Wyndcross (The Families 0f Dorset Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  The man paused in the act of walking toward her, a hand on the pistol he wore on at his side. “That’s right. I’m an officer—Preventive Officer Roberts, ma’am. And who might you be?”

  It suddenly occurred to her that he might suspect her of a connection to the barrels she stood before. “Catharine Matcham, sir. I am a guest here at Wyndcross. I stumbled upon these barrels as I was trying to return my horse’s saddle.”

  “Well don’t you worry your mind over the barrels. This is no place for a young lady. It isn’t safe.”

  What was he doing there, anyway? “Not safe, sir?”

  He put a hand down to the pistol at his side. “That’s right. I’m here on orders. Investigating.”

  “Investigating whom? The Croftes? Surely not!”

  But she was not sure. Not at all. “There are goings on in this house that aren’t what I’d call respectable.” That’s what Lindley had said. Kate had never inquired into what she had meant. She had been too caught up in her own troubles.

  “Don’t worry your head, ma’am,” said Officer Roberts. “I have things well in hand. But I must insist, for your own safety, that you leave.”

  * * *

  Henry laid his hand of cards on the table and took a sip from his glass, looking at Lord Ashworth with triumph. “Ha!” he said.

  The corner of Lord Ashworth’s mouth twitched, and he laid down his hand.

  Henry’s triumph turned to disbelief, and he smacked the table. “The devil’s own luck!” he exclaimed.

  The door opened, and Clara rushed in. She stopped abruptly at the sight of Lord Ashworth.

  “Clara,” Henry said. “What the devil?”

  “I must speak with you instantly, Henry,” she said, glancing at Lord Ashworth.

  Henry turned away from her and began picking up the cards. “It will have to wait, Clara. We’re about to begin a new hand, and I have a feeling my luck is finally going to turn.” He shuffled the cards. “You shan’t fleece me tonight, Ash.” He took a long swallow of the drink in front of him and then began shuffling the cards.

  Lord Ashworth looked at Clara consideringly before turning his eyes to his own hand.

  Clara looked exasperated. “Henry, I really must speak with you. It cannot wait, even if your luck is supposedly about to turn—a claim which I highly doubt, seeing as you’ve never been able to do anything but lose at cards!” she said waspishly.

  Before Henry could retort, Lord Ashworth intervened.

  “Henry, let us resume this game another evening.” He looked at his pocket watch. “I gave my mother my word that I would make an appearance at this unfortunate evening party where she insists on hosting all the most cantankerous geriatrics in the vicinity.” He rose as he spoke, glancing at Clara.

  “Nonsense, Ash. One last hand.” Henry’s words had begun to slur slightly, and as he reached to tug on Lord Ashworth’s coat to prevent his departure, he nearly tipped over his chair.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry,” cried Clara, losing the last vestige of patience. “I must speak with you instantly, or we will very likely be ruined by your stupid smuggling!”

  Henry whipped his head around, sloshing some of the brandy in his glass onto his pantaloons.

  Lord Ashworth paused in his efforts to put his coat back on, while Clara bit her lip and drew back as if to shield herself from the repercussions of her words.

  Her words effectively jolted Henry from his inebriated state, and he looked at her aghast.

  “Clara, you….” he sputtered, unable to find the words to express his feelings.

  “If you need to be private,” Lord Ashworth said, “but say the word, and I will go. But I should perhaps make it clear that I am well acquainted with the particulars of what is being hidden in your stables.”

  “The devil you are!” Henry exclaimed, bolting upright.

  Lord Ashworth’s mouth turned up in a half-smile.

  Henry looked bewildered. “Knew your father was part of it all, but I’m dashed if I thought you were, too!”

  Lord Ashworth scoffed. “While you were undoubtedly sound asleep, I was heaving those accursed barrels into the tack room.”

  “Dash it, Ash!” Henry cried. “I was ordered not to be there. That’s not to say I was sorry about it. Those barrels are devilish heavy this time.”

  “Have you looked inside?” Lord Ashworth’s intense gaze rested on Henry. He didn’t blink as he waited for the answer.

  Henry sat back with his glass in hand, kicking his heels up on the table as he considered for a moment. “Not this shipment, I haven’t. But what a fellow I should appear if I was forever asking to see inside of every barrel.”

  “None of this matters!” Clara shouted in exasperation. “There is a Preventive Officer in the stables at this very moment.”

  Henry sat bolt upright but then relaxed. “Ahh, that’ll be Officer Roberts.”

  “And,” Clara continued, “Kate is in there as well!” She tossed her head. “So much for the headache she claimed.”

  Lord Ashworth snatched his hat off the table. “I must bid you goodnight,” he said as he pulled the door open. He turned back toward Clara and Henry. “I will go to the stables. Leave Miss Matcham to me.”

  The door shut with a smack.

  Henry turned toward Clara. “What a completely beetle-headed thing to do!” He slammed a fist on the table, sending stray cards trembling onto the floor. “Especially if you’re hoping to snag Ash for a husband. What if he informed on us?”

  “Well he obviously won’t.” Clara glowered at him.

  “And a luckier chance there never was,” Henry said, shaking his head and making his way toward the door.

  “Rich of you to scold me,” Clara cried, “when you are the one who has allowed smuggled goods to be stored in our stables.”

  “It’s only for a couple of nights.” Henry reached for the door.

  “If the officer has found it, it makes no difference how long it has been here!”

  Henry laughed. “Found it? He helped put it there! Roberts is with us.”

  Clara drew back. “Really?”

  Henry nodded impatiently.

  Clara tapped her foot, arms folded. “And what of Kate? How do you know she won’t inform on you?”

  “She wouldn’t.” Henry shook his head dismissively. “She couldn’t.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t she? Have you forgotten? The Matchams have always been opposed to smuggling. Emmerson and his men killed her father, for heaven’s sake! If anyone were to inform on you, it would be Kate Matcham.”

  Henry chewed his lip, his forehead wrinkled. He shook his head. “It’s too late to do anything but forge ahead. You don’t know these men, Clara. They’re stark, raving mad! If I don’t fulfill my end….” He shuddered.

  “What do we do about Kate, then?” she said, a frantic note in her voice.

  Henry chewed his lip again. “We must make sure that she has no chance to do any mischief tomorrow.” He looked at Clara with a grim expression. “If you wish to have your precious Mr. Bradbury, we can’t afford to foul things up. As long as we can get through tomorrow night, we have no reason to worry.” He sounded as though he was trying to reassure himself as much as Clara.

  She hardly looked comforted by his words. “Lord Ashworth said he would handle things.”

  Henry rubbed his chin. “Normally I’d trust my life to Ash. But if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t trust a man in love. And I can’t take any chances. Not this time. Not even on Ash. My life is at stake.”

  Clara’s cheeks burned red. “A man in love?”

  Henry dropped his head resignedly. “Oh, Clara, surely you aren’t still miffed about that? You want Bradbury, don’t you?”

  Clara nodded, a tear falling down her cheek. When she spoke, it was something between a sob and a shout. “But Kate seems determined that I shan’t have either of them!”

  25

  Kate walked toward the manor, staring at the dimly
lit ground before her. She felt equal parts relieved and anxious after her interaction with Officer Roberts. The excisemen were aware of the smuggling operation—this was what she had wanted. But the Croftes were implicated in it all. That was much less desirable and much more awkward.

  “Miss Matcham? Thank heaven.”

  Kate looked up in time to see Lord Ashworth’s hands reaching toward her to prevent a collision. He was short of breath.

  “Are you quite well?” he asked, bracing her elbows with his hands and looking at her with concern.

  She looked up at him, at a loss for words. Was there no one she could unburden her mind to?

  His eyes raced back and forth between hers. “Clara said you had gone to bed with a headache. But then she saw you ride into the stables. I came to find you.”

  She felt sick with confusion. Who was this man? She couldn’t make any sense of him. He looked at her with such genuine concern. Every interaction with him had felt genuine.

  But Weymouth, the blacking on his face—those seeds of doubt had taken root. If Lord Ashworth was involved in smuggling, unburdening herself to him would be the act of a fool.

  “It’s not safe to be alone in the dark,” he said, and there was an inflection of anger in his voice.

  Officer Roberts’s words came to mind. He had said something similar.

  “I won’t press you to confide in me,” he said, “but I hope you know that you can rely on my discretion. You can trust me.”

  Trust him? She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of guile.

  She found none.

  This frustrated her more than it pleased her. How could he speak to her of further confidences when he seemed not to value what she had confided in him about her father? Was it possible to be so dead to one’s own conscience that one could speak such things while acting in direct contradiction to them?

  She met his eyes, and what she saw pained her. He looked almost frantic for her to say something. It was difficult to imagine him as anything else but what she saw before her: the concerned and caring gentleman her heart had stubbornly chosen. Her heart had never led her astray before. Why would it do so now?

  The burden of her discovery weighed on her mind heavily, and she wavered again in her resolution to keep her own counsel. If she did speak with him of her suspicions, perhaps she could learn whether he was truly involved by observing his reaction. She felt paralyzed with indecision, and the pause grew long.

  “I should not be keeping you,” Lord Ashworth said, breaking the unwieldy silence. There was a note of frustration in his voice. “Allow me to walk you to the door.”

  Kate gave a small, grateful smile but maintained her silence as they walked toward the manor alongside one other. Lord Ashworth filled the silence with mundane small talk which required no response from Kate. The gesture was not lost on her, and she felt grateful that he had not pressed her to speak, even though he had clearly desired her to.

  "—as you can imagine,” he said with a chuckle, “it has been no small endeavor to apologize to all the people Henry’s and my friendship has affected.”

  “Lord Ashworth.” She interrupted him.

  He slowed to a stop. “Yes?”

  She took in a slow breath. “Do you remember when I spoke to you of my father’s death?”

  “I remember it well.” His reply was soft, as if he knew that the subject deserved a subdued tone.

  She paused. Was it guilt?

  Could he say such a thing with near-reverence if he were secretly engaged in the very same activities with the very same people that caused her father’s death? She couldn’t find it in herself to believe it of him. “I believe I mentioned the promise I made to myself after his passing.” Her voice was level, but her eyes stung.

  They paused in their walk, and she turned to face him. His gaze was direct, intense.

  “I remember,” he said, nodding. “You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let it be for naught, what he had done; that you would act if you should ever find yourself in a similar situation.”

  She nodded, anxiously rubbing the fabric of her dress between her fingers.

  “I find myself in a situation where I must act on that promise.”

  He waited, his gaze never faltering.

  “I have reason to suspect that the Croftes are some of those people I swore to stand up to.” She bit the inside of her lip as she watched for his reaction. If he looked at all uncomfortable, she would have her answer.

  Lord Ashworth was silent for a moment. “You have seen the barrels in the stables.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “You know?” Kate drew back from him.

  “I am aware of the situation, as are the Preventive Officers.”

  Kate let out a large breath. Relief made her feel lightheaded. “Yes, I was met by one of the officers in the stables.”

  “Roberts?”

  She nodded. “You know him?”

  Lord Ashworth nodded.

  “He claims he has everything under control,” Kate said.

  “Let us leave it to Roberts, then.”

  Kate let out a puff of air, shaking her head as she reflected on the interaction. “There was something strange about him.” She thought of the tankard he held in his hand when she had met him. What kind of serious investigation involved a tankard?

  When Lord Ashworth spoke, it was slowly. He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “I have every confidence in the law officers to handle this. Thank you for confiding in me—you’ve done right to do so.” He glanced at the manor. “I mustn’t keep you out here in the dark. But I beg you to keep this to yourself. Don’t do anything. It is too dangerous.”

  Kate’s eyebrows snapped together. “You would have me break my promise to myself.”

  “No,” he said. “I would have you leave the matter in my hands. In the hands of the law. To entangle yourself in such an affair can only do you harm.”

  She knew a moment’s doubt. Could he have another, less altruistic motivation for asking her not to get involved? “If something is the right thing to do, is danger to oneself really a reason to avoid it?” She looked up at him, her eyes challenging him.

  “Your integrity does you credit,” he said. “Would that more of us were like you. Please at least promise that you will advise me before taking any action.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t make such a promise. I admit that I am not well-versed in the particulars of smuggling, but I understand enough to know that time is of the essence. I can’t say that I trust Officer Roberts. I have heard tales of excisemen turned free-traders.”

  Lord Ashworth thought for a moment. “What do you propose to do? Inform on the Croftes and then sit down to dine with them, treating yourself to some sweetmeats as they are arrested and removed from Wyndcross Manor by the authorities?”

  Kate bit her lip. She simply couldn’t continue trespassing on the Croftes’ hospitality while potentially orchestrating their ruin.

  Lord Ashworth continued, “We can hardly discuss particulars at this hour of night and in this courtyard. Allow me to call on you tomorrow.” Seeing her open her mouth to protest, he rushed on, “I promise I will not attempt to dissuade you from whatever plan you have in mind, provided it is reasonable. But I think it essential that this plan be well-thought out, and two heads are better than one, they say.”

  She considered for a moment, acknowledging the good sense in his words and wondering what her father would do in her place. She felt unsure and alone and suddenly exhausted by it all.

  There was no denying that sharing the burden of deciding upon a course of action was an inviting thought. And though she felt a small doubt niggle at her, her heart told her to lay the load at the feet of Lord Ashworth.

  She nodded and sighed.

  A look of relief settled onto his face, and he grimaced in understanding.

  They continued their walk, arriving at the door without speaking another word. Lord Ashworth turned toward Ka
te once again, scanning her face. She returned his gaze, feeling simultaneous relief and uncertainty about placing things in his hands.

  He reached a hand to her face, brushing his thumb lightly over her brow as if to smooth the creases away. “Don’t fret.”

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  He put a finger under her chin, softly pulling her head back to face him and looked her in the eye.

  “Trust in me, Kate.” He brought her hand up and lightly kissed it, then opened the door for her before turning back toward the stables.

  Kate swallowed, her heart thumping. She fought the urge to look at Lord Ashworth’s retreating figure. As she closed the door behind her, she felt a desire, entirely foreign and nearly overpowering, to let out a high-pitched squeal. A separate sensation warned her she might lose her dinner.

  She rested a hand on her abdomen to quell the sensations. The emotions she felt swirling around inside felt strange, though not unpleasant.

  Her stomach knotted. Had she made a terrible mistake to confide in him? She found it impossible to reconcile the picture of a deceitful smuggler with the considerate and helpful man her experience had taught her Lord Ashworth was.

  If her reading of Lord Ashworth’s character was as wrong as some of the evidence seemed to indicate, though, then his request that she wait to act could quite easily be interpreted as self-preservation—to protect his own interests until the smuggled goods could be moved.

  If this was the case, she stood on dangerous ground. A fatalistic voice inside asked her, though, what exactly she had to lose.

  26

  The night brought little rest to Kate’s battling mind and heart. Her eyes didn’t close to grant her the peace she needed until her room had begun to lighten with the sunrise. Lindley, bless her heart, must have known she needed more than her usual rest, since she didn’t pull back the curtains until an advanced hour of the morning.

  Though she was grateful for the thoughtfulness of her maid, Kate awoke with a pit in her stomach. Time was not something she had in abundance if she were to act on her knowledge. Or could she truly place everything in Officer Roberts's and Lord Ashworth’s hands?