Page 6 of Embracing the Earl (The St. Clairs 3)

Chapter Three

Caroline paused amoment to steady herself and then led Davy and Tippet to the door. She sat the boy atop one of her trunks and then handed him the dog’s leash.

“Davy, I’m going to ask that you sit here and guard my trunks for me.”

“And watch Tippet?” he asked eagerly.

“That, too. My father has... an allergy to dogs... and I’ll have to see where Tippet is to stay.”

“In the stables would be good. I could sleep with him,” the boy offered.

“That might work. Let me go inside and find out. You wait right here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She tried to open the door and it didn’t budge. She’d never carried a key to the place. When she’d left to go somewhere with her mother and sister, they’d always returned and were greeted by a servant so she had no need of a key. She supposed she should knock. There was always a footman about near the foyer. He could let her in.

Raising her hand to do so, the door opened before she had a chance to summon anyone.

“Stinch!” she cried, recognizing their butler, who looked dressed to go out.

“Lady Caroline,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “Is it really you?”

“It is. May I come in?”

An odd look crossed his face. Still, he stepped aside and she gained admittance to the place that had been home for her first twenty years. As Stinch closed the door, she frowned.

“Where is the settee that used to rest there? And the painting that hung above it?” Glancing around, Caroline saw the suit of armor that had stood in the hall for as long as she remembered was also missing.

“Gone, Lady Caroline,” Stinch said sadly. “I suppose you saw the mourning wreath on the door?”

“It’s for Papa, isn’t it?”

The butler nodded solemnly. “He... passed. Three days ago. There were... debts which needed to be paid. No servant received any wages for months before the earl went.”

“Stinch! Are you still here, man?” a voice called out, sounding none too pleased.

Caroline heard approaching heels clicking on the floor and looked at the butler in confusion. Then a man appeared in the foyer, a scowl on his face. His bald pate gleamed. His waistcoat was a poor fit.

“Who areyou?” he demanded. Before she could answer, he said, “You’re too early. The sale doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“Sale? What sale? I live here,” she said.

“Oh.” He nervously shifted from one foot to the other several times.

“This is Lady Caroline Andrews,” Stinch said with dignity. “Lord Templeton’s daughter.”

“I see.” The man looked her up and down. “Well, you don’t live here anymore,” he said abruptly. Turning to the butler, he said, “You’ve done your job, Stinch. I’ll speak privately with Lady Caroline.”

She looked from the stranger back to Stinch. “What’s going on?”

“Go with Mr. Morrow, my lady. He’ll explain everything to you.”

“Where will you be?” she asked anxiously.

Standing tall, he replied, “Looking for another position.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I’ve taken a room at this address. I would be greatly honored if you might write me a reference.”

Understanding dawned on her. Caroline had vaguely known that since her father had no sons and no relatives to speak of, his title would revert to the crown. What she hadn’t thought about was that this house, being part of the Templeton estate, might also be returned to the king. And their country estate.

Where would she live?

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