Excerpt of The Return of the Earl by Edith Layton

Chapter One

England
1815

The visitor was late, but he would have been unwelcome at
any hour. Nevertheless, a stableboy came running to greet
his carriage as it rumbled up to the manor house as the
first star appeared in a purpling evening sky. Many more
eyes watched from behind curtains on the dozens of windows
of the great house. The oaken front door swung open, the
butler and his footmen stood in readiness.

After a moment, a lean gentleman was seen in the doorway
of the carriage. He bent his head, stepped out, and paused
on the top of the little stair that had been let down.
Straightening, he stood arrested, staring at the huge
house, seeing the dark mass of it outlined by the last dim
glow of sunset, punctuated by lights that twinkled in the
dozens of windows facing the drive. It was too dusky for
anyone to make out the expression on his face.

He stepped down and headed for the house, taking the fan
of stairs to the front door rapidly and with easy grace,
as though he hadn't been confined in a rocking carriage
for hours.

"I believe I'm expected?" he asked the butler in a rich
tenor voice, as he swept off his high beaver hat and caped
coat and handed them to a footman. "I am Egremont."

The butler bowed, expressionless. "This way, sir," he said.

The gentleman hesitated. A thin eyebrow rose. "Sir?" he
echoed with cool amusement, slapping his gloves against
his palm. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I am the new earl of
Egremont. I'd believed I was expected."

The butler's expression didn't change, but his face grew
ruddy. "Yes, sir," he said. "You were indeed expected. As
to the other matter, I was led to believe it was not yet
settled, sir."

The gentleman laughed. "So it hasn't been. I suppose I
can't fault you for being precise. Announce me as Sauvage
then, if you must. Lead on. Oh, and I'd like something to
eat. Will you see to it? It's been a devilish long
journey."

The butler bowed and led the gentleman into the front
hall. The new arrival scarcely seemed to look at the house
as he strode over the shining inlaid mosaic marble floors.
He didn't pause to study the life-sized Grecian statues
that lined the walls, or raise his eyes to the gilded
domed ceiling of the great hall to see the rose-and-gold
frescoes there. He had hardly a glance for the pair of
separate twin staircases that wound their ways to the
second level, where they met and embraced in a riot of
carved acanthus leaves. He only followed the butler
through the hall and down a corridor, seeming as cool and
untouched by his surroundings as the servant who guided
him.

"You're awaited in the red room, sir," the butler
murmured. He threw open a door to an enormous room with
crimson stretched-silk-covered walls, Turkey red carpets,
red and brown settees and chairs. A massive fireplace with
a leaping fire sparked reflections from the gilt edges on
the furniture and many picture frames. But the fire only
cast murky, ruddy shadows over the quartet of people there.

"Mr. Sauvage," the butler said, announcing him.

The four people in the room stared. The visitor looked
back at them serenely, only his eyes showing animation,
glittering in the firelight as he surveyed them each in
turn.

He saw a stout middle-aged balding gentleman, the very
model of a country squire, a young blond lady, delicate
and perfectly dressed as a china figurine, an older woman,
who was obviously her mama, and a square-faced, straw-
haired, broad-shouldered young man. They goggled at him
from out of the crimson shade.

Their first impression was of a dark, elegantly dressed,
extravagantly handsome young gentleman. The high planes on
his smooth face were exaggerated by dancing firelight,
making him look as though he'd just stepped, smiling, from
out of the devil's own dressing room. He was impeccably
clad in a close- fitting black jacket, with a white
neckcloth, dark skintight breeches, and shining knee-high
boots. The gentleman's face was impassive. He had flawless
skin, even features, and watchful eyes. The firelight made
it impossible to make out the color of those wide, well-
spaced eyes, but they were light, and shone with
crystalline clarity. The most arresting thing about him
was the cool expression on his smooth face. He looked as
though no human emotion could touch him or ever had done.

The middle-aged man leapt to his feet. "What is the
meaning of this?" he said. "You are not Geoffrey Sauvage!"

"No, I'm not," the gentleman said calmly. "Geoffrey
Sauvage was my father. I am Christian Gabriel Peter
Colinworth Sauvage, now the earl of Egremont, and master
of this house. And you, sir? You have me at a
disadvantage."

The older man opened and closed his mouth.

The others echoed his expression. It was the fair young
man who rose to his feet and spoke.

"I am Hammond Sauvage," he said stiffly. "This is my
fiancée, Sophie Wiley, and her father, Squire Henry Wiley
and his wife, Martha. You must understand that this is
difficult for us to take in all at once."

Christian nodded. "Of course, I didn't expect you to
believe me right away either, Cousin. You are my cousin,
aren't you?"

Hammond nodded curtly.

"But in time, you will believe me," Christian said
placidly. He moved toward the hearth. "I've traveled a
long way, and it's cold out there. If you don't mind, I'd
like a seat by the fire."

The squire flushed ...