My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers

 

4

Well, it appears I’ve interrupted something.

Donata Reynolds, Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, held tightly to young Harry’s arm, her other hand firmly grasping the head of her cane as she moved forward. A burst of impulsiveness led her to instruct Bevins to put Lord Kilmaire in her private sitting room instead of the more formal drawing room. Miranda often hid herself here on rainy days to read.

Inspiration had a way of striking when least expected.

Only someone who was completely obtuse, and Donata was far from obtuse, would miss the tightly controlled manner in which Lord Kilmaire treated her granddaughter. It had not always been so. Colin Hartley was nearly a member of the Cambourne family, having spent many summers at Gray Covington. Miranda had lavished her childhood affection on Colin, calling him her prince and stating rather firmly that she would marry him one day. The two had been close. The older Colin growing ever more protective of the much younger Miranda, whom he viewed as a younger sibling. Many years later, when Colin visited the Cambourne family in London during the time of Miranda’s debut, Colin squired Miranda about and the two formed a friendship of sorts.

Well, perhaps more than a friendship, she suspected.

Lord Kilmaire’s arrival over a month ago was very welcome by the Cambourne family, with one exception. Miranda. Now the two kept their distance from one another. No one seemed to notice. Except Donata.

Odd. Colin and Miranda had suddenly become averse to each other.

Curious.

Add to that the fact that Miranda had never looked at Colin with anything but adoration since she was eight years old, and the whole of it was quite mysterious.

Or was it?

The air in the drawing room fairly crackled with tension between the two. Good Lord if she lit a match the entire room might burst into flames.

Lord Kilmaire, coldly polite and distant, so different from the Colin that Donata once doted upon, viewed her granddaughter with longing in the depth of his eyes. He was angry as well. Pained. The scar, that horrible reminder of his Mother’s hatred, shone dark pink across the left side of his face.

Miranda resembled a wounded doe. Defiant, she clutched a book to her stomach so forcefully Donata worried she would tear the leather.

“Lord Kilmaire,” Donata smiled in greeting as Colin stood and bowed over her proffered hand.

“Lady Cambourne.” The ends of his hair brushed pleasurably against Donata’s arm.

What a beautiful man Colin was. He’d always been handsome, of course, even as a lad he’d turned a lady’s head. Unfortunately, she sensed that there was nothing left of the boy he’d once been, nor the earnest young man who’d visited her son, Robert, in this very house.

Easy to blame the scar, of course. The wound was dreadful, there was no getting around it, but it did not detract from Colin’s masculine beauty. She rather thought it kept him from being too beautiful. Women still admired him. The tragedy of his family would certainly lend one to be rather dour, but Donata sensed that was not the reason for his manner, though she did wish he would stop dressing as if he were in mourning. Thomas, his final family member, had been dead for nearly two years. Although, Donata had to admit, the dark colors accentuated his coloring and gave Colin an air of melancholy that few women could resist.

“It is a pleasure to see you.” A hint of Irish graced Colin’s words. Purposefully, she thought. While he normally sought to suppress the accent, he’d learned early on that women in particular, adored the sound of it.

So, the scamp seeks to charm me.

And Colin was exceedingly charming when he wished to be. Had he wished to charm the ladies of the ton, he certainly could. He just didn’t wish to.

“I did wonder, Lord Kilmaire, when you would decide to grace me with your presence.”

“I received your note only this morning, Lady Cambourne. I came as soon as I was bid.”

Donata raised a brow. She disliked having to summon people. They should anticipate that she requested their presence.

“Poor of you to make me chase you down, Lord Kilmaire. You asked for my assistance at His Grace’s wedding. I would have thought the request would have prompted you to call on me much earlier. After all, His Grace has been married for some time now.”

A lazy smile crossed Colin’s lips. “I have been trying to reacquaint myself with society, as you suggested. It has been a challenging adjustment.”

Donata pursed her lips in rebuke. “Doubtful. I know you’ve been invited to any number of homes and balls, and are now a member atWhite’s. At any rate, I spent last night considering your choices. We have much work to do.”

And, indeed Donata had been thinking of Colin last night.

One of the curses of old age was not sleeping well, or in her case, sometimes not at all. Last night, even after reading a particularly boring treatise on Greek architecture borrowed from Sutton, Donata found sleep eluded her. Believing a glass of sherry would help, Donata decided to rise and fetch herself one. No reason to summon the maid at such an unreasonable hour. She slowly made her way to her grandson’s study, once her son’s study. The room comforted her and so she thought to take her repast there.

Unfortunately, there was not a drop of sherry in her grandson’s study, so instead Donata opted for a small snifter of brandy.

Lord Kilmaire, approaching her just after the Duke of Dunbar’s wedding, had tasked Donata with finding him a wealthy, suitable bride. There was little time left in the Season, and Lord Kilmaire wished to marry as soon as possible. The wealthier the better.

Donata did not judge him for his haste. She knew what a muck of things his parents made of Runshaw Park. So, as she sipped her brandy, Donata pondered potential brides for Lord Kilmaire. Her mind drifted to the lackluster pair of men who were pursuing Miranda. She’d always found it strange that Miranda had not married after her first Season, after all she’d been most sought after. Even stranger that Robert, Donata’s son, had not insisted his daughter marry. Miranda was rather a bookish sort and still was, which put many gentlemen off, no matter her beauty or her dowry. She was always asking to be taken to the museum, or a lecture, rather than the opera. With Robert often busy and Sutton having run off to Macao, Miranda had been escorted to various intellectual offerings by her brother’s dear friend, Colin Hartley, who had been visiting London at the time. Colin dined so often at Cambourne House that Donata joked it was as if he lived there.

The truth struck her so forcefully at that moment that she dribbled brandy down the front of her dressing gown. Right in front of me, and I couldn’t see it.

The press of Colin’s hand on her arm as he assisted her to the couch brought Donata’s mind back from the previous night’s discovery. “I was concerned, Lord Kilmaire, that the poor weather would dissuade you from calling upon me, no matter my summons.” She watched in appreciation as his large form slid into a nearby chair.

“Perish the thought, Lady Cambourne. A bit of rain would never keep me away from your company.”

Again, the lilt came up in his words and Donata allowed herself to enjoy his gentle flirtatious manner. She did adore Colin. Her eyes lingered over the scar on the left side of his face. How could such a thing have occurred? To be attacked by one’s own mother? Lady Rose Kilmaire had been an unbalanced woman, prone to flights of fancy. She’d once been found wading about in a fountain during Lady Meuring’s garden party. At the time, Lady Kilmaire claimed her feet were too warm in her shoes and the goldfish darting around the fountain wished to play with her toes.

The woman was completely mad, though Donata never thought she would injure her own child. Never.

It was one of the rare times Donata had misjudged someone.

“Good afternoon Granddaughter. The day is so lacking light I didn’t see you lolling about my favorite couch.”

“Good afternoon, Grandmother.” Miranda appeared ready to flee at any moment, her distress evident, reminding one of a trapped bird waiting rather impatiently for a cat to pass by.

Donata raised a brow at the tea stains on Miranda’s bodice, the overturned tray, and the spilled bits of raisin cake on the floor. A crumb was caught in the dark locks of Miranda’s hair. “It appears that you’ve had an accident of sorts. I do hope you didn’t stain my couch, though happily it appears most of the tea landed on you.”

“I was startled and—”

Donata turned from her, giving Miranda no time to excuse herself from the room.

“I’ve taken to heart your very specific needs, Lord Kilmaire and given the whole of it very careful consideration. It’s a bit late in the Season, of course, but that will likely only make things easier in some respect.”

A small choke sounded from Miranda.

“I appreciate your efforts, Lady Cambourne.”

“You should. I am known far and wide for my matchmaking skills.”

Another sound emanated from Miranda. It sounded as if she were being strangled.

“Why, did you know that a steady stream of young ladies and their mothers consult with me on a regular basis? My opinion is relied upon in these matters.”

“Grandmother, please excuse me as it appears you and Lord Kilmaire have business to discuss.” Miranda stood, frowning as several crumbs rolled down her dress to dot the carpet around her stocking feet. She bent and reached for her discarded slippers.

“Nonsense, Miranda. Do sit. I feel certain you can be of assistance to Lord Kilmaire as well.” Donata winked at Colin. “After all, who better? I feel she owes you.”

A small thump sounded as Miranda sat back down forcefully against the couch cushions. The slippers slid from her hands. “I—”

“I am not aware of any debt that Lady Miranda may have incurred.” Colin’s gaze, the color of molten chocolate, wandered over Miranda, following the path of an errant curl moving against her bodice. He seemed oddly fascinated by it.

“Do you not recall, Lord Kilmaire, how Miranda used to trot after you at Gray Covington? It was good of you to indulge her. After all, she could be quite a nuisance. You were so kind to her, chattering little sprite that she was. Do you not remember when she made you a crown? Declared you her prince?”

Miranda was beginning to turn an alarming shade of red.

“I believe her adoration was not for me but for the pastries I stole for her from the cook at Gray Covington, my lady.”

Donata ignored him. “And, I do recall, during her own first Season, when you offered your assistance in escorting her about to the Royal Museum in order to view,” Donata fluttered her hand, “something ancient when no one else offered.”

“A mummy.” Colin murmured.

Miranda blinked, clutching the book she held tighter.

“How kind. I believe you endured a boring lecture or two as well.”

Donata leaned over her cane and leaned towards Colin. “No doubt you refused many more interesting invitations in order to squire Miranda about. Now it is her turn to offer you, assistance. High time. After all it is a debt many years in the making.” Donata put her finger to her lip as if she couldn’t quite remember, which of course was ridiculous. She remembered everything. “Three years does seem to go by in the blink of an eye.”

“Six.” Colin’s gaze never moved from Miranda and that dangling curl. “Begging your pardon, Lady Cambourne.”

Was there a hint of anguish in his answer?

Miranda squared her shoulders and turned away, suddenly absorbed by the rain pelting the Cambourne garden.

Donata nodded and gripped the head of her cane. “My word, so long ago? I’m afraid that’s one of the failings of old age, the days and months roll into one another so quickly. Of course, my own debut feels as if it were just yesterday. My father, the Duke of Shefford, sought to marry me off at the beginning of the Season, before I’d even enjoyed myself. But my mother wouldn’t have it.” She winked at Colin. “Oh, how I danced. The drawing room of our house on Mayfield Square was full to bursting with my suitors. As a duke’s daughter I had my pick, of course. The Marquess of Cambourne pressed his suit most forcefully and the match was advantageous. A duke’s daughter and the owner of an ancient title like Cambourne. Two powerful houses combined. Such are the makings of a successful marriage.”

Lord Kilmaire shot her a look of what one could politely call resignation. “Your assistance is deeply appreciated, Lady Cambourne. With all that has happened—”

“Yes. You’ve stayed away from your duty for far too long, Lord Kilmaire. First brooding at your kin’s house in Ireland … ”

“Not brooding. Uncle Gerald took me in after a disagreement with my father.”

“Slaving away like a common day laborer.”

“Since I expected never to inherit, I thought it best to learn a trade.”

“Sheep farming.” She could not keep the distaste from the words. The thought of this handsome earl before her shoveling sheep dung was beyond her comprehension.

“Farming is an honorable profession.”

“Humph. An earl does not work with his hands. He has tenants which do such for him.”

“I was not the earl at the time.”

She did not care a whit for his impudence. “You’ve spent these last few years rattling around Runshaw Park, alone except for a handful of servants. You should be here, with us, in London. Especially now that Sutton is thankfully home from Macao. And furthermore—”

“I am here now, Lady Cambourne.”

“Cease your interruptions. I am speaking.”

Clutching the head of her cane, she stomped it against the Persian carpet beneath her feet. Canes were a wonderful accessory as one grew older. Useful in a variety of ways.

The golden head dipped in acknowledgement of her rebuke.

“As I was saying, it cannot be considered healthy, Lord Kilmaire. Constantly brooding, your family’s unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding, of course.”

The dark eyes narrowed, but he did not refute her claim.

“I am pleased to see that you do seem to have perked up a bit since your arrival in town, for which I am much relieved, though it would be preferable if you would cease to dress as if you are still in mourning. I find the whole of it,” she waved her cane to his somber attire, “somewhat macabre. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would prefer to marry a man who is not dressed as if he were attending a funeral.”

“I prefer dark colors. I suppose I’ve grown used to them over the last several years, but I will take your advice under consideration.”

“As you should. One would think you enjoy being referred to as the Cursed Earl.”

“It is no worse than some of the other odious nicknames the ton likes to bestow upon those whom they gossip about.”

Donata frowned at the thinly veiled reference to her grandson’s undesirable nickname. “No one refers to Sutton as such anymore.” At least, not within Donata’s hearing.

“As you will, Lady Cambourne.”

“Humph.” The cane pounded on the floor again. “You should wear blue.” She waved the cane towards the edge of his left eye where the scar took root. “That healed quite well. Better than I anticipated.” She leaned forward. “I think it makes you look quite dashing. Don’t you, Miranda?”

Miranda turned back from her perusal of the rain-soaked garden but stayed silent.

“And you should smile more often, Lord Kilmaire. In fact, I insist upon it. There is no point in looking dour. You wouldn’t wish to scare away a potential bride.”

“I find that I smile often in your presence, Lady Cambourne. If I may say so.” The lilt this time was much more pronounced.

Donata’s heart fluttered. Even a woman as ancient as herself was not immune to the teasing of a handsome gentlemen.

“You may say.” Her fingers curled in the air, then settled over the head of her cane once more. The maids at Gray Covington ogled her grandson, Sutton, but it was Colin who they would allow to steal a kiss.

“Harry,” she said gently to the young footman hovering over her, “would you have tea brought? Make sure there are some of those delicious raisin cakes my granddaughter adores. And send someone to clean up.” She waved to the contents of Miranda’s spilled tray. “There’s been a bit of an accident.”

“Yes, my lady.” Harry bowed and went to do her bidding.

Donata found Harry to be such a good lad. So devoted.

Miranda looked at Harry’s departing back. “If you’ll both excuse me, I am rather tea soaked and—”

“Nonsense, Miranda. There’s only a bit of tea on you. Perhaps a raisin caught in your hair. Lord Kilmaire is in dire need of your assistance.” Donata looked towards Colin.

His nostrils flared slightly, but he nodded tersely in agreement. “Of course.”

Donata smiled. “Just so. So much has changed since your last visit to London, sadly before all the,” she struggled to find the right word to convey the respect for all that Colin had endured, “troubles visited upon your family. I’m sure you find the city much changed. It’s astounding to me that eight years has flown by so quickly.”

“Six, Lady Cambourne. Six years.” His gaze once more settled on Miranda with startling intensity.

Miranda appeared oblivious to his attention.

In Donata’s experience, gentlemen did not typically remember with such clarity the exact passing of time, especially as it related to something mundane. Like the debut of your friend’s younger sister. Unless, of course, there was something more.

“My word, of course you’re correct.” Donata smiled. “I keep forgetting.” She raised a brow and gave a pointed look to the tome clutched on Miranda’s lap. “Do you approve of such reading material for young ladies, Lord Kilmaire? Lord Thurston! Miranda seems obsessed with this series of books though I cannot imagine being interested in such…drivel. A peer turned pirate by circumstance, as if any man of good birth would do such a thing. Miranda is filling her head with nonsense.”

Miranda shot her a look that could best be described as hostile.

“You do not approve of the Lord Thurston novels?” Colin asked with a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes, as if he was amused by her diatribe.

"Not in the least." Donata shook her head. “Filling the heads of impressionable young ladies with outlandish romantic notions is irresponsible.”

“I’m given to understand that Lord Thurston and his adventures are all the rage amongst the ladies of the ton. I visited Lord Bumont’s box at the opera, and I overheard Lady Bumont professing her adoration.”

“The fact that Lord Thurston is fashionable does not mean one should read such,” Donata hesitated to make her point, “tripe. And Lady Bumont is a featherwit.” Donata could not think of anything less entertaining that reading about pirates. “Young ladies especially should not read such things. It gives them unrealistic romantic notions.”

“You’ve read Lord Thurston, my lady?” Colin mused, one finger pressed against his lip.

“Good heavens, no. I’m certain there is nothing in those books that would interest me. I’m much more partial to poetry.” Her dear friend Lady St. Claire, in a shocking display of disobedience to her husband, had purchased one of the tomes from a bookstore on Bond Street. She’d been regaling Donata with the shocking details ever since. “Poetry is much more suited to a lady.”

Miranda flicked a raisin off her lap. “I think I’m rather old to have you monitor my reading material, Grandmother. Alex reads Lord Thurston as well. She adores the books.”

“Humph.” Donata’s eyes watched as another raisin made it to the floor. Now it was time to truly set her snare.

“Enough of Lord Thurston. We’ve much more important matters to discuss.” She bestowed a wide smile on Colin. “Lord Kilmaire has asked my assistance in finding the future Countess of Kilmaire. And since you are like a sister to him,” she let the words hang in the air, “I feel certain that your opinions of the young ladies I’ve selected could be crucial. Isn’t that so, Lord Kilmaire?”

Colin’s light mood fled, and his handsome face contorted into displeasure. He appeared as if facing a firing squad. “Yes. Of course.”

Miranda pressed a hand to her stomach. Possibly the pastries she’d eaten earlier were about to join the collection of raisins on the floor.

Splendid.

Now that Donata was certain of her assumptions concerning Colin and Miranda, she refused to acknowledge the flood of guilt that filled her at the look on Miranda’s face.

Time was of the essence. How could Donata allow Miranda to marry either one of the gentlemen vying for Miranda’s hand now that the truth was sitting across from Donata in the form of the Earl of Kilmaire? And, Colin who was notoriously stubborn, would never seek Miranda out of his own accord. He would marry a woman he didn’t want just to prove a point.

“Miranda?” Donata thumped her cane.

“I am happy to help in any way I can, of course.” Her normally dulcet tones were brittle. “As you say, Lord Kilmaire has been like a brother to me.”

Colin’s face pinked, his nostrils flaring slightly at Miranda’s words. The pads of his fingers pressed into the fabric of the chair. “Then we are in agreement.”

Oh my.

The two glared at each other with such intimate intensity that Donata nearly excused herself from the room. The air between them was filled with a very real animal attraction laced with years of anger. It had been years since she’d seen such a display of emotion. They’d completely forgotten her presence.

Donata cleared her throat. “Now see what I have for you, Lord Kilmaire.” She held up an embossed piece of her own personal stationary.

Two pairs of eyes flew to the creamy paper in her hand.

“Let us proceed, Lady Cambourne.” The broad shoulders shrugged carelessly as Colin retreated, hiding behind those walls he’d built around himself. An icy blast of indifference chilled Donata.

“I sense your lack of appreciation for my efforts Lord Kilmaire.” The cane poked Colin in the calf. “How else are you to find a suitable and wealthy bride?”

Miranda’s body went rigid. She sat back against the cushions and attempted to look uninterested.

“Unfortunate tragedies and the madness of your mother,” Donata shot Colin a look of sympathy, “will not aid you in your search.”

“Perhaps I am mad as well. Is that the assumption?” Colin rubbed his chin in thought. “Mayhap I shall pass it on to any future children?”

Donata pursed her lips and gave a short nod. “And, I do not count myself impolite for pointing out that being half Irish …”

“I thought we had agreed when I asked for your assistance that I was only one quarter Irish.” Dryness laced his words. “Although the Irish is of the mad variety and I’m barely considered a Papist these days. I’ve not been inside a church since Thomas died.”

“One quarter, one half, what does it matter? You would do well to hide the bit that slips into your words at times, for while it is charming, it reminds the ton that you’ve lived more in Ireland than at Runshaw Park. You are an English earl. Pray do remember such.”

Colin shot her a rather frightening look. He did not care to be reminded that his upbringing served as a disadvantage in London and nearly everywhere else.

Donata did not scare easily. Good Lord if the Devil of Dunbar in a foul temper didn’t put her off, there was little the Cursed Earl could do to frighten her.

“Now, if you are quite done interrupting me?” She stomped her cane this time more forcefully.

“I am.” The words were crisp and coldly patrician. One would never know that Colin had ever set foot in Ireland. The upper-class accent was perfect.

“Good. I have narrowed it down to several girls based on your requirements. However, I feel the first two names are your best chance for expediency.”

Donata dangled the bit of stationery before Miranda’s nose like a carrot before a mule. “See if you agree with my assessments.”

Miranda took the paper between her fingertips, holding it as if it were a poison snake. Carefully, she placed Lord Thurston beside her on the couch, all of her attention on Donata’s list. Scanning the page, her eyes widened before looking up at Donata.

“Lady Helen—”

Donata snatched back the list before Miranda could finish her sentence. Settling herself more comfortably, she produced a pair of spectacles from a pocket hidden in the folds of her gown. Perching the glasses on the end of her nose, she shook the paper.

“I agree Miranda, Lady Helen is an excellent choice. She’s very beautiful. Stunning, really. This is her first Season, but I understand Lord Cottingham is eager to see his daughter married as soon as possible.”

“What is the urgency to see her married?” Colin said in a bored tone, eyes cast down as he pretended to brush a spec of lint from his trousers.

Donata cocked her head, not surprised to see Colin glance at Miranda from beneath his lashes.

“There are several reasons. Lord Cottingham recently inherited the title, no more than two years ago. He was formerly a dairy farmer, albeit a very prosperous one. Perhaps you can discuss the finer points of cow and sheep farming with him.” Donata tried to keep the note of distaste from her words. “At any rate, Lord and Lady Cottingham seek a title for their only child.”

“And?” Colin shot her a skeptical look. “I’m sure there’s more.”

“Don’t be impertinent.” Donata pushed the end of her cane against the toe of Colin’s boot. “Lady Helen is a bit long in the tooth for a girl in her first Season. Most of the more discriminating families are not enamored of Lady Helen. Her pedigree—”

“She’s considered coarse. Forward. Ill-mannered,” Miranda interrupted gleefully. “Overindulged.”

“Well, she is an only child, dear. And, she did not have the benefits of a refined upbringing as you did. She is quite lovely.”

“With an odd fascination for birds,” Miranda snapped back.

“Baron Masters,” Donata interrupted Miranda’s tirade of the unsuitability of Lady Helen, “as well as several other young gentlemen in much more dire financial straits then you, are sniffing around Lady Helen, no doubt smelling blood in the water. Lady Cottingham is ambitious. She wishes her daughter to be a countess. Lady Cottingham is much too practical to believe in curses, and considering her own lineage, she is not concerned with your Irish blood. Her dowry is twenty-five thousand pounds.”

It would have to be, Donata surmised uncharitably. The girl was spoiled with an appalling lack of discretion. The Cottingham’s sense of urgency was due to the fact that their daughter had the makings of a spectacular scandal and would ruin herself if she wasn’t wed soon. Baron Masters had been the frontrunner for Lady Helen’s hand, until Lord Kilmaire arrived in London.

“She sounds…adequate. Who is the other?”

“Miss Margaret Lainscott. A lovely girl. Considered a bit plain and more intelligent than she should be. As wealthy as Lady Helen, she is the sole heir to father’s fortune. Tin mining, I believe. Poor man died during a cave in. Since that time, she’s lived with her aunt.”

“You can’t be serious, Grandmother.” Miranda piped up.

“I am. She is the daughter of a miner, a mark against her that only a very large dowry could overlook, and of course, marrying a title.” She paused for a moment. “Lady Dobson is determined that Margaret marry as high as possible.”

Lord Kilmaire pinched his nose between his fingers as if striving for patience.

A wisp of a vengeful smile lingered on Miranda’s lips.

Before Donata could continue, a scratch at the door announced the arrival of Bevins with the tea cart. The butler rolled in the cart, laden with a steaming pot of tea and an assortment of finger sandwiches, scones, and biscuits. Bevins leaned heavily against the cart, using the device to hold himself upright as he moved into the room.

Donata was of a mind to stand up and wheel the cart in herself. Bevins did not have the strength of a kitten and was exhausting himself in London. She really must speak to Sutton about Bevins. It was well past time for the butler to retire, but he refused all offers to spend his remaining years at Gray Covington where he would be comfortable.

Donata suspected it had something to do with Gray Covington’s butler, Zander. Although she couldn’t imagine how the two men even knew each other.

A maid followed behind Bevins and curtsied to the room before approaching Miranda’s overturned tea tray. Silently, she bent to her task, shooting Colin curious looks while she worked. Appreciation shown from the maid’s eyes as her glance ran discreetly over the Earl of Kilmaire.

Dipping again in a small curtsy, she left the room with Miranda’s tray.

“Shall I pour, Lady Cambourne?” Bevins trembled as he spoke.

Dear God, they would be here all afternoon if Bevins poured, or worse. She doubted he could be trusted to hold the teapot steady. “No, Bevins, that will be all.”

The elderly servant bowed, straightening himself carefully before turning toward the door. Donata watched patiently as he shuffled across the carpet, nearly tangling his feet in the deep pile of the rug before taking a firm grip on the knob.

A discreet click sounded as the heavy mahoghany closed.

Donata breathed a sigh of relief at the butler’s exit. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Lady Dobson’s niece.”

“Lady Cambourne, the girl’s aunt is Lady Dobson? She is—” Colin started.

Donata cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Wealthy. I know well that Lady Dobson has her faults. Too many for me to recite at one sitting. I am witness to them every time she calls on me. You would learn to tolerate Lady Dobson, for goodness sake. I have. There are times when I actually enjoy her company and you shall too.”

Enjoywas perhaps rather strong, but Lady Dobson was useful.

A snort of disbelief came from the couch.

“She is a reigning matron of the ton,” Donata continued, ignoring Miranda’s rudeness. “Regardless of her past errors in judgement, Lady Dobson has many useful connections and could be instrumental in paving your path through society. Besides, you would be marrying Miss Lainscott, not her aunt.”

Colin’s gaze searched the room, probably looking for something stronger than tea. Donata wasn’t surprised. The mere mention of the woman invoked fear and distaste in most everyone who knew of her.

“Are those my only choices?”

“Expediency, I believe, was one of your directives, Lord Kilmaire. Wealth, the other. We are at the end of the Season. The Cottinghams and Lady Dobson could both marry their girls to a lesser title but then you, an earl, fell into their laps. Lady Dobson is quite desperate, practically salivating at the thought of marrying you to her niece. I’ve never seen Lady Dobson exhibit joy. It was a sight I do not care to witness again. Quite alarming.”

Miranda poured a cup of tea for Donata and placed it on the table. “I did not realize she exhibited any emotion other than malice.” Miranda was not shy in expressing her distaste.

“Yes. Why she even tried to embrace me at Lady Hastings fete last week.” Donata reached for her tea.

“Whatever for?” Miranda appeared to have regained control of her emotions. She no longer looked so despondent. She poured and handed Colin his tea.

Elegant fingers deliberately brushed against Miranda’s as he took the cup.

The air fairly crackled about the two.

Donata pretended not to notice.

“I suppose it was because of the invitation to Gray Covington. She was quite beside herself at being a guest of the Marquess of Cambourne.” Donata gave a dramatic pause to allow that tidbit to sink in. “I assured her it was simply a little house party. Nothing to set herself in such a state. Only an opportunity for Miss Lainscott to better acquaint herself with Lord Kilmaire. Of course, I neglected to inform her that the Cottinghams would be attending as well. It’s always better not to allow Lady Dobson the upper hand.”

The pot of tea hovered over Miranda’s cup. “There’s to be a house party? At Gray Covington?”

Oh dear. She did hope Miranda didn’t spill the tea and cause another mess.

Colin placed his cup and saucer on the table without touching the steaming liquid. “You should not go to such lengths just for me, Lady Cambourne.”

“Oh,” Donata laughed lightly, “not just for you, my dear Lord Kilmaire. But also for my granddaughter.”

A stricken look on her face, Miranda set down the teapot unsteadily, nearly upending the plate of scones.

“Have a care with the tea service, Miranda.” Donata flashed a brilliant smile at Colin. “In addition to the Cottinghams and Lady Dobson, I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill.”

The color leached from Miranda’s face.

“I’m sure Sutton’s told you, Lord Kilmaire, that Miranda must make a choice herself. A house party is the perfect opportunity for either one of her gentlemen to press his suit. Miranda is determined to marry. It will be a difficult decision, I’m sure.”

That wasn’t true in the least. Ridley and Hamill were both idiots and equally unworthy of Miranda.

“Indeed.” Colin sounded as if someone had just punched him and he couldn’t breathe.

“I believe Lord Welles will also be in attendance along with Lord Carstairs.” Well, Donata told herself, the two men would certainly be in the vicinity of Gray Covington and she thought Sutton would likely invite Welles to stay a night or two, though there was no danger of Welles deciding to court Miranda. He was a notorious rake with no interest in marriage.

“You remember Welles, don’t you? From Eton? Handsome devil and still unattached.”

“I should look forward to seeing Welles again.” Colin didn’t sound pleased at all.

“I knew Lord Carstair’s mother, Lady Diana.” Donata continued. “A great beauty in her day. The most startling eyes. Such an odd shade of blue, almost violet. You may have met Lord Carstairs at the gathering hosted by Lord and Lady Marsh. I’m told Lady Marsh has settled on the sister of Lord Carstairs as a wife for her son, Rowan. The girl’s name is Gwendolyn.”

Donata bestowed upon Colin a benevolent smile as she imparted the information. Lady Diana had indeed been beautiful, but empty-headed, lacking in personality and had an annoying habit of tilting her head in such a way that she always looked confused. Her son had not fared much better. She doubted he was capable of carrying on a conversation in any remotely intelligent fashion. Certainly Lord Carstairs would not be in competition for Miranda’s hand, though Colin need not know that.

Miranda took a raisin cake and began to systematically tear the pastry into tiny bits, carefully placing the raisins to one side of her plate.

“Malden has never mentioned Lady Gwendolyn to me. I wonder that he knows of his mother’s plans for his future.”

Donata frowned. “Lady Gwendolyn is an excellent choice.” She didn’t really believe that. The girl was as dull as her brother. “What a delightful coincidence that you and Miranda will both marry soon.” Donata’s voice raised an octave in delight. “It shall be quite the celebration! Perhaps we should hold both ceremonies at once.” She clapped her hands.

Oh, that last bit was terrible of her. Truly.

“We shall leave for Gray Covington the day after tomorrow. Oh, how I adore house parties.”

Miranda’s torture of the raisin cake ceased abruptly. A loose raisin rolled off the plate.

Donata would need to ask Bevins to make sure the maids searched the couch for stray raisins.

“Sutton has asked that you escort us in the Cambourne coach, Lord Kilmaire.”

Actually, Sutton had asked no such thing, as he was as yet unaware that he and Alex were hosting the house party at Gray Covington. Her grandson would be less than enthusiastic. His dislike of Lady Dobson was only rivaled by his dislike for Lord Ridley. Upon meeting the Cottinghams, Sutton would likely detest them as well.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” Colin’s dark gaze slid to Miranda and the tortured raisin cake.

“We shall enjoy your escort.” Donata dipped her head in acknowledgement of his offer, though she was certain if Colin could find a way to politely refuse he would have.

Miranda stood suddenly, clutching Lord Thurston to her breast as if it would protect her from the horror of the upcoming house party. “Please excuse me, but I must prepare for our journey.”

Before Donata could say stay her, Miranda turned and fled the room, slippers in one hand, Lord Thurston in the other, her skirts fluttering madly about her ankles as if running from the Devil himself. Or a Cursed Earl. It appeared they might be one in the same.

Colin stood and gave a small bow. “Good day, Lady Miranda,” he said as Miranda retreated. Something raw flickered in his face when his gaze lingered on her fleeing form. Hunger and longing.

Donata leaned back in her chair, satisfied. She no longer had any doubts as to the true nature of the Earl of Kilmaire’s feelings. Donata felt certain Colin would never act on his emotions unless forced to. Intervention was necessary.

Colin stood for several moments, his attention focused on the open doorway. Abruptly he turned, his features carefully composed, all sign of emotion stricken from his handsome face.

“I thank you for your assistance and discretion in this matter, Lady Cambourne. I’m sure this will result in a most suitable match.”

Donata wished to reply that she had already found him a most suitable match, but she did not. Instead, she raised her cup of tea to her lips, all the better to hide her satisfaction that her intuition had been correct.

“You shall call on us two days hence for the trip to Gray Covington.”

Colin bowed. “Until then, my lady. I’ll see myself out. No need to call for Bevins.

Just as well, for it would take Bevins an agonizing amount of time to return and show Colin the door.

“Good day, Lord Kilmaire.”

At the sound of the front door closing behind Colin, Donata poured a bit of milk into her tea and allowed herself a moment to gloat. She rarely gloated. It was unseemly, although in this instance she felt justified.

Sutton constantly chastised Donata for interfering in the lives of others but had she not meddled in Sutton’s relationship, Alex could very well be married to that vile cur, Archie Runyon.

At the mere thought of Archibald Runyon, gooseflesh rose across Donata’s forearms and the tea went bitter in her mouth. His foul legacy still permeated the lives of the Cambourne family, even though the man was dead. Thankfully. All because Miranda had learned to shoot and with deadly accuracy.

A lump formed in her throat, the words choking her as she spoke aloud to the empty room. “And yet I could not save Elizabeth from that monster.”

The hand holding the teacup shook, rattling the fine porcelain against the saucer. She had not seen her youngest granddaughter for many years, not since Elizabeth was a child. Not since the death of her son, Robert.

Elizabeth had been sent far from London. To a place where given time, she would heal. A place where monsters like Archie Runyon did not exist. A convent in Scotland, on a small estate owned by the Duke of Dunbar. Elizabeth’s safety was assured. She would never have to see Archie or her mother, Jeanette Runyon Reynolds, again.

“Bitch.” Donata shocked herself by cursing out loud. Something she rarely did. Certainty grew within her that Jeanette had a hand in Miranda’s current unhappiness. Not the unsuitability, of course, but the obvious unhappiness between Colin and Miranda. This entire affair reeked of Jeanette’s machinations.

I should have had Robert send that viper he married away long before she could hurt Miranda and Elizabeth. I should never have allowed Jeanette to create such turmoil that I took myself on a tour of the continent and abandoned them to her treachery.

She took another sip of her tea, allowing the pain to linger and flow through her veins as she thought of her son, Robert, dead now nearly five years. Her eyes welled with tears and she blinked, trying to hold them back. Now was not the time to dwell on that harpy, Jeanette, a woman who destroyed everything and everyone she touched.

Six years ago, Colin Hartley had been the third son of the Earl of Kilmaire. Handsome, charming, with an air of melancholy that attracted women like moths to a flame. And poor. Not a farthing to his name. Nor hope for a title. Certainly not worthy of marrying the daughter of a marquess.

Jeanette’s ambition was legendary. Miranda was only a tool to be used by her mother to make a splendid match, one that would further Jeanette in society. Colin Hartley would not have been that match. Had Jeanette witnessed the growing affection between the two and decided to make sure it didn’t blossom?

“I am not,” Donata said softly to herself, “about to allow that vile creature to win.” She set down her tea cup. There was much to do and little time to do it.

“Harry!” She called over her shoulder, knowing the ginger-haired footman likely stood just outside the room.

“My lady?” Harry’s bright red hair popped thru the doorway.

“Will you bring me pen and paper along with my small writing desk?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And Harry. Do you recall that matter we discussed earlier? It appears that I was correct in my assumptions.” She often confided her schemes to Harry, who was a more than willing accomplice. The boy was very dear to her, and she considered him to be more son to her than servant.

“Of course, my lady. You are rarely ever wrong.”

Donata heard the pride in Harry’s voice and smiled at it. “Very rarely.”

Lord Ridley. As if she would allow her granddaughter to marry that money-grubbing dandy. Lord Hamill? Ancient. Infirm. Completely unacceptable.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the reappearance of Harry holding a portable writing desk and ink.

“Thank you, Harry.” She winked at him.

“If I may be so bold.”

“You may, Harry.”

“What are you about, Lady Cambourne?”

Donata chuckled as she opened the writing desk, pulling out ink, pen and several embossed pieces of her private stationery. Taking up the quill, she began to scratch away, hastily producing a letter which she sealed and handed to Harry.

“Deliver this to Gray Covington, directly into the hands of the Marchioness. And please relay to her my apologies for the late notice.” She hoped that Alex would forgive her. It was for the best of reasons, after all. No one wished to have Lord Ridley in the family, and Sutton would never forgive Colin if he married Lady Dobson’s niece.

“At once, Lady Cambourne.”

“And hurry back, Harry. We’ve a house party to plan. Invitations to be sent.” No one would refuse her. She was the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.

The Cottinghams and Lady Dobson would likely beat Donata to Gray Covington in their haste to visit. Ridley would immediately draw a line of credit at that gaming Hell he frequented, telling everyone he’d soon be married to the Marquess of Cambourne’s sister.

“Ha!” Donata bit off a piece of her scone. “They shall all be disappointed. Very disappointed.”