The Earl Returns

by Marek, Lillian

  Mrs. Rokeby raised her brows. “Really? Then you keep no mistress at present.”

  “No, nor have I ever done so.”

  She nodded. “And what would you expect of your wife? Where would she live, for example?”

  He looked nonplussed at this. “Why, she will live with me, of course.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “At Schotten Hall, for the most part,” he said slowly, “unless she doesn’t like it.” He turned to look at Miranda, but she was talking quietly with her father at the far end of the room. “Would she prefer to live in London, do you think? We could do that, though I thought she liked it at the Hall.”

  “You would keep her in seclusion then?”

  “Keep her… Mrs. Rokeby, I do not understand. You talk as if you think I want to make demands, to rule over Miranda. I have no wish to force anything on her. I want to share my life with her, a life I think she wishes to share.”

  Some of the distrust began to leave her face. “You must understand my concern. My parents once wanted me to marry the Earl of Carbonyl, and it was made quite clear to me what the expectations of my position would be.”

  “Carbonyl,” said Merton thoughtfully, “I think I know the name. Oh yes, he was a friend, well, an acquaintance of my grandfather’s. But the title has died out.” He was suddenly shocked. “But he was ancient. He must have been an old man when he offered for you.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Indeed he was. Older than my own father. But he was an earl, you see, and my father was only a viscount. My parents thought that important.”

  He smiled back. “How fortunate, then, that they did not insist.”

  “But they did. They were quite furious when I refused him and I think they would have dragged me to the altar had they thought there was any chance I could be persuaded to say ‘I will’. And they would never have agreed to let me marry Joseph. We had to elope, and they quite cut me off. I would never try to force a marriage on my daughter, but you can understand my concern when she tells me she wishes to marry an earl.”

  “Ah, yes, I can understand. Indeed. Yes.” He shook his head. “I do not know if Miranda has had an opportunity to tell you that, like Hodgson, I was in the navy because I was impressed.” At her nod, he continued. “Three years spent as plain Tom Wortham taught me the value of a title, or rather, its lack of value. It is useful when I want a room at an inn, and it allows me to harangue the other peers in the Lords.” He gave her a quick grin. “And if they ever decide to hang me, they have to use a silken rope. Aside from that…” He shrugged dismissively.

  “Yet I gather that it is your title that has made you the target of several murderous attacks.”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot simply give my cousin, Edgar, the title. I have to die before he can have it, and I am not prepared to do that.” He frowned. “Truth to tell, I would not give him the title if I could. I cannot leave the tenants, the workers, all those who depend on me to the mercies of that fool.”

  “And do you think Miranda will share your commitment to your dependents? Are you sure she is not simply telling you what you want to hear?”

  He glared at Mrs. Rokeby. “When Miranda looks at me, she does not lower her head and peer up through her lashes. She looks directly at me. There are no games. It is not that she cannot play flirtatious games—I have seen her do so with her cousin, George, and I have no doubt she has played such games with others. But between us, there are no such games. Between us, there is honesty.”

  She looked at him steadily for a moment. “Joseph is right. I think you will do.” She stood up. “Come. Let us join my husband and daughter in that glass of sherry he has yet to pour.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A small, grubby street urchin wriggled through the customers at a tavern on the edge of St. Giles, dodging the cuffs directed at him when he jostled a drinker. The man he sought was seated near the rear, his back against the wall, with three companions who watched him as carefully as he watched the room.

  “The knocker’s up on that house you said I was to watch,” the urchin said.

  The watchful man turned his eyes to the boy. “Is it now,” he said softly. “Is it indeed.” He looked away from the boy and waved his hand to send him off.

  The boy, however, stood his ground. “A shilling, Jolly. You said you’d give me a shilling. I checked every single day, and it’s been more’n a month. You promised a shilling.”

  “Did I make such a promise?” said the watchful man, who was called Jolly because he so rarely smiled. “And did you believe it?”

  The boy stood his ground. “A shilling.”

  Jolly looked at him thoughtfully, and nodded slowly. “You show some courage. When you are older, I may be able to use you.” He flipped a coin at the boy, who snatched it from the air.

  “Sixpence,” he said angrily. “You promised a shilling.”

  Jolly nodded. “And with it, I give you a lesson. Always demand at least part of your fee up front.”

  The boy glared at him and ran off without another word.

  Jolly’s companions looked at each other. One worked up the courage to ask Jolly, “Is this the one that cove hired you to get?”

  Jolly nodded.

  “Will we be off, then?”

  Jolly looked at him in disgust. “We think before we go off. Think.”

  The speaker, known as Tiny because of his excessive size, looked confused. “Think about what?”

  Jolly’s look of disgust increased. “We just knock on the door and ask him to come with us?”

  Tiny thought for a moment, and then a grin cracked across his face. “Naw. No way even a toff’d be fool enough for that.”

  “What’s more, we need him on foot, don’t we? At this time of night, rich coves ride in coaches. We can’t snatch him out of a coach. We’ll go over tomorrow, find us a good spot for watching, mebbe talk to the servants, find a good spot to drag him. Reconnaissance they calls it in the army.” Jolly smiled. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The following day, the duke and Lady Talmadge arrived in London to find an invitation awaiting them, an invitation to dine with Merton and his future wife and her parents. It included a scrawled plea: For God’s sake, come early!

  Hence Ashleigh and his sister presented themselves in Hanover Square a good hour before anyone could consider it appropriate for dinner guests to arrive. Caldicott, who showed them into the drawing room, presented an excellent imitation of imperturbability. However, Ashleigh had known the butler all his life. “Good heavens, Caldicott, what is the matter?”

  “Nothing, Your Grace, nothing at all. It is simply that the earl is a trifle concerned to see that all goes smoothly this evening.”

  Lady Talmadge smiled. “May I take it that the earl is not accustomed to hosting dinner parties?”

  Caldicott bowed in acknowledgement. “And with him so rarely in residence, I fear that some members of the staff are a trifle uncertain of their duties.”

  “Never fear, Caldicott,” said Ashleigh casually. “It is, after all, only a dinner for Americans. They are not likely to know if the ceremony is slighted.”

  “Not know?” Lady Talmadge rolled her eyes. “Really, Peter, you know they have been dining at Carlton House. Even had they not been, I am sure Mrs. Rokeby, as the daughter of a viscount, was brought up to know precisely the degree of ceremony to be expected on all occasions.”

  Her brother had started to shrug dismissively when Merton burst into the room, tugging his cuffs into place. “Alice, thank heaven you are here. You will know. Caldicott, show Lady Talmadge the menu.” The butler did so and she looked it over as Merton watched anxiously. “Will it do? I do not want to appear pretentious, but nor do I wish to seem as if I am slighting the Rokebys. Cook devised the menu—I told him to choose his best dishes—but I am not at all certain—he said there was no truly fresh fish to be had. Do you think they will mind?”

  Ashleigh took out a quizzing gla
ss and looked at his friend. “Merton, is that you?”

  “Hullo, Peter,” said Merton distractedly.

  “Merton,” said Ashleigh, “you are fussing about fish. And you are wearing breeches.”

  Merton flushed. “It is evening. I thought perhaps the Rokebys would be pleased by the formality.” He turned to Alice. “Do I look like a fool?” His coat and breeches were black, with a pale gray brocade waistcoat and snowy linen and stockings. He wore no jewelry—not even a watch chain.

  Unaccustomed as she was to having her opinion sought on anything to do with a man, Lady Talmadge was a trifle taken aback. However, this was Tom, whom she had known since childhood, so she smiled kindly and patted his arm. “You look most elegant and exceedingly handsome. And the menu your cook has designed will serve admirably.”

  Ashleigh put away the quizzing glass. “Your cravat is in place, you have not discarded your jacket, and your hair appears to have been combed. You would impress the patronesses at Almack’s, so I am sure you will impress an American merchant, if you feel that is what you must do. Is he not adequately impressed simply by your title?”

  “That is the problem. He doesn’t approve of titles. He has given his permission for me to marry Miranda, but grudgingly, I fear. I want to assure him that I am not a wastrel or some such.”

  “He does not approve of titles?” Ashleigh looked thoroughly shocked. “Good God, is the man a Jacobin?”

  Lady Talmadge was also taken aback. “Is not Miranda’s mother the daughter of a viscount? How did her family approve that match then?”

  “They didn’t. Her family wanted her to marry Carbonyl.”

  “The Earl of Carbonyl?” asked Lady Talmadge. She put a hand to her throat as she spoke. When Merton nodded, she said, “But he was, he was of an age with Talmadge’s father. And exceedingly unpleasant.”

  “That’s why she ran off with Rokeby.”

  Lady Talmadge sat down abruptly on the nearest chair. Her eyes widened in amazement. “She ran off to avoid a distasteful marriage?”

  Ashleigh looked at his sister with some pity. “It was hardly an ideal solution. She cut herself off from all her family and friends.” He turned to Merton. “It does, however, explain why the Carrabys had no trouble believing Miss Rokeby had eloped with you. They might think such behavior runs in the family.”

  Merton flopped down into the chair beside Lady Talmadge. “That is nonsense, of course. Miranda is far too honorable for that.”

  “Then she would not run off with you?” said Ashleigh, his face a study in disbelief. Merton glowered at him. It seemed Ashleigh still did not entirely trust Miranda.

  “She might run off with me if her parents refused their permission, but she would tell them so, and it would pain her.” He turned to Lady Talmadge, who was staring off into the distance. “Is something amiss, Alice?”

  “Amiss? No, I was just thinking. I could have refused, couldn’t I? It would have been unpleasant, but no one would have actually forced me to speak the vows.”

  Ashleigh looked at his sister sadly. “Yes, they would. You forget what our father was like. And you forget that you were only sixteen.”

  She sighed. “Perhaps. But it is something to know that there are people who refuse.”

  Merton had returned to his own problems. “I need you to assure Miranda—and her parents, too—that there will be no difficulties for her.” Lady Talmadge looked questioningly at him, so he explained, “Socially, I mean. She thought you were offended by her speaking out at dinner the other night, that you thought she was too unladylike.”

  “Offended? Oh, goodness, no. I was, I was envious. She seemed so fearless. She was not even afraid of Peter.”

  Ashleigh smiled wryly. “Afraid of me? If anything, I should be afraid of her. I thought she would tear a strip off me.”

  “Well, you would have deserved it, the way you were behaving, you arrogant ass. What were you thinking?” But when Ashleigh tried to answer, Merton continued, “Never mind. What I need you to do tonight is convince her parents that she will have friends and supporters here, that she will not be alone.”

  “Of course,” said Lady Talmadge. “You can have no idea how much I want to have her for a friend.”

  Ashleigh looked at his sister uncertainly. He wanted her to be less fearful, of course, to lose this dreadful timidity, but there were limits. A friendship with Miranda Rokeby? That might be well beyond the limits. Nonetheless, he turned to Merton and said, “Of course. You have my word.”

  “And Alice, tonight—Caldicott says the footmen know what to do, how to serve and all that, but I do not know, I have never actually paid attention to all that sort of thing. And flowers. Should there not be flowers?”

  Merton had risen and stood there looking so helpless that Lady Talmadge could not help but take pity on him. She smiled happily and rang for Caldicott. “Calm yourself, Tom. For years, I have spent my days giving parties and balls and dinners. That may have been the only thing I was allowed to do, but I assure you that in this one area I am an acknowledged expert. Ah, Caldicott,” she said as the butler appeared, “collect your footmen and the cook and have them meet me in the dining room.” Then she turned to her brother. “Peter, take Tom and remove him from the house so he does not infect the staff with his nervousness. Do not return until it is time for the Rokebys to arrive.”

  Merton expelled a long breath. “Thank you, Alice. I confess, I am quite out of my depth. I only need to get through this evening. Then I have the special license so Miranda and I can be married tomorrow…”

  “Tomorrow? Oh, I doubt that,” said Lady Talmadge. “There are far too many things to do to arrange a wedding. I would say Saturday morning at the very earliest.” When Merton seemed about to protest, she said, “Peter, remove him from the house!”

  Ashleigh obliged with a smile.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “One of them?” Tiny, wearing a tattered uniform jacket that had obviously once belonged to a much smaller man, gestured with a thumb at the men leaving No. 17.

  Jolly nodded. “Aye. The one with the yellow hair. Him in the fancy breeches. That’s the one we want.”

  “What about the other one?”

  Jolly shrugged. “If he wants to play, it’s all one to me. We just make sure our pigeon never flies again.”

  “Cor,” said the scrawniest of the men, smiling as he fingered the edge of a knife, “he’s coming right this way. We don’t even need to chase him.”

  “A real gentleman.” Jolly smiled the smile that had given him his name. “Tiny, when he passes the mouth of the alley, you crack him. Alf, help pull him in and then, Nicks, you can slit him.”

  Chapter Forty

  “Tom!” Ashleigh called out.

  Merton turned distractedly and realized the duke was still coming down the steps. He stood there impatiently while the duke finished tugging at his gloves and adjusting the angle of his hat. When Ashleigh finally came abreast of him, he turned and began striding ahead once more.

  “Merton!” This time the duke sounded displeased. “Take hold of yourself. The least you can do is walk like a gentleman.”

  Merton snorted. “You sound like Aunt Arabella.”

  “The fact that your aunt is a prune-faced old witch does not mean she is always in the wrong.” Ashleigh managed to maintain a frosty expression as he said that, but Merton relaxed into laughter and fell into step beside his friend.

  “You can poker up for both of us.”

  “There is a vast difference between ‘pokering up’, as you put it, and walking at a respectable pace and in a respectable manner.”

  “Mmm.” Merton managed to match his pace to Ashleigh’s, but he did not manage to match the duke’s posture and demeanor. Ashleigh strolled along, his walking stick held under his arm, paying apparently no attention to his surroundings but nonetheless never needing to swerve to avoid other pedestrians or to step around unpleasantnesses on the pavement. Merton seemed barely leashed. There was
a bounce to his step and he was constantly looking around.

  “You do not suppose they will be early, do you? It would be dreadfully rude of me to not be present when they arrive. Should we return?” He stopped and looked back anxiously.

  Ashleigh sighed. “Tom, we have been out of the house less than five minutes. Alice asked me to remove you so that she would have time to calm the servants so that everything will go smoothly. You asked for her assistance, you may recall. Be so good as to allow her the opportunity to give it.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Merton nodded and turned his back on the house regretfully. He started forward and frowned slightly. They were approaching an alley, and he had seen something, a slight movement that seemed somehow familiar. Just before they reached the corner, a memory clicked. He stopped suddenly, shouted, “Back!” and shoved Ashleigh away. He twisted away so that the club aimed at his head only grazed his arm.

  Ashleigh stumbled back a pace, and opened his eyes wide at the sight before him. The fellow who had swung the club was off balance when it failed to meet its target, and Merton put him on the ground by the simple expedient of kicking the man’s leg out from under him. He then turned to the others, and he was grinning, damn him, beckoning them on. The first one came at Merton with a knife, and seemed to expect his victim to just stand there and be stabbed. Instead, he found himself stabbing at empty space. Merton grabbed the arm, twisted it around and flipped the fellow at his companions.

  Ashleigh sighed. This was turning into a bit of a taphouse brawl. He would have to introduce some decorum into the proceedings. He unsheathed his swordstick and entered the fray.

  Jolly’s companions were not pleased by the way things were going. Gentlemen were not supposed to fight this way. The fair-haired one, the one they were supposed to settle, was fighting like a regular brawler, and the other one, the one who was just supposed to watch, had a sword out and knew how to use it.