The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  He smiled and stroked her cheek. "Of course you are. Or you will be. But this . . ." He shook his head. "Let me talk to my mother alone."

  She saw desperation in his eyes, and also fear. He tried to mask it, but she had spent much of her childhood with him. She had watched and learned his moods since the countess first began grooming Evelyn to be a tided lady. "I know your mother. I have likely spent more time with her in the last few years than you have. I can read her moods better than you."

  "True enough," he said, but she could see he wasn't swayed. "But this is something between mother and son, Evelyn. Please, I ask that you respect that."

  She didn't want to listen. He was hiding something from her, and she hated it. If they were ever to have a happy mar­riage, he could not—

  "I haven't spoken to you yet about this afternoon's activi­ties," he said.

  She lifted her head, her spirit abruptly singing. Was she about to learn what had happened in the carriage this afternoon—what had changed between Jie Ke and Christo­pher?

  "I understand now how important it must have been for you to go to the fight. I don't agree with it, but I should have realized how desperately you wanted to be there."

  As quickly as her spirit has rose, it now plummeted into her toes. "I did nothing wrong, Christopher."

  "You were reckless and stupid."

  She winced at the one word guaranteed to set her teeth on edge. "I am not stupid, Christopher. I—"

  "But," he continued, "you only acted in such a manner be­cause I forbade it. I should not have done that."

  She didn't know how to respond. Did she agree that he shouldn't have forbidden her to go? Or did she feel outrage because he clearly thought he had the right to determine her actions? And while she was deciding how to respond, he swept the opportunity away.

  "You proved to me that you are a strong woman, Evie. That you will go your own way, despite my say-so."

  She smiled. He did understand! "So let me go with you. Let me—"

  "You will find that I am much more understanding in the future," he said.

  She grimaced. "The future" she echoed. "That means you will try to stop me now?"

  He nodded. "Yes, Evie, and I cannot simply order you away from my mother's chamber. You have already proven how in­effective my decrees can be."

  She winced. He sounded like a disappointed tutor. "Christo­pher'—"

  "Instead, I am begging you, Evie. Let me do this alone. Respect my relationship with my mother. There are things that should remain between a mother and her son."

  When he put it like that, how could she refuse? How could she deny him the very independence that she herself craved? She was still deciding how to respond when he kissed her again, this time on her cheek.

  "I knew you were a good girl. Never fear, it will all be over soon enough." And with that, he turned around and walked quickly from the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Evelyn meant to demand answers. If not from Christopher, then from Jie Ke. Or Zhi Min, since Jie Ke was probably sleeping. Or, hell, from Marcus. Somebody! But she'd barely put a foot on the lowest stair when her mother found her. Something Lord Greenfield had mentioned before he left was bothering her, something about the character of a woman who allowed bizarre monks to reside in her home. It was ridiculous, of course, but Mama was anxious about it. And then there was the question of dinner with an extra person at table. Mr. Osborne put their number at nine, and that was rather awkward. Should they invite an extra woman? If so, who? Or should they ask Maddie not to attend? But that would destroy the male/female ratio. The questions were end­less, the distractions becoming more annoying by the second. Meanwhile, time began to slip away.

  An hour later, Christopher still had not come down from his mother's room. Then his mother had sent word that she would not attend dinner. And Christopher, apparently, had left, because his horse was no longer in the stable. Evelyn didn't bother to suppress her huff of annoyance at that news. Finally, she'd had to endure an excruciating meal filled with inanities of conversation followed by yet more time spent on the most ridiculous matters.

  After dinner, Evelyn was with the ladies in the parlor before the men joined them. She abruptly stood up. "Please excuse me," she said in a not-so-proper voice. "I've had quite a tiring day." Then she suffered through at least ten minutes of sympa­thetic good nights before she finally escaped the parlor.

  Upstairs, she hesitated, staring down the hallway to Jie Ke's room. Much to her surprise, the door opened and his servant stepped out. She'd never gotten the poor boy's name. Apparently, he kept to himself and never spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.

  She crossed to him. "Is everything all right? I mean, are your masters well?"

  The boy looked up at her, his eyes very wide, his mouth very feminine. And for a moment Evelyn could only stare at the very alien-looking almond eyes and the sweet upsweep of the boy's cheeks. This boy who was . . .

  "My God," she whispered, stunned that she hadn't noticed before what was so obvious. "You're a girl."

  The servant blinked, then dipped her head in a respectful bow.

  "But. . ." Evelyn began, only to let the word fade away. As soon as she had the questions, the answers came to her with­out thought. Why did a girl travel dressed as a boy? Safety, most likely, and freedom of movement. A host of advantages leapt into Evelyn's mind. What wonderful things this girl must have seen! Posing as a male servant, she must have been able to go everywhere!

  "Apprentice monk Jie Ke sleeps," the girl said softly. "Monk Zhi Min walks outdoors. I seek dinner."

  "I will send a tray up for you, if you like."

  The girl smiled and bowed. Evelyn assumed that meant yes.

  "And Jie Ke—how are his injuries?"

  "His body heals. His mind, though, is troubled. His return to England is not at all what he expected or wanted."

  Evelyn took a step forward. "But what did he want? What did he expect?"

  The girl shook her head, then leaned forward to speak in a low whisper. "Men are foolish. He thought he could come back to England and not remember. Naturally, every night it grows harder." The girl raised her hands in disgust. "How can he return to his home and not remember it? Foolishness."

  Evelyn would have asked more, but someone was coming up the stairs. The girl glanced nervously around Evelyn's shoulder then bowed. "I must return to the room, mistress."

  "Yes, of course." Evelyn glanced back toward the stairs. "I'll send that tray up, but could you tell me . . ." She turned back. The girl was already gone, the door to Jie Ke's room slipping shut.

  Evelyn sighed. She could pursue the girl, but why? The things she wanted to know weren't available to anyone but Jie Ke himself. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And most especially, what he really wanted.

  She sent a servant for the tray and then returned to her room, intending to undress for bed. Instead, she grabbed her sturdiest men's attire. She had just buttoned on her pants and was raising her leg to adjust the cuffs when it struck her: She'd always thought that being a countess was a good thing. After all, everyone envied her future tide. Throughout her Season, all the other girls had been scheming and praying and hoping for a tide like "Countess" or "Viscountess," or even "Baroness." She'd been assured one.

  And yet every moment of every day had been flogged and bound by those two words: future countess. Her every action, movement, and thought had been defined by her future tide. When had she ceased being Evelyn and become a future countess? Very young, she wagered. Very, very young indeed.

  With sudden resolve, she pulled out her men's shirt. She was not a future countess tonight. For the moment, she was simply Evelyn, and she would wear what she pleased. Maddie did it all the time and no one ever thought anything of it. Of course, Maddie wasn't going to be a future coun—

  Evelyn cut off the thought. Those two words were hereby banned for the night. She would have to watch her thoughts very carefully
, but she could do it, for once. She could, and she would.

  With that vow firmly in mind, she donned a jacket and boots that would be well suited for her purposes this night. Moments later she slipped outside. She meant to wander. She meant to go to her places to think—but that was what the fu­ture countess would do. Tonight, where would Evelyn go?

  She found herself at the most unusual place ever, a location she had never before visited. She'd thought that in her time as lady of the manor she had visited every hut, every home, and every building in her little county. But here was one that she had never seen: Gladys's little cottage.

  She'd known where the kitchen servant lived, of course. But Gladys spoke to her daily at the manor. All her information about the village and its people was delivered at the manor. And since the woman never got sick, Evelyn had never had cause to come here until now. Now, when she had no legiti­mate reason at all to be here.

  Thankfully, there was a light burning inside. Without more than an internal nudge, she knocked and, within moments, the door was pulled wide.

  "Miss Stanton! Why, miss, whatever has happened?"

  "Nothing, Gladys. Nothing at all. I merely . . ."

  "Wished a bite to eat outside of all that mess, eh?"

  Evelyn blinked. Perhaps Gladys knew as much about her mistress as she did about the rest of the village.

  "Well, come in! Come in! Ain't as fancy as you're used to, but I know you've seen worse." She stepped back, and Evelyn was ushered into a small cottage with a cheery fire and a large dinner table. A very large table. It was plain, scarred wood, and it dwarfed the main room.

  "I was just about to make some stew. The babe's been fuss­ing for his mama, but I got him settled right and tight there."

  Evelyn turned and was startled to see a hole cradle tucked between a rocking chair and the fire. "Whose babe?" she asked as she walked close.

  "Stu and Martha's. Colicky and the like. I thought I'd take the child for a bit. Let Martha get some sleep until she's feel­ing better. Course, Martha won't eat the stew, not with her stomach feeling twitchy." Gladys grinned at the sleeping in­fant. "Like mama, like baby, eh, little one?" She walked back into her kitchen. "But Stu loves my stew. Oh! Funny that. Stu likes stew!" She grinned. "Any road, Stu will eat it and be right grateful. 'Sides, then he'll fix my back window shutter. Won't latch properly, and I never did have a good hand at that."

  Evelyn let the words flow over her as she knelt by the baby. She wanted to touch the boy, but didn't dare wake him. She had heard tales of colicky babies and what a blessing it was to get them finally to sleep. But children were all so beautiful when they slept. She wondered if she would ever set hers down once she had a child. Or if she would spend her days simply staring at it in her arms until it was old enough to de­mand to be let loose into the world.

  "Swing the pot over the fire, will you please, miss?"

  She did as she was bidden, then she turned to face her ser­vant. "Gladys, will you call me Evie, please? I think a middle of the night visit calls for that, don't you?" It took an act of will to say those words. The separation between a future countess and her servants was well ingrained. But she made the decision and it felt good.

  Gladys wasn't so sure. She pursed her lips and folded her arms. "Ain't right, you know, miss. Me acting so familiar and all."

  "Ain't right, you know, Gladys, for you to be cooking for another woman's husband, but you're doing it."

  The woman's eyes flew open wide. "But that ain't the way of it at all! I'm just helpin' is all."

  Evelyn didn't answer. She simply did as she had seen others do when visiting: she crossed to the kitchen and pulled down the tea tin plus teapot and cups. Whenever she had visited a crofter before, she had been served such things. Other women were allowed to assist in the cooking, but not a future count­ess. But this time she was just plain Evie. And so she pulled down the tea tin.

  "Miss, now don't be doing—"

  "Shhh!" she interrupted. "You'll wake the babe."

  Again the woman just stood and stared, her lips pursed, her hands on her hips. "You're right twitchy tonight, miss. Them lot have twisted your mind all up and around."

  Evelyn smiled. "Maybe. Maybe not." Then, before the woman could do more but harrumph, Evie distracted her with a question. "Gladys, is that your cradle? It's lovely!"

  "Ah, well, it was the cradle I was reared in, that is. And a right many babes have slept there since." She glanced side­ways, answering the unspoken question. "But not my own. No, miss, I ain't never had my own."

  She took the tea tin from Evelyn's hand, measured out a goodly portion of leaves into the pot, then took it to the ket-de over the fire. It was only then that Evelyn noticed there was no stove in this quaint cottage.

  "I should see about getting you a stove, Gladys. It would be much easier—"

  "Don't you fret about that, Evie," the woman snapped. "This is how my mama cooked, and it's right tight fer me. If I want stove cooking, I'll come to your house. In my home, this is how it's done."

  Evelyn's smile grew wider. She had managed to break through the social barrier enough to be scolded. And called Evie! "Of course, you're quite right." Her smile faded as she looked about the cozy little house. There was a corner for children overflowing with toys piled rather haphazardly into a crate. The huge table, of course, was the center for eating and talking, but another nook remained by the fire with the rocking chair and cradle. All in all, it was a welcoming house, quite serviceable for one or for a dozen.

  "You're right about a lot of things, Gladys," she com­mented softly as she dropped herself onto the bench by the table. "You're right about who is sick and who needs a bas­ket. About who hurt himself in a tumble, and who fixes shut­ters the best."

  "What else is there for an old maid to do but mind the whole village?" Gladys answered easily. She set the tea to steeping before standing awkwardly by the table, her gaze sliding back to the pile of vegetables she'd been chopping.

  "Oh, please," Evelyn said, "you must go back to fixin the stew. Stu must have it, you know, or your shutter won't latch ever again!"

  "I don't know 'bout that, miss," the woman said as she crossed back to her pile of vegetables. "There's a few others I could ask."

  Evie nodded, her thoughts twisting her world upside down again. "Of course there are," she murmured. "You know, I have always been taught that / make sure all the people on my land are cared for. That is the burden of being a fut—" She didn't want to say the two awful words tonight. "A landowner. But the truth is that I don't know anything of what goes on in the village."

  "That's not true, miss! You've cared for us right well."

  "No, Gladys," she replied softly. "You have. I mean, I only know that Stu hurt himself because you told me. If a woman goes into labor or a babe goes colicky, someone tells me."

  "And how would you know elsewise? You, a fine lady in your house. You have no cause to be living down here with the likes of us."

  "But that's just the point," Evelyn responded, struggling with her thoughts. "I have merely provided the food baskets you ask for or the money for a surgeon. You are the one who knows what needs to be. I listen to you."

  "Now don't be silly—"

  "Do not be to me," Evelyn interrupted. "Please, I want to hear the truth."

  Once again the woman pursed her lips in thought, though her hands continued to work without pause. She cut up the vegetables and threw them into the pot, and when she turned to Evelyn her gaze was unerringly direct.

  "All right, Evie, if you want the truth tonight, I shall tell ir. You are an important piece of this village, and no mis­take. Money ain't so small a thing, and many's the lady who wouldn't think to give at all, much less as much as you and your mama do."

  Evelyn nodded. She knew all this, but what she hadn't re­alized was that it was Gladys who managed it all, who was the true force behind keeping everything running. "I've come to believe that even if I were a pinchpenny London shrew, you would
still find a way to get a basket for Nan and stew for Stu."

  "Miss—" Gladys began, but Evelyn waved her to silence.

  "Teach me, Gladys."

  "Miss?"

  Evelyn pushed up from her chair and came to the woman's side. "I have stove-cooked before. All our cooks have taught me something, ever since I was a child." She tossed a broken carrot piece into the pot. "But I have never learned this type of cooking."

  "Ain't no reason to," Gladys said.

  "Yes, actually, there is," Evelyn returned. A mad idea had begun to form in her mind.

  Gladys frowned a moment, staring at her oddly, but in the end she shrugged. "There ain't no magic in it," she said. "Just a few special secrets I learned from my mama."

  Evelyn grinned. "I would be honored to learn them."

  Gladys nodded. "But you must swear not to tell Jilly. She's been trying ever so long to learn."

  "I swear!" Evie replied, her hand in the air. And they spent the next hour or so working side by side.

  Evelyn learned a great deal more than she'd ever imagined, and not just about cooking. It was well past midnight—long after the baby had awaked, then was rocked back to sleep— when they finally sat down to a fresh pot of tea. And in that moment, she finally asked what she already knew to be true.

  "Gladys, if I were to disappear, if I set Mama or Maddie to my duties at the manor . . ."

  "Hmmm?" Gladys said as she gently tucked the babe back into the cradle.

  "Would there be any change at all in the village?"

  "There's always change, miss."

  Evelyn nodded. "Yes, yes, of course there is. But would anything important change?"

  Gladys answered with a shrug. Fortunately, after hours of learning from the woman tonight, Evelyn understood the gesture.

  "That's what I thought," she finally said. And she didn't know whether to be happy or sad about it. She had a place here and responsibilities, but she was much less important than she had once wanted to 'believe. If she left it all to Maddie to­morrow, there would be little difference in the short term.