The path led to the side of the faux castle and ended at a wide stone staircase leading up to a massive double door. Hoping there was a knocker, Sarah dragged herself up the half dozen steps. She wasn’t sure who was supporting whom, but at least she and Rob were moving forward together.
There was indeed a knocker, a massive snarling beast so heavy that it took both of her hands to wield it. She bashed the ugly thing into the wooden door as hard as she could, which wasn’t all that hard. But she heard its boom echoing inside.
No response. She hammered on the door again, wondering if it would open before she or Rob collapsed. He was still silent, his head bent and black-looking blood trickling down his face and neck.
The door creaked open and an immaculately dressed butler regarded them with disgust. “Beggars are not admitted to Kellington Castle.” His gaze flicked to their bare feet. “Continue down the road to the village. There’s a workhouse there.”
Sarah stared at him. “We’re not beggars! We survived a shipwreck and we desperately need shelter.”
In answer, the butler started to close the door. Rob stepped through the doorway and pushed the servant out of the way before guiding Sarah inside. He slammed the door shut with a force that threatened to rock the stone walls. The entry hall had been decorated in a grand style several decades earlier with a double staircase sweeping down before them, but the chamber looked faded and worn now.
Rob scanned the hall. “Bloody hell.”
With a small sigh like a punctured bellows, he slowly folded onto the cold marble floor and curled up on his side, unconscious. Alarmed, Sarah dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse in his neck. Yes, it was there and steady. He was just battered and exhausted.
Looking up at the scowling servant, she said, “For heaven’s sake, bring something warm to drink and some blankets! Better yet, have him taken to a room where he can be cared for properly. Do you want a man dying in your hall because you refuse to help?”
Before the servant could reply, Sarah heard a tapping sound. She looked up to see a white-haired woman dressed all in black. With a cane in one hand and ramrod straight posture, she advanced down the left-hand stairs. From the richness of her dress and the arrogance of her expression, she was an aristocrat and part of the family that occupied this great pile of stone and history.
“What is all this clamor?” she snapped as she reached the bottom of the stairs and tapped her way across the room.
She stopped short by Rob, her expression appalled. Lifting her cane, she used the tip to shove Rob’s shoulder hard so that he rolled onto his back.
With oozing blood and several days’ growth of beard, he was a fearsome sight, but even so, the woman’s reaction was extreme. “Robert,” she said with acute distaste, “you’re supposed to be dead.”
What was wrong with these people? Invigorated by anger, Sarah scrambled to her feet. “You know him?”
“Oh, yes. This disreputable rogue is Robert Cassidy Carmichael. My grandson.” The old woman’s thin nostrils flared. “The Earl of Kellington.”
Chapter 17
Sarah’s jaw dropped. “Rob is the earl? What about his father and brother?”
The old woman, who had to be the Dowager Countess of Kellington, said flatly, “My son, the third earl, died three months ago of a fever. Edmund, his son and the fourth earl, died a fortnight ago in a London riding accident.” She poked Rob in the ribs with the cane. “We’ve assumed Robert was dead, and good riddance.”
The deaths explained her mourning gown. What were the odds of being wrecked on Rob’s family estate? He’d said he knew the coast here, but this was ridiculous.
Kiri would call it karma. Remembering what Rob had told her, Sarah asked, “Wasn’t Edmund married? Or did he leave no sons?”
The countess scowled. “He was betrothed some years ago, but the stupid girl jilted him. He’d recently become betrothed to a splendid and most suitable young woman. Edmund died three days before the wedding. Now the earldom falls to him.”
She made to poke Rob in the ribs again. Furious, Sarah snatched the cane away and hurled it across the hall, not caring if the countess fell on her noble backside. “If Rob is indeed the new earl, he is now the owner of this moldering pile,” she said through gritted teeth. “He is entitled to the respect and obedience of everyone in it.” Her gaze snapped over to the butler. “You are all here on his sufferance.”
The countess glared at Sarah. “Who are you to make threats here, you disgusting urchin?”
Sarah straightened to her full, if modest, height and returned the glare. “I am Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend, sister of the Duchess of Ashton and niece to Lord Torrington and Lord Babcock.”
As she let her words sink in, she realized that she needed more if she was to have any authority here. She’d have to lie. “Rob and I are betrothed. Since he is injured, I’ll give the orders in his name.”
The countess sputtered, unable to come up with a rejoinder. Sarah turned to the butler. “If you like being employed, collect some men to carry Lord Kellington to a decent room with clean sheets and a good fire. A similar room for me nearby. If you have a tub large enough for his lordship, draw a warm bath. At the least, heat water so he can be washed up. He was badly chilled saving our lives as we sailed from Ireland through the storm, so bring warm tea and broth.”
The butler shot a nervous glance at the countess as he retrieved her cane and handed it over. The old woman growled, “I suppose you must obey the trollop’s orders until the earl”—she almost spat the title—“recovers sufficiently to take charge. With luck, he’ll succumb to lung fever.”
She pivoted and marched from the room, heels and cane tapping her anger.
How could that horrible old woman be so hateful to her own grandson? Leaving the question for another day, Sarah turned to the butler. “Your name?”
“Hector,” he said warily.
“Well, Hector, if you can have Lord Kellington safe and warm within the next ten minutes, I’ll overlook your original treatment.” She cocked a brow. “If that’s unacceptable, I shall go through Kellington Castle until I find someone willing to do the job he’s paid to do. Do I make myself clear?”
Resentful but polite, he said, “Yes, Miss Clarke-Townsend. I’ll be right back with help to carry his lordship upstairs.” He left the room at a near run.
Exhausted by the scene just enacted, Sarah crumpled down beside Rob and took his hand. His skin was warming up now that he was inside, and his pulse and breathing were strong and regular. She hoped he’d wake up soon. Presumably he was better able to deal with these lunatics than she was.
It took more than ten minutes, but Hector returned with two husky men garbed as grooms and carrying a litter. They appeared to have dressed in haste, but they looked strong and willing. The larger man, a redheaded fellow in his thirties, exclaimed, “Master Rob! It really is you!”
Rob didn’t stir. The redhead looked worriedly at Sarah. “Is he hurt bad, miss?”
She rose wearily. “He’s cold and battered and exhausted, but he managed to climb the path from the beach so I don’t think he has serious injuries. You know him?”
“Aye.” The redhead and his companion carefully moved Rob to the litter, then lifted the ends. “I’m Jonas, the head groom. When Master Robert was a lad, he spent half his time in the stables. I was starting out as a stable boy and assigned to care for his pony. We spent a good bit of time together, we did.”
And they’d become friends, Sarah guessed, though the groom would probably think it presumptuous to claim friendship with the new earl. At least there was one man here who was glad to see Rob.
“Hector, lead the way to the earl’s room,” Sarah said. “Have you ordered the bath and broth?”
“Not yet, miss.”
“Then it’s time you did. After you show us the way to the bedroom,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Silently Hector led the way up the sweeping staircase. Sarah held her bre
ath, worried that Rob might fall from the tilted litter, but Jonas and his man were careful.
The hastily prepared bedroom was in the right wing of the house. It was an average guest room, not the master’s quarters, but the bed had been made up and a fire was burning on the hearth.
As the grooms eased Rob onto the bed, Hector said, “I’ll arrange the bath and hot broth, Miss Clarke-Townsend. It will take time for that much water to heat. Your room is across the corridor when you’re ready to retire.”
“Thank you.” Sarah was reeling with fatigue, but felt that she needed to stand guard over Rob so his grandmother didn’t slip poison in his tea.
When Hector was gone, Jonas said, “You’re in a fair state yourself, miss. Why not go to your room and rest? I’ll see that his lordship is properly taken care of.” Seeing her hesitation, he said reassuringly, “I won’t let any harm come to him.”
He seemed trustworthy, and Sarah was in no condition to keep going. “Thank you, Mr. Jonas. I’ll do that.”
“Just Jonas, miss. I’ll send one of the maids, Francie. She’ll take good care of you.” He glanced at his assistant. “Barney, find Francie and send her to the lady’s room.”
Barney nodded and held the door open for Sarah. She crossed the corridor to the similar room on the other side. It had also been made up and had a fire. At least Hector had got that right.
Too tired to do much of anything and too bedraggled to slip between the sheets, she flopped onto the bed, rolled herself in the quilted counterpane, and slept like the dead.
Sarah had a dim sense of being gently wakened, helped to undress, and deposited into a hip bath full of deliciously warm water. A mug of hot beef broth was pressed into her clasp. By the time she finished sipping the broth and the water had cooled, she was warmed to her bones.
The same kind hands helped Sarah from the tub, dried her, dropped an oversized nightgown over her head. Then once more blessed sleep.
Sarah woke abruptly, rested and full of energy. Her adventure didn’t seem to have injured her. She slipped from the bed, wincing at the bruises and sore muscles she’d acquired. Her feet were particularly sore from climbing the cliff barefoot. There were no serious gashes, though.
She opened the curtains to a clear dawn sky and the sight of rolling green hills. The storm had blown over, and it looked like the day would be lovely. They’d arrived at the castle in midevening, so she’d had a good long rest.
But what about Rob? He’d taken a much worse beating. Long nightgown dragging, she left her room and crossed to his. He was breathing peacefully under the covers. He’d also been cleaned up and he had a neat bandage around his head.
She pulled the curtains of both windows open to admit light. This room had a fine view of the sea. She moved to the bed and took his hand. “Rob? Are you awake?”
His eyes flickered open. “Sarah?” He touched the bandage on his head warily, but his speech was clear. “So we actually made it to England. Are you all right?”
She felt a rush of relief. “I’m fine. We’re not only alive, but at Kellington Castle. The storm blew you home.”
“Damnation! I thought I was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. What were the odds?” His eyes squeezed shut. “So I’ve landed in hell. You deserve better than the infernal regions.”
“The odds were infinitesimal, but not impossible,” she replied. “The storm was the infernal part. I’m grateful to have food and warmth and comfort.”
He pushed himself up in the bed, wincing a little. Jonas hadn’t shaved him the night before so he did look rather roguish. But he was a handsome rogue.
“I have an almighty number of bruises, but nothing seems broken,” he said after taking inventory. “How did I end up wearing this expensive linen nightshirt?”
“I ordered the butler, Hector, to summon help and see you were cared for.”
Before she could continue, Rob said thoughtfully, “Hector. He was a footman when I was a boy. A supercilious fool, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s him,” Sarah agreed. “He brought two grooms to take you upstairs. I think he intended calling on them as an insult, but it worked out well. The head groom, Jonas, recognized you and was glad to see you alive.”
“Jonas!” Rob’s expression eased. “He was my companion in mischief. I’m surprised that he’s still here. He used to talk about going for a soldier. Are my appalling father or brother present? With luck, they’re in London at this season.”
He’d heard nothing of the conversation the night before, she realized. “They’re both dead, Rob,” she said bluntly. “You’re now the Earl of Kellington.”
He became utterly still. “You’re joking.”
“Not that I know of. We staggered into this fake castle last night and an alarming old besom who claimed to be your grandmother said that your father died of a fever several months ago, and your brother died in a riding accident about a fortnight ago, leaving no legitimate heirs.”
“Edmund never was as good a rider as he thought.” Rob looked as if he’d been thrown from a horse himself. “He didn’t manage to sire an heir?”
“He didn’t even manage to acquire a wife. According to your grandmother, the girl from the famously fertile family jilted him, and he died just before marrying a different, very suitable female.”
“I shudder to think what kind of female my grandmother would consider suitable,” Rob muttered. “A harpy with a fortune and an excellent pedigree, I imagine.”
“I was startled by your grandmother’s attitude,” Sarah said carefully. “I gather the two of you didn’t get along?”
Rob shrugged. “She doted on Edmund, whose mother was another ‘very suitable female.’ ” He caught his grandmother’s intonation with wicked accuracy. “I was a reminder of my unsuitable mother. I suspect that marrying her was the only unsuitable thing my father ever did.”
“Whatever the dowager might think about your mother’s bloodlines, she’ll have to adapt.” Sarah made a sweeping gesture to encompass their surroundings. “All this is yours now.”
Rob slid from the bed and walked to the window, his wide shoulders rigid under the expensive but short nightshirt. Sarah could see bruises on his legs and feet from their stormy passage the night before.
“Bloody hell,” he said softly as he opened the casement window. A cool sea breeze entered the room. He locked his hands around the sill so hard that his knuckles whitened. “Bloody, bloody hell!”
Frowning, Sarah moved to join him at the window, close but not touching. “Is the prospect that bad?”
“Worse.” A pulse beat in his throat. “Not only have I inherited a generation’s worth of profligacy, debt, and neglect, but I’ve become what I despise. A damned peer.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “You have a number of friends who are peers, don’t you? I thought you liked and respected Ashton and Kirkland and your other classmates, many of whom have titles.”
“Because they were all shipped off to the Westerfield Academy as misfits and eccentrics, like me. They are men who were early humbled by life, and became better for it.” His mouth twisted. “They’re not like my father and brother. Idle, useless wastrels who are the products of a corrupt system that deserves to be smashed.”
She blinked, thinking she shouldn’t be surprised that Rob was a radical, given his upbringing. “There are idle, useless wastrels at all levels of society. Peers just have more to waste. But not all are like that. My uncles who are lords are fine gentlemen. Is it the peerage you hate, or the fact you’re now the Earl of Kellington?”
Rob thought about that. “I think the peerage is an idea that has outlived its usefulness, but you’re right. It’s being Lord Kellington that I really loathe. I have a life that I like. I don’t want the life I’ve just inherited.”
“You really don’t have a choice, though,” Sarah said softly. “The peerage is fixed in your blood. You can walk away from your heritage and all the responsibilities that go with it, but I have trouble imag
ining you doing that. Think about people like Jonas and the other servants and tenants who are part of Kellington. They need a strong, fair, responsible master, which they haven’t had in too long.”
“I’ve no doubt they’ve been treated abominably for years,” he said sourly.
“All the more reason for you to do the job better. Wouldn’t that be the best revenge?” Sarah took his hand. “Perhaps the financial situation isn’t as bad as you fear.”
Rob squeezed her hand. “It’s probably worse. But you’re right, I can’t walk away. I need to find out exactly how things stand. We also need to send word to your family that you’re safe. They must be worried sick. I should take you to Ralston Abbey, but we both need a day of rest, and I might be needed more here.”
She nodded. It seemed like ages since she’d been abducted, but it was less than a fortnight, and her family would be frantic. Her adventure was over. On the whole, that was a good thing. She glanced askance at Rob. But she’d miss him, she surely would.
He caught her gaze, and they stared at each other for long moments as memories of shared danger and companionship pulsed between them. Rob released her hand and took a step back. “It’s time we remembered your reputation, starting with the fact that you should not be in my bedroom wearing a nightgown. If any of this gets out, you might end up having to marry me.”
She winced. “I forgot to mention that last night, I told your grandmother and Hector that we were betrothed. I needed authority to give orders, and that seemed the simplest way. But don’t worry, you’re safe. I’ll jilt you. There will be no breach of promise lawsuit. My persistent virginity is proof that you haven’t debauched me.”
He looked startled, then amused. “I could charge you with breach of promise if you’ve declared we’re betrothed in front of witnesses. But if you return to your own room, we’re both safe enough.”
Mary Jo Putney Page 12
