The earls inconvenient h.., p.5
The Earl's Inconvenient Houseguest, page 5
If he expected them to take this latest, low blow without a hasty overreaction spewed in anger, then he had another think coming! The inhabitants of Whittleston-on-the-Water weren’t gullible idiots! To get an advertisement in The Times so fast, he had to have submitted the dratted thing before he had met with them all, yet for all his placating talk of ‘early days’ and ‘bolts out of the blue,’ the duplicitous scoundrel had neglected to mention that pertinent little detail of his apparently hazy plan!
Therefore, not only was an overreaction deserved, the oh-so-charming but two-faced slippery snake had it coming. The battle lines were drawn and the gauntlet thrown. When they retaliated it would be swift and aimed at both of his faces!
Incensed, Sophie snatched up the damning newspaper in case her aunt awoke from her afternoon nap and saw it, knowing it would come better from her once she had a clear plan of action to fight it. She rolled it up like a weapon and marched out of her front door ready to rally the troops to prepare for all-out war, then stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a stranger apparently in some distress right outside her back gate.
Her temper already diluted by concern, she rushed towards him. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’
With his head in his hands, the man turned his back to her and hastened to the middle of the lane to frantically glance up and down it, but not before she heard the unmistakable sounds of panic.
‘Sir...can I help?’ He shook his blond head while hiding his face, trying and failing to disappear into his collar, then flinched as she touched his shoulder as if he feared her. ‘Has something happened? Has someone hurt you?’ He kept edging away despite the panic he was in. ‘Are you lost?’ He was a stranger to the area of that she was certain.
He nodded, his breathing laboured as he fought for control. ‘I didn’t mean to...to wander off.’ Even in his panicked state, there was something unusual about his voice. It was slow, a tad nasal with an over-pronounced lisp. ‘Now I can’t find Rafe.’
‘Perhaps I can help you find him?’
The man shook his covered head again. Vehemently. ‘Rafe says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. No matter what.’ His voice was choked. Childlike irrespective of its deepness. His hunched shoulders rising and falling rapidly. ‘I mustn’t speak to people I don’t know.’
‘Rafe sounds very sensible.’ Sophie racked her brains for any memory of a Rafe ever venturing into Whittleston or hereabouts and drew a blank. ‘Who is he to you?’
‘My brother.’
‘And where did you last see your brother?’
‘In the dining room...but he had to work before we could go for our ride...so I went to see the horses...but there was a pretty deer and then...and then...’ All attempts at covering his upset dissolved in an instant and he wept noisily into his hands. ‘I’m not supposed to wander off without Rafe.’
‘There, there.’ He didn’t flinch when she touched him again and allowed her to wrap a comforting arm about his shoulders. She passed him her handkerchief and, as he took it, she saw her first glimpse of his face and his distress all made perfect sense. His features were small and flat. The bright blue upward slanted eyes were filled with tragic tears and his wide, round jaw quivered with confused emotion. She smiled kindly and smoothed his hair. ‘We’ll find Rafe together, don’t worry. I am sure he is not far away.’
He leaned his head on her shoulder for a moment then pulled away, blinking and ashamed as if he had just committed a cardinal sin. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers unless Rafe says it is all right.’
‘That is very sensible advice—but Rafe isn’t here for you to check with, is he? And you are lost and I would really like to help you find him so that you are not lost and scared any more.’ She stroked his arm, trying to reassure him with her fingers that she was more friend than foe. ‘But I think I have a solution which will make it all right for you to talk to me. If we introduce ourselves we won’t be strangers any more—we shall be friends. I am sure Rafe lets you talk to friends, doesn’t he?’
He nodded warily and she couldn’t blame him or his brother for such a reluctance to trust. The world could be a cruel place for people who were different, especially if they were vulnerable. She beamed, dipped into an exaggerated curtsy then stuck out her hand. ‘I am Miss Sophie Gilbert and I am very pleased to meet you.’ He stared at her outstretched fingers uncertain. ‘Now you tell me your name.’
He thought about it for several seconds as he stared at her outstretched palm. Finally, his eyes lifted shyly to hers. ‘It’s Archie.’
‘How do you do, Archie.’ She closed the distance to take his big hand and shook it. ‘Now that we have shaken hands—and just as soon as you say “how do you do” back—we won’t be strangers any more.’
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he nodded. ‘How do you do...’ Then he floundered so she helped him out.
‘Sophie. I am Sophie Gilbert and I live here in Willow Cottage...’ she gestured behind her to the house ‘...with my Aunt Jemima and a grumpy old cat called Socrates. Do you like cats, Archie?’
He nodded. ‘I like horses the best. And dogs too.’ Forgetting the handkerchief he had balled in his fist, he used the sleeve of his coat to wipe his face, oblivious of the fine fabric it was made from or the unmistakable quality of the cut. Clothes which screamed this young man was well cared for. And he was young. By her best estimation he couldn’t be much more than twenty—on the outside at least. ‘Rafe says he’s going to get me a puppy soon. I’ve always wanted a puppy, but they made Papa sneeze. But now that Papa is gone Rafe says that we can have a dog and it can sleep on my bed every night.’
‘Puppies are lovely and your brother sounds lovely too.’ Beyond lovely if he had kept Archie by his side when most would have had him locked away. ‘Why are you and your brother here in this village today, Archie? Are you visiting someone?’ If they were, she was confident she knew absolutely everyone and all their business. It was nigh on impossible to keep a secret in Whittleston-on-the-Water—although she had bucked the odds to manage it.
He shook his sandy head again, his previous distress now lessened because he no longer felt alone. ‘We have to live in the m...m...’ His nose wrinkled as his tongue tripped over the words. ‘Mossy-leem till Rafe can sell it.’
‘Mossy-leem?’ Mausoleum? Not a noun one heard every day yet Sophie had now heard it twice in one week. ‘Is your surname Peel by any chance, Archie?’ He nodded and she sighed, annoyed that it appeared she might have to re-evaluate a man she had already decided she disliked intensely. ‘Then follow me because I think I know exactly where Rafe is.’
It was less than a ten-minute walk up the lane to Hockley Hall, and now that they were official friends, Archie never stopped talking. He took such delight in everything, from the gnarly oak tree which he said looked like it had a face to the drift of early snowdrops which were almost blooming on the side of the road. Nothing was mundane or taken for granted because he seemed to appreciate the beauty in all he saw and that was infectious. It certainly made Sophie pause and take stock again. She must have walked this exact route at least a thousand times in the decade she had lived here with her aunt, knew it like the back of her hand and could probably navigate it blindfold, yet with Archie beside her she saw it with fresh eyes.
‘My horse is called Alan and he is five. He’s a Welsh pony.’
‘Alan is a funny name for a horse.’
Archie laughed. ‘That’s what Rafe says but I like the name. I can even spell it.’ He held up his hand and counted the letters on his fingers. ‘A-L-A-N.’
‘Very clever.’
‘I like words with four letters.’
As much as she adored it, she couldn’t think of a response to that comment. ‘What colour is Alan?’
‘Grey and he stands thirteen hands.’ Sophie had no idea how tall that was, or even what made a Welsh pony different from any other horse, but nodded as if she did. ‘But Atlas is a thoroughbred, and he stands over sixteen hands and can jump over a whole hedge. He’s Rafe’s horse and he can be a bit grumpy like your cat. I am not allowed to ride Atlas under any circumstances, but I can groom him and feed him apples.’
‘Do the apples make him less grumpy?’
Archie shrugged. ‘Rafe says Atlas is a law unto himself and chooses what mood he will be in depending on the weather. Sometimes the apples make him happy and other times he just spits them back at you, so Rafe says you never really know where you stand with him so it’s best to always be on your guard.’
Which pretty much summed up exactly how she currently felt about Rafe. The previously solid ground wasn’t quite as steady as it had been less than an hour ago now that she had met Archie, and the more his brother waxed lyrical about his biggest hero, the more unsteady that became. Saint Rafe had apparently left the army solely to care for Archie after their father had died. They spent hours together every day doing all the sorts of idyllic things which most brothers only dreamed of doing with each other if only they had the time, like riding and fishing. He was in the process of teaching Archie to read—something he apparently hadn’t been able to do before the paragon became his guardian—and had taught his younger brother how to care for horses in preparation for the stud farm he planned to create.
‘How old were you when you learned to ride, Archie?’ She already knew it would have been Rafe who had taken the time and patience to teach him at some point. But before he could answer and as they turned the bend towards the imposing wrought iron gates of the hall, a shout went up.
‘Found him!’
Then several men spilled out of the gates all pointing in their direction and obviously all on a quest to retrieve their master’s missing sibling. Hot on their heels was the new master of Hockley Hall himself, except this time all the easy charm and arrogance had been replaced by the twin emotions of frantic concern and relief.
‘Archie!’ He dashed towards his brother, his breathing clearly laboured as if he too had been in a mad panic. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ It was more a rhetorical question than one he expected an answer to because the second he came within arm’s length he grabbed Archie and hauled him into his arms to check him over. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt? I’ve been worried sick!’ Then he cupped his cheeks to admonish him gently. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off without telling me? Especially here when you haven’t yet found your bearings!’
The younger man burrowed against him as the elder Peel hugged his brother tight again, the intense affection between them as clear as the striking bright cobalt-coloured irises they also shared. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t mean to get lost.’
‘I know you didn’t—and I am sorry for shouting—but you scared the life out of me.’ Still holding his brother tight, Lord Hockley’s blue eyes searched hers, but it wasn’t just gratitude swirling in their stormy depths. There was an unease which unsettled her although she couldn’t quite ascertain why.
‘I found Archie in the lane outside my house.’ Without thinking she used the rolled-up newspaper she still carried to point the direction and his expression altered as he saw it. Instinctively he gathered his brother closer as if he feared she was about to attack him with it—because they both plainly knew what he had done behind their backs to put in it.
‘I was lost.’ Archie’s voice was muffled by the broad expanse of his significantly taller brother’s chest. ‘But Sophie knew the way home, so she helped me find you.’
He released his brother but tucked Archie behind him, ruffling his hair with obvious affection before he turned back around. ‘Thank you for returning him safely, Soph... I mean, Miss Gilbert.’ The thanks were tempered by a stiffening of his shoulders, almost as if he were bracing himself for an outraged onslaught.
She acknowledged it with a curt nod, not ready to lower her own guard even though the soft part of her heart clearly wanted to despite his inconsiderate attitude towards the village. ‘It was no trouble at all—my lord.’ It was also best to keep things as formal as possible. In fact, if her silly soft heart was so inclined to waver on the back of one tender moment between the duplicitous new earl and his delightful younger brother, it was probably best to keep things clipped and formal at all costs, so she held her cold stare for a few moments to make sure he knew she still despised him and all he stood for.
Only then did she offer a genuine smile to Archie while the damning newspaper seemed to vibrate in her clenched fist. He glanced at it again during yet another awkward, pregnant pause, and to vex him Sophie tucked it behind her back while she bobbed an insincere curtsy at the enemy before smiling again at her new friend. ‘I shall bid you a good day, gentlemen.’ Sophie couldn’t help but take pleasure in the flicker of confusion in Lord Hockley’s eyes before he smothered it. It would do him good to be left unsettled. As much as the elder Peel deserved a good thwack around the head with The Times for his underhand behaviour, now was neither the time nor the place because it would upset his brother and she still hadn’t formulated a plan of attack to thwart the lord of the manor. ‘Enjoy your afternoon ride, Archie, and I hope you get your puppy soon.’
Then she spun on her heel and marched back down the lane towards the village, trying and failing not to feel some sympathy for the selfish wretch who held the entire fate of the village in his blatantly responsible and disconcertingly caring, big hands.
Chapter Six
Despite the unmistakable copy of his advertisement that she must have seen—because it had been too coincidental that she had returned his brother in one hand while symbolically wielding a copy of The Times like a sword in the other—Miss Gilbert had still failed to mention it. Nor, apparently, had anyone else. Either that had been a coincidence, or the minx had let Rafe stew for two days to lull him into a false sense of security before her next ambush. Whatever her motives, and he did not doubt for one second the woman had something up her sleeve, there was no denying she had made quite the impression on Archie. His brother was so bewitched by his ‘new friend’ he hadn’t stopped talking about her and had nagged Rafe narrow on the hour, every hour, to take him to visit her and her blasted cat Socrates.
He might have known the witch would have a cat.
And a kind way with troublesome, inquisitive siblings. Or at least he hoped she did. His worst nightmare would be her using her unique knowledge of Archie’s existence against him in some way. The small staff on the estate payroll all lived on the grounds and had taken the king’s shilling. Mention my brother to anyone and it will be the last day you work here, and you will be tossed from the grounds without references. Stay silent on the subject and I’ll double your salary immediately. The classic carrot and stick incentive which every branch of the British military relied on for compliance, except Rafe had always preferred carrots to sticks and earned respect rather than threats.
However, with Archie’s safety his main concern while in this toxic, cloying, judgemental village, he could not afford the risk of anyone stepping out of line. That was why the frankly ridiculous pay rise had come with such a severe stipulation attached. He hoped the money made the stick redundant, but so help him, if anyone—anyone—threw Archie to the wolves, he’d use the stick to bludgeon the traitor to a sticky pulp.
Unfortunately, the irksome Miss Gilbert or her judgemental eyebrows were not on his payroll, and neither were her assorted motley crew of villagers who seemed to hang on her every word. She was a loose cannon and, blast her, a natural and clever leader who was impervious to his charm and apparently read him like a book. Which now made her another damn good reason to offload this godforsaken estate as soon as possible. A task he was optimistic might begin in earnest this morning when the first eager buyers came to view it all.
So far, twenty-two wealthy gentlemen had expressed an interest, and while Rafe was happy to allow them all access to the mausoleum and grounds today and tomorrow, he had instructed Mr Spiggot to do some serious delving into their backgrounds too. Because, frankly, if they did not actually have the necessary funds in the bank now to buy it off him today, they weren’t serious candidates. He wasn’t interested in the protracted dance of negotiation—just the swift transfer of the deeds of ownership so he could get back on with his quiet life.
‘Boiled eggs again?’ He ruffled his brother’s hair as he strode into the breakfast room, determined to snatch a few minutes with him before the estate was swarming with potential buyers. Or at least he hoped it would be swarming with them as Rafe had directed all his attention as well as pinned all his hopes on the success of these next two days. Opening the house and grounds to all without the need for an appointment was unconventional. Vulgar and unseemly too in the eyes of aristocracy because he was publicly selling off the family silver, but he was hopeful that made things more intriguing to the new money with deep pockets and a desire to rise within the ranks by the acquisition of a bona fide country estate. ‘Aren’t you a bit bored of them by now?’
Archie shook his head. ‘The hens here lay the best eggs and they laid these for me this morning.’ Usually a creature of habit, his brother had surprised Rafe at how quickly he had adapted to his routine here at Hockley Hall without too much rebellion. But then Archie had always adored animals of all sorts, so fetching the eggs every morning before he visited the horses, sheep and cows which lived in the closest barns and pastures wasn’t something the most stubborn Peel would dig his heels in against. And as both the cook and the stablemaster had taken a shine to his brother and did not seem to mind him tagging along as they went about their work, the new morning routine had freed Rafe up some to get on with everything else the unwelcome portion of his unexpected inheritance now meant he had to do.
