by Joan Wolf
“But what do you want me to do, ma’am?”
“Drive to Sheffield Court and tell the earl he must call his son home from London immediately. Once Thomas is removed from the scene, Julia will have to find someone else. I actually have hopes of Ormesby. He seems to like her company. Imagine if Julia, of all people, became a Marchioness!”
She would hate it, Evan thought.
Sir Gordon said, “There is no reason for the girls to know about this. By law they are the children of the Earl of Althorpe and nothing can take that away from them. They are Marshalls. Period.”
But Julia isn’t a Marshall, Evan thought. What would she do if she found out the truth? Her whole identity was based on the fact she was a Marshall. Her pride in her family’s history, her pride in Stoverton, all of that would be taken away if she found out. A cold chill ran up and down Evan’s spine. He must do everything he could to keep this secret.
“Why do you want me to drive to Sheffield?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be more discreet to send a letter?”
Sir Gordon said, “Letters can get misplaced; I don’t want to entrust information like this to a letter. I would go but this request should properly come from the person who is responsible for Julia. And that, my boy, is you.”
“All right,” Evan said. “I’ll go today. The sooner we are rid of Winston the better.”
“Excellent. Sheffield Court is in Kent, not far from Stoverton. If you want you can be back in London by evening.”
Evan stood and felt the brandy on his empty stomach shoot to his head. “I’ll breakfast first and then be on my way. What will you tell the girls when they see I’m gone?”
“We’ll tell them you went to Stoverton to get some papers for the bank loan,” Sir Gordon said.
“Very well.” Evan frowned and added thoughtfully, “I might spend a few days at Stoverton, see how the work I ordered is being carried out.”
“Just make sure you’re back by Friday,” Lady Barbara said. “The Devereaux ball is that night and the Prince is expected to attend.”
“All right.” Evan stood and left the library on his way to the small dining room where breakfast was served. He hoped very much Julia was not there. He needed time to adjust to the thought that she wasn’t his cousin after all.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Evan managed to get away from Althorpe house before he saw Julia. He drove the curricle with Sammy perched up behind him, and, as the day was warm and sunny and the roads were good, the trip was accomplished by early afternoon.
Driving under the blue Kent skies, Evan had gone over and over in his mind just how to broach this subject with the earl. Then he had worried the earl wouldn’t be at home. He also wondered what kind of man could father a child on another man’s wife, then leave the girl’s future to the mercy of an unknown American.
Evan wasn’t as overpowered by the neo-classical magnificence of the huge stone mansion that was Sheffield Manor as he would have been a few months ago. He drove the curricle to the front door of the main three-story block and went up the stairs to stand between two massive columns and raise the knocker. When the footman opened the door he introduced himself with ease and was invited into a neo-classical hall, it’s pale green color setting off a delicate plasterwork ceiling. The footman showed him into a small drawing room off the hall and told him he would see if the earl was available.
When Edward Winston, Earl of Sheffield, walked into the room ten minutes later, Evan rose from his seat on one of those small gilt chairs he so disliked. “How do you do, my lord,” he said. “I am sorry to interrupt your day, but I come on a matter of some importance. It concerns your son.”
The Earl of Sheffield was an older man than Evan had expected. He was slender, of medium height, and his full head of hair was gray. He carried a cane. He approached Evan without using it and grasped his hand in a firm handshake. Evan looked into eyes that were gray like Julia’s only darker. Before he could stop himself, he exclaimed, “My God, you look just like her.”
The earl’s expression didn’t change. “She looks like me would be the proper way to phrase it.”
Evan took a deep breath. The sight of the earl had left no doubt he might have about Julia’s parentage.
The earl said, “Come along to the library, Althorpe. We can be private there.”
Evan followed the older man down a long corridor, past a dining room that could have seated 50 people, to a book-lined room that looked out on the back garden.
“Sit please,” the earl said, going toward a cabinet in the corner that reminded Evan of the cabinet in Althorpe House. “Wine or brandy?”
“Brandy, please.”
The earl brought him a glass then seated himself in a comfortable leather chair opposite Evan. “This is about Tom, you said?”
“Yes. Sir Gordon and Lady Barbara have sent me to ask you to call him home from London. Apparently he and Lady Julia like each other rather too much for my aunt and uncle’s comfort. You will, of course, understand their concern.”
The earl had taken brandy as well and he drank off half the glass. “I didn’t know Julia was in London.”
“She is having a season with my cousin, Elizabeth Lewis.”
“A season? Don’t tell me Gordon Lewis is paying for Julia to have a season?”
“He isn’t. I am. Julia needs to find a husband, but clearly your son is not an appropriate choice.”
“Damn. This is the last thing I wanted to happen.” The earl’s mouth set in a grim line. “Of course I’ll get him home. Has their being together caused much gossip?”
“I don’t know. But my aunt is concerned. Julia doesn’t like very many people, you see, and she quite clearly likes your son. They’re both mad about horses and hunting.”
“They get that from me,” the earl said. He lifted his cane and smiled ruefully. “Didn’t quite make it over a fence one day.”
Evan stared at the slender aristocrat sitting across from him and anger swelled inside his chest. “Do you know the kind of life she’s had? Do you know she and Maria were left virtually alone in that house for months on end? Do you know that Julia found her fa… my uncle’s body? He had blown his face away, by the way. A nice thing for a young girl to come across on a morning stroll through the garden!”
The earl had gone white at this last statement. “I knew that Helen wanted her at Stoverton. Julia looked too much like me, she said. She also said that Julia loved being at Stoverton, that it was no hardship for the child to remain in the country.”
“It’s not the fact that she lived in the country that’s the issue. When I arrived at Stoverton she and Maria and an elderly cousin were living in four unheated rooms - Julia had not enough money to pay for coal. They were wearing old clothes that didn’t fit and were dependent upon the good graces of the local gentry to send them meat.”
The earl looked stricken. “That only happened after Helen died. When she was alive she saw to it that Julia and her sister were taken care of. When they were left to Althorpe’s care alone, there was nothing I could do. If I had tried to intervene, the gossip would have been brutal and Julia would never find a husband. When Althorpe himself died I did the only thing I could, I sent Julia an allowance through her attorney and had him tell her it was coming from one of her father’s accounts. I wanted to send a great deal more, but it would have looked suspicious to her.”
“So that’s where the money came from,” Evan exclaimed. “Althorpe was totally ruined, so I knew it couldn’t be coming from the estate. And Mr. Shields was admirably silent on the subject.”
“Good man,” the earl said.
Evan’s mouth set in a grim line. “From what my aunt tells me, everyone in town already knew about your affair with Julia’s mother. So why would your helping her ruin her chances?”
“There’s a difference between knowing and knowing. As long as the fiction of her paternity is maintained, Julia will be accepted. Believe me, Althorpe, there are many aristocratic childr
en who call the wrong man ‘father,’ and we all look the other way. But if the rules are flouted, if the children are acknowledged to be bastards, then society will turn its back. So it’s best to play by the rules.”
Evan felt sick to his stomach at this hypocrisy. “In America we take marriage seriously. My father married my mother in the teeth of his family’s opposition, and my parents loved each other until the day they died!”
The earl did not look impressed. “That is certainly admirable,” he said dryly, “but your father was a younger son. He didn’t have the weight of a dynasty on his back. When duty dictates you must marry someone you don’t love – perhaps someone you don’t even like – you do what you must for the sake of the family. And if you find love elsewhere, you take what you can get.”
Evan stared at the man sitting opposite him as if he was an alien creature. “And I’ll bet you all go faithfully to church on Sunday to give a ‘good example’ to your tenants. It’s hypocrisy, pure and simple.”
“It’s the reality of an old world,” the earl said. “You’re a new country; you have opportunities and choices we who live in the old world do not. But you have been called upon to take up the burdens of our world. You are the Earl of Althorpe, owner of a huge estate with many hundreds of people depending upon you for their livelihoods. When you make your choices you must keep in mind your responsibilities. You are taking your responsibility for Julia and Maria seriously, and I applaud that. But what of Stoverton? What are your plans for what should be one of the greatest estates in the country?”
Evan did not care for this interrogation and spoke stiffly, “I am investing a great deal of money in Stoverton. The tenant farms and cottages are a disgrace.”
The earl smiled slightly. “They are, and I am pleased to hear you are investing in repairs. So you are planning to make England your home.”
It was not a question, but Evan answered as if it was. “No. I am not staying in England. I plan to return to America, which is my home.”
The earl’s smile disappeared. Evan found it a little disconcerting to have Julia’s eyes look at him with such disappointment and disapproval.
Sheffield said, “Stoverton cannot survive if it is once again burdened with an absentee landlord. Your uncle was a disgrace to his name. If you had known him you would understand why Helen looked elsewhere for affection. He neglected his wife and he neglected his duty to his own people. Do you think your father, who grew up at Stoverton and loved it, would want you to walk away from his family’s heritage?”
“My father was a loyal American!”
“Good for him, I say. He was the best of the family, but there was nothing here for him except the army or the church. That’s the fate of younger sons here in England. Your father escaped it, he married the woman he loved and he made himself a new life and a fortune. Good for him, I say. But, what do you think he would do if he were in your position, Evan? Would he walk away from his responsibilities knowing that so many people depended upon him?”
Evan could not tell this man that he had planned to put Julia in charge of the work at Stoverton. Sheffield would be horrified. Evan believed that Julia was capable, but he was also beginning to think that in his own way he was failing her as badly as her parents had. He was asking her to marry someone she didn’t love so she could take on the burden that rightly belonged to him. He was asking her to do the very thing he said he most abhorred.
He hadn’t wanted to become the Earl of Althorpe. He hadn’t wanted to shoulder an enormous responsibility like Stoverton. But … would his father say it was his duty to take up this burden? Evan had the uncomfortable feeling that he would.
It was a somber and irresolute Evan who drove away from Sheffield that afternoon. The unthinkable had become the possible. How could he bear to remain in England for the rest of his life?
On the other hand, how could he bear never to see Julia again? It was time to confront his feelings for her and stop fooling himself.
Her face was so distinct in his mind. Her features, so sharply cut yet so delicate. The wry twist of her lips when she teased him. Her smile. The long stem of her beautiful neck. Her eyes.
His body stirred and his breath caught.
Julia, he thought. Julia – who was not his cousin.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Evan left Sheffield and with a perturbed mind he directed Sammy to drive to Stoverton. Toby was lunging Isabella when they drove in and he looked at Evan with alarm.
“Your lordship! We wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know,” Evan said. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” He jumped down from the curricle’s seat. “Take care of the horses,” he said to Sammy. “I’ll walk to the house. It’ll feel good to stretch my legs.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sammy said, and gave Toby an inquiring look. Toby said, “I’ll finish exercising Isabella and you take care of the horses, Sammy.”
Evan began to walk down the graveled pathway that led from the stables to the house. In the late afternoon light, Stoverton appeared almost a fantasy, a golden palace haloed by a blue and gold sky streaked with long white clouds. The grass needed to be cut which made the house look as if it was floating on a sea of green.
Evan stopped and looked at his family home for a long time. The size was no longer as overwhelming to him as it had been when he first beheld it. And it was beautiful. He acknowledged that to himself, if somewhat reluctantly. The vision before him was a bit like that painting by Turner he had liked so much.
The front door was locked and Evan rapped the knocker several times. No one answered. He went around the house to the kitchen door and knocked there. Mrs. Pierce opened the door slightly, saw who it was and went white. Evan, afraid she was going to faint, pushed the door opened and grabbed her arms to hold her up.
“Are you all right?”
“M..y lord…. Is it really you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to have startled you but my decision to come was rather sudden.”
Color began to come back into the cook’s face, and Evan let go of her arms. Steps sounded on the uncarpeted wood stairs and then Lucy was in the kitchen staring at Evan with huge round eyes.
“My lord!”
“Where is Peter?” Evan asked. The footman had been left behind and Evan had expected him to open the door.
“His pa died, my lord, and he went home for the funeral. We didn’t think to see you…”
“I see. Of course he should have gone home, but I am so sorry to have frightened you.” He gave them his most charming smile. “Is it possible for me to have a cup of tea, Mrs. Pierce?”
“Accourse, my lord! Accourse! I’ll put the kettle right on. Where do you want it served?””
Evan sat at the kitchen table, favored them with another heart-rending smile, and said, “Here, if you don’t mind.”
Mrs. Pierce beamed. “Accorse not, my lord. And I have some fresh pie as well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Evan said sincerely.
The cook sent Lucy to make up the bed in the earl’s room and get a fire going in the library. Evan drank his tea, ate his pie, and went upstairs to the deserted house.
He walked around the empty rooms. The furniture was swathed in white Holland covers making the house look and feel like a haven for ghosts. Yet people had lived here for centuries. These rooms had once been full of gaiety and conversation and laughter. He remembered Cousin Flora’s stories of the wonderful Christmases she had spent here as a child.
On impulse, Evan went into the old part of the house and up the stairs to the long gallery. The pictures had not been re-covered when they left for London and he walked down the gallery, looking carefully at each of the portraits hung on the chestnut paneled walls. The family resemblance from one portrait to the next was remarkable. There was a picture of a young girl dressed in seventeenth-century garb who looked amazingly like Frances had looked at that age. The gallery also presented an array of family pets. Evidently the Ma
rshalls had always been dog lovers. He had had a dog when he was a boy, but he had been away at sea for so much of his adult life that a pet hadn’t been feasible.
He stopped for a long time to look at the picture of his father as a boy surrounded by his family. The eldest son, Philip, looked to be about twelve and his face was solemn as he stood next to his mother’s chair. There was no sign on that boyish face of the character flaw that would lead him to gamble away his inheritance. Evan’s father, who must have been nine or ten, looked as if he was ready to burst into motion as soon as he was released from his pose. Evan smiled. He remembered that leashed energy of his father’s very well. Aunt Barbara was just a pretty blonde-haired blue-eyed little girl.
Evan moved on to the next picture, a portrait of Julia’s parents with their children. The late countess was a petite woman whose hand on Julia’s shoulder looked a trifle stiff, as if it wasn’t an accustomed gesture. Her hair was black and there was something formidable in her steady hazel gaze.
He looked at Julia’s mother for a long time, then he looked at the son who had drowned so tragically. His eyes were blue and he had the Marshall nose and chin. There was another boy older than Julia, but Maria was not in the picture. Presumably she hadn’t been born when it was painted.
His father had grown up in this house. As had his mother. It was a strange feeling to think about that. It was a strange feeling to think of generation after generation of his family living here over the centuries.
Evan had the eerie feeling that the eyes of all the Marshalls in the room were looking at him. Challenging him. It made him uncomfortable to turn his back and walk away.
He remained at Stoverton for a week, spending most of his time on the farms, walking the land because Baron was in London and he wasn’t going to attempt to ride Isabella. He found that being on foot made it easier for him to see the neglect up close. It also made it easier for him to get to know his tenants, and he spent hours in shabby farm kitchens listening to what they had to say.