An Earl Like No Other (7 page)

“Oh, high praise, indeed,” Kate teased, ruffling her son's hair.

Kate thought her employer's child was mostly quite lonely. But despite Kate's deliberately discouraging servant's gossip, she knew that the earl made a ritual of spending time with his daughter every evening.

She shook her head. This business with Cranstan just did not make sense. And was he seriously considering Miss Mortimer as a possible stepmother? “Blood will tell,” indeed!

When the Mortimer women returned to the drawing room, both men rose and Sir Eldridge asked that his carriage be summoned. Jeremy managed—barely—to uphold his share of civilized conversation. He was grateful that it was of short duration.

“Oh, what a fine house you have, Lord Kenrick,” the daughter said with bright enthusiasm.

“Very nice, indeed,” the mother offered more calmly.

“Thank you, Miss Mortimer, Lady Mortimer.” Jeremy gestured for them to be seated and, when all were sitting, added, “Unfortunately, some of the house has suffered neglect for quite a long while.”

“But it could be put right in no time,” Miss Mortimer said. “Isn't that right, Papa?”

Her father nodded. “As you say, my pet.”

“The ballroom is magnificent,” Charlotte Mortimer went on. “Oh, my lord, you really must give a ball! Mama and I would be very pleased to help you do so—send invitations and plan decorations. Wouldn't we, Mama?”

“Of course, dear.”

Jeremy thought the knight's wife looked slightly embarrassed, though she maintained a placid expression.

“I fear a ball must wait on other matters,” Jeremy said. “Perhaps in late autumn, or next spring. . . .”

He was deliberately vague, but Miss Mortimer clapped her hands together and said, “Autumn would be perfect. A harvest ball! Absolutely perfect!”

Jeremy put up a hand in the universal
halt
sign. “Please. I said
perhaps
. Much could happen between now and then.”

Miss Mortimer affected a pretty little pout for a moment. Then her voice and manner became distinctly coy as she held Jeremy's gaze. “Yes, it could, could it not?”

Her father interjected at this point by clearing his throat. “Hold on, daughter. Don't rush your fences. Patience, my dear. Patience.”

The pout returned. “But, Papa, I've not been to a real ball in such a long time . . .” Her voice trailed and Jeremy thought perhaps a subtle sign from her father had warned her off.

“We missed the London season this year because of her grandfather's passing.” Lady Mortimer's quiet explanation filled an awkward gap.

“I'm sorry,” Jeremy murmured.

“It was months ago,” Sir Eldrige said, “but it would not have looked good for us to be frolicking about in society then.”

Jeremy had no reply for this conversational gambit other than a nod. Wilkins announced the carriage to be ready and Jeremy saw his not-quite-welcome guests to the door. He then returned to his desk and sat in growing darkness, for outside the windows a storm threatened. Good! He hoped the Mortimers were thoroughly drenched. He shook his head at the pettiness of this thought. Again, he went over that bizarre conversation with his chief—his only—creditor. He wondered just how much of the scheme the daughter was party to. Clearly, she was aware of much of it.

Trying to view the matter in a cool, detached way, he thought Miss Mortimer pretty enough. Such arrangements as the knight suggested were not uncommon among the ton, especially between financially strapped peers and the so-called “made men” of the merchant class. Some men would leap at the father's proposition. All that money and a handsome woman on one's arm to boot. Enticing offer, that.

Enticing—
if
one were primarily interested in appearances; the appearance of wealth and independence, the appearance of an enviable marriage. His father had opted for that—twice. Both his father's marriages had been contracted with pretty girls who came to the title of countess well dowered. Jeremy had not known his mother well; she had died when he was four. He remembered laughing blue eyes and an exotic scent. Cassie had those eyes.

For some years, there had been no strong female presence at Kenrick Hall, though his grandmother had wielded a wicked tongue on occasion. Then his father had brought home a new bride, the laughing, bubbly Amelia, scarcely ten years older than her youngest stepson. The boy Jeremy had immediately developed a hopeless infatuation for this splendid creature. She seemed the epitome of his adolescent view of ideal womanhood—beautiful and pure. His love for the younger sister and brother she later provided had, at first, been an extension of his naive adoration of the charming Amelia. In time, though, he learned to love Margaret and Robert for themselves alone.

The death of his obsession with Amelia had long been a painful memory. During his last year at Oxford, Jeremy had been sent down for some minor infraction. Bored and restless, he had gone to the music room one day to work off some of his ennui at the pianoforte—only to discover his beautiful stepmother there locked into something more than a mere embrace with a man definitely
not
Jeremy's father.

Jeremy's surprised gasp had wrenched their attention away from what they were doing. The man, one of his father's younger friends, seemed only slightly embarrassed as he nonchalantly straightened his clothing.

Amelia had rolled her eyes and said in a bored tone, “Oh, dear, Reginald, I do believe we have shocked the poor boy.”

Wanting to cling to his view of Amelia—that boyish dream of female perfection—Jeremy had turned his fury on the man. “You, sir, are a—a—scoundrel!”

“Yes, I probably am,” the man agreed calmly. “But there's no need to make a Cheltenham tragedy of this.”

“Indeed not,” Amelia chimed in, hooking her arm gaily into her lover's. “You
must
know by now that such is the way of society.”

Her tone made Jeremy feel like the greenest of schoolboys. He even felt himself blushing!

She went on brightly, “We shall keep this our little secret, shall we?”

Jeremy had mumbled incoherently and fled the scene, Amelia's laughter echoing behind him.

He had told no one of what he had seen. He had considered telling his father, but this would hardly have been an ordinary father-son conversation, even if he and his father were given to such—which they were not. One could not stroll up to one's father and casually offer, “Oh, I say Father, are you aware that your wife is cuckolding you?”

And, to be honest, was her behavior so very different from her husband's? After all, his father kept a mistress in one of the lesser sections of London.

Nevertheless, the secret had gnawed at him—and it had certainly altered his view of half the human race. Now, he thought with disgust, he had learned nothing—nothing—from that experience. He had been as wrong about his wife's character as he had been about Amelia's. These two events had undermined his confidence in his judgment regarding women.

Was he now to walk blindly into another such misconception? Not bloody likely! “Twice burned, forever cautious,” he told himself, not at all sure he quoted the adage correctly.

On the other hand, he remembered his comment to Miss Mortimer's father. It was true that he hardly knew her. He should at least be fair to
her.
After all, she should not be held accountable for her father's boorishness.

No. It went beyond mere boorishness. The man had an agenda, and he did not care how he achieved it. Jeremy could not shake the deep, offended anger that he felt at Mortimer's outrageous plan. The man had bought himself a knighthood. Was that not enough?

Jeremy answered his own question: No, it was not enough. Not for a man like Mortimer. His knighthood was valid only in the knight's lifetime. Mortimer's plans were more far-reaching. That business with the name change proved that much. Sir Eldridge Mortimer not only intended to appropriate the earldom, he would steal the earl's very identity.

“Think again, sir!” Jeremy vowed silently. “I still have several months.”

His mind drifted to a far more pleasant subject: Cassie. It occurred to him that now that the weather was generally nicer—this threatening storm notwithstanding—his daughter needed to get out more. Being cooped up all winter had been an alien way of life for his little Indian maiden.

With this, another thought occurred to him. He rose and reached for the bellpull. When Wilkins responded, he again sent for the housekeeper and stood staring out the window as he waited for her.

She arrived momentarily. How was it that this woman's very presence had a calming, comforting effect on him?

“Ah, Mrs. Arthur. I apologize if I have interrupted an important task.”

She smiled. “No, my lord. An onerous one, but necessary.” He raised a brow. “The chambermaids were helping me inventory linens.”

He nodded absently. “I wanted particularly to thank you for the improvements I have noted—and for your showing the Mortimer ladies around.”

“It was merely my duty.”

“Even so, I am grateful. But that is not the only reason I sent for you.”

“My lord?”

“Would you object to your son's taking riding lessons?”

“My lord?” Surprise in her voice told him he had caught her off guard.

He explained. “My daughter is being introduced to English riding, and it occurred to me that she would find the lessons more enjoyable if she shared them with another child.”

“Oh, I . . . see.” She spoke rather slowly, almost as though she were weighing her words carefully.

“It will not be dangerous, you know,” he assured her. “Has he ever ridden before?”

“Yes, though not lately.”

“Well, it would not take him long to regain his skill.”

“No, I don't suppose it would.”

Again, he detected some reluctance in her tone and he wondered at it. “Being able to ride might be advantageous to him one day—should he want to be a stable hand or a coachman. Most boys like the idea of learning to handle horses,” he said persuasively.

“Oh, I know Ned would enjoy any time spent around the stables.”

“Then it is settled,” he said firmly. “Tomorrow morning—unless this storm is still upon us—he shall join Cassie for her lesson.”

“Yes, my lord. And—thank you. Ned will love the idea.”

 

Yes indeed, he would
, a troubled Kate thought, as she returned to the servants' area of the house. This was a problem she had not foreseen—and she should have done so!

An ordinary housekeeper's son would probably not be conversant with fine riding cattle. Ned, however, had been riding ever since he could sit on a horse. As an army officer, Arthur had been a capable rider and had loved seeing his young son master each new technique. She recalled with a twinge of nostalgia Arthur's proudly showing off the little boy's skill.

Kate had deliberately not explained to her son anything more than he absolutely needed to know about their current living situation. He knew, for instance—and was glad—that his mother was keeping him away from the grandfather whom Ned disliked and feared. She did not think he understood their decline in status, though. For him, this was another wonderful adventure—his whole life had so far been mostly about change.

Would he now inadvertently reveal his mother and himself as impostors?

W
hen the next day dawned dry and sunny, Kate found herself of two minds about it. On the one hand, she and a gardener could begin to take hold of the kitchen herb garden, and on the other, Ned would join Lady Cassandra's riding lesson. Unfortunately, Ned's mother would find it hard to be in two places at once.

His eyes glowing with excitement, Ned eagerly welcomed the prospect of being on a horse again. He chattered happily through his breakfast. Lord Kenrick and his daughter met the housekeeper and her son in the kitchen.

“Ah, I see young Ned has proper attire for this outing,” Lord Kenrick observed. Kate suspected that surprised him.

“Yes,” she said. “His father wanted him to have correct riding clothing.” She did not add that Ned had long since outgrown the clothing Captain Lord Arthur Gardiner had provided.

She noted that Lady Cassandra seemed a bit fidgety in a child's riding outfit of a short skirt over matching pantaloons. The outfit was blue, bringing out the color of the child's eyes.

“You look very pretty, my lady,” Kate said as she held out a small basket of apples from the cellar. “Here is a treat for your equine friends.”

“
Ek-ine
?” The little girl wrinkled her brow.

“Horses!” Ned said with true male superiority.

“Come along,” Lord Kenrick said, taking the proffered basket. He looked at Kate. “It will go fine. I promise. If you can get away, you are welcome to come down to the stables to observe.”

“A little later, perhaps,” she replied and bit her lip nervously as she watched Ned leave with the other two. Not since their arrival had Ned been truly out from under his mother's watchful eye. As the trio made their way to the stables, she noted that Lord Kenrick had a hand on Ned's shoulder while he and his daughter gripped the handle of the basket of apples on his other side. Both children chattered happily and both kept looking up at the big man between them. It crossed Kate's mind that Ned was starved for male attention. Now, what in the world was she to do about
that
problem?

She busied herself for the next half hour in the herb garden. Then she tossed down her trowel and removed her gardening gloves. She instructed the gardener on finishing the task and strolled toward the stables, trying to look unconcerned as she did so. Nearing the stables, she could hear adult cries of encouragement and childish squeals of delight.

She observed Lord Kenrick leaning casually against the arena fence along with two stable hands. As she approached, one of the other men spied her and moved aside to make room for her next to Lord Kenrick. Their arms not quite touching, she could nevertheless feel the warmth of his body. He gave her a rueful smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You gammoned me, Mrs. Arthur,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said young Ned hadn't much experience. Look at him! Perfect form.”

Ned sat erect in the saddle as an older man put the horse through its paces.

“Let him go! Please,” Ned begged. “Faster!”

The man in the arena looked to Lord Kenrick, who looked questioningly at Kate. She nodded slowly. There were three training jumps set up in the arena and Ned, freed from the restraining hand of the groom, urged his mount to take the jumps. Kate heard Lord Kenrick suck in his breath. She ignored his glance at her. She tried to seem oblivious to any sense of danger. He returned his gaze to the boy and watched with apparent astonishment as the child assumed the position of a champion rider and took each of the jumps smoothly. His lordship let out the breath he had been holding.

“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Arthur, you gammoned me.”

“I did not intend such, my lord,” she said quietly.

Ned rode his mount close to the fence where Kate and Lord Kenrick stood.

“Did you see me, Mama?” he asked excitedly. “Wouldn't the duke's grooms be proud of me?”

Kenrick looked at Kate. “ ‘Duke's grooms'?”

“I—uh—we were in a duke's household for a while.”

“You worked for a duke?” he asked. “Phillips omitted that bit of information in your references.”

“It—it did not work out—with Ned—you see.”

Kenrick gave her an oblique look. Then he shrugged. “The duke's loss is my gain, it seems.”

She glanced away, then returned her gaze to his and smiled. “You might say that.”

She thought he would have responded, perhaps to press her for more information, but just then Lady Cassandra called to him.

“Papa! You promised . . .”

“All right, Poppet. Yes, I know.” He motioned to the man in the ring. “Do as she wants.”

To Kate's surprise, the man lifted the little girl from the child-sized sidesaddle. Lady Cassandra stood impatiently as the groom removed the saddle and handed it to a young man along the fence. Some sort of silent communication must have gone through the stable, for suddenly there were two more stable hands and other outdoor workers hanging over the fence around the arena. The man in the center lifted the child onto the horse's bare back and gave her the reins.

Kate was astonished as Lady Cassandra gave a loud whoop and began to race her horse around the arena, kicking her heels into the horse's side. Kate noted with no small degree of pride that Ned easily controlled his startled mount near the fence.

“Good heavens!” Kate exclaimed softly.

The child had magically leapt to a standing position on the back of the galloping horse.

“See, Papa?” she called to her father, who seemed totally unconcerned for her safety.

“I see,” he called back. “Now, do stop showing off, Cassie.”

Kate became aware of another presence. Nurse Cranstan stood on the other side of Lord Kenrick.

“Really, my lord!” the nurse admonished. “Such behavior is most unseemly, most unladylike. How
will
she learn to ride as ladies do if you encourage these Indian ways?”

Lord Kenrick looked chagrined. “You're right, of course. But Cassie needs to be free—just free—at times.”

“You hired me to teach her ladylike behavior and I do my best,” the woman complained. “This—” She gestured to the child still in the arena. “This surely undermines much of my work.”

“It's all right, Miss Cranstan,” Lord Kenrick said firmly. “My daughter will certainly learn the lessons needed by a proper young Englishwoman. But she needs freedom to be herself too.”

The nurse said nothing in response, though she seemed to give a small sniff of disapproval. Kate was mildly surprised at the depth of understanding shown by the father. Well. Perhaps he understood more than Kate had thought he did.

“Lady Cassandra is already quite a skilled horsewoman,” Kate observed quietly.

“Arapaho children learn to ride almost before they walk,” Lord Kenrick said. “But Miss Cranstan is right—my daughter needs to learn to ride as an English lady. That is, of course, what we are about with these lessons.”

“Of course,” Kate murmured.

“I hope you are reassured about allowing young Ned to join the lessons.” He waved toward the groom still in the arena. “Jack here is an excellent rider and teacher. He will oversee the children at all times.”

 

Kate agreed to continuing the lessons, in part because she had seen the sparkle return to Ned's eyes as he rode. He'd not been so carefree and happy in months! His mentioning “the duke's grooms” alarmed her, though. What else might he let slip? She did not want to quash his joy or frighten him, but she had to make him aware of the need for secrecy.

He was excited and bubbly that evening over his supper. Full of details about the ride and the horses, he even accorded Lady Cassandra a measure of admiration. “She's just a girl, o'course, but she knows lots of tricks.”

“Is that so?” Kate sat down in the chair next to him.

“Oh, yes,” said, very serious. “She's going to show me some.”

“Well, you be careful, Ned. You must mind what Jack or his lordship tells you.”

“Yes, Mama.” He concentrated on his plate for a moment, then asked in a wistful tone, “Mama, do you think I'll ever have a horse of my very own?”

“Of course, my dear. When you grow up, you'll have a whole stable of horses!”

“When I'm a duke, you mean?”

Instinctively, Kate glanced at the door to be sure it was closed. It was. She spoke quietly, “Yes, some day. But you must remember not to talk about that to anyone. Not to anyone.”

He nodded. “It's a secret, huh?”

“Yes. A very, very important secret. We don't want to go back to Wynstan, do we?”

“No!”

“So you must be careful and not mention your grandfather, or the castle, or the stables. Can you do that?”

He turned a searching gaze on her. “Is it all right to talk about Papa?”

“Yes, love.” She quelled threatening tears and hugged him hard.

 

Just when he thought life could not be more hectic, Jeremy found himself busier than ever. Several herds of sheep, augmented since the new lord's return with prize rams and ewes, roamed Kenrick fields. Tenant farmers and shepherds and their dogs watched over the flocks closely. As he rode from farm to farm, field to field, Jeremy's heart swelled with pride and humility. Large sections of green separated by stone fences gave witness to organization on Kenrick lands. Some fields had sheep grazing; some showed new growth of hay that would be harvested later; others were fallow—given over to a profusion of yellow, white, and purple—wild crocus in bloom. The landscape was dotted with stone barns here and there for storing hay and sheltering animals from the extremes of Yorkshire winters.

The farmers and herdsmen themselves, along with other workers, lived in two small villages, Upper Kendale and Lower Kendale, as well as the larger town of Kenrick. This was Kenrick land. These were Kenrick people. And he was
damned
if he would turn them over to the likes of one Eldridge Mortimer without a fight.

It was only mid-afternoon, but Jeremy and Thomas Porter, who managed the home farm, had already put in several tiring hours, struggling with a ewe attempting to birth twin lambs the wrong way. As sometimes happened, the new mother simply rejected one of her offspring.

“I'll take 'im in, my lord,” Porter said. “Me wife and daughter are already hand-feeding one from last week. Another'n won't make much difference.”

“Thank you, Porter. These two little fellows are important to improving our flocks. Though why they all have to arrive at the same time is beyond me!”

Porter chuckled. “That's sheep tendin' fer ye. First the lambin' and then the shearin' makes springtime real busy. Hard work, it is.”

“That's next, isn't it—shearing,” Jeremy said. “Looks like we'll have a good return, though, on the animals we added last year.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Jeremy enjoyed working with men like Porter. They were honest, hardworking, and proud. But, not unlike men he had known on the American frontier, one had to earn their respect. The new earl was not at all sure he had achieved that goal yet. However, he knew Porter and others appreciated his asking—and often taking—their advice on matters.

As he rode home, his mind drifted again to that silent vow to thwart the plans of his chief creditor. Now that Kenrick was his, he wanted to keep it. For himself, yes, but also for Porter and others like him. And for Cassie. A legacy for Cassie.

Cassie. Had he made a serious mistake in uprooting her from America? He had anticipated a period of adjustment. That was to be expected. He had tried to ease her transition by hiring an Englishwoman to school her in the ways of her new life. But now, a year later, she was still too quiet, too withdrawn. The other day in the arena, he'd seen a spark of the old Cassie—of his Little Willow. Maybe she was coming around....

Coming in from the stables, he entered the main house through an outer room that had two doors, one leading to the kitchen, the other to a hallway that allowed access to living quarters of upper servants: the cook, the butler, and the housekeeper. Beyond those rooms the hall led to a stairway, giving servants access to chambers for the family and, above those, the attic rooms for maids and footmen. Beyond the stairway was a wider door, padded against noise, leading to the family living areas.

Hearing laughter and childish giggles coming from the kitchen, he opened that door and beheld his daughter kneeling on a stool at one of the worktables. She and Ned were cutting out figures from rolled dough. Both children wore outsized aprons and judging by the amount of flour on their hands and faces and on the floor, they had been at this task for some time. The kitchen staff were enjoying the show even as they tended their own chores. Jeremy paused, feeling like an intruder as he watched and listened.

“See?” Ned was saying. “My man is a soldier. I'm putting a sword in his hand.”

“He's a fine soldier,” Mrs. Arthur said. “What are those raisins on his chest?”

“Mama! Those are medals.”

“Oh. How many medals did Ned give his soldier, Lady Cassandra?” the housekeeper asked.

The child counted slowly, pointing to each one, then said tentatively, “Five?”

“Yes. Five. A brave soldier, indeed.”

“I want to make a gingerbread lady.” Cassie looked at the housekeeper with an expression that was at once imploring and adoring. “Can I make a lady?”

“Of course you may,” Mrs. Arthur said. “See? We'll just cut her a skirt—like this—then you can decorate it.”

One of the kitchen maids glanced up and saw Jeremy. “Oh, my lord.” Everyone paused as in a tableau.

Then Cassie called, “Papa!” She scrambled down from her stool and flung her flour-dusted arms around his legs. “We're making gingerbread!”

He laughed. “I see that. Looks like you are wearing half your flour.”