The Earl of Kent

by Lauren Smith

  “Thank you, Cora,” he said to the maid before she left. Then he looked to Ella. “Tea?”

  “Yes, thank you. Shall I pour?”

  He frowned. “My leg is crippled, not my hands. I’m quite able to pour tea.”

  Ella sighed in exasperation. “I did not ask out of pity. You know full well the lady is the one who usually performs the tea service, not the gentleman.” She came over to the table and swatted his hands away. “If your desire is to be useful, add a few more logs to the fire. I will prepare the tea.” He shot a glance at the fireplace. She was right—the logs were nearly ashes, and the room was starting to cool.

  Cane in hand, he pulled himself to his feet. He was careful this time as he moved across the carpets and eased down in front of the fire. A wire basket held a stack of logs, and he used a poker to stir the flames back up to a hearty burn. Then he gripped the side of the fireplace and his cane to drag himself back up. The pain was still fresh, but after the long walk to the first gatehouse after Ella, he felt less stiff than expected. It was puzzling, but hopefully a good thing. He’d been so afraid to walk too much upon his leg. Every doctor who had consulted with him in the last year had insisted on further rest. Rest, rest, and more rest. He had been relieved at first, but now he was tired of it. Efforts that had come with ease before his injuries now taxed him greatly.

  “Sugar?” Ella asked, calling his attention back to her.

  “One lump,” he replied as he returned to his chair and settled in. He accepted his teacup, and their fingers brushed briefly. Even in this innocent exchange, his body came to life at the small touch.

  Ella removed her black velvet manteau and settled into her own seat with her tea. A long silence bloomed between them before she finally broke it.

  “Were you planning on attending Pembroke’s ball?”

  “No, I was not.”

  “But you are friends with him, aren’t you?”

  “I… Yes. I am.” He wasn’t sure why he’d hesitated. He and Pembroke had been close, almost as close as he and Graham were. He had driven Graham away, and now he had pushed Pembroke to a distance. Just as he had so many others. Pain controlled him, had weakened him, and he hadn’t fought it.

  I am a coward, he thought. A damned coward who doesn’t deserve the friendships of these men.

  “Then you should come with me to the ball,” Ella suggested, as though she had just announced it was a lovely day outside, not cold and wintry.

  “No, I couldn’t…”

  “Why not? You are invited, you are friends with him, and I have no doubt that you are missed. It will be a lovely time.”

  “My leg pains me. It would be foolish to take on such a journey.”

  “Why?” she asked. Her eyes were wide, innocent, but for a second he saw a glimmer of something more cunning behind them.

  “What do you mean why?” he snapped.

  “I mean why would it be foolish? Yes, I understand your leg hurts, but that doesn’t mean you cannot travel by coach in relative comfort to the ball.”

  She sipped her tea in such a ladylike manner, but he felt like she had called him out for his cowardice.

  “Well… I…”

  “Phillip, it would do you good to come. I know you do not like me or my company, and I promise to leave you to yourself during the journey. We can be two strangers traveling to the same destination.” She sounded so polite, so calm and unaffected. But he had learned long ago how to read her face, the tightness to her smile and the pain in her eyes.

  “Ella, we are not and never will be strangers. And never have I said I do not like you or your company.”

  Her eyes flashed with fire. “You have a fine way of showing that. You can’t seem to leave a room fast enough when I enter it.”

  He growled a little. “That has nothing to do with not liking you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

  She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “Let me think on it. The ball is a few days away.”

  “You have until dawn,” she countered.

  “Then I’m not coming,” Phillip replied almost petulantly.

  “Coward.” That one word hit him hard. He sucked in a violent breath, which made the old wounds in his chest pull tight. “You’re frightened.”

  “I am not.”

  “Frightened of the ball, frightened of a few days in a coach with me, frightened, I suspect, of your own shadow.”

  He got to his feet and towered over her, growling her name in warning. “Ella.”

  She set her teacup aside on the table and stood up, their bodies only a few inches apart.

  “Don’t you need your cane?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly. She was mocking him.

  “Of course I do.” He tried to move it, only to realize he wasn’t holding his cane. He had taken several steps quickly across the room without it.

  He moved his gaze from his empty hand to Ella’s face. She had a serene look of triumph in her eyes, and her full, kissable lips were curved in a smile.

  Phillip backed away, stumbled more than anything, until he had his cane in his hand once again and a merciful distance was between him and the woman he wanted to both kiss and strangle.

  “I think it’s time you were shown to your room.” He walked toward the door and called for Boucher. They waited for a minute outside in the corridor before Boucher appeared and led Ella away. Phillip couldn’t take his eyes off her, feeling the distance and the darkness growing between them. Was she right? Was he hiding when he should be out in the world? He didn’t want to think she was right, didn’t want to think about how seeing her again, feeling her in his arms even for a brief moment, had sparked a light within the gloom inside his heart.

  The sooner he could have Ella safely away from him the sooner he could go back to his life. His safe, quiet life here in his home, away from the world, away from pain.

  A life of hiding like a coward.

  Damn. Ella was right.

  7

  Ella followed Mr. Boucher through the house as he escorted her to her chambers for the night. Most of the furniture was covered in cloth to protect from sunlight and dust. Many of the tall paned windows throughout the house were shuttered, effectively sealing off the rooms from light and life. This beautiful house had been emptied of people. Closed off, just like its master.

  They passed into one of the few more well-lit rooms, a long hall with paintings of fine-faced men and women. She glanced up at more than one of the portraits, seeing Phillip’s eyes or chin, even his nose in several of the ancestors upon the walls.

  “Mr. Boucher.”

  “Yes, Lady Ella?”

  “Is he in much pain?” She was perhaps indelicate to inquire about Phillip’s injuries in such a way, but she needed answers.

  Boucher paused to look at her in the moonlight. Whatever he seemed to be looking for he must have found.

  “Yes. In the beginning, he couldn’t walk. He lay in bed for several weeks, only moving with the aid of others or a Bath chair. For a previously healthy young man, being trapped in such a way was, I think, a greater punishment than the injuries. Once he started to try to walk, he fell so frequently that he became afraid to try, until he became as you see him now.” The sorrow was evident in the butler’s tone.

  “I believe if he attends Lord Pembroke’s ball, it might revive his interest in life, perhaps encourage him to try to walk more. Tonight, I admit I agitated him a bit, but he crossed the room perfectly without his cane.” This revelation made Mr. Boucher’s brows rise in surprise. “And the moment I called attention to it, he seemed to need it immediately.”

  The butler stroked his chin. “Ah… You believe he has come to rely on his cane too much. That it has become not only a physical crutch but one for his spirit as well?”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  Boucher eyed her sagely as they walked through the hall of portraits and entered a corridor with doors to a dozen other chambers. “I believe you are correc
t. What do you advise, then?”

  “I profess I haven’t the foggiest idea. But I wonder if it might not be good to open the house up again?”

  Boucher answered with a nod.

  “Then open the windows, let the furnishings breathe. Do it after we have left for the ball. That way once he has returned, hopefully in better spirits, he will find the joy of his home again as it sparkles and shines.”

  Boucher was smiling broadly. “We could decorate for Christmas. The master used to love Christmas. Perhaps we could even invite some of his closest friends over.”

  “What a splendid idea!” She was delighted to see how devoted Mr. Boucher was to his master.

  The butler stopped and opened a door to his right. “This is the Lily Room, Lady Ella. I’ll send Cora to you in a few minutes. Marcus, his lordship’s valet, is also around to carry hot water for a bath, if you desire one. There’s a section of kitchens just one floor below, so heating water is no trouble.”

  “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

  “I shall have Marcus start preparing your bath, then. Cora will bring you some dinner while you wait.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Boucher.” She touched the butler’s arm. “I’m glad to know Lord Kent has such devoted staff. He is worthy of it, even if he has fallen on hard times.”

  Mr. Boucher patted her arm. “I quite agree. His lordship is a fine man, and we are all honored to serve him.”

  When the butler left, Ella had a moment to explore the bedchamber. Her bed was made of white birch. The wood had been delicately carved, including the four spindles, which glittered with light gold netting rather than heavy brocade fabrics. Lilies had been carved into the headboard in beautiful patterns, and the stems of the flowers had been painted green. Ella brushed her fingertips over them and was swept away in wistfulness. She’d always loved lilies.

  The coverlet on the bed was icy blue and made her think of a lake covered with frost. The fabric was embroidered with thousands of swirling stars and more lilies. The stitching must have taken months, but the end design was exquisite. This room was fit for a fae princess. Not her, perhaps, but she had to admit she would enjoy sleeping here tonight.

  A portrait of a lovely woman in the fashion of the previous decade hung above the mantel opposite the bed.

  Phillip’s mother? Most likely. She had kind eyes and an enigmatic smile that seemed to hint at old and happy secrets. It made Ella’s heart break. She would have loved to have met the Countess of Kent. Her own mother had been friends with her and had spoken often of how sweet and witty she was.

  There was a brief knock on the door to her bedchamber, and Ella called out for whoever was there to enter. The door swung open to allow Lord Kent’s valet, Marcus, to enter, followed by a maid who brought tea. Marcus went into the dressing room to ready her a bath, and the maid, who introduced herself as Cora, set out a tray of cold cuts, hot stew, and some wine.

  “Did his lordship return to his chambers all right?” Ella asked Marcus when he returned.

  The valet exchanged a look with Cora before both of their gazes darted to the wall opposite her bed. “Er… Yes. Excuse me while I bring up the water, my lady.” Marcus left, and Cora began to unpack her clothes for the night, laying out a gown for travel in the morning.

  “I should like to leave early in the day. Would it be possible for the cook to prepare a basket for my journey?”

  “Of course, my lady.” Cora smiled warmly, her Irish accent sweet. “Should be no trouble at all. Mrs. Daley has many a fine basket for picnics. I’m sure one of them would do.” She retrieved Ella’s ivory hairbrush and undid her hair, combing out the tangles. After that, she pulled Ella’s hair up into a loose topknot so it wouldn’t get wet while Ella bathed.

  Marcus filled up the copper tub and then left for the evening. Cora lingered in the dressing room while Ella bathed. Given the chill of the house and the weather outside, she didn’t linger in the tub long enough for the water to get cold. Then, with the maid’s help, she dressed in her nightgown and slipped her feet into warm green satin slippers lined with fur.

  “I’ll just turn the bed down for you, my lady.” Cora pulled the bedclothes back and fluffed the pillows before she left. Marcus had loaded several logs into the fire, with extras to spare, and had used a bed warmer at the base of the bed to keep the sheets warm.

  Ella sat in a chair by the fire, watching the flames burn for a long while before she contemplated going to bed. Part of her couldn’t believe she was here in Phillip’s home…alone and ruined. This was perhaps one of the worst Christmas holidays she’d had, aside from last year. Her dear friend, a woman she trusted, had just abandoned her on Kent’s doorstep.

  When I return to London, Audrey, you and I will have a talk about breaking your vow not to match-make your friends, she thought darkly.

  Yet she couldn’t stay mad at Audrey forever. Being here, despite the difficulty of the situation she’d been put in, and seeing Phillip, even know that this was a mistake, had filled the empty caverns of her heart again. She would give anything to have a life of laughter and passion with Phillip, the way Audrey had with Jonathan.

  A thump accompanied by a curse behind the wall opposite her bed caught her attention. She hadn’t imagined the sound, had she? She crept over on tiptoes and placed an ear on the wall, against a panel of wood painted to look like a forest. The wood creaked slightly and gave way a bit beneath the pressure of her leaning against it. What on earth?

  She moved back from it to study the panel and then gasped. It was no panel, but a door. Ella moved her hand down the panel, seeking any groove or other sign of a latch. When she found it, she gave a little tug. The door pulled open on silent oiled hinges, revealing a short dark passage. Careful to leave the door open into her room, she entered the passageway. She felt like Persephone entering the dark realm of Hades when she encountered a door opposite her own.

  It certainly was a passage, a secret one rather than a servants’ corridor, connecting her room to someone else’s. Another thump and curse from just beyond proved too much for her curiosity to bear. She pressed against the door, and it opened just as hers had. She peered around the edge and silently gasped.

  Phillip stood in the center of the room, leaning on his cane. His chest was bare, and the muscles of his body gleamed in the lamplight. His body was beautiful, with lean ropes of muscles on his abdomen. She’d imagined seeing him again a thousand times, but she noticed he was thinner, much thinner than last year. He had lost much of his body mass due to being inactive. Yet he was still beautiful, still achingly, maddeningly handsome.

  He stood there, offering his profile to her as he carefully lifted the cane off the floor and took a step without leaning on it. Then he cursed as he wobbled unsteadily. So that was what she had been hearing. He was attempting to walk without his cane. Pride swelled in Ella’s chest. How very brave of him. She remembered how afraid she’d been to go into the gardens as a child. Doctors had told her she could catch a chill or a fever, or simply stop breathing due to the overpowering scents of the flowers and trees outside. But once she had gotten over her fears, she had learned she wasn’t as fragile as all of the doctors believed. Now she loved gardens more than just about anything.

  “I’m not a coward,” he growled fiercely. “I’m not.”

  Ella realized he hadn’t yet noticed her. He was talking to himself. Should she interrupt him or quietly fade back into the darkness?

  Suddenly Phillip smiled, and the touch of humor about his mouth caused butterflies to lay siege to her belly.

  “Little minx. She always did tempt me.”

  That did it.

  “Minx, am I?” she said, torn between amusement and outrage.

  He stumbled, dropped the cane, and clutched the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. “Christ! What is the meaning of this? You can’t barge in on a man expecting privacy.”

  “These are connecting rooms.” She pointed behind her toward the open door and passagew
ay. “Might I ask what the meaning of that is?”

  Phillip’s face reddened a little. “I did not arrange to have you here for any wicked reason you would imagine.” Phillip gripped the back of his chair and focused on her more clearly. The sweeping caress of his gaze was an almost tangible touch that made her shiver.

  “You’re undressed,” he noted almost dumbly.

  “As are you,” Ella observed. Her heart was beating an erratic rhythm, and she flushed from head to toe.

  “See? I was right.” His voice roughened ever so slightly as he added, “Minx.”

  This time she wasn’t mad. She simply laughed, and the frown that seemed to haunt his features vanished as he joined in.

  “I don’t suppose you have a billiard room?” she asked, stepping into his room.

  “Not in this wing. It’s on the far end of the house, too far for me to walk, but I do have chess.” He nodded to a set laid out on the table by the fire.

  “Could we play? I’m not up to reading tonight, and I can’t seem to relax enough to fall asleep just yet.”

  “Are you implying my skills at chess will bore you into sleeping?” Phillip was teasing her, and Ella adored it more than she could say.

  “Perhaps.” She walked over to the chair opposite the one he held on to. His cane was lying out of reach. “Do you need it?” She nodded at the cane.

  His gaze darted between her and his crutch. “No, not at the moment. Not if you are patient.” He made a show of carefully coming around the back of the chair to ease down into it. Then he leaned forward and set the chess pieces to a fresh game.

  “Boucher plays with me, sometimes Marcus,” he added, flushing a little, as though embarrassed. It was essentially a confession that they were the only company he had.

  “I would imagine Mr. Boucher plays a clever game of chess. Am I right?”

  “You are,” Phillip said with a chuckle. “Marcus is more of a billiards man.”

  “You still play, then?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “No, not of late.” He let her make the first move before he spoke again. “I closed up much of the house after… Well, the accident. It was much harder to move about between all the rooms.”