The Earl Is Mine

by Kieran Kramer

  “Here’s our chance, Prince,” he said in a low voice, and slid off the saddle. His legs were sore from the bruising ride, but he walked straight and tall to Father.

  “We need to talk. Back at the house.” Not just about Pippa, either.

  But now wasn’t the time.

  “Ye’re right,” said Father, in his thickest Irish brogue.

  Ah. That meant he was extremely angry. But at the moment, Gregory didn’t care.

  His hands curled into fists at his sides.

  He wanted to get to his woman!

  “Allow me.” Father opened the door, and Mama’s beautiful face appeared, a soft smile on her lips.

  Gregory’s heartbeat became a smidgen less erratic. Always, Mama brought ease to a situation.

  “It’s good to see you, son,” she said, and let Father take her by the waist and swing her down.

  Together, they walked past Gregory toward Prince. A few moments later, he heard his horse-mad father talking low to Prince, admiration in his tone. He was, no doubt, holding on to the prized stallion’s reins for Gregory.

  But Gregory didn’t bother to look.

  His eyes were on Pippa, who stood inside the door frame of the carriage looking down at him with her hair cascading around the shoulders of her voluminous shirt, which had come loose from her breeches.

  Only two yards—but an entire world of hurt—separated them.

  “Lord Westdale,” she said from her perch, “please tell me something.”

  “Anything,” he replied.

  She jumped down to the ground. “Why do you want me in London?”

  His answer came as naturally as breathing. “Because I can’t live without you. Because I love you, Pippa. My darling, if only you knew how—”

  But before he could go on, she leaped into his arms.

  “Gregory.” She wrapped her legs around his middle, her arms about his back, and kissed him as hard as she could on his mouth. And then she buried her face in his neck and held on tight. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered.

  “I won’t,” he whispered back, and kissed the top of her head. He looked up to see he was facing his parents, with Prince. Several horsemen appeared in the distance, including a woman on sidesaddle. “Never again.”

  Pippa pulled back a fraction of an inch. “Mr. Dawson is sleeping, but he’s ill. He’ll need help. But don’t let anyone hurt him. Please. He’s grieving his wife—and he has big regrets about his life. He broke down, but I think with the proper care, he can be restored.”

  “I won’t let anyone hurt him,” Gregory vowed.

  She slid down his body, and reluctantly, he released her.

  “I’m going to be with him now,” she said. “I’ll ride back with him to the house. If you don’t mind being in charge of explanations about Harrow to everyone but your mother, who already knows all—”

  “All?”

  Her cheeks bloomed red. “Almost all,” she said with a giggle, and then her eyes grew round. “My goodness, there’s quite an audience here.”

  A gaggle of riders came up wearing sober miens, their horses at slow walks. The riders drew up their own horses near Prince and Gregory’s parents. All of them appeared surprised to see them, as well as the second carriage. But they said nothing and sat expectantly, their eyes riveted on Pippa—in her man’s clothes.

  She sent them a little wave.

  “Don’t worry,” Gregory murmured. “They’re far enough away we can say what we need to. Even though they can’t hear, they’re getting a thrill just watching us, especially you, the valet who’s really a woman in disguise.”

  Pippa smiled. “The gossip’s going to be delicious. But back to Mr. Dawson: I’d like to take him directly upstairs to bed. I’m going to be his valet one last time.”

  Gregory kissed her brow. “That’s a fine idea. Would you like some company? Your old friend Eliza would love to see you. She’s heading this way now.”

  For a split second, Pippa looked ill at ease.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t worry, all’s well now.” Almost all. He pulled her tight beneath his chin, inhaling the now-familiar scent of lavender in her hair. “Let me explain—”

  “Shhhh.” She pulled back and put a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. Your mother and I talked. I know how difficult this situation was for you, and you’ll be glad to know—”

  She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Walter is definitely Dougal’s son.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “You do?”

  He grinned. “Yes. I spoke with Eliza. My love, I’m sorry we were ever together the way we were. I hate to cause you pain. And Eliza’s brokenhearted that she’s hurt you. Neither of us ever loved the other. It was a mistake.”

  “It’s all right. Even if the baby had been yours, I never would have stopped loving you. Ever. I simply thought you still loved Eliza. That look on your face—”

  “That look wasn’t about her at all. It was about Walter, yes, but there’s more. It was about me, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took her by the waist and stared deep into her eyes. “I need to know you’ll stand by me. Because I have something rather shocking to tell you. But first, I have to confide in my father. It’s about our family, about something that happened long ago, but it has public implications. It will be difficult to hear, love, and if you do decide it’s too much to bear, I’ll understand.”

  “Nothing will be too much to bear,” she insisted. “I love you. I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

  He pulled a lock of hair off her face. “One thing more about Eliza and that day in the garden. I went there to give her my mother’s ring and ask her to marry me.”

  “I know,” Pippa said. “Your mother told me.”

  “She did?”

  Pippa laughed. “We’re women, darling. We talk.”

  “I suppose you do, especially in confined spaces when you’re together for hours—”

  “And we have someone we love in common.” Pippa chided him with a glance.

  “Right, then.” He chuckled. “My point is that I had entirely practical, heartless reasons to want Eliza as my wife. And I’m so glad that fate intervened in the form of a certain stubborn young lady with a sketch pad, who was present to witness the luckiest moment of my life—until now—and that was when I saw Eliza and Dougal kissing and appearing madly in love, which they clearly were. Thank God I stumbled upon that scene. Or I’d never have discovered real love—with you.”

  “Oh, Gregory.” Pippa’s voice was soft, sure. “It’s always been you. And I still have that drawing I made in the garden. I wouldn’t throw it away, as much as it caused me pain to look at it. It represented my deepest longing—to be with you.”

  They shared an intoxicating kiss.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that my firstborn will have a mother with fiery hair and a temper to match.” His voice was gruff with desire for her.

  She laughed and they kissed again, their bodies fused from mouth to knee. But it was no longer enough. He had to make her his—and soon.

  He was still lost in the heady sensation of being wrapped around his beloved, still marveling that everything was right between them, when a loud cough interrupted them. “My lord, should I take the carriage and Mr. Dawson back to Thurston Manor?”

  The driver, whom Gregory recognized as one of the surly footmen at the manor, kept his eyes on a distant object as though he were doing his best to maintain their privacy, but his red face gave away his discomfort.

  “Lady Pippa will ride with him, along with her friend Lady Morgan. Lady Morgan?” He beckoned to Eliza with a hand.

  She leaped down from her saddle and came running over to give Pippa a huge hug. “Hello, old friend!” The two women clasped each other close with no sign of release. “Count on you to wear the unusual thing. Only you could carry off breeches so beautifully.”

  They both laughed and finally
pulled back, flustered yet happy, Gregory was pleased to see.

  Eliza looked searchingly at Pippa’s face. “Please tell me you’re all right. Let me ride back with you to Thurston Manor.”

  “I’d like that.” Sincerity infused Pippa’s words. “We have so much to catch up on. Walter is an absolute love.” She winced happily on the word love, as if she couldn’t contain her delight in the chubby baby.

  “Isn’t he?” Eliza mirrored Pippa’s over-the-top expression. It was something Gregory had often seen women do when discussing babies. And then she flung grateful arms around Pippa again.

  Relief made him squint up at Dougal and grin, and Dougal rolled his eyes and grinned back. Gregory didn’t realize how much he’d wanted Pippa to embrace his old friends—even if he hadn’t, for so long. And the main reason was because he was proud of her. He was proud of them. And he wanted to show everyone he’d ever known how lucky he was and how different his life would be, now that he’d found the love of his life.

  Over her friend’s shoulder, Pippa looked at Gregory one more time. It was torture being separated from her, as lovely as the reunion with Eliza was. Gregory winked to assure Pippa he was going nowhere she wasn’t—and that soon, soon, he’d have her to himself again.

  She sent him a saucy wink back, which made him even more desperate to get her in his bed—any bed, for that matter. A carriage would do, too. Or a hayloft and a blanket. He didn’t care—although, he reminded himself, he wanted their first time together to be special.

  He’d have to think about where he’d take her, and he’d have to plan the wedding that was going to come sooner rather than later, too.

  Eliza took her old schoolmate by the hand, and together, they entered the carriage, Pippa going last. He enjoyed the view of her bottom in those breeches and was tempted to slap it, had an audience of gawking men and his mother not been watching.

  He didn’t show it, but Gregory hated to shut the door behind Pippa … hated to be parted from her even for a second.

  “The marchioness and I will meet everyone at the house,” Father announced, and looked up at Lord Thurston, one of the riders. “Sorry to spring a visit on you with no notice, Thurston.”

  Their host waved a careless hand. “I’m always honored to host the Marquess and Marchioness of Brady at Thurston Manor,” was his gracious reply.

  As they approached him, Father and Mother wore perfectly neutral expressions on their faces, but Gregory knew—

  He knew they couldn’t wait to get him alone to talk to him.

  “See you at the house,” he told them as they walked by.

  Father allowed his brow to furrow. Mama blew him a kiss.

  It was odd how Gregory wasn’t frightened anymore about what was to come.

  Once they’d entered the Brady carriage, he went to Prince, mounted him, and led him out of the way. “Make room,” he told the riders, who obeyed without a word. He noticed they’d chosen to stay rather than lead the carriages home.

  Oh, well. The reckoning had to come at some point.

  “You can go now,” he called to the footman-driver.

  As the vehicles rolled away, he saw Pippa’s and Eliza’s heads bent together inside the first one. They were probably overseeing the care of Mr. Dawson. Mama and Father looked straight ahead in the second, and when they, too, were past, Gregory looked to the cluster of men on horseback. “Thank you for coming out. All’s well that ends well.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Marbury. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Westdale.”

  “Not to you,” he said bluntly, then looked at Lord Thurston. “But I certainly owe you and Lady Thurston an apology.”

  “Right.” Lord Thurston cleared his throat. “I’m all ears, young man.”

  “Under the guise of a valet named Harrow,” Gregory said smoothly, “Lady Pippa Harrington has been hopelessly compromised by her presence in my bedchamber at Thurston Manor, and the right thing will be done. She and I will elope to the island of Guernsey, where no special license is required to marry immediately. It’s obviously much closer than Gretna Greene. We’ll depart in the morning and sail in a private yacht from Torquay.” He looked confidently around at them all. “You’ll each receive an invitation to the postnuptial celebration at my father’s estate in Ireland, although the date, of course, has yet to be set.”

  “So the cheeky valet is really a lady.” Lord Thurston scratched his ear. “You know, Westdale, my wife’s going to love this story. I’m not so sure about Lady Damara.”

  “Whether they love it or hate it, I’m assuming it will be all over London in the next few days,” Gregory said dryly.

  “You’re probably right,” Lord Thurston agreed.

  “By the way, I withdraw from the dog cottage competition,” Gregory told him quietly. “Thank you for the opportunity, but I must decline. I’ve other, more pressing projects that will demand my time.”

  Lord Marbury gave a yelp of delight.

  Gregory sent him a wry look. “I’m delighted you’re delighted, Marbury.”

  “Indeed I am,” he said with a grin.

  “It’s a shame,” said Lord Thurston, “but I understand.”

  The other riders nodded their heads sympathetically.

  “Those other projects you mentioned,” the architect Mr. Forrest said, “the ones that will demand your time … we commiserate with you, old chap. Parson’s mousetrap isn’t an easy thing to enter.”

  “It’ll squeeze you,” said Marbury.

  “Good luck,” said another rider. “You’ll need it.”

  There was a chorus of weakly offered good lucks from some of the others.

  “He doesn’t need luck, you idiots,” said Dougal. “He’s got love. Excuse my poor manners, Lord Thurston.”

  “No offense taken,” Lord Thurston said mildly.

  “Yes, thank you, Lord Morgan.” Gregory shifted in his saddle. “Actually, I wasn’t choosing an amusing way to say my future wife’s demands will take all my time. I really do have other design projects to work on. And I can’t wait to get to them. It might have to happen in Paris, but it will happen.”

  “Paris?” Marbury scoffed. “What kind of place is that for design inspiration?”

  Nobody said a word.

  “Oh, right.” Marbury had the grace to look down at the ground. “Paris.”

  Everyone burst into laughter, even Marbury.

  “I’m such a dunderhead,” he said.

  No one disagreed. And then they raced each other back to the stable, hollering like banshees, pretending that nothing could rein them in—not even love. They knew it was a lie, and they were glad it was a lie.

  But while the horses streaked down the road, they were knights-in-arms together, upholding the old code that—given a chance—boys will always be boys.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was time. Well past time. Gregory knocked on his parents’ bedchamber door at Thurston Manor.

  “Come in,” trilled Mama.

  Pippa, Gregory thought, his hands loosely curled at his sides.

  Just Pippa.

  He walked over the threshold.

  Father stood with his arms out while his valet brushed down his coat. “Done yet, Patrick?”

  “Yes, my lord. You’re looking very well, too.”

  Gregory met Patrick’s gaze and nodded pleasantly. He’d never think of valets in the same way ever again.

  Mama sat in a rocking chair, sewing. She looked up with a bright smile. “You’ll never guess what I’m stitching,” she said, as if nothing untoward had happened that day.

  “What?” Gregory peered over her shoulder.

  “It’s your father’s old wedding coat. The one he wore to marry your mother. It’s in need of repair, and I took it on a whim to Dawlish.”

  Gregory was dumbstruck. “Why would you repair it? Especially when … he wore it to marry my mother?”

  Mama sighed. “Because it’s an important part of the family history, my dea
r.” Her tone was puckish. “I’ve mended your mother’s wedding gown already. And mine. A mouse got to it and nibbled a hole in the corner. And then there’s the family baptismal gown. It’s getting so fragile, it’s almost frightening to attempt any fixes, but I believe it’s imperative to preserve important clothes. They take us back to certain moments in our lives. Don’t you think?”

  He thought of Pippa’s yellow velvet spencer with the oversized buttons. And her brown striped cravat, and a smile curved his lips. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  Mama held up the coat. “One of you boys might wear this someday,” she said in breezy fashion. “Maybe even you. If it will fit.”

  “It’ll fit all right,” said Father. “We’re the same size.” He nodded at Patrick, who left the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

  Gregory waited for the change he knew was to come.

  And it did. Father’s face was icy when he turned to face him. “It’s whether you’ll have a wedding that worries me,” he said in an ominous voice. “I’m thinking we’re in need of one. Without delay. The integrity of the House of Brady is at stake.” He threw out his hands. “Good God, Gregory, my boy, what kind of shenanigans have you been up to? A young lady dressed as a man? In the middle of an inn yard telling her driver she’s under your protection and that of the entire House of Brady?”

  Gregory gave a short laugh. “She said that?”

  Mama nodded gravely. “I’m so glad she did.”

  Gregory blew out a breath. “Mama, Father, I understand your anger, and I’m sorry for it.” He was amazed how steady his voice was. “And I agree, Father. There will be a wedding without delay. We leave tomorrow morning.” He told his parents his plans to take Pippa to Guernsey via Torquay.

  “All right, then.” The news mollified his father somewhat. “But tell me how it came to this, that my son is running off with his bride to Guernsey.” He crossed his arms and frowned at Gregory.

  Mama let out an exasperated breath. “The usual way. He fell in love.” She glared at Father. “Now don’t you be forgetting how it is, Michael Sherwood, when you meet your soul mate.”

  Father shifted his feet, a stubborn cast to his mouth. Mama’s taking on his Irish accent whenever she was riled with him never failed to amuse Gregory, although he’d be a fool to show a trace of amusement now.