How to Bewitch an Earl

by Ally Broadfield

She put her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t!”

  He grinned back at her. “I most certainly would. However, no matter what I say, the blame will still be placed on me.”

  “Do we dare remove the framework?” she asked.

  “I think we must. We cannot pull back the canvas unless we are certain there is a second layer.”

  “Very well.” She pulled a small knife from the pocket she had sewn into her gown and knelt in front of the frame. She held the blade above the nail she was about to remove and slanted it toward her, so that if her hand slipped, it would not damage the canvas.

  Lord Kenworth placed his hand over hers to stop her. “Didn’t anyone teach you never to use a knife like that? If it slips you’ll stab yourself.”

  “Better me than the canvas. I will be fine.”

  He studied her for several seconds, then held up his hands in surrender. “Very well, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He had touched her more times in the past two days than anyone else had in the past year. Of course it didn’t mean anything to him, but it made her long for things she couldn’t have. Isa put him from her mind and concentrated on the job at hand. After sliding the thin tip of the point under the edge of the nail, she pulled gently. Lord Kenworth sucked in a breath as the knife slipped, but it was easy enough for her to control it. She tried again, and the nail slid out slightly. After two more tries, the nail slipped out. She continued removing nails until she was able to extract one of the boards.

  “Here, let me help.” He reached for her knife.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid your hands are too big.”

  He crossed his arms. “My hands are too big?”

  “Yes. You won’t be able to fit your fingers into the corners to reach the nails.”

  He took a few steps closer, and she felt the heat emanating from him against her back. She shivered.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Use a knife like that.”

  She glanced back at him. “Ah, well, I’ve had to learn to be resourceful. There’s not always time to wait for help when something needs to be done.”

  “That’s a rather cryptic remark.”

  Just then, the second slat came off and a bulge appeared in the canvas.

  “Oh!”

  Lord Kenworth dropped onto his knees next to her. “Since there are definitely two layers of canvas, do you think we should just cut the canvas, or continue removing the slats?”

  Isa grimaced. “It’s hard to say. This frame,”—she pointed to the framework on the back of the canvas—“may have a structural purpose, or it might have been added solely to secure the second canvas. There’s no way to tell unless we remove it.”

  He cast her a surprised glance. “How do you think we should proceed?”

  “Well, there’s a chance that the second canvas could hold a clue as well, so I don’t think we should cut it. Let’s leave the framework intact on the left side, and remove everything from the right side. Then we’ll be able to pull it back and reassess.”

  He nodded his assent.

  Working quickly, she removed the rest of the nails.

  She waved her hand toward the canvas. “You do the honors.”

  Lord Kenworth met her eyes for a moment, then knelt and slowly lifted the canvas. He withdrew a strange piece of yellowed card paper with rectangular holes cut into it.

  “What is that?”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” He placed his hand over his heart. “There’s finally something I can contribute. I was beginning to feel inferior in the face of your superior nail removal skills.”

  She cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Good grief.”

  “This,” he said as he waved it toward her face, “is a Cardano Grille.”

  “A what?” She blew a loose lock of hair away from her face and studied the strange thing he held.

  “It was designed by Girolamo Cardano in the sixteenth century. You place it over a sheet of paper with writing and the words that appear through the holes reveal a unique message.”

  “So it’s used to hide a secret message within another text.”

  He nodded.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “I am not a simpleton. I studied history at Oxford.”

  “Just like your father.”

  He swung around. “How did you know that?”

  “Lady Concord and I have been taking tea with your parents. Your mother is fond of talking about both of you. You’re very much like him, you know.”

  “You think so? People usually say I favor my mother.”

  “I mean in personality and actions, not looks.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “There you are wrong. I am nothing like him.”

  She smiled, but refrained from commenting. What he didn’t realize was that she didn’t mean it as an insult. But she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that. The duke was charming and kind, and fiercely protective of his family, including Lord Kenworth, though he didn’t seem to understand that. Just then, a maid entered with the tea, and Biscuit awoke from his nap. The scent of the freshly baked gingerbread made her stomach growl.

  “Thank you,” he said to the maid. With a sardonic look, he asked her, “Are you by chance hungry?”

  “Yes.” She snatched a piece of the gingerbread and placed it on a plate, then poured two cups of tea and sat down. “What is our next step?”

  He finished a mouthful of gingerbread before responding. “Well, once we determine that there is no more information to be gained from the portrait, we need to find a place to hang it.”

  “Well, yes, but what about the Cardano Grille? Should we assume it is meant to be used on a page from the journal?”

  “It’s a logical first step.”

  She nodded, then removed the journal from her pocket and handed it to him. “I’ll examine the back of the painting while you experiment with the grille. I would suggest starting with the page that holds the next clue, ‘Your beauty is eternal, but may remain unknown.’”

  His head snapped up. “You’ve memorized the clues?”

  “It’s not difficult. They aren’t particularly long.” She took pity on Biscuit and tossed him a piece of gingerbread before kneeling in front of the painting to search for writing or anything else that might be of help to them.

  A few moments later, Lord Kenworth spoke. “Well, it’s definitely not made to fit this page. Perhaps this clue was given solely to throw us off.”

  She turned to him. “Are you certain? Did you try turning it in every direction and flipping it over?”

  “Yes, Miss Wiseacre. I understand how to use the cipher.”

  “It’s just so disappointing.”

  “Yes, it is. Now we’ll have to try it on every single page in the journal.”

  Her heartbeat sped up. He had said “we,” as in, she would continue to be involved. She turned back to the painting to continue her search, and was surprised when he spoke again.

  “Do you have any siblings, Miss Winthrop?”

  She stiffened. Did he suspect something? “Why do you ask?”

  “Just answer me.”

  “I have an older brother.”

  He nodded. “I thought so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are too good at arguing not to.”

  A laugh burst from her mouth. “Do you have siblings other than Louisa?”

  “Yes, quite a lot of them. I am the oldest, then Caroline and Anne, who are both married, then Louisa, then Henry and Oliver, who are at Eton.”

  She nodded and tried to imagine what it would be like to have so many siblings. It was for the best that she had not had more brothers or sisters, since it would have been devastating for George to have to assume responsibility for more people. The burden of worrying about her was more than enough.

  Isa studied the canvas one last time then sat down on the floor, ready to admit defeat. “I don’t think there
is anything else to be learned from the painting. I cannot find any writing or other clues.”

  Lord Kenworth stood and stretched. “I figured as much. It wouldn’t make sense if we were able to solve the mystery so easily.”

  He reached out to her. She placed her hand in his, and he drew her up from the floor. She stood mere inches from him, staring into his emerald eyes, and she couldn’t move away. She didn’t want to.

  After a few moments, he cleared his throat but did not let go of her hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you live with your family?”

  This was dangerous territory. She had to choose her words carefully, because she didn’t want to lie to him, though of course she could not reveal the entire truth, either.

  “I don’t. Mind, that is.” Disarmed by his regard, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “My parents are dead, and my brother cannot afford to keep me. I became Lady Concord’s companion to spare him the added burden of having to take care of me.”

  His eyes widened, but otherwise his face remained neutral. “Lady Concord is very lucky to have you.”

  Before she could analyze his remarks, the door burst open, and they shot away from each other. Her Grace glanced at each of them then spoke. “What news do you have? Have you found the tiara yet?”

  Isa laughed. “No, but we did find something.” She nodded toward Lord Kenworth.

  “We have this.” He lifted the cipher with a flourish.

  “And that is?” she asked.

  He explained quickly and caught her up on their progress, or lack thereof, so far. “Now that we’ve finished examining it, where would you like to hang the painting?”

  “Where it belongs. Over the fireplace in the library.”

  “Won’t His Grace mind having the portrait of the two of you replaced?” Isa asked.

  The duchess smiled. “I doubt it. He has never liked that painting. Hmmm. Perhaps I shall have it moved to his study.”

  Isa laughed and turned back to the portrait, quickly tacking the frame back on.

  He helped her turn it around. “Do you know where she sat for the painting?” Isa asked. “It doesn’t look like the library.”

  “You’re right, Isabella,” the duchess said. “In the excitement of finding it, I didn’t notice.”

  Lord Kenworth studied the picture. “There is no such room at Walsley.”

  Begin where warmth abounds. Very close, yet worlds away, it is no place for the meek. The words ran through Isa’s mind, and she wondered if only the first part of the riddle applied to the location of the painting. Perhaps the rest pertained to the cipher.

  “Since you will both be occupied with your guests tonight, would you like me to take the cipher and the journal? I should be able to get through it fairly quickly.” Though it was unlikely that any of the guests would recognize her, Isa had to be cautious, and delving into the mystery provided the perfect excuse. Besides, she was more interested in finding the tiara than mingling with the ladies who were hoping to marry Lord Kenworth.

  “Isabella, you are one of our guests. You may not hide in your room. The tiara has been missing for decades. We can wait one more night.”

  “You are very kind, Your Grace, but—”

  “I shall take it as a personal insult if you don’t at least join us for dinner.”

  Isa bit back a smile. “Yes, Your Grace.” Because of their family situation, George had never invited his friends to join him during school holidays, and Isa had never made her come out and been introduced to society, so the chances of her being recognized here, among a group of wealthy members of the ton, were very slim. Still, she had to be careful, because she could not afford to lose her position with Lady Concord.

  “Besides,” the duchess continued, “Edward has been searching for the tiara since he was old enough to understand what it was, and we don’t want to deprive him of the satisfaction of finding it.” She turned and walked to the doorway. “Both of you need to go get some rest. I will have the paintings moved.”

  Once his mother had walked farther down the corridor, he turned to Isa. “There’s no point in protesting. Once she makes up her mind about something, there is no changing it.” He picked up the journal and slid the cipher into it, then held out his hand toward her. “After you.”

  So that was it. She would have to attend dinner after all, and pray that no one would recognize her.

  Chapter Seven

  Edward would rather be subjected to a year of nonstop lectures from his father than go downstairs and mingle with the ladies who had been invited for his inspection. He shuddered at the thought of their mothers, who were worse than the simpering girls. There was no point in delaying further. None of them were going anywhere. After one last attempt to tame his hair, he moved out into the corridor and nearly collided with Miss Winthrop.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

  “The fault is mine.” He held out his hand to indicate she should precede him. Lady Concord and her companion had been placed into the rooms in the family wing that had once belonged to Caroline and Anne, in order to make more room for the other guests who had been invited to the house party.

  “Shouldn’t you already be at the party?”

  “Have you been conspiring with my parents?”

  She laughed. “Of course not, but I had to help Lady Concord before I could ready myself, and I thought I was late.”

  He found her quite alluring in a simple light blue gown that set off her eyes and suspected that she would attract the attention of the other gentlemen, at least until they found out she had no dowry or connections. A glimpse of her profile put him in mind of someone, but he couldn’t remember whom. The fleeting image escaped him.

  “Not to worry. If we were late, Mother would have sent someone to fetch us.”

  Edward continued to be surprised that Miss Winthrop had not yet demanded he pay her for leading them to the painting. Perhaps she wasn’t as mercenary as he had originally thought. From what he understood of her background, she likely needed the money. However, he did not countenance blackmail and would not offer her the agreed upon sum unless she asked. If necessary, he was certain he could convince his mother to loan him the required amount. Nonetheless, the fact that she actually needed the money lessened his dislike of her. He was cognizant of the fact that he had grown up in a world of wealth and privilege, so he had no experience with how unsettling it would be to have an unsure future. He might actually have liked her had they met under different circumstances.

  Walsley was old and had been built on the side of a hill. It was a bit of a hodgepodge, with parts that resembled a castle and others more like a manor house. The worn, uneven stone steps could be difficult to maneuver. He drew Miss Winthrop’s arm through his as they followed the sounds from the party, moving up and back down several staircases before they made their way into the banqueting hall. Long tables, already set for dinner, flanked each wall. Not one to waste opportunities, Mother had hired musicians so they could dance after dinner, and they were already settled in the minstrel’s gallery.

  Miss Winthrop removed her arm from his. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”

  He inclined his head. For a moment her withdrawal left him feeling oddly alone in a room full of people.

  She looked up at the detailed plasterwork on the vaulted ceiling. “This is such an unusual chamber. Every house should have one like this.” Though he hadn’t known her for long, she never failed to say something that surprised him. Most people found the house odd at best.

  Gorham waved to him from the other side of the room and he shot her a smile before leaving her to her own devices.

  “How are you holding up?” his friend asked.

  “As well as can be expected, considering that I’m being treated like a stallion forced to choose a mate.”

  “We should all be so unfortunate.” He slapped him on the back. “Take a look around you. Only you could be unhappy about being surrounded by beautiful lad
ies with large dowries.”

  Gorham knew well enough about the number of times one of these so-called ladies had attempted to force him into a compromising position, hoping it would lead to a marriage proposal. In fact, it reminded him that he needed to keep his bedchamber locked for the duration of the house party. “I give you my permission to pursue anyone who catches your fancy. Consider it my way of saying thank you for attending and helping to direct some of the attention away from me.”

  “Is it just me, or does Lady Mary remind you of that maid from Oxford? The one with the red hair.”

  “No wonder I never warmed to Lady Mary. My father nearly made me come home after I was caught in the library with the maid.” Edward was not proud of his behavior, but he certainly hadn’t been the only one who had partaken of her readily offered charms.

  The weight of his father’s stare reminded him of the expectations of his parents, and he forced himself to move around the room and greet everyone.

  “Lady Lydia, Lady Mary, how lovely to see you here. I trust you find your accommodations to your liking?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The girls were twins, just sixteen years old. Mary always spoke for both of them. He wasn’t sure if Lydia was too shy to speak or just didn’t like him. He had thought Mary was a nice girl, and she was passably attractive, but she had attempted to trap him in the cloak-room at a ball in London, and he had avoided her ever since.

  “I hope you enjoy dinner. Her Grace has some surprises in store for everyone tonight.” He winked at them and moved on. Good lord. He felt like a street seller hawking his wares.

  He spotted Miss Winthrop standing with Lady Helen and made his way over to them. “Lady Helen, Miss Winthrop. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “Very much, my lord,” said Lady Helen. A deep blush immediately colored her face, as it did every time she spoke with him or any other gentleman. He admired her courage in making the effort to socialize, considering how uncomfortable she seemed to be. He reminded himself to be sure to dance with her after dinner.

  Miss Winthrop’s eyes widened slightly when she noted Lady Helen’s discomfort, then she jumped into the conversation. “We are having a lovely discussion about The Amber Witch. Have you read it, my lord?”