Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  Why did he wonder if he’d ever see her again once they left here?

  Chapter Four

  “[The Act of 27 Henry VIII. c25] provided that any parishioner or townsman who distributed alms out of his proper district, should forfeit to the State ten times the amount given.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Grace clapped her hands in delight at Matthew’s attempt to jump a rope he’d found in the nursery. He was quickly gaining skill at the game. “Well done, Matthew. Well done.”

  When clapping echoed from behind her bench in the garden, she turned to find the earl walking toward them.

  “Excellent performance,” he called out. He smiled down at Grace. “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Heat filled her cheeks as the pit of her stomach tightened. While she should be used to his presence by now, the same sensations came over her each time he drew near. Her awareness of him seemed to continually grow.

  Granted, he was an attractive, virile man, but there was more to her feelings than that. He was so different from her husband. Being with Daniel had been more of a friendly venture from the start. She’d loved him and so grateful he’d been interested in her at the time. But it had been more of an amiable affection than a make-your-heart-race kind of love.

  An element of danger surrounded Tristan. Not that he made her feel unsafe in any way. After all, he’d been the perfect gentleman during their stay. Yet she couldn’t help but feel like a rabbit who’d made friends with a lion. A predatory gleam entered his stormy eyes every so often, stirring an answering interest within her.

  They were even on a first name basis, though that was due in part from her not giving him her full name. Her illness had lent an intimacy to their relationship that otherwise wouldn’t have occurred. In all honesty, she was grateful for it.

  Whatever it was, she couldn’t deny how handsome and confident he was. She’d bet her last shilling he never felt the doubt that plagued her every step. He was also intelligent and considerate.

  And engaged.

  She mustn’t forget that.

  He’d mentioned his betrothal in passing, as though they discussed nothing more important than the weather. It made her quite curious about the woman who would soon enjoy the pleasure of his company on a daily basis. Were they madly in love?

  How silly of her. Of course not. Such things were for girlish dreams, not for earls. No doubt the arrangement was very business-like with material advantages on both sides.

  She preferred her version of their match. He deserved a woman who would often bring a smile to his lips and give him children on whom to dote. He was so good with Matthew and seemed to take true delight in hearing what her son had to say.

  Tristan sat beside her on the wrought iron bench, watching Matthew who continued to jump rope, his face beaming with his new accomplishment.

  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Grace berated herself for the inane comment. Had she nothing more intelligent to say?

  “Nice to see the sun, however briefly, after the past days of rain.” Tristan glanced up at the sky as he spoke.

  Grace couldn’t help but note the line of his clean-shaven jaw. She could only blink when he turned to look at her, his gaze studying her.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Improved, thank you. My cough has at last subsided.”

  “I am pleased to hear that.” The line of his lips eased into the semblance of a smile, something he seemed to do more frequently of late.

  “I thought some fresh air might help.”

  “Excellent idea. Do you feel up to a stroll around the garden?”

  “That would be delightful.” She rose to take his offered arm.

  Though pleased to be feeling stronger, that also meant they’d be leaving soon. She was ridiculously reluctant to do so.

  Crawford House felt like an oasis. She was comfortable here. Whether it was the inviting décor or the kindness of the servants or the sprawling grounds, she couldn’t say, but the manor was a home rather than a house. She would miss it when they left. She refused to consider that the reason for her reluctance might be her growing attraction to the earl. That would never do.

  Matthew raced ahead of them to chase a butterfly only to return to skip at their side until something else caught his attention. His energy seemed boundless.

  How was she going to confine him to a small flat in London? She had no idea of the size of her cousin’s home, but it was probably small. He was used to having lots of space in which to roam. She reminded herself that she had few options. Being confined was better than being injured...or worse.

  “I sense deep thoughts circling in your head.” Tristan glanced down at her, searching her face.

  She barely reached his shoulder. She’d been glad there wasn’t a significant height difference between her and Daniel. No doubt she would’ve felt even less confident with him towering over her. Funny how she didn’t feel that way with Tristan.

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts, telling herself she had to stop comparing the two men. Chances were she’d never see Tristan once they left here. Their fleeting acquaintance saddened her.

  “Nothing worth sharing,” she answered at last.

  Matthew rushed ahead to follow a dragonfly.

  “Whatever they are, I must insist you stop. They’re making you worry.”

  She glanced at him in surprise and he halted. “How do you know?”

  “The light in your eyes dims.” He reached out as though to brush his fingers along her cheek only to quickly drop his hand. “I don’t care for it. I much prefer it when they sparkle.”

  She smiled, doing her best to ignore the rapid pounding of her heart. She wasn’t certain how to respond to his comment. Matthew gave a happy shout a short distance away. “It sounds as if he found something of interest.”

  “He’s not the only one.”

  Grace’s breath caught. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought—that he found her of interest. Butterflies beat their wings in her stomach, making her press a hand there to calm it.

  His solemn expression, as he gazed at her, squeezed her heart. Not for the first time, she wondered what caused the shadow that was never far from him. It was almost as if he wouldn’t allow himself to be happy. Surely she was misinterpreting his demeanor. He was still very much a stranger.

  Yet she couldn’t deny the connection she felt with him, and it was due to more than him rescuing her.

  Despite the terrible bruises on her side and hip, she didn’t regret the accident as it had allowed her to meet him. She hadn’t felt this safe—this happy—since well before Daniel had died.

  “Shall we see what Matthew has found?” He offered his arm once more and they continued their stroll.

  Matthew was crouched before a bush, the jump rope forgotten nearby. A disturbingly large beetle held his entire focus. “May I keep him? Please, Mama?”

  She nearly groaned in dismay. She hated to deny her son anything as he asked for so little, but the last thing she needed was something else to take care of. “I don’t think he’d like to live in London.”

  Tristan bent down to take a closer look. “What if you keep him for as long as you’re here, then before you leave, you can return him to the garden?”

  The expression on Tristan’s face as he held her son’s gaze twisted her heart. He’d obviously grown fond of Matthew and enjoyed being with him. The idea that he wanted to make her son happy moved her more than she could say.

  Matthew’s eyes grew large. “Truly? You’d let me do that?”

  “Only if you promise to take good care of him. And if it’s all right with your mother.” Tristan turned to look at her, brows raised.

  Grace was surprised he’d offered such an arrangement. Daniel never would’ve allowed Matthew to keep any sort of pet in the house, let alone a bug. “Are you certain? We wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “We’ll have a footman find the perfect box in whic
h to keep him.” Tristan rose, standing closer to her than she expected. He leaned toward her to whisper, “We just have to convince the maid watching him that it’s a temporary arrangement.”

  With a smile, Grace whispered back, “And we’ll need to make certain it doesn’t escape its box. That would never do. The maid would not be pleased.”

  He chuckled, the unfamiliar sound rippling down her spine. Suddenly she had the urge to say something—anything—that would make him laugh again.

  Matthew stood, holding the beetle with great care. “May I go ask for a box?”

  “Of course.” Grace couldn’t hold back her smile as he hurried away, still cupping the bug in his hand. “I can only imagine the footman’s reaction.”

  “I was surprised by yours.”

  Uncertain as to his meaning, Grace looked up at Tristan.

  “My mother would not have had the same response you did.” He watched her with a gleam in his eyes that sent her heart racing once more.

  This lighter version of Tristan drew her in, physically and emotionally. In that moment, she saw him for who he was. No solemn mask hid his expression. No shadows hid in his eyes. He was simply Tristan. The valley separating them was gone.

  Heat flooded her body, stinging her cheeks as his gaze held hers then lowered to her mouth. Her breath stopped as she waited, wondering if he might kiss her. Hoping desperately that he would.

  He eased closer, and her eyes drifted shut, anticipating the feel of his lips on hers.

  Then the warmth of his presence was gone. She opened her eyes to see him a step away, studying the garden.

  “Shall we make certain the footman is finding a box?” Tristan asked, at last looking at her.

  All at once, the danger she faced from this man was clear—the threat he posed wasn’t to her wellbeing, but to her heart.

  The following day, immediately after breakfast from which his guests were noticeably absent, Tristan left the manor to call upon a tenant whose roof had been damaged by the recent rainstorm.

  Repairs had started several days ago, but Tristan wanted to see how far they’d progressed. No doubt another storm would arrive any day, and the family didn’t need to incur further damage to their meager belongings.

  His black gelding jerked at the reins, anxious to have its head. Tristan’s restlessness matched his horse’s, and he kneed its sides to ease it into a gallop. Exhilaration poured through him as the wind raced by, almost bringing a smile to his lips.

  Almost.

  He couldn’t set aside his worry over Grace and Matthew. Grace had been unusually quiet at dinner the previous evening, hardly eating anything. Though he’d inquired as to her health, she insisted she was doing well. He didn’t know what else he could do to convince her to confide any worries in him. Without understanding her concerns, he couldn’t truly help her. He made a mental note to inquire as to the name and address of her cousin so he could call upon them in London to see how they fared.

  Matthew had kept his distance all morning, an unusual event since his arrival. Normally he sought out Tristan for at least a brief visit, something to which Tristan had quickly come to appreciate.

  He’d seek them out upon his return and ask Grace if anything was bothering her. She appeared to feel better, but perhaps she’d experienced a setback of some sort and didn’t want to burden him with it.

  With a sigh, he acknowledged the desire he felt for Grace. He’d tried to deny it, but she made him ache in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Or perhaps ever. If only he’d met her prior to his betrothal.

  He turned his attention to the rolling hills around him. Though he rode often in Hyde Park while in London, it was nothing like the sheer joy of riding in the country. He especially liked Northamptonshire, which was touted for its pure and wholesome air, an advantage of being located far from the sea.

  When he’d first inherited the title and holdings, it had been difficult to separate memories of his father from his responsibilities. His father’s voice played over and over in his head, his derisive, berating tone casting a shadow over any pleasure Tristan might have had at properly managing or perhaps even improving his holdings. There were times when he’d wondered if his father had been mad. Or worse, if he was. His father’s death nearly five years ago hadn’t erased any of his concerns.

  It had taken his brother’s new hold on life to make Tristan wonder if his own could be different. Nathaniel had left Her Majesty’s Royal Navy with an injury that would never heal completely, inside or out. Added to that was the damage their father’s verbal abuse of him had caused throughout his life, which had been enough to ruin anyone, including a war hero. But through unique circumstances, Nathaniel had found first a purpose then love.

  His own guilt had caused him to avoid Nathaniel when he’d first returned home after serving in the Navy. Far too many times, he’d stood witness to their father’s tirades at Nathaniel. But when his brother had sought him out soon after his return, Tristan couldn’t walk away. They’d since forged a relationship of sorts, and Tristan was grateful for it.

  Nathaniel’s interest in a recently published book, The Seven Curses of London, had him pursuing the problem of neglected children that had become rampant in parts of the city. Tristan had been so intrigued by his younger brother’s activities that he’d purchased a copy of the book himself.

  The book was disturbing and yet fascinating, proving London hid its secrets unless one knew where to look. After a venture through the East End, Tristan had decided to make a more concerted effort to make a difference, hoping it might provide him with the same sense of purpose Nathaniel enjoyed.

  While this area of England was prosperous, hard times struck families everywhere. He’d happened to come into the kitchen of his home on Park Lane in London in time to see the housekeeper offering extra food to several beggars at the back door. Realizing the need was even closer than he’d thought, he made it a point to learn more about the laws restricting begging and giving.

  He understood the reason restrictions were necessary, but they didn’t make aiding the poor easy. Attempts to reform them over the years had only complicated matters. Alms could only be distributed within one’s district. Where once a local priest might determine who was worthy of receiving assistance and who needed a push to find honest work, now the Mendicity Society attempted to do so, at least in London.

  Yet each time a law was enacted to prevent fraudulent behavior, someone managed to find a way around it and work the system to their benefit. As with all the topics covered in the book, there were no easy answers, but he was determined to try.

  Tristan slowed his horse to a trot as he crested a rise, taking in the fields and cottages spread before him. The railroad had been both a blessing and a curse to the area, as was true with much of the country. It seemed with each day, more and more people who’d lived here for generations moved to the city, which was now easily accessible by rail.

  Always in his mind was the knowledge that this holding, though it was unentailed, along with the other Adair holdings, were only his temporarily. He was merely overseeing it for a time until his son, God willing, took over. Somehow looking out for both himself and future generations added to the burden of it all.

  From here he could see men still working on the roof and scowled in response. They should’ve easily been done by now. He kneed his horse once more and galloped to the home.

  The damned heat of anger filled his face and spread to his chest, taking over whether he wanted it to or not. He dismounted to stalk toward the man in charge.

  “Why are the repairs not yet complete?” he demanded, not bothering to greet Mr. Masterson. “You’ve barely managed to do anything in the past two days.” He pressed his lips together, hearing his father in his words. The impatient, biting tone that always sent a sickening feeling into the pit of his stomach as a child.

  The man’s worried expression made Tristan feel worse, but guilt only spiraled into more anger.

  “I am te
rribly sorry, my lord, but two of my men were—”

  “I don’t want excuses. I want it completed.”

  The man bowed his head. “My apologies. We will get it done as quickly as possible.”

  Tristan turned away before he said anything more he might regret. Why did he even bother to try to control the anger? It did no good. How stupid was it to allow such things to bother him? The workers were no doubt doing their best. The least he could’ve done was listen to the man’s explanation.

  He drew a deep breath in an attempt to release the tight hold his father still had over him. How could it be that the man had been dead for this many years yet Tristan felt his presence each and every day?

  None of those thoughts assisted him in calming down. Quite the opposite. They only made him angrier.

  His horse shied away at his approach, as though sensing his mood. Drawing a breath, he forced himself to slow his movements then held out his hand, palm up, allowing the steed to nuzzle it. He reached up to stroke the gelding’s face, scratching beneath the bridle and along its neck. With effort, he tried to think of something else that pleased him and the memory of Grace’s laughter filled him, further soothing him. His irritation faded to a manageable level.

  He reminded himself that his purpose in coming out here had been to check on the progress of the repairs and, while he could see for himself they still had much to do, his time would be better spent finding a way to aid them.

  With a frustrated sigh, he walked back to Mr. Masterson. “What is the nature of the delay?”

  The man watched him warily. “Two of the men working on the roof were injured in an accident on a farm.”

  “I hope it wasn’t anything overly serious.”

  They discussed the matter several more minutes, and Tristan advised his overseer that he would send another man to help. Mr. Masterson assured him the repairs would be done by the following afternoon. Tristan also visited briefly with the man and wife who lived there to make sure they were aware of the new schedule for completion.