Christine Merrill - How Not To Marry An Earl

When he passed the threshold, the explanation was obvious. The dog had halted his insane racing and was sitting on the hearth, sniffing at the pair of women’s boots standing on the andirons. As he watched, one of them lifted as the woman wearing them stretched her body upwards, reaching for something in the chimney.

There was a shower of soot and a muffled ‘Damnation.’

The dog retreated with a sneeze, waiting for the ash to settle. Then, as helpful as ever, he lurched forward and grabbed a mouthful of skirts, swinging on them to further unbalance their wearer.

Miles could not help it. He laughed.

Slowly, the boot lowered, seeking footing on the grate. ‘Whoever you are, if you mean to harass me, I have a poker and am not afraid to use it on you.’ If her arm held the same resolve that her tone did, any blow delivered would likely be strong enough to make him think twice.

‘And I have a pistol,’ he countered. ‘But I don’t think either of us need worry, because neither of us wishes to resort to violence. At least until we know each other better,’ he added. In the past, there had been more than one woman ready to crown him with cast iron. As yet he had given this one no reason.

The dog skittered away as the boots hopped off the grate. After some shifting and more falling soot, the rest of the woman appeared in the opening of the fireplace. The rest of the girl, rather. Though she could not have been more than twenty, she was fully, and quite nicely, grown. Her bespectacled face was rather plain, though he doubted the smudges of ash on it helped her appearance. But one would have to be a fool to call a woman with such finely turned ankles homely.

She had nice calves, as well, even under the thick stockings she was wearing. He’d caught a glimpse of them as the dog had tugged at her skirts. And though the sensible gown she wore made no effort to flatter her figure, it could not manage to hide a slim waist and a fine bosom. He was not normally given to debauchery, probably because he had never been able to afford it. But if the village girls in Comstock were all as comely as this one, it might be tempting to play lord of the manor.

As if the dog could sense what he was thinking, its hackles rose and it faced off between him and the girl, baring teeth and offering a warning growl.

Miles braced himself for impact.

‘Pepper. Sit.’

As if by miracle, the dog responded to her command and dropped to its tiny haunches, still staring at him.

‘If you try anything, I will set my dog on you,’ she said, giving him a look as fierce as the terrier’s.

‘Your dog?’ he said, surprised.

She hesitated. ‘The Earl’s dog, then. But since he is not here and I am a member of his family, Pepper’s responsibility and affection have transferred to me.’

He opened his mouth, ready to argue that the owner of the ungrateful cur was right in front of her, should the animal choose to acknowledge him. But since Pepper was incapable of loyalty, obedience, or any other canine virtue, it refused to claim him.

Then he remembered that if his goal had been to slip on to the Comstock property and off again, unnoticed, he should not announce himself to the first person he saw, especially if he had been fortunate enough to meet a family member who did not immediately recognise him.

She was staring at him with narrowed eyes. ‘And now that I can look at you, it is apparent that you are not the common tramp I was fearing.’ She tipped her head. ‘By your accent, you are American. I’d think you were a member of the Earl’s party, but I was told he travelled alone.’

‘We came on separate ships,’ he said, falling easily into the first lie that came to mind. ‘I was to arrive first, but the seas were rough.’

‘You are the auditor, then,’ she said. There was no triumph in her voice, just a flat acknowledgement of the assumed fact.

He nodded, relieved to have his work done for him. But the auditor from America needed a name. ‘Potts,’ he said, automatically. He must look like the name suited him, for Greg Drake had mistaken him for just such a fellow when they’d met. ‘Augustus Potts, at your service, ma’am.’ He bowed to hide his wince at the Christian name that had popped into his head. Hopefully, the lie would not be needed for long. Who in their right mind would want to spend any length of time as Augie Potts?

‘Mr Potts,’ the girl replied, in the tone of one used to ordering servants about.

‘And who do I have the honour of addressing?’ he said, already suspecting that he knew the truth.

‘Miss Charity Strickland. Your employer’s distant cousin.’

He nodded in acknowledgement. He’d met her sister Hope, already. With some effort, he could see a resemblance. They shared the same wide brow and pointed chin.

But where Hope was uncommonly pretty, Charity was not currently so blessed. There was something too grave in her expression and the look in her eye was too discerning for one so young. Though she was not a lovely girl, he suspected she would age into her beauty and become a rather handsome woman.

‘Were you sent to inventory the main house?’ she said, in a matter-of-fact way to remind him that it was not his job to be standing here, staring at her.

‘And the dower house, as well,’ he said.

‘There is nothing of value here.’

In a pig’s eye. Her response had been a trifle too quick and too specific for his taste. She had come here to retrieve something or to hide it. And people did not normally take the time to hide things that were worthless. ‘If the house is empty, it makes me wonder what you were doing here, halfway up the chimney.’ He gave her a subservient smile. ‘Is there something I can assist you with?’

‘Birds have been coming down it and into the house. I was attempting to close the flue.’

‘I see.’ That was an even bigger lie than her last words had been. But if he was claiming to be Augie Potts, he could hardly point fingers. Instead, he stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Give me the poker, then. My arms are longer.’

‘That is all right,’ she said hurriedly.

She was far too eager to handle the matter herself. ‘Then, at least let me go up to the house and find a footman. A member of the family should not be doing servants’ work.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, not bothering to try to charm him with a smile. ‘I think I have managed the matter well enough.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I did not interrupt you before you could complete what you were attempting?’

Her lips tightened ever so slightly with annoyance. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Then, allow me to give you a ride back to the main house.’

‘That will not be necessary, either,’ she snapped.

‘But we are both going the same way,’ he reminded her. ‘Since I have never been to the manor, I would appreciate a guide.’

‘It is not possible to get lost,’ she said. ‘The house is barely a mile away and you are on the drive already.’

She was trying to get rid of him. He had no reason to care why, for he was as eager to be gone as she was to have him so. Yet for some reason, he could not resist annoying her. ‘That is likely true. But it would be helpful if you could introduce me to the rest of the staff.’ He glanced out the window. ‘And a storm seems to be gathering. It has grown darker as we have been talking. I would not want to leave you here in the rain.’

‘I can wait inside until it passes,’ she countered.

So she had not finished what she had come to do. Since there was nothing in her hands, it seemed likely that she was searching for something rather than secreting something she’d brought with her. In either case, there must be some hidey-hole in the bricks worth investigating, once he had got her safely out of the way.