The Earl of Sunderland

by Aubrey Wynne

  When he returned to the estate, his father was waiting for him in the library with brandy poured. “I don’t usually partake this early in the afternoon but it feels like it’s been a bloody long day,” Falsbury said as he handed Kit a crystal glass. “Sit down, son. There is much to discuss and no use putting it off.”

  Laying his dark tail-coat over the back of a chair, he leaned against the fireplace mantel and removed his cravat. “Where shall we start?”

  Falsbury handed him a glass then settled himself behind his desk. “First, your brother had a few vowels left unpaid. I’d appreciate you taking care of those debts as soon as possible.”

  Kit nodded. “Was he in deep?”

  “No, surprisingly. He gambled often but not heavily. Never hung on my sleeve.” He stared out the window, a distressed look on his face. “I feel as if it were all wasted time. If I’d known what would happen, I’d have skipped all those confrontations.”

  “How were we to know?” Streaks of late afternoon sunlight speckled the desk and highlighted the gray in his father’s hair. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. He had aged years since Kit had last seen him. “You’re right—we are starting over. I don’t know anything about running Falsbury or your other estates.”

  “You will learn. God can’t possibly take both of my sons.” His brown eyes watered; he turned his head and cleared his throat. “At least you have the temperament for the title. It won’t be an uphill battle.”

  “Yes, I’ve always been the obedient son. Then again, I haven’t been forced to do anything I dislike.” He took a sip of the brandy and appreciated the slow burn down his throat. “But I am a man of honor and will do my duty.”

  “I know you will, Christopher. Perhaps the two of you should have switched identities. I know Carson tried to convince you of it.” With a heavy sigh, the older man turned back to the papers on his desk. “So many legalities to deal with, I’m afraid. The solicitor will finish drawing up the papers to name you the fifth Earl of Sunderland and heir to Falsbury. The second son is now a future marquess. How does it feel?”

  “Bloody awful. The title will take a bit of getting used to, I suppose.”

  “And then there is Lady Sund—er, Lady Eliza,” he added, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I assume she will return home to her family. Her father sent word that he’ll make arrangements as soon as we are ready.”

  “Her father is a demmed sneaksby, you know that.” Kit remembered the conversation with Lady Grace over a year ago. “He beats his women. I can’t imagine she’ll want to go back to that.”

  The marquess waved a hand. “That’s not my concern. She’ll have a tidy income until she remarries, so as a widow she can do what she wants. I don’t see her having enough backbone to be independent, but as I said, it will be her decision.”

  “I need to go to London next week, so I can stop at the solicitor’s office then.” Kit decided his next conversation would be with the widow. “Shall we meet for a set time each day to begin familiarizing me with my duties and your expectations?”

  “Always the military man, eh? Even as a boy, you liked routine, everything orderly and kept in its place. But you used to smile more. It was the one thing you and your brother had in common. The war, I suppose?”

  Kit grunted. “It certainly doesn’t lighten one’s disposition, does it?”

  “No, I imagine not.” His father tipped his head and finished off the brandy. “I feel old today. First time in my life that the years are weighing on me.”

  “Unpleasant for all of us. If there’s nothing else, my lord, I need to check on Mother.” He picked up his tailcoat then paused. “Would it have made a difference if I’d been here?”

  His father smiled weakly and shook his head. “That’s the irony of this tragedy. Carson had come around. No more rumors of him at the brothels or gaming-hells, no revel rousing. He treated his wife with polite deference and even appeared to enjoy her company. I had such high hopes.”

  When the old man’s gaze wandered to the window again, Kit slipped quietly out of the room. Good god, how was he going to do this? He already missed the army. It held a security, an assurance of what the future would bring—if one didn’t fall in battle. But that was a price every soldier had to be willing to pay. At his age, how did one start over? Learning how to manage the estates wouldn’t be a problem, he reasoned. He managed hundreds of men from all classes. It was the whole marriage and heir predicament. Now he knew how Carson had felt. Except this had been sprung on him like a hunting trap. And there was no escape.

  With a knock, he entered the drawing room where his mother sat reading a bible. She was still an attractive woman, her cheeks still smooth and only a few streaks of gray threaded her ebony hair. “Can I get you anything, Mother?”

  She lifted her red-rimmed eyes and held out her hand. “A kiss from my son? It will provide me with more comfort than this book.”

  “Of course,” he replied, bending over her to place one on her soft cheek. “Anything else? I wanted to speak to Lady Eliza. Would it be better if you came along?”

  Her face brightened with the subject. “Such a sweet, precious girl. She’s been great company for me since the wedding. Everything a woman could want in a daughter.”

  “Do you know if she has made any plans?”

  “No. Why don’t you ring for a servant, and we’ll send for her.”

  Kit obliged, and while they waited, Lady Falsbury confided she didn’t want her daughter-in-law to leave. “If she could stay for a while, it would be such a comfort to have her near until I am…better.”

  The woman in question appeared at the threshold. “My lord, Lady Falsbury, you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, please come in and make yourself comfortable. We were just talking about the future.” He noticed her drawn face, the pinched expression. “Are you feeling up to it?”

  “Sit down, my dear,” Lady Falsbury murmured as she patted a chair next to her own. “It can wait for another day if you are not quite yourself yet.”

  Lady Eliza shook her head. “No, I’m well enough. Thank you for inquiring, Lord Sun…Sunderland.”

  When she faltered over the name, he cringed. “It will take some time for all of us to become accustomed to my title. When we are in private, perhaps it may be better for both of us if you call me Kit.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “My father is under the impression you will return to your family. My mother is hoping you will grace us with your presence for a while longer. We are in no hurry to see you go.” He paused. Her fidgeting had intensified and a perfect crease appeared on the lap of her black dress. “Am I distressing you, Lady Eliza?”

  “That will depend on your reaction.” She blinked twice then lowered her eyes again, her fingers pulling on a strand of blonde hair. “I fear I am carrying Carson’s baby.”

  Silence. The kind of early morning silence just before the sun bursts over the horizon. And burst it did.

  “Oh, my dear,” cried his mother, tears spilling from her dark eyes. “Are you sure? You are with child?”

  With only a nod in confirmation, her eyes remained pinned to her leather shoes, peeping out from the bombazine skirt.

  Surprise attack, punched in the gut. Kit swiped a hand over his face as the implications of this news came over him. A reprieve? Possibly. Did he want to be held at bay? Left dangling here in England while he waited to see if the title would be his or given to a bawling infant? Bloody hell, a complication he hadn’t foreseen.

  “Lady Eliza, you realize what this means?” he asked quietly. She nodded once again. “Well, may I be the first to congratulate you.”

  Her head lifted, her violet eyes swimming in unshed tears. “You are not angry?”

  To his astonishment, some of the darkness had lifted from his soul. A baby. A nephew. Carson’s child. “No, my dear sister. I’m very happy, very happy indeed.” He held out his hands, and she rose to clutch them in her own as he kissed each o
f her cheeks. “That answers one question. You won’t be leaving us any time soon.”

  A tremulous smile grew, transforming her face from haggard to lovely. The women’s joy swelled his heart. Yes, this was good news.

  “Eliza, what have you eaten today? We need to get sustenance in that scrawny body. My grandson will have a hearty appetite.” Lady Falsbury wiped the tears from her face, the pale blue eyes brightening. “Christopher, ring for a light luncheon, please. I find my appetite has also returned. Oh, fetch your father but have some brandy on the ready.”

  Chapter 5

  “There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  Boldon Estate

  “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but there is no need to stay with Eliza now.” Lord Boldon spread out his hands. “The family will be in mourning with no possibility of entertaining until next season.”

  “Yes, Papa, but I’m going for different reasons now. I would be with her already if you had allowed me to attend the funeral.” Grace gave her father a mutinous look.

  He wagged a finger at her. “Women do not have the constitution for such affairs. Lady Falsbury would not have approved. She only attended the church service, and it was her son.”

  “That’s balderdash and you know it. I should have been there for Eliza.” Grace was not letting this go, even as the tears stung the back of her eyes. When Mama died, neither her aunt nor cousin had been allowed to visit. She remembered how much it would have meant to her to have Eliza there. “I know what it feels like to be alone in time of sorrow.”

  She shouldn’t have said it. Her hand went to her mouth, and she shook her head. “Oh, Papa. I’m so sorry. I’m such a dimwit. I didn’t mean—”

  “You did, and you are right. I wasn’t there for you when your mother died. I was drowning in self-pity, and you manned the ship until I could steer it again.” He held out his arms, and she hugged him fiercely. He held her for a moment, stroking her back. “Oh, my sweet. I worry such a visit will steal the brightness from your eyes.”

  “I’ll be fine. I have come up with a plan.”

  He chuckled. “Another plan? Please tell me there is a husband somewhere at the end of this latest scheme of yours.”

  “This is no longer about marriage. Eliza is with child and in mourning. She needs me. Please, Papa, we cannot deny her our love and support when she needs us the most.” She held one of his big hands in both of hers. “A woman’s worst enemy is her own imagination. With our history in the birthing bed, she will need a trusted voice to calm her fears. Think of your niece. Think of Mama. She would be horrified if we did not do everything in our power to help her sister’s only child.”

  Her father puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out dramatically. “When you put it like that, I see no way to refuse. But this matter is only postponed.”

  “Yes, Papa. Oh thank you,” she gushed then wiped at the corners of her eyes with her palm and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  As she left the library, her mind whirled with arrangements she needed to make and the necessary packing. There was so much to do.

  “Sammy, Sammy, I need your help.” She called to her little brother who once again perched on the top of the landing. “And don’t you dare ride down that bannister.”

  With a grin, the little boy gave a salute, lay down on the gleaming wood, and slid to the bottom step. “I didn’t fall on my bum this time, Gracie. I’m getting better.”

  “Watch your language, you impudent child. Now, we are leaving in less than a week to visit cousin Eliza. You need to make a list of what I should pack for you. Not all of your toys, mind you, but don’t forget anything important.”

  “Like Thor,” he offered. “He would be very upset if I left him behind.”

  “Yes, you would both be devastated. He would not like to miss this adventure.” Thor was Sammy’s wooden warhorse. The local carpenter had made it for her mother just before his birth.

  “And my toy theater,” he added. “I wager Eliza would like to watch some of our plays.”

  “I’m sure she will enjoy them immensely.”

  “And my whirligig, I can’t—”

  “Make a list. Don’t worry about the correct spelling or have your Mr. Chenwick help with it.”

  “I can write my letters all by myself now,” he said with lips pursed, eyes scrunched, and arms crossed over his chest. His pout was adorable. When he stomped his foot, the dark blue breeches fell back over his knees.

  She crossed her own arms and screwed up her face in imitation. “I remember now why you’re so good at plays and drama. Now, get up those stairs and make that list. I won’t be responsible if it’s not on your list.”

  Grace was excited to stay at Falsbury for a month but still had a knot in her stomach about the pregnancy. Her cousin’s letter had been filled with sadness and joy. She read it again, an intense protectiveness filling her chest.

  Dearest Grace,

  This must be a dreadful dream. I will wake up soon and cry with relief, but until then, my heart is breaking. Carson is dead. One moment he is kissing me good night, off to the clubs with Lord Weston. The next, I’m roused from my bed to learn he has fallen from a horse and broken his neck. How will I bear it?

  I know we were not a love match, but he was so good to me, Gracie. So tender and considerate and like no man I have ever known. Why would God give me such happiness for such a short time? I lay awake wondering if I would have been better off never knowing such affection.

  My only consolation is his child growing inside me. He made me promise to keep it our secret for awhile. He wanted to savor the moment, he said, before his father sucked the joy from it. He was so happy, and I thought I was the luckiest of women. Now I will have to tell them alone, without him by my side. Oh, pray that I have a daughter, so I may keep her to myself. They won’t care about a useless little girl, but I would cherish her. A small part of Carson left behind for me.

  I need you, Gracie. I need your strength and your common sense. Please come to me when you can.

  Your loving cousin,

  Eliza

  Her first reaction to Eliza’s terrible and wonderful news had been tears. Tears for a dead man who had shown kindness to a lonely, frightened girl. Tears for a woman who would now raise a child without his father. Tears for the ghastly possibility the reaper might return and take Eliza from her. And then relief no one had witnessed her breakdown. She had fretted, considered begging off the invitation with a poor excuse. She wanted to offer solace but would Eliza’s swelling belly bring back all the fear and horror of that awful day? Her father’s concern had not been trivial.

  Her apprehension was short-lived, though. Grace considered herself a problem-solver. Whining won’t help. Find a resolution, her mother had always said. After extensive reading and long conversations with the local doctor, chemist, and midwife, she found a practical solution. There were now male practitioners that specialized in birthing. Her present mission was to convince Lady Falsbury the baby should be born in London, where an accoucheur could be engaged in advance and sent for immediately. The family certainly had enough influence to make that happen. If she could put her own mind at ease, Eliza would also be free from anxiety.

  The next few days were hectic. There was so much to pack and instructions to give so the estate would continue to run smoothly while she was gone. Her father would escort them to Falsbury and return the following week. She was glad to have him along. He was more comfort than he realized and very good company. Seated at a small table in the library, Grace went over her final notes. A light breeze rippled the pale blue draperies, distracting her with the soft but crisp sound of silk against taffeta. With a sigh, she took in the vivid purples, pinks, and reds of the lilies, carnations, and lobelia that vied for attention in the garden.

  The terrible twist in her gut, her terror of childbirth, had dissipated. Perhaps it would all work out. Women lost husbands, women had babies, life wen
t on. As long as she was not one of those women.

  Sammy burst through the door, a paper clenched in his chubby little fist. His cheeks were pink, complementing his red waistcoat. Such a little gentleman…until he opened his mouth.

  “I have the list,” he said in his loud but practiced grown-up voice. She nodded to let him know she had heard and dipped the point into the inkpot to finish her instructions.

  “G-R-A-C-I-E, I H-A-V-E THE L-I-S-T!”

  She cringed, hands clamping over her ears. “Samuel Beaumont, did you see me acknowledge you?”

  With a grin, he nodded.

  “Then why did you scream?”

  “You weren’t looking at me,” he said indignantly.

  “I don’t need my eyes to hear you, young man. It is improper to raise your voice in front of a woman,” she lectured, pointing the quill at him. “Apologize.”

  “But you’re not a woman, you’re my sister.”

  “I am still a female so you will practice your manners on me.” She leaned back in the chair, knowing this would not happen in a snap. He had inherited their mother’s argumentative nature.

  “But Papa says when a man comes to you with an important matter, he should get your full attention. So you have to look at me.” Samuel stood straight, shoulders back, as if waiting for his own apology.

  “That is not the way to go about it. You should wait patiently until I lift my head.”

  He stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m sorry if you thought my patience was too loud.”

  Well, Grace supposed that would have to do. She held out her arms, and he ran into them. Wiggling onto her lap, he tried to smooth the crumpled parchment on the table. “I think I have everything. Read it.”

  “Why don’t you read it for me?”