Seducing the Earl

by Andersen, Maggi

  “Shall we have a family dinner on Saturday evening? I’m sure Maria and Harry will come.”

  “Mm. Perhaps.” Her mother stroked the cat and sat eyeing the reams of wallpaper on a table. “Are you sure that color will suit?”

  “You did agree to it. I’m sure you’ll like it when it’s finished.”

  After she and her mother moved in, Sibella threw herself into organizing the servants. When the house functioned the way she wanted, she allowed the formidable housekeeper, Mrs. Huxley, to manage it.

  Her days free, she rode, employed her needle, wrote letters, or read. Thoughts of John, his laugh, the warm grip of his hand in hers, and his kiss made her fidgety. Did he still love her? She re-read a letter from him, smiling at his description of the puppies. His first letter had thrilled her, and now they came regularly, telling her news of his life, but he wrote like an old friend and not a lover. Disturbed by the lack of any declaration of deeper feelings, the days began to drag, except when the weather was fine and her nieces and nephews came to entice her to play cards or shuttlecock on the lawn. She grew annoyed with herself. She really must accept the inevitable.

  At least her mother had finally settled. Keen-eyed as ever, she was less sharp-tongued. “I don’t know why I waited so long to move here,” she confessed to Sibella one evening as they sat by the fire and listened to the rain lashing the windowpanes. “How pleasant it is to have one’s own home again, even if it is a humble one.”

  Only a select few would call the dower house humble. Built during George III’s reign, it was more modern than the mansion, featuring a pleasing symmetrical exterior with elegant columns and shuttered windows. The rooms were snugger than the big house where the drafts lifted some hall carpet runners when the wind blew fiercely.

  Lavinia had grown in confidence as mistress of the house, and even Chaloner seemed more at ease when they called to discuss Christmas, now only a few weeks away. Christmas was always a big affair at Brandreth Park.

  Christmas! The crocus fell from her nerveless fingers as she wandered the garden paths. Would John come before then? Would he come at all? Or was there a lady in his life he’d failed to mention? At night, she lay awake thinking about him. He appeared in her mind as she worked in the garden. The horror of Coombe’s death and that awful day at the cathedral faded with time, but the memory of John’s ardor only grew more vivid. When she’d walked away, had she destroyed what he felt for her?

  She could examine her feelings with honesty and acknowledged it was John’s physical beauty and the inexplicable aura of danger that surrounded him which first attracted her. She had looked upon him as an escape from her mundane existence. At that moment, when she feared she would lose him, her deep love for him shook her like a powerful ache.

  A carriage rumbled through the gates, the wheels clattering over the gravel drive. Maria! Sibella ran, clutching her bonnet, the dog yapping at her heels.

  Her sister waved from the coach window, a stylish ermine cap over her dark hair as the duke’s carriage came to a halt outside the dower house.

  A footman in the duke’s magenta and light blue livery helped her sister, resplendent in a fur-lined pelisse of olive green, down the steps. Sibella rushed across the frosty lawn to embrace her. “Dearest, what brings you here?” Maria looked as a young bride should, happy and well loved.

  “We have been visiting Harry’s Aunt Agatha and spent last night a few miles from Tunbridge Wells. I had to come and tell you…” Maria glanced at the footman and took her arm. “Come inside.”

  After Sibella ordered tea, they perched together on the blue sofa in the drawing room, now papered in marine blue and cream stripes, blue silk damask curtains at the window.

  “I like your color scheme,” Maria said, gazing round. “Where is Mama?”

  “She is still abed. I’ve sent the footman to tell her you’re here.”

  Maria clutched her hands together. “She should hear my news first, but I cannot keep this to myself a moment longer.” Her eyes glowed. “Sib, I believe I am with child.”

  Sibella hugged her. “Are you sure, dearest? It’s so early.”

  Maria rested her hand on her flat stomach. “I just know. And I have missed my monthly courses.”

  “Mama will be pleased. Another grandchild,” Sibella said. “The very thing to cheer her after such unsettling times.”

  A maid brought in the tea things. She breathed in the fragrance of a new tea she had been trying. Maria took a sip and put down her cup. “Delicious. How are you, Sib?”

  Sibella straightened the lace edging on her cuff. “I am well. Why? Don’t I look it?”

  “Mmm.” Maria tilted her head. “The strain has gone from your face, but…”

  “But what?”

  “A certain restlessness in your manner has replaced it.”

  Impossible to keep secrets from Maria. “Perhaps I am a little restive, now everything is in order here.”

  “After Christmas when you return to London…”

  Sibella pressed her lips together. “A season does not appeal.”

  “No, but I thought…” Maria shook her head and her eyes turned sad. “No word from Strathairn?”

  “Yes. He writes often.”

  Maria smiled. “Does he? Well then.”

  “He is ensconced in his Yorkshire estate, deeply involved with his horses, he writes as an old friend,” Sibella said. “He might have met someone else.”

  “You know as well as I do that isn’t possible. He’s in love with you, Sib.”

  Sibella’s chest tightened. “I thought so.”

  “He has stayed away deliberately. I advised him to.”

  Sibella stared at her. “You did? You might have told me.”

  Maria’s cheeks flushed. “You would have sent him away forever. You needed time to think.”

  Sibella poured them both another cup. “That is true.”

  “When he does come, everything will fall into place.”

  “If you are wrong, and he fails to appear, I shall be perfectly happy to remain here with Mama,” she lied, with a defiant toss of her head.

  Maria grinned. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “I threw myself at him once and he rejected me.” Sibella shrugged. “I shall accept friendship if that is what he offers me. I have my pride.”

  “Don’t let pride stand in the way of happiness.”

  “I’ve been trying my darndest to forget him.”

  “I’m sure you’ve succeeded. When he comes, you’ll treat him like last season’s hat.” Maria laughed. “He’s such a big handsome fellow with his gold-streaked hair and stubborn chin.”

  “Not stubborn,” Sibella said, rushing to his defense.

  “Ah. Is that so?” Maria laughed again.

  “You can be so annoying.” Sibella smiled. “As you are with child, I shall ignore you.”

  “Maria! Where have you come from?” Chaloner walked into the room. “How is Harry?” He threw himself into a chair and they were soon catching up on news.

  Chaloner interrupted their chatter. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment, Maria? I need to talk to Sib.”

  Maria wrinkled her nose. “What can you possibly tell her that I’m not privy to?” When he frowned, she held up her hands. “Very well, I want to see Mama, anyway.”

  Sibella handed him a cup of tea. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “It’s about Strathairn,” he said.

  “What about him?” Her heart began to thump wildly.

  “Not bad news, nothing like that.”

  She edged forward on her chair. “Thank heavens!”

  “I need to make a confession. Last year at Strathairn’s hunt ball, I ordered him not to become too interested in you. At that time, I believed he was not a suitable husband for you. And he wasn’t. He did agree, Sib.”

  “Yes, he would have.”

  Chaloner sat with his hands on his knees, his dark head drooped, so filled with remorse she i
nstantly forgave him.

  “John always avoided talk of marriage. Spies should not marry, you see,” she explained.

  Chaloner straightened. “Ah, you understand.”

  She perched on the arm of his chair. “I know you had my best interests at heart.”

  He rested an arm around her waist, gazing at her with his slow smile. “But everything has now changed.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve had a letter from him. He has resigned from military intelligence. He says he intends to settle down, and I have good reason to believe him.”

  She gasped. Strathairn hadn’t mentioned it in his letters. “I was thrilled to hear the news of his investiture. No one is more deserving than John. But to leave the military! I never expected that.”

  “Becoming a marquess brings more responsibly.” He stood and patted her head. “I’ll go up to see Mama.”

  She rose and walked with him to the stairs. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “That’s not the only news I bring.” A gleam lit his eyes. “I’ve invited him down for Christmas. Sent Edward as an emissary.”

  “My goodness!” She put her hands to her cheeks.

  Chaloner grinned at her shocked expression and turned to go upstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Winter in Yorkshire began early and could be bitter, but the day was pleasantly mild as Strathairn rode his horse across the paddocks to the stables. Strange, but he didn’t miss the excitement of Whitehall, although Parnham tried to tempt him back. Their intelligence network had discovered that while Forney lay ill after his rescue from the sinking boat, he was already plotting to return to England and tried to engender interest from his old colleagues.

  Most had lost their taste for it and considered Bonaparte a spent force. All but Moreau turned him down flat. When the count regained his health, he traveled to England. He landed in East Sussex where he remained for some months on a Frenchman’s farm. After, taking the Frenchman into custody, with some persuasion, they learned how the plan was formulated. Countess Forney and Moreau first arrived in London to set their plan in motion while Forney remained out of sight. Moreau traveled north to stir up the people, and Countess Forney set about abducting Guy’s baby. Forney came up to London to witness the Prince of Wales’s assassination at Moreau’s hand and to watch Strathairn suffer defeat on that day before Forney shot him.

  Strathairn felt more at ease and his troubling dreams of the war seemed to have vanished. He did not attempt to delve too deeply into the reason. It was enough that he slept well and woke looking forward to the day. All he needed now to make his life complete was for Sibella to be here with him. And he must woo her. So, he began to write to her, telling her about his day, the horses, the beautiful place in which he lived, how Vaughn’s romance was progressing or the lack of it, and the puppies’ antics. He talked about Linden Hall, how it sorely needed a lady to care for it.

  Men were not domestic creatures, and he hated such a beautiful house to go unloved. He kept his letters light in tone, filling them with humorous situations and descriptions. He resisted waxing lyrical about how much he loved her, nor tried to draw a declaration from her. And he did not say he was coming to see her. Why he wasn’t sure, but perhaps he feared that she would hastily reply and end their association. Time, he thought was on his side. She had loved him, he’d been sure of it. Did she still?

  And her letters were much in the same vein as his. About her garden, her mother settling into the dower house, news about Maria and Harry. And how much more relaxed Chaloner seemed, which she put down to Lavinia liking to have Brandreth Park finally under her control.

  Strathairn rode across the cobbles of the stable block and found Edward patting a horse and talking to his younger brother. He dismounted and threw the reins to a stable hand. “Edward! How good to see you.”

  Edward shook his hand. “I must address you correctly, my lord marquess! Chaloner witnessed your investiture by the Privy Council.”

  “Let’s not make a fuss over nothing,” Strathairn said with a grin. He hadn’t expected to care, but found he did. The work he’d performed over the years had in some way been ennobled, and his contribution to his country valued. Work, considered objectionable by most gentlemen of the ton, which had seared his very soul. He only wished his father could have witnessed the formal ceremony in the Lords and heard Prinny’s fulsome praise.

  “I’ve been visiting a friend in Edinburgh,” Edward explained. “How are you both? Still getting on?”

  “We’ve become a trifle dull.” Strathairn winked at Vaughn, “And welcome your company.” He resisted mentioning Vaughn’s flourishing relationship with the apothecary’s daughter in the village, although he wrote Sibella about it, because Vaughn told him she knew. He doubted Chaloner would agree to them marrying.

  The companionship of the two Brandreths caused him a pang of yearning. If Chaloner had not warned him off marrying Sibella, he might have given in to the impulse last year. But he’d conceded that at that time. Chaloner had been right. He would not have made Sibella happy. But he was confident he could now, and was keen to convince her he longed for hearth and home with her at his side. He seethed with impatience to advise her of it. “Time for a drink, I believe. You will stay of course.”

  Edward chatted about that which he’d found inferior in Scottish society compared to the English as they walked along the gravel drive to the front of the hall where his butler waited dwarfed by the entry. “Lord Edward will be staying, Rhodes. Please inform the housekeeper.”

  Edward’s carriage stood on the circle, and Strathairn gave orders to have it driven to the stable mews.

  “So, what news is there from home?” Strathairn asked, as he led them inside.

  Edward grinned. “That is one of the reasons I am here. Chaloner has invited you to spend Christmas with us.”

  *

  When she thought she spied snow clouds hovering on the horizon on Christmas Eve, Sibella gave an anguished gasp. It was too early for snow, surely. If it should snow, would John be able to reach them tomorrow? Her emotions rose and fell like a gusty breeze after Edward told her John had accepted their invitation. She kept busy organizing every detail while conferring constantly with Lavinia, who was even more nervous than she was to have full control of organizing a family Christmas, and very grateful for her help.

  The entire Brandreth clan gathered in the salon where the Christmas log blazed in the fireplace. Promised a pantomime tomorrow, Nurse ushered the noisy, excited children who had eaten too much marchpane and gingerbread away to bed.

  Maria played While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night on the pianoforte while Harry turned the pages. Cordelia and Roland accompanied her on harp and cello, while Aida and Peter sang along. Sibella admired the room swaddled in greenery and brightened with red holly. A tall yew tree stood in one corner decorated with candles, gifts, dried fruit and nuts, a custom her mother had taken up after hearing of it from Queen Charlotte. Sibella ticked over the list in her mind. In the kitchen, the plum puddings were prepared, a turkey, goose, and a ham dressed in readiness along with various other meats. Piles of fresh vegetables plucked from the kitchen garden. Wine, champagne, and ratafia brought from the cellar. The servants’ boxes were ready for tomorrow while foxhunting was planned for Boxing Day, unless a bout of unseasonable weather put paid to it.

  Earlier, carolers arrived to sing at their door. After a chorus of Deck the Halls and Here We Come a-Wassailing, they were fortified with mulled wine and mince pies.

  In the warm salon, the Christmas hymn ended. With a lot of laughter, Harry kissed Maria beneath the mistletoe dangling from the chandelier, and Chaloner captured the protesting Lavinia to do the same.

  The knocker rang out again. Sibella expected a tenant offering a tithe. Her breath hitched when Belton announced the Marquess of Strathairn. John walked in with his valet following, his arms laden with boxes.

  “Just a few things from the home farm, some cheese
s, apple brandy, and so on. Hobson, take them to the kitchen.” He smiled at everyone. “Merry Christmas.”

  Oddly breathless, she hung back as the family crowded around him. He was handsome in his dark gray coat, pearl-colored silk waistcoat, and dark trousers, but somehow different.

  Might it be her imagination or was there a more settled look about him, a new maturity in his face. Whatever it was, the sight of him made her breathless. He bent over her hand and she went still at finding such passion in his eyes.

  “Lady Sibella.” John eyed the mistletoe above their heads. A smile curled his lips. He dipped his head and kissed her. Everyone gasped and broke into applause.

  “If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Strathairn said. “I should like a moment alone with Lady Sibella.”

  “Oh, yes. Perhaps the conservatory?” Sibella led him among the plants where they could be alone. When she turned to face him, he took her hands in his. Shocked, she realized the brave man was nervous. “You must marry me now that I’ve kissed you in front of your family,” he said, with an endearing grin.

  “That’s not a very romantic proposal.” She was shaky herself. “It’s more of a demand.”

  He swallowed. “I love you, Sibella. I want to share my life with you. Will you accept if I go down on bended knee?”

  “Oh no.” She laughed and drew him close. “You will dirty your fine clothes.”

  He needed little encouragement, wrapping his arms tight around her, his breath hot against her ear. “Will you?” he whispered against her hair.

  “We must talk,” she protested weakly, her body turning warm and heavy as his lips trailed across her cheek.

  “We have a lifetime to talk, do we not?” he whispered against her mouth.

  His hands explored the hollows of her back. She put her arms around his neck and gave in to the kiss, relishing his touch as she breathed in the smell of clean male. The kiss ended and left them both breathless as she clutched his coat. “I will marry you, John. As soon as the banns are read,” she said, her voice unsteady.