How Not to Marry an Earl

by Christine Merrill

  When Dill entered, to prepare her for the day, the maid took one look at her and her mouth fell open in amazement. Then it snapped closed in a catlike grin. ‘A bath this morning, miss? They can be very soothing on the muscles.’ It seemed she had found one thing that her normally obtuse maid understood completely.

  ‘Why would I...?’ Charity said slowly. She glanced in the mirror. Then pulled on her spectacles and looked again. Of course, Dill had guessed what had happened. She had felt beautiful last night. Though she had not thought it to be true, emotions must have a profound effect on physical appearance.

  She was still not as pretty as her sisters. They had been exceptionally beautiful, even before falling in love. But she could not deny that, this morning, she was radiant. She looked like Hope had been after a week with Mr Drake. She looked as Faith had when Mr Leggett had changed her life. She had promised that nothing would change after.

  But clearly, she had fallen in love.

  She looked back at her maid, unrepentant, mind racing to find a course of action. ‘No bath, Dill. There will not be time to heat the water. Mr Potts plans to leave today. I need to speak with him while he is still here. How quickly can you dress me?’

  Dill looked at her, considering. ‘An hour, at least.’ She pulled a confection of ribbons and lace from the wardrobe, draping it over her hand.

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and what sounded like the housekeeper, trying to console an increasingly emotional parlour maid.

  ‘Come in,’ Charity called, baffled at what would have them up in arms so early in the morning.

  ‘Miss Charity.’ The woman bobbed a nervous curtsy, while the maid cowered behind her. ‘We have just come from the dining room.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Till?’ The information was not surprising in the least.

  ‘It is Millie’s job to polish the silver. When she opened the sideboard, she discovered a significant absence.’

  Charity’s mind returned to Potts’s threat of the previous day. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘A dozen spoons, fifteen forks and two pair of short candlesticks,’ Mrs Till affirmed.

  ‘It wasn’t me, miss. I told her as soon as I found them missing. It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Of course not, Millie,’ Charity said, smiling at the girl to calm her. ‘I do not suspect you or any of the servants.’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’ The girl sagged with relief.

  Charity turned back to Mrs Till. ‘Do not worry about the matter. I will settle it all when I come down to breakfast.’

  ‘Very good, miss.’

  Charity thought for a moment, and then smiled. ‘And do you happen to know if Mr Potts has gone, yet?’

  ‘I saw him in the main hall a few moments ago,’ the housekeeper said.

  ‘Speak to Chilson for me. Tell him that Potts is not to leave until I have spoken to him.’

  ‘Of course, miss.’ With another curtsy, the housekeeper turned, shooing the maid back out of the bedroom and closing the door behind them.

  Then Charity turned back to her maid. ‘I have changed my mind, Dill. I would definitely enjoy a bath. Take all the care you wish with my hair and leave no ribbon unpressed. This morning, I need to be as close to perfection as you can bring me.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ If Dill was surprised at the Herculean task set for her, she gave no indication. But Charity saw no other way forward. If one meant to stop the man one loved from marrying the wrong woman, one needed to look one’s best.

  * * *

  When Miles could not find Charity in the library, he tried the breakfast room. But though it was almost half past nine, there was no indication that she had eaten so much as a slice of toast. Nor was she in the study, the morning room, or several other sitting rooms that he had discovered while searching the ground floor.

  She was likely still in her bedroom.

  Since a gentleman should not even know where that was, he was none too eager to search her out there. The warning he had got from the groom was still fresh in his memory and the bruise from it was still blossoming on his stomach. He did not want to risk a second lesson before the staff learned his identity. But they might never know if he did not find Charity to tell her. There was nowhere left to look but her room.

  As he started towards the stairs, he heard a scrabbling in the upper hallway and saw Pepper appear above him. If possible, the dog looked even angrier than usual, possibly because of the offence done to his canine dignity. His collar had been decked with more ribbons than a maypole. After a single bark of warning he then pelted down the stairs straight for him and used the advantage of his elevation to leap from the fifth step, firing himself like a furry bullet at Miles’s face.

  He reached out and caught the dog in mid-air, leaving him suspended by the scruff of his neck in a cloud of rage and women’s cologne. Then he brought the dog to eye level, staring into its little black eyes. ‘Are we finished?’

  There was no answer, of course, other than some angry squirming at being bested, again.

  ‘I think we are. Like it or not, dog, if your mistress can abide me, I mean to stay and there is nothing you can do about it. But there will be some advantages.’ He reached out and untied the ribbons, dropping them to the floor. Then he set the dog back on the ground, where it gave a shake of relief, followed by a prodigious sneeze.

  He stared down at it. ‘You are right. It smells much better on her than it does on you. I recommend you find something foul to roll in. You will feel worlds better, afterwards.’ He reached in his pocket for the muffin he had filched on his recent pass through the breakfast room and dropped it on the floor. ‘You need this more than I do. And I need to find Charity. If you still hate me, do not bother to attack again until this afternoon.’

  He started up the stairs again. He had almost gained the landing when he heard the sound of footsteps, thundering up the flight behind him. It took effort to prevent himself from running and to remind himself that the best way to appear innocent was to make an effort not to look guilty. Instead of panicking, he stepped to the side and gripped the banister, preparing to let the person or persons pass him.

  His plan failed, utterly. A pair of hands hit him square between the shoulders, dislodging his grip on the rail and pushing him forward. Before he could fall he was caught again by two sets of hands, one on each bicep. The men who had him lifted him easily to his feet and further, carrying him the rest of the way up the stairs with his suspended feet slapping helplessly against the risers.

  He glanced to one side and saw the groom that had accosted him earlier. ‘You again.’ On his other side was an equally large footman. ‘And this time, you have brought a friend. It has only been a few minutes since our last meeting. What is it that you think I have done between now and then?’

  ‘Pinched m’lord’s spoons,’ the groom replied with a toothy grin as if he had been waiting his whole life for an opportunity like this one.

  ‘Now, see here.’ Then he realised that he had no idea how to answer a charge that was, technically, true. ‘I am sure, if we find Miss Strickland and discuss the matter, she will tell you that this is an honest mistake. Drastic action is not necessary.’

  ‘She knows,’ the footman grunted. ‘We were told that we were to detain you.’

  ‘I do not think that is what she meant,’ he said, only to realise that he had no idea what her intentions had been. If she had discovered he was Comstock, it was exactly the sort of thing she might do, only to offer a false apology and claim that she’d had no idea since he had not bothered to tell the truth. In fact, the longer he thought of it, the more likely it was that this was exactly what had happened.

  He struggled in their grip, trying and failing to break free. ‘Now, see here, fellows. You are making a terrible mistake.’

  ‘It’s you what made the mistake,’ said the groom. ‘But you can’t say you weren’t warned.’


  They had reached the top of the stairs now and were hauling him forward into the old wing, towards places that were all but abandoned.

  ‘You would not be doing this if you knew who I was,’ he insisted.

  ‘Yer Mr Potts.’

  ‘That is who I claimed to be,’ he admitted. ‘But my real name is Miles Strickland.’

  The footman’s hands tightened on his arm and the groom let out a braying laugh.

  ‘Truly,’ he insisted. ‘I am the heir to the title, the Earl of Comstock come from America.’

  ‘And I’m the Queen of Spain,’ the footman announced, making the groom laugh again.

  ‘If you let me go, I will prove it. I have the Earl’s signet in my room.’

  ‘Next to the soup spoons,’ the footman replied.

  ‘Probably stole the signet, too,’ the groom agreed. ‘Cannot trust Americans. My uncle was at the Battle of Trenton.’

  ‘Do not think you can hold me responsible for that,’ Miles argued. ‘It happened before I was born.’

  They had reached the end of the first old hallway and his captors turned right, continuing down the next hall until they were far out of earshot from anyone in the main part of the house. At the end of the hall, a door was standing open, as if waiting for him. Miles swung his legs forward, trying to find purchase against rug, or wall, or anything that might stop their progress. ‘This is all an honest mistake and I do not mean to punish you for what you have done to me.’

  This was greeted with even more laughter.

  ‘I am sure, if you take me to Charity, this will be sorted out in no time.’

  ‘Charity, is it?’ Without warning, the groom released his arm and he dropped to the rug, barely able to keep his feet. This unsteadiness worked to his advantage, for the blow that struck his chin did not land with the catastrophic force the groom had intended. But it was more than enough to daze him as he was pushed into an empty bedroom whose only distinguishing feature was the size of the lock on the door. Before he could rouse himself sufficiently to argue, the door had slammed and he heard the bolt hit home, trapping him inside.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Dill had finished with her ministrations, Charity examined herself in the mirror. She had never considered herself a vain creature. But today, she had to admit that she had never looked better. The spectacles rather spoiled her attempt at conventional beauty. But so would squinting, which she would most certainly do if she tried to do without her glasses.

  Since she had never been at a loss for words before, it was most unexpected that her near-complete transformation into a proper young lady had been easier than coming up with an argument that would convince Potts to stay. Far too much of her position seemed to hinge on the fact that he should not go because she could not bear to part with him. Since this was exactly the opposite of what she had promised, she was not even sure if she should announce the fact.

  Other points in her favour included the fact that Prudence was a conniving hussy who was in no way worthy of him. Until he arrived in Philadelphia, he could not even be sure that she had told the truth about her pregnancy. Should it be a lie, he might be trapped there by finances and unable to return even though he wanted to.

  Unless he could definitively demonstrate the existence of the afterlife, there was no proof that his brother would know whether he had kept the promise or not. Nor could they be sure that his brother would expect him to abide by it in the current circumstances.

  Only after she had made these points did she want to resort to the fact that she loved him. The rational voice in her head insisted that it was the lowest form of debate to appeal to emotion if there were facts to support the argument. But for the first time in her life, there was another voice demanding that she follow her heart and do it quickly before she lost the chance.

  That was assuming it was not too late already. When she reached the ground floor, there was no sign of Potts in the breakfast room, the study, the library or any of the other rooms she could think to check. With growing trepidation, she rushed back up the stairs to the Tudor room.

  It was empty. The bed was still rumpled from last night’s activities. But the wardrobe was open and empty, as were the drawers. There was no sign of the leather satchel she had noticed on a chair, last night. Like a coward, she had taken too long in preparing to meet him. Or perhaps the staff had not got her message to prevent him from leaving.

  Maybe it had been too late from the start. He was an early riser who could have been gone at first light. But she had refused to believe that he would go without at least saying farewell.

  There was only one place left to look. If his horse was no longer in the stable, she would know that it was too late. She should hurry, since there might still be a chance to stop him. But as she left his room to head to the door, it felt as if she was slogging through mud. Each step grew more difficult because she was afraid of what she would find.

  But as she came down the main stairs, she heard the sound of people talking and laughing in the hall, and Pepper running in circles on the parquet and barking furiously at visitors.

  ‘Charity!’ Hope was waiting in the entrance hall, arms out to embrace her. Right behind was her oldest sister, Faith. Beside them in an animated conversation with each other were their two husbands.

  ‘I have missed you,’ she said, coming down the stairs to hug them both. The words were true. Though she had been waiting a lifetime for them to leave home and stop pestering her, their actual departure had left her lonelier than she’d expected. But now, when she assumed she would be joyful at their return, she felt nothing but numb. Since they’d been gone, her entire life had changed and she had no idea what to say about it. ‘It has been so long.’

  ‘Only a few weeks,’ Faith said, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘And now that the Earl is here, we do not have to worry that you will be alone,’ Hope said with a smile.

  Charity looked past them at the open door, but saw no sign of the peer. ‘I have been told he was in the village, yesterday. But I have seen no sign of him as yet. Is he arriving after you?’

  ‘He is not here yet?’ Faith said, giving their sister an odd look.

  ‘My mistake,’ Hope said, quickly.

  ‘He is not here yet,’ Faith repeated somewhat more loudly, to catch the attention of her husband.

  ‘How strange,’ Mr Leggett replied, frowning at Mr Drake.

  ‘Truly,’ Hope repeated. Then she glanced at her husband, as well. ‘You said he was going to settle things before we arrived.’

  James Leggett glared at him, as well. ‘You said matters would be settled by the time we arrived.’

  ‘I thought they would.’ Gregory Drake’s brow furrowed. ‘But obviously not.’ Then he looked to Charity. ‘Perhaps Mr Potts can explain matters to us.’

  ‘You know about Potts?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘The Earl told Gregory all about him,’ Hope supplied. ‘We thought one of them would be here to meet us.’ She frowned again. ‘We hoped it would be the Earl.’

  The assembled party was looking at her now, as if expecting her to produce one man or the other from under her skirts.

  ‘I believe you have just missed Potts,’ she said, forcing herself to smile as if his departure did not matter to her at all.

  This was met by a sea of blank faces and more expectant silence.

  ‘He left early this morning,’ she added. ‘He was already gone when I came down for breakfast.’ It was surprisingly difficult to voice her fears aloud. Her tone sounded rather like she was about to cry.

  ‘Where did he go?’ Faith asked, arms crossed.

  ‘He has spoken more than once of returning to America when he was through here. I believe his home is in Philadelphia.’ She blinked at them, waiting for them to lose interest and go back to worrying about the Earl, as they ha
d been for the last three months. It was not as if she would be able to forget Potts. But perhaps if there was something to distract her, it might not be quite so painful to remember him.

  Her sisters shot cryptic glances at their husbands. Then, Faith said, ‘Perhaps there is a servant who can give us more information on his plans.’

  All the servants would want to talk about was the missing silver. The whole family would have the wrong opinion of him if she did not make it clear to Chilson that the auditor had got her permission to remove the items. ‘You are right. Asking the servants is an excellent idea,’ Charity said. ‘I will go and talk to them immediately.’

  ‘Oh, darling, do not bother yourself,’ Hope said, standing between her and escape. ‘Gregory and James will make the necessary enquiries.’

  Before she could think of another excuse, her sisters had linked their arms in hers and were leading her towards the stairs. ‘Come along, dearest,’ Faith said. ‘It has been ages since we have talked. You must tell us how you have been managing.’ Then, under the guise of devotion, they dragged her up the stairs and towards her bedchamber.

  ‘It has not been so very long,’ Charity said, trying to struggle free. ‘And nothing at all has happened here. Nothing at all.’ If she meant to put them off the scent, her denial had been far too strenuous. She changed the subject. ‘How was your honeymoon? Tell me all about Italy.’

  ‘Never mind that. Tell us all about Mr Potts,’ Hope said, with a feline smile.

  ‘He is the auditor sent by the Earl,’ Charity said.

  ‘And?’ Faith added.

  This was very strange. The pair of them were acting as if they knew something they could not possibly know. Was the truth still plain on her face? Or was this just sisterly revenge, for the way she had tortured Hope when she had fallen in love with Mr Drake?