Page 2 of Joy to the Earl

Jack clenched his fists, then took a deep breath. He couldn’t refuse. There would be staff. Tenants. Families. Men and women and children afraid for their futures and relying on him to provide some stability and security. He hardly knew what that was, but he had to try. “I suppose I am.”

“Come now, it’s not the end of the world. There are a great many benefits to being an earl. Once the writ of summons is approved, you’ll have Wakefield House in London, of course. Lynthorpe Park in Devonshire, plus ten other properties scattered about. And did I mention your fortune? A little depleted in recent times, but still nearly a million at last estimate. My advice to the family has always been sound.”

Jack turned and scowled at the lawyer. “I think it obvious money and estates are things I can live without.”

“Then think of yourself,” said Crawley in a far more wheedling tone as he got up and strolled over to him. “Perhaps…a mistress to warm your bed? I daresay you’d find London ladies rather more accommodating to oddity than any around here.”

“I’ve had women. Many women,” he replied hotly, his cheeks flushing with the lie. “I want something more.”

“Ah. You want a wife. Well, I know of one young lady who would be a perfect Countess of Lynthorpe. Her name is Lady Marianne Alton. Excellent family, pretty little thing, likes singing and watercolors, just made her come out this year. She was promised to your brother, but in exchange for a generous allowance and a chance to wear the Lynthorpe emeralds, I just know she would stoically do her duty and wed you instead. Imagine, my lord. A companion to share meals with and escort to balls and soirees. A son or two in the nursery.”

Longing hit him like a cannonball to the stomach. Lady Marianne. She sounded charming, and if she were a virgin, it wouldn’t matter that all his carnal knowledge came from textbooks and one jaw-droppingly explicit journal written by a world traveler. They could muddle it out together. Perhaps, in time, grow to care for one another and be friends as well.

Besides, it was not like anything tied him to Northridge. Just memories that weren’t even true.

“When,” Jack said slowly, “would you want to leave?”

Crawley smiled thinly in triumph. “As soon as possible, my lord. We are but a fortnight away from Christmas, after all, and I fear bad weather is on its way.”

“Very well. I’ll go.”

* * *

Rutland

“No, Rosalind, I will not come down. Not until that witch has been arrested and taken away by the constabulary!”

Rosalind, Lady Nelson, rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the headache threatening to dismantle her skull. It was far too bloody cold to be traipsing around the garden searching for retired soldiers with the common sense of a turnip, especially those who preferred to conduct arguments from the middle branches of oak trees. If the man were any other than her beloved uncle, she would have left him to form an ice sculpture. Snow was already falling, the valley would soon be coated.

“Please, Uncle Donald. Aunt May is very sorry she added the extra Eros drops to your soup.”

“No I’m not,” said May, Lady Kilburne, shooting her a glare. “Do you know how many times he took me last night? It was marvelous, like we were twenty again. Would have thought you’d be far more sympathetic, being the queen of fornication and all.”

Rosalind gritted her teeth. “I’m not the queen of fornication, no matter what the scandal sheets say. I merely counsel couples in overcoming discord in the bedchamber. And you know very well I would never countenance drugging one’s spouse.”

“Hear, hear,” said Donald. “I agreed to test a few drops of your latest herbal mix. Not half a bloody cupful. Bad form, woman.”

“Oh, hush up!” May yelled back, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “It wasn’t my fault the kitten pounced when I was measuring. Besides, I didn’t hear any complaints. Just pleas to whip you harder with the crop.”

“Stop it, the pair of you,” said Rosalind, her shoulders sagging with relief when a footman appeared with the sturdy wooden ladder often used to rescue her uncle from his treetop musings. He was like a cat—able to climb up, but never get down.

“I wish my husband would whip me with a crop,” said a glum voice beside her, and she turned to pat Mrs. Claire Vale on the arm. The young wife of a wealthy industrialist, Claire had been married to Phillip for five years, and the couple were Rosalind’s live-in clients at the present time. Unfortunately, even with the experience of thirty successfully assisted couples behind her, Phillip and Claire were proving to be quite the challenge.

“Mr. Vale is making good progress. Didn’t you say he permitted the candles in your room to stay lit when you were last intimate?”

“Yes. However, I want so much more from him. To be left all sweaty and messy and tender, so exhausted by his attentions I can barely see straight. But Phillip kisses me gently, holds himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t touch me, and apologizes for the inconvenience of his manly urges afterward.”

“If required, I’d fuck you hard, madam,” said Donald cheerfully, swinging his legs so hard he almost somersaulted off the tree branch. “Vale is a housecat, you need a lion. I was a soldier, you know. Calvary. Not much I don’t know about riding.”

“Bah. Mr. Vale may be shy, but I don’t see him climbing trees in winter to converse with the faeries,” snapped May. “And if a certain lion attempted to mount another lioness, that lion would find himself short one appendage.”

Rosalind clapped her hands together. “How about we all go inside and discuss these matters over a nice pot of tea? There’ll be no mounting whatsoever if everyone catches a chill, now, will there?”

“Good point, Rosalind,” said Donald approvingly. “What a clever girl you are. Help me with the ladder, would you, there’s a dear. A wise man only communes at height with the faeries for a half hour or so…by Jove!”

“What?” shrieked May. “Are you hurt?”

“No, my dove. Just a carriage going much too fast on the main road…weaving all over the place…they’re going to tip. Slow down, you fools! Oh hell, the horses have broken away…they’ve tipped into the ditch by the driveway…they’ll drown or freeze!”