How To Catch An Earl With Ten Lies (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  Across the table from them, at Lady Agatha’s left, Benjamin’s face was a study in combined anguish and rage, layered over with an expression of polite boredom. To her right, Lord Steelfrost’s face had an expression of superiority and triumph.

  “Humphrey,” said Lady Agatha, in her best elderly lady in the last stages of dotage voice, “Will you please have them send in the soup?”

  While the soup was being served, good manners and custom would force the players on her little stage to maintain a degree of civility while she carefully steered the small talk.

  The soup was a clear chicken broth with bits of chive floated on the top, carefully designed to whet the appetite, require good table manners, yet unlikely to stain clothing in this first round of a seven-course meal. Lady Agatha took a dainty little spoonful of soup, and sipped it. Benjamin, Bertie, both the Chapman ladies, Lola and Mr. Nour sipped their soup from their spoons politely, without giving any sign of conscious effort. Mrs. Albright, Mr. Harrison, and Alfred used their spoons with punctilious, studied correctness. Lord Castlemount stirred his soup uncomfortably, but did not try a single bite, while Lord Steelfrost slurped his soup with unabashed lack of grace.

  “My compliments to the cook,” Benjamin said.

  “I’m sure he will appreciate the accolade, Benny. Do you still have that excellent cook?”

  “No, I’m afraid he left not long before the accident, and I have had to hire a new one. Or to be more precise, Grantham engaged Mrs. Albright’s Agency to hire one. I am much obliged to her.”

  This was perilously close to talking business at the table, so Lady Agatha quickly changed the subject. “Miss Penelope, have you finished the design for that tapestry you were working on?”

  “Still in the planning stages, I fear, Lady Agatha. Although Edith has already started picking out the silks with which to do the stitching.”

  The small talk languished. The soup bowls went out. The fillet of sole and egg balls came in. Lord Castlemount decided to help steer the languishing conversation. “How does the kitten?” he asked. “I understand that you took the little creature in.”

  “Indeed I did, Lord Castlemount. But you need have no fear. My poor dear George also found that cats constricted his breathing, and I found a way of maintaining the house for his comfort. This room, for example, is an area where the kitten is not allowed.”

  “Thank you, Lady Agatha. That is good to know, although I wished to express my regrets at having to impose upon you.”

  “It is no imposition at all,” Lady Agatha reassured him. As she spoke, she kept a close eye on the two gentlemen for whose benefit she was staging this little farce. “Indigo is a charming kitten, and I am deeply enjoying his company. Do you like cats, Lord Steelfrost?”

  “Frankly, can’t abide them,” Lord Steelfrost said, calmly cutting into his fillet of sole. “However, I must echo Lord Newhorn’s praise of your cook. He has managed to make egg balls edible, and I have rarely tasted fish so light and delicate.”

  Beside him, Penelope blanched, but sat straight and calm.

  Mr. Nour commented, “Perhaps you should have behaved as an honored guest in my country. Had you done so, I am sure my mother’s cook would have been glad to share her egg ball recipe. I can assure you that it was a delicacy beyond compare.”

  Lord Steelfrost gave Mr. Nour a sharp look, then said, with sneer scarcely disguised in his voice, “Just where is your home country, Mr. Nour?”

  “Just beyond the headwaters of the Nile, Lord Steelfrost. A modest place, but one that was well-loved until the barbarians raged across it.” Mr. Nour gave Lord Steelfrost a pointed look.

  “Perhaps you should clear away for the next course, Humphrey,” Lady Agatha suggested. “Some of us have a lean and hungry look about us. Perhaps some boiled vegetables and beef will prove calming.”

  Chapter 51

  Penelope sat very still at Lord Steelfrost’s side as he announced indifferently that he could not abide cats. Whatever was Lady Agatha about? It was perfectly clear that she had something up her sleeve. Across the table, Edith had moved the egg balls around on her plate and picked at the fish. Perhaps she was thinking of how much Indigo would enjoy them.

  The third course came in, a boiled roast of some kind flanked by tubers and a great mound of green salad. The salad had been dressed with remoulade, the scent of which caught in Penelope’s throat, nearly making her gag. Indeed, if this meal went on much longer, she was going to be ill just from the company.

  Down the table, she heard Mrs. Albright say, “Mr. Nour, do suggest to Lady Mary that she ask Mr. Alfred Harrington how his reading at law is coming along. I might wish to seek his services at some point, especially if the elder Mr. Harrington is too busy to attend my small affairs.”

  Mr. Nour cleared his throat, and took a sip of wine. “Why, certainly, Mrs. Albright. Lady Mary . . .”

  Lady Mary laughed, a high-pitched tinkling laugh, guaranteed to set everyone’s nerves on end. “Indeed, I shall ask. Mr. Alfred, how do your studies do?”

  Alfred flushed until his ears turned red, but he answered steadily enough. “They come on very well, Lady Mary, Mr. Nour, Mrs. Albright. I am learning a great deal about human nature in the process.”

  This latter sally caused his father to clear his throat meaningfully. “Law,” he pronounced ponderously to the table at large, “Is in many ways all about human nature. I believe . . .”

  Lady Agatha was quick to cut him off. Clearly, this was not the direction in which she wished the conversation to flow. “Indeed, nearly everything is about human nature, especially those customs devised by humans for humans. Would you not say so, Miss Penelope?”

  Penelope accepted a sliver of beef and a leaf of lettuce from Mr. Alfred, who had been assiduously attending his duty as the party in front of whom the roast had been parked. “I have frequently found it to be so, Lady Agatha. Which is why I often take refuge in books or artwork.”

  Benjamin fixed her with a meaningful look from across the table. Oh, if she only had an interpreter for that look! “Miss Penelope,” he slightly emphasized the name, “Did you not tell me that you had read not only A. Lady’s books, but also those by Mrs. Shelley and Sir Walter Scott?”

  “I have,” she replied. “Of the three authors, I was most impressed with Mrs. Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

  “Ah,” he said, neatly cutting a slice of roast and offering it to Edith. “Which did you prefer, the doctor or the monster?”

  “Quite frankly, My Lord, I believe the doctor was the monster. His poor, patchwork creation was a victim.”

  “A unique point of view, Miss Penelope,” he said, casually drooping one eyelid in something that was very near a wink. “Did you also read Mrs. Shelley’s book, Miss Edith?”

  “I did,” Edith replied softly, playing along even though her voice quivered a little with the effort of speaking in company. “The poor creature! Beset upon by mobs and deserted by the only parent it knew.”

  “Whatever are you all talking about?” Steelfrost demanded. “A book? Some sort of imaginary thing?”

  “Quite so, Lord Steelfrost,” Benjamin confirmed. “A very good book.”

  “Written by a woman, in response to a bet, no less. Who would read such rubbish?” He savagely sawed off a large chunk of roast, leaving a very small amount for the company at the lower end of the table.

  Penelope gave Alfred a nudge with the edge of her foot, then nodded at the roast. Reading her meaning quite plainly, he deftly handed the roast off to Mr. Nour, who began carving for Lady Mary and Mrs. Albright.

  “I would read it,” Penelope said quietly. “I hope she writes some more because I found her book much more interesting than those of either A. Lady or Sir Walter.”

  “I suppose you’ve read that Graces thing, too,” Steelfrost sneered.

  “I have read the Mirror of Graces. And while the ‘Lady of Distinction’ has some important points to make, I find that she begs the question of female independence
far too often.”

  Steelfrost glared down the table, and with a great want of manners remarked, “Castlemount, I believe you have let your nieces run wild.”

  Uncle Horace said nothing to this, although he looked uncomfortable. Penelope intervened. “He has given us every opportunity, including a fine grounding in deportment. I, for example, would never shout down the table or ignore my hostess.” Penelope looked meaningfully at Lady Agatha, hoping for some sort of intervention from that source.

  Lady Agatha smiled at Penelope. “It is quite all right, child. At my age, I am used to being ignored. Humphrey, it is clear that we are finished with the meat course. Will you please take it away?”

  The wreckage of the once fine roast went away, and the cheese course was served. To give herself something to do, Penelope took three slices of cheese, which was at least three more than she wanted. The wine that was served with it was thin and sour, but oddly refreshing with the squeaky slices of green cheese. Penelope sipped it carefully, grateful for the relief to her dry and aching throat.

  Steelfrost took a sip. “A fine wine, Lady Agatha,” he commented. Then sotto voce he said to Penelope, “I hope that when you are selecting viands for our house, you will do better than this.”

  “You presume, Lord Steelfrost,” Penelope said. “I agreed to give you an answer tomorrow, but not one today. I have not yet decided how I will answer.”

  “Oh, you will say yes,” Steelfrost hissed. “I have made very sure of that.”

  Penelope felt her stomach clench around the bite of cheese and the wine she had swallowed. “I have yet to make a decision,” she repeated, steadfastly.

  And at the rate you are going, you boorish bully, the answer will be no. And if Uncle Horace, Alfred, and Mrs. Albright have not unearthed more evidence of what I am fairly sure you have done, then God help my family.

  Chapter 52

  It was all that Benjamin could do not to leap over the table and drag Steelfrost from his seat. Was he a representative of the specimens who had sued for Penelope’s hand in marriage? No wonder she had wanted to protect her little sister if this was what she had been enduring!

  Instead, he helped himself to the cheese plate and said, “Steelfrost, old man! It has been positively ages since we did more than nod in passing. How have you been keeping?”

  “Quite well, Newhorn. My condolences on your recent loss.”

  Yes, that was Steelfrost, all right. Little Timmy Wilde could never refrain from pushing the knife in harder and twisting it a little bit.

  “Thank you for your kind thoughts. I’ll own it was not the circumstances to which I had hoped to return.”

  “England is too short on competent peers to pass up even such a one as you,” Steelfrost said, spreading a cracker with some soft cheese. “I do hope your return will be worth the wait.”

  “I wager it shall be,” Benjamin drawled. “I’ve been busily setting my house in order.”

  “And doing a little courting, I do believe. Even though you aren’t quite sure who exactly it is that you are courting.” The grin on Steelfrost’s face was more than justification for murder, but Benjamin kept a firm rein on his temper.

  “So I have been. But I think I have a better concept of which lady is Fatima and which is Sister Anne, than do you. Nor, I think, am I the Bluebeard of the tale.”

  Beside him, Edith gasped. Across the table, Penelope nearly choked on her wine. Remembering a certain nearly ruined napkin, Benjamin smiled gently at her. “Are you all right, Miss Penelope?”

  “Quite,” she said in muffled tones from behind her napkin. She then emerged, a little flushed and added, “I simply never took you for the type to read fairy tales, My Lord.”

  “I read quite a number in my youth,” Benjamin replied. “In fact, my French teacher insisted on it. He felt that reading the folklore of a region was an excellent way to learn more about a culture.” Although he replied to Penelope, he never took his gaze off Lord Steelfrost. The fellow knew he was being gulled in some fashion, but he clearly could not put his finger on the insult, and therefore could not quite take offense.

  The duel of gazes was interrupted by the trifle being brought in. It was a marvelous marzipan re-creation of the Merry Golden Tree and the Golden Hind. The delicate sails were made of excellent linen paper, with some sort of contract written across their artistically bellowed surfaces. Fine ropes of taffy represented the rigging, and the items on the deck were carved from various fruits, display minute detail. There was a general Oh! from all assembled at the sheer artistry of the confections.

  Steelfrost started from his seat, eyes wild and glaring. He said nothing, but it was clear that he found the elegant little ships disturbing. “What mockery is this?” cried out Lord Castlemount. “These are my beautiful, lost ships, right down to the last hatch and anchor chain. But what is that writing on the sails? Who could be so cruel as to display them in such a manner?”

  “Well, My Lord, that would be me.” A lanky man in a footman’s uniform slouched into the dining room.

  “Captain Lascar?” Lord Castlemount stepped to the side of his chair, preparing to go around the table.

  “The very same, My Lord.”

  “I am so very glad to see you. The Merry Golden Tree?”

  “Safe, My Lord, and most of the souls on board as well. The Golden Hind lost her first mate, but thanks to Sir Bertram, there, and his friends, we brought her in mostly intact.”

  “Praise be to the Heavens!” Lord Castlemount exclaimed. “And the cargo?”

  “Intact, and in my warehouses in Dublin, My Lord,” Sir Bertram said. “We can transfer them to their proper recipients whenever you ask.”

  “This is most fortuitous,” Lord Steelfrost said loudly, “Now your nieces are no longer dowerless, is it not so Lord Castlemount? But will these cargoes bring enough to get you out of debt?”

  Now the elder Mr. Harrington spoke up, “Why yes, we believe it will. When it comes to commerce, many things are flexible, but there should be no reason for Lord Castlemount to fear penury.”

  “Then I will claim my prize,” Lord Steelfrost said, his hand shooting out and grasping Penelope by the wrist.

  “I did not say yes!” Penelope protested, rising from her seat and trying to wrench her arm free. “I told you no shortly before Christmas, and I was preparing to tell you no tomorrow. Now, I need not wait. Unhand me!”

  Benjamin did leap up on the table, narrowly missing Lady Agatha’s plate, and made a second leap down beside Lord Steelfrost.

  In stepping back, Penelope effectively trapped Alfred in the heavy armed dining chair, twist as he might to try to come to her aid. Two brawny maids quickly pulled Lady Agatha’s chair back against the wall, away from the fray.

  Penelope went limp, allowing all her weight to swing from Lord Steelfrost’s arm. To get free, Steelfrost released his grip on Penelope’s arm, grabbed up the large carving knife from the table, and slammed it with all his might into Benjamin’s abdomen. Not pausing to see what damage he might have done, he ran for the servants’ door, nearly bowling over a couple of maids and a footman on the way.

  Benjamin dropped to the floor, moaning in pain. Penelope rolled up to her knees. Her heart leaped to her throat, and she felt as if her whole life was being ripped away. “Benjamin!” she screamed. “You can’t die! I love you.” Her hands patted his face, in frantic little motions, then fluttered toward the knife, then back to his face. “Benjamin, stay with me, I love you,” she sobbed.

  Blood was flowing out around the knife. Benjamin could feel it puddling beneath him. It hurt! Every breath he took, the slightest movement, it hurt so bad. But there was something he needed to do, to say. He focused on the beloved face that looked down at him, frantic fear written across it. “Penelope, I love you. Marry me.” Then the world went to blackness.

  Chapter 53

  Penelope’s hands fluttered above Benjamin. So much blood. She wanted to help him, but didn’t know how. The handle of the kn
ife wobbled each time he took a deep breath. She could hardly believe her ears, he had said he loved her. But it didn’t matter. If he died, nothing mattered.

  “Oh, Benjamin!” she wailed.

  “Here, Miss, let me to him.” Mr. Nour bent over them, his strong, dark hands gently pulling her away. Penelope scooted back, not trusting her legs to lift her up.

  “Napkins and saltwater!” Mr. Nour called. “Hot water, lots of it, and a brazier. Please, if you love this man’s life, move that table back and give me room to work.”

  Sir Bertram, Mr. Harrington, and Lord Castlemount began to move the table to the opposite wall. Quickly, the footmen and a couple of the maids came to help. As soon as the table was away, Alfred hopped out of the chair where he was trapped, and moved it away from the wounded Lord.