Engaging the Earl

“Grimshaw? What are you doing here?” Marcus asked as he entered the room. Any thought of exchanging pleasantries faded at the sight of his employee’s haggard expression.

“My lord,” the older man said, rising from the chair. He took a step forward as though to shake Lord Westin’s hand but then quickly stepped backward. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”

Marcus could have corrected him, but he didn’t bother to. “I’m only surprised to find you here so early,” he said instead.

Grimshaw nodded. “Forgive me, my lord. I wouldn’t have intruded were it not of the utmost importance. But once I received the news, I left immediately for London.”

“What news?” Countless possibilities paraded through his mind, each one more dire than the one before.

“You made an investment with Lord Rutherford for some American timber,” Grimshaw said slowly.

Marcus nodded. He only vaguely remembered the investment itself—Grimshaw handled those details—but he did recall the estate manager mentioning it to him several months ago. The investment seemed sound, and Marcus had authorized the man to deal with it accordingly.

“What about it?” Marcus prompted when Grimshaw hesitated.

“The ship transporting the goods has been in a storm. We can’t say for certain, but I’ve received some information that the ship and the merchandise …” Grimshaw trailed off, obviously unable—or afraid—to say anything else.

“The ship and the merchandise, what?” Marcus pressed.

“Well … they might have … it’s not certain, you understand … really, we won’t know anything further until more information surfaces …” Yet Grimshaw still didn’t get to the crux of the matter.

“Grimshaw, it’s much too early in the morning to be playing guessing games.”

“The ship has most likely sunk,” the estate manager blurted.

Marcus thought through the ramifications for a few moments before he said anything.

“It’s certainly a tragedy if that’s the case, Grimshaw. But I’m more concerned about the crew and any other people who might have been aboard the ship. We can only pray that the reports are untrue.”

“But the merchandise, my lord?”

Marcus waved the concern away with a negligent slash of his hand. “Undoubtedly, it would be unfortunate. But it’s hardly worth traveling across the country before dawn. I appreciate your diligence in keeping me informed, but I don’t see that this is a matter of any urgency. Surely nothing can be done until the reports have been confirmed.” He made a move toward the door to call Gibbons to ready a room. “Stay here tonight and get some sleep before you return to Westin Park.”

“You don’t understand, my lord …”

Marcus sighed and paused in his trek. “I’m not pleased to have possibly lost the funds. But that is paltry in light of the other concerns if the ship has indeed sunk. That’s why I’ve never gambled much money in schemes. They all have the potential to fail.”

At this, Grimshaw lowered his gaze to the floor.

Marcus noticed the change in his demeanor. “What is it, Grimshaw?”

“You’ve trusted me for years with your estates and with your investments, have you not, my lord?”

Marcus nodded. Nothing about the shift in conversation inspired confidence in him.

Grimshaw nodded almost reflexively. But he still wouldn’t meet Marcus’s eyes. “And you’ve given me the liberty to handle the funding as I saw fit, for the most part.”

“Yes?” More a question than an answer.

“I might have funded the investment from the Americas with a larger than usual portion of your ready funds.”

The knot of worry in Marcus’s gut grew and twisted his insides until they felt like mush. “How much?” he managed.

“In hindsight, more than I should have,” Grimshaw hedged.

“What does that mean?”

“Bad news … if the ship has sunk … which of course we don’t know for sure …” Grimshaw added hastily.

Marcus didn’t want to ask this next question, but he had to. “If it has sunk, what does that mean?”

The time it took his estate manager to answer was grossly exaggerated by the fear gripping Marcus. “It means you’ve lost most of your fortune.”

Even though Marcus had been bracing himself, the news still hit him hard. He raised a hand to rub his weary eyes and flinched when he pressed on the growing bruise. It was almost laughable—earlier that evening, he had fancied himself a heroic rescuer, sweeping in to save the fair maiden.

But who was going to ride to his rescue?

Chapter Two

Across town, Emma Mercer found herself occupied with her own need for rescue. As expected, she’d entered the Roth residence to find herself summarily dismissed from her position. To make matters worse, Lady Roth had not even allowed her a night’s rest before setting her on the street, with her belongings already stowed in her valise by a maid. Notably missing among those belongings was any type of letter of reference.

Emma couldn’t return to her parents.

Yes, sooner or later, she’d have to tell them she had lost her position, but she couldn’t bear to wake them with that dreadful news so soon. Not until she devised a plan to find different employment and provide them with the income on which they depended.

That left her with only one place to go—Olivia’s house.

At Olivia’s, the butler, an imperturbable man by the name of Mathis, showed her immediately into the drawing room as though there was nothing unusual about a predawn visitor. Olivia joined her there minutes later, still in her nightclothes but with an alert and determined expression. One look—plus whatever information Mathis had given her—was apparently all it took for Olivia to understand exactly what had occurred.

“I never liked you working for that puffed up snob anyway,” Olivia, the Marchioness of Huntsford, announced as she entered the room, talking over Emma’s attempts to apologize for the early hour. “You are far too good for those terrors she calls children, and besides, she gave you scarcely any time at all to come by and visit me.”

“This isn’t exactly good news, Olivia.” Emma felt compelled to interject. Although her friend’s enthusiasm had a grudging smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Nonsense, this will be like a holiday, having you here—because, of course, you’ll be staying.” Olivia continued. “And none of your protests about it being extra trouble, or me being too kind. I’m being entirely selfish in looking forward to having you stay with me. Mathis will have a maid prepare you a room in no time at all, won’t you, Mathis?”

“Certainly, my lady,” the butler replied with such assurance that one might have supposed he always kept rooms at the ready for newly dismissed governesses.

“There, you see?” Olivia said as she seated herself on a sofa. “Now, while Mathis takes care of that, why don’t you sit down here with me and tell me all about it?”

Relief and gratitude poured over Emma in a wave as she all but collapsed onto the seat next to her friend. Soon, the whole story had come out—oversleeping at her parents’ house, rushing back to the Roths’, the confrontation with Lady Roth ending in her swift but final exit. The only thing Emma left out was her meeting the man—Mr. Fairfax. But surely she could be forgiven for glossing over that. It had, after all, been merely a chance encounter with a gentleman she’d likely never see again.

Olivia listened with her usual amount of patience—which was to say, none whatsoever—interrupting frequently with exclamations of surprise and outrage on her friend’s behalf. Emma was used to constantly having to bite her tongue around Lady Roth and the little terrors masquerading as children, and around her parents. Frankness was a sure way to offend the former and hurt the latter. Despite the bleakness of the situation, it was relaxing to finally say exactly what she thought without fear of the consequences. If Olivia were the type to be easily offended, they never would have become friends in the first place.

Granted, a marchioness and a governess were an odd pairing for a friendship. The origins of the friendship had been equally unique. During a walk through the park a few months earlier, David, one of the Roth children, had flung a handful of mud at his sister, Marie—only to have it miss and hit the unsuspecting Marquess of Huntsford as he and his wife were strolling. Emma had been suitably mortified, but the Huntsfords had been cheerful and gracious.

Since then, Olivia had been a stalwart friend. A stalwart friend who was now entirely too eager to find a silver lining in Emma’s situation.

“We just need to build the proper strategy,” Olivia continued.