How to Catch an Errant Earl

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Gabriel pushed through the French doors and wandered out to the terrace with his brandy before settling himself on a stone bench beneath the shade of a willow tree. Lake Geneva sparkled in the sunshine, beckoning him to go sailing. But it wouldn’t be the same without Arabella beside him.

  He took a large sip of his drink; the alcohol was at last having a mellowing effect, melting away the sharp edges of his discontent. It was not within him to play the part of a perfect gentleman. Yet, clearly patience and a delicate, teasing approach were required to win Arabella over, just as he’d originally intended. While he wouldn’t set out to deliberately seduce her, surely a little harmless flirting was permitted to remind her of what she was missing out on.

  Praise be to God, his vexing-but-oh-so-tempting wife hadn’t forbidden him to do that.

  Chapter 11

  Childe Harold had a mother—not forgot,

  Though parting from that mother he did shun . . .

  Lord Byron, “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”

  Nyon, Canton of Vaud, Switzerland

  July 11, 1818

  By the time they reached the small lakeside town of Nyon, it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon.

  Arabella put aside “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” and regarded Château de Nyon, a whitewashed, medieval castle perched on a rise above Lake Geneva, with interest as Gabriel’s carriage drove by.

  “I imagine we’ll arrive at Lady Wilfred’s villa in about a quarter of an hour,” remarked Gabriel in a scrupulously polite tone. “I’m sure you’ll be glad for the opportunity to stretch your legs. I know I will.”

  “Aye,” replied Arabella in an equally civil manner. They’d set out just after breakfast, and aside from a perfunctory visit to Maison du Lac to bid her family farewell, and several brief stops at coaching inns to change the horses, they’d been traveling steadily for hours and hours. “But more than that,” she continued, “I hope Lady Wilfred will grant you an interview.”

  Gabriel cast her a tight smile. “Thank you. I hope so too.”

  Sitting on the opposite bench seat, Gabriel canted his long, muscular legs away from Arabella, so there was no chance of his booted feet accidentally bumping against hers. His attention returned to the passing scenery of the deep blue lake and the cloudless sky above. No doubt he was preoccupied with thoughts of how fruitful the coming interview with the baroness would be. Arabella couldn’t blame him given what was at stake.

  Indeed, Gabriel’s demeanor had been cordial but distant since they’d left Villeneuve early that morning. Arabella told herself she preferred it this way. That it augured well for the days to come that Gabriel was respecting her wishes. It proved they could have a courteous, perhaps even congenial relationship based on friendship and mutual respect. Even so, there was a perverse part of her heart that longed for one of his lopsided smiles. The flash of mischief in his green eyes when he said something calculated to make her blush.

  If she were truly honest with herself, she’d admit she already missed his flirting—how it caused her pulse to race and made her think she might be special to him in some way, even when she wasn’t.

  She was such a contrary fool.

  Directing her gaze to the verdant vineyards flashing by her carriage window, Arabella sent up a silent prayer to heaven that Gabriel would find his mother. She’d give anything to learn more about her own mother, Mary—she didn’t even know where her final resting place was. Her grandfather had presumed it was in Glasgow.

  She reached for Byron’s volume of poetry and wrapped the ribbon-like scrap of fabric marking her place around her fingers. A rectangular strip of pale green linen embroidered with tiny lilies of the valley, it was a much-treasured keepsake. She’d tatted a delicate border of white lace around the edges to keep it from fraying; one of the threads was loose, so she’d have to repair it. There was a needle and thread in her medical bag, stowed away with her traveling trunk on the roof . . .

  She felt the weight of Gabriel’s stare and lifted her gaze.

  “I’ve noticed you’re quite fond of that ribbon.” He gestured toward her hand. “Was it a gift from someone special?”

  “Oh . . . it’s more of a sentimental token than a gift.” Arabella’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. “I believe it’s the remnants of an old handkerchief that once belonged to my mother. It’s all that I have left of her . . .”

  Compassion filled Gabriel’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Touched by her husband’s expression of sympathy, Arabella had to swallow past the lump of emotion jamming her throat before she could speak again. “Thank you. My grandfather once told me that my mother posted this piece of the kerchief to the family home in Edinburgh just before she died. Apparently when Mary left me at the Great Clyde Hospital in Glasgow, she’d attached the other half of the kerchief to my admission papers, the idea being that if anyone from my family did come for me, the staff would know that person’s claim was genuine because he or she possessed the matching piece.”

  “That was very clever of her.”

  “I believe it’s a fairly common practice in foundling hospitals. Sadly, not many of the babes who are given up are ever reunited with their families.”

  “I’m glad your grandfather found you. And that you were loved,” murmured Gabriel.

  Oh, why did her husband have to look at her with such softness in his gaze and in his smile? He was supposed to be agreeable and polite, not kindhearted and considerate. In a way, such displays of tenderness were even more dangerous than any overt attempts at physical seduction. Crushing down an unwanted surge of hopeless yearning for a man she’d be unwise to want, Arabella made herself smile back at him. “So am I. God willing, you will be reunited with your mother.”

  Gabriel inclined his head. “Thank you. I do hope Lady Wilfred will be able to offer some assistance. And if she doesn’t . . .” He shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to do battle with my cousin Timothy on my own.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I am sorry, Lord Langdale. But I’m afraid my mistress is not in the habit of receiving gentlemen callers,” declared Lady Wilfred’s decidedly poker-faced English butler as he regarded Gabriel’s card with undisguised distaste. “Especially those who are complete strangers and have not arranged an appointment with her ladyship via her personal secretary.”

  Standing on the wide, front steps of the elegant Château de Céligny with Arabella at his side, Gabriel prayed for patience. Good God. He’d never encountered such a puffed-up, irritating servant in all his life. No wonder Monsieur Rochat did not get very far.

  Unclenching his back teeth, Gabriel drawled in the most disdainful, aristocratic manner he could muster, “Well, I’m not just any gentleman caller, and I’m hardly by myself. I’m the Earl of Langdale, and this lovely woman beside me is my wife, Lady Langdale. Aside from that, I’m by no means a complete stranger. My mother, the Dowager Countess of Langdale, is a good friend of your mistress’s. I would strongly suggest you present her with my card.” Gabriel couldn’t be sure that the rumor Rochat had heard was true, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave here without at least talking to Lady Wilfred.

  The butler sniffed. “So you claim. In any case, I doubt Lady Wilfred will agree—”

  “I really don’t give a fig about your opinion. It hardly signifies.” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “Now go and present my card to your mistress and be quick about it. I haven’t got all day.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up, and a dark red flush stained his neck then flooded his cheeks. He clearly hadn’t been challenged quite like this before.

  However, Gabriel’s strategy worked. The butler made a quick bow, then opened the front door of the château to admit them. “This way if you please, Lord Langdale.” He bowed a little more deeply as Arabella approached. “Lady Langdale.” After a liveried footman stepped forward to tak
e their hats and gloves, he gestured toward a pair of gilt-legged chairs by a large arrangement of summer flowers in the entry hall. “You may wait here. I shan’t be long.”

  “What a horrid man,” Arabella murmured as she selected a seat. “I’m glad you were able to convince him to speak with Lady Wilfred.”

  Gabriel couldn’t resist casting her a rakish grin. It seemed he could only behave himself for so long. “What can I say?” he replied, and flipped out his coattails as he claimed the opposite chair. “I’ve mastered the art of persuasion.”

  Even though Arabella pressed her lips together, he detected a twinkle of amusement in her hazel eyes. “Hmm. Let’s hope you’re able to persuade Lady Wilfred to reveal your mother’s whereabouts just as easily.”

  He inclined his head. “Agreed.”

  Within a few minutes, the butler returned and escorted them to the back of the château. “Lady Wilfred will receive you on the terrace, where she is taking tea with her grandson and daughter, Lady Brinsley,” he said stiffly. “She trusts you won’t stay long.”

  So, Gabriel was to be treated like an inconsequential distraction in the baroness’s day. That wasn’t an encouraging sign. Nevertheless, having the opportunity to speak with her was better than nothing.

  Lady Wilfred, a birdlike, stylishly attired woman of middling age, seemed in no hurry to put aside her teapot as Gabriel and Arabella were announced. She dispensed sugar lumps and milk into her own cup and her daughter’s before shifting her attention to her visitors. When her bright brown eyes flickered over Gabriel and her mouth twitched with a moue of distaste, he wondered if she knew he was London’s notorious Errant Earl.

  Also quite telling was the fact that she didn’t invite him or Arabella to take tea with her and her daughter. Lady Brinsley, an attractive young brunette, sat quietly beside her mother at a wrought iron table set with a ridiculous amount of fine bone china and silver platters overflowing with a variety of delicate cakes and sandwiches. It was enough to feed a battalion of starving soldiers.

  “Lady Wilfred,” Gabriel began without preamble when it was clear the baroness wasn’t going to address him unless he spoke first, “I sincerely appreciate that you have agreed to meet with me and my wife at such short notice.”

  Beneath the fine lace brim of her cap, the baroness arched a brow. Her tone was cool as she said, “Lord Langdale, you claim that I am a good friend of your mother’s.”

  “Yes. I was hoping that was indeed the case,” he replied smoothly.

  “Oh, you don’t know?” she rejoined.

  “One hears things,” he said. “I am trying to locate her as I need her assistance with a private matter of some importance. In fact, one might even say it’s most urgent.”

  Again she arched her brow. “Might one?”

  “Yes.”

  At that moment, an almighty, wince-inducing wail splintered the silence. Gabriel sensed Arabella stiffening beside him. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Lady Brinsley, who’d been silent throughout Gabriel’s exchange with her mother, visibly paled. Rising to her feet, she cast aside her white linen napkin. “If you’ll excuse me, Mama. I think Christopher has taken another tumble.”

  The baroness let out an impatient sigh. “Louisa, I’m sure your nurse is perfectly capable of dealing with the problem.”

  But it seemed Lady Brinsley would not be dissuaded. “You know he always settles better when I attend to him,” she said. Picking up her pale lavender skirts, she rushed onto the lawn, heading for a nearby shrubbery from whence the crying seemed to be emanating.

  Lady Wilfred rolled her eyes. “Sir Giles, my son-in-law, recently bought my grandson a spaniel puppy for his fifth birthday,” she said by way of explanation. “Heaven knows how we are going to get the dog home to England when it’s time to return at the end of summer.” Her slight frame trembled with a delicate shudder. “There’s bound to be a great hullabaloo.”

  Gabriel inclined his head. “No doubt. Does Sir Giles happen to be in?” He was certain he’d seen Sir Giles Brinsley’s name on the membership list at White’s. If Lady Wilfred wasn’t forthcoming, perhaps he could have a word with the man. Not that the baronet would necessarily know all of his mother-in-law’s friends—

  “No, he’s not,” said Lady Wilfred decisively. She pushed back her chair and stood. “He’s attending to business in Geneva today. So, if that’s all, Lord Langdale—”

  “My apologies for interrupting, my lady, but you still haven’t confirmed or denied that you’re a friend of my mother’s.”

  At that moment, Lady Brinsley returned with her sobbing child on her hip and a tan and white King Charles spaniel nipping at her heels. A visibly distressed nursemaid followed close behind.

  “Oh, Mama,” cried Lady Brinsley. “My poor Christopher. Just look at what he’s done to himself on the gravel path. I’m worried he’s broken something.” Heedless of the chinaware and the array of food, she deposited her son on the table and proceeded to ineffectually dab at his palms with a napkin.

  Gabriel grimaced. The child had indeed scraped his hands and one of his knees quite badly.

  Lady Wilfred’s face took on a decidedly green cast and she promptly sat back down. “Oh, heavens,” she said fanning herself with her own napkin. She clearly couldn’t abide the sight of blood. “We must send for the doctor in Nyon.”

  “I might be able to lend some assistance, Lady Wilfred. Lady Brinsley,” said Arabella, stepping forward. Her clear hazel gaze was direct and her manner unruffled as she added, “I have medical training courtesy of my grandfather, Dr. Iain Burnett. He was a well-regarded doctor in Edinburgh and a member of the Royal College of Physicians.”

  The baroness waved at her. “Well, do get on with it then.”

  Ignoring the arrogant woman’s blatant rudeness, Arabella simply inclined her head. “Of course, Lady Wilfred.” She turned back to Gabriel and touched his arm. “Would you mind fetching my medical bag from the carriage?”

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” murmured Gabriel. He’d had enough of the baroness, and he couldn’t imagine why his mother would be friends with such a self-involved creature.

  “I know. But I want to,” she whispered back. “It’s not wee Christopher’s fault that his grandmother is being difficult.”

  Gabriel nodded. She was right, of course. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  By the time he returned, the little boy’s sobs had subsided to watery sniffs. Arabella had drawn up a chair and was carefully checking his small fingers and thin wrists. “Everything is in perfect working order,” she informed Lady Brinsley with a reassuring smile.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing broken?” asked Lady Wilfred.

  Arabella turned to regard the woman. “I’m absolutely certain. I see no signs of swelling, bruising, or stiffness. Each joint moves freely through its full range of motion without pain.” Her tone was so cool, confident, and professional, the baroness simply nodded in return.

  Gabriel’s chest swelled with pride. “Here’s your bag, my lady wife,” he said, placing it on a chair beside her.

  She cast him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Would you mind opening it for me?” Her attention returned to the child. “Now, Christopher, I’m going to clean your scrapes and then apply some soothing ointment and a few plasters,” she explained gently. “The cleaning part will sting a little, but it’s for the best. Would that be all right with you?”

  The child’s lip wobbled, but he nodded and replied yes in a voice that wavered only a little.

  Lady Brinsley ruffled his hair. “My brave strong boy. When Lady Langdale has fixed you up, then you can have as much cake as you like.”

  After the cleansing and bandaging were complete, and young Christopher was ensconced on his mother’s lap with a plate of petit fours, Gabriel thought it might be safe to at l
ast finish questioning Lady Wilfred.

  As he accepted a cup of tea from the baroness—it seemed her attitude had softened a little since Arabella had stepped in to help her grandson—he ventured to ask yet again if she was a friend of his mother’s and if so, could she share her current location.

  “Yes, I did know her,” Lady Wilfred replied carefully as she replenished her own tea. “However, I haven’t had any contact with her for some years, Lord Langdale. I’m afraid I have no idea where she might be residing at present.”

  Gabriel regarded her over the rim of his cup. The woman was lying, he was sure of it. But accusing her of such a thing would not further his cause. Instead he said, “That’s such a shame. Even though my parents were estranged for some time, it seems my mother wished to remain in contact with me at least. Indeed, she wrote to me every year without fail. However, my father kept her letters from me, and it wasn’t until he’d passed away that I discovered them. Ever since, I’ve harbored hopes that we might reconcile. Her last letter mentioned she’d spent time here in Nyon. Last summer in fact . . .” He shrugged. “So here I am.”

  Lady Wilfred’s eyes narrowed. “Yet earlier on you claimed you needed to see your mother about an ‘urgent matter.’ ”

  Gabriel put down his cup. He didn’t want to air all of his family’s dirty laundry, not if this woman didn’t know his mother all that well. “It’s a business matter related to the estate,” he said. “I hoped she might be able to shed light on some of the details.”

  “Hmm.” The baroness added a lump of sugar to her second cup of tea and stirred. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you at all. As I said before, I haven’t seen her for some time, and I don’t have her direction.”

  “Well, if you do remember anything at all,” said Gabriel, “you have my card. I’m actually on my way back to London, so you’ll be able to reach me at Langdale House in St. James’s in a fortnight if you recall anything, or better yet, have any news.”