Page 3 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

One

Benjamin rode over the last low ridge and drew rein to look down on his home. It was a vast relief to be back, far from the incessant noise of London. The mellow red brick of the house, twined with ivy, the pointed gables and ranks of leaded windows, were as familiar as his face in the mirror. Furness Hall had been the seat of his family for two hundred years, built when the first earl received his title from King James. The place was a pleasing balance of grand and comfortable, Benjamin thought. And Somerset’s mild climate kept the lawn and shrubberies green all winter, though the trees were bare. Not one stray leaf marred the sweep of sod before the front door, he saw approvingly. The hedges were neat and square—a picture of tranquility. A man could be still with his thoughts here, and Benjamin longed for nothing else.

He left his horse at the stables and entered the house to a welcome hush. Everything was just as he wished it in his home, with no demands and no surprises. He’d heard a neighbor claim that Furness Hall had gone gloomy since its mistress died—when he thought Benjamin couldn’t hear. Benjamin could not have cared less about the fellow’s opinion. What did he know of grief? Or anything else, for that matter? He was obviously a dolt.

A shrill shout broke the silence as Benjamin turned toward the library, followed by pounding footsteps. A small figure erupted from the back of the entry hall. “The lord’s home,” cried the small boy.

Benjamin cringed. Five-year-old Geoffrey was a whirlwind of disruptive energy. He never seemed to speak below a shout, and he was forever beating on pans or capering about waving sticks like a demented imp.

“The lord’s home,” shouted the boy again, skidding to a stop before Benjamin and staring up at him. His red-gold hair flopped over his brow. He shoved it back with a grubby hand.

Benjamin’s jaw tightened. His small son’s face was so like Alice’s that it was uncannily painful. In a bloody terror of death and birth, he’d traded beloved female features for an erratic miniature copy. He could tell himself it wasn’t Geoffrey’s fault that his mother had died bringing him into the world. Heknewit wasn’t. But that didn’t make it any easier to look at him.

A nursery maid came running, put her hands on Geoffrey’s shoulders, and urged him away. Staring back over his shoulder, the boy went. His deep-blue eyes reproduced Alice’s in color and shape, but she’d never gazed at Benjamin so pugnaciously. Of course she hadn’t. She’d been all loving support and gentle approbation. But she was gone.

Benjamin headed for his library. If he had peace and quiet, he could manage the blow that fate had dealt him. Was that so much to ask? He didn’t think so.

Shutting the door behind him, he sat in his customary place before the fire. Alice’s portrait looked down at him—her lush figure in a simple white gown, that glory of red-gold hair, great celestial-blue eyes, and parted lips as if she was just about to speak to him. He’d forgotten that he’d thought the portrait idealized when it was first finished. Now it was his image of paradise lost. He no longer imagined—as he had all through the first year after her death—that he heard her voice in the next room, a few tantalizing feet away, or that he would come upon her around a corner. She was gone. But he could gaze at her image and lose himself in memory. He asked for nothing more.

• • •

Three days later, a post chaise pulled up before Furness Hall, uninvited and wholly unexpected. No one visited here now. One of the postilions jumped down and rapped on the front door while the other held the team. A young woman emerged from the carriage and marched up as the door opened. She slipped past the startled maid and planted herself by the stairs inside, grasping the newel post like a ship dropping anchor. “I am Jean Saunders,” she said. “Alice’s cousin. I’m here to see Geoffrey. At once, please.”

“G-geoffrey, miss?”

The visitor gave a sharp nod. “My…relative. Alice’s son.”

“He’s just a little lad.”

“I’m well aware. Please take me to him.” When the servant hesitated, she added, “Unless you prefer that I search the house.”

Goggle-eyed, the maid shook her head. “I’ll have to ask his lordship.”

Miss Saunders sighed and began pulling off her gloves. “I suppose you will.” She untied the strings of her bonnet. “Well? Do so.”

The maid hurried away. Miss Saunders removed her hat, revealing a wild tumble of glossy brown curls. Then she bit her bottom lip, looking far less sure of herself than she’d sounded, and put her hat back on. When footsteps approached from the back of the hall, she stood straighter and composed her features.

“Who the deuce are you?” asked the tall, frowning gentleman who followed the housemaid into the entryway.

Unquestionably handsome, Jean thought. He had the sort of broad-browed, square-jawed face one saw on the tombs of Crusaders. Dark hair, blue-gray eyes with darker lashes that might have been attractive if they hadn’t held a hard glitter. “I am Alice’s cousin,” Jean repeated.

“Cousin?” He said the word as if it had no obvious meaning.

“Well, second cousin, but that hardly matters. I’m here for Geoffrey.”

“Forhim? He’s five years old.”

“I’m well aware. As I am also aware that he is being shamefully neglected.”

“I beg your pardon?” Benjamin put ice into his tone. The accusation was outrageous, as was showing up at his home, without any warning, to make it.

“I don’t think I can grant it to you,” his unwanted visitor replied. “You might try asking your son for forgiveness.”

She spoke with contempt. The idea was ridiculous, but there was no mistaking her tone. Benjamin examined the intruder with one raking glance. She looked a bit younger than his own age of thirty. Slender, of medium height, with untidy brown hair, dark eyes, and an aquiline nose, she didn’t resemble Alice in the least.

“I’ve come to take Geoffrey to his grandparents,” she added. “Alice’s parents. He deserves a proper home.”

“His home is here.”

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