The Lonely Earl (6 page)

But his step, as he moved toward the entrance of the house, was leisurely and aloof, and by the time he raised the knocker, all trace of his recent cogitation was erased from his face. 

Chapter 5

Lord Egmont rose to his feet as Bone ushered in the morning caller. His finger still marking his place in a new edition of Hakluyt’s
Divers
Voyages
, Egmont stared a moment in unrecognition.

“Hugh, my boy!” he exclaimed when the earl neared him. “Pardon my poor eyesight, but I swear I did not know you.”

“Understandable,” agreed the earl, “when the last time you saw me I was a callow greenhorn.”

They shook hands, Egmont strangely overcome. He would not have admitted it, but, while Hugh Crale’s manners had substantially improved, and his figure had the grace of a man who was sure of himself, yet there was a darkling spark that moved behind the earl’s eyes — so the baron put it to himself — a spark that was vaguely disturbing. Egmont thought: I do not know this young man.

But after a few commonplace statements, he found that Hugh, far from being a dangerous and unpredictable ogre, as Faustina had painted him, was an urbane and charmingly cultivated man.

“You are back to stay, then,” suggested Egmont at last “It will be a good thing for Crale Hall to have a firm hand again.”

“Yes,” rejoined Hugh. “I daresay that my father’s interest waned in the estate during his last years.”

Egmont glanced sharply at him, searching for the touch of bitterness that ought to be there. But there was none. Had the boy found it possible to forgive his father? It would take compassion of substantial scope.

“But of course,” continued Hugh, “I was too engrossed in my own affairs to take much interest myself.”

“We heard you had married,” said Egmont carefully, “and that your wife had died. My condolences, sir.”

Hugh waved his hand. Here was the expected bitterness, now that he was thinking about his late wife. “I should like to tell you,” Hugh said simply, “this much. I married a woman, a dancer. As my father did. His marriage was a mistake. Mine was a disaster. If there is a fault one might find in a wife, Renée had it. Our life together was pure misery, for her, I do not doubt, as well as for me. A congestion in the lungs finally dissolved our marriage.”

Egmont murmured soothing words. He was appalled by the depth of misery in Hugh’s voice, and heartily wished he had not mentioned the marriage.

But Hugh, thankfully, was saying, “I wished you to know what happened. I doubt not there was a great mystery made here of my activities, but you have the truth now. As much of it as I can tell you.” He was silent for a long time, staring, no doubt, into the dark caldrons of his memory. “And now, if you please, I shall not mention it again.” His smile was surprisingly sweet.

Egmont mumbled, “Best not think of it, either, take my advice. No use to rake over old coals.”

Egmont moved uneasily in his chair. Old coals came alive for him, too, and he added, “Plenty to do now, without going over the past.”

“That’s right,” agreed Hugh.

Egmont cleared his throat. “A good thing there’s no heir.” Hugh understood him perfectly. A daughter, he could ignore. But a son, he would have ever with him as a reminder of Renée. He did not think he could have dealt quite fairly with a son.

“But that reminds me of my duty,” said Hugh. “I must not only look after the condition of the farms, but also provide Crale Hall with an heir. Much as I dislike the thought, yet there is a clear duty.”

Egmont agreed. His own thoughts leaped in abandon. Had Louisa read the situation aright? The earl was clearly hanging out for a wife. And Louisa might just pull it off.

But Hugh was saying, “As soon as I set things right here, I must be off to London. I am determined to use my best efforts this time in marrying. Make a logical conclusion, following the gathering of all possible facts. My old tutor used to tell me that — you remember Nisley, sir?”

“A pompous idiot,” pronounced Egmont.

“Very true. I did not think, once, that I would use his logical paragraphs to aid me in choosing a wife.”

Egmont paused, fiddling with a brass paperweight on his desk. He had laid his book down on the polished surface, and only the two items marred the gleaming dark red of the wood. He concentrated on lining them up in precise relation to the edges of the desk.

“Logic, Hugh? You tell me logic and duty. All I hear from you are cold words like these. Is there no pleasure in returning home?”

“I have not yet found it,” said Hugh, forgetting the vague elation springing up in him as he walked from Crale Hall across to the Chase.

“You should not be hasty in making your decision to marry,” suggested Egmont. “Perhaps you might give affection a trial?”

Hugh’s face darkened. “I doubt not that there is such a thing,” he said harshly, “but it is not for me. Duty is what I must follow, sir. You see, there is nothing left.”

“What of young Vincent?”

After a long silence, Hugh said in a tight voice, “I must study this. The boy needs a tight rein.”

Egmont objected. “Don’t pull it tight too fast. Too tight a check will ruin a good mount.”

“It will be hard,” said Hugh slowly, “to forget the past. The boy himself was probably not to blame, but his mother…” He broke off. “You were a good friend to my father,” he said, “and I hope you will be such a friend to me.” He rose and put out his hand to take his leave. Once again that smile that so transformed his face flitted momentarily across his features. “May I presume so much?”

Egmont wrung Hugh’s hand with emotion. “You may count on me.”

If Hugo expected to make an unnoticed departure, he was prevented. News of his presence had permeated the upper areas, and as Lord Egmont and his guest emerged from the library, Lady Waverly was halfway down the wide staircase.

She halted on the steps, as though surprised at the sight of the two men. Then, hurrying gracefully down the last steps, she advanced upon Pendarvis with hand outstretched.

“Why, it must be… Lord Pendarvis! Of course!” she cried. “I had heard that you had returned to England, but I vow I had no idea…”

Hugh Crale accepted the hand held out to him and bowed over it. “Lady Waverly! How long it has been since I have had the pleasure.”

Her eyes narrowed. As an automatic response, she found his mention of time displeasing. “Not quite that long,” she said dryly. “I vow you make it seem a generation! But now that you are back in Devon, I suppose you will find life very dull.”

“Dull?” The earl allowed his glance to slip beyond Lady Waverly, and took in the two women behind her — one a mere slip of a schoolgirl, whom he dismissed as the negligible Julia. The other — ah, there she was! The lady who had taken it upon herself to read him a lesson on his duty. The woman whose voice — carrying and forceful — had informed all in the house, and outside the house as well, that he was odious, arrogant, and a monster. His face was impassive as always, but an imp sat somewhere in his mind and prodded.

“Not at all,” he continued. “I am sure that my neighbors will be kind, and take pity upon a poor expatriate.” He glanced again at Faustina, this time making sure that she caught his eye.

She returned his glance innocently, secure in her conviction that he had forgotten the incident at Trevan. “I am sure we are all delighted to have the earl back with us once again,” she said untruthfully, “but I am sure too that he will find us dull before long.”

Before Hugh took his leave, Louisa cried with a happy air of discovery, “I know! We’ll have a ball! A mere country affair, of course, but perhaps you’ll find it beguiling in a way. You must come!”

The earl paused, regretful. “I am sorry—”

“Next Friday evening!” she suggested. “Please say you’ll come.”

Hugh looked thoughtful. “Next Friday? I am so sorry. I have another engagement that day that I fear will make it impossible for me.” His tone was reluctant, as though any other time would be appropriate, but his luck was out.

As, in truth, it was. For Louisa said, “Then we’ll have our party another day, to make sure you can come. You must tell me what day is best.”

It was surprising, thought Faustina later, that lightning did not strike Kennett Chase at that moment. For Louisa had already written out the invitations, naming the next Friday. The earl had mendaciously asserted that he would have great pleasure in attending, if only it had been fixed for another day. Lord Egmont fulminated, so far in silence, but an explosion of his normally equable temperament seemed likely. And Julia looked as though she would like to curl up in a closet with the door closed, or, failing that, simply expire on the spot.

But Hugh was equal to the strain placed on his civility. “How very kind of you, Lady Waverly. I must not put you to so much trouble. But, if you should insist upon Friday, then I shall change my own plans. I would not want to disappoint such an obliging hostess.”

As he bent once again over Lady Waverly’s fingertips, he glanced directly at Faustina, and the flickering flame in his eyes gave him what she could only think of, later, as a very wicked expression.

Egmont’s boiling emotions now took a new turn. He had been too well-bred to say what he thought, and the words that now emerged surprised even him. “I suppose the vicar will insist upon coming.”

Pendarvis swung to face him. “The vicar? I remember, it was long ago, but my father used to entertain the vicar to dinner. Who has the living now, sir?”

“The same old Astley. What your father was thinking of,” pronounced Egmont, “I can’t think. Bees in his belfry. Not your father. That idiot Astley.”

Faustina interposed, “Who, by the way, has been dining here at the Chase twice a week now, since Crale does not invite him. And I must say, he misses the elegance of Crale.”

Pendarvis lifted an eyebrow. “Elegance? At Crale? Surely you must be mistaken.”

Lady Waverly cried, “I remember Crale. A dark, undistinguished place. But It has possibilities!”

“Pendarvis won’t thank you for running down his home.” said Egmont bluntly. “Best let it alone.”

Lady Waverly said stiffly, “You read too much into my words.”

The situation appeared to be disintegrating. Hugh made one attempt to retrieve it. “Twice a week? My recollection may be faulty, but it comes to mind that my father could suffer him only once a fortnight. But perhaps his conversation was improved, sir?”

“Not likely!”

Amusement leaped in the young earl’s eves. “I confess I cannot see how vou could tolerate him. If he is so bad, perhaps another living might be found for him. I shall have to look into the matter.”

“In the meantime, sir,” Faustina said tartly, “perhaps Crale Hall could put itself out for a dinner for the vicar once a week? That could be worthwhile.”

The earl considered her thoughtfully. She felt her cheeks flush under his dispassionate stare. But then, to her surprise, he smiled. The smile transformed his face, and something queer happened to Faustina — a moment’s tilting of the world and then righting itself. Something awry with die breakfast ham, she told herself.

Pendarvis said, “I suppose it is my duty, sir.” He cast a glance full of meaning at Egmont ‘Too bad duty has so many disagreeable facets to it.”

“I quite agree,” said Egmont, with a glance at his sister-in-law that Faustina intercepted, and, even though she was in total agreement, deplored, with a sinking feeling. Such openness about his feelings, particularly before the earl, boded ill for any future harmony at Kennett Chase.

Egmont’s remark sailed past Louisa’s unheeding ears. A thought that just occurred to her was engrossing, and with Louisa, to think was usually to speak. “How annoying,” agreed Louisa with youthful enthusiasm, “it must be to have someone of such a very
toadying
nature at one’s table. Not even edifying, for he never quotes Scripture at one.”

While the family was digesting this appalling indiscretion, the ensuing silence was broken by a heavy and purposeful step on the flagstone beyond the open door. The earl, remembering only too well his own recent experience with the strange acoustics of the environs, glanced suspiciously at the newcomer. As the vicar himself stepped through the front door, Hugh was dismayed. This family of Kennett were damnably outspoken.

He need not have been concerned about the vicar’s sensibilities. Mr. Astley gave no sign that he had heard any untoward remarks. Hugh surmised, correctly, that the vicar was incapable of hiding his thoughts. Nor was he capable of believing anything he did not want to believe. Even had he heard Louisa’s remarks, Hugh decided, he would not have taken them literally.

Mr. Astley was intent upon sharing with everyone the insult he had just received elsewhere. “It is the fate of Duty,” he intoned, the capital letter unmistakable, “always to be misunderstood. For example, the older families in the country would never be guilty of neglect toward one who is as wellborn as they. And it is the strength of England, I might say—”

“He does say,” murmured Faustina to her cousin, “doesn’t he?”

“That each of us knows his place. I stopped at Crale Hall, my lord, to pay my respects upon your return to Devon, to take up, I might say, the onerous demands of your exalted station.”

“And I was not there,” supplied Hugh, without regret.

“But your brother was,” said the vicar, laboring under a strong sense of injustice, which made him almost human, and therefore more likable. The moment was fleeting.