The Beleaguered Earl

by Allison Lane

  “If your parents construed words uttered at a rout as warm, then I must assume they are mushrooms, Miss Porter,” he said pointedly. “The flirtations bandied about society drawing rooms are meaningless, as everyone who belongs there knows. Not that I can imagine flirting with you. I have no use for schoolgirls.”

  Ignoring her gasp, he leaped into his curricle and sprang the horses, wanting only to move as far away from Miss Agnes Porter as possible. He would wager Redrock House that she was the sort who could twist a casual greeting into a compromising affair if it suited her purposes – like Miss Timmons, who had pursued Wrexham so assiduously last Season that he’d been forced to flee London. Rumor claimed that her coach had suffered a breakdown outside his estate barely a week later.

  The moment he returned to Redrock, he ran Hope to ground in the library. “Who the devil is Agnes Porter?” he demanded.

  “Don’t you know?” She grinned almost evilly, cocking her head to one side. “She has spoken of you so often that I thought you bosom bows – though I must admit that her tales sound somewhat contrived. I cannot believe that an earl would look twice at her.”

  He relaxed. “She claimed we’d met, but I’ve no recollection of it. Who is she?”

  “Her father is a local squire. She and her mother accompanied him to London last spring, staying with her widowed aunt for a fortnight.”

  “Does this aunt have a name?”

  “Lady Fitzcummings. I doubt she is as well connected as Agnes claims, but she did take Agnes to several small parties and at least one ball.”

  “Ah. Fitzcummings. That would explain it. I’ve only seen the woman twice, but her husband was a remote connection of Lord Marchbanks, which would account for her invitation to his wife’s rout.”

  “Yes. Routs can satisfy all manner of obligations to people one would rather avoid.”

  He laughed, but the memory of Miss Porter’s fluttering lashes quickly sobered him. “How serious are her delusions?”

  “You should be safe. Her head was in the clouds even before going to London. And while her claims sound warm enough, I doubt she cares for you personally – or even for your title. Her dreams do not move beyond escaping Devonshire. I suspect she is enamored of your reputation as a dashing rogue.”

  He swore.

  “Be kind. The girl is entitled to a few dreams. Her best prospects for marriage are Squire Foley, who seeks a mother for his children so he can concentrate on his dogs and horses, and Mr. Hemple, heir to an inhospitable farm hacked from the wilds of Dartmoor.”

  “Which makes her dangerous now that I am here in the flesh and not merely a name glimpsed in the distance. I’ve met many deluded girls. Fortunately, I had already told Mr. Winters that I am leaving. When she calls, tell her I am visiting friends.”

  “She would never call while Mother is so ill.”

  “She will call. She will do more than call if she suspects I’m here.”

  “Like what?”

  “Crawl into my bed and scream rape,” he muttered.

  * * * *

  Hope shook her head as Merimont left the library. Did he really believe that every female in the country was after him?

  Yet he was proved right less than an hour later. She was spooning broth into her mother’s mouth when Mrs. Tweed rapped on the door.

  “Mrs. Porter and Miss Agnes to see you,” she said, extending their cards.

  Hope sighed, handing her the bowl. “You stay with Mother.”

  She refused to straighten her hair or prepare a refreshment tray. They must know this was not a propitious time to call. But she greeted them politely enough.

  “I hear Mrs. Ashburton is improving,” said Mrs. Porter, settling into a chair.

  “The crisis has passed, though she remains very ill.”

  “Mr. Winters claims she is well,” said Agnes, her tone clearly calling Hope a liar.

  “You must have misunderstood. Improvement is hardly the same as recovery,” said Hope shortly. “She is now aware that I am in the room with her, which is more than she knew two days ago. Yet I doubt she recognizes who I am.”

  Mrs. Porter colored and began a comment on the weather, but Agnes again interrupted. “I heard that Lord Merimont owns Redrock.”

  Hope cursed herself for dismissing his fears. Agnes’s eyes were no longer dreamy. They’d turned calculating and fanatical. “He does. Watts thinks the tenants will benefit, so we are pleased with the change.”

  Agnes peered about the room as if Merimont might be hiding behind a drapery, but she said nothing more while Hope steered the conversation to the vicar’s Sunday sermon, neighborhood gossip, and Agnes’s upcoming trip to Bath. Only after Hope stared pointedly at the clock for the third time did Mrs. Porter raise the purpose of her visit.

  “We are planning a dinner party on Friday, Miss Ashburton. Will you be able to join us?”

  “I cannot leave Mother alone,” she said in a vast understatement.

  “But Lord Merimont will wish to attend,” said Agnes warmly. “He must already find the country boring. I know how much he loves town.”

  “If you say so. I barely know the man, but I understand he left this morning and does not expect to return for at least a fortnight.”

  Agnes opened her mouth as if to protest, but a jab from her mother’s elbow kept her quiet. The pair finally took their leave, though Hope feared she had not seen the last of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A week later Max turned away from the window to resume his seat in the doorway of Mrs. Ashburton’s dressing room. Even Hope had finally admitted that she and her servants could not handle all the nursing, so he and Blake were keeping watch at night. The woman was sleeping better, though she was still troubled by chills or fever. He was under strict orders to stay in the shadows and awaken Hope if her mother underwent any change.

  His own situation was increasingly frustrating. Having put it about that he was leaving, he and Blake could not venture out. And his efforts to soften Hope’s antagonism were going nowhere. While she was more relaxed than before, he had only to mention the house, her plans, marriage, or pleasure for her to withdraw into a prickly shell that he could not penetrate.

  Normal flirtation did not work. She recoiled from every touch, retreated from any hint of warmth, and refused to indulge in any of the conversational gambits London society took for granted. It had been a mistake to crowd her, he admitted now. He had not understood the depth of her fear. No matter how pleasurable she found his touch, terror was stronger, so flirtation merely drove her away.

  Yet they had grown closer, though he wasn’t sure why. She delighted in pricking his pretensions. The breakfast fiasco had not been his only disgrace. There was the day he’d polished the drawing room tables with lemon wax, then used the same rag to wipe a smudge from the mirror. While removing the mess he’d left, she’d kept up a scolding monologue on the subject of inept lords. So why had he been laughing by the time she finished?

  The same thing had happened when he’d spilled coal all over the entrance hall, landed on his backside in a pool of soapy water from a bucket he’d knocked over, and demonstrated a singular ineptitude for opening wine bottles. He should have been mortified by his lack of skill – or at least furious at having to perform such menial tasks. Instead, he found amusement in the absurdity of it all, sharing her delight in laughing with him.

  She was a different person when she laughed. For those brief moments, she forgot her mother’s illness, forgot her uncle’s persecution, even forgot her fear of rakish gentlemen. He longed to bring more laughter to her life, freeing her from the cares that weighed on her shoulders.

  But he could do nothing until she accepted him – if she ever accepted him. His lack of progress pressed heavily on his spirits. He could not postpone his offer much longer. Already Mrs. Ashburton had regained awareness of her surroundings. The neighbors would soon discover that he was here. And he had yet to decide what Ashburton might be up to – or Dornbras, he admit
ted, wondering where that gentleman was; he’d heard nothing from Rob in three days.

  The Porters had returned twice since their initial visit. He had concealed himself in the music room during yesterday’s call, listening through the door Hope had left open. The result was enlightening, though it did nothing to make his situation any easier. Squire Porter was ambivalent about pursuing a match. While he would clearly welcome the connection, he was worldly enough to know it would never come about without trickery. His wife was more inclined to believe Agnes’s claims, which now included clandestine meetings in London. The girl herself was dangerous. Whether she was merely greedy or actually believed her fantasies did not matter. She was a determined miss whose parents probably found it easier to oblige than to oppose her.

  Two hours later, he’d glanced through a window to see her sneaking around the house, testing the doors and windows. Thank heavens they were keeping them firmly locked, even in daylight. Since Henry was now sleeping in the attics, the only people needing admittance were the grooms and coachmen, who ate in the kitchen twice a day.

  But knowing that Agnes was determined to trap him increased his irritation. He could not leave the house for fear she would accost him. He dared not even take a turn about the terrace. Beleaguered, besieged, and disgruntled, he stared at the sickbed.

  He needed to settle with Hope before his life grew even more complicated. If only he could think of a way to convince her.

  * * * *

  Blake watched Max descend the stairs. His friend’s face grew glummer every day.

  “Has Mrs. Ashburton suffered another setback?” he asked.

  “No. She is doing better this morning.”

  “Then what put that frown on your face?”

  “She will be up and about in another week. Hope won’t tolerate us here after that.”

  Blake noted the use of her given name, but said nothing. Max was so stubborn that he probably hadn’t figured out he was in love with her. “Then we must leave,” he said calmly, trying to force Max to think instead of react. “Jeanette returns to London tomorrow. Even Missy will be fit enough to travel in a few days.”

  “So we let Mrs. Ashburton’s irrational fears drive us away.”

  “They may be a little exaggerated, but I’d hardly call them irrational. You know how difficult her life has been.”

  “No more than many others. Yes, she lost her husband at an early age. But despite Ashburton’s crimes against the estate, she has hardly been living in a hovel. So why does she fear men?”

  Blake stared. “Ashburton despises her. He would gladly destroy her.”

  “How do you know?” Anger threaded the voice.

  Well, well. Max was more firmly caught than he had realized. “Why not ask Miss Ashburton?”

  Max cursed, clenching his fists as if he wished to strike something. Blake sighed and led him into the music room. “Start at the beginning. What is wrong with you today?”

  “I have to offer for her.”

  “Agreed. No matter how fine a face you put on the last fortnight, you’ve ruined her in the eyes of the world. But is offering so bad?”

  “Not really, but she’ll turn me down. Her mother’s history might provide a clue to how to convince her, but she won’t discuss it.” He glared.

  Blake shook his head at his friend. “She must know what you will do with the information.”

  “Then why tell you?”

  “Don’t wish me to Hades, Max. She cares nothing for me beyond friendship, and I prefer it that way. We discussed her family briefly during that walk to the village the morning after we met. At the time, she did not realize where this must end, but she hardly told me anything.” He hid a smile, for the only reason she’d answered at all had been to balance the information she had extracted about Max.

  “So what did she say?” His voice had become a feral growl.

  “Don’t hold her openness against her. She accepts my friendship because she needs someone safe to talk to.”

  “Safe? Why would she need safety now? Dornbras is gone.”

  Blake paused long enough to make Max nervous. Pushing two stubborn mules together was tricky, but necessary. “She is so afraid of repeating her mother’s mistakes that she cannot overlook your reputation. What do you know of Ashburton?”

  “Her uncle?”

  He nodded.

  “He enjoys gaming, is clutch-fisted with his family, and has done his best to ruin this estate.”

  “He also enjoys wenching and is much like Dornbras, though less public about his worst habits. He is miserly with his family because he despises them. As near as I can tell, he blames everything wrong with his life on Hope’s mother – and on Hope, by extension.”

  “How the devil does he justify that?”

  “She doesn’t know – or won’t say. The only facts she revealed are that Edward revered his brother. Arnold wed her mother while Edward was on his Grand Tour – her tone hinted that the marriage was unhappy. After Arnold died, Edward was recalled and forced to wed a woman he despises.”

  Max began pacing. “He can hardly blame Hope for that. Even Ashburton is not insane enough to persecute two innocent females just because he hates his wife.”

  Blake shrugged. “That’s all she told me, though Mrs. Tweed sometimes mutters about that evil man, apparently referring to Hope’s father.”

  “Hope did mention that her mother’s marriage was forced, but there has to be more to the story. And it must be something big. Ashburton has done his best to destroy them since he acquired the title. So why give the estate to me?”

  “I thought you won it in a card game.”

  “So did I at first, but I have no memory of playing out the hand. He announced that I’d won, handed me a small fortune, then sauntered out, looking like a cat with a mouth full of feathers. Brummell and Alvanley were surprised at his reaction.”

  “Interesting. I can’t imagine what purpose that would serve, but if there is any chance he cheated, you need to investigate. He is not a man to act without purpose, especially when it means abandoning something of value.”

  “Not entirely of value. I thought he might have surrendered it before it started costing him money, but he could have prevented that easily enough.”

  “Does he hold some grievance against you? Perhaps he is hoping to compromise you into wedding someone your father might not approve.”

  “I’ve rarely met the man and can’t imagine why he would plot against me.” He frowned suddenly. “You described him as being like Dornbras. Are they friends?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve avoided Dornbras for years, except when you forced us together. Why?”

  “It was Dornbras who suggested this house party.”

  Blake thought back to that scene at White’s. “So it was. But why would that matter?”

  “It might not, but it is another fact to consider.”

  “If you are going to offer for her, you’d best do it soon.”

  “Today. If only I could think of a way to convince her. She never reacts the way I expect her to.”

  Blake grinned as he followed Max downstairs. Maybe he could reassure Hope that Max would never harm her. He’d already revealed some of Max’s soft spots. And she had to feel an attraction. He’d watched her avoid Max even as her eyes followed his every move.

  * * * *

  Max ignored the chatter during breakfast. His talk with Blake had raised some interesting points. Though he doubted Ashburton had a grievance against him, the man might be using him to hurt Hope. As evidence, there was that odd remark Ashburton had made about Redrock’s amenities…

  Whether Dornbras was involved was irrelevant – this scheme could have nothing to do with Dornbras’s original one. And Ashburton could hardly have anticipated the events that had led him into gaming at Brook’s that night. He had merely met Ashburton’s needs. But what did the man hope to accomplish? And how could he convince Hope that he’d known nothing about it?

  Someone p
ounded on the kitchen door, pulling his thoughts back to the room. Was something wrong in the stable, or had Agnes devised a new way to run him to ground? Perhaps he should slip out of sight.

  Henry went to open it. “What are you doing here, Jack?” he demanded as a boy burst in.

  “Henry’s brother,” explained Hope in an aside. She motioned Henry to silence. “Is there a problem?”

  He nodded. “Pa sent me. He saw Lor’ Ashburton crossin’ the river.”

  She blanched.

  “Lord protect us,” squeaked Mrs. Tweed.

  “Is he coming here?” asked Max.

  “Why else he would be in the area?” Hope’s eyes looked huge.

  “He no longer owns the estate,” said Blake firmly. “So he cannot expect a warm reception.”

  “And he is not your guardian,” Max reminded her. “You needn’t see him at all, if you don’t wish to.”

  “It is not that simple.” She turned back to Jack, thanking him for his information and sending him off with a slab of bacon for his family. When she returned, her face was white.

  Max caught Blake’s eye, suddenly understanding Ashburton’s scheme. He had sought to place his niece in a compromising position that would shackle her for life to exactly the sort of man she hated – rumor declared him a womanizing drunkard, though it was all exaggeration. At the same time, Ashburton could strike another blow at his sister-in-law. Seeing her daughter forced into marriage as she had been would surely send her into a decline.

  But he would not tolerate such manipulation. Nor would he allow Hope’s reputation to be smeared across the realm, as Ashburton would surely do.

  He would wed her, of course, but not under so public a shadow. Even marriage would not restore her reputation once Ashburton finished with her.

  “How long will it take him to reach here?”

  “Another hour, for the road swings west to avoid Dudley’s Bog, and I doubt he’d risk putting his carriage to the farm track.”