Never Envy an Earl

by Regina Scott

  “I regret that his lordship is busy with estate matters,” he said. “He wishes me to assure you he has only the fondest thoughts for you.”

  Had the servants heard what had happened the previous night? It had been late, and they slept high above the back of the house. She had thought she’d heard footsteps approaching, but she’d left with the countess before seeing anyone else. Did Marbury know the sort of message he brought?

  Only the fondest thoughts.

  I would never harm you, Mother, but I don’t trust myself with you just now.

  Yvette rose. “I will speak to him, your ladyship. Excuse me.”

  She thought either the countess or the butler would argue with her, but neither spoke as Marbury led her from the room. Ada was waiting just outside, and Marbury nodded for her to go in and stay with the countess while Yvette was gone.

  “Thank you, Miss French,” he said as they started down the corridor. “I have never seen his lordship so troubled.”

  “Did you know his father?” Yvette asked.

  “I did. I was head footman before the current earl elevated me to this position.”

  “And what did you think of the previous Lord Carrolton?” she asked as they came out into the entry hall.

  “May I only say that the previous earl’s death did not occasion much mourning.”

  His face remained impassive, but his tone was heavy with judgment. Perhaps none of the servants had approved of their master. If Marbury had known his employer’s tendencies, what could he have done? If he had protested, the former Lord Carrolton would only have discharged him. And if he quit instead, he risked never finding another position because he lacked a reference. In a sense, they were as trapped as the countess and her daughter.

  She thought Marbury would lead her to a study or one of the withdrawing rooms, but he ushered her out the rear door and pointed toward the greenhouses, gleaming in the sunlight. “His lordship asked not to be disturbed. I’m sure he didn’t mean you.”

  She glanced at the butler with a frown. His face committed to nothing, but she thought there was a glint in those dark eyes. “What do you know, Mr. Marbury?”

  “Only what I observe, Miss French. Good luck.”

  ~~~

  Gregory lifted the damaged tulipa bulb and set it in the soil he’d prepared. His under gardener had been spading up a section of ground and had accidentally cut a few of the naturalized bulbs into pieces. Gregory was trying to save them. They were a pale pink and looked well in Lilith’s room.

  Of course, it wouldn’t be Lilith’s room much longer, would it?

  He drew in a breath and tried to focus. The work generally calmed him, made worries disappear for a while. Now images kept repeating in his mind.

  His mother flinching away from him.

  Lilith’s defiant gaze.

  Villers’s knowing smirk.

  Yvette staring at him as if she’d never seen him until now.

  His hands were covered in soil, but his soul felt dirty.

  His father had treated his mother and sister abominably. How many times had he drummed into Gregory a gentleman’s role? He was to protect and support those entrusted to him—family, friends, tenants, even the citizens of the nation through his work in Parliament. How could his father have forsaken that by mistreating his own family?

  Did he have the same capacity?

  He heard the click of the door opening and shutting, then the whisper of fabric against the tiles.

  “Not now, Lilith,” he said, forcing himself to focus on scooping the dirt around the damaged bulb.

  “But now is important,” Yvette said.

  Had they sent her because they somehow knew she was the one person he would never lash out at? He kept working. “Is everything all right with my mother?”

  “Of course. With me as well. It is you who has us all concerned.”

  The bulb was safe, positioned to grow. Would that he felt the same. “No need for concern. I’ll finish here shortly.”

  “Perhaps.” She edged closer, until he saw the navy of her sleeve, the sweep of her fingers brushing the table. “But I think what troubles you is not so easily finished as repotting a plant.”

  He sighed, hands falling. “You made the accusation yesterday, and it appears to be true. The man I admired as father took advantage of weakness.”

  “I would say was weak himself,” she murmured. “And he weakened your mother and sister by his actions.”

  His stomach cramped when he tried to picture it. He raised his head. “If I’d known…”

  “You would have intervened.” She was right next to him, gaze turned up and light reflecting in her curls. “I know you would.”

  “I’d like to think so.” He glanced down at his hands, crusted with the black soil. “But am I so different from him? Could cruelty come from inside at the right provocation?”

  She took one of his hands in both of hers. “There is darkness inside each of us. When my parents were killed, I wanted revenge. That man who pulled the lever to release the blade with no more emotion than if he was slicing carrots. The crowd roaring for more. I wanted them all dead. I wanted the men who led to suffer. It was a long time before I could forgive, could turn anger into determination to help my country. To fight to see honor and right restored.”

  He drew in a breath. “I don’t have time. My mother and sister, my tenants, the Prime Minister and Prince expect me to make decisions, to take action. I must master these emotions.”

  “Or turn them to good,” she insisted. “You are not your father. I would stake my life on it.” She offered him a smile. “I have staked my life on it. I put myself under your protection, and you have never failed me.”

  The knowledge washed over him, cleansing him. “It is my duty.”

  “And you take duty more seriously than your father ever did, it seems. You have chosen a different path. Stay on it, mon coeur.”

  Twice now she’d used that term with him. He felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Mon coeur. I was never good at French, but if I remember the meaning correctly as my heart, you honor me.”

  “And you honor me with your friendship.” Her gaze tilted up, warm. With her so close, friendship seemed as lifeless as the bulbs he planted. Like them, might it blossom into something more?

  The hope lifted his head, his heart. But once more doubts moved in. What if she was wrong? What if he hurt her as his father had hurt his mother, not with a careless gesture as he’d once feared but with a calculated word? He had that power. How could he ensure he never wielded it?

  He stepped back from her. “Thank you for coming to make sure of me. I promise to return to the house in time for dinner.”

  “Bon.” She stepped back as well. “But if you retreat here after dinner, I will come for you again.”

  He could only hope.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lilith was with her mother when Yvette returned. She was in such sufficiently good spirits that she didn’t even berate Yvette for not being on duty. Of course, it wasn’t as if the countess had been alone. Yvette could see Ada peering from the safety of the dressing room.

  “What do you think, French?” Lilith asked, holding out a fashion magazine as Yvette came up to where the countess was seated by the fire, her daughter beside her. “Puffed sleeves or long for my wedding gown?”

  Yvette glanced at the hand-tinted pictures. “With your height, long sleeves.”

  Lilith nodded, pulling back the page. “Yes, of course.” She turned to her mother. “But I want to go up to London to shop for material and be fitted, Mother. The fabric and skills in Chessington are so lackluster.”

  The millinery shop had seemed top notch, but perhaps the other establishments were of lesser quality.

  The countess fanned herself with one hand. “London, fah! Too busy. Not enough attention from the shopkeepers. We’ll ask the duchess who did the governess’ gown.”

  Lilith stared at her. “I will not use a seamstress who sews
for governesses.”

  “Why not?” Yvette asked. “She is likely the best. I doubt a duke would allow anyone less for the woman he loved.”

  She cocked her head as if she had not considered that.

  Her mother turned to Yvette. “You were supposed to bring Gregory back with you. Where is he?”

  “Busy, alas,” Yvette told her. “But he promises to see you at dinner.”

  Lilith straightened to regard Yvette. “So, you left my mother to talk to the earl, alone?”

  “As your mother requested,” Yvette said with a dutiful smile to the countess.

  Lady Carrolton did not return her smile. “Where’s my bell?”

  “Put away for safekeeping,” Yvette assured her. “You have no need of it now. Your devoted daughter is at your side, and so am I. Ada is in the dressing room if you need her.”

  “And Gregory is apparently where only you can find him,” the countess complained. She sniffed. “I know what you’re up to, and I won’t have it.”

  Yvette kept her smile in place. The countess had an odd canniness, but she could not have guessed Yvette’s true reason for being in her home. “I live only to serve, my lady. Surely I have shown you as much.”

  “She is occasionally devoted,” Lilith allowed.

  Lady Carrolton shook her head. “I won’t have it, I tell you. Lilith may marry a fortune hunter—”

  “Mother!” Lilith protested.

  “—but I won’t have my son marry a foreigner and a companion at that. You need to remember your place, French.”

  Heat rushed through her. Oh, the countess did not know who she was baiting. Yvette had told Gregory about darkness. It stole over her now.

  “Your son will not marry at all if you continue carrying on this way,” she informed the countess. “What lady would want such a mother-in-law?”

  Lady Carrolton collapsed against the back of the chair, hand fluttering to her chest.

  Lilith gasped. “How dare you!”

  “How dare you?” Yvette rounded on her, skewering her in place with her gaze. “Your brother manages your holdings, leads the government, and you? How do you help? You vex him with complaints, ignore his well-meaning advice. You snipe at his friends, berate his choices, and break him down little by little until he questions his own worth.”

  Lilith sank back against the chair. “I’m sure I never…”

  Yvette didn’t wait for her to finish. She turned to the countess. “And you. You claim illness, weakness, anything to force him to remain at your side. Do you ever think of his needs before your own?”

  “You cannot speak to us this way,” the countess said, lips trembling. “Marbury will discharge you.”

  “He will not,” Yvette said. “I quit. I wash my hands of the pair of you.” She dusted her palms together, spun on her heel, and stalked from the room.

  ~~~

  Gregory returned to the house feeling surer of himself. It might have been his work with the bulbs, all safely potted with bone meal and limestone to nourish them. But he suspected it had more to do with Yvette. She had a logic, a wisdom about her that was hard to refute. And her smile never failed to warm him.

  The moment he entered the rear corridor, his pleasant thoughts wilted under the noise. The clang of his mother’s bell echoed through the house, again and again, until he thought even the statues in the entry hall shuddered. Why was no one answering?

  Had something happened to Yvette?

  He took the stairs two at a time, pelted down the north wing corridor, and crashed through his mother’s door without knocking.

  In her chair by the fire, she halted with the bell upraised. “Gregory. What’s wrong?”

  He drew himself up short. “Exactly my question. Where’s Yvette?”

  His mother lowered the bell with a sniff. “She quit.”

  He blinked. “She what?”

  She set the bell on the table beside her and beckoned him closer. Bemused, he moved to her side.

  “Lilith was unpleasant,” his mother murmured as if afraid his sister would hear from wherever she was in the house. “Miss French refused to admit defeat. I like that about her. She stands her ground.”

  More than his mother knew. “Where is she now?”

  “In her room, I expect, probably packing.” She caught his hand as if she suspected he meant to go check right then. “Don’t let her leave, Gregory. It hurts me every time one of these ladies abandons me. First Ramsey, and now Miss French. I don’t know if I can bear another.”

  He hadn’t considered that when he’d reluctantly agreed to let Yvette pose as his mother’s companion. His mother had once traveled to Harry’s home in Essex to beg Miss Ramsey to return, but he’d thought that had more to do with pride than desperation on his mother’s part. How would she react when Yvette left for good?

  How would he react?

  He shook the thought aside, brought his mother’s hand to his lips, and kissed the back. “Miss French likely won’t stay as long as you’d want, Mother, even if I talk to her now. But if you and Lilith cannot find a way to be kinder to your companions, I fear you will never keep one worth having.”

  She nodded, and he released her to go find Yvette.

  She answered his knock readily enough, and he could breathe again. Her smile was rueful as she opened the door.

  “I have behaved badly,” she said. “I cannot be as patient as Patience Ramsey. When your mother and sister speak nonsense, I correct them.”

  “As well you should,” he said, careful to remain in the corridor and not her room. “Though perhaps sweeten vinegar with honey?”

  “I do not cook,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “but that sounds vile.”

  He smiled. “But within your abilities, I believe. You have placated an emperor and his wife, the fawning members of their court. Surely humoring my mother is child’s play.”

  She sighed. “I suppose so. But I begin to weary of subterfuge. For ten years, I have had to be what people believed me to be. I would like to be myself. We know my cousin is near and realizes I am under your protection. Must we continue the pretense?”

  He spread his hands. “I never wanted to pretend in the first place.”

  She chewed her lower lip a moment, then shook her head. “Non, we must continue the game a while longer, until we see what Lord Hastings advises. Mr. Mayes will return to us any day. If not, Monsieur Villers will let us know when he returns from London with the marriage license. Besides, Yvette the companion still has a task or two to complete.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant, but across the corridor came the clang of a bell.

  “You never found her a small, silver one,” Yvette pointed out.

  “She insists on this one,” Gregory said, stepping aside to allow her to exit the room.

  “She would.” She moved out into the corridor and paused, glancing his way. “Does she wish me to stay?”

  “Very much,” Gregory assured her. And so do I. He was only glad the last words did not come out of his mouth.

  “Bon,” Yvette said, starting for the door to his mother’s room. “Come with me.”

  He followed.

  His mother brightened as they entered, then immediately schooled her face, fingers gripping the bell’s handle.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses, French,” she said.

  Yvette bobbed a curtsey. “Oh, oui, madam. I will stay for an apology.” She glanced to Gregory. “To your son.”

  “My son?” his mother asked with a frown. “Why must you apologize to my son?”

  Yvette smiled. “You mistake me, Lady Carrolton. It is you who must apologize. You are not ill. You never have been. You pretend to gain his attention.”

  Gregory stared at his mother. He had taken her overly complicated medical devices and pills away, but in his mind there had been no doubt she had some sort of illness. The other doctors had assured him it was so. She’d always looked frail. Had it all been an act?

  Now h
er hands trembled, and the bell fell with a rattle. “How can you say such a thing to an old woman?” she asked, voice trembling as well.

  Yvette made a sad face. “Ah, I forget. You are approaching your eightieth year, non?”

  His mother stiffened, eyes flashing and voice coming out sure and sharp. “I’m one and sixty, I’ll have you know.”

  “Oh, so aged,” Yvette said with a tsk. “And such maladies to have afflicted you. Leprosy, cholera, dysentery. We must keep the staff and family away for their own protection.”

  “I’m perfectly fine, and you know it,” his mother declared. Then she blinked. “Why, you minx.”

  Yvette’s smile deepened, but Gregory shook his head, more to clear it than to disagree. “So, you have been pretending all this time, Mother?”

  She sighed, dropping her gaze to the bedclothes and plucking at them. “Pretend is a hard word. At times, I did wonder whether I might be ill, but I suppose it started with your father. If I was strong, he must be stronger, showing me my place beneath him. But if I were weak or sick, he was all solicitation. It was easier to be sick.”

  Another sin laid at his father’s door.

  “And to your son you say?” Yvette prompted.

  His mother nodded, drawing in a breath as if gathering strength. “Forgive me, Gregory, if my behavior troubled you. I will do better.”

  “So will I, Mother,” Gregory promised, going to take her hand.

  She raised her head and smiled at him.

  “Excellent,” Yvette said. “We will call for Ada and get you dressed. I’m sure you feel up to coming down to dinner.”

  His mother’s smile faltered, but she inclined her head. “Yes, of course.”

  They left her to Ada’s care and stepped out into the corridor.

  “And now your sister, I think,” Yvette said, marching for the door to Lilith’s suite.

  Gregory was too interested in the results to protest.

  But Lilith wasn’t in her room. They located her in the south withdrawing room, reclining on the crimson sofa with a compress on her forehead and a maid and footman hovering nearby.