What Ales the Earl

by Sally MacKenzie

  Her womb said no. Her heart said maybe.

  And her brain said, Are you a bloody idiot?!

  “If you move back to Darrow,” Harry was saying, “I can visit her—and you—every day.”

  She stumbled. Move back to Darrow? “What?”

  He’d caught her elbow to steady her, but she stepped back out of his grasp almost immediately. His touch scrambled her wits, and she needed to concentrate.

  “Don’t you see, Pen? It’s the perfect solution. Old Mrs. Fisher’s place is empty. You remember the house, don’t you? It’s set a bit apart from the others and has—or had—a lovely garden. It’s a little rundown now, but I’ll have it set to rights before you arrive.”

  She remembered the house—and old Mrs. Fisher, except she now realized the woman likely hadn’t been much older than Pen was now when last Pen had seen her. And of course the house had been set apart. Had Harry forgotten the woman had been the village lightskirt?

  How appropriate—

  No! I’m not a lightskirt.

  Everyone will think you are.

  Living back among the people she’d grown up with, being Harry’s mistress . . .

  Her stomach twisted in a way that didn’t feel like excitement or anticipation.

  She couldn’t do it.

  Don’t be hasty. Think of Harriet.

  She’d do anything for Harriet, wouldn’t she?

  Perhaps not this.

  “It’ll be just the thing.” Harry smiled, but the moonlight made his face look a little cold.

  “I don’t know . . .” She hadn’t worried that anyone would find out what she’d been doing with Harry when they were young. She hadn’t cared. But this was different. This time she’d be completely dependent on him—a kept woman, in truth. She’d have to give up her independence, her job here, her position in the community.

  And she was a mother now. Rosamund and Verity had shown her just how cruel people could be. Harriet might benefit from being near Harry, but what if everyone else shunned her?

  And there’s another major difference between now and then.

  “I’ve read that you’re going to marry.” She looked ahead rather than at Harry. She could see the dark bulk of the manor. They didn’t have much farther to walk. “If the newspapers are to be believed, you’ll offer for the Earl of Langley’s daughter very soon.” If you haven’t already. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” He let out a long breath.

  She glanced at him. He was frowning at some point in the distance.

  “Ever since I got back to England, my mother has been trotting eligible young misses by me, Pen. We made a pact—she would stop hounding me and I’d pick one of the girls by the end of the Season—and I’m already past that deadline. I don’t have forever, she said, and she’s right. Walter died young and unexpectedly.”

  He looked back at her—the shadows made his frown darker. “I picked Lady Susan. I almost managed to pop the question the last night I was at Grainger’s, before I came down here. If it hadn’t been for a sudden rainstorm, I’d be betrothed now.” He shrugged. “I’ll attend to the matter once I get back.”

  He might as well be saying he’d attend to getting his hair cut.

  “It doesn’t sound as if you love her.” She’d been just as unenthusiastic when she’d considered trying to get Godfrey to propose, but he’d been her only option. Harry had a much wider selection of women to choose from.

  Harry snorted. “Of course, I don’t love her, Pen. That’s not how these things work. It will be a marriage of convenience. Most ton marriages are.”

  “But it sounds as if you don’t even like her much.” She didn’t want Harry to chain himself to someone who would make him miserable. “I know you need an heir, but surely your mother would rather you wait a little longer to find a woman you can care for. Why pick Lady Susan?”

  “I tried to find a better candidate, Pen,” Harry said. “You might think the selection on the Marriage Mart is extensive, but it’s not. The girls in their first Season are just too young.” He grinned at her briefly, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “Consorting with a seventeen-year-old was fine when I was eighteen, but it’s not very appealing now that I’m twenty-eight—even though my mother keeps pointing out that younger girls have more breeding years.” He shook his head. “They all seem like complete ninnyhammers.”

  She’d not thought herself a ninnyhammer at seventeen, but then she’d not grown up in a cocoon of wealth, with servants and governesses and dancing masters. Yet it was also true that she was more aware of the world—and Society’s rules—now. She was more . . . Not wiser, precisely. More realistic. Perhaps that was it. She’d had some of her foolish dreams knocked out of her.

  “So that left the others,” Harry continued, “the ones who didn’t take their first Season . . .” He shook his head. “Let’s just say it was often painfully clear why they were still on the shelf.”

  She felt a momentary pang of sympathy for those girls. It must be extremely mortifying—and perhaps more than a little frightening—to be in that position, especially if your entire upbringing had been focused on achieving the one goal you’d failed at—bagging a noble husband.

  “I’m sure Lady Susan and I will rub along tolerably well,” Harry said. “She’s an earl’s daughter. She’s been trained to supervise servants and manage an earl’s household. And she is very beautiful, so it won’t be a chore looking at her”—he smiled briefly—“or doing other things with her.”

  Of course, that made Pen think of the “other things” they’d just done at the cottage. Harry must be thinking of them, too, because his face was suddenly stark with need.

  “Is she passionate, Harry?” Why am I asking this question? I don’t really want to know the answer. But her foolish tongue kept going. “I can’t think you’d like to be married to a cold fish.”

  “I don’t know if she’s passionate or not, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll just lie back and think of England, I imagine, and I’ll do my best to get the business done without offending her modesty or inconveniencing her too much.”

  She stared at him.

  “Not all women are as lusty as you, Pen, especially Society virgins.” He grimaced. “I do hope she doesn’t chatter in the bedroom the way she does in the ballroom.”

  “Oh.”

  Harry must have heard the doubt in her voice, because his tone became a bit defensive.

  “It’s not as if we’ll live in each other’s pockets, after all. I’ll spend most of my time at my club when we’re in London, and Darrow Hall is such a huge pile, we could go days without seeing each other.”

  What he was describing . . . It sounded terribly lonely—worse than actually being alone.

  Harry touched her cheek lightly. “Don’t fret. I assure you, Lady Susan’s not looking for a love match, either. She wants a secure, respected position, and I have one on offer. It will all work out.”

  Harry must know best. It didn’t make any sense to her, but then she’d never had much contact with the ton—except for Harry, of course.

  “Well, I hope it does. Still, I can’t think she’d be happy to have your mistress living right under her nose.”

  That made him grin. “On the contrary, I think she’d be delighted. Having you nearby means I won’t be in her bed any more than the minimum necessary to get an heir.”

  So Rosamund is right . . .

  “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I do have houses you could live in on my other estates.” He frowned suddenly, as if a new, unpleasant thought had occurred to him. “Perhaps it would be best to set you and Harriet up at one of those other places, at least while my mother, sister-in-law, and nieces are still at Darrow Hall.”

  Ah. She hadn’t considered his family. Her memory of Harry’s mother was of an elegant but pale, older woman sitting in the family’s pew at church or smiling somewhat woodenly at estate celebrations. And she hardly knew Letitia at all. She’d married Walter a few years bef
ore Pen left Darrow, but had spent most of her time in London.

  “Your nieces are around Harriet’s age, aren’t they?” She had to swallow to overcome a sudden lump in her throat. “I c-can’t see your mother or sister-in-law liking them rubbing elbows with your b-bastard.”

  Because that’s what Harriet is.

  Best be brutally honest—Harry’s family was sure to be.

  His brows angled down into a scowl. “Harriet is my daughter—my mother’s granddaughter.”

  “And illegitimate. I know how the world works, Harry.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead he looked away, jaw clenched. He knew what she said was true.

  It was a full minute before he spoke again, and then his voice sounded tired. Discouraged.

  “I might be able to persuade them to move to the London house, though London isn’t the best place for the girls. The air is filthy, and there’s the never-ending din of carriages and horses and people.”

  They’d almost reached the house. She stopped in the shadows of an oak tree in case anyone was still awake and looking out the window.

  Whether his family would welcome her and Harriet or spurn them didn’t matter.

  “I can’t leave Little Puddledon, Harry. I’m needed here, especially now. It’s almost harvesttime. I have a job to do.”

  Harry frowned down at her. “But I need you too, Pen. And I need Harriet. I’m her father. I want to spend time with her—to get to know her—and I can’t move to Little Puddledon.” He stepped closer, but he didn’t touch her.

  “Let me make things easier for you, Pen. I’m serious about the house at Darrow or at one of my other properties, if you prefer. Come live there. You won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll see to your expenses and Harriet’s education. And I won’t insist you be my mistress, if you don’t want to be.” He grinned. “Though I can’t say I won’t try very hard to seduce you.”

  That made her laugh. He could still manage a mischievous little boy look rather well.

  But it was no laughing matter. She desperately wanted what he offered—and yet she didn’t want it, too.

  “I don’t know, Harry. I should say no and be done with this, but seeing you again . . . I need time to think. And Harriet needs time, too.”

  “That’s fair. I’ll stay a few more days, shall I? That will give Harriet more time to get to know me”—he grinned—“and me more time to, ah, persuade you.”

  “No.” She blurted the word out before she could stop herself.

  “No?”

  “No persuasion of that sort. I need to make this decision with my head”—she pointed to that part of her anatomy—“and not my—” She’d been going to say heart, but lost courage at the last moment and just fluttered her fingers.

  I can’t let myself fall further in love with Harry.

  Harry grinned rather salaciously. “Are you certain I can’t persuade your”—he fluttered his fingers lower, at the part of her anatomy he’d been persuading so thoroughly just a short while ago.

  That made her laugh. “You are not to try.”

  “No? Hmm. I can promise to try not to try.” He gave her that little boy look again. “I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed.”

  “Harry . . .”

  “I promise not to touch you first. How’s that?”

  She laughed. It was impossible to say no to him. “Very well.”

  If she decided—as she likely should—to stay here in Little Puddledon, he’d be gone in just a few days. She might as well enjoy—though not too much—the last little bit of time she had with him.

  “Now good night.”

  He held up his hand—but abided by the new rules and didn’t touch her. “Will I see you in the morning? I’m sure your”—he fluttered his fingers at her lower body again—“needs to be around me to make up its mind.”

  “Harry . . .” She was trying not to laugh. He looked so disarmingly—and, she was quite certain, cunningly—hopeful.

  “We could spend the day with Harriet—when you aren’t tending to your hops, of course. Surely, our daughter will be a suitable chaperone and keep us from misbehaving.”

  “Keep you from misbehaving.”

  He grinned. “So even Harriet’s presence won’t constrain you?”

  “I am not going to misbehave.” She tried to sound haughty, but failed miserably, especially when she giggled at Harry’s absurdly dramatic expression of disappointment. “All right. We will come down to the cottage in the morning. This time be certain you’re dressed.”

  “I promise.” His eyes brightened—though perhaps that was just the reflection of a stray moonbeam. “Do I get a good-night kiss?”

  She should say no, but he knew her too well. She’d heard the challenge in his voice. “All right.”

  He reached for her, but she stepped back quickly.

  “Remember, you promised not to touch me first.”

  “True.” He leaned over rather theatrically and extended his cheek.

  This is easy. She pressed her lips to his skin, felt the roughness of his beard against her mouth—and then the touch of his hand, stroking through her hair.

  She stepped back. “Good night.”

  She walked briskly—well, yes, she ran—for the front door, hearing Harry chuckle behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pen stepped over the threshold and then looked back to see if Harry was still under the tree.

  He was. The white of his shirt—he hadn’t bothered with waistcoat or coat—was bright in the shadows. He waved.

  She waved back and started to close the door, but stopped once he turned away. She watched him until he vanished in the darkness.

  I’ll see him tomorrow.

  She felt an uncomfortable churn of delight and dread as she finally shut the door, turned, and—

  “Eek!”

  Caro was standing in the middle of the entry.

  Pen caught her breath—and frowned. “Were you spying on me?”

  Caro didn’t deny it. “I saw figures lurking in the shadows under the tree. Of course, I kept an eye out. You could have been villains preparing to break in.”

  Pen snorted. “In Little Puddledon?”

  “Yes. Don’t think you are safe from rogues just because you live in this little backwater.” Caro looked significantly at the door. “Especially when London sharks come swimming in.”

  “If you mean Har—” Pen caught herself when she saw Caro’s brows shoot up. “Lord Darrow is not a shark.”

  Caro’s brows stayed up.

  “And there’s only one of him.” Might as well split hairs.

  Caro rolled her eyes.

  “And if you saw it was Lord Darrow, then you knew no one was going to break into the house. You were just sticking your nose into matters that don’t concern you.”

  Caro’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know that they don’t concern me. What were you doing in the shadows with the earl so late at night?”

  “Talking.” Which is all she had been doing . . . in the shadows. “And it’s not that late.”

  “It’s almost midnight.”

  Pen nodded at the longcase clock in the entry. “It’s only a little after eleven.”

  “No, it’s not.” Caro didn’t even bother glancing that way. “You know as well as I do that clock runs slow. And even if it were correct, it would still be late—you’re always in bed by ten.”

  This was one of the many problems with living in a houseful of women. They noticed far too much.

  “What? Are you my mother now?”

  “No, of course not. But I saw how you gazed in rapture at the earl when he toured the brewhouse.”

  Pen’s mouth dropped open. “I did no such thing. I may have smiled at him occasionally—he’s an old friend—but I never ‘gazed in rapture’ at him. What a ridiculous—and revolting—notion.”

  Caro rolled her eyes again.

  I didn’t look at Harry that way, did I?

  Her heart sank. Caro was infern
ally accurate at reading people. It was one of the things that made her such a good saleswoman.

  “And then when I saw how distracted you were at supper, I knew something was afoot. So I kept my eyes open and . . .” Caro flushed and looked away.

  Oh, Lord, this was bad. Pen waited for the rest of it.

  “And I saw you go out,” Caro told the portrait of some dead Havenridge, hanging on the wall by the door, “so I . . .”

  “You what, Caro?” Pen clenched her hands into fists.

  Caro looked back at her, her expression a mix of anger and worry. “I followed you to the cottage.”

  “What?!” Did she see Harry—a naked-from-the-waist-up Harry—catch me?

  “I didn’t follow you all the way to the cottage.”

  Thank God for that.

  “So, if he threw your skirts over your head and took you on the lawn, I didn’t see it.”

  “Caro!!”

  “Is everything all right down there?” Jo had appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in her nightgown and wrapper, Freddie by her side.

  “No,” Caro said.

  “Yes,” Pen said at exactly the same moment.

  “Oh, dear.” Jo started down the stairs, Freddie’s nails clicking on the marble as he followed her. “Let’s go into the sitting room so we don’t wake anyone.”

  “Actually, I was just going to bed,” Pen said, starting to edge toward the stairs, hoping to dash—no, walk sedately—past Jo. “It’s been a long day. If you’ll excuse me?”

  “No, I’m afraid I won’t.” Jo smiled. That is, her lips formed a smile. Her eyes were dark with concern. “I’m worried about you, too, Pen.” She stopped on the last step, a hand on the banister. Freddie planted his rump on her other side. Pen was trapped unless she wanted to force her way past them.

  She blew out a long breath. “All right. I do hope this won’t take long. I am very tired.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Caro’s insinuation was embarrassingly clear—at least to Pen’s guilty conscience.

  “Caro,” Jo said sharply, “you are not helping matters.”

  Caro frowned. She looked as if she wished to say more, but pressed her lips together instead and went off to the sitting room.