“Thank God for that.” Cam released a sigh or relief. “When is Smythe’s funeral service?”
“Tomorrow at noon in Guildford, my lord.”
“Very well. We’ll leave as soon as I can have Higgens pack my things and we’ve eaten. Go see if George needs any help switching out the horses.”
Arwine bowed and left. When the door clicked close behind him, Cam walked over to the bow window and stared into the street. Blazes, he did not need this. The Little Season was almost finished, but still made much demand on his time. The invitations to teas, balls and weekend house parties were piled in a dangerously towering abundance on his desk. Such was the fate of a bachelor earl who was not only immensely rich but regarded as very handsome, and therefore in need of a wife.
And according to the promise he made to his late father, Cam would follow the St. Cloud family tradition and be married—or at the very least engaged—by the time he turned thirty. As the thirtieth anniversary of his entry into the world was this approaching New Year’s Day, Cam’s time was running out. He needed to find a candidate for his wife, and soon.
To be sure, there were eligibles by the score. Cam knew this because he met every last preening, simpering, giggling, eyelash fluttering one of them. All eager to know his taste in music, books and architecture, so they might comment on it. Heavens, the conversations he endured. Was there not a single woman of his class in London who could talk without giggling?
To become the Countess of St. Cloud would be a tremendous challenge and not a role just anyone could fill. Centuries of tradition preceded it, and Cam was hard pressed to think of a woman of his acquaintance who could match his late mother’s impeccable style. It would be easier to find a new rector for All Souls than to find a wife.
Like his forefathers, Cam firmly believed in following family tradition. The only time he broke with it after he became St. Cloud at twenty-two was to allow his younger brothers to marry before he did—and then only because they both threatened to elope to Gretna Greene or some such place if he did not allow them to announce the banns. Only his sister Perdita, scheduled to come out next spring, remained. If he were lucky, his new countess could present Perdita at Court. That is, if he found her. Despite his efforts, he remained a bachelor.
There might be a candidate. The Honorable Lucy Guest, daughter of Viscount Pembroke, did not giggle or simper or bat her eyelashes. Her father’s estate was near Cam’s in Huntingdown and the Pembrokes, like the St. Clouds, always spent Christmas there. Lucy was pretty, intelligent and like Cam, a firm believer in family tradition. Cam’s father even suggested he consider such an alliance when Lucy came of age three years ago.
But instead of making her bow like all the other eighteen-year-olds that Season, Lucy insisted on attending The Brentwood Academy for Young Ladies, an exclusive finishing school in Darbyshire with a program that lasted three years.
And since Lucy always got what she wanted, her parents gave in to her request. This past spring, Lucy’s presentation at Court and introduction into Society had been declared a triumph and Lucy hailed as the “most brilliant of diamonds.”
In private, Cam gave Lucy full points for her insistence that she attend Brentwood. Asking an eighteen-year-old to step into his late mother’s shoes would have been impractical at the least and an unkindness at the very worst.
But now the girl Cam knew transformed into a polished, sophisticated young woman, equal to any challenge an Earl’s wife might face. Never one to rush into a hasty decision, particularly in something as important as marriage, Cam watched and waited for Lucy to enjoy her first Season. He wasn’t so proud as to think he might be her only choice. But claims of broken hearts and shattered souls at her refusals for men to even call on her, filled half the London gossip and scandal sheets. This led Cameron to think that perhaps she might be waiting for his proposal. And the joining of their two houses would bring honor to both of them. His destiny was clear. Cam nodded at his reflection in the window’s glass. He would approach Pembroke this Christmastide and ask for Lucy’s hand in marriage.
Of course, he would also have to wait for the arrival of Lucy’s beloved great Aunt Adelaide Cheswick, Dowager Duchess of Clairfield and a dragon if there ever was one, especially where it concerned Lucy. She made the patronesses of Almack’s look like a group of schoolgirls. Aunt Adelaide liked to travel and was reported to be somewhere near India.
Of Lucy’s acceptance, Cam had little doubt. They liked each other well enough and after all, what girl wouldn’t want to marry a rich, handsome earl in need of a wife?
Now all he needed to do was find a new rector for All Souls.
****
Two weeks later.
“Whoa!” The post driver pulled the horses to a stop. The wheels splashed through a row of puddles, which almost made twins Amanda and Stephen Fleming tumble from their seats. Hamish, their Scottish terrier, wasn’t so lucky and the dog slid from beside Amanda to the floor, where he landed with a decided thump.
“Good heavens!” Stephen proclaimed, using the strongest oath he possessed. “Why did we stop?”
“I haven’t a clue, brother.” Amanda helped Hamish back onto the seat. She peered out the window into the mist that swirled around the yard, and said, “Surely this isn’t Huntingdown?”
“I don’t think so.” Stephen opened the window and called, “Driver! Why are we stopping?”
The other door jerked open in answer and the grizzled driver peered inside, his eyebrows drawn together to match his ferocious frown. “’Tis the fog, sir. I carn’t see much ahead. We best wait a bit ‘til it clears up. And t’will be a good a place as any to stretch yer legs and have a sup of some of the finest cider in these parts. But don’t ye worry none pastor, I’ll have ye and yer sister at the rectory by suppertime.”
He didn’t wait for their answer, but turned and lumbered toward the two story stone building. Light blazed from the mullioned windows and delicious odors wafted out from the open door. The coachman slammed it behind him, and the twins traded glances. Amanda spoke first.
“I suppose we don’t have any choice except to wait until he satisfies his thirst,” she said. “But I don’t think the fog is that bad.”
“Neither do I, but I’m not driving us,” Stephen said. “And I would appreciate something cold and sweet to drink, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d rather have a cup of tea.” Amanda secured Hamish’s leash to his collar. “And I would enjoy the chance to stretch my legs a bit.”
“So would Hamish, no doubt.” Stephen alighted from the hired coach and then helped her down. Hamish bounded after them, nose already to the ground, his tail wagging furiously.
“I just hope there are no rabbits about.” Amanda tightened her grip on the leash. “The last time he spotted one, he dragged me through a bunch of thistles.”
“Do you suppose everything will work out for us? The living at Huntingdown, I mean?”
Amanda blinked at her brother’s sudden question. “Of course, it will. Why wouldn’t it?”
“It’s my first real living, and such a magnificent one too,” Stephen said. A solemn light entered his green eyes. “A partially furnished house with a staff of five, only four miles from Hounslow and ten miles from London. And such a generous salary. Why choose me of all people? Perhaps I should have accepted Master Phillip’s offer of that teaching position at Balliol at Oxford.”
“Because you’re a wonderful minister and scholar,” Amanda praised, tweaking his woolen scarf into place. “It was high time you were offered a position worthy of your talents. Saint. Barnabas almost fell down around us, the rectory was always cold, and the salary barely enough to make do. Not to mention, a grumpy congregation and a vestry determined not to change anything, including making improvements to the church. Your position at Church of the Good Shepard was almost as bad.”
“I mean, besides all that,” Stephen countered, and they shared a laugh. “You’re right of course, Mandy. If anything, the other c
hurches were a good training experience. I wonder what kind of man the Earl of St. Cloud is? From Master Phillip’s description, he’s not much older than I am, and already an Earl. He must be imposing, indeed.”
“As long as the rectory is warm and the church roof doesn’t leak, St. Cloud could be Napoleon and I wouldn’t mind,” Amanda said. “Perhaps he——ouch! Hamish, stop!”
Hamish’s loud bark and brisk tug at his leash signified his impatience with their conversation and Stephen laughed again. “You better let him go sniff the bushes,” he advised. “I’ll go ahead and order your tea. Watch out for those puddles over there.”
He headed toward the inn with his long stride and Amanda let Hamish lead her toward a grove of trees. The mist thickened around them and stepping carefully, she followed Hamish into the grove and undid his leash. Bounding ahead, the little Scottie moved from tree to tree, where he scratched and growled as he made his exploration. A breeze ruffled the treetops, and shivering, Amanda pulled her scarf more tightly around her head.
“Everything at Huntingdown will be just fine,” she said, more to herself than to Hamish. “If I can just learn to mind my tongue and not always say what I think. Stephen doesn’t need trouble with his new parish because of me.”
Because even though he had never said so, Amanda suspected Stephen’s leaving his two previous assignments—St. Barnabas in Sudburough, Northamptonshire and Church of the Good Shepherd near the coast in Maumsby, Kent—was because of her. Amanda struggled to rein in her frustration at the churches’ entrenched way of doing things, and refusal to even consider change. But eventually her outspokenness always got the better of her. She’d never found a way to fit into village life or felt at home in either place. Her coldly polite and regular battles with the Ladies’ Auxiliary or the Altar Guild at both churches only made things worse. Stephen, bless his heart, never said a word of reproach.
“It just wasn’t a good fit for us, Mandy,” he said after he’d decided to leave Maumsby. “We’ll find a place soon.”
“This time, I’ll do better,” Amanda vowed. “I’ll be sweet, discreet and a pleasure to meet. Hamish, you’ve left your mark on enough trees. Let’s go have tea.”
The Scottie scampered back and she put on the leash again before heading back toward the yard. The breeze picked up and Amanda shivered again as her companion made one last stop. “Hurry up, Hamish,” she scolded. “I’m going to freeze to the ground in another—Hamish, come back here!”
The sudden appearance of a large rabbit in their path made the Scottie hurtle forward with a throated bark. The leash snapped from Amanda’s hand. She dashed after him into the yard just as a rider on a large black horse galloped out of the mists. Hamish’s pursuit of the rabbit brought him within inches of the horse’s hooves. Shock froze the scream in Amanda’s throat as the great animal reared back with such force, that its rider fell from the saddle into a large puddle, sending its muddy contents upward like a renegade fountain. His hat landed beside him, and a vigorous oath proved that the rider was still among the living.
“Hamish!” Amanda shouted in relief. “Come here!”
Hamish scampered back and with a practiced leap, hurled himself into her arms as the man picked up his hat, got to his feet and brushed a strand of black hair out of his eyes. With a barely audible oath, he stumbled back to his horse and turned to face her. Eyes as dark blue as a starless night, fixed on Amanda’s face and she was grateful to have Hamish clasped against her body. The scowling man who stood opposite her looked very angry indeed. She tried to keep her voice from wobbling, and ventured to ask, “Are you all right?”
“No, thanks to you and your dog.” The man held one foot slightly off the ground, and tried to brush his coat free of mud. His scowl deepened as he stared at his saturated glove. “Why in blazes did he charge at me like that?”
“He saw a rabbit,” Amanda explained, trying to keep the heat from rising to her face. It certainly wasn’t from his language. A clergyman’s daughter certainly heard worse. And where in the world was Stephen? She turned her head toward the inn, and heard laughter and loud singing. She hoped their driver wasn’t drinking hard cider. The Lord only knew when they might arrive at the rectory.
“And you couldn’t keep better control of him?” The man shook his hat, which sent a shower of muddied droplets to the ground. Limping forward, he held it out for Amanda’s inspection and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Even without his boots, he would be taller than the average man.
“This is ruined, by the way,” his baritone voice accused. “You’re lucky that Socrates didn’t run your dog down.”
She transferred her gaze from his handsome, angry face to the enormous black horse that stood nearby. The thought of poor Hamish running under its powerful legs nearly made Amanda tremble. “I thank you for that,” she said.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?” He returned to the horse and crammed the hat into the saddlebag.
Irritation inched its way over Amanda’s skin. “No, but I’ll offer you one. I’m sorry Hamish startled your horse and made you fall.”
“And is that what I’m supposed to tell my valet when he sees my coat? It at least might be salvageable.” The man swung into the saddle, pushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes and peered down at Amanda.
“Surely valets know how to do such things,” Amanda retorted. “Or perhaps if you had better control of Socrates, you wouldn’t fall.”
His eyes narrowed and his lips parted as though prepared to deliver a stinging retort. Instead, he gave a low, sharp, whistle, and Socrates broke into a trot, then a canter and finally a gallop. Amanda watched horse and rider disappear into the swirling mist before she put Hamish down.
“Wretched man,” she muttered. “I hope his valet is up half the night, scrubbing that coat. Good boy, Hamish.”
“What’s he done now?” Stephen asked, appearing at her side. He handed her a cup of steaming tea and took Hamish’s leash.
“Nothing,” Amanda said quickly. Not the best thing to lie to one’s clergyman brother, but the last thing they needed was trouble with a local—one obviously very high in the instep—before they even arrived at the rectory. She would tell him about it before he made his calls.
She drained the cup, gave it back to him and took Hamish in her arms “Let’s go, brother. I want to see the rectory before it’s too dark.”
And before I cause any more trouble.
Chapter Two
“Did Higgens ever get your coat clean?”
Cam shifted on the seat of his smallest carriage—the one he used to visit their tenants and local gentry on less formal occasions—and raised an eyebrow at Perdita’s question. Outside, a fine snow fell, and added another layer to the already covered ground. “And how did you know my coat needed to be cleaned?”
Beside him, his sister’s dark blue eyes twinkled in a way not quite appropriate for a young lady who just completed the finest finishing school in Middlesex. “I heard him tell Flora about it last night after we came home. He said both your coat and gloves were absolutely covered in mud. Did you really fall off Socrates?”
Your maid and my valet should have better things to do than discuss my wardrobe problem. “Yes,” Cam admitted reluctantly. “A rabbit startled him.”
“Poor brother,” Perdita said, but her widening smile belied her sympathetic words. “To think of the Earl of St. Cloud on the ground, soaked in mud because of a fierce, wild rabbit! And your poor ankle too. Does it still hurt?”
“No,” Cam growled. It was bad enough to wait until the mud dried on his coat before Higgens could take a good stiff brush to it. The gloves were given up to the trash, and pronounced a “lost cause” by a mournful Higgens. And despite several soakings, his ankle continued to throb. If he moved slowly, his limp was hardly noticeable.
Worse still, he could not shake the memory of a tall, slender woman stepping out of the mist, strands of gossamer blonde hair slipping from under her scarf, her green
eyes wide with shock. She called up an image of a wood sprite, wild and fey, ready to capture and drag him back into a netherworld. She haunted his sleep for the past two nights, making him impatient and out of sorts. Good thing she was long gone. “Did you enjoy your morning ride, Perdita?”
“Yes, and you’ll never guess what I saw. They’ve hung the garlands on the gates at All Souls. It’s beautiful. And there are two wreaths on the doors, covered in red and silver ribbons and tiny bells. They’re simply huge!”
“Very nice,” Cam replied resignedly. In spite of her first rate education, and lessons in lady-like deportment, Perdita’s natural enthusiasm for life simply could not be curbed. It bubbled from her like the best of champagnes and almost everything excited her. Her husband—when Cam found one he approved of—would have a hard time reigning in her exuberance.
But it was that same innocent exuberance that made his only sister adored by the entire staff at Heart’s Ease. Everyone, from Oakley, the St. Clouds’ venerable butler, to Cassie the little kitchen maid, loved her without hesitation. And because Perdita loved them with an equal fervor, they spoiled her without reservation. But despite that, Perdita remained as unaffected as if she was a farmer’s daughter instead of an heiress.
“Have you met the new rector yet?” she asked.
“He called on me two days ago, just before I came to fetch you, to thank me for giving him the living,” Cam said. “That’s why we are going to the rectory now for tea.”
“What’s he like?”
“What do you mean, ‘what is he like’?”
Perdita gave him a gentle dig in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t be perverse,” she scolded. “Is he young, old, thin or fat, handsome or ugly?”
“Hmm.” Cam pretended to frown in concentration. “He’s nine feet tall, has two heads—”
“Cam.”
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