The Earl Claims a Bride (2 page)

Chapter 2

Wake not a sleeping wolf.

Henry IV
1.2.153–54

Spring 1818

Harrison put his two fingers to his lips and whistled. When the driver of the wagon looked up at him, he called, “Over there,” and pointed to a lean-to built to store the lumber that would be used in rebuilding Thornwick.

Late-morning sun warmed the back of Harrison’s neck as he stood on the back lawn, his gaze scanning the gently rolling hills in the distance. As far as he could see, and then some, it was Thornwick land. His land. Still, at times he didn’t want to believe everyone was gone. That he was now the earl. There were a few times when he was a youngster that he’d wished Thornwick would be his one day, but those were foolish, childish wishes that weren’t supposed to come true. He never wanted to lose his family.

The trees, shrubs, and scrub grass were showing their first signs of green. Harrison looked behind him at the burnt-out shell of what was once the massive three-story manor house where he’d grown up. It was situated on a spacious, grassy knoll. The more than twenty rooms that were in the main section of the house had been gutted; a dozen others in the guest wing had fared little better. The expanse of flawlessly manicured gardens and lawn outlined by a tall yew hedge and perfectly trimmed topiary trees hadn’t been touched by the destructive fire, and neither had the carriage house and two paddocks that accommodated his more than two dozen horses.

Not only had the fever taken his family, but the Thornwick he’d loved, the house that had been in his family for over one hundred years, had been destroyed while he was off carousing. But there was so much more lost than just the house. The urns, the china, the furniture could all be replaced. Even the hundreds of books in the library could be replaced. It was the portraits of all the previous Thornwicks that had hung in the gallery, and the priceless volumes of recorded family history, that were gone forever. All of it had been lost and on his watch.

His brother had written and asked him to come home, but he ignored the request as he had so often in the past. While he had been drinking, gambling, and dueling his family had perished and the manor had burned. Over the past weeks, Harrison had often remembered the hastily spoken words he’d overheard that morning he’d learned that he was the new earl. They all doubted his ability to properly manage Thornwick and keep it prosperous. And with good reason. He’d never given anyone reason to believe he could do anything other than continue his debauchery. But that was before the title became his.

Thornwick was where he’d learned how to ride, shoot, and wield a sword. During long, cold winter nights he became proficient at cards, billiards, and chess. On this land he’d chased his older brothers, climbed its trees, fished its streams, and hunted its game. But it was never supposed to be his.

The fourth son of an earl wasn’t meant to outlive his brothers and their sons to inherit the title. Certainly not by the age of thirty. A different kind of ache suddenly pierced his chest. And to lose Maddie, too. His first love. His only love. His thoughts drifted back to the Season she’d made her debut. He’d tried his best to capture the heart of the dark-haired beauty and win her favor. But it soon became clear she had eyes only for his older brother, and in time Harrison had accepted that. Though it hadn’t been easy.

Damnation, none of it had.

Not the grief of losing them all and losing Maddie twice. Not the struggles of these past weeks of discovering what was expected of an earl, learning to see that an estate was managed, and functioning well enough that once the house had been rebuilt there would be a Thornwick for the foreseeable future. Fourth sons were educated but never groomed to take on all the responsibilities that came with bearing the title of earl. It was assumed they would never need it.

Harrison had never had any responsibility to anyone or anything. There was never a reason. The oldest son was always revered, but the youngest was either treated like an infant and indulged or completely ignored. Harrison made certain he was neither by challenging, testing, and besting his older brothers from a very early age. He’d missed them when one by one they’d been sent away to school, but he soon found replacements for them in his friends Bray Drakestone and Adam Greyhawke when it was his turn to be shipped off to Eton.

When Harrison had left Oxford, his father had bestowed a more-than-generous allowance on him, and from his cards, bets, and all manner of wagers he added a considerable amount to that each year. All his father had expected was that he live the comfortable and respectable life of a gentleman and not sully the Thornwick name.

Harrison hadn’t been able to manage that small request. His father should have known better than to ask that of him with scoundrels like the Duke of Drakestone and Adam Greyhawke as his friends. The three of them had scandalized London’s social elite more times than Harrison could count. Harrison was a rebel at heart, and neither his father nor anyone else had ever been able to make him follow the rules or do what he was told.

He’d always done whatever pleased him because he had no reason not to. But now he did. He had Thornwick, or what was left of it. And he would rebuild it. Bigger and better than it was before. He owed it to his father and to his brothers to make it the grand place it once was.

He didn’t know a damned thing about buying books, furniture, and all the other items that filled a house, but he’d learn. And despite the assertions of the gentlemen at the duel that day, Harrison would take care of Thornwick.

The first load of supplies to reconstruct the house had arrived earlier in the day, bringing with them a small measure of peace to Harrison. There had been a steady stream of wagons carrying lumber, ladders, hammers, nails, and all manner of materials to start the rebuilding of the manor first thing tomorrow morning.

When he’d arrived at Thornwick the ashes were cold. All the servants had either fled or died of the fever. There was no answer to his question whether the fire had been an accident or deliberately set in order to stop the rampages of the fever. For days no one wanted to go near the house. Neither did Harrison, but not from fear of the fever. Guilt. More than once his brother had asked him to come for a visit. He should have missed the parties, the hunts, and the gaming hells. He should have gone. If he’d been a good brother, he would have been there to help, not drinking, gambling, and dueling. Maybe he could have saved them. Or maybe he would have died with them? Not that he wanted to die. His scandalous ways saved him from the fever but also kept him from saving his family.

Guilt was a hard thing to deal with.

The day he arrived, he cleaned out one of the shell rooms, scavenged what few pieces of furniture he could, and made his home among the ruins. Within a week, he didn’t have a stitch of clothing that wasn’t smeared with soot. He’d found an older couple in a nearby village willing to help him with the cleanup; others had come later. He’d sent for Thornwick’s managers and solicitors and immediately started familiarizing himself with the inner workings of the vast estate, but there was still a lot to learn.

“My lord, there is a Mr. Alfred Hopscotch here to see you.”

Harrison’s stomach clenched. He turned to see Summers, one of his workers, standing behind him. He had a vague recollection of the first time he’d met Mr. Hopscotch. It wasn’t a fond memory.

“He’s not alone,” Summers continued. “He brought some of the Prince’s guards with him.”

That seems odd.

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just that he’s an emissary of the Prince and he must speak to you at once. Given that, I didn’t feel I should question him further.”

Harrison nodded once. “I’ll see what he wants. Where is he?”

“By his carriage in the front of the house. I apologized for not having a room where we could invite him inside.”

Harrison glanced at the stacks of lumber and smiled. “Not yet, Summers,” he promised. “But we will.”

As soon as Harrison rounded the corner Mr. Hopscotch walked to meet him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but I must. The Prince and I have sent you several letters requesting you come to London, and you’ve ignored them all.”

“I’ll have to beg the Prince’s pardon,” Harrison said, looking down at his soot-stained shirt and trousers. “It’s been a little difficult to keep up with correspondence from my home recently.”

Mr. Hopscotch cleared his throat rather loudly and mumbled, “Yes, I’m sure. We were sorry to hear about the fire. The Prince realizes his mistake in asking that you come to London immediately upon hearing of your family’s deaths and sends his apologies for the grave error in judgment. But it’s been over three months now. The Prince is most anxious for you to return to London by the time the Season starts next week.”

“That would be difficult,” Harrison said, hoping to hurry the man on his way. “As you can see, the rebuilding of Thornwick is just beginning. I’m needed here. Please give my apologies to the Prince.”

“I’m afraid he won’t take no for an answer this time, my lord. I must have your word that you will be at the first ball of the Season, or…”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed as the man’s words trailed off. That comment seemed rather high-handed even for a Prince who was more used to getting his way than Harrison was. “Or what?”

Mr. Hopscotch held up his hand and snapped his fingers twice. Four sentinels appeared, two from each side of the carriage. Each guard rested a blunderbuss on his shoulders, and their swords hung at their sides.

Summers wasn’t kidding when he said the man had brought armed guards.

“Or these men have strict orders to escort you directly to Newgate.”

Harrison smiled and then chuckled. Evidently there were some things about being an earl he still had to learn. When the Prince called he meant for you to come.

“Prison?” Harrison said good-naturedly. “For ignoring the Prince? That’s a bit harsh for a civilized society, isn’t it?”

“It’s more than that, my lord,” Hopscotch said, remaining serious. “He feels he has given you ample time to mourn your family and now he must insist that you do your duty as an Englishman and an earl. He wants you to marry quickly and produce an heir.”

“Marry?” Harrison scoffed another laugh. “The Prince can’t be serious. I can assure you bringing a bride to Thornwick at present is the last thing on my mind.”

“But it’s very much on the Prince’s mind. You must realize that should you meet your demise before you have an heir, the title would fall to your cousin Guilfoyle. The Prince will do everything in his power to keep that from happening.”

Harrison knew Guilfoyle. He was a stiff coxcomb, but he wasn’t a bad sort. In fact, his reputation was a hell of a lot better than Harrison’s. He’d never heard of the man racing his curricle down Rotten Row when half the ton was out for an afternoon stroll, or shooting a man in a duel.

“Start explaining,” Harrison said, still not wanting to believe it really mattered to the Prince who actually held the title Earl of Thornwick. “I want to know exactly what the Prince wants with me and why.”

“There are many reasons he is so interested in you in particular. You are good friends with the Duke of Drakestone and the Prince is pleased about that, but chief among the others is because of your cousin Guilfoyle. He has ties to the top military officials in France. As you know, his wife is French and her uncle is a high-ranking officer in their military. Quite frankly, the Prince doesn’t trust your cousin as far as his loyalties are concerned. He is the last person the Prince wants taking a seat in Parliament to help govern and fashion the laws of England. Why, the man’s even educating his son in France.”

“None of that is of any concern to me, Mr. Hopscotch. Rebuilding my home is.”

“But it is a major concern to the Prince. You have never given him any cause to worry about where your loyalties lie even though you’ve spent time abroad.”

“And I don’t intend to,” Harrison said, restlessly shifting his stance.

“Splendid. Your marriage to a proper young lady with an heir on the way would make the Prince very happy.”

Harrison considered this entire conversation nonsense. Marrying was the last thing on his mind and the Prince was just going to have to accept that fact.

“That is not likely to happen when I haven’t met a lady I want to wed.”

“The Prince suspected that,” Mr. Hopscotch said casually, seeming unconcerned with Harrison’s growing irritation. “He’s pleased to let you know that he has chosen someone for you.”

Harrison laughed out loud, but Mr. Hopscotch never twitched a hint of a smile. “You want me to believe the Prince has actually chosen a bride for me?”

“It’s true, my lord.”

“And if I marry His Highness’ pick of the litter, has the Prince indicated yet whether we shall provide the world with a male or female child within nine months?”

Refusing to acknowledge Harrison’s attempt at humor, Mr. Hopscotch shrugged. “I must admit that there are some things the Prince has no control over.”

“Please, tell the Prince I appreciate his interest in my marital status, but right now the only thing that I have on my mind is rebuilding my family’s legacy. After that is done, I will look for a bride to be mistress of Thornwick.”

“I’m sure you are quite capable and can accomplish both at the same time, my lord. The young lady is bright, lovely, and more than suitable for you. Her grandfather was a baron and her father a distant relative of the King himself.”

Harrison looked from the guards to Hopscotch. “Even if I were inclined to marry, which I’m not, I wouldn’t have the Prince choosing a bride for me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve work to do.”

Mr. Hopscotch nervously fiddled with the ends of his neckcloth. “I’m afraid I can’t leave without your word that you’ll come to London next week.”

Harrison felt his frown deepen. “Does the Prince think I will allow him to control my life and pick a bride for me without question?”