The American Earl (3 page)

I was so agitated that I jumped to my feet and began to pace up and down the big room.  “Did my father lose all this money gambling?
How could that be possible? Why would people gamble with him when they must have known he was a pauper?”

“I don’t know, Lady Julia.” Poor Mr. Shields looked wretched. “I am going to suggest that the new earl get an accountant to go through all the accounts and credit demands to see if he can make sense of what has happened.”

The new earl.  He probably thinks he’s walking into another fortune.  What will he do when he discovers the truth? 

Cousin Flora said, “The art in this house is worth a fortune, Mr. Shields. Could not some of it be sold?”

My immediate reaction was negative.  Sell off our art?  The fabulous collection of paintings my ancestors had acquired over the centuries?  It was part of Stoverton, part of what made Stoverton the treasure it was.

I pinched my lips together to keep from protesting. I certainly hadn’t any other suggestions to make.

Mr. Shields said, “The entail includes all of the house furnishings, Miss Remington.  Stoverton and everything in it does not really belong to the earl, as you must know.  He is only holding it in trust for the next generation.  Even if he wanted to, the new earl could not sell any of the art or furniture or beautiful objects that belong to the house.  He must keep them in trust for his son.”

Relief surged through me that my home wasn’t going to be denuded and I returned to the sofa. “So we must just wait for this American to arrive and see what he will do?”

“I am afraid so, Lady Julia,” Mr. Shields agreed. He pulled at the roll of flesh on his chin and sighed. “I am afraid so.”

Chapter Four

On December 24, 1814, the Treaty of Ghent was signed, officially ending the war between Great Britain and the United States.  Six weeks later, I received a letter from Mr. Shields informing me that the new earl had arrived in London.  The solicitor planned to bring him out to Stoverton in a week’s time, so he suggested we prepare to receive him.  

I read between the lines of this missive and realized I had better open up some more rooms before the earl arrived. The entire castle wing of the house had been shut up for years, but in the family wing I decided to open the drawing room, the large dining room, and the earl’s bedroom. We had been living mainly in the morning room, the library and the small dining room since my allowance had started.

I delegated the cleaning, assigning one room to myself, one to Maria and one to Lucy.  Mrs. Pierce cleaned all the precious dishes and silverware that hadn’t been used since my mother’s death, and she and I consulted on menus so she could order the proper food from the village. Cousin Flora tried to do something about our clothes.

I started in the drawing room by pulling the holland covers off the furniture and piling them in a corner.  I had a dust rag in my hand but before I went to work I stopped to regard the picture that hung over the marble mantelpiece.  It was a portrait of the first earl, Philip Marshall, who had been my hero since I was a child.  He was one of Queen Elizabeth’s favored courtiers, a soldier, a statesman and a poet.  Looking at him now, with the Elizabethan ruff framing his handsome blond head and clear blue eyes, I smiled.  In truth, I adored Philip Marshall.  There was a book of his poetry in the library, and I knew it all by heart.  It was he who had first turned Stoverton from a fortified manor into a magnificent country house. 

It had always annoyed me that I hadn’t inherited his coloring.  Maria was a perfect Marshall: blue eyes, golden hair, tall and slender.  I wasn’t tall, my hair was black and my eyes gray.  My mother always said I got my looks from her side of the family, and I had always thought it horribly unfair that I, who loved Stoverton more than anyone else, was the one who didn’t look like a Marshall. 

We worked like slaves and by the time the new earl was due to arrive I thought the rooms looked impressive enough to humble an American millionaire.  The drawing room was particularly beautiful, with its marble fireplace, tall windows and magnificent gilt-framed mirror hanging over an Italian sideboard.  I had dusted the painted ceiling, climbing a very high ladder to reach it.  I had also dusted and polished all the furniture and arranged the chairs, which usually stood against the wall, in a circle before the fireplace, making the picture of the first earl the centerpiece of the room. 

On the day the new earl and Mr. Shields were to arrive, Maria and I dressed in our best frocks. I had refused to spend the precious allowance money on clothes when there was so much else that needed work in the house and on the farms, so we didn’t exactly present a picture of elegance. In fact, the only presentable dresses we owned were the ones that Aunt Barbara had ordered for Papa’s funeral. We might have looked gloomy, but at least the dresses fit.

Mr. Shields and his companion arrived at Stoverton’s front door a few minutes before noon.  Lucy, dressed in a maid’s uniform Mrs. Pierce had unearthed from somewhere, answered the door and brought them to the drawing room, where Maria, Cousin Flora and I had arranged ourselves to greet them.

My heart was hammering as the wide door opened and Lucy said, as she had been instructed,  “His Lordship, the Earl of Althorpe and Mr. John Shields.”

The American walked into the room and stopped in a shaft of sunlight from the window. I stared, utterly stunned by what I was seeing.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his hair was a thick, silvery blond, his features were chiseled and his eyes a clear, absolute blue. He was the living image of the first earl, Philip Marshall, whose portrait hung over the mantelpiece. The only difference between them was that Philip’s hair was a slightly darker blond.

We stood and he came forward to shake hands. I offered mine, looked up into those intensely blue eyes, and managed to mutter something I hoped was polite. My heart was racing. How could this be? How could this American be the living embodiment of my Philip?

He next offered his hand to Maria, who said, “But you’re the image of the first earl! Look – his picture is hanging right over the fireplace.”

She pointed and his eyes followed her finger. “See.” Maria said. “The resemblance is amazing.”

“It certainly is,” he said slowly, staring at the picture. His voice was deep and crisp, his accent different from ours. “This was the first earl, you say?”

“Yes, Maria said. “He was a famous Elizabethan soldier and courtier. Queen Elizabeth loved him so much she made him an earl.”

“It certainly is extraordinary,” he said, not looking overly happy about the resemblance. 

Cousin Flora said comfortably, “Come and sit down, my lord.  I have sent for tea.”

He seated himself on one of the elegant gilt chairs I had arranged. He was a big man and shifted a little on the seat, trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes were still on the portrait.

“It’s like looking in a mirror.”  His thick silvery brows were drawn together.  “It’s a little unnerving, actually.”

Cousin Flora said, “There has always been a strong likeness among the Marshalls. I remember that your father was blond and blue-eyed too.”

“Yes, he was.  And my sister is as well.” 

The American pulled his eyes away from the portrait and looked at Maria and me. His face was grave as he said, “I deeply regret the tragedy that has brought me to England, but I am pleased to meet my new cousins.”

Maria smiled eagerly. “Thank you, my lord. We are happy to meet you as well.”

He smiled back. The smile made him look even more spectacular. “My name is Evan, Maria.” His eyes passed over the three of us, and his smile deepened. “Please, I beg of you, don’t call me by a title. We don’t believe in aristocracy at home and it makes me extremely uncomfortable.”

This could be good news. If he didn’t like aristocracy he wouldn’t want to remain in England for very long.

“Would you gentlemen care for a light luncheon?” Cousin Flora asked the earl and solicitor. “We are ready to serve if it pleases you.”

“It pleases me very much.  I’m starving,” the earl said, gracing us once more with a smile.  I suspected he got a lot of use out of that smile, but it didn’t impress me.  He was still an American, a citizen of the country that had killed my brother – who should be the one inheriting Stoverton instead of this interloper.

I led everyone into the small dining room where the table had been set with the two hundred year old silver, and the Sevres china a countess had brought back from France during the reign of Louis the Fifteenth. I had ordered the best we had quite deliberately. I wanted this American to know what it was like to have such beautiful old things.

Lucy brought out a fish soup and we all lifted our spoons.

The meal was pleasant enough. I couldn’t be openly rude and call the American by his title since he had asked us not to, so I didn’t call him anything. Maria, on the other hand, chattered away, using his Christian name with as much freedom as if she had known him forever.

While Maria asked the earl questions about America and Cousin Flora asked questions about his father, I asked Mr. Shields if he had told the earl about our financial situation. 

“I’ve told him there are large debts that need to be paid, Lady Julia.  We won’t know the full story until we have a chance to see what Stoverton is costing.  Perhaps you should take him on a tour of the house and property.  I’m sure he has no idea of the size of the estate.  He comes from a small town that makes its livelihood from the sea.”

I thought this was a good idea and when I suggested the tour at the end of the meal, Cousin Flora gushed, “You couldn’t have a better guide than Julia, Evan.  She knows everything there is to know about Stoverton and the family.”

“How nice.” He gave me an inscrutable look, which annoyed me as much as his smile did.

“May I come too?” Maria asked eagerly.

She got the smile. “I would be delighted if you would come, Maria.”

A return smile lit her face. Maria was always grateful for attention. She had certainly never gotten any from our parents.

Cousin Flora said to Mr. Shields, “Perhaps you and I might take tea in the drawing room, Mr. Shields, while the tour is in progress?”

“That sounds lovely, Miss Remington,” he replied. We left our empty pudding plates on the table and went out.

* * * *

We started the tour in the courtyard in front of the original house.  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you Stoverton is an architectural masterpiece, my lord,” I began.

“Julia.” There was a note of danger in his voice. “Don’t call me that.”

“In this country you should expect to be called by your title.”

“You’re my cousin. I would like it if you would call me Evan.”

I forced a smile.  “Of course.”  I turned back to the house.  “As I was saying, Stoverton was originally a manor house, but King Henry VII gave my ancestor permission to fortify it; the front you are looking at is that house.  We no longer use it, but it is still very beautiful.”

The three of us stood silent, looking at the lovely golden stone that seemed to glow in the thin winter sunshine. I drew the American’s attention to the square castellated tower that was separate from the main house. “The building on your left is the King’s Tower. Unfortunately, it’s the only tower left from the original fortifications. You can still see what’s left of the original wall, however.” I indicated the crenellated stonewall that stretched halfway from the King’s Tower to the house. “The wall, which used to surround the house, was punctuated by eight towers. Unfortunately only the King’s Tower remains today.”

The American said slowly, “It’s so strange to know that my father grew up here. He never spoke about his English background. My sister and I didn’t even know we had relatives over here, so you can imagine how astonished I was to receive the communication from Mr. Shields telling me I was the heir.”

Maria was amazed. “Your father never told you about us?”

“No. He was an American, through and through. He even fought against England in the War of Independence.”

What kind of a man would take up arms against the country of his birth?
I held my tongue, but with difficulty.

Maria pointed to the structure that lay beyond the King’s Tower.  It was built in the same golden stone as the house, but in the Georgian style.

Maria said, “Those are the new stables. They were built by our grandfather.”

Evan’s blue eyes widened as he took in the size of the stable. “Great heavens! How many horses do you have here?”

“Only six,” I said, and cleared my throat so he wouldn’t hear the pain I always felt when I thought of all my beautiful horses sold to people who wouldn’t love them like I did. “We have my mare, my father’s old hunter, and four elderly carriage horses.”

He threw me a quick glance but I maintained a stoic face. 

“I see.”

Maria said, “Julia and I used to have a pony. Her name was Feathers and she taught both Julia and me to ride. When Papa sold her Julia and I were heartbroken.”

She looked at me. “Weren’t we Julia?”

I clenched my teeth and said nothing. I had wanted to kill my father when he sold Feathers.

Evan said, “Can we go into the house now?”

Grateful for the change of topic, I nodded and said, “Of course. First I’ll show you the state rooms in the old house. They have been closed up for some years now. My mother occasionally used them to throw grand house parties, but after she died we didn’t need them anymore. I think you will like to see them, however.”

We started with the drawing room, which had been added to the original house in the fifteenth century.  Unfortunately, all of the furniture was swathed in holland covers, but the room’s beautiful proportions were still visible.  Next we passed into the huge formal dining room and thence to the bedroom apartments, where kings had slept. Even though the furniture was covered, the great glory of Stoverton – its vast collection of paintings - were enough to impress even the most ignorant colonial.  The paintings were usually covered too, but I had removed the protective linens because I wanted the American to see what magnificence he had inherited.