The Outcast Earl (12 page)

“That’s what you think, Charles,” Milton mocked. “I have no intention of—”

“You’ll sleep much better in a coaching inn halfway to London than you would on the stable floor, I assure you. As one who has spent many October nights in the chilly night air, I’ve discovered that I much prefer the comforts of a heated room and feather mattress to ease my aching joints.”

Charles glanced at Grady, and said more plainly, “Have the footmen drag him out if he doesn’t go peaceably, Grady, and be sure he surrenders his key to the terrace doors of the east wing.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Grady answered promptly, daring to lay hands on Milton by forcibly taking his arm. Milton attempted to shrug him off and Charles thought better of remaining in the vicinity with Abigail. Without looking back, he walked down the gallery towards Abigail’s room, practically dragging the silly girl with him. For some reason, she kept looking back to check on Grady.

Of course, she couldn’t know that Grady’s lethal hand-to-hand fighting skills had saved Charles more than once in Spain, or had eventually given his compatriots time to rescue Charles’ half-crippled and mostly dead body and remove it to the field hospital outside San Sebastian.

Opening her door, he ushered Abigail in, then followed her and closed it behind them. “You need not worry about Grady.” He smiled at her as she hugged herself and paced to the window restlessly. “We do not know much of his history, but I assure you he is intensely loyal to me and well able to manage Milton. And as for Milton, he is my heir—you see one of the least important reasons why I am so anxious to have you mine. I trust, however, that there is no one in my life more difficult, and you need not entertain him or his words in the least. Indeed, I’d greatly prefer you to never see him again.”

“Will he tell, do you think?” she whispered, staring out of the window.

Charles followed her to the panes and glanced out. He was not surprised to see Milton already on the front steps, cursing loudly and holding his stomach. Charles guessed that Grady had introduced the concept of a stomach-high kick to Milton, incapacitating him for long enough to remove him from the house. For the moment, Grady stood over him, imperturbable and seemingly deaf.

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less if he did,” Charles observed. “Our engagement has been announced, after all. I can think of a few biddies who would be scandalised by the entire situation, but those self-same judges ought to be condemning your parents for their cowardly behaviour over this entire affair. If anyone is at fault because you are inadequately chaperoned in the eyes of society, it is your parents for not attending you themselves. And if anyone is at fault for tempting your fair presence into my dark one, let me assure you that I am the one who will be vetted and found wanting. However, the great majority of the ton will accept our supposed transgressions within a blink of an eye. After all, we will be married almost before they hear of it, and they know it—I imagine Milton came today because the Court Circular was published on Saturday. No one in the court had any objection.”

“I would not want any scandal of mine to risk Gloria’s plans,” Abigail replied quietly.

“It will not,” Charles assured her. It was more likely, he judged, that Milton would try to disrupt the wedding, rather than cause scandal. In the end, once Milton had calmed enough to think rationally, he would deduce that causing scandal was more likely to hasten the marriage rather than prevent it.

He and Abigail watched in silence as Milton’s curricle arrived and a footman stashed his ordinary brown valise.

Only when Milton had driven down the lane did Grady return to the house.

Charles kissed Abigail’s temple. “We still have more than an hour before you need to start dressing. Please rest—I realise you may not sleep, but it would please me if you would lie down. I can see how tired you are.”

“Yes,” Abigail murmured simply, turning her head and lifting up to kiss his cheek. “Yes, I am very tired.”

Charles left the room with a smile on his face and a bit of light in his heart—the first time either had come naturally in many long years.

Chapter Five

Reverend and Mrs Danvers were, Abigail decided, reminiscent of the gentry characterised in Jane Austen’s novels. They were both well-educated and conversant on the subjects of the day, but were in every way upstanding members of society without being overly fussy, priggish, or insufferable. It took very little time for Abigail to decide she liked them both, and a bit longer for her to begin wondering how she had not noticed the shortcomings of London society before today.

When Grady announced that the meal was ready, Meriden gave her a slightly quizzical look and proceeded to take Mrs Danvers’ arm. By rights, she outranked the rector’s wife and should have been on his arm, but in the next moment she realised Meriden was treating her as his hostess. With a blink, she smiled at Dr Franklin and the reverend, and ended up with one on each arm as they went into the dining room.

“In the fine print of precedence,” the doctor said, as he held her chair for her, “I do believe the rector precedes me as a matter of profession. However, as the younger son of a peer, perhaps I outrank him. No doubt we would have been satisfied in either case.”

“Just so, Lady Abigail,” Danvers agreed, seating himself easily. The great table had been set informally for only five, and, to be able to converse, all were seated at the near end, Meriden naturally presiding. She found herself between Meriden at the head and Danvers on her left. Mrs Danvers sat directly across from her, with Dr Franklin beside her.

Abigail prepared herself to be questioned endlessly about her family and youth, and to be regaled with descriptions of the local personalities and society. Instead, quite to her surprise, the four embarked on a spirited and unrehearsed discussion of the theoretical and very practical effects of enclosing the local tillage and grazing land, coupled with the industrialisation and factories in Birmingham, on the local population. Danvers initiated the conversation by inquiring if anyone could explain the recent loss of school-age children in the parish school, some of whom had apparently left the village with their parents to work in the Birmingham factories. Far from confining herself to concerns about the welfare of these very young workers, Mrs Danvers seemed well versed in potential impacts—good and bad—on the community and its population over the upcoming decade. Her husband had a natural interest in the suddenly smaller size of his local flock, but saw a broader impact on villages across England and the increasing influence of cities and city populations on government funds, natural resources, transportation and other infrastructure. Dr Franklin had much to say regarding the unhealthy stews where factory workers were housed, but conversed easily on wider lapses in city structure, including insufficient churches and clergy, hospitals, orphanages, schools, watchmen and courts.

After the meal, Abigail, still slightly disbelieving that she was acting as the dinner’s hostess, pushed back her chair. Mrs Danvers had finished, and Grady was waiting with the port. “Mrs Danvers, would you join me for tea?” she invited smoothly, smiling as the lady promptly stood. Together they retreated from the dining room after a smiling farewell, and Mrs Danvers took her arm in a charming, friendly manner.

“I do thank you for the tea,” she said to Abigail as they settled. “Meriden does invite us to dinner regularly, but in the absence of a hostess I am often left to rattle around at the table. In sympathy, I think, Grady brings me sherry instead of port. I can’t count the number of evenings where we’ve remained at that table for simply hours.” She smiled as Grady rolled in the tea cart. “The drawing room is so much more comfortable, even if it’s been ignored for years.”

Abigail laughed, looking around curiously. Truly, she’d seen the room for the first time only moments before the Danvers had arrived. It was, as most of the rooms seemed to be, generously sized and graced by impressive windows and plasterwork. The drawing room was easily reached from the main hall, and flanked at the far end by the ballroom and music room, which completed the length of the front façade. Across the main hall, the dining room was beside a billiards room. Abigail had seen enough to know that a smoking room, the library, estate office and a morning room were also on the ground floor.

Mrs Danvers, seeing Abigail’s inspection, went on, “Of course, nothing has been touched in the décor around here since Meriden took the title. His grandfather built the house, using as its foundation the ancient stones of the old ruins he’d inherited at Repton. Meriden’s ancestors were mostly buried there in the cathedral, of course, until the family was granted the earldom. The last few generations have died here at Meriden and are buried in the village church. In any event, I don’t believe anyone has thought much about the drawing room or—as seems likely, though I’ve not seen them in recent years—the ballroom or the music room. I can’t imagine but that there are any number of other rooms that might not appeal to you. Meriden’s mother has excellent taste as I remember, but of course, she never was the countess and never ruled here. I have heard that her villa is the epitome of style—it’s a pity you won’t meet her before the wedding but under the circumstances, I can’t imagine that there’s been a chance to send word or for her to arrange to travel from Florence.”

Abigail blinked, trying to put aside the heavy, faded drapes and the old-fashioned furniture and wallpapers to address the sudden issue at hand. Carefully, she sipped her tea, noting the very fine Sèvres porcelain in which it was served. The set was obviously a valuable service and spoke of the family’s long history in a way that the ancient halberds hung in the library corroborated. “I certainly would prefer to meet her,” Abigail murmured. “But I do understand Meriden’s insistence that we marry as soon as possible. If it wasn’t imperative before, it certainly is now, or at least will be expected given Aunt Betsy’s condition. All of London will know before long that we’re up here essentially alone—delays will only cause questions that can have no acceptable or believable answers.”

Mrs Danvers nodded with a grimace, just as the three men entered, still swirling port in their glasses. Abigail looked up in surprise, though her companion simply seemed resigned.

Danvers interpreted the look on his wife’s face correctly and smiled with all the charm he could conjure up, even as she greeted him warmly. “We felt there was no reason to mope around that great table when the entertaining half of the company was in this room,” he commented.

Meriden chuckled, bringing a chair for himself and settling in it, next to Abigail’s armchair. Dr Franklin wandered to the windows and looked out before returning with a chair of his own and setting aside his empty glass. Abigail poured Franklin a cup of tea and listened as Meriden added, “Indeed, we are so unaccustomed to ladies in the house here that Mrs Danvers must suffer through discussions of fox-hunting on a fairly regular basis, and I’m sure Grady had to search for the tea cart in a back storeroom somewhere and clean it thoroughly before it was presentable.” He looked at the august piece of furniture and continued dryly, “Indeed, I’m not sure it’s been used since my grandmother died six years ago. I can’t remember seeing it since her funeral.”

“It does seem that you are likely to turn this house upside down, Lady Abigail,” Danvers said approvingly. “Meriden Park and Meriden village, indeed all of the local countryside, have been without an effective countess for far too long. Almost as soon as he attained his patrimony, Meriden’s grandfather married the last countess and began building this place as the family seat. Countess Meriden ran the place diligently until her death, but she was rather reclusive after Meriden’s father died.”

“She never forgave herself for asking him to come,” Meriden offered. He glanced at Abigail and explained, “My father drove out from Birmingham late one night at Grandmother’s insistence, arriving just before dawn. By noon he had a raging fever, and he died a day later, only a short half hour after my mother arrived in a panic. She hasn’t set foot in the house since and I doubt she ever will—and my grandparents never did recover.”

“I see,” Abigail said softly, seeing anew the drawing room left to wilt, as it had probably been ten years earlier. Everything she saw had been lovingly cleaned and maintained, but certainly no one had thought to renovate the room otherwise.

Franklin’s lips twisted. “You mustn’t let that melancholy afflict you, Lady Abigail, or I shall be forced to deliver a very strong lecture. Naturally, Mrs Danvers wishes for you to take an interest in the people and the village hereabouts. For myself, I’m hoping you enjoy a bit of culture. Meriden doesn’t bring in nearly enough of it, and there has been a definite absence of music, art and dramatic entertainment in these parts since my arrival.”

“Naturally, I’m primarily interested in the wedding,” Danvers broke in before Franklin could continue his complaint. “If nothing else, it will provide you with the footing required to satisfy the good doctor’s artistic requirements for a few weeks.”

“Is that the only reason you ask, Reverend?” Meriden returned with a smile.

“Of course not. I’m looking forward to collecting my fee for performing at the event,” the rector returned promptly.

After a half-second, the company laughed heartily. They went on to discuss various points about the wedding itself, and Abigail made note of Mrs Danvers’ advice regarding local customs.

It was nearing midnight when all three departed in Franklin’s carriage, after the doctor had performed one last check on her aunt. Abigail bade them a contented farewell and stood inside the hall with Meriden as they drove away.

“I’m glad you got on with them,” he said easily, looking down at her, then clasped her fingers in his.

Abigail looked at their entwined fingers and said quietly, “I am glad they are pleasant, sensible people.”

“I didn’t want to say in advance but it must have been obvious—I find their company happily uplifting. We have other neighbours of standing and will have to entertain them on a regular basis, but I find that increasingly I am satisfied with good friends and good conversation far more than rigidly organised social obligations.”