Undercover with the Earl
by Robyn DeHart

Copyright © 2015 by Robyn DeHart. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Essex countryside, just outside of London, 1838

It is a truth universally known that a girl entering her twenty-first year must be in want of a husband. But it was not a truth that Evelyn Marrington took to heart. She had no desire to marry now or any other time. Instead, she wanted to hole herself up in a sweet little cottage and write adventurous novels until her hair grayed and no one cared if she was a spinster.

Due to her family’s financial straits and their middling social standing, Evie’s chances of doing just that seemed rather good. However, her two older sisters had recently made very advantageous matches, thrusting their entire family into a more elevated social sphere. Flush with that success, Evie’s mother was now determined to land an equally impressive husband for her middle daughter. Never mind that Evie’s own wishes were modest and veered away from marriage. Her family obviously saw things quite differently, a fact she could not ignore with her mother pointing to every eligible man in the vicinity.

At the moment Evelyn longed to have a book in her hand. She could close her eyes and imagine the sound of the paper turning, the bold print of the words beckoning her into their adventure. Instead, she stood at the edge of the small ballroom doing her best to blend into the tapestry behind her while the rest of the guests of this house party danced merrily.

“Evelyn, dear, if you continue to sink yourself into the background, how are any of the men to see you and ask you to dance?” her mother said, placing a forceful hand on Evie’s back, effectively shoving her forward.

“I do not care for dancing,” Evelyn said, knowing full well that her protests would fall on deaf ears.

“Nonsense, what girl doesn’t care to dance?”

There wasn’t much that she and her mother agreed upon, except for the fact that they didn’t agree on much. They were as different as the morning from the night, and though Evelyn did her best to refuse, her mother still worked her hardest to squeeze her middle daughter into the pretty package that was a perfect debutante. One might think that already achieving success with her first two daughters would have been enough to appease the Marrington matriarch, but she was not so easily pacified.

Evelyn sat precisely in the middle of the Marrington children. Portia and Jillian were her elder sisters and then came Catherine and Meghan. The two eldest Marrington girls were beautiful, lovely, poised, and had made a splash in Society. Portia was already married to the handsome and kind Viscount Handlebrook, and the Earl of Bellview had recently asked for Jillian’s hand. This left Evelyn uncomfortably in the center of attention as the next Marrington daughter to find herself a good match.

If she had her sister’s temperament, grace, and beauty, no doubt she would make such a match. Unfortunately, she was too quick-witted for simpering flirtations, too practical for ethereal grace, and, worst of all, her hair was an unpleasantly violent shade of red. In short, she did not currently have her sisters’ options when it came to marriage.

In fact, her most promising suitor was the Viscount Edgerly, a portly widower sixteen years her senior. Not that she particularly minded the kindly Lord Edgerly, because, after all, beggars could not be choosers. It was his eleven children she minded. Based on his frantic desperation to find a wife, she suspected he was no more eager to parent them than she was.

While she was sure the Edgerly children were perfectly lovely, the fact that there were eleven of them meant marriage to the Viscount—no matter how advantageous in the eyes of her mother—was simply out of the question. She would have no time to write. Nay, she would have no time to breathe or eat or sleep. In short, she would do anything to escape that fate. Unfortunately, her other options were not much better.

“Didn’t you dance with Sir Winters at the last Brighten soiree?” her mother asked. “I believe I see him across the room now.”

Evelyn caught a glimpse of the man and winced. “And my toes are still bruised.”

Portia smiled and linked her arm with Evelyn’s. “Mama, Evie is right. That poor man should not be allowed to dance, especially when he wears such heeled boots.”

“He’s quite obviously trying to mask the fact that he is shorter than a man ought to be,” Jillian said.

Not to mention at least thirty years her senior, but Evelyn refrained from adding that. She slid behind her sisters so she would not be so easily visible to the older gentleman. He’d already been standing up on his toes, searching in their direction. He’d made it quite clear to her during their last dance that he was taken with her and interested in courting her. She’d come home from that ball and told her father, in no uncertain terms, that she was not available if the man came to call. Fortunately for her, her father did not seem too eager to marry her off to a man closer to his age than Evelyn’s, and he’d artfully dismissed him when he’d paid a visit midweek.

Their mother laughed, but caught herself and placed her fan in front of her mouth. “Be that as it may, Sir Winters has a decent annual income and I don’t believe our dear Evie can afford to be quite so selective when it comes to picking a suitor.”

Because she wasn’t as pretty as her older sisters. Or as gregarious. Her mother would never come out and say those things, but Evelyn felt certain that was what was missing.

“If you are smart, you will do what is necessary to trap that man into marriage this very weekend,” her mother said.

“Honestly, Mother! I have no intentions of trapping any man into marriage,” Evelyn said.

“Evie, you won’t have to. You shall find the right man for you, just as Portia and I have,” Jillian said.

She was so kind. She wasn’t even trying to pander to Evelyn, she actually believed that, believed that Evelyn would be able to find a love match just as her perfect, beautiful sisters had. But Evelyn knew the truth of her reality, and she had done her part to prevent from being put on the marriage mart. She’d begged her parents to not make her come out and they had agreed, but only partly. They did not have a ball to introduce her, but they had seen to it that she was properly introduced, and she obliged them by attending parties with the family and dancing at least once per evening.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t abide people, but rather couldn’t stand to have people look at her, compare her to her sisters, or even her mother, who after five children was still quite the beauty. Evelyn looked more like her father’s side of the family. She was short and because of that her body stubbornly held on to curves. So instead of her sisters who were delicate and graceful, she felt clumsy and stout.

Her two younger sisters ran over to them, all giggles and grins, whispering excitedly to their mother.

“What is it? Stop hissing in my ear. You know that drives me to distraction,” Mother said, swatting at the air by her ear.

“Two new gentlemen have arrived,” Meghan said breathlessly.

“They are drenched from the rain and stand dripping in the corridor,” Catherine said.

Their mother clapped her hands once and leaned in. “Of course Evelyn shall have first choice among them.”

It was more than enough for Evelyn to simply fade into the background and step away, but she knew her mother would find her. Two new gentlemen indeed.

“It is only Ellis,” Jillian said from beside her, standing up on her toes. “Our dear cousin.”

“Yes, but it does appear as if he has brought a friend,” Portia said. “A very large and handsome friend.”

Evelyn glanced out into the corridor and saw the man in question. He was tall, impossibly broad, and rain dripped from his fair hair and into his face.

“Isn’t he dashing?” Catherine said dreamily.

“How could you possibly tell if he’s handsome?” Evelyn asked before she thought better of it. “He’s scowling.”

Whispers scurried through the ballroom; the hushed words didn’t take long to reach their ears, as the room was smaller than those public balls in London.

“‘Tis Bennett Haile, the Earl of Somersby,” the woman next to her mother said.

“An earl,” her mother said eagerly. She looked over at Evelyn and smiled, that sort of secret, conspirator smile.

Another woman nodded approvingly. “I’ve heard he’s some manner of a spy.”

Two more women walked over to join the conversation. “All I’ve ever heard about him is that he jilted some poor girl, left her to marry a penniless viscount.”

“Scandalous,” the other whispered.

“Indeed, he’s quite the rogue,” the first woman stated.

“Good heavens, but he is a large man,” her mother said.

“What is he doing here?” Jillian asked.

“It would seem that Ellis has brought him,” her mother said.

“Whatever he’s doing here, he seems to be staring directly at you, Evie,” Portia said.

Evelyn glanced again at the stranger and he did, indeed, seem to be looking pointedly at her. Beneath the weight of his stare, she felt every bit the dowdy mess her mother had accused her of being earlier that day. Ellis said something to the hulking earl and the man gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Her mother chortled delightfully. “Oh, it would seem that our dear cousin has finally answered my requests and brought Evelyn a suitor. And an earl, no less. Positively splendid.”

Would that she could disappear into the floor, but Evelyn had never been that fortunate.

…

Bennett Haile, Earl of Somersby, looked around at the ballroom. Granted, it had been ages since he’d attended a ball in London, but he didn’t recall them being quite so overrun with people. No matter what room he entered, he always towered over everyone around him, both in height and breadth. Here in this small ballroom in Essex, it was no different. Perhaps it was even more pronounced. It certainly didn’t help matters that he and Ellis had gotten stuck in a rainstorm and were soaked.

The couples twirled gracefully on the ballroom floor; Beethoven’s waltz accompanied their dance. He loathed dancing, had never been particularly skilled at it. He exhibited nothing but speed and precision when in the boxing prize ring, but in a ballroom, it did not translate. His feet were too big, his hands like a couple of hams, and his instincts muddled when so many bodies swirled about him.

Why was Potterfield meeting them here? Bennett had not quite so many questions when Ellis had requested he ride along with him to his cousins in Epping. But as they’d journeyed and he’d learned that Potterfield was to meet them, Bennett knew this was official Brotherhood business.

Bennett had been recruited into Custos a Vesica, the Brotherhood of the Sword, when he’d graduated from Oxford at the tender age of eighteen. He’d eagerly accepted the invitation to become a member of the elite security agency dedicated to protecting the monarch of England, expecting a life of danger and adventure. Over the last ten years there had been a good deal of that, and he was grateful he’d had an excuse to avoid society and the machinations of marriage-minded maidens. He was no more inclined to follow the rules and dictates of marriage than he was to follow the orders from his superiors to the letter. But he believed in the mission and the discipline required to fulfill it.

“Where is Potterfield?” Bennett asked Ellis. “Why the devil would he ask us to meet him here?”

Then as if the mere mention of his name summoned him, the man appeared. Sir Percival Potterfield entered, and obviously had travelled by coach as his person remained dry. Unlike Bennett and Ellis who still dripped on the rug. He was an unassuming man, shorter than most and thin with a balding head and nondescript features. Perhaps that was what made him so effective in his leadership of the Brotherhood. People weren’t threatened by his humble appearance.

“Excellent, you both made it,” Potterfield said as he came to stand beside them. He looked out into the ballroom and nodded. “Is that her?”

“Yes,” Ellis said.

“I dare say, Ellis, the resemblance is quite remarkable,” Potterfield said.

“Would either of you care to let me in on your little secret?” Bennett asked, keeping his voice low. “I’m beginning to worry you’ve brought me here to rusticate in your uncle’s little village.

“Not at all, Somersby,” Ellis retorted with a hint of a smile.

“Then what?” He had a sinking feeling as he followed his companion’s gaze to the woman Potterfield had referred to. “Be so good as to tell me what the young lady has to do with anything.”

Despite the fact that Ellis had pointed out the girl, Bennett had spotted her as soon as they’d entered the ballroom, as she stood out from the crowd. A wild poppy amidst a field of perfectly groomed roses. Her vibrant red hair, though tamed in a coiffure, fought against the constraints of the pins and several curls had sprung free, framing her fair face. There was no possible way for this woman to pose as Queen Victoria. Yes, there was some similarity in features, but while the Queen was a handsome woman, Miss Marrington was captivating. She was easily the comeliest of all the young ladies present, and Bennett could not fathom what Potterfield’s interest in her was.

“Lady Fenwick!” Ellis said to the matron who approached them.

“My dear Lord Ellis. You are positively drenched!” the woman said. She managed to keep her distance from the puddles they were creating, and silently summoned servants to take away their sopping greatcoats.

“I apologize for intruding upon your good hospitality,” Ellis said. “We should have stopped—”

“Nonsense! I have readied rooms for each of you,” the lady said. “I am certain they will not be as grand as you are accustomed to, but I can assure you they are clean and well tended.”

“That is very good of you, my lady,” Potterfield said with a quick bow. “But a room for me won’t be necessary as I am heading back to London tonight.”

“In this weather? Are you certain? ’Tis no problem at all,” the lady said.

“Pressing business, my lady, but I appreciate the hospitality.”

Bennett barely heard the exchange. His clothes were dry enough now that his greatcoat was gone, but the young miss who’d garnered Potterfield’s attention earlier held his gaze. She was so small and graceful, far too small for a colossus like him.

Bennett tore his eyes away from the flame-haired vixen. This whole night was becoming increasingly more curious, as well as uncomfortable. He could not figure what in blazes they were doing there.

He and the others followed a servant up the stairs and onto the third floor where they were shown to their bedchambers. All three men entered the room intended for Bennett and he surveyed the surroundings. Considering this was a smaller country estate to the one he was accustomed to, the accommodations were more than acceptable, from the large framed bed to the window seat. The rain still beat a rough staccato against the window.

He turned back to his companions. “What business is so urgent that we had to intrude upon a simple country ball?” Bennett asked as servants scurried out of the room. “I realize that we often have to be secretive about our meetings, but this seems a little extreme.”

“I’ve called you here because of a concerning matter,” Potterfield said after the servants had cleared. “As you know, Her Majesty was injured a few days ago at the opening of the Royal Ascot. Initially, we believed the injury was not serious, but it is apparent that it will take some time to heal.”

Bennett withdrew from his waistcoat, then grabbed a linen cloth from the basin and began drying his face and hands. He found a thin black ribbon in his coat pocket and after wringing the towel through his wet hair, he pulled it back and tied it into a queue. “What happened, precisely, as I was not there?” he asked.

“Someone bumped into her and she fell. Her ankle is quite swollen and it will take some time to heal up so that she can walk normally. The physician doesn’t seem to believe it is serious, merely an injury that will require her to be off her feet in order for her to heal,” Potterfield said.

“Did people see her fall?” Bennett asked.

“Not many, but some. She graciously stood and waved to those who had and made her way to the carriage, making a jest as she went. It wasn’t until she was seated again that we noticed the swelling. I called in her private physician straight away.”

Bennett eyed the two men. “The people already believe her too young and inexperienced to lead. It would be damaging to allow her to be seen limping and injured. This will only serve in weakening her reputation.”

“Precisely, which is why I’ve already arranged for Her Majesty to be taken somewhere until she heals,” Potterfield said. “She needs to be away from the prying eyes of London and the new palace.”

“And in the meantime what are people to be told?” Bennett asked. “I doubt it will help her reputation if the Queen takes a holiday.”

“That is why we are here.” Potterfield took a seat and motioned to Ellis. “After the incident, Ellis had an idea worth investigating and it would seem you were correct. Your cousin looks remarkably like Her Majesty.”

“A stand-in?” Bennett asked, understanding now why Ellis had pointed her out. There was no possible way for that woman to pose as Queen Victoria.

“You intend to have a simple country miss charade as the Queen?” Bennett asked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“She’s quite amiable,” Ellis said. “And intelligent. I can assure you, Evelyn is up to the task.”

“We would compensate her for the time she provides,” Potterfield said.

Bennett couldn’t believe the discussion. He was nearly on probation with the Brotherhood for following his instincts rather than orders, and yet they were going to bring in a girl who was barely gentry to impersonate the queen! The whole notion seemed asinine. He’d made no apologies for his methods. While they might be unorthodox, they often worked, even if they did stray from direct orders. This was madness. How could the man who was constantly criticizing Bennett’s unorthodox methods believe this was a good idea? Obviously it was up to Bennett to be the voice of reason.

“She is trustworthy? This is a most delicate situation,” Bennett said. “Think of the consequences if this ruse is unsuccessful. We can’t afford to have some girl go half-cocked and start spreading rumors about the queen or the palace or anything that takes place within its walls.”

“Evelyn is not a gossip,” Ellis said. “Trust me, she is perfect for this assignment.”

“We can use the girl for the Belgium opera performance and the people will be none the wiser,” Potterfield said. “She won’t need to speak, merely make an appearance. It will buy us some time for Her Majesty to heal and then we can proceed as usual.”

“How will she know how to behave properly? This is the queen we’re speaking of. Not any woman can stand in her place and behave accordingly,” Bennett said.

“Precisely why you’re here, Somersby.” Potterfield gave him a toothy grin. “You will train her and be her escort. Were you not already planning to attend that opera with her?”

“With Victoria, yes, she is my cousin,” Bennett said.

“Then nothing has changed with that,” Potterfield said.

He felt as if the world had turned inside out. He steered clear of proper Society as much as possible, yet he was the one chosen to teach the girl manners. “She is a woman.” One to whom Bennett had felt the powerful pull of attraction. This would never work. “Do you not think someone who is more genteel would be better for the task? Someone who is better with women?”

“Who would you suggest? Morton? He is the best among us with women, if that is the only requirement,” Ellis said.

“Morton is a fool,” Bennett said, flexing his fingers and then clenching them into fists.

“Precisely,” Potterfield said. “You were selected.”

“I don’t know the first thing about training women.”

“Can’t see that it could be more difficult than the training you do at Argyll.”

Their annual training exercises in Scotland covered everything from weaponry skills to extreme riding conditions, while Bennett himself had always been the lead trainer for hand fighting and proper defense. “I don’t see how teaching gentlemen the necessary skills to protect the monarch prepares me for this. Is Ellis to instruct her on his horse acrobatics as well?”

“Somersby, enough. This is not up for conversation or negotiation,” Potterfield said. “You will do this.” With that, he came to his feet.

Bennett could knock the man down with little more than a shove, yet he had to defer to his authority if he wanted to be a working member of the Brotherhood.

“Ellis, it is up to you to persuade your uncle to agree to this, tell them whatever you have to, but do not disclose the Queen’s injury. Somersby, you will work with her, teach her what she needs to know to pass as Queen for the Belgium opera.” Potterfield patted Bennett on the shoulder. “I shall make arrangements for you to be brought into the Queen’s cabinet so you have easy access to Miss Marrington. In the meantime, Lynford will go with me tomorrow as we settle Her Majesty in her new location. The two of us will be the only ones who know of her whereabouts. To keep things safe.”

“You are bringing the priest with you?” Ellis asked.

“She is still unmarried,” Potterfield said.

“Her reputation will most assuredly be safe with Lynford then,” Bennett said. “Those foolish oaths of his.”

“Now then, I am going to head back to London.” Potterfield looked pointedly at Bennett. “You will follow your orders, understood?”

“Understood,” Bennett said. Technically Bennett outranked Potterfield, at least in the aristocracy, but here in the Brotherhood, Potterfield was in charge and he doled out the orders as best he saw fit.

Bennett knew Potterfield was punishing him for “disregarding orders.” Still, Bennett maintained he made his choices for good reasons. He had excellent instincts, and compliant or not, his calls had been the right ones on more than one occasion.

After Potterfield left, Bennett and Ellis agreed to change and meet back downstairs. If Bennett was to be working with the girl, he’d need to observe her, see what he was up against.

Twenty minutes later Bennett was on his way downstairs, clean and in dry clothes, clothes that were not exactly meant for a ball, regardless of it being in the country. He did not intentionally engage Society more than his work required of him. He’d been raised in it so he was perfectly capable of tutoring any young chit on the manners and expectations of the queen’s court, but it was an absurd waste of his talents.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel a hell of a lot better in dry clothes,” Ellis said from behind him. The man was shorter by nearly a head. “Shall we?” He led them over to where his cousins stood.

Bennett did his best to keep his eyes off Evelyn Marrington; instead, he focused his attention on her father, Sir Marrington.

“Cousins,” Ellis said, inclining his head to the women with a fond smile. “Uncle.” He shook the older man’s hand, then bent over his aunt’s hand. “Aunt.”

“Ellis, I do hope you’re well,” Sir Marrington said.

“Indeed,” he said jovially.

“My dear nephew, do not be rude and deprive us an introduction to your handsome friend.” Mrs. Marrington smiled up at Bennett, then gave a curtsy, her manner simpering.

“Bennett Haile, Earl of Somersby, my aunt, Lucinda Marrington, and her daughters.” He spoke their names, but the one who held his attention was Miss Evelyn Marrington.

Bennett bowed his head, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Marrington pushed herself forward, both physically and conversationally.

“Dear nephew, have you forgotten that my dear Portia recently married the Viscount Handlebrook? And it will be news to you that our Jillian is newly betrothed to the Earl of Bellview.” She smiled at Bennett, her gaze gleaming with calculated intent. “Our Evelyn hasn’t made her match yet.”

He allowed his eyes to fall to Evelyn Marrington. Her whiskey-colored eyes locked on his and the intelligence shining there drew him in, the proverbial moth to the flame. He’d always been attracted to clever women, but he knew from experience they were the most dangerous. Silly and foolish girls could be irritating, but they did not have the skills to be cunning.

Miss Evelyn Marrington’s eyes were not her only fine feature. Her blazing hair fought against the constraints she’d put it into, the vibrant ringlets framing her face. Her figure was the soft and curvy kind that made him want to lock them in his bedchamber and explore every delicious inch.

The woman in question rolled her eyes. “Mother, please,” she hissed. Her delicate complexion did nothing to hide her embarrassment, and it only increased as they stood there in awkward silence. Mrs. Marrington was waiting—apparently—for him to drop to one knee and instantly propose to her middle daughter. Miss Marrington looking as though she was waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her.

For a moment he was tempted to dust off his rusty manners, step forward, and put her out of her misery by asking her to dance. He ruthlessly squelched the urge. He refused to indulge Mrs. Marrington’s fantasies that he might make an appropriate suitor, or Miss Marrington’s for that matter. Although her mother’s pushiness clearly embarrassed her, the interest in her gaze was unmistakable. No, neither of them needed encouragement, and he certainly didn’t need to break the girl’s toes before they brought her to London.

“May I have this dance, dear cousin?” Ellis asked.

Miss Marrington hesitated for an instant and her mother, entirely lacking in grace, nudged her. “Evelyn, don’t be daft, dear,” her mother said.

Evelyn blinked her eyes slowly, and it seemed she suddenly became aware of her mother and cousin.

Ellis held his arm out and she reluctantly took it, disappearing into the crowd on the dance floor.

Only then did Bennett take a breath.