The American Earl (11 page)

I caught Aunt Barbara looking at me with a strange expression in her eyes, but before I could ask her what she was thinking, the housekeeper joined us. 

She curtseyed to Evan. “How do you do, my lord. I am Margaret Sales, your housekeeper. I am so sorry that I was not here to greet you. I was in the kitchen discussing menus with the cook.”

I watched Evan give her his irresistible smile. “How do you do, Mrs. Sales. It’s nice of you to help us out. I hope you have been made comfortable yourself.”

The housekeeper looked a little surprised, but replied, “I am very comfortable, my lord, thank you.”

“What rooms have you had made up?” Aunt Barbara said.

“The earl’s chamber is ready for his lordship. And I have had the blue, yellow, rose and gold bedrooms made up for you and the young ladies,” Mrs. Sales returned.

“We will have tea in here and give the servants a chance to bring up the luggage,” Lady Barbara decreed. 

Evan said, “Instead of tea, Mrs. Sales, I’ll have a glass of ale if you have it.”

“I’ll have someone bring it to you, my lord.” 

“Thank you.” Evan gestured to the sofas that were placed before the carved wood fireplace. “This is what I call a comfortable room. “Let’s all sit down and Aunt Barbara can tell us what she has planned for us to do tomorrow.”

Obediently we trooped to the sofas and made ourselves at home.

Chapter Thirteen

The following morning, Lady Barbara hustled Lizzie, Julia and Maria into her carriage to go shopping. Evan watched them go with amusement. Lizzie and Maria looked excited; Julia looked resigned.

After the ladies had left, he went into the library, sat behind the big mahogany desk, leaned back in the comfortable chair and clasped his hands behind his head. 

This little excursion to London was going to cost him a fortune. The house was huge and everywhere he looked he saw a servant. He had managed to stop his aunt before she left on her shopping expedition to tell her that he would pay for Maria and Julia’s clothes, but he was not treating Lizzie to a new wardrobe too.

Lady Barbara had gotten quite huffy. Of course Lizzie’s father would pay for her clothing!

Evan had apologized if he had offended her, but he was a canny Yankee and he wouldn’t have put it past his aunt to put Lizzie’s clothes on his bill.  He could tell she was already aiming to make him pay for this big fancy come-out party she kept going on about.  He would have to disabuse her of that notion too.  He was willing to go half with her, and to let her use his house, but he thought he was already shouldering more than his fair share of the burden of this damned season.  She had hired a ton of servants and he was going to have to work like a Trojan to remember so many new names.  Not to mention the fact that he was the one who had to pay their salaries. 

He came back into an upright position and his eyes fell on the collection of small bible scenes that his aunt had said were done by a fellow named Rubens.  He got up and went over to look at them closely. 

They were very nice, he thought.  He liked them.  They suited this wood-paneled, book-lined room.  But then, he had liked a number of the pictures that his aunt and Julia had dismissed as being ‘worth nothing.’  What made one landscape of trees and cows and a stream more ‘valuable’ than another? 

I wish I knew more about art,
he thought, as he returned to his chair. His father had grown up in this world, but he had never attempted to pass along to his children any of his cultural knowledge. They had had some pretty landscapes in the house on Chestnut Street, landscapes like the ones Julia had turned her nose up at. His father had always seemed to be perfectly happy with them.

Evan looked down at the desk, which had several drawers. He went through them methodically. Most of them contained dunning letters from merchants who had not been paid. Mr. Shields had said he would put the word out amongst all of his uncle’s creditors that the new earl was intending to pay the overdue bills in full as soon as he could make proper arrangements with a bank. “That should give you at least a month before they start sending bailiffs to invade your house,” the attorney had assured him.

Evan had stared with horror at Shields. “Invade my house?”

“Oh, yes. They’ll move right in with you if you get too far behind. It’s embarrassing.”

“I should think so!” Evan had returned. 

As he sat there frowning at the bills in front of him, a footman came in to tell him that he had a visitor. “Mr. Roger Spenser, my lord.”

Evan smiled. “Thank you,” he said to the young man who had delivered this message. “What is your name? There are so many new people for me to get to know that you will have to excuse me if I am a little slow to remember who everyone is.”

The footman, a tall, dark-haired boy with a narrow chin, looked surprised by this statement. “I’m Sidney, my lord.”

“Sidney. Good. Well, thank you Sidney. You may bring Mr. Spenser to me here in the library.”

As soon as a stocky gray-haired man dressed correctly in a blue morning coat and beige pantaloons came in the door, Evan jumped to his feet and went to greet him.

“Mr. Spenser! It is so kind of you to call. I was hoping to see you.”

“My lord, how wonderful it is to meet your father’s son.” The older man squeezed Evan’s hand hard. “You look very like him.”

“I appear to look like a great many previous Marshalls,” Evan said wryly. “But, please, don’t call me ‘my lord.’ I am a good American and it grates on my republican sensibilities. Call me Evan.” He gestured to the upholstered chairs that were placed before the fireplace where glowing coals were heating the room nicely. “Won’t you come and sit down?”

The two men took seats facing each other.  “May I offer you some refreshment?” Evan asked. 

“Thank you, my boy, but no. What you can do is tell me how I may be of service to you. I know you have walked into a hornet’s nest of debt. Everyone in London knows that, I am sorry to say. And you are a stranger here. If I can be of any help at all, please call on me.”

“Thank you,” Evan said, and brought up what had been on his mind ever since he first set foot in Althorpe House.  “To be honest, Mr. Spenser, what I need more than anything else is an attorney who can break the entail on this house.  Would you perhaps know of such a person?”

Spenser narrowed his eyes in thought.  Then he said slowly, “I’ll tell you what, my boy, go and see Joshua Rothschild.  He’s a relative of
the
Rothschilds and the cleverest cove I know.  If there’s any way to break that entail, he’ll find it. He has his offices in the city – I’ll write down the address for you before I leave.

Evan smiled gratefully. “Thank you, sir. Mr. Shields is a competent man, but I need someone who is more than just competent for this task.”

“Go to see Rothschild.”

“I will. Shall I give him your name as a reference?”

Spenser laughed.  “Your reference is your title, Evan.  No one will refuse to see the Earl of Althorpe, believe me.”

Evan, who wholeheartedly disapproved of titles, was relieved to hear this Rothschild genius would see him because he had one. He was determined to at least break the part of the entail that related to the fortune in art that hung in this benighted house.

“I was so sorry to hear about the death of your father,” Spenser said. “And at such a young age.”

“I know.” An old pain stabbed, sudden and sharp, in Evan’s heart.
I wonder if I’ll ever get over missing them
,
he thought.

He said to his father’s old friend, “Do you know my father never once told me that he was the son of an earl?”

Spenser gave a dry, raspy laugh.  “How like Tommy.  What did you think of Stoverton when you saw it?”

“I was stunned.  And this house also - the both of them - they’re
huge.”

“They are that,” Spenser agreed.  “I spent several school holidays at Stoverton with your father so I have seen the place.  It was a wonderful spot for boys to play.”

Evan leaned forward. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear more about my father’s boyhood.” 

“I’m not surprised that Tommy didn’t dwell on his past very much.  He was always a boy capable of tremendous focus.  If he wanted something, he went after it with single-minded determination.  He did that when he decided to marry your mother, and it appears he did it again when he decided to adopt America as his country.” 

“Yes,” Evan agreed. “My father did have enormous focus. But I could wish that he had shared more about England with me. I feel very much like a fish out of water, I’m afraid.”

Spenser returned reassuringly,  “You’ll do fine, my boy.  And if you want to hear tales of your father’s youth, you’ve come to the right place.”  Spenser settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his comfortable stomach.  “Tommy and I met on the first day we both came to Eton …”

When Mr. Spenser had finished his stories, Evan asked him, “What do you think about Napoleon’s leaving Elba and making it back to France? Will he be able to gather enough troops to force another battle?”

“We have to assume he will,” Spenser replied. “Wellington is in Brussels now gathering our own troops, and the allies are doing the same. We have to be prepared if Napoleon comes after us.”

Evan said ironically, “I find myself in a bit of a quandary. France has always been America’s ally, you know. Her help was crucial in winning our independence. If the people of France prefer Napoleon to the return of that musty old Bourbon king you foisted upon them, I rather think they should be allowed to make that choice.”

Spenser pulled thoughtfully on his chin. “Napoleon isn’t another Washington, Evan,” he said. “Don’t forget, Napoleon made himself an emperor, not a president. He tried to enslave all of Europe. For the sake of world peace, he must be defeated.”

Evan decided that this was not a topic they could explore with any semblance of detachment, so he once again changed the subject. “I do have one other favor to beg of you, Mr. Spenser.”

“Certainly.”

“My aunt informs me that she will not be seen with me in public unless I spruce up my wardrobe. Would you mind giving me your company to make sure I get rigged out with all the right stuff?”

Spenser laughed. “I would be happy to, my boy. I know just the tailor you should see.”

“Thank you,” Evan replied sincerely. “Now, won’t you please have a glass of wine with me?”

Mr. Spenser smiled. “Well, perhaps I will. Perhaps I will.”

Evan smiled back.

Chapter Fourteen

A day’s shopping with Aunt Barbara was more exhausting than an all-day hunt. By early afternoon I thought I’d collapse if one more person pinned a dress around me. Aunt Barbara ordered carriage dresses, dinner dresses, evening dresses, morning dresses, promenade dresses, riding dresses, theatre dresses and walking dresses. I resolutely squashed my flare of sympathy for Evan, who would be stuck paying for all of this. After all, it was he who had insisted that I come to London.

The one thing that kept me going all day with a semblance of good grace was the evident delight Maria felt as she watched me trying on dress after dress.

“You look beautiful, Julia,” she said, over and over again. It made me feel good to see her so happy.

Lizzie was surprisingly good company. She was so genuinely nice that it was impossible to dislike her. Disliking Lizzie would be like disliking a good-natured dog.

“I’m ravenous,” Lizzie declared as the carriage finally pulled up before the front of Althorpe House.

I was too.  I said to Lizzie, “Let’s check the kitchen to see what we can scavenge.” 

Aunt Barbara frowned direfully. “A lady does not go to the kitchen, Julia. The proper etiquette is to ring for what you desire.”

I bit my tongue and said nothing. When Aunt Barbara had gone upstairs the three of us left standing in the hall looked at each other. Lizzie said, “I’m sure no one will mind if we go to the kitchen.” She smiled entrancingly. “Perhaps Cook will have some of that cake we had last night left.”

Maria said, “Yum.”

I grinned at my sister, then turned to Lizzie. “Let’s do it.”

Without another word the three of us trooped off to the kitchen.

* * * *

After dinner, when we had retired to the upstairs drawing room, Aunt Barbara brought up the subject of dancing. “What sort of dances do you do in America?” she asked Evan.

He was leaning his shoulders up against the chestnut mantelpiece, looking so like the first earl’s portrait that hung over the fireplace at home that he almost took my breath away. 

This happened to me occasionally. I would look at him and get this strange feeling in my stomach, as if I had been wafted back in time and my Philip was standing right there in the room with me. I knew that Evan wasn’t Philip, of course, but there was something about his presence that caused this peculiar flutter in my stomach.

When I brought my attention back to the conversation, Aunt Barbara was saying to him, “Country dances and cotillions are all very well, but do you know the quadrille and the waltz?”

“No,” Evan said. 

“So I thought.”  Aunt Barbara next turned to me.  “What dances do
you
know, Julia?”

I knew the same country-dances as Evan; dances I had learned as a child.  I had liked to dance when I was young.  It was fun swishing around in time to the music. 

“I don’t know the quadrille or the waltz either,” I said. 

Lizzie said breathlessly, “Oh, Mama, are we really going to be allowed to waltz?”

“The waltz is going to be danced at Almack’s this year, Lizzie.

“Is there something special about the waltz?” I asked.

“It was considered very risqué when it was first introduced here from Vienna, but the patronesses of Almack’s have declared it acceptable this year so you and Lizzie must learn it,” my aunt informed me.