Never Envy an Earl

by Regina Scott

  His sister was in the corridor ahead of him, wrapper snug about her nightgown. “What is that din?”

  The sound came again, from his mother’s room. Before he could respond, the door to the room opposite opened. Smothering a yawn, Yvette stumbled across the corridor, creamy white nightgown hinting of her curves and bare feet sticking out below.

  “I should never have suggested a bell,” she muttered to herself. Nearly bumping into Gregory, she stopped, blinked, and focused on him. Pink sprang to her cheeks, and she looked away, only to meet Lilith’s shocked stare.

  She raised her chin and waved a hand. “Return to your rooms. I will see to the countess.” She plunged into his mother’s room, shutting the door and slightly muting the cacophony.

  “You have to do something,” Lilith said, voice desperate. “We cannot listen to that day and night.”

  “Agreed,” Gregory said, hiding his smile. “I’ll speak to Mother, right after I dress.”

  But when he ventured into his mother’s room a while later, clothed in his usual tweed jacket and chamois trousers, he couldn’t bring himself to remonstrate. His mother just looked so happy.

  “See what Marbury found for me?” Sitting up in her bed, she clanged the massive brass bell that had probably once graced a cow’s neck. She shook it so hard, in fact, that her whole body shook with it. So did the bed. Gregory tried not to wince at the sound.

  “Excellent, Countess,” Yvette said, seizing the bell with both hands. She must have taken time to change, for she was once more gowned in a plain, spruce-colored dress that seemed too large for her. “But I am here now, so perhaps we could avoid waking the dead.”

  His mother clung to the bell, but she must have decided not to fight against the determination on Yvette’s face, for she released it with a sigh.

  “Very well but set it where I can reach it if I need it.”

  “But of course.” Yvette winked at Gregory as she passed. “I will put it on your dressing table. You may ring for me when your maid is finished preparing you for the day.”

  He thought his mother might protest, but she fluttered her fingers at them. “Go, go. I’ll ring for you shortly.”

  Gregory followed Yvette out.

  “Forgive me,” she said, pausing in the corridor. “When I suggested she have a bell, I had no idea she would ring it so often or so loudly.”

  “Or take such joy from it,” Gregory allowed. “I’ll ask the silversmith in Chessington to make her something smaller.”

  “You can try,” she said with a smile, “but I think she will want to keep the big one.” She yawned. “Excusez-moi.”

  He glanced closer. Darkness shadowed her blue eyes, and her curls seemed more tousled than the day before. “You need no pardon. Did she keep you up all night?”

  “Non.” Her smile faded. “I have enough noises in my head to do that all by myself.”

  He sighed. “We are imposing. I was afraid this might happen. We’ll reveal your true nature, find someone else to care for Mother.”

  Again she waved her hand. “You worry about nothing. I have faced far worse. Try pacifying the Emperor through one of his tantrums.”

  He could not imagine. “You were that close to Napoleon?”

  She shrugged. “More so to his wife, but yes, I had the privilege of watching him take out his disappointments on her and anyone else within shouting distance. Your mother pales in comparison.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure if that is a compliment or an insult.”

  She laughed, deep and throaty, and something inside him rose to meet the sound. “If I compare you favorably to any Frenchman save my father, you should be very afraid.”

  Though he was certain his mother could not have finished dressing so quickly, from inside her room can the sound of a clang. Yvette made a face.

  “I must go.”

  He caught her arm. “Are you certain? It would be easier to confess our deception to Mother and Lilith sooner rather than later.”

  “And risk that others might learn I am here,” she reminded him.

  She could not know how infrequently his mother and sister left the house. But she was right. Once they knew, the servants would know as well, and word would get out.

  She patted his hand. “Never fear. I can play my part. Remember to play yours.”

  That, he felt sure, would prove difficult. Whatever he did, his thoughts would likely drift to what must be happening overhead. Had his mother given Yvette some distasteful task? Had Lilith complained about some imagined slight? Had Yvette decided to wash her hands of the lot of them? How was he to focus?

  On any given day, he had meetings with his steward or his agent from London, who saw to his holdings on the Exchange. He might hear a petition from the vicar or the leader of a charity requesting his support in some endeavor. He had bills to review from Parliament, the annuals of the Royal Society to peruse for ideas on improvements he might want to enact.

  And his greenhouse was calling.

  He wasn’t sure when he’d first discovered his love of gardening. He could remember slipping from the house even as a lad to run down to the great glass buildings at the rear of the garden, where their head gardener raised the more exotic blooms as well as vegetables and fruits they would have been hard-pressed to grow otherwise during the colder months. There was something about plunging his hands into the rich earth, snipping off dead blossoms, and pruning branches for greater productivity that calmed his spirit, focused his mind.

  His father had never understood.

  “A gentleman has no need to dirty his hands, boy,” he’d insisted. “He hires lesser men to do it for him. I will not allow you to debase yourself this way.”

  And so Gregory had stayed away. It hadn’t been all that difficult while he was at school and on tour. And then he’d returned to a house empty of his father’s edicts. He’d made it plain to the head gardener that one of the greenhouses was his, to do with as he pleased. No one else was to even enter without his prior approval.

  He was planning his next steps—replanting the Liliaceae into deeper pots, coaxing the Prosthechea cochleate to keep blooming—as he ate breakfast when Miss Thorn appeared in the doorway. She must have left her pet with Marbury, for her hands were free. She waved Gregory back into his seat as he started to rise. Unlike Yvette, she looked rested and in complete control as she settled on the chair Perkins, their head footman, held out for her.

  “Forgive me for intruding, my lord,” she said, arranging her hyacinth-colored skirts. “But I was hoping to catch you this morning.”

  He straightened from his coddled eggs. “Something amiss?”

  She nodded to Perkins as he offered her the gilt-edged porcelain bowl, and the footman spooned some eggs onto her china plate. “Merely protocol. I have placed a staff member in this house, and I’d like to ensure the situation suits all involved before moving on. Would you be amenable to me staying longer? It shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

  It seemed she was as concerned about Yvette and his mother as he was. He could not share his feelings in front of the watchful Perkins, so he nodded. “Of course. Stay as long as you like. We are indebted to you for finding us so able a companion.”

  Even if he could not think of Yvette as a servant.

  ~~~

  Being a servant was more difficult than she remembered. At Claude’s house, of course, she had been no more than a drudge, assigned to the lowliest chores like scrubbing the floors on her knees or emptying the chamber pots. Even after Napoleon happened to inquire about her, then command her presence at court, she’d had to bow and serve the ladies higher in position. Here she was almost one of the family, expected to dine with the earl and his sister and to entertain any guests the countess might have. But she was forever at the lady’s beck and call. She didn’t even have time to feel melancholy.

  The countess began clanging her bell without fail by eight each morning, so Yvette took pains to be awake, dressed, and ready by t
hat time. When she had first come to England, she hadn’t been willing to allow a stranger like a maid to help her with her corset. It wasn’t just baring the bruises from her prison ordeal that made her hesitate. Those were fading from what she could see over her shoulder in the pier glass mirror her new bedchamber boasted. No, after all the years of secrecy, the need to hide her inmost thoughts, she found it hard to allow anyone so close.

  But Lady Carrolton’s maid, Ada, was a dear girl, frightened of her mistress and not a little awed at her elevation to the role of ladies’ maid. As she helped Yvette change, she confided that the previous maid had been discharged for poor service. Discharged in a fit of pique, more likely. Good thing the earl would not allow that to happen to Yvette.

  He was consideration itself, stopping by to visit his mother mid-morning and again to take tea in the afternoon. He always included Yvette in the conversation, asked after her with such sincerity she knew he was still concerned about their ruse. At Yvette’s urging, the lady consented to go down to dinner each evening as well, and the earl always walked her back to her suite and stayed to chat or read. He usually managed to lull his mother to sleep, so Yvette was able to slip out into the corridor with him afterward.

  “You do not have to take such care of me,” she’d said the second night. “Your mother is difficult, but I can manage.”

  “And if I want to take such care?” he’d asked.

  Something about the way he had gazed down at her had made her heart stutter in her chest. Non, non! This was not a grand ball, and she was not flirting. He was not offering more than a place of protection. She had a death sentence hanging over her head. Now was not the time to dream of taking a husband. After what she’d been through, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe enough to marry.

  “You are too kind,” she’d said, dropping her gaze. “Thank you. Until tomorrow.”

  He had bowed over her hand as if she were the lady her parents had wished for her to become, and she could not help her sigh as he’d walked away.

  Miss Thorn also visited the countess twice a day and dined with the family in the evening. Yvette had slipped away once for a private conversation and knew her friend’s concerns.

  “So, you and Miss French are getting on well?” Miss Thorn asked the countess the third day.

  “Quite well,” Lady Carrolton pronounced. “She takes excellent care of me. I haven’t had to resort to smelling salts in days.”

  Because she was enjoying all this attention. Yvette had a feeling that the countess’ maladies sprang from boredom and a fear of neglect. Of course, she hadn’t discussed the matter with any of the lady’s physicians, so she made sure to keep the little red case handy.

  Lilith always looked for it when she came to visit her mother, turning her haughty profile this way and that until she spied it, then glanced at Yvette as if she suspected her of hiding it. She was forever trying to direct Yvette, as if controlling the situation was all important. She alone watched Yvette as if trying to discover some dire secret that would allow her to discharge Yvette too. Why did she think Yvette was here? If she had been interested in stealing one of the priceless vases that lined the corridors, she would have done so and escaped by now.

  Still, seeing Lilith alone with her mother gave her reason to wonder. She would take Yvette’s seat beside the bed, forcing Yvette to find some corner to stand in. She wasn’t sure whether Lilith took delight in inconveniencing her or was simply oblivious to the plight of servants. She and her mother would talk, and the conversation always started the same way.

  “How are you today, Mother?”

  Lady Carrolton would list a number of ills and then inquire, “And you?”

  “Well, thank you,” Lilith would say. “I believe the weather is improving.”

  “We’ll have rain yet. You’ll see.”

  How unlike the conversations at the Emperor’s court. There everything had been veiled in innuendo, every look and word holding deeper meanings, and woe betide the person who could not navigate those waters. She had longed for a time when she could simply talk, without worrying whether someone might overhear or assume the worst. Her conversations with Lord Carrolton were like that—open, honest, much like the man himself.

  Still, had the countess and her daughter nothing more to say to each other than comments about their health and the weather? What of shared memories? Plans for the future? What of hopes, dreams? She could not imagine anyone so narrow.

  “Did Ada tell Lilith to wear the blue tonight?” the countess asked as Yvette was walking her down to the dining room the third night.

  She’d been glad the lady had sent her maid and not Yvette. Telling Lady Lilith anything would never be easy.

  “I believe she passed on your message, your ladyship,” Yvette said as they took the first turn. “But I cannot say whether your daughter will heed your advice.”

  The countess pouted. “No one ever heeds my advice.”

  She doubted that. The woman would not offer it so freely if no one ever responded. “I would like to see your daughter happy for once.”

  The countess sighed. “So would I. She was a bright child, like a little bird hopping about, always cheerful. I blame that villain for the change in her.”

  What was this? “A villain?” Yvette encouraged her as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Lady Carrolton paused in the entry hall, glancing about as if wondering whether the Grecian statues were listening, then leaned closer to Yvette. “A villain I will not name. However, a man paid her court the last year she went up for the Season. She never introduced me to him, which told me she knew he was beneath her. Her father refused to speak his name. He insisted the fellow was a fortune hunter and demanded that she cease receiving him. You mustn’t mention the matter to my son. If he could discover the fellow’s identity, he might call him out.”

  She struggled to see Lord Carrolton as the vengeful brother. And even if he was more of a bully than he appeared, would he go so far as to challenge this man to a duel? Had the fellow done worse than attempt to court Lady Lilith? Was that why she was so bitter?

  Or did her anger stem at being denied the right to marry the man she loved?

  Chapter Five

  Yvette de Maupassant was a wonder. Only Miss Ramsey at her finest was as devoted. When Gregory woke, Yvette was already up and in his mother’s room. She accompanied his mother to breakfast, served her tea, and sat beside her at dinner. She entertained her by reading, hosted visits from Miss Thorn and Fortune twice a day, and suffered through Lilith’s presence. Each day it seemed his mother grew stronger and happier. She even agreed to venture outdoors the fourth day.

  Marbury had set up a chair on the back lawn, and Gregory escorted his mother down the stone steps to it, so she need not use her cane. Yvette followed, arms laden with lap robes, which she tucked around his mother even though the day was warm. Both hands latched on the handle of the bell she had refused to allow out of her sight, his mother sat like a queen surveying her domain.

  And it was a satisfying sight. His grandfather had built the house, a solid block at odds with the rolling vistas around it. Gregory had had it remodeled, inside and out, to take advantage of the natural beauty. Now, most rooms looked out on the fertile plain and woods. He’d removed the old formal gardens with their regimented paths and replaced them with lawn that swept down to the stream. In the woods beyond, bluebells (Hyacinthoides, he reminded himself) made a carpet of purple under the green canopy, and songbirds flitted among the branches, their cheerful sound ringing.

  Fortune was particularly intrigued by the birds. Miss Thorn had brought her pet down to join them, jeweled collar fastened around the cat’s neck with a leash attached. Fortune sat still, watching the woods with copper-colored eyes, whiskers twitching, and Gregory thought it was only a matter of time before she darted in pursuit.

  Then his mother sneezed, and Fortune ducked behind her mistress’ skirts, which were once again the color of Lavandula, l
ike her eyes.

  Yvette offered his mother a lace-edged handkerchief.

  She eyed the silken square. “Aren’t you going to help me blow?”

  “Non,” Yvette said, turning her gaze to the view. “If you release the bell, you can do it for yourself.”

  His mother lifted the bell and gave it a good shake. Fortune dived under Miss Thorn’s skirts.

  Yvette tsked. “You have frightened le chat.”

  His mother peered around Miss Thorn as if to be sure. Fortune poked her head out from under the skirts and eyed her back.

  “Perhaps we can forego the bell,” Yvette suggested. “The noise is making me deaf. I cannot hear it as well as I did. If you keep ringing it, I may not be so quick to respond.”

  Face turning mulish, his mother rang it long and hard. Fortune must have tried to climb up inside her skirts, for poor Miss Thorn swept to one side, picked up her pet, and marched off to a safe distance where she stood petting and crooning to the creature. Gregory felt for her.

  “You are being unreasonable, Mother,” he said. “Everyone who can see to your needs is present. There’s no need to ring for them.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You’re the earl. Everyone must do as you say. Wait until you’re old and feeble, like me.”

  His mother had birthed children late. He’d overheard Society leader Lady Jersey telling another woman that some had expected she wouldn’t be able to bear an heir at all. Still, she was approaching her sixty-first year. He didn’t see that as so very old.

  Neither did Yvette, it seemed.

  “You are not feeble,” she informed his mother. “You ring that bell like the strongest farmer.”

  As if encouraged, his mother grinned and swung the bell again.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Lilith said, descending the stairs behind them, dun-colored skirts trailing. “Will someone please take that away from her?”