As an Earl Desires

by Lorraine Heath

  My son is alive.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  "What does it mean?" Camilla asked, Arch stood before the fireplace in the library, holding the letter Camilla had brought to him in a near panic, the firelight dancing over the words in a seemingly macabre fashion. He shook his head, as stunned as she'd been when she'd first come to him.

  "Apparently she took her son with her when she went to America to visit a friend who had immigrated some years earlier. She then left him rather than have him raised under the influence of his father."

  Camilla began pacing with agitation. "How could she do something so unheard of? He would have gone off to school—"

  "But been home during holidays. She mentions that the child was becoming as hateful as his father, and that she was in danger of losing him anyway. And she'd come to despise her husband. Leaving the boy with a family she knew and trusted, then declaring that he'd taken ill and died served two purposes: it put him beyond the earl's reach while causing the earl immense anguish. It seems she wasn't quite as sweet and kind as you envisioned."

  "You have no right to judge her. You never lived in the same house as he. He could cause a saint to become a devil."

  Or to become an ice countess. Arch couldn't deny that he'd seen evidence of the man's legacy. He didn't think he could blame the mother for wanting to spare her son or prevent his following in his father's footsteps.

  Again he looked at the letter. "She mentions that she spirited away some funds, so that the lad could be well provided for. How she managed that, I haven't a clue."

  "There are ways that a desperate wife can put aside money without her husband knowing."

  Arch remembered Lillian explaining how Camilla had hoarded money her husband gave her. He supposed it was possible that with planning a woman could accumulate a tidy sum.

  Shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes, she sank onto a chair and lifted her gaze to his. "Whatever are we to do?"

  She thought he had the answers? All he had at the moment was frustration and anger. "How could you have not shown this to someone?"

  "She asked me not to. She forbade me to read it until the earl was dead. She didn't want him to see the truth revealed in my eyes. I remember now. She said something like, 'I'll not have undone all that I've done.' Or something like that. I can't remember exactly, and I never have any trouble remembering anything.

  "I never once entertained the possibility that her son was alive. She was always mourning, keeping his rooms untouched as though she expected him to return any day. Telling me how much she missed him. She behaved as I'd expect any bereaved mother to act. I can't tell you how many days she wept, and I could do little more than hold her, but she was never comforted."

  "But when the earl died—"

  "I couldn't read, Arch! I had no idea her letter would contain something of this magnitude. Why would she trust something this important to me?"

  "For exactly that reason. She trusted you."

  He stared into the fire, hardly able to believe this unexpected and unbelievable turn of events.

  "He might still be dead," she whispered. "Her son. From things Lydia has told me, America is not completely civilized. There are dangers."

  "According to the countess's letter, she left him with a family in New York. She's provided their name and address." He looked at the letter, sighed, and gazed back at the flames. "We'll have to speak with Mr. Spellman. Perhaps he knows someone we can hire who can go to New York and investigate the possibility that the rightful heir is still alive."

  "If he's found, you'll lose your title."

  He glared, brandishing the letter at her. "Are you suggesting we ignore this?"

  Slowly she shook her head, looking terribly defeated. "No."

  He crossed over and knelt before her. "They're going to want to know why you didn't bring this forward sooner."

  Nodding, she licked her lips. "I know."

  "We could tell them it was misplaced or forgotten about—"

  She placed her fingers against his lips. "She trusted me, Arch. She trusted me to bring her son back here. If I hadn't been so proud, if I'd only said, 'Countess, I can't read,' she'd have given the task to another."

  Tenderly he cradled her cheek. "But then I would have never met you, and regardless of how this turns out, I'll always be thankful that at least I had that: moments spent with you."

  Spellman stared at the letter.

  Arch and Camilla sat before him in his office. They'd come to London specifically to meet with him, the journey made in silence, with neither having much to say on the matter.

  "Well," Spellman said, as he leaned back in the chair and tapped the letter lying on his desk. "Isn't this interesting? Why didn't you bring it to me sooner?"

  "Because I couldn't read until recently, and so I had no idea what it said," Camilla announced.

  Arch reached over and squeezed her hand to offer strength and assurance. Her voice reflected no shame. Once she couldn't read, now she could, and whatever doubts she'd had about herself had disappeared with the knowledge gained.

  "You couldn't read," Spellman reiterated.

  "That is not the important issue here, but if you must belabor the point, I could not read until Lord Sachse recently taught me."

  Spellman shifted his gaze to Arch. "I suppose that might be debatable: whether it truly was the Earl of Sachse or simply Mr. Warner who taught you to read."

  "Don't be annoying, Spellman," Arch said.

  "We've come here because it's important to both of us that we make certain that the right man is carrying the title. If Thomas Warner is still alive, he must be found and he must return to England to claim what is rightfully his."

  "This is most unusual," Spellman said, rubbing his brow. "I hardly know where to begin."

  "I would think the best course of action would be to hire someone to go to New York and visit the people mentioned in the letter. Find out if the boy"—he shook his head—"he is no doubt a man now if he is indeed alive. If he is alive, we need to find him and make certain that he understands what awaits him here."

  "You're quite right. We need to determine what has become of this boy… or man… or heir, I suppose. I know a gentleman who used to work for Scotland Yard. He investigates private matters now. John Buehler. I'll contact him. He won't come cheap."

  "We'll pay whatever we must. Now is not the time to quibble over expenditures."

  "I quite agree."

  "I suspect this search might turn into a lengthy process. The countess and I will return to Sachse Hall. I would like reports assessing the progress made in finding Thomas Warner as often as possible."

  "For what it is worth, my lord," Spellman began, "I thought you made an exemplary earl."

  "Thank you, Mr. Spellman. I'll not give up the notion that I'll remain earl, but the countess made incredible sacrifices to protect her son. I hope he is found."

  "I must admit that I could hardly blame her for placing him in another's keeping. She was a kind woman, but not strong. I had occasion to see the earl with his son. I believe he would have grown into a callous, bitter man, possibly cruel as well. Let us hope he has had a kinder influence."

  "I must disagree with you on one matter, Mr. Spellman," Camilla said quietly. "The countess was stronger than you realized if she was able to leave her son in another country where she couldn't easily see him, to face the old Sachse and announce that the child had taken ill and died. I was more than familiar with his wrath when he was displeased, and he would have been most displeased with the news. I think she was incredibly strong to do what she did knowing she would face his fury. I'm not sure I would have had that courage."

  Arch squeezed her hand again. "You would have."

  She shook her head. "He didn't ask me to marry him. He told me I would marry him. I was a young girl who thought I had no choice. I greeted each month with a mixture of sadness and relief that I wasn't carrying his child."

  "He was a powerful ma
n who abused his power," Arch said.

  Nodding, she looked at Mr. Spellman. "Find Thomas Warner, Mr. Spellman, as I would like very much to have the opportunity to tell him how very much his mother loved him."

  Arch and Camilla returned to Sachse Hall, cocooning themselves in against a harsh winter, sitting before a fire and reading together aloud from the same book, cuddling beneath the covers and making love through the long nights.

  Arch had planned to distance himself from her after her betrothal to Kingsbridge; but she was in need of comfort with what she considered a failing, and for reasons he couldn't understand, he sought comfort as well.

  It wasn't as though he had grown attached to the earldom. Still, he'd begun to think of it is as his. He'd added books to the library, removed some of the more offensive sculptures and replaced them with ones he considered pleasing to the eye. He'd grown accustomed to the servants moving quietly about.

  He realized with wonder that he'd accepted that he was the Earl of Sachse and that he would miss it if Thomas Warner were found. Reports from Spellman indicated that Buehler was having sporadic luck in locating the heir. The family with whom the boy had been left had died during an influenza epidemic almost twelve years earlier. The orphaned child had been placed on a train and sent west. Buehler was continuing his search.

  It was near the end of January that he received a missive from Spellman that for some reason filled him with a sense of foreboding as he carried it to his study. Usually he and Camilla read the letters together, but he had a desire to be alone when he read this one. Perhaps because he knew Buehler was close to an answer. If the young man were dead, having died recently, Camilla might feel she was responsible for not getting the heir to England sooner. If he'd died long ago, it would make no difference. And if he were found alive… Arch wasn't quite certain how he would handle that yet.

  He sat behind his desk and opened the letter. As always, Spellman got right to the heart of the matter.

  Thomas Warner has been found. He'll arrive at the main London residence in ten days.

  Arch sat back in the chair. That was it then. All he'd come to know would be lost to him. He'd not expected to miss it.

  That evening during dinner, he told Camilla, "I have to go to London tomorrow."

  "Did you hear something from Spellman?"

  "No, I just need to take care of some matters."

  "I'll go with you."

  "I'd rather you stay here… to look after things."

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Everything is going to be just fine."

  That night he made bittersweet love to her, knowing that in truth, he was probably saying good-bye.

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  Arch was desperately in need of advice, and he couldn't go to the one person in all the world whom he trusted more than any other, since the advice he was seeking had to do with her. So he went to the Duke of Harrington, stopping at his country estate before going on to London.

  "Let me offer you some whiskey," the duke said. "My half-brother sends it to me from Texas. It's got quite a kick to it, and you look to be a man who could use something that doesn't go down too easily."

  Arch nodded to the offer of whiskey. He explained the letter that the countess had left with Camilla, how she'd only recently read it. He didn't explain why she'd waited so long, and the duke didn't ask. Arch suspected that, having once been surrounded by scandal, the duke was less likely to pry into others' affairs but tended to be satisfied with information shared and leave it at that.

  Arch finished with, "They've located him. He's on his way to London, and I'm going to meet him there."

  Harrington stilled, holding the bottle at an awkward angle. "Can't say that I'd be thrilled to learn that my older brother was suddenly resurrected."

  Arch shook his head. "I have no quarrel with the man being given what is rightfully his."

  The duke finished pouring the drinks and handed a glass to Arch. "I'd suggest taking a good healthy swallow."

  Arch did and thought his throat was in danger of catching on fire. Tears filled his eyes before he could blink them back. "Good God."

  "Once you get accustomed to it, it tends to hit the spot," Harrington said. "Have a seat."

  Arch sat in one of the wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. The flames offered welcoming warmth, but he remained chilled. He was beginning to wonder if that might be the case for the remainder of his life.

  The duke took the chair opposite him. He didn't press Arch to speak, but rather simply sat there quietly, watching, waiting while Arch gathered his thoughts, because certainly the duke had to realize that the discovery of the heir was not something that required his advice.

  There was no hope for it except to blurt it out. "I've fallen in love with Camilla."

  "That doesn't come as a surprise. I figured that out when we were at Sachse Hall."

  Arch held the glass between his hands, studying the way the firelight played over the contents of the glass. The color reminded him very much of Camilla's hair. He didn't think she'd appreciate the comparison, but then almost everything reminded him of her these days.

  "I'm not familiar with all the laws and rules that affect the aristocracy, but it is my understanding that if a woman is a commoner and she marries a man of rank and he dies, she retains his title. But if she then marries a commoner, she loses her title."

  "Yes, that's the way of it."

  He'd so hoped he'd not properly understood how it all worked.

  "Camilla's reasons for not marrying me were twofold: she could not give me an heir and she desired to be a duchess. With one she was unselfish, with the other selfish." He lifted his gaze to the duke's. "You've known her longer than I. She told me once that she'd rather die than be a commoner again. Do you think she meant it?"

  The duke bestowed on him a look fraught with pity.

  "Never mind," Arch said, as he came to his feet. "No need to answer aloud. We both know how much she values being part and parcel of the peerage."

  He walked to the fireplace, put his hand on the mantel, and stared at the dancing flames. "I'm not certain why I came here. I knew the answer before I walked through your door. I no longer need an heir, but marrying me would require her giving up what she values so highly." He shook his head. "I can't ask that of her."

  "What would it hurt to ask?" the duke inquired. "She might surprise you."

  Or break my heart.

  "She has spent a good deal of the past few months surprising me—rather pleasantly."

  He took a gulp of the whiskey. It didn't burn nearly as much, but it still managed to warm him throughout.

  "She was never really mine," he said quietly. "Even when she was mine, she wasn't mine. I'd grown so accustomed to having her in my life that I'd forgotten that she was only on loan." He finished off the whiskey and turned to face the duke. "I shan't miss your world."

  He went to the main London residence, the one in which Camilla had lived. Although it had been closed up for the winter, as the servants were making it ready for a guest, he was very much aware of Camilla's presence wherever he went. He slept in her bed, which even with clean linens still smelled of her. He smiled when he spotted her French book. He found the skates sitting in a corner as though she might have plans to use them again.

  He walked through the house capturing images of her, to fill in the few tiny places in his memory where she didn't yet dwell. There were so few. Eventually he realized that he was on a senseless quest, because he could never reach a point where he was completely satiated with thoughts of her. His mind would always make room, would always let in a bit more of her.

  The futility of his efforts was doing nothing except prolonging the inevitable.

  So, he set himself to the task of going over the books for the estates, making certain that everything was in order and could be easily handed over to the rightful earl when he arrived. A thousand times he considered returning to Sachse Hall and l
etting Camilla know that the heir had been found, explaining that decisions needed to be made, and offering her a choice. Him or a dukedom?

  Him with his simple life in the country, his school of boys with eager, young minds, his teasing brother, and his married sister who was once again with child. He and Camilla could share his sister's children, they could look after the boys at the school. She would have children in her life, even if they didn't come from her womb.

  But she would sacrifice her title. Completely and absolutely. Not only would she never be a duchess, but she would no longer be a countess. How could he ask her to give up all she valued?

  He couldn't.

  How could he put her in the unconscionable position of breaking his heart to his face?

  He couldn't do that either.

  So he buried himself in the books and drowned himself with whatever was available in the liquor cabinet. Meals were brought to him that he ignored. He had no appetite. He couldn't escape the irony of his situation.

  In the spring, he would have lost her anyway—to the Duke of Kingsbridge. But he could have convinced himself that it was because she wanted Arch to have an heir that she was making herself unavailable to him and marrying the duke. Now he could hide behind no pretense. He no longer required an heir, and in all the nights since they'd discovered that there was a chance that Thomas Warner was alive, Camilla had never once said,

  "If they find him, and you no longer need an heir, then I am yours."

  Although in truth, neither had he dared to ask her, "If they find him, and I no longer need an heir… what then?"

  "Ah, Camilla," he mumbled, rubbing his face, roughened with a beard that had grown for too many days to count. When had he last shaved? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything beyond Camilla. He lifted his glass. "To your happiness, my darling."

  He brought it to his lips, only then realizing that it was empty. As empty as his life would be without her.