The Earl's Secret
Terri Brisbin
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesThe Earl of Treybourne was not going to lose a public argument with a petty, scribbling journalist. So he headed for Edinburgh, disguising himself as plain Mr. Archer, eager to discover the anonymous writer. A flawless plan, until he found himself distracted by the beautiful Miss Anna Fairchild. A bluestocking long on the shelf, Anna had no desire for a husband. But she felt a strange kinship with the dashing—and enigmatic—gentleman.With secrets to hide herself, Anna was playing a dangerous game that could threaten their tenuous bond. Caught between deception and desire, could love flourish?
“Are you well, Miss Fairchild?”
Her lack of control brought him closer and Anna found herself tugged into the shadows where he stood. He leaned his head down, and for a moment she thought he might try to kiss her.
She hoped.
She prayed.
She tried to clear her mind of whatever bewitching spell he was placing on her.
“If you are to swoon, Miss Fairchild, let it be over something pleasant like this, and not over that boring old Lord Treybourne.”
She began to laugh, but his kiss covered the sound of it. He touched his lips to hers softly at first and then with a bit more persistence. He tasted of something mint. Then, as quickly as he had begun, Mr. David Archer stepped away.
Anna could form no words to speak after that experience. She was fully aware that his behavior had been too forward and that she should reprimand him. The problem was that in her heart of hearts she would welcome his mouth on hers again.
And again.
The Earl’s Secret
Harlequin
Historical #831
Praise for Terri Brisbin
Taming the Highlander
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The Maid of Lorne
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—Booklist
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—Historical Romance Writers
The Duchess’s Next Husband
“This is a quintessential tale of both love and emotional growth—in other words, the perfect romance.”
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“[Brisbin’s] bold, vivid writing beautifully captures the flavor of medieval castle life and the intrigue-rich Plantagenet court. Passionate and romantic, The King’s Mistress is a rare delight.”
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The Earl’s Secret
Terri Brisbin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin
Historical and TERRI BRISBIN
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The Earl’s Secret #831
The idea for this story came about while I was listening to a panel of librarians at a Romance Writers of America conference in Denver a few years ago. They painted such a vivid picture of the early history of book reviews that I thought—hmmm, there’s a story here. Not long after that, while watching some old romantic comedies that involved secret identities, hidden agendas and love, I began to plan out that story.
My thanks to John Charles, Shelley Mosely and Kristin Ramsdell for their inspiration for this story and for their ongoing support of the romance genre and its authors.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter One
London, England
“Bloody hell!”
The piles of papers from his various business interests that lay on his mahogany desk scattered across the surface and onto the floor as he tossed down the latest copy of the Scottish Monthly Gazette. An uncommon anger built within him and he could not resist picking the rag back up for just one more glance. Surely, he had misread the editorial. Surely, the writer had not used his name. Surely not.
Yet, upon examination, David Lansdale saw that his ire was in part well-deserved, for there on the second page, as part of the Gazette’s editorial essay, was not only his title, Earl of Treybourne, but also spurious remarks against the arguments made in his own essay the month before in the respectable Whiteleaf’s Review.
“My lord?”
David looked up to see his butler at the door of his study.
“I did not want to be disturbed, Berkley.”
“I understand, my lord,” Berkley replied with a deferential bow, “but Lord Ellerton has come calling and shows no signs of being deterred in speaking to you.”
He has most likely seen this, he said under his breath as he glanced at the newest issue of the Gazette. And, no matter how much his friend tried to offer commiseration, it always sounded like gloating.
“Then you must be a stronger deterrent, Berkley. I do not wish visitors at this time.” Allowing his displeasure to show, he reiterated, “No visitors.”
Berkley, the consummate butler, approached the mess of papers David had made of his desk and the surrounding area of floor, and bent to pick them up.
“Leave them, Berkley. It is more important that you keep everyone out….”
With a nod, Berkley left and quiet descended for a few moments as David gathered the strewn papers and put them on the desk. David turned his attention to the confusion of paperwork and began sorting it back into the neat piles it’d been in just moments ago. Lord Anthony Ellerton would be more pest than pestilence, but his company was simply not welcome at this moment. David would apologize later for the brush-off, later when he had handled this mess.
And after he prepared to face his father’s wrath over this attack.
His stomach gripped as he thought about his father’s reaction. The Marquess of Dursby was a dour, humorless man at best. He could only hope the marquess was in better spirits when he opened the copy. Or that he avoided reading the Whig-supporting publication completely. Now that was a thought. If his father kept to his regular Thursday schedule, he would most likely skip dinner at his club for a quiet night at home.
David sat down at his desk and placed the object of his displeasure in the drawer so he did not have to face it straight on. At least not until he had a plan to answer the questions and comments in A. J. Goodfellow’s newest essay. He leaned over and held his head in his hands, knowing it was much too early in the morning for such a disastrous feeling.
The sounds of another arrival stopped him before he could wallow much longer. Heels clicking across the wood of the entryway coming closer to his study’s door grabbed his attention. That kind of fuss, the kind of attention his staff was giving to whomever approached his door, could mean only one thing and it was not that Ellerton had successfully pressed his case for admission. David prayed in the moment before the door opened.
His prayer was not answered.
“The Marquess of Dursby,” Berkley called out as he stepped aside and allowed David’s father to enter. With a bow, he pulled the door closed and a sense of impending doom spread through the room.
“Father,” he said, standing at once and bowing. “I am surprised to see you this early in the day.”
His father simply nodded, not deigning to answer the question implicit in his greeting. The door closed quietly; Berkley at his post.
“Would you care for something to eat or drink, sir?”
“I do not waste my time on such things when the fate of the nation is on the line.”
“I would not say it is as grim as that, sir.”
“And that, Treybourne, is most of your problem. The responsibility granted to you—”
“Forced on me, rather,” David interrupted. In private he could admit that being the spokesman for the Tory party’s position in this war of words had not been his choice.
He looked at the man who fathered him and marveled that in spite of their close resemblance in appearance—same brown hair cut shorter than current style would dictate, same chiseled angles in their faces, same pale blue eyes ringed in midnight blue—their personalities and approach to honor and family were completely different. And when serving as the target of his father’s attempts to intimidate, he thanked the heavens above for the differences.
“A nobleman honors his word.” The words were more demand than statement, more insult than declaration. The Marquess of Dursby did not look lightly on shirking one’s duties, especially when the family honor was involved.
“And I will carry out what I have agreed to do, sir.”
David clenched his jaw and waited for his father’s displeasure to be demonstrated. Never a man to waste time, the marquess seized the topic.
“You should have seen this rebuttal coming, Treybourne. Anyone with a modicum of education or experience in the oratory and debating arts would have known.”
Crossing his arms, David stared off into the corner of his study while his father continued in his well-controlled diatribe over the latest Whigs’ arguments and the insults leveled at the Tories through him.
“You are not paying attention, Treybourne, another of your weaknesses. How do you expect to quash this opponent and make it clear that his party is seeking that which will undermine the good of the nation?”
David did not answer immediately, for he was cognizant that his father would point out another fault of his—that of taking action without adequate thought and planning. Since no amount of arguments or evidence could sway the marquess once he adopted an opinion or position, David saved his efforts for when it would matter.
“What answer would you like from me, sir? If you do not feel that I can accomplish your aims, then give this honor to someone else in whom you have confidence.”
This was not new ground for them. Every time his father berated him over this role as party spokesman, he asked to be relieved of it.
In truth, he only did it for the money it brought to him. And for what he could do with those funds. Activities that would have his father in palpitations if he knew the extent of them. Projects which were too important to let this animosity between father and son interfere.
“I will continue to honor our arrangement as long as you do—ten thousand pounds per annum for your own use, unquestioned, though I do wonder over what sordid uses they may be, in return for you using your persuasive abilities to convince those in Commons and in Lords who are in thrall to the Whigs of the error of their ways.”
David swallowed deeply when he thought of losing the funds. He would not control the family’s strong and still growing fortunes until he ascended to the marquessate, at his father’s death, so he was still beholden to his father’s whims and wishes and demands.
If there were some other way, he would have gone it long ago, but writing various essays and giving speeches as an MP from one of the Dursby pocket boroughs was the easiest legal way to get the blunt he needed.
“I usually take a day or two to mull over the newest article before writing my own, sir,” he offered as he turned back and met his father’s steely gaze.
“Excellent,” Dursby said. “Remember you can always call on my man Garwood if you need assistance.”
He would never use Garwood for anything. “My thanks, sir.”
Then, with but a curt nod to warn that his visit was at an end, the marquess turned and walked to the door. He cleared his throat and waited for Berkley to open it for him, and then the sound of his heels on the floor of the entryway told David of his hasty departure.
The entire encounter took less than ten minutes of his time, but he felt as though countless years had passed since his father’s arrival. David relented on his own practice of avoiding spirits before midday and sought the decanter of brandy in the cabinet. Another regrettable lapse in control, but for now, David decided to fortify himself before his next battle…with the Scottish essayist known as A. J. Goodfellow.
A few hours later, when Berkley dared to encroach into the study to remind him of his dinner and evening engagements, David felt no closer to a suitable retort to the written assault contained in the magazine. Leaning back in his leather chair and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he considered sending his regrets to Lord and Lady Appleton even at this late hour.
No, the ball this evening would be attended by those who would know not to mention the essay in polite company. Conversation would be filled with talk of horses, soirees and the latest on-dits of acceptable gossip and not the weightier topics of politics and economics. Though he knew he was the subject of much discussion among the best of English society, David also realized it was more about his income per annum and the titles he would assume at his father’s death than the arguments in his essays.
Women controlled the ballrooms and gatherings of society and their interest was nothing so complicated as the latest bill in the Commons or Lords. Titles, wealth and lands were the yardstick of judgment and, with enough of those, most or all of a man’s foibles could be overlooked. And he had enough of all of those.
So, as Earl of Treybourne, he would take refuge there for the night. Indeed, for once, he preferred the questionable and possibly foolhardy adventures in the ton’s social schedule to facing an adversary more dangerous than any he’d faced before. That self-knowledge worried him more than his father’s appearance here before eleven in the morning.
Chapter Two
Edinburgh, Scotland
Anna Fairchild walked briskly over the Water of Leith from Stockbridge toward the New Town. Anxious to get to the offices of the Scottish Monthly Gazette, she barely spent a moment returning the greetings of those familiar faces she passed as she made her way through the fashionable area toward Frederick Street. There would be time to stop and chat on another day, but this one was special. This one could determine her success or failure in her endeavors.
This was the morning after the latest issue had been delivered to households and news sellers all over Edinburgh and London. By now, A. J. Goodfellow’s nemesis, Lord Treybourne, had read the answers to his essay and was probably still reeling over it. This was the first time that Goodfellow took the earl on directly and Anna could not wait to see the results. It was Nathaniel’s reactions that she was not so certain about.
Her usual journey of about thirty minutes from the home she shared with her sister and her aunt near the newly built Ann Street houses to the offices on the corner of George and Frederick Streets seemed to rush by, much evidenced by her out-of-breath condition upon arrival at the door. Anna looked around the office and found Nathaniel speaking to his secretary. Taking a moment to remove her pelisse and bonnet and to put her appearance back to rights, she smoothed several strands of hair loosened by her brisk pace and the city winds back into place in the rather severe bun at the nape of her neck.
Anna nodded to the two clerks working busily at their desk, opening and sorting the piles of letters already arriving at the office. She presumptuously blamed part of the amount of letters on the contents of yesterday’s issue and her decision to publish it, Nathaniel’s objections notwithstanding.
“I can see the pride in your gaze, Anna.” Nathaniel stood by her side near the doorway.
“Is it unseemly then?” she asked, trying to resist the urge to gloat a bit over the success of their gamble.
“A near thing.”
“We wanted to gain more attention for the magazine and, by the looks of that—” she pointed to Messrs. Lesher and Wagner at their work “—it’s been successful.”
“But at what cost?” He let out a sigh. “I have just this morning received an ‘invitation’ to speak to several of the Whig leaders about the latest essay.”
“I would think that you would be pleased by that, Nathaniel. Part of this plan was for you to gain some notice and begin to move toward election to Commons. Surely, this will build your reputation and possibly even gain you a patron toward that end.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? More likely you will find yourself engaged in a debate on the floor of the Commons with the target of that essay.”
“Trey?” he asked.
“Trey?” she echoed now recognizing the familiarity that he’d never exposed to her before.
“We attended Eton and Oxford together. I thought I had mentioned it to you when we started this endeavor.”
Anna forced the first three thoughts, ones not appropriate for mixed company and certainly not from a woman of gentle birth, back into her mind and spoke her fourth one. “Perchance you should have made your prior acquaintance clearer to me a bit earlier than this moment?”
Her tone drew the attention of the clerks, Nathaniel’s secretary and several delivery men and visitors to the office. Anna closed her mouth and lowered her eyes modestly. Now was not the time to jeopardize all that they worked so hard to accomplish. Nathaniel nodded toward his office. She walked inside, and waited for him to follow her in and close the door behind them.
“Anna, I am certain I mentioned it to you when we planned these essays.” He stepped behind his desk and waited for her to be seated across from him. “And I repeated my concern over mentioning him by name this early in our campaign.”
It had been Nathaniel who had first named it “their campaign” and it had appealed to her sense of organization and judgment. Theirs was a campaign. Not a military battle certainly, but a moral and economic one.
She thought on his words and those expressed when they reviewed the essay. “Will Lord Treybourne retaliate?”
Anna smoothed the wrinkles of her forest-green gown over her lap and tugged off her gloves. Tucking them inside her reticule, she laid it on his desk, on top of one of the numerous piles of magazines, newspapers, leaflets and other printed matter. When he did not answer, she looked up and met his gaze.
His worried gaze.
“Financially?” she asked.
“I think not,” Nathaniel said. “The Lansdale family seat is in Dursby in western England. They own properties all over England, even a few here in Scotland. We have nothing financially appealing to tempt them to attack. But…”
“But?” Nathaniel was not usually an alarmist in matters of business, one of the very reasons she valued his input.
“I do not remember Lord Treybourne as such a stickler for propriety when we were at the university. His position surprised me and still does. This makes him unpredictable to me now.”
“Ah, life at the university! I have read that even divinity students succumb to the temptations of that life and all it offers. And young men are susceptible to many pressures,” she said, allowing a slight smile to curve her lips. “The Marquess of Dursby has long supported Tory positions. It is natural, I think, for his son to do so as well.”
“The Prince Regent did not always agree with his father,” Nathaniel countered. “Anna, I think you must be reading all manner of improper material if the subject is such an inflammatory one as the occupations of young men at university.”
“But when forced to it by the economics of his lifestyle, he certainly discarded his long-held beliefs and conformed,” she replied. “And my reading material, other than the Gazette, is none of your concern.”
Although, at first, a frown dug deep angles in his forehead and drew his eyebrows together and his eyes turned a darker shade of green, Nathaniel smiled at her. “If you would accept my offer of marriage, it would be.”
He had pulled their two separate topics of conversation into one and brought it to an abrupt halt. But, it was the true affection in his eyes that caused her stomach do a flip and her heart to beat a bit faster. Anna looked away to try to calm her rapidly beating heart, after hearing such a declaration.
“There is no new ground to turn on that matter, Nathaniel. You know that you and Clarinda are my dearest friends and held in the highest regard. Marriage, although desirable and necessary for most women my age, is something I simply am not seeking.”
She thought him long ago disabused of the idea of marriage between them, so this new request surprised her. Was he truly worried that Lord Treybourne or his father, the marquess, would seek to destroy their fledging publication over this disagreement of position and politics? Nathaniel’s expression gave her a moment of tension before he nodded his head and smiled.
“I think you simply avoid the controls that would be in place if you marry—your husband would certainly curtail your work here and at the school. And control your money,” he added. “That is what I think you fear the most.”
He most likely had no idea of how close to the truth his words were.
Anna had struggled for years to keep her family together after her father’s death and during her mother’s illness. Her own education at the fashionable Dorchester School for Girls outside Edinburgh made it possible for her to support them through those difficult years. Then, with her mother’s death and an unexpected, though modest, inheritance, she was able to invest a portion of it in Nathaniel’s dream—a monthly magazine. Now, the funds from their increasingly successful endeavor supported both of them, as well as several charities for the poor.
“Shall we return to the topic that brought us here this morning, Nathaniel?” He seemed to have lost the trail of the conversation so she refreshed his memory. “Lord Treybourne,” she repeated the name of A. J. Goodfellow’s adversary. “Are you overly concerned about his reaction to the essay? Or just worrying, as is your custom when each new issue is published?”
“I fear something of both, Anna. The Trey I knew at school was always direct about his displeasure. If he believes I—we, that is—have crossed a line with this, I think he will contact me directly about it. As to the new issue, I am pleased to tell you that our subscription demand has risen more than ten percent over the last month.”
She quickly calculated how much that would be, after the additional expenses, and smiled. “That is excellent news!”
“I have the figures here for you to review at your convenience,” he offered.
“With your assurances, there is no need for me to do that.” She did not doubt his honesty, just his willingness to see their plan, their campaign, through. Anna understood that their motivations for investing in the publication were completely different, but she also realized early on that they could both accomplish their own aims together.
“Nathaniel, I do think you should go to London.”
He seemed startled by her change in topic again and the frown said so. “You do? But Clarinda is coming to visit next week. And Robert.”
Anna stood and walked to the window, peering through it to observe the activity on the very busy corner outside the offices. Nathaniel politely rose as well. She waved him back to his seat and stared out as she organized her thoughts.
“I do not think you must accomplish this trip in haste. Truly I think that waiting until after Clarinda returns home is the best timing. Lord Treybourne will be busy this next week trying to frame his response to Mr. Goodfellow’s address. You should not appear too overly concerned with his reaction, but I suspect it would be best to meet him at a time advantageous to you. One when you can speak of gentlemanly subjects and leave when you have made your point.”
Nathaniel laughed at her words. “Gentlemanly subjects, eh? Will you give me a list and the point I must make as well?”
“You tease me now, Nathaniel. I trust you to handle Lord Treybourne and his inflated ego and opinion of himself.”
To her consternation, he laughed harder and louder, crossing his arms over his waist, until tears flowed down his cheeks.
“Oh, Anna,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You are so comfortable with your ways and your attitudes that you have no idea of what faces you if the Earl of Treybourne takes the bait. When you teach, your students listen because of your experience and expertise. When you advise me on publishing matters, I heed your words because I know you and trust you. But, Lord Treybourne, especially if his father the marquess is involved, will be the most formidable adversary you have faced.”
Anna felt her spine stiffen at his words. Not specifically an insult, they bordered closely upon an affront to her. Being called a bluestocking was no new matter to her. Indeed, it kept many undesirable acquaintances at bay and many unwanted inquiries unasked and unanswered, so she relished the label for the freedom it granted her. And, she was not embarrassed by her abilities or education. They had served her well and saved her family, as well as countless others, from a life of dismal and unrelenting poverty and its dangers.
Nathaniel rose now and approached where she stood, taking her hand in his. “I suspect that if you ever face Lord Treybourne in the flesh, you might begin to believe that marriage to me is the lesser of two evils.”
“Since, dear Nathaniel, you will take care of facing down the devil, I mean the earl, in London, I will worry not over the possibility of it.” Anna slid her hand from his and patted his. “It is part of the appeal, of course, of our unorthodox arrangement.”
He looked as though he would argue or add to his warning, but he stepped back to allow her to pass. Dawdling here without purpose when others waited on her arrival was rude and not to be excused without good reason, so Anna reached for her reticule and walked past him.
“And A. J. Goodfellow?”
“A. J. Goodfellow will continue to chip away at the hardness of society regarding the poor and unfortunate.”
“So, the arrangements remain the same?” Nathaniel asked, as though there were some measure of doubt in the situation.
“I do not think there should be any changes at this point. We should stay the course,” Anna offered, waiting to hear his decision. They faced this each month since A. J. Goodfellow had delivered the first essay to the magazine. And each time, she held her breath, hoping that Nathaniel would not lose heart or courage in their work. Anna distracted herself while waiting for his answer by putting on her bonnet and gloves.
“Stay the course,” he repeated, with a nod.
She let out her breath and turned the door’s knob to open it. “Well then, I bid you a good day, Mr. Hobbs-Smith.”
“And good day to you, Miss Fairchild.”
Their feigned formality was for the benefit of any strangers or visitors in the outer office, for both clerks and Nathaniel’s secretary knew that they were well-acquainted. They might not know the nature or extent of that acquaintance, and most likely were under the misapprehension of some romantic involvement, but she and Nathaniel did not hide their friendship nor most of their working relationship while in the office.
The men employed there did not, however, know that the woman now being assisted into her pelisse and being escorted out of the offices by Mr. Hobbs-Smith was none other than the political essayist A. J. Goodfellow.
Chapter Three
“Lady Simon is thrilled by her success this evening.”
“If you mean the excessive heat, too many people and late hour, I would have to agree with you, Ellerton.”
David tried to make his way to the edge of the ballroom where there appeared to be more room to move…and to escape this crush. His third ball this week, this one was no less crowded, heated or unpleasant. But it was a somewhat safe escape from the topic of his predicament.
“You are too modest, Trey. You are the jewel in her crown.”
Coming from anyone else in the ton, the words would have been mindless simpering. From Ellerton, however, they were more of a warning. And it was a warning too late in coming, for their hostess was in pursuit and caught them just as he reached the outskirts of the crowd.
“Lord Treybourne! Surely you are not departing so early?”
Lady Simon wore a dress clearly meant for a younger, more lithesome figure of womanhood, one that did not compliment her voluptuous curves. Instead it pointed out the glaring changes that older women sometimes experienced. She leaned forward, displaying what she must have assumed was a pleasant view of her décolletage. “My niece, Catherine, had hoped for a dance.”
She nodded in the direction of the dancing couples, and those not dancing. A young woman whom he’d not met stood, glanced his way and fluttered her eyelashes at an alarming rate.
“I fear I must, Lady Simon,” he said, taking her hand to keep her back at a decent distance. “Please introduce me to your niece at our next encounter. I have other commitments I must keep now,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone as he threw a glance at Ellerton.
“Oh!” she murmured in a disappointed tone. “Oh!” she uttered in a now more excited one. Tapping on his arm with her closed fan, she nodded. “Masculine pursuits, sir? Ones best not spoken of in mixed company, I suspect?” In spite of her words, her heaving bosom spoke of her desire for him to elaborate on just what their plans were. Her niece was now forgotten in her efforts to discover his plans.
“I thank you for your kind invitation to this evening’s fete, madam. Now, I will bid you a good evening.”
He peeled his fingers from hers and backed far enough away to bow politely. Luckily for him, Anthony was familiar with the situation and was already heading in the direction of the door. David followed quickly, nodding at several people as he passed briskly through the crowd and toward freedom.
The hair on the back of his neck was rising when he stopped momentarily to take his cloak from a footman and he looked around the entryway to see if he were being watched. Not wanting to take the chance of being stopped again, David tossed the cloak over his arm and strode through the door and down the steps to where Ellerton waited on the sidewalk.
He reached in his pocket and drew out several coins. Handing them to the nearest footman, he instructed, “Find my coachman and tell him to catch up with us. We will be walking in that direction.”
It was the only practical thing to do since the line of coaches stretched several blocks away from the Simon mansion. His club was too far to walk to from this neighborhood on the edges of the more fashionable ones, but they could wait for an hour or more for his coach to approach in the lines. Once away from the crowd and the possibility of being overheard, he broached the subject with Ellerton.
“I am thinking of a short trip to our hunting box in the Cairngorms, Anthony. Would you care to join me?”
“Is Commons done its sessions?”
“I have been told we will not be called back until the first or second of October. Surely enough time to enjoy the pleasures of shooting and hunting.”
Ellerton did not respond immediately and, indeed, said nothing, even as the Dursby coach approached in the street. David gave instructions to the coachman as they climbed in and sat on opposite sides. The coach rolled down the street for a few minutes before David decided to pursue an answer.
“My father will not be there, if that’s what you’re waiting to hear. He is escorting my mother to the estate in Nottinghamshire.”
“That was a concern, Trey. The marquess does not care for my company.”
“He cares even less for mine, so we are safe for the moment.”
“Ah, not carrying the party standard high enough?”
“Why is it that you do not take this seriously?” Their families were both Tory supporters, yet Ellerton’s father did not involve himself in the power maneuvers.
“My father has long been more interested in his lands than speeches. Overseeing the latest innovations in his crops gives him great joy and fulfillment.”
David could understand the draw of other facets of life away from the morass of backroom meetings and grabbing for power of politics. Perchance Ellerton’s father had the right of it? Realizing he’d still not received an answer about the trip, he pressed again.
“I plan on leaving on Thursday morning. You can send word if you will join me.”
Anthony stared out the coach window at the passing houses and city blocks for a few moments before answering. “I have never seen you run from something before, Trey.”
He chose to deliberately misunderstand. “The season is over and only those few who have not snagged a husband are still being shown around town. After five balls, four salons and six dinners in this last fortnight, I have certainly fulfilled any possible obligations as a bachelor and target of marriage-minded mothers of the ton.”
“So this is about taking a respite from the rigors of society and not about avoiding the unpleasant topic of a certain publication?”
He could continue to dissemble to avoid the admission of his weakness, but Anthony was one of few people in the world whom he could trust.
“Actually, instead of running away, I am running to the problem.”
“At your hunting lodge?” Anthony eyed him suspiciously. Shifting on his bench, he frowned and then shook his head. “Of course, it is no coincidence that our path to your property in the mountains goes right through Edinburgh.”
“Unless the roads have changed and I have not been advised of such an occurrence.”
Anthony was not addle-pated and he immediately understood…and laughed out loud as he did.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, eh?”
“Although I battle in the light of day, my opponent chooses to hide in anonymity. A situation I thought to change.”
“Now that’s the Trey I remember! Never one to avoid a good fight.” Anthony reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. “And I am honored that you asked me to accompany you, as your ‘second,’ so to speak.”
David smiled at him, but his words made him cringe. He had hoped to keep this a discreet visit to Edinburgh to discover more about the elusive Mr. A. J. Goodfellow. His man-of-business had been unsuccessful in his efforts to find out the man’s background or family or even his whereabouts.
Now, David would use his own connections—his school friend owned and published the Scottish Monthly Gazette and would surely be able to help him uncover this writer. Well, Nathaniel might be able, but David was certain that it would take more convincing on his part for his friend to reveal the information.
“I would consider this a quiet reconnaissance mission of sorts, if you please. My man has already made most of the inquiries, I thought only to follow up on several more promising leads.”
Anthony sat up straight and put a finger over his lips. “I can be as quiet as the grave, Trey. You can count on my discretion in this matter.”
Deciding not to discuss the arrangements or his plans further now, he nodded his acceptance and turned his face toward the windows. He had much to do in the two days before he left town.
He’d written his response to the inflammatory article and it would be delivered to the publisher on Thursday. With the publishing schedule as it was, his essay would arrive to readers while he was in Edinburgh. The best time to observe Nathaniel and his allies and their reaction to it. The best time to flush out the elusive Mr. Goodfellow.
The coach arrived at his club on St. James, and as they climbed out, David was making lists of tasks to be completed before he could leave London.
Engrossed in her review of the newest textbook she’d chosen to use to teach reading at the school, the knock surprised her. Before Anna could call out, the door of Nathaniel’s office opened and a stranger entered. She did not see his face as he turned momentarily to close the door, but his fine clothing spoke of money and his bearing of power. He was as surprised as she must have been at finding an unexpected person in place of the one they sought. She pulled some papers over the book and then rose and walked around Nathaniel’s desk to meet him.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “May I help you with something?” He eyed her extended hand and frowned. Ah, a high-stickler. Most likely from London.
“Good morning. I am seeking Mr. Hobbs-Smith,” he said with a cursory bow, but without taking her hand. His accent confirmed his origins.
“Mr. Hobbs-Smith has not arrived yet. I am Miss Fairchild. Can I be of service?”
Anna observed him as he thought on her words. Tall, taller even than Nathaniel, this stranger carried an air of anger and danger as he shook his head. When his gaze met hers, the piercing blue stare rendered her breathless. She’d never felt such a concentration of attention before and her words jumbled in her mouth, unable to right themselves. Finally, Lesher opened the door and whispered of Nathaniel’s impending arrival, breaking the spell being woven that robbed her of her wits.
“Can I offer you some refreshments? Mr….?” Anna waited for some name to attach to this man. She needed to know his identity.
“This is a business matter, Miss Fairchild. No refreshments are needed.” He tugged off his gloves, crushed them impatiently in his grasp and examined every inch of the office. Lifting the hat from his head, he tossed the gloves inside it and laid it on the desk.
Did he think her an imbecile to not know the expectations at a business discussion? She was simply trying to be polite and he was treating her as though she were a…woman.
Anna detested the imperious attitude of those of his class, which she supposed must be noble. The only working women he encountered were most likely his servants or store clerks or those who earned their money on their backs.
She gasped as her thoughts went in an inappropriate and unexpected direction. What had ever conjured up such things?
“Are you in distress, Miss Fairchild?” he asked. His gaze did not soften, but there was something resembling concern in it now.
“I am well, sir. I only just remembered a previous commitment.” She hoped the blush was not so apparent to him as she went back to the desk, rearranged some of the papers there and picked up her book. “Mr. Hobbs-Smith is soon to arrive. If you will excuse me…”
Anna’s escape was in sight, her hand on the knob of the door, when it opened and revealed Nathaniel standing there. She pulled it back and allowed Nathaniel to enter.
“Nathan…Mr. Hobbs-Smith, you have a visitor,” she announced to warn him of the presence behind her.
“So I was told,” he replied, tilting his head toward those in the outer office who stared and waited, not even bothering to hide their curiosity.
Nathaniel walked past her and she shut the door. Now her own interest forced her to stay and discover the intent of the mysterious stranger. When she turned back, she found Nathaniel, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, simply staring at the man as though he’d seen the very specter of death.
“Mr. Hobbs-Smith,” the visitor exclaimed as he reached for Nathaniel’s hand. “And I was not certain you would remember me from our previous acquaintance.”
Nathaniel did not refuse, exactly, but offered no enthusiasm or resistance to his greeting. Watching the man closely now, Anna was certain she glimpsed some devilish enjoyment in his gaze at Nathaniel’s obvious discomfort.
“Ah,” Nathaniel finally mumbled as he shook the man’s hand and then tried to release it. “My…my…” he stuttered.
“Mr. David Archer, at your service,” the man replied, still grasping Nathaniel’s hand.
A gentleman only? Not a nobleman? Glancing at him, she noticed the expensive material and fine cut of his coat and boots, the well-groomed appearance and haughty bearing. Surprised at her misjudgment, Anna waited to learn more.
“My memory failed me, sir. Forgive me,” Nathaniel said. Realizing that she was still in the room, he turned and began to introduce her. “And this is…”
“Miss Anna Fairchild,” Mr. Archer said. “We have met already. Since Miss Fairchild has another commitment, I would suggest we allow her to leave.”
The dismissal, bordering on curt, was however accomplished very smoothly. Now that her escape was assured, Anna realized she did not wish to leave. Something was amiss here, for there was a strong and palpable ambient between this man and Nathaniel, and she wanted to know the truth of it. When Nathaniel did not voice an objection to her departure, she knew she would not be able to stay.
She would simply need to discover more about this man and this business he pursued when she dined with Nathaniel and Clarinda this evening. With his sister as her ally, Nathaniel would stand no chance of keeping secrets.
Mr. Archer’s disconcerting way of gazing at her, as though he could see and hear all her thoughts, convinced her of the wisdom in a strategic retreat. Glancing from one to the other, she noticed for the first time that they were opposites in many ways in appearance.
Nathaniel was tall and thin, with sea-green eyes and blond curls that made many a woman swoon. She knew because she had witnessed it many times—his angelic good looks and pleasing manners nearly defeated her own efforts to stay out of the bonds of marriage.
Mr. Archer would make women swoon, but she suspected that it would be in fear or from intimidation, for Anna could feel the effects of his intense blue gaze and muscular build on her own calm senses. Although his clothing was the height of fashion and design, he wore his light brown hair cut shorter than was the current rage. Somehow, though, it fit him, for attempts to soften his appearance with longer hair or the curling style that Nathaniel sported would have met with failure.
Lightness and darkness.
Angel and devil.
Nathaniel and Mr. David Archer.
Intrigued more than she would like to admit, Anna knew she must depart. “I will return at one, Mr. Hobbs-Smith.”
“Very good, Miss Fairchild.”
Anna closed the door and stood there waiting, impolite as such behavior was, to hear anything spoken between the two men. She wanted some clue as to their past acquaintance, as Mr. Archer referred to it, or to their business. When silence was the only answer, she glanced at the textbook in her hands and knew she would have to wait.
As she made her way to the school, she hoped and prayed that Nathaniel was not so jostled by this man’s arrival that he revealed too much to him. Nathaniel tended to become unnerved under too much pressure. They must stick to the story they’d concocted to cover the truth.
Too much and too many depended on it.
Chapter Four
David did not immediately meet Nathaniel’s gaze, his very stunned gaze, preferring to allow his old friend to stew in his own juices for a bit. Instead, he turned from watching the lovely young woman leave and walked over to the nearest set of bookshelves, pretending to examine several of the volumes stacked there. He fought the smile that threatened as the sound of Nathaniel’s shallow, nervous breathing became louder and unmistakable. When he deemed that enough time had passed and that Nathaniel was suitably ill at ease, David pivoted and faced him.
“Your venture seems to be quite profitable for you, Nathaniel.” He nodded at the impressive collection on the bookshelves that lined three walls of the office.
“Trey…I can explain—” he stuttered out.
“I would not have expected your father to support you in this endeavor,” David said, interrupting Nathaniel. “My father speaks highly of the baron’s Tory attitudes.”
“My father is extremely Tory in his attitudes until money is involved. Then he has little problem with his son being involved in industry.”
A certain bitterness filled Nathaniel’s voice as he answered, and David wondered at it. The Hobbs-Smiths would certainly not be the first family of noble origins to be punting in the River Tick. And that situation undoubtedly caused the baron to allow, or at least overlook, this endeavor of his son’s if it brought in funds or did not drain those already burdened. A sore subject for any man, so David changed it to one of a lighter nature.
“Who was that woman? Miss Fairchild?”
“Anna?”
Nathaniel’s cheeks colored as he spoke the woman’s name. Her first name. And spoke it as someone very familiar would say it. David observed his old friend as he appeared to search for an acceptable explanation.
“She—Miss Fairchild, rather—is an old schoolroom friend of my sister.”
Ah, completely acceptable but devoid of any reasons for the woman’s presence here and her sense of familiarity, even control, over this office.
“She, Miss Fairchild, seemed more a fixture than a visitor here. Does she hold a position with you?” David asked, allowing all the nuances of his words to strike Nathaniel. Although why he thought she might be someone in a more personal relationship with Nathaniel, he did not know. Something in the way she was uneasy with his presence. Something in the way she pursued her line of questioning as to his visit. Something in the way she moved about the room.
“Although it is not widely known, Trey, Miss Fairchild helps me with some of the articles in the Gazette. She is a teacher and has great skills in writing and editing.”
“So, she is your secretary then?”
While he waited on a reply, David walked over and sat down in the chair facing Nathaniel, who was now standing behind the desk. Then, he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
“I am not certain what you are trying to insinuate about Miss Fairchild, but I do not appreciate your efforts to somehow besmirch her reputation because of her presence here.”
This was not the Nathaniel he remembered. This one was boldly standing up for a woman’s honor. Interesting.
“Consider your remonstration a success, Nate,” he said, nodding. “I am simply trying to ascertain who does what in your business so I know where to address my own complaints about a besmirched reputation.”
David was gifted with a rapid change in Nate’s appearance and behavior. He’d not seen a man faint in a very long time, but Nate appeared ready to do so. Then, in an instant, the man gathered himself together, stood and cleared his throat.
“I am in charge here and any compliments or complaints should come to me.”
Although the distance between them was only a yard or two, David felt as though he were facing Boney across the battlefield on the Continent. A definite chill fell between them and David wondered if he had misjudged his friend. Better to step back from the breach and approach it differently than to lose a battle so early in this engagement.
“Then I will address them to you if need be.” He stood, reached over to his hat for his gloves and pulled them on. Placing his hat under his arm, he casually said, “While I frame those possible complaints, you could give me Mr. Goodfellow’s directions if you would be so kind.”
“Mr. Goodfellow?”
“As his publisher, you must know where I can find the man.”
Nathaniel stuttered through several possible replies as David watched and then settled on one. “As I said, if you have a complaint, you may give it to me and I will see that it is handled.”
Collecting information was his first priority and David sensed that his attempts would now be unsuccessful. He nodded and strode to the door. “I will most certainly do that,” he began, pulling open the door. “I will call on you in a day or two to discuss our business.”
A few days and Nathaniel would be ready to babble. In their schooldays, he never performed well under pressure and so David did not doubt that he would be rattled enough from this encounter to allow some items about the elusive Mr. Goodfellow to escape. A few days and David would have a better idea of his opponent and how to undermine the fellow’s efforts in the press.
Lifting his hat and placing it low on his forehead, David turned away without another word and left the office without closing the door.
A few days and the information he sought would be his.
The Earl of Treybourne!
Nathaniel waited for Collins to pull the door closed and then collapsed into his chair. Meeting the earl in London at a time and place of his choosing was one thing. Having him walk into the office in Edinburgh with no warning, and while Anna was present, was quite another. So much was at stake. Nathaniel clasped his hands together to control the shaking.
With a glance at the clock, he ignored the hour and decided that a wee dram would help immensely. Reaching for the bottom drawer of his desk, he took out the bottle kept there for those necessary moments such as this one. He poured a small measure into a glass, also kept for emergencies, and swallowed it down quickly. The strong, burning liquid slid down his throat and into his stomach and he waited for it to settle his nerves. Another mouthful and he decided that two were enough…for now. As he calmed, his jumbled thoughts also began to clear and he saw what had escaped him before.
David Lansdale, the Earl of Treybourne, was here in Edinburgh and using another name.
Could he not wish his identity known?
Nathaniel’s spirits rose a bit at this insight. Trey had something to hide and a reason to hide it. Could it be? A weakness in the formerly impenetrable armor of the Lansdale family?
Of course, if he were playing least in sight, it would be extremely difficult to locate Trey. As he realized this, Nathaniel jumped to his feet and ran to the window, hoping to catch sight of Trey’s coach or even horse. Throwing open the window, he searched the streets below.
The crowds and busyness of the thoroughfare made it impossible to see him, if he were still close by that is. Sinking back into his chair, he knew that he would wait on Trey to make his next appearance. Running his fingers through his hair, Nathaniel closed his eyes and leaned his head back. A dull painful tension made his forehead begin to throb with the promise of headache.
Why was Trey here incognito? Why not come and threaten him and his fledgling publication with all the influence and power of the Earl of Treybourne and his father, the Marquess of Dursby? Surely, he was not afraid of the essays he—the Gazette—published about him? Certain that the earl would not stoop to underhanded tactics or any dishonorable actions, Nathaniel shook his head. This surprise appearance made no sense unless…unless…
The earl was worried!
Nathaniel could not keep his mirth contained now and he laughed out loud at all the possibilities in this situation. From their time together at the university, he would never have expected Trey to act in this manner.
Knowing that Trey had a weakness and was worried enough to avoid being recognized in his perceived enemy’s territory lightened his mood. He would go about business in his usual habits and be better prepared for the earl’s next approach. Nathaniel reached over and tightened the cap on the whisky bottle before replacing it in the lowest drawer. But the earl’s subterfuge caused him another problem—Anna.
Did he share this knowledge with her or wait to discover Trey’s intentions? If Trey simply wanted to pace and growl over Nathaniel’s publication of essays that were, at the least, uncomplimentary, so be it. Nathaniel could handle that on his own and Anna need not know that her—their—nemesis in print had stood before them. If Trey wanted something more, some capitulation on his part as publisher or some revelation that might expose Anna and put her person or her reputation in danger, then Nathaniel knew he could rise to the challenge and protect the woman he hoped to marry.
For no matter how much she protested to the opposite, Anna would come to a point in her life when she needed more than causes to offer her the sense of fulfillment she pursued with relentless intent. She would, at some time, come to realize and understand that a woman’s happiness and sense of purpose in life came from her husband and family. And Nathaniel knew that his offer of marriage would be accepted.
He could afford to wait. The magazine was growing in popularity and Anna was beginning to be weighed down by her commitments to those less fortunate served by her school and the demands of formulating and writing the articles to further her causes. It was only a matter of time before she realized the value of marriage and husband and, perchance, the earl’s appearance would hasten that epiphany. He could only hope for such a thing.
David entered his rented lodgings south of the Old Town and handed his hat and gloves to Harley. His valet, the only one of his personal servants to accompany him here to Edinburgh, appeared quite put-upon as he now was forced into service as doorman and footman and butler. Unwilling to expose his presence, the Earl of Treybourne’s presence, here in Scotland, he’d decided against hiring on too many servants to staff the house. Servants talked and word would soon spread if he were not careful. He hoped to gather the needed information and be at his hunting box before anyone other than Nathaniel and Ellerton knew he was spending any time at all in Edinburgh.
This house was not as spacious or well-appointed as the one he maintained in London, but it would do. In spite of the grumblings of one servant, it would actually do quite nicely. Located a short distance from both the Old Town and New Town, these premises would allow him access and, alternatively, privacy, as needed.
“Harley, did you send word to the man I requested?” David strode into the study and tugged at his cravat. He stood by the desk and searched through some papers, looking for the name his man-of-business had suggested to him as someone who could conduct discreet investigations.
“I did, my lord. He should arrive at half past one.” Harley looked him over and wrinkled his face in disdain. “I shall lay out some hot water and fresh linen.”
Rather than argue the point about his appearance, David nodded and sat down, examining the papers he’d brought. Discretion would indeed be necessary and he was glad that he’d sent Ellerton on to the hunting box to await his arrival. Since their mutual friend Jonathan Drake, the Earl of Hillgrove, would join him in the Cairngorms, Ellerton would remain occupied and entertained by the diversions offered there while David had the freedom from surveillance to pursue his other interests, namely one Mr. A. J. Goodfellow.
And while he learned more of the lovely Miss Fairchild.
Uncertain of where that thought had originated, David shook his head. The woman Nathaniel chose to pursue as his wife was of no concern to him.
The image of her sable-brown eyes flashing indignantly at his manners, which had been curt and just short of rude, filled his thoughts. He’d been too focused on his business and his study of Nathaniel to truly take notice of the woman who had occupied Nate’s office as though it were her own. He remembered the way her full lips pursed and thinned and how her eyebrows narrowed as he refused to disclose his reasons for the visit.
Miss Fairchild was no wilting flower. And, although he could not afford to be distracted from his purpose, David knew that he would enjoy this excursion to Edinburgh a bit more for her presence there.
Chapter Five
Anna should not have been surprised by the change in weather. The winds blew in from the north and rattled through the streets, making her hope that her bonnet’s ribbons would hold tight. Although August usually meant warmer temperatures, each day could bring a variety of conditions. Today, thick clouds rolled over the city, promising showers that would make her travel both more difficult and longer than she wished.
It was as she turned the corner and headed for the office that she spied Mr. Archer standing across the street, on the corner of the North Bridge. Meticulously groomed in spite of the wind, he almost seemed to be waiting for her as she made her way from the Old Town. Why would he be waiting for her? More importantly, should she pass him by or acknowledge him?
Anna stopped for a moment and adjusted her bonnet, thinking over how best to handle this. For the last two days Nathaniel had deflected any questions about Mr. Archer in an offhand manner that would have demonstrated his disinterest to anyone asking. But Anna knew him better and realized at once that he was trying to minimize her curiosity about this Englishman and his business at the Gazette. Any question of ignoring the man under consideration ended when he appeared directly before her.
“Miss Fairchild,” he said. His deep voice held no hint of the near-unpleasantness of their first meeting.
“Mr. Archer.”
“I had no idea that the winds could be so strong here.” He tugged his top hat down and tilted his head as he smiled. That smile created the most attractive dimple in his chin. And it lightened the serious expression in his eyes.
“Is this your first trip to Edinburgh then?” She watched as his eyes narrowed and then he shook his head.
“No, not my first. But my first in a very long time.” He turned then and looked down Princes Street in the very same direction in which she needed to go. “Are you going to the Gazette’s office?”
It was foolish to feel as though she need conceal her movements from him. Anna nodded, “I am. And you?”
“The very same place. May I offer you my escort there? From the strength of these gales, you may need some assistance in staying out of the street itself.”
The buffeting winds were something unexpected by the city’s planners when they designed the layout of the streets between the old ‘Nor’loch’ and the Firth of Forth. Anna was about to deny any need for escort or assistance when a rather strong gust whipped by her and wrenched her bonnet from her head. Saved at the last moment by Mr. Archer’s quick action, she accepted her hat from him and then she placed her arm on his when he offered, without argument.
“Perhaps you could familiarize me with the New Town as we walk?” he asked as they began to walk south on Princes Street. “So much of it is changed since I last visited.”
Anna pointed out shops she frequented as they ambled along, as well as the houses belonging to several well-known peers, scholars and writers. From what she’d heard and read, Edinburgh’s Old Town was completely different from London. Instead of separate areas for the various classes of society, Auld Reekie tended to have them in layers in the same buildings and blocks—the richer and more prestigious one was, the closer to street level and the more spacious one’s accommodations were. New Town was more similar to London, with the rich in specific squares and streets and those who served or did business with them in others.
Mr. Archer listened attentively and asked questions as they covered the distance from the bridge to the office. Surprised by his polite demeanor, she found herself deeply engrossed in their conversation as the blocks raced by and even the nasty weather faded away. When they would cross a street, he would block the worst of the wind by placing himself in the way of it.
Although she was certain that only moments had passed, Anna drew to a halt in front of the door of the Gazette’s office. Startled by their arrival in so short a time, she searched for the words to end their excursion. Before she could, the door opened from inside and Nathaniel stood glaring at both of them.
Glaring in a most possessive fashion.
Her cheeks grew warm at such a gaze and she blinked a few times trying to regain her composure. Nathaniel was a different man in these last few days, in both his manner and his attention to her. Why, last night at dinner with Clarinda and her husband on their first night in Edinburgh, he had complimented her appearance and invited her to the theater! Behavior like this reminded her of how a gentleman courted a lady.
Lud! What had rekindled Nathaniel’s interest in such a hopeless thing? Before she could speak, Mr. Archer spoke up.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hobbs-Smith. I found Miss Fairchild being pushed about by the winds on the North Bridge and have delivered her safely to your door.” Holding out her hand to Nathaniel, Mr. Archer bowed and stepped back.
“Anna…Miss Fairchild, come in,” Nathaniel said, backing up a pace from the door so that she could enter. That measure of welcome disappeared as soon as she was behind him, for he stepped forward, quite clearly blocking Mr. Archer’s entrance. “If that is all, Mr. Archer?”
“Actually, I have a request of you.” Mr. Archer moved forward, forcing Nathaniel to back up a bit from his stance. “The rooms I have let are much too small in which to entertain, but I would very much like to continue our discussion from a few days ago.”
Nathaniel appeared to wilt at the words, but then he rallied and stood straighter. Although none of the words were directed at her, she nonetheless felt the scrutiny of both men as they lobbed comments back and forth like a battledore and shuttlecock match.
“Might you suggest a dining establishment or perhaps a club where we can have supper?”
A simple request, really, but apparently it raised Nathaniel’s hackles. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his hands fisting and relaxing, fisting and relaxing. She fought the urge to slide hers into his in front of Mr. Archer. Before Nathaniel could answer, he added, “Not to be rude, of course, Miss Fairchild, but this is about business matters between Mr. Hobbs-Smith and myself.”
Not to be rude? He was insufferable and rude and he knew it. In what she would consider a challenge, he made certain she knew she was excluded from the proffered invitation. How had his manners changed so in just those moments? He’d been attentive and polite during their walk. What was between him and Nathaniel that brought on this behavior? Maybe Clarinda would know?
“I would never presume to interfere in your business, sir,” she answered, not unhappy that a sharp tone entered her voice then. “If you would excuse me?”
Anna turned then and walked away from them. She held herself to a certain standard of behavior since her carefree, even hoydenish days before her father’s death, and at this moment she felt the very unladylike urge to stamp her feet and screech. Better to retreat and not embarrass herself and Nathaniel. She would discover the truth of the matter from Nathaniel and, if he prevaricated, from Clarinda.
Only a few minutes passed before Nathaniel joined her in his office and Anna attempted to ignore both him and the question burning within her. As though he could sense her disquiet, Nathaniel followed her lead and they were able to clear up a number of outstanding matters related to the improving status of their publication. Finally, her curiosity overtook her control and she blurted out the words she’d fought to keep in.
“Who is Mr. Archer?”
Nathaniel frowned at first and then leaned back in his chair with a resigned air. She watched as his gaze moved to the bottom drawer of his desk and wondered what was contained there and why it drew his attention.
“Mr. Archer is a past acquaintance of mine from my time in London. His appearance here unannounced simply startled me.”
“Startled you? I would describe your reaction to the sight of him in much stronger terms than that.” Anna drummed her fingers on the smooth surface of the desk and met his gaze. “And his business here in Edinburgh?”
Nathaniel ran his fingers through his hair and frowned. “Did he not speak of it during your walk here?”
Evasion.
Nervousness.
Guilt.
She could read all three of those in his gaze and wondered over it. In their years of acquaintance and friendship and in their working relationship, she’d never felt as though he’d been less than honest. Until now.
“We spoke only of the city.”
Nathaniel paused now before answering. She watched as he took in a deep breath, as though trying to calm himself, and then he smiled at her. “Mr. Archer seeks to buy some property here and wants my assistance in the matter.”
“Ah, property here in Edinburgh,” Anna replied. “And will you aid him in his search?”
“I told him that I know more about the countryside between the city and our estates than I do of the city proper, but it did not seem to dissuade him.”
Now this was interesting. From the expression on his face, Nathaniel was not pleased. Had his previous dealings with Mr. Archer been such a negative experience for Nathaniel that he would exaggerate his true knowledge to avoid any future involvements? Apparently he would.
“Then why not simply acquiesce and help him? Surely, you know enough or can direct him through your man-of-business to someone who could assist him? Perhaps protesting too much will draw more of his attention and interest than you seem to want to bear?”
Nathaniel thought on her words and nodded. “Once again, Anna, you display a sense of common wisdom that aids me. It is a splendid idea that could shorten his visit here as well.”
So, Nathaniel wanted Mr. Archer gone? Anna had never seen Nathaniel react so strongly to a situation. Always the one with an innate calmness in the most trying of matters, she puzzled over it. And, although he directed the conversation to other matters, Anna would have to discover more about the mysterious Mr. Archer in her own manner.
“Did you see him?” David asked as he climbed into the hackney.
“I did, my lord.”
David shook his head. “While in Edinburgh, Mr. Archer will do.” He did not want word to spread of his identity and presence here. Nathaniel was the only one who knew at this point and David would keep it that way in order to effectively seek out the man who was presently making his life miserable. At the man’s nod of agreement, he continued. “I am interested in his daily business regimen only. Details of a personal sort are not necessary.”
David did not wish to gather invasive information about Nathan’s life unless it was related to the business he carried on as owner of the Gazette. No need to know if he kept a ladybird or his private activities.
“I understand, sir,” Keys replied. “And the woman?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the Gazette’s office across the street from where they sat. “Should I have someone follow her?”
David glanced over at the door to the office where he’d last seen her, Nate’s form standing between them in a clearly defensive position. With her cheeks aglow from their brisk walk and her dark brown eyes flashing, Miss Fairchild presented a pleasing appearance. He watched as she tried to glance around Nate’s tall form. His cutting tone had quashed her further interest, but he did not doubt for a moment that the intelligence and curiosity he glimpsed in her would not be stopped for long. Smiling, he wondered if Miss Fairchild were even now pestering Nathaniel for information about him, and the thought of it gave him pause.
“Miss Fairchild?” David shook his head. “You need not assign anyone to that task, Keys. Narrow your efforts to Mr. Hobbs-Smith and his secretary.”
Keys looked as though he would ask another question, but the man thought on it and then reached for the carriage’s door. “As you say, sir.”
“Two days, Keys, three at most and then report back to me.”
“It should be a simple thing, sir.”
Keys closed the door and David leaned back against the seat. He was not comforted by the investigator’s confidence. If it had been a simple task, it would have been accomplished by now.
David watched as Keys blended in with those moving along Princes Street and saw him approach a man standing near the storefront of a mercer. After a few whispered words, they both disappeared into the crowds.
Turning back, he stared at the Gazette’s office window, seeing nothing but vague images moving inside. Watching on for another few moments, he reprimanded himself when he realized what he was doing.
He was hoping to see Miss Fairchild there in the window.
Shaking from the distracting thoughts, he was even more dismayed to realize the reason he stopped Keys from considering Miss Fairchild as a subject of the investigation. David reached up and tapped on the roof of the carriage. As the hackney rolled forward and joined the rows of horses, carriages and pedestrians, David shook his head. He knew to a certainty that if she needed to be observed, he had to be the one to follow her.
Bloody hell! This could make a mess of things.
Chapter Six
“No, Becky. Try it like this,” Anna said, demonstrating to one of her students the new letter of the alphabet on a slate with chalk. “Glide your hand up and curve down to the right.” As Becky tried valiantly to imitate the motion, Anna completed the letter for the rest of the class. “Q is always seen with the letter U, so move quickly into it—” she glanced at the group to see which ones picked up on her pun and smiled “—up, down, up and down.”
The ten women in the room gave their full attention to the task she assigned and Anna circled the room, stopping to help and to guide those having difficulty with the formation of the letters. After a few minutes of practice, she smiled. If effort were the only method to judge, each of these women would be a success.
“I don’t think I like this letter, miss,” the youngest one, Mary, called out. “It’s too swirly-like.”
Others joined her in her complaints, but Anna laughed. “Practice this one, girls, for the others to follow promise even more swirls and curls. Do not let frustration over the difficult overwhelm you—we are nearly to the end of the alphabet and your writing improves with each letter.”
Although some agreed, others did not look as certain. Anna looked over the group and wondered which of them would truly find a way out of their current straits. In spite of the intelligence that hid behind many of these pretty faces and the commitment that brought them here, some would not attain the position of lady’s maid or companion that they sought. There were simply too many poor and not enough positions in which they could find employment.
Her eyes burned with unexpected tears and she blinked against them. Surprised by the strength of her reaction to the plain realization of her charges’ plight in life, she cleared her throat and nodded to Mrs. Dobbins, the housekeeper who stood waiting in the back of the room.
“It is time for luncheon, girls. You should be proud of your work this morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Fairchild.”
Their voices rang out in a well-practiced, exquisitely timed chorus that still brought a blush to her cheeks. From Mary, the youngest at fifteen, to Becky, the oldest at twenty, the young women gathered up their books and slates and waddled out of the room, following Mrs. Dobbins to the meal that awaited them. Each woman was at a different stage of her pregnancy, making their progress out of the room resemble a procession of chubby geese.
Just before leaving, Becky stepped away from the others and approached her. Leaning in, she whispered, “It weren’t your fault, Miss Fairchild. She made her mind up to leave and there weren’t nothing you could do to stop her.”
Anna’s first reaction was to correct Becky’s grammar, but it was the small pat on her hand that made it impossible to speak. She simply nodded and accepted the girl’s comment for the attempt at sympathy it was. Becky rejoined the others on their way to their meal and Anna was left alone.
Gladys had a wild streak in her and came by her unfortunate situation from not so much attempts to defile her virtue as from her attempts to give it away…over and over…to several men willing to partake of her favors. From her arrival here, Gladys had fought the strictures and schedule and never settled in as the other girls did. And, Anna suspected from overheard whisperings among the others, she continued to seek out the companionship of men.
Many men.
Any man who smiled at her or offered her a kind word.
Most especially any man who offered her some bauble or a few shillings for her time and attention.
In essence, Anna’s first and only attempt to rehabilitate a…a… Anna had difficulty thinking of her as a prostitute for it seemed such a harsh word, but Gladys was a light skirt and her presence here had been an unmitigated failure. Gladys slipped away only two nights before, giving only a quiet farewell nod to Becky, who’d befriended her during her short stay.
A growing maudlin feeling grew within her and Anna wiped at the gathering tears. In the last three years since opening this home and school, she’d watched dozens come and go. At first, she’d lost herself in each one—learning about their lives, the details, even their hopes and dreams. But as she found her heart broken for each one, Anna learned to hold back and keep a distance between herself and the young women. Doing that hurt her in some ways, for it seemed to be her nature to open herself to these unfortunates. She knew what they faced, for her own experiences demonstrated all too clearly how much they were at the mercy of those who had no mercy to give. In order to be effective in her work, Anna needed to separate herself a bit.
Anna walked to the desk near the door and organized her papers and books. Not truly a schoolroom like the one in which she’d been educated, this large chamber had served as a drawing room in the better days of the house. Usually, poorhouses and those for unfortunate women like the ones she sponsored here were large, uncomfortable and more than unpleasant places. But then, most did not agree with her notions and methods of helping the poor, choosing instead to throw them together in filthy places no better than warehouses with no attention to anything except the meanest level of survival.
With the backing of several extremely wealthy patrons who asked little and preferred to be known for their charity rather than to be involved with it, Anna had been able to buy this house, furnish it, staff it and provide a modest living to the women who called it home for those few months before their bairns were born. That time was a time away from the harsh life they’d lived and a time to learn new skills that would, hopefully, give them a better opportunity for employment. Confirmed bluestocking that she was, Anna knew that education was the way out of poverty.
Sitting in the high-back chair at the desk, she reviewed her schedule of the next few days. Alternating mornings and afternoons here and at the Gazette, and overseeing her aunt’s household and her sister’s education and upbringing left her little time for anything else. With the promising returns on her investment in the publication, she hoped to buy a second house and to expand her work. But that would take more money than she had. And more time than she could spare right now.
If only His Majesty’s government in England and here in Edinburgh would do more. If only more of those who benefited from wealth would contribute to those less fortunate. If only…
Anna shook herself from such a path of hopeless consideration. Between her work here and her efforts through the Gazette, she was doing as much as was humanly possible. Certainly more than many, including the arrogant Lord Treybourne, who not only held to his lofty opinions but also preached them to others and undermined her work as surely as a crack in a building’s foundation would.
Piling the books one on top of the other before her, she felt a shiver of anticipation as she realized that his response to the last Goodfellow essay would be published in just a few days. All of Edinburgh, indeed all of England and Scotland, would be aflutter with discussions of it. Last month, a brawl had broken out at a pub frequented by the literati of Edinburgh over the opinions stated in Lord Treybourne’s essay. Goodfellow had defenders of his own who stood up with their voices and their fists and more than one ended up in the arms of the law due to the violence.
Anna had hoped for educated discourse, not crude brutality, but if it brought more attention to the plight of those she tried to help, it served a purpose. Hopefully, this month’s exchanges would raise the level from coarse to thought-provoking once more.
She placed her bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons. Gathering her books and reticule into the basket she used for such things, she carried her well-worn spencer over her arm, not knowing yet if the temperature would necessitate its wearing. The sun’s rays that invaded the room through the front windows and threw dappled shadows on the floor promised not, but Anna knew better. Pulling open the door, she was greeted by a rush of fresh, warm air. Tugging it closed behind her, Anna stepped down onto the walk and glanced up the street.
There, not fifty yards away, stood Mr. Archer! This was the third time this week that she’d found him along the path to the Gazette’s office, but this was the first time he was so obvious in his intent to intercept her on her way there. Impeccably dressed, looking quite dashing for midday, he spoke with the coachman who held his horse’s reins in the street. He noticed her almost as soon as she saw him.
“Miss Fairchild! Good day,” he said as he walked toward her. “If you are going to New Town, may I offer you a ride?” He tipped his hat and waited on her response.
“Have you been waiting for me, Mr. Archer? This is the third day in a row that our paths have crossed.”
Riding with a gentleman of short acquaintance was most likely on the edge of prudent behavior, but the carriage was open and would discourage any untoward behavior. Not that she thought him planning such things, but, as her aunt had warned her countless times, a lady must be cognizant of such possibilities at all times.
He glanced over her head, seeming to take note of exactly which building she’d exited from. Ah, so he’d positioned himself close to where he thought she was and then waited on her appearance from one of the houses. Now she knew without a doubt that he was following her, but for what reason? Before she could ask, he lifted the basket from her arm and held out his arm to her.
“Although the rooms that I am renting during my stay necessitate this route to get to the New Town, I do confess to a nefarious purpose, Miss Fairchild,” he said, his arm steady beneath hers in spite of such an admission. Only the wicked glimmer in his eyes predicted a less-than-serious matter. “I have noted that you keep yourself to a very busy schedule, but I had hoped to entice you into a bit of leisure.”
“Leisure? I am afraid that I have commitments to honor, sir.” She stopped and lifted her hand from his. “I am expected at the…”
He raised his hand, with one finger pointed in front of her face, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her mouth. Anna stopped, shocked by the thought that he would do such a thing and by the sudden craving within her for him to do it. Mr. Archer seemed surprised by the pause and stood frozen for just a moment. Then he smiled, the wicked one that curved his lips into something forbidden, the smile filled with all sorts of meaning. The one that made her stomach quiver and her cheeks flush.
The dangerous one.
“I would never presume to interrupt your day or your plans without some notice. That would be unforgivably impolite.” He walked once more toward the carriage and nodded to the driver, who opened the door. “I have procured an open carriage, Miss Fairchild, so that you would have no fear of allowing this familiarity in public.”
“Familiarity, sir?” She found it difficult to take a breath at the thought of any such a breach of behavior with this man. For a brief moment, she admitted to herself that this man could tempt Gladys to share her favors without payment. He could not mean such a thing?
“Riding alone with a man who is neither family nor friend, Miss Fairchild. I have come to realize in my short time here that, although some rules of polite behavior seem to be more relaxed here than in London, some conventions must be observed.”
“Just so, sir.” His consideration was startling. And well-planned. What were his motives? “I would certainly be less than polite to refuse then.”
He stepped up into the carriage and helped her in. Once she was seated, he placed her basket securely between them on the seat and told the driver they were ready. Anna sat back and enjoyed the luxury she did not partake of very often. Hiring a hackney or sedan chair for traveling about town was too costly when every pence and shilling needed to be watched. Instead Anna chose to invest in some sturdy walking shoes and the largest umbrella she could manage by herself for those days when the weather was, well, typical Edinburgh weather.
“Do you have students there?” he asked as they pulled away from the curb and into the moving lines of carriages and horses.
“Pardon?”
“I know that, in addition to assisting Nathaniel at the Gazette office, you are a teacher. I simply wondered if that is where some of your students live?”
Anna knew that there was nothing on the building to identify as something other than a private home. She did not want to discuss the girls and their situations with Mr. Archer.
“Yes, Mr. Archer, some of my students do live there. How did you know I taught?”
He glanced down then and ran his fingers over the books in her basket. She watched as they glided over the surface of the one on top and wondered how it would feel to have those long fingers and tanned, strong hands glide over her…! She coughed, trying to regain her composure.
Aunt Euphemia must be correct in her criticism that spending too much time with those in the lower class and those women of certain reputations was spilling into her own sensibilities! She’d warned Anna that exposure to those who lived a different life with different standards of conduct would impair her own moral judgment. Now, from the strange inklings she had any time she saw this man, Anna was beginning to think Aunt Euphemia was accurate in her assessment of such dangers to a young woman of good upbringing.
“Firstly, I noticed your selection of textbooks and your attention to them when we met at the office. Then I asked Nate.”
“Nate? I’ve not heard him called that in some years. Have you known him a long time then?” It was time to get answers to her questions if he were seeking answers to his.
“Yes, our paths first crossed when we were only boys.”
“I had no idea, Mr. Archer. Nathaniel has said very little about you.”
His laughter rang out at her words and she watched his face become even more attractive than when it was stern. The carriage rolled along and he quickly regained control of his levity. “I would imagine you have not made that easy for him, Miss Fairchild. Your curiosity fairly leaps from you and I am certain Nate has been doing his utmost to keep quiet around you.”
He had not meant his words as an insult, but from the frown that now marred her forehead and the question in her deep brown gaze, she’d taken them as such.
“I meant no insult, Miss Fairchild. Your dissatisfaction with my introduction at our first meeting was apparent even to me. You wanted to know more and neither I nor Nate have provided you with substantive answers.”
“My aunt would warn me that such curiosity is unseemly. I hope you will forgive such a gauche display.”
“If I was being honest, I would tell you that I find such candid curiosity a refreshing change.”
His stomach tightened at the expression on her face now—her eyes alight and a smile that made her full lips curve delightfully. Dimples, unseen when she was not smiling, appeared and tempted him even more. The urge to lean over and taste those lips nearly overwhelmed him and his body tightened in other places.
“Nathaniel has obviously not had time to warn you about how relentless I can be when pursuing matters of interest, sir. Refreshing is not a word he would associate with such pursuit.”
The carriage clattered over the cobblestoned street and came to a stop before the office on the corner. Disappointed that they had not had time for more conversation and realizing that he had not yet extended his invitation, he waved the driver aside with a the tilt of his head.
“Miss Fairchild, would you be able to spare a small amount of time tomorrow morning to accompany me to see the Honours of Scotland?”
“Tomorrow morning?” He could see her candid interest in such an outing. They need, it seemed to him, only work out the details.
“All of London knows the story of their recent discovery and I have been told that they are most impressive. I thought to see them while here, but I understand, of course, if you would find such a visit boring since you have seen them already?”
He could see her considering the invitation and wondered what held her back from accepting it. Ah, the conventions of polite behavior once more? He did not want her to decline and he found that he was willing to make whatever concessions were necessary to gain her company.
Bloody hell! What was happening to him?
“I could ask Nathaniel to accompany us if it would put you at ease. Or perhaps your aunt could be convinced to act as chaperone?”
“I fear that Aunt Euphemia would never be able to endure the strenuous walk up to the Castle’s treasure room.” She paused for a moment, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it, and he lost the ability to think as he watched her mouth. “I know just the right person to join us.”
“Very well, shall I pick you up then at your home? If you would give me your directions, I will bring a carriage at ten in the morning. If that is not too early or too late?”
Miss Fairchild shook her head, sending a few loosened tendrils bouncing on her shoulder. The urge to wrap the hair around his finger and test its softness surged through him. “The time would be perfect, but would you mind meeting me here instead? I have some errands to finish before that time.”
David stepped around her and out onto the sidewalk, reaching back in for her basket and then her hand. Once she was standing next to him, he told the driver to wait and escorted her to the door. “I look forward to the morning then, Miss Fairchild.”
She opened the door and turned back to him, expecting, he was certain, him to leave. He did not. “Good day, Mr. Archer,” she replied.
Miss Fairchild startled when Nathaniel appeared in the doorway. She looked from one to the other and then in a surprising move, she took a position between them as though expecting some sort of altercation to erupt between them.
David wanted to laugh, for if he decided there was cause for it and it was time to do bodily injury to Nate, her slight form, lovely as it may be, would never stop him. Instead, he took note of the sincerity on her face, the slight frown of concern in her forehead, and stepped back.
“Nathaniel,” he said, nodding his head. “I have a carriage at the ready.”
Miss Fairchild glanced at Nate, the question clear in her expression. Again, her deep brown eyes narrowed and David could almost read her list of questions there. The air around them fairly crackled as she exerted a steely control over her urge to ask them. Nate waited for her to pass and then walked outside.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Fairchild.”
David tipped his hat and then followed Nate back to the carriage. He’d already instructed the driver, so, without delay, they were on their way into the gnarled lanes of traffic that continuously filled the thoroughfares of the growing city.
“Trey…”
David interrupted him with a glance before he could say any more. “Mr. Archer, there really is nothing to discuss,” Nate argued.
He shook his head. “Two acquaintances surely have many things to catch up on after such an absence.” David did not wish to conduct his true business in a hackney in the middle of the thoroughfare. Keeping his identity a secret was difficult enough without jeopardizing any gained success in that regard. “Tell me of Clarinda.”
Although Nate had spoken frequently of his sister, David had never met her. From their exploits as children, he wondered over how she had managed to overcome her rough edges and catch a… “Whom did she marry?”
“Lord MacLerie.”
“His father is the Marquess of—”
“Duran. Just so.” From his curt answers, David knew that he was going to have to pull every bit of information from his friend piece by infinitesimal piece. He let out a frustrated breath. Nate’s glare grew stronger.
“I thought this was to be about our issue of mutual concern, not a time to catch up on family ties.”
“I have not seen you in what…seven years? I simply wish to be polite and set the standard for our behavior in this exchange.”
Nate did not answer then, instead he turned his head and watched as they passed by a number of new buildings under construction along George Street. According to all reports, the New Town would continue to grow for at least several years to come. Nate had been quite canny in his choice of location for his enterprise. The carriage rambled on back over the North and South Bridges and away from both parts of Edinburgh toward Nicolson Road.
“Is your father still in the country?” David paused and waited for a reply. “If I might ask?”
Nate gave up his resistance to talk of such matters and nodded. “Yes. He prefers it during August when the city seems to wilt under the heat or be battered by storms.” David looked over when Nate finished and met the glaring gaze in his old friend’s eyes. “You already know this. Why play this game of cat and mouse with me when we both know that you, or perhaps your father, have had someone looking into my affairs for the last month? Give over and do not pretend that this is of no importance to you?”
They reached their destination—the house he was renting—and he led the way out of the carriage and to the door. Aggrieved but efficient Harley opened it as they approached.
“Good day, my lord. Mr. Hobbs-Smith, it is a pleasure to see you, sir.” Harley took their hats and gloves and led them to the small study. “Would you care for tea or some other stronger refreshments, my lord?”
David smiled as they entered the chamber and Harley simply retrieved glasses and a decanter from the cabinet and filled them with a strong local whisky. Three fingers deep in each glass told him that his valet knew the subject was serious. A moment later, they were alone. He watched as Nate took one mouthful of the liquor and swallowed deeply. His first foray was not long in coming.
“So, why is the Earl of Treybourne hiding his identity and staying in a shabbier part of town instead of the duke’s new acquisition on Charlotte Square?”
“Cutting right to the heart of it, then?” David drank a healthy portion from his glass and set it down before him on the desk. “I am not accustomed to fighting unknown enemies. When my man of business—” he paused and nodded an acknowledgment of Nate’s correct assessment of his attempts to uncover Mr. Goodfellow from afar “—could not discover anything about the interesting Mr. Goodfellow from London, I decided it was time to investigate myself.”
“Trey, Goodfellow sends in the essays each month, timed so that they arrive within the week after yours is published in London.”
“You do not know his whereabouts?” he asked, watching for signs of subterfuge in the response.
“I do not know where he is.” Nate stood now and dragged his hand through his hair. Then, after a moment, he seemed much more confident. “You should know that I support the position behind the essays.”
“I am not completely surprised by that. You always did have a leaning to the liberal side of the aisle.”
Nate stared at him. “As did you, if I remember correctly. When did you accept your father’s politics?”
About the time I began accepting his money, David was ready to admit, but he held the words inside. No need to give the man who was placing his own strategies in danger too much ammunition for the battles to come. David just lifted his head and met Nate’s gaze, conveying the message nonetheless.
“Politics aside, it is the manner in which you’ve pursued your aims that most alarms me. After all, I identified myself from the first word to the latest. Remember also, your Mr. Goodfellow attacked first.”
David watched as Nate drank the rest of his whisky in one gulp. Was he hiding something or simply uncomfortable with his part in embarrassing an old friend?
“Goodfellow fights for a good and worthwhile cause, Trey. I will not force his efforts from the forefront of discussion.”
David stood and walked to the window, peering along the drive leading to the house. Being on the outskirts of Edinburgh, the separate house afforded him a measure of privacy that staying closer would not. Finishing his own whisky, he shook his head. “I am not asking for that, Nate. I do not mind a fight.” He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I relish the challenge of pitting oneself against a worthy adversary. But the methods of this Mr. Goodfellow are what have me riled.”
Since he privately supported the same causes that his opponent advocated, David hoped the discussion could continue. But the tone of the latest had brought out the worst in his father’s circle and that would mean trouble—for him if he did not win the argument and for the ones behind the attacks. The Marquess of Dursby would not endure having his heir’s reputation and his family’s name embarrassed on an ongoing basis. Hell, his father did not allow it for a single incidence, hence the secrecy of his own actions and causes.
“I can no more stop Mr. Goodfellow than I could stop the tides, Trey.” Nate stood as well and shrugged. “I will attempt to argue for a lessening of hostilities, if that will suffice?”
David thought to argue, but hesitated. Staring out the window, he considered the offer, for it sounded sincere and well-meaning. Crossing his arms over his chest, he let the draperies drop back into place and turned to face Nathaniel.
David certainly understood the business situation at work here—the Gazette was more popular now that the feud had begun than before. As its publisher, Nate would face financial difficulties, if not ruin, if he pulled the essays. A more civil battle would be a step. He had no doubt that he could prevail as long as a certain level of decorum was maintained. If the strength of his arguments did not sway many, the weight of his position in society and the wealth behind it would. Knowing the realities of the world, he did not doubt it for a moment.
There was only one thing that stopped his immediate agreement with the terms offered. His essay would most likely arrive in Edinburgh by the day after tomorrow and he suspected that it would not calm the rough waters. Indeed, now that he thought on the tone and wording of his piece, he knew it would stir up more of a response. He’d risen to the insults and issued his own.
“Communicate with Mr. Goodfellow through whatever means you employ to do so and let your ghostly contributor know that Lord Treybourne agrees.”
Part of him tensed inside, readily acknowledging the stretching of the truth in his words. There would be time to explain that his essay had already been submitted and in print before this discussion. He admitted in that moment that he would have to allow one more contentious exchange before they stopped.
“So, do you return to London now?” Nate asked. The unasked but clearly heard rest of the question was before anyone realizes you are here under an assumed name.
David’s efforts at remaining undetected and unrecognized had been a success, but the longer he stayed and the more he went about in public, the more the chance that he would be exposed. Still, there was nothing ignoble about discreetly searching out one’s foe to assess their strengths and weaknesses. Truly not.
“Actually, Ellerton is waiting for my arrival at our hunting box. I had thought a short holiday would be in order since there is time before Parliament is called to session in October.”
“You still run with the same crowd then?” Nate smiled, obviously contemplating some of their more adventurous escapades at the university. “Ellerton and Hillgrove?”
“The same, although we behave in a much more circumspect manner now that we are older and wiser.” David laughed now. It had only been seven years since their last meeting, not a lifetime, and yet he’d changed so much he knew Nate would be shocked at the extent of it. “Perhaps we are simply older.”
“And none of you have fallen into the parson’s mousetrap?” Nate asked. The frown that had lived on his forehead disappeared as their topic turned to something more pleasant.
“The pressure is growing, but none of us have tossed the handkerchief yet. And it would appear that you have not? How does your father abide you remaining in the bachelor status?”
“I confess that there is someone, but the lady shows no sign of accepting my offer.”
The frown was back and David suspected that the expression on Nathaniel’s face bespoke of his own surprise that he had admitted to such. David held his tongue and did not ask, for he was certain that Miss Fairchild was the object of Nate’s affection and intentions. His own surprise was that she would have turned Nate down, for his title and properties alone made him a marriage target. However, knowing almost nothing about her other than her profession and that a connection existed between her and his friend, he hesitated to guess at the reasons.
At that moment, Harley knocked and announced that their meal was ready. It was a welcomed respite for David, for he did not comprehend what to say or how or if he should reveal his plans for the following morning and his visit to the castle with Miss Fairchild. It was a simple sightseeing excursion; one that would be appropriately chaperoned so no question of propriety could be raised.
As the flavor-filled aroma of food drew them into the dining room, David decided that in a matter such as this one, it would be better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. Ever a careful fellow, he also decided to wait and determine if he needed to do either after his morning with the lovely Miss Fairchild.
Chapter Seven
“Julia, do not make me regret that I have granted you a morning of leisure from your studies.”
Anna tried to sound stern, but the effort was lost with one glance at her sister’s excited face. Usually at work with her tutor or at some task, Julia met her request to accompany Anna and Mr. Archer to the Castle with an unconcealed enthusiasm. Now, trying to draw some of that excitement under control, Anna frowned and pointed to her sister’s gloves on the desk.
“A lady always wears her gloves on an outing, Julia.”
Julia’s reaction resembled that of a child rather than the young woman she was soon to be. At twelve years of age, she had mastered many social skills but still lacked others. Reaching over and tucking an errant strand of hair under her bonnet, Anna hoped her sister would always keep that bright enthusiasm for life within her.
Something she’d not been able to do since shouldering the burdens of caring for her ailing mother and young sister at the age of eighteen. Something obliterated by the realities she faced, first in service as a governess and tutor and then in dealing with the women so much in need. Anna smiled as Julia pulled on her gloves and adjusted them into place.
The door to the office opened and Anna took a deep breath. What would her sister’s reaction to Mr. Archer be? How would the gentleman act in response to her sister’s presence as a companion? The usual custom was to have an older woman or family member to oversee such an excursion, but Anna knew that Julia would enjoy the visit to see the Crown Jewels of Scotland…again.
Turning, she faced him. The sunbeams that raced ahead of him into the doorway obscured his face from her, but manifested his muscular build and height. After closing the door, Mr. Archer removed his hat and bowed to her.
“Miss Fairchild, a pleasure to see you this morning.”
It was the polite thing to say, however, the words trickled into her heart. Sincerity permeated his voice and it was at moments like this that she wondered how he could be so caustic at other times. Well, the time had arrived to present her sister. Surely, it would reveal his true manners…or not.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Archer. May I present—” Anna stepped aside and allowed Julia to come forward “—my sister, Julia Fairchild.”
Pride coursed through her as Julia walked to Mr. Archer and did her prettiest curtsy. Anna could see his face as Julia dipped and it stunned her into speechlessness.
The first sign of any true softness covered it and—surely, she could not be seeing this—his eyes appeared to tear up as he bowed to her sister. His mouth tightened as though he struggled against the words trying to escape and his forehead gathered above those glistening eyes as he listened to Julia’s greeting.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Julia’s voice still held the lightness of tone of a girl, but her manners were impeccable. “I thank you for including me in your visit to the Castle.”
Crumbling was the word that best described what happened to his face as she watched him greet Julia. If she had glanced away at that instant, she would have missed the entire metamorphosis. His entire countenance seemed to shatter and then, a moment later, he regained control and the gentleman was back, securely in place. He cleared his throat and bowed over her sister’s hand. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Julia.”
Mr. Archer nodded at her and tugged on the door’s knob to open it. “The carriage and the Crown Jewels await us, ladies. If you please.”
Anna said nothing but continued to observe his now-guarded expression as Julia did not cease her chatter—not on the sidewalk, not as she climbed into the carriage and not even as the driver guided them into the street and toward Princes Street. When Mr. Archer did not intervene as they turned toward Queensferry Road and the alternate route to the Castle’s gate, she took pity on him and interrupted.
“Julia, please sit quietly for now and allow Mr. Archer to enjoy the ride to the esplanade.” Julia slanted her a mutinous glare, threatening to misbehave, but she must have thought better of it for she did slide back and sit quietly then.
“It is quite all right, Miss Fairchild. Miss Julia told me more about the Honours of Scotland in those few minutes than I could have learned with hours of research.” She met his gaze and found a warmth there she’d not seen before. “She reminds me in many ways of my own younger sister.”
“You have a sister, sir? I did not know. How old is she?”
He looked away for a second, the movement hidden by hitting a bump in the road and the resettling of the carriage. When he next glanced back, Anna could see how affected he was over his admission. But why?
“Amelia would be reaching the thirteenth anniversary of her birth this coming November…if she lived.”
His words were halting and rough, the pain in his voice evident to anyone listening. It was apparent now that her idea to bring her sister was clearly not a good one. Her only defense was ignorance and she hated that. Without hesitating, she reached over and placed her fingers on his hand. Even through two layers of gloves, the heat of him seeped into her.
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