by Connie Mason
Reed spent the rest of the day in idleness, much of it contemplating Fleur and wondering if they would ever meet again. An hour did not go by without his thinking about her.
Reed’s new clothes arrived early the following morning, just as promised. He donned them, pleased with the fit, and left the inn on Ebony’s back after a satisfying breakfast. Reed smiled to himself. If he kept on eating like this, his new riding costume wouldn’t fit much longer.
Three days later, Reed reached Hunthurst Park in Kent. He rode around to the stables at the rear of the house and turned Ebony over to a stableman he didn’t recognize.
“What happened to Dobson?” Reed asked.
“He was let go after the earl’s death, sir,” the man answered. “For some reason Lady Helen and the new earl didn’t like him.”
Lady Helen, Jason’s wife. Who in bloody hell was calling himself the new earl? Something strange was going on here, but Reed kept his questions to himself. “Who are you?”
“Potter, sir,” the man said, touching his forelock. “Are you visiting the Park?”
“I am Reed Harwood, the new Earl of Hunthurst, the deceased earl’s brother.”
Potter turned white. “Lud, you’re dead!”
“As you can see, I’m very much alive, Potter. Is Lady Helen in residence?”
“Aye, my lord. My lady and her sister, Lady Dewbury, live here when they’re not in London. The new earl is also in residence.”
“I am the new earl,” Reed said between clenched teeth.
“But . . . but they told us you were dead.”
“I beg to differ, Potter. I am not a ghost.”
Reed turned abruptly and strode off. Who was this imposter posing as the new earl? The only male relative who could claim the earldom if he, himself, were dead was his distant French cousin, and as far as Reed knew, Gallard Duvall was in France.
Reed walked around to the front entrance and used the brass knocker to announce his arrival. Though the house was now his, he felt uncomfortable barging in. A butler Reed didn’t recognize answered the door. Reed stepped past him into the elegant entry hall.
“How many I help you, sir?” the butler asked.
“Who are you?”
Apparently taken aback by Reed’s rude question, he stiffened and said, “Lawson, sir. May I ask who is calling?”
Footsteps sounded on the marble staircase. Reed looked up and saw Helen descending. She reached the bottom landing and strode toward the door.
“Do we have visitors, Lawson?”
“Yes, my lady, but he has yet to give his name.”
“Kindly tell Lawson who I am, Helen.”
Helen’s hand went to her throat the moment she recognized Reed. She turned white and promptly swooned. Reed caught her before she hit the marble floor; then he carried her into the drawing room. Carefully he placed her on a sofa and ordered a stunned Lawson to send for her maid. He scurried from the room as if the devil were at his heels.
Moments later a maid bustled into the parlor with a bottle of smelling salts. Reed grabbed it and waved it before Helen’s nose. Helen gasped and nearly swooned again when she saw Reed standing before her. He thrust the bottle under her nose once more. Helen choked and waved it away.
“You are alive,” she said, struggling to sit up. Her wide-eyed gaze slid over him. “You’re pale and far too thin. What has happened to you?”
“Let’s say I was unavoidably detained in a place where the food was abominable and the sun nonexistent. Tell me, who in blazes is posing as the Earl of Hunthurst?”
“Your cousin, Gallard Duvall. He arrived in England shortly after you were reported missing. Jason was still alive then. Jason, Grandmamma and I all knew you were involved in some kind of secret government work and when you disappeared we feared the worst. It was about then that dear Gallard arrived at Hunthurst Park seeking refuge from the turmoil in France.”
“Duvall is a distant cousin,” Reed ground out. “How did Jason die? I knew his health wasn’t the best—he had never been strong—but wasn’t his death rather sudden?”
Helen sighed. “The doctor said his heart gave out. He just seemed to grow weaker and weaker and then one day he awoke practically at death’s door. He tried to tell me something before he drew his last breath, but it didn’t make sense.”
Reed grew still. “What did he say?”
“He gasped out but a few disjointed words before he . . . he died. He said, ‘Tell Reed to look for . . . ’ ” her words faltered, “ ‘the truth.’ And then he said—” she wiped away a tear—“ ‘Nothing is as it seems.’ ”
“Is that all?”
Helen nodded. “What do you think it means?”
“I wish I knew. But if there is a truth to be found, you can be sure I’ll find it. What did Grandmamma think of Duvall’s showing up when he did?”
“She thought it a fortunate coincidence. How could he have known Jason was dying or that you would be reported missing? As it turned out, he’s been a big help. You were gone so long, we all assumed you were never coming back. Gallard took over the reins of the earldom even though he hadn’t been declared the rightful heir. The Crown is still investigating your disappearance. . . .” She let the sentence dangle. “Nevertheless, Gallard saw that the staff was lax and sacked most of them. I could not have done it myself.”
“So you all gave up on me.”
“What were we to think? It had been a year. Jason was gone, and Gallard was here to step in when I needed him. We all assumed he would be named heir to Jason’s title.”
“Even Grandmamma?”
“Well, no, not Grandmamma. She never lost faith that you would return. She sought every channel available to her to learn what had happened to you. I fear she was quite relentless in her pursuit of the truth.”
“Thank God for Grandmamma. Her persistence is the reason I am here today.”
“We are all grateful,” Helen murmured.
Reed’s words held a hint of mockery. “So where can I find this paragon who stepped in as earl when he was needed?”
“He’s out riding the estate with Violet. She’s been living here with me since Jason passed. They should return soon.”
“I’m going up to my bedchamber. Have one of the footmen inform me when Duvall returns, and ask Duvall to await me in the study.”
A pained expression crossed Helen’s face. “Well . . . um . . . your chamber . . . ”
Reed held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me. Duvall has taken over my bedchamber.”
“Well, he couldn’t very well use the master suite with the connecting door. And your chamber was the second best.”
“Have his things moved into another chamber,” Reed ordered. “You may keep the master suite; I am quite satisfied with my former bedchamber. Besides, I’ll be leaving for London very soon. The details of succession will have to be finalized and visits made to Jason’s solicitor and bankers.”
Reed took his leave. He had much to think about before he left for London: Jason’s death and final words, the abrupt arrival of a distant cousin who had claimed the title, and the traitor who’d betrayed him. Somehow he had to fit the pieces together and solve the puzzle.
Reed walked through the hallway to the kitchen, expecting to find Mrs. Walters, the kindly rotund woman he remembered from his youth. Instead he found a thin, stern-faced man waving a wooden spoon and shouting commands at a trio of terrified young kitchen maids.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?” the man inquired in a French accent.
“More to the point, who are you?” Reed replied, refusing to be intimidated. He was beginning to see a pattern here. Duvall had sacked all his loyal retainers.
Giving Reed an indignant glare, the cook said, “I am Jules, not that it is any of your concern.”
“It is very much my concern. I am the Earl of Hunthurst. The manor and everything in it is within my jurisdiction.”
Jules nearly spat the words. “You are not the ea
rl, monsieur. The Earl of Hunthurst is a Frenchman.”
“Is he now?” Reed said laconically. “What happened to Mrs. Walters?”
Jules shrugged. “I do not know.”
Reed turned to the cowering kitchen maids. “Do any of you know what has happened to Mrs. Walters?”
Silence.
“Do not be afraid to speak. Jules no longer has any authority in the kitchen. I’m sacking him as of today.”
“You cannot do that!” Jules sputtered. “No one but the earl can sack me.”
“I am Reed Harwood, the new earl; I can do whatever I please in my own home. Gather your things and get out of here.”
“But . . . but . . . you are dead. Lord Hunthurst . . . ”
“Mr. Duvall.”
“Mr. D-D-Duvall,” Jules repeated, stumbling over the name, “assured me you were dead.”
“As you can see, I am very much alive.”
Jules backed away and fled out the door. Reed turned back to the kitchen maids. “Now, who can tell me where I can find Mrs. Walters?”
“Mrs. Walters lives with her daughter in the village,” offered one of the maids, who looked no older than fourteen or fifteen.
“What is your name?”
“Polly, my lord. Are you really the earl?”
“Indeed I am.”
Polly smiled. “I’m ever so glad.”
Reed smiled back. “Can you go fetch Mrs. Walters for me, Polly? Tell her Lord Reed wishes her to resume her position at the manor.”
The girl scurried out the back door. Reed turned to the remaining two girls. “You two can continue what you were doing until Mrs. Walters arrives.”
Reed was so confident that Mrs. Walters would return that he left the kitchen and made his way to the study. As he neared the front hall, he heard voices and headed in that direction. Three people, two men and a woman, were standing in the hall. He recognized Violet, Helen’s sister, and Jules, and assumed the third person was Gallard Duvall, the upstart who had stepped into the role of earl.
Reed stopped in the doorway to listen to the conversation, which was held entirely in French.
“Who was that man who came to my kitchen and sacked me?” Jules loudly complained. “You are the earl, are you not?”
“The earldom is mine, I assure you,” Duvall said, trying to calm the agitated cook. “Who told you otherwise? Who sacked you without my permission?”
Reed studied Duvall, noting the stylish cut of his clothing, his dapper mustache and unremarkable physique. Tall and thin, the man did not resemble the Hunthurst males, although they were distantly related.
Reed walked into the hall. “I sacked Jules. The man offends me. I’m reinstating Mrs. Walters as cook.”
Violet recognized Reed immediately. Unlike Helen, who’d fainted dead away, Violet squealed and threw herself at Reed.
“Reed, you’re alive! Thank God! Your grandmother will be so pleased.”
Duvall’s mouth fell open, his face turned pale and he staggered backward. He repeatedly cleared his throat, as if something nasty had stuck in it. Reed turned his glittering silver gaze on the self-proclaimed earl.
“You must be Gallard Duvall.”
Duvall hemmed and hawed before saying, “I thought . . . that is, I assumed . . . I mean . . . you are an exceedingly lucky man.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome home, my lord. I only did what I thought necessary to keep the estate running smoothly in your absence.”
Reed looked at Duvall’s extended hand for three long heartbeats before accepting it. Why did Duvall think him a lucky man?
“I will move my things out of your chamber immediately.”
“Don’t bother. It’s being done as we speak.”
“Will you tell us what happened to you?” Violet asked, batting her blue eyes at him.
“Most definitely not, Lady Violet. My adventures are not for tender ears. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my study to sample some of my brother’s excellent brandy while I await Mrs. Walters.”
Jules began babbling in rapid French. Duvall shushed him and pulled him into the back hall.
“We’re finally alone,” Violet purred, clinging tenaciously to Reed’s arm. “I think I can use a brandy, too, after such a shock. Do you mind if I join you?”
Violet Dewbury was what Reed would call a man-eater, and he would definitely prefer to drink his brandy alone, so he could contemplate the curious turn of events. “I’ve just returned, Violet, and need some time alone. I will see you at dinner tonight—if Mrs. Walters accepts the position of cook, that is.”
“Very well,” Violet said, pouting. “But you do know I am thrilled to see you alive and well, do you not?” She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, my lord. I, for one, am happy to see you, even if Gallard is not.”
The way Violet pushed her breasts against him was most annoying. Reed wasn’t interested in Violet and never would be. She definitely was not his type. She was nothing like Fleur.
“You think Duvall wasn’t happy to see me?”
Violet’s long eyelashes fluttered charmingly. “Even a fool could see he wasn’t expecting you to turn up.” She squeezed his arm. “But here you are, in the flesh, thinner and paler than I remember but still handsome.”
Reed shrugged away. “I really want to be alone, Violet. Do you mind?”
“A little,” Violet objected, “but I understand. I’ll see you at dinner.”
After Violet pranced off, Reed found his way to the desk and took a seat behind it. He recalled his father sitting here and later Jason. And now it was his. Somehow that didn’t seem right. But better he than Duvall.
Where did Duvall fit into all this? It was a puzzle he intended to solve. He was still contemplating the mysteries of his life and Fleur’s appearance in it when Mrs. Walters arrived. Reed invited her inside.
“Lord Reed!” exclaimed the plump cook with chubby cheeks and graying hair. She had worked at Hunthurst since she was a young woman, and her mother before her. “Welcome home. We all feared the worst when you disappeared. Then Lord Jason died, and it didn’t seem right for that Frenchman to claim the title.” She threw her apron over her head. “We were all sacked and replaced with new people.”
“That’s what I wish to discuss with you, Mrs. Walters. I let the French cook go and would like you to return to your old position. Are you available?”
“Available? Oh, aye, my lord. My daughter has five little ones and barely enough room to house them much less me. I’d be delighted to return to Hunthurst. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
“What about Rogers? Do you know where our butler can be located?”
“He went to London to accept other employment.”
“Ah. Well, at least you are here and willing to return. Can you start immediately? The kitchen maids need direction. They are working on dinner as we speak.”
Mrs. Walters rose, apparently eager to resume her position. “I don’t know what the Frenchman planned for dinner, but we’ll make do for tonight.”
Mrs. Walters departed. Reed walked to the sideboard, poured himself a measure of brandy and let the smooth liquid roll down his throat. Tomorrow he intended to go over the books with his estate manager, spend a few days visiting the tenants, and then head to London.
Reed was eager to speak to Lord Porter about the traitor, and to finalize the details of his succession. His thoughts still disordered, he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber to check his wardrobe for something suitable to wear to dinner.
The upstairs maid had her arms full of dirty bed linen when Reed entered the chamber. She curtsied and scurried off. Reed opened the wardrobe, pleased to find the clothing he had left there intact. Most of the things had been hanging since he had left university and would not have fit his more mature physique before he went to France. Now they would suit him well enough. He wondered why Jason had kept them.
Though Reed hoped his butler/valet was waiting for him at his London bachelor qua
rters, he feared he was expecting too much of the man. He had been gone so long, he wouldn’t blame Updike if he had found a new employer.
Reed thought he looked reasonably well in his out-ofdate clothing as he headed down to dinner that night. He had chosen a black coat and buff breeches, normal wear for a country dinner. In the back of his wardrobe he had found a pair of his favorite boots and wore them tonight. They felt like old friends.
Everyone was already seated when he arrived. Despite the excellent meal Mrs. Walters had put together for them, Reed thought Duvall looked uncomfortable. His nostrils were pinched, and his mouth turned down at the corners. Conversation was sporadic, and when the dessert was served, Duvall cleared his throat and said, “I intend to take my leave in the morning.”
“You’re leaving?” Helen cried. “Wherever will you go?”
He gave a Gallic shrug. “To London, I suppose. It’s time I met some of my compatriots. I understand there is quite a community of émigrés in London.”
“I’ll probably follow you to London in a few days, as soon as I make sure things are running smoothly at Hunthurst.
Is Mr. Dunbar still the estate manager?” he asked Duvall. “Or is he another of the faithful employees you have sacked?”
Duvall shifted nervously in his seat. “I saw no reason to sack Dunbar. He’s doing an excellent job.”
“It’s nice to know there is someone on the estate you valued,” Reed drawled.
Suddenly Helen brightened. “Why don’t we all go to London? Lord knows I could use a change, and I’m sure Violet will agree. The London mansion has plenty of room for all of us.”
Reed stifled a groan. It was true the mansion could house a dozen people, but the idea of sharing it with Helen and Violet was unpalatable to him.
“I know I’m officially in mourning, but I can still make calls and have a social life of sorts. And you can squire me and Violet to all the evening functions.”
“Oh, yes,” Violet exclaimed, clapping her hands. “London is just the thing! It will take no time at all to pack, and the Little Season is about to begin. There is no one I would rather have escort me than Reed.”