The Mysterious Heir (7 page)

“But we have neglected you,” he said with an easy smile. “Perhaps because we don't know how to call you. As you are not our cousin, may we then name you only ‘Elizabeth' and still remain in your good graces? For this is a family gathering, and we do not stand upon ceremony here.”

Elizabeth, with the full weight of his attention upon her, was so intimidated that she could only blurt out a graceless, “Yes, of course.”

“And,” he persisted, still looking at her, with Richard Courtney and Lady Isabel both now doing the same, “I see you have not touched your ratafia. Would you care for something a bit more full-blooded? I have an excellent claret, or at least I did before Bev arrived on the scene.”

Now, with all conversation stopped, for Lord Beverly had turned at the mention of his name, Elizabeth found herself the focal point of attention again. Remembering Uncle's admonitions as to manners that prevailed in the highest circles, she only dropped her head low and whispered a polite, “No, thank you,” adding rather weakly, “I do not drink,” and as the insipidness and dishonesty of the comment reached her own ears, added softly again, “Before dinner.”

“Well, then,” Cousin Morgan said briskly, his smile rather fixed, and his attention leaving her, “that's a fine idea at that. Cook has been in ecstasies all day planning this family reunion. Let us not disappoint her. We do keep country hours here, so we must adjourn this pleasant gathering till later and continue it at dinner. “

As Lady Isabel began to gather up her possessions—her fan, her shawl, and her little boy—Anthony broke in, “But what of the Earl? Isn't he coming to meet us here? Or shall we see him at dinner?”

Lady Isabel tittered, and even the long face of Richard Courtney showed some animation.

“But surely you know—” Lord Beverly began, but the tall man at the fireside cut him off with a wave of the hand.

“Cousin Anthony, what more would you have me do? Before dinner at any rate?”

Anthony stared at Cousin Morgan blankly.

“Why, Morgan's the Earl, of course,” Lord Beverly said in consternation at the look upon Anthony's face.

Elizabeth, having already risen, turned to stare at the man who had introduced himself as “Cousin Morgan” and blurted before she had time to stop herself, “But you said you were ‘Cousin Morgan.' ”

“And so I am,” he returned.

“But the Earl of Auden is old. Very old,” Anthony stammered.

“From your point of view, young Anthony, that's sadly true.” The Earl grinned.

Before Elizabeth could signal to him, Anthony went on in tones of outrage, “Uncle said as how the Earl was at his last prayers.”

“So he was,” the Earl said gently, “but the Earl your
uncle doubtless remembered was my father. And he has since passed from this mortal coil.”

“Then we missed the funeral?” Elizabeth asked, aghast at her social gaffe in not offering condolences when she entered the house, and then wondering why relatives who were mourning would be so gaily attired, so lacking in funeral sentiment.

“By about five years,” the Earl answered.

“Then if you are Auden, why did you summon us?” Anthony demanded passionately. “How can it be that you need an heir? Do you indeed need an heir? Or is it all a hum?”

“Every man needs an heir, young Anthony, and, yes, I summoned you to that purpose,” the Earl said abruptly. “You are my last living male relatives. And I welcome you. Now, I think we really must adjourn. Anthony, you may remain and hear me out if you wish, but the others will doubtless want to go and change for dinner.”

“No,” Anthony said petulantly, “no need for me to stay. I quite understand now.”

Elizabeth knew that Anthony understood no more than she, but she knew of his pride and wondered if their misunderstanding of the situation would cause him to give up the whole enterprise.

Feeling three kinds of a fool, Elizabeth stood and let her teeth worry at her lower lip. Then, as the whole company rose, chatting lightly to dispel the air of outrage that Anthony had summoned up, the Earl came slowly across the room. Only then did Elizabeth see that the walking stick he carried was no mere fashionable ornament. Only then did she see how tightly clenched his hand was as he bent his weight upon it. And only then did she see how even his air of grace was hampered by the obviously painful halting manner in which he made his way to the door.

He turned once to say something to Lord Beverly and startled the look of dismay upon her face. His face set still and she could not see the expression in his eyes. But, she thought in chagrin, first I act like a dumbstruck rustic, then as a pokered-up teetotaler, then a fool, and now I gawk at a man's impediment as if it were a raree-show. And, she thought, wishing she would wake in a moment and discover the whole incident to have been a disturbed dream taking place on the coach somewhere between the inn at Stourbridge and Lyonshall, Uncle thought it was Anthony he had to worry about!

Dinner, from Elizabeth's point of view, was a disaster. Immersed in her confusion, she had no way of knowing that the Earl would have agreed with her appraisal of the meal completely. Indeed, no one else at the long table would have guessed his opinion either. For he was a most gracious, pleasant, conversant host to them all. Elizabeth sat on his right and Lady Isabel on his left, with the Earl at the head of the table. And he divided his time between them. Rather, he attempted to divide his time that way, but as every least comment made to Elizabeth was met with some subdued, noncommittal answer, it was impossible. As facile as he was, even the Earl would not poke a conversation out of her polite little “Of courses” and “Yes, quite sos” and “No…nevers,” no matter how deftly he tried.

Elizabeth had known she was dressed correctly even though she had refused the services of Lady Isabel's maid. She had never used a lady's maid, and did not wish to start with an employee of a fine London lady. The look in the Earl's eyes as she sat down was frankly admiring and so settled her worries on that score. But in the clear light of so many candles and in such close physical proximity with such an overwhelming gentleman, she had soon found herself totally at a loss. It was not just that he was the most compelling man she had ever met. Under natural circumstances, her quick understanding and interest in the many challenging questions that were tossed up for her to catch at would have soon evaporated her shyness. For she would not have cared if it were Adonis himself conversing with her once she got a good conversation under way. It was her total misery at the way she and Anthony had misread the situation, coupled with her sense of failure at the start of her mission, compounded by her fears for her uncle's plans, that made her unable to participate in any of the Earl's gentle raillery. And the deadly knowledge that she was behaving like a simpleton only served
to increase her state of unease, and thus, of course, her frightened air of silence.

When the Earl turned to Lady Isabel, he was greeted by such an air of concentration upon her part as to point up Elizabeth's reticence even further. Lady Isabel hung upon his every word, her great blue eyes fastened upon the Earl's lips as though she were a deaf person, only able to comprehend him by watching each utterance as it formed there. Lady Isabel's face was a mirror of the conversation, Elizabeth thought sadly, as she wondered whether to try the potted prawns even though she did not know which of the many silver implements that surrounded her plate like a shining army was fit for the purpose in this establishment. But then, one could speak only Greek and still be able to follow their conversation just by watching the lady's animated face. For she laughed becomingly at every witticism and batted the Earl's arm with a lace handkerchief at any comment she considered a trifle “warm” in a lady's company. And she listened with such concentrated efforts to his soft discourse, one would think he were telling her fortune.

Little Owen Courtney sat silently at his mama's side, eating with an intensity that equaled his mama's conversational performance. He said very little, and except for occasional grave requests for more of his favorite foods, seemed to wear the popular sampler motto, of children being seen and not heard, upon his very heart. He was already so rotund that even Elizabeth, used to the ways of small boys, had to pinch herself from leaning across the table and cautioning him against taking yet another helping of caramel pudding.

Richard Courtney sat at Elizabeth's right and mercifully paid her little attention. His concentration was not upon his meal as he ate automatically and without zest. But it was not upon anyone at the table either. That seemed to suit Lord Beverly and Anthony down to the ground, for the two were deep in their own conversation throughout the meal. By watching carefully through the side of her eyes and listening closely, Elizabeth was able to ascertain that the two had struck up an immediate friendship. Their talk never had a chance to turn to politics, they were so immersed in discussing topics which Anthony had always admired, though could little afford, such as horses, racing, and hunting.

When at last even young Owen had partaken of as many sweetmeats as he could hold, Lady Isabel, with a sweet smile, rose and said lightly, “I expect the gentlemen wish to be left to themselves for a while. Elizabeth, let us have a pleasant coze by the fire.”

And Elizabeth, feeling once again put firmly in her place, trailed after Lady Isabel as she made her way out of the room.

But Lady Isabel had scarcely time to settle herself artistically against the background of the beige settee which most complimented her pink gown, and scarcely time to ask Elizabeth how old she was, why she was as yet unmarried, and whether she had any prospects of matrimony, when the gentlemen came into the room.

“Scarcely any reason to leave this young gentleman to his port,” the Earl said as he made his halting way in, “for his eyes are half-closed as it is. His next port of call, I believe, should rightly be his bed.”

“Oh, no, Cousin Morgan,” Owen said quickly in his sober little voice, opening his blue eyes wide, “for I am not a bit fatigued. Truly I am not.”

“He had yards of rest on the trip here in the coach,” his mother protested.

“I wish I could have,” Lord Beverly said with a yawn, “for the deuced thing rattled my teeth out. And I just had it resprung.”

“Children can sleep through anything,” Lady Isabel persisted. “Why, it's only early evening.”

“And early days yet,” the Earl said softly. “Anthony and Elizabeth have traveled leagues today. We do keep country hours here, and,” he added, smiling conspiratorially at Lady Isabel, “tomorrow is another day. I say we should all retire early this night, so that all our young things can have some rest without fear of being thought less than congenial company.”

As Lord Beverly, barely suppressing gaping yawns, swiftly seconded the Earl's suggestion, Lady Isabel rose and with recovered good humor bade them all a good night. Elizabeth mounted the stair so fatigued and so troubled she did not even bother to mark where Anthony's room was located. Tomorrow, she thought, as she made her way to the elegant room the Earl had given her, is indeed another day.

*

“Thank you,” the Earl said with a sigh as he raised a glass to his lips and sank back into his armchair. “I thought I'd never be rid of them.”

“Least I could do,” Lord Beverly replied, at ease before the fire in the Earl's study. “Is the leg bothering you so much today, then? For you looked in a state, Morgan, you looked drawn to pieces.”

“No,” the Earl said softly, for the house was quiet, and with all his guests abed, the night was still. “Actually, it's been a great deal better since I left the damp environs of the City. But what a cork-brain I've been! Why the devil I let you and Tompkins talk me into this mad start, I do not know. I think I should rather suffer the imprecations of a dozen impostors, yes, and foot their bills as well, rather than put up with this set of legal relations. I think I'll just pick one of their names from your hat, Bev, and bid them all good-bye tomorrow. First thing tomorrow,” he said broodingly, staring into the fire.

“Wouldn't be right. You ought to pick a right one, so long as you're about it. Gone this far, ought to see the thing out,” Lord Beverly chided him. “And I think you're being hard on them.”

“Hard on your newfound friend Anthony, is what you mean, Bev. What you see in the fellow is beyond me.” The Earl sighed.

“He's a good sort of lad,” Lord Beverly protested.

“He may well be, but I wish he'd scrape some of the canary feathers from off his chin,” the Earl interrupted, “for the boy goes about with a damnable smirk on his face all the time, as if he had the family silver in his back pocket already.
And that chit of a cousin of his watches him constantly as though she knows he does indeed have designs upon my silver cabinet.”

“Why, Morgan, where are your eyes? She's a beauty, pretty as a picture. Eyelashes a yard long,” Lord Beverly defended, rising out of his chair in his gallantry.

“Yes, a picture. But a still life. The girl's got as much conversation as a bowl of fruit. And if you look at her sidewise, she colors up just like a pippin. She makes that other clam, Richard, seem as talkative as a parrot. And Lord knows all I've been able to get out of him thus far is his name.”