When to Engage an Earl

by Sally MacKenzie

  The vicar and Mary stared at him blankly for a moment.

  “Oh!” Mary said. “You mean me.” She laughed. “I’m still getting used to that name. Please call me Mary.” She nodded. “Yes, Theodore and the duke went together to visit the baron. After they left, Cat and I decided to come see Mama.” Mary chewed her lip, looking rather pale again. “Do you suppose it was riding in the pony cart that caused Cat to go into labor early?”

  “I doubt it,” the vicar said.

  Alex had no idea, but having Mary work herself into a lather worrying wouldn’t help anyone. “Your mother did say she didn’t think the baby was that early.” He smiled. “My oldest niece came three weeks before she was expected and all was well.”

  “Oh, that’s good to hear,” Mary said, seeming to relax.

  The vicar gave him a grateful look. “Now, my lord, I believe we should see if we can find my son-in-law. Do you know if Theodore and the duke planned a long visit with Lord Davenport, Mary?”

  “They said they might be gone an hour or two. The duke wanted to get some matters settled before Lady Davenport has her baby.” Mary smiled, putting a hand on her rather sizable belly. “And before Cat and I have ours.”

  According to Diana, Imogen was also increasing.

  Zeus, Loves Bridge was experiencing a veritable population explosion. How did Jane feel, surrounded by so much fecundity?

  The most relevant of his organs would like to—

  He should not be having such thoughts in a vicar’s study. And to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jane swore off childbearing after today. He did hope Mrs. Hutting had arrived to rescue her.

  Idiot! Miss Wilkinson had already sworn off childbearing. As she’d pointed out to him several times, she was the Spinster House spinster.

  Well, there was Isabelle Dorring’s example....

  Nonsense. Jane was far too wise to follow in Isabelle’s footsteps.

  Yet Cat, he was quite certain, had also conceived while still in the Spinster House.

  If Jane—

  Blast it all, he had to stop thinking about Jane this way. If she was indeed a dedicated spinster, he needed to respect that. And he’d promised himself not to consider changing his own unmarried state until he felt confident that he could trust his instincts. If he was lusting after a woman who had quite clearly expressed her complete lack of desire for marriage in general and him in particular, his instincts were still sadly unreliable.

  And yet the first place he’d ridden was not the castle, but the Spinster House.

  Instinct, good or bad, told him he and Jane had some unfinished business between them. At a minimum, they needed to discuss what had happened in Roger and Diana’s garden.

  Or at least he needed to discuss it.

  And Rachel thinks Jane loves me. . . .

  What the hell did an eight-year-old girl know about such matters?

  He forced his attention back to the issue at hand. “How long have you been here, Mrs.—I mean, Mary?”

  Mary looked at the clock. “About an hour.”

  “I see. So the duke and your husband could still be at Davenport Hall.”

  “Or they might be on their way back to the castle. We’ll have to account for both possibilities.” The vicar looked at Mary. “You’ll be all right while we’re gone? I can get Walter or Pru to sit with you.”

  Mary laughed. “Having one of them staring at me wouldn’t help anything. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  The vicar nodded. “We’ll send Theodore to fetch you when we find him and the duke. Since Henry has taken my horse, I’ll have to take your cart.”

  Alex and the vicar left the vicarage and walked briskly toward Cupid’s Inn, where the pony cart and Alex’s horse were stabled. As they passed the Spinster House, Alex glanced over to see Poppy on the front step, cleaning her side. She paused and looked up as they walked by.

  He had the silliest urge to ask the animal if all was well.

  I’ve not only lost my instincts, I’ve lost my mind.

  At least Mrs. Hutting was there now and, with luck, the midwife would be there soon. Jane didn’t have to deal with things by herself any longer. And then once the baby was born and they got Marcus safely to meet him, the Spinster House curse would officially be broken.

  “Do you give any credence to the curse, sir?” he asked the vicar.

  To his surprise, Cat’s father didn’t immediately scoff at the notion.

  “I’m a man of the cloth, Lord Evans. My life is spent contemplating things we cannot see or hear, taste or touch, things that can’t be proven by any scientific method.”

  “But, sir! A curse?”

  The vicar smiled. “Well, yes. I don’t believe in witches and magic. But I do believe men can create their own burdens—or curses, if you will.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me there, sir.”

  “Think about it, Lord Evans. Two hundred years ago, a desperate woman lashed out at the man who got her with child, and then she vanished. Everyone said she drowned herself. How could the man ever atone for what he’d done?”

  “He couldn’t.”

  The vicar nodded. “And how would you feel if you were that man?”

  Alex could say how he felt right now—outraged at the mere thought of such a thing. “I would never behave in such a way!”

  “Perhaps not, but indulge me for a moment and imagine you had. How would you feel?”

  The notion was revolting. “If I had a shred of honor, I’d feel guilty, of course.”

  The vicar nodded. “I expect you would. Crushing guilt, guilt you could never absolve yourself of.” He looked at Alex. “You’d feel cursed, wouldn’t you?”

  Alex blinked. “Yes, I suppose I would.”

  “You might feel that since the woman and child had died, you didn’t deserve to live, either. Certainly you didn’t deserve to be happy.”

  “Y-yes, I think you’re right.”

  “Oh, dear,” the vicar muttered suddenly, “here come the Boltwoods. Just smile and bow and, whatever you do, keep moving.”

  Alex snapped his head around—he’d been directing all his attention at the vicar—and saw the two white-haired ladies leave the village shop and scurry across the green toward them. Their mouths were opening—

  The vicar held up his hand, never breaking stride. “Truly sorry. No time to stop.”

  They left the women, jaws dangling, behind and crossed the road to the inn.

  “One thing I do know,” the vicar said as they entered the inn-yard, “in the great poet Virgil’s words, ‘omnia vincit amor’—‘Love conquers all.’ I feel certain the duke and my daughter love each other very much, so I’m not worried that they’ll come to harm.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Now let’s go find him, shall we?”

  They waited while the ostler got Alex’s horse and the pony cart ready and then headed out. Alex, following behind the vicar, watched the man bounce around whenever the convenience hit a rut. He knew nothing about the care of pregnant females, but he couldn’t think it a good thing for a woman so close to her time to be jostled about like that. Perhaps they were lucky Mary’s baby wasn’t trying to put in an appearance as well.

  The vicar stopped when the road divided, and Alex came up beside him.

  “Here’s where our paths diverge, Lord Evans. I’ll take the left fork toward Davenport Hall, and you can take the right to the castle. Will that suit?”

  Alex nodded. “And what will you tell Marcus if you find him, sir? He’s sure to think of your daughter and the baby when he sees you.”

  “Yes. We don’t want the poor fellow rushing to Cat’s side and breaking his neck on the way, do we? Hmm.” The vicar rubbed his chin. “I have it. We’ve been discussing various structural problems with the church. I’ll tell him something new has developed that requires his immediate attention.” He grinned. “I’m sure Our Lord will forgive me a little white lie in this instance. And what will you tell him?”

  “That Lord H
aywood asked me to stop by and see how he goes on.”

  The vicar’s brows rose. “And that’s your only reason for coming to Loves Bridge?”

  “Er, yes.” No point in mentioning Miss Wilkinson when his hopes—or whatever he had—might be dashed.

  “I see.” The vicar smiled a little too knowingly. “I believe the Lord will forgive you your white lie as well.”

  “Nate really did write me.”

  “I’m sure he did.” The vicar nodded and then set the pony into motion.

  Alex watched the cart rumble off. Why the hell did everyone wish to busy themselves in his business? At least Marcus wouldn’t bother him about Miss Wilkinson.

  “Come on, Horatio. Let’s go find the duke.”

  Horatio didn’t need to be asked twice—he’d been chafing at the bit, forced to walk at a snail’s pace behind the pony cart. He surged into a gallop, and for a moment Alex felt the exhilaration he always did when astride his horse, flying over the countryside.

  But there was no way to outrun his thoughts.

  To be honest, he’d been fighting with himself ever since the christening party.

  Every time he visited Chanton Manor, his sister mentioned Miss Wilkinson. She corresponded with Imogen, so she often had news of Jane. Which was fine. Good. He wanted to hear how Miss Wilkinson went on. The problem was, Diana wouldn’t leave it at that. She always found a way to work in the question of his interest in the spinster. Even Bea and Rachel and the other girls had taken to asking him when he was going to try his luck with her again.

  At least Roger had held his tongue on the subject.

  Should he try his luck again? Was Rachel right that Jane loved him?

  But then why had she ended their kiss so abruptly that night in the garden?

  He’d planned to write her and beg her forgiveness if he’d insulted her, but he hadn’t been able to find the words. The few kisses they’d exchanged had been quite chaste, hardly more than the peck on the cheek you’d give an elderly aunt.

  But they had felt like so much more, at least to him.

  In any event, even if he could have puzzled out what to say, sending Jane a letter would likely have started the village buzzing and caused her more problems. There were no secrets in Loves Bridge.

  So when he’d got Nate’s letter asking him to visit the castle he was all too happy to oblige. He could see how things went on with Marcus and then visit the Spinster House and make any needed apologies.

  Only he’d gone to the Spinster House first. Fortunately, as it turned out. If he hadn’t, Miss Wilkinson would have had to leave the duchess alone with Poppy while she fetched Mrs. Hutting.

  Poppy seemed a very competent—almost supernatural—cat, but she was a cat.

  He glanced around. There was still no sign of Marcus.

  His thoughts went back to the Spinster House. Zeus, when Jane had crashed into him, he’d wanted to throw his arms around her, bury his face in her hair, and never let her go. When he’d thought her in danger, he’d been ready to tear the intruder’s throat out with his bare hands.

  And just the short, straightforward conversation they’d had had made him far too happy.

  His gut told him Rachel was correct in at least one of her observations—he loved Jane. But then, he’d thought he’d loved Charlotte.

  Lord, the indecision—and the longing—were driving him mad.

  Horatio suddenly picked up his pace. Why? Oh! Marcus was riding toward them, along with Theodore Dunly. Horatio knew George, Marcus’s horse, from their frequent rides together.

  Blast, Marcus looked worried.

  “Marcus! I was just on my way to see you,” he said as he reached them. Now that he thought of it, this was the direction he’d be traveling if he were coming from Evans Hall. No need to even let on he’d stopped in the village first. He smiled at Mary’s husband. “Good day to you, Mr. Dunly.”

  “We can’t stop, Alex,” Marcus said. “Ride with us.”

  “Of course. Is something amiss?” Surely the curse didn’t have a way of alerting the duke when his wife went into labor?

  “My wife and the duchess took our pony cart into the village while the duke and I were at Davenport Hall,” Mr. Dunly said rather tensely.

  Marcus scowled. “They had no business rattling over the countryside in that vehicle.”

  Alex knew Marcus well. He sounded angry, but he was actually frantic with worry.

  “It’s not a long journey, is it?” Alex tried to sound soothing.

  Both men glared at him.

  “The women are nine months pregnant, Alex.” Marcus bit off each word. “And the cart has no springs.”

  Alex nodded. Holding his tongue was clearly his best course of action here.

  When they rode into the inn-yard and dismounted, the polite yet taciturn ostler Alex had encountered earlier gave a shout and came running over, a wide grin on his face. He threw his arms around Marcus and lifted him off the ground in a bear hug.

  Alex saw Marcus’s shocked face over the man’s shoulder.

  The ostler had seemed perfectly harmless earlier. Had he gone mad all of a sudden?

  Alex started forward to intervene, but the man had already returned Marcus to earth and stepped back.

  “His Grace is here!” he shouted. “He’s here!” Then he turned back to Marcus and grabbed one of Marcus’s hands in both of his. “Oh, Yer Grace, I’m so happy. And to think old Billy Binden lived to see it.”

  And then the man dropped Marcus’s hand, covered his face, and started sobbing.

  “My dear fellow,” Marcus said, patting the ostler awkwardly on the back. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  That stopped the waterworks.

  “Ye don’t know? Of course ye don’t know.” The ostler turned to the crowd—many of whom were also sobbing—that had assembled in the inn-yard. “He doesn’t know.”

  “What don’t I know?” Marcus was moving beyond shocked surprise to annoyed impatience. He clearly didn’t want to offend these people, but he desperately wanted to find his wife.

  Oh! Now Alex understood.

  “Tweedon, can you tell me what’s going on here?” Marcus asked of a tall, thin man with a nose that strongly resembled a parrot’s beak who was wending his way from the back of the crowd.

  “Yes, Your Grace. We just got word from the Misses Boltwood that the duchess has delivered a healthy son.”

  Thank God! Alex felt weak with relief. But how the hell did those two busybodies find out?

  “So we all assumed you were d-d—” Tweedon took a deep breath. “No longer with us.” And then he started sobbing.

  “And the duchess?” Marcus gripped the man’s shoulder. “Is she well?”

  “Oh, y-yes. Yes.”

  “Where is she?”

  Alex finally found his voice. “At the Spinster House.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jane stood by the chest of drawers in her bedroom, holding Cat’s son and staying out of the way while Mrs. Hutting and Mrs. Danford, the midwife, finished up with Cat.

  She averted her gaze from their activities—childbirth was quite messy—to look down at the baby. He was so tiny, though the older women had proclaimed him a good size for a newborn. And helpless. He couldn’t even hold his own head up.

  He was very different from Christopher, the only other baby she’d ever held.

  One of his hands escaped his swaddling—Mrs. Danford had used Jane’s spare chemise for that—and waved about. He was going to hit himself in the face. She caught his small fist, stroked his palm—and his tiny, perfect fingers wrapped around hers.

  Oh. She felt his grasp in her heart—and her womb.

  How much more would I feel it if he were my son—mine and Alex’s?

  She didn’t want children, remember? Or a husband. She’d just got free of Randolph—

  A husband isn’t the same as a brother.

  Well, no, of course that was true. A husband was worse than a brother. She co
uld go to her room and shut the door on Randolph. With a husband, there’d be no escape.

  Not to mention Lord Evans hadn’t suggested marriage.

  He’s here in Loves Bridge.

  Her body thrummed, vividly remembering the feel of his hard length against hers when she’d collided with him earlier. Her brain had been too panicked to register much more than here was someone she could send for help, but her body had been taking detailed notes. It would like—

  No, she had exactly what she wanted now: the Spinster House and her independence. She was perfectly happy.

  The baby had opened his eyes and was staring up at her. She smiled, leaning closer, though she couldn’t tell if he could actually see her or not.

  She’d liked the sense of connection she’d felt during the birth, helping Cat, working with Mrs. Hutting and Mrs. Danford as part of a female activity as old as time. She liked the feelings holding Cat’s baby churned up in her. They were confusing and unsettling, but they made her feel more alive than she had in a long time.

  “Merrow.” Poppy, having fled the room earlier, leapt up on the chest of drawers behind Jane and leaned forward to sniff at the new arrival.

  Jane’s first instinct was to snatch the baby out of the animal’s reach, but before she could act, Poppy sat back and started grooming her tail.

  Apparently, Cat’s—and the duke’s—son met with Poppy’s approval.

  “There we go,” Mrs. Danford said, wiping her hands on Jane’s spare towel. “Everything’s been set to rights down here. Now we need to have the baby suckle. It helps the milk come in and the mother’s body recover.”

  Jane’s hold tightened—she didn’t want to part with the infant—but then she came to her senses and carefully deposited him in Cat’s arms. Mrs. Hutting helped Cat arrange things so the baby could latch onto her breast.

  Lud! Cat looked so tired and worn from the exertion of bringing this little bit of humanity into the world, but she also looked gloriously happy.

  Perhaps there was a balance to be struck between independence and dependence.

  The baby lost hold of the nipple and started crying. The shrill sound ripped through Jane’s head like a knife and set her heart pounding. How much worse it must be for Cat.