Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3)

by Sara Ramsey

  Claxton nodded. He turned to leave, but Lucy thought of one more question. “How did you open Callie’s trunk? I thought it was locked.”

  “Maidenstone butlers must be prepared for any eventuality,” he said, sounding affronted that she would ask about his skills.

  Lucy laughed as he left. She looked down at her list of tasks. There was so much to be done — so much she hadn’t been able to think about because of this blasted party. She hummed happily as she added items to the list. Underneath, anger threaded through her veins — she still couldn’t believe that Max had actually left.

  But she had a plan. She was taking action. And it felt so much better than trying to please everyone else.

  She wasn’t alone for more than three minutes before the door flew open again. Octavia stood at the threshold. “I couldn’t believe it when Emma told me the news,” she said, entering without an invitation. “Are you really asking all the guests to leave?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said.

  Octavia opened her mouth to argue. But then she stopped in her tracks. “Are you feeling well?” Octavia asked.

  Her voice was suddenly cautious, as though she was worried about disturbing someone who wasn’t quite stable. Lucy laughed and set her pen aside. “I haven’t felt this good since the summer before our debuts.”

  “But…you’re wearing an evening gown.”

  “I felt like wearing something that would make me happy. I’ve always hated white. It makes me look sallow.”

  Octavia’s dress wasn’t much more proper than Lucy’s. Octavia wore sapphire blue muslin, cut boldly across the chest and draped so it clung to her curves. But Lucy wore red silk — entirely inappropriate for daytime, but the kind of dress she’d always secretly wanted to wear. She’d ordered it on a whim, vaguely hoping that someday she would be daring enough to wear it, but it had been wrapped in tissue in the back of her dressing room for months.

  Octavia dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. “Emma said Max left last night. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

  “I’ll feel better when this party is over,” Lucy said. “I never should have agreed to host it. If Ferguson felt so strongly about it, he should have held it at his estate.”

  “So you’re going to toss everyone out? Where are you going to find a husband?”

  “I don’t intend to find a husband,” Lucy stated evenly.

  Octavia gasped. “I know Max and Chapman were both awful to you….”

  “Max and Chapman are not similar in any way,” Lucy interjected.

  “Chapman stole your first kiss. Max stole our family’s heirlooms. I think Max is worse,” Octavia declared.

  Chapman had taken more than Lucy’s first kiss, but Octavia didn’t know that. As usual, it was Octavia’s certainty about others’ affairs that annoyed Lucy. “It doesn’t matter what you think of Max. It’s my business, not yours.”

  “I know it’s your business,” Octavia said. “But you could let me sympathize with you. Can’t we have chocolate and cry over Max like normal women instead of tossing eighty people out of Maidenstone and giving the gossip columns fodder for a month?”

  Lucy softened a little. She remembered the old Octavia — the one she’d shared secrets with when they were sixteen. They’d been very good at consoling each other then.

  “We can have chocolate if you want,” Lucy said. “But I’m still taking charge of Maidenstone.”

  “But you can’t inherit unless you marry. Let’s commiserate today. Tomorrow we can think of who might make a good husband for you.”

  It wasn’t in Octavia’s interests for Lucy to marry. Her offer was sincere and unselfish. It felt like a strange reversal of roles for Octavia to be offering the practical solution while Lucy dreamed of doing something bold.

  “Thank you,” Lucy said. “Truly. But I’d rather take Maidenstone outright. Max disappeared, but he is most definitely the earl. In my opinion, he didn’t steal anything. There is no inheritance left to decide. And as long as he’s gone, I intend to keep Maidenstone for myself.”

  Octavia gasped again. “You can’t possibly mean to do that. Did Max drive you to madness?”

  “I prefer to think I’ve been driven to clarity,” Lucy said.

  The door swung open before Octavia could respond. Ferguson strolled in, as relaxed as ever, but there was a glint in his eyes that looked oddly like humor.

  “Lucretia Briarley,” he said, relishing the drama. “Never thought I’d see the day when you caused such a scandal.”

  “And I never thought I’d see the day when this party ended. Shall I have Claxton arrange for your carriage?”

  Ferguson smiled. He posed himself near the fireplace and said, “I’ve no intention of leaving now. The party has only just begun.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Lucy means to keep Maidenstone,” Octavia said to Ferguson. “Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, Emma told me.”

  “Emma’s been busy this morning,” Lucy said.

  “She’s worried about you,” Octavia said. “We all are.”

  Lucy knew that. She’d woken Emma up to tell her everything herself — she didn’t want her to hear it from any of the guests. Emma had winced in sympathy when Lucy had told her that Max had stolen the jewels. She’d hugged Lucy so hard that Lucy had almost started crying again.

  But when Lucy had told Emma that she was going to keep Maidenstone, Emma sighed. “That’s exactly the opposite of what your grandfather wanted. You were supposed to find love.”

  “I did find love,” Lucy said simply. “And I lost it. I think Grandfather would be proud that I won’t crawl into my room and lick my wounds for a year like I did last time.”

  She’d left Emma’s room thinking that Emma was on her side. She probably was. But Emma had always wanted Lucy to take a softer approach. It wasn’t a surprise that she hadn’t joined Lucy’s crusade to rid Maidenstone of its guests.

  “There’s no need to worry about me,” Lucy said to Ferguson and Octavia.

  “You’re running the risk of ruining yourself,” Octavia warned. “It will be viewed as highly eccentric if you kick all the guests to the curb. At least take a few days to think about it.”

  “You didn’t take any time to think about becoming a mistress,” Lucy pointed out. When Octavia had received her first offer of protection, she’d left Maidenstone that very day.

  “I know. And I probably wouldn’t have changed my decision. But if I’d taken time to talk to you before going, perhaps the last four years would have been better.”

  Lucy saw the sincerity in Octavia’s eyes — eyes that matched her own. Octavia had already apologized for leaving all those years ago. Lucy had accepted that apology. But now it felt like the paths of their lives were crossing. Octavia was the one who was on the verge of marriage, pursuing a more conventional life. And Lucy was the one courting disaster by taking matters into her own hands.

  “I want all the guests to leave Maidenstone today so that I can plan for my next steps,” Lucy said. She didn’t explain, but most of her next steps depended on whether any of her messengers found Max. She couldn’t pack for a journey to find him until she knew whether to take seductive dresses or murder weapons. “But I’ll take time to consider my next move. I can’t quite run off on a whim.”

  “You’re doing a lot on a whim at the moment,” Ferguson said, gesturing at her seat behind the desk. “Not sure how we’re going to deal with you trying to steal the estate. It will be so messy to arrest you.”

  “You could certainly try to arrest me,” Lucy said. “But no one else knows anything about managing Maidenstone. Callie and Octavia would be better off if they left me at the helm and took a cut of the annual income.”

  “I’m sure Rafe could learn how to run the estate,” Octavia said.

  “Perhaps.”

  She paused. She couldn’t fully explain her reasons to them because they didn’t know about Julia.

 
Maybe it was the silk dress that gave her confidence. More likely, it was the memory of telling Max her secrets the day before. The world had kept turning; she’d felt better for it. Or it was the knowledge that she no longer wanted to live her whole life trying to maintain a perfect image.

  Octavia and Ferguson would love her no matter what she said next. And if they didn’t, she didn’t want to keep them.

  She opened a desk drawer and pulled out the enameled miniature her grandfather had kept there. As she slid it across the desk, she said, “If you don’t want me to have Maidenstone, consider the next generation. Julia belongs here.”

  There was total silence as Octavia and Ferguson stared at the miniature. “Well, that’s a bloody surprise,” Ferguson finally said.

  “When did Julian have a bastard?” Octavia asked.

  Lucy stared at her. “She’s not Julian’s child. She’s mine.”

  “My God,” Octavia said, grabbing the miniature. “You have a daughter?”

  Then she laughed — not the coquettish giggle that Lucy had heard her use with men, but a full-throated laugh that sounded almost hysterical.

  “I’m glad you’re not upset,” Lucy said drily.

  Octavia controlled her laughter long enough to say, “It’s probably for the best that Julian killed him. Can you imagine what would have happened if Chapman had been forced to marry me after you caught us kissing? And if you found out you were pregnant after that?”

  Octavia started laughing again.

  Lucy took the miniature back and returned it to its drawer. “Now you know why I was so determined to keep Maidenstone. Julia’s safer here than anywhere else.”

  “You could have told me that’s why,” Octavia said. “I would have understood.”

  “As of two weeks ago, you hated me so much that you tried to sabotage the party. It didn’t seem to be in my best interests to tell you my biggest secret when you wanted to destroy me.”

  Octavia grinned. “Fair enough. But I want to meet my niece.”

  Ferguson cleared his throat.

  “You should really have your throat checked,” Lucy said to him. “You clear it far too often.”

  “I am beginning to regret wishing that you would show some personality,” he said.

  She smiled insincerely. “Is there anything else you wish to say, or will you leave so I can focus on my papers?”

  “Just that I’m pleased that you and Mr. Vale weren’t so stupid as to fall in love with each other.”

  “Oh, we most certainly fell in love,” she said. “But we decided we didn’t suit.”

  Ferguson moved his hand toward his pocket. “If you lift your quizzing glass and look at me, I’ll toss it out the window,” she warned.

  Ferguson smiled — a real smile, with no judgment or insinuations. “You are a Briarley through and through. Still, I can’t let you have Maidenstone. This isn’t the Middle Ages — you’ve captured the castle, but laws will determine whether you can keep it.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Come back when you decide what to do. For my part, I know that I deserve Maidenstone, whether you think I do or not. I love it more than anyone, and I’m more than capable of maintaining it. And if you want to tell me that I don’t deserve it because I can’t find a husband, you can go to the devil.”

  The duke looked pensive. But before he could say what he planned to do, the door opened again.

  Rafe joined them, kissing Octavia before greeting the rest of them. “I went to the village to tell Thorington the news — he won’t open the door for anyone else.”

  Thorington and Callie were right behind him. They looked supremely unconcerned with whatever had happened at Maidenstone. Lucy felt a little spike of jealousy. She’d only properly had Max once, and she’d already known then that she was going to lose him.

  If she ever got him back, she’d take pleasure she could get from him.

  But that daydream faded as Claxton followed Thorington and Callie into the room. “My lady, there’s a magistrate here to see you.”

  It was odd of him to say it like that; she knew the local magistrates by name. A little warning bell sounded.

  Thorington yawned. “Found him at the inn in Salcombe having a holiday. He knows something about the London thieving markets. I thought we could have him investigate so I can go back to bed.”

  Max had been afraid of a magistrate from his youth. She’d almost found that excuse nonsensical. But now, as the magistrate walked through the door, she understood his fear.

  The man was in his fifties, but he carried himself with the precise, straight posture of a former military man. He was dressed impeccably; no one would fault anything about his appearance.

  But his eyes were cold. She knew, even before he spoke, that he was there to cause trouble.

  “I am sorry to trouble you, Miss Briarley,” the magistrate said. That in itself was a warning — rather than taking his cue from Claxton, he gave her her proper address.

  How did he know who she was? Unless he’d been seeking gossip about Maidenstone — or watching them?

  “Please, sit,” she said, gesturing coolly to a chair that was a bit removed from the rest of the group. “Claxton, watch for messengers and let me know if any return.”

  The butler bowed his way out. Suddenly, she hoped that Max wouldn’t come back. It would be better, perhaps, if he stayed away — because Durrant had a look in his eyes that said he intended to ruin anything he could touch.

  Durrant sat, taking off his hat and putting it on his knee. “I came to offer my service, miss. I heard you’ve been visited by a very accomplished thief. He’s plagued London for years, and I would be happy to see him hang.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Max ran up the twenty-eight steps to the main entrance of Maidenstone Abbey. He’d left his rented horse in the drive, tossing a shilling to one of the grooms who stood alongside a growing fleet of carriages. If his horse was stolen from him while he was inside, he deserved the irony.

  When he reached the top of the steps, he saw the same footman who had taken his card when he’d first arrived. He prepared to bluster his way in — as long as he found Lucy before someone took him into custody, he thought he might survive for at least a day.

  But the footman didn’t call for irons. He bowed to Max and said, as gravely as if he were greeting a king, “Welcome home, my lord.”

  Max wasn’t one to ask questions when things were going his way. He walked into the entrance hall. Trunks and hatboxes were piled high in every corner. The place looked like an inn before the departure of the mail coaches.

  Had Lucy already decided to leave?

  But he’d seen most of this luggage in the room where the guests’ cases were stored. Lucy couldn’t have left yet.

  He had to find her. But before he could choose which wing to start with, Claxton intercepted him.

  “My lord,” Claxton said, bowing as deeply as the footman had. “Would you care for breakfast? We aren’t serving the guests, but I can order a tray for you.”

  Max furrowed his brow. Of everything he’d expected — or feared — as he’d ridden back from Plymouth, Claxton’s greeting wasn’t on the list. “What’s going on, Claxton?”

  “It’s a fine day, my lord,” the butler said. “But you may wish to take breakfast in the kitchens. There’s a magistrate looking for you.”

  Max had expected that. He’d gone to Salcombe first — it was vital to his plans, and he needed to know what he might face at Maidenstone. Durrant had left the inn fifteen minutes before Max arrived, which suited Max just fine. It made the first part of his plan easier to implement.

  “I’m surprised he let you put him in the kitchens,” Max said.

  Claxton shook his head. “The magistrate is with Miss Lucy. I thought you could hide in the kitchens for now. No sense letting him know you’ve returned until we know how to send him packing.”

  “I would think you’d want to send me packing, not him.”

  “Begging
your pardon, my lord, but I saw the Briarley Bible this morning. My loyalty is to Lord Maidenstone, not to any magistrate attempting to cause trouble.”

  Claxton bowed again. Max realized with a start that Claxton believed Max was the earl.

  It was a bizarre turn of events. But again, Max wasn’t one to question positive developments. “No sense in delaying matters, Claxton. Tell me where Lucy and the magistrate are.”

  “Very good, my lord,” he said approvingly. “Shall I also bring you a pistol? The previous Lord Maidenstone had a very fine set of dueling pistols that I’ve kept at the ready.”

  Max shook his head. Antonia was the one with bloodthirsty intentions, not him. “I think we can reason with the man.”

  Of course, there was a good chance that he couldn’t reason with Durrant. He’d never tried before. But, if he was honest with himself, it had never occurred to him to cross the magistrate. In his memories, Durrant lurked as an imposing devil — condemning Max to death for his crimes, then offering him a reprieve after Max’s fear had already peaked. That reprieve had led to other evils — was it any wonder that when Max thought of taking revenge, he also remembered nearly starving to death in a coal cellar?

  He’d never realized just how much he’d believed that he could never be free. But telling Lucy about Durrant had loosened some of the fear. And when the emeralds had spilled out of Lucy’s letter, he’d suddenly had an idea….

  His plan was already in action — his family would definitely be in danger if he took the coward’s way out now. But before he confronted Durrant, he had one more question.

  “How is Lucy?” he asked.

  “My lady is waging war,” Claxton said, pride obvious in his voice. “You will find her in the study.”

  That was a supremely unhelpful answer. Max wasn’t going to press his luck. The butler had chosen to support him, but that didn’t mean he would take Max’s side over Lucy’s.

  He walked through the halls toward the study. When he reached it, he paused outside to take a breath. Usually, his crimes were committed in silence. This job was all talk. If he got it wrong, he would hang.