Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  “He is Irish,” Lily pointed out. “Perhaps their customs are different?”

  “Possibly.” But whereas Thomas had waited half a year to kiss her hand, Mr. Donovan had waited half a day to kiss her forehead. He was the sort of man who was dangerous to a woman, for despite her attempts to remain immune, he had provoked an instinctive response. She didn’t understand her own reaction or why she still remembered that kiss, hours later.

  “What are we going to do about Mother?” she asked, in a pointed means of changing the subject.

  Lily began lacing up the back of Rose’s corset. “She doesn’t remember anything about last night, which is a blessing. Except, she very much remembers our discussion about going to London.” Her sister made a face. “I do wish you hadn’t agreed to go.”

  Rose lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Soon enough, she will remember that I cannot walk.”

  “Will she?” Lily tied off the corset. “Or will she try to wed me off instead?”

  “Would that be so terrible?” She sent Lily a halfhearted smile, but her sister was not in a congenial mood.

  “Yes it would,” Lily insisted. “I am not going to join the debutantes who wear white and send simpering smiles to unwed men. Matthew will return, and then I will wed him.” A softness stole over her sister’s face, for she had never given up on the man she loved.

  But there was something else in her tone that made Rose stop a moment. “Did he already ask you to wed him before he left for India?” This was the first she had heard of such a thing.

  Lily paled and straightened her shoulders. Quietly, she reached for a silver chain around her throat and withdrew it from beneath her gown. At the end of the chain was a small gold ring.

  But more than the ring was the look of steady faithfulness in her sister’s eyes. It was clear that she loved the Earl of Arnsbury with all her heart.

  “When did he give you the ring?” Rose asked.

  “Two summers ago.” Lily returned it beneath her gown, but in her blue eyes, Rose saw the veiled pain. And whether or not Lord Arnsbury ever returned home, her sister would not marry another man. Especially if she was already promised.

  “Have you told him that you would marry him?” she asked Lily.

  The young woman nodded. “So you understand why I cannot be the one to marry. At least, not until Lord Arnsbury returns.”

  Rose let out a sigh. “I cannot marry, either. Not until I can walk again.” She clung to that wish, for the idea of being unable to walk for the rest of her life was a horror she couldn’t face.

  Lily reached out to squeeze her hand. “You will. And perhaps we’ll find a new physician in London who can help you.” She helped lift a morning gown over Rose’s head and began buttoning her up the back.

  Rose had little faith in physicians and dismissed the idea. “I do not intend to go anywhere until I can walk again.” She preferred to remain here, where she could heal in peace and shield her mother from idle gossip. “And Mother isn’t well enough to return. You know she would cause a scene.”

  “The difficulty will be in convincing her that we cannot go,” Lily pointed out. “She seems determined to return to London, no matter what I say.”

  “Tell her I cannot walk or dance,” Rose pointed out. “It is the truth.”

  “Which she forgets all the time.” Lily sighed. “You do realize that we would not be in this situation, had you not been so distracted by that man.”

  Rose mustered a slight smile. “Forgive me.” Though, to be fair, any woman would be distracted by Iain Donovan. Not only because of his interfering, flirtatious manner—but also because he was handsome, in an unrefined way.

  And because he’d been half-naked when she’d first laid eyes upon him.

  And maybe because he’d kissed her forehead.

  “What are you going to do about the Irishman?” Lily was asking. “We cannot simply send him away if he truly is an earl.”

  Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. Possibly we could let him stay one more day whilst we make inquiries. And if we find out he is lying, then we’ll send Mr. Donovan on his way. That will be that.” She straightened and reached for the bedpost to try standing up again. This time, she would hold the post closer to her waist, and that might help.

  But Lily rested a hand upon her shoulder. “Rose, don’t. You already fell once this morning. You’re not ready.”

  Not ready? And when would she be ready if she didn’t keep trying? Never, that’s when.

  She ignored her sister, and gripped the bedpost. “Then ring for Calvert. He can help me up after I fall on my face.”

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Especially now, when Mother is so ill. Just . . . wait a little longer before you try again.” Though Lily’s voice held concern, she caught a hint of impatience. It was as if her sister was taking care of two invalids instead of one.

  Rose’s fingers clenched and the frustration rose up inside her, spilling over into anger. “Lily, I’ve been unable to walk for months. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

  Her sister’s expression softened with sympathy. “I know it must be difficult, but it will get better. I promise you that.”

  Though a part of her knew that Lily hadn’t meant to offend her, all her emotions came spilling out. “You cannot make that promise. And telling me I shouldn’t even try? What else can I do but try?”

  She hated herself, hated the helpless feeling of being unable to move. And she would never consider giving up.

  Lily paled and reached out to take her hand. “I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  And she knew that. Her sister wasn’t trying to hurt her, but she couldn’t understand what this was like. Rose let go of her sister’s palm and regarded her. “I am tired of being reliant upon other people for everything. I cannot even dress myself or put on shoes.”

  “Neither can I,” Lily pointed out with a light smile. “At least, not without Hattie’s help. All those buttons can be impossible.”

  But her sister’s teasing didn’t alleviate the hurt. Instead, it made her more determined to try again.

  Rose hugged the bedpost as tightly as she could, letting her legs slide downward from the bed. But before she could get a firm grip, her sister surprised her by holding her waist. Lily steadied her for a moment. “That’s it. Can you straighten your legs?”

  Rose tried to move her knees, but they kept buckling beneath her. Lily caught her before she could sink to the floor. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “If I do, both of us will fall.” But her grasp was already slipping from the bedpost.

  “Do it now,” Lily ordered.

  She obeyed, and her sister half-dragged her over to the chaise longue. It was humiliating being unable to command her lower limbs, and she apologized to Lily. “You were right. I wasn’t ready to stand.”

  Her sister didn’t argue. “Why will you not try a Bath chair? At least then you could move among the rooms easier.”

  “If I do, it feels like I’m giving up,” Rose admitted. It had been nearly six months since she had lost her ability to walk. Surely she would make progress soon, now that her body had healed. But despite the fact that she was now able to feel pressure and sensation in her legs, they had grown far too weak.

  She leaned against the chaise longue and looked outside at the grounds. Sunlight gleamed over the edges of the trees, and she felt the need to be out of doors. At least there she did not feel like a prisoner within her own body.

  “Go and fetch Calvert for me,” she bade Lily. Her footman would bring her to the garden bench, but if she asked to go riding, he would find endless reasons why she should not. It was miraculous that he had accompanied her last night to bring Beauregard home, when he hadn’t wanted to. A slight flush suffused her cheeks, for it had been Iain Donovan’s doing. The Irishman had talked his way into it, and she had a feeling that the man could convince the devil himself to obey his wishes.

  Her sister started to le
ave, but then stopped at the doorway. “Be careful, Rose. Don’t try to do too much, too soon.”

  She only sent her sister a quiet smile.

  Chapter Four

  Iain had just finished leading his horse from the stall, when the coachman, Mr. Nelson, stopped him. “And just where d’ye think ye’re going, lad?”

  He hadn’t considered himself a lad in ten years, but he faced the coachman. “I am going to find my missing footmen and discover what happened to my coach.” It had been long enough, and he needed to know if they had abandoned him here.

  The older man sent him a doubtful look. “And will ye be speaking to the Queen, whilst you’re there?”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he didn’t have time for this. “The last I heard, she was in residence at Buckingham Palace. I’ve not yet been invited.”

  Nelson barked out a laugh. “I like you, lad. But I can’t say that it’d be wise to let ye go off just now.”

  Was the man daft? “It’s my horse,” he reminded Nelson. “And I can ride with him whenever I’m wanting to.” It irritated him that he was having to explain himself to this man. And by the spittle of Saint John, his footmen had better have a damned good explanation for their absence.

  “I’ll return with my servants by midmorning,” he promised. “Then I can prove that I am a guest of Lady Wolcroft.” That is, if they hadn’t gone off and abandoned him.

  “And what if you’re wrong, lad? What if there are no servants waiting aboot? Will you simply be on your way, without a brass farthing to buy supper?” The old man reached for Darcy’s reins and smiled knowingly. “Ye’ll be out on your arse with nowt to show for it.”

  Iain was about to tell the coachman to leave off, but paused a moment. If harm had befallen his men and if the coach was gone, he’d be left with no means of proving his identity—not unless he could get his brother’s signet ring back. He’d managed to talk his way into a garret for shelter, and Mrs. Marlock had given him porridge for breakfast—but the coachman was right. If his servants were gone, he’d have no choice but to return here.

  “You obviously have something else in mind.” Iain recognized that now was not the time to burn bridges. “What is it you’re wanting?”

  The coachman leaned against his shovel. “Well, now. The way I see it, ye’ve fallen on hard times. I could use help in the stables unless ye’re too proud to soil yer hands.”

  Iain stared at the shovel with annoyance. It was clear enough that the coachman didn’t at all believe he was an earl. And though he wasn’t opposed to hard labor when it was necessary, Nelson was taking deliberate pleasure in offering such a task. It was clearly a test.

  “I thank you kindly for the offer,” Iain said. “But I must find out what happened to my servants. Until I know for certain if they are gone, I cannot tarry here.” He would not dwell upon the alternative.

  “They may cast ye out, lad,” Nelson warned.

  “Not if I find the proof I need.” He finished saddling Darcy, and mounted the horse. With a nod to the coachman, he began riding along the main road.

  The Yorkshire landscape had a haunted look about it today. Large gray clouds rumbled in from the coast, while the moors were windswept and dreary. With each mile he rode, his mood worsened.

  Why had he thought to come here? He was convinced that his men had used him for passage across the sea and had no intention of joining him. Instead of arriving at Penford as the Earl of Ashton, he appeared more like an Irish refugee. And he had no idea what he should do now.

  His brother owned a townhouse in London that now belonged to him, but he had never visited it. There was a small staff of a butler and a footman, because his mother refused to dismiss them. Iain didn’t know where she’d found the money to pay them or whether his family had any funds within their bank.

  Even if he did reach London with the help of Lady Wolcroft, he had little to offer a bride, save a title and a derelict estate with rotting potatoes. He would have to charm the young ladies, tempting them with a life where they would be treated with kindness and affection. His own desires didn’t matter. And wasn’t it ironic that he should be the one to sell himself into marriage, instead of his sisters?

  As the morning waned, he eventually reached the site of the broken coach. The axle was still cracked, and no one had made any attempt to repair it—the coach had simply been moved to the side of the road. His footman Niall’s claim that he should ride on to Penford while they sought help now seemed like a ploy.

  Iain dismounted and let his horse graze while he searched the wreckage. All his belongings were gone, so it seemed. The rest of the horses were missing, along with the servants. Though it was possible that his men had gone to seek assistance at a local village, there wasn’t much to speak of nearby.

  He searched the coach thoroughly, hoping the letter had fallen from his pocket. But there was nothing at all.

  Iain abandoned the coach and mounted his horse once more, following the road into the hills. Although he understood that his companions had used this journey as a means of escaping Ireland, their betrayal cut deeply. He’d tried everything in his power to save his lands from the blight, spending most of his fortune to help his people survive. And the men had repaid him by abandoning him here.

  He turned Darcy back to the road. He kept his pace slow while he deliberated on what to do now.

  He supposed he’d have to appeal to the good graces of Lady Rose and her family. There were only two threads of hope remaining—if Lady Wolcroft happened to return, or if he wrote to his sisters and asked them to send assistance. Both would require time he didn’t have. Which meant he was trapped in the role of a servant, thoroughly bound to the whims of others.

  Well then. He’d clearly gone and twisted his life sideways, hadn’t he? His pride ached at the thought of being at someone’s beck and call. This wasn’t who he was—but it was who he’d become.

  His mood turned grim as he rode back to Penford. A fat droplet of rain splashed upon his face. Of course. It would have to rain now. He adjusted the hat he’d borrowed and quickened his pace.

  His spirits sank lower, and he berated himself for not finding any proof of his rank. It was possible that Lady Rose would demand that he leave. And then where could he go?

  It seemed that the Fates were laughing at him. His only consolation was that he’d saved her mother’s life. That might give him a roof over his head until he could prove he was Lord Ashton.

  The hard rain soaked him to the skin, and there was no escaping it. By the time he reached Penford, his body was drenched. He dismounted Darcy and led the horse back to the stables. Thankfully, Nelson wasn’t there to chastise him.

  Iain discarded the hat and used one of the horse blankets to dry himself off as best he could. Then he lifted the blanket over his head and went back outside. He walked across the green lawn toward the servants’ entrance, when, suddenly, he spied a black umbrella held up by a lady seated upon a bench.

  Why on earth would Lady Rose be outside in this weather while the rain pounded around her? Her reddish-brown hair was tucked up in a bonnet, but a few curls had escaped and were wet against her cheeks. Her gown was a deep garnet color, and she wore a darker shawl. Iain hurried toward her, and then saw Calvert standing with another umbrella, near the arched trellis, his face puckered with malcontent.

  “It’s a fine day, Lady Rose,” Iain said, greeting her with a smile.

  She tilted back the umbrella to look at him, and in her brown eyes, he saw merriment. “It was fine earlier today. Until the rain came.” With a glance at his sodden clothing, she added, “It looks as if you’ve been enjoying the weather, Mr. Donovan.”

  Her damp face was shining, and the words grew trapped in his throat. Never had he considered rain to be anything other than an inconvenience. But he found himself struck mute by this beautiful woman’s smile. The rain continued to soak through his clothing, despite the horse blanket he held over his head. Lady Rose tilted her face to the side. “Would
n’t you rather go inside where it’s dry?”

  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he managed. To Calvert, he said, “Would you give us a moment?” The old man glowered and looked ready to refuse, but he added, “You could wait just over there with Lady Rose in full sight.”

  A curious look came over Rose’s face at his request for privacy, but she nodded her agreement. When the footman stood on the far end of the lawn, Iain drew closer. He kept the blanket over his head to shelter him from the downpour and confessed, “I went riding back to the place where I left my coach, hoping to find my servants. The vehicle was still there, but there was no sign of them. I think they’ve gone and won’t be returning.” Although it evoked more frustration, Iain kept his tone serious without any trace of anger.

  He studied her, and said, “I know you don’t believe any of my truths, a chara. And by all rights, you may be wanting to throw me out. But I would ask for a little more time, until Lady Wolcroft returns.”

  She was listening to him, seeming to consider this. “You wish to stay here?”

  He nodded. “I thought I could find the proof I needed by bringing back my servants. But they apparently did not wish to remain in my employ.”

  Bitterness sank into him with the realization that he was truly at her mercy. God help him, he’d sunk so low. He lacked the means of returning home or going anywhere. All he possessed was Darcy and a few ruined pieces of clothing.

  But he could not give up. Instead, he got down on one knee, lowering himself before Lady Rose. “I would ask to send a letter to my sisters, if I may.”

  “And in the meantime, you wish to stay with us as a guest?” she mused.

  He knew how unlikely that was. But he offered, “Only until your grandmother returns. Then I intend to go to my brother’s—that is, my house—in London.”

  She leaned forward, studying him. By all rights, she should toss him out. But Lady Rose kept her gaze searching. It was as if she were trying to strip him down to the bone, to find the honest answers she sought.