My Kind of Earl

by Vivienne Lorret

  Jane startled. “My uncle was there the night of the fire?”

  “Yes, yes, muttering on and on about a murderous Frenchman and a woman named Hortense or Heloise or—”

  “Helene?”

  Mother flitted a graceful hand in the air. “None of it matters now, I’m sure. All water under the bridge. And, perhaps, in time it will be the same for your scandal, dearest. You will write to us, won’t you?”

  Jane blinked numbly, trying to process this new information. But it was impossible to focus, given that her life was falling apart around her.

  Yes, she’d known about the risks and, had she been caught, this would have been the likely outcome. But it was all hypothetical then. It hadn’t happened. It hadn’t yet exploded in her face.

  Now it was all too real. “What about the children? I can’t leave them. It’s almost Christmas.”

  Her parents looked to each other in confusion. Then her father spoke. “I don’t see what that matters. It’s obvious that you’ll have to be gone before the January freeze. I’ll make all the arrangements and, in the meantime, have your maid begin to pack your things.”

  “Good night, dear,” Mother said and walked beside Father out the door.

  Jane was losing everything—her home, her family, and her future. And it was all happening in the course of one night.

  It was just like Prue. Her friend had suffered this same fate, and was now living letter to letter.

  Perhaps it was that realization that jolted Jane out of bed.

  When this had happened to Prue, all her friends had rallied together to do everything they could. So, first, Jane sent a letter to Ellie, begging for her counsel.

  Second, she sent a messenger with the black lacquered casket full of letters to Raven’s house, in the fervent hope that, if she provided him with all the facts, he would see that she’d been telling the truth. That he could still trust her. Then, perhaps, they could heal the wounds between them. Perhaps . . .

  And third, she needed to learn why her uncle was at the Northcott house the night of the fire, and what he knew about it. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how she could get past the prison gates to find the answers.

  Then a thought occurred to her. If she couldn’t get into the prison, she just might know someone who could. Someone whose title could open any door.

  The following morning, Ellie arrived.

  But shortly thereafter, so did the black casket.

  The letters were still inside, along with a gallipot of salve, an empty jar that once contained damson jam, and a black glove. There was no note addressed to her. No words telling her to stop and desist. Only silence, as if he’d already managed to forget her.

  In that moment, she learned that unbearable, heart-twisting agony wasn’t the worst pain imaginable. There was another ache that hurt even worse—the cold desolation left behind of a love wrenched from the very center of her soul.

  * * *

  Much to Bess’s dislike and lamentation, Raven demolished room after room of his house.

  He started with the main floor, taking a sledgehammer to the walls from dawn to dusk without much break in between. Then from dusk to dawn, when all was quiet, he’d spread fresh plaster on the bare lath.

  He moved from room to room, stopping occasionally to grab a new bottle of whisky and take a piss. Sometimes he’d find himself lost in a slow blink with his shoulder propped up against the wall. But then he’d rouse himself and get back to work.

  The first day, Bess left out a tray and told him whenever he had a visitor. But after being barked at for her efforts, she stayed belowstairs from that point on. She turned everyone away, too, just like he asked. Not that there was anyone who stopped by after the first day.

  Warrister sent several missives, but they were all in a pile on the table by the door.

  And Raven had to stay away from his bedchamber because Jane was everywhere within it, her scent on his bedclothes, her memory in his chair, and her letters still tucked in his drawer.

  But after a week of tearing his house apart, Raven needed something else to distract him.

  When he walked into Sterling’s office and asked to return to his post, Reed’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You want to continue working for me? What, have you just given up after the debacle at Aversleigh’s ball?”

  Raven shrugged. “I just need to know where my next step will land. I need some certainty.”

  “Isn’t Miss Pickerington your certainty? I had the impression the last time we talked that she was a big part of your decision to claim your birthright.”

  “I’m sure you heard what happened. Because she duped me, I lost everything. I can’t forgive that.”

  Sterling scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t you?”

  Raven just looked at him, stony-eyed.

  “How did she do it, then?”

  “She uncovered vital information that could have stopped this entire nightmare, but she kept it from me. She’d made a choice to deceive me.”

  “Did you ever think she might have had a good reason?”

  Raven was already exhausted by this conversation. “There is no good reason for that. In my experience, there are only bad reasons.”

  “Very well. I have something to tell you,” Sterling said. “I’ve been keeping something from you and from everyone here. And it’s something I’ve known for quite a while, in fact.”

  Raven waited for it, crossing his arms, jaw tight.

  “I’ve decided that Sterling’s isn’t going to be a gaming hell any longer, but a proper gentleman’s club. And the reason is because I’m going to be a father,” he added with a smug nod. “Is that a good enough reason to keep a secret?”

  Raven relaxed. Somehow, his mouth remembered how to curve into a smile and his hand reached out to slap Reed good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Well, look at you, all puffed up and proud. Congratulations, old man.”

  “I’m glad you forgave me for that,” Sterling said with a wink.

  “Come on, now. It isn’t the same at all.”

  Raven expelled a breath. He’d had enough. And he was tired of thinking about Jane constantly, so he certainly didn’t want to keep talking about her.

  “Perhaps Miss Pickerington just wanted you to have what she thought you deserved. Perhaps she feared you would give up if something stood in your way.”

  He growled and threw up his hands, stalking to the door. “And perhaps I’m tired of always having to fight to survive. I just want my old life back. I just want to wake up in the morning and know who I am, who I’ve always been. Come to work. Go home to my house. That’s all. So, can I have my position or not?”

  “Of course,” he said. Then, before Raven could leave, Sterling halted him with one final comment. “Word of advice from someone who understands a bit about fighting. Don’t do it unless it matters to you. But when it does, you’ve got to fight like hell for it.”

  * * *

  Bill-Jack Rollins never had an earl in the gatehouse before and he didn’t know quite what to do with one.

  So, he doffed his hat and scuffed the dust from the toes of his boots. “Good day to ye, Lord Warrister. ’ow can I be o’ service?”

  The old earl straightened his shoulders and gave the courtyard a flinty-eyed stare. “Take me to Mr. John Pickerington’s chamber, if you please.”

  Chapter 35

  It was nearly Christmas and there were no garlands on the stairs or above the doorways. There were no beribboned kissing boughs, and no family puddings in the larder, waiting to be steamed.

  Jane could barely summon the desire to walk into the conservatory. However, whenever she did, she went to the chaise longue for a good cry.

  “I’ve had enough of this, Jane,” Ellie said sternly, wagging her finger. Her reprimand was lessened, however, by the blatant concern in her stricken features. “Let’s have a walk in the cold air. I’ve heard it’s very good for the constitution.”

  “I would likely freeze to death on
purpose, and I don’t want that weighing on your conscience.”

  “Then we’ll walk down the hall to the library.”

  Jane closed her eyes, futilely trying to keep the memory at bay. “Not the library.”

  “Then what about your desk? Surely, you can manage ten steps.”

  “I don’t see the point of it.”

  “The point is,” Ellie huffed, “that there is paper and ink and a plan that needs to be formed. You’re not simply going to allow your parents to ship you off to America, are you? At the very least, you could think up a grand escape like you did for Winnie earlier this year. All turned out well for her. And it will for you. Why, even my aunts are determined to keep you if your parents attempt to go through with it.”

  “Thank you, Ellie, but it doesn’t matter any longer.”

  “Of course, it matters. What about our book?”

  “I’m afraid that you will be left in charge of its completion. My name will have to be omitted, of course, or else it will never be published otherwise. And I wouldn’t be able to live with you and your aunts without risking your reputation. I won’t do that to you.”

  “Oh, Jane why did you risk your own?” Ellie asked, worrying the seams of her cuffs with a flick of her manicured thumbnail. “You told me that you knew from the outset that he might never claim his birthright. So falling in love with him was a foolish choice. You’d never have been able to marry him and live here with your siblings like you’d always planned. Your parents would never have allowed it.”

  “I know. I even tried to convince myself that I wasn’t aware of the full risk of ruination.” Jane shook her head, feeling silly for trying to fool herself. “But I would have married him regardless, or even stayed by his side without marriage. I was willing to risk everything. And I did. I love my siblings, but they will eventually grow up and move away and start families. But I want a family, too, and children of my . . . own.” Her voice broke on the painful reminder. “And I wanted that with him, even if it meant never being allowed back into this house.”

  Ellie stared, agape, and slowly sank down onto the foot of the chaise longue. “You truly love him that much?”

  “I do. But it is a one-sided love.” Apparently, it always was.

  “The worst kind of love.” Her friend nodded in commiseration. “But how can you be certain of his regard, or lack thereof, if the two of you haven’t spoken since the night of the ball?”

  In Ellie’s eyes Jane saw a glint of promise. At least, one of them still had hope.

  “I sent him another missive this week, absolving him from any obligation toward me,” Jane said with numb desolation, recalling the miserable moment her courses had come, leaving her with no possible tie to Raven. “He never responded. And in his lack of response, he has made his desires indisputably clear.”

  “I hate him,” her friend decided, her fist on her lap. “I know you don’t, but I must. He has wounded you too severely. The Jane Pickerington I knew would have marched up to his door and given him a piece of her mind . . .”

  Ellie’s words trailed off and her gaze went distant and unfocused as she stared toward the frosted window glass.

  The old Jane would have been able to surmise what she was thinking. But this Jane was only half of herself, having already given Raven a piece of her mind along with every bit of her heart.

  * * *

  “One of your lovelies finally came to see you,” Bess announced from the door. “Been wonderin’ when this would ’appen.”

  Raven’s reflection went still in the washstand mirror, the razor poised in his hand. His heart stopped, too, and every thought went directly to Jane. Was she here?

  Slowly, he lowered the razor and wiped the shaving soap from his jaw.

  “Well? Am I to send ’er away?”

  “No,” he heard himself say, his voice distant to his own ears. “I’ll be down in a trice.”

  As Bess flounced out of the room, he realized that in the past he would have just said to bring this particular caller upstairs. But he couldn’t now. He had to keep his guard up. There was no way he’d allow himself to be manipulated again.

  He dressed more carefully than he usually did for a day at Sterling’s. But he didn’t want Jane to know that he’d spent every moment of the past fortnight doing little more than thinking about her.

  He kept his focus on straightening his cuffs as he ambled down the stairs, refusing to look at the figure waiting in the foyer until he reached the nadir. And there he stopped abruptly.

  It wasn’t Jane.

  A wave of tension rolled through him, clawing up his back, chafing his skin. On an exhale he said, “Miss Parrish. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  She held up a stack of the post that had piled on the table, withdrawing one as if she were planning to discard it like a card in a deck. “You haven’t even bothered to read it. I knew I was right to hate you, using my friend the way you did.”

  “I think you have that the other way around. Your friend was the one who toyed with my life as if it was of little consequence to her.”

  She scoffed. “Then, I imagine, you consider being sent to America, away from her family and friends, of little consequence.”

  Raven took a step forward, and another, his heart thudding in his chest and their last night together playing poignantly through his mind. “Why is she being sent away?”

  “Because of you, of course,” she hissed, narrowing a pair of amber-colored viper eyes. “Though, if you’d bothered to read her letter, I’m sure you would have known already.”

  He snatched it out of her grasp and ripped it open, skimming the short missive for any word of a child. His child . . . their child . . . A family, with Jane.

  And in that second of searching, he felt such hope that he knew he’d been fooling himself all this time.

  Jane was right. And so was Sterling, for that matter. Raven had pushed her away because he was afraid of losing her. He knew that when doubt was cast on his legitimacy, he’d never be allowed to marry her. And the thought of never having her was even worse than losing any stupid title.

  His hands gripped the page, his gaze settling on the text.

  You are under no obligation to me now or in the future.

  Lowering the paper on a breath, he turned to the stairs and scrubbed a hand over his face. He understood too clearly. No child . . . No Jane . . . Nothing.

  His life was what it had always been. What he’d made of it. He had employment, coin in his pocket, and a roof over his head. It was all a man could want.

  So then why wasn’t it enough for him any longer?

  “What about the book?” he asked, knowing how much it meant to her.

  Miss Parrish huffed and said, “It’s up to me to finish, now. Jane must keep her name from being associated with it because of all the talk of her ruination.”

  He whirled around. “What?”

  “Do not pretend that you care. You had to have heard of the things Baron Ruthersby said, and yet you did nothing. If I had the power, I’d wish the plague on you.”

  Raven hadn’t heard. He’d been blocking out every comment and every whisper in an effort to return to his old life. But there was nothing to return to. Nothing left for him without Jane.

  He’d been an idiot not to have seen it before.

  “Miss Parrish, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  And then, he was going to have a little chat with Ruthersby.

  Chapter 36

  Jane awoke to the sound of Theodora giggling in the corridor, and light flooding in from below her bedchamber door. Checking the clock on the mantel, she saw that it was not quite seven o’clock in the morning. Exhausted but curious, she slipped out of bed and shrugged into her wrapper to investigate.

  Opening the door, she saw the wall sconces were lit all along the corridor, adorned with evergreen and sprigs of holly. Strange. She hadn’t noticed these decorations last night.

  Stepping further into the hall, she
saw her cherub-faced little sister being lovingly mauled by a little ball of white-and-brown fluff. “The puppy is kissing me, Jane.”

  “I see that. But where did you find . . .” Her question trailed off as she saw another ball of fluff gambol down the corridor.

  This time, Peter followed—sans clothing, of course—and pointing. “Bird.”

  “You’re not supposed to be upstairs yet,” a whispered voice said.

  “Ellie? Whatever are you doing here at this time of morning?”

  Her friend froze in midstride before she could reach Peter and the puppy. “Um . . . Jane, why are you not still asleep?”

  “I believe I posed my question first.”

  Ellie looked over her shoulder fretfully and then back to her. “Would it be too much to ask for you to pretend that you’re sleepwalking and simply turn back around?”

  “It’s no use, Miss Parrish.” The words were said in an all-too-familiar deep growl, as Raven slowly ascended the stairs like a figure out of a dream. “I knew it would be futile to attempt to surprise someone as clever as Jane.”

  He stopped abruptly when he saw her, his gaze holding hers.

  Neither of them was breathing. But she could feel her pulse hammering at her throat, and see his doing the same above a silver cravat. His frost-colored eyes heated as he took her in from head to toe, drawing out a twinge of longing from her heart.

  She steeled herself against it and tied her frilly wrapper shut. “Why are you here?”

  “To wish you a happy Christmas,” he said softly.

  “Christmas isn’t for five more days.” She knew this because she was leaving for America in four.

  He shook his head and began to walk toward her, the air seeming to crackle between them. The closer he came, the more her skin tingled and yearned.

  So she took a step back and held up her hand to stay him, all the while feeling the sting of tears prick the corners of her eyes.

  He stopped, his brow knitting together. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. It was only when he drew it away that she noticed the weary exhaustion beneath his eyes.