Brave New Earl

by Ashford, Jane

  “Intermittently. And for his own purposes, I suspect. I had no notion a five-year-old child could be so devious.”

  Jean was grateful for his honesty. She offered a bit in return. “I had a wrongheaded idea of what would happen when I came here.”

  He looked at her. It felt to Jean as if his gaze had weight, like a brush of fur passing over her skin. His expression suggested that he was really seeing her for the first time. Which was a ridiculous thought. He’d seen all too much of her; he’d made that clear.

  “I should go back to London,” she said. She’d never been more conscious of the fact that she had no real home. Not that she was going to tell him that. “Now that Geoffrey’s situation has been brought to your attention.” She’d accomplished her mission. This man was obviously not going to neglect his son any longer. She ought to feel glad and proud, not…empty.

  Offered exactly what he’d been requesting, Benjamin found, ironically, that he no longer wanted it. Not immediately. Miss Jean Saunders was too interesting. “I don’t know exactly what should be done about Geoffrey, however. I don’t suppose I can send him off to school.”

  “He’s too young!”

  Benjamin admired the flash in her dark eyes, the swell of her bosom as her spine stiffened. She’d risen to his bait like a striking trout, and the return of her indignation was curiously stimulating. “I could hunt up a tutor to start him on Latin,” he continued. “And ancient Greek.”

  “Are you mad? Greek?”

  “He seems unusually intelligent. Perhaps he’s a prodigy. Mozart’s father used to show him off in the courts of Europe at about his age.”

  “Like an organ grinder’s monkey?”

  She practically gave off sparks when she was outraged, Benjamin thought. Pushing her into that state was…fun. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had fun. “You’re very quick to criticize,” he said. “What are your ideas?”

  “Geoffrey needs time to be a little boy,” she declared. “He needs freedom, with safety. Encouragement, with guidance. He needs love and joy!”

  The passionate emotion in her voice moved him beyond amusement. “A tall order,” Benjamin said. “I don’t see how anyone could guarantee all that. Perhaps you should stay a bit longer and…advise.”

  Her eyes flickered unreadably. “I suppose I could.”

  “Two heads are better than one.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We could do with a woman’s touch.”

  She flushed at the thoughts this phrase evoked.

  Lord Furness held out his hand. She looked at it. “A joint project,” he said. “Agreed?”

  Miss Saunders hesitated, then finally nodded. Slowly, she extended her hand. He shook it, to her obvious surprise. Benjamin wouldn’t have minded keeping hold of her fingers, but she pulled away at once.

  Five

  The dream back came that night. It had been quite a while since it had tormented her. Long enough for Jean to imagine that the nightmare was gone, at long last. But no. Here she was, curled tiny in the stifling darkness. The air pressed down on her. The silence intensified her isolation. She knew it was no use moving, except to squeeze her own flesh and prove she still existed. She’d learned very early that there was no recourse, and no escape, no matter how she clawed and cried. The blackness would crush her until it was lifted on a whim—after minutes or hours, no telling how long. Then she would be yanked into the light like a captured mole, blinking and cringing under a stream of acid mockery. Or perhaps a bewildering shower of caresses and regrets. There was no way to predict which it would be.

  Jean jerked awake in her dim bedchamber, heart pounding. She’d left the draperies open, as she always did, and a pale wash of starlight came through the windows. She sat up, put her arms around her knees, and shivered for a little while, facing the crushing disappointment of the dream’s return. Then she lit the candle waiting on the bedside table, as it always was. The darkness retreated to the corners. She reached for the book carefully placed beside the candlestick—part of her hated, necessary routine. She opened it and settled to read and wait for dawn. Sleep wouldn’t return to her in the dark after that dream. Part of her would fight it; part of her would dredge up unwelcome memories. But she could divert her mind with stories, as long as her book was good enough.

  This one was. Jean read. The minutes ticked by. When the sky finally began to brighten, she set the volume aside, snuffed the candle, and drifted back to sleep.

  • • •

  Benjamin encountered his uncle Arthur in the breakfast room. A few days ago, this would have irritated him; he would have consigned his uninvited relative to perdition. But he was in a surprisingly mellow mood today. “Good morning, sir.”

  The older man nodded amiably across the table.

  “Is your plot going well, do you think?”

  “My plot?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Come, Uncle. I may be slow, but I’m not stupid. Do you deny that you aimed Miss Saunders in my direction? Fired her off, in fact, like a cannon barrage?” Benjamin liked the comparison; it fit his spirited guest.

  “An interesting young lady, isn’t she?”

  “Why?”

  “Her upbringing, I suppose. I don’t know a great deal about her early youth.”

  “No, Uncle Arthur. Why did you send her here?”

  “I didn’t do that.” The older man shook his head.

  The smile that had been tugging at Benjamin’s lips emerged. “Oh, come. You arrive on her heels for an unheralded—and unprecedented—visit. And then you lurk around the edges of our company, saying little, looking more, continually slipping out to leave us alone. Quite unlike your usual, convivial self.”

  Lord Macklin sipped his coffee. An answering smile escaped him. “What a picture you paint. I promise you, I had no idea Miss Saunders meant to come here. It was her own idea entirely. Quite unexpected. I only followed when I discovered she’d gone.”

  “Because?”

  “Because it seemed I had set her off somehow. Through our conversations about you.”

  “Have you turned matchmaker, Uncle?” Benjamin didn’t appreciate that notion.

  “No indeed. Nothing so pedestrian. I only wanted to shake you up a bit.”

  “Because?” Benjamin repeated, his temper stirred.

  His uncle regarded him gravely. “There has been talk about your retreat from the world, Benjamin. More with each passing month. And about Geoffrey as well.”

  He hated this idea as much as ever. “But instead of simply talking to me, you hatched this scheme.”

  “I tried talking. Several times. After our dinner in London, I concluded that talking had little effect.”

  Benjamin gazed at his older relative. He’d nearly forgotten that strange gathering. More precisely, he’d put it from his mind when he returned to his shuttered routine.

  “And then I came across Miss Saunders,” his uncle continued. “And it seemed to me that she was particularly suited for…shaking.”

  “How so?” Curiosity overcame Benjamin’s irritation.

  “I’m not certain. Her quickness, her responses in conversation. Call it an instinct.”

  “You’ve become remarkably cryptic, Uncle Arthur.”

  “There’s a trick I’ve seen,” his august relative replied, gazing out the window at the garden. “Perhaps you have too. If you drag a magnet beneath a sheet of paper holding bits of iron, it pulls them into patterns. Without actually touching them at all.”

  “What?”

  His uncle laughed. “Don’t look as if I’ve gone daft. I promise I haven’t.”

  Benjamin waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Benjamin thought of pressing, but in the end, his uncle’s philosophical musings didn’t really matter. Miss Saunders was here, and he wasn’t…entirely sorry. “I’ve conceded that Geoffrey requ
ires more care,” he said instead. “Miss Saunders and I have agreed to…consult about that. So if you have other business to attend to—”

  “Nothing pressing,” his uncle interrupted cheerfully. Before Benjamin could reply, he added, “And I am a sort of chaperone, you know.”

  This brought Benjamin up short.

  “Not the usual type. By rights, we should find an older female to lend her countenance.”

  “No more guests!” Benjamin declared.

  “Well, we are all family members, in an extended sense. It should be all right while I’m here.”

  Benjamin couldn’t call it blackmail when his uncle had such a good point.

  “I wonder if she’s written to the Phillipsons. Or if I should do so, as I’ve spirited away their very useful guest. However accidentally. They’re good friends of mine. I wouldn’t want them upset. Perhaps I should.”

  Benjamin’s mind went back to earlier confrontations. Suddenly, he feared he’d made a mistake. “Are they in this with you? If they think they can take Geoffrey from me, they will find themselves in a fight.”

  His uncle shook his head. “They’ll be glad—relieved—to hear that your son will remain in his proper home. I promise you.”

  Benjamin eyed him suspiciously. “Then why upset?”

  “The word is too strong. They expect Miss Saunders to help organize their entertainments and will be mildly annoyed by her absence.”

  “Is she a poor relation?” This was a new view of her, one that surprised him. She had none of the diffidence he’d observed in such dependents.

  “I don’t think so. The friendship doesn’t have that…feel. But I’m not aware of her exact circumstances.”

  Benjamin stood up. “What are you aware of, Uncle?”

  “That I’ve overstepped, and you’re angry. I understand that. Also, that you’re more animated than I’ve seen you in months. Years, perhaps. And that I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me.” The older man regarded him steadily.

  Only partly convinced, Benjamin turned away. “I’m going out. I promised Geoffrey I’d search for a pony.”

  “You should take Miss Saunders with you. As part of your consultations.”

  Torn between anger and amusement, Benjamin nearly growled. “Don’t push me too far, Uncle Arthur.” And yet, as he walked down the corridor toward the back door, the idea grew on him.

  • • •

  Leaving her bedchamber rather later than usual, heavy-eyed from her broken night, Jean nearly bumped into Lord Macklin’s valet. Briefly, it seemed the man would drop the pile of freshly laundered neckcloths he was carrying, but he recovered with an adroit side step. “I beg your pardon, miss,” he said.

  “My fault,” replied Jean.

  The man gave her a small bow, and all at once Jean felt grubby and unkempt. There was no visible reason for this mortification. The valet—Clayton, she remembered—was an unassuming figure in middle age, with a round face that was pleasant rather than handsome and mild brown eyes. He was perfectly polite, without a hint of emotion in his tone. But he seemed to…exude criticism.

  Jean was suddenly conscious of the wrinkles in her gown—the same one she’d worn for several days now—and of her only partially tamed hair. Alone, she fought a long, losing battle with her wild curls. If she was staying on at Furness Hall, and it seemed that she was, she needed her things. She needed her lady’s maid, Sarah. Sarah was every bit as competent as Clayton. She’d put Jean to rights and depress the valet’s pretensions in short order.

  “Excuse me,” said Jean. She stepped back into her room to compose a message asking Sarah to pack her clothes and bring them here as soon as could be managed.

  Five minutes later, Jean made her way downstairs. There was no tray for letters in the front hall, as there would have been in a London town house, and no one about to ask how to post items. From what she’d seen of this household, Jean doubted that they had any such system. Could she pay a groom to take it? London was a long way off.

  “There you are.” Benjamin was glad to have found her at last. He hadn’t been able to catch a maidservant to go knocking on his female guest’s door. His staff had been so well schooled to avoid him in recent years that they scurried away as soon as he appeared. Perhaps Mrs. McGinnis’s pleas for changes had some merit. “I missed you at breakfast.”

  “I’m a bit later than usual this morning,” Miss Saunders said. Her stomach growled quite audibly. She flushed.

  Benjamin gallantly ignored the sound. He didn’t even smile. “Is that a letter?”

  “Oh.” She looked down as if she’d forgotten the folded paper in her hand. “Yes. I need more of my things. And my maid. If that’s all right.”

  Oddly enough, it was, even though it meant another stranger in his house. “Shall I frank it for you? And make sure it goes on its way?”

  “Thank you.” She handed over the letter.

  A dark curl came loose at her temple, unfurling like a silky ribbon. Her stomach growled again. Benjamin spoke before Miss Saunders could flee, as she was clearly about to do. “Would you care to accompany me on another expedition?”

  “An—”

  “I’m going in search of a pony, as promised. That should form part of our consultations, should it not?” Benjamin borrowed his uncle’s phrase.

  “Oh yes. All right.”

  “After your breakfast.”

  Miss Saunders’s flush deepened. A hand strayed to her midsection and immediately dropped. He did enjoy flustering her, Benjamin thought. Her unease was such a contrast to her usual forthright—not to say abrasive—manner. “I’ll send someone with your letter,” he added.

  “I should like it to go quickly.”

  Not totally flustered then. Benjamin bowed. “Your wish is my command.”

  She made a sound rather like a snort. But it was drowned out by another signal from her stomach, demanding breakfast at once. With a hasty thanks, Miss Saunders hurried away.

  Benjamin realized that he was smiling. He’d smiled more in the last few days than in previous months. Once, this might have seemed a betrayal of his bereaved state. But today it didn’t. He decided not to probe the reasons for this change. He would simply enjoy it, he decided as he went off to do his guest’s bidding.

  • • •

  Mrs. McGinnis’s limited staff had done wonders with the riding habit, Jean thought as she and Lord Furness rode out of the stable yard and into the drive. It had been magically sponged clean of food stains. If only her fatigue could be as easily removed. Wisps of the nightmare hovered in the back of her mind. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “There’s a farm nearby that breeds horses,” replied Lord Furness. “Mrs. Fry also takes in all sorts of stray animals. We’ll see if she has any ponies on hand at present. With expert help.” He indicated the groom who rode behind them.

  “So you can keep your word to Geoffrey,” Jean said. The thought made her happy.

  “Did you doubt that I would?”

  Was he going to be prickly again? She’d thought they were getting on better, that he’d given up challenging every remark she made.

  “There may not be any suitable animal,” he added.

  They rode on. Although Jean was stiff from yesterday’s expedition, as she seldom rode, she enjoyed the crisp air and the early signs of spring. Leaves were beginning to unfold in the hedges on either side of the road. Tiny flowers peeked from under them, while birds called from the shelter of their branches.

  At a break in the bushes, they turned down a lane, which soon opened out into a farmyard. A two-story house on one side faced a barn and sheds on the other. The buildings were neat and well kept, but Jean’s first impression was of a wealth of animals. A trio of dogs ran up to assess them, their barking informative rather than threatening, and she could see cows and sheep in one set
of fields, horses in another, and pigs rooting in a fenced pen beside the barn. When she dismounted, she spied a cat curled around her litter beside the front door. Jean stopped to bend over her.

  “I hope you’re not going to coo over the kittens,” Lord Furness said, knocking on the door.

  “Of course I am,” Jean replied. “For quite some time, in a sickening way. There’s nothing on Earth as charming as a kitten, and if you don’t know that, you may go and grumble elsewhere.”

  The door was opened by a large, red-faced woman. The sleeves of her gown were rolled up over muscular arms, and her apron had a dusting of flour.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fry,” said Lord Furness. “I hope you’re well.”

  “My lord.” She seemed quite surprised to see him. Turning toward the barn, she called, “Len!” Her voice was so loud that Jean started. When a lad who resembled Mrs. Fry appeared, she added, “Help his lordship’s groom with the horses.”

  He hurried out to do so, and they led all three mounts into the barn.

  “Come in, my lord and miss,” said Mrs. Fry. “It’s baking day, and we have scones just out of the oven.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to interrupt your work for too long. I’ve come to see if you might have a pony that would do for my son. He’s five years old.”

  “And so he is. How time flies, eh?” Their hostess untied her apron and hung it on a hook inside the door. “I’ve two ponies about the place just now. Come along, and I’ll show you.” She didn’t bother with a wrap but took them through the yard, around the barn, where the Furness groom joined them, and into a fenced enclosure.

  There were several horses cropping the grass on the far side. When one of them moved, Jean saw the smaller figures of the ponies beyond them. They stood head to hocks, swishing flies off each other with their tails. One was brown with a pale mane and tail, the other patterned in black and white.

  Mrs. Fry led her party across the field and put a hand on the black-and-white pony’s shoulder. “Molly here is fifteen,” she said. “But she has good years in her yet. She’s gentle and even-tempered.”