The Earl's Secret

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Fear not, Miss Erskine. I am certain that Miss Julia spends as much time on her needlework and watercolors as she does reading educational tomes.”

  Miss Erskine grumbled something under her breath that sounded like “from your mouth to God Almighty’s ears,” but he could not be certain. Laughing was out of the question, so he winked at Anna’s sister. Julia leaned back and grimaced at him. Apparently the womanly arts did not appeal to her, either. Evidence of the influence exerted by her unconventional sister whom he could not imagine sitting with needle and threads or a paintbrush and watercolors.

  Teaching indigent children. Helping to edit a magazine. Kissing him in the moonlight.

  “I will not keep you from the rest of your day. Please give Miss Fairchild my regards when you see her.” David stood, and bowed to the women.

  Lady MacLerie rose as well and walked with him to the door of the drawing room where the footman stood waiting to escort him downstairs. “Go ahead, Ian. Gather Mr. Archer’s belongings and we will be right down.” The footman went off to do the lady’s bidding.

  “Mr. Archer, Anna sometimes stays behind at the school to work on her own projects. You can probably still find her there,” she whispered as they walked down the stairs to the entryway. “Tell Mrs. Dobbs that I sent you.”

  Startled by her cooperation, he looked at her and shook his head. “Lady MacLerie,” he began, not sure of what was to follow.

  “I think that Anna becomes too deeply engrossed in the problems of others and does not see her own, Mr. Archer. A bit of a look-around never hurts.”

  “A look-around?”

  “At life, as it passes by so quickly that it will be missed by those who need it most. Unless, of course, friends and those who care intervene.” They reached the doorway and she patted his arm. “Her office is at the top of the stairs, first door on the right. You may tell her I expect her for dinner and that Julia and Miss Erskine are already present if you need a message to deliver.”

  What could he say when she offered him the excuse he needed to barge in on whatever occupied Anna’s time? “My thanks.”

  Soon David found himself back in the carriage and on his way to the school. And Anna.

  Anna pulled her sketchbook out of the desk drawer and opened it to the last unfinished page. The actress playing the wife in the drama-in-two-acts. The outlandish costume had drawn her attention and Anna thought she had captured it well in her sketch. The feathers stood at attention above the garish stage cosmetics and wig. The shocked expression in the woman’s eyes at finding the truth. A few more strokes to complete the mouth and it was done.

  Usually, drawing soothed her rattled nerves and helped her concentrate on the words she needed to use in the essay. Now, though, her thoughts jumbled in her mind and would not organize as she needed them to. Lord Treybourne’s essay also lay there in front of her, goading her to answer in the same harsh tones he had used. And would that not be the way a man would answer such slurs cast upon his reputation?

  Anna put the sketchbook aside and studied the paragraphs she’d written so far and found she was neither pleased nor satisfied with their construction or content. This was not going well at all. Especially when this essay needed to be completed and in Lesher’s hands by the day after tomorrow. She leaned back against the hard wooden back of the chair and tried to pull her thoughts together about this.

  Now that Lord Treybourne had raised the stakes, how did she respond? A man would strike back, matching the threats and insults and making new ones. Could he, er, she afford to do that? More than anything, Anna wished to keep this about the issues and not the personalities involved. Could she, though, now?

  The words flew around inside her thoughts once more. After a few more minutes of frustration, Anna picked up the sketches again. This time she turned to a new page and simply let her hand move at its own pace and direction. The outline of the face that appeared on the page should not surprise her, for he had filled her thoughts for days and days.

  The details surprised her, for she did not realize that there was a slight crook in the bridge of his nose until she saw it there on the page. His mouth was full and his strong chin had the most appealing dimple when he smiled. However, no amount of skill or practice could get the intensity of his eyes correctly. Or how they made a person melt under their scrutiny. Or how blue they were. Her charcoal pencil would never capture the color.

  This woolgathering would get her nowhere. “Inappropriate,” Aunt Euphemia would say. Wasting time thinking about a man who would never be anything more to her than her enemy’s messenger. But was he only that?

  Mr. Archer could be exasperatingly discreet or exceedingly kind. Dashing and handsome or heedless of his appearance. Arrogant or earthy. He was a wild combination of extremes all at once. Anna knew that she was attracted to him in an unseemly manner and amount for a single woman with no connections or expectations other than those she made for herself.

  True, she needed him to intercede on her, or rather the magazine’s, behalf with Lord Treybourne, and soft or personal feelings would simply muddy the already murky waters that swirled around this endeavor. He needed to see the good that the profits enabled but not all the connections involved. And she needed to be clear-minded in order to accomplish it.

  Anna glanced once more at the sketch, intent on putting it aside. With a sigh, she closed the sketchbook and closed her eyes for a moment. She could see his face there before her. He’d had an unexpected effect on her life and she wondered how she would go back to the normalcy when he left for London. A noise in the corridor outside her office caught her attention and she opened her eyes. The strange thing was that she could still see his face.

  “Miss Fairchild?”

  And hear his voice.

  Anna shook herself from her reverie and discovered Mr. Archer standing before her. With his hat in his hand, he stepped closer to the desk…and to seeing the papers on which she worked. A. J. Goodfellow’s next essay. She met his gaze as she scooped the papers into her satchel, hoping and praying he had not seen them.

  “Mr. Archer, forgive me,” she said, standing and offering a polite curtsy. “I did not hear you enter.”

  “Most likely the weather covered my approach,” he offered.

  Anna glanced at the window to discover that it was raining. In concentrating on both writing the essay and on some questions about the financial backing for the school, she admitted to herself that she had not looked out the window in hours. “Ah, the weather.”

  She had not noticed how strong the storms had become, but the bolt of lightning and crash of thunder made it clear. Now she realized that he stood dripping on the floor. Before she could offer assistance, one of the younger girls knocked behind him.

  “Yes, Molly?”

  “Mrs. Dobbs would like to know if you want tea for your visitor, miss.” Molly’s eyes became as wide as her belly when Mr. Archer turned and smiled at her.

  “Yes, Molly, please,” he replied, and then he turned to face Anna. “If Miss Fairchild permits it, that is.”

  “Of course, Mr. Archer. Molly, please tell Mrs. Dobbs to send tea.”

  The girl still appeared dazed by his attention, and knowing well that feeling, Anna cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention. With a curtsy and another glance at Mr. Archer, Molly left.

  “She is new here and learning to serve as a housemaid.”

  “So your school teaches its pupils more than adding their sums and writing their letters?” He walked to the desk, and nodded at the chair. “If I may?”

  “Of course, Mr. Archer. And to answer your question, this school teaches the girls many skills they will need later…when they leave.” She found it difficult to speak of that, so she took her seat as well. Anna noticed the copy of Whiteleaf’s still on the desk at just the same moment that her visitor did.

  “Ah, so you are still bothered over Lord Treybourne’s article, then? Even now, more than a week later?” He reached over and pic
ked up the copy, reading it silently. Anna could not help but notice that his lips tightened into a thin line of disapproval as he continued reading.

  “His words are hateful and unnecessarily provocative. Surely you see that? Instead of discussing the issues raised by Mr. Goodfellow, he had resorted to personal attacks.”

  “If my memory serves me, it was the last essay by Mr. Goodfellow that began that attack. He specifically called Lord Treybourne the ‘representative of an unfeeling and unresponsive government’ and accused him of—what were the words?—ah, ‘making money off the backs of the poor and unfortunates in our society.’” Mr. Archer sat up in his chair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Wouldn’t you call that the first assault?”

  When he turned his gaze on her, she lost the ability to remember all the facets of her arguments. Anna could discuss society’s ills for hours with Nathaniel and his business associates. Even Lord MacLerie engaged in lively debate with her, and she could make logical, rational points for her position. Now, though, sitting just a yard or so from Mr. Archer, she discovered that she could not put more than a few words together.

  “Perhaps, sir, but—”

  “Perhaps? Come, Miss Fairchild, I gave you more credit for your knowledge and intelligence that that. Lord Treybourne did not—”

  “Did not what, sir? Did not use his power and connections and those in his employ to undermine Mr. Goodfellow’s position? Your presence here in Edinburgh speaks to that, Mr. Archer.”

  “I am here of my own accord, Miss Fairchild, as I believed I explained to Nathaniel.” His calm demeanor was beginning to falter. She could see him searching for his words, too.

  “Ah, looking for property to buy here in the New Town was the reason you gave for your business.”

  He stopped then, and a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “In spite of my use of that as an excuse to keep you from knowing my true purpose, I have bought several of the building sites in the new area in the eastern approaches.”

  “For Lord Treybourne?”

  “Yes, for his and for my own uses. I have discovered much to like about your city and decided that property here would be of value to me.”

  Somehow, even though she knew he most likely spoke of the business possibilities here, a part of her thought she might play a part in his liking of Edinburgh. And another part, the shameless romantic that lived within her regardless of how many times she learned the hard lessons of life, hoped that she did.

  “Miss?” Molly’s voice broke into a discussion that had somehow become much too intimate.

  “Yes, Molly. Please come in.”

  Molly carried a small tray with a teapot and two cups on it, as well as a sugar bowl and some cream in a small pitcher. The pieces did not match, but that was not important. Molly handled it smoothly, placing the tray on her desk and then standing back and waiting further instructions about whether or not to serve it.

  Anna saw Mr. Archer’s expression as he caught sight of Molly’s belly. He could have missed it before, but now, standing this close, he would have to be blind not to see that the girl was “in a delicate condition,” as they would say in polite households. In the very same polite households responsible for getting the girl into that condition.

  “Thank you, Molly. I will serve Mr. Archer.” Unsure of his reaction, she wanted to shield the girl from any disdain he might show. Molly curtsied again and turned to leave.

  “Molly,” he said. When the girl turned back to face him, his face was troubled. “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be sixteen on my next birthday, sir.”

  He seemed to want to ask something else, but only nodded to the girl. “Thank you for bringing the tea, Molly.”

  “Ain’t nothing…” She paused and looked at Anna before saying more. “My pleasure, sir, miss.” At Anna’s nod, Molly left and Anna noticed the satisfied smile on the girl’s face as she completed her task successfully.

  He said nothing as Anna poured the tea, offered him sugar and cream and placed the cup before him. She preferred hers plain and lifted the cup to her lips. Over the rim, she noticed he stared into his.

  “Is there something wrong with the tea, Mr. Archer?”

  “Are all of your pupils in the same condition, Miss Fairchild?”

  Here was the opportunity she’d hoped for. A chance to explain some of the good that the profits from the Gazette accomplished. So far, he had demonstrated a kind and tolerant attitude toward others. Would it continue when he knew of her involvement?

  “Yes, Mr. Archer, they are. Although in various stages of that condition.”

  His expression took on a new aspect now. A haunted, bleak look entered his eyes, and for a moment, she felt the need to offer him some comfort. “And you teach them?”

  “Although many would shun them, sir, I do teach them. Is it not our Christian duty to care for those who cannot care for themselves?” She did not wait for him to answer, for it was a rhetorical question. “They did not choose to be in this condition. In most of these situations, it was thrust on them by someone to whom they could not raise an objection.”

  When his eyes widened for a scant second, Anna knew he understood her reference and just who would be forcing women into private relations. “I believe you are an honorable man, sir, and I wish to share some private information with you in the hopes that you can convey the spirit of it, without the details, to your employer.”

  He regained some measure of control and looked at her now. “Please go on, Miss Fairchild.”

  “I…own…hold…an interest in the Gazette and use my profits to maintain this school.”

  Would he be shocked, as most would, to learn this? It was the truth—well, part of the truth—of the situation. She could never reveal the whole truth without threatening all of those involved.

  “You do not cease to amaze me, Miss Fairchild.”

  She watched him speak, afraid to see the censure that most of society would feel toward her in this situation. A gentlewoman of good breeding did not associate with the lower classes. A gentlewoman from a good family did not engage in business. A gentlewoman who hoped to marry well did not besmirch her reputation by spending her days teaching girls who would bear illegitimate babies.

  His gaze held only respect when she finally gained enough courage to meet it. Respect and a strange sadness that disappeared as soon as she thought she glimpsed it again.

  “So, the popularity of Mr. Goodfellow’s battle with Lord Treybourne and the resultant increase in subscriptions have increased your charity here?”

  “Yes!” He did understand. “I am hopeful that if the magazine continues to grow and the focus on this problem does as well, we will gain enough donations and will be able to open a second house. There is such a need among these young women. But if this becomes a personal disagreement and draws attention away from the needs of those less fortunate, this endeavor will fail.”

  He lifted his cup and drank the tea without pause. “And how did you develop such a conscience about matters so grave as these?”

  “When my father passed away, I worked in the places where these women did. My situation as a governess or tutor was somewhat different—” she paused and swallowed, trying to make the words come out smoothly “—but I was witness to some despicable behavior by those in the noble class.”

  There was a hardness about him now and she feared that she had revealed too much to him. If he told Lord Treybourne the whole of the matter, it would take no large effort on his part to undermine their work here. If Lord Treybourne discovered the names of those who donated funding, he could, with nothing more than a discreet word whispered in the right ear, shut that funding off as quickly as it started. Unfortunately, from his expression now, Anna could not tell what Mr. Archer’s intentions were.

  “I will consider this matter, Miss Fairchild.” He stood and took his hat from the desk. “I interrupted your work and will let you return to it. Good day to you.”

>   The man who was turning to leave was a far different one from the man who entered her office a short time ago and she was not certain how or why he had changed before her eyes. A chill passed through her and she feared that Nathaniel’s warnings would have been better heeded than ignored.

  “Mr. Archer, did something bring you here today?”

  “Ah, yes. I was bringing a message from Lady MacLerie.”

  “Clarinda? When did you see her?”

  “I was completing some errands of my own when I met up with her. Lady MacLerie wanted me to remind you of your dinner engagement at her home this evening.”

  “She did?” Anna rose and walked to the door. “I appreciate you acting as messenger, Mr. Archer.”

  “Good day, Miss Fairchild,” he said once more as he strode through the doorway, and down the hallway and stairs. She heard Mrs. Dobbs herself let him out the front door.

  Resisting the urge to look out the window, Anna lasted only a moment or two before she crossed to it and peered out into the Edinburgh rain. Mr. Archer waved off the hired carriage he used and stalked up the High Street toward the South Bridge. It wouldn’t take long before he would be soaked through to the skin in the torrents of rain that fell from the sky. She watched his progress for as long as she could see him and then turned away.

  Had she misjudged him after all? His manner and attitude during their conversation had turned completely around and she wondered what had done it. Although clearly bothered by some part of it, he had not been unkind to Molly—indeed, his behavior could have been described as concerned or even solicitous toward the unfortunate girl. However, something had caused the change.

  Would everything she and Nathaniel had worked for end in destruction for her misstep? As the thunder rumbled through the sky, she worried that it would. And with Nathaniel out of town, there was no one to talk to about this dilemma.

  Chapter Twelve

  He wanted to break something, but the glass, as it shattered against the back wall of the fireplace, was not nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be. David thought to throw another, but knew it would not settle the anger and frustration within him.