The Mysterious Heir

by Edith Layton

  “Anthony told you about my…‘incapacity,’” the Earl said slowly. “And where did he get his information from?”

  “From Lord Beverly, of course,” Elizabeth said. “I am so sorry. I never meant…” But now she stopped as she saw his look of incredible glee.

  “Of course. Bev. It would be from Bev,” he said. “I begin to see it all now. And this ‘other wound’—how exactly did the dear fellow phrase it? Now, it won’t do for you to retreat and color up, Elizabeth, for the thing is in the open at last.”

  “He said,” Elizabeth said, looking down at hands which seemed to wring his handkerchief of their own accord, “that you have more scars than any man can rightly be expected to bear.”

  The Earl’s face grew still for a moment. “There’s truth in that, at least. And I suppose you are too craven to tell me more?”

  “No, there is no more I can directly quote,” she said, her eyes still downcast. “But all was explained. So you see, I feel badly about that kiss.”

  “Yes,” the Earl said. “Now, then, let us see if I have it right. Bev told Anthony that I could not… ah, produce my own heir due to my ‘other wound’?”

  Elizabeth nodded rapidly.

  “And then, it follows that you weep because of sympathy for me?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said bravely, “for my own sake as well. I thought it might be pleasant, and a good way of affirming our friendship. I did not expect it to be so…” But here her courage failed her and she subsided. When she dared at last to look up at the Earl, she saw a wicked grin upon his face.

  “Why, then, Elizabeth,” he said silkily, “dry your tears. Because there is no other wound. Not one other. It was only my poor limb that Napoleon’s supporters got a clear shot at. And I chose to select an heir for totally different reasons, not due to any ‘incapacity,’ but to end an impostor’s masquerade. So,” he said happily, reaching for her, “there is no need to pine. I can finish,” he whispered, “anything that I choose to start.”

  But she broke free and shot from his arms. She stood and looked at him with alarm.

  “But I don’t want to finish anything,” she protested. “Indeed, I only know how to start. I felt safe with you, Morgan,” she cried as he rose and came toward her with a determined leer, “and now I do not. I don’t want to. No, Morgan,” she cried with panic, putting her hands up to deter him.

  The Earl stood still, then drew back his head and laughed. Soon he was so doubled with mirth that he had to sit again. And finally, regaining control of his amusement, he patted the seat next to him and said as he saw her amazed expression, “No, come rest yourself, Elizabeth. A gentleman is free to pay court to a lady here, but not, I am sure, to ravish her. Even though he is not on his own ground. Come, come. I was only joking. A kiss is only a simple thing, rapine is not. And,” he said shrewdly, “now a great many things begin to make sense to me. You believed me to be incapable of ruining you, else you would not have come here with me, nor raised your lips so trustingly. If you had not misunderstood what Bev had said, you would not have come with me today, would you?”

  “No,” she said with shame. “The thought never occurred to me, though.”

  “Then sit, my dear. And let the thought go out of your mind again. I have had a great deal of mirth at your expense. But I confess, it was delicious to see the look upon your face when you discovered your tame house cat had become a tiger. In all this time, then, you thought me…how did you put it, ‘incapacitated’? Bless Bev, he has given me a rare day. No, don’t look so horrified at yourself. It was an honest mistake. Knowing Bev, and his way of speech, and the arrogance of youth, it was only natural that Anthony would leap to the conclusion he did. But, you know, Elizabeth,” he explained carefully, “it was not at all the thing for a respectable young female to accompany a man off into the wilderness as you did, and that is why I imagined you willing to cooperate as you did. And I suppose that is indeed why you did, thinking that I could go no further, burdened as I was by my lack of…shall we say, ‘capacity.’ Deuce take it!” the Earl swore. “It’s difficult even to discuss the matter with propriety.”

  Elizabeth peered up at him, and then, both to her own and to his surprise, began to giggle. In a moment, he joined her in laughter and soon they both were laughing giddily together.

  “My dear,” the Earl said finally, when they were reduced at last to only intermittent chuckles, “let us begin anew. Let there be no further secrets between us.”

  Elizabeth squirmed for a moment, then stayed him with one small hand.

  “Then,” she said slowly, anxious to be completely in train with his desire for honesty, “there is one other thing you were not supposed to notice. And I haven’t approved it with Anthony as yet, but I feel I must clear house completely. Anthony is, you see, a bit radical in his thinking. And Uncle felt that as the Earl he knew was a Tory, we should hide all mention of his political inclinations. There,” she sighed, shaking her head, “that is, I swear it, all of it.”

  “That is not quite the surprise you think it.” The Earl smiled, remembering his cook’s agitation at Anthony’s interference. “But as it happens, Father became a Whig at Simon’s instigation. And Anthony is young yet. The young are entitled to all sorts of excess.”

  Elizabeth was relieved to let the statement pass, although privately she thought Anthony’s excesses were far in excess of anything her companion might imagine.

  “Now, that the lot? You’ve opened the whole budget? No secret lovers, no dire plots to impart?” he gently chided her.

  “All,” she said with relief.

  “Then the gentlemen of Tuxford must have execrable taste for you to be still heart-whole,” he commented idly, catching up her hand in his.

  “I have no dowry, nor any station. I am only a shopgirl, your lordship, remember, and at three-and-twenty, past all hope,” she answered, allowing her hand to lie lightly in his clasp.

  “Not only bad taste, then, but bad eyes as well, and hearts as small as pebbles,” he said, raising her hand and placing a light kiss upon it.

  “No, no, do not worry,” he said as she regretfully snatched her hand away, “I will be good. But if it makes you feel better, and as a reminder to myself, let us stroll over to Lyonshall, where you will be completely safe.”

  He rose and offered her his hand, and with stately pace he led her to the seat at the opposite side of the pond. Though she laughingly protested, he told her with mock pomposity that now he knew she was such a proper sort of female, it wouldn’t do for him to entertain her in a place where she had none of society’s protection.

  Once they had seated themselves again, he left off smiling. He took up her hand again, and said after a moment’s hesitation, “Elizabeth, as you have told me all, it is only fair that I be as forthcoming with you. For I find that I want you to understand why I sent Anthony that invitation, and why I have doubted your every gesture. And again, much as I want to relate it, I find it is a tale that is difficult to tell with propriety.”

  “Then,” Elizabeth said, watching his grave face carefully, “as it is a matter of propriety, let us go back to the other bench again. And then you need have no qualms. For I should very much like to hear it.”

  “Elizabeth,” he sighed lovingly, “the gentlemen of Tuxford are very great fools.”

  And leaning back against the bench, he found himself telling her first about the impostor and then, quite naturally, the story of his marriage, as he had told no other human being in all the years since that evening in London when he had first seen his future wife. He became so lost in the tale, he did not notice how on occasion his companion’s cheeks paled or reddened. For though he told the story with delicacy, certain facts were unavoidable and she was watching the remembered pain that came and went in his own face. And though he was never explicit in his relating each incident of the past, she could read him well enough to see the whole of it.

  There were times in the telling when she felt that she was standing
beside him, seeing his wife’s betrayal with her own eyes. When he spoke hesitantly, seeking the right words, of his wife’s confession of her past, she felt her own stomach knot up and knew the infinite despair at a wife’s deceit, as if she were a hurt and confused young bridegroom. She saw Kitty through his eyes: young, beautiful, and mysterious in her allure. At the same time, she saw Kitty through her own eye’s window: young, beautiful, but selfish beyond belief. In those moments, looking at the Earl’s strong face and hearing his soft, deep, almost bewildered tones, she yearned to forget her own position and to lift one tightly clenched hand to try to smooth the lines of concentration from his solemn face. How, she thought again and again, almost as counterpoint to his story, how could any female leave such a man, deliberately lose such a man, heartlessly wound such a man?

  The time slipped past and he scarcely was aware of her reactions, for her only comments were soft requests for further information, or gentle prodding to get at some forgotten details. When he had done at last, they sat in silence and watched the sun’s late-afternoon path as it shone in the waters of the pond.

  “Poor woman,” Elizabeth finally said, “to be so afflicted. And how sad that you discovered her malady so late.”

  The Earl looked at her in amazement, and seeing his reaction, she went on, “For it was an affliction, Morgan. That is clear to see. We had a poor simple girl at home with much the same difficulty. But her family kept her close when they discovered it, and the physician in town said that it was not their fault, or even hers, but only an affliction of nature. In fact, he condemned the men that sought her out more than her, for he said they could help themselves where she could not.”

  “And you,” the Earl said with something much like wonder in his voice, “said that it was Anthony that had the radical ideas. My dear, do you not know that you should be blushing, or holding up your hands in horror, or even being furious with me for broaching such a subject to a virtuous lady? No, don’t protest. I should be called out for telling you that tale, if not for my behavior previously. My wits have gone begging.” He shook his head in exasperation.

  “Morgan,” Elizabeth said firmly, “does that mean that if I were not virtuous you would tell me? That is ridiculous. Why do men think that a maiden lady has no idea of life? We may not ‘do’ things, precisely, but we do think about them, I assure you.”

  He laughed with delight. “My dear. Now I am even more penitent. I had no idea that I was entertaining a ‘maiden lady.’”

  “Are you hinting,” Elizabeth said with a great show of icy aplomb, “that I am not a lady?”

  When his laughter had subsided, he studied her intently. “Always the right word, always the right touch. My dear, you are a surgeon to the soul. Now, why do you poker up when I pay you a compliment? Had I said such a thing to Isabel, she would have laughed up and down the scale and then said a smug little ‘thank you.’ I may not,” he said, “have gotten an heir as yet, but I begin to think I have a great deal to thank my fictitious heir, James Everett Courtney, for. I begin to think that I stand greatly in his debt.”

  But seeing her downcast eyes, he straightened and said in a bantering tone, “I go too far, too fast, in one day, and you are quite right to sit in disapproving silence. But what else can you do, poor lady? I shall have to buy you a fan, so that you can tap me smartly and cry, ‘Oh, la, sir!’ when I presume. That is how they do it in London, you know.”

  He rose, stretched his long body and picked up his stick, and then offered Elizabeth his other arm.

  “It has grown very late. And though we are at Lyonshall, we ought to return to the main part of it. It is strange, but I feel much lighter in spirit now than when I came racing like a jehu to this spot. As if I have left off a large burden. I only hope it is not too heavy for your slight frame.”

  “But I have only heard it, I did not live it,” Elizabeth reasoned, rising to stand with him and wishing to allay his fears, although she knew with a certainty that she would relive his story again and again and suffer for him anew each time in the late nights of her life. “And it is only right that friends should share their burdens.”

  “Are we friends, then?” he asked, looking at her lips. “Close friends?” he breathed.

  “We are at Lyonshall,” she answered nervously, stepping back a pace, half-wishing him to catch her up in his arms again, while the other half-more sensibly knew they ought to be leaving.

  “Do not worry.” He sighed. “I remember that, at least. And if a gentleman accosted you this side of the pond, it would be tantamount to a declaration. Then Anthony would doubtless pop out from behind a tree and wish to start discussing a settlement, and Bev, at his side, would want to know the exact makeup of the bridal party.”

  Elizabeth laughed as they turned to stroll back to where the phaeton and horses were tethered. “Oh, never fear. You are quite safe in that respect. Anthony believes me to be ancient, far beyond the age where such things are even possible. And I, at least, well know that your thoughts do not turn in that direction. It would be,” she added as he helped her up to her seat, “a wonder if they did, after your sad experience.”

  He stood for a moment, looking at her with an unreadable expression, and then said softly, “Once, when I was young, I stole into one of our farmers’ orchards, climbed up into the boughs of a prized tree, and gorged myself with apples all the day. When I got home, I suffered not only the pangs of remorse at my father’s lecture but also the pains of the most colossal stomachache I had ever had. But, you know,” he said with a slight smile, “I still eat apples. In fact,” he added as he turned to enter the phaeton, “I am very partial to them still.”

  Elizabeth colored slightly and sought light words to dispel her embarrassment. She did not want to seem to be an ambitious female on the catch for a husband, although his words raised some impossible hopes in her breast. Sensibly, she shook them away, and said instead with a little grin, “Apple tarts, no doubt, are your favorites.”

  “Of course,” he said, stifling a sudden laugh. “So much more exciting than humble pies.”

  “And so much cheaper,” she added, delighted with the result of her daring as he threw back his head and roared with appreciation.

  They joked and laughed all the way back to the long drive of Lyonshall. This time, he let the horses choose their own pace, so that by the time the long white drive was in sight, the sun slanted sharply and a faint glow of sunset lit the western sky. A lone figure paced the drive.

  “Bev,” the Earl called, “I cannot understand why you spend so much of your time in my drive. Isn’t your room to your taste?”

  “Much you care,” the exquisite young man complained. “You’re always off somewhere on some jaunt or other, leaving me to play deputy. Devil take it, Morgan, you’ve left me in the lurch again. Have someone stable your cattle, and then take over your duties as host. A fine thing to invite me here for a vacation, and then have me work my poor brain to the bone.”

  The Earl halted his equipage and gave the reins to a stableboy as he dismounted. His friend absently helped Elizabeth down, and then, without even greeting her, wheeled upon the Earl again.

  “I come back from a pleasant trip to Town with young Anthony and find the place at sixes and sevens. And who’s to order things? Aye, Lady Isabel would, if she could, but I wouldn’t have that. So it’s me that has to make the decisions. And with all the to-ing and fro-ing, I have half a mind to leave on the moment. London’s quieter, I vow.”

  “Whatever has you in such a pother, Bev?” the Earl asked as he and Elizabeth made their way back to the house.

  “Oh, nothing much,” his friend said with a show of burlesque dismissal. “Only that one of your guests has decamped, and I don’t wonder if he don’t have half your silver in his satchel. And no sooner does his dust die down then another guest shows up at the door. I can’t stop the one from going, and I can’t tell the other not to stay. But pay it no mind, Morgan, pay it no mind.”

  “No, wh
y should I,”—the Earl smiled—“when you have so ably taken care of things?”

  He turned and took Elizabeth’s hand. “I’ll have to go and closet myself with this tiresome fellow and discover just what he’s on about. But I shall see you at dinner.”

  He bowed slightly over her hand and gave her a confidential smile that sent her wits wandering, then turned and motioned to Lord Beverly.

  “Come along, old dear, and have it out with me.”

  “About time,” Lord Beverly grumbled, and began to follow him, and then stopped, hesitated, and turned.

  “Oh, hello, Elizabeth. I didn’t see you there,” he said, before sketching a bow and turning to accompany his host.

  10

  Although it was but an ordinary Thursday evening, Elizabeth took an extraordinary amount of time dressing for dinner. She was in an unusually festive mood and felt unconscionably light and giddy as she went back and forth in her room, from the closet to the pier mirror, from the mirror to the wardrobe once again. She had not fussed so over her appearance, nor felt such an anticipatory tingling of her senses, since she had been twelve and her mother and aunt had agreed to have some of the neighborhood children in to celebrate her birthday.

  A small warning voice reminded her that at that time her anticipation of the birthday festivities had far outstripped her enjoyment of what had turned out to be only a simple tea party. And a party, moreover, marked by embarrassment and disappointment. For the village girls, in their unaccustomed finery, had been struck dumb by what seemed to them to be a sudden elevation in their social state. They had concentrated so hard on which spoons to use and how to hold their teacups that they were mute with their efforts. And the squire’s young daughter had seemed bored and uncomfortable among such an ill-bred crew and her every glance around her host’s sparse parlor had eloquently showed how meager she thought their facilities to be.

  But Elizabeth was not in any mood to heed small warning voices. For her head was full of a different, distant music, the echoes of hearty masculine laughter and the tones of a rich warm male voice.