The Spinster and the Earl

by Beverly Adam

  The viscount drew back a little and smiled, as if the thought of leaving her to uncomfortably explain to a ballroom full of guests on the night of what was to have been their formal betrothal had been merely a highly amusing event. One he would have liked to have witnessed for his own personal entertainment.

  “I do remember taking my leave of you,” he said simply without any apology.

  “Frankly, sir,” she sniffed with indignation, “you left me t’ hang the day of our betrothal. No doubt, you’ve now come looking for me tonight because you’re once more in need of my fortune. I paid your bills once, sir, but never again. I strongly advise you to take your leave.” She stopped, hesitating over her next move. Then in a stronger voice uttered her decision, “Or I shall be forced to scream and bring the entire household down upon your head.”

  “With your reputation as a conniving shrew, Lady Beatrice, I rather doubt anyone would pay you any heed.” The lord sneered, laying a menacing hand on her.

  “There, sir, you are wrong,” a familiar voice said darkly from the door. The Earl of Drennan entered the room.

  He strode into the dimly lit study followed by two of his liveried footmen. The footmen stood guard, seeing to it that no one entered the room.

  In one quick glance, the earl took in the contemptible sight of a young buck standing intimately near Lady Beatrice, quite rudely ignoring her obvious dislike. He raised dark eyebrows questioningly at the cad’s audacity. He felt the strongest urge to give the viscount a facer for daring to come near her, let alone for having the temerity to touch her.

  “And just who the devil are you?” he demanded. He felt as if the unwelcome guest were a footpad caught in the act of trying to rob him of one of his most prized possessions, namely the beautiful lady standing before him.

  “I am Viscount Linley of South Dwighton,” said the gentleman unwisely. “I’ve come to pay my intended, Lady Beatrice, my heartfelt respects.”

  “That, Your Grace, is a lie.” Beatrice huffed, shaking herself free of the cad’s hold on her. She was thoroughly tired of his venomous presence. She glowered accusingly at Linley, her fan almost breaking in her hands as she twisted the stays in anger.

  “I have never in the past, nor in the present, ever been his, Your Grace!” she said with vehement loathing. It was as if Linley were speaking of an unlikely match betwixt herself and a veritable demon monster.

  “I suspected as much,” he said dryly, putting a white-gloved finger along the mantle as if inspecting for dust. “And knowing, Lady O’Brien, how meticulously you had all the rooms in the castle cleaned, I thought your ladyship might wish to have some help with removing this unwanted vermin.”

  “If it should so please, Your Grace,” she said sweetly, deeply curtsying to his pleasure. “Your desire in this instance is entirely in accord with mine, sir.”

  He signaled to the footmen behind him to take action. They stepped forward and grabbed the viscount roughly by the arms.

  The young aristocrat tried to shrug them off as they laid heavy hands upon him. Silently, with what little dignity he could muster, Viscount Linley walked through the study doors. The footmen flanked him on each side as they escorted him out of the room and to the front portal.

  “Did he harm you?” James asked, his voice filled with concern.

  “Nay,” she said, shaking her head. She smiled at him. “Your entrance was perfectly timed. I’m fine.”

  “Shall I escort you back to our guests? It’s a certainty that they have been pining away for their lovely hostess’s presence. I’ve been practically besieged by every young buck in the ballroom demanding to know where you were, my lady. Demme, if the ball hasn’t come to a complete standstill. No one, especially myself, are enjoying themselves without your lovely presence. I was hoping you’d return to us and enliven the room once more with your gracious smile and charm.”

  “If you please, Your Grace. Let us not tarry any longer then and keep our guests waiting. I dread to think that ’tis I who am depriving others of their merrymaking,” she said, smiling at the fulsome compliment, her dimples fetchingly marking each cheek.

  She walked with him into the main hall where the ball had carried on splendidly unaware of the unsavory episode that had just transpired in the study.

  * * *

  Before Beatrice retired for the evening, the earl approached her, reassuring her that Viscount Linley would never trouble her again. “I personally took the precaution of having three of my outriders escort him to a nearby inn,” he said. “They are under strictest orders from me to see the viscount gone on the morrow from Urlingford.”

  “Your Grace is too kind,” she said, sighing with happy relief. She was grateful to be rid once and for all of the unpleasant aristocrat’s presence in her life.

  “Lady O’Brien,” he said and hesitated, as if for once uncertain how to go about asking her. He shook his head. “I know I’ve been aloof since the night we were together . . . But I would like an opportunity to begin again. I wondered, that is, would you give me permission to call you by your given name?”

  She smiled up at him, pleased by the request. “If you will extend to me the same privilege, Your Grace.”

  He took her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, said, “With pleasure, Lady Beatrice.” He kissed it, smiling warmly down at her. She, in turn, wore a befuddled look of uncertainty.

  “It’s Lord James, my dear,” he supplied for her. “Although I prefer being called Captain amongst my old acquaintances.”

  “Goodnight then, Captain James.” She smiled at him, without a cloud of worry in her thoughts as she retired for the night.

  That evening, snug and safe in her warm bed, Beatrice’s thoughts dwelled upon the master of the house. She had to admit to herself the wonderful, almost heroic way he’d appeared when she’d been forced to defend herself against that loathsome toad, Lord James was, she smiled into her pillow, proving himself to be a most dependable and worthy friend.

  Chapter 8

  The day was crisp and clear. A little early morning fog rolled off the hills as a pair of thoroughbreds with their accomplished riders eagerly crested the highest point near Brightwood Manor’s estate. The small stone manor lay mapped out below in its Tudor gray stone glory. Its one wing lay snugly situated in a cot wood of swaying trees. A small flock of longhaired sheep baa’d to each other as their herder passed with his collie dogs. As prime Irish countryside went, one could not ask for more. The rolling green hills and sparkling lake below provided a worthy view. This was Ireland at its best, green, prosperous, and tranquilly beautiful to behold.

  “Tell me about those trees over there?” he asked, pointing to a group of green parasol saplings planted in a sunny sheltered part of her estate, away from the rougher winds blowing from the North Sea.

  “They’re our mulberry trees,” she said, not disguising the pride in her voice. “They’ll be used for feeding the silkworms I intend to import this summer from a Quaker farmer in England.”

  “Another one of your projects?” asked the earl, impressed by her numerous ventures, which he’d had the occasion to note during their ride.

  She nodded and laughed, feeling carefree and happy. Since early that morning they’d been in each other’s company, riding around the local parish together. A most welcome diversion for both of them, as neither had had much time for any form of solitude since their guests’ arrival.

  They had both unexpectedly had the same idea to awaken before the morning’s breaking of the fast and take a quick ride before the others awoke. Upon meeting in the stables, they’d agreed to go out together.

  Reluctant to part with his company, Beatrice proposed showing him her small local properties situated near his own vast estate. She warned him that the ride might uncomfortably jostle his injured leg. After calm reassurances that he was completely mended, they’d set off together.

  “Most of the people in the village believe my aunt Mary left me a vast fortune,” she said, amuse
ment etched on her face at that bit of myth. As if her poor maiden aunt, the daughter of small landed gentry, ever could have acquired such vast wealth. Her late aunt had lived comfortably at a modest, genteel level. It was certainly not on the scale befitting that of a queen.

  “Indeed. So I’d heard.” The earl nodded. Davis had told him as much on one occasion. It had helped further spark his interest in her.

  “Would you like to hear the truth of the matter?” she asked, a smile as warm as the sun above them lighting her face.

  He nodded, bemused, enjoying the sight of her smiling.

  “I’m the one who built my fortune. Aunt Mary’s inheritance, of which I’ve received only a small annuity, helped me in the beginning.” She paused, not certain she should be trusting him. The attentive way in which he listened brushed away her small hidden fears that he would ridicule her for entering into what was considered to be the exclusive domain of gentlemen.

  “My first portion from my inheritance helped me buy a new breed of sheep. They’re called angora with wonderfully long, soft fleece,” she raptured on about her first venture. “From the money earned from their wool, I purchased the land for my mulberry trees. Then, this spring, I intend to buy the worms and looms necessary for the making of silk.”

  She stopped. Flushed with pride, she wondered if he now understood how hard she had worked by carefully investing her money. The hard work involved in preparing the land and researching the needs required for a silk-making enterprise had left her with no time for anything, or anyone.

  “And thus your great fortune was created, which made you famous,” he finished for her.

  “Aye.” She nodded solemnly.

  “But how did you decide what to invest in? And how much?”

  “I have expert advice available for me. At first reluctantly given, but as my reputation grew, so did the line outside my man of affair’s door.” She smiled, a little shy about how she conducted her business. For it was unusual, she knew, for a gentlewoman, unless she were widowed, to run an entire estate and business almost single-handedly.

  She had always known that one day Brightwood Manor would be hers, the inheritance being passed down through the surviving heir, regardless of whether it be male or female. And why, she’d reasoned when she grew old enough to understand, should she wait until her beloved father had passed on to make the most of it? Why not create her own fortune and insure that no Englishman would ever rule over her estates?

  From that day on she’d determined to learn as much as possible about running Brightwood Manor’s holdings. She continued her explanation of how she’d developed her mythical wealth. “Then the day arrived when anyone in the parish, who had an innovative idea in farming, beyond using kelp to manure their fields, beat a well-trod path to Brightwood.” She paused once more, knowing the true irony behind her next words. “They came because they wanted me to help finance them with my late aunt’s inheritance, you understand.”

  “Not knowing that, in truth, it comes from your own hard-earned wealth,” he said, giving an acknowledging nod to her cleverness. “But how is it that no one knows that it was you who created all this?”

  She laughed, ready to reveal her most well-kept secret. “I hide behind a screen while the gentlemen are being interviewed by Master Randolph, my man of affairs. I listen and take notes of their conversation. When they’re gone, we sit down and discuss whether or not the venture is worthy of further notice and financial support.”

  “And you trust this Master Randolph?” he asked, wondering how one gentleman of her acquaintance had come to be part of such an important secret, and yet not managed to change her evidently low opinion of men. And if he did not know himself better, he told himself with some self-derision, he would almost believe himself jealous of the trust she’d given her man of affairs.

  “Aye, I do trust him.” She smiled mischievously, the faint dimples he had first detected the day they’d met reappearing impishly around the corners of her mouth. “His wife told me that if Master Randolph ever gave me a day of grief, she’d play the devil and roast him herself over flaming coals on washing day.”

  “Why did she say that?” he asked, puzzled by the other woman’s strange loyalty.

  “Because, sir, I’m the midwife, who helped bring into the world five of their seven children,” she answered with a smug smile of one who knows her worth. “Any more questions?”

  “None. I bow to a far superior sex,” he said and grinned back at her. His admiration lit his clear blue eyes as he enjoyed being in her confidence.

  Beatrice tilted her head to one side. She found she liked the sight of him on his handsome mount. He had a good seat. She had seen as they rode up the hill that he sat tall and erect, fully in control of his horse. It had been a pleasure watching him ride.

  Sitting here beside him, she felt a strange, happy pleasure course through her. At that moment under the dappling blue sky, surrounded by the green hills she so loved, it was enough. For once she didn’t worry about her feelings towards him, about her independence, nor about that argument they had the night they made love. She simply leaned back into her saddle and enjoyed herself and the view, which lay before them.

  His next words, however, destroyed that delicate illusion of blissful tranquility. It was as if the snake had suddenly made himself known in the Garden of Eden.

  “Perhaps,” he hesitated, “with your knowledge of money, you might be able to help me, Lady Beatrice?”

  He drew his hand into his breast pocket.

  “In what way, Your Grace?” she asked cautiously, her spine stiffening.

  “Captain James,” he smiled at her, “remember?”

  “Captain James,” she amended, running her tongue nervously across her lips. She wondered what sum of money he might request of her. She turned her gaze downwards, waiting for him to tell her what venture he wished her to partner. Mayhap she had been too hasty thinking that he might not be like other men?

  “I’m afraid it concerns money—”

  “Of course.” She nodded, a frigid tilt of her head in acknowledgment. Her heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in her middle. What else could it be with men, other than money?

  “Which came to me rather in a queer manner,” he continued.

  “I see,” she said, waiting for his full explanation. The gentleman obviously had sought her out so that he might garner some financial advice, or ask for a loan. The castle was, after all, going to cost him a pretty penny to repair.

  “Do you wish me to give you advice, Your Grace? Some pointers as to how to invest it in various ventures. Is that it?” she said, her voice taking on the same frigid tones that she used when confronted by a particularly annoying suitor.

  “Not quite.”

  Startled, she looked up at him then and met his eyes, searching for an explanation. He looked guiltily down at his waist pocket.

  “I think I best show you,” he said, grinning like a young boy who was about to show off one of his favorite finds. He produced the gold coin he’d found in his bed.

  She gave a soft gasp, recognizing it at once. It was the dreaded leprechaun’s coin. “What I have need of is, well, someone who can translate this for me. Perhaps you can help me find out where it comes from and what that strange script says?”

  He frowned a little in thought. “Faith, perhaps I really ought to give it to you? I did, after all, find it at Brightwood Manor amongst the bedclothes. Mayhap one of the members of your household has been searching for it and would like it back?”

  “No!” She gasped aloud.

  Noticing the look of surprise on his face, she amended. “That is, ’tis surely yours now, Lord James. None of my house has come to me concerning any such loss, and therefore, I’d prefer you kept it.”

  “Can you translate the inscription? I am most interested in learning what it says. Perhaps it has some special significance, which you can decipher.”

  “Oh, most assuredly,” she said, fearful that any
one else should. If he were to ask around, someone might reveal the truth. “If you will but hold it up, so that I might read it.”

  He handed it to her. “It is written in the ancient language of Irish Gaelic.” She smiled reassuringly, pretending to decipher the words written on its gold surface.

  “Why,” she said brightly, as if the news she had to impart was good, “’tis a fairy’s coin, my lord!”

  “A what?”

  “A coin of . . . ah, good fortune,” she lied.

  He nodded, re-pocketing it. “It’s just as I thought.”

  “Truly?” she asked amazed and curious as to how he had come to that unforeseen conclusion.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s brought me nothing but good fortune since I found it.”

  “Indeed,” she said, secretly relieved. “I’m glad it’s brought you such good fortune. I hope that the wee ones will let it stay upon you, Captain James.”

  “So do I.” He nodded as he looked down at her, nudging his mount closer to her own. “And, Lady Beatrice, I believe it already has . . .”

  Before she could say another word, he kissed her. His hands held her face up to him like a delicate flower, as his mouth, as gentle as a warm breeze blowing over blades of new spring grass touched her, beckoning a response.

  She sighed and drew closer to him. She had intuitively known since that night that they both had been yearning for this moment. She may have turned down his marriage proposal, but that did not mean the attraction they felt for one another had ended. His gentle hands moved from her face down to her waist, strong arms wrapping themselves around her, half-pulling her off the saddle.

  She leaned across to him, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace. Her mouth locked willingly with his, reveling at his firm touch. The passionate ember that she had thought long ago to have completely snuffed out glowed deep inside of her, burning.

  He took her horse’s reins and led her towards his own estates. On the edge, where the manor’s property line joined the castle’s, stood a small cottage. Next to it ran a cool stream that was well shaded by a cluster of trees. Stacks of cut planks and timber lay neatly in a lean-to nearby.