An Unwelcome Suitor (Entangled Inheritance Book 4)

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I dropped my chin, pressing one hand to my forehead. “This was my last defense. I was not certain I was going to use it…”

  “What is it?”

  I groaned, wishing once again for a fan to cool my cheeks. I could not lie to him again. “First we must take Juliana her breakfast while it is still warm, and you might check to ensure she is not in any dire straights with her health.”

  He nodded, following me to the door, Juliana’s plate in hand. Chivalrous. Why had I mentioned chivalry? This was going to be a most unpleasant conversation. Perhaps he would forget about the letter after coming back downstairs.

  I used that thought to calm my nerves as he followed me toward the staircase.

  Chapter 12

  Dr. Pembroke joined me at the table, appearing equal parts amused and apprehensive.

  He had not forgotten.

  I held the fake letter tightly, wishing the fire had been lit in the breakfast room this morning so I could toss it in. Martha had stayed in Juliana’s room, even after Dr. Pembroke had assured us she would be well again soon. At least there would be one less witness to my embarrassment.

  “Please explain yourself,” Dr. Pembroke said, his voice bearing his smile.

  “My elder sister is of a most sympathetic nature.” I took a deep breath. “I thought that if she knew you were in love with another woman, then she might refuse to marry you, no matter the consequences.”

  Dr. Pembroke rubbed one hand over his cheek. “Did you truly write a love letter as if you were me?”

  I nodded, glad that he had guessed it rather than make me explain further. I avoided his intense gaze by staring down at the paper.

  “Who is the lucky lady who is in possession of my false affections?”

  “Miss Charity Oakley.”

  I braced myself for his reaction, for his frustration and anger, but it never came. He sat back in his chair, a wry smile pulling on his lips. “I should have guessed. Are you going to read it to me?”

  “Pardon?” I squeaked.

  “Go on.” He nodded toward the now crumpled sheet of foolscap. “I suspect it will give me a great deal of insight on your opinion of me.”

  I shook my head fast enough to see my curls passing over my eyes. “This letter does not reflect my opinion of you.” My face grew impossibly warmer.

  “Then it will be entertaining at the very least.”

  I grumbled under my breath at his reference to my words when he had carried me away from the pond. I covered my eyes. “Are you really going to make me read it?”

  He rested his elbows on the table, his smile widening. “I believe you owe me the pleasure.”

  I unfolded the paper, grateful that it gave me something to hide behind. I practically knew the words by heart, but I could never admit to how much time I had spent on it. All for nothing. All for nothing but Dr. Pembroke’s blasted entertainment.

  “My dearest Charity,” I began in a quiet voice.

  “I cannot hear you with the letter covering your face,” Dr. Pembroke said.

  I lowered it an inch.

  “Let me see your face.”

  “Why do you care to see my face?” I snapped. “You only asked that I read the letter.”

  “Observing the color of your cheeks will be the most entertaining part of all.”

  I jerked the letter down to the table, raising my eyebrows. “Is this acceptable?”

  His lips trembled with laughter. “Yes. Now, please begin.” He sat back again in his chair, making himself comfortable. I was suddenly jealous of his ease with this entire situation. There was no escaping it.

  I read as quickly as I could. “My dearest Charity, I have searched in vain for the correct words to express my pain and sorrow over losing you, over this decision I feel I am being forced to make. My—”

  He stopped me. “I do not feel forced to make this decision.”

  I glanced up from the letter. “If you were in love with another, then perhaps you would feel forced.” Juliana certainly did. She felt she had no other choice.

  Dr. Pembroke stared at me for a long moment before looking down at the table. “Continue.”

  I cleared my throat. “My apology will never be enough to mend the ruin I have caused your heart to endure. As you know, I will soon marry Miss Juliana Watts. My honor feels bound to this decision, but my heart and soul will be forever bound to you. I have warred with myself over whether to declare such sensitive feelings to you, but they simply could not be hidden. It is not my intention to cause you greater pain by explaining to you the depth of my feelings, nor do I wish you to resurrect any hope of our future together. You may think me selfish and cruel, but I hope I have given you something to treasure in this document. Writing this letter has eased something within me, that I may live out my days knowing that you understand how deeply and fervently I love you.”

  My blush intensified as I spoke those words in front of a man, even under the absurd circumstances. This entire situation was wildly improper. The footman in the corner was certainly enjoying a bit of entertainment for himself. I couldn’t imagine the gossip the other servants would enjoy that evening.

  My eyes flickered across the table to Dr. Pembroke, and I found all traces of his laughter gone. He watched me with a serious expression, one that shocked me. I hurried my gaze back to the paper.

  I swallowed, my own heart aching as I read the words I had borrowed from Gilbert’s letter to Juliana. “Although we cannot be together as we had hoped for, as I had longed for, a heart so thoroughly affected cannot be silenced or suppressed. You have left etchings on my heart, my dear, with your smile and your laugh, with your beautiful face and beautiful spirit. Those carvings shall never be lost to the weathering of storms or the tempests of sorrow. My heart is yours, and it is breaking. Without you, I fear it shall never be whole again.” My voice cracked on the last line. “With all my love, Dr. Luke Pembroke.”

  I had never known silence to be so loud. My ears hummed with every sound. Each inhale, the rustling of my skirts as I shifted in my chair, the steady ticking of my own heart. Was he going to say anything? Remark on how ridiculous the letter was, and how crimson my face had been while reading it? After an excruciating several seconds, I folded the letter in half and looked up, willing myself to appear confident.

  Dr. Pembroke watched me with a foreign expression, one I could not name, but could feel deeply. His gaze seemed to penetrate my skin, and I felt completely unsettled by it. Something akin to caution arose in his features, and he looked down at his hands, as if unnerved by his own study of me. “That was… quite convincing. I must say I am surprised.” His voice cut through the silence. “You must practice writing fake love letters often.”

  My discomfort resolved a little. I could grapple just fine with a quip or two. “Yes, my services are often employed for men with ambitions to woo a lady, but with no time nor talent for writing rather dramatic and enticing declarations of their affections.”

  He tipped his head, as if he did not wish to reveal his smile. A smile was the equivalent of conceding in a conversation like this. “How does a man employ these services?”

  I tapped the table. “I do have a list of prerequisites. The man in question must have an ego in need of bolstering, a mind in need of educating, and an acquaintance with an unsuspecting young lady searching for a reason to find her suitor as nothing short of perfectly romantic.”

  Dr. Pembroke interlaced his fingers on the table. “If I had any doubt that I could not produce my own adequate letter, then I might consider employing your services.”

  “Do you assume you could write a perfectly romantic letter?”

  “I am sure of it.”

  I swatted my hand through the air. “It is no matter, for I would never offer you my services. You lack a number of the prerequisites.”

  “To which do you refer?”

  “The ego in need of bolstering.”

  A laugh escaped him, echoing off the walls of the room. The ric
h quality was not at all surprising, given the depth of his voice. “Which others do I lack? Is my mind in need of educating?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  He bit the side of his lip, shaking his head, an expression I now knew meant he was thoroughly exasperated with me, yet thoroughly entertained at once. “I don’t believe I have an unsuspecting, naive lady of my acquaintance, but I certainly have one that assumes I am unsuspecting of her schemes.” He gave me a pointed look.

  I ignored his statement. Yes, he was more clever than I had given him credit. More charming, more kind, and more confusing. “If you think you would be so skilled at it, do you plan to write a love letter to Juliana?”

  His smile faded, and he looked down at the table again. “Perhaps. Eventually.”

  An unfamiliar sensation crept through my chest at the thought of Dr. Pembroke writing such heartfelt words to my sister—at the thought of him truly falling in love with her. I banished the feeling the moment it came. If I could not sabotage the courtship, then isn’t that what I wanted? For Juliana to be loved and cherished by her husband? I blamed my sudden change of mood on the destruction of my carefully laid plan, not on the sinking feeling in my stomach.

  The door creaked open, making me jump. Martha stood in the doorway, her gaze darting between Dr. Pembroke and me, then to the letter on the table. I stood, offering a shaky smile. “How is Juliana?”

  “She is still resting.” Martha did not hide her confusion well. Her brow tightened, asking dozens of silent questions with her eyes.

  I heard Dr. Pembroke’s chair scrape the floor behind me, and I turned to see him standing. “I must be going. I will call again tomorrow to inquire after Juliana’s health, and offer any needed assistance.” His eyes connected with mine.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave a brief nod before walking past Martha and me, taking his leave of the room with fast strides. I watched him walk away, feeling more confused than ever.

  The next morning, I got ready quickly. I did not want to see Dr. Pembroke when he came calling. My feelings regarding him were conflicting, battling for dominance inside me. Was he just a greedy physician wanting the prestige of a grand home? Or was he something more? There was nothing in his demeanor that spoke of lies, but he might have just been better at hiding them than I was. Did he truly care for our well-being? Did he truly care about Juliana?

  There were too many questions to answer, and too many other feelings stirring up confusion in my chest. I didn’t dare contend with them yet. I had a different plan for the day.

  The day before, I had delivered my calling card to Charity, and I planned to visit her that morning. My guilt over my past perceptions of her, my unkindness toward her, and my using her in my fake love letter had all compelled me to visit Oakley Manor. Dr. Pembroke had said she did not have friends. I hoped I could change that today. Her family had forsaken her because of her illness and the rumors regarding her reputation, leaving her with money to live on, a large house, but nothing of greater substance, nothing involving love or compassion. At her age, she was decidedly on the shelf, deemed a spinster. She was likely resigned to live her days alone in that manor. My heart pinched for her circumstances.

  The weather was fine today, my brisk walk comfortable and cool with the shade of the clouds above me. When I reached her front door, I knocked thrice, receiving an answer almost instantly.

  Charity stood behind the butler, wearing a lace overdress and satin gown. Her pretty, dark features betrayed her excitement at my arrival. Did she never receive visitors? My heart stung again as she led me inside.

  “Oh, dear Eliza, I was so pleased to find your calling card yesterday. I have had tea prepared.” She walked toward the drawing room, gesturing at a tray filled with small sandwiches and cakes, the teapot steaming beside them. I studied her countenance, finding nothing that would suggest she was ill. She was quite thin and pale, but her eyes still sparked with life as she spoke, and there were no dark circles beneath them, or hollowness to her cheeks that would suggest she was ailing. Her dark hair hung in ringlets on either side of her face, styled in an elegant coiffure. I had the suspicion that my arrival was the most exciting thing to happen to her in a very long time. My heart broke a little as I watched her shaking hands pour tea into my cup.

  “I do not often have visitors,” she said, a light laugh in her voice. “I hope you find what I have prepared to your liking.” She glanced up, as if searching for approval.

  “It all looks perfect, thank you.” I sat down on the sofa behind the tea table, and Charity took a seat on the chair beside it. I had never been inside Oakley Manor. All my interactions with Charity had been in passing on walks or in town. She rarely ventured outside of her house now, much of which was owed to the disdain her public appearances inspired.

  “You have a beautiful house,” I said, glancing around at all the fashionable furnishings. The windows were draped in heavy blue velvet, the walls covered in floral papers with gold accents, and the furniture was all in the french style, complete with a Persian rug. “Does it belong to you, or to your family?”

  “It is mine,” she said. “Left to me by my family, who has taken residence in a new home in London. I have been extremely blessed by way of money. My uncle was generous enough to offer me a very large dowry when I was young, and it has recently come into my possession. I do not expect it will help me marry, but simply give me a bit of freedom.” She did not appear sad over the admission of her lack of marriage in the slightest. She must have accepted that fate a long time ago.

  I lifted my teacup, taking a small sip.

  “Cream? Sugar?” Charity appeared very much like a frightened mouse as she watched me drink, as if desperately hoping I had not found fault in it.

  My heart softened, and I scolded myself for ever contributing to her seclusion. All these years we could have been friends. I could have treated her with kindness and come to know her true character, rather than relying on the opinions of strangers, or my own first impressions. The more I thought of Dr. Pembroke, the more I realized that Aunt Augusta had been right about much of her praises of him. In my determination to find fault in that, I had found fault in a man that was much closer to faultless than I had ever been.

  My guilt persisted. I could not change what I had done and said in the past, but I could do my best to amend it.

  “The tea tastes perfect as it is.” I took another sip to prove my point.

  “Please, try the cakes.”

  I took one, enjoying the lemon flavor. Charity watched me expectantly.

  “It is delicious.”

  She smiled, relaxing a little in her chair.

  I eyed her empty hands. “You must eat one too. I should hate to eat them all before you have a chance.”

  She laughed quietly. “I wish I could. My stomach feels quite out of sorts this morning.”

  Could that be the illness Dr. Pembroke had spoken of? “I am acquainted with your physician, Dr. Pembroke. I saw him visit you a fortnight ago.”

  She drew a breath, and I heard a slight rattling behind it. Her face lifted. “Yes, he informed me that he is soon to wed Juliana.”

  “Yes.” I was still having difficulty accepting my defeat. There was still too much I did not know about Dr. Pembroke, and too much doubt that my sister could ever be happy with him.

  “I hope you will deliver my congratulations to her,” Charity said. “Dr. Pembroke is a most honorable man. After my family left me here, he has become like a brother to me. He is the kindest man of my acquaintance.”

  I did not point out that Charity was acquainted with very few men, though I wanted to, if only to give myself a reason to doubt her praises. “I could wish for nothing less for my sister.”

  Charity took a careful sip of her own tea. “I was so pleased to hear of his plans to marry Juliana and inherit Brookhaven. He and his family have suffered for years, and he has worked so hard to provide them with the life he feels they deserve. Brookhaven will
be a comfortable living for all of you.”

  I soaked in her words, trying to make sense of them. His family? I had never paused to think of the possibility that he had family nearby. He had not mentioned them. I scowled. “What are these sufferings of his family?”

  She blinked. “Oh, you have not heard? I thought you were well-acquainted.”

  “We are—but…” I looked down at the tea cakes. “I suppose the topic of his family has never been breached, at least not in great detail.” I had not been thoughtful enough to ask. I had been afraid to ask, as it might have given me a reason to sympathize with him.

  “Oh, I see.” Charity’s face grew serious, her usually cheerful hazel eyes growing dim. “He lost his father, a tradesman, just five years ago. His family was left with little to live on and could not afford their London home. They were forced to move to a small cottage here in Berkshire. He worked hard to provide for them, but his mother was still forced to take up work as a housekeeper, sending her meager wages to him and the children.”

  “The children?”

  “Yes.” Charity nodded. “Dr. Pembroke has four young sisters, the eldest being fifteen and the youngest six.”

  My muscles tightened, my heart pounding fast. “Oh, dear.”

  “That is not the worst of it.” Charity sighed. “His mother died two months ago. He is now the sole guardian of his four sisters. When the opportunity arose for him to inherit Brookhaven, he could not believe his sudden luck. He has often spoken of the grounds, and how they will provide much more room for the children to play, and the many rooms, so they will not all have to share one small one.”

  My mind raced, my head feeling suddenly light, spinning with the shock of what I had just heard. Had Aunt Augusta known this? She must have, to give him the chance to inherit Brookhaven. All his frowns, the stern expressions—had they been a result of his grief? His constant worry? He had lost both his parents too. He had his four sisters to care for. My face burned with shame as I recalled what I had said to him, that first day I had met him. I had accused him of being unfeeling, of not knowing the pain of losing a loved one. Oh, how thoughtless I had been.