Authors: The Return of the Earl
Edith Layton (2 page)
Christian’s face showed no emotion, but he stood very still.
“Well, but you can’t stay on here. No one does but the staff,” the squire said. “And now no one else can, since ownership of the estate is in dispute,” he added, scowling at the visitor. “We just came here to meet you. We live a few miles down the road. No one’s lived here but staff since the earl passed away.”
“The manor’s been unoccupied for over six months?” Christian asked, turning to Hammond. “You hadn’t moved in?”
Hammond’s face turned ruddier than the firelight could account for. Sophie spoke up. “There were improvements to be made before we moved in, and they couldn’t begin until the papers were signed. We are to be married in the autumn,” she added proudly, puffing up her breast like a little white pigeon.
Christian sketched a bow. “Congratulations. So, where are you staying, Cousin?” he asked Hammond.
“He’s our guest,” the squire said. “Has been since he first came here to inspect the estate when he learned of his inheritance.”
“Oh,” Christian said, eyeing Sophie’s blush. “And that’s how the two got so well acquainted, no doubt? Sensible. But don’t have regrets, Cousin Hammond. It wouldn’t have mattered if you had taken up residence. It would only have been more uncomfortable all around. My claim’s valid.”
“It would have been harder to eject him if he was already here!” Sophie said truculently.
“I doubt it,” Christian said. “Trust me. I have papers, more than you’d think. As a former convict, my life has more documents attached than most men have. I’ve presented all the papers to the lawyers. By
the way, I’ve hired a legion of them myself. It costs a fortune, but I have one. My father was very successful in New South Wales, and investments made me more so. Now, please excuse me. I’d like to find that inn. I really am very tired. Good night,” he said, bowed to them, and strode to the door.
They didn’t start speaking until he’d left, then they couldn’t stop.
The squire’s wife turned on her husband. “Why didn’t you have him tossed out?” she demanded.
“If it were only that easy,” he said. “It will take time and money to get to the bottom of this. We can’t discount him out of hand.”
“You believe him?” his wife exclaimed. “No one heard from him for fifteen years. Yet now, just as dear Hammond here is about to take his legacy, he appears and claims his rights as heir? A man no one knows or has ever seen?”
“I believe anything until proven differently,” her husband said heavily. “And so do the courts of the land. But it won’t be easy for him. Most wretches who are transported don’t even live long enough to return to England. He has to present some very compelling evidence.”
“Oh, the villain,” his wife raged. “How diabolically clever! If he’d claimed to be Geoffrey Sauvage, someone would have known the truth. A person can lose weight or gain it, grow bald or grow whiskers, have arms and legs lopped off, whatever,” she went on wildly, her voice rising. “But there’s no way a man can actually change his face, apart from cutting off his nose. So this fellow claims to be the villain’s
son—whom no one knows because he left this country when he was a boy.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” Sophie cried.
“We’ll need more than lawyers,” her mother said furiously. “They can drag things on for years! More decisive action is needed.”
Her husband nodded. “And we shall have it. ‘Trust me,’ he says. As if I would. Trust
me
, I’ll soon give him a solution he deserves!”
“Sir!” Hammond said, shocked.
“No I won’t kill the rogue, though he doubtless deserves it,” the squire said hastily. “I leave that for the law to do. I only meant that I hired a Bow Street runner the moment I got word another claim to the title and estate had been made. The runner also undertakes private investigations. We’ll get to the bottom of this, you’ll see.”
“I told you and told you to move in here months ago!” Sophie told her fiancé, stamping her foot.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. He was right about that,” Hammond said.
“Yes it would have,” she insisted. “Possession is a great part of the law, and if it’s not, at least you’d have looked like the earl and he like the interloper if you’d already been master here.”
Hammond’s expression grew wary. “It wouldn’t have been legal for me to move in. But the way you talk…you believe he
is
the rightful heir?”
“No,” she said, “I don’t. But I believe he’s as evil as he is clever.”
“We’re at a disadvantage, and he knows it,” her fa
ther said glumly. “If his father had come, someone might have recognized him. No one would know
this
fellow.”
“No one?” his wife asked. “Are you sure? There must be someone, a close friend, a near neighbor, a relative…Isn’t there anyone in your family who would remember him?” she asked Hammond.
“We’re a small family, especially now. And as he says, no one was close to his father,” Hammond answered, frowning. He raised his head, his expression brightened. “There is Sir Maurice, up north. He’s the son of a younger son, and isn’t in the direct line for the title, but he’s the oldest in the family, and always was interested in its history. He collects antiques and loves anything about history, actually. So it’s only natural that he’d become involved with the family geneology.
“He may even have met the real Christian at some time. He used to get about more. He’s rich as he can stare, married a fortune. His wife died and left him more.” He shook his head, glum again. “But he’s practically a recluse now. I suppose if it were the eleventh hour, and we had no other option, we might try to summon him, but I don’t know if he’d come. He lost his only son a few years ago and retired from society.”
“Wait!” Sophie’s mother cried. “Geoffrey Sauvage and his son lived near Slough, didn’t they? I remember reading about what had happened to them and—the Wexfords…no! The Lowells! Your cousins, Henry,” she told her husband excitedly. “They lived there until they inherited that farm. Yes, when the
scandal broke, we spoke of them, remember? They had a son who was young Christian’s best friend, and they were shocked by his arrest, they wrote to tell you so. We’ll ask their son to come for a visit. He might not recognize Christian Sauvage after all these years, but he certainly could question the fellow better than we can.”
“Jonathan Lowell fell at Salamanca,” her husband said quietly. “He was a member of the Fifth and received honors. I saw his name in the reports, and wrote a note of condolence to his parents.”
“But he had a sister,” Sophie said excitedly. “She’s my age. She and her family came to that ball we gave for my seventeenth birthday, remember? It was such an event, you invited everyone.”
“Yes,” her mother said eagerly. “They did come, though they didn’t stay long. She was a nice enough young creature. The family’s sound, but they aren’t quite in our class, financially. She’d be thrilled to be invited to visit again.”
“But she was years younger than her brother,” the squire protested, “How much could she remember?”
“Enough,” his wife said. “They said she used to follow her brother like a shadow. Any bit of information, however small, might help us.”
“She was a handsome girl,” the squire said reflectively, “I remember now. But since she’s our Sophie’s age, there’s no telling if she’s married with her own family by now. Five years ago, after all. Our Sophie was so finicking,” he reminded Hammond quickly, “or she’d have been snapped up long before you came along.”
“I know that, and I’m grateful for it,” he said gallantly.
“I didn’t keep up with the family,” the squire said brusquely. “You never encouraged the connection,” he told his wife. “I’d feel a fool suddenly asking the girl here now.”
“Don’t,” his wife snapped. “Families have these little estrangements, the difference in our situations accounts for it. They aren’t paupers, but they couldn’t have afforded to give the girl a proper Season, and we weren’t close enough to offer her one. Naturally we grew apart. This will merely be an invitation for a visit with us. If she’s married, she can come with her husband. Likely she is, and married a farmer like her father, at that. They’d be glad of a chance to solder the connection between us. I’ll invite her at once.”
They left the room, busily making plans.
And so no one but the footmen who came in to clean up after them noticed that their unwelcome guest, for all he’d said he was famished, hadn’t eaten a thing.
The inn was as comfortable as his reluctant hosts had claimed. Christian finished washing up and yawned. He opened the door and placed his boots outside in the hall for the innkeeper to collect and polish. Then he closed the door and propped a chair in front of it. He went to the window, pulled the shutters closed, and put a glass tumbler on the windowsill, placing it so that if the shutters were disturbed the glass would be knocked off and fall to floor.
He glanced around the room and nodded to him
self. Dressed only in his shirtsleeves, breeches, and stocking feet, he padded over to a chair by the bed. He sat, reached into his shirt, and took a small pistol out of the concealed sling that he wore under his arm. He placed it on the table at his side, then bent and removed a leather sheath from under the stocking on his right leg. He slid out the knife that had been hidden there, examined it, slipped it back again, and placed it next to the pistol.
Only then did he sit back and pick up the glass of whiskey that was waiting for him. As he brought it to his lips, his hand shook so badly that the amber liquid spilled over the side of the glass. He carefully put the glass down again.
“Whoa, lad,” he whispered in rougher accents. “This will never do.” He laid his head on the back of the chair, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He sat a few moments, taking in long, deep, measured breaths. Then he opened his eyes, raised his hand, and looked at it again.
It was rock steady. He picked up the glass again and saw the liquid still as the surface of an icebound pond.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Better. Still as death. Which is what you’d be if he knew what you were about.” He raised the glass to his lips and swallowed, grimacing as the liquid went down his throat. “Better,” he repeated. “No worries. Only the task ahead. Here we are, and here we stay. Trust no one, not even yourself, and get on with it. And stop talking to yourself like a daft old lag,” he added, on a smile.
He yawned, picked up his pistol and knife, rose,
and turned his lamp down, but not off, leaving a slight glow that warmed the room. Then he slipped the pistol under his pillow, put the sheath and the knife at his right hand next to it, lay down dressed as he was, closed his eyes, and slept.
"O
f course I’m excited,” Julianne said. She shivered as she looked out the coach window and saw nothing but darkness. “I confess I’m also frightened.”
“
You,
Miss?” her maid asked, astonished.
She nodded. “Well, I don’t have that many adventures. And you must admit going to visit someone you don’t really know is an adventure.” She nibbled on the tip of her gloved finger. “If I only knew why they asked me, I might feel better. It’s been so many years, why should my cousin Sophie suddenly want my company? We haven’t corresponded, though I remember her, of course. Who wouldn’t?”
“A very pretty young woman,” her maid agreed. “But not a patch on you, Miss.”
Her mistress grinned. “Take care you’re not struck by lightning, Annie. Loyalty is one thing, blindness is another. Sophie was the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen, all blond curls and smiles. Charming, too, with never an unkind word. And I remember her house.
Lord! Who could forget? It beat Squire Hobbs’s house all to pieces, didn’t it? Don’t pretend not, you queened it all over the neighborhood for weeks after we got back. ‘Like staying in a palace,’ you said. But the point is…” She stopped and made a face as she got a taste of the glove she was nibbling.
She put her hand in her lap, and went on, “Though they were wonderful hosts and Mother and I wrote to thank them, they never wrote to us again. And now, suddenly, they ask me to come visit and stay with them for a month! There’s obviously some ulterior motive. I’ve wracked my brain and can’t come up with one, and neither could Mother or Father. Which is why I’m here, I suppose. It’s not just for the luxury of staying there again. I love a mystery.”
She smiled, remembering her mother’s words as they’d considered the invitation.
“You don’t have to make excuses for taking advantage of a wonderful opportunity,” her mother had said. “You’ll meet interesting people and have a chance to enjoy yourself.”
“You mean,” Julianne had corrected her, “I’ll meet interesting gentlemen there, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I do,” her mother had admitted. “And it’s important, because we can’t help you with that. We’re not poverty-stricken, you know. We do have a farm, and it’s a mighty profitable one, there’s not a thing about that to concern anyone of good breeding, because we don’t run it with our own hands. Or at least, we don’t have to. Your gardening and your father’s horses are your own fancies. We come from a good family, too. But the thing is, we’re not a well-
connected family, at least we don’t have many relatives in high places.”
“And so though we try to provide you with everything you need, you haven’t found a fellow who takes your fancy, and you’re rising two-and-twenty. We have balls and parties hereabouts, but not one fellow you’ve met has ever suited you—at least, not above a few visits. And I don’t see how we can attract more eligible men for you.”
“Well, you could always hold a tournament for my hand,” Julianne had said on a gurgle of laughter.
“That’s closer to a solution than makes me comfortable,” her mama had said. “Parents
can
see to it that their children have choices. Your father and I have the means but not the way to take you to London to choose the man you deserve. That is to say we have the funds, I think, but not the entrée to Society. We can’t just take you to subscription balls and public masquerades; you need to be presented to a better class of gentlemen.
“And what better place than Cousin Wiley’s house? It’s not far from London, he’s very well thought of, they entertain lavishly. Why, they’re even on the best of terms with their famous neighbor, the earl of Egremont. Or were. He’s passed on, but that means the estate soon should, too. Now, there’s an estate! It’s in every guidebook on the district. It would be exciting for you to see it, and you might meet the new earl and who knows what connections you could make if you were invited to a party at his house? Oh, Julianne, why not give yourself a chance to meet new people? Your father and I love you and would be happy to
have you with us always, but we want you to have at least the chance to have your own family. If Jonathan were still here, of course…”
Julianne had covered her mother’s hand with her own, and the conversation had ended so that it wouldn’t end in tears. Five years, after all, was not so very long, not for a mother who mourned her only son, or for the sister who had adored him.
It was then that Julianne decided to accept her distant cousin’s unexpected invitation.
She’d regretted it once her mother’s tears were out of sight. How awkward to stay with a family she didn’t know. The invitation, coming out of the blue, and couched in terms of “a chance for betterment for dear Julianne” had bruised her pride a little, too. “Betterment”? She wasn’t a pauper or a peasant. And she wasn’t ugly, awkward, or a fool, she simply wasn’t married.
But in that moment, seeing her mother’s unending grief, she’d longed to be able to give her something, ease her pain. And in a stroke of brilliant realization, she’d suddenly seen that she could! She could bring another son to her, a substitute son, in the shape of a son-in-law. And then one day, perhaps, a grandson, too.
Both husband and son could be like Jonathan. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find such a fellow. She’d known many such, friends of Jonathan’s, happy, outgoing, bold young men, who didn’t think as deeply as they laughed—not that Jonathan had been stupid! But he’d been reckless and merry, happier riding than reading, unable to sit still, unwilling to ponder things too long. That was why he’d bought his colors and
gone riding off to war on a whim, thrilled with his decision, looking forward to action, adventure, and laughter. He’d found only silence and eternal peace.
But now the world was at peace, too, so there was less risk for such headstrong lads. If she could find such an amiable, easygoing, uncomplicated sort of fellow, she could marry him, and in one stroke give her mother a lively lad to fuss over, her father a companion to fish and ride with, and herself a companion who could bring sunshine back into her life.
She couldn’t do that if she stayed where she was. Jonathan’s death had marked her. She’d been seventeen when she’d gone into deep mourning for him, and it had taken a while to get over it. Her mother had taken longer. They’d gone into seclusion, out of local society, and by the time Julianne had been able to go back into the social world, she’d grown into an altogether different sort of girl, a bit quieter, a little sadder. And the men who had been available to her no longer were. Not that it mattered much. The local lads bored Julianne.
She had nursed secret infatuations for several of her brother’s jolly friends. But they’d gone off to war, too, and either married other girls or gone to their own untimely deaths in battle. And now there was no one she’d even consider for a life mate. It was hard enough finding a friend. Her friends had married and spoke of little but their husbands and children. Newcomers seldom came to their village, so she couldn’t even meet new women friends. But if she went to her cousin Sophie’s house…
“Well,” Julianne said resolutely now, as the coach
rolled on to her cousin’s house. “I don’t know why I was invited but I mean to make the most of it, Annie. A month at a fine manor house, I’m a lucky woman.”
And a month, she thought, would be over before she knew it, so if it was dreadful, she’d be home again soon enough. Only she hoped it wouldn’t be unpleasant, and she prayed she could bring home a trophy from her adventure: a merry young man she could call husband, a fellow her parents could rejoice in, too.
Julianne stared out the window, the darkness making it into a sort of black looking glass. She surveyed herself in the dark mirror and patted a wayward strand of hair back into place.
“You look a treat,” her maid said staunchly.
“Thank you,” she said. But she wasn’t worried about that. She wasn’t a monster of vanity, but she knew she’d suit, at least for some men. Didn’t she look like Jonathan? Her father had proudly called them his two bay ponies. Both Thoroughbreds, he’d say, sleek and wild, the pair of them with thick brown hair and big brown eyes that kindled gold in the sun.
Julianne was pleased by the comparison, but thought Jonathan had made a better-looking fellow than she did a girl. She had two straight winged slashes of brows over her eyes, just as he’d had. Though her complexion was clear and creamy, her nose straight, and her mouth plump enough to suit her, and her hair curled if she gave it half a chance, she thought her “look” was too vivid and strong for a proper Englishwoman. She was buxom though slender, and knew fashion preferred women with smaller
attributes, whatever men said when they thought women couldn’t hear them. But she’d do. She just had to find a lad who fancied her sort of looks. And now she might have the chance.
“I wish I could see,” she murmured as she looked out the window. “Wait! Are those lights up ahead? Is that gravel under the wheels now? Are we slowing? Are we in a drive?”
“Aye, we’re here, Miss,” her maid said excitedly.
Julianne took a deep breath. She didn’t let it out until she stepped out of the coach. She had to draw it in again when she stood in the front hall of her cousin’s house and stared at her cousin Sophie as she fluttered forward to greet her. Sophie wore a fashionable rose-colored frock with a deeper rose shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was drawn up so it could tumble down in golden curls around her face.
“My goodness!” Julianne breathed. “You’re even prettier than you were before, Cousin!”
Sophie flashed a smile at her, looking very satisfied by the comment. “Just as I remember,” she said on a trill of laughter. “You were always so straightforward, you and your brother. Oh. I’m so sorry about him. Please accept my sympathies.”
Julianne ducked her head and murmured a thank-you. It was hard to know what to say to someone offering sympathies five years after the fact.
“And here are my mama,” Sophie said, “and papa.”
Julianne curtsied to Sophie’s mama, noting her resemblance to her daughter. The squire hadn’t changed, except for having less hair than she remembered.
“And here,” Sophie said with pride, motioning to a
broad-shouldered gentleman at her side, “is my fiancé, Hammond Sauvage.”
Julianne’s head went up. There’d been no mention of a fiancé in the letter. And moreover, Hammond Sauvage looked very like the sort of fellow she’d just been thinking of and not at all like the kind she’d have expected her cousin to marry. He was medium height and squarely built, with a thatch of straw-colored hair, an open, honest face, and eyes that didn’t look as though they could hold a secret any more than they could a sneer. Though he was dressed correctly, he looked as though loose-fitted hunting gear would suit him better than the evening clothes he had on.
He bowed. “Miss Lowell,” he said.
Sophie, having seen Julianne’s momentary expression of surprise, raised her little chin, and added, almost defiantly, “Ham is actually heir to Egremont. He’ll be the new earl, and is only staying on here until he can take possession of the estate and his title.”
“Really, Sophie…” her fiancé began to say.
“Yes, really, Sophie, indeed,” her mama interrupted. “What a way to greet your cousin after a journey of so many hours! Far better to offer her a room and something to eat by her fireside now. There’s time for you two to get reacquainted later. You must be exhausted, my dear,” she told Julianne, taking her elbow and leading her to the stair. “How were the roads? Is there still construction at the Applegate Tollhouse? What a bother. Is that your family carriage? How clever. At least that way your coachman didn’t make you get out and walk up the hill at Torrance the way the public
coachmen do. How thoughtful of your parents. I hope they’re well? We’ll see your coachman and horses housed for the night, and bring your bags right up. Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
Julianne followed, her maid in her wake. She didn’t say anything, nor could she, because her hostess kept up a steady stream of polite chatter. But she wished she could turn around and hop back in the coach. Whatever had brought her to this house, she began to think that it would be far more complicated than she’d imagined.
Julianne’s room was delightful, papered and painted in sunny yellow, so that even the night couldn’t make it depressing. The big bed had a canopy with filmy gold curtains over it, the firelight made it seem to glow with incandescent light. A person would feel like a pearl in its bed, Julianne thought sleepily as she climbed into it.
She’d eaten and gotten into nightclothes. Her maid was snugged in her own bed upstairs. Julianne felt pampered, but ill at ease, and uncertain.
“Cousin?” a little voice called from the door. “Are you sleeping?”
Surely the stupidest question in the world
, Julianne thought before she could chide herself for the unkind thought. But there was no way anyone could answer it by saying “yes.” “No,” she said. “Come in.” She climbed out of her bed and went to greet her cousin. “I’m glad of the company,” she told her truthfully. “It’s a lovely room, but one always feels odd in a new place.”
Sophie had changed her pink gown for an even
prettier white dressing gown. “So I thought,” she said comfortably. “I came to keep you company. You didn’t want to go to bed right away, did you?”
Her cousin had a way of asking questions that could only be answered in the affirmative, Julianne thought with amusement. But she was pleased. Maybe she could get some answers, then sleep easier tonight.
Sophie settled herself on a chair by the hearth, tucked her gown under her toes, shook back her head so that the firelight tickled the gold in her curls, and grinned at her cousin.
She really was adorable, Julianne thought as she took a seat near her.
“My, don’t you look pretty,” Sophie said. “That blue wrapper is charming. It’s a lovely shade for you, it brings out the color of your hair. How lucky you are to have such hair, so thick and rich and earthy. But then, you’re a very handsome girl. I’m glad my Hammond is the faithful sort. Don’t worry, we’ll find a young man of your own as soon as may be.”
