Rescued by Love

by Joan Vincent

  “He is the most marvellous creature I have ever seen. The first earl I have ever met,” she sighed. “Did you not take note of his jacket? No one has such garments here.”

  “I am certain of that.”

  Deborah eyed her sister suspiciously, but was forestalled from making a retort by the baroness’s return.

  “Go to the kitchen,” they were ordered. “Tessy and Imogene have everything ready. I hope Lord Enoch doesn’t have an apoplexy when he sees there is no one to serve us.” She clucked as she set the tray of goblets on the table.

  “Oh, Sarita, couldn’t Tessy serve us? Please?” Deborah begged.

  “The earl will survive,” her sister answered dryly.

  “But what shall he think of us?” Distress filled her eyes.

  Taking her arm, Sarita guided her sister towards the door. “I could ask him if you wish.”

  “Oh—you—” Deborah shook free and stalked off.

  Looking back to the baroness, Sarita arched her brows. “His lordship is not without talent. He has already made one conquest.”

  “But not the one planned.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Good eve, ladies.” The earl came lithely into the dining salon. “Mrs. O’Neal said you would direct me?” He raised the pitcher of water in his hand.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan,” Sarita apologized as she hurried forward. “You are not expected to serve—”

  Dunstan raised the pitcher from her reach. “I dare not raise Mrs. O’Neal’s ire,” he noted seriously.

  “Those goblets, Mr. Sullivan,” the baroness interceded. “You had best fill them.

  “Hurry to the kitchen, Sarita. It wouldn’t do to alarm the earl by having him seated before you return.”

  Frowning at her defeat, Sarita controlled her urge to kick the grinning Mr. Sullivan in the shins and left.

  “Have you been with Lord Enoch long, young man?” Lady Brienne scrutinized him carefully.

  “Five years, my lady,” he answered as he poured the water.

  “And you handle all his affairs?”

  “No, my lady, only those he wishes me to,” Dunstan said, intent upon his work.

  “Mayhap you need a lesson in respect, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “I’ve no doubt you could give it, my lady.” The earl looked directly at her. “But Lord Dunstan’s concerns, business or otherwise, are his.”

  Reading the strength of the man, the baroness smiled. “He is to be commended in his selection of confidants,” she retreated gracefully. “Sullivan? Of the Hertfordshire Sullivans? Aren’t you connected with the Dunstans?”

  “Yes, my lady.” He assessed her more closely. “The earl and I are second cousins.”

  Their conversation ended with Sarita and Deborah’s return and the entry shortly afterwards of the remainder of the family and guests.

  “How long shall you be staying with us, Lord Dunstan?” Reverend Durham asked an hour later as all relaxed after Tessy had brought dessert to the table. Lin looked nervously at Dunstan.

  “His lordship’s schedule is quite flexible at this time,” the earl answered. “We look forward to an extended stay. Lord Dunstan hopes to meet Lord Pergrine while we are here.”

  The coldness which fell over the room caught Cris totally unprepared. Sweeping over those about the table, his eyes settled upon Sarita, who met his gaze with questioning accusation.

  “It is rather late,” Lin stammered apprehensively. “Mayhap we should adjourn for port now?”

  “An excellent idea, Lord Dunstan,” Reverend Durham quickly agreed. “It has been a long day for us all. A bit of spirits will relax us for an early retiring. We are to have a military drill on the meadow at first light. I do hope it shall not disturb you unduly,” he said, rising.

  “Pardon, Reverend Durham,” Tessy said, entering the dining salon hesitantly. “That young Mr. Mandel is here— wishin’ to see Miss Sarita.”

  All eyes swung to her, but she felt Mr. Sullivan’s the keenest.

  “Sarita?” her father questioned.

  “Did Monsieur Mandel mention his reason for calling?” she asked Tessy.

  “No, miss. He did ask if his lordship, Lord Dunstan,” she nodded towards Lin, “was to be stayin’ at Malvern.”

  “Perhaps he might be willing to join us all in the solarium,” Dunstan suggested lightly.

  “Monsieur Mandel is such a charming young man. I should regret missing the opportunity of visiting with him again,” Lady Brienne put in, curious to learn of young Mandel’s interest in the earl and Mr. Sullivan’s interest in the Frenchman.

  “Tessy, show Mr. Mandel to the solarium and then fetch port for the gentlemen,” Reverend Durham ordered.

  When all were assembled in the solarium, Pierre Mandel approached the rector. “I apologize for intruding,” he began.

  “You are welcome in our home, Mr. Mandel,” the rector cut him off gently. “How fares your father?” he asked, forcing himself to be pleasant.

  “Très bien, merci. And you, Mrs. Durham?” He turned to the rector’s wife and bowed over her hand. “I see you are in the best of looks, as usual,” he smiled.

  Why thank you, Mr. Mandel,” she fluttered.

  “And you, Mademoiselle Durham, exquisite as always.” Pierre reached for Sarita’s hand, but she avoided him.

  “Tessy said you wished to speak with me, Monsieur Mandel?” she asked.

  “Oui. Father wishes you to come to the greenhouse early in the morn. The project is near its time,” he told her smoothly.

  “So soon? But I thought it would be—”

  The young man gave an arrogant shrug. “I simply bring the message.”

  “Of course. Tell your father I shall come,” she answered, still puzzled. Monsieur Mandel had assured her only that morn that it would be some time before his secret project would be ready.

  “Perhaps the mesdames would like to come also,” Pierre continued. “And your other guests.” He bowed towards Lin and Dunstan, who had entered the solarium last.

  “My lord,” Reverend Durham stepped to Mandel’s side, “may I present Pierre Mandel, a neighbour. Pierre, this is Mr. Sullivan and Lord Kennard, Earl of Dunstan.”

  Giving an elaborate bow, Pierre murmured greetings. “Will you be staying long, my lord?” he asked.

  “I—I really do not know. It depends upon what I—find here,” Lin replied nervously.

  “Think ‘dun,’” Dunstan whispered to his cousin as he sauntered to one side.

  “Your accent is French, Mr. Mandel. May we presume you are originally from France?” Lin asked, his composure in hand for the first time that evening.

  “Oui. I was displaced by the First Consul’s decree,” Pierre answered, his voice hardening. “I believe you support the war effort, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Naturally,” Lin answered, affronted, and then launched into a speech on the economic ramifications of the war.

  * * * *

  “My ladies.” The baroness held court in her chamber. “What are we to do? Lord Enoch will not suit Sarita.”

  “He has been here but a half day,” Lady Imogene protested. “He handled himself quite well with that young Mr. Mandel.”

  Lady Brienne bowed. “Well, but dully. Enoch is too much like Henrietta. You cannot saddle Sarita with such a man for life.”

  “Lord Enoch may have faults,” Lady Phillippa joined the conversation, “but let us wait a few days before passing judgment. He may simply be shy among strangers.”

  “I imagine that is why he keeps Mr. Sullivan so close,” Lady Imogene agreed.

  “There is something about Mr. Sullivan—and I mean more than his manner,” the baroness noted. “Did either of you notice anything?”

  “Of course not, Brienne,” the countess dismissed the idea. “It is only that he is a personable young man.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t it be perfectly wonderful if we could interest him in Deborah?” the marchioness beamed.

  “Hruummph!” snorte
d Lady Brienne.

  * * * *

  “Sarita, what do you think of him?” Deborah asked as the sisters readied for bed.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t tease, Sarry. Lord Enoch.”

  “His lordship is—” she found a safe compliment at last, “fair featured.”

  “He is the handsomest man I have ever seen,” Deborah sighed. “And so fashionably attired.”

  “He is an earl,” Sarita tried to caution her sister, “and not likely to take note of a rector’s daughter.”

  “We shall see.” Deborah plopped onto her bed. “I believe you are jealous because he looked at me twice during supper,” Deborah hugged her pillow close. “Such deep blue eyes, and an earl. Imagine, Sarita, an earl,” she sighed.

  Listening to her sister’s babbling, Sarita dropped onto her bed. Deborah’s ravings would remain humorous only so long as the earl remained uninterested. Would he play loose with a naive young girl’s feelings? She drifted to sleep, her thoughts dwelling on the twinkling brown eyes and hearty laugh of the earl’s secretary.

  * * * *

  “Cris, you have gone mad at last. What can you mean by this?” Lin paced to and fro, his failure to persuade the earl to reveal his true identity in the morning very unsettling. “We must explain—” he began again.

  “That is impossible just yet,” Dunstan cut him off. “Not that I don’t mean to clarify matters,” he went on. “Bear with me. It is important.”

  Lin arched his brows in disbelief. “What am I to do about your aunts, especially Lady Brienne? You would not believe her questions.” He daubed at his forehead with his lace-edged kerchief.

  “You can always plead ignorance. After all, it has been many years since you have seen her. Explain that mother never mentioned them or their family, or whatever she is asking after. You can manage it.”

  “But what of Lord Pergrine? Are you not acquainted with him?”

  “We met briefly a few years past. I see no problem with him.” Dunstan removed his coat and began undoing his cravat, donned in honour of supper with the Durhams. “Did you notice the effect the mention of his name produced?”

  “There is more than one strange apple in this tree. What of this Mandel? He is an odd one with his perfumed lace,” Lin ended cryptically.

  Dunstan arched his brow at this comment but did not speak. “We had best be to bed, Lin,” he said finally. “If Reverend Durham is to drill the home militia in the morn, I doubt we shall sleep much past first light. They may be short on skill, but I suspect they are long on shouting.” He placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

  “I would not ask this of you if it were not important.”

  Studying the earl’s features, more serious and intent than Lin had ever seen them, he wondered if his cousin were more complex than he supposed. “All right, Cris, but your explanation had bloody well be good.”

  Dunstan nodded.

  “Which chamber shall you take?” Lin looked about hesitantly.

  “You shall have the smaller,” the earl smiled. “I shall explain it, if the matter is noticed, by telling them you are fearful of fresh air.” He motioned to the windows.

  With a knowing frown, Lin bowed and went to his room.

  Later, abed, Dunstan went over Mandel’s conversation with Lin. Something about the Frenchman troubled him. A far different picture replaced the nagging question as he drifted off to sleep the vision of a petite miss energetically scrubbing his mud-daubed coat.

  Chapter 10

  Barked orders, shouts, and the clamour of confusion awakened Lin Sullivan early the next morning. Grumbling at the disturbance, he arose to pull the windows down. This having no effect on the cacophony, he stumbled into the earl’s larger room. “Don’t see why they have to make such a confounded din.” He slammed a window down.

  “Hasn’t it awakened you?” When no response came, Lin tramped to the large, canopied bed. Jerking back the covers, he was shocked to discover that the bed was empty. “Now where could he have gone,” he mumbled, a hand tousling his hair. A thought took him to the windows, where he carefully scrutinized the rugged band of men drilling in the meadow. Most wore the garb of common farmers, and a few showed evidence of being more prosperous in their unpatched coats, but none resembled his cousin.

  Watching the attempted manoeuvres, Lin considered returning to bed, then saw a fat, short-bodied man atop a blood stallion gallop up to the men and rear his mount to a halt before the leader. Too far away to hear what was spoken, he recognized anger in the gestures of the mounted man, whose dress bespoke the quality. “Why, that man is raging at Reverend Durham,” Lin exclaimed shocked.

  The rector was standing stolidly, enduring the harangue. The men about the two, however, began separating and moving back.

  “Why doesn’t someone go to the man’s defence?” slipped indignantly from Lin’s lips. Alarm followed as a band of horsemen broke from the woods. At first glance, Sullivan took them for brigands, for many had pistols in their waistbands and carried shooting pieces as well.

  “Cris, where are you?” he bemoaned his more daring cousin’s absence. “You would know what to do.”

  A motion from the first mounted man caught Lin's eye. To his amazement the approaching men reined to a halt. The first then signalled towards the rapidly retreating home militia, whose weapons Sullivan now saw were merely sticks of wood.

  Acknowledging the sign, the men spurred to drive the troop farther away. A final barrage of words was loosened on Durham, and then the mounted man followed his men. The rector stood staring stiffly after them. Slowly his shoulders sagged, and he plodded towards the rectory.

  Fully awake, Lin rushed to his chambers, pulling off his nightdress as he went. A quiet thudding and then a gentle but insistent tapping in the earl’s chamber interrupted his hurried dressing.

  Curiously, cautiously, he stepped into the chamber. The tapping grew louder. Lin gaped at the sight of Lord Dunstan clinging to the vines outside the window.

  “Good lord!” He rushed forward and wrenched the window open. “Cris, what are you trying to do?”

  “To come in, my man, to come in—which I could have done unaided if you had not closed the windows,” Dunstan quipped as he swung his legs inside.

  “Did you see what happened in the meadow?” Lin asked excitedly as the earl stood up. “I thought that ruffian was going to attack Reverend Durham.”

  “The ruffian was Lord Pergrine,” Dunstan clipped as he shrugged out of his damp coat. “Now we know why his name was so coldly received last eve,” he said as he tossed his coat into the wardrobe and removed another. Laying it on his bed, he sat down and motioned for his cousin to help remove his boots.

  “Did you hear what was said?” Lin asked as he straddled the earl’s leg and tugged.

  “I was too far away and dared go no closer. Something about the men drilling with Durham, I think.”

  The boot popped free. Dropping the distasteful object, Lin faced his cousin. “What were you doing out there?”

  “In good time, Lin, you will know it all, believe me. For now it is best you remain ignorant, and,” the earl cast a warning look at his cousin, ”say nothing of my comings and goings.” He motioned toward the open window.

  “Also, please do not shut my windows.” He raised his other leg, motioned at his boot. “It could prove most embarrassing if I were forced to enter by way of the Misses Durham’s chamber.”

  Sullivan dropped the second boot and brushed his hands free of the damp blades of grass. “I grow wiser, Cris. You say that merely to tease me,” he returned haughtily.

  A light knock prevented reply. Stocking-footed, Dunstan went to the door.

  “Good morn, Mr. Sullivan,” Lady Phillippa greeted him cheerfully. “Breakfast will be served in a few moments.”

  “Is it not early for you to be up, my lady?” the earl asked. “His lordship is—”

  “You will simply have to wake Enoch.” She patted his arm. “Breakfast is serv
ed but once in this household. To miss it is to do without, no matter what your rank,” she added for his benefit. “We thought it best Enoch learn this at once. Hopefully it will prevent future grief for us all,” she sighed. The marchioness edged closer. “I do hope this will not cause Lord Enoch to bolt for London," she whispered. "It would be regrettable for him—and for you as well,” she smiled.

  “For me?” the earl asked innocently.

  “Why, yes, Mr. Sullivan. Do I dare believe you have failed to take note of Reverend Durham’s daughters?” Lady Phillippa asked artlessly. “Although little good it may do you. Both young ladies have many admirers. Well, no more on that. Remember, breakfast now, or do without.”

  Chuckling, Lord Dunstan closed the door.

  “What kind of a household is this?” Lin choked out. “Do they not know the kind of treatment a peer deserves?”

  “You forget ‘your’ aunts are peeresses.” Dunstan smiled broadly.

  Moving to the mirror on the large wardrobe, Lin began working meticulously on the folds of his cravat. “Breakfast will be served only once,” he mimicked the marchioness.

  “Why, cousin, I didn’t know you had such a gift,” the earl laughed.

  “Nor did I realize that entering upper floors by means of windows was one of yours. But perhaps that is only one of the talents necessary for your predilections.” He frowned at his cravat in the mirror. “Let us lay that aside for now. What are we to do to help Reverend Durham? You can’t mean to call on Lord Pergrine now?”

  “But I must. It is very important, but not easily done.” Dunstan frowned, shaking his head. With a shrug the mood was gone but not before Lin caught it.

  “Come now,” the earl strove to lighten the atmosphere, “I am famished. Let us go to breakfast, my lord.” He bowed and laughed at the grimace Lin tossed him in reply.

  * * * *

  Sarita, driven to distraction with worry over the unexpected end of the militia meeting, her fathers dark mood, and his refusal to answer any questions, along with the dowagers’ manoeuvrings, was not surprised to find herself placed inextricably near “the earl” as the group began their walk to Mandel’s. Her sister’s scowls added to her difficulty.