Haunted by the Earl's Touch

by Ann Lethbridge

  He looked up, frowning.

  Perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough. Well, it was too late to draw back. ‘May I request that your coachman drive me to St Ives this morning? It is time I returned home.’

  He frowned. ‘Not today. Your presence is required in two hours’ time for the reading of the will.’

  The will? What did that have to do with her? ‘That is not necessary, surely?’

  He gave her a look that froze her to the spot. ‘Would I ask it, if it were not?’

  She dragged her gaze from his and put down her cup. A tiny hope unfurled in her chest. Perhaps the earl had left something for the school after all. Had she been too hasty in thinking her quest unsuccessful?

  The earl was watching her face with a cynical twist to his lips, as if she was some sort of carrion crow picking over a carcase. Guilt twisted in her stomach. She had no reason to feel guilty. The school was a worthy cause, even if it did also benefit her. And if she had previously hoped the earl’s summons had signified something more, something of a familial nature, those expectations had been summarily disabused and were no one’s concern but her own. ‘If it is required, then I will attend.’

  The earl pushed his plate aside and pushed to his feet. ‘Eleven o’clock in the library, Miss Wilding. Try not to be late.’

  She bristled, but managed to hang on to her aplomb. ‘I am never late, my lord.’

  He gazed at her for a long moment and she was sure she saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to be certain. ‘Unless you become lost, I assume.’

  Once more heat flooded her face at the memory of his rescue the previous evening and her shocking responses to his closeness. Her incomprehensible longings, which must not recur. It was ungentlemanly of him to remind her.

  He departed without waiting for a reply, no doubt assuming his orders would be carried out. And if they weren’t then no doubt the autocratic man would find a way to rectify the matter.

  ‘I’m for the stables,’ Jeffrey said. ‘I want to take a look at his horseflesh.’

  He wanted to mock.

  ‘Can I come?’ Gerald asked, his expression pleading.

  ‘If you wish,’ his cousin said, kindly, which made Mary think a great deal more of him. He bowed to Mary and the two of them strolled away.

  Now what should she do? Go back to her room and risk getting lost? Sally hadn’t expected her to spend more than one night here at the Abbey, no matter what hopes Mary had secretly held. What she should do was despatch a letter to Sally telling her what was happening and why her return might be delayed by another day. She could while away the two hours before the appointed time in writing and reading more enjoyably than spending the time wandering the chilly corridors of this rambling mansion looking for her room.

  ‘Will you direct me to the library, Manners? I assume there is paper and pen there?’

  The butler bowed. ‘Yes, miss. It is located further along this hallway. You cannot miss it.’

  If anyone could miss anything when it came to directions, she could and would. But that was her own personal cross to bear. ‘Thank you.’

  He gave her a kind smile. ‘There is a footman going to the village this afternoon, if you would like a letter posted, miss. Ring the bell when you are finished and he’ll come and collect it. You will find sealing wax and paper in the desk drawer, and ink on the inkstand.’

  She smiled her thanks and made her escape.

  * * *

  The library proved to be exactly where the butler had said and she found it without difficulty.

  Nirvana could not have looked any more inviting. Shelves, packed with leather-bound books in shades of blue, red and green, rose from floor to ceiling on three dark-panelled walls. Wooden chairs strategically placed beside tables of just the right height encouraged a person to spread books out at will. Deep overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in fabrics faded to soft brown tempted the reader who liked to curl up with a novel. Cushioned window seats offered comfort and light on dark winter days. All was overseen by a large oak desk at one end.

  The delights on offer tested her determination to write to Sally first and read afterwards. But she managed it, sitting at the heavy desk, putting out of her mind what she could not say about the new earl as she wrote of the demise of their donor.

  She flicked the feather end of her quill across her chin. Should she mention a possibility of some small sum in the will? It seemed a bit presumptuous. She decided to write only of her delayed return. A mere day or two, she said.

  Having rung the bell and sent off her missive, she turned her attention to the feast of books. She selected a book of poems by Wordsworth and settled into one of the window seats.

  * * *

  She didn’t have long to indulge because, within the half-hour, Mr Savary, the solicitor who had been at the earl’s bedside, arrived with a box full of papers and began fussing with them on the desk.

  Mary decided she would remain where she was, at the furthest point in the room from where the family would conduct its business.

  At a few minutes past eleven, the family members straggled in. First Gerald with his mother. Mrs Hampton looked very becoming in black. It suited her air of delicacy. She would have been an extraordinarily beautiful woman in her youth. She and her son, who took after her in the beauty department, sat beside the blazing hearth not far from the desk.

  Jeffrey, his saunter as pronounced as any Bond Street beau, came next. Not that Mary had ever seen a Bond Street beau, but she’d seen cartoons in the paper, read descriptions of their antics and could use her imagination. He struck a languid pose at the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel while he gazed pensively into the flames. Regretting being cut out of the title? He didn’t seem to care much about anything. Perhaps it was the idea of the earl holding the purse-strings that had him looking so thoughtful.

  The upper servants gathered just inside the doorway: the butler, the housekeeper and a gentleman in a sombre suit who could have been anything from a parson to a land steward. They must all have expectations. The old earl had proved generous to her over the past many years, so why not to his servants? Though, in truth, on meeting him, she had not liked him one little bit. There had been an air of maliciousness about him.

  She was relieved they were not related. She really was.

  But if he left the school a small sum of money, an annuity, or a lump sum, it would be a blessing for which she would be suitably grateful, no matter her personal feelings. She put her book on the table at her elbow and folded her hands in her lap, trying not to look hopeful.

  But where was the earl?

  Ah, here he came, last but definitely not least. He prowled into the room, looking far more sartorially splendid than the dandified Jeffrey. Perhaps it was his size. Or the sheer starkness of a black coat against the white of his cravat. The room certainly seemed much smaller upon his entrance. And even a little airless.

  His hard gaze scanned the room, missing nothing. Indeed, she had the feeling his eyes kept on moving until he discovered her whereabouts. He looked almost relieved, as if he feared she might have loped off, as Sally’s cockney coachman would have said.

  Ignoring the group at the hearth, he swung one of the plain wooden chairs near her window seat around and sat astride it. Arms across the back, he fixed the solicitor with a grim stare. ‘Get on with it, then, man.’

  The fussy little solicitor tugged at his neckcloth, then broke the seal on a rolled document. He spread it out on the desk. ‘This being the last—’

  ‘No need to read all the curlicues and periods,’ the earl interrupted. ‘Just give us the details.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Basically, the title goes to you, but all the unentailed income goes to Miss Wilding on condition that she marry within the year.’

  The earl’s gaze, steel hard beneath lowered brows, cut to her face. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  What had the solicitor said? No, she kne
w what he had said. But what did it mean? The unentailed income?

  ‘There are ten guineas for Manners, five for Mrs Davis and another ten for Ragwell for his excellent stewardship this past many years.’

  The servants mumbled and sounded pleased. They shuffled out of the room at the solicitor’s wave of a hand.

  Mrs Hampton put a hand to her throat. ‘What about my son? And Jeffrey.’

  ‘It is my understanding that the late earl passed on any personal trinkets prior to his...his—’

  ‘His death,’ the earl growled.

  ‘I got his ring,’ Gerald announced, waving his hand about for everyone to see.

  ‘The seal of the Beresfords belongs to me,’ the earl said with almost a snarl.

  Gerald thumbed his nose. ‘This was my grandmother’s ring.’

  The earl scowled. ‘Then where is the seal?’

  Gerald shrugged.

  ‘With the earl’s effects,’ the lawyer said stiffly.

  Mrs Hampton’s pallor increased. ‘I thought there was to be some—’ She caught herself.

  The earl stood up and looked down at the little solicitor. ‘How much of the income from the estate is unentailed?’ His voice was soft, but no one in the room could possibly doubt his ire.

  ‘All of it,’ the little man squeaked.

  The ensuing pause was charged like air before a storm. The earl’s gaze shifted to her and the heat in their depths flared bright before he turned back to the lawyer. ‘And you permitted this abomination? This dividing of the money from the land? What man in his right mind does such a thing?’

  ‘The late earl was not always rational when it came to the matter of...’ His breathless voice tailed off.

  ‘His heir,’ the earl said flatly.

  ‘I followed instructions,’ the lawyer pleaded.

  The earl’s silver gaze found hers again. This time it was colder than ice. ‘Very clever indeed, Miss Wilding.’

  She stiffened. Outrage flooding her with heat. ‘I do not understand what this means.’ At least she was hoping that what she understood was not what was really happening.

  ‘You got the fortune,’ the earl said. ‘And I got the expenses.’

  Then she had interpreted the lawyer’s words correctly. How was this possible?

  Beresford turned on the solicitor. ‘It can be overturned.’

  The man shook his head. ‘If Miss Wilding marries within the year, she gets all income from the estate. If not, the money goes to the Crown.’ He glanced down at his papers. ‘That is, unless she dies before the year is up.’

  ‘What happens if she dies?’ the earl asked harshly.

  Mary froze in her seat. A shudder took hold of her body. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. The man spoke about her death without the slightest emotion. He was positively evil.

  ‘In that case, it goes to you, or to your heir, currently Mr Jeffrey Beresford, if you predecease him,’ the solicitor said. He smiled apologetically at the young man who was watching the earl with icy blue eyes and a very small smile.

  The wretch was enjoying the earl’s shock.

  The earl said something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like a curse. ‘Clearly the man was disordered. What will the courts think of that?’

  ‘My father was not mad,’ Mrs Hampton said haughtily. ‘Madness does not run in the Beresford family. But you wouldn’t know that, since you have had nothing to do with any of us.’

  Mary listened to what they were saying, heard them perfectly well, but it all seemed a great distance off. She didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the earl had explained. She worked a little moisture into her dry mouth. ‘The will requires that I marry in order to inherit?’

  The lawyer nodded gravely. ‘Indeed. Within the year.’

  ‘Marry who?’ she asked.

  The earl’s mouth curled in a predatory smile. ‘That is the question, isn’t it?’

  Irritated beyond endurance, she rose to her feet. ‘You are hardly helpful, sir.’

  Forced to rise also, the earl gave her a mirthless smile. ‘I thought you said you were clever, Miss Wilding.’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘He means you must marry him,’ Gerald said, scowling. ‘But you could marry Jeffrey or me. That would put a spoke in his wheels.’

  The earl glowered, but said nothing.

  She strode over to the solicitor, whose forehead was beaded with sweat. He pulled out a kerchief and mopped his brow. ‘Well, Mr Savary, is it true?’ she asked. ‘Does the late earl’s will require me to marry...’ she waved an arm in the earl’s direction ‘...him?’

  ‘It is silent on the issue, Miss Wilding.’ He swallowed. ‘Under the law, no one can require your marriage to any particular person. However, if you wish to inherit the money, you must marry someone. Perhaps there is someone....’ His words tailed off at a low growl from the earl.

  Someone. She wanted to laugh. And then she wanted to cry. Someone. She was a schoolteacher. A charity case. And a beanpole to boot. Suddenly a very rich beanpole. She glanced over at the earl. ‘No doubt there will be many someones lining up at my door on the morrow.’

  The earl glared at her. ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘Or over mine,’ she said as the full enormity of it all solidified in her mind.

  ‘There is that,’ he agreed.

  ‘Are you saying you intend us to marry?’ she asked.

  He looked at her for a long moment and she had the feeling that sympathy lurked somewhere in those flat grey eyes, then they hardened to polished steel and she knew she was mistaken. ‘Marry to suit my grandfather?’ he rasped. ‘Not if I can help it.’

  She flinched at the harshness of his reply and was glad that he did not see her reaction as he turned at once to the solicitor.

  ‘There must be some loophole you have not considered. Bring those papers to my study. I will review them in detail.’

  He strode from the room.

  Mrs Hampton gave Mary an accusatory glare. ‘Come, Gerald. Jeffrey. We need to talk.’ She departed in what appeared to be high dudgeon for some unknown destination with the two young men in tow.

  Unsure what else to do, Mary gathered herself to return to her chamber. She needed time to think about this new development. She could only pray the earl would find a way out of the conundrum. She certainly did not want to, nor would she, marry him. Or anyone else for that matter. She’d put away the hopes for a husband many years before

  ‘Er, miss?’ Savary said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There was one thing I forgot to mention to his lordship.’

  She gazed at him askance. Forgetting to mention something to his lordship sounded like a serious mistake given the earl’s present mood. She had not thought the man so stupid. ‘What did you forget?’

  ‘He should have let me read things in order.’ He fussed with the papers on the desk. ‘You must have his permission. Whoever you choose to marry, he must approve.’

  A burst of anger ripped through her at being required to bend to the earl’s wishes on this or any matter. Especially one so altogether personal. Proving herself to be suitable to work as a teacher, to gain her independence, had taken years of hard work. She wasn’t about to give it up on some stranger’s whim. ‘I suggest you hurry and tell his lordship the good news. I expect it will make him feel a great deal more sanguine about what has happened here today.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  A laugh bubbled up inside her. Hysteria, no doubt. ‘I have not the slightest idea of what goes on in his lordship’s mind.’ That much was certainly true. ‘Please excuse me.’

  She stalked out of the room. Whether anger improved her sense of direction, or she was getting used to the Abbey, she found her way back to her room without any problem.

  The room was chilly. It was the stone walls, she thought, rubbing her arms with her hands, then wrapping her old woollen shawl around her shoulders. Stone walls needed tapestries and blazing fires. Sh
e poked at the glowing embers and added more coal. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared through the diamond windowpanes. From here she could see the crumbling walls of what had been the abbey church. And beyond it, the sea pounding on rocks.

  Finally, she allowed herself to think about what had happened back there in the library.

  Oh, heavens! Marry and inherit a fortune? How could this be?

  Not for years had she imagined she would ever be married. She was not the kind of woman men took to wife. They liked little dainty things, simpering girls like the ones she helped train at Ladbrook’s School. Years ago, the idea of being a wife and a mother had made her heart miss a number of beats. How it had raced when she thought that Mr Allerdyce who had been so attentive, walking her home from church, treating her like a lady of importance, would come up to scratch, until Sally had discovered it was all a front. He was currying favour with Mary in order to get close to one of her pupils. An heiress. His parting words had made it very clear just what he thought of her as a woman. As hurtful and mortifying an experience as it had been, it had forced her to realise she would never be a wife.

  Instead, she’d decided that her true vocation lay with her girls, being a teacher. That they were her family. She only had them for a short while, it was true, and their departures were always a wrench, but they were planned. It was not as though they abandoned her, but rather that she sent them out into the world with her blessing.

  Now, this stranger, this deceased earl, had somehow engineered her into a marriage to a man she knew nothing about. She swallowed. What would it be liked to be married to such a man? He’d want an heir. Children. A family, just as she’d always dreamed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened at the thought of being a mother.

  It wouldn’t be a marriage born of romantic love. It would be for convenience. A practical arrangement such as people from the nobility entered into all of the time. For mutual gain.

  He’d hardly been thrilled at the idea of marrying her to obtain what was rightfully his, now had he? He’d looked positively horrified when he realised what the will intended. As if he faced a fate worse than death.

  She gripped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. Oh, great heavens, please let this all be a bad dream. Please let her wake up and discover it was a nightmare.