A Most Unusual Earl Page 4

  Susan had always been Lorenzo’s favourite person. Adam rested his head against the desk, the parrot’s gaze uncomfortably accusatory.

  If approaching Susan at the ball had been a stupid idea, and it had been, then kissing her based on the actions of an amorous pair of doves was complete idiocy. Even if she had introduced the idea—and what a moment it had been, hearing her lips shape the words—it had been wrong to agree with it, given how he felt about her. Wrong to want it with such vivid fire, such need at the very core of him, as he had taken her in his arms.

  Wrong to think of her all night, imagining all the times something could have happened but didn’t. Wrong to think of each and every time, setting it right with kisses. Setting it right with more.

  ‘Idiot.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Adam glared at the parrot, who glared back with beady intensity. ‘What did you call me?’

  Lorenzo let out a raucous caw, flapping his wings. Adam sank his head back down to the desk, understanding the parrot’s meaning if not his precise wording.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. She had asked for practice—what experience did he have? Not enough to consider himself an expert, that was certain. Whatever adolescent explorations had taken place at Cambridge, usually accompanying Wesley Harrow as his friend visited a brothel or a rookery, had been short on kissing and long on regret.

  Susan, apparently, hadn’t kissed anyone but him. He shouldn’t feel glad about that. Not only had she kissed him, she had kissed him as naturally as breathing.

  ‘Idiot.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Adam looked up at Lorenzo, shaking his head. ‘I accept it. You’re right.’

  Lorenzo gave a shrill whistle, nodding his head like a ragged sage as he ruffled his feathers. Adam looked shrewdly at the bird, wondering how many romantic entanglements Lorenzo’s brusque advice had hindered or helped.

  The door opened. Adam nodded at the maid who entered, receiving a careful curtsy in return. It took several moments of silent, careful reflection before he realised the maid, a dark-haired girl with a sharp face, didn’t work at the Merston estate.

  ‘You’re Lavinia, aren’t you? The Witford maid.’ He looked at the young woman in complete surprise as she turned to him, duster in hand. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s Alice. Ever since she came here to work, I’ve missed her. We’re like sisters.’ Lavinia looked at him with a considerable lack of deference. Merricott was reminded of a stoat, or some other woodland creature that looked sleek but could bite to the bone. ‘I was helping her feed the dog you found with the wounded paw.’

  ‘... Understood.’ Merricott wasn’t used to feeling inferior when speaking to staff, but this woman had a talent he hadn’t previously encountered. ‘Well then. I suppose I’ll…’

  He stopped. He looked at Lavinia, an idea suddenly forming in the depths of his most unfettered self.

  It was foolish. Very foolish. But there had been that sighting of the Beast of Hallwood, hadn’t there? It had been in the paper a few days ago—a piece of local colour. But if Lavinia was here, and she was a good friend of Alice, and they could both be persuaded to keep quiet given their youth and presumed romanticism…

  … He would never be able to tell the rest of the staff. They already had a low-enough opinion of him, considering him unacceptably silly due to his love of animals. If the audacious glimmer of a plan could be coaxed into reality, he would need discreet help.

  ‘Lavinia.’ He spoke carefully, noting how the maid’s eyes hardened. ‘How would you feel about helping me with a special commission?’

  ‘If you mean to put hands on me, I’ll hit you with a rug-beater.’

  ‘No! No.’ Merricott couldn’t blame her—there had to be dozens of lecherous aristocrats making similarly grubby-sounding offers to maids all over the country. ‘A real commission. It would require Alice’s help, and—and long poles. And large amounts of black velvet.’

  ‘This still sounds salacious in nature.’

  ‘Truly?’ Merricott looked at her, aghast. ‘Where on earth did you work before you went to Witford House?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Lavinia was looking at him with pity in her eyes. ‘This really is a genuine commission?’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘And the specifics?’

  ‘I haven’t worked them out yet.’

  ‘And the reason?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘For the commission. For whatever you’re going to pay Alice and I to do.’ Lavinia paused. ‘Why are you doing it?’

  This really was unacceptable impertinence. No member of his staff had ever questioned him so openly as to his motives, let alone a maid from another household. Merricott narrowed his eyes, trying to find the smallest trace of authority, before giving up with a short sigh.

  ‘Love.’ As soon as he said the word, it made perfect sense. He had barely been able to hide from it after the ball—and after seeing the doves with Susan, there was no escaping it. ‘It’s for love.’

  ‘And when you say love, you mean—’

  ‘Nothing salacious.’ Merricott tried to avoid Lavinia’s gaze, but the woman had a stare like a hawk. ‘Well. Nothing salacious when you’re concerned, at least.’

  ‘Hmm.’ There was a distinct softening in Lavinia’s manner. ‘Well… that could be amenable. Depending on the pay, of course.’

  ‘Did—did I say I’d pay you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No I didn’t. You said I’d pay you!’

  ‘And if you don’t pay us, there’s no commission.’ Lavinia smiled sweetly. ‘So you will say it in the end. Won’t you?’

  There was a short moment of calculating silence. Eventually, wondering how on earth the woman managed to stare so harshly without blinking, Adam nodded his head.

  ‘Understood.’ He tried to glare, but his heart wasn’t in it. Lavinia’s eyes softened, but only a little. ‘You and Alice will be rewarded handsomely for your work. Provided you do a good job, of course.’

  ‘We’ll do a splendid job.’ Lavinia rolled her eyes. ‘You do, of course, have to tell us what the job entails.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’ Adam paused. ‘That will require me knowing that myself.’

  ‘I see.’ It was evident from Lavinia’s expression that she doubted Adam’s ability to put on his own shoes, let alone think through a complex plan involving two servants and a quantity of black velvet. ‘Let me know when you’ve clarified the particulars.’

  With a curtsy that barely fit the parameters of the gesture, she left the room in silence. Adam watched her go, frowning, wondering how the maid managed to maintain a queenly air of command in a property that wasn’t her own.

  ‘Idiot.’

  ‘Yes.’ Adam looked at the parrot, whose beady gaze was almost sympathetic. ‘I’m well-aware of that now, thank you very much.’

  The day had been… good. Not exciting, not eventful, but good. The night had also been good, in Susan’s estimation—she had managed to sleep, and sleep well, thanks to the judicious use of chamomile tea and a heavier blanket than usual. She hadn’t seen Adam, or Diana and her friends, choosing instead to sort through linens with Mary and feed the family of hedgehogs that had begun to patronise the property.

  Good. She hadn’t thought of Adam all that much. Well—not constantly, which was the important thing. There had been at least one hour, perhaps two, when he hadn’t crossed her mind at all.

  Well. Perhaps thirty minutes. But they had been thirty perfectly nice minutes—and even more of those minutes would come today, now that she was taking tea with Lord Walcote. Any minute now, sitting in the blue drawing room with the best china set about them, she would stop thinking about the doves and what had come after.

  Meeting with a prospective suitor for an evening cup of tea was meant to be a wonderful thing. A pleasant thing, at least. Susan sipped her tea, looking at Lord Walcote with what she hoped was a flattering smile, wondering why she wasn’t enjoying herself in t
he least.

  It wasn’t guilt. Kissing someone who hadn’t asked one’s father if one was available to be courted was meant to be dastardly, of course, but Adam was different. He would never tell a soul, and neither would she—and really, it had been a sort of scientific exploration. A mirroring of nature, and nothing more.

  Yes. Only nature.

  Physically, Lord Walcote was perfectly well-looking. He was a little younger than her, yes, but that was a positive aspect of the arrangement. He wouldn’t have seen her as the Wild Girl of Hallwood, even if he had heard the rumours, and this lack of knowledge was a boon when it came to romance.

  Not that anything particularly romantic had taken place. Nothing approaching romance had taken place, if she were brutally honest with herself. Given how many times they had seen one another, perhaps such a lack of amorous overtures wasn’t surprising—but it still felt strange, as if they had decided to prepare a meal without ingredients or implements.

  She certainly hadn’t felt anything like what she felt in the woods. Susan looked carefully at Lord Walcote, trying to imagine his lips on hers, but the thought curdled in her brain before she could consider it fully.

  ‘Miss Withersham? Did you hear me?’

  Susan blinked. ‘No. Excuse me. I had a moment of absence.’

  ‘Quite alright.’ Lord Walcote was also very good-natured. It was as if nothing in life touched him in any significant way—a quality that Susan couldn’t exactly admire, but one she found oddly compelling. She had never been able to float on the surface of life, preferring to remain deeply grounded to objects and people. ‘I was talking about marriage.’

  ‘I—oh.’ If this was a proposal, there was a distinct lack of ceremony about it. She had never imagined flowers and an orchestra, but something a little more ceremonial than tea and cake would have been nice. ‘Should I stand?’

  ‘Oh no. Goodness no. I was merely discussing the positive aspects of the arrangement—the properties, of course. I could purchase a townhouse in London from the proceeds of this old place, when it’s sold.’

  Selling this house had always been a possibility upon marriage. It shouldn’t hurt as badly as it did, hearing it, but it did. ‘I imagine it could. And Mary and the maids would follow us to your property, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ The airy wave of Lord Walcote’s hand made everything seem very unimportant. ‘These inconsequential details can be discussed at a later date.’

  ‘I don’t consider my housemaid’s welfare inconsequential.’

  ‘Goodness, no.’ Lord Walcote’s easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that at all.’

  It was difficult to understand precisely what he had meant, given the apparent clarity of his words, but Susan knew it wasn’t her place to press the issue. The only person she could antagonise without any regard for the consequences was, and had always been, Adam.

  Oh, no. She was thinking of Adam again, at quite the worst possible time.

  ‘Given that your father and mother are no longer with us, it appears I must go further afield for the mechanics of the proposal.’ Lord Walcote leaned back in his chair, as if he were discussing the acquisition of a bull at market. ‘Are there any uncles I can request your hand from? Perhaps a cousin?’

  Susan pretended to think. She hadn’t spoken to any of her cousins in years, and the only uncle she could remember had tried to marry her off to one of his whist companions. That particular barrel of serpents didn’t need to be kicked over. ‘I… I don’t think so.’

  ‘Hmm. That makes things a little more difficult.’ Lord Walcote looked at her with a touch of unease. ‘I can hardly just ask you and be done with it.’

  ‘... Of course not.’ As pre-proposals went, this was a dreadfully awkward one. ‘That would be a dreadful sort of anarchy.’

  ‘Are there really no older gentlemen that manage your life, Miss Withersham? Do you really go about so dreadfully unattended?’

  Susan forced herself not to laugh. She had always known in the abstract that she had lived an unguarded sort of life following the deaths of her parents, but Lord Walcote’s discomfort at her freedom was exaggerated enough to be hilarious. ‘I have managed to orient myself thus far.’

  ‘It really won’t do when it comes to marriage.’

  Susan’s heart sank. A lack of care combined with a lack of humour was a most depressing combination of qualities in the only serious suitor she had ever had. ‘The gentlemen at Harpers and Benson that manage the money the land brings in. They are serious-minded.’

  ‘Thank goodness. I shall speak to them.’ Lord Walcote smiled. ‘Then, depending upon what they advise, we can begin the business of the proposal. We will have approval, wise counsel, the correct documentation with which to combine forces…’

  ‘... And love?’ Susan looked at her teacup, too tense to look at Lord Walcote’s face as she spoke the words. When she looked at him again, she felt foolish. ‘Is that somewhere on the list?’

  Tension filled her. Not the pleasant, exciting tension that she had felt in the woods after Adam had kissed her. That nervousness had felt like possibility, as if the world was opening up despite her panic. This was the opposite, the abrupt shrinking of her universe to a small, pitiful pile of options, each one distasteful and unpleasant.

  ‘Goodness. I don’t think we need to love one another.’ Lord Walcote looked happily at Susan, polite incomprehension in his eyes. ‘That’s not essential in the slightest. Is it?’

  Oh Lord. Susan looked down at her teacup again. Perhaps if she had learned to read tea leaves from Mary, she could have foreseen the shocking thing that Lord Walcote had said with such thoughtless ease.

  Love wasn’t needed in marriage. Of course it wasn’t. Friendship was needed, certainly, and an understanding of one another. Marriages were, when all was said and done, a good way of combining land, money and privilege. If she married Lord Walcote, she would no longer be the Wild Girl of Hallwood—and love wasn’t required to perform that transformation.

  A life without love had seemed doable, in theory. Now the practice of it was sitting in her morning room, sipping tea without a care in the world, the idea seemed so ridiculous as to be shocking.

  Still. Mary had given her approval, as had Diana—as had all of her friends. There was no method of escape that felt adequate to the task.

  ‘Miss Withersham?’ Lord Walcote blinked. ‘Have I said something to distress you?’

  ‘No.’ One had to cut and shape one’s dreams to fit the world you lived in. Anyone who said otherwise was a fantasist, or a fool. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Lord Walcote leaned forward. ‘And even though I can make no declarations at this time, not having spoken to the men who manage you, I can tell you with real security that there will probably be a proposal when I return from London.’

  Secure about the possibility of a proposal? How did the man manage to be definite about uncertainty? Susan smiled at the last moment, sure that she looked baffled all the same. ‘I see.’

  ‘You can hope with happiness.’

  ‘Goodness.’ She had never had such an urge to throw tea into a man’s face. ‘Thank you.’

  To Susan’s immense relief, the door opened. Mary appeared, bobbing a curtsy to Lord Walcote, holding out a small piece of paper as she spoke to Susan.

  ‘Forgive the disturbance, ma’am. One of the Merston boys came with the note—they were most excited.’

  Adam. Susan rose as she clutched at the letter. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, no. He would have said. He looked as if Christmas had come early.’ Mary turned to Lord Walcote, who was rising to his feet. ‘As I said, good sir—forgive the intrusion.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Just as before, Lord Walcote’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Miss Withersham and I had concluded our business for the day.’

  ‘Yes.’ Susan barely remembered to curtsy to the man as he bowed, so desperate was she to read the contents of Adam’s
note. ‘Quite.’

  Only when Lord Walcote had left, accompanied by Mary to the door, did she sit and open the note with trembling hands. The sight of Adam’s handwriting, which she normally looked at nearly every day without any change in humour, sent a shivering note of excitement through her as she read.

  The panther that is said to have escaped from the Rotherham menagerie. The one they’re calling the Beast of Hallwood. I think I have seen it prowling in Merston woods.

  Come and watch it with me, if you would be so good.

  ‘Well, dear.’ Mary came bustling back into the room; Susan barely heard her as she rose to her feet. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. But I must go to Merry’s house.’ Susan tried to speak calmly, sure that her heart would beat its way out of her chest. ‘Immediately.’

  She had come. She had come immediately, leaving whatever engagement she had organised, seemingly without so much as a backward glance. Adam tried not to look too eager as Susan came tramping over the grass to the side-door, hair half-loose and unkempt in the twilight breeze, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  She was excited for the panther, of course, not him, but in this moment of meeting such practicalities were easy to forget. Perhaps it was due to the tension that hovered between them even now, the fading blue sky and faint scent of woodland only increasing the frustration at the very root of him.

  ‘Well?’ Susan smiled at him, curtsying with the clumsiness that Adam had always found charming. Now, with his senses at such a fever pitch, the coltish eagerness with which she moved her body was more erotic than anything else he could think of. ‘Is it true? And if so, where is it?’

  He should kiss her. Why didn’t they greet by kissing—so many past greetings, so many wasted opportunities for kisses! Adam bowed stiffly, trying to sound as he would if there really were a panther in the Merston woods. ‘It appears to be hunting in the copse, near the edge of the greater woodland. If it really is the beast that escaped from the Rotherham menagerie, it must be hungry.’