good woman, is quite obvious. What are you about to keep my lady standing like this?”

  Rosamund silenced Diccon with a glance. On impulse, she said, “Is any of the family at home?”

  “Lady Jacqueline deVere is here, ma’am,” the housekeeper said grudgingly.

  “Will you send in my card and inquire if Lady Jacqueline will receive me?”

  Rosamund wasn’t sure whether Griffin’s sister would remember her from her earlier visit, but perhaps she might at least recognize the name.

  After another long wait, the housekeeper returned. “This way.”

  The woman sent a series of sharp-eyed looks at them over her shoulder as she led them through the bowels of the house.

  Rosamund shot an amused glance at Tibby and called ahead, “When will your master be back?”

  “Don’t come home till dark most days,” was the reply. “Thursday nights, he dines with the vicar, so it’ll be even later than that tonight.”

  The vicar? Oblivious of Rosamund’s surprise, the housekeeper halted and gestured toward an opened door. “Here we are, then.”

  Without another word, Peggy stumped away.

  The housekeeper hadn’t bothered to announce them. Rosamund and Tibby hesitated on the threshold.

  A lady perhaps a year or two younger than Rosamund rose from the escritoire by the window and came forward to greet them. Her gown was drab and ill-fitted, and she had a strange, loping gait to her walk that made her appear all arms and legs. Her hair was jet black with a riotous curl to it, just like Griffin’s. Her complexion was unfashionably brown.

  Rosamund saw a clear challenge to dressing the girl and grooming her into a graceful debutante. That was all to the good. She relished a challenge.

  On the positive side, despite her unconventional looks, there was something very taking about Lady Jacqueline. The openness of her expression and the lanky vigor of her movements endeared her at once.

  “Oh, Lady Rosamund, yes!” the girl said, throwing out a hand in an all-encompassing gesture of welcome. “Do come in. I remember you from that time you came to stay. You will laugh when I tell you that at first I thought that you were an angel walking among us. I was so frightened! I thought you’d come to take me up to Heaven to be with my mama. Which was rather optimistic of me, as it turns out. My brother calls me a Hell-born babe.” She gave a low, throaty laugh. “How do you do?”

  If she’d not been accustomed to dealing with Cecily’s startling utterances, Rosamund might have been thrown into confusion by this. Instead, she said, “Please, call me Rosamund. I’m so happy to renew our acquaintance.”

  She introduced Tibby and noted with approval that Jacqueline was equally friendly toward her companion. Nothing set up Rosamund’s hackles more than young ladies who thought their stations gave them license to be rude to people they considered beneath them.

  Griffin’s sister said, “Oh, and you must call me Jacks. Everyone does.”

  Rosamund regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you mind if I call you Jacqueline? It is such an elegant name.”

  “Doesn’t suit me at all, does it?” said Jacqueline. “I’m no beauty like you.”

  “You are charming,” said Rosamund. “You have just returned home, I take it?”

  “Yes, thank goodness! I was staying in Bath with the Warringtons. Do you know them?” Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “The stuffiest people! And Bath, you know. You can’t ride there—well, not properly. And the place crawls with invalids and fashionable ladies who are forever imagining they’ve contracted some mysterious complaint or other. And they want to tell you all the details. As if an illness makes them more interesting!”

  Rosamund laughed. “How horrid for you. When you come to London, you will find far more to entertain you than in Bath, I assure you.”

  The girl’s brow wrinkled. “London?”

  Oh, dear. Griffin hadn’t told her yet. Hurriedly, Rosamund said, “Perhaps I have it wrong. Do not regard it.”

  But Jacqueline wasn’t listening. “So that’s why! I knew there was something in the wind.” Her heavy eyebrows drew together. “He’s going to try to marry me off, isn’t he?”

  She spoke in a tone of such indignation that Rosamund was startled. “Is that such a bad thing?” She made a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, but most young ladies—”

  “Griffin doesn’t care for what most ladies do.” Jacqueline shot to her feet. Her face was flushed—not with anger, as Rosamund had first thought. The sheen of tears glittered in those gray eyes, and her lips quivered slightly. “He wants to be rid of me. I am too much trouble and I’ve made a mess of everything and he wants me gone. Why do you think he packed me off to Bath?”

  “That is not true!” Rosamund rose to her feet also, feeling like a witless wretch for upsetting the girl. “Pray, believe me. I know that is not true.”

&nbs
p; She didn’t know anything of the kind, of course, but she couldn’t let Jacqueline work herself up into this state. Good God, she’d never dreamed the news would upset Jacqueline so.

  “But…” The girl’s eyes widened. “He has told you about me?” The shocked betrayal in her tone confused Rosamund. What did she think Griffin had told her? A little bitterly, she reflected that Jacqueline need have no concerns in that quarter. Griffin never confided in her about anything.

  “No, no, I give you my word, your brother has not betrayed any confidences to me. But I do know that he loves you dearly,” said Rosamund.

  Indeed, how could anyone fail to adore this funny, frank, awkward girl?

  Rosamund held up her hand. “Now, please do not be hasty and fly out at Griffin for subjecting you to the Marriage Mart! I might have it all wrong. In fact, I probably do. Your brother is not the most communicative of men, in case you hadn’t noticed! Besides, I am persuaded he will not force you to do anything you find distasteful.”

  “Oh, but—” Jacqueline made a helpless gesture. “Griffin is not my guardian, you see. He has no true authority over me. It is Lord deVere, you know. If he wants to parade me about the ballrooms of London like a prize heifer at a fair, Griffin could not stop him.” Her shoulders drooped. “I’ll have to run away again. But where would I go?”

  “What is all this nonsense?” Rosamund took Jacqueline’s hand and led her back to the sofa, where she urged her to sit down beside her. “Griffin would never abandon you, no matter who has legal power over you. No one can force you to get married if you don’t want to.”

  Jacqueline gave a gusty sigh. “That is true, but it is horrendously upsetting and tiresome to defy them. You’d know that as well as anyone.”

  “I never even thought to defy my guardian,” said Rosamund slowly. “But I suppose I know what you mean.” Rosamund frowned. That she had not railed against her fate made her sound like rather a poor creature, but it hadn’t been like that at all. “I am sorry to hear you do not wish for a season,” she said. “But perhaps you will change your mind. When Griffin and I are married, I should be charmed to bring you out myself. I think you would make quite a hit.”

  Surprise and pleasure broke over Jacqueline’s face. “You and Griffin are to be married at last? Well, that is good news.” Her eyes went opaque. “Perhaps I haven’t ruined quite everything, then.” She glanced at Tibby, whose head was bent over her needlework, then looked back at Rosamund. Softly, she said, “You will be kind to my brother, I think?”

  It was more of a question than a statement, perhaps with a hint of a warning thrown in. Clearly, Jacqueline felt protective toward her brother. Rosamund liked her even more.

  “Yes,” she assured her. “I mean to be very good to him.” If he’ll let me.

  “Good!” said Jacqueline, throwing off her dark mood in an abrupt change of front. “What a pity he’s not here. I expect he’s fixing one of the tenants’ roofs after the storm we had last night or some such thing. Have you set a date?”

  “Not yet, no.” Rosamund smiled. “Griffin doesn’t know I’ve come. I hoped to surprise him, but no doubt he’ll hear of my visit today.”

  “Oh, if you’re putting up at the inn, the news of your arrival will be all over the village by now,” said Jacqueline. “He’ll hear of it before he sets foot in the house.”

  Well acquainted with village life, Rosamund didn’t doubt this was true. She wondered if Griffin would be happy that she’d followed him. She feared he’d be angry with her for telling Jacqueline about the forthcoming season. And he’d be quite justified, too.

  Hoping she’d allayed Jacqueline’s immediate fears for her future, Rosamund took her leave.

  “You will come back soon, won’t you?” said Jacqueline, slipping an arm through Rosamund’s as she escorted her to the door. “Do you ride? Perhaps you’d like to go for a hack about the estate tomorrow?”

  “I do indeed ride. I’d be delighted. You can show me all your childhood haunts.”

  A shadow crossed the girl’s face, but it was a look so fleeting, Rosamund might have imagined it, “Yes, of course,” said Jacqueline brightly. “Are you staying at the inn? I’ll call for you there at nine o’clock.”

  Jacqueline saw them to the door and gave a vigorous wave as the carriage rolled forward.

  Rosamund sighed with a mixture of released tension and disappointment.

  “An unusual girl,” commented Tibby as they drove off.

  “Fresh and unaffected,” said Rosamund. “I liked her very much.”

  “She’ll be a handful, I expect,” said Tibby placidly. “But you will know how to manage her, Rosamund dear.”

  Rosamund hoped that Tibby judged her powers correctly.

  Girls like Jacqueline needed constant activity to keep them out of mischief. She thought Griffin was right in wanting his sister to make her come-out. Even if she did not make a match, she would acquire a little polish, a touch of sophistication. Rosamund wouldn’t want her to lose that winning freshness or tone down her lively personality. But the experience of a season would be good for her. She’d form friendships and connections that would last a lifetime. Once Rosamund and Griffin were married, she’d make sure Jacqueline had every opportunity to shine.

  Rosamund sighed as the inn came into view and forbade herself to crane her neck to search the market square for any sign of Griffin. She’d given up hope of seeing him that day.

  But there was always tonight.

  * * *

  The warm conviviality of an evening spent with the vicar almost washed away the worries of the day. But as Griffin climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, all his cares crowded in upon him again.

  Maddox had been right. No one knew who’d started the rumor, but it was said someone had laid information over the death of Maddox’s cousin, Mr. Allbright. Determined to know one way or the other, Griffin had called on the local justice of the peace, Sir William Drake, only to be told the gentleman knew nothing of any fresh information.

  Griffin had come away even more confounded than before.

  So if no one had laid new information, how had that devilish rumor sprung up? Had there truly been a witness to Allbright’s murder?

  Chasing down the source of the rumor was like clutching at shadows. The more interest he showed in the business, the guiltier he looked. Of course, Allbright had been in his employ, but everyone knew Griffin’s interest was not that of a concerned master. They all thought he’d killed the man.

  He only wished he had.

  He turned into the corridor that held his bedchamber. The candle snapped and flickered as a sudden draft blew.

  Damned uncomfortable barracks of a place! He’d always hated it. It was the house in which his grandfather reigned supreme, tyrannizing family and servants alike.

  Even in his final days, the old earl had hunkered in the center of his web of minions and informants like a malevolent spider. Nothing had pleased him more than finding excuses to dish out corporal punishment to his grandsons. If the old Devil had but known it, for Griffin, the beatings had never been the worst part.

  When his grandfather died, Griffin had entertained visions of a happier home. He’d dismissed the worst of the old earl’s henchmen and hired new servants in their place.

  But even those servants had left him when Allbright’s body was found mangled and bloody at the foot of a nearby cliff.

  All except Joshua and Peggy and their meek little Alice.

  The door gave an eerie creak as he pushed it open. Damn Joshua! He’d told the man to oil it. Did he have to do every bloody thing himself? He’d be down in the kitchens cooking his own dinner next.

  He fingered his jaw. Actually, he couldn’t do a worse job of it than Peggy did.

  At least Joshua had carried out his usual orders and drawn a bath and built up the fire beside it. Griffin thought of soap that smelled like a pine forest and sighed.

  That led to more pleasurable recollections. The lush whiteness of R
osamund’s breasts, the pink of her nipples, the intoxicating sweetness of her lips, the erotic promise in her sighs.

  He pushed those memories away. Now that he was faced with a reprise of the ugliness surrounding Allbright’s death, Rosamund seemed more out of reach than ever.

  With a frustrated oath, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into the oversized bath.

  The water had grown tepid, but he didn’t mind that. After the day he’d had, the water calmed and soothed him. He washed his hair and scrubbed at his body, then reached for the ewer to sluice away the suds.

  “Hello, Griffin,” a soft female voice said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Jesus!” Griffin dropped the ewer into the bath and scrambled to his feet, his hand shooting out to snatch his towel. Water poured off him in sheets as he rose like some ancient sea god emerging from the ocean depths.

  Rosamund tried to speak, but her mouth was curiously dry and the breath seemed to catch in her throat.

  He was without doubt the most magnificent creature she’d ever laid eyes on. True, she’d never seen a naked man before, but surely they could not all be so breathtaking in their proportions?

  She couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from the fascinating collection of male apparatus at his groin.

  To her disappointment, Griffin snapped out the towel and wrapped it tightly around his waist. “What the Hell are you doing here?” he demanded, tunneling his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I—I came to see you.”

  “Well, you’ve seen me, all right.” He stepped out of the tub, stalked to the dresser, and began to rummage through the drawers.

  Rosamund bit her lip. She ought to feel guilty for watching him like that, but too many other, more powerful emotions swamped her for any trace of guilt to survive.