To Wed the Earl

by Anthea Lawson

  Edward swallowed, his mouth tasting of dust. He probably should not have waited another three months before taking action – but damn it, he was not ready to be the Earl of Edgerton. He was supposed to have years ahead of him. His father had been sound in mind and body – until the day he had suddenly dropped dead in the hallway.

  “Thank you, Fowler,” Edward said. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

  “My lord.” Mr. Fowler bowed, displaying the top of his balding head.

  With a great deal of relief, Edward shut the study door behind him. He called for his horse and went to change into his riding jacket. If he were in London, he would pay one of his paramours a visit, but under the circumstances a different kind of ride would have to suffice.

  ***

  “Edward – good morning!” Charlie Price strode into the parlor at Wyckerly, eyes sleepy and hair flattened on one side.

  Edward straightened from where he lounged against the mantel. He had been idly looking at the two pen-and-ink portraits displayed above – the Price offspring in their youth. The artist had done a remarkably fine job of catching Charlie’s lighthearted demeanor, and child Miranda’s eyes were full of mischief. No surprise there.

  “It’s two in the afternoon,” he said to Charlie, exasperated and amused. City or country, Charlie Price was a man who enjoyed his rest. “You lazy bones – come riding with me.”

  “What?” Charlie squinted out the window. “Afternoon already? Let me fetch a quick bite, and I’ll join you.”

  “I’ll wait in the gardens,” Edward said.

  He’d had enough of being shut inside. And it was true what his mother said – the air here was a pleasure to breathe, free of the fogs and soots of London.

  “I’ll meet you shortly.” Charlie gave him an amiable smile and turned on his heel.

  Edward shook his head. The man’s idea of ‘shortly’ was outside the usual definition of the word. At least the gardens at Wyckerly were a pleasant place to pass the time.

  He paused on the front steps, catching sight of a pale bonnet bobbing above the colorful splashes of the flowerbeds. Miss Miranda Price was strolling in the garden. Some perverse urge made him turn his direction toward her.

  He brushed past a bed full of irises. Was it his imagination, or had she increased her pace away from him? She rounded the corner of a tall hedge. When Edward arrived, she was nowhere in sight. He scanned the empty gravel paths, the cheerful plantings. Where could she have gone?

  He spun in a slow circle, his gaze coming to rest on an opening in the hedge. Of course – the maze. He had nearly forgotten about it. Settling his hat more firmly, he entered.

  Leafy green walls rose up on either side of him, too tall to peer over. Memories stirred of darting around the maze with Charlie when they were boys. He recalled that in the very center was a small pond, featuring a statue of an under-dressed nymph. That had been the main attraction of the maze. Well, that, and losing Charlie’s younger sister. Now she thought to turn the tables on him. He felt a smile tug at his lips.

  Moving quietly, he turned – left, right, right. The same pattern again. The air was warm and heavy within the embrace of the tall hedges. A single bee buzzed lazily past his cheek.

  Another minute brought him to the center. It was much as he remembered it. Just past the statue of the nymph, a bit of white cloth fluttered. Holding his breath, Edward crept forward.

  “Aha!” he cried, leaping in front of the statue.

  The bonnet dangled from the nymph’s stone fingers, but there was no sign of Miss Price.

  No sign, perhaps, but certainly a sound. He snatched the bonnet and, hands on his hips, turned toward the muffled laugh.

  “You’ve bested me, Miss Price,” he said. “But I have your bonnet. You’ll have to come out to claim it.”

  He should have remembered she was a quick-witted girl. Several times she had neatly turned his and Charlie’s tricks back on them, despite her younger age. It had been tremendously annoying at the time, but now he could appreciate her cleverness.

  The hedge quivered and she emerged, pushing branches out of her way. Edward studied her a moment. In the moonlight last night, he had not been able to see how much she had changed. She still had brown hair and eyes, her mouth a trifle too wide, her nose bearing the same, sharp slope as her brother’s. Yet she looked altogether different than he remembered.

  “Has staring become the fashion in London?” she asked.

  Edward shook himself. “There are leaves in your hair.”

  “My bonnet, if you please.” She held out her hand, a faint flush staining her cheeks. No doubt she was regretting the impulse that had sent her hiding in the hedge.

  He handed it to her, strangely at a loss for words. From beyond the confines of the maze, he heard Charlie’s voice calling his name.

  Miss Price jammed the bonnet over her hair and tied the strings with quick efficiency.

  “My brother’s looking for you,” she said. “Good afternoon, Lord Edgerton.”

  She turned and, without a backward glance, whisked through one of the leafy doorways and was gone.

  ***

  Miranda pushed out of the overgrown passage on the far side of the maze, her breath still coming fast. She felt as though her heart would burst from the shame of her childish behavior. What had she been thinking, running away from Edward like that and playing foolish tricks? She had managed to – once again – humiliate herself in his eyes.

  He had given her such a look and then told her she had leaves in her hair. The mortification of it scalded her cheeks.

  She was not a silly young girl any more, even if he seemed to have that effect upon her. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she hastened toward the sheltering stone walls of Wyckerly. It should not be difficult to avoid him – he had been dressed for riding, his boots polished to a high sheen, his coat hugging his broad shoulders. Quite a dashing figure, just like the newspaper sketches of fashionable gentlemen taking the air in Hyde Park.

  And here she was, sticky from the heat, in her third-best bonnet and drab gown. She frowned at the faded fabric. Well, it could not be helped – and it was not as though Edward’s estimation of her could fall any lower. Not when she persisted in making a complete fool of herself, time and again.

  From here out, she was determined to never be alone in his company. Not even for a moment.

  ***

  Edward met up with Charlie outside the maze.

  “Get lost, did you?” Charlie glanced at the hedge.

  Edward cleared his throat. “Just seeing what has changed over the years.”

  Miranda Price had grown far beyond that simple drawing of a girl he had observed in the parlor. He had thought her plain, but the sparkle in her eyes, her wide, rosy lips, the glossy sheen of her hair – all of that combined to give a very different impression. If not of classical beauty, then of a certain prettiness, a lively spirit.

  “Not much,” his friend said as they strode past the flowerbeds and headed toward the stables. “And I’m glad of it. I must admit, I’ve missed Wyckerly. I’m a country man at heart, despite your pernicious influence.”

  “Wasn’t it only last week that you encouraged me to stay up and watch the sunrise – with a lady on each arm?”

  “Well.” Charlie grinned. “I’m a quick learner. Though, as I recall, you begged off and went to bed. It was a lovely sunrise, what we could see through the smog. In my experience, country sunrises are much better, although the company is rather less sparkling.”

  “How long do you intend to remain at Wyckerly?” Edward asked.

  “Are you offering to take me back to London once you’ve solved your problems here? Perhaps I want to stay longer.”

  Edward lengthened his stride, the gravel crunching under his boot heels. “It could be months. I spent the morning looking over the estate’s books, and the figures did nothing but give me a headache.”

  “Did they?” Charlie gave him an astute look. “You know, my
sister is quite talented in the mathematical department. She’s been keeping the accounts here at Wyckerly for ages. She could assist you.”

  “How kind of you to offer her up like a sacrificial lamb.”

  Edward supposed it was a measure of his desperation that he would even consider Miss Price’s assistance. But he had ever been defeated by numbers. If he had any hope of returning to London quickly and escaping his mother’s matrimonial plans, he would need help sorting through the accounts.

  “Miranda won’t mind.” Charlie waved his hand. “She’s bored out of her wits – I can tell. A project like this would do her good. I’ll bring her over on the morrow, after breakfast.”

  ***

  Miranda stood beside her brother on the wide front steps of Edgerton Manor. The sun lay warm on her back, and a thrush called in the woods beyond the garden, the liquid notes rising and falling.

  Oh, why had she agreed to this foolish notion of Charlie’s? She did not want to spend this glorious June day inside, combing ledgers for what was certainly a misplaced comma, or a random zero inserted where one ought not to be.

  But Edward Havens was her brother’s friend, regardless of what she thought of the man. Surely the trembling in her stomach was dislike and trepidation. She would swallow it back, help the wretched fellow, and take her leave.

  Charlie blithely hammered the curved brass knocker, then gave her a bright smile. She bit her lip and listened to the echoes of the knocker fall silent.

  A moment later, the butler opened the door.

  “Mr. Price, Miss Price,” he said, his expression impassive. “Lord Edgerton is expecting you in the study.”

  The butler led them down the familiar, richly paneled hallway. All too soon, they stood before the mahogany study door.

  “You owe me dearly for this,” she said to her brother in a low voice.

  He simply grinned at her and pushed the door wide.

  Inside, the earl sat behind a wide desk. His hair was disheveled, as though he had been raking his fingers through it. Account books lay open, scattered haphazardly across the desk and chairs. The cheery estate manager, Mr. Fowler, sat at a table beneath the tall windows. His eyebrows were drawn together as he perused a sheaf of papers.

  “Ah,” Edward said, rising when he caught sight of them. “Our mathematical genius and her entourage. Welcome. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  He heaved a stack of books off a nearby chair and offered the seat to Miranda.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Had he called her a genius as a compliment or a jibe? His deep blue eyes looked sincere, and a bit weary – no hint of malice sparking in their depths. Perhaps he was grateful for her assistance, after all.

  “Fowler,” the earl said, “ring for tea.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The manager nodded and quietly left the room.

  “Well,” Charlie said, hands on his hips, “it looks like you’re making rather a mess of things in here. Where shall we begin?”

  The earl cocked an eyebrow. “You’re planning to help, as well?”

  “At least until I get bored. Then I’ll switch to poetry.”

  Miranda muffled an unladylike snort of laughter with her gloved hand. She expected her brother wouldn’t last a half hour at the figures.

  But he would remain, of course. Unmarried young ladies were never left alone in the company of scandalous earls – no matter how unappealing said earls found them. She stripped off her gloves and pulled her chair closer to the desk.

  “What are you working on now?” she asked.

  “Last fall’s rents and expenses. It’s heavy going.”

  “Hm.” She turned one of the books toward her and studied the jotted notes and angular lines of numbers. “A good enough place to begin.”

  Mr. Fowler re-entered the study, followed by a maid bearing tea. Miranda poured out, and then the four of them – the earl, herself, Charlie, and the manager – settled to their task. The silence was broken only by the ruffle of pages turning, the sound of Charlie swallowing his tea.

  Running one finger down the column of numbers, she could find nothing amiss. The rents seemed a bit low, but then, the old earl had likely not raised them in some time.

  “Lord Edgerton,” she said after some minutes, “have you earlier books, from last spring?”

  Before his father had died.

  The earl nodded and gestured at his estate manager. “I’m sure Mr. Fowler can find whatever you need.”

  The manager rose and smiled at her. “Which months would you like, Miss Price?”

  “January through April, I would think.”

  “Here you are.” He set a stack of books by her elbow. “I’ve gone over them twice, myself, but perhaps you’ll be able to find something. Truly, I wonder if things are going astray in London, after all. I never did trust milord’s solicitor.”

  Not knowing how to reply to that, Miranda gave him a smile and nod of thanks, then bent her head to the figures.

  The sun had crawled partway across the desk when she found the first inconsistency – an oddity in the figures that had so far been quite predictable. She took a swallow of her now-cold tea and rose.

  “Time for a break, I agree,” Charlie said. He closed the book on his lap with a snap, and bounded up. “Any luck?”

  “Possibly.” Miranda turned to the earl. “Did your father sell off any of his holdings, just before he died?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He ran one hand through his hair. “Fowler?”

  The manager frowned thoughtfully. “No, my lord – not that I was aware of.”

  Despite his calm tone, Miranda could not help feeling that the man was lying. But what about? So far, there was no evidence of anything – except the fact that the Edgerton estate seemed to be unaccountably declining.

  The numbers would show her – she had no doubt. Mathematical equations based on inaccuracy were bound for failure. Somewhere in the stacks of account books lay the answer.

  The earl rose from his seat behind the desk. “Will you stay for luncheon? I’ve told mother you would.”

  “Then we can hardly decline,” Charlie said. “I suppose you’ll force more of this ghastly work on us this afternoon. But bribes of foodstuffs can only go so far, my friend. My sister and I are definitely returning home for supper.”

  A flicker of a smile crossed the earl’s face. “And here I thought I’d chain you to the desk with nothing but crusts of bread to sustain you until you’d untangled my financials.”

  “Never,” Charlie said. “It’s Wordsworth for me this afternoon. I’ll leave you and Miranda to your dreary numbers.”

  “There’s a poetry in numbers, too,” she said to her brother. “A pity you could never see it.”

  ***

  “Well, we survived this round,” Charlie said, handing Miranda up into the curricle for the journey home to Wyckerly. “A pity you promised to return tomorrow.”

  He clambered up, the vehicle dipping under his weight, and took the reins from the waiting footman. Late beams of light slanted through the trees lining the long, sweeping drive, the soil carefully kept clear of debris. The air was scented with grasses, the reminder of heat on green leaves.

  Miranda threaded her gloved fingers together. “There’s something odd about the accounts. In the past nine months in particular there are a large number of expenditures.”

  Charlie shrugged. “The storm damaged many of the tenant’s cottages. A good landlord cares for such things – and Edward does, you know.”

  A stray sunbeam stabbed across her vision, and Miranda turned her head so that her bonnet more completely shaded her face.

  “Yes, but the rents are markedly lower, too. It’s as if one of the properties isn’t producing anything at all.” She pressed her lips together. “Something’s missing.”

  “Then you’ll find it.” Charlie grinned at her. “But enough of these dry numbers. I need something to shake them out of my head. Shall we race do
wn the lane?”

  Her brother had never outgrown his love for speed. Whether it was galloping his horse or dashing a curricle along a country lane, he delighted in it.

  And she must admit, she would love to feel the wind in her face, the speeding thud of the horse’s hooves and the spinning curricle wheels vibrating in her chest. She had no need of clearing numbers from her thoughts, but Edward was another matter.

  Perhaps it had been the dry nature of going over the account books, but she had been unaccountably distracted by his presence. One moment she would be scanning a list of figures, the next her attention would be tangled in the strands of his hair.

  It had darkened, since childhood – and she had found herself looking for the bright gold she remembered, layered among the oak and ash.

  The wind whipped Miranda’s bonnet ribbons, and she held to the edge of the curricle, the blurring wheel humming scant inches from her hand. Charlie’s whooping laughter made her laugh in return, as the curricle hummed down the lane, faster and faster. The horse’s tack clanked as Charlie flipped the reins, urging even more speed.

  A sharp crack shuddered through the vehicle. Miranda cried out, the sound tearing from her throat as the seat tilted. The horse let out a high whinny and the curricle skewed sharply, one edge of the split axle stabbing into the soil.

  “Miranda!” Charlie yelled.

  The force of their speed flung her off the bench. There was nothing for her to grab hold of – only empty air and a confused blur of trees as she tumbled down.

  She landed with a thud, then lay on the hard-packed drive, trying to catch her breath. Was she injured? She was afraid to move, to find out. But what of Charlie?

  The horrible thought of him lying motionless on the dirt gave her the strength to lever herself up onto her elbows.