A Woman of True Honor: True Gentlemen Book Eight

by Burrowes, Grace

  “Papa didn’t need the money either, Em. He’d have no motive to steal from anybody.” Caleb, Tobias, and any number of clerks did have motive, however.

  Emily rubbed a gloved hand across her brow. “I want answers, Adam. I wish I could discuss this situation with Valerian.”

  “You must not. He’d be honor-bound to arrest me first and ask questions about the original crime later. The answers to those questions have had five years to hide. Tell me where to write to you.”

  “Abbotsford,” she said. “Valerian’s estate is not far at all… No, you can’t write to me there yet. Valerian and I will bide in a cottage at Dorning Hall until harvest, then you may write to me at Abbotsford. Valerian said you’ll be welcome there, once you have your ticket of leave.”

  Magnanimous of him, but that ticket of leave would never be granted now. “Promise me you won’t poke your nose into the past, Emily. Let me leave here with at least that much consolation.”

  “We could ask Papa what he knows.”

  “Stubborn,” Adam said, wrapping her in another hug. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. I cannot ask Papa anything. He had me arrested once before. What makes you think he’d give me a fair hearing now? If I was confronting a dying father with a chance to put the past right, he might be more understanding. You tell me he’s in good health and still believes me guilty.”

  Emily had no retort. She leaned against him, a precious, dear sibling of whom he should have thought better.

  “I’ll walk you to the livery,” he said. “I enjoy the fresh air, and they have a horse for hire whom I’d like to buy for a friend who lives near Bournemouth.”

  A small, heart-weary part of Adam hoped Emily would argue with him as an excuse to stay longer, but she dropped the veils over her face, gathered up her reticule and parasol, and let him escort her to the walkway through a blessedly empty common.

  “I notice you did not tell me where to write to you, Adam.”

  No, he had not. “Write to me in care of a widow, a Mrs. Helen Thelwell, who dwells at Toftrees Manor just west of Bournemouth. I will acquaint her with my next port of call by letter once I leave England. I am Mr. Adam Carmichael to her. She knows me to be a businessman returning from the Antipodes after making my fortune there for the past five years. She herself has spent time in Australia.”

  Why hadn’t Adam had the presence of mind to call himself Carmichael when questioned by the man on horseback the other day? Because deceit, ironically, was not part of his nature, that’s why.

  “I want you to go,” Emily said as the livery came into view, “and I hate that you must.”

  “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of my whereabouts to your suitor.”

  Emily walked along at Adam’s side, to all appearances a matron, perhaps even a widow, out and about on a summer day.

  “I promised Valerian honesty, Adam. I certainly won’t volunteer particulars to him, but he’s never lied to me, and his esteem is my greatest treasure.”

  That was probably as much assurance as Emily would give, and it was something. “You drove yourself here from Pepper Ridge?” he asked.

  A stable lad darted off at Emily’s nod.

  “I am becoming a competent whip, thanks to Valerian’s efforts. A lady in the country often drives herself. Briggs will doubtless be appalled that I came into the village on my own.”

  “Are you marrying to escape her companionship, or because this Dorning fellow has truly turned your head?”

  “I wasn’t sure myself,” Emily said as the stable boy brought up a sturdy dog cart, and stood silently holding the reins. “But I love Valerian and look very much forward to being his wife. He’s patient, kind, sensible, and more understanding than any prospective husband should be. I am delighted to be marrying him, but when I leave you, I will cry all the way back to Pepper Ridge.”

  Adam drew her into the privacy of the livery stable’s shadowed interior. “Don’t cry, dearest. I am for all intents and purposes free to wander the world now. I am a person of means, and I honestly wasn’t happy spending most of my days in another man’s counting house. I am cheered to know you no longer have an ailing father to fret over, and that you and I can put aside the mistakes of the past.”

  A fine speech, for a fellow who flirted with a noose simply for the privilege of visiting a sibling.

  Emily stepped closer and seized him in a long, tight hug. “I love you so, and I will always keep you in my prayers, but I will never, ever stop missing you.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out. She kept right on walking, climbing into her vehicle without assistance. She took up the reins and clucked to the horse, not glancing even once in Adam’s direction.

  * * *

  Emily developed an intimate acquaintance with the verb to seethe over the next twenty-four hours. She very nearly confronted Papa at dinner, despite Briggs, Caleb, and Tobias looking on, but she had nothing specific to confront him with, save suspicions, fears, and worst nightmares.

  Then too, Caleb and Tobias had sat through the meal, swilling Papa’s wine and eating his beefsteak. Emily had not resolved for herself who the guilty party was, much less what exactly that party had hoped to gain. She’d taken a tray in her room at breakfast and barely touched it, for she’d woken with the headache to end all headaches.

  Which was of no moment when she was preparing to leave Pepper Ridge for a humble cottage and to cast Papa upon the mercy of a lazy housekeeper.

  “You’ve done a very thorough job,” she told Jasper as he and Tom shifted from foot to foot before her in the master’s suite’s parlor. Emily had given orders that the boys were to be properly clothed and shod, so at least those nervous feet sported well-fitted boots.

  “We checked it all twice,” Jasper said, “to be sure, miss. Every board and nail.”

  And they’d probably counted as slowly as possible, bless them. Some of their pallor was gone, and both boys looked less gaunt.

  “The butler will pay you for your efforts, and I am happy to recommend you to any household in need of junior footmen or men-of-all-work. I was hoping, though, that you might assist me to move my trousseau to Dorning Hall.” That hope was of very recent vintage.

  “Beg pardon, miss?” Tom asked.

  “My bride clothes, linen, silver, and such. I’ll be leaving Pepper Ridge for the Dorning estate in the next week. Somebody must carefully count and pack up the lot of it.”

  Jasper became fascinated with the boards stacked in the middle of the room, and Emily realized the first people she’d told of her upcoming nuptials—outside of family—were a pair of local lads she barely knew.

  “Shouldn’t your maids be seeing to your trousseau, miss?” Tom asked.

  Emily did not exactly trust her maids, now that Tom had raised the question. They had doubtless carried tales to Briggs.

  “The butler would typically tend to the silver, porcelain, and linens. That is most assuredly not a job for the maids. Let’s start there, shall we? You’ll have to do another inventory to avoid confusion about what’s leaving Pepper Ridge with me.”

  The boys exchanged a look. “We’re good at inventories,” Jasper said. “We’ll do a fine job for you.”

  “I know you will.” And who else could she trust in this oversize, dusty monument to rural ostentation? Valerian’s tiny cottage truly had begun to take on the qualities of a haven, if not exactly a lovers’ retreat.

  The door swung open, and Papa stood in the corridor. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Off to the kitchen, boys,” Emily said. “Tell Cook you’re to have a proper tea break to reward a job well done.”

  They scrambled for the door, barely giving Papa time to step aside.

  “Ah, youth,” he said. “Defined by bodily appetites, just as old age is defined by bodily discomforts.”

  “I’ve asked the boys to inventory my trousseau and pack it for me. Valerian expects the special license to arrive any day.”

  Papa sauntered into the parlo
r, peering about as if he’d never seen the place before. “You’ve told your Mr. Dorning about your brother?”

  “My brother has a name, and yes, I have acquainted Valerian with what I know about Adam’s situation.” The headache pounding at Emily’s left temple became a battle drum. “The question becomes, Papa, what do you know about Adam’s alleged crime? Your signature was on that bank draft.”

  Papa left off examining the dusty, ornate ceiling plaster. “My signature was forged on that draft, Emily. Forged, I tell you. I know when I’ve committed hundreds of pounds on a bearer draft, and I never signed that damned thing.”

  Emily fisted her hands rather than upend the bucket of nails sitting atop the lumber. “Then why not absorb the loss quietly, keep a closer eye on your accounts, and stop allowing half the clerks in Durham to frequent your office? Why risk the life and ruin the reputation of your only son over a few hundred pounds?”

  Papa sat on the stack of boards, huffing out an old man’s sigh. “Adam’s life was never at risk. I bribed the guards at the jail. I bribed the captain of the transport ship. I had Briggs sew money into the blankets your brother took on board with him. I made sure he had a store of medicines and good, well made clothes. Boots too. A man’s life can depend on whether he owns a single pair of sturdy boots.”

  Interesting. Emily had sewn money into the lining of Adam’s trunks. “People who accept bribes are not to be trusted, Papa. You taught me that.” Consternation replaced a small portion of Emily’s ire. “If you thought Adam guilty, why take these measures to ensure his safety? For all you know, he could have been sentenced to death.”

  Papa shook his head. “Judges have discretion. It’s not fair to say I bribed a member of the bench, but I certainly did all I could to minimize the possibility of a death sentence. His Honor and I have known each other for years, ever since his daughter tried to steal a length of silk from our warehouse. The young lady had a little bad habit, so we arranged a system whereby she could steal all she pleased, and her papa would cover the losses. That’s not as unusual as you might think.”

  “I do not understand,” Emily said, barely managing to keep her tone civil. “A judge’s daughter steals valuable cloth for a lark—repeatedly—and it’s a little bad habit. My brother is accused of a theft he did not commit, and you send him halfway around the world in disgrace? For all you know, Papa, Caleb signed that bank draft, or Tobias, or I might have done it myself.”

  Papa hunched in on himself, abruptly looking not only old, but once again the frail, failing man he’d been just a few short weeks ago.

  “Daughter, I well know that the culprit could have been you. Anybody familiar with our business could see at once that you were as likely to be guilty as your brother—more likely, in fact.”

  His gaze was sad, disappointed even.

  The unspoken conclusion presented itself to Emily’s mind as a horrid fact: Papa had chosen between his children, believing Emily to be the guilty party, and Adam the one best suited to take the punishment.

  “I cannot fathom…” she began through clenched teeth, “Why, Papa, didn’t you simply ask me what I knew about the matter? Why would you leap to the least likely… I don’t know whether to be furious with you—more furious with you—or thank you for not slapping me onto a transport ship without a trial. Suffice it to say I will not be a frequent caller here at Pepper Ridge after next week.”

  And to think she’d given up her entire bride portion to secure Papa’s approval of her marriage.

  Emily had much more to say on that score, more to shout very likely, but Valerian rapped on the doorjamb with his gloved knuckles and strode into the room.

  “Haven’t we a butler to announce intruders?” Papa asked, rising. “Or has the old boy gone to his reward at last?”

  Valerian bowed to Emily—formally—and then nodded to Papa. “My business is somewhat urgent and private. A word with you, please, Miss Pepper.”

  No hint of affection colored that greeting, and Valerian’s version of Miss Pepper was downright ominous.

  Papa shuffled for the door. “He’s come to cry off, see if he doesn’t. I knew he would. Thank heavens few will learn of this farce, though the rumors will eventually reach the wrong ears. They always do where you’re concerned, daughter.”

  As this vituperation rained down, Valerian’s expression remained remote. Papa stopped at the door and sent Emily a pitying glance.

  For Valerian, Papa’s gaze held sheer contempt. “Coward.”

  “Papa has had a shock, Valerian, please forgive him. The day has been exceedingly trying, and I know you did not come here to cry off.”

  Valerian closed the door and locked it. “I regret to inform you, Miss Pepper, that your conclusion might well be in error.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Valerian had tossed and turned for half the night, tried getting drunk, and then set the decanter aside before the third brandy. He’d wandered his dark little cottage and sat out under the summer moon, his thoughts refusing to form up into logical squares.

  Emily had lied to him, by omission if nothing else, and after giving him her word that they’d have honesty between them.

  “Did I steal from you too?” Emily asked, picking up a hammer laid across the top of a bucket of nails. “Embezzle from your botanical venture? Perhaps I forged your signature on a magistrate’s order, though I would have had to disguise myself as Mrs. Cheaverton to do that. Maybe I impersonated Miss Tolliver, or did I venture into your cottage in the dark of night and purloin your silver?”

  Indignation, hurt, and fatigue bore down on Valerian in a crushing weight, and yet, he had wits enough left to know Emily wasn’t reacting as a guilty bride about to be jilted for her subterfuges.

  “I have little silver worth purloining. What on earth are you going on about?”

  She tossed the hammer from hand to hand as if it weighed no more than a riding crop. “Somebody wants to know what I’m going on about, as if my thoughts, my feelings, my opinions carry any weight. Send an express to the Times.”

  “Emily, are you unwell?”

  “Yes, Valerian, I am unwell.” She swung the hammer and sent the bucket of nails toppling to the floor in a spectacular crash. “My own father thinks I’d steal hundreds of pounds from him when I already had hundreds of pounds at regular intervals to do with what I pleased. My darling brother thought I’d steal, Caleb was convinced of it, Tobias doubtless also agreed with the opinion of the male mob, and here you are, looking ready to add to the merriment. Pardon me if my female humors are in something of an uproar.”

  She kicked the bucket hard enough to send it rolling across the floor, leaving a trail of nails in a wide arc.

  Whatever reaction Valerian had steeled himself for—tears, apologies, begging—it wasn’t this.

  “What did Osgood say that upset you so?” And could you please put down that hammer?

  “I told you my brother was transported for theft,” she said, turning a gimlet eye on him. “Papa just now confirmed that he allowed Adam to be charged and sent away because Papa thought he was protecting me, the actual culprit. Apparently, they both believed they were protecting me. Had they asked me, I would have told them I would rather have protected myself. I want to throw this hammer right through a window, Valerian. I want to hear glass shatter.”

  He went to the window, then stood back. “There’s nobody below.”

  Emily positioned herself two yards from the window, wheeled her arm like a champion cricket pitcher, and let fly with the hammer. The bottom frame of the window smashed, the glass tinkling onto the flagstones below, followed by the soft thud of a heavy weight hitting turf.

  “Now that we are both unarmed,” Valerian said, “perhaps you could tell me what has sent you into such a rage.”

  “I am in a rage,” she said, her expression satisfied as she surveyed the broken window and the spilled nails. “That is exactly the word. Are we still to be married?”

  “That depends,�
� Valerian said, “on why you were in a passionate embrace with some fellow at the livery yesterday, a fellow who uses a made-up name and addresses you as dearest.”

  “You saw us?”

  “That is not a denial, Emily, or an explanation. Such is my besottedness that I would likely settle for either.”

  “I would never play you false, Valerian, and yet, I have lied to you. Your doubts are understandable. I am sorry for that.” She picked up the empty bucket and gave it a stout heave through the top portion of the window, shattering that pane as well.

  Her apology was a start, toward what, Valerian did not know. “Sometimes a falsehood is necessary for the sake of kindness. I wrote that in some book or other.” A book nobody had read save perhaps Casriel. “Are you thinking of heaving me out the window next?” In her present mood, she could do it.

  “If I tell you the truth, I am all but condemning to death somebody I have loved my whole life. If I refuse to confess the falsehood to you now, I lose a future with the only man to give me his honest regard. This room needs more windows.”

  The situation needed more light. “I came to you, Emily, because I want to hear the truth. I care for you deeply, and I want to hear what you have to say about your behavior in the livery stable.”

  He’d settled on that course as the birds had chorused their greeting to the dawn. Another pretty summer day in the country, following the most miserable night of his life.

  “You are being the magistrate,” she said, dropping onto a sofa draped in a Holland cover. “I am not a prisoner in the dock, Valerian.”

  He took the place beside her. “You have the power and the right to keep your own counsel, Emily. I know that. I came here to understand rather than accuse. I cannot imagine my future without you, cannot see how to get on in any meaningful… I love you.”