Missing Pages

Caroline Warfield

Merlin’s Owl Press

Copyright 2019 by Carol Lynn Roddy, writing as Caroline Warfield

All rights reserved. No part of this publication my be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

ISBN and ASIN to be determined upon general publication, if any

Cover art: Still life by David Teniers the Younger [public domain], in the collection of the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium

Created with Vellum

Contents

Author’s Note

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Also by Caroline Warfield

Author’s Note

In November 2018 I offered the right to specify elements for a made-to-order story that would be the exclusive property of the winner for two months as the grand prize in a contest. Brenda Lowe won that contest, and this story is the result.

Missing Pages

Aiden Grant, the Earl of Rhawnstead, inherited a title, extensive property, and some unexpected responsibilities. He would happily shoulder them—if only he can figure out exactly what they are. His predecessor’s love of secrecy, ciphers, and exotic birds complicates matters; some missing deeds and documents would help him sort it all out.

The earls of Rhawnstead have given Victoria Howard some rather odd gifts over the years—such as a big pile of moldy old books—but she's content to care for the earl's birds and other animals. She and her brother Theo live on the earl’s estate in another gift, the cottage that is their home. Will the new earl honor her ownership if she has no proof? The devilishly attractive new earl makes it hard for Vic to think clearly.

Written to order for Brenda Lowe with gratitude for her interest in my work

Chapter 1

Rhawnstead possessed a perfectly fine library, housed in walnut-framed splendor below stairs. Why would the former earl—the current one’s late cousin a few times removed—keep a pile of shabby old books in his dressing room?

It was yet another puzzle the new earl could not solve and minor compared to the others. He ordered his valet to thoroughly clean the dressing room that was now his and to dispose of the crumbling books.

“Keep them if you wish (though why you would want moldy collections of sermons and third-rate poetry, I can’t imagine) or put them in the servants’ hall. Toss them with the rubbish if nothing else; just remove them from my quarters,” he demanded.

Aiden Grant forgot the books entirely. His late cousin’s other eccentricities pressed in from all sides. He pensioned off the old woman who fed the previous earl “naught but bread and mutton broth—and that weak,” and hired a cook. When the new cook demanded an iron stove, Aiden happily obliged. Chimneys were cleaned, hearths cleared, and rooms beyond that of the earl’s chambers and library were heated, dusted, and cleared of Holland covers.

The estate could handle those household expenses. At least Aiden believed so. The ledgers he inherited were kept consistently, but they were incomprehensibly filled with odd categories, cyphers, and mysterious calculations.

He took each staff person’s word for their title and salary when the ledgers failed to reveal that particular information. Some of the servants appeared young and able enough, but the high proportion of old, infirmed, and disabled staff members required delicate handling. One man—who Aiden believed to be ninety at very least and who walked with a limp—assured the young earl twice that his title was “footman.” The man could barely walk from the foyer to the dining room without pausing to rest.

Aiden found the old earl’s man of business, Potter Renfield, to be honest and able enough. The man assured Aiden his funds were adequate if not excessively abundant, but he, too, found the household ledgers baffling. Renfield brought one thorny problem to his attention. A hefty part of the estate’s income came from a tract of farms acquired by the Aiden’s predecessor thirty-tree years before. Fine soil and able tenants made it particularly productive. The problem? The previous earl had never produced a deed or bill of sale.

“No’ tha its been challenged, mind ye,” Renfield told him in his thick Scots brogue, “I jest would feel better if the pappers were ‘n order.”

He went on to show Aiden the master file of key estate papers: marriage and birth records, deeds, patents, wills, royal grants, and Aiden’s own succession paperwork. These stretched back to the first earl in the fifteenth century.

“Shouldn’t the originals be housed by the estate?” Aiden asked.

“Th’auld earl din’t seem to mind them properly, and when I asked to move ’em he din’t object. I thought it best m’lord.”

Aiden nodded. “It probably was. Well done. But I see nothing specific to my cousin.”

“No m’lord. Not one document came my way from the day he succeeded.”

“No deed to the land in question, I see.”

“No m’lord. He directed me to collect the rents and the proceeds of harvests, but no deed. Ye can see my problem.”

Renfield, it ensued, had invested all proceeds from the tract in question in a separate account—one that had accumulated a staggeringly large balance. “Th’earl never asked, and I din’t feel comfortable spendin’ the funds, m’lord, not with ownership being hard to prove.”

Aiden stared at the numbers. Left untouched, the money had been invested shrewdly, making Aiden a much richer man than he realized. He had plenty to pension off servants, fix the failing roof, upgrade tenants’ cottages—even acquire some horses, another luxury his cousin chose to ignore. At least, he did if he could spend the funds.

“Surely after all this time we can assume possession of the land is safely in the hands of the earldom.”

The wily Scot raised a brow. Apparently they could not. “I would call it a wise move for you to find the deed m’lord, or ask a court to issue one.” He clamped his jaw shut stubbornly.

Aiden could overrule the man’s decision, but he had a point. He went home dreading the thought of legal proceedings, but dreading the thought of wading through his cousin’s files even more. He couldn’t complain that his cousin died without heirs. An earldom, after all, is no small gift, but sometimes the thing hung around his neck like a weight.

When he reached Rhawnstead he allowed sight of the big brick stable block to distract him. It represented yet another eccentric problem to solve. There being no horses, the stables at Rhawnstead had been converted into an aviary of sorts, its interior filled with neat rows of cages: some empty, some large and ornate ones filled with exotic species foreign to Aiden, an array of more ordinary ones containing injured birds in various stages of healing. Aiden had no idea what to do with them, but if he planned to buy horses, he had to sort that out.

Aiden had never heard of an estate that employed an “aviarist,” but Melton, the man who managed the odd collection, introduced himself and his place in the household with that title. Happy that the new earl final took an interest in what Melton called, “our splendid work,” the man gave him a thorough tour.

While Melton rattled on about rescued sparrows and wing-mangled chicken hawks, Aiden estimated the place, properly restored, could house six or eight horses of various kinds, and at least one carriage. When they moved on to the ornate cages, the colorful plumage of a bird of paradise momentarily caught his eye. An abundance of feathery orange plumage gave it the look of a dowager in full sail at a harvest ball. Perched in an exquisite wrought-iron cage taller than Aiden and as wide as it was tall, the bird made Aiden wonder just how much it had cost to transport the creature from whatever godforsaken place his cousin found it.

Did Frederick travel? There are at least a dozen birds here that never bred in the English countryside. Another mystery. He shook it off. Gazing up the regularly space holes along the roofline of what should have been a hayloft distracted him.

“For the owls, my lord,” Melton said. “We currently have four nesting. Keeps the vermin down.”

“I’m glad some of them at least earn their keep,” Aiden muttered. He pulled himself up to his full six-foot-plus height and peered down at the aviarist with what he hoped was his best lord-of-the-manor expression and pronounced, “This building is a stable, Melton. It is meant to house horses, and I plan to buy some.”

Melton blinked up as if he couldn’t make out the words.

“Several, Melton, and they will need a home. I will need a stable master.”

Melton’s eyes widened.

“And a stable, Melton,” the earl spat in exasperation. “I need my stable back!”

“Pity, my lord, but if you don’t want the exotics, the menagerie at Kew wants ’em. Offered me a job, they did.”

Aiden’s shoulders relaxed, relief flooding him. That didn’t go so badly.

“But if’n you plan to do away with the infirmary, my lord,” Melton went on, “you best warn Miss Victoria. She won’t like it. Not one bit.”

“Who,” Aiden asked through clenched teeth, “is Miss Victoria?”

“Best animal healer in the shire, my lord.”

Aiden stared back mouth agape. “Is she also one of my employees?” he asked when he was able.

“After a fashion. Best talk to her.”

Another mystery. This one will have to wait while I solve several others. “If you can give me this healer’s direction—” Aiden began.

“I’ll send a bird. Tell her you wish to talk to her.”

Aiden stared at the fluttering orange plumage, envisioning the dowager dashing off a message.

“Not the Empress, my lord,” Melton declared, not trying to hide his amusement. “A pigeon.”

“We have carrier pigeons?”

Melton pointed proudly to an array of square cages on the upper story at the end of the stable block. “We do indeed.” His lips twitched. “They earn their keep.”

Chapter 2

“Theo, leave the bunny alone and get back to your sums.” Victoria Howard stood with her flour covered hands raised from her kneading and watched her brother give the rabbit one more scratch behind its uninjured ear, heave his shoulders in a sigh, and rise with dramatic reluctance to drag his feet to the table.

“You aren’t marching off to gaol, Theo. Spare me your long face. Finish your task; the sooner you do it, the sooner you’re free to do as you please.” Victoria glanced back at the big rabbit, pleased to see it settled quietly in its box. She had moved it into the kitchen for warmth, but if it kept Theo from his schooling, it would have to go back to the shed.

At eight, Theo ought to be in school. At very least, he should be sitting with the vicar like the village boys, but Victoria feared for him. He contracted lung fever the previous winter while helping Victoria treat the Millers’ prize bull, and recovered with painful slowness. With another winter approaching, her instinct was to keep him home. The two-mile walk to Eckley would be out of the question in foul weather in any case, and she couldn’t bring herself to let him board with the vicar and his wife, and so home he stayed.

You can’t keep him forever, Vic, she told herself. He’ll need Latin and Greek and more if he’s to make a life for himself. She forced her vision back to the task at hand and let the rhythm of her kneading drive out worries. Since Maud left for Sussex for the birth of another grandchild, she had the kitchen to herself. Glad as she was for Maud’s cooking and cleaning in the normal course of things, it felt good to dive into bread dough up to her elbows.

“Done, Vic.” Theo hopped up and started toward the animal that held his attention.

“Stop right there, young man. We have reading to do.”

“Aw, Vic, you’re baking. I can’t—”

“Yes you can. Let’s try one of the books from Rhawnstead. Fetch one and pull up a chair near me.”

A scowl marred the freckled face, enough to send wrinkles under the lock of straw-colored hair that fell across his forehead. “Th’ last one was dead boring.”

“Just fetch one.” She had to agree that Reverend Blankenship’s Sermons on a the Prophecies of Nahum left much to be desired, but she used the books to stretch his vocabulary, not entertain him. They had Swift for that, to be read by candlelight in the evening.

Theo went to the pile of books stacked against the wall, picked up one or two, deepening his frown, finally pulled one out, and dragged a chair up to Victoria’s work table. It may have been covered in blue originally but it had faded to a mottled grey, and mold scarred the edges.

“What is this one?” she asked.

Theo squinted at the cover. “V-verses from a Sheep something.”

She leaned over. The words were faded. “Sheepfold,” she said. “Verses from a Sheepfold. By?”

“Wil something.”

“Wilbur. I can’t make out the last name either. Turn to the title page.”

Theo wrinkled up his nose when he opened it and the musty smell increased. “There’s a paper in this one, too.”

“What is it this time?” They found bits and scraps in some of the half-dozen or so they had opened: notes, reminders, a butcher’s bill… They even found a receipt for a golden pheasant for the aviary. Once, she found a recipe for syllabub with a touch of lemon. She put them all in a box in the secretary in the parlor; the bits and scraps were what kept her from using the books for fuel in her little stove. She wondered what else the old earl might have put in one of the books. Besides, finding them and deciphering them had become a sort of game with Theo.

The boy held up a piece of vellum with formal printing on it. This was something different.

“Read it to me,” she said, confident anything Lord Frederick stashed would be suitable for a boy. He ever delighted in obscure, secretive behavior, but he was a sweet old man for all that.

“Lady Bal-bald-win Cooper invites you to her h-a-r-v-e-s-t—“

“Harvest.”

“Ball. Harvest Ball.”

Victoria’s lips twitched. Lady Baldwin-Cooper must not have known Lord Frederick well. “What year?” she asked.

Theo scanned the invitation. “1809. It’s been in this book,” he screwed up his face to subtract. “Eleven years,” he concluded.

“Well done.” Victoria put the well-kneaded dough on a stool close enough to the stove to stay warm, but not so close as to kill the yeast. She began to wipe her hands. “Now open to the first verse and—“

Before she could finish there was a knock at the door.

“Come in, Alfred,” she called recognizing the knock. When the door remained closed, she pulled it open.

Alfred Murkle, the man of all work who came out from the village to see to the property, stepped in, a pigeon gripped gently between both hands. “Come but a moment ago, Miss Howard,” he told her. He held the bird while she untied the tube from its leg and removed a note.

Her brows drew together as she read the note out loud. “New earl needs a talking to. Merton.”

A talking to? How odd. The new earl had been in residence for three months and hadn’t taken any interest before. She hadn’t thought that he even knew she existed.

“Going to reply or should I put this ’un in a cage?” Alfred gestured with the bird, still in both hands.

It took her but a moment to flip the paper and write a message telling Merton she would come up the following day, and another to roll it, slip it into the message tube, and tie the tube back onto the pigeon.

She soothed a finger over the bird’s head. “You’ll be wanting the feed waiting back at Rhawnstead,” she said cooing at the pigeon.

“Release him in the open, Alfred. Do you have the goats loaded?” Vicar Weller’s milk goats’ case of the bloat had been easily managed, and Alfred dragooned into making the delivery on his way home.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be off as soon as I see this fellow away.” He left with a respectful dip of his head.

Victoria turned back to her brother. “We best get you a bath tonight Theo. It looks like we’re going to visit the manor tomorrow.”

* * *

“What do you think the earl wants, Vic?” The voice, that of a young child, carried into the hall.

“I don’t know. Perhaps his horse needs attention. Perhaps he—”

The second voice—a woman’s—trailed off. Aiden paused at the door. Eavesdroppers seldom heard anything good, he knew, but curiosity got the better of him. The butler had informed him that “Miss Howard” wished to see him. The name tickled his memory but refused to come into focus. Aiden had no idea who she was or what she could possibly want.

“Perhaps he what?” The first voice most definitely belonged to a child. Odd sort of morning call, bringing a child, he thought. He waited for the woman’s answer. It didn’t come.

“Do you think he wants Lord Frederick’s gift back?” the boy asked.

Odder and odder. He pushed the door open, and drew in a deep breath when the air left his lungs and coherent thought fled at the sight of her. The woman who awaited him stood well above average height. She would reach his shoulder if not his mouth—not that he ought to be thinking about mouths—and Aiden stood inches above six feet. She would be a comfortable armful—not that he ought to be thinking about her in his arms, even if she was built along lines to tempt a saint. When she dropped into a graceful curtsey, she provided him with a view of her rich chestnut hair, drawn in a cluster of curls that made his hands itch to touch—not that he ought to be thinking about running those hands through her hair. Or touching. He drew another breath.

“You wished to see me, Miss…”

“Theo—“ she hissed pointedly.

Miss Theo? He shook his head. No; Theo must be the boy who made a belated and somewhat awkward bow.

Theo stared up at him. “He doesn’t look like an earl,” he said.

Aiden stared back. “How should an earl look?” he asked, genuinely curious.

The little one opened his mouth. “Old and—”

“Theo Howard, mind your manners,” the vision, er, woman, reminded her son, patting him on the shoulder.

Son. Married. Not for you, he reminded himself glancing back at the boy. He must have misheard the “Miss.” But she can’t be more than four and twenty; she had to have been very young when he was born, he thought.

“Melton sent me a message that you needed to talk to me.”

Aiden tried to formulate a reply. I would definitely remember if I had asked for this woman.

Theo spoke before Aiden could think of something sensible to say. “No, Vic. Remember? You read it out. He said the earl needed a talking to.”

Vic. He remembered then. What had Melton said? Miss Victoria would object to his orders to empty the stable.

“You are Melton’s Miss Victoria?”

A deep shade of pink rose up from the neck of her gown—one, he noticed belatedly, not in the first stare of fashion—and spread across her cheeks to Aiden’s immense delight. “I am Victoria Howard. I often work with your aviarist. Perhaps Mr. Melton meant he needs me,” she said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Theo and I can be on our way.”

“Wait!”

She turned her intelligent eyes—hazel, he thought, with flakes of gold—toward him, momentarily driving thought and good sense from his brain.

“What was Lord Frederick’s gift?” he blurted out in the absence of any other respectable reason to keep her in his parlor.

Chapter 3

Victoria’s heart sank, and she berated herself for being a coward. She ought to have requested a meeting with the new earl as soon as he arrived. She had hoped he would quietly continue her agreement with Lord Frederick with no fuss, but now she feared it wouldn’t be that simple.

There was nothing for it but to tell the truth. Never one to play coward, she squared her shoulders, instinctively putting a protective arm around Theo’s shoulders. “Lord Frederick gave us the cottage we live in exchange for services.”

The young earl’s brows rose, and the implication of her statement dawned, causing even greater heat to rush up her cheeks.

“Not—that is, I cared for his lordship’s animals. I saw to the dogs, the sheep—and the birds of course.” And Theo. His inquisitive lordship didn’t need to know that.

She instinctively pulled the lad closer and the earl followed her eyes. What on earth must he be thinking? She groped for an easy way to explain the complicated relationship and failed.

The earl shifted his gaze to study Victoria herself. His serious expression knotted into a frown. “Gave you a cottage? Did he provide the deed?”

Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. She struggled to clear it. “Lord Frederick tended to be casual about paperwork,” she ground out at last.

“Casual or duplicitous?” the earl asked, startling her. “I’ve been trying to decide which it was.”

My, but those eyes are bright—and too damned perceptive. Perhaps he understands. Perhaps he believes me. She shuddered, bringing her errant heartbeat under control.

Before she could say more, however, the earl startled her by changing the subject. “Melton says you are the best animal healer in the shire.”

“Perhaps he’s right since I seem to be the only one,” she said with a smile. She hoped her expression exhibited more confidence than she felt.

“Melton believes it, and he appears to be a downy bird—so to speak.

A genuine grin stretched across her face. “As long as I keep his chicks happy,” she replied.

He nodded, and she thought they were in agreement, at least she hoped so.

“He is a bit monomaniacal,” the earl agreed. He ran his hand up the back of his neck and rested it there, as if choosing his words carefully, mussing his hair in the process, his thick, dark, spectacularly attractive black hair. Victoria blinked. She had never ogled Lord Frederick’s hair; that much, at least, was certain.

“The thing is Miss Howard, I have a problem.” He had her full attention. “It’s all those bl— er, exotic and wounded ducks.”

“They aren’t all ducks,” she replied instinctively.

He waved the comment away. “I need my stables back. I don’t know how my cousin managed travel, but I need horses—at least a few— and a place to keep them,” he said.

“He didn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Lord Frederick rarely left Rhawnstead.”

He nodded. “So I gathered.” He opened his mouth to go on, shut it as if struck by a thought and then asked, “Do you care for horses?”

“Certainly. If they are in need of medical attention. Yes.” Where is he going with this?

Her response seemed to please him, and Vic felt more hopeful. “What exactly did Melton say to you, my lord?”

He told her. When he came to a stop he peered anxiously at her, as if her approval mattered. “Melton warned me you wouldn’t like it. ‘Not one bit,’ he said.”

“Nonsense. It is by far the best for those exotics that they be given to the Kew menagerie. Did I understand you correctly that Melton has an offer of employment?”

“It is, and he does. Are we agreed on that?” His obvious relief pleased her. This man was no ogre.

“Provided they are transported carefully, yes,” she said. “But what about the injured? Those are local animals, not terribly valuable, but dear all the same.”

“Ah, we come to the heart of your concern.”

Not by half, but it will do for a start.

“Yes, they are my patients. Lord Frederick agreed to house them with his collection. Your cousin may have been eccentric but he cared for creatures. Will your stable have room for a small infirmary?”

He considered the matter. “At first. I may need the space eventually, but the wounded can stay for now. Do you come up to care for them?”

“I’m here every few days to look in on them. I haven’t the room for them at my cottage.” Why that seemed to please him she couldn’t guess. “Will you keep the pigeons?”

He nodded. “Yes, and the owls. They earn their keep.”

“That they do,” she grinned. “You can send a pigeon if you have need of me—” her foolish face heated again. “—of my services that is.”

“Good to know. Melton may need your assistance with transporting the exotics. I believe he may have made a start.”

“I’ll speak with him before I leave. One other thing, my lord.” He cocked his head to one side, and Vic realized for the first time (never having seen one before) that an attentive man is powerfully attractive. “What about my cottage? It is on Rhawnstead land.”

“What about it? Does it need my attention? You did say it is yours.”

She regretted raising the issue. Lord Frederick gave it to her, but lacking a deed she would always feel at the mercy of anyone who held the title and Rhawnstead.

“No deed?” the earl guessed. “There is much to be ironed out. I’m certain we’ll sort it eventually. In the meantime, I’ll come over in a day or two to inspect it.”

* * *

An earl for only eight months, Aiden felt gratified that a few of the skills gained during his time as a builder—inappropriate though many of his peers considered his work—were actually of use in his new reality. One of them involved assessing a property for damage and worth. He leaned in his saddle and studied Victoria Howard’s cottage.

Like most of his late cousin’s properties, this one was shabby and, if not precisely falling down, in need of attention. He could see from the lane that the roof needed thatching, but the foundation appeared to be well maintained. He dismounted, holding his horse by its reins, examined it more closely, and affirmed his original assessment. The casement windows were firmly attached, with intact glass and no sign of leakage or rot around the frames. It appeared in far better shape than some of the tenants’ cottages, but not as well cared for as the stable block cum aviary.

He stood back, satisfied, and examined the walls for chinks between stones or weaknesses. This place, at least, would need little of his attention; the thought left him oddly disappointed.

He was still gazing upward when the door swung open and diverted him. That door, he noted, had been painted recently and swung on well-oiled hinges. The entire cottage appeared well put together. So did the woman who stood in the doorway.

“My lord! We weren’t expecting you this morning,” she said.

His mouth went dry. His memory had not exaggerated her husky voice, her lush form, or her thick hair that was too unruly to stay confined in the ribbon she used to tie it back. He swallowed hard and tried to reply, but Victoria—Miss Howard—walked right past him, distracted by his companion.

“What a lovely animal.”

Jasper? Lovely? Perhaps in his long-gone youth the horse had been a beauty, but no longer. Steady and dependable, Aiden would have called him, built on sturdy lines and designed for practical use but never flashy or excitable.

The woman ignored his abstraction, rubbing noses with his mount, caressing his neck, and cooing in some language she and the animal seemed to understand.

“He’s a bit up in years, but he still looks magnificent. What’s his name?”

“Jasper.”

“Has he always been yours?”

“Yes.” He may have belonged to Aiden’s uncle, but the horse had been Aiden’s to use since he was eleven, and his property once he left university. Uncle Robert laughed when he asked for “that old nag,” but Aiden wanted his old friend, and knew he could depend on him.

She began to walk around the horse. She studies a visitor’s mount as if she were a buck at Tattersalls!

“What is this?” she demanded, running her hand down the long scar on Jasper’s flank.

“An old injury, long healed.”

She raised an eyebrow, her disdain for his simple answer clear. He would do well not to underestimate her where his stock was concerned.

He put an arm around Jasper’s neck and rubbed his cheek against the horse, remembering that day. “A careless worker overloaded a scaffold; when it collapsed the wood splintered in a dozen directions. One long piece flew across into Jasper and tore into his flank.”

“Deep?”

“Very. He was months healing.” He smoothed his hand along the horse’s neck. “Weren’t you, sir?” he said in a soothing voice.

“It nearly killed him.” He tore his gaze from his old friend to Miss Howard. The sort of woman who examines a visitor’s horse is the sort of woman who judges a man by how he treats his animals.

“I slept in the stall with him until he healed,” he told her, watching her steadily. Her beam of approval warmed him down to his toes. For moments he could neither move nor talk; they stood, eyes locked, in perfect accord until Aiden broke the mysterious connection.

“Your roof needs work.”

“It doesn’t leak,” she replied taking the reins from him. The boy Theo had come out. She leaned down and told the boy to walk the earl’s horse to the creek for a “wee nip of water,” before tying him behind the house.

“It will do soon if the thatching isn’t replaced,” he said peering back at the roof. “You’ll need repairs before next spring, I’d estimate. I’ll arrange for it after harvest.”

When she didn’t thank him or respond he turned toward her. “Miss Howard?”

“I did tell you it is my house, did I not? It isn’t your responsibility.”

“I mean no disrespect, but the estate employs workers who can see to it. Perhaps we can barter…”

He thought she would argue, but she appeared to think better of it. Her cheeks grew pink; he suspected she had belatedly remembered her manners. Her words confirmed it.

“Thank you for your kindness, my lord. Perhaps we can. May I offer you tea?” She gestured to the house. When he hesitated she added, “Maud made shortbread this morning, likely better than any you’ve ever eaten.”

Her message sounded clear enough. Whoever Maud was, she leant respectability. Miss Howard meant to put him at his ease. He followed her—and his inclinations—into the house.

As he suspected the place had two rooms down, a kitchen and a parlor, a well-built stairway, and most likely two rooms up. He sat on a worn settee in the parlor and allowed her to serve tea with shortbread as good as she promised.

Having exhausted the weather and Melton’s departure as topics, Aiden welcomed the distraction of Theo’s return. The boy peppered him with questions about Jasper and his travels, but the woman quickly ordered the boy to a table in the kitchen to work on his sums.

“Your son is very bright.”

She froze, her cup halfway to a mouth that suddenly gaped open while her checks flushed deep rose and then paled. She put the cup down with exaggerated care.

“Theo isn’t my son, my lord. He is my brother.”

A tangle of emotions confused Aiden—confusion and embarrassment, concern for her obvious distress, and an odd trickle of joy all danced around his heart.

“Miss Howard—” Relief that he could comfortably call her “Miss,” flooded him. “I apologize.”

“You need not. Theo and I share a mother. My father died several years before Theo was born.” She frowned deeply, and he wondered if she meant to tell him more. She didn’t.

“You’ve never married?” He blurted out the question without thinking and felt a perfect fool. “That is rude of me,” he began. “I’m s—”

She waved the apology away, sitting straighter and gazing at him directly. “Let me be perfectly clear with you. I am well aware that I am past the age when many young women marry. That is not a tragedy, nor is it a cause for pity. There were offers; I turned them down. I choose not to marry.” Her eyes dared him to criticize. He didn’t.

“This isn’t my business,” he murmured.

“It certainly is not, but since we are neighbors I prefer to be open. There has never been a man worthy enough, one who could tempt me away from my work, my brother’s need for my attention, or the care my mother needed. She died a year ago. She had been bedfast for three before that.”

Aiden wished he could hide under the settee. He wished he could walk away. He wished he could take this courageous woman in his arms and offer comfort.

Miss Howard looked away first. “Melton should have the exotics gone by the end of the month.”

She made that observation earlier, but at least it put them on safer ground. “How on earth did Lord Frederick acquire those birds anyway?” he asked. “He certainly didn’t travel the world.”

“No, but he corresponded with like-minded people across the globe. He had an agent in Melbourne. Let me show you an example.”

She went to the secretary in the corner of the parlor, a fine piece of walnut craftsmanship, and retrieved a wooden box. She brought the piece of paper she retrieved from it to Aiden.

“A receipt?”

She nodded. “For that golden pheasant. I believe the receipt ought properly be yours. I’m sorry I hadn’t considered that. I found it among some things of Lord Frederick’s.”

“It’s from Jenkins and Son, Shipping, in Melbourne,” he said, flipping it open. He supposed the paper was his as she said, but doubted it mattered. He whistled at the cost. “Egad. Are they all so costly?”

She laughed, a deep warm river of sound that wrapped around his heart bringing her smiling face with it. “Some no doubt cost more.”

He shook his head. “The money he paid for this one bird, its shipping and care might have thatched several roofs.” He didn’t add what he thought: or refurnished this cottage more comfortably.

“You find the estate in sad shape?”

“The situation isn’t desperate, but neglect and decay are everywhere, and it may take me time to put it aright. The only building in truly fine condition is the damned—beg your pardon, Miss Howard—the blessed stable block full of overpriced birds.”

“Lord Frederick’s priorities were not always wise, and yes, he could be difficult, but his kindness outweighed his oddities.”

“How is it you came to be an animal healer?”

“I don’t remember ever wanting to do anything else. Lord Frederick’s hound got a thorn in its paw during one of his visits when I was a girl. I pulled it out and bandaged it as my mother showed me, impressing the old earl. He encouraged me.”

It took very few questions and soon Aiden heard more than he needed about every injured dog and ailing sheep in the shire. He didn’t mind; the sound of her voice filled him with a contented peace. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed an afternoon so much. He hadn’t realized how lonely he had become rattling around the manor with none but servants for company.

He was half way home before it occurred to him to wonder just how well Victoria Howard knew his cousin—and in what way.

Chapter 4

Vic quickly finished a check on her patients. The two wild ducks were ready for release, and Mrs. Willoughby’s fat turkey would live and thrive—at least until the holidays. She washed her hands and looked around the emptied stable block with new insight. With the massive display cages gone, the place looked cavernous. Her infirmary cages, small and stacked, took up very little space at the end of the room.

The sturdy brick building showed every sign of well-financed maintenance. Even the windows, set with heavy leaded glass, sparkled. Melton’s desk and chair were sturdy walnut, recently purchased, and of the finest quality. The former cages were, she remembered of exquisite wrought iron. His lordship’s observations about Lord Frederick’s priorities had been correct; she had allowed her affection for the old man to blind her to other needs. She spun on her heels to go admit as such, but didn’t examine her motives in paying a call too closely.

As the butler led her to the earl’s study her newly-opened eyes took in the worn carpets and sagging chair seats. Lord Frederick’s exotics had lived better than he did.

She found the earl kneeling on the floor tapping on paneling. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Hoping to find hidden storage,” he replied, wiping his hands and rising to gesture her to a chair. “Excuse my appearance; I thought your call might be urgent.”

“No, no. I’m sorry I disturbed you, but, erm… What precisely are you searching for?” When he sat behind his desk, his deep sigh worried her. “I’m sorry. I must learn to rein in my inquisitiveness.”

“It is no matter. I simply hope to find where he kept the estate papers.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Papers?”

“Do you have a moment for me to worry you with estate concerns?” Without waiting for her answer, the earl launched into a story about his conversations with the estate’s man of business. By the end of his tale, Vic had leaned forward in her seat, hands flat on the edge of his desk, her lower lip clenched between her teeth.

“So he took no income from those farms he acquired?”

His expression revealed not only frustration but also bafflement. “He allowed Potter Renfield to invest it but withhold it.”

“Do you seriously believe someone will make claims after all this time?”

“No, and I could insist Renfield handle it differently. However, he is correct that we ought to manage the books in a business-like manner, so before I ask my solicitor to request the court to issue a new deed—a process that could unleash complications and take months—I want to be certain I’ve looked everywhere for it.”

“Wouldn’t it be with the other estate papers?”

“That’s just it. There aren’t any.” He held up a familiar piece of paper. “The receipt you gave me is the first I’ve seen. Let me show you something.” He turned the ledger book on his desk around to face her and flipped it open. “Can you make any sense of this?”

She stared down at a conglomeration of cyphers and calculations that resembled no bookkeeping in her experience. Even the column heads made no sense. She suspected they were code words.

“Goodness, Frederick! What were you about?” She glanced up at the earl, momentarily distracted by a lock of hair that had fallen on his brow, a product of his agitated mussing.

“So you know nothing about this?” he asked.

She sucked in a breath and urged her mind to move. “I certainly do not. I came here today to tell you your observations about his behavior were correct. He really did think more of those birds—magnificent though they were—than his comfort or anyone else’s. I’m sorry you inherited a mess. Is solving the problem of the deed urgent?”

“Becoming more so. We had a chimney fire in the east wing. It will have to be rebuilt before winter and the others cleaned and fortified.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair again. “Actually, today I wanted to find more receipts, hoping they might give me a clue to that bookkeeping system,” he said gesturing to the book. “There have to be more, but I’ve checked every drawer, shelf, and box in the study, library—every bl—every room in the house. Another peculiar thing: more than business papers are missing. There is no record of Frederick’s marriage or the birth of his son. Or his death. No family papers at all.”

He leaned across the desk as if struck with an idea. Since Vic had leaned forward, absorbed in the conversation, and utterly oblivious to the oddity of a man discussing business in such detail with a young lady, they were face to face.

A fraught moment passed before she broke the silence. “What?”

He blinked once recalling himself. “I was going to ask you where you found this one.”

The receipt. Of course. “It was in one of Lord Frederick’s books.”

“His books? We’ve an entire library.” He sank back in his chair as if contemplating a daunting task.

“The ones your butler sent over. They were to be put out with the rubbish, but he thought Theo might have a use for them. We use them for reading practice.”

“Books to be tossed away? They must be the ones I found stacked in my dressing room, moldy old books—sermons and terrible poetry?”

“One and the same. The content holds no interest but Theo’s vocabulary—”

“Have you found any other papers?” The earl’s excitement thrummed through Victoria.

Understanding dawned. “Yes. Odd bits of this and that—a recipe, an invitation…”

“No deed?”

“Not yet, but we have only begun opening them.”

A wide smile transformed his lordship’s face making him even more devastatingly attractive. Vic wished her foolish heart would cease its rapid drumming.

“Miss Howard,” he said, “May I escort you home? We have some books to examine.”

* * *

Aiden found Miss Howard’s kitchen more comfortable than his own study. Why that was, he couldn’t say, unless Maud’s baking warmed his heart. The sad lack of his hostess’s presence certainly did not.

He arrived to find the kitchen table occupied by pie dough, books in neat stacks ten or twenty deep on the floor along the front wall under a window, and Victoria Howard determined to make a call on a neighbor’s ailing dairy cow.

The collection of books was considerably more extensive than he had remembered. Momentarily daunted, he accepted Maud’s generous offer to clear one end of her table, picked up the first five, and began.

Hildren’s Sermons on The Obligations of Clergy, when opened, gave off a musty odor that caused Maud to wrinkle her nose and suggest they open the windows. Wind, however, ruffled pages making the situation worse, so they closed it again.

Ten pages in, Aiden found a slip of paper, a receipt for a large iron birdcage. Stunned to have his suspicions confirmed so quickly, he laid the page aside, lost in thought.

Lord Frederick used the books in his dressing room to file. But how? Did he have a system? Is there a pattern? A code? Did he put one document in each book or many?

No logic came to him, and so he continued turning page after page. The last question was easily answered when he found a receipt for birdseed after page forty-three of the same book. He soldiered on. Once, he thought he heard footsteps on the stairs, but Maud ignored it and so did he.

An hour and five books later he had a recipe for a tisane, a clipping from a gossip newsletter mentioning Frederick’s son Griffin, another mentioning the Royal Geographic Society, four receipts related to the blasted birds, and seven scraps of paper in the former earl’s handwriting with his observations on topics ranging from the weather to the behavior of exotic birds, primarily the latter. Some books had one document, others none. He shifted the pile so the completed books lay to the farthest left and used one of Maud’s wooden spatulas as a marker between those he had finished and the long row of books yet to be sorted.

Just as he rose with another set of books to examine, Theo bounced into the room.

“Vic told me you were here! She said I was to help you.” He stopped suddenly, remembered his manners, made a perfectly proper bow to the earl, and grinned up at him.

“Well met, young Theo. I can use help.” Aiden handed the boy the books and picked up more. Maud cleared the table so they could spread out their work. She brought Aiden a basket for the documents he found.

“Do you have a pencil and paper, Maud?”

“Certainly,” came a voice from the doorway. Victoria Howard stood there, stunning in a green dress that brought out the lights in her expressive eyes. She looked scrubbed and tidy and had obviously cleaned up after her work. For a moment, Lord Frederick’s oddities didn’t matter to Aiden, but then she disappeared into the other room, leaving him alone with his cousin’s books.

By the time she returned, Aiden had organized the kitchen table into something resembling a system: stacks of books yet to be sorted, space for finished ones, and two baskets to receive found documents. Maud offered to help as well.

His hostess handed him the paper and pencil. “What do you want with this?” she asked.

“I’m going to record the source of every document we find by title and page. It may all be random, but I doubt it. Lord Frederick may have been secretive and eccentric, but he had his own sense of order. Remember that ledger? There may be a code in his methods with the books.”

More hands made the work progress more quickly, but the woman’s presence distracted Aiden and slowed his work. She sat across from him with her brother next to her. Her hands, he noticed were rougher than those of the ladies he’d known in London, but graceful and dainty nonetheless. His eyes strayed to her hands more often than he liked, but he couldn’t help himself. When she bent to show her brother how to turn the pages quickly but carefully, her profile enchanted him. Aiden realized she was the first woman who had caught his interest since he learned he would inherit and needed to marry. Business, however, called, and he put the attraction aside. For now.

They worked steadily in silence. When one of them found something, they read it out to the others, and Aiden recorded it on his list. After the fifth time someone called him “my lord,” Aiden reached his limit. In a cottage kitchen, munching cookies, while working in collaboration, the title seemed foolish.

“Can you bring yourself to call me by my name, at least here while we’re working? You can mylord me all you want back at Rhawnstead!”

Miss Howard blinked at him and Theo piped up, “We don’t know your name,” he pointed out logically.

“True. I’m Aiden. In this kitchen, I’m Aiden.”

The boy grinned, “I’m Theo. This is Maud and that’s my sister Vic.”

Miss Howard—Vic—glowered at Aiden, her mouth pinched, and he braced himself for a lecture. “You will teach my brother bad habits, my lord.”

“Aiden.”

Her entire body sagged in surrender, and her tempting lips twitched with the effort to suppress her grin. “Very well, Aiden.” She turned on her brother. “But only in this kitchen, do you understand.” The boy grinned back nodding vigorously.

“As you wish—Vic,” Aiden responded. She just shook her head and kept working.

The afternoon was far gone before anything of significance turned up. Theo opened The Mysteries of Udolpho, the first novel they found buried among all the sermons, poetry and books on husbandry. Vic noticed what he had and took it away.

“But, Vic, look. It has a picture of a castle in the front.”

“Yes, but this one is not for boys.”

“You know it, I see,” Aiden teased, and watched with delight while Vic blushed bright rose. She refused to meet his eyes and soon they were all back to work.

Moments later he heard her gasp and looked up to see her holding a heavy paper with shaking hands. When he reached for it, he thought for a moment she would refuse to let it go. When he took it he read it silently.

“Theo’s guardianship papers?” He asked. The boy jerked up, rigid with interest. Vic nodded.

Theodore Frederick Howard of Rhawnstead, born this month to Anne Howard…

Aiden met Vic’s eyes, while questions swirled in his head.

“Theo, go see to the chickens,” Vic said.

Theo glanced back and forth between Aiden and his sister. “I know Lord Frederick is my grandsire, Vic,” he said, his voice subdued.

“How did—” Vic began.

“He told me. He was ever kind,” Theo said sadly. “He said ‘never doubt your grandsire loves you.’”

“I had no idea.”

“This appears to be document confirming the Earl of Rhawnstead as Theo’s guardian.” Aiden tapped his index finger on the page. “That would be me, now that I have inherited the privilege. Perhaps you can enlighten me about the circumstances, Vic.” Aiden smiled at Theo, hoping it reassured the boy. “Perhaps we could all use some enlightenment.”

The woman across from him peered intently at her brother, love and concern stark in her eyes. She raised her face to him, sighed deeply, and began. “It isn’t complicated. Theo’s father, you will have deduced, was Lord Frederick’s son Griffin. He died when Theo was one. My mother was unwell for several years, bedridden for three, and died when Theo was six, two years ago.”

“That’s why Lord Frederick gave you the cottage.”

“Yes. This was the steward’s cottage. My father was his steward. He died when I was younger than Theo, and Lord Frederick allowed us to stay here, but he made the gift when Mama died.” The two adults’ eyes held, fully aware of the precarious position of a young widow with a daughter to raise. Vic cleared her throat and went on hoarsely. “While the earl was the guardian, he gave me whatever I needed to care for Theo, and left me to do it as I saw fit.”

“But he gave you no actual bill of sale or deed,” Aiden said.

“No. I had only his word,” she replied, thickness in her throat dampening the word. He had no reply; there seemed nothing more to say.

Maud broke the silence. “The day grows late, Miss Victoria, my lord. I best be going.” Aiden had forgotten the woman’s presence. She’d worked silently at their side and appeared to consider herself exempt from their informal names. Before he could wonder what she would make of the revelations, she went on, “And don’t you worry none about what you just said, Miss Victoria. The village knows and loves you and Theo. We’re not fools in these parts.”

Without Maud’s presence to lend respectability, Aiden took his leave as well, determined to return and finish the next day. There were more mysteries in those books.

Chapter 5

After the revelations of the day before, Victoria expected the earl on her doorstep with the sun. He disappointed her.

Theo finished his porridge quickly, ran to the books, and began to work. His enthusiasm concerned her. “Are you worried about what we found yesterday?”

His brows shot up. “Worried, Vic? You mean because the earl is my guardian? That’s good, isn’t it?”

Is it?

Lord Frederick had been kind and this earl’s behavior had been honorable so far. She would need his help to educate Theo properly and ought to be relieved. Still, she worried. Life could be risky; what if the title changed hands again? With no deed, her ownership of the house was tenuous at best. She set to work next to her brother.

“You best start a new list, Vic. Here’s a recipe.”

“Game pie with root vegetables,” she read. “Read the title to me please.”

“C—ow-n-tr…”

“Country.”

“Country Verses.”

More bad poetry. She wrote it down. It occurred to her that the last recipe they found had been in a book of verse. His-call-me-Aiden-lordship may be right about Lord Frederick’s system.

Maud arrived and announced there would be no baking this day. She gathered laundry and set out into the yard to get to it. A few more clippings turned up, most of them regarding the workings of the British museum, although one concerned the menagerie at Kew.

Mid morning, Victoria reached for the next book, and her eyes widened at the title: The Coquette. Another novel. She placed it carefully on her side of the table.

Before she could open it, however, the knock on the door, strong and confident, alerted them. The earl had arrived. Her heart leapt, and she dashed to the door.

She flung it open. A demand that he explain his tardiness died in her throat at the sight of him, wind blown and slightly disheveled, the sun tossing gold highlights off his brown hair. They stared at one another momentarily while a smile slowly transformed his face.

“Happy to see me?”

His arrogant statement brought her to her senses. “We expected you earlier,” she said tartly, standing aside so he could enter.

“We’ve been working!” Theo called from the kitchen.

“Find anything of interest?” Aiden asked, joining the boy at the table.

Theo shook his head morosely. “And Vic makes me read everything. She’s been keeping a list.”

Lines formed at the edges of the earl’s eyes when he laughed, Victoria noticed.

Aiden picked up her list and nodded as if it confirmed a thought. “Sorting it out took me half the night, and I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I’m late—that and a crisis in the south pasture. I went over the list in head until I figured it out.”

He lay both lists side by side. “Do you see what I see?” he asked Victoria.

“The recipes are all in books of verse,” she replied.

Aiden grinned at her. “Very good,” he said in the same tone she used to complement Theo’s reading. “Look at the receipts.”

“Some are in books of sermons, but not all.”

“Yes, but the ones in books of sermons are all related to the exotics, or their care. The others are in the books on crops, animal care and so forth.”

“The only thing we found in the novel was Theo’s guardianship.” Her eyes strayed to The Coquette. His followed and they both reached to snatch it up at once. She lay it between them, opened to the title page, and began turning it page by page with a shaking hand.

Between pages ten and eleven they found a note about the death of Lord Frederick’s beloved wife. Between thirty-three and thirty-four, they found a clipping announcing the death of Aiden’s grandfather.

“There’s no question. He put family records in novels,” Victoria sighed, sitting upright. The concern in Aiden’s eyes made her heart skip a beat.

“Yes. They are things that ought to be in the estate papers. Are you worried what we might find?”

“Perhaps. Whatever he has hidden here, we need to know,” she replied.

“It won’t be the deed to my land—or to your cottage,” he mused.

“Are you sure?”

He wasn’t. They continued to page through The Coquette. Theo had been silently watching, but went back to the sermons he had been paging; he set two receipts aside but didn’t interrupt the adults.

“Holy angels!” Victoria gasped at the document stashed between pages seventy and seventy-one. “Marriage lines.” She picked it up with a shaking hand, read it twice, and handed it to Aiden. Pride for her mother’s sake warred with confusion.

“’Mary Howard, widow…’” he read. “Your mother?”

“Yes. She and that toad Griffin married before Theo was born.” She could hardly believe it.

Aiden’s eyes widened at her description of Theo’s father. She watched the further implication dawn on him. They both turned to look at Theo.

“Is that a good thing?” the boy asked.

“Yes, I think so,” she said, sounding anything but.

Victoria took the document from Aiden, begging him to keep silent in front of her brother until they could speak privately. He ignored her. “It confuses things, Theo. It means I may not be the earl, if Lord Frederick’s heir had a legitimate son.”

“What does leg-it-a-mit mean?” Theo asked, seizing exactly the issue Victoria wished he would ignore. “And if you aren’t earl, who is my guardian?”

Aiden glanced at her, but she clamped her jaw shut. He insisted on speaking now; let him explain, she thought.

“Legitimate means a son whose parents were legally married.”

“So my mother and Lord Frederick’s boy were leg- what you said married?”

“Clever boy,” Aiden told him. “It appears you may be the rightful earl, Theo.”

The boy appeared unimpressed; his face, in fact, began to crumple. “But I want you to be my guardian,” he said.

Before Victoria could act, Aiden was around the table and pulling Theo into his lap. “Listen to me, Theo,” he said. “This is new and confusing. We will have to work out all the implications, but know that you are cared for now and you will be cared for in the future. Victoria will see to it. So will I.”

She watched her brother bury his head in the shoulder of this man they had known such a short time and felt her heart hammering in her throat. Aiden’s entire life had just been upended, and his concern went to a small boy lost in confusion. She tumbled into love with him in spite of herself.

A hug, a sweet roll, and words of encouragement later, and they saw Theo out the door to feed the chickens.

“I’m sorry, Aiden,” she said as soon as the door closed.

His sad smile broke her heart. The hand he reached out to squeeze one of hers sent rays of heat up her arm. “We’ll figure it out, Vic. Keep the marriage lines in your care if you like, although it should go to Renfield with the rest of the estate papers.”

“One thing bothers me, Aiden. If Theo is Lord Frederick’s true heir, why did he hide it?”

Chapter 6

Aiden’s head spun. He wasn’t sure whether what he felt was crushing disappointment or relief. He hadn’t had time to get comfortable with the title and, it appeared, he no longer had it.

I have choices; I can go back to being a builder. But what of Theo? He will need help and I’m his nearest relative, distant though I might be. Mostly he felt numb.

“Did you hear me, Aiden?”

He blinked at Victoria.

“Can you think of any reason your cousin would hide this?”

He couldn’t.

“He loved Theo,” she went on. “Wouldn’t he have embraced him as the heir?”

Aiden looked down to see their hands joined; comforted that she hadn’t pulled away. He sighed deeply. “I have no idea. For now I think we need to finish what we began. The deeds are in there somewhere.” He gestured to the books, and she followed his lead.

Maud and Theo came and went, but Aiden and Victoria worked steadily throughout the day, rarely speaking. Once she looked up at him and said, “What will I do if we move to Rhawnstead? I don’t want to give up my work.” He tried to reassure her, but his words sounded flat even to himself.

Bringing another book to the table, he found himself telling her about his previous work, and his success as a builder. Her approval mattered.

The sun was low in the sky when Aiden heard Theo behind him sounding out another title. “Odd-oddy?” he asked bringing it to the table.

“The Odyssey,” Aiden told him. He stared at the title as if repeated reading would clarify the thought just off the edge of his consciousness.

“What is it?” Victoria asked.

“It isn’t verse or sermons or a novel either. It doesn’t fit.”

She pulled the book over and began to turn pages. They didn’t have to go far. The deed to Victoria’s cottage lay between pages fourteen and fifteen. She wept. Aiden did the only thing he could think of; he pulled her into his arms and comforted her just as he had comforted Theo yesterday.

“Were you so frightened? The earl would be either Theo or I; your cottage would have been safe with us.”

She gave him a look that said “foolish man,” and wiped her eyes. “Security is not a small thing. These are tears of joy.” She did not seem to be in a hurry to pull away from him, however, and he certainly wasn’t going to let go.

“Are we finished?” Theo sounded disappointed.

“We certainly are not,” Aiden said, feeling bereft when Victoria moved back to her own chair. Soon an invitation to a hunt and a clipping about songbirds were tossed into the basket without comment.

Just at dark, they found the deed to the long-ago purchased farms in The Odyssey. They met the discovery calmly, Aiden, Victoria, and Theo having exhausted their emotions over the revelations of the morning.

Maud, arms akimbo, announced, “You’re mad, the lot of you. Eat now or you’ll perish, I’ll be bound.” Eat they did, but not one wanted to break the silence.

“We ought to rejoice,” Aiden murmured at last, pushing aside his empty bowl.

Victoria’s weak smile didn’t cheer him. “Perhaps tomorrow we will. Maud, can you stay the night? There are nineteen more books. We can finish this last bit if you would put Theo to bed and stay—” She glanced at Aiden with a ghost of her usual assertive confidence. “—to protect his lordship’s reputation.”

Maud’s snort told all and sundry what she thought of that bit of nonsense, but Aiden knew she wasn’t about to leave her Miss Victoria alone in the house with a man.

In short order, dishes were cleared, Theo readied for bed, and Maud prepared to follow him. “Earl or no—you mind your behavior, young man,” she said tartly on her way up the stairs.

“Vic, are you sure about this?” Aiden asked, as they stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, watching Maud climb the stairs. Her blush pleased him as little else had all day, even the blasted deed.

“Back to work your, erm, Aiden,” she replied, attempting levity and failing.

When the Odyssey yielded nothing else, Victoria suggested they bring the remaining books to the table and sort them.

They found eleven books of sermons. “Always his blasted birds,” Aiden grumbled, shaking his head.

“Five more volumes of obscure—and probably awful—verse, so more recipes and gossip. That leaves one on sheep breeding and another on the joy of rutabagas,” Victoria said, provoking him to laugh at least.

He grabbed the final book and held it up with a gleam in his eye. “Castle Rackrent,” he intoned, wagging his eyebrows. “The birdseed receipts will keep. Shall we see what family secrets Frederick buried in the dungeon this time?”

Her hazel eyes sparkled when she picked up the candle as he bid and allowed him to lead her to the parlor. “We ought to finish this in comfort. My backside can’t endure that chair another hour,” he said, earning a poke for his language.

She used the candle in her hand to light several in the sconces and attempted to walk past him where he sat, having appropriated her rocker. She gasped when he pulled her into his lap, and squirmed to get loose.

“Be still, Miss Howard, or I won’t be responsible for my actions! Help me with this book.”

To his joy, she surrendered, putting her head on his shoulder, and opening Castle Rackrent. “This is how I read to Theo,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “Read.”

Having, out of friendship for the family, upon whose estate, praised be Heaven! I and mine have lived rent-free time out of mind, voluntarily undertaken to publish the MEMOIRS OF THE RACKRENT FAMILY…

“Perfect,” he murmured. “What have you hidden from us, Frederick?” He began to turn the pages.

They found a letter confirming the birth and death of an infant to Frederick and his beloved Sarah before Victoria had even been born. They found a letter from Aiden’s grandfather in sympathy. They found a record of payments to a woman named Althea Miller over the course of several years.

“Who is Althea Miller?” Aiden asked.

“I’ve never heard of her,” Victoria told him. “If she isn’t from your family, what is her name doing in Castle Rackrent? Some distant relative? Can it be a mistake?”

“I doubt it. For all his secrets and eccentric ways, Frederick appears to have been consistent and careful. Keep going.”

They found one more document. It changed everything.

Victoria sat bolt upright, which, since she sat on his lap still, caused him significant discomfort. “But this is another marriage!”

Aiden looped an arm around her waist to hold her in place and leaned toward the light. “It confirms Griffin’s marriage to Althea Miller. It is dated two years before he married your mother. Dear God!”

“The payments to her went on long after mother’s supposed marriage. Poor Mama.”

“I’m sorry, Victoria. Do you think she knew her marriage was bigamous?”

“She never even told me she had married Griffin. Perhaps she knew.”

“She certainly must have known when Lord Frederick didn’t declare Theo his heir after Griffin died.”

“Neither of them explained anything to me. I wish she was here so I could give her a piece of my mind—she and Lord Frederick both!” She sank back into his embrace and laid her head on his shoulder. “What do we do now?”

“We? I rather like that,” he told her. He rocked in silence for a moment before telling her his thoughts. “I believe this puts us back where we were three days ago. I am the earl—and Theo’s guardian. Only now you have your proof of ownership of your own cottage and freedom to do what you will with it.”

He moved to face her so he could see her reaction. She did’nt appear as elated as he hoped. “Disappointed for Theo?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He had no expectation before; he’ll be fine.”

He leaned a little closer. “You have your work,” he breathed. Her lips parted slightly. He took that as an invitation and leaned yet farther to kiss her. When her hand slipped up his neck and her fingers threaded into his hair, the heat surged through him.

When he felt her hesitate he pulled back so little that the side of his nose still touched hers. “When you are a countess, you can still work as a healer,” he murmured against her mouth before kissing her again.

She kissed him back and then put up a hand to push away. “What did you say?”

He sat back. “I said you can always continue your work.”

“No, the other part.”

“When you are a countess…”

“And how can I be a countess?” she demanded.

“By marrying an earl, of course,” he explained, cupping her cheek with one hand, and grinning, he feared, like a fool.

This time she kissed him, well and thoroughly, before drawing away again to chide, “You’ve only known me for two weeks.”

He sighed as pathetically as he could manage, hoping for sympathy, and seeing only laughter in her eyes. “May I say it in one more week?”

“What was it Maud told you—mind your behavior!” She stood then and he made no effort to stop her.

He rose as well, but he pulled her into his embrace, kissing the side of her neck when she leaned back. “This is better; you fit against me perfectly.” He took her mouth again and the elation of victory flooded him when she sagged against him. It took him a moment to remember he was a gentleman, but remember he did.

He removed his hands from her back and used them to put space between them. “Maud, I fear, is right. I will leave while I’m still an honorable man.” He touched her cheek and brushed back an errant lock of hair. “But make no mistake, I’ll be back. I plan to court you, Victoria Howard, well and proper. Between us we’ll take care of Theo.”

* * *

He set action to words so quickly, he was out the door before she could formulate a response to his words. Suddenly remembering the deed to his land and the other estate papers she opened the door to call after him, but she was too late.

It didn’t matter. “He’ll be back,” she said into the empty room, and blew out the candles with a smile.

THE END

About the Author

Traveler, would-be adventurer, librarian, technology manager, Caroline Warfield has many things, but she is above all a romantic. Someone who begins life as an army brat develops a wide view of life. She reckons she is on at least her third act. When she isn’t off seeking adventures with her Beloved or her grandson down the block, she works happily in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to even more adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

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http://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

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Also by Caroline Warfield

The Children of Empire Series (1832-1840)

Three cousins torn apart by lies and deceit work their way back home from the far corners of empire.

The Renegade Wife

A desperate woman on the run with her children finds shelter with a reclusive businessman in the Canadian wilderness. But now she’s gone again. Can he save her before time runs out?

The Reluctant Wife

A disgraced Bengal army officer finds himself responsible for two unexpected daughters and a headstrong, interfering,—but attractive—widow. This time, failure is not an option.

The Unexpected Wife

The Duke of Murnane seeks escape in service to the crown in the drug ridden, contentious port of Canton, only to find his problems waiting at the end of the earth. Can love bring him back? (Available May, 2018)

The Dangerous Series (Regency Era)

Dangerous Works

A little Greek is one thing; the art of love is another. Only Andrew ever tried to teach Georgiana both.

Dangerous Weakness

A marquess who never loses control and a very independent woman spark conflict until revolution, politics, and pirates, force them to work together.

Dangerous Secrets

When Jamie fled to Rome to hide his shame he didn’t expect a vicar’s daughter and imp of a niece to take over his life. Will his secrets destroy their chance at love?

The Holiday Collection

Lady Charlotte’s Christmas Vigil

Love is the best medicine and the sweetest things in life are worth the wait, especially at Christmastime in Venice for a stranded English Lady and a handsome physician.

An Open Heart

She may not celebrate the same holiday as others at the Regency house party, but the banker’s daughter knows she can treasure her heritage and still reach out to people of different traditions. If only she can convince her beloved to have an open heart!

A Dangerous Nativity

With Christmas coming, can the Earl of Chadbourn repair his widowed sister’s damaged estate, and far more damaged family? Dare he hope for love in the bargain?

(Prequel to both the Dangerous and Children of Empire series)

Anthologies with Warfield Novellas:

A Holiday in Bath

Holly and Hopeful Hearts

Never Too Late

Follow Your Star Home

Valentines From Bath