An Earl Like No Other

by Wilma Counts

  “Um. Not exactly the same,” he said appreciatively. “Dilly Delia managed quite a transformation while I was off fighting for king and country.”

  She blushed prettily, but said with another laugh, “Ran away to play soldier, you mean.”

  Jeremy turned to Clemson. “I say, Clemson, if you are free for the next dance, Miss Mortimer is a marvelous partner.”

  Clemson accepted the suggestion and bowed to her. “Miss Mortimer?”

  She gave Jeremy an oblique glance and emitted a brittle tinkle of a laugh, but her eyes were a hard stare. “La! Can you fathom this? The man is trying to get rid of me,” she said to the group in a forced teasing tone. “Well, so be it, Captain.”

  “Kenrick’s loss is my gain,” the captain said gallantly, extending his arm.

  “Quite so,” she said in a tight little voice and exchanged a look of chagrin with her father as he rejoined the group.

  Having watched Mrs. Arthur take the floor with both Robert and Clemson as well as the footman, Thomas, and even his coachman, Jeremy approached her himself and bowed. Only when they stood on the dance floor and heard the music did he realize his error. It was a waltz.

  While it was true that the waltz had made it even to the backcountry of Yorkshire, it was also true that many country folk considered it quite scandalous. If she had drawn censure before, this dance might fan the tongues even more. “A waltz,” he said. “Are you up for this?”

  “Oh, yes. The German regiment brought it to the Peninsula early on.”

  “That isn’t exactly what I meant,” he said. “Too late now.” He took her hand in his and put his other hand at her waist as she rested her other hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes momentarily. My God! This was so right. So absolutely right.

  “What did you mean?” she asked.

  “The waltz has yet to gain universal approval,” he said, regaining his inner composure, but still keenly aware of the woman in his arms.

  “Yes. I know. Silly, is it not?”

  He laughed and deliberately pulled her closer in a swirl of the dance. “Mrs. Arthur,” he said, feigning surprise, “I do believe there is a bit of the rebel in you.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps. My father would certainly have agreed with that assessment.”

  “Really? There must be a story behind that comment. Would you care to share it?”

  Although she did not falter in the least, he sensed a sudden stillness in her. She answered seriously. “Perhaps I will—someday.”

  “I shall hold you to that.” He kept his tone light and changed the subject, but stored away yet another clue in the ongoing mystery of the elegant housekeeper.

  For Jeremy that dance was the high point of the evening and he was sure Mrs. Arthur had enjoyed it too, but the evening was to present a spoiler of sorts—another encounter with a Mortimer. This time it was the father, whom Jeremy had come to view as his nemesis. Jeremy was at the refreshment table to fetch a glass of punch for his aunt when Sir Eldridge accosted him.

  “A word, Lord Kenrick.” It was more of an order than a polite request.

  “Certainly, sir.” The two stepped to the sidelines.

  Mortimer cleared his throat. “That scene—you waltzing with your housekeeper—well, it was not in the best of taste, now was it? Neither my daughter nor I should like to see a repeat of such behavior.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Jeremy riveted a steely glare on the man.

  Mortimer averted his gaze. “What I meant to say, Kenrick, is this: Your fobbing her off on your friend and then waltzing—waltzing!—with that Arthur woman hurt Charlotte’s feelings. I do not like to see my little girl unhappy.” The last sentence ended on a note of threat.

  For a moment, Jeremy was speechless.

  Mortimer went on in a slightly more conciliatory tone. “Now, I’m sure you intended no harm, but, son, you just don’t seem to realize that English women are not like those you knew in the colonies. Our ladies are more fragile, more delicate.”

  Jeremy did not want to make a scene, especially one that might end with Mrs. Arthur’s name being bandied about. Finally, he found his voice. His jaw clenched, he spoke in a quiet, distinct tone that could not be heard even ten feet away, but that would be unmistakable to his immediate listener.

  “You, sir, are too presumptuous by half! I am not your son, nor have I encouraged you in any way to address me as such. But this is not the first time you have had the unmitigated gall to advise me on matters in which my own father would never have presumed to meddle. I will thank you not to overreach so again.”

  Mortimer’s face turned a fiery red, but Jeremy did not allow him to speak. “I would not intentionally hurt a woman in any way, but I am not responsible for your daughter’s feelings—nor yours either. Now, if you will excuse me.” Ignoring the sheer rage of the older man, Jeremy turned back to the punch bowl for Aunt Elinor’s drink.

  He struggled to hide his fury, but he should have known his aunt would sense any change in his demeanor.

  “What is wrong, Jeremy?”

  He sat in the empty chair next to her. “Nothing serious. I just had an unpleasant conversation with Sir Eldridge Mortimer.”

  “Oh.” There was a wealth of understanding in that single syllable. “Then you are aware of the rumors he is fomenting.”

  “I have an idea of them.” Jeremy did not elaborate.

  He was glad when the Midsummer Ball was over for another year.

  CHAPTER 13

  When the Kenrick party returned to the Hall, the ladies immediately excused themselves, Lady Elinor to her chamber accompanied by her maid, and Mrs. Arthur to her new bedchamber in the nursery wing. Jeremy, Robert, and Captain Clemson settled in the smaller family drawing room for a nightcap. All three men had loosened their neck cloths as they sprawled on the most comfortable chairs. A low fire in the fireplace and soft light from a lamp lent a warm glow to the room.

  “I enjoyed this day even more than I expected to,” Robert announced, accepting the brandy Jeremy offered him, “even if I did lose that bet on the squire’s black. I’d quite forgot what fun we had when we were growing up!”

  “Country fairs are often as enjoyable as a grand state holiday in London,” Clemson said. “Especially if the local females are both fair and friendly.”

  “Speaking of female pulchritude,” Robert said with a raised eyebrow and a grin directed at his brother, “what is the story with you and the Mortimer chit, Jeremy?”

  “There is no story,” Jeremy said.

  Robert elevated the inquisitive brow even higher. “Uh-huh. Well, she and her father seem to have a different view. She said something about one day welcoming me to Kenrick Hall. And her father hinted at the possibility of an ‘interesting announcement.’ So—have you made an offer or not?”

  “I have not.”

  “I thought you would surely have mentioned it if you had,” Robert said.

  “She is a fine-looking woman—very fair indeed,” Clemson observed.

  “Yes, she is,” Jeremy conceded, “but my acquaintance with her is somewhat limited. There was an arrangement between her and Charles.”

  “Really? I never heard of it,” Robert said. “It never made it to the papers. Even in the Peninsula, we got the papers. Sometimes weeks late, but we got them. And read them to tatters.”

  “It hadn’t reached that stage yet,” Jeremy said.

  “So she transfers her affections from Charles to you just like that?” Robert snapped his fingers and laughed.

  “Sounds biblical—medieval, at least,” Clemson commented.

  Jeremy sipped his brandy, then said slowly, “I’m not sure that affections actually fit into the picture. Suffice it to say, there are other considerations.”

  “Are you thinking of offering for her?” Robert’s tone showed only curiosity.

  “I did not say that,” Jeremy said. He ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s just say the situation is . . . uh . . . complicated.”

 
“Well,” Clemson said, stifling a yawn, “I think I’ll leave you two to sort out the matter of Cupid’s arrows and all. I need to get an early start in the morning. Still a three-day journey to the Highlands.”

  Jeremy and Robert bade him good night, then settled back in their chairs. There was a long silence.

  Finally, Robert said, “How complicated?”

  Jeremy hesitated. How could he satisfy Robert’s curiosity without burdening his younger brother with his own problems? “Sir Eldridge and Father were negotiating marriage settlements when Charles and Edgar drowned.”

  Robert frowned. “Charles was not involved in the negotiating?”

  “I gather he was agreeable to whatever they decided.”

  “Probably didn’t care. He had his London ladybird safely tucked away.”

  Jeremy looked at Robert questioningly.

  “Ton gossip spreads far and wide. But I actually met her once. Pretty. An opera dancer.”

  “I see,” Jeremy said slowly, still wondering how much to tell his brother.

  Robert sat up straight. “I think I see, too.” Jeremy glanced at him, but did not respond. “Back to you, big brother. Are you engaged in marriage settlements? Or do I overstep?”

  “No. And no. After all, you are the heir.”

  Robert snorted. “Temporarily—until you produce a real one.”

  Jeremy waved a dismissive hand. “For however long, you are it. So . . . you have a right to know how things stand.” With these words and a myriad of thoughts and emotions behind them, Jeremy made his decision. He explained the circumstances surrounding the Chilton family’s precarious hold on the earldom.

  “Good God, Jer. I knew the situation had deteriorated, but I had no idea it was so bad.” Robert shook his head. “And Mortimer holds all the debt?”

  “He does now. Bought it all up even before those unfortunate deaths in our family.”

  “Bought his knighthood as well, according to local gossip.” When Jeremy cocked his head at this, Robert grinned and added, “You thought all those rides Clemson and I have taken were just for sport, eh? I have been reacquainting myself with my boyhood home. And the people.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Yes. And I must say it does look better than it did the last time I saw it.”

  “Even without a steward, eh?”

  “I heard about that too. You are well rid of that one. Stevens was lazy as sin. I never did understand why Father kept him on—except as a drinking crony.”

  “That was about it,” Jeremy said.

  “Kenrick is a lot to handle without a steward. How are you doing?”

  “The truth?”

  Robert nodded.

  Jeremy swept his hand through his hair again; his tone was bleak. “I’m in over my head. I had to let Stevens go, but I’m finding it very difficult to manage on my own. It’s a vast change from the fur trade in North America! The mill and the mine, not to mention thousands of acres of farm and grazing land. And did you know there was a brewery? That came as a surprise to me.”

  “A brewery? I never knew of it.”

  “A brewery. Apparently it came to Father as part of my mother’s dowry.”

  “Is it profitable?”

  “Not very. Like everything else, it has been sadly neglected. But I think it could be. Phillips thinks so too. I have him discreetly looking into the matter of a new steward—though I can hardly offer the sort of salary a truly competent man could command. So, for the time being, I muddle through.” It sounded hopeless to his own ears now that the words were hanging in the air between them.

  “Has Phillips come up with anyone?”

  “Not yet. He did suggest that someone might be willing to accept a more modest salary for a share in possible annual profits.”

  “That’s an interesting concept,” Robert said.

  “I thought so too, but so far, no takers. Not a one.”

  Robert looked thoughtful as he lifted his glass and drained the last of his brandy. Jeremy found the ensuing silence pleasantly comfortable. It had been a long time since he had shared simple companionship with a friend. That this friend was a favorite relative was an added boon.

  Finally, Robert said, “Would you mind if I had a look at your books tomorrow?”

  Jeremy was surprised. “To what end?”

  “Well, you know I’m looking for gainful employment . . .” Robert’s response trailed off.

  “You think to become a steward?”

  “The Kenrick steward, perhaps—if you are amenable.”

  “But—a steward?”

  Robert emitted a rueful chuckle. “We younger sons have to make our way somehow. Army life has not the attraction it once had.”

  Jeremy sat in stunned silence. This was a turn that had simply never occurred to him. “Hmm. Steward? Are you sure?”

  “Look, Jeremy. It is precisely what I’ve been doing for the last five years and more: logistics and procurement. I even have a letter of commendation from the Duke of Wellington himself.”

  Jeremy stood and set his glass on a nearby table. “If you are serious, it is certainly something we can discuss. God knows, I would welcome you with open arms, but I cannot urge you to board what may well be a sinking ship.”

  Robert too, rose and gave his brother a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Let’s see how much water she’s taking on before we abandon ship.”

  For a long while Jeremy lay in the huge four-poster bed of the master bedchamber, staring at the canopy above him. The brocade did not seem so faded in the faint light from the fireplace. He marveled at the changes life had thrown at him since Phillips’s man, Logan, had caught up with him in an Arapaho camp. He had traded the casual freedom of the American frontier for the faded opulence of old England. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision—but, then, there had never been much choice in the matter, had there? One did not abrogate responsibilities to people who had served Kenrick earls for three centuries! Still, his efforts might be for naught. Moreover, he was not convinced the transition had been good for Cassie. Her life too, had changed profoundly. To what extent had he sacrificed his daughter on the altar of familial duty?

  He sighed and at last slept better than he had in months, though his last conscious thought was a vision of Mrs. Arthur laughing up at Robert as they danced at the Midsummer Ball. Was she the reason his brother thought of staying on at Kenrick?

  Lord Kenrick’s housekeeper was not enjoying the same peaceful slumber as her employer. Kate had looked in on her son before retiring to her own chamber. Ned had kicked off his bedcovers; she drew them back over him and kissed his sleep-warm cheek. Impulsively, she went down the hall to repeat the process with Lady Cassandra. She was well aware of what she was doing: postponing a clear view of this day and the evening.

  Despite her earlier reservations about attending the midsummer festivities, she had thoroughly enjoyed them. She readily admitted that the highlight of the ball—indeed, of the day—had been her dance with Lord Kenrick. She savored every nuance of that waltz—from the spicy scent of his shaving soap to the warm humor in his blue eyes. Even through the fabric of their gloves, she had felt the warmth of his touch, relished the closeness. She could not ignore the sheer chemistry between them, even as she cautioned herself repeatedly against it. Had he been a good husband? What kind of wife had he chosen? All anyone seemed to know of her was that she was part Indian. But what kind of woman had she been? And just why should any of that matter to his housekeeper?

  She shook her head yet again. “All right, Cinderella, you’ve had your ball. Now come back to earth and be sensible.” Nothing—nothing—must jeopardize her position at Kenrick Hall.

  She turned her thoughts to other aspects of the evening. She had, of course, enjoyed dancing with Robert and sharing a bit of refreshment with him. It was nice to be able to drop all pretense with at least one person who knew the real Kate. Nor had she minded sitting on the sidelines with Lady Elinor. She recalled snippets
of conversation she had overheard there. The vicar’s wife had been filling Lady Elinor in on neighbors attending the ball.

  “As is usually the case,” Mrs. Packwood had said, “there are three or four people here I simply do not know. Two gentlemen and a married couple who are staying at the inn. I believe the couple are seeking a property to rent. One of the other gentlemen, a Mr. Hoskins, spent an hour with my husband yesterday. Just wanted to familiarize himself with the community, he said. Nice man.”

  Mrs. Packwood prattled on, describing for Lady Elinor the ladies’ dresses and commenting on the behavior of people they both knew. The vicar’s wife was not inclined to be suspicious of anyone, but Kate had felt her entire being freeze at these words. A stranger asking questions? She could not quell a frisson of fear and tried surreptitiously to see who it was that Mrs. Packwood was talking about, but she was herself too much of a stranger to be able to tell. In any event, guests of the inn were customarily included, were they not? Perhaps she was just borrowing trouble.

  All the next day, though Kate knew Lord Kenrick and Robert had seen Clemson on his way to the Highlands, she saw little of the Chilton brothers. They were sequestered in the library until late afternoon. A footman who delivered fortifying pots of tea reported they were “studyin’ the books with lots o’ notes and columns of figgers.”

  The next morning, Lord Kenrick called in his butler and the housekeeper to announce that he and his brother would be away for a few days inspecting various properties and enterprises. He gave them the particulars of his itinerary in case of an emergency, and then they were off. To Kate, Kenrick Hall suddenly seemed empty, despite a staff of dozens of people.

  While she assiduously discouraged servants’ gossip about their employer, Kate knew there was a good deal of speculation and apprehension among the staff about the financial state of the earldom. After all, what would happen to them were there to be a turnover at the top? She suspected the servants had a far better understanding of the matter than his lordship might wish them to have. They had no details, of course, but they “knew” that “that upstart cit, Mortimer” held something over his lordship’s head, probably having to do with the previous earl’s profligate ways.