The Earl of Arundel

by Johnson, Angela

  “I can put a book in your saddlebags.”

  “I don’t know what I did without you, Thomas. I’m happy to have you back.” Phillip walked to his side table and grabbed the sonnets. He handed the book to Thomas and rushed from the room. The sooner he arrived at the party, the sooner he could escape.

  The garden party turned out to be a boring affair. A group of women gossiping was not an ideal way to spend the day. He watched as Edward made rounds of the room. The women were talkative, and he could tell they knew how to stroke his brother’s ego. Edward had always been the favorite among the ton.

  Phillip’s wit was more literary than Edward’s, who was just a plain flirt when he had a group of women around him. Charles, their younger brother, was more like Edward when it came to women. He danced and chatted with them during the London seasons, and there were more than a few broken hearts when the Watson boys left town each year without making a match.

  Phillip sat next to Olivia for a great deal of the party and was attentive to her as his mother asked him to be. He offered to get her punch multiple times and her wrap when a light spring breeze went through the patio and caused her to shiver. He played the role of adoring fiancé, while she played the role of an indifferent and angry forced bride. She made certain to inform anyone who would listen she was not happy with the arrangement, and how she was forced into the match.

  Olivia gained the sympathies of the young women around her. She also gained the sympathies of some of the young men, as she was a beautiful young lady. Phillip thought to himself, If they knew her temper and ornery ways, they would not be so quick to sympathize with her as they should with me. He was going to be stuck with her indifference for the rest of his life.

  Giving up on the party, as he decided he’d spent more than enough time socializing, he left to go out to the stables.

  “You’re escaping?” Lord Folly asked from a perch on the fence.

  “Is there a reason I should stay? You’ve found solace out of the chattering of the party.”

  “I only just escaped,” Folly said with a smirk. “If I’d stayed another minute, I might have fallen prey to a few débutantes looking for a younger son.”

  The idea was amusing. He’d known Folly since Oxford, and he knew Folly had his fair share of beautiful women seeking after him during the season.

  “Why the escape?” Folly asked again with a more direct look.

  “I need some time to think. There’s a wonderful meadow waiting for me. I plan to spend my afternoon reading instead of listening to the chatter of women.” He didn’t mind sharing his destination with Folly.

  “Arundel,” Folly said as he jumped off the fence. He looked as though he’d burst if he didn’t speak. Phillip could see a visible tension in his posture. “I need to speak with you about Lady Olivia.” Phillip watched as Folly gathered his thoughts. Folly made agitated movements, ran a hand through his hair, and balanced between both feet. He finally gained the courage to speak. “I am in love with Olivia. We planned to marry this year.”

  “Are you in earnest?” Phillip asked the first question that popped into his mind. Without allowing Folly to respond, he added, “Does Norland know about this?”

  “Yes. I asked permission and I was turned away.”

  “Why did Norland refuse you?”

  “I am not heir to my father’s title. I am the younger son. Also . . .” Folly hesitated and looked around as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “My father is bankrupt. Norland doesn’t feel it would be a good connection.”

  “Bankrupt?” Folly’s father in a compromised financial situation surprised him. There hadn’t been any gossip or whispers among the ton. In an effort to hide his surprise, Phillip nodded in understanding. “I would release Olivia from the engagement if my father would let me.”

  “This agreement they have, what is it?” Folly asked in frustration.

  “I don’t know the details.” Giving the information to Folly would be a betrayal of his father. He also feared the information would spread through society faster than a woman’s ruined reputation, if whispered to the wrong person. He didn’t like telling a falsehood, but it was the best way to sidestep the question.

  Folly’s face fell. He said in dismay, “I know you haven’t made a match, but I am in love with Olivia. Please, what can I do to make this engagement go away?”

  “My father has made it clear; the only way I can get out of it is through my death.”

  Folly’s eyes fell to the ground. “There isn’t another way?”

  “Olivia would have to break it.”

  “Norland won’t allow her to.”

  Phillip nodded. “There isn’t a simple way out of the arrangement. Olivia and I will marry in a month’s time. Instead of fighting it, we will consign ourselves to the fate we’ve been dealt. And you should find a bride with a substantial dowry.” He hated himself for speaking the words as they escaped his mouth. It was almost as if he said it more for his own benefit than Folly’s. The statement caused an uncomfortable silence to blanket the conversation. “I believe my horse is saddled and waiting for me.” Without another word, Phillip walked away.

  Before he mounted his horse, he turned and watched as Folly went back to the party. He looked defeated. Angry with himself, Phillip rode off into the countryside with the goal to return once the party was over.

  He led Bassanio to a large shade tree and dismounted to give the horse a rest. The tree sat along a shallow stream, so he tied the horse to a branch with enough tether to drink. As he relaxed, he pondered again over the mess Ashby had caused for him. Anger flared in him, which went back to resignation due to his father’s response when he asked for the engagement to end. One consolation to marriage is Ashby will no longer expect me to spend my days at Wentworth Hall. Escaping his father’s clutches for a large part of the year would be a relief.

  He stood and picked a rock off the ground and looked at the stream. The rock had a smooth side to it, perfect for skipping across the water. He was able to forget the annoyance of the entire engagement for a short time as he focused on finding stones. After he grew bored of skipping rocks, he again sat with his back against the tree trunk and read the sonnets. Phillip looked up from Sonnet 13 to think about the words when a slight movement to the right caught his eye.

  He looked over to see who it was, but upon first glance there was no one around. Standing to make certain he didn’t miss the person he thought he had seen, he looked toward the trees to the right but again couldn’t see anyone.

  Uneasiness caused him to go over to the horse and give up his solitude for the day. “Bassanio, we should go back to the house.” As he said the words, a gunshot sounded through the spring air. Phillip ducked behind the tree and waited until his heart no longer pounded to mount and ride away.

  It could be a hunter, he rationalized. I overreacted, he told himself as he rushed to mount and ride back to Wentworth Hall. He had gone a short distance through the meadow when he knew he heard another horse behind him.

  “Is someone there?” he called out as he brought Bassanio to a stop. Although he was still in the open meadow, the rider hid among the trees. One of the reasons he loved the meadow was due to the private enclosure the beech trees afforded the area. He now cursed the exposed feeling he had and the way the forest around him offered concealment to the other rider. The other person must not have expected him to stop, because he could hear the other horse. Again, there was no answer.

  It is a hunter, he repeated to himself. Deciding to investigate, Phillip turned Bassanio toward the right. He would find this person. The forest alight with crunching leaves and tree branches caused chills to run up and down his spine. The nervousness must have translated to the horse, because Bassanio missed a step and startled.

  “Hey boy,” Phillip said as he leaned forward to pat Bassanio’s neck. “I don’t think there is anyone ou
t there,” he said as a way to calm his horse and himself. “We should go home.” Imagination shrouded rational thought, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  Frightened, he turned Bassanio back toward Wentworth Hall and put him into a canter so he could get out of the woods with speed. Again, he could see from the corner of his right eye a man on a horse as he kept pace with Phillip. His temper flared. In anger, he turned and decided to cut the man off, but the man anticipated the move and also turned.

  It was a quick glance, but Phillip noticed Bassanio was the superior horse. He couldn’t go fast in the woods without hurting the horse. Phillip shook his head in annoyance. The other horse looked familiar, but he was too far away to be sure. Whoever was out in the woods with him didn’t want to be engaged. As another gunshot sounded through the late afternoon sky, Phillip decided he’d had enough. He pointed Bassanio back toward Wentworth Hall as the bullet grazed his right arm. Pain shot through his arm. He passed the reins to the left hand and glanced down to see the damage. For the small bit of blood on his jacket, he was in a severe amount of pain. As he rode a short distance further, Bassanio suddenly shook his head and neighed. The horse stopped and refused to move. Phillip tried to get the horse to go forward by squeezing his legs against the horse’s body, but he continued to stay still.

  Dismounting, he walked around, checking to see if there was a rock or a thistle stuck in Bassanio’s hooves. As he came back to the front of the horse, he rubbed the horses’ face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “We have to get home.”

  The horse continued to shake his head and whinnied in a way Phillip had never heard from Bassanio. “Let’s get home, boy,” he said, patting the horse again on his neck. He walked for a short time and allowed the horse to get used to moving forward again before mounting.

  It took some coaxing, but as soon as they were moving, the tension in his body calmed. He’d not realized the lateness of the hour until he noticed the sun was setting. He was nearing the edge of the woods when he saw the rider again, this time on his left. He had an internal struggle. He wanted to go after the person, but he also knew he should go home and get help. This person had shot at him twice. His arm was injured, and he wasn’t a match for the gun since he didn’t have one.

  In an unwise, split-second decision, he decided to veer off to the left and go after his shadow. I’m an idiot, he said as he raced after the other rider, who sped up to stay out of Phillip’s view. Phillip was gaining on him when Bassanio again reacted in a strange way. The horse increased speed and moved off to the right. Although he’d traveled through these woods since he was a boy, he was lost. It could have been fear impeding his mind and sense of direction as he hadn’t lost enough blood to be confused.

  “Whoa,” he said to the horse, trying to get him to slow down, but the horse again increased in speed running without direction. Phillip pulled the reins back as he called out again, “Whoa, Bassanio.” But again, the horse didn’t listen. He heard the other horse on his left and turned in time to see the barrel of a gun right before a shot rang through the woods.

  “Yah!” Phillip kicked the horse in his sides to make him go faster. He realized he was lucky the horse had not stopped when he had wanted him to; otherwise he would have been a still target for the other rider.

  Phillip pushed the horse faster, knowing the rider who shot at him was still behind him. Although he was riding a Darley Arabian, each horse had a limit and he’d not yet found the limit for Bassanio. He had a terrible feeling he was about to find out how far and long this horse could run without a break.

  The sun was nearly down when the horse slowed beneath him. He was going to be stuck out in the dark. And if he kept running Bassanio the way he was, he was going to injure him. He needed to get out of the woods and find a safe place to lay low and figure out who would try to kill him. As he thought about the horse being tired, Phillip realized he was also losing stamina. He blinked and shook his head, trying to keep his eyes open. He didn’t know how long he’d been riding, but exhaustion plagued his mind and body.

  Bassanio continued to slow when Phillip heard another gunshot. This time the shooter was successful. The bullet pierced his right shoulder. Pain raced through his body, and he let go of the reins. He squeezed his legs in an effort to stay mounted, but the latest wound made him weak and he fell.

  Phillip woke. He was lying on the ground, with a tree root stabbing him in the back. He registered pain throughout his body. Ready to give into the pain and sleep, he heard a tree branch snap and leaves crunch under footsteps. Although the night sky lacked a moon, Phillip knew the assailant was nearby and would find him at any moment. The anxiety of this thought made him want to crawl away. He had to find a way to escape this person.

  Phillip pulled himself forward with his left arm. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain and then a cry as his right arm scraped against the ground. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought at least one leg was broken from the fall. Crawling proved to be a painful challenge.

  Before he could get far, the assailant found him. Phillip looked up to see who it was but was unable to focus his eyes. Without care for the bullet wound, the assailant took both of his arms and dragged him down the hill. Phillip didn’t know if he cried out, because rational thought left him. His mind went blank from the pain of the right arm being pulled over his head.

  Going in and out of consciousness, Phillip registered rocks and debris scraping against his body. When is this going to end? Phillip howled in his mind. He couldn’t form words, as the pain was too intense. A small amount of relief went through him as his body fell into the water. He floated; the cold water caused a shock to his system and he again fell unconscious. The last thought to go through his mind was, I’m going to die.

  Two

  The weather in northern England was cold and a bit breezy. Miss Emma Parker loved taking advantage of the cool air during the end of spring and opening days of summer. She sat in the parlor by an open window with her mother, two brothers, and sister. Their father was expected to arrive at some point in the evening. He had business in Lincolnshire and had been gone for a fortnight. She enjoyed sitting in a seat near the window so she could look out at the trees and flowers surrounding Springhill Abby. She sat entertaining herself with a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

  Not for the first time, Emma read Sonnet 116 and wondered what Shakespeare must have been thinking when he wrote the beautiful lines of love. As a young lady of eighteen, she had attended her first season in London the previous year. Her parents hoped her older sister would marry before Emma entered society, but after Anne’s third season she was still unmarried.

  Due to her inexperience with love, Emma often imagined finding her future husband. The daydream included him walking toward her across a ballroom and asking her father if he could be introduced. The gentleman would then tell Emma he had dreamed of her his entire life, and it would be love at first sight.

  Her mother, father, and brothers would think she was silly if she told them her dream. But Anne listened and for a while told Emma to keep dreaming of her handsome gentleman, for Anne had not found many gentlemen in London. The previous season Anne had a near engagement to Mr. Christian Bennett, but before an offer of marriage arrived, Mr. Bennett left London and didn’t return for the rest of the season. Anne returned to Springhill Abby with a broken heart and changed her advice to her sister. She told Emma to forget about love and the dream of romance. She advised Emma to find a match to give her a comfortable life and hope for happiness in marriage. If happiness didn’t come from the gentleman, then hope would come in the form of children.

  Distracted from her thoughts, she watched as her father’s carriage approached. It was going much faster than normal.

  “Father is here,” she called out as she closed her book.

  “I was beginning to worry,” her mother said, looking up from her stitching.

  “I think some
thing is amiss,” she said, her voice trailing off as she stood from her seat.

  “What do you mean?” Henry asked, walking over to look out the window.

  Emma watched as her father lifted a man from the carriage. She found herself running along with her brother out of the parlor and into the entryway, where her father was giving orders and servants were rushing to do as he said. Her eyes rested on the man they carried. He was wet and covered in blood and mud. Compassion filled her when she saw blood dripping on the floor as they carried him past her.

  “Put him in the green room,” her mother called, stepping in to take charge of the situation. “Henry, send for Doctor Price.”

  Emma followed her parents to the green room and watched as they laid the man on the bed. She wanted to help but wasn’t certain how.

  “Emma, get blankets,” her father yelled.

  “Anne, bring warm water and towels. Now!” their mother yelled as she continued to remove his clothing.

  Emma ran down the hall and grabbed blankets out of a linen closet. She’d never seen anyone this badly injured. She turned to run back to the room and bumped into Meg, the maid in charge of building fires in the grates. Meg carried an arm full of wood, which spilled out of her hands as they collided.

  “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t see you,” Meg cried out, bending to gather the wood.

  “It is my fault, Meg. Please let me help you.”

  “Emma, where are the blankets?” her mother called out.

  “Please, miss, I will gather the wood. Take the blankets,” Meg whispered while scrambling to gather the fallen items.

  Emma nodded her understanding and continued down the hall to the green room. “I have the—” her words cut off as she saw the man’s unclothed legs. She blushed and walked into the room.

  “Leave the bed clothes and go out of the room,” her mother said, pointing to the end of the bed.