Читать книгу How Not To Marry An Earl - Christine Merrill, Christine Merrill - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Charity Strickland’s day was not going to plan.

It had been bad enough to climb into the chimney and realise the niche she was looking for was just out of reach. To be discovered doing so had been even worse. Mr Potts was proving to be annoyingly clever, giving no indication that he believed her story about an open flue. He had pretended to, of course. But she suspected he was only toying with her, hoping to worm some piece of information out of her that could be reported to his master.

So far, it appeared that the new Earl meant to do just as she hoped he would, remain in London to perform his duties in Parliament. Should he suddenly decide to take an interest in her welfare, there was no telling what he might consider suitable for her future.

Whatever it was, she doubted it had anything to do with what she preferred for herself. As the youngest of three sisters, she was fed up with being dictated to by people who assumed they knew what was best for her. It had taken months to get the rest of the family out of the way so she might have peace to work. The last thing she needed was a stranger asserting his God-given right to control her because his fortunate birth had made him head of the family.

The season did not end until July and it was barely March. It would take only a few more weeks to accomplish her own plan. If the new Earl of Comstock kept to the business of governing, as he ought to do, she’d be gone long before he arrived, with enough money to set herself up for life in a manner that suited her.

But Mr Potts might prove to be just as annoying as the man who’d hired him. Though he had no right to order her around, so far he was proving to be a first-rate sneak. One had only to look at the dog’s reaction to him to know that he was not to be trusted. Pepper’s hackles had been raised from the moment that the auditor arrived. As they left the dower house, he was dancing along between them, biting at the man’s boot heels as if hoping to scare him away.

To Mr Pott’s credit, he had not given in to impulse and kicked at the dog. Perhaps he was not irredeemable. Or perhaps he had better sense than to abuse a pet belonging to a peer in full sight of a member of the family.

When they arrived at his horse, he stepped clear of the little black and white dog and mounted, offering a hand to her to help her into the saddle in front of him.

She smiled at him, wishing for not the first time that she’d inherited any of her sisters’ natural charm. ‘I could not possibly go without Pepper. I would not want him to become lost.’

Potts looked down at the little dog with obvious disgust. ‘In my experience, animals like this are surprisingly hard to lose.’

‘But what if this time is the exception? He might be set upon by some wild beast.’

‘You have wolves roaming so close to the house?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘And I am told there are no bears left in England. What else can there be?’

‘A hawk. Or perhaps an eagle.’

He sighed. ‘Next you will be telling me England has daylight owls.’ He held out a hand. ‘Give him to me.’

She scooped the dog up and offered him.

Potts took him by the scruff of the neck, nimbly dodging the snapping jaws and dropped him into the leather bag at the side of his saddle. The dog disappeared for a moment, like a swimmer beneath a wave. Then his head poked out from under the flap, offering something that looked rather like a canine grin.

‘There.’ Potts held out a hand. ‘And now, you.’

Gingerly, she offered her own hand and he pulled her up. He seemed to exert no strength at all, settling her on to the saddle in front of him, to sit on one hip. Then his arms took the reins on either side of her waist, holding her in place as they set off.

Though he showed no signs of noticing it, it was a surprisingly intimate arrangement. Perhaps such behaviour was common in America. Or perhaps she was not pretty enough to move him. He handled the horse as easily as if he was riding alone.

But for her, it was strangely disquieting. Though she did not normally dwell on the appearances of the men around her, it was hard not to notice this one. The arms that wrapped around her were long, as were the legs that brushed against her skirts. He must be well over six feet. He was not precisely gaunt, but there was an angular quality about his frame that seemed to carry to his face. The planes of his cheeks were sharp, as was the line of his jaw. His pale skin might have given another man an aristocratic air, but on him it seemed more scholarly than aloof, as if his studies kept him from the sun.

This attracted her more than his fine features or the shock of dark hair shading his brow. He looked like someone who might be content to hole up in a library. Though the muscles she could feel in the limbs surrounding her did not come from inactivity, he looked like a kindred spirit.

But it did not really matter what he looked like, or how he had come to be so. Men, especially ones that looked the way this one did, never gave such scrutiny to her. She turned her head and looked resolutely forward at the house they were approaching.

‘Comstock Manor,’ he said, stating the obvious. But there was a tone beneath the words that sounded not so much impressed as stunned.

‘You did not think it would be so large,’ she said.

‘I was told. But I could not believe it was true.’

‘It represents everything that is wrong with the family,’ she said. ‘Something that started as a good idea but grew out of hand until it was no longer possible to manage or afford.’

‘No wonder there has been trouble finding someone to record the contents. Who would want to take on such a job?’

‘We have lost more valuables than most people own,’ she said, speaking quite close to the truth. ‘Though most of them are not actually gone. They are just sitting in one of the forty rooms, waiting to be rediscovered.’

She felt something quicken in him at the mention of this surplus of material wealth, a faint, covetous quivering of his nerves. Then he relaxed again, as if afraid that she might have noticed his interest. ‘As a member of the family, I would think that you would be in a position to know where some of those things are.’

‘I might be,’ she said, turning back to blink at him in what she hoped was an innocent way. ‘The Earl will never be able to have an accurate accounting of them if I do not help. And I doubt you will be able to learn the lay of the place in whatever time he has allotted for the job.’

The horse pulled up short.

‘How would I…? I mean, you are right that there is no way for me to do this job without help. But the Earl would not know one way or the other, if I got it wrong, would he?’

He had not even crossed the threshold and he was already giving up. Or did he mean to collect full pay for a slapdash job? His reasons did not matter. Carelessness, laziness or moral flexibility would all suit equally well as a reason for his departure.

‘He will not know if the inventory is not complete unless we tell him,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘But I have no intention of spreading tales to a man I never met, just because other men I have never met decided he is the heir.’

‘I see,’ he said, in an equally careful tone.

‘I am sure he is depending on your friendship for an accurate accounting,’ she added.

‘My friendship.’ Mr Potts laughed. ‘I can tell you in all truth that six months ago, I knew nothing of Comstock, his title or his property.’

This was even more interesting. If the Earl had hired a stranger to see to his interests abroad, he was likely to get the results he deserved. ‘The property is not technically his,’ she reminded him. ‘It belongs to the Crown.’ She smiled again. ‘But, as an American, you have no real loyalty there, do you?’ She had opened the door to conspiracy. Now they would see if Mr Potts walked through it.

‘Loyalty?’ He laughed again. ‘The whole point of my country was to escape this one. And yet, here I am, surrounded by riches that do not belong to the Earl and debts that do.’

‘That is a pity,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘In my opinion, the task set for you is a hopeless one. If you chose to resign from it, you could be long gone from here before anyone noticed your absence.’

Behind her, he started in surprise. ‘Miss Strickland, I was thinking just such a thing when you arrived.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But then, I would not be paid, would I? And an urgent need for funds was the only reason I even considered the job.’

Then she made the most daring move at all. ‘The house is not lacking for ornaments. If you chose to take something to compensate for your lost time, who would know?’

There was a long pause as he considered her words. But just as she was sure he would succumb, he baulked. ‘Stealing from the Earl would be wrong. Both a breach of the Commandments and the law.’

‘Of course,’ she added hurriedly, annoyed. If morality was seriously a concern, she might never get rid of the man. The next temptation would have to be far more subtle. ‘But there is no need for us to be discussing such things in the middle of the drive. As you said before, a storm is approaching. Come into the house and we will get you settled.’

And then she could go to work on him. Once he had seen the house and his place in it, he might be gone by morning.

* * *

When his ancestral home had been described to him, Miles had got a vague impression of a large but dilapidated manor in the country. But there was no way he could have imagined the thing that stood before him now. It appeared to be two or three large houses built cheek by jowl, as if the owners could not quite decide what they’d wanted and simply kept building on to it until the money had run out.

Having seen the accounts, that seemed to be exactly what had happened. When he’d set out from America, he’d assumed that all English lords had to be rich. But his family had run through their money generations ago. The rents from the tenants barely kept pace with the cost of maintaining the property. All that was left beyond them was the house and its contents. And the most valuable items were things he was not supposed to sell. He was expected to hold them in trust for future generations that might never be born if he could not manage to settle his business now.

But the caution to respect the entail had not impressed his ancestors. After greeting him on his arrival, the widow of his predecessor had barely taken a breath before announcing that the diamonds in the Comstock family jewels had been replaced with paste long before she became Countess. The Earls and Countesses of Comstock had been telling lies about their value for so long that it might as well be declared a family tradition.

On hearing this, he had assumed that there was nothing left of value. But though the collection of silver-framed miniatures on the hall table was not enough to save an earl from a life of ruin, the humble Miles Strickland could sell a sack full of them and have enough to live modestly for a good long time.

‘What do you think of it?’ He had almost forgotten Cousin Charity, who had led him in through the front doors and introduced him to the butler, Chilson, who had signalled for a footman to take his valise and another to remove the snapping dog from the saddle bag.

‘I do not know where to begin,’ he said, peering down the hall at what seemed to be an endless line of doorways, then staring back at Charity.

‘Do not worry. I will help you.’ There was no flirtation in the smile she gave him, only a sly twinkle in her eye that made him think any aid he received would benefit her more than him. Her companionable self-interest was an improvement on recent interactions with the fair sex.

When they realised he had a title, the women of London were friendly to the point of predation. He could hardly blame them for it, since they took their cues from the mamas and papas who were practically throwing their daughters into his path. Even the damned Prince who was currently running the country said that an earl without a countess was not doing his duty. He was supposed to marry, soon and well, for the sake of the title’s succession.

Apparently, he was to be bred like livestock. If the activity hadn’t involved marriage, he would have been all for it. But since a legitimate child was required, it took much of the fun out of his newfound popularity.

Since this distant cousin didn’t know who he was, she was currently treating him with the same indifference as women had before his sudden elevation. But since Charity was also the last unmarried girl in the family, the condition was likely temporary. Once she guessed his identity, she would chase him like a hound after a coon.

‘Thank you for the offer of aid,’ he replied. ‘And I assume this help will be in exchange for everything I can tell you about the new Earl?’

‘I think I know all I need to on that front,’ she said, with a frown that surprised him. It looked almost like a grimace of distaste.

‘Has he done something to put you off?’ Miles said.

‘He has done nothing so far,’ she said. ‘That suits me well, but I doubt it will continue. And the last thing I need is for him to arrive on my doorstep with a proposal.’

‘Your doorstep?’ He glanced around him.

‘Metaphorically speaking,’ she replied. ‘It is technically his house. I plan to be out of it before he arrives. But I am not quite ready to go yet, hence my hope that he will stay in London until Parliament ends its session.’

‘And you do not want to marry him,’ Miles said, strangely annoyed.

She shrugged. ‘It is not logical to expect instant compatibility, based on the convenience of a family connection. It is not as if I believe in something so foolish as the need for romantic love when marrying. But I do not want to rope myself to him or any other man for a lifetime without bothering to learn if we are temperamentally similar.’ She glanced down her nose at him, in frank and unladylike appraisal. ‘So far, I have not found many available men to my taste. I have exceptionally high standards, Mr Potts.’

He stared back at her, just as rudely, ready to say that plain girls were not usually so particular. Then he remembered her fine ankles and bit his tongue. ‘And so you should, Miss Strickland. If you meet him, you will find that the new Earl is not a bad fellow.’ Not totally bad, at least. ‘But you are right not to expect a marriage from him, sight unseen.’

She smiled at him in earnest now. The brightness of it transformed her face into something that was not beautiful, but held a certain allure that her frowns did not. ‘You are the first person to say that to me, Mr Potts. It is quite a novelty to hear such frankness.’

‘There is no reason for me to be anything else,’ he said, ignoring a stab of guilt. He had not been in any way frank. Worse yet, he had been talking about himself in the third person.

He cleared his throat. ‘And now, where would you recommend I begin my search—that is, my inventory?’

‘I suggest you begin by settling into your room and washing for dinner,’ she said with another shrug and an innocent blink. ‘If the accounting of Comstock’s possessions has waited for years, there is no reason to begin them this minute. You will find the job less daunting after a good night’s sleep and a decent meal.’ She walked up the stairs in front of him, casting a look over her shoulder to see if he followed. ‘Well?’

He paused. In any other woman, he might have thought it flirtatious, should she lead him straight to his bedchamber. But even on such a brief acquaintance, it was clear that Miss Charity did not flirt.

She likely did not know any better. He started up the stairs after her. ‘Surely it is not necessary for you to show me to my room.’

‘I shall be showing you a lot more than that before we are done with each other,’ she said.

He started in surprise.

Now her look was faintly exasperated. ‘You want to know the house, don’t you?’

‘Well…’ He did, of course. But was she really so unaware of him that her words held no hidden meanings at all?

‘Then you might as well enjoy the best of it.’ At the top of the stairs she marched briskly to the far end of one hall, waving at the corridor behind her. ‘The family stays in that wing. Grandmama is at the end, as is the Earl’s suite. The corridor to our right leads to the old part of the house. This side is for guests.’ She had reached a door at the very end. ‘And this is the Tudor room.’ She threw open the door and stood in front of it, gesturing inside. ‘It is said that Henry Tudor himself stayed here.’

He racked his brain for a moment, to attach significance to the name. ‘The King with all the wives.’

‘Six,’ she said with a deadpan look that announced her opinion of his limited knowledge of local history.

He held up his hands in surrender. ‘I can tell you everything you might wish to know about George Washington, if that makes a difference.’

‘I can tell you about him, as well,’ she said, arching an eyebrow. ‘There are books in England, you see.’

‘In America, as well.’ Damn few of them in his past, of course. But that was no fault of his. He looked ahead at the room in front of him. ‘So a king stayed here.’

‘And now, you shall.’

He supposed he should be honoured. He rarely cared about the previous occupants of the room, as long as the bed was soft and the sheets were clean. This would be luxurious, though not quite as good as the master suite he was entitled to. But he could hardly ask for that. Then he stopped to wonder. ‘Why would you give an auditor the best room in the house?’

By the time he’d turned to hear her response, her face was pleasant, passive and hospitable. But before that, had he seen a flash of something else? Alarm, perhaps?

If so, it was gone and she appeared to be the perfect hostess. ‘I want you to be happy. You are the Earl’s friend, after all. I can hardly treat you like staff.’

He glanced into the room, filled with any number of items worth taking when he went on his way. ‘How very kind of you, Miss Strickland.’

She gave a concluding nod. ‘Now, I will leave you to refresh yourself. Dinner is in the dining room at eight, Mr Potts. Do not be late.’

He hesitated for a moment, at the sound of the unfamiliar name, before getting his story straight and responding with an equally polite nod. ‘As you wish, Miss Strickland.’

Then she was gone down the hall, leaving him alone in the bedchamber of a dead king. He shut the door quietly behind her and turned to the matter at hand, his private appraisal of the room’s worth. What was there in this room that was worth selling? The furniture was valuable, the canopied bed hung with slightly dusty velvet on brass rings as thick as his thumb. Interesting, but not worth the effort of dragging down the drapery. The crossed swords over the mantelpiece gave the room a distinctly masculine air. If they were a relic of the room’s namesake they might be priceless. But to get them away he’d have to march through the entire house with a sword on his shoulder. The bedchamber he occupied was as far from the front door as it was possible to get.

His train of thought ground to a halt, then circled back, trying to think why that statement seemed so important. She’d said she’d put him in this room because of his supposed friendship to the Earl. But he had just told her that he had no real acquaintance with Comstock. Had she forgotten?

There was something about Miss Strickland that made him think she did not often lose track of the details. Which meant she’d simply told the first lie that had come to mind to explain her choice. There was something strange going on and he meant to find out what it was.