Earl of Darby: (Once Upon a Widow #4) (Wicked Earls’ Club Round 2)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “Lady Roberta, I—”

  “Oh, I know I can be quite a basketful. Pay me no heed, I’m just glad you came around.”

  * * *

  That evening they played Alphabet Minute, laughing at the silly dialogue they created. Lady Darby joined them, feeling better now that her fever had left. She still looked wan but insisted she enjoyed the company. They retired early in anticipation of a full day on Christmas.

  As she reached her room, Aunt Bertie stopped her.

  “May I come in for a moment?” she asked, her face flushed.

  “Of course, are you feeling fine? I hope you aren’t catching what Lady Darby has.”

  “Oh no, child, quite the opposite. It’s wonderful news.” She put her hands to her cheeks and beamed. “Chester wants to court me again. He’s been a widower now, you know, these past seven years. He said life is too short not to go after what you want. And I am still what he wants.”

  “Gracious,” exclaimed Hannah, “he wants to marry you?”

  “I assume that would follow courting.” Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness. “He’s been working for the Home Office since before the war. Can you imagine? My country squire chasing after spies!”

  “So he enjoys adventure more than you thought?” Hannah hugged her aunt. She had a feeling Aunt Bertie had been lonelier than she cared to admit. Or perhaps she hadn’t realized how lonely she was until she encountered Chester again.

  “Oh Aunt, I’m so happy for you. He seems like a very nice man.”

  “Lud, am I too old to fall in love again?”

  “You’re one of the youngest people I know. And I don’t believe you ever fell out of love. He was your one regret, remember?”

  She nodded. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. You will meet him tomorrow. He’s stopping by. Thank you for your ear, love.”

  As Hannah prepared for bed, she considered Aunt Bertie and her beau, but as she fell asleep, her thoughts turned to Nicholas. As they always did. The past two days had been like a dream, despite her aching head. His sincere affection had her daring to hope, yet something was not quite right. What of his tragic wife? Why hadn’t she the nerve to question him? She could have asked Mattie but it seemed an intrusion on his privacy.

  Had the devotion he’d held for her faded enough? Could she take the place of the woman he’d continued to love for so many years? Mattie had shown her a portrait. Alice had been a beautiful, delicate woman. If they’d held each other so dear, why had she committed suicide? Perhaps she’d truly had a weak mind and suffered from melancholy. Or had the love been one-sided? If she’d been forced into marriage when she cared for another, how tragic that would have been for both of them.

  Hannah woke late that night to a loud thump in the room next to hers. She lay still, wondering if it had been a dream. Another thump, then a crash, as if someone had fallen. Sweeping back the counterpane, she put on her robe and peeked into the hallway. A dim light shone from under the door. Incoherent mumbling accompanied the next thump, and she recognized Nicholas as he cursed.

  She crept to the door and knocked softly. Silence. Perhaps he didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he shouldn’t make so much noise. As she turned away, the soft, terribly off-tune voice of Nicholas began singing.

  “Angels we have heard on high,” came the slurred words of the earl.

  He was drunk! She’d heard that he would get foxed late at night during December, the memories all coming back to him. Mattie said that since Hannah had arrived, the drinking had slowed.

  “Swwwwweetly sing-singing o’er the… o’er the… Bloody hell.”

  So much for Hannah’s good influence. She pushed open the door and saw him standing in the middle of the room, weaving like a sapling in the wind, a bottle hanging from one hand.

  “Hello, my ssssweet Hannah. Hhhelp me. I can’t… I can’t remember the blasted words.”

  To her dismay, she found he looked adorable. His face was open, no mask hiding his thoughts or feelings. He looked delighted to see her. His body staggered dangerously to one side and she rushed to him, putting his arm around her shoulders and removing the brandy from his hand.

  “Trying to sssteal a drink for yourself, eh? Yyyyou sssly little vixen.” He gave her a kiss on the mouth, a loud smack. He stilled, the smile fading from his lips. “I love you, Miss Hannah Pendleton.” The words came out clear and sober. “You are mmmmy guardian angel.” And the sodden Nicholas was back.

  “Why don’t we get you to the bed?” she asked and tried to move him toward the large four-poster bed. She was surprised when he dug in his heels.

  “Nnnno, no, no. That’s where she did it. That’s why I nnnnever ssssleep here.” He waved a wobbly hand at the bed, a paper crumpled in his fist. “I’ve come to say goodbye. She has been avvvenged!” With that, the earl sunk to the floor, fell back with a thump and promptly began to snore.

  Hannah sank onto her haunches and brushed a blond lock from his forehead. The back of her finger lingered down his cheek. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I love you too,” she whispered.

  He groaned and rolled over, his fist unclenching and the crumpled paper fell onto the carpet. She picked it up, curious eyes drawn to the feminine writing on the parchment. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized it must be in Alice’s handwriting, dated December 24. The night she died. Should she read it? But her gaze was already on the words, and she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away.

  * * *

  December 24, 1814

  * * *

  Nicholas,

  Before I go, I must tell you how very sorry I am. I do not blame you for your outburst. You deserved so much better on your wedding night. A virgin, as every man dreams of. I wanted to tell you of the pregnancy, but Mama insisted it would all work once we were married. In my heart, I knew better.

  I was tricked into being alone with the man, and he had his way with me. When my family threatened to reveal his foul behavior, he laughed in our faces. He knew what I did not at the time. As a Peer of the Realm, I would not be a victim, but a woman trying to marry above her station. I will tell you his name, in the hopes of saving future innocents.

  His father is the Duke of Colvin, you see. The son is a beast, and I fear his child will be a beast just like him. I realize now that neither of us would ever be happy, knowing the marriage began on a foundation of deceit. I cannot bring this child into the world. I cannot look into your eyes and see my betrayal reflected them every day for the rest of my life. I am at peace with my decision. It will cause the least misery for all concerned. And I will be at rest. Finally at rest.

  * * *

  Please forgive me,

  * * *

  Alice

  * * *

  Tears streaked her cheek as she read the final words of a distraught woman. No, she had not been in her right mind. But she had done the deed with complete clarity. Hannah could neither blame her nor approve of her actions.

  Nicholas stirred. “We did it, Alice. We got the bloody devil.”

  She brushed the hair back from his cheek. Nicholas. The man she loved. He’d been through so much, carried so much responsibility on his shoulders. The guilt he must bear for her death. The mission she laid upon him.

  “Justice will be had.” He rolled toward her lap. “How fitting he should hang.”

  Someone cleared their throat.

  “Beg your pardon, my lady, but may I try to get him back to his rooms?” Nicholas’s manservant stood at the door. “I do apologize. He usually stays put once he opens a bottle. I was having a bit of holiday spirits, and I—”

  “A bloody tit for a bloody tat, by God!” the earl mumbled into Hannah’s lap.

  “No apology needed,” Hannah said to the manservant hovering above them and wringing his hands. “Yes, let’s see him to bed. I’m afraid it will take both of us.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”

  George
Eliot

  December 25, 1819

  Nicholas sat up, clutched his pounding temples, and lay back down against the soft mattress. The pillows cradled his aching head as he tried to remember how he got to bed. His mouth was dry and tasted like a combination of bad ale, good brandy, and rotten fish. If he lost his accounts, his stomach would feel better.

  Don’t fight it, he warned himself. He swung his feet over the bed, rose unsteadily, and then squatted down, holding on to the mattress. He fumbled for the chamber pot beneath and pulled it out just in time to fill it. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his nightshirt, he slowly made it back onto the bed. What was the last thing he remembered?

  Drinking. Reading the letter as he always did, but for the last time. Then… Oh, God. He went to the room. He wanted to tell her they had done it. The duke would not hurt anyone else. And Nicholas would watch the scum hang. And swing.

  A vague image of Hannah… Blast! What had he said? He couldn’t remember any words, only her face smiling at him and then…nothing. Blast and damn!

  His manservant knocked at the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Good morning, my lord.” He appeared by the bedside with a tray.

  “Is it? I didn’t sleep past breakfast?” That was a small miracle.

  “No, sir. Lady Matilda wants to make sure you attend them in the dining room. It is Christmas Day, my lord.”

  “Yes, it usually follows Christmas Eve.”

  “This was also sent by my lady. It was prescribed by the physician.”

  “Physician? When did he see me?”

  “He did not, my lord. Miss Pendleton told him you might be feeling a bit poorly.”

  Let’s see him to bed. I’m afraid it will take both of us.

  “She saw me in my…” Nicholas moaned.

  “Condition? Yes, my lord.” He handed the earl a murky liquid.

  “If it helps, I’ll try it.” He tipped back his head and took the vile concoction in one gulp. “Gad! That’s enough to make a man quit drinking.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  * * *

  Nicholas fidgeted with his cravat and ran a hand through his hair. He’d dressed for the day with a red-peony waistcoat and dark-gray coat over matching breeches. The day was cloudy and looked like snow. Perfect. That should fit right into his plans. Whatever the physician had sent him had worked. His head was no longer twice the size, and his stomach rumbled for breakfast.

  “Nicholas, don’t you look dapper this morning,” exclaimed Lady Darby. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  He gave his mother a wry look before finding Hannah. “Good morning, my lady,” he said with a bow.

  She smiled and stood to fill her plate. “Happy Christmas, Nicholas. I do hope you feel well this morning?” Her eyes remained on the silver tray as she scooped eggs and a piece of toasted bread onto her plate.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I feel wonderful.” He moved next to her and picked up a plate. “You look lovely. Emerald green suits you. It turns your hair to a dark honey.”

  Hannah turned and looked him in the eye. “Do you remember last night?”

  His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Yes, of course.” He continued with a whisper, “Most of it, I think.”

  She whispered back, “Most of it? We will have to find out later which part you’ve forgotten.” Then she gave him a bright smile and walked away.

  The breakfast was delicious and the conversation lively.

  “The room is perfect!” Hannah admired the greenery and ribbons and beads. “Is the wassail ready for this afternoon?”

  “Yes. I think everything is prepared.” Mattie poured her brother some coffee. “Was your family upset, Hannah? I saw the letter arrive.”

  She shook her head. “They are disappointed, as was I, but they are happy I am well and in good company. I miss my little stepsister Althea the most, I think. She’s so full of joy.”

  “I always wanted a sister,” Mattie said wistfully. “Not that there is anything wrong with a brother.”

  “Oh no, they can be wonderful,” agreed Hannah. “But I always longed for a sister too. Thea is adorable but she’s more like my niece than sister.”

  Nicholas listened and smiled to himself. They would both get their wish for Christmas.

  “Lady Darby, if you don’t mind, an old friend will be stopping by today to share some wassail.”

  “Of course,” said the countess, though her smile was tight. “Who shall I expect?”

  “Lord Chester Hatford. We met in India years ago and came across one another at the masquerade ball.”

  “Lord Chester? His brother is the marquess?” The shock on Lady Darby’s face seemed to have the effect Lady Roberta had hoped for.

  “Yes,” she said smugly, “we are great friends. Had some monstrous adventures together.”

  “Do you have any visits to make, Mother?” asked Nicholas. He wouldn’t mind her out of the house for an hour or two this afternoon.

  “I do. I am expected at a friend’s at three. I will be home in time for the festivities Mattie has planned.” She gave him a pointed look.

  Nicholas understood. His mother’s “friend” would be Alice’s mother. Her name had not been mentioned in five years. He still wasn’t ready to forgive that conspiracy, but today he felt as if it might be a future possibility. The world seemed a happier place today.

  * * *

  “You play beautifully, Mattie. I wish I had the patience for the harp,” said Hannah. “The pianoforte is struggle enough.”

  “I must disagree. I hated finding the right key, and the terrible sound when I hit the wrong chord. I find the strings much easier.” Mattie turned toward the door where Nicholas stood under the threshold.

  “In or out, dear brother?”

  “That depends. Miss Pendleton, might I have a word?” He tried to arrange his face in a serious expression, lest she guess his motive.

  Hannah nodded and met him at the door. “Is it about last night?” she whispered.

  “No, it’s about traditions. This is one of mine.” He pointed up at the mistletoe and grinned.

  She looked up and back at his face, understanding showing in her eyes. With a smile, she closed her eyes and tilted her face, waiting. He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. Egad, the power of those lips. Did she have any idea?

  He plucked a berry from the bough. She turned away, and he caught her hand, pulling her back. She blushed, her eyes shining with anticipation as he bent down again. This time he lingered, breathing in the intoxicating apricot. Then he plucked another berry from the bough.

  “Leave some for the others, brother,” teased Mattie.

  “Not you, I daresay,” he said as sternly as he could, still feeling the blood rushing through his veins from Hannah’s kisses.

  “I’m thinking of Lady Roberta and her new beau.”

  “How do you know he’s a beau?” asked Nicholas. “I don’t recall her mentioning it.”

  “They were involved years ago in India. I don’t think Aunt Bertie was ready to get married. She didn’t want a man getting in the way of her travels.” Hannah shrugged. “But now that she’s older, and he’s a widower, well. Love doesn’t count the years.”

  “No, I suppose not. Your aunt is a good woman. She deserves to find love.” Nicholas sat down in front of the hearth. “Mattie, do you suppose Hannah and I might have a word alone?”

  “Well, we were just going to—” She looked from her brother to her friend and nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ll go check on the wassail.”

  Nicholas walked to the hearth and fingered a gold ribbon in the greenery. “Hannah, I must apologize for last night. I wasn’t in my right mind when—”

  “You said you loved me?”

  Heat rose from his neck to his face. Blast! This was not going as planned. “I said that?”

  “Obviously one of the parts that escaped your memory,” she said with a blank face.

  What was s
he thinking? Was she furious? Glad? Might as well jump right in. No use mincing words.

  “I meant it, Hannah, with all my heart.” His stomach clenched as she strode to him, a stern expression on her beautiful features.

  In the dancing firelight, her eyes shone as gold as the ribbon. “You were drunk as a wheelbarrow. I didn’t like it.”

  That was to the point. “I know it wasn’t the best impression. It was a…final farewell to my past.”

  “And Alice?”

  His pulse raced. “Yes. I need to explain about my first marriage.” He closed his eyes. How could he tell her the past five years had been hell, and he’d been an empty shell with only one goal. How could he find the words to make her see she had filled that hollow place that alcohol never could?

  “I read the letter, Nicholas. I didn’t mean to pry, but it fell from your hand. When I picked it up, I… Well, I’m only human.” She laid a palm on his cheek. “I am concerned that this will always be between us.”

  He shook his head. “I never loved her. You are the only one to steal my heart. Because of you, I don’t need the brandy to fall asleep. Because of you, the nightmares are fewer and fewer. I need you, Hannah. With my every breath, I need you.”

  “Oh, Nicholas, it’s not your affection for me that gives me pause. It’s your conscience. We will never be happy if you have not forgiven yourself for her death. Her words haunted me all night, so I can only imagine how they have plagued you.” She withdrew her hand, and he stopped himself from grabbing it to his chest. “I must know you can think of the past without the burden of guilt. It was not your fault. None of it. You were a victim as much as poor Alice.”

  He blinked at the moisture in his eyes. His throat was swollen and he tried to swallow, tried to say something. By Christ, you can’t cry. With an effort, he pushed back the emotion.

  “Last night was the anniversary of her death, our wedding. It’s the first time I’ve returned to that room. I had it in my mind that I needed to return there to tell her. Tell her it was done, Colvin would be punished, and justice administered. Perhaps not by my hand, but he will never hurt an innocent again.” He took a deep breath. “Today, I feel like a new man. This is a new beginning for me. You are my chance to start again.”