The Earl Claims a Bride

by Amelia Grey

  “I can’t let you strike the dog again,” Harrison said.

  “Nor can I,” Adam said, kneeling down beside the dog to have a look at him.

  “I won’t, either,” Bray added.

  The baker threw his shoulders back defiantly, puffing out his large chest. “Who do you dandies think you are to come to my shop and tell me what I can and can’t do?”

  “Name’s Adam Greyhawke.”

  “Bray Drakestone.”

  “I’m Harrison Thornwick and we’re all telling you, if you try to strike that dog again you’ll have be ready to pull all three of us off you.”

  “That I can do and be happy while doing it,” the man said and Harrison saw his grip tighten on the handle of the whip. “But step aside. I’m going to finish with this mongrel first.”

  The man raised the whip and threw it toward the dog again. Harrison was the closest. He reached out, caught the end of the whip in his hand, and jerked. Even through his gloves he felt the sting of the leather strip. The shopkeeper was strong, but so was Harrison. He held tightly to the whip and managed to wind it around his arm a couple of times.

  “Let go,” the beefy man bellowed with a snarl. “You have no reason to meddle in my affairs.” He took a couple of steps toward Harrison.

  “That’s right. Keep walking toward me,” Harrison said in a deadly quiet voice as the man stopped dangerously close to him. “You might be able to take one of us, and maybe even the second, but there is no way you will make it through the three of us. Now, if you are ready, I’ll be the first.”

  Bray stepped up beside Harrison. “I never liked being second to anyone. I’ll take him first. Besides, I can have him on the ground with a bloody nose before you get that whip off your arm.”

  “If anybody is going to be first, it will be me,” Adam said, rising from where he’d been trying to untie the rope from the dog’s neck.

  Suddenly the shopkeeper was looking at a solid wall of men as tall as he was but younger and a whole lot more muscular. He seemed to consider trying to fight them all, then dropped the whip handle and started backing away.

  “All right, take the dog if you want it and get out of here. Just don’t let me catch it back around my store.”

  “Oh, we will take the dog,” Harrison said as the three of them advanced on him. “But that’s not all we’re going to take.” He took the whip off his arm and started curling up its length.

  “Wh–what are you going to do?” the shopkeeper asked, his eyes darting quickly from Harrison to Adam to Bray.

  “I was thinking maybe I’d let you see what this whip feels like across your back,” Harrison answered. “What do you think, Adam?”

  “You do that. I’d rather have a go at him with my fists.” Adam swung his cloak off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. “I haven’t had a good fight in a long time, and I’m itching to have a go at this bugger. You can use the whip when I’m finished with him.”

  “What’s this?” Bray complained. “After you two get through with him, what will be left for me other than a bloody carcass?”

  “You’re right, Bray.” Harrison continued to advance on the man, backing him all the way up to the door of his shop. “I’d hate to see my friends get their clothes dirty. I’ll tell you what. For now, we’re going to forget this happened.”

  The shopkeeper gave a cautious smile.

  “But while we take the dog over to that tavern and see to his cuts, we’re going to watch you rebuild your shelving higher so it won’t entice other dogs or animals to jump up for your bread and pies.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. I said take the dog. That’s enough.”

  “Suit yourself,” Adam said walking toward him, too, and rolling up his sleeves as he went.

  “Wait, wait!” the baker said, holding up his hands to ward off Adam’s attack. “All right, I’ll rework the shelving if that’s what you want. Just stay away from me and keep that dog away from here, too.”

  Harrison picked up two meat pies from the man’s stash of baked goods. “These are for the lashes you gave the dog. Now get inside and get a hammer and some nails and start working on that shelving before my good humor fades.”

  The man turned and stumbled into his shop.

  Bray removed the knife from around his belt and cut the rope while Adam put the pies in front of the dog. He was wary but sniffed the food and finally started eating.

  “I’ll take the dog home with me,” Harrison said, knowing Angelina would take one look and fall in love. She would tend his wounds and have him fattened in no time. “I know someone who will take good care of him.”

  “No,” Adam said. “The dog stays with me.”

  Harrison started to object, but something in Adam’s tone told him there would be no arguing about this. It was then that Harrison realized that Adam needed to rescue the dog as much as Harrison did. Adam hadn’t been able to save his wife and child, but he could save a dog.

  Adam needed the dog.

  And Angelina?

  Harrison smiled. The only thing she needed was him. She had enough dogs.

  Chapter 22

  Give me that man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

  Hamlet 3.3.72–75

  The music at the Great Hall seemed exceptionally loud to Angelina, and the crowd more boisterous than usual. She had danced with several gentlemen, including Captain Maxwell. She had talked with some of her friends from her reading and sewing groups, and had her fill of punch and champagne. But when all was said and done, she’d spent most of the evening watching the entrance to the ballroom, not wanting to miss Lord Thornwick should he come in and grace the ton’s nightly gala with his presence.

  “Well, I see you aren’t sick after all,” Helen Ramsey said, walking up to Angelina where she stood near one of the huge fluted columns.

  “Did you think I’d been ill?”

  “I thought you must be. You missed our reading society and sewing circle again this week. Actually, I think you’ve missed the last two or three weeks.”

  If anyone was going to be aware of Angelina’s absence from the group since the Season started, it would be Helen. She took pride in letting nothing pass her notice.

  “It’s really been busy since the Season started,” she told the redhead staring at her with bright-green eyes.

  “Busy doing what?” she argued. “I haven’t even seen you at any of the afternoon card or tea parties. You can’t be attending any more parties than the rest of us. And everyone but you made it to both events.”

  “Good,” Angelina said, refusing to let Helen goad her into saying something she didn’t want to say. “I’m glad everyone made it. There’s always a lively discussion when the group is large.”

  “I don’t know why anyone wants to be a member if you’re not going to____oh, look. There’s that poor Captain Maxwell dancing with Lady Eleanor. What a shame it is. He was so handsome and such a divine catch before he was disfigured like that.”

  “I think he’s still handsome, Helen,” Angelina said, instinctively coming to the captain’s defense.

  The young lady raised one eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same gentleman? You know he isn’t. But perhaps if he wore a bigger patch to cover more of the scarring that would help.”

  Anger stiffened Angelina. “He needs to do no such thing. Time will fade the scarring so that’s its hardly noticeable.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “Look upon him however you wish, Angelina. But for his sake, I hope he doesn’t think he can win Lady Eleanor’s hand. The old duke will never let that happen.”

  “Why would you say that?” Angelina asked tightly, her anger rising at Helen’s heartless words.

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s true. I know you have danced with him. Most of us have danced with him once or twice and we will continue to do so. We all feel sorry about what’s happened to him.”

  “He is a courageous soldier,
Helen. He doesn’t need your pity or anyone else’s.”

  “Well, he has it, so there,” she said pointedly. “I wonder if the duke knows the captain is dancing with his daughter. Don’t look so stricken, Angelina, I told you, we all feel sorry for him. Who wouldn’t, but I mean, we certainly don’t want to marry him.”

  Outraged by Helen’s words, Angelina could only whisper, “You’ve talked about this with other ladies?”

  “Of course. If you had bothered yourself to attend the meetings recently you would know what all the other ladies are saying. He’s been the topic of conversation since he returned. I suppose if a lady had no other prospects of a good match she might consider marriage with him, but I mean can you imagine looking at him every day?”

  “Yes, Helen, I can imagine doing exactly that,” Angelina said, hoping she sounded as offended as she felt. “Captain Maxwell’s face doesn’t look horrible at all to me, and furthermore____”

  “Wait.” Helen held up her hand. “Before you reprimand me again, I know I should feel ashamed of myself for feeling the way I do about the captain. And I suppose I am ashamed. A little anyway. But I mean, wouldn’t his children be frightened of him?”

  Angelina gasped. “I’m going to stop this conversation with you right now before I do something I’ll regret, like pull every hair from your head!”

  Helen’s green eyes rounded in fright. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You! I don’t want to listen to any more of your nonsense about Captain Maxwell and his appearance. What you are saying is madness. In fact, I’m going to go wait for the captain right now and as soon as he is off the dance floor with Lady Eleanor, I hope he will ask me for another dance. If he does, I shall dance with him. Excuse me.” Angelina turned to walk off but swung back to Helen again. “And for your further information, Helen, I have already been for a ride in the park with him and I will enjoy another ride with him very soon. You can feel free to tell everyone you know. Though you probably would have anyway as you are the biggest gossip in our group.”

  “I am not. How dare you! I do not gossip!”

  Angelina felt like stomping off but managed to walk away calmly, thinking she might never go back to the sewing circle or the reading society again. Foolish young girls, all of them. She didn’t care what Helen said, Angelina refused to believe the only reason young ladies were dancing with Captain Maxwell was because they felt sorry for him. He was a kind gentleman of great integrity and courage; any lady should be honored to have him for a husband. Helen didn’t know that because she was only interested in Helen.

  Angelina would be happy to marry him should he ask her if—if only she could stop thinking about Lord Thornwick. That man was a distraction she didn’t need. If she could stop thinking about his kisses and the way he made her feel when he looked at her, when he touched her. At times she wished the captain would be more forceful, more demanding, and in charge. More like Lord Thornwick. Then there were other times that she was glad he was such a gentleman and so respectful of her.

  She knew what she needed. She just didn’t know how to accomplish it. Captain Maxwell needed to kiss her. Yes, that would settle all her fears, she thought as she stopped near the dance floor. Surely if the captain kissed her she would feel the same way as when the earl kissed her. No, she would feel better, deeper, and even more glorious sensations than when the earl kissed her.

  But the captain was a gentleman and Lord Thornwick couldn’t be bothered with things like what was proper and what was not. If he wanted to do something he did, rules be damned. How could she let Captain Maxwell know she wanted him to kiss her? At the present, she didn’t know. But she would invite him over and would find a way for him to kiss her even if she had to use some of Lord Thornwick’s underhanded methods to do it.

  “Miss Rule.”

  Angelina turned to see who had called her name and beheld the striking Dowager Duchess of Drakestone walking toward her.

  “Your Grace,” Angelina said and curtsied.

  “I’ve been meaning to write you a note and thank you for having Bishop Worsley deliver some of your artist friend’s work to me.”

  “No thank-you was necessary,” Angelina said, her heart suddenly racing. “I’m glad to hear Bishop Worsley was able to help you?”

  “So you didn’t know he’d been to see me?” she questioned.

  “I knew he had an appointment with you but I didn’t know when or that he’d already seen you. I haven’t heard from him in several days.”

  “Oh,” the duchess said, seeming confused by her answer. She opened the fan she was holding and Angelina recognized the garden scene as one of her own.

  “That’s lovely.”

  “Yes, I’m especially fond of ones like this one that have the sparkle and shimmer on them. It looks like dew glistening on the flower petals, does it not?”

  “Yes, it does,” Angelina responded, flattered that the duchess appreciated the care she took to make each flower look real.

  “Tell me, do you know Miss Paulette Savill well?”

  Angelina swallowed uncomfortably. She prayed the look in her eyes was not giving her away. She didn’t know if it was a simple case of guilty conscience or if the duchess truly had a hunch that Angelina was the artist.

  “Not too well,” she fibbed with a huge attack of remorse for being untruthful, but she felt she had to do it. She had to stop the duchess from asking more questions she couldn’t possibly answer. “I’m told she’s very private about her life and her work and I respect that. I hope you found more than one fan that you liked.”

  Her Grace snapped the fan shut and said, “Oh, I found favor with them all, Miss Rule. I purchased everything the bishop brought with him and I asked him to bring more as soon as he could. They’ll make wonderful little gifts when I attend house parties, don’t you think?”

  Angelina nodded and hoped she kept the shock from registering in her expression and her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her sudden intake of breath. Why hadn’t Bishop Worsley told her the duchess had bought all the fans and wanted more? And how much money did he get for the fans? Fearful excitement tore inside her.

  “I told him I’d like Miss Savill to paint some fans for me with scenes I’d like to see. Perhaps a white peacock on a black fan. He was going to ask her. Do you think she’d do that for me?”

  More painting?

  Angelina didn’t even want to think about that but knew she had to. The more she could paint, the more money she could make. She looked down at her hands. For a moment, she felt as if the duchess could look straight through Angelina’s gloves and see paint stains on her fingers and know she was the artist.

  “I—You—Bishop Worsley would be the best one to answer that for you.”

  “Of course. You’re right.” The duchess looked at her for a few moments longer than necessary before smiling and then walking away.

  Angelina felt frozen to the floor. Could the duchess somehow know she was Paulette Savill? What would Angelina do if she did? Her grandmother would be devastated. Her father would go to prison. And Angelina would be banned from Society for life. Heavens to mercy! But she couldn’t dwell on any of that right now. She had to find her grandmother.

  Forgetting about dancing with the captain, Angelina whirled from the direction of the dance floor and went in search of Lady Railbridge. They had to find out why Bishop Worsley hadn’t sent them word that the duchess had purchased all her fans.

  Another thought struck her as she searched the crowd for her grandmother. Since the duchess had bought all the fans—how much money would that be? Angelina had no idea what price the Bishop had put on them. And what was happening with the miniatures Mr. Eyston had? She wondered if the bishop had finally made an arrangement with Mr. Eyston. And if so, what was he paying for the mourning and snuffboxes, and the other paintings she’d had delivered?

  After a frantic search of the ballroom, Angelina found her grandmother sitting in the retiring room with a small group of ladies. Aft
er speaking to everyone, Angelina managed to pull Lady Railbridge aside and tell her what the duchess had said.

  “Don’t look so anguished, dear,” Granna said and patted her cheek affectionately.

  Realizing her grandmother wasn’t taking this as seriously as she was, Angelina said, “I simply don’t understand why we haven’t heard from him that he had sold every fan to the Duchess of Drakestone.” Angelina didn’t add that she also had a feeling the duchess suspected her of being the painter. That would only distress her grandmother, and Angelina was worried enough for the both of them.

  “He is a busy gentleman, I’m sure. He can’t come rushing over or sit down to write to us with every bit of news.”

  “Do you suppose Bishop Worsley has already completed the sale of the other things to Mr. Eyston as well?”

  “I have no idea what he’s been able to accomplish,” her grandmother said, pulling her shawl tighter about her slim shoulders. “He told us it would take time.”

  “Her Grace didn’t say when she purchased them, but it’s been over a week since he told us he had an appointment to see her.”

  “And she may have just seen them today.” Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “What is this? It’s not like you to borrow trouble this way. It’s usually your motto to wait until you have something to worry about before you start wringing your hands.”

  Angelina was getting no help from her grandmother. She took in a deep breath. “Is that what I’m doing? Wringing my hands?”

  “You are close to it. You must not fret about this. It could be that she just purchased them before coming to the party tonight. We have no idea. Replace that expression of worry with a smile, young lady. You must remember Bishop Worsley has things to take care of besides just your paintings. If we don’t hear from him soon, I’ll send a note to him and ask that he visit us. Now, does that make you feel better?”

  Angelina smiled. “Thank you, Granna. I’m sure you’re right. I will trust that he is working on my behalf and be done with it.”