The Reluctant Earl

by Joan Wolf

  “Do you know what she died of?”

  “No.”

  Liam frowned thoughtfully. “Her relatives must have come to the funeral.”

  “There wasn’t any funeral. My mother died when she was on a visit to Ireland, and she was buried there. I always thought that was why my father stopped going to Ireland, that it would remind him of her death.”

  One of the bays began to toss his head and Liam rubbed his back with the whip and spoke soothingly in Irish. The bay settled down and the pair continued to trot quietly along the road.

  Liam said thoughtfully, “Ireland.”

  “Yes.” Simon watched the horses’ muscles moving smoothly under their dark bay backs. He said slowly, “Ireland seems to have come up rather frequently today, hasn’t it?”

  “I was after thinking the same thing.”

  They drove for a while in silence, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. Then Liam said, “Would you like me to find out what I can for you about your mother’s family?”

  Simon turned to him in relief. “Would you, Mr. O’Rourke?”

  Liam nodded. “I’m thinking your father’s solicitor might have suspected you didn’t know about the inheritance and that’s why he told you. His conscience was bothering him.”

  Simon slowly nodded. “Perhaps. He’s a nice man, Mr. Pitt.”

  They drove for a few minutes in silence, Liam concentrating on the horses and Simon looking at the green fields on either side of the road.

  Liam broke the silence. “What was your mother’s maiden name?”

  “It was Jarvis. At least I know that.”

  “There’s a famous English banking family by the name of Jarvis. Do you think she might be related to them?”

  “I don’t know,” Simon said fretfully. “I don’t know anything! It makes me feel so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid, boy. Things have been purposefully kept from you. Let me look around a bit and see what I can find out.”

  Simon turned to look at Liam’s profile, at the thin, aquiline nose and well-cut mouth Claire had inherited, and felt a rush of relief and gratitude. “I would appreciate that, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  Liam flicked his whip to keep one of the bays from leaning out and said, “Don’t worry your head too much, Simon. Enjoy your summer. We’ll get this sorted out.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said, his gruff voice disguising his emotion. They spent the rest of the drive discussing the horses Liam had in training.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The following day Simon stood beside the small river in Welbourne woods impatiently skipping stones. Claire and he had arranged to meet at their usual spot the previous afternoon, when Liam stopped at the cottage so Simon could say hello to Claire and her mother. As Claire and her parents were going to dine at the squire’s, he had gone on to the abbey.

  “I couldn’t get out of it,” Claire had whispered to him as Simon and her father were returning to the curricle. “Meet you tomorrow at the glen.”

  He had thought of nothing else all night. It would be bliss to be alone with her again. But mixed with the bliss was frustration. He was too young. They were too young. He was finished with school, thank God, but he suspected his father was going to pack him off to Oxford. All the Radleys had gone to Oxford. And all his father wanted was for Simon to be out from under his sight.

  When were they going to be allowed to be together? And what might this inheritance mean to them?

  He heard hoof beats and Claire came riding into the glen on Finbar, the little gray gelding her father had bought for her when she had outgrown her pony. She flung herself out of her saddle and ran into his arms. Their lips met in a long kiss.

  It was so hard to lift his mouth away from her. The reality of Claire was always so much stronger than his dreams of her when he was gone.

  She said, “I missed you so much.”

  His eyes devoured the face he loved. Her eyes were huge and brown, with remarkable long black lashes. Her shining mahogany colored hair was tied as usual at her nape and fell halfway down her back. She had clear olive skin, a narrow arched nose and lips that he could kiss forever. She and her father were the ‘black Irish,’ she had once told him – descended in part from the Spanish sailors that had been flung on the shores of southwest Ireland when the Armada had broken up in the sixteenth century.

  “I missed you too,” he returned.

  They said that each time he came home.

  She stepped a little away and looked him up and down. “Have you got taller?” she demanded.

  “An inch, perhaps.”

  “Why do you keep growing and I don’t?” she said, woeful as a child deprived of a treat.

  It was an ongoing complaint and it made him smile to hear it again. He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “Even if you are short.”

  She tilted her head. “I love it when you look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a naughty little boy.”

  His amusement fled. “I was never a naughty little boy.”

  “I know.” Her voice was very soft. “Kiss me again, Simon.”

  He lowered his head and she slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him, her head tipped back on her lovely slender neck. The kiss deepened and they clung to each other with rising fierceness. Simon felt the storm of hunger inside him, and he forced himself to put her away while he still was able to. She staggered a little, as she lost the support of his arms.

  He was breathing as if he had been running. He looked at her and said, his voice unrecognizable even to himself, “You’re so beautiful, Claire. I love you so much.”

  They had known each other since she had come from Ireland to Welbourne. He had been seven and she six, and they had become instant friends. Over the years, as they had grown, the innocent friendship had turned into something much more.

  She whispered, “I love you so much, Simon.”

  His heart turned over as he looked at her. He could lose himself in her eyes, he thought, and took a step toward her, desperately wanting the feel of her soft breasts against him, her beautiful full mouth under his.

  A horse squealed and they both jumped. First Claire, then Simon, turned to look at Finbar. His tail was swishing madly and he was glaring at his hip.

  “Something bit him,” Claire said. She went to look at his flank, then stroked his neck and told him he was fine, to go back to his grass. After a few more tail swishes, one of which caught Claire on the arm, he did.

  Simon watched her soothe the horse and forced himself to sit and lean his back against a tree. Claire dropped down next to him. Her shoulder touched his arm. He cleared his throat and remembered what he had wanted to tell her. “Do you recall that legacy I wrote you about?”

  “Of course I remember it. Have you found out anything more?”

  “My father still hasn’t said a word, and I turn eighteen in a month. On our way home I told your father what Mr. Pitt said, and he’s going to try to search for my mother’s family. The trust was part of her marriage settlement, so he thinks they would be the ones to pay it out.”

  “Good. Da will find out for you.” She gave him a dark look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your father tried to steal your inheritance, Simon. You need someone looking out for your interests.”

  “I don’t think my father needs my inheritance – whatever it may be.”

  Claire’s frown deepened to a scowl. “Your father … I wouldn’t trust your father to give you a slice if bread if you were starving, Simon!”

  He looked grim. “True.”

  She settled back against his arm. “Where are the earl and his witch of a wife?”

  “At a house party in Yorkshire, I’m told.”

  “Where’s Charlie?”

  “He’s home. His mother takes him to London when they go for the season, but not when she’s only going to be away for a short time.”
r />   “That’s nice. You’ll get a chance to spend some time with him.”

  Simon pushed the hair off his forehead. “The poor little fellow. He’s dying to ride a pony but his mother won’t let him.” His voice turned indignant. “He’s five years old, Claire! I was riding a pony when I was three.”

  “Be careful,” she warned. “If she should find out…”

  “Don’t worry. Mrs. Adams likes me, and Charlie’s a good’un. He won’t talk.”

  Simon’s horse decided that Finbar had a better patch of grass than he did and tried to edge the smaller horse away. Finbar snorted and dug in.

  Simon jumped to his feet. “Admiral, stop that.” He went over to the thoroughbred and walked him to the other side of the glen. Once there, Admiral obligingly dropped his head and began to graze once more.

  Simon returned to Claire. “Your father said he has a new horse for me to work with.”

  “Yes. A really nice bay whose not quite fast enough. Da thinks he’d make a splendid hunter.”

  “Good.” Simon loved working with the thoroughbreds that needed to be re-trained.

  He sat next to her again. The byplay with the horses had steadied him, as had their conversation. He put his arm around her shoulders and when she snuggled up to him it was all right. He said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this inheritance was enough money for us to live on? We could get married then.”

  “Oh Simon, it would be magnificent!”

  They sat in silence for a while, her head tucked into his shoulder. Then Simon said, “A very strange thing happened to me before I left school.”

  “What?”

  He rested his chin on the top of her head and told her about his meeting with Mr. Clarkson. When he finished she sat up and looked at him. “That is peculiar. I shouldn’t think too many people in the world look like you, Simon.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes people see what they want to see. I probably don’t look that much like his brother after all.”

  “Perhaps it was your coloring.” She was quiet for a minute then added, “Still, it’s weird.”

  “Yes. It made me uncomfortable.”

  She said reluctantly, “I have to get back. Mama has something she wants me to do.”

  He let her go and watched as she stood and brushed her skirt off. As he rose to his own feet, he said, “Are the poachers still active around here?”

  “According to Geoffrey, they’re worse. He thinks the squire is too soft on them.” The squire, Geoffrey’s father, was the local magistrate in charge of sentencing crimes such as poaching.

  Simon paused in the act of straightening his jacket. “Geoffrey? Who is Geoffrey?”

  “Charlotte’s brother. I’ve mentioned him to you.”

  He knew about Charlotte. She was the squire’s daughter and Claire’s good friend. While Simon was at school, Claire had had been studying too - with Charlotte and Charlotte’s governess. While he was learning Greek and Latin, she had been learning how to be a proper lady. It had served to pass the time for her while Simon was gone.

  He said, “You never mentioned him to me.”

  She shrugged. “He finished school last year so he’s been around more.”

  “Do you like him?”

  She shrugged again. “He’s all right, I suppose. Not as nice as Charlotte.”

  Simon really wasn’t worried about this Geoffrey fellow so he let the subject drop. Claire raised her hands to tighten the ribbon that bound her hair, and he looked at the stretch of her slim supple waist. He picked up her saddle and lifted it onto Finbar’s back. She came over to his side and watched as he tightened the girth. He knew she was perfectly capable of saddling her own horse, but he liked doing it for her, and she was kind enough to let him.

  He fastened the last buckle and looked down at her. “I am not going to Oxford this autumn. I meant what I said about our getting married if this inheritance is real.”

  “I don’t want you to go to Oxford. I’m so tired of missing you all the time. I want us to be together. For always.”

  He looked down into her upturned eyes - those enormous, thick-lashed brown eyes that were the one thing about her that hadn’t changed since she was six years old. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “I love you so much, Claire. It’s driving me mad, these long separations.” His voice was ragged with emotion.

  “I know,” she returned, her voice muffled by his shirt. “Let’s hope the inheritance is enough.”

  He nodded and forced himself to drop his arms and let her go. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Are you coming with me?”

  “Yes. Just give me a moment and I’ll saddle up.”

  The familiar act of saddling a horse calmed him and by the time they returned to the bridle path he was able to speak normally about other things.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Liam and Thomas Weston, the local squire and Liam’s friend, sat together in the public room of their favorite Newmarket tavern. They had spent the morning watching the Welbourne horses as they worked out on the Newmarket gallops. The room was quiet at this hour, and Liam and Squire Weston had taken their usual table under a print of horses running in the 1,000 Guineas Stakes. Liam sipped his beer and waited for his friend to stop enthusing about the horses he had just observed. When the squire finally ran out of accolades, Liam broached the topic that was most on his mind.

  “I have a problem I’d like your help with, Weston.”

  “Of course,” said the squire, wiping some foam from his upper lip and looking interested.

  “Can you tell me what you know about Simon’s mother? The boy is curious. He’s never met any of her relatives.”

  Tom Weston’s bushy brown brows lifted in surprise. “I know only what everyone in town knows. She was an heiress – a Jarvis, in fact. The ones who own the bank? She was the only daughter.”

  “Ah,” Liam said slowly. The Jarvis Bank was one of the biggest banks in England. “So she did belong to that family.”

  “She did. Before Welbourne married he owed money all over the village – and all over London too, I’m sure. And old Jarvis wanted to marry his daughter into the nobility. You know how it is, O’Rourke. It didn’t matter that Jarvis could buy and sell most of the nobles who looked down their long noses at him. The only way a Jarvis would ever be able to crack that closed circle was to marry into it. So that’s what Jarvis did – he married his granddaughter to the Earl of Welbourne. The gossip around town was the earl got a huge amount of money in the marriage settlement. He paid off all his debts and started putting money into the stud farm. You know how much he paid for Fergus.”

  “I do that. Much good did being a countess do for Simon’s mother, though. She died when he was only five, poor girl.”

  The squire signaled for another pint. “Aye, it was sad. Happened in Ireland. The earl has an estate there. He used to go over for the hunting. The hunting around here wasn’t good enough for him. He wouldn’t taint himself by riding out with my hounds. God forbid!” He received his third pint from the hands of the owner and took a long swallow.

  Liam watched his friend enjoy his ale and contemplated how much he should tell him. The squire put his glass on the table, looked at Liam’s still half-full first glass, and said slowly, “What’s this all about? What’s made Lord Woodbridge suddenly so curious?”

  Tom Weston was a good man, Liam thought. He treated his family, his friends, his hounds and his horses with respect and affection. He was a man you could trust.

  Liam told him about Simon’s inheritance.

  Weston was nonplussed. “The earl never said anything to his son about this?”

  “He scarcely speaks to his son at all. Simon will be eighteen shortly, but he’s still supposed to take his meals in the schoolroom. And the countess is just as nasty as the earl. Claire says she hates Simon because he was born first so her son can’t inherit.”

  “Good God,” the squire said. “That poor boy.”

  “H
e’s had a rough go of it, and now it begins to seem as if the earl is looking to cheat him out of this inheritance.”

  “Why haven’t the Jarvises stepped in?”

  “I don’t know and I’d like to find out. Do you have any suggestions as to how I might go about it?”

  The squire frowned down at his strong, square hands as they lay folded on the table in front of him. After a few moments he said, “Lord Woodbridge needs a solicitor to look into this. Even if he’s eighteen he’s still a child under the law, but if money has been misappropriated – especially Jarvis money! – I think a solicitor will be interested.”

  “Can you recommend a solicitor to me?”

  The squire leaned back in his chair. “There’s solicitors in Newmarket, but they specialize in horse law. I would recommend you go into Cambridge. There’s a company there I have dealt with myself, Coke and Ambrose. They’re very respectable; if they agree to look into this for Lord Woodbridge, they’ll do a good job.”

  “I’ll see if I can get an appointment,” Liam said. “Thank you for the recommendation.”

  “This situation sounds like a rum thing to me. Good luck.”

  “We’ll need it,” Liam returned.

  The squire glanced at the clock that hung over the tavern’s stone fireplace. “I have a hearing to get to. Best be going.”

  Liam agreed, and the two men pushed back their chairs, walked to the weathered wooden door, and exited out into the misty summer morning.

  # # #

  Two weeks later Liam and Simon were on the road to Cambridge under a heavy gray sky. Liam was driving his own horse and gig, with Simon in the seat beside him. Both horse and gig had been bought with the generous bonus money Liam always received from the earl when one of his horses won a major race.

  Liam knew that what he was undertaking for Simon was in direct opposition to Liam’s own interest. If the earl discovered what Liam was doing, he would most certainly lose his position. Which Liam did not want to happen. Liam knew he could get another job instantly should the earl dismiss him, but both he and Elise liked where they were. They had become part of the parish social circle, and they had made some good friends. Liam had even put his own money into adding on to the cottage. If they had to go to another place they would lose all of that.