Calamity Claresta

by Irene Estep

  Calamity Claresta

  by

  Irene Estep

  © copyright September 2000, Irene Estep

  Cover art by Eliza Black

  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  ISBN 1-58608-155-1

  Rocket ISBN 1-58608-287-6

  CHAPTER ONE

  No stranger to adversity and scandal, Miss Claresta Huntington knew a marriage of convenience--the sort she’d decided to pursue--would involve both. But with only two months to fulfill her obligations, what choice did she have?

  "I must find a husband, Nan."

  The robust housekeeper snorted, as was her penchant to do more often than not when expressing disapproval. She pounded life back into the feather pillow Claresta had slept on and said, "'Tis a pity you can't see fit to go about acquiring one in the traditional fashion."

  "Yes, it is a pity," Claresta mumbled. Sometimes her housekeeper’s honesty took on the form of impertinence.

  While her dresser, Lizette, twisted her strawberry blonde hair into a coronet about her head, Claresta contemplated how to go about her mission. For certain she could not go into the dockside taverns alone. She would need Nan to accompany her to find a ne’er-do-well suitable for her purposes. But to get the woman to go along with the plan, Claresta first had to convince her of the necessity to take such a drastic measure. Over the years, she had come to rely on Nan for advice. She was more than a servant. She was family--a distant country cousin on her mother’s side, but still family. Nan wasn’t required to perform the duties of housekeeper, but she insisted she must earn her keep. Since the age of seven, Claresta had had no other mother figure to turn to.

  "I have to do what is necessary to keep my inheritance. And, even you must admit that marrying up to salvage my tarnished reputation is no longer a possibility."

  "What of your cousin, Lord Westhaven?" Nan asked as she smoothed down the linen pillowcase.

  "That toad-eating imbecile! At Vauxhall the other evening, he called me a sorceress."

  To the first Nan could find no argument, to the latter she said, "Uh-huh."

  "I tell you, he fell into that fountain on his own. I never laid a finger on him."

  Nan lifted her nose as if to emit another disapproving sound. Instead, she said, "Well, you are not to be faulted for having clumsy suitors. Young bucks these days fall into fountains, stumble down stairs, and overturn carriages all the time." Nan tsked. "And, who could have known Lady Chelsworth’s brother had a bad heart?"

  "Enough, Nan." Claresta didn't like to remember the elderly gentleman's head plopping like a stone into his bowl of soup at Garraway's. She had been able to overlook the unlucky events that had squelched her other marriageable prospects, but none had ended with such finality as that of Sir Pedigrew.

  "Well, 'tis none of it your fault," Nan insisted. "If not for the Morning Post quoting Sir Pedigrew's sister when she called you Calamity Claresta--"

  "I said enough, Nan. Now, are you going to help me carry out my scheme to find a husband or not? Edwin said if I caught the lot before they became too deep in their cups, I may find one man in a dozen worth a farthing."

  "I cannot believe your cousin would encourage one of your antics," Nan mumbled. "He always seemed so much more dependable and levelheaded than his brother."

  Edwin had given her information on the best time of the day to catch a quarry only after she had made it clear she was determined go through with her scheme, with or without anyone’s help. To point out her younger cousin’s better qualities in comparison to that of Lord Westhaven’s would be easy as comparing daylight to dark.

  However, if she went off on a tangent of defending Edwin they could be here all day. She signaled the maid to quit fussing over the few strands of her hair that defied confinement and said, "Lay out the yellow gown, Lizette, and then you may go for now."

  After Lizette closed the door behind her, Nan picked up the yellow frock and exchanged it for a gray crepe from the wardrobe. Then, no doubt, she hoped a guilty conscience would work where disapproval had not. "Mr. Huntington, god rest his weary soul, would not have been pleased by what you’re thinking to do."

  Claresta lifted herself from the dresser chair in a towering passion. "If not for my dear papa's final decree, I should not be in need of a husband to begin with!"

  * * *

  Drake Lockwood walked unsteadily down the gangplank. As he stepped onto the London wharf, he was fairly tempted to drop on his shaking knees and kiss the firm, unmoving structure. He was thankful the crisp morning air kept the combined odors of spices and gutted fish to a bare minimum.

  The red-bearded captain of the Black Eagle, walking beside him, chuckled. "Aye, that greenish tint ye've been sporting since we left America is beginning to wan a mite."

  Drake grunted. Just because he was major stockholder in a shipping company didn't mean he liked sailing. He was a land lover at heart in more ways than one. This would be the first time since his father passed away ten years ago that he wouldn't be around to oversee spring planting at Oakcrest.

  "Are you sure you want to be settling on English soil permanently, your lordship?"

  Drake gave the barrel-chested captain a scathing look. "I've asked you at least a dozen times, Captain Mercer, not to call me that."

  "Aye, but as the new Earl of Norwood, it’s a title you best get used to, my lord." Mercer emphasized the title and smiled broadly. "You’ll like as not be addressed as Lord Norwood by these English noddies."

  Drake made no comment to this. ?gard for his title had already been made evident to him from his own family. Ever since Druscilla learned of his entitlement, she'd had her heart set on snaring a member of the peerage for her only daughter. Not that he minded much. It was time he repaid his stepmother for her many kindness’ to him over the years. He doubted it would take much more than a season to marry Franny off, anyway. His half-sister was almost as pretty as her mother.

  "I'll look over the Norwood holdings and see what is what before deciding whether to stay on here for good. In any event, by the time the Season ends, Mitch will have reached his majority. I'll need to return to Oakcrest then and tidy up the accounts with him."

  Already he missed the clean scent of freshly plowed ground. It was hard to remember sometimes that Oakcrest belonged to his younger bother. Drake had no little resentment toward his dead father because of it, either.

  Lord Norwood. He tumbled the title around in his mind. Mercer was right; he'd have to become accustomed to being addressed in such a manner. As for respect, he'd worked long and hard for that back home. Being a member of the peerage should make things easier here. When his father was alive, he’d made sure nothing came easy to his eldest son.

  Drake shook the sudden reminder of his father's hatred from his mind. He thought instead of the vast lands of his own he would soon possess. As he understood it there were over ten thousand acres at Norwood Manor. That was three times the size of Oakcrest. If a thing were possible, Quentin Lockwood would suffer apoplexy from his grave if he knew all Drake had inherited as his descendent.

  "Let's hope it is a long Season, yer lordship." Mercer's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I don't expect your constitution will take another voyage too soon."

  Inclined to agree, but reluctant to admit his weakness, Drake kept his counsel. He still felt a bit feeble from his continual bout of mal de mer while on the high seas. Making the return trip wasn't something he wanted to dwell on at the moment.

  "Well, go on with you now," Captain Mercer said. "I'll see your trunks get delivered to the Clarendon. I'll be shoving off to Oporto within the hour to pick up them casks of wine you ordered. Should be back here in about a week for that batch of chamomile you insist
ed I haggle from that green-eared agent this morn'."

  Mercer shook his head. "Can't see as why you'd want to invest in such a missish drink myself. Course, that sample you was carrying around did seem to work wonders on your stomach, didn't it now?"

  Drake remained silent, not willing to be baited by the captain's teasing. Instead, he directed his attention toward a street urchin who looked to be no older than six or seven running toward them. Drake withdrew a coin from his waistcoat.

  Mercer followed his line of vision and cautioned, "Remember what I told you. London's full of beggars and misfits. You cannot be a bleeding heart for every single one of 'em."

  "Don't worry, Captain. Druscilla made out a whole list of do's and don'ts and I'm sure that charity is listed on the don't side." Not that he intended to follow every one of his stepmother's suggestions.

  Drake was well known back home for being soft for a sad tale. Ignoring the poor had been the only form of social propriety he'd never understood, or adhered to. And rarely had he regretted helping those in unfortunate circumstance through no fault of their own, especially children.

  His stepmother’s list crinkled when Drake patted his right pocket. He also checked his other pocket to assure himself he'd not left the packet of important paperwork behind. He'd need the money draft from his American bank and the introduction to the London solicitor handling the transfer of the Norwood titles and estates inherited from a great-uncle. He’d never known of the late Earl of Norwood since his father had never spoken of his English relatives.

  The urchin approached with his hand extended. He wore a threadbare frieze coat, knee breeches, and hole-riddled stockings that left most of his legs exposed to the elements. "Spare a sixpence for a loaf o' bread, gov'ner?"

  Drake's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't kept down a solid meal in several days. He held a coin just out of the boy's eager reach. "How would you like the chance to earn this, young fellow?"

  "Earn?" The ragamuffin glanced at the coin, and his brows beetled into a dubious expression.

  Drake thought the poor lad must never have been given the opportunity to work for his keep. "Nothing too strenuous, mind you. Just direct me to a nearby inn. If the place is clean and serves decent fare, there could be another shilling in it for you."

  The captain cleared his throat. "Lord Norwood, I think you’ll find the food at the Clarendon much more to your liking."

  "Nonsense, Captain. Surely a local would know the best place to breakfast." Drake looked around at the fog that, in spite of dawn being more than an hour past, still hung low over the dock area. He didn’t know how far it was to the hotel. And traveling in this thick stew would be slow going at best. "Besides, I need nourishment now."

  A crooked smile split the boy's dirty face. He cast a smug look toward the captain, then boasted loudly, "The Boar Bristle’s the best feed around, yer lordship. I'll take ye there meself."

  "What's your name, lad?" Drake asked.

  "Charlie--er, Charles Farrell, m'lord."

  Drake handed over the coin, and the boy bit on it to make sure it was genuine. Then his eyes followed Drake’s hands as he carefully replaced his money pouch inside his left coat pocket.

  "You said you would see to my bags, Captain?" Drake asked.

  "Aye." Mercer gave the dock-waif a sidelong glance and endeavored to warn Lord Norwood again. "But do be careful, sir."

  "I'm sure I'm in good hands, Captain Mercer." Drake winked at the boy. "Very well, Charles Farrell. Lead on."

  When they arrived at the Boar Bristle Inn, Drake flipped the other coin to the boy. Charlie grabbed it deftly out of mid-air and tested its authenticity as he had the first coin. After shoving the money into his pocket, the boy sniffed the air filled with the scent of fresh baked bread and rubbed his stomach. The child looked more emaciated than Drake did now in his loose fitting cloths. He had lost several pounds during the lengthy sea voyage. "I never did care for dining alone, Charles. I wonder if you'd like to join me?"

  "Blimey, if I wouldna, gov'ner, er, ye lordship." The boy's eyes sparkled, and then he looked downcast and struck his foot against the cobblestones. "But don't rightly see as how I can accept yer kind offer. Not wid me own dear sister going nigh on two days wid nary a bite."

  Drake chuckled. The little urchin was a veritable flimflammer. It reminded him of the days before Druscilla married his father and took him in hand. Feeding two scrawny children would be no strain on his purse. "Fetch her along then and be quick about it."

  While Drake waited, he contemplated the choices the buxom barmaid rattled off to him in a singsong voice. He ordered a tankard of ale and said he'd wait until his friends joined him.

  As the barmaid placed the tankard in front of him, the door to the inn swung open. The malnourished little girl he'd expected turned out to be a dark headed young miss nearer his sister's age. She stepped cautiously into the room behind Charlie and searched every corner of the room until her eyes landed on Drake, and then she lowered her lashes.

  He’d seen courtesans use more subtlety. As the girl moved saucily toward him, he barely held back a chuckle. The child looked more entertaining than provocative.

  He stood and waited for the pair to join him. As the young woman came closer, he noticed--with the exception of a few red blotches here and there--her skin held a jaundiced pallor. Obviously, she was recovering from some sort of illness, and he feared his generosity might prove to be as foolhardy as Mercer had hinted.

  "This is me sister, Juny," Charlie said.

  "Juny, I’m pleased you could join us." Drake bowed politely, and the girl’s eyes widened in surprise. He couldn’t help but note the frailty of her body beneath the worn blue dress and knew he did not have the heart to turn them away.

  "Pleased to make your acquaintanceship, m’lord." No gentleman ever did the pretty for Juny. She curtsied in return and attempted another seductive smile as she slid onto the bench beside her brother.

  The barmaid backed up a step or two as if she feared whatever ailed the girl might be catching. Drake overcame a similar inclination and took his seat on the opposite side of the table.

  "We'll start with a bowl of porridge and some of that delicious smelling bread," Drake told the barmaid, sensing the pale thing across from him couldn't handle anything heavier at first.

  "Porridge?" Charlie sniffed.

  Drake chuckled. He’d forgotten the amount of vittles a boy of Charlie’s age could manage. "Perhaps a rasher of ham and some eggs, also, for my young friend here."

  Charlie beamed with approval. Juny placed her hand suggestively over his lordship’s, then imitated the speech of the fine ladies she'd seen coming from the opera houses late at night. "Thank you, yore lordship."

  Drake smiled ruefully and slid his hand from beneath the girl’s. He gave her a fatherly pat. At first, she looked aghast, then her eyes narrowed. "What will you be wanting in return for this fine breakfast, sir?"

  Just then, the barmaid came back with their meal. She sat the girl's bowl down next to Drake's, leaving it to him to slide the steaming concoction in front of Juny. It saddened him to see so much suspicion reflected in her young eyes over such a small kindness. "You can repay me by not letting your food go to waste, young lady. Now eat up and don't fritter away your time asking silly questions."

  At that, a wide sparkling smile more befitting her age lit up Juny's face. Once again Drake was reminded of his little sister. Except on the few occasions when Franny was in a sulk for not getting her way, she bubbled with happiness. Thankfully, his little sister had never had to go without food or anything else her heart desired.

  "You really are a bloomin' gentleman, ain't you?" the girl said, dropping her restrained dialect.

  "Did I not tell ye it was so?" Charlie piped around a mouthful of eggs.

  After that the two sprites dug into their food with gusto. Apparently the girl's constitution wasn't as delicate as Drake thought. The porridge had quite satisfied his appetite for the moment,
but after the girl downed hers, she ate half the rasher of ham, over Charlie's virulent objections.

  Drake felt another tug of homesickness as he remembered his own siblings’ frequent quarreling. He settled the argument by ordering another helping, plus more eggs, bread and two tankards of ale to wash it down. All of this the brother and sister gulped as if they'd never had food before.

  He was pleased to note the girl's coloring had taken on a much healthier glow by the time she wiped her plate with the last crumb of bread. Then Juny sat staring moon-eyed at Lord Norwood until Charlie kicked her shin beneath the table.

  "Ouch!"

  "Well, 'tis best we be on our way, right, Juny?"

  Drake puzzled over the beseeching look she gave her brother, but anxious to be about his own business, he pushed back his bench and stood. Bowing graciously, he said, "It was an honor dining in such pleasant company."

  Unexpectedly, Juny threw her arms around Lord Norwood and gave him a fierce hug. He felt uncomfortable by the display of appreciation but could do little but bear it. With a feeble grunt, he acknowledged her "thank you" and patted the girl on the back until she decided to let go.

  "I swear I'll pay you back someday, your lordship," Juny said, and thumped his chest with more fervor than Drake felt his kindness afforded. Then she and Charlie sailed past two well-dressed ladies and a stoical gent who'd just entered the inn. When the boy stopped to gawk at the younger woman dressed in gray, Juny gave him a shove out the front door.

  Only after Drake sat back down and prepared to pay the barmaid for their meal, did he realize his pockets had been picked clean.

  * * *

  "Disgraceful," Nan snorted.

  "It looked like an innocent gesture to me, wouldn't you say so, Shipley?" Claresta asked, bending her neck to look up at the tall, slender butler.

  Shipley, a protective and devoted servant, formerly valet to Claresta's grandfather and then her father, last year accepted the position of butler rather than being pensioned off. Even at his age, he was a gallant fellow; tall erect posture, thick gray hair, and similarly colored eyes that were always drawn into a narrow, discerning squint.