The Reluctant Earl

by Joan Wolf

  Well, he would pack the brat off to Oxford until he turned twenty-one. After that …. The earl scowled and poured himself a large brandy, which he drank in one gulp. What would happen to the money if Woodbridge died, he wondered? As his father, he would be Woodbridge’s heir. Did that mean the money would come to him?

  The earl poured himself another large brandy, sat on the velvet sofa in front of the fire, stared into the flames, and thought.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The earl and countess did not celebrate Simon’s eighteenth birthday. The only event that marked the day as more significant than his previous birthdays was that his uncle, Richard Jarvis, paid a visit to Welbourne. Jarvis’ purpose was to discuss the trust money and tell Simon what he had decided would be an appropriate allowance for the next three years.

  The earl and countess had removed themselves from the distasteful proceedings by visiting friends in Yorkshire, leaving five year old Charlie at home with his nurse. Simon and Charlie were kicking a ball around the side lawn of the abbey when Jarvis pulled up in his carriage. The two boys went to greet the newcomer.

  Jarvis smiled at the picture they made. Charlie was almost as fair-haired as Simon, but his eyes were a darker blue and his features less finely cut. He was an attractive youngster, however, and was happy to meet Simon’s tall, broad shouldered uncle.

  “Me and Simon kicked the ball,” he confided. “I kicked it all the way over there.” He pointed to a lofty oak spreading its welcome shade across the lawn. “Simon says I’m strong for my age.”

  Jarvis smiled down at the eager little boy. “I’m sure you are. Does Simon kick the ball too?”

  “Simon kicks really far. He can kick it all the way into those trees!” Charlie pointed to an attractive group of beeches that were shading a curved stone bench from the warm sunshine.

  Simon picked up his little brother and put him on his shoulders. “Come along, old man. It’s time you had your luncheon, and I need to talk with my uncle.”

  Charlie beamed down from his elevated position. “Are you my uncle too?”

  “No, lad. You and Simon had different mothers.”

  Charlie’s face sobered and he said anxiously, “You won’t tell my mama that I was playing with Simon, will you?”

  Jarvis threw Simon a startled glance. Simon turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Of course he won’t say anything,” he said to Charlie. Then, over his shoulder to Jarvis, “We can go inside. My father isn’t home.”

  At the front door Simon turned Charlie over to one of the footmen to be returned to the nursery, then he led Jarvis into a small reception room that opened off the hall. Jarvis had been inside the abbey for his sister’s wedding, so he knew how magnificent the rest of the house was. He himself preferred comfort to splendor, although he was a collector of English landscapes and had a number of fine paintings hanging in his own country home.

  There were several yellow silk-covered chairs lining the reception room and an elegant desk that looked to Jarvis as if it was French. A tall gilt mirror hung over the desk and long yellow silk drapes hung at the single tall window.

  “Is this all right?” Simon asked, looking at the folder of papers in his uncle’s hand. “We could go to the library….”

  He clearly felt uncomfortable about taking his uncle to the library, and Jarvis gave him a reassuring smile. “This is fine, lad. Just fine. I wanted to speak to you about what plans I have made and then I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

  Simon nodded gravely. A slant of sunlight from the window caught his hair, making it look as if there was a silver halo around his head. Again Jarvis felt a stab of sorrow and guilt at the way Simon had been neglected.

  Jarvis began, “You have been at school for most of your growing up years, am I correct?”

  “Yes, Uncle. I started when I was six and finished a few months ago. I know my father wants me to go to Oxford, but that’s only because he wants me out of his way. I don’t want to do any more school.”

  He had told Jarvis that once before. “Are you certain, lad? Boys of your class almost always go to Oxford or Cambridge. I thought it was expected of you.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Simon’s face was set and his eyes were shuttered. It wasn’t right for a young boy to look like that, Jarvis thought. He nodded slowly. “All right. But if you’re not going to continue with your schooling, what plans do you have for your future?”

  The boy was so still he scarcely seemed to breathe. When he didn’t answer right away, Jarvis went on, “Do you wish to live in London? If that is your plan, I must tell you that I think eighteen is far too young …”

  Simon lifted a hand to stop him. “No, Uncle. I don’t want to live in London.”

  Thank the Lord for that, Jarvis thought. He looked once more at that closed face. What could the boy be thinking to make him look like that? He tried again, “Do you want to remain here at Welbourne? Learn about the estate, about what you will need to know when you become the earl? If so, I think that is…”

  Simon was shaking his head. Emphatically. “I can’t live here at Welbourne. I told you that my father doesn’t like me, but the real truth is, he hates me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him feel that way, but there it is. He hates me.” The boy pressed his lips together and shook his head, clearly unable to continue.

  To give him time, Jarvis picked up the folder he had laid on the French desk and took a paper out. How dreadful to be made to feel hated by your own father. Welbourne had a lot to answer for, Jarvis thought grimly.

  “You get along well with your brother,” he said. “He seems to be a nice little boy.”

  “He is. We have fun together.”

  “Why did he ask me not to tell your stepmother you were playing with him?”

  “She hates me too. She acts as if I’m going to contaminate Charlie by being near him. I would never hurt Charlie. I love him.”

  Something was deeply wrong with the picture Simon was painting. This was more than neglect … this sounded out-and-out ugly. Jarvis dropped his eyes to the folder he was holding, drew a deep breath, and returned his gaze to Simon. He spoke softly, “Do you remember your mother at all?”

  The boy’s eyelids lowered and he shook his head. “Not very much. I was only five when she died.”

  “She was only twenty two. My family was shattered when we got the news. Annabelle was the youngest and the only girl. My father never got over her loss.”

  “She died in Ireland. She was all alone; my father hadn’t gone with her.” Something in his voice made Jarvis’ throat tighten.

  “I know, son. By the time Welbourne informed us, she was already in the ground. My father was livid, but there was nothing he could do. He didn’t even have the comfort of being able to visit her grave. His health wouldn’t allow him to make such an exhausting trip.”

  “I’ve never seen her grave either.” The simple words went straight to Jarvis’ heart. He cursed himself again for not having made more of an effort to know this nephew. “Perhaps you and I can go together some day,” he said.

  Simon met his eyes. “I’d like that.”

  “Good.”

  The boy managed a faint smile. “Please don’t feel sorry for me, Uncle Richard. Claire and her family have always been there for me. They are my real family; my father and stepmother are just a nuisance I have to put up with.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that. The O’Rourke’s seem to be splendid people.”

  “They are.” Simon’s face lit with enthusiasm. “Mr. O’Rourke lets Claire and me help with the racehorses. Right now I’m training one of the colts, who didn’t do well on the track, to be a hunter. Mr. O’Rourke always makes sure the horses that don’t work out as racehorses learn to do something else. He wants them to go to good homes, and my job is to see to it that they’re ready for a new life. And Claire helps break the young horses. She has hands like silk and she’s light on their backs. Mr. O’Rourke says she’s the best person
he has for that kind of work.”

  “I see.”

  He didn’t really. Was O’Rourke mad, having these two youngsters work with racehorses? He could get them killed.

  He asked, “Does your father know you’re … er…training horses for Mr. O’Rourke?”

  Simon made a dismissive gesture. “He’s never asked me what I do and I’ve never told him.”

  “Do you plan to continue to work for Mr. O’Rourke now that you’ve left school? Because I doubt your father will permit that.”

  A flash of alarm showed on Simon’s face. “I thought you were my legal guardian now.”

  “No, I’m only the trustee of your inheritance; your father is still your legal guardian, and he will be until you turn twenty-one. My only responsibility is to administer your money. What you do with yourself, well that is your father’s provenance.”

  “So you’re saying he still has the ultimate power over me,” Simon said flatly.

  “To some degree, yes. But you will have the right to use your money as you choose.”

  The boy nodded slowly. His light, crystalline blue eyes, so like his mother’s, fixed themselves on Jarvis. “Have you decided how much of an allowance you are going to give me?”

  “A hundred pounds a quarter. That will be taken out of the money your inheritance is earning from investment; it won’t touch the principal.”

  Jarvis had given a great deal of thought to this amount. It was a large amount of money to put into the hands of so young a boy. He had finally decided to begin generously and watch what happened. If Simon showed any tendencies toward dangerous extravagance, he could always lower the amount.

  Simon’s smile was sudden and dazzling. “Thank you, Uncle Richard! I appreciate your generosity.”

  “I have here a check on the trust account. Any English bank will honor it.”

  He held out the check. Simon took it, glanced quickly to check the sum, then stood and held out his hand. “Thank you, Uncle Richard. Thank you with all my heart.”

  Jarvis took the slim, strong hand into his and felt tears sting behind his eyes. Thank God for that trust, he thought. If it were not for his father’s insistence on its inclusion he would never have found Annabelle’s son. I won’t fail you, Simon, he vowed silently to himself. I promise I will never fail you again.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The day after Simon’s birthday Claire reluctantly drove into Newmarket with her mother. Elise had been insistent upon the necessity of adding to Claire’s wardrobe now that she was a young lady of ‘marriageable age.’

  Claire had been shocked when her mother mentioned a possible marriage with Geoffrey. Even more shocking had been her mother’s apparent belief that Claire regarded Simon as her brother. It was true that they had kept their love a secret from her parents, but … her brother? Had it never crossed her mother’s mind that Claire might want to marry Simon?

  Now, as they drove along in the pleasant summer sunshine, Elise chatted on about dances, and picnics, and a drive to visit some ancient church, all of which would make ‘nice outings’ for the young people of the parish. She never once mentioned that Simon might like to partake of these ‘nice outings’ as well.

  What would her mother say if Claire told her that Simon and she wanted to get married? This was the thought in Claire’s mind as her horse trotted smartly along the country road. They were almost in Newmarket before Claire plucked up the courage to say, “What about Simon, Mama? You haven’t mentioned him. Don’t you think he would enjoy these…er… nice outings?”

  When her mother didn’t immediately respond, Claire glanced at her. Elise had a small frown on her face.

  “Mama?”

  “Oh Claire, my beloved daughter. I know how much you care for Simon. And you know your father and I care for him too. But you’re not a child anymore, ma chere. You are a young lady, and it’s time to be looking around for a good husband. I know what will happen if Simon attends these gatherings. You’ll be so focused on making sure he is enjoying himself that you’ll ignore all the boys who qualify as suitable husbands for you.”

  “Like Geoffrey Weston?” Claire forced the name though stiff lips.

  “Geoffrey is a fine young man, and his mother tells me he is interested in you. I would like you to give him a chance, Claire. If you don’t wish to marry him, fine. There are other boys who find you attractive. But you will never get married if you insist upon introducing Simon into every opportunity you have!”

  Claire said carefully, “Perhaps Simon is also looking for a wife.”

  “Simon will not be looking for a wife at a local assembly dance, I promise you that. One day he will be the Earl of Welbourne. His family will expect him to contract a suitable alliance with a girl of his own class.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to marry ‘a girl of his own class?’”

  “I doubt that Simon will be given the choice, ma petite.”

  “Simon’s mother wasn’t an aristocrat.”

  “No, but she was a great heiress. None of the local girls can boast that attraction.”

  “But suppose Simon fell in love with one of those girls?”

  “If he doesn’t have the opportunity to meet the local girls, he can’t fall in love with one of them,” Elise said practically. “And even if he did, ma petite, he would not be allowed to marry her. An Earl of Welbourne does not marry the daughter of a solicitor, or a country vicar, or even a squire.”

  Considering what Elise had just said, Claire knew it would be disastrous to broach the subject of her own marriage to Simon. Fortunately, the red brick buildings of Newmarket were just coming into sight, and she was able to ask, “Where do you want to go, Mama? The High Street?”

  “We should begin there certainly,” Elise replied. “Ada Weston told me Barton’s had some new gowns that were quite lovely.”

  “All right.” Obediently, Claire steered her horse toward the road that would take them into Newmarket’s most popular shopping area.

  # # #

  When they finally returned to the cottage, Claire immediately changed into her divided skirt. “Da was going to set up a course for Simon to try out Tim Tam’s jumping skill and I want to watch,” she told Elise, who was in the kitchen with Nancy conferring about dinner. Elise smiled serenely at her daughter and waved her off.

  Liam had set up a course in one of the large paddocks and, when Claire arrived, Simon was just taking the big bay over the last fence. Claire watched approvingly as the horse tucked his knees up tight and cleared the fence with half a foot to spare.

  She waited while Simon and Liam talked, both of them patting the thoroughbred, who was blowing through his nose and looking pleased with himself. Finally Liam signaled to a groom to take Tim Tam and cool him out while he and Simon fell into step and headed toward where Claire waited.

  Simon’s face was alive with pleasure. “He’s a natural over the jumps,” he said as soon as he was within speaking distance of Claire. “Did you get a chance to see him?”

  “Only the last jump,” she replied. “I thought he looked wonderful. He had his legs tucked tight and that’s not something you can teach. Either they do it or they don’t.”

  “I had an interested buyer in Epsom, but I believe I might offer him to Weston instead,” Liam said. “He wants a new hunter for Geoffrey and Tim Tam would be a good match.”

  “What kind of a rider is Geoffrey?” Simon asked.

  “Quite decent. I’ve hunted with him and he has a quiet seat and he’s not too busy with his hands. He lets his horse do what needs to be done.”

  Simon nodded, satisfied.

  “I won’t charge Weston what I would have charged the Epsom man, but the earl is wealthy enough to withstand a small cut in price.”

  Liam always referred to the horses as his horses, but of course their real owner was the Earl of Welbourne.

  Simon said to Claire, “I thought I’d work a bit with Desi. I wanted to put Charlie up on her, but she hasn’t been ridden i
n so long I want to make sure she’s not going to buck him off.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Claire said immediately.

  A groom came running up to Liam and said something in a lowered voice. “I’ll come right away,” Liam said. He glanced toward Claire. “Make sure the both of you are home in time for dinner.”

  “Of course, Da,” Claire replied.

  The two of them returned to the front paddock, where Simon had set the horse he was driving to graze. They caught Bartholomew and brought him to where the farm trap was standing. Simon harnessed the black horse to the cart and they both climbed into the front seat. Simon picked up the reins and started off toward the hill path that would take them to Welbourne. When they were out of sight of the barns and paddocks of the stud farm, Claire asked, “Did your uncle come to see you this morning?”

  “He did.” He shot her a grin. “He’s giving me a huge allowance, Claire. A hundred pounds a quarter!”

  “That’s wonderful.” She bit her lip. “We need to talk, Simon.”

  He frowned. “Is something wrong.”

  “I’m afraid there is.”

  He stopped Bartholomew and turned to look at her. “What is it?”

  She swallowed. “Can we go somewhere besides the road?”

  He looked around. Thick trees grew to the left of the track and the river rushed along in its deep gorge on their right. “There’s that old fishing hut down the road,” he said.