An Earl to Save Her Reputation

by Laura Martin

  ‘That doesn’t sound like love...’ Anna murmured.

  ‘But they did love each other, madly at first. It turned bad and ruined them both.’

  ‘And your mother’s still mourning him?’

  ‘Ever since he passed away she’s shut herself off from the rest of the world, and it was worse after Lydia...’ He trailed off.

  ‘It sounds like you’ve had a lot to deal with these last few years.’

  ‘No more than any other head of the family,’ he said. ‘They don’t tell you what a difficult job having responsibility for the ones you love actually is.’

  ‘Does your mother have a companion?’ Anna asked.

  He shook his head. ‘She and Lydia used to be inseparable, but I think Mother became a little too overbearing even for my sister.’

  ‘Are you happy, Harry?’ Anna asked quietly, the question causing him to pause and look at her.

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Yes, happy.’

  ‘I suppose so. At least I will be when Lydia finds a husband and is settled.’

  ‘You’re a very kind man,’ Anna said, looking up at him, her cool grey eyes piercing into his core, ‘but you must remember to please yourself as well as others.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but society tells me you are looking for a wife.’

  He shrugged—it wasn’t a great secret.

  ‘But instead of looking to find someone you actually care about, someone who you can see would make you happy, you’re looking for a woman who is respectable and dull.’

  ‘As I said, I don’t believe in love matches. For centuries people have been marrying for much more sensible reasons than love.’

  ‘Are you looking to save the Edgerton family name, to marry a woman so respectable she could champion Lydia back into society?’

  Harry sighed—the thought had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. ‘A respectable wife certainly wouldn’t hurt the reputation of this family, but that is not the main criteria I am basing my search on.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I’m looking for an amiable young woman who would make a good mother to my children, a respectable countess, someone I like, but don’t feel anything more for.’

  ‘What about love, Harry? What about happiness?’

  ‘I think my marriage will be much happier if love doesn’t complicate it.’

  ‘What happened to your parents doesn’t have to happen to you,’ Anna said.

  ‘Were you happy?’ he asked, slightly more abruptly than he meant to. ‘In your second marriage, the man you married for love?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said without hesitation. ‘But I see now it was an infatuation with a dashing young man, not true love.’ He watched as Anna hesitated and he realised she was wondering whether to give up a little more about her own past.

  ‘I’ve had three marriages, Harry, none of them particularly happy, but one was the worst year of my life. I wouldn’t want anyone to suffer through a marriage like that.’

  Harry watched her intently. From the little things she’d said, from the reactions she had whenever anyone touched her, he’d worked out her last marriage had been difficult, but now he was wondering if it had been more than that.

  ‘Marriage is for life,’ Anna said, stopping and turning to him, ‘and I wouldn’t like to think of you being stuck with someone who didn’t make you as happy as you could be for the rest of your life.’

  Rifield had said the same thing many times, had cautioned Harry about choosing his wife based on purely her reputation and her amiability, but they didn’t understand, neither of them did.

  ‘I thank you for your concern,’ Harry said quietly, ‘but our situations are very different.’

  Anna sighed, turning to smile at him brightly after a few seconds. ‘It is none of my concern, I know that,’ she said, patting him on the arm like an elderly aunt. ‘You have been so kind to me, I do not like to think of you as unhappy, but I will keep my views to myself.’

  There was an awkwardness between them for a few minutes and Harry was reminded of the evening they had first met in Lord Prenderson’s study. Anna had been stiff and formal then, but as the weeks had passed by she had revealed more of her true self, little by little.

  ‘Let us return to the house,’ Anna said, her expression inscrutable. ‘Your guests will be rising for breakfast shortly and it is probably wise we are not seen out in the gardens together with no chaperon.’

  The walk back to the house only took a couple of minutes and as Harry left Anna in the entrance hall he found himself mulling over her words. His views on marriage weren’t that unusual. Most of the unions between titled ladies and gentlemen were arranged for far less sensible reasons than he was proposing. Most people of his acquaintance married for money, a title or links to an influential family. He was merely looking for a wife he could rub along well with for thirty years, someone who could never hurt him because he wouldn’t be head over heels in love with them. He’d seen the destruction a marriage built on love could cause—he wasn’t about to impose that on his own life or his future children.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Pall-mall,’ Harry had announced to the guests who had made it down for breakfast. ‘It’s the perfect day for it.’

  Now about half of the party had traipsed out to the gardens where Harry was enthusiastically hammering the hoop into the grass and setting out the course. To one side, just off the patio, Harry had set the heavy wooden mallets and the hefty ball, and as she watched the rest of the guests emerge from the house Anna walked over and picked up one of the mallets, testing its weight in her hand.

  ‘I hope you’re not planning to use that as a deadly weapon,’ Rifield said quietly in her ear, smiling as he did so.

  From most people it would have been an unkind reference to the rumours of how her husbands had died, but Anna could detect no malice in Harry’s friend.

  ‘Who wants to go first?’ Harry asked.

  There were six of them in total: Harry and Anna, Rifield, Mrs and Miss Wright, and Lydia. The Fortescues had all taken breakfast in their rooms and were yet to emerge to join the other guests. The vicar and his wife had returned home the evening before, but would be joining them for dinner again tonight.

  ‘I’m not sure it is entirely appropriate for a young lady...’ Mrs Wright said, eyeing up the ball and mallets.

  ‘Perhaps you gentlemen could show us how the game is played,’ Miss Wright suggested.

  Anna took a seat on the patio alongside the three other women and watched as Harry and Rifield hefted the mallets and took some preparatory swings.

  ‘The aim of the game is to hit the ball along the course and through the hoop at the end in the least number of hits,’ he explained.

  ‘I’ve never seen pall-mall being played in a garden before,’ Miss Wright remarked.

  Harry went first, hitting the ball a good distance with his first swing before lining up and aiming for the hoop further down the garden. The ladies all let out a cheer as the ball shot through the hoop on the fourth hit.

  ‘Your turn, Rifield,’ Harry said.

  Rifield stepped up to the starting point and tapped the ball, sending it hurtling across the grass. It took him five hits to get the ball to pass through the hoop and by the time it sailed under the metal bar the spectators were all laughing at his antics.

  ‘Who is next?’ Harry asked.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to show me how to hit the ball,’ Miss Wright said, standing up and ignoring the warning glance from her mother.

  Miss Wright took the mallet from Harry and positioned herself as he directed. Reaching around her waist, Harry showed her how to hold the heavy wooden mallet, how to line up the hit with the hoop at the other end of the garden and the desired force to hit the ball with. Although
their bodies did not touch at any point Anna felt a sharp stab of jealousy and had to remind herself that Harry was not really her fiancé to covet.

  Miss Wright hit the ball along the garden with delicate little taps, succeeding in pushing it through the hoop after eight hits.

  ‘Lady Fortescue?’ Harry asked as he and Miss Wright headed back to the patio.

  Anna stood, allowing Harry to lead her to the start point.

  ‘Have you played before?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you permit me to assist you?’

  She nodded, allowing Harry to adjust her grip on the mallet, show her how to position her body and finally loop his arms around her waist much as he had done with Miss Wright. Their bodies didn’t once touch, but every second she was aware of his presence just inches away. As she hit the ball for the first time, sending it spinning across the garden, she felt his breath on her neck and had to force herself to concentrate on the game before her.

  ‘Good hit,’ Harry called, a trace of admiration in his voice.

  Anna squared her stance, looked backwards and forward between the hoop and the ball a few times and then swung the mallet again. The ball bounced, flying along the course and Anna felt a swell of pleasure. She liked to do things well.

  ‘Four hits,’ Harry called from further up the garden. ‘If I’d have known you were this good I’d have tried harder.’

  Anna handed the mallet over to Lydia and watched as the young woman tapped the ball gently down the garden. Harry was with her every step, every hit.

  ‘He’s so good with his sister,’ she heard Miss Wright murmur to Mrs Wright.

  ‘Many men wouldn’t have the patience to mollycoddle a young woman of such tepid character,’ Mrs Wright whispered.

  ‘It is certainly a point in his favour.’

  As if Harry needed any more points in his favour. He was an earl, from one of the oldest families in England. He owned a large estate and beautiful property, and probably many more houses dotted around the country. He’d served his country while in the army and now was devoted to serving his family.

  ‘You’d have to get the sister married off quickly, though,’ Mrs Wright murmured. ‘No sense in having to share Lord Edgerton’s attention.’

  ‘I’m sure there would be no shortage of candidates once a suitably large dowry was suggested,’ Miss Wright said, looking thoughtfully at Lydia. ‘And it would do the poor girl good to make a life of her own.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Fortescue,’ Harry called as Lydia hit the ball through the hoop at the end of the course. ‘You’re just in time to play pall-mall.’

  Anna turned to see her stepdaughter walking stiffly on to the terrace. There was still no sign of her brothers and Anna wondered if they had decided to pack for London.

  ‘I do not play games,’ Miss Fortescue said.

  ‘Nonsense, everyone plays games.’ Harry motioned towards Rifield, who summoned his most charming smile. ‘Rifield will show you how it’s done.’

  Stepping back off the course, Harry wandered back to Anna’s side, picking up a glass of water from the table on his way.

  Quietly they watched Miss Fortescue stiffly allow Rifield to demonstrate how to play pall-mall, wondering whether she would hit him with the mallet if he got too close.

  ‘I think she’s developing a soft spot for Rifield,’ Harry murmured, quietly enough so only Anna could hear him.

  ‘I don’t wish to be uncharitable, but I don’t think Miss Fortescue is capable of affection.’

  ‘Under that unwelcoming demeanour there might be a romantic side struggling to get out.’

  Anna had lived under the same roof as Miss Fortescue for a year. She very much doubted there was a hidden romantic under the spitefulness, but she had been wrong about people before.

  The sun peeked out from behind a cloud as the rest of the guests got into the spirit of the game and for a few minutes at least it felt like they were at a normal, amiable house party with friends rather than people who detested her.

  To everyone’s surprise Mrs Wright, who had to be coaxed from her seat on the patio, won the game of pall-mall, managing to knock the ball through the hoop in just three hits. She reddened at the congratulations and hurriedly returned to her seat before she could be pressed into repeating the performance.

  ‘Time for archery,’ Harry declared.

  ‘Are you mad?’ Anna hissed at him as he took her arm and led her to a different part of the garden. Up ahead three well-worn targets had been set up and closer to the house a selection of bows and arrows lay on the ground.

  ‘Can’t have my guests getting bored,’ Harry said.

  ‘Someone is threatening me and you provide the deadly weapons to help them make good on their threats.’

  ‘No one will harm a hair on your head while you are under my protection,’ Harry said so confidently it left Anna speechless.

  As the footmen carried the seats from the patio, arranging them a little distance away from the targets, the guests chattered and eyed up the assorted bows on the ground.

  By the time the ladies were seated Lord Fortescue and Mr Ronald Fortescue had joined the group and each were eagerly inspecting the bows, picking them up to feel the weight and testing the tautness of the string.

  ‘Brings back memories of the good times, eh, Lady Fortescue?’ Mr Ronald Fortescue said.

  Anna fixed him with an icy stare, but decided not to answer.

  ‘Perhaps we should play Fortescue rules,’ Lord Fortescue murmured to his brother. ‘Might get rid of our little problem with the settlements.’

  ‘Fortescue rules?’ Harry asked Anna, quietly so he wouldn’t embarrass her.

  The two Fortescue men laughed at their private joke and Anna felt an unfamiliar rage building inside her. Of course she could control it—during the terrible months of her last marriage she’d felt everything from terror to rage to sorrow, but she’d become expert at hiding every emotion, of constructing a wall to hold back her feelings. Now there was no need, no reason to remain calm and detached. No one to hurt her, no one to make her regret her actions.

  ‘Lord Fortescue has suggested we play Fortescue rules,’ Anna said, her voice ringing clear and loud, silencing the rest of the guests.

  The look of surprise on her two stepsons’ faces was enough to encourage her to go on.

  ‘My husband, the late Lord Fortescue, always had an archery target set up on the lawn, with a bow and arrows handy.’

  ‘That’s quite enough, Lady Fortescue,’ Mr Ronald Fortescue hissed.

  ‘No, no, Mr Fortescue, you suggested Fortescue rules, I’m just explaining them to our companions.’

  ‘I really don’t think...’ Lord Fortescue bumbled, his face turning an even deeper shade of red than normal.

  ‘My dear husband, the late Lord Fortescue, was very particular in how he liked the members of his household to behave,’ Anna said, seeing the horrified fascination in the faces of the assembled guests. It wasn’t the done thing to discuss the intimate details of a marriage, especially when a peer of the realm was involved, but everyone was hanging on Anna’s every word. ‘If I had committed a transgression he felt was very severe, he liked to punish me in novel and amusing ways.’ Amusing to him, certainly not to her.

  ‘That is quite enough, Lady Fortescue,’ the new Lord Fortescue said, grabbing Anna by the arm roughly.

  Immediately Harry had intervened, taking Lord Fortescue’s wrist and squeezing until he let go, muttering in pain.

  ‘He would make me stand in front of a target, just like this,’ Anna said, walking slowly up to the middle target. She stood with her back to the board and spread out her arms. Everyone was watching her, no one able to tear their eyes away. ‘And then he would ask me if I was afraid.’

  The first time he’d done it Anna had thought it a joke. She’d laugh
ed merrily at her new husband until he fired an arrow that thunked into the target so close to her shoulder it tore the fabric of her dress.

  ‘I think he wanted me to be afraid,’ Anna said, looking directly at the three Fortescue children, each in turn. Not one of them would meet her eye.

  ‘You deserved everything you got,’ Miss Fortescue said after a few seconds, her voice no more than a low whisper, but Anna heard every word all the same.

  ‘For what? For laughing too merrily at the dining table? For playing the piano too loudly in the middle of the day? For receiving a letter from a schoolfriend?’ All transgressions she had been punished for.

  ‘You were an unfaithful harlot...’ Miss Fortescue said, echoing her father’s words, even her father’s tone.

  ‘It’s just not true. You know it and he knew it.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Miss Fortescue whispered. ‘Stop slandering a dead man’s name when he can’t defend himself.’

  ‘We both know what your father did to me...’

  ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up.’ Miss Fortescue’s voice raised from a whisper to a croaky shout.

  Anna should have seen the flash of desperation in Miss Fortescue’s eyes, should have stopped there, but she felt liberated, finally free of the hold her late husband held over her even after his death. If she wanted to she could tell the whole world what a cruel violent man Lord Fortescue had been.

  ‘He—’ She didn’t get to say any more. Time seemed to move slowly as she saw Miss Fortescue lift the bow that was in her grip, pull back the string and loose the arrow. Anna was frozen, unable to move, the arrow heading straight for her when Harry’s solid body careened into hers, knocking her to the ground.

  Silence stretched out, no one moved for what felt like an eternity. Finally Harry shifted, moving the weight of his body on to his arms and pushing himself up.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, cupping her face with his hands.

  She considered for a moment. She felt a little winded from where he’d landed on top of her, but she wasn’t hurt. Slowly she shook her head.

  With everyone’s eyes on her, Anna stood, turning to inspect the arrow in the target, still quivering from the impact, embedded right where her head would have been if Harry hadn’t pushed her to the ground.