An Earl Like No Other (12 page)

“So he refused permission.”

“Right. But both Arthur and I were of age. Our parents' permission was irrelevant. We went to Gretna Green.”

“And both fathers disowned you.”

“Yes.”

“That must have been very hard for you.”

“It was very painful at the time,” she said. “It still is. Even now I shed tears over losing my brothers and sisters. Papa threatened to disown them too, if they acknowledged me. And he would. He would. I tried to visit my family when I first returned to England. Papa had a manservant turn me away at the door.”

There was a catch in her voice as she stopped walking and faced him. She had a fleeting thought that Robert's gray eyes reflected layers of emotion much as his brother's blue eyes did, but she continued her tale. “Arthur and I had a difficult time financially at first, for we had only what was left of Arthur's quarter allowance. Wynstan cut that too, though he offered to restore it if Arthur would agree to have the marriage annulled. It was Arthur's maternal grandmother who came to our rescue. She gave Arthur the money to buy his commission.” She spread her hand in an open gesture. “There you have it. Rather a sordid story, is it not?”

“My dear lady.” He pulled her into a spontaneous and warm embrace. “The only sordidness is in the behavior of two autocratic old men.” He released her and they walked on. “I knew the basics of all this, of course, but not the details,” he said.

“W—what have you told Lord Kenrick?”

“Only that you were from Surrey—I thought—and there had been trouble over your marriage. I did
not
tell him that the Angel of the Forty-sixth is, in fact, Lady Arthur Gardiner and that her son is heir to the Duke of Wynstan.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, then Robert said, “But you should.”

“Should?”

“Tell him. Tell him who you are.”

She shook her head. “I cannot. I would lose my position. Lord Kenrick would have to let me go. I must protect my son. No. Lord Kenrick must not know. Please, Robert. Please.”

“Jeremy is a good man.”

She stopped and faced him again. “I think he is that, but what could he do? Nothing. And I would have to leave here—and there's no place to go. Please, Robert.” She tried, but knew she failed, to keep the panic out of her voice.

He gripped both her hands in his own and held her gaze. “All right. I will keep your secret, but I think you are making a very serious mistake.”

Kate felt her worries had been alleviated a bit at least. The Bow Street investigation still loomed, but she could put it out of her mind for a while yet.

 

Jeremy had been standing at the library window and observed his brother embrace Mrs. Arthur.

Bloody hell! What was that all about?

Should be obvious even to someone as obtuse as you, Kenrick
.

Robert had not kissed her, though, had he?

It was just a friendly hug.

Uh-huh. A friendly hug. Between a virile young man and a very attractive woman.

You have no right to these feelings
, he told himself.
No right at all. You need to quell that green-eyed monster about which Shakespeare wrote so profoundly
.

Pretend you never saw it. Pretend it never happened.

Oh, yes. Pretend.

His curiosity about the background of Katherine Arthur went unsatisfied, but he was forced to push it to the back of his mind as he dealt with routine crises: a farmer's cottage that needed a new roof; a dispute between tenant farmers over assigned landholdings; a mysterious illness in a certain flock of sheep. Also, the Mortimers—father and daughter—continued to remind him not only of their existence, but that they felt certain proprietary rights regarding his own existence. Jeremy found their attitude annoying and intrusive, but to make an issue of his feelings would have him behaving as boorishly as they, though he had to admit that the daughter was a bit more subtle than her father.

Sir Eldridge Mortimer arrived one morning alone and unexpected just as Jeremy, his brother, and Captain Clemson were finishing breakfast. Determined to keep his dealings with Mortimer on a rather formal level, Jeremy had the man shown into the library and excused himself from the breakfast table.

“Sir Eldridge? Please have a seat.” Jeremy gestured to a wing-backed chair on one side of the fireplace and took the matching chair on the other side. “May I offer you something to drink? Coffee, perhaps, at this hour of the morning?”

“No, nothing. Thank you.” The knight sat and tapped his fingers on his knees.

“Sir?” Jeremy prompted.

“I'm here about Miss Cranstan,” the knight blurted.

Jeremy made no effort to disguise his surprise and answered coolly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Cranstan. Your nursery maid.”

“I know who she is: my
former
nursery maid.”

“Miss Cranstan has served my family for many years—first as nursemaid to my daughter, then as companion to both my wife and daughter. She is virtually a member of the Mortimer family. Your turning her off without cause has greatly upset the Mortimer women, especially my daughter.”

Jeremy maintained the same chilly tone. “And you have come here to . . . ?”

“To see that you hire her back.”

“Why would I do that?” Jeremy was torn between anger at the man's sheer nerve and amused curiosity about just how far he might go.

“Primarily to maintain felicity and harmony in your household in future. Take it from me, my boy, an English wife likes to handle these matters herself.”

Jeremy, in an effort to maintain a semblance of civility, paused before responding, then said, “First of all, sir, I am not your ‘boy.' Secondly, your advice would be relevant, though hardly welcomed, if I had—or when I have—an English wife. Until such time, while I appreciate that you feel you have a concerted interest in my affairs, I assure you that I can manage to deal with what goes on under my own roof without outside assistance.” He paused, then added, “For the record, I do not make such decisions about staff members without cause.”

Mortimer grimaced and seemed uncertain how to react. Then his jaws tightened visibly and he said, “I thought that might be your view of the matter, my lord, but, under the circumstances, such an intransigent position is truly not in your best interests, is it?”

Feeling his own jaws tighten, Jeremy refused to respond. He stood. “Was there anything else, sir?”

“Not today.”

The knight took the not-so-subtle hint and departed, leaving Jeremy shaking his head in wonder at the sheer nerve of this particular neighbor.

M
idsummer had been much celebrated in the town of Kenrick long before a Tudor monarch had made a grateful follower the first Earl of Kenrick.

Nobody knew the exact origins of the holiday, but legend had it that faeries danced in circles this night and the town's oldest and most superstitious folk swore to marvelous miracles and strange acts of supernatural vengeance on or near this date in the distant past. Most people dismissed these tales and devoted themselves to the serious business of having fun—and watching their neighbors do so as well. The celebration was a daylong affair, starting with an early-morning church service, proceeding to footraces and a treasure hunt for the youngsters. It also included picnicking on the green and culminated in the Midsummer Ball sponsored by the town fathers.

Jeremy explained all this to Mrs. Arthur one morning when she conferred with him after being plagued with questions by the staff, particularly the younger employees. The earl and his housekeeper were strolling back from the stables where they had watched fondly as Ned and Cassie showed off their riding skills. Captain Clemson and Robert had joined them for a time and been suitably impressed with the children's skills before going out riding themselves.

A light rain had fallen in the night, but the day promised to be a fine one. Jeremy drank in the clean freshness. And with it, he caught a whiff of the lilac-woodsy scent he associated with the woman walking beside him. If he buried his face in that enticing spot between her ear and her shoulder, would he get more than a whiff? A well-deserved rebuff would be more like it, he thought ruefully. Her voice brought him back.

“Midsummer in this part of Yorkshire sounds like a joyous occasion.”

“It is,” he replied. “And you may put staff doubts to rest—if, indeed, any doubts remain. Kenrick always participates.”

“The young people will be pleased.”

“And you? Will you dance at the Midsummer Ball, Mrs. Arthur?”

“I, my lord? A ball?”

“Londoners would view it as more of a country assembly than a ball. The Midsummer celebrations here are very democratic—all of them. For one day of the year, we manage to put aside distinctions of social rank.”

“Really?” She stopped and stared at him.

“You find it strange?” he asked with a grin. “Perhaps it offends the sensibilities of rank and decorum you and Aunt Elinor value so highly?”

“Now you are deliberately making fun of me, my lord.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Tsk, tsk. Using your rank to browbeat a lowly servant.”

“Is that not one of the privileges of rank?”

She laughed and conceded. “Perhaps it is.”

Delighted that she had responded in kind to his teasing tone, he wanted to hug her, to kiss her, but decorously maintained his distance. Damn decorum anyway!

As they walked on, he said, “You did not answer my question. Will you dance at the Midsummer Ball?”

“I think not. Surely someone must stay here at the Hall.”

“Wilkins will handle that. He tells me he is too old for such frivolity.”

“I cannot leave my son unattended for such a long time.”

“It will be only a few hours,” he assured her. “Children join the festivities during the day. In fact, many activities are precisely for the younger folk. One of the maids will be paid extra to see to their care during the ball.”

“I—I'm not sure—”

“You deserve a break, Mrs. Arthur, and I intend to see that you get it.”

“Thank you, my lord, but—”

“No
buts
. It's settled.”

Jeremy could not help wondering at a trace of anxiety in her expression. Most servants would be eager for a break in routine. But then she was not “most servants,” was she?

When he had taken time to think about her—and lately that had occurred far more often than it should—he found anomalies that simply baffled him. There was her well-trained voice, for instance. Her speech—both diction and accent—were definitely upper class. He recalled her interest in Blake and Wordsworth. Chance comments of Aunt Elinor's and bits of conversation he had overheard showed a level of understanding and education beyond that of the average housekeeper, even one who had served a duke. And that was another thing: Which duke? When?

And what was the nature of her relationship with his own brother? Robert had clearly been surprised to find her here; just as clearly they had a special friendship of mutual, equal respect. He was sure it did not go any deeper than friendship—yet. But perhaps in time . . . He frowned at that idea.

She did not fit any conventional idea of a housekeeper, yet she performed her duties in an exemplary fashion; she got on well with the entire staff; and—and too many things did not add up. Should he challenge her? Or would she eventually trust him as she seemed to trust his brother?

 

Kate avoided making a decision about attending the Midsummer celebration. In fact, she wondered if she even had a choice. Lord Kenrick had made his wishes known and he obviously felt he was granting her some sort of boon in urging her to take part. To refuse outright would raise questions she did not want to answer. Instinctively, she felt safer at Kenrick Hall. She sought Robert's advice on the matter one afternoon when she knew he was alone in the library. He invited her to join him on a long couch where he sat on one end facing her, his arm resting along the back. Fully aware of the impropriety of the housekeeper doing so, she occupied the other corner, twisting her hands in worry.

“I can't see that you have much choice if you continue to refuse to take Jeremy into your confidence,” was Robert's blunt response when she laid out her concerns.

“But what if I am recognized?”

“There is not much likelihood of that happening. Did you not tell me you'd never been north of Coventry before?”

“True.”

“Our town of Kenrick is not exactly on a main thoroughfare—nor is it much of a metropolis,” Robert said.

“But with thousands of demobilized soldiers unleashed on England now that Napoleon is no longer a threat . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“There were very few men from Yorkshire in our regiment. I am not saying it is impossible you would be exposed—just highly unlikely.”

She nodded.

“Besides,” he added, with a gesture at her attire, “people see what they expect to see. You are the housekeeper at Kenrick Hall—mobcap and all. Though, you might draw attention in a fashionable ball gown.”

Just then the library door opened and Lord Kenrick walked in. Kate quickly got to her feet.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, my lord. I was just leaving,” she said.

 

“A fashionable ball gown? What was that all about?” Jeremy asked his brother when the door closed behind her.

“Kate was just concerned about the Midsummer festivities.”

“I thought I explained them to her rather thoroughly,” he said, as he rifled through a drawer in his desk.

“You know how women are—afraid she won't fit in.”

Jeremy grinned. “I was not aware, little brother, that you were such an expert on the fair sex.”

“Me—and Don Juan.”

“Don't tell me you've become a follower of that exhibitionist, Byron.”

“Not him, but his poetry. He has some really fine work—and it's very popular with the ladies!”

Jeremy laughed, but he was certain that he had interrupted something of more significance than feminine nerves.

 

The day after her discussion with Robert, Kate still had reservations about the Midsummer festivities, but these were quickly pushed aside by a weightier matter: her son's education. Lord Kenrick asked to meet with her after the midday meal. Once again, the two of them occupied the comfortable barrel chairs in the library. And once again, he leaned back casually, far more at ease than she who had fretted inwardly since receiving his summons.

“I hope you have not thought me remiss in the matter of a nursery maid,” he began.

“No, my lord.”

“As a matter of fact, I have given the matter a great deal of thought and discussed it with my aunt, but I should like your view of the matter as well.”

“I am flattered, my lord.”

“You needn't be. My motives are somewhat self-serving.”

She raised her brows. “I don't understand.”

“First of all, I am aware that Cranstan's departure has necessitated some additional duties for several people and that you have been saddled with the logistics of juggling their assignments.”

“It has not been so
very
bad, but—”

He put up a hand. “Hear me out.”

“Yes, my lord.” She settled back in the chair and with a gesture made a light show of giving him the floor.

“I also wish you to be satisfied with your situation at Kenrick.”

“Oh, but I am, my lord.”

“More satisfied, then.”

She was quiet as he went on.

“I am told that you are yourself seeing to lessons for your son.”

“Yes, I am. But I assure you, my lord, Ned's lessons do not interfere with my duties.”

“I did not mean to imply that they did.” He sounded impatient and he frowned, but his grin and laughing tone belied his stern words. “Suppose you stop jumping to conclusions and allow me to finish.”

“Yes, my lord.” Wanting to laugh at his tone, she tried to sound contrite.

“Instead of a new nursery maid, I intend to hire a governess to provide lessons for my daughter and it occurred to me that not only would Cassie enjoy her lessons more if they were shared, but that she might learn more too.”

“Shared with whom?”

“Your son, of course. He's the only other child in this house that I know of.” He paused, then continued, “I told you my motives were self-serving. This arrangement would also free you to devote more attention to the ongoing needs of the Hall and the staff.”

She sat in stunned silence for a moment, then said slowly, “What you are proposing is most unusual. A housekeeper's son taking lessons with an earl's child? It—it is simply unheard of!”

“I will admit to its being out of the ordinary—”

She laughed. “Extraordinary in the extreme: a housekeeper's son—”

“Ah, but an extraordinary housekeeper and an extraordinary son.” His tone turned serious. “Your Ned truly is extraordinarily bright. He should have every chance to realize his potential.”

“I do not mean to be impertinent, my lord, but are you quite sure your years in America have not rendered you unfit for English society?”

He chuckled. “Well, you
are
being impertinent—but you may have a point. Still, what do you think of the idea?”

“I think it a very generous offer and that I would be a fool to refuse it.”

“Good. I have already set the wheels in motion. In a few weeks I shall interview possible candidates for governess and I should like you to be present when I do so.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“There is one other related matter,” he said.

She waited.

He cleared his throat. “Uh—I confess to breaching certain matters of protocol. I—uh—I had Wilkins show me your quarters the other day.”

“You . . . ?”

He rushed on. “They were designed for a single woman. In a house this size, we have—what? Twenty? Twenty-five bed chambers? —not counting servant's quarters. There is no reason you and Ned should share one.”

“I like having him close by,” she said weakly.

“Yes. But it would be better if he were near the schoolroom, too. There are at least seven chambers in the nursery wing. You may have adjoining chambers there. And you may retain use of the housekeeper quarters on the first floor as you see fit.”

“That too is very generous of you, my lord. I—I hardly know what to say.” She felt tears of gratitude gathering.

He stood abruptly. “Never mind. As I said: mostly quite self-serving. Effective immediately, by the way.”

Kate also rose and held his gaze for a long moment, wanting to kiss him, and not just as a show of gratitude, she realized. She merely murmured sincere thanks and excused herself.

Overwhelmed, she hurried to her room to sort out this turn of events. Good heavens! The man had no idea what a gift he had just given her. Just as she was thinking Ned's education would suffer terribly so long as she was a housekeeper, Kenrick had offered a perfect solution. Well, perhaps not
perfect
, but certainly workable for a year or two. Then—who knew? One thing was certain: Lord Kenrick intended her and Ned to remain here on a long-term basis. Eventually Phillips and Lawrence would find a proper school for Ned. When it came to that. Meanwhile, there was still the potential threat of that Bow Street Runner.

 

Three days later, Kate found the Midsummer festivities more or less exactly as Lord Kenrick had described them. All available carriages and wagons from the Hall itself and the nearby home farm were called into service to transport the earl, his guests, and most of his household. Kate and Ned joined the other staff members on one of the farm wagons, but once they arrived in town, people scattered to find friends they might not have seen in weeks or months.

Initially somewhat shy in the crowds, Ned and Lady Cassandra gravitated toward each other, pulling their indulgent parents along with them. Captain Clemson and Robert trailed behind them.

“It's like a medieval fair!” Kate exclaimed on seeing the array of colorful tents and booths set up to sell cider, ale, sausages on buns, and sweetmeats.

“It isn't all fun and games, though,” Robert pointed out. “See those folks over there? They are seeking new positions—carrying emblems of their trade.”

Clemson said, “Ah, yes. There's a shepherd's crook. The fellow next to him is wearing a carpenter's belt.”