West End Earl

by Bethany Bennett

  Phee glanced over at John. “I owe both of you a debt I can never repay. Thank you, John, for attempting to protect me, however misguided. I know it was your father’s idea, but I appreciate that you were willing to saddle yourself with me. You’re a loyal friend. But you’re also an arse.”

  John laughed, shaking his head. “You’d be lucky to land a gent like me.”

  Her earlier irritation at him slipped away. No wonder he’d been grumpy and making comments about her lack of wifely skills—he’d been envisioning a loveless future with her.

  “No woman wants a man who’s in love with someone else. I’ll never be Daisy.” He’d had eyes only for the delicate blonde for as long as she could remember. Still did, judging by the vibrant blush visible at the mention of her name. “Marry her, if she’ll have you. If she’s as sweet as I remember, you have a greater chance of survival with her, anyway. Lord knows I’d smother you in your sleep within a week.”

  With a grinning nod, John accepted her verbal peace offering. “I’m sorry I made that crack about you sewing your clothes. ’Tis a fine coat.”

  She smiled. “Cal is a bit of a dandy. I always replace the buttons with more sensible ones. But the gold and silver ones bring a fair price. When the time comes, I’ll have a tidy nest egg in addition to my inheritance.”

  “Will you stay here, or shall you take a room in the village?” John asked.

  “I have a few days before I need to return. I’ll make a pallet and stay here if you don’t mind. Uncle might hear of it if I stay at the inn.” She’d slept worse places than a floor, more than once.

  “Take John’s bed. He’s been sleeping in here all week anyway,” Arcott said.

  “He’s right. I’ll sleep in here. Father, are you hungry? Mrs. Courtland stopped by earlier with a cottage pie.”

  “Feed Phee. Girl needs some meat on her.” The fading reply from the bed left her and John exchanging a look.

  In the kitchen, John served two generous helpings of the cold meal onto plates, then another portion so small it would barely feed a child.

  “Does he only eat that much? He’s so slim, I worry,” Phee said. At John’s amused glance, she rolled her eyes. “I know. Pot calling the kettle black. But I’m skin and bones by nature—your father isn’t.”

  “He eats a few bites once or twice a day. Not much else for weeks now. That’s one reason I think he’s not long for this world.”

  Tucking a cloth over the cottage pie, Phee set it in the larder and poured three glasses of milk. The utensils were exactly where they’d always been; the kitchen hadn’t changed in the sixteen years since she’d first set foot in it. The butcher-block counter still smelled of the same oil the vicar, and now—she assumed—John, used every month to seal the wood. There was a bottle back in her room she kept for whittling, and the scent reminded her of home each time she opened it.

  A deep gouge in the countertop made her pause as she organized their meal on a tray. When she’d made this cut, she’d cried, fearful the vicar would be mad at her for not paying attention when she sliced her sandwich. Phee ran a finger over the wood and smiled at the memory now. That day years ago, Vicar Arcott had wiped her tears, made sure she hadn’t nicked herself when the knife slipped, then told her she’d simply made her mark on the house. That every time he saw the scarred wood, he would think of her.

  After this trip, she might never come home again. Home. The idea made her throat tight. Knowing the story behind scuffed counters and the location of the forks might be an odd definition of home, but if she were asked for a reference, this tidy vicarage would be it.

  “What will you do when he goes?” It was a struggle to get the question past the looming grief.

  “I’ve accepted a teaching position here in the village. Since I’m not stuck with you forever,” he teased, “I’ll court Daisy properly.”

  That made her smile. As long as John would be happy in this corner of England with the baker’s daughter, then something in the world was as it should be.

  * * *

  A few hours later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the days of travel packed into the mail coach caught up with her.

  “If you yawn any bigger, your head will fall off. Go to bed,” John said. The vicar had been dozing for a half hour, and they’d dimmed the lamps so as not to disturb his sleep.

  Nodding, Phee shuffled outside to the privy to take care of business, then returned inside to John’s room. As she crawled between the sheets, the moon peeked in through the small paned window. It hung like a lantern in the sky, giving plenty of light to see the familiar bedroom where she, John, and Adam had passed countless winter days.

  As a child, she’d daydreamed of a different life, one in which her parents survived to see her grown. Now an adult, she’d accepted the loss of them. Memories faded over time, lost their crisp edges. She couldn’t even remember what her mother smelled like, or her father’s laugh.

  Adam was the ghost she clung to.

  But there was no denying life would have been better if her parents had lived. It wouldn’t matter that Milton was a despicable human being. At thirteen, she wouldn’t have learned she could be sold and traded like livestock—a commodity and not a child. All it had taken was a business associate of Milton’s wanting to take her off his hands.

  Life would be so different. She would be so different. Adam might still be alive.

  With only the moon for company, it was easy to become maudlin. Phee closed her eyes and rolled over, breathing in the traces of the fresh herb sachet Arcott used in his linen cupboard.

  The vicar had stopped including lavender in the sachets when, at the age of ten, she’d launched a persuasive argument on the properties of other herbs and declared her unshakable opinion that lavender smelled of cat piss. He’d used only thyme and rosemary after that.

  Some things didn’t change. Yet nothing remained the same.

  Chapter Three

  You look like hell, Puppy. Are you sure about this?” Cal yelled over his shoulder as he removed his coat and unwound his cravat, because he already knew the answer. Just like he had a propensity for taking a dare, Adam didn’t back down from a fencing challenge. Of course, that assumed Cal offered a challenge, which was debatable these days. Adam had been a quick study. Given those dark circles under Adam’s eyes, Cal might actually stand a chance today. The lad had been traveling for days and looked like he might need a day or two to recover from bouncing about on a mail coach.

  “I could beat you if I were half-dead and blind drunk,” Adam said, grabbing his favorite fencing foil and inspecting the blade in the light by the window.

  “An appropriate boast, since you appear half-dead.” Removing a foil from its storage cupboard in the corner, Cal zigzagged the tip of the sword through the air. It might be unsportsmanlike to challenge the lad when he clearly needed a few more hours of sleep, but sportsmanlike conduct rarely came into play with close friendships.

  “I’m fine. I can sleep and be back in top form. You can’t sleep and get any younger. Now take your position,” Adam said.

  Cal grinned. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Big words for someone whose bollocks probably only dropped last year. Prepare to be trounced, whippersnapper.”

  They took their places, face-to-face in the long gallery. Adam rolled his eyes as he shook his sleeve off his cuff, then adjusted his stance. “My bollocks are perfectly adequate, thank you.”

  Cal dropped his sword arm and stared in horror. “Puppy, under no circumstances does a gentleman ever refer to his bits as merely adequate. Perhaps you should work on other skills. Not every man can be blessed below the belt, so learn to make up for it in alternate ways or you’ll end up a lonely, sexless old man.”

  “Like you?” Adam quipped.

  Cal glared and tried not to laugh. “I don’t even have a decade on you.”

  “A lot can happen in a decade.”

  “En garde, smart-arse.”

  It had been a while since he�
�d had a lover, but that was perfectly normal. These things ebbed and flowed. He’d been too busy to spend his energies in that direction, and he was tremendously picky.

  Metal clanged against metal as they fell into the familiar parry and thrust movements, traveling up and down the long gallery. Whenever Cal thought to slip his blade through a gap in Adam’s guard, his friend caught the motion at the last moment and corrected.

  Hell and blast. He might not be able to win, even with Puppy half-asleep on his feet. Just as he thought it, Adam scored a point. The tip of his blade tapped Cal’s shoulder as he tried to dance away. When skill couldn’t cut it, a distraction might work in his favor.

  “Do you plan to stay all day? If so, I have a situation that could use your talents.” The words came out heavier than he’d like in between breaths. Small consolation that Adam appeared to be working harder for each point today too. He usually bounced through the day with barely restrained enthusiasm. Good to see he didn’t actually have springs for feet and unending energy reserves.

  The Puppy took a swipe at Cal’s chest and nearly scored before Cal jerked back and blocked with his blade. “Are you trying to distract me with work?”

  Cal flashed him a grin and wiggled his brows. “Is it working?” Teasing opened him to attack. It took only a split second of distraction, but Adam took advantage and scored a final point.

  Resting the tip of the foil on the toe of his boot, Adam breathed heavily. “What’s the situation?”

  “I need some ears at the docks. The Wilhelmina was due in port last month with a valuable cargo hold. When I ask around, I get the placating ‘don’t worry, milord’ speeches. See if I need to break bad news to worried investors.”

  “Wasn’t your father one of those investors?”

  “One of the largest, yes. So you see my concern.”

  “Sending your errand boy all over Town when he’s only just returned home?” Emma said. Cal turned and spied his sister. Light flooded the narrow space and made her curls shine where she leaned against the wall and bit into an apple. “Good match, though. You’re quick, Mr. Hardwick.”

  Adam saluted with his blade and sent her a cheeky wink. “Thank you, Lady Emma, but Cal nearly took that last point. I’m lagging a bit today.”

  Cal wrapped his blade in oilcloth and set it in the cupboard with the rest of the fencing gear. Without a word, he held out a hand to Adam for the other foil, then wrapped and stored that sword as well.

  A glance at the pair showed Emma eyeing the Puppy’s waistcoat appreciatively. “That fabric is beautiful. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a dandy.”

  The clothing in question had been Cal’s a month ago, although Adam probably wouldn’t say so, and neither would Cal.

  Adam brushed a hand over the brightly colored brocade waistcoat, his cheeks a vivid pink to match the fabric. “It’s my one extravagance. Everything else I wear is black, white, or brown. I think it’s far enough away from my head that I can wear whatever I want, without worrying it clashes with my hair.”

  Emma cocked her head, then nodded. “I imagine that would be a problem. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about wearing color beyond a waistcoat. Fifty years ago, it would have been a different story.”

  The Puppy’s giggle sounded young and so different from the usual tone he used with the other men that Cal glanced over. “Can you imagine the horror of me in a rose silk jacket?” The pair laughed like longtime companions.

  If Emma would fall for Adam, maybe Cal could sleep at night, content knowing his sister was safe from her unfortunate propensity to flirt with men as dissolute as their father.

  “Calvin?” Her sweet tone jarred him from wishful thinking.

  “What do you want, brat?”

  “Lord Roxbury is taking me for a drive in a half hour. When would you like me home?”

  Roxbury. The man’s attention seemed fixed on Emma. Cal gave her a hard stare. “I notice you aren’t asking my permission to go for a drive with Roxbury. You know how I feel about him.”

  “Oh, please, Cal,” she said in a wheedling tone. “He’s ever so handsome and he really likes me.”

  “They all like you, Emma. You have a pretty face and a healthy dowry.” Cal looked to the ceiling as if the patron saint of annoying siblings would sprinkle more patience from heaven on him. Lord knew he needed it.

  “But he might make me an offer. He’s hinted as much, and I would like to know him better before then. Catching a husband is the whole reason I’m in London, is it not?”

  “You make it sound like it’s a pheasant hunt and you’re beating him out of the reeds,” Cal said. Emma would do what she wanted no matter what. The more he kicked and screamed about damned Roxbury, the more appealing she’d find the reprobate. The way through this situation was to come at her from the side, not head-on, otherwise she would raise hell. He’d need to have a chat with Roxbury himself. “Be home in an hour. Stick to the public parks. If he arrives in a closed carriage, I’ll box his ears, and everything I’ve agreed to will be null and void. Am I clear?” Thank God she’d have her maid with her.

  Emma bounced on her toes, clapping her hands like she used to when she was younger and not a complete pain in the backside. “You’re the best brother ever!” After a kiss on his cheek, she skipped out of the room.

  The enthusiasm would be endearing if it wasn’t for someone like Roxbury. Cal intercepted a glance from Adam. “Don’t look at me like that. Give her time. She’ll annoy the spine out of you too.”

  “Think she’ll be all right?” Adam asked.

  “I hope so. If he lays a finger on her, I’ll chop off his stones and shove them down his throat.” Still, the worry niggled his brain. A conversation with the scoundrel needed to happen soon. “I could use some coffee, and you look like you’re ready to drop from exhaustion. Let’s go downstairs. You can tell me about your trip.”

  Their footsteps thundered on the stairs to the first floor. Without discussion, Cal headed to the library and Adam followed, their strides falling into synchronization. It was good to have him home. During the last couple of weeks, he’d turned around to talk to his friend countless times, only to find Adam gone. Having him back in the house, resuming their usual schedule of fencing and sharing a meal while discussing work and life, soothed the remaining tension from the conversation with Emma.

  As was their habit, Adam rang for coffee before settling into the same leather chair Amesbury had preferred when he’d stayed here. “I missed this place,” Adam sighed.

  “London, my house, or this library in particular?”

  “This chair specifically, but I was referring to the library.”

  “I’m sure the chair missed you too. It’s been quiet around here. Not that I mind you taking the time off. I went to Almack’s without you. Twice.” And it had been boring but for the worry over Emma causing his eye to twitch.

  “Oh, the horror,” Adam deadpanned.

  “It was, rather. Not that I deserved any less punishment after my appalling behavior. I know I apologized already, but I feel awful about the comments I made that night.”

  “I appreciate that, but think no more on the matter.”

  It didn’t seem like enough, somehow. Perhaps because he’d had two weeks to stew in his guilt. “I’d love to have known Ophelia. Especially if she was anything like you. I’m sorry for your loss and my careless words.”

  Adam cleared his throat. “I think she’d have liked you too. Thank you.”

  “And how was the vicar? Do you think he’ll recover?”

  “Arcott insists he has no intention of going to be with God anytime soon, but I said my goodbyes just in case. John was right to send for me.” He clapped, as if slamming the book shut on that conversation. “Now. Tell me why Almack’s was a horror, and leave nothing out. I want to hear how miserable you were without my glowing presence.”

  Cal sank into his seat and leaned his head against the padded wing of the chair. “Roxbury danced with her twice
this week—one of them a waltz. He might as well have fallen to his knees right there and declared himself. But then he danced the other waltz and a quadrille with that Dowling chit. Emma ranted about it.” He closed his eyes at the memory of the tirade he’d endured on the way home.

  “Remind me again, why do we hate Roxbury? Beyond his general abhorrence of civil conversation, I mean. I remember looking into his name a while ago, but not the specifics.”

  “That thing last year with the opera dancer and my father? Roxbury took up with her next and shared every indelicate detail she spilled in private.”

  Understanding dawned in Adam’s expression. “How could I forget the marquess’s-mini-member jokes? You’re right. We hate him.”

  Cal’s father, the Marquess of Eastly, had a penchant for opera dancers. That one in particular hadn’t appreciated receiving paste gems as a parting gift. Her revenge had been brutal and effective. Now not only had every man in Town discussed or heard discussions of the size of his father’s allegedly uninspiring cock, but there’d been rampant speculation that Cal shared the condition. The whole situation struck him as juvenile, but really, he should be used to it by now. Father seemed incapable of staying out of trouble. A character trait Emma might share, if this budding relationship with Roxbury gave any indication.