The Reluctant Earl (2 page)

“How tragic,” Simon murmured. 

“Yes.”  Mr. Clarkson took a drink of brandy and set his glass down with a thump.  “Enough of this sad talk, now.  Kit tells me that you were undefeated in football this year.”

“We were, Papa,” Kit said with genuine enthusiasm.  He began to talk about the last game they had played and Simon joined in with relief.  Soon the server appeared with their meals, and there was no more talk about this soldier who looked like him who had been shot to death in Ireland.

#   #   #

Liam arrived the following morning to pick Simon up, and he related his encounter with Mr. Clarkson as they drove home in one of the earl’s curricles.  The two horses hitched to the carriage were thoroughbreds Liam was teaching to drive, and they were a bit skittish as Liam maneuvered them out of the town.

One of the many things Simon admired about Liam was the way he took care of the horses that were not fast enough to race.  He didn’t just discard them, as so many other stables did.  He taught them to do another job, and then he placed them with a good owner.  Simon himself had helped to retrain a number of thoroughbreds as hunters.

“That is a very peculiar tale, boyo,” Liam said when Simon had finished speaking.

“It bothered me,” Simon admitted.  “The man kept insisting I was the image of his brother.”

“Your father never mentioned to me that he had property in Ireland.”

“He never goes there.  I think he might rent it out.”

“Do you know where in Ireland this property is?”

“I believe it’s near Limerick.” 

A farmer’s vehicle was coming toward them and Liam steered the bays away from the center of the road, talking to them softly so they wouldn’t spook.  Once they were safely past, Liam said, “Limerick has been garrisoned by the English for almost a century, Simon.  They took over after they massacred the Irish who were defending the town.  I’m not that surprised an English soldier got picked off.  We Irish have long memories.”

As Simon knew, Liam had made a comfortable life for himself in England, but he never forgot the land of his birth. 

An easy silence fell as they drove along the narrow lane.  Simon looked from the wheat waving in the fields back to Liam’s concentrated profile, and felt happy.  He was going home.  When finally they hit an open stretch of road Liam relaxed, glanced at Simon, and said, “I have a horse I think will make a grand hunter, Simon.”      “Which one is that?” Simon asked enthusiastically, and for the next five miles they discussed the horse and what specifically Simon would need to do to get him re-trained. 

They were almost home when Simon brought up the other subject that was on his mind.

“When I was last at home I had an odd encounter with Mr. Pitt, My father’s solicitor.”

“Oh?”

“I was waiting in front of the house for Roger to bring the carriage around to take me back to school – remember you couldn’t do it – and Mr. Pitt came out of the house.  His carriage was already waiting for him and I wished him a safe journey back to London.  But he stopped, turned to look at me, and said the oddest thing: ‘Lord Woodbridge, do you know about the money that will be coming to you when you turn eighteen?’”

Liam’s eyebrows lifted.  “There’s money coming to you? 
Did
you know about it?”

“No, I did not.  Mr. Pitt told me that my mother’s marriage settlement provided a trust for me when I turned eighteen.  That he thought I should be aware of it.  Then he walked out to his carriage and drove away.”

Liam frowned.  “Sure and that’s a peculiar way to hear about such a thing.  Your father never mentioned this inheritance to you?”

“No.  And it’s made me think about a lot of things, Mr. O’Rourke.  Do you know that I don’t know anything at all about my mother’s family?  No one has ever told me if I have grandparents or aunts or uncles from her side.  It’s almost as if she was born in a vacuum.”

Liam’s frown deepened.  “I always assumed they must be dead.  You never mentioned them.”

“I never mentioned them because I knew nothing about them.”

“You never asked?”

“One doesn’t ask my father things he doesn’t want to speak about.”

“True enough, boy,” Liam said.  “True enough.  And you had the definite impression he didn’t want to speak about your mother’s relatives?”

“It’s not just her relatives - he never speaks about her!”  Simon heard the quiver in his own voice, and took a deep breath to calm himself. 

Liam’s soft Irish voice softened even more as he asked, “Do you have any memories of her, Simon?  I know you were only five when she died, but sometimes memories from childhood linger.”

Simon thought.  “I remember snatches of moments,” he said.  “I remember she always smelled good.  I remember how she would hug me – she’d hug me so tight sometimes that it hurt.  But I liked being close to her.  And I remember she was pretty.”

“Do you know what she died of?”

“No.”

Liam frowned thoughtfully.  “Her relatives must have come to the funeral.”

“There wasn’t any funeral.  My mother died when she was on a visit to Ireland, and she was buried there.  I always thought that was why my father stopped going to Ireland, that it would remind him of her death.”

One of the bays began to toss his head and Liam rubbed his back with the whip and spoke soothingly in Irish.  The bay settled down and the pair continued to trot quietly along the road.

Liam said thoughtfully, “Ireland.”

“Yes.”  Simon watched the horses’ muscles moving smoothly under their dark bay backs.  He said slowly, “Ireland seems to have come up rather frequently today, hasn’t it?”

“I was after thinking the same thing.”

They drove for a while in silence, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.  Then Liam said, “Would you like me to find out what I can for you about your mother’s family?”

Simon turned to him in relief.  “Would you, Mr. O’Rourke?”

Liam nodded.  “I’m thinking your father’s solicitor might have suspected you didn’t know about the inheritance and that’s why he told you.   His conscience was bothering him.”

Simon slowly nodded.  “Perhaps.  He’s a nice man, Mr. Pitt.”

They drove for a few minutes in silence, Liam concentrating on the horses and Simon looking at the green fields on either side of the road. 

Liam broke the silence.  “What was your mother’s maiden name?”

“It was Jarvis.  At least I know that.”

“There’s a famous English banking family by the name of Jarvis.  Do you think she might be related to them?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said fretfully.  “I don’t know anything!  It makes me feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, boy.  Things have been purposefully kept from you.  Let me look around a bit and see what I can find out.”

Simon turned to look at Liam’s profile, at the thin, aquiline nose and well-cut mouth Claire had inherited, and felt a rush of relief and gratitude.  “I would appreciate that, Mr. O’Rourke.”

Liam flicked his whip to keep one of the bays from leaning out and said, “Don’t worry your head too much, Simon.  Enjoy your summer.  We’ll get this sorted out.”

“Thank you,” Simon said, his gruff voice disguising his emotion.  They spent the rest of the drive discussing the horses Liam had in training.

CHAPTER TWO

The following day Simon stood beside the small river in Welbourne woods impatiently skipping stones.  Claire and he had arranged to meet at their usual spot the previous afternoon, when Liam stopped at the cottage so Simon could say hello to Claire and her mother.  As Claire and her parents were going to dine at the squire’s, he had gone on to the abbey.

“I couldn’t get out of it,” Claire had whispered to him as Simon and her father were returning to the curricle.  “Meet you tomorrow at the glen.”

He had thought of nothing else all night.  It would be bliss to be alone with her again.  But mixed with the bliss was frustration.  He was too young. 
They
were too young.  He was finished with school, thank God, but he suspected his father was going to pack him off to Oxford.  All the Radleys had gone to Oxford.  And all his father wanted was for Simon to be out from under his sight.

When were they going to be allowed to be together?  And what might this inheritance mean to them?

He heard hoof beats and Claire came riding into the glen on Finbar, the little gray gelding her father had bought for her when she had outgrown her pony.   She flung herself out of her saddle and ran into his arms.  Their lips met in a long kiss. 

It was so hard to lift his mouth away from her.  The reality of Claire was always so much stronger than his dreams of her when he was gone.

She said, “I missed you so much.”

His eyes devoured the face he loved.  Her eyes were huge and brown, with remarkable long black lashes.  Her shining mahogany colored hair was tied as usual at her nape and fell halfway down her back.  She had clear olive skin, a narrow arched nose and lips that he could kiss forever.  She and her father were the ‘black Irish,’ she had once told him – descended in part from the Spanish sailors that had been flung on the shores of southwest Ireland when the Armada had broken up in the sixteenth century.

“I missed you too,” he returned.

They said that each time he came home. 

She stepped a little away and looked him up and down.  “Have you got taller?” she demanded.

“An inch, perhaps.”

“Why do you keep growing and I don’t?” she said, woeful as a child deprived of a treat.

It was an ongoing complaint and it made him smile to hear it again.  He tipped her chin up with his forefinger.  “You’re perfect just the way you are.”  His eyes glinted with mischief.  “Even if you are short.”      

      She tilted her head.  “I love it when you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a naughty little boy.”

His amusement fled.  “I was never a naughty little boy.”

“I know.”  Her voice was very soft.  “Kiss me again, Simon.”

He lowered his head and she slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him, her head tipped back on her lovely slender neck.  The kiss deepened and they clung to each other with rising fierceness.  Simon felt the storm of hunger inside him, and he forced himself to put her away while he still was able to.  She staggered a little, as she lost the support of his arms. 

He was breathing as if he had been running.  He looked at her and said, his voice unrecognizable even to himself, “You’re so beautiful, Claire.  I love you so much.”

They had known each other since she had come from Ireland to Welbourne.  He had been seven and she six, and they had become instant friends.  Over the years, as they had grown, the innocent friendship had turned into something much more. 

She whispered, “I love you so much, Simon.”

His heart turned over as he looked at her.  He could lose himself in her eyes, he thought, and took a step toward her, desperately wanting the feel of her soft breasts against him, her beautiful full mouth under his. 

A horse squealed and they both jumped.  First Claire, then Simon, turned to look at Finbar.  His tail was swishing madly and he was glaring at his hip.

“Something bit him,” Claire said.  She went to look at his flank, then stroked his neck and told him he was fine, to go back to his grass.  After a few more tail swishes, one of which caught Claire on the arm, he did.

Simon watched her soothe the horse and forced himself to sit and lean his back against a tree.  Claire dropped down next to him.  Her shoulder touched his arm.  He cleared his throat and remembered what he had wanted to tell her.  “Do you recall that legacy I wrote you about?”

“Of course I remember it.  Have you found out anything more?”

“My father still hasn’t said a word, and I turn eighteen in a month.  On our way home I told your father what Mr. Pitt said, and he’s going to try to search for my mother’s family.  The trust was part of her marriage settlement, so he thinks they would be the ones to pay it out.”

“Good.  Da will find out for you.”  She gave him a dark look.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if your father tried to steal your inheritance, Simon.  You need someone looking out for your interests.”

“I don’t think my father needs my inheritance – whatever it may be.”

Claire’s frown deepened to a scowl.  “Your father …  I wouldn’t trust your father to give you a slice if bread if you were starving, Simon!”

      He looked grim.  “True.”

She settled back against his arm.  “Where
are
the earl and his witch of a wife?”

“At a house party in Yorkshire, I’m told.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“He’s home.  His mother takes him to London when they go for the season, but not when she’s only going to be away for a short time.”

“That’s nice.  You’ll get a chance to spend some time with him.”

Simon pushed the hair off his forehead.  “The poor little fellow.  He’s dying to ride a pony but his mother won’t let him.”  His voice turned indignant.  “He’s five years old, Claire!  I was riding a pony when I was three.”

“Be careful,” she warned.  “If she should find out…”

“Don’t worry.  Mrs. Adams likes me, and Charlie’s a good’un.  He won’t talk.”

Simon’s horse decided that Finbar had a better patch of grass than he did and tried to edge the smaller horse away.  Finbar snorted and dug in.

Simon jumped to his feet.  “Admiral, stop that.”  He went over to the thoroughbred and walked him to the other side of the glen.  Once there, Admiral obligingly dropped his head and began to graze once more.