Brave New Earl

by Jane Ashford

  Geoffrey received curious looks.

  “My nearest neighbors,” Lord Furness continued. “Mr. Theodore Wandrell, his son, Teddy, and his daughter, Anna.”

  The parties exchanged mounted bows. The younger Theodore Wandrell looked about her age, Jean thought, his sister a bit younger. The latter was eyeing her, maneuvering her horse closer. “You’re staying at Furness Hall?” she said when she was nearer.

  “Yes.”

  “How funny. We’ve heard that no one visits there anymore.” Miss Wandrell’s gaze was sharp, running over Jean’s antiquated dress and tricorn hat. Her hair was straining at its bounds, Jean thought, eager to spring out and embarrass her; an escaped curl twining down her temple. “You’re here with your mother?” Miss Wandrell added.

  Jean suppressed a start. What had her mother to do with it? “My mother? No, she’s dead.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” Her interrogator sounded more inquisitive than regretful. She awaited further information. Jean gave her none. Rather, she turned to the gentlemen.

  “Yes, Geoffrey is trying out his new pony,” Lord Macklin was saying.

  “Got away from him, did it?” replied the elder Mr. Wandrell. His tone was patronizing. “Best to keep youngsters inside fences at his age, I always found.”

  “Geoffrey was doing splendidly,” said Lord Furness.

  “He nearly barreled into us,” replied his neighbor.

  “And yet, he did not.”

  “Are we going on soon?” Geoffrey asked.

  The adults looked down from their taller mounts. Geoffrey should have seemed dwarfed in their midst, Benjamin thought. But somehow he didn’t. The Wandrells clearly didn’t approve of his complaint, however.

  “Come over here,” said Tom, putting a hand on Fergus’s bridle. They moved to the edge of the trees. Tom set Geoffrey practicing his mounted turns.

  “Mama will be so glad to know you’re receiving visitors again,” said Anna Wandrell in a caressing tone. She spoke to Benjamin, but she had her eyes on Miss Saunders.

  All of the Wandrells awaited Benjamin’s answer, another sign of the speculation his long period of mourning had roused in the neighborhood. A flood of intrusions loomed. “Not really,” he said. “Family only.”

  This made Miss Wandrell frown. Questions showed in her expression.

  “We should move along,” Benjamin added, signaling his horse with his knees. He bowed from the saddle and smiled as if all was well. He also got away as quickly as possible, turning back toward home. His party followed along, while the neighbors sat still, watching them ride away.

  Alice hadn’t particularly liked the Wandrell family, Benjamin remembered. She’d remarked on Mrs. Wandrell’s malicious tongue and more than once said that Anna bid fair to be just like her mother. He had no doubt that they’d make inquiries about Miss Saunders and soon discover that their relationship was vanishingly distant—no excuse to dispense with chaperones. The isolation he’d thrown over his household was broken.

  The Wandrells habitually went up to London for the season, where they could question many more people and spread whatever story they concocted even farther. And tongues would wag more furiously because he’d made himself such an object of curiosity. Benjamin felt a flash of rage. They had no right to target Miss Saunders.

  Her voice drifted into his thoughts. “No, I never had a pony when I was small.”

  Benjamin turned to look. His houseguest and his son rode in tandem on his right.

  “How did you learn to ride?” said Geoffrey. “You do very well,” he added with the air of a connoisseur.

  “Thank you,” said Miss Saunders gravely. “Our head groom taught me, on a barrel.”

  Geoffrey gazed up at her, his interest definitely caught. “A barrel?”

  Her head was far above his son’s, but her tone wasn’t the least patronizing, Benjamin thought. Nothing like Wandrell’s condescension.

  “We didn’t have many horses,” she answered. “None I was allowed to use. But Matthew thought I should know how to ride. So when I was a little older than you, he fastened a small cask to a rail fence, with reins tied to the post. He showed me how to sit and hang on.”

  Benjamin was touched by the picture this presented. The implications were more concerning. Why hadn’t she been allowed to use the horses?

  “That’s smart,” commented Geoffrey. “Were you very poor?”

  Miss Saunders looked nonplussed.

  “Tom said he had no horses when he was young because he was poor.”

  “Ah. We weren’t poor like Tom. We were”—she groped for a word—“careful.”

  Geoffrey looked confused.

  “We had to practice economies,” Miss Saunders added.

  Her flat tone gave Benjamin the notion that most of these economies had involved her.

  “What’s ‘econ-omies’?” Geoffrey asked. “Are they hard to practice? Lily says practice makes perfect.”

  “It means deciding which things you can afford to have, and which you can’t.”

  The boy thought about this. “You deciding? Or somebody else?”

  “Somebody else,” Miss Saunders answered tonelessly.

  Geoffrey nodded. Benjamin watched the two of them exchange a look of perfect understanding. A simple glance, conveying worlds.

  Benjamin felt something twist in the region of his heart. Suddenly, in a moment of absolute clarity, he knew exactly what he should do.

  The riding party reached Furness Hall a few minutes later. Geoffrey stayed with Fergus in the stable to help with the pony’s grooming, and young Tom joined him. The three adults walked up to the house together. Jean was eager to change out of her riding habit and to be alone for a bit. She couldn’t quite absorb the fact that she’d never felt so thoroughly understood as in the recent exchange she’d shared with a five-year-old boy.

  Lord Furness said, “May I speak to you in the library, Miss Saunders?”

  “In the library?” She stopped. “Why not right here?”

  Instead of replying, he put a hand on her back. Warmth seemed to spread from that light touch through Jean’s entire body. It made her want to nestle into the curve of his arm. Lord Macklin walked on as if nothing was happening, and Jean let herself be guided into the book-lined room where the portrait of her cousin Alice presided. “Sit down,” Lord Furness said with a gesture.

  Jean moved a few steps away from him. She didn’t care to be commanded. “No, thank you.”

  “It’s not always necessary to argue, you know.”

  But quite often it was, Jean thought. That or be trampled by other people’s whims. Not arguing had been the bane of her early life. “What is it?”

  Lord Furness looked aggrieved. He came closer and reached for her hand. “I could do this much better if you would sit,” he said.

  Jean’s pulse stuttered and began to race.

  “But I see that you won’t. Very well. I shan’t kneel then. I shall simply ask you to be my wife.”

  “Ask?” His tone suggested a fait accompli rather than a request. Jean felt as if the eyes in Alice’s portrait were drilling into her back.

  “It’s the obvious answer. Since you…erupted into my life, I’ve come to see many things differently. I need a change. This household needs a change. And Geoffrey requires a mother.”

  “He needs a parent. He has one in you.” Jean’s lips felt stiff, as if she’d been out in the cold for hours, though the weather was clement. She pulled her hand from his.

  “You could be another. Isn’t that what you wanted? You came here to take him from me.”

  “To his grandparents’ house.”

  Lord Furness smiled skeptically. “My uncle tells me the Phillipsons were never going to take charge of a little boy. He said Geoffrey’s care would have fallen on you.”

  Jean shift
ed uncomfortably. That plan had never been well thought out. She was glad to be able to abandon it.

  “As my wife, you can make sure he’s cared for as you think best.” He said it as if presenting an irresistible inducement.

  Jean felt as if a heavy weight had descended on her spirit. “I don’t intend to marry. Marriage is a wretched state.”

  “That was not my experience.”

  The picture of Alice loomed even larger in Jean’s mind. His great love; his lost ideal. Alice had taken everything. There was nothing left. “You were fortunate. My views are very different.” Jean gathered the long skirts of her riding habit and turned to go.

  “Geoffrey isn’t the only reason for my offer.”

  Something sadly like hope fluttered her pulse. Jean stood still. If he kissed her now, she might waver. Even give in. Which made her want to go and to stay in equal measure.

  “The Wandrells, the family we met on our ride today, will probably call here tomorrow,” he went on. “I can evade the visit. But that will just make them more likely to poke and pry and gossip about your presence here, unchaperoned.”

  Jean was glad she had her back to him, because humiliating tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them back. “So you think we must marry in order to satisfy the proprieties?” It was the very reason her parents had been forced into marriage—yoked together in misery for the rest of their lives. She would rather give up society and live as the Duke of Hamilton’s hermit than settle for such a thing, Jean thought fiercely.

  “We have rather crossed the line,” Lord Furness added. “More than once. But I didn’t want to frighten you with expressions of passion.”

  Jean turned to stare at him. “Frighten me?”

  “As I did the other night.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I wasn’t frightened of you. I’m not frightened of anything! I told you it had nothing to do with that.”

  “I wasn’t quite clear on what you were telling me.”

  “You might try listening instead of making pronouncements.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite—”

  “The point is, I’ve seen the wretched results of a forced marriage,” she interrupted. “And I’d rather beg in the street.” She turned away again. “I’ll leave for London as soon as I can arrange for a chaise.”

  “Miss Saunders, wait.”

  She didn’t.

  “Of course I also feel regard for you.”

  Jean stood rigid, her hand on the doorknob. Regard. Was there a more pallid word in the English language? She stalked out. She did not, of course, slam the door. Such pettiness was beneath her.

  Benjamin stood, stricken, under the portrait of his…first wife. He hadn’t thought of Alice in those terms before. Not until a young lady with stubborn curls and an indomitable spirit had shown him a new side of his son, and of himself. She couldn’t go. How could he keep her?

  With that thought came the realization of just how badly he’d botched his proposal. He’d rushed in on a surge of emotion, roused by the look she and Geoffrey had exchanged. He’d been wild to cherish and protect. But the words that came out of his mouth had suggested a cold bargain instead. He was an idiot!

  He sank down on the sofa and put his head in his hands.

  She’d kissed him with such innocent fire. It made him wild to remember those kisses. And if she’d pulled away with more than a maiden’s concern, well, Benjamin understood the weight of the past. Didn’t he? Not enough to make his case, it seemed.

  He sprang up, suddenly desperate. He needed time. He needed help.

  Twelve

  “I’d thought matters were all but settled,” said Benjamin’s uncle half an hour later, after Benjamin had poured out his troubles in one great rush. “This is unfortunate.”

  Benjamin gritted his teeth. He hadn’t felt so clumsy since he was fifteen.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Urge her to stay?” A spark of hope penetrated his general gloom. Miss Saunders seemed to like his uncle. Perhaps she’d listen to him.

  “And tell her you want her for your wife,” said his uncle.

  “I…believe I do.”

  “If you’re not certain, we should disband this house party at once.” Lord Macklin’s tone and expression were stern.

  And then he would never see Jean again, Benjamin thought. At least, he might encounter her in society, but nothing would be the same. “I do want her,” he said emphatically.

  “Then you will have to woo her.”

  His uncle spoke as if this made all clear, but it didn’t. Benjamin required specifics. He said as much.

  “You got a wife once before.”

  “I know, but that was…easy.”

  His uncle looked at him with raised brows.

  “Not the right word,” Benjamin went on. “Say rather that the process with Alice was obvious. We met at a ball during the season. We liked each other. After that, the steps were all set out before me. Ask her to dance more than once, call and take her driving, send bouquets. If one received encouragement—which I did from her and her mother—then make an offer.” He nodded. “Her mother left us in the drawing room together at a crucial moment. I didn’t realize till now, but I expect they arranged it between them. I spoke. Alice accepted. And that was that. I knew where I was all the time.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  “I’ve strayed off the map into uncharted territory,” said Benjamin. “No waltzes, no drives in the park.” He met the older man’s eyes. “Wooing. Is that what you did? Before you married?”

  His uncle looked thoughtful. “Well, my courtship was rather like yours with Alice. Only more so. Your aunt’s mother was a formidable woman.”

  “Miss Saunders has no mother to smooth the way,” Benjamin replied, and from what he’d heard about Mrs. Saunders, that was for the best.

  The two men looked at each other. “I don’t think bouquets will have much effect in this case,” Benjamin said. There were flowers from the gardens all over the house.

  “You must do things to please her,” Lord Macklin said.

  The pleasures that leaped to Benjamin’s mind were surely not what he meant.

  “Think of what she enjoys, or needs, and provide it.” His uncle brightened. “Like knights of old, performing tasks set by their ladies in order to win their favor.”

  Benjamin was surprised to discover a streak of fantasy in his uncle. And yet the idea had a curious appeal. “Tasks.”

  “Acts of chivalry. Think of Raleigh, spreading his cloak over a mud puddle to allow the queen to pass.”

  “I always found that tale doltishly theatrical,” replied Benjamin.

  “He sacrificed for her comfort.”

  “He made a load of work for his washerwomen, more like.”

  “You’re missing the spirit of this, Benjamin. The point is to put her before you or do something she would like.”

  “Yes, I know. But I’m rather short of dragons to slay.” A thought struck him. “Clayton mentioned something.”

  “Yes?” His uncle came alert. “I’ve always found Clayton’s views very helpful.”

  “Perhaps I’ll do it then,” Benjamin said. He’d suffer far more than a minor irritation for Jean. And that was the point, wasn’t it?

  His uncle waited. Benjamin let him. He didn’t intend to explain; the thing was foolish enough without talking it to death. After a short silence, the older man nodded. “Meanwhile, I’ll take steps to help Miss Saunders feel more comfortable at Furness Hall,” he said. “Do your servants tattle?”

  “What?”

  “Do they gossip in the neighborhood?”

  “No,” replied Benjamin, mystified. “The ones who were so inclined left over these last years while I was playing the hermit.”

  “Splendid.” His uncle rose. “May I b
orrow a carriage? I’ll be back in an hour or less.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To explore a possibility.”

  “What sort of possibility?”

  “Let’s see how I do before I explain.”

  Benjamin had to be content with this unsatisfying reply, because in the next moment his uncle was gone.

  • • •

  Jean took a gown from the wardrobe, folded it, and put it on her bed. She hadn’t summoned Sarah to pack for her because the physical movement was a relief after the scene she’d just endured. Also, Sarah would notice that she was ridiculously upset. So she hadn’t ordered her trunk to be brought either. Yet. “Regard,” Jean muttered, pulling out another dress. “‘Of course I feel regard for you.’ Really? As one does for a distant acquaintance? Or perhaps a doddering old retainer?”

  Tab, dozing on the window seat, raised his head from his paws and looked at her.

  “Even you expect something more than regard,” Jean said to him. “And you are a cat.”

  A knock on the door silenced her. Briefly. If Lord Furness had come to offer more insulting arguments and tepid sentiments, she’d be glad to give him a piece of her mind. She’d thought of several cutting remarks that she really ought to have delivered in the library. Jean flung the panels open.

  Geoffrey flinched on the threshold. He stood there all alone, small and a bit grubby. “Geoffrey,” said Jean, surprised. He’d never approached her so directly before.

  “I brought you this.” The boy held up a little figure made of twigs and an acorn and bits of moss. “I made it myself,” he added, then ducked his head. “Well, Tom helped me stick some of the bits together, but I thought of it. It’s a forest fairy, like in the storybooks.”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Jean, taking the gift carefully. The figure was sturdier than she’d expected.

  “You like books.”

  “I do.”

  Geoffrey nodded like a boy whose theories have been confirmed. He regarded his offering with similar satisfaction. “If you make things out of stuff you find, no one can say you can’t have them,” he added. “’Cause they’re yours.”