An Unwilling Earl

by Sharon Cullen

  Armbruster shrugged. “Maybe he’s angry and he can’t control himself.”

  They both thought about that for a moment but realized that they weren’t going to solve this one.

  “Tell me about your investigation into Miss Morris,” Oliver said. “Have you had any luck?”

  Jacob’s thoughts instantly changed course. “Not only have I had luck, I have her living in my home.”

  Armbruster’s eyes widened. It wasn’t often that Jacob could surprise his friend.

  “How did this happen?”

  “She came to me. Do you remember the lad I saved from being trampled by the horse?” Jacob explained the entire story of how Charlotte had found him and how he’d convinced her to move in with him.

  “It’s temporary?” Oliver didn’t seem convinced.

  “Of course. She wants to create a new identity and go to America to teach American heiresses how to catch an English lord.”

  Armbruster snorted. “Buchanan fell for that. Has himself a rich heiress who is keeping his estate afloat. She’s a bohemian, I’ve heard. Knows nothing about our ways. Speaks too candidly.” Oliver shook his head. “Maybe Miss Morris is on to something.”

  “I think she should try to reconnect with her mother’s family, instead,” Jacob said. Even though Charlotte was adamant that her mother’s family wanted nothing to do with her, Jacob thought she should at least try. Fleeing to America seemed so drastic when she could possibly have the might of a marquess at her disposal.

  “Chadley?” Armbruster seemed to consider this. “It might work. The old man is dead. Charlotte’s uncle is now the marquess. Feelings might have softened.”

  “What better way to get her out of the clutches of that horrid aunt than by putting her in the hands of a powerful marquess?”

  “And what if he harbors the same ire as his father? What if he won’t accept Charlotte back into the fold?”

  “Then I suppose I send her to America.” But every time he considered putting Charlotte on a ship to America, his mind veered from the thought, as if it were too horrid.

  Armbruster sat back and contemplated Jacob for the longest time. The servant brought them their usual port, and Jacob sipped on it, barely tasting it. His mind bounced from the mystery of the dead girls to Charlotte sitting in his home. There were moments that he couldn’t believe that the picture of her had come alive.

  He was pulled from his miasma of thoughts by Armbruster’s intense gaze. “Well, out with it, man. What are you thinking so deeply about?” Jacob asked.

  “Your future.”

  “My future?”

  “Have you looked at your estate books?”

  Jacob hesitated, and Oliver made a frustrated noise. “Have the books sent down here. I’ll have my man look at them.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “You have no idea what to look for. Do you even know what makes land profitable? What to do to make it earn you money?”

  Jacob pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you trying to make me feel like an imbecile?”

  Armbruster waved his hand in the air. “You need to be taught all of this. I can teach you most of it.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Oliver rarely did anything out of the goodness of his heart.

  “Because you’ve helped me out of quite a few messes.”

  Covering up his indiscretions and paying off a few whores did not warrant such a grandiose reimbursement from Oliver, but Jacob wasn’t going to question it. He needed help, and Armbruster was the best one to help him.

  “Then, thank you,” he said.

  “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until Mother’s ball. All of the matchmaking mamas and their eager daughters will be eyeing you like a hawk eyes a mouse. You are the newest, freshest meat on the market, my friend.”

  Jacob shuddered. “That sounds horrifying.”

  “You can fix it.”

  Now Armbruster was looking shrewd, and Jacob felt uneasy. “Fix what?”

  “Fix your marital status before the desperate mothers descend.”

  “And how do you propose I do that? Hide in the country? Not attend this ball?”

  “I have something better.” Armbruster grinned, but to Jacob it seemed evil. “Marry Miss Morris.”

  Jacob stood so quickly and so violently that conversations around them stopped and people stared. “Are you mad?” he hissed.

  “Sit down,” Armbruster said calmly. “I am not mad. Think of it objectively. It will solve all of your problems.”

  “I will not listen to this…this tripe.” He practically spewed the word tripe. He’d never been this incensed with his friend.

  “Just listen for a moment.” Armbruster was so damn calm that it only enraged Jacob more, but he sat because people were staring and even he knew the amount of tongue-wagging that happened in these places. One husband would go home to his wife and it would be all over London that the newest earl couldn’t control his temper.

  “I’m listening,” he muttered.

  “You are a new earl. We don’t know if you are a rich earl, yet, but to some of these mothers it doesn’t matter. Especially the American mothers.”

  “American mothers?” Jacob whispered, appalled. Never did he think he would have anything to do with an American heiress.

  “They’ll be all over you like flies on horse dung.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, it’s true, and you know it. For some, it’s all about the title and not so much about the money. There are families that made a fortune in trade in America that are dying to get their foot in the front door of an earl’s home. I know how you hate such attention, and I can’t believe that you haven’t received any callers yet. Mark my words, they will come. I’m sure they’re just waiting for some formal announcement.”

  Jacob closed his eyes, feeling as if his world were tilting and spinning.

  “Marriage will stop it all before it starts, and you get the added benefit of saving Miss Morris from the fire-breathing dragon of an aunt.”

  “While I appreciate your concern, I am never marrying again.”

  Oliver gave him such a pitying look that Jacob wanted to punch his friend in the face just to wipe it away. But, again, tongues would wag, and he didn’t need that right now.

  “Cora would not want you rotting away in that dark townhouse of yours. She would want you to live the rest of your life.”

  Jacob snorted. “You’re full of useless wisdom today. You don’t know what Cora would have wanted, and again you are spewing tripe.”

  “You’re not thinking objectively.”

  “It’s difficult to think objectively when you are talking about my future and being tied to a person I barely know.”

  “Many marriages begin in such a way. It’s not unusual.”

  “Well, it’s not for me, so you can forget this half-baked idea.”

  “Obviously it is not a decision to make lightly or quickly. I advise you to think about it.”

  “I would advise you to keep your nose out of it.”

  Armbruster shook his head. “Marry Miss Morris, Jacob, and your troubles will go away.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jacob walked home through drizzle and dropping temperatures—winter fighting for its place in the face of spring. But his anger kept him warm. Anger at Armbruster for being so ludicrous as to mention such a preposterous thing as marriage. Panic because Armbruster mentioned marriage and it was not something Jacob had ever thought to do again. Ever. Never, ever.

  Except, maybe, when he had kissed Charlotte.

  He shook his head. He’d not thought about marrying her then. But I had thought that she is far too respectable to be a mistress. And I admit that I have been lonely as of late.

  He had been feeling lonely, as if he were sitting back and watching everyone’s life march on by while his remained stagnant. He’d not seriously thought of finding a wife, mainly because the thought of going out and meeting someone had soun
ded exhausting.

  Was Armbruster right? Would American heiresses really want him? He shivered at the thought. Not that American heiresses were a bad lot. He’d met a few of them, and they were all rather nice, if not a bit outspoken.

  He jogged up the steps to his townhouse, suddenly feeling the damp chill and desperately needing a brandy and a warm fire.

  But when he entered his home he was arrested by a sight that chilled him more than the cold rain outside. “Mrs. Smith!” he bellowed. He heard scurrying noises, and suddenly Mrs. Smith appeared, looking flustered and wringing her ever-present cloth.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  He pointed to the pile of white envelopes sitting on the entryway table. “What is that?”

  She put a hand to her heart. “Dear me, but you gave me a fright. I thought you were hurt.”

  “What is that?” he repeated.

  “I imagine those are invitations. They began arriving this afternoon. There’s a lot of them.”

  “Invitations to what?”

  “Well, I surely didn’t open them.” She sounded offended.

  He handed her his coat and hat without taking his eyes off the offensive envelopes. A pit of vipers would have pleased him more.

  “Where is Miss Morris?”

  “She was in the study, last I saw.”

  “And what did she do today?”

  “Not that I was prying, but she seemed to rattle around for a bit before she settled down with a book.”

  Jacob bounded up the steps to his private study, ignoring the fact that he was eager to see Charlotte and ask her about her day, ignoring that Armbruster would be smirking right about now if he could see Jacob, and definitely erasing the image of that pile of envelopes from his mind.

  He found her sitting on the window seat in his study, leaning against the wall as she stared down onto the street, a book clutched to her chest. He stopped to watch the way the sunlight touched her short blond hair and skimmed across her face. She was wearing peach, a gown he’d never seen before but was almost certainly Cora’s because of the outdated style and the plethora of ribbons and lace.

  Cora had also preferred that window seat. In fact, Jacob had it built for her because she liked to read by sunlight.

  Charlotte turned her head and caught sight of him. “You snuck in,” she said.

  “Not really. Did you keep yourself occupied today?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “I apologize that I had to leave you to your own devices.”

  “It’s not your job to entertain me.” She swung around to face him, her back to the window, and put the book she’d been clutching on the seat beside her. He saw it was one of his law books.

  “I see you’re enjoying some light reading.”

  “It was all I could find. I’ve been thinking…”

  “Why does that sound ominous?”

  She half-smiled. “There is a man I met in the rookery. He goes by Cotton, but I don’t know what his real name is. Probably best that I don’t.”

  “Undoubtedly.” He was curious about this Cotton. He was curious about all of the people Charlotte had met in the rookery.

  “At one point in his life Cotton had been a clerk. Excellent penmanship.”

  “So he says?”

  “So he says. But he makes a good living off… Well, he walks a fine line when it comes to the law.”

  “He’s a forger?”

  “One could call it that.”

  “And what do you need from Mr. Cotton?” But he knew. They’d discussed it before. Except he hadn’t realized how far along she was with her plan.

  “I’m going to ask him to create a new identity for me.”

  Marry Miss Morris.

  “You just got here,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Give yourself some time to recover from living in the rookery.”

  “Recover? You act like I’ve been struck with an illness.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I used the wrong term.”

  “I can’t stay here forever. I need to move on with my life, and you need to move on with yours.”

  It seemed as if his life was moving on whether he wanted it to or not.

  “You’re welcome here for as long as you need a safe place to stay. Have you given more thought to contacting the marquess? He would make a good ally.”

  “I don’t need an ally, Lord Ashland. I need a new name and a way to get out of London to start a new life.”

  “Do you think your problems will magically disappear when you board a ship to a distant country?”

  “Yes.”

  “America is so large that a person can get lost there.”

  “Exactly my plan. I believe Cotton can give me the necessary credentials. A new name and references. The problem is that it comes with a price.”

  “Your soul?”

  She shot him a reproachful look. “You’re not funny.”

  “How much do you need?” The amount didn’t bother him. What bothered him was sending her halfway around the world to a strange place and an even stranger life, all alone.

  “I’m unsure. If I want quality work—which I do—”

  “Of course.”

  “It will cost more.”

  He knew he would help her in the end, but he also knew he needed time to find an alternate plan.

  Marry Miss Morris.

  …

  Charlotte had mixed feelings about asking Jacob for more help. On the one hand, she had no one else to turn to. She’d inherited a small amount of money when her father had passed away, but Aunt Martha had quickly taken it for Charlotte’s “upkeep” as she had said. There was no possible way she could ask for that money back. Jacob was Charlotte’s only chance.

  They sat down to dinner, and Charlotte looked at her food. It smelled and looked delicious, but after reading the stories of the girls that had been killed she was too heartsick to eat.

  “I was reading some of your newspapers,” Charlotte said, as she pushed the food around on her plate.

  “Oh?” Jacob didn’t seem to have the same problem she did with eating.

  “I was reading the stories about the girls that were found in the Thames.” While she didn’t want to talk about it, she also wanted to get someone else’s thoughts on the murders.

  He looked up from eating to frown at her. “That’s not exactly light reading.”

  “It’s horrible.” She put her fork down, unable to eat.

  “It is a terrible thing that is happening to them.”

  “Is happening? Do you think there will be more?”

  “There’s no way to tell, I suppose.”

  “Who is killing them?” Her breath was coming fast, and she desperately tried to control it. She knew who was doing it. Or she thought she might know. Maybe. No. Surely she was wrong. Except the thought hovered in the back of her mind.

  “I don’t believe Scotland Yard knows that yet.” He glanced at her shaking hands, and she quickly put them in her lap and looked down at her plate. The gravy from the meat was starting to congeal, and she swallowed.

  “Charlotte?”

  She peeked up at him.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. Those women were all servants.”

  “So far.”

  His eyes flickered. “There’s nothing to say that there will be more victims or that the killer will start…will switch to a different kind of victim.”

  “Those poor women,” she whispered. “I hope they didn’t suffer.”

  He paused. “I do, too.”

  She shook her head, hoping to rid it of those thoughts, but of course they didn’t go away. They were stuck with her, thoughts of bodies without heads. Heads with unseeing eyes, staring at nothing, morphing into the bodies of broken women. Women who had suffered terribly in their last moments on Earth.

  He looked at her uneaten food. “This wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation. We can talk about something else.”

  “I was the one
who brought it up. I…I just can’t get it out of my head.”

  “Charlotte, there is no need to worry. You’re not of the class of women that this monster is going after.”

  “Monster?”

  “Who else could do this other than a monster?”

  She thought of her cousin, Edmund. “A disturbed person. Someone with problems of his own.”

  He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged. “It seems that only someone disturbed could do something this horrific.”

  “Or a monster.”

  “Monsters walk among us all the time, but they don’t all kill.”

  He tilted his head. “That’s a very interesting concept.”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered at the people you pass on the street? What kind of people they are? Deep down inside, who are they?”

  “I like to think there is good in everyone.”

  “But for there to be good, there has to be bad.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “You are saying there are people who are completely good with no bad in them at all?”

  “That seems a bit too simplistic.”

  “My point exactly.”

  He put his napkin down and seemed to seriously consider her words. “You are saying there are monsters in all of us?”

  “I think there is the possibility of monsters in all of us. I think most of us can fight it, tamp it down, ignore it.”

  “And others are too weak to do so?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they embrace it.”

  “That’s frightening,” he said.

  “People are complex beings. That’s what sets us apart from the animal kingdom.”

  “And yet the person who is killing these women is not so different from said animals.”

  “Precisely.”

  …

  Jacob stood outside the palatial white-marbled estate and realized he was making the biggest mistake of his life. And yet he was committed to doing it.

  The other night Charlotte had been perfectly clear that she didn’t want her mother’s family involved in her life, but Jacob couldn’t help but think that the marquess was her best chance at starting anew. Becoming the ward of a respectable and powerful marquess was much better than sailing to America and teaching spoiled debutantes how to catch an English noble.