Trouble With The Earl

by Olivia Kane

  The carriage ride home was brief, but in that time, Charlotte was able to conclude that the Earl was a man worthy of respect with a kind, self-deprecating nature, who took effort not to offend. He had yet to show any curiosity toward her personally, or inquire as to her talents or accomplishments, but there was plenty of time for that, she knew. She sensed he would not be combative toward her regarding her opinions like other men she knew.

  Pappa should not have worried himself so, for finding a suitable suitor is simple when one is surrounded by the good people of Hertfordshire, she thought to herself.

  Buckland House had quite taken her breath away. Although its décor was not to her taste, its size was. To be the mistress of such an estate would be a high honor. She was pleased to observe that the Earl possessed a matter of fact manner about his possessions. There were no transparent attempts to impress her, she thought, and she found that admirable in a man blessed with so much.

  Likewise, the Earl saw in Charlotte no avarice, or flaring temper or rebelliousness, qualities that would make his life hell if he were to chain himself to another woman again. This one would be quite easy to manage.

  Another easy fish to hook, he laughed. It never failed to amaze him how easy it was to manipulate a woman into handing over her future, and her fortune, when one possessed a peerage.

  Later in the afternoon, while alone in the drawing room with the Lord Radcliffe and the Pomeranians, both women acknowledged that, although the Earl’s wife was quite unlucky to have found herself recently dead, up until a week ago, her position in life had really been quite enviable. Declaring him a man of good temperament and fine character, the Lady Radcliffe exclaimed, “You see how widowers are quite unpredictable in their actions. Mark my word, he may have already made a reasonable estimation of available partners and wisely decided on you as his next wife.”

  “You are a good daughter, Charlotte, and will make a good wife as well,” her father added.

  “And to think, only ten minutes down the road!”

  Charlotte smiled sweetly back at her parents. Of course her mother would be influenced greatly by the Earl’s proximity and her father by his rank and wealth. As for herself, the Earl produced no wild mood swings in her. That, she thought to herself, was how one should feel about a future spouse. The ability to maintain a level head when contemplating one’s future was the surest guarantee of a happy one.

  If, in the future, she were to fall in love with her husband, based on his kindness and fidelity, economical management of the household purse and a tender but firm guidance of their future children, then that would be acceptable. In fact, she decided, she was probably halfway there.

  She got up from her chaise and walked to the library, retrieving her list of suitable suitors from its place in the library desk drawer, and read the list of names out loud to her mother while they both laughed.

  “Such a silly group of young boys,” she said.

  “Think of the advantages that you will gain, Charlotte, when you are a Countess! The Meryton Millinery Shop will be more obliging than ever, I assure you.”

  Mamma was right. None of these boys could compare to her Earl, who was a superior man who knew what he wanted.

  Oh my goodness, she thought. I called him my Earl!

  She inked up her quill and, with her hand resting on her chin, carefully drew a line through all the names on her list of suitors. What was the point of the list anymore? It had been a fine way to organize one’s options back in the day, but she had a strong suspicion she would not need to reference it again.

  She laughed as she said, “mamma, you really should have heard Mr. Lancaster and Hugh ridicule me for writing up this list. I think I am not being too presumptuous to say that it looks as if I will have the last laugh.”

  When she became the Earl’s wife, she would take great pleasure in reminding them both how wrong they had been. Especially Mr. Lancaster, who had really overstepped his bounds by accusing her of having a dead heart. Really, it was an unforgivable assumption.

  “Mr. Lancaster will understand you quite well enough one day when he manages to secure a local Bedfordshire woman for his wife, and even again later on in years if his own daughters were to move away,” the Lady Radcliffe said with conviction. “Mark my words: I bet you have already taught him a valuable lesson he is applying to himself at this very moment.”

  Chapter Six

  His dead cousins had made hay of Ludlow Lodge’s finances. Guy forbid himself to become overwhelmed by the complexities of the farm’s accounts, and put his faith in his accounts man, Jonathon Renfrew, to make everything right. Renfrew came highly recommended by several of the men in his London club.

  “Renfrew has a good touch with the county governments and helped many a property in arrears back into good standing,” he was told.

  And so far, the recommendation had been spot on. Renfrew was capable, confident, and a disciplined worker. He had the accounts and bills organized, the lapsed tax statements unearthed and the books updated and balanced as best as he could, rectifying years of neglect. There were several tradesmen who had not been paid and their debts were set aright, with interest. Guy insisted on that.

  The work had been ongoing for the past six months, and in that time, Renfrew had seen fit to bring his daughter, Cecelia, with him to the Lodge. Initially, Renfrew thought he could use her second pair of hands to help sort and file paperwork but then, once he saw Guy’s ample inheritance and the enormous cash flow that the working farm brought in, he brought her around expressly so they could bump into each other regularly.

  Cecelia and Guy struck up a friendship. This was not unexpected, as she was a young and pretty female who was always in his house and sometimes in his way. He had great affection for her; they often laughed while sitting at the table as Cecelia sketched out some of her ideas for the new garden plots. She was really quite a horticulturalist; the estate would thrive under her imaginative and modern approach to landscaping. He himself couldn’t tell a foxglove from a freesia. He could certainly find no fault in either her disposition or morals, and with her petite frame and wispy blonde hair, she often reminded him of a woodland fairy but without the wings.

  He imagined that one day in the future, if he were to settle down, he would pick a woman like Cecelia. There was certainly no reason to rush. So he had thought, until that fateful visit to Bennington Park. Since then, poor Cecelia never had a chance.

  “You seem distracted lately,” Cecelia said to Guy as they walked the patch of land targeted for the new kitchen garden.

  “Really? Why would you say that?” Guy said, immediately bending down on the pretense of examining the soil quality.

  Cecelia bent down with him, also looking closely at the dirt. She felt the shift in him as soon as he had returned from the cancelled hunting party at Childeston Hall. There was a disconnect between them that she initially put down to fatigue from his journey; but then later decided must be caused by his concern over the amount of bills due.

  Now it was a week later and he seemed to still be going through the motions.

  “I see the shrubbery was planted last week,” Guy noted, standing up.

  “They are called boxwood.”

  “Boxwood,” he parroted. He moved his attention from the plantings to the sketches of the new kitchen gardens that Cecelia had drawn up. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself get interested again in the boxwood hedges, the kitchen garden, or even Cecelia. He hoped he was doing a decent enough job hiding his lack of interest. God knew he was trying. He sighed out loud, unexpectedly.

  Cecelia’s heart sank. Guy never used to sigh. She took the garden sketches from him, turned them right side up, and handed them back.

  “Perhaps the scheme looks less confusing right side up?”

  He hadn’t even noticed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology necessary,” she said, looking away from him toward the house. “What time is it?”

>   “Almost noon.”

  “I must go, I forgot about the church meeting. I am so sorry,” she lied, giving him a quick smile and walking swiftly off. Disappointment flooded her heart. He didn’t seem to be the same Guy anymore.

  Renfrew had picked up a similar, brooding vibe from Guy upon his return and knew it did not bode well for his daughter’s prospects. Upon confiding her fears to him, he saw his dear daughter’s lips quiver and her eyes fill up with tears. Reflexively, he assured her that she must have been imagining Mr. Lancaster’s distance.

  “There, there. Don’t cry. Mr. Lancaster has many responsibilities of late that must weigh him down considerably. I imagine he is finding the contrast between country house parties and his home life hard to adjust too.”

  Cecelia nodded, wanting that to be the case.

  “Maybe you could stay back home for a few days. Until his mood regulates.”

  Cecelia agreed. She did not want to cry in front of Mr. Lancaster.

  Inwardly, Renfrew made up his mind to have a word with Guy, and he did so the next day.

  “My Cecelia feels that her company is no longer appreciated,” he began, sitting upright in his chair. Scattered paperwork covered the table before him.

  Guy squirmed in his chair and looked out the office window out onto the copse of trees. He knew this moment was bound to come.

  He took a breath and then replied, “I have always enjoyed Miss Renfrew’s company.”

  Renfrew persisted. “Perhaps I erred in bringing her along with me so regularly?”

  “No, she has been a great help, for which I am quite grateful,” Guy replied in all honesty.

  “She has great affection for you,” Renfrew stated.

  “As I for her.”

  “Great. Affection,” Renfrew repeated, slowly and pointedly, his meaning perfectly clear.

  Guy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Silence hung in the air.

  “I would hate for my daughter’s unhappiness to distract me from my work. Especially when I am working on your accounts,” Renfrew said.

  Guy absorbed Renfrew’s threat without saying a word. He meant to force Guy’s hand regarding Cecelia.

  Renfrew’s expression was somber; his eyes fixed steadily on Guy’s face.

  “Perhaps we might all take a little break from the, um, situation. I have asked Cecelia to stay away, for the time being. I have another client whose affairs I have neglected lately. Why don’t you take the next week to figure out whether or not you will continue to need our services—I’m sorry, my services, and drop me a note when you have given the matter some more thought.”

  Guy stood up and ruffled his hair in a nervous way, but agreed to Renfrew’s demands.

  “I will see you out,” Guy said in all politeness. When Renfrew had driven away, Guy walked back to his office and kicked the table, hard.

  “These bloody accounts!”

  Renfrew wouldn’t dare leave him hanging, now. It would take weeks to find another accounts man. Guy wanted the estate put in order, yesterday.

  He sighed again, loudly, and swore again too for good measure. He grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote a few short lines, folded it up and called for his footman.

  “Please deliver this to Bennington Park immediately and wait for an answer.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He had tried to stop thinking about Charlotte but the distance between them made no difference. She was constantly on his mind. His distraction was obvious to those around him and disrupting his carefully ordered life. He had to get Charlotte out of his mind—or into a church. Nothing in between would do.

  Chapter Seven

  The Earl of Buckland spent three raucous days in London. Immediately upon his return, he sent another invitation to Charlotte and her mother. The last beautiful days of fall were hanging on; there was time to squeeze in one more picnic, most likely the last of the year.

  A small party was present when the Radcliffe women arrived at Buckland House.

  “You are looking lovely today,” the Earl said.

  Charlotte received his compliment with a gracious smile. She had dressed carefully, in her best dark green day frock with the opal trim. On her feet were new kid leather slippers, with an intricate woven ribbon work on them, newly shipped in from the Continent. She had been saving them for a special occasion and had taken them out of their paper wrapper for the first time that morning. In her ears, she had inserted the pearl drop earrings, and her hair had been loosely fixed, leaving tendrils of natural curl to fall against her neck.

  The Earl introduced his sister, the Lady Dunlop, her husband and her husband’s sister. The party had traveled from the north to comfort the Earl only to find him comforting himself with the Ladies Radcliffe. The lack of grief on her brother’s part did not surprise the Lady Dunlop. He would never be a family man; that she already knew. She felt no pity for the young Radcliffe girl; a girl with an ample dowry was always at risk from predatory males like her brother who gambled away their fortunes. There certainly were worse men with less money she could end up with. Everything was relative.

  Upon understanding her brother’s motives, the Lady Dunlop was determined to assist him in his end goal; hence she was all charm toward the Radcliffe ladies. The small party set off on a garden path toward the greenhouse, where a table was set up under an arbor, the staff waiting for them.

  “How lovely,” the Lady Radcliffe exclaimed. The Earl was more than gracious with his entertaining. A tableau of sweets was laid out on a white tablecloth: pear compote, apple tarts, almond cake, tea and wine. The older ladies hit it off, discovering mutual acquaintances and fell into easy conversation.

  Charlotte ate quietly, having no gossipy stories of her own to contribute. The server had filled her glass with wine and she had sipped it all out of boredom. The Earl sat across from her, fidgeting and struggling with his own growing ennui.

  “Would you care to walk with me, Lady Charlotte?” he asked abruptly, raising his eyebrow. Charlotte threw a quick glance at her mother, who nodded her approval.

  “We will stay in sight,” the Earl promised her, when she displayed a sudden nervousness toward accepting the request. With all the party’s eyes on her Charlotte stood slowly and took the Earl’s arm.

  They walked on the garden path and the Earl took measured steps, in no hurry to return to the picnic. Women’s gossip made him crazy.

  “What a beautiful fall day. We won’t be having too many more of these in our future, I am sorry to say.”

  “No, probably not. I do adore fall colors,” Charlotte said.

  “My late wife loved to picnic under the arbor. We had a wonderful picnic about three weeks ago with this very set up. Who knew it would be her last?”

  “Poor dear.”

  “There is no greater county in England than Hertfordshire, don’t you agree?”

  “No there is not.”

  They walked along in silence. Charlotte racked her brain for a topic of conversation suitable for the two of them, but they had already covered his wife’s passing, the clement weather and the beauty of the countryside and her mind drew a blank. The silence between them felt awkward and she wished he would take up the burden of conversation but he seemed lost in thought and content to walk along quietly.

  Meanwhile, the new slippers she had donned hurt her feet dreadfully. She could feel the back of the slipper rubbing her skin raw with each step, and she began to slow down. There would be a blister, she was sure of it.

  “I’m sorry, but my shoes are a little uncomfortable,” she said, afraid that she was beginning to hobble.

  He looked down.

  “My apologies! I invited a finely dressed lady for a long walk without taking her comfort into account.”

  Charlotte suddenly became aware of a painful throbbing coming from her pinky toe, crammed up against the side of the slipper. Each step was more painful than the last.

  “No, the fault is all mine.”

  “Here, stop for
a minute and rest your feet,” the Earl insisted.

  They stood still, Charlotte feeling embarrassed.

  “New shoes. I should have known.”

  She wanted to take the shoes off, but to do so in front of the Earl was impossible.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can keep going.”

  “Rest for a bit. We can talk.” He held her hand and led her delicately a few steps toward the shade of a tree, and taking off his coat, smoothed it on the ground, and then motioned for Charlotte to sit down. They were in clear view of the ladies who each took a turn looking over and quickly looking away.

  Lady Charlotte’s foolishness with fashion was typical of young women, the Earl thought. Soon he would be back in London in the company of his Mrs. Wilcox, a mature woman who made it a point to never waste his time. He could not wait to see her. As for now, he needed to be efficient; it was time to start making the moves on the Lady Charlotte so he would not have to endure too many more of these social afternoons with her and her mother.

  He picked up Charlotte’s hand in his own and cradled it. Her initial reaction was to pull it back but upon feeling her resist he only clasped it tighter.

  “I am fond of you, Lady Charlotte. I know that it may seem too soon after my wife’s passing, but...” he trailed off.

  Charlotte realized that the handholding could not be avoided. She saw her mother looking over, fighting and failing to contain a smile. Sitting so close to the Earl, she was overcome by a strong odor of tobacco emanating from his clothing.

  “It is my pleasure to be a comfort to you,” Charlotte replied.

  “I feel a strange comfort around you. You fit easily into my life. ”

  “You are too kind. “

  The Earl raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it. His kiss felt wet, like her Pomeranian’s tongue, and Charlotte fought the urge to wipe it off. He continued to hold on tight to her hand.