Brave New Earl

by Ashford, Jane

  “Very true.” She remembered a tiny village she’d created out of similar materials in a secret corner of her childhood garden. No one had taken it from her because no one ever found it.

  The boy’s gaze moved past her to the bed and the folded garments resting there. “Are you going away?”

  Jean hesitated as Geoffrey took a step backward. The emotion she’d glimpsed on his face—sadness, resignation?—was quickly masked.

  “Everybody leaves here.” He shrugged and turned away, head bent, as if disappointment was his native habitat.

  The slump, the abandonment of hope, was hauntingly familiar to Jean. She knew, viscerally, how it felt in body and soul. She knew that despondence could become engrained. It was odd but undeniable that she’d rarely felt more akin to anyone than to this little boy. She couldn’t walk away from Geoffrey, even though he had the most infuriating father in the world. “No, I was just looking over my dresses. To…to see which needed pressing.”

  He looked back. His expression could not have been called hopeful.

  “I can’t go.” Jean held up the figure he’d made for her. “Now that I have a new friend.”

  The cat padded over to investigate, his eyes on the gift. “See, Tab thinks so, too,” said Jean, though she feared he saw the little figure as a new chew toy.

  Geoffrey did not smile. But he gave a small nod before walking away.

  When he turned the corner of the corridor and disappeared, Jean shut the door. She placed the wood fairy on a bit of carving above the mantelshelf, well out of Tab’s reach, she hoped. Its tiny painted eyes glinted at her. As much as she wanted to flee Furness Hall, she also wanted to stay, Jean admitted. For Geoffrey’s sake, and other reasons. Which she did not intend to explain just now, even to herself.

  She began to return her dresses to the wardrobe.

  • • •

  Lord Macklin returned in less than an hour. Hearing the sound of carriage wheels, Benjamin went to look out the window and saw his uncle emerge from the vehicle, then turn to hand down a lady in her middle years. The newcomer was beautifully dressed and carried herself with immense dignity. When he went downstairs to investigate, he found the pair in his front hall.

  “Ah, Benjamin,” said his uncle. “Mrs. Thorpe has agreed to come and stay with us for a while, lending her countenance to our household.”

  He gave no hint as to who she was or where he’d found her. Benjamin was quite familiar with his near neighbors; she wasn’t one of them. A grande dame such as this would have been a force in local society.

  “She is well known to me. I need not say that she is perfectly respectable.”

  Benjamin didn’t understand the sidelong glance the woman threw his uncle. He only knew that he wouldn’t want to be the target of her disapproval.

  “Unless you object, of course,” his uncle finished.

  “No.” A proper chaperone solved one of his problems—the Wandrells. Not the most worrisome perhaps, but important nonetheless. “You are most welcome, Mrs. Thorpe.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was musical, with a note of command as impressive as her appearance.

  “I’ll take her to meet Miss Saunders,” said his uncle. He offered his arm, and they swept up the staircase as if they, rather than Benjamin, owned the place.

  “Need not say I am perfectly respectable?” murmured Mrs. Thorpe when they reached the upper corridor.

  Lord Macklin acknowledged the reproof in her voice with a nod. “I mustn’t indulge in sleight of word.”

  “Sleight of—” She laughed, a charming sound. “This may very well not work, Macklin. You’re taking a chance.”

  “Which I haven’t done often enough in my life.”

  “But it’s not your life at the center of this. We’ll see what the young lady thinks. I’ve told you this is her decision.”

  “How could she help but like you?”

  “Liking isn’t the issue,” Mrs. Thorpe answered dryly as he knocked on a bedchamber door.

  “Miss Saunders,” said Lord Macklin when the door opened. “May I present Mrs. Thorpe to you?”

  With a graceful bow, he launched the older woman in Jean’s direction. Jean stepped back. Mrs. Thorpe came in, closing the door behind her, and Jean found herself alone in her room with a stranger.

  The older woman smiled. There was something so warm and engaging in the expression that it was impossible to take offense as Mrs. Thorpe sat in one armchair before the fireplace and directed Jean to the other. Jean felt rather as if the queen had dropped by for a chat. One didn’t raise objections in such a case. “I told Lord Macklin that you had to be in on our scheme,” Mrs. Thorpe said. “And in fact that the whole is up to you. I won’t go on without your approval.”

  Jean grew even more curious. She examined the poised figure sitting opposite. Mrs. Thorpe’s black hair was immaculately dressed. Her clothes obviously came from a fashionable modiste. Her face was a bit pale, but nothing could detract from its classic bone structure. Her blue eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. “Scheme?” Jean asked.

  “For me to serve as your chaperone.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m happy to play the role. I’ve grown rather bored with rusticating. But only if you approve.”

  “You are the mysterious friend in the village,” Jean said, making the connection.

  “It’s no great mystery that I’m staying there.”

  “But there is some mystery? A reason I shouldn’t approve?”

  Mrs. Thorpe smiled again. Jean couldn’t help smiling back. Her visitor’s charm was palpable. She was rapidly becoming fascinated, Jean thought.

  “I’m an actress,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “Down from London on a repairing lease. My husband declared I’d been running too hard and sent me off for a rest.” She made a comical face. “He said I’d never get any in town or with him about, and he was right. He generally is. Such an annoying trait in a man.”

  Mrs. Thorpe’s voice made you want to listen to whatever she cared to say, Jean thought.

  “I’d heard of the beauties of the village here, so I took a cottage for a few months. I’ve been keeping to myself. With just my maid to do for me. None of the neighboring gentry has noticed me. That’s important.”

  “To the scheme,” Jean replied.

  “Oh good. You’re not stupid.”

  Jean laughed. “I hope I’m not.”

  “So do I, my dear. For your own sake, mostly.” The older woman nodded.

  “Lord Macklin is a friend of yours.” Was he more than that? Jean wondered. Her father’s history made that idea all too plausible.

  “Of my husband’s.”

  “He is?” Jean wouldn’t have expected the very proper earl to know the husband of an actress. Even a superior one, as Mrs. Thorpe clearly was. Who was Mr. Thorpe?

  “Yes.” Her companion’s eyes glowed with understanding. “He really is. And so today when he called and asked if I’d consider being your chaperone, I thought, why not? I feel excessively rested. I don’t have enough to do. If you would like it. I am a respectable married lady, despite what some may think of my profession.”

  Jean remembered Anna Wandrell’s sharp examination. That girl and her family were on the lookout for improprieties. And then she imagined this formidable lady at her side when she faced that scrutiny again. She could use a polished ally, and she would need one soon if she wasn’t mistaken. But was Mrs. Thorpe a good choice? Not that she had any others. If she was found to be alone here, neighborhood tongues would wag.

  Tab strolled across the room to survey their visitor. He took his time, seeming to catalog every detail. Then he jumped into Mrs. Thorpe’s lap, turned around twice, and lay down, purring. The lady smiled down at him, running a gentle hand over his fur. “Hello, young sir,” she said.

  She looked good-humored and wise a
s well as formidable. “No one knows you here?”

  “Only Lord Macklin. I haven’t spoken with anyone else.”

  It wouldn’t be for long, Jean thought. It couldn’t be. The thought filled her with a kind of reckless melancholy. “All right,” she said. “Yes, why not?”

  “Good.” Mrs. Thorpe tossed her head. “Hardly a demanding role, but it holds some potential for amusement.”

  The clearly characteristic gesture sparked Jean’s memory. “I’ve seen you onstage! I never would have recognized you if you hadn’t told me.”

  “I’m an actress. And a good one.”

  “But surely your name was different?”

  “Thorpe is my married name. I kept the one I started out with for the stage.” She smiled impishly. “Mr. Thorpe prefers it; he’s a rather important banker.”

  “Lady Macbeth.” Jean’s recollections expanded. “Oh my. You gave me chills.”

  Mrs. Thorpe accepted the praise with a pleased nod. “So we’re agreed then. We will embark on a small, harmless deception. I’m a perfectly competent chaperone, I assure you. I don’t intend to let you get into mischief.”

  “I don’t plan any.”

  “Really?” The older woman’s brows rose in a perfect picture of skepticism. “None at all?”

  Perhaps a few more stolen kisses? But she wouldn’t be kissing Lord Furness again, because he was an idiot. She’d forgotten for a moment.

  Mrs. Thorpe’s expression suggested that she could read Jean’s mind. “It will be our secret. You, me, and Lord Macklin. And Lord Furness, of course.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “Not yet. I insisted that you be allowed to decide the matter first.”

  Jean appreciated that.

  “This is his home,” continued her companion. “He has a right to know. But young men can be intemperate. I don’t know him. What do you think?”

  “Let’s wait a bit. I’ll tell him.” She imagined his surprise and recognized that she’d enjoy it.

  “Just as you say, my dear.” Mrs. Thorpe looked amused. “Now we should get acquainted. You must tell me about the household and what I would be expected to know about the people here.”

  But they’d barely begun when a servant arrived to announce that the Wandrells were downstairs.

  “Lord Macklin thought there might be an immediate need. I’ll go down.” Mrs. Thorpe rose and surveyed Jean. “Your gown is very well. Your hair—”

  “Has escaped its bounds as usual, no doubt. My maid, Sarah, can subdue it.”

  “Have her do so, and then join us. I’ll keep our guests occupied till then.”

  Jean enjoyed the relish in her tone. She hadn’t appreciated Miss Wandrell’s prying questions.

  • • •

  Benjamin leaned back in his chair and watched his new houseguest chat with Mrs. Wandrell and her daughter, Anna. He’d once seen an exhibition in Spain where men evaded charging bulls with the grace of lethal dancers. He hadn’t much cared for the outcome there, but in Mrs. Thorpe’s case, he could fully appreciate an expert at work. She seemed to answer every probe his nosy neighbors threw out. And yet she gave them no real information at all. Smiling, gracious, she didn’t appear to notice the resulting frowns.

  It was relaxing, Benjamin thought, to watch Mrs. Thorpe at work. Whoever she was, she had the manner of a princess. Even Mrs. Wandrell, so sour and satirical, was clearly impressed. Alice had never managed them so deftly.

  The drawing room door opened, and Miss Saunders came in. The sudden sight of her made Benjamin’s heart skip a beat. He hid his reaction, or hoped he did, by rising and offering her his chair. This allowed him to move a bit farther from the center of the action.

  It wasn’t just her beauty, he thought. After a while, the impact of beauty lessened. A man became accustomed to it, in a way. But he’d learned that Jean Saunders was so much more than pretty.

  She didn’t look at him. He felt a pang of disappointment. He’d wanted to glimpse that coppery sparkle in her brown eyes and know that she appreciated the scene before him as much as he did.

  “Mrs. Wandrell, allow me to introduce my charge to you,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “This is Miss Jean Saunders.”

  Miss Saunders dropped a curtsy. She might have been any demure young lady in the care of a chaperone. Even her glossy brown curls had been smoothed and tamed—rather a shame, Benjamin thought. However, he knew that whatever thoughts were going through her head, they were not those of the ingénue she was playing.

  Miss Saunders sat down. So did Benjamin.

  The ladies were a marked contrast, he thought. The Wandrells, with their pale hair and eyes, their ferret-like manner, seemed one sort of creature. Opposite them, Mrs. Thorpe and Miss Saunders were all warmth and restraint. Benjamin met his uncle’s eyes across the room and saw that he’d noticed it, too. A small secret smile danced in his gaze, Benjamin noted.

  “How are you related to Miss Saunders?” Mrs. Wandrell asked, going for the blunt question this time. She’d tried to get information about Mrs. Thorpe’s antecedents in several ways so far, and failed.

  “I think of her as an honorary niece.”

  “Honorary?” The caller examined them.

  “It is indeed an honor,” said Miss Saunders, effortlessly falling in with Mrs. Thorpe’s ploy. “I have no aunts of my own. Have you, Miss Wandrell?”

  Their younger visitor blinked. “Yes. Two.”

  “How fortunate. Do they live nearby?”

  “No.”

  “But how did you become honorary?” asked Mrs. Wandrell, curiosity driving her to the edge of rudeness.

  Mrs. Thorpe gave her a look. Benjamin admired the nuance layered into it—surprise, reproof, indulgence. The lady shrugged with consummate grace. “What are the usual ways?” she replied. “Long acquaintance, similar interests, warm regard.”

  “I am an orphan,” said Miss Saunders, her timing perfect.

  “But a member of Lord Furness’s family?” said Mrs. Wandrell. “I believe he told my daughter so.”

  “Alice was my cousin.”

  Second cousin, or third, or something of the sort, Benjamin recalled from an earlier conversation. The clock on the mantel chimed the half hour. Benjamin suppressed a smile. Alice had placed the timepiece there to admonish callers who lingered too long. Mrs. Thorpe responded with a subtle change in posture that nearly caused Benjamin to rise and depart. The lady was that forceful.

  Mrs. Wandrell stood. As did her daughter.

  “So kind of you to call,” Mrs. Thorpe murmured as they took their leave. She then gathered up Miss Saunders and swept away, leaving the two men alone in the drawing room.

  “What a splendid woman,” said Benjamin.

  “Mrs. Thorpe is a…temporary solution,” his uncle replied. “You’d better get about your wooing.”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Good.”

  Upstairs, the two ladies sat down to continue their earlier conversation. “You were just splendid,” said Jean.

  Mrs. Thorpe smiled and shrugged. “Society rests on conventions, you know…a set of expectations about how people will behave. If you act like a duchess, others see you as superior and defer.”

  Jean considered. “You make it sound easy. But people are often mocked for their pretentions.”

  “Ah.” The older woman held up a finger. “First, you must act. That is, you must really become that person. Believe it. Embody it. And second, you must behave like a real duchess, not the vulgar crowd’s idea of what one is like.”

  “Do you know many duchesses?” Jean asked. “Not that you shouldn’t. It’s just… I don’t.”

  “I am a keen observer of human nature,” replied Mrs. Thorpe with another smile. “Now tell me more about the household.”

  Jean did so.

  “So you’r
e here at Furness Hall because of the boy,” said her companion when she was finished.

  “I came because I had heard Geoffrey was being neglected, yes.” Jean gave a sharp nod. “And he was.”

  “But no longer?”

  “The situation has improved. It is not…fully resolved.”

  Mrs. Thorpe nodded. “You’ve made extraordinary efforts for the child.”

  “Alice was a cousin.”

  “Even so. You must care a great deal about children.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Alas, no.” Mrs. Thorpe paused for a noticeable moment, and then added. “I knew your father.”

  Jean had been full of admiration for her new chaperone. Now she felt as if she’d tripped on an unlighted stairway and fallen into the dark.

  “I thought I should say so. When Lord Macklin told me your name, I recognized it.”

  Jean’s stomach roiled. Papa had had a penchant for actresses. Had Mrs. Thorpe been one of his mistresses?

  “We were not good friends,” the older woman went on, as if reading Jean’s mind. “But he was often around the theater.”

  “I believe he was a connoisseur of opera dancers,” replied Jean. “So the gossips say, at least. I wouldn’t know.”

  “Not a proper topic for his daughter,” said Mrs. Thorpe.

  “Daughter!” The word came out bitter. “By blood, yes. But in no other way. I saw him perhaps three times in my life. We did not converse on any of those occasions.”

  The older woman nodded. She didn’t look shocked. “Some men appear to have no interest in family,” she said. “They see it as a female realm and leave such matters to their wives and mothers.”

  “Except for their sons, I suppose.” Jean had always known her father would have cared about her if she’d been a boy. Her mother had said so. She breathed more deeply to regain control of her emotions. She didn’t intend to expose any more of her history.

  “And then others, like Lord Macklin, are devoted to family interests,” said Mrs. Thorpe.

  “Indeed.” Jean stood, ready for this conversation to be over.

  “I expect their attitudes depend on how they were taught and treated as children,” the other woman went on. She appeared not to notice Jean’s impatience. Or she merely refused to acknowledge it.