When to Engage an Earl Read online

  Also by Sally MacKenzie

  How to Manage a Marquess

  What to Do with a Duke

  Loving Lord Ash

  Surprising Lord Jack

  Bedding Lord Ned

  The Naked King

  The Naked Viscount

  The Naked Baron

  The Naked Gentleman

  The Naked Earl

  The Naked Marquis

  The Naked Duke

  Novellas

  In the Spinster’s Bed

  The Duchess of Love

  The Naked Prince

  The Naked Laird

  WHEN to ENGAGE an EARL

  SALLY MACKENZIE

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Sally MacKenzie

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  IN THE SPINSTER’S BED

  WHAT TO DO WITH A DUKE

  HOW TO MANAGE A MARQUESS

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Sally MacKenzie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3716-3

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3717-0

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-3717-4

  For my wonderful editor,

  Esi Sogah,

  who shone the light that

  showed me the way through the weeds.

  I shall inscribe her immortal words

  above my computer:

  “Easy fixes are the best fixes.”

  Chapter One

  Evans Hall, August 1817

  Alex, Earl of Evans, rode slowly up the drive to his country estate. He’d left the little village of Loves Bridge shortly after the weddings of his friends Marcus, Duke of Hart, and Nate, Marquess of Haywood, and had spent the last two months wandering the Lake District with only the hills and water and sheep for company.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. He’d had one constant, unpleasant companion: envy.

  Marcus and Nate had found wives without even trying. Trying? Ha! They’d been trying to avoid marriage, believing Marcus was under the shadow of an ancient family curse. He was the one who’d been looking for a wife.

  I’d be married now if Lady Charlotte hadn’t jilted me.

  He scowled at his horse’s ears. Charlotte was in his past. In the days he’d spent scrambling up and down the fells, he’d vowed to leave the past with all its pain behind. There were plenty more fish in the sea, after all. He knew what he wanted: a quiet, restful sort of female, one who wouldn’t constantly busy herself about his or other people’s affairs, dragging confusion and hubbub into his life like his mother and sister still did on occasion.

  The ton was littered with women who would suit. He just needed to put his mind to wooing one. He’d shop the Marriage Mart, attend the balls and house parties, and talk to every eligible lady. He was an earl, after all, albeit a jilted one. How difficult could it be? By this time next year, he’d have joined his friends in married bliss.

  He stretched his neck, loosening the tension that had gathered there, and looked around at the familiar landscape. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it, Horatio?”

  His horse shook his head in apparent agreement, making the bridle jingle.

  “Uncle Alex!”

  He reined Horatio to a stop. That sounded like Rachel, his sister’s eight-year-old. Lord! Was Diana at the Hall?

  Tension came rushing back, unease prickling the back of his neck and shivering down his spine. He loved his sister, but she would be certain to notice his blue-devils and hound him until she discovered their cause. If he let on that he was considering marriage again . . .

  He shuddered in earnest. Diana was five years older than he and had always had a finger—or both her hands—in his affairs. She would tell Mama and the two of them would assemble a queue of eager matrimonial candidates before he could say Jack Robinson.

  They might have his best interests at heart, but he didn’t want them meddling in this.

  I’ll just have to paste a smile on my face for as long as it takes to get rid of Diana.

  Rachel could have come with her father, Roger, Viscount Chanton.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Ah, yes, that was likely it. O’Reilly, his head groom, must have encountered an issue in the stables and Roger, thinking Alex still in the Lake District, had ridden over with his groom to offer his opinion. Rachel was horse mad and would have teased her father to bring her along.

  If Roger noticed Alex’s low spirits—highly unlikely—he’d have the good sense to ignore them.

  “Where are you, Rachel?” he called, looking around.

  He heard giggling. Was it coming from the tree on his right? He turned Horatio in that direction.

  Rachel was the fifth of Diana’s eight girls. Eight! With luck the baby Diana was carrying now was a boy so Roger could stop trying for an heir.

  He snorted. The needs of the viscountcy had nothing to do with the matter. Diana and Roger had been nauseatingly in love since they were children, and while Roger must prefer a son of his own inherit rather than his cousin Albert, he’d never shown the slightest disappointment when Diana presented him with yet another daughter.

  Where was his niece? “Rachel!”

  More giggling, definitely from that tree. He rode closer and looked up.

  Rachel grinned down at him from a branch about ten feet above his head. She had a streak of dirt across her forehead, an assortment of leaves in her hair, and her skirts—

  Of course Rachel wasn’t wearing skirts.

  “Where did you get those breeches?”

  Her grin widened. “Papa had them made for me after I borrowed Jeremy’s and put a hole in the knee.”

  All Diana’s girls were spirited, but Rachel was a complete tomboy. He didn’t envy his sister the task of introducing her to Society when the time came, though one could hope Rachel would learn a little decorum before then.

  “And who might this Jeremy be?”

  Rachel’s grin turned to a frown. “You know. Jeremy. The vicar’s son, the one who’s almost my age.”

  The vicar had a lot of sons. Alex had never bothered sorting them out. “The one with the red hair?”

  Rachel rolled
her eyes. “No! That’s James. He’s ten, the same as Esther. Jeremy has curly hair.”

  “Ah.” He’d take her word for it.

  Horatio shifted, reminding him that he was keeping the horse standing.

  “Horatio’s eager for the stables. Do you want to ride down with me?”

  He wasn’t surprised to see Rachel’s face light up. She scrambled down the tree like a monkey and skipped over, extending her arms. As soon as he swung her up to sit before him, she leaned forward to pet Horatio’s neck.

  “What a handsome fellow you are, Horatio. Mr. O’Reilly thinks you’d make lovely babies with our Ophelia. What do you say? Would you like to be a papa?”

  “Rachel! O’Reilly never discussed, er, that with you.” He hoped. His head groom had a few rough edges, but Alex was almost certain the man wouldn’t talk about horse breeding with a young girl, even one as horse mad as Rachel.

  She giggled again. “Course not. He was talking to Lionel. I was in Primrose’s stall, so they didn’t see me.”

  Alex might not know the vicar’s children, but he knew his employees. Lionel was one of his stable boys.

  “You should have let them know you were there,” he said. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

  “Oh, pooh. I’d never hear anything interesting if I didn’t eavesdrop.”

  He bit back a laugh, suddenly reminded of Miss Jane Wilkinson, the new Spinster House spinster in Loves Bridge. She wouldn’t let a small thing like social proprieties keep her from her goals either.

  He smiled. The woman was a good friend of Marcus’s and Nate’s brides, but she was also an extremely outspoken, independent female. At twenty-eight years old, she was firmly on the shelf—precisely where she wished to be. And now that she’d installed herself in the Spinster House, she’d never have to look for a husband.

  In fact, he was quite certain she’d had a hand in turning her friends, the previous Spinster House spinsters, into wives. He’d been standing next to her when Nate and Miss Anne Davenport had announced that they, too, were leaping into parson’s mousetrap and for one brief moment, he’d thought Miss Wilkinson was going to hug him, she was so delighted.

  He’d admit he’d been disappointed when she hadn’t.

  Rachel looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you going to breed Horatio with Ophelia, Uncle Alex?”

  Right—breeding.

  Horse breeding.

  He was not going to discuss that topic with Rachel, either. “I’ll have a word with your papa about it.”

  “When?”

  “When we see him. Isn’t he at the stables?”

  “No. He’s at Briarly.”

  His stomach plummeted to his boots. Briarly was one of Roger’s other estates.

  But wait. Roger didn’t like being away from his family. He always loaded them into his carriage—and Alex’s, since there were so many of them—and took them with him when he journeyed anywhere. Anyone encountering them lumbering along the road would think they were a traveling circus.

  With that many children, they were a traveling circus.

  “Why didn’t you go with your papa?”

  “Because Mama can’t sit in a carriage that long anymore.”

  “Ah.” Alex gave the house a nervous look as they passed it on the way to the stables. How pregnant was Diana? She’d spent the last twenty years in some stage of childbearing, so he’d stopped keeping track. “When is the baby due?”

  “Any day now. Mama hopes it will wait until Papa gets back.” Rachel shrugged. “But babies come when they want to.”

  Sweat blossomed in his armpits. “I would have thought your mama would wish to stay at home if she is so near her time.”

  “Oh, no. She can manage the short trip to the Hall, and she and Grandmamma wanted to be certain they’d have uninterrupted time to discuss Bea’s come-out.”

  His heart stuttered.

  Lord, Mama is here too?

  He’d thought she was in London. Sweat trickled down his sides now, and his collar was suddenly too tight. Diana was bad enough, but Mama? She would not give up until she’d ferreted out every last one of his secrets.

  The only way to handle the situation was to take the coward’s way and run. But where? Mama might well follow him to Town.

  Loves Bridge isn’t far.

  And the village fair should be almost underway. He could use that as an excuse.

  “Beatrice is old enough for a Season?” he asked while he considered his escape. He could see the stables now.

  “She’ll be seventeen in October.”

  He was momentarily diverted trying to imagine his bookish, opinionated, and dangerously outspoken eldest niece at Almack’s. Odds were Bea would dump a glass of punch over some Society popinjay’s head inside of her first hour in those hallowed halls. Hmm. He’d better keep an eye on her when she came to London. Roger and Diana hadn’t attended a Season in years. They might not be aware of all the traps awaiting a girl making her debut.

  “Bea doesn’t want a Season,” Rachel was saying. “She is quite wild about it. She says that she will not be put on the Marriage Mart like a broodmare at auction.”

  Good Lord! “It is not as bad as that.”

  “How would you know, Uncle Alex? You’re a man.”

  “Yes, but, unlike Bea, I have been in London for the Season.” And would be looking for a wife this year, though not for a girl as young as Bea. That thought was more than a little revolting. “And even if it were true that some parents treat their daughters that way, your parents would not. You know that.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Perhaps, but I think she’s right not to want to go. Jeremy’s brother Jacob was in London last Season and he told Jeremy that the girls are all extremely silly and the ton parties dreadfully dull. The real fun happens elsewhere.”

  “Where no respectable young lady ventures.” He could imagine exactly what mischief a young cub, even a vicar’s son—no, especially a vicar’s son—could get up to in Town. He’d got up to many of the same things in his youth.

  “I know that, Uncle Alex. I just want to go to Tatt’s and see the horses.”

  Tattersall’s was not a place for ladies, either, but there was no point in telling Rachel that.

  They finally reached the stables. Alex had never been so happy to see O’Reilly’s craggy face.

  “Milord, it’s good to have ye home. And I see ye’ve found yer niece. Let me help ye down, Miss Rachel.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  That was foolishness. Rachel might be a respectable rider, but Horatio was far taller than her pony. “Perhaps you don’t need help, Rachel, but you shall let O’Reilly assist you anyway.”

  She frowned, but since he had no intention of letting go of her until she agreed, she finally let out a short, annoyed breath. “Oh, very well.”

  Alex stayed in the saddle.

  “Milord?” O’Reilly looked up at him questioningly.

  “Do get down, Uncle Alex. Mama and Grandmamma will want to see you.”

  Of course they will. And they will ask me questions and give me advice and start thinking of eligible young ladies for me to marry and it will be hellish.

  He’d probably sweated through his coat by now.

  Horatio pawed the ground and shook his head. He was very well-behaved, but he was getting impatient.

  “Shall I take Horatio to his stall, milord, so ye can go up to the house straightaway?”

  He made his decision. He couldn’t run fast enough. “As it turns out I’m not staying, O’Reilly.”

  His groom, not surprisingly, looked at him as if he was mad.

  Rachel put her hands on her hips and frowned. “But you’ve just arrived, Uncle Alex.”

  “Well, yes. But I’ve suddenly remembered somewhere else I need to be.”

  “Where? Mama will want to know.”

  He felt the cowardly impulse to ask Rachel and O’Reilly not to mention they’d seen him, but he discarded that notion at once. Several st
able boys had walked past while they’d been standing here. There was no keeping his visit secret.

  “I’m off to Loves Bridge for the village fair.”

  Loves Bridge

  Miss Jane Wilkinson put her hands on her hips and glared at the slimy little man. “You said you had a kangaroo.”

  She and Mr. Waldo W. Wertigger, proprietor of Waldo’s Wondrous Traveling Zoo, were standing on the Loves Bridge village green. It was the afternoon before the day the village fair was supposed to begin.

  “I do have a kangaroo.”

  “A dead one.”

  The object under discussion was propped against the side of what had clearly once been a simple farmer’s cart. Someone—likely the rogue standing in front of her—had added a canvas arch proclaiming the business’s name, or what would have been the name had someone with any skill or literacy been in charge: Waldo’s Wundrus Travling Zu. The concluding u was a muddled drawing of a snake—or perhaps a large worm.

  She returned her attention to the only snake—or worm—at hand.

  Mr. Wertigger tugged on his collar. “A stuffed one. It was alive once.”

  “That’s beside the point. It’s dead now.” Her fingers itched to shake the fellow.

  She felt partly to blame for this disaster. The Loves Bridge fair committee had been going to engage last year’s organ-grinder and trained monkey when the Boltwood sisters suggested that a traveling zoo would be something special and, as the Duke of Hart was back at the castle, married, and soon to be a father, they should make this fair special.

  What they hadn’t said but everyone thought was that this might be the duke’s last fair if the duchess was carrying a boy. For two hundred years, thanks to an angry spinster by the name of Isabelle Dorring, no Duke of Hart had lived to see his heir born.

  A thread of worry twisted in her chest. The duke’s new duchess was Catherine “Cat” Hutting, one of Jane’s two close friends. If the duke died . . .