Page 54 of Entrancing the Earl
Iona shook out the folds of the gown that had been delivered early this morning. A lovely gold-striped skirt with a toffee-colored bodice and a prim train, it was the most delightful attire she’d owned since her come-out. “No, Lord Ives simply has different priorities. Sending my new gowns here was thoughtful, and the kind of mundane detail that keeps his world running smoothly. We cannot expect him to understand our concerns can’t be solved with a new gown.”
Winifred was so much a part of Wystan that her arrival at the school had startled Iona, but she was grateful for the older lady’s sturdy presence. Perhaps if miracles happened and all went well, they could buy presents for the other ladies and travel back together. She’d love that.
She knew the chances of it happening were next to nil.
“It’s the mundane that blinds him,” Winifred muttered, stabbing a hat pin into the straw.
“Men are like that.” With her gray curls and earrings bobbling, Lady Agnes adjusted a fold on Iona’s new attire. “EspeciallyIvesmen. It’s hard for them to grasp all the nuances of the world they inhabit when they only think in steps to the task they wish accomplished. My son can see ghosts. Do you think he bothers to discover why they appear to him? Unless they’re offering him an architectural drawing, he’s not interested.”
Iona chuckled. Lady Agnes’s son was Max Ives, the engineering husband of the Malcolm Librarian. She remembered Lydia laughing at her husband’s obliviousness. Being able to talk with other Malcolms renewed her confidence, even if her gift paled beside that of others.
“Well, one of us has to open Gerard’s eyes,” Winifred said, still not completely appeased. “You can be certain he’s only thinking of money and not the futures of Lady Iona and Lady Isobel. Imagine, letting a lady marry an uncouth American just so her sister can be safe! Honestly, I don’t know what the boy is thinking.”
“I am the one who wishes to marry for wealth,” Iona reminded her, smiling at the lady’s defiant defense. “I have no need of a worthless title, but I have a great deal of need for the wealth that Mr. White can provide. Let us not argue the matter. Lord Dare’s carriage is waiting.”
Lady Winifred huffed, then took Iona’s arm down the steep school stairs to the street. Iona noted with interest that the earl’s diminutive valet sat beside Lord Dare’s driver, armed with a rifle. He greeted her with a tip of his hat but continued scanning their surroundings. That made her nervous enough to look around as well.
What had Gerard learned last night that had him fortifying carriages?
Smelling nothing untoward, she allowed a footman to assist her inside after Winifred. She knew they did not have far to go, but after yesterday’s experience, it had become apparent that a carriage was safer than walking.
Lord Ives was not inside the carriage, to her disappointment. But as soon as it halted in front of a towering brick building with a neat iron plaque at the entrance, the earl appeared in the doorway. He hurried down the stairs, a brass-handled cane over his arm. She feared the bulge in his coat pocket might be a derringer. What on earth had happened?
She took his offered hand and didn’t dare ask. Her heart pounded faster—out of fear of this next step, or his proximity, or both. He swiftly hid his surprise when Winifred popped out of the carriage.
“Interesting chaperone,” he murmured, dutifully waiting to escort his aunt up the stairs.
“Try talking her out of anything,” Iona murmured back. Now that he’d steadied her with his presence, she decided her racing pulse was in anticipation of gaining a very large sum of money. The moment was almost upon her. She gripped the earl’s arm harder.
She would not think about never seeing him again.
“I hope your journey was not too difficult, Aunt Winifred,” he said as they climbed the stairs to the solicitor’s floor.
“Travel is always difficult, as are men and most of life. If everything was easy, we would never learn, would we? Now let us proceed so we may take Lady Iona back to Wystan, where she belongs.” On the landing, Winifred tapped her foot.
Lowell, the valet, opened the office door and bowed for his betters to proceed him. Iona noted he, too, carried what appeared to be a pistol in his coat, although he’d left the rifle in the carriage. She shuddered and allowed Gerard to rush her past the receptionist.
“What trouble are we expecting?” she asked as they reached the glass-paned door with the solicitor’s name painted on it in gold and black.
“Your stepfather is in deeper than we thought,” was all he had time to say before they were inside.
How did one godeeper? Deeper in debt, perhaps? What else was new? Puzzling out what he may have meant, Iona held out her gloved hand to greet the solicitor who had agreed to handle the reward money, ostensibly for Mortimer. Since the office was a respectable one, she’d surmise Arthur had chosen it.
“Lady Iona, it is a pleasure,” the gentleman said. “Please, have a seat. Your father should be here shortly to confirm your identity. And your sister is well?”
“Quite,” Iona said, sitting stiffly in the chair so as not to crush her new bustle. She handed over the letter from Isobel, witnessed by the librarian and her husband, to prove her twin’s existence. “I cannot say why our stepfather is at all concerned, but it was good of Lord Ives to find us and let us know.”
That set the solicitor back a bit. “Yes, well, a father must be concerned...”
“Let us not pretend any such thing,” Gerard said, taking a chair near the desk after seating his aunt on a sofa. “Mortimer wishes to sell one of his stepdaughters. The twins objected. The offer of a reward changed Lady Iona’s mind and brought her here. Lady Isobel is content where she is. You are to see that the reward is given without strings attached and the lady is free to leave. She’s of age and independent of her stepfather’s care. My aunt and I are here to assure that no undue pressure is applied.”
“Yes, well.” The lawyer polished his spectacles. “As to that, I have no grounds to speculate. I am merely here to transfer the funds upon the approval of Lord Craigmore.”
“Ralph Mortimer,” Iona corrected. “Myfatherwas the Earl of Craigmore. The impostor claiming concern is not my father. He is a wart on a toad without a farthing to his name.”
The lawyer looked relieved at a knock on the door. “Yes, Brown, what is it?”
The secretary who had been at the front desk peered in. “The Earl of Craigmore and Mr. Arthur White are here, sir.”
