The Thirteenth Earl (21 page)

The earl nodded, stately. “Of course.”

She raised the pistol a little higher, aiming the empty barrel at Miles’s heart.

“You have no idea how to use that,” he said, sounding unsure.

She cocked the hammer.

“Oh? Do I not?”

She did not, not really, but she was sure she could make a show of it. She could see Thaxton peripherally, but enough to know that he was smiling.

“What can I do for you, Miss Seton?” Miles asked, his hands in a defensive posture.

“First of all, you will relinquish your previous claim on my hand. If you do so, Lucy Macallister and I will not go to the constable with the story about what you tried to do to the poor viscount.”

Miles eyes were drawn to Lucy at her name.

“I told her everything, have no doubt,” Lucy said, taking up the thread of conversation. “Secondly, you will leave England without a word to anyone about what has transpired here. Go back to your pathetic estate and molder there. I am staying on with the London Spiritualist Society, and I have no wish to ever see your face again.”

“We are through?”

“You are, at least,” Lucy scoffed, her words colored with disbelief.

Thaxton spoke finally.

“I must say—if I may interject—this is quite brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Lucy and Cassandra said at the same time.

“If I agree, what?” Miles said. “I am free to go?”

“In a sense,” Cassandra said. “You will have to live with yourself, and none of us envy you that.”

“Too right,” Thaxton said.

He sounded a little too smug, Cassandra thought. She swiveled the gun at him. He did not flinch.

“And you,” she said.

“Anything, my love.”

“You and I are leaving in an hour to go directly to a chapel.”

“I had hoped.”

“But when we return, we will not be living as hermits or running away from society. We are not going to hide your father away like an invalid. We will be facing our issues head-on and not drinking them away.”

“I suppose I can manage that,” he said, “if you would put the gun down.”

Eliza, gun still trained on Miles, spoke.

“We are all in agreement? Spencer, you will supervise Miles’s letter to the Marquess of Dorset that he is bowing out of the engagement, while Thaxton and Cassie speak to Lady Dorset. Then, Mr. Markwick, I will have you off my premises immediately. All that talk of Thaxton being mad, when you were the one running around killing ravens.”

Miles took one glance at Lucy, a last plea.

“You could come with me. We can forget about the past. I will forgive you for what you have done today.”

“Not if you were the last man on earth,” she said.

“Come along, Markwick,” Spencer said. Though he had been silent, he glanced at Eliza with the gun, a tiny, proud smile on his face. “Feel free to lower the pistols anytime, ladies.”

Neither woman did so until Spencer and Markwick had crested the hill back to the estate. Thaxton opened the dueling box and offered it to them in turn, so they placed the pistols carefully back in.

“I knew they were not loaded,” he said, “but that does not change the fact that you ladies saved the day.”

“Somebody had to do so.” Cassandra smiled. “You certainly were not up for the job.”

He came over to her and took her in his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered, right before kissing her, in full view of everyone.

“Good show, son,” the Earl Vane said.

“Much to be done now,” Eliza said with a smile. “But first . . . breakfast. Come now, Earl Vane, let me escort you back to the house. I am sure Thaxton and Miss Seton have some things they need to discuss.”

Thaxton had not let go of her and seemed to be making no move in that direction.

“We will be right along.” He smiled at the countess.

“I am sorry I had to point a gun at you,” Cassandra said when they had gone, looking up at Thaxton. His lips were in a markedly amused line. “But you would not listen to reason.”

“You are forgiven. And truthfully, it was a rather alluring picture.”

She hit him on the arm. “Oh, enough. It should not have come to this. And I was very wrong about Lucy’s motives.”

“I was wrong about my father,” he said. “I was wrong about the curse. Oh god, darling, I have done so many things wrong. I was wrong to not listen to y—”

Cassandra put her fingers on his lips.

“Stop.” She smiled slyly. “I am sick to death of your mawkish soliloquies.”

“You will have to distract me.” He grinned, tickling her sides. He pulled her into another kiss, one that went on far too long for them to be in the middle of an open field while it continued. He pulled back, his eyes shining. “I am sure we can find privacy . . . even a bed. Do not let me get maudlin.”

“I am beginning to think you use that as an excuse,” she said with a suspicious raise of her eyebrow.

“Maybe so,” he said, pulling her toward the house. “Maybe so.”

Outside the parlor, Thaxton held on to Cassandra’s hand. By early afternoon, they could no longer ignore the necessity of telling Lady Dorset about the change in arrangements. Not the duel, though. They need not go wild with the confessions.

“We have to go in,” he said. She had been stalling.

“I know,” Cassandra replied. She still did not move.

The door opened, Lady Dorset’s hand on the knob. It was rare that she would open a door herself, and she wore a mighty scowl. Thaxton countered it with a big smile. As mothers-in-law went, he could handle her. All bluster.

“I can hear you two,” Lady Dorset snapped. “So you may as well come in.”

“Thank you,” Thaxton said, walking into the brightly lit receiving parlor. The overall cheerful impression of the room, dotted with yellow accents in pillows and drapes, directly contradicted the angry woman standing in the center of it. Cassandra hid behind him, quite odd considering that a few hours ago she had been pointing a gun, fearless.

“Miles has already been to see me, so I approve of the guilty looks on your faces. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Thaxton felt Cassandra bristle, as if she wanted to say something. He reached back for her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“We understand this must be awkward, my lady,” Thaxton said. Even though the woman thought he was mad, he remained her social superior. He hoped it was enough to stop a full-blown argument. “However, as I am sure Miles has told you, I will be marrying Miss Seton.”

“
Lady
Cassandra.”

“Miss Seton. Until she is Viscountess Thaxton, then Countess Vane. Y
ou would do well to remember.”

“Well,” Lady Dorset said, her tone making it clear she could find no other words.

“We will be leaving this evening,” he continued, not waiting for her to respond further. “I have already written to Lord Dorset. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed.

“If Lord Dorset will allow it, Cassandra and I will visit in two months after our wedding date. I trust by then you will have decided it is easy to be civil.”

Lady Dorset’s mouth was open a little. Thaxton smiled, glancing back at Cassandra. She looked as he expected—a bit shocked, a lot pleased. His strategy of just barreling over her stepmother had worked better than he hoped.

“Now, if you do not mind, we should prepare to travel.” Thaxton bowed his head. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

He started to leave, assuming Cassandra would follow. She did not. He turned back to see her eyes locked with Lady Dorset’s. He could only imagine what Cassandra was thinking, now free of the woman who had run her life for so long. There was not fear on her face anymore. Thaxton watched her chin lift just a fraction, her mouth slant in a satisfied smile.

“Cassie,” he said softly.

Her attention snapped back, and she smiled over at him. She inclined her head to her stepmother—not a gesture of respect, merely farewell—then fairly skipped out of the room with him.

Epilogue

Four Months Later

Thaxton ran up the stairs of Vane Manor, two at a time, breathless by the time he got to the top.

“Darling?” he called.

Cassandra’s voice rang out from the parlor.

“Back here, darling. With Lucy.”

Thaxton poked his head around the corner, finding his wife bent over a table with Lucy Macallister, peering at papers.

“Have you seen Papa?” he said.

Cassandra looked up, smiling. He wondered if it would ever cease to tug his heart when she smiled at him. He thought not.

“He is in the garden,” she said. “The chaplain stopped by unannounced, and they are having tea in the garden.”

Thaxton smiled over at Lucy. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, no, it is fine,” Lucy said, smiling back. “We were just going over plans for the workshop that Eliza wants to have next week.”

“You have been busy,” Thaxton said. “All the work with the London Spiritualist Society seems to be going quite well.”

“It is even better than I imagined,” Lucy said, a wistful note in her voice.

Cassandra wiggled her eyebrows. “There is a man,” she sang.

“Oh, Miss Macallister.” Thaxton grinned. “How very scandalous.”

“You two should talk,” Lucy said, her eyes back down to the papers. “Even if it becomes something, it will never be the spectacle that you caused.”

It had been quite too much for the first month or so. They had a stream of visitors once they returned from their honeymoon, both well-meaning people and gossipmongers. Cassandra handled it all with aplomb; she and Eliza frequently joked that their headmistress had prepared them almost too well for this sort of task.

The month after that, they were able to stay quiet. They settled into the old manor that was rarely used, so close to Spencer House. They all needed it, most of all Thaxton’s father. It helped the earl immensely to be in the home he grew up in, near his oldest remaining friends who all understood his condition.

Four months earlier, Thaxton would have thought it a fantasy.

“I should get back to London,” Lucy said. “I have so much work to do. I only meant to stay two days, but Cassandra’s hospitality is addictive.”

“You should just pack a larger trunk every time you come, Lucy. I do not like you traveling all this way for short stays.”

“It does seem silly,” Thaxton said.

“Perhaps next time I can bring . . . Edward.”

“Of course.” Cassandra smiled.

Thaxton crossed over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. They never felt they had to hide their affection from Lucy; she had become, in a strange way, like family. The beginning of their friendship had been fraught, to understate the situation. Thaxton was glad that was not public knowledge, the terrible folly of Markwick and his manipulation. If Lucy had been forced to repeat the humiliation of his betrayal, it would have broken her. Instead, she was steadily building a good life for herself, surrounded by people who cared about her.

In effect, Miles Markwick had given them all gifts.

Society at large just thought Thaxton had stolen his fiancée and run him off. It had actually improved his reputation. Made him into something of a lothario, a distant and mysterious man reformed by love. He did not hate it, being seen so.

And it was not entirely untrue, really.

“Oh, I meant to tell you both,” Lucy said. “Miles is back in Scotland. He tried to petition my father for my hand, thinking that I had not written them about his duplicity. Naive of him, don’t you think?”

“He is not the smartest man,” Cassandra said, cuddling farther into Thaxton’s side.

“No, he did not prove to be. But I am better off for the experience, I can finally say that.” Lucy smiled. “And now I will cherish the image of my father forcibly lifting him and throwing him out of the house.”

Thaxton smirked to himself, imagining the same thing. It was a madly gratifying image. Evidently, they were all taking a moment to think of it with the silence.

“We probably should not be doing this with such glee,” Cassandra remarked.

“Oh, I think I have earned the right,” Thaxton said.

Lucy shook herself out of her reverie and leaned forward, kissing Cassandra on the cheek.

“I shall pack,” she said. “Thank you, as always. Tell Eliza I will see her soon.”

Thaxton watched Lucy swirl out of the room, smiling at the way she had started wearing gauzy gray and purple dresses. It made her look slightly spooky and likely heightened her séance attendees’ experience. She had left behind Miles and started to build an image, a reputation all her own.

“She seems to be recovering nicely,” he said.

“I could not have hoped for more.” Cassandra turned so that she was facing him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I admit I was worried about her, and I just felt so awful, being so utterly besotted, after what happened with her and Miles.”

He pulled her into him tighter.

“Utterly besotted, hmm?”

“Embarrassingly so.” She tilted her head up, her lips hovering near his, but not touching just yet. “With a madman. You may have heard.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, running a hand down her cheek. “The Ghost. I heard that he stole you away from some no-account minor landholder.”

“Oh? I heard that the no-account landholder had left me, and that my father made a deal with you to save my reputation.”

“Come now.”

“Truly. I heard that while I was shopping today, from a group of women right behind me. They must think me stone-deaf as well. Funny that the family has made no move to defend Miles, and it was so easy for him to just disappear again.”

He kissed her forehead, deflecting further mention of the subject of Miles.

“So.” He smiled. “Are any of the rumors about us true?”

“Oh, yes. The ones that whisper about how dashing you are now that you are happy are true. The ones that say we are madly in love are right.”

“Are there any that say we sneak away in the afternoons?”

“Not yet.”

Thaxton grinned, backing Cassandra out of the room, his face near hers.

“Best get started on that one.”