Mary Jo Putney (17 page)

After he tapped at the door, it was opened by his grandmother’s maid, the accurately named Miss Cross. She scowled at him. It was a familiar expression from the past. “I’d like to speak with my grandmother. Is now a good time?”

The maid said no, but her refusal was overridden by his grandmother’s sharp, “Send him in!”

Reluctantly the maid stood aside and Rob entered his grandmother’s parlor. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in her rooms. The old lady was sitting by the fire, still dressed in her black mourning gown. “Ma’am.” He inclined his head. “I’m sorry to have survived against your wishes.”

She snorted. “Wishes are so seldom fulfilled. Sit.” She indicated the chair on the opposite side of the fire. “But first pour us both some brandy. We’ll need it.”

Reluctantly amused, he moved to the drinks cabinet and poured their brandies. After handing her a glass, he settled in the opposite chair. “You wish to fight with me?”

She gave him a gimlet gaze. “Are you going to continue to tell lies about your brother?”

He sighed. “I’ve never lied about him in the past and I’m not lying now. I don’t go out of the way to tell people how abominably he treated me. Though if you wish, I could give you a list of his other crimes against brotherhood. Is it so hard to imagine him as a bully to those who were younger and weaker than he?”

Her gaze dropped to her brandy and she didn’t reply. He guessed that meant she recognized Edmund’s less saintly qualities.

He sipped his drink. The brandy was smooth and expensive. “Now a question for you. Is Kellington Castle now your primary residence?”

“Trying to get rid of me?” she said acidly.

“The place would be a good deal more pleasant without you snarling like a wolverine and wishing me dead,” he retorted. “If you behave decently, I won’t ask you to leave, but I won’t have you treating Bree or Sarah badly.”

She gasped. “You’d forbid me my family home?”

“If necessary.” Seeing her expression, he smiled without humor. “If you wanted me to treat you well, you should have tried a little kindness when I was a boy.”

“The trouble is that you looked so much like your mother,” the countess said unexpectedly. “She was too . . . too emotional. Impulsive. Underbred. Sometimes I thought she was a witch who’d cast a spell on your father to get him to marry her.”

“What a novel perspective. Perhaps he thought she was warm and loving and a pleasure to be with.” Like Sarah. He continued, “But I didn’t come here to argue with you. I didn’t want this inheritance, but I intend to do my best to manage it properly. Assuming that the debts aren’t insurmountable, that is. Do you know if my father and brother managed to bleed Kellington dry before they died?”

“Have you no respect?” she said furiously.

“Respect must be earned. My father and brother gave me no reason to respect them.” He studied his grandmother’s lined face, a little surprised. “You I do respect. Though you treated me like a horrible mistake who didn’t belong in the family, you were fair with the servants and tenants. You also recognized that responsibilities come with rank. That’s probably why you’re here now.”

“I’m glad you approve,” she said tartly. “You’re right. I have been spending more time at Kellington because a family member should be here regularly.”

“And it wasn’t my father or brother. I rest my case in regard to their worthiness of respect. But you didn’t answer my previous question. Is the estate sunk in debt beyond redemption?”

She hesitated. “The financial situation is . . . not ideal. Consult with Mr. Booth. He’ll know more.”

“I’ve already written Booth. I expect I’ll get a reply soon, unless he’s been embezzling and disappears.”

She scowled. “You have a poor opinion of people’s honesty.”

“Being a Bow Street Runner can have that effect,” he agreed. “Though that’s reinforced by the fact that the Kellington steward, Buckley, has been embezzling for years.”

“Surely not!” She slammed her brandy glass down on the table beside her. “He’s such a fine, courteous man.”

“Courtesy has nothing to do with honesty. I made him return most of his ill-gotten gains and discharged him.” Weary of the conversation, he stood. “If you’re tempted to be rude to my daughter, bear in mind that she would be the legitimate Lady Bryony Carmichael if not for the interference of my father and Edmund.”

His grandmother frowned, unable to refute his point. “I’ll be civil. But keep her out of my way.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to avoid you.” He tilted his glass at his grandmother in a not entirely ironic salute and finished the brandy.

As he took his leave, he reflected that this was the most civilized encounter he’d ever had with the Dowager Countess of Kellington.

T
he letters Rob and Sarah sent from Kellington made their way across England by swift mail coach. The first arrived at Ralston Abbey the evening of the day it was sent. Eager for news, Adam had given orders for all letters to be brought to him immediately, but he wasn’t expecting a missive with “Kellington” franked across the corner.

He frowned. That title belonged to Rob Carmichael’s older brother. Could something dreadful have happened to Rob and his brother was writing to inform Rob’s friends? That seemed unlikely from what he knew of Edmund Carmichael.

Adam broke the wax seal and scanned the contents, his brows arching. Then he sought out his wife, who was reading in the nursery with their son in a cradle beside her.

“Good news!” Adam announced. “Rob Carmichael has rescued Sarah and they’re back in England.”

“Thank God!” Mariah’s expression turned incandescent. “Where is she?”

“In Somerset, at Kellington Castle. Rob just inherited the Kellington earldom,” Adam said with interest. “I’ve been so busy down here I missed the news that his older brother died in an accident a couple of weeks ago.”

“Just when Sarah was abducted and I was inefficiently delivering your heir.” Mariah bent and tenderly touched the tiny clenched fist of her sleeping son. “I think you can be forgiven being behind with the news this time.”

Adam consulted the letter. “Rob says the kidnappers wanted to hold Sarah—or rather, you—for ransom. After he retrieved her, they sailed home. When they arrived in England, he learned of his inheritance, so he’s taking a bit of time to study the situation.”

“Is there a note from Sarah?”

“Yes, addressed to you.” Adam removed the smaller paper enclosed in Rob’s letter and handed it over.

Mariah broke the seal eagerly, then frowned over the contents. “Her handwriting is too much like mine, which means it’s hard to read. Her tale is much more colorful than Rob’s. Apparently he extracted her from the middle of a house full of radicals and they were chased across Ireland, sleeping in barns and the like. I trust Rob is discreet? Sarah is the twin with the unblemished reputation, and it would be nice to see that preserved.”

“Rob is so discreet that he doesn’t even tell himself what happened,” Adam assured her. “What else does Sarah say? She really is all right?” He hesitated, hating to put his fears into words. “She wasn’t assaulted by her captors?”

“She assures me she’s fine, apart from bruises received when their yawl was wrecked on the Somerset coast during that big storm. Rob said nothing about that?”

“His reports are generally just the facts.”

Mariah held the letter next to the light so she could see the words better. “After their yawl was wrecked, they fetched up at his family estate and she told people on the estate that she and Rob were betrothed to make things simpler.” She frowned. “She doesn’t say they’re
not
betrothed. What does that mean?”

She glanced at Adam questioningly. “I know Rob is one of your oldest friends, and he’s therefore fearless, honest, utterly reliable, and generally above reproach. But what kind of husband would he make? This seems to have happened very quickly!”

Adam grinned. “I can’t say I’ve ever considered Rob from a romantic point of view, but he’s a good fellow. As for quickness—the first time I saw your smiling face, you informed me that I was your husband, and it never occurred to me to doubt you.”

“It made sense at the time,” Mariah said with a mischievous smile. “How long will Rob be in Somerset?”

“I don’t know. He’ll have his hands full with Kellington. It’s said that the estate has been drained dry, which must be why he’s staying there for several days rather than bringing Sarah here right away. Can you bear not seeing her instantly?”

Mariah bit her lip. “I won’t really relax until I see Sarah with my own eyes. Can we travel down there? It’s not that far. Less than a day’s journey.”

Adam hesitated. “Are you strong enough? You were knocking at death’s door for several days.”

“I’m almost recovered now,” Mariah assured him. “We’ll go in the extremely comfortable Ashton travel coach. It will be easy.”

“Can you bear to leave Richard?”

“He’ll come with me, of course. Sarah will want to see him.”

“Very well,” Adam said, quelling his protective instincts. He couldn’t shut Mariah in a golden cage. “But if the journey is difficult for you, we’ll stop immediately.”

“We’ll be fine.” Mariah picked up the baby and cuddled him. “Order the carriage for first thing in the morning while I write a note to my parents that Sarah is safe. I’m glad they’re in Hertford at my uncle Babcock’s rather than in Cumberland, so they’ll get the good news tomorrow.”

Adam suspected that as soon as his in-laws received Mariah’s message, they would also race down to Kellington. Rob would hate being the center of so much attention. But he’d need to get used to it. A peer of the realm might be private by nature, but he must play a public role some of the time. Adam had learned to master the dual roles, and Rob would, too.

He’d still hate it.

Mariah asked, “What kind of fees does Rob charge? I can’t even guess.”

“For this sort of work, it’s a daily fee plus expenses incurred.” Adam had a brief, horrific vision of Mariah and Richard dead in a pool of blood. He’d see that in nightmares for a long, long time. “I believe the compensation should suit the service.” And in this case, the service of both Sarah and Rob had been immense.

The intriguing story of the new Earl of Kellington took half a day longer to reach London. At the law firm of Booth and Harlow, the family lawyer, Nicholas Booth, stared at the letter, unsure whether it was good or bad news that the family black sheep was alive and in possession of the Kellington estate. Either way, Booth’s duty was to start the process for letters of patent and gazetting, and to gather financial records for the new earl.

Their first meeting would not be a happy occasion.

 

 

Jeremiah Harvey read the note from his friend and employer with mild surprise. Not because Rob was safely back in England after rescuing the young lady—he was very good at that sort of thing. But becoming a bloody earl? Rob damned well wouldn’t like that.

Harvey didn’t need to pack. He always had a bag of essentials ready to go.

 

 

James, Lord Kirkland, co-owner of the most fashionable gambling club in London, Scottish shipping merchant, and British spymaster, frowned over Rob’s note. He had information for Rob, and he suspected that Rob would have information for him.

He reached for pen and paper. Before he consulted his files, he’d send a note to Lady Agnes Westerfield. She’d be interested in this news.

The news broke swiftly in society circles. The late Lord Kellington had a younger brother? One who’d never moved in good society? How delicious!

Several men and women among the well off and well born had had occasion to use Rob Carmichael’s services, and to be grateful for his discretion. He’d do.

 

 

Matchmaking mamas and ambitious young ladies welcomed the news that there was a new young earl who was unmarried and in need of an heiress. One female in particular read the notice with great interest. Why wait for him to come to London when she had a perfect excuse to seek him out?

She began to pack.

 

 

The young man about town hadn’t quit the card table till dawn, so he slept until dusk. He read of the new earl over coffee as he tried to wake up. He’d better hustle to get his claim in before it was too late.

 

 

Politicians speculated about which party the new earl would support. The Tories rather complacently reminded themselves that the earls of Kellington had always been Tories. Whig leaders said hopefully that since nothing was known of the fellow, perhaps he could be recruited for the Whig cause. Those men who actually knew Rob Carmichael guessed he’d be a prickly independent rather than a follower of either party.

Lady Agnes Westerfield laid Kirkland’s note aside as she remembered her first meeting with a young and very angry Rob Carmichael. Yet he hadn’t turned out to be one of her more difficult boys. He’d responded well to kindness and fair treatment.

He would not be happy with this inheritance, not at first. But Rob had proved to be remarkably adaptable to life’s circumstances. He’d sailed before the mast, thrived in India, become a Runner, and was one of Kirkland’s most valuable resources. He’d adapt to being an earl equally well. Perhaps someday he’d even get pleasure from the rank.

 

 

Some would say it was pure chance that a newspaper with the story of the new earl ended up in that particular Dublin coffeehouse. Since Patrick Cassidy didn’t live in Dublin and seldom bothered reading London newspapers when he did visit the city, it might have been weeks until he learned the news that the Honorable Robert Cassidy Carmichael had become the fifth Earl of Kellington.

But Father Patrick didn’t believe in chance. When his gaze fell on the news item, he called it the hand of God.