The Last Earl Standing

by Blackwood, Gemma

  14

  “You cannot be serious.” Anthea wished she could move further away from Lord Wetherton, who was sitting so close to her that she could see the red capillaries in his cold eyes, but Aunt Ursula was keeping a watchful eye on the visit as she worked on her knitting mere paces away, and the subject of Anthea’s conversation with Wetherton was too delicate to be overheard. “I will not hear of a duel between you and Lord Streatham. Really, Lord Wetherton, if you have any affection for me at all –”

  He chuckled coldly. “But there never was any affection between us, was there, my lady?” When Anthea stared at him in confusion, he took out his pocketknife and used it to idly clean his nails. “I pursued you because I thought you were behind Lady X’s campaign in favour of legalising Scotch whisky. My only hope was to convince you to write against it. I never intended to marry you.”

  All the pieces of the puzzle that had never quite fit together suddenly clicked into place. It was exactly as she had suspected. Her pride was hurt all the same, but that was nothing beside her fear for George.

  “Surely the money you make from employing the smugglers is not worth this trouble, my lord? You may be injured in the duel.” Her stomach roiled as she feigned a smile, but since she could not appeal to Wetherton’s better instincts, his pride would have to do. “I would be so unhappy if you were wounded, or even killed!”

  “I doubt you would miss me, my lady. You made your disdain for me perfectly clear.” He pared off a pale crescent of nail and flicked it onto the polished wooden floor with the point of his knife. “Lord Streatham has offended my honour, and he must pay.”

  “But George did not write the column!” Anthea cried, drawing a sharp glance from Aunt Ursula. “It was me! If you must have vengeance, take it out on me!”

  Wetherton gave her a pitying look. “Your head has been utterly turned,” he sighed. “I always found it improbable that a young girl like yourself had the wit to write that column, and Streatham has confirmed my suspicions. Even if you have more to do with it than first appears, it will teach you a valuable lesson when I send my bullet into Streatham’s heart.” He leaned close, and she caught an unpleasant whiff of smoked fish and stale cigars on his breath. “You ought to keep better company, my dear. The Earl of Streatham is a dangerous man.”

  “And you are less dangerous?”

  “As I said, I never had any intention of marrying you. If I were you, I would let that dolt Shrewsbury court you. At least you will gain a title from the match.” Wetherton put his knife away and rose to his feet. “I do not expect that we will see much of each other in future, my lady. Give my best regards to your family.”

  “Lord Wetherton, please!” Anthea chased after him and blocked his way to the door. “You must not duel George! I will do anything you ask!”

  His smile was thin and cruel. “There is nothing you can do.” He set his hat on his head and bowed. “Goodbye, Lady Anthea.”

  When he was gone, Anthea collapsed onto the sofa, letting her head fall into her shaking hands.

  She had imagined all manner of awful things if the identity of Lady X should ever be discovered, but this was worse than all of them.

  There was only one reason for George to pretend to be the author of the column, and that was to protect her. But how had he known she was Lady X to begin with? Why had he not said anything? And if he should be hurt – if he should be killed –

  Aunt Ursula’s gentle hand fell onto Anthea’s shoulder as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “That was a nasty encounter,” said Ursula, sitting beside her. “A love affair gone wrong?”

  “If only.” Anthea wiped her eyes, but it did no good. The tears kept coming. She let Ursula embrace her. “Oh, Auntie, I have done something terribly wrong. And now Wetherton says he will fight a duel with George, and I will never forgive myself if George is hurt – never!”

  “Men are foolish creatures,” said Aunt Ursula, tutting loudly. “This sort of nonsense is precisely why I have never encumbered myself with one. All this fuss over honour! What is honour, anyway? It isn’t good to eat. It won’t heal a wound, nor a broken heart.” She stroked Anthea’s arm tenderly. “Let the men play their silly games. If they want to fight, it is not your doing.”

  “I must see George,” said Anthea, the tears finally ceasing. “I must make him listen to me.”

  Aunt Ursula took her hands and pressed them firmly, shaking her head. “You cannot ask a man like that to back out of a duel. He will never do it, Anthea. You will only force him to disobey you, and then where will you be?”

  Anthea suspected she was right. Much as she longed to run to George, throw her arms around him and beg him not to fight, she knew that he had as much pride as any other gentleman. Worse still, he was fearless. He would never admit the danger he was in.

  “Then I have something to write,” she said. “Something very important.” She kissed Aunt Ursula’s forehead and went to the writing desk.

  For once, she did not bother to turn the desk so that no one could see what she was writing. They would all know soon enough. Anthea dipped her pen in the ink and wrote the first paragraph:

  My dear readers, I have long been aware of the speculation as to my identity which runs rampant among you. The long-anticipated moment is finally here. It is time for me to reveal myself.

  Aunt Ursula’s knitting needles clacked, Anthea’s pen scritched along the paper, and the words poured out of her in a rush. She had never written anything as important in her life; not her campaign against bearbaiting nor her diatribe against conditions in the poorhouse. This column might save George’s life, if she could finish it and send it to the newspaper office in time to be published the following morning.

  If she could make Wetherton read it before the duel.

  She did not even notice that Aunt Ursula’s knitting needles had stopped their rhythmic clatter. Only when Anthea was shaking out the paper to dry it did she glance up to see her aunt watching her closely.

  “That Lord Streatham did you a kindness, Anthea,” said Aunt Ursula. “Are you certain you want to cast it aside?”

  Anthea kept her face carefully blank. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Aunt Ursula waved a crooked finger at her. “You young people think you are so smart! Did you believe you had the wool pulled over my eyes? I am eighty-three, girl! I’ve seen more of the world than you can imagine! That column of yours has set the gossips’ tongues on fire more often than not. Do you really want to claim it?”

  Anthea’s mouth hung open. Aunt Ursula tutted loudly.

  “Close your mouth, girl. You are not a fish catching flies.”

  “You know about Lady X?”

  “It wasn’t hard to work it out. You are always scribbling away in secret. And every time you took a new cause to heart, there it appeared in the London Chronicle.” Aunt Ursula pushed herself to her feet and hobbled across to the writing desk, her cane thumping against the floor. Anthea felt strangely naked as her aunt looked over her shoulder to see what she had written. “It’s a very fine confession,” she sniffed. “And I suppose you think it is an act of true love.”

  “I…” Anthea pressed a hand to her hot cheek, risking smearing ink over her face. “I thought perhaps…”

  “If you are in love with Lord Streatham, well and good. He’s a fine young man. But love is not worth making yourself the butt of every gossip in London.” Aunt Ursula shook her head sadly. “I know what it is to be an eccentric woman, girl. That path is not for you.”

  “I cannot think about myself.” Anthea folded the article and put it into an envelope. “If Wetherton sees this published in time, it may save George’s life.”

  Aunt Ursula clucked her tongue against her teeth, but did not move to prevent Anthea from addressing the envelope or ringing for a servant.

  “Please deliver this to Mr. Harding at the offices of the London Chronicle,” Anthea said to the footman. “You must put it directly into his hands, and tell hi
m it is urgent.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The footman bowed, took the envelope, and left at a smart pace.

  Anthea sat back in her chair and sighed.

  “How do you feel now?” asked Aunt Ursula.

  “Nervous,” she admitted. “But satisfied, too. I have done what I can for George. The rest is between him and Wetherton.” She glanced up at Ursula. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “Ashamed? Never!” The old woman bent to kiss Anthea’s forehead. “I am prouder of you than I have ever been before. You have chosen a difficult path, but it is yours to tread. Step proudly.”

  There was a timid knock at the door. Anthea moved reflexively to hide her work, before remembering that it was already winging its way to Mr. Harding’s office. “Come in!”

  Hettie, one of the upstairs maids, crept into the room with her hands wringing before her and her head bowed low.

  “Hettie!” Anthea pushed away from the writing desk and rose to her feet. “Is something the matter? You look quite distressed.”

  Hettie scrubbed a sleeve over her eyes. “Oh, I am, my lady. I am! But it is my own fault.” She looked up at Aunt Ursula, as fearful as though she had encountered an ogre in its lair. “I’ve done something I oughtn’t.”

  “You may sit down,” said Anthea, seeing that Hettie was shaking with fear. Aunt Ursula pulled out a chair for her, wobbling on her cane, and gestured to it kindly. Hettie shook her head and remained standing.

  “I can’t, my lady, I – I don’t deserve it!” She raised her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Lady Ursula, I am so very sorry! All eaten up with guilt I’ve been, for days and days! I don’t know why I did it, only that… Only that the gentleman promised me such fine things, and said that if only we had the money, he’d –” A sob broke her voice. “He’d wed me!”

  “Gentlemen are prone to saying fine things that mean nothing,” said Aunt Ursula. She took the chair herself. “Go ahead, girl. It’s best to tell the truth.”

  Hettie’s cheeks flushed crimson. She stared at the floor. “Lady Ursula, a little while ago, one of your fine jewels went missing.” She bit her lip so hard Anthea was afraid she would draw blood. “It was me what took it.”

  “And why did you do such a silly thing as that?” asked Ursula calmly.

  “There was a gentleman, my lady,” said Hettie, shuffling from one foot to the other. “He made me such pretty promises. He said all he needed was a little money for the wedding, and he’d make me…” Her voice rose to a high wail. “He’d make me a lady!”

  “But how did you discover the brooch?” asked Anthea. “It was well hidden.”

  “It was, my lady,” said Hettie uncomfortably, glancing at Ursula. “But, well… There’s all sorts of things hidden in Lady Ursula’s bookshelf. She has me take out a nip of sherry for her from the bottle inside the dictionary every evening. And there’s the letters hidden in the poetry book, and –”

  “Enough, enough!” Anthea pinched the bridge of her nose. She did not need further evidence of Ursula’s eccentricities.

  “Well, one day I opened the wrong book looking for the sherry bottle, and I found a lovely brooch. I’d never seen you wearing it, Lady Ursula, and I thought it might not be missed. So I took it,” Hettie gulped, “and gave it to the gentleman. I felt so dreadful afterwards. I wanted to tell you then, my lady, really I did!”

  “But your wrongdoing did not end there,” said Anthea, noticing a sympathetic softening in Aunt Ursula’s frown. “When my aunt put it about that the brooch was not genuine, you returned to take what you thought was the real one. One mistake is forgivable, perhaps, but the second? Really, Hettie, what were you thinking?”

  Hettie cried into her sleeve for a few seconds. Anthea pulled out her own handkerchief and offered it, but the maid shook her head in refusal and blew her nose noisily on her sleeve. “I was so scared!” she wailed. “Lord Shrewsbury – he said I’d hang for stealing it the first time! He said he’d turn me in if I didn’t go back and get the real brooch! And now – now I’ve had a note from him telling me the second one is fake, and he’ll have me hanged for sure, and I never meant to do wrong, truly I didn’t!” At last, her sleeve thoroughly soaked, she accepted Anthea’s handkerchief. “I only wanted to be a lady.”

  “Lord Shrewsbury?” Anthea repeated, amazed.

  “That explains everything,” said Aunt Ursula, nodding. “It was Lady Shrewsbury who recommended you to me, wasn’t it, Hettie?”

  The girl nodded, trembling. Aunt Ursula tapped her fingers along the handle of her cane.

  “It seems to me that Lord Shrewsbury’s threats about hanging will not come to much. He is at fault, just as you are. But this is a sorry situation, Hettie. I am sorry to hear you were so easily led astray. You cannot continue in our service.”

  Hettie closed her eyes and nodded. Anthea’s heart went out to her. The girl had sinned, certainly, but what hope did a maid have against the pressures exerted by an earl?

  Anthea had thought her opinion of Shrewsbury was low already, but now it was trodden firmly into the mud.

  “However,” said Ursula, “that’s not to say that we want to see you out on the streets with no reference and no means of providing for yourself. Lord Shrewsbury led you astray. He ought to be the one to set you on your feet again.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Anthea. “If Shrewsbury had any money, he would not be begging servants to steal jewellery for him.”

  “His lady mother, on the other hand, has a very large fortune, if her boasting is anything to go by.” Aunt Ursula’s face broke out into a wicked grin. “And she is such a proud woman! What I’d give to see her face when I tell her that her son has been promising marriage to a housemaid!” She rose from her chair and patted Hettie’s shoulder. “I’d say that scandal is worth a monthly stipend to see you through until you can set up by yourself, Hettie. We’ll sort it all out for you. I’m glad you saw sense and told me the truth of it in the end.”

  Hettie stared at her in tear-streaked astonishment. “You’re letting me go? I won’t be hanged?”

  “Not a bit of it!” said Ursula. “Anthea, girl, get your visiting things on. We’re going to see Lady Shrewsbury.”

  As they were putting on their hats and gloves in the hallway, the footman Anthea had sent to Mr Harding returned. Hettie’s confession had been a welcome distraction, but now the full force of what Anthea had done struck her like a blow to the chest.

  By the following morning, London would be alive with the news that the mysterious Lady X was none other than Lady Anthea Balfour, the Duke of Loxwell’s sister.

  The footman bowed and, to Anthea’s great surprise, handed her back the same letter she had given him. It was unopened.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Anthea demanded. Her heart thumped painfully. She should have taken the letter herself. If the footman’s error put George in danger…

  “My lady, Mr. Harding sends his deepest apologies.” The footman kept his eyes low. “He says he is no longer able to receive your correspondence. A government official at the highest level has given instructions that Lady X’s column is no longer to be published.”

  “A government official?” Anthea shared a look of utter confusion with Aunt Ursula.

  This was the doing of someone powerful and determined to silence her. That much was certain.

  It could be Wetherton, in retaliation for her column against him. Had his circle of blackmail extended that far?

  Or could it possibly be…

  “Perhaps there’s more to your Lord Streatham than we thought,” said Aunt Ursula, winking as she tied her bonnet under her chin.

  Anthea shook her head, refusing to believe it. “George would not stop me writing my column, Auntie. If he knows I am behind it, he must have guessed how much it means to me.” Besides, he was George Bonneville, affable and easy-going, not some secretive agent of the Crown. He was the man who had blundered into Wetherton’s gambling trap without a second thought. The man who played
devil’s advocate in the House of Lords simply to wind up her brother and his serious friends. The idea of George manipulating the highest levels of government was simply unimaginable.

  “It must be Wetherton,” said Anthea firmly, her heart hardening even more against the evil man. “George would never do this to me.”

  15

  Lady Shrewsbury lived in the most fashionable part of town in a house that had been clearly furnished according to feminine tastes. Everywhere Anthea looked, there were pink frills and plump cushions. In the short course of her visit so far, she had seen no fewer than three long-haired cats who strolled freely through the rooms as though they owned the place.

  She and Aunt Ursula were waiting in a little sitting room that was filled with the heavy scent of lilies coming from the four large vases standing on small tables in each corner. Lady Shrewsbury, it seemed, did not deem a duke’s relatives important enough to greet with any degree of haste. The butler had brought them a tray of weakly brewed tea. The only sounds were the mewing of the cats, Aunt Ursula’s intermittent humming, and the echoing tick of the large grandfather clock against the wall.

  And then, breaking the domestic peace, came a thumping footstep and a huffing of breath so heavy it was practically a grunt.

  “Good morning, Lord Shrewsbury,” said Anthea, not at all surprised to see who entered the room.

  “You!” he cried, blinking rapidly. “The butler said it was you! What do you want with me?” He noticed Aunt Ursula, who was watching him with a suspicious glare. “Lady Ursula, too! My, my. Charming, charming. I am charmed.” He bowed hastily and plopped himself down on a chair, which creaked alarmingly. “A morning call, is it?”

  “Our business is with your mother,” said Aunt Ursula haughtily.

  A different tactic had occurred to Anthea, however. “Lord Shrewsbury, we are here to speak to your mother about Harriet Barker.”

  His brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “You may know her as Hettie. She is a maid in our house.”