An Unwelcome Suitor (Entangled Inheritance Book 4)

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I let out a puff of air. I had to disagree.

  Juliana ignored my scoff and continued. “We agreed on the point that our marriage would be the best option for everyone involved, but Dr. Pembroke did not press me for my commitment today.” She tucked a curl behind her ear before folding her hands again. “We do not have to be married until summer’s end. Although I assured him of my decision to marry him, he told me he wishes to give me the opportunity to come to know him before we are engaged, to ensure I am content with my decision. He wishes to first court me for a month.”

  I sat back, my mind racing. A courtship was much easier to break than an engagement. There was still time to change Juliana’s mind. She seemed to read my thoughts, her eyes stabbing into mine. “There is still no other option, Eliza. I will marry him before summer’s end.”

  “I know.” My eyes rounded in a semblance of innocence. “I accept your decision, but I do hope you have thought it through. Gilbert has given you much to lose.”

  “He has only a cottage, Eliza.”

  “And your heart.”

  Juliana twirled a lock of her hair, her eyes cast down. “I did not tell Dr. Pembroke about Gilbert.”

  I gasped. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want that knowledge to influence his decision.” Juliana looked a warning at me, gripping my hand tightly. “Do not tell him, Eliza. Don’t you dare.”

  Her request buried itself underneath my skin. “I will not. I promise. But… don’t you think you should tell him soon?”

  “He does not need to know. Gilbert has accepted my decision, and he agrees that it is the only option.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I told him that I have perceived Dr. Pembroke to be a very noble man. That was all Gilbert cared to hear. He wants me to be happy, taken care of. He was pleased that I could remain at Brookhaven. He has never thought his cottage to be a suitable place for me or for our future family.” The last of her tears had dried, and she held her skirts in her fists, as if to steady herself. “As long as the physician proves himself to be as good and honorable as Aunt Augusta professed, then I shall be completely content with this decision, and you should be too. All will be well in time.”

  This phrase echoed in my ears, spinning in the back of my memory. She had said those words so many times following the deaths of our parents. All had become better with time, but not nearly as well as it had been when they were with us.

  Another phrase stuck out in my mind. As long as the physician proves himself to be as good and honorable as Aunt Augusta professed…

  Hopelessness still thrived inside me, but it was growing weaker, fading behind possibility. It would not take long for Juliana to realize that Dr. Pembroke was not the noble, honest, thoughtful man she thought him to be. One look at his smirk and she would know what I already did—he was every bit as mischievous as Aunt Augusta. Perhaps that was why she liked him so much.

  There was quite a lot that we did not know about Dr. Luke Pembroke. What had he lied to Aunt Augusta about in order to attain her sympathies? What had made her decide to put him in her will in such a prominent way? I had seen a glimpse of his true nature as he had seemed to revel in his opportunity to live at Brookhaven. Had gaining the estate been his motive all along? My distrust of the man seemed to grow with every passing minute. Could he be just as much a knave as Mr. Yeatman?

  I tapped my foot against the rug as I struggled to gather my thoughts.

  A courtship.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Not an engagement. Not an immediate marriage.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “As long as the physician proves himself to be as good and honorable as Aunt Augusta professed, I shall be completely content with this decision.”

  My foot stopped. My answer was there, as clear as it could be. I had to reveal Dr. Pembroke’s true character to Juliana, by any means necessary. If I could manage to color him even more heartless than Mr. Yeatman, then Juliana would see that marrying him and leaving us all to his care was not the best option after all.

  A slow smile pulled on the corners of my mouth; one might have even called it a smirk.

  As I hurried in the direction of my room to continue planning, I was stopped by Juliana’s voice. “Where are you going?”

  I managed to hide my expression, remaining as unreadable as Dr. Pembroke. “To fetch a glass of water, for I am positively parched.”

  Chapter 7

  Step 1. Begin collecting advertisements for work as a governess, seamstress, companion, or lady’s maid.

  I had never been one to read The Morning Post, but if the rest of my plan worked, then I needed to be prepared. I had still not decided which fate I preferred—living with Mr. Yeatman or joining the working class. Leaning toward the latter, I decided to collect employment advertisements. Separating myself from Martha was not an option, and most advertisements did not have multiple positions in one household. Mr. Yeatman’s care did seem to be our only choice. The thought sickened me, so I pushed it away for the time being.

  I stretched my back as I set down my quill. Early morning light seeped through the drapes of my bed chamber, a light breeze ruffling them from the open window. Sleep had not come easily the night before, and my rampant thoughts had pulled me from my bed much earlier than usual.

  I tiptoed through the hallway toward Martha’s room, pausing at the door when I heard snoring. It would not do. There could be no rest until the courtship was officially sabotaged.

  I opened the door, peeking just my head inside the room. Martha lay on her back, her mouth hanging open, her golden-butter curls loose and fluffy about her pillow.

  “Martha,” I hissed. “Martha.”

  She snorted before rolling over.

  I sighed, stepping fully into the room and pausing beside her bed. I shook her shoulder. “Martha.”

  Her eyes flew open in shock, a flash of green, before settling into a scowl. “Eliza,” she groaned, lifting her blanket over her head. “What is the time?” Her voice was muffled.

  “That does not matter. You must get up if you wish to help me sabotage Dr. Pembroke.”

  The blanket lowered to reveal her scowling brow, dotted in freckles. “Sabotage?”

  “Take care not to use that word out in public or around Juliana.” I glanced behind me, suddenly afraid our sister had been listening. Stop being absurd.

  Martha’s previous vexation seemed to have faded into pure curiosity. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “How do you plan to sabotage him?”

  “With difficulty.” I chewed my lip. “It will take quite a lot of spying, and a bit of exaggeration. I do not think he is the man Aunt Augusta claimed him to be, but he may not be quite as nefarious as Mr. Yeatman. However, if you had seen him yesterday…”

  “Dr. Pembroke seems to be quite agreeable.” Martha yawned. “And handsome.”

  “No. No, no. He is not.” Not agreeable. Handsome, yes, but that did not matter. The most conniving men were often the most charming. “You mustn’t even entertain the notion of his character containing anything pleasant, nor his appearance. From now on, he is our enemy. He is standing in the way of Juliana’s marriage to Gilbert, and that alone makes him our foe.”

  Martha nodded fast, as if ashamed for offering a word of praise toward him. “Juliana must marry Gilbert.”

  “She must.”

  I unfolded my plan, written neatly on a sheet of foolscap. “I thought we might begin with an easy item of business this morning. If our plan meets success, then we will need to ensure we have a place to find employment. I thought we might check any posted advertisements in town. Perhaps the modiste is in need of new seamstresses, or a local home is in need of a lady’s maid and governess.”

  Martha’s face grew somber. “Will we be together?”

  “Of course.” I touched her hand. “If we cannot find two positions in the same household, then we will live with Mr. Yeatman and simply… keep to our room or the gardens as to avoid his company.”

  Martha�
��s upper lip curled with disgust. “I do despise him.”

  “My aim is to show Juliana that Dr. Pembroke is even more despicable than Yeatman.”

  Her head tipped to the side. “But he is not.”

  “I am not yet convinced.” I smoothed the wrinkles from my darkly colored dress. “Now, call your maid to help you dress and we will be on our way before Juliana awakens. I shall await you in the morning room. Cook hasn’t yet prepared breakfast, so we might find something to eat in the town bakery.”

  Martha’s eyes lit up with excitement. The bakery was always a way to pull her out of the house.

  Minutes later, wrapped in our black shawls, we stepped out onto the front lawn. A light fog floated up from the dewy grass, and the sky appeared as colorless as our current wardrobe. “We cannot be gone long. Juliana’s suspicion is aroused quite easily,” I said.

  “Not as easily as yours.” Martha giggled under her breath. “I still do not understand what Dr. Pembroke has done to earn your hatred.”

  “I do not hate him.” I peered at her from the corner of my eye, keeping my focus on the path ahead. “I do not hate anyone.”

  “Not even Mr. Yeatman? We are not in church. You can tell me if you do.”

  A laugh burst out of my mouth. “It is a good thing we are not in church whilst planning our sabotage. I also must confess that I have been dishonest far more than the allotted one lie a month, if only to spare the feelings of another.”

  Martha’s eyes lifted to mine. “One lie a month? I did not know that rule.”

  I grinned at her. “That is because I invented it.” I turned my gaze forward again, cringing when I saw Oakley Manor. To reach town by the quickest route, we would have to pass directly in front of it. Charity wasn’t likely to be awake at this hour, but I did not care to risk being slowed down by her attempts to accompany us into town.

  “I hope Charity Oakley is not outside,” I whispered.

  Martha nodded, her voice lowering. “Aunt Augusta said she is a terrible influence.”

  “She is, indeed,” I said, surprised with myself for finding something to agree with Augusta about.

  The path ran directly beside the manor, and I was relieved to find the front property Charity-free as we approached. Before I could celebrate her absence, however, the front door opened, a flirtatious giggle cutting the air. I tugged Martha toward the side of the house where we would be out of sight. We ran until we pressed our backs against the faded red brick.

  “Was that Charity?” Martha asked, her eyes shining with intrigue.

  I put a finger to my lips, tilting my head around the brick corner. With her black hair falling loose around her shoulders, Charity came into view behind the pillar of the front porch. The pillar obstructed part of my view of her face, but her voice could be clearly heard. “Must you leave so soon? I do enjoy your longer visits.” Her words lifted at the end, a flirtatious lilt, to be sure.

  My heart pounded when I saw a man, his back turned to us, partially concealed by the pillar. Could this confirm the rumors about Charity? I should not have been eavesdropping, but there was no other way to confirm or discredit the gossip I had heard. The chickens clucked in the nearby coop, making the conversation from the porch difficult to hear. I strained my ears.

  “I cannot stay.” The man’s voice was deep and regretful.

  “Why not?” Charity whined.

  “There is a woman on the other side of town I must now see.” Was this rake on his way to see another mistress? I could hardly believe the disrespectable behavior.

  I caught sight of Charity’s pouting lips. “If you must.”

  I withheld an outraged gasp. How could she be content knowing that this man had many other women in his sights? I had no tolerance for that sort of behavior, but I knew it was all too common. Mr. Yeatman was the same way as this man, and he had no qualms about his disrespectable habits. I had hoped that Charity would be better than the rumors, but it appeared I was mistaken.

  The man spoke again, and there was something familiar about his voice. “You will be just fine without me for a few days.”

  Charity sighed. “I do not think I can bear it.”

  “I will return in three days time,” the rake said. “If you need me.”

  “I will always need you.”

  I grimaced, throwing Martha a look of disgust.

  Charity’s voice came again. “Will you come at the same hour?”

  “Yes.”

  I stepped away from the house, glaring down at the grass, feeling both disappointed in Charity, and pleased that my suspicions had been correct about her. I stole one more glance around the corner, hoping to catch sight of the rakish man, if only to know who to avoid at any party or ball.

  The man had started walking down the steps, and the pillar no longer obstructed my view of him. Tall, dark clothing, with dark hair to match. I gasped, covering my mouth.

  The rake was Dr. Pembroke.

  Martha saw him too, her gasp much louder than mine. Dr. Pembroke’s gaze flashed in our direction, and I grabbed Martha’s arm, running around the back of the house. My feet pounded over the grass as we ran, my bonnet sliding down the back of my head. We stopped to catch our breath only once we were safe beyond the back property.

  “Did he see us?” Martha asked, her chest heaving with her quickened breath, her cheeks flushed.

  “I don’t think so.” My mind raced. The truth about Dr. Pembroke was even more condemning than I had previously hoped for.

  “You were right, Eliza,” Martha said with round eyes. “Juliana mustn’t marry him. He is just as wicked as Mr. Yeatman.”

  “Juliana will not believe me.” I glanced back at the house. “She will continue on courting Dr. Pembroke without knowing the truth. We must find a way to prove it somehow.”

  Juliana was not one to believe gossip. The only way to show her would be to bring her back here in three days, when Dr. Pembroke made his next visit to his mistress. She could then see for herself what a terrible cad he was.

  “I cannot believe Charity could be so foolish!” Martha shook her head. “I always knew it, but I had hoped it was all a lie.”

  “As did I.” A deep well of disappointment settled in my stomach, and it wasn’t just about Charity. I was sickened by Dr. Pembroke’s actions too. I ignored the feeling, replacing it with one of relief. Juliana would never marry a man so dishonorable. My plan had taken an unexpected turn, but it would certainly work to my favor. Now all I needed to do was prove it.

  With my plan brewing in my mind, we finished our walk to town. There were no advertisements posted, so we purchased a set of needles and thread and a bit of fabric to begin practicing our sewing. If we were to solicit our sewing talents then they would need to be just that: talents. At present, neither I nor Martha could sew an even stitch. We then picked up three jam tartlets from town before setting off toward Brookhaven.

  The plan scribbled on foolscap on my writing desk would need a few alterations. I did not care. My new plan was much better.

  When we returned home, Juliana was sitting in the drawing room near the window, her eyes distant. Her gaze jerked back to us when we entered, and she ducked her head, wiping hastily at her cheeks. She put on a smile, but I could see just how forced it was. “Have you been in the gardens?” she asked. Even her voice sounded broken.

  I stared at her, my heart aching. She was pining after Gilbert, preparing herself with silent strength to abandon him and accept her life with Dr. Pembroke. My jaw tightened at the thought of that hateful man. Juliana would change her mind soon enough.

  I sat down beside her. “No, but we went to town. I brought you back one of your favorite jam tartlets.”

  A flickering smile passed over her lips. “Thank you.”

  My mouth watered as I looked down at the sweet, flaky pastry in front of me. Strawberry jam dripped down the sides. I unwrapped Juliana’s, setting it in her open palm. “Do you suppose we might return to town to buy some more, say, in t
hree days time?”

  Juliana licked jam off her finger. “That is quite specific.” She gave a soft laugh.

  “Oh, they make the very best jam tartlets on Fridays, you know. And we must go early, very early if we wish for the freshest batch.”

  Martha pretended to be enamored by her tartlet, but I could see the laughter quivering on her chin.

  “Very well. We shall return in three days time,” Juliana said.

  I took a bite of my pastry, crossing my ankles in front of me. “I am looking forward to it already.”

  Chapter 8

  Step 2. Prove Dr. Pembroke to be an incorrigible cad, even more so than Mr. Yeatman.

  Streaked in dark grey, the early morning sky appeared very much like Dr. Pembroke’s eyes. I shook the image from my mind, picking up my heels as I walked over the path toward Oakley Manor. I wrapped my shawl more tightly around myself. My plan was quite simple. I was to wait in the same place Martha and I had spied three days before, to make sure Dr. Pembroke’s gig was parked there. I would then return to Brookhaven and wake Juliana and Martha to come to town to buy the tartlets. With luck, we would catch his departure. If not, I planned to feign twisting my ankle near the house as to ensure Juliana remained with me there for long enough to catch Dr. Pembroke leaving the manor.

  If Aunt Augusta had seen me out and walking alone, she would have scolded me thoroughly for it. But I was only out and walking alone because of what she had done, so it was all her fault. She could not blame me for it.

  As I approached Oakley Manor, I found no sign of Dr. Pembroke’s gig on the drive. Had I come too early? Charity had asked that Dr. Pembroke arrive at the same hour, but she had not specified what exactly that hour was. I glanced down at Aunt Augusta’s watch, squinting against the dim light to read the time.