The Lonely Earl

by Vanessa Gray

  Julia was painfully demure in white with a sky-blue satin sash. “If Louisa wants to get the girl off,” muttered Egmont in his daughter’s ear, “why doesn’t she dress her right?”

  “I confess the thought occurred to me to lend her one of my own gowns,” confided Faustina. “But alas, I dared not!”

  Not until the rooms were filled to suffocation did Faustina have a chance to draw her breath. She was proved right — the earl had not come. Nor had Vincent, but at least he had sent word of pressing business elsewhere. She suspected the “pressing business” was simply an unwillingness to come under Lady Waverly’s eye again.

  Lady Waverly left the reception line for a moment, and Faustina was alone when the last guest arrived.

  “Good evening.” The voice was low, pleasant, and familiar.

  She caught her breath in surprised recognition.

  “I must apologize for being late,” said Hugh Crale, “but I confess I am out of the way of fashion, and it took me longer than I planned to tie my neck-cloth.”

  He smiled sweetly at her. Does he know that smile could turn one’s heart over? wondered Faustina, and blushed at her totally reprehensible thoughts. But if he knew, he did not presume on its effect. He turned to Lady Waverly, hastily returning, with suitable remarks, and left Faustina to puzzle over his behavior.

  If ever a man had swallowed yesterday’s anger, that man was Hugh. There was, she noticed as her eyes followed him, no trace that he had ever — just beyond that library door there — turned rigid with rage and devastated pride. Now he was smiling and gracious, and she found time to note that if she were meeting him for the first time, she would be put to it to control some very wayward thoughts.

  She watched, as in a trance, as Hugh renewed his acquaintance with her cousin Ned, was polite to the vicar, and greeted Aubrey Talbot with obvious pleasure. What a changeable man! she thought. Totally unreliable. She turned to speak to Julia.

  “See?” she said in an undertone. “Not a word about his daughter.”

  Reasonably, Julia responded, “Why should he mention her?”

  Sometime later, Faustina saw that Hugh was making the rounds, dancing, as befitted his exalted position, with each of the women present before he danced with any a second time. He had, of course, considered Lady Waverly his hostess, and had gallantly swung her first onto the floor. Far down the list for herself, Faustina guessed, or perhaps not at all. Morosely she moved through the crowd, fighting an obscure impulse to flee upstairs and give herself over to weeping.

  The next time she found Hugh in the press, although she would not admit she had been looking for him, he was dancing with Julia. Aunt Louisa had managed! Julia was looking up into Hugh’s face with every appearance of total engrossment. Hugh smiled down at her. Faustina thought: All Julia’s innocent charm, wasted on an odious, arrogant villain!

  How pleased Aunt Louisa must be, thought Faustina, but she found that Aunt Louisa was showing signs, familiar in the family but not otherwise visible, of testiness. A slight tightening of the creases at the comers of her eyes, a tiny muscle jerking at the jaw.

  “What is it, Aunt?”

  “The child doesn’t have to throw herself at him,” complained Lady Waverly. “She’ll ruin it all!”

  Faustina said nothing. If she could have allayed Aunt Louisa’s displeasure over her daughter’s behavior, she would have done so. But she too had noticed the absorption that Julia exhibited in every word that fell from Hugh’s lips. After some time she saw that Julia was now dancing with Aubrey Talbot, and unaccountably Faustina began to enjoy her evening.

  Helen Astley pulled at her wrist when she passed by. “Have you noticed,” Helen said in a waspish undertone, “that your cousin is dancing with Mr. Talbot?”

  “Of course,” Faustina answered evenly. “I even noticed that you were dancing with him. Does that signify something I don’t understand? If so, I must give myself the experience!”

  “Don’t be frivolous,” snapped Helen. “Your cousin shouldn’t be dancing at all. I know that she has not gone into society yet.”

  Faustina surveyed her old acquaintance without favor. “And what difference does it make?” she asked gently. “If my aunt deems Julia’s behavior appropriate, under our roof…” She left the implied rebuke hanging.

  “The earl surely must see that Julia is throwing herself at him,” complained Helen, pursing her thin lips.

  “When she dances with Mr. Talbot?” marveled Faustina, pretending she herself had not seen Julia’s absorbed attention to Hugh only moments before. “I confess I do not have your power of insight into the significance you read into it. Pray enlighten me!”

  Helen realized that Faustina was rallying her, but, possessed of no sense of humor herself, chose not to venture into regions where she knew Faustina was superior. Instead, she sniffed. “Mr. Talbot is the earl’s great friend, you know,” she said mysteriously, “and of course you can see now what Julia’s plan is.”

  Faustina said repressively, “I confess it still escapes me.” She turned away. If she had her own way, she would never see Helen Astley again. But of course in a small society such as this, it was inevitable that their social lives would cross more often than not. She allowed herself to speculate on the possibility of the earl’s moving Astley to another living. Far away. Northumberland, perhaps?

  By the time she had let her fancy run, she began to feel in better humor. Catching Ned, she whispered, “Poor Helen! She feels so out of it.”

  Bluffly Ned replied, “And well she should. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  It was hard going, Ned thought. He had long ago conceived a strong distaste for talkative women, having had his fill at home, and Helen, delighted by attention, fulfilled all his fears. Not until he had turned her over to another young man, and himself escaped with a murmured excuse that he must dance with others, did he make his bow to Mary Bidwell.

  To his satisfaction, Mary Bidwell’s dark eyes widened with pleasure and she stepped out lightly on the floor. To his surprise, she danced well, fitting her steps easily to his, and dancing with inborn grace.

  And in almost total silence.

  Faustina noticed from the door that Mary was really quite pretty, with that shine of enjoyment lighting up her eyes, and seeing Ned’s faint smile, she turned away thoughtfully.

  Faustina was not the only one to catch sight of Mary’s pleasure. When the dance was over, Helen called sharply to Mary as she went past on Ned’s arm.

  “Mary, it’s getting chilly in here. I suppose you didn’t notice. I wonder if you will fetch my shawl for me. You know the one I wore tonight, the pale yellow silk.”

  As though blown out like a candle, Mary’s glow vanished. But nonetheless she said pleasantly enough, “Of course, Helen. I didn’t feel the chill myself. I’ll get it at once.”

  Ned, to his amazement, was conscious that he was angry. Not simply in a pet, or irritated, but caught in the grip of a vast sweeping anger that shook him.

  It was significant, he knew. But, equally, he could not pursue his newfound interest. He had a mission here, and it must come first. He had shared his purpose with no one, not even Lord Egmont, but he was carrying a heavy burden, not his own. He could not allow himself to be diverted from that goal. Not yet.

  There was a certain amount of clandestine business on foot in Devon. And it was equally sure that a widespread organization conducted this activity. Certain hints had come Ned’s way in the line of his position, and since he was more familiar with Devon than most in his department, and since it was his own ultimate responsibility to curb such nefarious transactions, he had chosen to come down to Trevan himself.

  Such a widespread network, he thought now, must be known to and probably connived at by a man, or men, of authority and position in the county. And therefore, such a man might well be among his uncle’s guests this night.

  Ned found a position in the doorway of the great drawing room of Kennett Chase. From here he could see all th
e dancing guests, and, if he turned slightly, he could see the overflow who had sought the cool of the terrace, where waiters were carrying trays of drinks.

  He noticed that Lord Egmont’s thoughtful gaze was full upon him, and, unobtrusively, he inched over to speak to his uncle.

  “Something on your mind, Ned?” Egmont queried. “You can’t hoax me that you’re down here on a friendly visit to your relation.”

  “No, sir, I’m not. And you know what a surprise it was when I saw my mother here.” He became silent for a moment, then added, “Not a pleasant surprise, either, sir.”

  “No,” agreed Egmont cordially. “I quite agree. Do you know what she is after?”

  Ned seemed surprised. “To get out of town after that Abernethy episode, I suppose.”

  “Then she could have gone to Beaufort,” argued Egmont reasonably. “It’s my thought she’s angling after the earl.”

  “Pendarvis?” Sheer astonishment swept over Ned’s face. “He’s fifteen years younger!”

  “You think that matters to your mother?”

  “No,” chuckled Ned. “But it might matter to Pendarvis!”

  Egmont regarded him thoughtfully. “Your mother says, of course, that she wishes Julia to encourage him.”

  Ned was startled. “Good God, that child? It’s monstrous! I won’t permit it!” He fumed for some time. “No, sir” — he shook his head in denial — “I can’t see it. It won’t wash. Anyway, anybody can see where Pendarvis’ interest lies. And it’s not with my sister, sir.”

  Together the two men turned to look into the drawing room, where Hugh was dancing again, this time with Helen Astley. The vicar stood at one side of the room, an expression of ineffable satisfaction clear on his face. And Helen herself, since she was not sulking, was quite pretty, animated, and talking.

  “You can’t mean Helen?” Egmont’s outrage caused his voice to quiver. “I’ll go to India if Astley comes to lord it over me as the earl’s father-in-law!”

  Amused, Ned protested, “I quite agree, sir. But I think you know well where his interest could be fixed. He did not look quite so bored as now when he spoke with my cousin!”

  The two men, so unlike in appearance, yet startlingly similar in their thoughts, looked at each other in complete understanding.

  Ned and his uncle were not the only ones who noticed the vicar’s beaming countenance. Hugh, from the corner of his eye, caught sight of him, and with a jolt realized that he was behaving quite badly. If from any word or deed of his, Helen Astley thought he was attracted to her, there would be a good deal of trouble when she learned that his interest in her was merely civil and almost negligible.

  At the first possible moment, Hugh excused himself, leading Helen back to her chair and murmuring, “I must go to dance with my hostess, or she will forbid me the door again!”

  “Oh, Faustina’s not like that,” exclaimed Helen seriously. “She is not petty.”

  Hugh merely bowed, and left swiftly in search of Faustina. When he led her onto the floor, he noticed that her color was unusually high. With a devilish grin he said, “Perhaps you are too warm? Shall we move onto the terrace, where you may become restored?”

  Her glance was blazing. “Thank you, sir,” she said with exaggerated civility, “for your consideration. But I believe I would rather dance.”

  “Than bring yourself to reliance upon my untender hands,” supplied the earl. “I believe you are wise not to trust yourself in the obscurity of the lawn, especially with an odious villain.”

  She could not answer him — at least, not in public. Her mind seethed with excoriating remarks that would put him in his place, but she could not voice one.

  “I suppose I should say now how attractive you are when you are angry,” he said after some moments. “Unfortunately, I am not in a position to compare your beauty when angry with your beauty under more serene influences.”

  With determination Faustina said firmly, “I think the music is quite good. A trio from Exeter.”

  “Imported at vast expense,” Hugh added solemnly. “See, now, you’re angry again, and all I wanted to do was to make conventional chitchat with my hostess. I am sadly out of practice, Miss Kennett.”

  “I noticed,” she said crisply.

  They danced through another figure before he spoke again. “I must apologize for my temper. A devilish failing, and one I must strive to overcome.”

  “I too,” she admitted. “I can’t remember when I have been so angry.”

  “You know, I do remember you. From when I was at home. Some small animal — a bird?”

  “A lark,” she told him. “Caught in a string. You got him loose.” Her voice was carefully unemotional.

  “Yes. What a plain child you were,” he mused, “all red hair and eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took up the conversation again. “Someone wrote to me in Paris… mentioned your name. Didn’t they say you were about to marry? I can’t remember the name, but I think some marquess.” He glanced swiftly at her. “But obviously you didn’t.”

  She had regained control of her thoughts to a degree. All red hair? That forgotten marquess had, poetically, likened her locks to amber. She turned a cool glance on the earl. “Obviously, I didn’t,” she agreed.

  Eventually, just as she thought the evening would go on forever, the simple country ball was over. Too weary to speak, the inhabitants of the house trudged upstairs, and to bed.

  Even after Faustina had gone to bed, she could not sleep. The earl took up far too much of her thoughts, she realized. Between the earl and her aunt, sleep was impossible. She really did not know how to go on …

  While these thoughts agitated Faustina, Hugh’s mind was also churning, in a far happier fashion. He mounted his horse and trotted down the long carriage drive from the Chase. Most of the carriages had long ago crunched their way down the gravel and onto the road to Trevan. The moon was high, and the white stone drive was clear in the moonlight.

  Hugh was well satisfied with the results of the evening. He had, in the last two days, come to the conclusion that Miss Faustina Kennett had become very high in the instep and needed a good set-down. And since her father was too indulgent, and even her cousin Ned, although a sound fellow, was overly tolerant, it devolved upon him, Hugh, to apply the proper discipline to the lively heiress.

  It did not occur to him to wonder why he should take it upon himself to be responsible for modifying the behavior of Faustina Kennett. It was sufficient for him to know that he owed her a score or two — for some of the things she had told him to his face, and for some, even worse, that he had overheard beneath her window.

  He was an odious monster that no one in her right mind should marry — was he? He’d see that she changed her mind on that subject, and then she would find she had changed it just too late!

  So, musing on the anticipated pleasures of revenge, Hugh traversed the carriage drive of Kennett Chase and crossed the road into Crale property. It had been his habit, when a boy, to take a shortcut from the road to the stables, and it seemed natural now.

  The great gates of Crale Hall lay far down the road, but Crale land stretched for miles along the south side of the road, opposite the Kennett Chase property. He guided his horse into a small gap in the hedge that set him upon the well-remembered shortcut. The path led through dense shrubbery until it debouched onto a farm lane that ran along broad fields and approached the stables from the rear.

  The shrubbery shut out the rays of the overhead moon, and Hugh slowed Revanche to let the horse pick his way in the darkness.

  His thoughts dwelt on Faustina — a very pretty girl, one that, he thought reluctantly, had many of the virtues that he had learned, through their opposites, to prize in a woman. But she had an arrogant way about her, and he would see to that.

  He did not look beyond the moment when her great pride would be humbled, when she would see in him, if not the hero of dreams, at least a man she longed to marry. He refused to co
nsider what the effects of his plan might be on the lovely Faustina. He had the queerest notion — it came to him fleetingly — that the effect rebounding on himself might be disastrous. Nonsense! he said to himself. Too much brandy!

  He was almost through the darkest part of the shrubbery when Revanche jibbed, dancing sideways.

  Hugh leaned forward impulsively to pat the neck of his horse in encouragement. Murmuring a word in the horse’s ear, he was about to straighten when it happened.

  A gun went off, very near. He heard the bullet whistle behind his head. Then there was another shot.

  His first thought was: Poacher. But the shot was too damnably close. He heard the bullet’s impact, and Revanche reared, neighing in pain.

  Hugh slid to the ground and applied himself to calming the plunging horse. It took a few moments. It was useless, of course, to search for a man with a gun, in the dark, and alone.

  He explored with his fingers until he located the hole where the bullet had penetrated the neck. It was not bleeding much. He decided the wound was not dangerous.

  But he led the horse the rest of the long way to the stable. The back of his neck prickled. Who was to say whether a man, having shot twice, might not shoot again?

  A poacher? No. A poacher would make sure that one shot would do the trick. Besides, Hugh remembered that first shot, whistling past his ears. Just about the place, he judged, where his head would have been had he not bent forward to steady his shying horse.

  Revanche’s keen senses had detected someone in the shrubbery, and he had shied, thus saving Hugh’s life.

  By the time Hugh reached the stable, he was positive of one thing. Someone knew he would be returning to his house by way of the shortcut.

  And that someone had tried to kill him.

  Chapter 10

  Hugh halted, oddly reluctant to enter the lighted area surrounding the stables, where a lantern hung in the doorway to light him home if the capricious moon failed.