Counterfeit Earl

by Anne Herries

  shameless! Everyone is talking about it...'

  Olivia was thoughtful as she changed for dinner that evening. After spending a week at

  Camberwell, she could not doubt her sister's happiness. Beatrice no longer spent long hours in the

  kitchen cooking, nor did she clean, but her influence was everywhere in the house. It was evident

  that her servants respected her, and her household was impeccably run while retaining a warmth

  and charm that was often missing in large houses.

  Olivia supposed that she might be happy in a house like Camberwell, which happened to be the

  smallest of Lord Ravensden's houses. Or she would be if she were married to a man she could

  love and admire; but somehow her rebellious spirit still craved adventure.

  There was a strange restlessness inside her. She had begun to realise that her careful upbringing

  had been against her true nature. Lady Burton was a nervous, fussy woman, who had raised Olivia

  in her own image, but as each day passed the girl had gradually found her perception Of the world

  and herself changing.

  As yet she did not truly know the real Olivia. The girl who had loved to dance until dawn and flirt

  with the gentlemen who paid her pretty compliments was still there, of course, but she suspected

  there was another Olivia waiting to emerge.

  'If only something exciting would happen,' she murmured to herself as she prepared to go

  downstairs and join her family at supper. 'If only I could fall in love the way Beatrice has...' She

  laughed at herself. At Brighton, she was likely to meet the same gentlemen she had known in

  London, none of whom had caught her interest.

  'What are you waiting for, Olivia?' she asked her own reflection in the mirror. She shook her head

  at her own thoughts as the words of a poem came into her mind. A pale knight wandering lost and

  alone after the heat of battle...waiting to be brought back to life by a beautiful lady, who would

  take the shadows from his eyes... 'Where are you, my pale knight?'

  Her head was full of romantic nonsense! Why could she not settle for someone kind and generous?

  Why must she always look for something more?

  Dismissing her own longings as ridiculous, Olivia picked up her silk shawl and went downstairs

  to join the others.

  Olivia sighed as she glanced out of the carriage window. They had been travelling for three days,

  having broken their journey by staying two nights with Lord and Lady Dawlish, who were great

  friends of Harry and Beatrice, in their house near the lovely, ancient village of Bletchingley in

  Surrey. It was now nearly noon, and they had set out at half-past the hour of eight that morning.

  They would soon be stopping to take refreshments and change the horses at the posting stage.

  'Whoa! Whoa there!'

  'What is happening?' Beatrice said, looking surprised as their coachman pulled the horses to a

  rather sudden and juddering halt. 'Can you see anything, Olivia?'

  Olivia glanced out of the window. 'I believe there is an obstruction on the road. It looks as if

  someone's coach may have lost a wheel.'

  'Oh, how unfortunate,' Beatrice said. She would have gone on, but her groom opened the carriage

  door and looked in. 'Yes, Dorkins? Has there been an accident?'

  'I'm afraid so, milady. It means a delay while we help the gentleman to clear the road.'

  'Then we may as well get down and stretch our legs,' Olivia said, giving her hand to the groom.

  'Pray help me out, Dorkins. I need a little exercise.'

  They had stopped on a quiet stretch of road, which was quite narrow and hemmed in by a thick

  wood to either side. One glance at the cumbersome coach ahead, which was tipped drunkenly

  forward, having lost its front nearside wheel, told Olivia that they would be delayed for several

  minutes while the grooms of both vehicles combined to move the coach off the road.

  Beatrice looked out of the window as Olivia started to wander away. 'Where are you going,

  dearest?'

  'Just to stretch my legs. Do not worry. I shall not go far.'

  Olivia left the road, entering the wood. Her purpose was an indelicate subject, and one that she

  was not prepared to discuss in full hearing of the grooms, but she had been waiting to answer the

  call of nature for some while. She had preferred not to ask coachman to stop, thinking that they

  would soon reach the posting inn, but now she had determined to seize her chance to relieve

  herself.

  Not for the first time in her life, Olivia found herself wishing she were a man as she gathered the

  voluminous skirts of her stylish travelling gown and squatted awkwardly behind a bush, which

  was well out of sight of the road. A few moments later, she emerged feeling more comfortable and

  began to rearrange her clothing, peering round at the back to make sure she was decent.

  Reassured, she was about to return to the road when she heard a low growling noise and turned to

  find her way blocked by a huge black dog. Its top lip was curled back over vicious-looking teeth,

  and it was snarling, poised as if preparing to leap at her if she dared to try passing it.

  Olivia froze, unable to move so much as a finger. Her heart was beating wildly. She was terrified

  of large dogs. Lord Burton kept a pack of fierce guard dogs at his country estate, and she had once

  been bitten by one of them. The scar on her arm had almost completely faded, but the mental scar

  was still there.

  'Do not move, ma'am!' a male voice suddenly commanded from behind her. 'He has been trained to

  attack intruders. Hold, Brutus! Lie down, sir!'

  The dog seemed to hesitate, then it stopped growling and stretched down on the earth at Olivia's

  feet, its head on its paws. She tried to make herself walk past, but found she was quite unable to

  move.

  'He won't hurt you now. It's perfectly safe.'

  Olivia's mouth felt dry. 'I—I cannot...'

  'You need not be afraid,' a voice beside her said, and then she felt the gentle touch of a hand on her

  arm. 'I shall not let him attack you. I give you my word.'

  She turned her head to look at the man, her eyes widening in surprise. At first sight, he was a little

  unnerving himself. His features were long, the chin square, rather thin, as if he had recently lost

  weight, and his dark eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was longer than was fashionable, very thick,

  dark and slightly curling, blown by the wind into a tangle about his face. His right temple bore a

  deep purple scar, which had begun to heal.

  'Oh...' Her hand went to her breast as her heart thudded suddenly. He was a very large man, lean,

  but wiry, and simply dressed. She took him for a gamekeeper. 'Forgive me. I...'

  'No, forgive us for frightening you,' Jack Denning said, his tone and manner seeming harsh though

  the words were kindly meant. 'Brutus was my grandfather's dog. Sir Joshua Chambers, the late

  owner of Briarwood—which is where you are. The dog was trained to keep gypsies from

  trespassing in the woods. He does not know that you are a lady, only that you are a stranger to

  him.'

  'I—I am afraid I was trespassing,' Olivia said, finding her voice at last. So he was not the

  gamekeeper, but the grandson of a baronet! 'It was very wrong of me.'

  Jack smiled, his features losing some of their harshness, becoming more like the man he had once

  been. 'I am Captain Jack Denning,' he said. 'My man told me there had been an accident o
n the

  road and I was on my way to investigate. Was it perhaps your own carriage, ma'am?'

  'I am Miss Olivia Roade Burton.' Her head went up a little as her natural spirit reasserted itself. 'I

  am travelling to Brighton with my sister, Lady Ravensden, and our carriage has been delayed—the

  coach ahead of us has lost a wheel.'

  'Yes, so I understand. I have already directed some of my men to assist in clearing the road.

  Perhaps by the time you reach your carriage, the way may be open.'

  'Thank you. I shall go immediately.'

  'You will allow me to accompany you.' Jack frowned. 'Although I believe you to be safe enough

  for the moment, I would not recommend wandering alone in strange woods, Miss Roade Burton.

  Were the gypsies I spoke of still here, I could not have been certain of your safety. They are wild,

  fierce creatures... and you are too young and vulnerable to be here alone.'

  Olivia did not answer. For some unaccountable reason her heart was racing and she was finding it

  difficult to get her breath. Captain Denning had been kind enough, but his manner was not

  encouraging. She sensed that he was not pleased to find her in his woods.

  'I...' It was too embarrassing! She could not explain her reason for leaving the road. 'I do not

  usually...'

  He made no comment on her loss of words, merely cautioning the dog to stay before turning to

  lead her back towards the road. Olivia followed behind, feeling foolish.

  She had never met anyone quite like him and she did wonder what had made that scar at his

  temple. He looked as though he might have been very ill quite recently, though she saw by his

  manner of striding through the woods that he had recovered his strength.

  'Here we are, Miss Roade Burton. I believe your carriage is almost ready to leave.'

  'Thank you.' Olivia glanced up as they both paused at the roadside, her eyes meeting his for one

  moment. Something seemed to flicker deep within his and for the briefest time she thought his

  expression seemed haunted, almost tortured. What could have caused him to look like that? Before

  she had time to think, the look had gone. 'Goodbye, Captain Denning. I thank you for your

  courtesy.'

  'Goodbye, Miss Roade Burton. I wish you a safe journey onwards.'

  'That is kind.' She smiled at him. 'Perhaps we shall meet if you come to Brighton.'

  She blushed, wondering what had made her say such a thing. It would not be remarkable if he

  were to visit Brighton, since his estate was no more than twenty miles distant, yet her words were

  rather more familiar than Olivia would usually use in speaking to a stranger.

  'I doubt that we shall,' Jack replied. His gaze narrowed, becoming colder to her way of thinking. 'I

  have no plans to visit Brighton at the moment.'

  Olivia lowered her eyes. She felt as if he had given her a setdown, and knew that she had

  deserved it. Perhaps he imagined that she was setting her cap at him! It was her own fault. She had

  been forward, almost impertinent.

  She walked away from him, her back very straight. What did it matter? She was sure she did not

  care whether he had thought her forward or not!

  Beatrice was gazing out of the carriage window, looking anxious. She waved at her as she saw

  her, clearly relieved.

  'Oh, there you are! I was just beginning to wonder if I should send someone to search for you,

  dearest.'

  'I am sorry if I made you anxious. I went into the wood to—to, well, you know. There was a fierce

  dog. It snarled at me and would not let me pass. I dare not move in case it attacked me. Then a

  man came and called it off. I imagined at first that he was the gamekeeper, but I believe he may

  own the estate. He...looked odd.'

  'How?' Beatrice stared at her in surprise. 'I am not sure what you mean by odd?'

  'I am not sure either,' Olivia said and laughed. 'Perhaps odd is the wrong word. Yes, interesting

  might be more appropriate. I think he had been ill. His face looked thin, almost gaunt, and his

  eyes...' She shook her head. It was his eyes that had affected her most. 'What ails thee, pale

  knight;..?'

  'What was that you said?' Beatrice asked.

  'Oh, I was thinking of a verse I once read,' Olivia said. 'It was about a knight wandering in a daze

  from the field of battle...pale of face and red of eye...'

  'Oh, poetry!' Beatrice said and smiled. 'What was his name, dearest? This man you met...'

  'Denning...Captain Jack Denning.'

  'Perhaps he was a soldier,' Beatrice said. 'He may have been wounded in the Peninsula, and sent

  home to recover.'

  'Yes...' Olivia was much struck by this. She had been shaken by the incident with the dog, and then

  a little annoyed with her rescuer for implying that she was foolish to have wandered into the

  woods alone, and had not given his title much consideration. 'Yes, I think you may be right,

  Beatrice. That would account for his brusque manner. He did not strike me as someone

  accustomed to mixing in society often.'

  'Are you saying he was not a gentleman?'

  'No, of course not. He was definitely a gentleman, but his manner was a little harsh...or reserved

  might be a better word. I think he may well have been a soldier—and if he was wounded out

  there, it would account for his appearance.'

  'Well, as long as he did not insult or harm you?'

  'Oh, no,' Olivia said. 'Quite the opposite. He seemed most concerned that I was alone in the

  woods, and insisted on seeing me safe to the road. His dog has been trained to attack gypsies.

  Apparently they are a nuisance in these woods...'

  Beatrice nodded. Obviously a country gentleman, she thought, perhaps with some recent military

  service. Olivia was used to the refined manners and gentle flirtation offered by the gentlemen she

  had met in London drawing-rooms. She might well find the abrupt way of speaking some country

  squires had a little harsh.

  'It seems there was no harm done,' she said. 'Get into the coach now, my love. I think coachman is

  ready to go on.'

  'Yes, of course,' Olivia said. She glanced back towards the wood but could see no sign of Captain

  Denning. Why should she want to? He was not handsome in a conventional way, nor charming.

  Yet there had been something about him. 'Yes, of course, we should go on...'

  She climbed into the coach and settled her gown about her. It was most unlikely that she would

  ever meet Captain Denning again.

  Jack Denning stood amongst the trees, watching as the carriage moved off. He whistled to Brutus,

  then turned to continue his walk through the woods of his estate. All the land to both sides of the

  main highway had belonged to his maternal grandfather until a few months ago, when the very

  desirable estate and substantial property elsewhere had passed to him through Sir Joshua's will.

  Jack had been sad to learn of his grandfather's death on his return to England. Sir Joshua was the

  one person ever to have shown Jack true love and affection, and he had been very fond of him.

  'Sir Joshua was a very wealthy man,' the solicitor had told Jack when he at last answered

  Trussell's repeated invitation to call at his offices. 'His fortune was made from trade, Captain

  Denning. Ships, coal and iron—he had invested in a new foundry just a few months before his

  final illness. I do not know whether you would wish to sell? I do have buyers interested, should

 
you wish to dispose of one or all of Sir Joshua's assets.'

  It was not usual for the aristocracy to be concerned in trade. Many young men in Captain

  Denning's position would have instantly sold the flourishing businesses and invested their money

  in land or the five percents.

  'Not for the moment,' Jack said, surprising the lawyer. 'If Sir Joshua believed in them, I imagine

  they are good investments.'

  'Your grandfather was an excellent businessman, sir.'

  'Yes, I imagine he must have been. Tell his agents and managers to carry on as usual for the

  moment. I shall give myself time to think about the future before I do anything.'

  Jack was not sure what he wished to do about any of the estate. There was sufficient money for

  him to live the life of a gentleman of leisure should he so wish, but he doubted it would suit him.

  He had loved the routine and bustle of army life—but that was over. His memories of

  comradeship had become tainted by those last hours at Badajoz.

  He shut the pictures out of his mind resolutely. There were times now when he almost managed to

  forget... almost.

  But there was no sense in remembering. He had failed, and his shame haunted him, most often at

  night when the dreams tortured him so that he woke sweating and crying out in pain and remorse.

  He should have stopped it! Damn it! He should have done something. He had been so stunned, so

  disgusted by what he was seeing, that he had been slow to react...and then it had been too late. No,

  he could not go back, he must find a way to go forward, find a future for himself.

  Jack frowned as he returned to the house at last and saw the old-fashioned, heavy travelling coach

  pulled up outside the front door of Briarwood House. The crest on the side panel would have told

  him who his visitor was had he needed to be told, which he did not. He had subconsciously been

  expecting this visitor for weeks, ever since his return to England.

  'The Earl arrived half an hour since,' Jenkins told him as he entered the hall after scraping the mud

  from his boots outside the annexe door. 'I asked his lordship to wait in the library, sir, and I took

  him some of the good Madeira Sir Joshua laid down.'

  'Thank you,' Jack said and smiled. 'You did exactly right.'