Counterfeit Earl

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“Perhaps.” The Earl inclined his head stiffly, the faintest flicker of a smile in those faded eyes. Jack’s remark seemed to have softened him. “We should not quarrel, Denning. Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“At this moment? Nothing.”

“Then I may as well go back to Stanhope. The servants will neglect your father if I am not there to remind them of their duty. I believe they hate him to a man.”

“Can you blame them?”

“No, I do not blame them, but I will not have him neglected. He shall die peacefully in his own bed, if not at peace with himself and his Maker.” For one brief moment there was a flicker of emotion in the Earl’s eyes. “I beg you, Jack. Find yourself a wife—not just for my sake, not just for duty, but for your own good. To live and die alone is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy.”

Jack turned away, walking over to the window to gaze out at the sky, which was clouding over. For some reason he did not understand, a girl’s innocent face had come into his mind.

“If I found a woman of the right birth, a woman who could bear me near her knowing what I feel, that I am tainted to the core and can never love her, then I might oblige you. I am not unaware of my duty to you, Grandfather.”

“I pray that you will find such a woman,” the Earl said. “Indeed, you are often in my prayers, Jack. I sincerely hope that you will find peace soon.”

“Would that I could!” Jack muttered. He did not turn, for he knew that his face must reveal the inner torment he felt. “Would that I could…”

Chapter Three

“It was so fortunate that we should meet like this,” Olivia said as she linked arms with her friend. “Beatrice was feeling a little tired this morning, and begged me to take one of the maids with me on my walk rather than sit indoors on such a lovely day.”

“The Dowager Lady Exmouth felt exactly the same this morning,” Robina Perceval cried with a laugh. “It is only to be expected in her case. We have been out until the early hours for several nights—but you arrived in Brighton only two days ago. I do hope Lady Ravensden is not unwell?”

“No, no, not at all,” Olivia replied. “She is blooming. I have never seen her look so well. She was just a little sleepy this morning, but she assured me that she would accompany me to Lady Clements’s ball this evening. I understand it is to be a rather grand affair?”

“Oh, yes. Lady Exmouth knows her well…” There was a faint flush in Robina’s cheeks. “She has been very kind to me…Lady Exmouth, I mean.”

Olivia glanced at her companion. Robina had dark hair and blue eyes, and was quite lovely in her own quiet way. She had a modest manner and had not dressed to attract attention in the past, but seemed to have an air of fashion about her now; she certainly turned the heads of several gentlemen.

“You wrote to me that you had enjoyed your Season in London very much—but you did not form an attachment to anyone?”

“No…” Robina seemed to hesitate, then shook her head. “No, I have not formed an attachment.” She sighed. “Several gentleman were very kind to me, but I long for—for something different. A little excitement…romance.”

“Oh, you are so like me!” Olivia cried and laughed. “I could have married…” She blushed. “Oh, I did not mean that unfortunate business with Lord Ravensden…”

“Did you really jilt him, Olivia? People are saying it was as much his fault as yours.”

“In a way it was. I believed it was a love match, you see. I believed he was in love with me and—and I thought I would come to love him in time. When I realized that in fact he was marrying me to oblige Lord Burton, I immediately broke it off. After Lord Burton turned me out, Lord Ravensden came to Abbot Giles to ask me to reconsider—then he met Beatrice and they fell in love.”

“But he settled some money on you, did he not?”

“Yes, he has been very generous. I have ten thousand pounds, which is secured to me for life and mine to dispose of as I wish,” Olivia said. “And he set the tale about that we had parted by mutual consent—which in the end was true. For neither of us wished to marry the other after he met my sister.”

“Well, it was fortunate that you did not,” Robina said, smiling at her. “Now you are free to find someone you could love.”

“Yes…” Olivia sighed. “I wish I could, but like you I long for romance.” She laughed. “How foolish we are. We have read too many of Mrs Burney’s novels. I dare say it would be most uncomfortable being married to a hero after all. He would forever be riding off to battle with dragons and the like, leaving his poor wife to cope with all the difficulties of running his estate and rearing his children.”

Robina nodded, but her expression was slightly dreamy. “I dare say you are very right, but I would sacrifice a little comfort for the sake of true love, would you not?”

“I long to be truly loved,” Olivia said passionately. “To be loved by one person to the exclusion of all others, to know that for one person you are the most important of all.” She blushed as she realised how much she had revealed of her inner self. “Oh, I know that most girls of our class settle for much less, and I dare say I am asking for too much…” She gasped and stopped walking, clutching at her companion’s arm.

“Is something wrong?” Robina followed the direction of Olivia’s gaze. A man and a woman had stopped a few yards ahead of them on the promenade. They seemed to be looking out towards the sea at a ship in full sail, obviously admiring the view. “Are you unwell?”

Olivia’s cheeks had drained of colour. “No,” she said. “Only, may we please turn back now?”

“Yes, of course.” Robina looked at her curiously as they walked in the opposite direction. “Did you know Lady Simmons?”

“No.” Olivia turned to her. “Was that her name? She looked…remarkable.”

“She was a famous beauty a few years ago,” Robina said. “They say she could have married a duke in her first season, but she chose a mere baronet. These days she lives mostly in Bath and apart from her husband, though I believe she visits him in town occasionally. She must have come to Brighton to see someone in particular, I would imagine.”

“Perhaps to meet her companion?” Olivia suggested, her cheeks pink.

“I wondered if the gentleman might be her lover; she has one, they say, but I do not know him,” Robina said. Her gaze narrowed as she looked at Olivia’s expression. “But you do, do you not?”

Olivia blushed. “We have met briefly. On the road to Brighton. Our carriage was delayed and I went into the woods. His dog thought I was a gypsy and would not let me pass until he ordered it to lie down.”

“Then you know his name?” Robina was curious.

“Yes. He called himself Captain Jack Denning.” Olivia frowned. “He looked as though he might have been ill and he was dressed very differently that day. At first I took him for a gamekeeper.”

“Oh, Olivia,” Robina cried with a delightful laugh. “He did not look so today.”

“No…”

Olivia was thoughtful as she and her friend continued their walk along the promenade. There was no mistaking Captain Denning’s quality that morning. He was dressed in a dark blue cloth coat which fitted him to perfection, showing that although lean, he was powerfully built. His immaculate buff-coloured breeches and highly polished boots, together with his exquisitely tied neckcloth, were evidence that when he chose he could rival for elegance any gentleman Olivia had met in London. And his hair had been trimmed, though he still wore it longer than most gentlemen of her acquaintance. It gave him a slightly rakish air.

“Were you aware that Captain Denning would be in Brighton?” Robina asked.

“No. Indeed, he said he had no intention of visiting in the near future.”

“How odd. I wonder why he lied?”

“I cannot imagine.” Olivia felt a little piqued. Surely there was no reason for Captain Denning to have lied to her? “It is all of a piece with his behaviour that day. He was abrupt and harsh—and I did not care for him particularly.”

“Well, you will have to acknowledge him should you meet,” Robina said. “But I dare say there will be no necessity to do more.”

“I am sure you are right,” Olivia agreed. “Now, let us talk of something more agreeable. Beatrice was speaking of giving a dinner when Lord Ravensden arrives next week. Pray tell me, do you have an evening free of engagements?”

“I shall consult with Lady Exmouth,” Robina promised. “But perhaps you and Lady Ravensden will call for tea this afternoon?”

“Oh, yes, I am sure Beatrice will agree.” Olivia smiled at her. “I am so glad you came to Brighton, Robina. It is so much nicer to have at least one good friend one can talk to.”

“Someone to whom one can confide one’s secrets,” Robina agreed.

Smiling at one another in perfect harmony, the two girls walked on. Both were completely unaware that a pair of dark eyes was following their progress as they crossed the road and disappeared around the corner of the street.

“Jack! You were not listening to one word I’ve just said,” Lady Simmons accused. “Have you something on your mind?”

“Forgive me,” Jack apologised, his dark eyes focusing on her once more. “I was not intending to ignore you.”

“You were just a little distracted,” she murmured, a sparkle of amusement in her soft grey eyes. She was a remarkably attractive woman, with dark brown hair and a wide, generous mouth. “Tell me, which of the two young ladies drew your attention, my dear?”

“Was it so obvious?” Jack gave her a rueful smile. “Two days ago Miss Olivia Roade Burton wandered into my woods. Brutus was preparing to attack her when I arrived on the scene. I was concerned that she had ventured so far into woods she did not know, for there has been trouble with gypsies, and I fear I may have been harsh with her. Indeed, since she could not bring herself to pass me just now, I believe I must have offended her.”

Anne nodded, her intelligent eyes thoughtful as they continued their walk along the marine parade. “I know your manner can sometimes be a little abrupt. You must apologise next time you meet Miss Roade Burton, Jack.”

He shook his head at her. “She is not for me, Anne. You know I have no thoughts of marriage.”

“I am aware that you have some foolish ideas in your head, my dear.” She smiled at him with affection. “You are worth ten of most gentlemen I know. What happened at Badajoz was not your fault.”

“It is not just that—though it haunts my dreams,” Jack replied, his dark eyes shadowed with pain for a moment. “I do not believe I am capable of loving, Anne, not with my whole heart. Not as a woman I would make my wife has a right to expect. You are my friend. You do not ask for more than I can give.”

“I believe you have a great capacity for loving,” Anne replied, her look full of warmth. “You were hurt too many times as a child, but one day you will discover your true self. Our arrangement has been a pleasant one for us both. However, should you wish to marry…”

“Yes, I know your mind,” Jack said. “I have a true fondness for you, my dear. Had you been free, Anne, I believe we might have found happiness together.”

“Perhaps.” Her lovely eyes clouded with sadness. “Unfortunately, I am not free.”

Jack touched her hand in sympathy. He knew that she was sometimes desperately unhappy, but her family would never permit her to divorce her husband. They had persuaded Sir Bernard Simmons to allow her to retire to Bath, to live quietly with a companion, but for the sake of the two sons of the marriage, the husband and wife met occasionally in society. Anne’s sons were both boarders at an exclusive school, and she saw them two or three times a year. It was not an ideal situation for her, but it was the best she could expect. Her only alternative was to live abroad in exile, and then she would not have been allowed to see her sons until they reached their maturity.

“Do not pity me,” she said softly. “I was deceived in the man I married, but I have learned to live with my mistakes. I have friends who care for me, and most of the time I am content.”

“I have never pitied you,” Jack replied honestly. “I admire and respect you, Anne. You are one of the finest—and certainly the bravest—woman I have ever met.”

“One day you will meet a woman you can admire, respect and love,” Anne said. “Because I care for you, my dear, I hope that day will come soon.”

Beatrice was sitting in the back parlour of the house in Royal Crescent; it was one of the fairly new houses built by J.B.Otto, an elegant three-storied building faced with black mathematical tiles. She glanced up with a smile as Olivia entered.

“Your walk has given you some colour,” she said. “I am sorry I was so sleepy this morning. It is unlike me. I cannot imagine what was wrong with me.”

“As long as you are not ill?” Olivia was a little anxious. Having found her sister at last, after so many years spent apart, Beatrice had become doubly precious to her.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Beatrice replied. “I feel wonderful. I hope your walk was not spoiled because I did not accompany you?”

“I missed you, of course I did—but it was the most fortunate thing,” Olivia replied, smiling at her. “I met Robina Perceval. She was out walking with a maid, too. The Dowager Lady Exmouth was also feeling a little tired apparently. Robina asked if we would take tea with them this afternoon. I said yes. I hope that was all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said. “I met the Dowager when I was in London this spring. I liked her. I am very pleased you will have Robina for company. It is pleasant to have real friends.”

“Yes.” A shadow passed across Olivia’s face. She had had so many friends in London, but she was not sure how many of them would want to know her now. “Yes, it is pleasant to have real friends.”

“I have been reading some letters Harry sent on, which one of the maids fetched this morning from the receiving office,” Beatrice said. “There was one from Amy Rushmere, who as you know lives in Abbot Giles, and another from my friend, Ghislaine de Champlain. Incidentally, she writes that she has found a gentleman she likes. A young curate who has taken an interest in her.”

“That is good news. I liked Ghislaine, though I saw very little of her. Was there any other news?”

“They both had gossip from the village to tell us.”

“Oh, what did they say?” Olivia was as curious as her sister to hear news from the villages. “Does anyone know what is going to happen to Steepwood Abbey yet?”

“No, I do not believe so,” Beatrice said. “Ghislaine told me there are many rumours flying around. Everyone is still wondering who could have killed Lord Sywell, of course.”

“Nothing has been discovered yet?”

“No, nothing certain. Ghislaine heard that a pedlar was seen entering the grounds the previous day, a man who was a stranger to the four villages.”

Olivia nodded. “I am sure it must have been someone like that, or perhaps a jealous lover.”

“Yes, I dare say.” Beatrice looked thoughtful. “Amy Rushmere’s news was even more intriguing. She says that a rather peculiar little man has been to the village making enquiries about Athene Filmer of Datchet House—you remember that she and her mother Charlotte live in Steep Ride? And Amy says that although she did not realise it until later, he also prompted her to talk about Louise Hanslope…”

“I have seen Athene at the market in Abbot Quincey, I believe, though I have not passed more than a few words with her.” Olivia frowned. “Was not Lady Sywell’s name Hanslope before she married the Marquis?”

“Yes,” Beatrice agreed. “You know her history as well as I, Olivia. Everyone imagined her to be Hanslope’s by-blow—but it seems the investigator was very curious about how and when she was first brought to the villages as a child. What do you make of that? And why do you suppose he was enquiring about Athene Filmer?”

“I do not know.” Olivia frowned. “It all sounds a little odd to me. Why should anyone be asking such questions…unless…” She looked at Beatrice. “Do you think someone has discovered what happened to Lady Sywell?”

“Well, there must be some reason for the enquiry,” Beatrice said. “Amy could not get any information out of the man who spoke to her, except that his name was Jackson—but she says she thinks he may be a Bow Street Runner. And a very clever man by the sound of him.”

“No! Then his enquiry may be official.” Olivia looked stunned. “Why would an officer of the law be enquiring after Lady Sywell? Surely no one truly believes that she could have killed her husband?”

“I cannot believe that they should, but obviously someone is interested in finding out more about her,” Beatrice said. “It is certainly intriguing, is it not?”

“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “I do wish we could discover what has happened to her, don’t you?”

“Well, perhaps we shall in time,” Beatrice said, and smiled at her. “Now, tell me, dearest—which gown are you going to wear to Lady Clements’s ball this evening? That pale lemon, which becomes you so well—or the white?”

The ball was already in full swing when the two sisters arrived at the large assembly rooms where the festivities were being held that evening. It was a glittering occasion, Lady Clements having given it to celebrate the engagement of her niece to Lord Manningtree, and everyone of note who was staying in Brighton had been invited.

“Ah, dear Lady Ravensden.” Their hostess greeted them with a beaming smile of approval and a kiss on the cheek for Beatrice. “How pleasant it is to see you again—and you, Miss Roade Burton, of course.” Olivia could not but be aware of the slight look of disapproval in Lady Clements’s eyes. However, she had been accepted on the surface and she knew it was up to her to put a brave face on the situation. She could not expect to be as popular or as universally approved as she had been during her Season.