Everything But the Earl

by Willa Ramsey

  For instance: What can you tell us of your entertaining habits? Will you be in town much, or continue to live primarily in the country? Also, do you suppose that your future wife will be allowed space in your home for purposes and pursuits that are uniquely her own? And so on.

  As inspiration, I offer you something of myself: I, for example, entertain a great deal and could not live without my various plans, projects, and schemes. Also, I love town but have never had an opportunity to love the country, so I couldn’t say.

  Kind regards,

  Miss Caroline Crispin

  She had the letter delivered first thing the following morning. And within a couple of hours, she was neglecting the preparations for her upcoming party so that she could read and reply at once to letter after letter from Adam:

  Dear Miss Crispin,

  Of course you need basic information about my habits, needs, and wants. We are collaborating on a new home, after all. It’s just good sense.

  Forthwith: If I have the good fortune to marry, I fully intend to partner with my wife on such decisions as the use of the rooms in our home, whether we live in town or the country, and how much entertaining we require—and can handle. It is all about compromise and balance, don’t you think?

  Please feel free to tell me more of yourself. Your “Facts of Caro” was an excellent source of inspiration as I responded to your request.

  Regards,

  Ryland

  He seemed to understand, thank goodness, that she was not talking about architecture.

  Dear Lord Ryland,

  We would like to hear more of this domestic “balance” you reference. Do you anticipate children? Do you foresee needing accommodations for a medium-sized, yet muscular, dog in future?

  Please be as specific as you can.

  Regards,

  Miss Caroline Crispin

  Dear Miss Crispin,

  Such excellent questions! Please, allow me to elucidate.

  Firstly, I do not currently have a dog in my life, but I hope to rectify that in the very near future. He or she is to be given every luxury imaginable.

  As for a family, I am first and foremost “in want of a wife.” The question of children is another I could answer only in conference with said wife. If we do have them, however, they will likely be very spoiled, much like my future medium-sized dog.

  Regards,

  Ryland

  Dear Lord Ryland,

  Did you just quote Miss Jane Austen to me? Sir, you have told us everything we need to know.

  Regards,

  Miss Caroline Crispin

  Dear Miss Crispin,

  That is a shame, as I had barely begun enumerating my habits and preferences. I have not yet told you what I would like to do, in which rooms. Surely, this is of interest to you?

  Regards,

  Ryland

  Chapter Eighteen

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Caro asked as she took the wooden box that Adam held out for her. “The people at the workhouse thank you for your generosity.”

  “Well, candles are much lighter than books,” he replied, a shock coursing through him at the quickest brush of their fingers.

  One day! In just one day, her scheme would be complete and the season would be over. Very soon after—perhaps the very next day—he would be able to finish his proposal. He could scarcely stand the wait. “So! How will this evening proceed, Miss Crispin?”

  “Everyone who has donated a candle will have five minutes with Papa,” she replied.

  “Are we to form a queue somewhere? There always seems to be a queue in your home.”

  She shook her head and handed him a small slip of paper. “This is your number. When Barclay calls it out, you can head to the saloon where Papa will be available to speak with you about an architectural issue, or any other topic of your choosing.”

  Adam opened his paper. He was number forty-three.

  “Do I receive some additional perquisite for bringing more than one candle?”

  “No. You will have five minutes.”

  “Not five per candle?” he held out his hands. “I brought you ten!”

  “Rules are rules, Lord Ryland. I knew people would test my generosity if I allowed otherwise.”

  “Would you like to test my generosity?” he replied in a lowered voice, bending forward to deposit the words in her ear. “Because you are welcome to do so.”

  “I am sure I would,” she whispered in reply, returning his leer but pointing him in the direction of the ballroom with a playful push. “Now go find some refreshment, Number Forty-Three. You are going to be here for some time.”

  Adam had just been handed his third glass of the most delicious, amber-colored punch when he saw Quillen approaching. “I didn’t realize you were in need of architectural advice, Quill.”

  “I’m not,” he replied. “But it’s in my interest to know things about powerful people. And these parties are always full of those.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Miss Crispin’s soirees are an excellent place to talk to all manner of people, and to have the most fascinating conversations. It allows me to collect bits of information that might be useful, later on.”

  Adam turned back toward the line of dancing, searching for Caro. “I don’t want to know any more about that.”

  Quillen laughed and put his hand on his shoulder. “No, I didn’t think so. And besides, I think you are too preoccupied to listen to your old classmate, anyway.”

  Adam turned back to his friend and breathed deeply. He knew he was referring to his fondness for Caro, and he also knew there was little sense in lying to someone as wily and seemingly omniscient as Quillen.

  “How do you know such things? What do you know?”

  “Anyone who looks at you can tell that you care for this lady, Ryland. You don’t need to be a sneaky bounder like myself to gather it.” He looked around to see whether anyone was standing close to them. Once a young fop made his way out of earshot, Quillen leaned in and gripped Adam’s shoulder more firmly. “Don’t fret, old friend—I have no interest in the lady, in my business or otherwise. I do, however, know about the wager.”

  “Indeed. We talked of it at Corinthian Luke’s.”

  Quillen looked around again. “I mean that I know that your lady is the subject of it.”

  Adam shrugged his hand from his shoulder. “How do you know such things?”

  “As I said, Ryland: I collect information.”

  Adam spotted Caro finally, and watched as she finished a conversation with some friends. She turned away and bumped right into Chumsley, who was waiting directly behind her.

  What is that about? Chumsley’s pursuit of her had been outside the view of the ton up to that point, just as he’d predicted. Perhaps Chum was redoubling his efforts, now that the end of the season was so near.

  As they watched him lead Caro to the dance floor, Quillen slapped him on the back. “Don’t trouble yourself, man. As we speak, every servant in Mayfair is up in the family attics, dusting off the trunks for the annual exodus to the country. In a matter of days,” he added, waving an arm, “these people will all be gone. And you, with any luck, will have your lady.”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Firstly, because I know several graduates of Mrs. Hellkirk’s Seminary for Fiery and Independent Ladies, and I know that none of them would like it. And secondly, because I am superstitious.”

  Quillen crossed his arms and looked at his boots, smiling through squinted eyes. “Ryland, you are almost enough to make a black heart like mine go all romantic again. Almost, but not quite.” He put his hands on Adam’s shoulders and turned him toward the floor again. “Console yourself with her looks, for now. And be patient.”

  Adam looked up. On every turn of the quadrille, Caro sought his gaze. Chumsley was not a good dancer, and as he looked down and concentrated on the steps, Caro looked to Adam and rolled her eyes, nodding her
head sideways in the direction of her awkward partner.

  It warmed him all the way through, and he smiled back at her. He turned to shake hands with Quillen but found that he was nowhere to be seen. He turned every which way, seeking him out, and in doing so he discovered Edie standing nearby. He went over.

  “What are your feelings tonight on the topic of matrimony, sister? Are the winds blowing in favor, or against? I need to know if I should round up some slavering suitors for you.”

  “I don’t know anymore, Adam. It’s a sad business.”

  “Marriage?”

  “No, not marriage itself. It’s this business of finding a partner that revolts. Why must it be so…so transactional?”

  He laughed and she continued, “I wouldn’t mind, I don’t think, meeting a nice gentleman one day. That could be nice. But I cannot abide the way I have to parade myself here like a prize mare, and for my own brother to have to promote me, on my superficial merits, to assorted strangers. It’s…it’s—”

  “It’s not you.”

  “Exactly.”

  He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Then there’s no need to go about it this way. Why not just enjoy the evening, and forget about suitors and such? Look! I see Lady Tilbeth there, in the hall—perhaps you should go to her and tell her how much attention the Crispins have been lavishing upon us, as our architects?”

  She put her hand on top of his and squeezed it. “Do you know, brother? It’s been entirely too long since I’ve piqued Lady Tilbeth. I think I’ll go and do just that.”

  “I have never been given such a…such a gift,” Caro said, gingerly accepting the object Chumsley held out for her.

  “Excellent, most excellent. I have long wanted to be the first with you, Miss Crispin.”

  She had known that she might receive gifts of an unsavory nature from him, but a lock of hair? That was most untoward.

  “I believe it is more customary for the lady to—”

  “Yes, yes—I know what you will say. But since I am quite known for my fine coiffure,” he interrupted, patting his fair hair, “I thought I would bestow some on you, as my favorite.”

  She was perhaps a half-inch taller than Chumsley, and liked to irk him by tilting her head downward in an exaggerated manner when they spoke. “My lord, I cannot dance with…it…in my hand,” she added.

  “No, of course not! I will keep it in this pocket, then—it will give me an excuse to see you before I leave.”

  “How romantic,” she droned.

  She raised her hands to begin another dance—a waltz—and regretted at once that she’d included the intimate number in the evening’s program. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that in a matter of days, this oaf would be chastened and contrite. What’s more, the season would be over, and with it, the wager. She smiled.

  Chumsley smiled back at her. “What is it, my love? What thoughts have you smiling at me so prettily just now?”

  I am thinking about Adam. I’m wondering when he might try to propose again. I’m wondering when we can be married, and what it will be like when we are. I am imagining ten different ways in which that will be a most pleasing state of affairs.

  “My lord, do not ask a lady’s thoughts if you are not wholly prepared to hear them. You might find yourself rather shocked. Scandalized, even.”

  “I can think of nothing I would like so much as to be shocked and scandalized by you, Miss Crispin.”

  She looked at him again, wondering if she could have a little fun at his expense. The last part of her scheme—his comeuppance—wouldn’t take place until the morrow, but there was no reason she couldn’t embarrass him a teensy bit on the dance floor.

  “My lord, I was just thinking how nice it feels to be in love.”

  He turned his foot on its side and stumbled, choking a little and coughing spastically before righting himself.

  And just like that, she was enjoying her dance a great deal more.

  “I can see how you would think that, Miss Crispin,” he replied finally, glancing around the ballroom, horrified that she had mistaken his attentions for love and courtship.

  “I never thought I would find myself in love with a beau, Lord Chumsley, but indeed: I find myself most happy, and grateful, and…excited, in all senses of the term! If that isn’t the beginning of love, I don’t know what is.” She gave him her most beaming smile. She’d have him believing she’d already named their five children, if the waltz only proved long enough.

  “Miss Crispin, many ladies are wont to fancy themselves in love when an eligible gentleman acknowledges them. That is all you are feeling just now—the compliment of my attentions.”

  “Is that so, my lord? Please, tell me more about how I feel on such matters. I have no other way of knowing.” Now he looked sickly and confused, so she decided to show him some mercy.

  He was hardly an equal adversary, after all.

  “Come, come my lord. My thoughts might have been on love just then, but that does not mean I am not up for other adventures. In fact, I want you to join me tomorrow morning, for a ride in my carriage.”

  The ensemble finished their playing just as they twirled to the edge of the room, not far from the French doors that led to the terrace. Most of the guests clapped fervently for the musicians, but Chumsley went still and studied her face, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides.

  “At daybreak, shall we say? Excellent. I’ll pick you up in my carriage.” She curtsied and began to turn, but Chumsley grabbed her hand and threaded it through his arm, clasping it in the crook of his elbow.

  “Why wait, Miss Crispin?” he asked, his tone like acid.

  She went cold as he pulled her toward the doors, her mind blank. She looked over her shoulder at the blur of faces behind them, desperate for a name she could call out. But suddenly Chumsley stopped: Mrs. Meary had appeared in front of them, blocking their way. And she was holding onto Toby’s leash.

  “Begging the intrusion, Miss! But young Tobias here has been most ill, all evening. Whining and scratching himself silly. Do you think something might be the matter? I knew he could only be right with you, Miss. So sorry for the trouble.”

  The housekeeper dropped the leash and Toby surged toward her.

  She grabbed his collar and looked at Mrs. Meary, deep in the eye for several seconds, trying to convey her gratitude. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the housekeeper gave her a taut nod in return. She pulled herself from Chumsley’s grip and headed toward Edie, who had just appeared again from the entrance hall.

  As he made his way around the edge of the ballroom, Adam came upon Mrs. Crispin near a cluster of potted trees.

  “Mrs. Crispin,” he said softly. “How lucky that I have found you here.”

  She turned to him, wide-eyed, and brushed her hands this way and that on her black gown.

  “Don’t worry,” he added. “I am not very talkative. And if you like, I’ll frighten away anyone else who is.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Lord Ryland. Is it that obvious?”

  “That you would crawl under this table if you could? Yes, I’m afraid that it is.”

  Now she laughed aloud, but seemed to think better of it and turned serious again. “I suppose I’m in the habit of making myself invisible at large parties.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  She retreated a bit. “The sketches are underway for your renovation, my lord. They will be ready for your review very soon.”

  “Oh, no—there is no urgency in that quarter. My mother, sister, and I can continue living in our dank and outdated rooms without much difficulty. We all find that cursing helps a great deal.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I was wondering what your favorite building was, here in town.”

  “Among those that my husband has designed, you mean?”

  “No, the ones that you and your husband have designed together.”

  She looked at him like she’d just been caught in
the coffers of a bank. She stepped closer. “Did Caro tell you this?” she whispered.

  He shrugged, not wanting to get his beloved in trouble. “During one of my visits to your studio, I saw a particularly skillful drawing of a design for a new folly at Carlton House. It bore your initials, and I simply deduced that you and your husband were partners. Am I mistaken?”

  “Forty-three! Calling number forty-three!” Barclay called out.

  “They’re calling my number,” he confessed. “Would you care to join me, as I bend your husband’s ear? Or should I leave you to your skulking? I would enjoy speaking with you both together, about my renovation.”

  Mrs. Crispin hesitated, looking at the arm he offered. Then she looked him in the eye and took it, and together they went off to the saloon, to discuss his dank and outdated townhouse with her husband, for no more than five minutes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You’ll leave him in the box?”

  “I cannot promise you that.”

  “And you’ll leave the box on the floor of the carriage?”

  “That I can do.”

  “He’s already been fed today?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll stay away from busy streets?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll come right back?”

  “My dear Lord Ryland, the exams at Mrs. Hellkirk’s had fewer questions than you. Are you quite certain you wouldn’t like to come with me?”

  He considered it again. “You are just going for a ride through Mayfair, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He considered it some more. “Then, no. I suppose not.”

  “Any more questions?”

  “Yes. Just to clarify, one more time: the snake will stay in the box?”