Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  Rose folded her hands in her lap. “There is no need to lie, sir,” she told him. “I know full well that you are not an earl.”

  He blinked at that, his face furrowed. But honestly, had he really thought he could pull off such a deception? She was no country miss, easily fooled. “An earl would travel in a coach with dozens of servants. Never alone.”

  Before he could argue with her, she continued. “You may go to the servants’ entrance, and our housekeeper, Mrs. Marlock, might have some old clothes to lend you. Perhaps a bit of food, and you can be on your way.” Though she kept her tone reasonable, she had no way of knowing whether this man was dangerous. Perhaps she should have screamed after all. There was still time to do so.

  The man crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her. In an even tone, he said, “I’ve not spoken any lies, miss.”

  “It’s Lady Rose, Mr. Donovan,” she corrected. As far as she was concerned, this man was a commoner with no claim to any title. “I should like for you to leave. Now.” Her nerves tightened, for if this man dared to threaten her, she could do nothing to stop him. Especially since she couldn’t run.

  Even if she did call out to her footman, Calvert, he might not arrive quickly enough. Her gaze seized upon a rake nearby, and she wondered if she could reach it, if the need arose.

  “I’ve no reason to speak untruths,” he said. “As I told you before, I was robbed on my way here.” He paused a moment, adding, “The axle broke on our coach, and my servants stayed behind to fix it. I thought it best to continue on horseback, since Lady Wolcroft invited me to stay as her guest.”

  “An unlikely story,” Rose countered. “If you really were the earl, you’d have brought several footmen with you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And how many footmen was I expected to have?”

  “Enough to bring several of them with you. A gentleman never travels alone.”

  The man’s expression turned thunderous. “He does, when there’s no other choice.” It looked like he was about to argue further, but instead, he tightened his mouth and said, “Lady Wolcroft’s eldest daughter and my mother were friends. She wants to marry me off to an Englishwoman, and that is why I am here.”

  She didn’t believe him one whit. No, he had to be a vagrant of some sort, a man down on his luck who was attempting to take advantage by lying. “Well, sir, you do spin an entertaining tale. I’ve heard that the Irish are excellent storytellers, but you can take your story back to our housekeeper.”

  “It’s not a story, Lady Rose. I am here to find a bride.” The intensity in his voice was rather strong, and made no secret of his annoyance.

  She leaned as far over as she dared and managed to reach the rake handle. It made her feel better having a makeshift weapon.

  “What are you planning to do with that rake, a chara?” he inquired, taking another step closer. Rose gripped the handle with both hands and drew it closer, using the tool to keep him at a distance.

  “Nothing, if you go away.” Truthfully, she didn’t know exactly what she would do with the rake. It wasn’t exactly suitable for stabbing someone. She could poke him with it, but not much else.

  This time, she did call out to her footman. “Calvert! I have need of your assistance!” She hoped he would guard her against any threat. Right now, she wanted the strange man gone from her presence.

  Even if he was quite handsome. And a charming liar.

  The Irishman’s mouth twisted, and he bowed. “As you like, then, Lady Rose. I’ll be seeing you later, when I’ve better clothes to wear than these.”

  She wasn’t certain what to think of that, but she gripped the rake tightly. “Be on your way.” Or I’ll have my footman remove you.

  But as the stranger disappeared into the maze, she was aware that her heart was beating swiftly, out of more than fear. Although she had seen her brother without a shirt before, never had she seen a man like Iain Donovan. His dark hair had a hint of curl to it, and those green eyes fascinated her. His cheekbones were sharp, his face lean and chiseled. He looked like a man who had walked through hell itself and come out stronger.

  There was nothing at all refined about him. She’d wager that he’d never worn gloves in his life.

  No. He could not possibly be an earl.

  And yet . . . she’d been intrigued by his physical strength, wondering if his muscles were as firm as they appeared. His form could have been carved out of marble, like a statue.

  When Calvert arrived upon the path to take her back to the house, she stole a look back at the maze. As soon as she was safely inside, she intended for her footman to follow Mr. Donovan and find out the real reason why he was here.

  “Well, now, I don’t know as I’m believing ye, lad.” Mrs. Marlock planted her hands upon her broad waist. “Lady Wolcroft said naught about a houseguest arriving from Ireland. But if’n I’m wrong, I’d be a fair sight embarrassed to turn ye out again. I suppose ye mun have some clothes, aye?”

  “Aye, that is true enough.” Iain was well aware of his impoverished appearance, but there was naught to be done about it. “If I could speak with Lady Wolcroft, I’m certain she will sort it all out.”

  Mrs. Marlock tilted her head to the side as if assessing his story. Her gray hair was bound and pinned up beneath a cap. She reminded him of a soldier, though she had a ring of house keys instead of a sword at her plump waist. “Lady Wolcroft isn’t here, and I can’t be certain when she’ll return from Bath.”

  Bath? Why had she gone there after she’d invited him to come visit? Well, now this was a fine kettle of fish. He had no clothes, no money, no signet ring, and no one to welcome him to Penford.

  The housekeeper continued, “Have ye any other proof of who ye are?”

  No, he had nothing at all. He’d been stripped of everything, may the thieves be eaten in tiny pieces, bite by bite. Iain’s frustration rose up, but he forced himself to tamp it down. The last thing he needed was to frighten the housekeeper.

  He searched for a believable lie. “My servants will be arriving today with my belongings, once my coach is repaired,” he said smoothly. “That should be all the proof you need.” He spoke calmly, keeping his tone even so as not to intimidate Mrs. Marlock. If he gave her any reason to doubt him, she would throw him out.

  He was on borrowed time, and he had no means of proving his identity. If Lady Wolcroft were here, there was some chance she might recognize him. But no one else would.

  The housekeeper didn’t appear convinced. “Ye say ye’ve come from Ireland, is that so?”

  “I come from Ashton,” he answered. “In County Mayo.” For a moment, he waited to see if she had other questions. When she said nothing, he added, “I imagine Lady Wolcroft may have spoken of my mother, Moira, has she not? Or my brother, Michael, God rest him?”

  Mrs. Marlock folded her arms and frowned. “Nay, she hasn’t.” She eyed him as if trying to make a decision. At last, she said, “Well, there could be some truth in what ye say, but until Lady Wolcroft returns, I can’t be letting a stranger into the house. Ye can return in a few days, and see if she’s back home again.”

  Her refusal didn’t surprise him at all. But he didn’t want to be turned out in the middle of Yorkshire with no shelter, no money, and no food. Thinking quickly, he decided upon an alternative. “I’ll swear to you that I am the Earl of Ashton. Allow me to stay this night, and once my servants arrive at Penford, I should be glad to compensate you handsomely for the trouble.” He wasn’t quite certain how he’d manage it, but he would find a way.

  The housekeeper only smiled. “And when the Queen arrives, she’ll offer me proof that I’m her long-lost daughter.” With a shake of her head, she added, “Nay, sir, ye’d best go now. I’m certain ye can find someone in the village who’ll be giving ye a place to bide for a wee bit.”

  Iain highly doubted it, given his state of undress. No, it was far better to talk Mrs. Marlock into letting him remain at Penford. “And what if I offered to . . . that is—”
He hesitated, wondering if it would hurt his cause to lower himself further.

  What choice do you have? he thought to himself. No one knows who you are.

  He bit back his pride and asked, “What if I gave you my assistance on the estate? At least until my servants can prove who I am.” It was the best compromise he could give. He’d done his share of menial labor on Ashton, after most of the tenants had left or died. It had been unavoidable, and he would set aside his pride if it meant gaining shelter for the night.

  Mrs. Marlock frowned, crossing her arms as she stared at him. “I already asked ye to leave, sir. Ye’ve no references, and despite yer manner of speech, ye’re a stranger among us. There’s no place for ye here.”

  Iain straightened and regarded her with all seriousness. “Mrs. Marlock, what will Lady Wolcroft say to you when she learns that you turned away her guest?”

  The old woman hesitated, and her uncertainty made him press further. “All I ask is to remain here for a single day. I need not stay in the main house, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t know ye, sir. And it’s our butler, Mr. Fulton, ye’ll have to speak with. I cannot give ye a place to stay within this household. It’s nae possible.”

  “A few hours, then,” he bargained. “Just until my servants arrive.”

  Though he had no desire to sleep outside, if he couldn’t convince Mrs. Marlock or Fulton that he was the earl, he’d have no choice. And while he might be a slightly adventurous sort, sleeping on the moors would be colder than the devil’s conscience.

  He sent her a warm smile, and added, “You do seem to be a charitable woman, Mrs. Marlock. I know you’d not ask a guest to sleep out in the freezing rain when there’s shelter to be had.”

  “There’s no rain today, lad,” she said. “And ye’ll find a place in the village, as I said before. If ye are the earl, they’ll be glad to help ye.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t at all believe him. But as proof of her charity, she handed him a large hunk of bread. Iain tore off a piece, devouring the food, since he hadn’t eaten in hours.

  He wasn’t going to give up on gaining a place to sleep. Not when he was convinced that he could prove himself by evening at the latest. All he needed to find was the signet ring that had been stolen.

  When he’d finished the bread, he asked, “What of clothing, Mrs. Marlock?” He lowered his arms to his side, giving her a full view of his bare skin. “I can’t be going around with naught to wear.”

  A faint blush rose over her cheeks and she sighed at last. “I suppose ye’re right, at that. I’ll see what rags we have, before ye gang to the village.”

  “I am grateful indeed. And thank you for the food.” He inclined his head, and she eyed him as if not knowing what to do. In the end, she bobbed her own curtsy.

  “Hattie!” she called out. One of the maids hurried inside the kitchen, a cailín of about sixteen. The girl sent him a curious look, and her gaze slid over his bare torso in open admiration. Though he rather felt like a roasted goose on display, Iain said nothing, in case the maid turned out to be an unexpected ally.

  Mrs. Marlock said, “Stop yer gawpin, Hattie, and fetch the man some clothes.”

  The maid blushed and gave an embarrassed smile before hurrying away. Though Iain kept his expression masked, Mrs. Marlock moved in front of him and glared. “Once yer dressed, ye’ll be leaving Penford. If ye are her ladyship’s guest, ye’ll get a full apology from me at that time.” The look on her face said she doubted he would return.

  “You’ll see,” he told her. “I will be dining at your table tonight.” Once he had located his stolen belongings, he was confident that they would accept him.

  Mrs. Marlock offered nothing more than an indignant “humph.”

  A few minutes later, Hattie brought him a ragged shirt and an equally tattered coat, along with a pair of shoes. Given the young girl’s age and her attire that was slightly better than a kitchen maid’s, he surmised she was a maid-of-all-work. And although he doubted if anything would fit, it was better than remaining half-naked and unshod. Iain thanked her for the clothes.

  Unfortunately, it seemed he would be spending the next few hours out of doors, wearing servant’s rags. A fine day this was turning out to be.

  You never expected it to be easy, he reminded himself. Why should they believe you’re an earl? Without any proof, how could they?

  He put on the ill-fitting shirt, coat, and shoes, taking the time he needed to make plans. Although he had hoped his men would join him here, it was beginning to seem that they had abandoned him. And with no servants to vouch for him, his circumstances had become dire indeed.

  But he would never give up. Too many people were dependent on him.

  After he was dressed, he followed Hattie down the servants’ hallway. She turned to him and with a hopeful smile said, “I do wish you well, sir.” Pointing to the door at the end, she added, “You can go out that way.”

  He eyed the door and then regarded the maid for a moment. “Do you believe that I am the Earl of Ashton, though I’m looking as if I’d been dragged through the midden heap?”

  Hattie appeared uncomfortable and lowered her gaze. “It—it’s not for me to be sayin’, sir.” With that, she continued leading him toward the back door.

  He didn’t argue with her, for she was only obeying orders. His mind was already conjuring up where he would stay this night. Possibly in the stables or somewhere sheltered. He hadn’t a single coin to call his own, so no one in the village would give him a place.

  Iain had only walked a few steps when he heard a woman screaming. The piercing noise made it sound as if she were being attacked. He didn’t stop to ask questions, but hurried up the stairs leading to the hall. He found a middle-aged woman running toward the front door, her hair tangled and hanging down her back. She wore a long-sleeved blue serge gown and her eyes were wild. Far too young to be Lady Wolcroft, he guessed, but it could be the woman’s daughter.

  “Lady Penford!” Hattie exclaimed, rushing forward to her aid. “Please . . . let me help you.”

  Iain looked around to see what the woman was fleeing from, but there was nothing at all.

  The woman’s face was deathly white, and her hands shook badly. When Hattie put her hand out, Lady Penford gripped it hard. “Please, you have to help me! The—the wolves. I heard them howling. They’re coming for me.”

  The maid sent a look toward Iain and shook her head in warning. Though Iain wasn’t certain what was happening, it was clear that Lady Penford was suffering from visions that weren’t real.

  The woman started to bolt again, and Hattie tried to stop her, holding her by the waist. “My lady, no. You mustn’t leave the house.”

  Whatever illness had captured her mind, Lady Penford might injure herself if she was allowed to flee. And though it wasn’t his business, Iain stepped toward the doorway to keep her from escaping.

  “Let me go,” Lady Penford insisted, wrenching her way free of the maid. But when she moved toward the front door, Iain remained in place to block her. He sensed that this woman was trapped in a world of her own imaginings, one where reality made little sense.

  “Where are the wolves?” he asked calmly. He kept his voice quiet, as though soothing a wounded animal.

  His question seemed to break through Lady Penford’s hysteria, and she faltered. “They—they were chasing me.” Her face held confusion, and she appeared unaware that he was a stranger.

  “Would you feel safer in your room?” he asked. “Perhaps Hattie could take you there.”

  “No.” Her breathing grew unsteady. “I can’t go back there. The wolves will find me.” She gripped her hands together and took another step toward the door. “Summon my coach.”

  He met Hattie’s gaze, and she moved closer to Lady Penford. Iain took another step backward to prevent her from reaching the door.

  A slight noise caught his attention at the top of the stairs, and he saw Lady Rose being carr
ied by a footman. “Mother, please wait a moment.” Her face paled at the sight of the matron, and she ordered, “Calvert, take me downstairs.”

  It sobered him to realize how difficult Lady Rose’s life must be, having to rely on others to carry her where she wanted to go. The simple act of helping her mother would be quite beyond her abilities.

  When she saw Iain standing by the door, her face tightened in dismay. Color flooded her cheeks as if she was embarrassed that he had witnessed her mother’s outburst. Hattie brought a chair close to Lady Penford, and the footman set Lady Rose upon it, retreating to a discreet distance.

  “Are you all right?” the young woman asked. In her voice, there was the gentle tone of compassion, no censure for the madness. She held out her hand, but Lady Penford ignored it.

  At this close proximity, Iain noticed that Lady Rose’s eyes were the color of warm sherry. A few tendrils of reddish-brown hair framed her lovely face, and he found himself wanting to ease her worry.

  “Did you hear me, Mother?”

  Lady Penford gave no answer, but she stared down at her trembling hands.

  “I was just talking with Lady Penford about the wolves,” Iain said, as if there were nothing at all wrong. He fixed his gaze upon the young woman, hoping she would play along, since the older woman seemed to be caught up in confusion.

  But Lady Rose paid him no mind. “Everything is all right now, Mother. I am here.” She reached out a hand, but the woman ignored it.

  “I’m afraid,” her mother admitted. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she twisted her hands together. “So afraid.”

  He glanced over at Lady Rose and saw her flushed cheeks. The maid and footman eyed one another before casting their gazes downward. Clearly the woman’s madness was not a new occurrence.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Iain asked.

  The older woman turned back to him, and her mood suddenly shifted. “I’ve not seen you before. Do you know my son James? Is that why you are here? Has he returned from India?” Her voice was edged with emotion, and he suspected that grief and worry had led her into this agitated state.