Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  “Oh, dear,” Rose sighed. “How much?”

  “A thousand pounds, at least. Any time someone asks her for money, she gives it. Apparently someone from a charitable society asked her for a donation.”

  Rose winced, for she hadn’t known of this. “She cannot be expected to handle money. Not anymore.”

  “Not in her current state of mind,” Lily agreed.

  “It makes me wonder, what else has she been hiding from us?” Rose hadn’t worried about the state of their finances, for everything had seemed fine. But if it wasn’t, what then? She didn’t like to think about it.

  “I don’t know,” Lily said. “But we need James to return. Once he does, we can unravel all this.” She crossed the room and opened Rose’s wardrobe. “In the meantime, would you like my help in getting dressed for dinner?”

  “If you like.” She attempted to move her legs over the side of the bed, but she lacked the strength to do so without lifting them with her hands. “I will wear the violet gown. And please ring for Hattie, so she can help me with my hair.”

  It was her own vanity, but she wanted to look nice. Especially since Lord Ashton would be joining them at dinner for the first time.

  “Your hair does look . . . interesting.” Lily grimaced and brought over the gown. “You were caught in the rain, I imagine?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to confess everything to her sister, about how Lord Ashton had helped her stand while Hattie cowered from the rainstorm. But the more she thought of his calm strength, the more her face flushed. When he had held her in the summerhouse, the heat of his hands around her waist had spread all the way through her body.

  The earl had evoked such a feeling of longing, she hadn’t expected her senses to awaken in such a way. She could not deny that he had kindled up the fierce need for human touch. She had wanted to lean her head against his broad chest, allowing him to hold her up.

  It was so wrong.

  She told herself that it was only her loneliness for Lord Burkham that had made her so susceptible to temptation. Once she saw Thomas again, these feelings would fade.

  Her sister helped her dress, and Rose decided that it was best to keep silent about what had happened in the summerhouse.

  “You are not attending supper.” Calvert sent Iain a murderous glare and blocked the hallway. “Servants do not dine with the family.” The older footman puffed up and said, “I don’t know what lies you’ve been telling, but you’re nowt but a charlatan. Someone has to stop you.”

  Iain stood his ground. He wasn’t about to waste time arguing with the footman. Instead, he stared back at the man with the confident knowledge that he was indeed the Earl of Ashton. But before Calvert could speak another word, an elderly woman approached, leaning lightly against her cane.

  “Ashton! I am so pleased you could come as our guest.” She beamed at him and reached out to take his hand. “My goodness, you’re the very image of Moira. I would know you anywhere.” Lady Wolcroft peered at him, her face alight with warmth.

  Calvert looked appalled, his mouth gaping like a codfish. Iain had to admit, the man’s discomfort was gratifying. At least he had the good graces not to speak.

  “I apologize that I was on holiday when you arrived.” Lady Wolcroft patted his hand and took his arm. “But I want to reassure you that I did receive your letter last winter, and I am confident we will indeed find you a bride.” She guided him down the hallway, while behind him Calvert sputtered.

  “I agree,” came another woman’s voice. Iain turned and saw a matron who sent him a vivid smile. Her blond hair was arranged into a neat updo beneath her bonnet, and the mischievous expression on her face revealed that both of them had overheard the footman’s outburst.

  “Lord Ashton, may I present Amelia Hartford, the Countess of Castledon.” Lady Wolcroft nodded to her friend as she introduced them.

  Iain bowed. “Lady Castledon. It’s pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” He sent her a smile of his own, glancing back at Calvert, who held the rigid posture of a statue.

  The countess exchanged a look with Lady Wolcroft, and he could have sworn the pair of them were plotting. “You were right, Mildred. Ashton will have no difficulty whatsoever finding a bride. He is quite good looking, and that Irish accent will cause many a young lady to fall into a swoon. I, for one, should be glad to offer whatever assistance possible. There is nothing I adore more than matchmaking.”

  Iain wasn’t at all certain whether to be grateful or frightened. Calvert stepped forward to take Lady Castledon’s bonnet and wrap, and he cleared his throat loudly.

  Lady Wolcroft was ignoring him, but he kept coughing until at last she asked, “Calvert, are you suffering from consumption, or was there something you needed to say?”

  The footman stiffened. “My lady, I believe this man to be an imposter. He cannot possibly be lord of anything at all. I wanted to warn you.”

  “What on earth are you prattling on about, Calvert?” the woman demanded. “I know exactly who he is.”

  “B-but, he arrived wearing nothing but—”

  “It is a story best told over supper,” Iain interrupted. “Suffice it to say that I was robbed of my belongings on the journey and arrived here looking like a beggar.”

  “Oh, that does sound like a good story,” Lady Castledon gushed. “I do so want to hear all about it. Especially the part where you were wearing nothing.”

  At that, Iain nearly choked. The mischief in the countess’s eyes revealed that she had fully intended the innuendo. “I hesitate to disappoint you, Lady Castledon, but I was half-clothed.”

  “I should like to have seen that.” The matron winked at him. “Do tell me that you will allow us to meddle and choose the perfect bride for you. My husband, David, thinks that I interfere too much, but I say that men need to be managed. Don’t you agree?”

  He understood that she was only having a bit of fun, and despite Lady Wolcroft’s horrified expression, he inclined his head. “I give myself over into your hands. Do with me what you will.”

  “Oh, I do like you, Lord Ashton,” the countess sighed. “It’s a good thing I’m happily married, or I should have set my cap for you myself.”

  Iain escorted both ladies toward the dining room, while Calvert glowered. As they walked, Lady Castledon and Lady Wolcroft continually chattered, filling his ears with promises of how they would help him choose a bride.

  When they reached the dining room, Lily rose and exclaimed, “Grandmother, I am so glad you’ve returned.” She kissed the woman on the cheek and then offered a greeting to Lady Castledon.

  Lady Penford was already seated at the table, her face pale. The matron hardly looked well enough to dine with them, and when her gaze turned to her mother, she did not appear to recognize the older woman.

  Lady Wolcroft’s expression dimmed at the sight, but she crossed the room and went over to embrace her daughter. “I heard that you were ill, Iris. I am so sorry that I was away and did not receive word until a few days ago.”

  The woman did not respond to her mother’s words, and there came a rise of panic in her eyes. Iain decided to ignore propriety, and he chose a seat beside the matron. Strangely, it did seem that she recognized him, and her eyes seemed to plead with him to keep her safe.

  “Are you feeling better, then, Lady Penford?” he asked gently. “No bad dreams are plaguing you?”

  “S-some,” she stammered. She looked down at the table and clenched her hands together.

  “Then it will be good to have your family around you,” he reassured her. “Your mother and your daughters.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze fixed upon the tablecloth. An awkward silence filled up the space while the others took their seats. Rose had not yet arrived, but Iain hoped she would join them soon. He was eager to see her again after their outing in the rain.

  The countess sat across from him, and she eyed Lady Penford thoughtfully before choosing another topic to change the subject. “Lord Ashton, how is you
r family?”

  He could have said that they were all fine, but then, was there any purpose to a polite lie? The countess was quite aware of why he had come to Yorkshire. This was about planning a strategy, finding a bride, and saving his sisters’ hopes for marriage.

  “We have fallen upon difficult times,” he admitted. “It’s grateful I am, that my mother and you”—he turned to Lady Wolcroft—“have remained close.”

  The older woman smiled and added, “Moira was like a daughter to me. She came to England for boarding school, and she spent all her school holidays with us. Do you remember Moira, dear?”

  Lady Penford shook her head. Her eyes focused upon the wall, distant and unseeing.

  Lady Wolcroft’s smile grew pained. “Be that as it may, Moira began writing letters to me. She told me I was the mother she’d always wanted, and she was such a bright spirit. Then one day, just before you were born, her letters stopped. I wrote to her for many years, but she never answered. Even after I visited her at Ashton, she remained distant. Your letter was the first I’ve received from your family in a long time.”

  “My mother? A bright spirit?” He couldn’t imagine her that way. Moira had always been a tyrannical shrew.

  The older woman sent him a kindly smile. “Yes, she used to be. It’s possible that a broken heart made her bitter, after your father died.”

  Iain tried to imagine his mother smiling and found it impossible to do so. “She’s gone to New York with my sisters,” he told her. “It’s been dangerous at Ashton in the past year. She thought it would be best to take them away for a time.”

  “I can understand that,” the countess answered. “I’ve seen many of the refugees from Dublin, and I can only imagine the suffering. Any mother would want to protect her children.”

  Although it was true that Moira had been eager to leave with his sisters, she had not spared him a good-bye. It didn’t seem that she’d even cared.

  A gloved hand touched his, and he looked over at Lady Penford. “It must have been hard for her to leave that burden on you.” The matron sent him a sympathetic look, and he squeezed her hand in return.

  The woman might indeed suffer from madness, but she had a good heart. And perhaps it was for that reason that he held a softness toward her.

  While Lady Castledon and Lady Wolcroft began speaking together about their strategy of finding him a wife, Iain lowered his voice and asked, “How are you truly, Lady Penford? Have the wolves troubled you at all?”

  Her face paled, and she seemed to blink away her reverie. “No, not today. But I feel them there, circling around me. Without James, I don’t know what I can do.”

  Lady Penford appeared dismayed, but Iain reassured her, “I will be here for at least the next fortnight. And I promise, I’ll allow no one to harm you.”

  The desperate hope in the matron’s eyes was heartbreaking, but she managed to nod. “I do hope so.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Calvert bringing Lady Rose into the dining room at last. He placed the young woman as far from Iain as possible. Then Calvert began assisting the other footman in serving the first course. He gave Iain a bowl of soup, but there was no spoon. No doubt the footman had sought petty vengeance on purpose.

  “Rose, you are looking as lovely as ever,” Lady Castledon pronounced. “I do believe the Yorkshire weather agrees with you.”

  Lady Rose sent the woman an amused look. “Because it rains so often?”

  The countess laughed. “I beg your pardon. I meant the fresh air, not the damp. There are moments when it doesn’t rain.”

  “Sometimes the rain is welcome,” Iain offered. He sent a knowing look toward Rose before he took a sip of the wine. With Hattie as a neglectful chaperone, it had given them a moment alone. He would never forget Rose’s triumph in standing for a brief moment. Her face had lit up with such joy, he’d been struck by the hope in her beautiful eyes.

  Lady Castledon’s gaze shifted from Rose to him, and he realized belatedly that the countess was already determining whether a match could be made between them.

  “What sort of wife are you searching for?” Lady Wolcroft asked. “Amelia and I can put our heads together to think of something.”

  “He wants a bride with a dowry large enough to rival the crown jewels,” Rose teased. She raised her own glass in a silent toast, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

  “My dear, don’t be vulgar,” Lady Wolcroft chided. To Iain, she said, “Although, I do understand that a certain . . . pecuniary stability would be welcome. Especially given the famine in Ireland.”

  Lady Castledon leaned in, steepling her fingers. “Do you want a wallflower or a woman who speaks her mind?”

  “Either is fine.” He truly didn’t care one way or the other. So long as the woman was kind and would understand the challenges ahead—that was all that mattered to him.

  Lady Rose sent him a knowing smile. “I think you should be more selective, Lord Ashton. There are very desperate women among the ton.”

  He set down his spoon. “I am not in a position to be more selective, Lady Rose. There are hundreds of my tenants starving, and I cannot feed them. I would wed any woman willing to help me.”

  He couldn’t afford the luxury of choice. Although he believed he could eventually improve their situation with careful investments, all that took time. The quickest way to bring back prosperity was to marry an heiress. And if it would silence the voices of the dead who haunted his dreams, he would indeed marry anyone.

  Her expression shifted into sympathy. “I am sorry. I did not mean to make light of your situation.”

  Lady Penford reached over and absently patted Iain’s hand. “I have a solution. You should wed one of my daughters. I like you, and I would give you my blessing.”

  Both Rose and Lily’s expressions were aghast, and he suppressed a laugh. They were horrified at the idea, which should have been insulting, except that he knew their reasons.

  “If either of your daughters would consent to being my wife, I would not refuse. I like your eldest, in particular.” He winked at Rose, who shook her head with exasperation.

  “Excellent.” Lady Penford smiled brightly. “That’s settled then. The wedding can be held within a few weeks.”

  Rose coughed, nearly spewing her wine over the table. “Really, Mother. Why are you so eager to be rid of me?”

  Iain leaned back in his chair, rather enjoying the entertainment of Lady Penford’s conversation. It was quite possible that she’d taken a tonic before supper and was quite pickled.

  Lady Penford’s expression turned wistful. “I like weddings. Weddings lead to babies, and I should quite like grandchildren.”

  Rose glanced at Lily and said, “I am beginning to think I should take a tray in my room. This is not a conversation I wish to pursue any further.”

  Iain was rather intrigued. The women were speaking freely, as if he weren’t there at all. He reached for his wineglass, only to find that Calvert hadn’t filled it. When he lifted it and motioned for the footman, he received a furious glare for his trouble.

  “Grandbabies are marvelous,” Lady Castledon agreed. “My stepdaughter, Christine, just gave birth to a new son last Christmas. He is the most perfect child I’ve ever seen.”

  “Rubbish,” Lady Wolcroft pronounced. “You say that about every grandchild.”

  Lady Castledon only smiled. “There is no such thing as an imperfect grandchild. You already know this.” She glanced over at Lily and Rose, nodding to each of them. Then she turned back to Iain and said, “My husband and I will be returning to London within a fortnight. I will ask my sister, the duchess, to host a gathering at her home and select only the women who would suit you, Lord Ashton.”

  “He does not require a harem, Amelia,” Lady Wolcroft said.

  The countess ignored the jibe and added, “And your own perfect granddaughters simply must attend.” To Rose, she added, “It isn’t necessary to have dancing, so you needn’t feel out of place.�
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  Iain thought it was a considerate offer, but Rose was already shaking her head. “Mother has been ill, and I don’t think we should—”

  “I am much better,” Lady Penford insisted. “And I do so miss the parties in London. They are truly lovely.”

  The longing in her voice was not lost on her daughters. “We will go back someday, Mother,” Lily assured her. “But not for a little while longer.”

  Rose met Iain’s gaze across the table and sent him a slight nod. He fully intended to keep his part of the bargain and hoped she would do the same.

  One week later

  “Are you ready?”

  Rose looked up from the stone bench and saw Lord Ashton waiting. Every day for the past week, he’d met with her for a few hours so she could practice standing up. Though she still could not balance herself for long periods of time, it was getting easier. He held out his hand, but she had no idea what he wanted from her. “Ready for what?”

  “Why, the next step, of course.”

  Her face furrowed with confusion. “And what exactly is the next step?”

  “You’ll see.” He held out both hands, and she saw that he had again forgotten to wear gloves. His dark hair needed to be trimmed, but she rather liked it. It made him different from all the polished gentlemen she had met.

  She reached out for his hands and kept her knees bent, carefully shifting her weight as she attempted to stand. He steadied her, helping her find her balance. It took a moment, but she managed to stand for nearly twenty seconds before he eased her back to the bench.

  “You are getting stronger, a chara,” he said. “But there is something else that would help you progress. If you’re feeling daring, that is.”

  She had no idea what he meant by that. “What do you think would help me?”

  “Swimming.”

  The very idea made her blush. The last time she’d gone swimming was when she was a little girl. She and Lily had taken off their gowns, and had gone swimming in their unmentionables until they were caught by their furious governess.