About an Earl (What Happens in the Ballroom)

by Diana Lloyd

  “Your father scarred Oliver on purpose?” Jewel’s knees went weak from the horrible clarity of the fact. Oliver’s scar wasn’t the result of an awful accident.

  “I still remember the blood seeping out from between his fingers, dripping down and staining his shirt. The only thing our father said was, ‘Now I’ll always be able to tell you apart,’ and then he rode away. He didn’t return for three days. Cook tended to Oliver’s face the best she could, but no one dared send for a doctor without my father’s permission.”

  Jewel could tell by his demeanor that Penry was reliving the moment as he told it to her. Flashes of fear, anger, and disgust shadowed his features as he spoke. Tempted to put her arm around him in comfort, she instead folded her arms across her chest, giving herself a hug.

  “The wound might have gone putrid; he might have died.”

  Jones squawked at her outburst and Jewel tightened her hands into angry fists to regain composure. “And after that?”

  “It took a long time to heal. We thought for sure he’d lose his eye. It was months before he ventured outdoors.” Penry turned away as tears filled his eyes. “He and I took a walk one day on a path near the main road that we’d walked a hundred times before. Coming along from the other direction there were three milkmaids, each yoked with full buckets of fresh milk. Those girls, just a year or two older than us, stopped dead in their tracks and screamed. They dropped their buckets, spilling milk into the path, and just kept screaming.”

  “Poor Oliver.” It was a useless sentiment, but it was all Jewel had. There were no words for such a tragically cruel event. I wouldn’t have run from him, she thought. If only his goodness were as visible as his scar.

  “Oliver and I ran away just to get them to stop screaming. Behind us we could hear them calling out ‘beast’ and ‘monster’ at Oliver. They returned to their masters claiming they were accosted by a cat creature that walked like a man. Half the countryside went out hunting for a cat-eyed madman. Oliver stopped going outside after that. He couldn’t be convinced otherwise.”

  “So he writes letters.” A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of all the hurt that Oliver had survived.

  “As our father became less and less able to handle the affairs of the estate, Oliver took up the responsibility via the post. Every new servant we had to hire proved to him time and time again that people couldn’t bear to look at him. Staying inside became a safe habit.” Looking emotionally spent, Penry shook his head, as if trying to erase the memories again.

  “If he hadn’t attended the ball, my cousin might have gotten her claws into you.” Fate was fickle, but it had shown Penry favor that night.

  “You and he make a good match. You’ve gotten him out of the house, engaged, and looking to the future.”

  “You haven’t spoken to your brother much today, have you?” If Oliver wanted Penry to know their engagement was pretense, it was his responsibility to tell him. After what Penry just shared, she was of no mind to crush his dream of a happy family.

  “He told me about the Committee of Privileges agents. We’re already getting together our own list of witnesses in case we need them. Miss Bartleby’s father is a solicitor, and he will agree to take on Oliver’s case against committal to Bedlam, if it comes to that. This complaint is a nuisance. Someone wants to add to the official records that Oliver is accused of lunacy and witchcraft. It’s a black mark that will never leave him or the title if he can’t get it dismissed. He’ll never be allowed to claim his seat in the House of Lords. More worrying is who made the complaint and for what reason.”

  “Oliver’s possible marriage has no bearing then?” If she heard from her father, she may have to leave immediately and didn’t want it to ruin Oliver’s chances of dismissing the charge.

  “Legally it means nothing. It’s more a matter of perception. Marriage creates the illusion of normalcy and respectability for a man. A happily married beast is less likely to run amok over the countryside, frightening maidens and causing hens to cease to lay. Sometimes perception is everything.”

  “Oh.” They were in a precarious position if she was the perception of normalcy. She’d follow Oliver’s lead in this. She was living here on his whim and had nowhere else to go.

  “Miss Latham, if you are of a mind to break his heart, I beg that you wait until after the investigation is dismissed.” Penry’s words were delivered coldly but without menace. He cared as much for Oliver’s happiness as Oliver worried for his. When Penry found out the truth, he’d turn a cold shoulder to her and rush to comfort Oliver. She wouldn’t be able to count on Penry’s friendship much longer.

  “I don’t hold his heart. Our association is mutually beneficial.” It was the most honest comment she could bring herself to make.

  “Many marriages have begun on less than that.”

  “Oliver isn’t the only man in my life.” Penry’s reaction to her statement was immediate and brief. He bowed curtly, turned, and walked from the room without another word. Only then did Jewel realize that Penry didn’t know she was speaking of her father. As far as he was concerned, she had just admitted to having a lover.

  Penry had no doubt run straight to his brother with the news. The only crime she was guilty of was poor choice of words. If Oliver wanted to know about the thoughts that worried her mind, he would ask. A book of poetry was laid out on a side table next to the chair, as if their mother had just placed it there to retire the room. Picking it up, Jewel turned to a random page to begin reading, hoping to both pass the time and soothe her worry.

  “I see you’ve met Jones.” Oliver’s teasing words as he entered the room were in opposition to the scowl on his face. There could be no doubt he’d spoken to Penry. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few filberts, holding them out to her. “Offer him these and you’ll make a friend.”

  “I thought I already had one.” She might as well address the problem she’d created with her careless words. “We need to talk.”

  “I’d rather not make any more a fool of myself than I already have. I’ve no right to expect anything from you. My offer to help came with no conditions. Someone such as myself who…”

  “Please stop, Oliver. What I said to Penry didn’t mean what you think it does. The other man in my life is my father. That’s the man I must always keep in my thoughts, because he needs me. I won’t abandon him.” Jewel could do nothing but tell the truth and hope he believed her.

  “What about the man you’ve kissed? Are you certain that’s not who you meant?” Tilting his hand, he poured Jones’s treats into her palm. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “The Ashworths were our neighbors back in Boston. Eldridge and I grew up together, and everyone assumed we’d marry. I did, too, until the day he told me he was engaged to someone else. He offered no other explanation.” She held the filberts out to Jones. The bird eyed her suspiciously and whistled at Oliver before reaching out to pluck a nut from her hand. “I had no idea the Ashworths were in England until you and I nearly knocked him down in my uncle’s ballroom.”

  “That was Eldridge? Your Eldridge? The foppish beanstalk that sent his dance partner careening into a shrubbery?”

  “Exactly. But he was never really my Eldridge.” She offered Jones another nut.

  “And yet you thought to write him for support.”

  “I was desperate when I found out my uncle was trying to barter me off in marriage.” She’d hoped that a sliver of goodwill might still rest in Eldridge’s heart for a childhood friend.

  “What?”

  Jones squawked and leaped from his perch to Oliver’s shoulder in a flurry of feathers at the sound of his master’s raised voice.

  “I opened my uncle’s letters. That night in Bletchley. I started to worry that I’d made a mistake joining you and pried off the seals and read them. Elvy helped me seal them back up.”

 
“If you share them with me, I might be able to help.”

  “They were useless. I debated whether to even keep them. I stuffed them in my trunk.” After her fear of opening them, they were embarrassingly useless.

  “Would you allow me to read them? My life has been lived in letters. I may be able to discern something helpful in them.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get them to you.” To her, the letters were proof of being abandoned once again. She’d be more than happy to burn them to cinders. The words on paper were not only a rejection by her only known blood relatives, but also as if by being exiled to Scotland, England itself was spitting her out.

  “Funny thing about letters—sometimes you need to pay more attention to what isn’t said than what is. The words that aren’t used can tell you much.” His tone was soft and placating, as if he read the unease on her face and understood.

  “I bow to your expertise, but I’m afraid you’ll find them quite dull.”

  “I’ll have a look at them anyway.” He approached then and took her hand. The warmth from his palm sent shocks of awareness through her. “I will be your champion until you no longer wish it. I want you to know that I realize that you and I will never be more than bosom friends. I’m not foolish enough to think that a woman like you would ever settle for a man such as me.”

  “Settle? Why would you say such a thing? You’ve been nothing but a gentleman, a wise and helpful friend.” A champion? She was in no position to refuse an ally or a…what? They were friends and yet more than friends. Was their quest really a courtship? This was no time for wayward romantic notions. She was nothing but trouble to a man who already had enough of his own. With her next breath she dimmed the spark that sprang to life within her heart. Dimmed, but not extinguished.

  “And I shall remain your friend. I’ll help you seek out your Eldridge if that is your wish.”

  “No.” Jewel shook her head. “He’s not my Eldridge and he never will be.” Stepping forward, she cupped his face in her hands. “How can you not see how much I admire you? My hesitation is rooted in worry for my father’s life. If I am to help him, I may need to leave at a moment’s notice. That’s not fair to you.”

  “I hold you in great esteem as well, Jewel.” He turned his head to kiss her palm before taking her hand in his. The imprint of his lips burned her skin. Oh, how she wished they had met in a different life where her head and heart were free to play at romance and imagine a happily ever after. Instead, they both existed under gray skies colored by enemies known and unknown where her heart wasn’t the only thing she needed to protect. “I pray you will keep your high opinion of me.”

  “Oliver.” Penry poked his head into the room. “We have visitors.” He shook his head and frowned. “Not the good sort.”

  “The committee again?”

  “A bit worse, I should think. Some of father’s old friends.”

  …

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen, perhaps it’s best if we retire to my office.” His father had been dead for nearly a year, so it was a bit late for a condolence call. As they walked down the hallway, Penry caught his eye by shaking his head and tapping a finger to his lips. A signal to do more listening than speaking, no doubt. Most of father’s friends were as dissolute as he was. Chances were they were looking for a loan Oliver was in no position to give.

  Seats settled, brandy offered and accepted, Mr. Smith and Mr. Gatts glanced around the room nervously before stating their purpose. Whatever they were there for was making them very jumpy. As they stalled, Oliver tried to recall if either name appeared on any of the IOU papers he’d found yesterday. Oddly, neither name had come up in the inventory of debts owed or due.

  Taking advantage of their continued silence, Oliver took a moment to note each man’s appearance, collecting little clues about them. Their clothes were stylish but cheaply made and ill-fitting, stockings were darned well but in need of a good washing. Shoes were polished but with soles worn nearly through and hat brims were badly frayed. Hardly the successful men of business they’d declared themselves upon meeting.

  “As you are well aware of my father’s passing, I’m wondering at the purpose of your visit today.” Oliver waited until after their second brandy to speak. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “We waited to approach out of respect for your mourning, of course.” Mr. Smith began his explanation. “However, the enormity of our business could no longer be delayed.” He pulled a worn leather document wallet out of his coat pocket and, with a nod to Mr. Gatts, eased out a folded piece of vellum. “I had important business with your father. I’ve brought Mr. Gatts along as he was a witness to this document.”

  “My father had many friends; I don’t recall him ever mentioning business with a Mr. Smith.” Penry moved from his place next to the desk to stand behind their visitors and shook his head warily. Whatever tale these gentlemen were selling, his brother wasn’t buying. If they were father’s drinking mates, they’d find no comfort here.

  “Your father, as I’m sure you know, enjoyed games of chance, wagers, and speculating in general.” Smith unfolded the paper and laid it on the desktop for Oliver to read, leaving his hand upon it. “As you can clearly see, your father signed this document a month before his death and set his seal upon it.”

  “Good luck collecting a debt from a dead man, gentlemen.”

  “Take a closer look, Winchcombe. This isn’t a debt, it’s a deed.”

  Oliver grabbed the paper and brought it closer to the candle, motioning for Penry to join him. The language was formal, with Latin legal terms sprinkled throughout. It was a deed to the town house on Clifford Street in London and everything therein contained ab omni parte. Gritting his teeth with rising anger as he read, Oliver recognized the scratchy signature at the bottom as that of his father and next to it the seal from the signet ring he now wore.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Oliver protested as Penry tapped a finger to his lip. “My father refused to sell the place time and time again. Why would he sign it over to you?”

  “It wasn’t my responsibility to question him. We both know your father cared not a whit for propriety. Who am I to talk a man out of something he is determined to do?” Mr. Smith sat back in his chair, gloating as he drained the last drops of brandy from the glass.

  “To what purpose did he sign the property over to you?” Penry asked, placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

  “High-stakes card game. I’d fronted him money before. Even dribs and drabs add up over years. ’Tis a shame he died before he could discuss it with you. God does work in mysterious ways.”

  “I don’t see a lawyer’s mark here.” Oliver stopped talking when Penry squeezed his shoulder.

  “’Twas a private affair between two gentlemen. No need to get the law involved. No one held a gun to your father’s head to get him to sign, I assure you. Mr. Gatts and I were witnesses.”

  “Unusual for you to be a witness to a document in your favor. Was there no one else present to witness?” Penry kept his grip on Oliver’s shoulder as he spoke.

  “Weren’t no one else around that time of night, and your father was keen to get the matter done quickly. Hardly my problem.”

  “Of course.” Penry interrupted before Oliver could speak again. “Since our father hadn’t time to speak to us about this, we need time to look back over his will to make sure we get this right. Surely, you’ll give us a month to sort it out.” By the time he finished speaking, Penry’s grip on Oliver’s shoulder was like a tightened vise.

  As soon as Mr. Smith agreed, Oliver shrugged off Penry’s grip and stood to usher the unwelcome guests from the room. As Oliver reached for the document, Smith pulled it away, folded it up, and slipped in back into the leather wallet, which disappeared inside his coat.

  “We’ll need a copy.” Scowling and making his voice menacing, Oliver hoped to force compliance. Mr
. Gatts, who up until now had been silent, reached into his pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper, and tossed it on the desk.

  “Read it all you want. It’s all proper. Six-card bounce is not a game for the timid, but your sire knew the stakes.”

  “One month,” Smith proclaimed as he turned to leave.

  “How should we contact you?” Oliver asked.

  “No need. I’ll keep in touch,” he said, motioning for Mr. Gatts to follow along. “You’ve thirty days left to grieve. And don’t think to take anything from that house what now belongs to me. I’ll have eyes on it, in case you think to show up with a wagon.” He smirked menacingly as he spoke, his hubris betraying the threat behind his words.

  “I’ll show you out.” Penry pushed his way forward and made for the door, throwing a warning glance back at Oliver.

  Oliver read the copied deed while Penry made sure the men left the house without taking anything. It appeared to be a true copy, as near as Oliver could recall from his brief glance at the original. The signatures, however, were printed by someone else’s hand, not that of his father. The whole business was beyond curious all the way to alarming. When Penry returned, he closed the office door behind him before flopping down into the chair vacated by Mr. Smith.

  “This is bad, Oliver.” He shook his head as he spoke.

  “It’s fake,” Oliver protested. “It has to be.”

  “Probably. Between this and the complaint with the Committee of Privileges, it’s clear someone is trying to ruin us. And they’re pulling no punches to do so. I was planning on living in that town house with Mary after the wedding. I know,” he said, putting up his hands to stall the argument he knew was coming, “taking up residence in Bedlam is worse. My point is, if they prevail, we’re both sunk.”