The Last Earl

by Lara Blunte

  Catherine, however, did not discuss Adrian at all, except to remark in a dry way to Charles and Jack that he seemed to be under the illusion of being Prince Hamlet.

  "I have heard he is outrageously drunk all day long," Jack contributed.

  "You cannot know such a thing," Charles said.

  "In any case," Catherine said, "I am not so concerned about what he may do to himself ─ he might do something to someone else beforehand."

  Jack was delighted at the turn things had taken. Even Charles, if he were to be honest, must have felt some relief to consider that Lady Catherine had taken such a dislike to her handsome kinsman.

  "A simple case of antipathy, my dear Charles," Jack said triumphantly. "Two strong personalities that repel each other. They are not suited. This leaves the field open for me and you, caro. Let the best man win!"

  But Catherine showed less enthusiasm for them. They sometimes found themselves ushered into Lady Ware's presence, only to have her excuse her daughter and regale them with worries over her cousin. Catherine would plead a headache and stay in her room thinking about Adrian in spite of herself.

  For he had not been ridiculous ─ and she knew, somehow, that it was going to be an inconvenience for her that he should be interesting.

  

  At last, just when no other trace of gossip from the past could be found to feed the insatiable curiosity over the Earl, the village was astonished one Sunday morning to see the man himself riding down its main road.

  The inhabitants, one and all, who met him on his way could do nothing but stare at him with open mouths. Those who recognized him would have expected to see the graveyard spit out its dead sooner than see him ride past bareheaded, but looking tidy and smiling at them as he trotted by. Those who did not know him wondered where such a creature came from as Tess, the colonel's maid, put it, "Lookin' as if he'd fallen out o' heaven".

  Five minutes after he passed by, the village, which had become frozen for a moment, went into a veritable whirl of activity. Neighbors invaded each other's houses without knocking, women left their husbands at dinner to confer with friends, men abandoned their wives the whole afternoon and evening to talk the thing out in the public house, and sisters fought each other over their finery as young men looked on with scorn.

  The Earl rode up to the cottage of one William Crocker and dismounted there to the utter surprise of Crocker's neighbors, humble people who could not account for such an honor befalling one of their station. Soon James, one of Crocker's many children, came out of the house with his hands in his pockets and explained with an indifferent air, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that the Earl had been receiving food from his father for the past weeks and had taken an interest in his poor health.

  At Lytton Hall, Catherine had also heard of Crocker's illness, for the man lived in the exact frontier between her estate and Adrian's. A father who was sick and could not provide for his children normally aroused her compassion at once. In Paris, she never did these rounds personally to avoid being thought too soft and becoming a target for every malingerer; but Henriette, whom she usually sent in her stead, did not speak English.

  Winter hadn't yet ended, though it should be spring soon, and she believed the whole family might freeze if she didn't do something. She went to Crocker's house accompanied by Henriette and a groom, claiming loudly to act on her mother's behalf.

  She walked into the cottage with two baskets full of food and found Adrian there so clean shaven, brushed, and impeccably dressed that she almost did not recognize him. He greeted her with courtesy and said how fortunate it was that she should arrive just then, when he had been about to send Mrs. Crocker for the ingredients of a good stew. In a moment he had the lady of the house and her daughters busy in the kitchen.

  Still smarting from their last encounter, Catherine presented a cold and proud profile to him, as he kept up an easy banter with Mr. Crocker. They seemed to find each other thoroughly amusing.

  When the visitors left, Mrs. Crocker thanked both of them profusely at the door, as their visit had left the family much better off.

  Catherine said nothing as they stepped outside together, but saw out of the corner of her eyes that Adrian was in an inexplicable good mood. His eyes were detached, the expressionless twin brothers of the eyes she had seen at Halford. This was not what she had expected at all. She had not expected him to look so much in control of himself. Furthermore, it was clear that he meant to offer no explanation for his behavior, and she rather admired him for it.

  It was he, in the end, who broke the silence, "I shall have more food sent to Crocker, and I've left some money behind. He's a good sort."

  Wanting to distance herself from her own act of charity, Catherine asked, "Did you not smell the gin? These people will drink themselves to death!"

  "These people," he retorted, mimicking her tone, "have not many better ways to forget their miseries."

  She raised a shoulder at him, "I don't see how drinking helps anything."

  "You haven't lived long enough," he retorted dryly as he walked her to her carriage. "I shall accompany you. I must speak with my aunt."

  He didn't ask, so she couldn't refuse. But she said nothing to him on the way to Lytton Hall, though he rode politely by her side. She began to feel absurd in her silent animosity, especially since it seemed to amuse him, but she could not find anything gracious to say and felt as if she were sinking into ridicule.

  At Lytton Hall she ushered him into Lady Ware's presence, and saw him kiss her mother's hand saying "I am sorry I did not come before," in such an unconcerned tone of voice that Lady Ware visibly quelled all her questions and only smiled a little dazedly.

  He was the complete master of the situation, and as he sat next to her mother Catherine thought that with his sleek dark hair and intense light eyes he looked like the watercolor of a black panther that she had seen in a book of exotic animals as a child. "P is for the Prodigious Panther,” it had said. It was Lady Ware who spoke first.

  "Dear boy, I am so glad to see you well."

  "The country diet has done wonders for me," he said, apparently aware that there had been gossip about his drinking.

  "Charles Dalton asks about you every day," her mother was saying. "He is so grateful to you for saving his life."

  "But then he saved it back. You can assure him I am also thankful."

  "You must come away from Halford. How can you bear to be in the house where Anne ─ and your poor darling brother, and your father..."

  She stopped, began crying and did not see his face as she said those words. Catherine, who had been watching him, saw that his eyes had taken a feverish look again. But it was the matter of a moment. "It's true that Halford is quite leaky at the moment, in spite of some effort on the part of Mr. McClain to keep the place up," he finally said.

  Lady Ware brightened up. "You are fortunate in your steward, such a loyal competent man. We are fortunate too in ours. But if Halford is so uncomfortable, then you must return here."

  "Thank you, Aunt Helen, but in fact I am on my way to London."

  "Already?" Lady Ware asked worriedly. "But you are not well enough to travel."

  "I am perfectly recovered. And, as you can imagine, there is a great number of affairs I need to put in order."

  "Yes, of course. So many years! Why, there has been quite enough of that for us, with Thaddaeus’ passing. Sometimes I don't know how we'll emerge from the pile of papers and decisions that must be made. The price of harvests or cows or pigs or I don't know what. Thank heavens Kitty has a better head than me for all these things."

  Adrian threw Catherine an amused look which irked her, and prompted her to stare back and say, "Yes, I'm a good judge of animals."

  She almost covered her own mouth, for she hadn't meant to be so unforgivably rude. However, he was infuriating and, far from looking shocked, he laughed and said, "Then you'll be certain to avoid a bad husband."

  Lady Ware looked from o
ne to the other, bewildered. But Adrian was already getting up and turning towards her. "I must say goodbye, Aunt Helen, and many thanks."

  He bent over her hand again, then bowed to Catherine. And then he was gone.

  Book II. London. One

  He was gone, and Catherine found that his departure made the tedious situation at Lytton Hall unsustainable.

  She could not explain to herself why the absence a man she had seen three times, and who had been a rude lunatic, should create such a vacuum in her days; but she was immediately sure that there was to be no relief from relentless boredom if she did not do something about it.

  The start of the season in London was around the corner before Lady Ware received a letter from an old friend, Lady Reville, inviting them to her house. She begged her dear Helen to forget her dislike of the city and to remember that she had a young daughter.

  Lady Ware, as usual, did not know what to think. Yet suddenly Catherine, who had talked of spending the season in Paris, was now determined to go to London. She asked her mother to answer Lady Reville in the affirmative forthwith, and ordered the servants to pack their things for an almost immediate departure.

  The Dalton brothers were to suffer their absence most keenly.

  "When you expect to return, Lady Catherine?" Charles asked on the eve of their going away.

  "I could not say now, Captain Dalton," she replied firmly, looking as if she might not come back in a long time.

  As they left the Hall that afternoon, Charles was pensive and Jack extremely joyful.

  "Well, dear brother,” Jack said with a satisfied smirk, “I must say that my vigil here is over. I see that you are in most excellent health, busy and happy, as are mama and papa ─ and so I shall take my leave. I will tarry in London awhile, I think. It has been so long since I have been there that it may even amuse me."

  "I do not think, Jack, that Lady Catherine will have as much time to receive you there as she did here."

  Jack laughed and lit a cheroot carefully before replying, "You do see through me don't you, fratello mio? I must confess that I do not plan to give her up so easily, especially now that things are going so well for me. You should not give up either, Charles. I think you may have as much of a chance as I do," he added generously, if insincerely.

  But Charles, for once displaying more insight into a woman than his brother, shook his head. "You are mistaken, Jack. Lady Catherine cares for neither of us."

  "What makes you say so? We were the only things that kept her from going out of her mind here."

  "Say what you like, but Lady Catherine is already in love, or very near it."

  "What are you talking about, old man?"

  "She is almost in love with Halford."

  "With Halford? She hates the fellow! You have heard her more than once say that he is insufferable ─ and he is! I tell you plainly, and mark my words, the thing with Lady Catherine is between you and me now."

  Charles still shook his head and smiled a little sadly. "She is going to London to be where Halford is, and I only hope that he does not play with her. He is an odd and ungovernable man."

  "She is not exactly a shrinking violet," said Jack with a twinkle in his eye. "And if he did play fast and loose with her, you would have to do something about it, wouldn't you Charles? Where would your code of chivalry be then? You would have to kill that madman in thanks for saving your life! If, that is, anyone can kill him."

  Jack had a laugh over his witticism and Charles, now buried in gloomy thoughts, said nothing else all the way home.

  

  Lady Reville, a handsome woman of almost seventy, was delighted to greet mother and daughter when they arrived at her stately house in London.

  This time Lady Ware had entered clutching a handkerchief to her nose, rather than her eyes. London smelled every bit as bad as she recalled. At every inch of the progress of their carriage, they had been assaulted by a different smell: the most overwhelming one had been the sewage, but there were the bloody carcasses at the butcher's, and the glue at the shoemaker's, and the dyes at the tanner’s; there was food rotting on the ground, animal dung, and a lot of unwashed humanity.

  Even Catherine, who was eager to be in the city, had ended up breathing into a vial of perfume she had in her reticule. "It doesn't smell that much worse than Paris!" she had told her mother.

  Their hostess laughed at the faces of disgust they still wore. "You will get used to it," she told them.

  "Oh, can one ever?" Lady Ware wondered, but immediately exclaimed over the beauty of Lady Reville's home to mitigate her bad manners.

  Lady Reville told them to refresh themselves and come down to tea. Once they were sitting with their porcelain cups and their cakes, she announced that she planned to give a great ball to introduce Catherine to London society ten days hence.

  "But Lady Reville," Lady Ware began, alarmed, "so much trouble ─"

  "Fudge, Helen! I feel twenty years younger already. The invitations have been sent out, I have already ordered the champagne, and the cook has a most delicious recipe for soufflé. It will be a success. I know how much you hate society, but you have a young daughter, so you will have to bear up. And now we must set to work, there is a great deal to do."

  Lady Reville's determination was overwhelming, and Catherine had a wonderful time with the old lady, who escorted her to the best seamstress in London, where an outstanding creation was being put together for her to wear.

  The curiosity being aroused by Edward Lytton's daughter and her money was especially amusing to Lady Reville, and she did her best to avoid letting anyone get a glimpse of Catherine. When a card was brought up to her, she would direct the butler to say that she was not at home.

  It was not long before Catherine, alone with Lady Reville, managed to bring up the subject that most interested her at the moment: "Has Lord Halford called on you?"

  "Once. I felt quite flattered."

  Catherine stirred her coffee. "Of course, I hear it would be a waste of time to expect manners from him," she said, feigning indifference.

  Lady Reville chuckled, "He is a favorite with most ladies in spite of it. I should say probably because of it."

  Catherine shrugged slightly. "I don't see how that behavior can endear him to anyone."

  "Oh, my dear, I think you are far too strong to ever understand it," said the old lady, still amused. "His type of temperament always brings women in droves, and then he is a very handsome man. Add the money and the mystery and it is all rather like gunpowder. But I have known him all his life, and Halford was never one to observe too many niceties. Society always seemed to bore him. Even that father of his, who made the Prime Minister quake in his boots, never managed to get him to behave quite as he was expected to."

  "I'm not sure if it's better or worse to know that he was always rude, even before he...you know." Catherine touched her temple to signify that Adrian might have lost his mind.

  "His wits are very much about him, if you ask me," said Lady Reville drinking her own coffee. She added reflectively, "Though it's odd that he disappeared for so long. Mind you," Lady Reville added, leaning closer to Catherine, "he did lose all the people he loved in one single night and in the most horrible way. He probably never cared enough for anyone else. He is with us now, but somehow he is not all there. A thing like that – it leaves scars, you know."

  There was much more that she wanted to ask, but Catherine did not want to give herself away by seeming too interested in the subject of the Earl of Halford.

  On the morning before the ball the old lady walked into Catherine's room with a card in her hand.

  "Halford sends to say that he will come tomorrow."

  Catherine began to brush her hair to hide her excitement, "Mama will be glad to see him."

  "I shall go tell her."

  As soon as she found herself alone, Catherine sat staring at her reflection in the mirror. She was annoyed that she should be thinking of this man, and made the decision not to
care at all about whether or not he came; but she knew that her resolve was false, and that even while telling herself not to care she was thinking of him.

  II. Two. A Ball

  Since the end of the war in February, high society had grown insatiable for amusement. Lady Reville's ball therefore opened a brilliant season in London.

  No one could say exactly what made Lady Reville's the best in a season so full of magnificent balls. In all of them the dresses were exquisite, the candles bright, the perfumes sweet. But then there was the no small matter of Lady Reville's protégée, the very rich and very beautiful Lady Catherine Lytton, and the return of the mysterious Earl of Halford. Both these fascinating creatures were to be seen in society at Lady Reville’s house, and the ball would have well been worth the price of admission if the old lady had cared to charge for it, just for the excitement of meeting them.

  The Earl’s return, as unexpected as his departure had been, had caused a lot of speculation, with many theories being thrown about as to why he had disappeared for so long, and little fact to back any of them up.

  There had been speculation about Lady Catherine as well. Those who had met her in Paris proclaimed her divinity; those who had never seen her doubted it. The men had therefore come to Lady Reville's with a gleam of expectation in their eyes, the women with a hint of scorn about their smiles.

  And when Lady Catherine glided in, borne in a cloud of the whitest silk, her immaculate shoulders bare, her long arms covered by gloves and her exquisite face framed by diamonds well worth someone's annuity, time stood still and even London's jaded great held their breaths. She was almost immediately surrounded by admirers.

  Observing how the crinoline became her regal figure, and how the white of her gown complemented the perfection of her skin, the women immediately attributed Catherine's appearance to the talent of her seamstress and the science of her chemist.