A Wicked Earl's Widow

by Aubrey Wynne

  What ifs did not keep her daughter safe. She straightened her shoulders, clutched the powder and brush, and attempted to cover the red marks. Lady Falsbury was sharp-eyed and meticulous, noticing every small detail that concerned her house and family. The older woman would not let her go without a fight if she thought Eliza had been coerced in any way. The decision was difficult enough without her in-laws trying to come to her rescue. She would survive. Perhaps the decrepit Mr. Bellum was in ill health. Mayhap he was even kind. Her father might even keep his word and allow her mother respite with Eliza. She blinked back the tears and concentrated on covering the dull red prints marring her pale skin. It seemed her fairy tale had ended without a happily ever after.

  * * *

  “My dear, you look pale. Would you like a cordial?” Lady Falsbury’s eyes narrowed. “Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m a bit tired. Althea’s well of energy is bottomless, but she’s finally spent.” She sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the room, presenting her profile with the faintest mark. And prayed her face was shadowed. “I have already kissed her goodnight and sent her to bed.”

  “I brought back a gift for my granddaughter. Since I haven’t seen her in two weeks, I told the governess to bring her down for a short while.” Lord Falsbury gave her a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Really Chester, if you were concerned you would have asked her first,” chided his wife.

  “Strange, that voice sounds more like you, Lydia, than Eliza.” He bent with a wicked grin and kissed his wife soundly on the mouth. “That should stop any arguments for a bit. You’ll get your trinket later.” He wiggled his bushy silver eyebrows.

  Lady Falsbury blushed and pushed him away, the opal in her ring sparkling green and blue in the firelight. “Sir, you are still a scoundrel.”

  “And you still can’t resist me.” He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Now take a look at my prize purchase.”

  The older couple was an inspiration to Eliza. Proof love could survive over time. They cared for one another, were thoughtful toward each other, and still affectionate. She and Carson might have achieved that special kind of bond, given time. The shared looks that never needed a word spoken, the clasped hands as they ascended the stairs each night, private jokes, and secret smiles.

  Falsbury bent behind the settee and pulled out a box. He lifted the lid and took out a doll, half the size of Althea, and set it on a side table near the hearth. Springy black curls framed a porcelain face with painted violet eyes. Dressed in a deep purple muslin gown with pale rose ribbons threading the bodice, the doll closely resembled its new owner. Any other time, Eliza would have enjoyed watching her daughter receive such a gift. She prayed the toy was enough distraction to keep Althea from mentioning this afternoon’s disaster. Please, Lord. Let me protect her.

  A gasp pulled her attention from the doll. Althea stood in the doorway, her hands covering her mouth, toes peeking out from beneath her night-rail. Like lightning, she streaked across the room, babbling as she focused on the doll.

  “Is me! Is me!” She hugged her miniature, jumping up and down. “Gwandpappa, fo’ me?”

  “Well, I did consider keeping it for myself, but I don’t think she’d be nearly as content.” He squatted down and held out his arms. “Come and show Papa Falsy how much you like her.”

  Althea carefully set the doll down, adjusted the tiny straw bonnet with pink satin ribbons, and then threw herself into Lord Falsbury’s arms. “Now that’s the kind of gratitude every female in this household should exhibit.”

  Lady Falsbury rolled her eyes but chuckled. “When we go to London, we will visit my modiste and order some matching outfits. In the meantime, she must have a name.”

  Althea nodded, a serious expression on her sleepy face. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and picked the doll up again. “A pwetty name. I sweep wif her?” She rubbed her eyes with a chubby fist.

  Eliza nodded. “Now give us a hug and kiss good night. It’s past your bedtime.”

  The little girl squeezed her grandfather’s neck once more and gave him a sloppy kiss, making a loud noise against his cheek and giggling. In return, he tickled her belly and sent her off to her grandmother. “G’night, gwandmama. Wuv you sooo much.”

  “And I love you sooo much more.” She wrapped the little one in a tight hug. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Althea walked to her mother and leaned on her tiptoes to give her a kiss. Her foot caught on the chair leg, tipping her forward and pushing her forehead against her Eliza’s downturned face. She grimaced at the impact on her sore jaw but quickly recovered, casting a side-glance at her mother-in-law. In a light voice, she said, “Sweet dreams, my darling. Now go with Miss Watkins.”

  The governess smiled, dimples poking her round cheeks. She tucked a stray lock of fading auburn hair back into her bun and squatted down. Her light blue eyes were warm as she held out her arms to Althea. “Come along, my little one. I have the perfect story to send you off to Slumber Land.”

  When the door was shut, Falsbury refilled his glass of brandy and sat next to his wife. “Slumber Land, is it?”

  “Althea had a nightmare last month and didn’t want to close her eyes the next night. Miss Watkins told her to go to Slumber Land when she slept. There were no nightmares allowed there. And passage to this dreamless land is a bedtime story.” Eliza smiled. “Lauren is a godsend. She is so good to Althea, and they adore each other. I was lucky to find her.”

  “She’s worth every penny and came highly recommended,” agreed the marquis. “Now, shall I escort my two best ladies to dinner?”

  His wife held up a hand. “Not until Eliza tells us what happened today.”

  Two sets of eyes fell on her, one suspicious, one inquiring. Her face burned with shame. “I-I…” What could she say? Her father wanted to marry her off to an elderly rich merchant, and she was happy to accept his proposal? Her heart sank as her plan crumbled along with her bravado. She could not lie to these people who had shown her only kindness. They were her family as much as any blood relative. Besides, Lydia would never believe that Eliza could willingly leave her daughter behind. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dashed them away with irritation. “Do you promise to listen until I’m finished and not to try to dissuade me?”

  “I will stay silent until you have finished but I shall not make any such promises.” Lady Falsbury rose and crossed the room, the swish of her umber silk the only noise in the drawing room. She sat next to Eliza, adjusting her lace shawl over her shoulders and smoothing the vandyck edging, then focused her full attention on her daughter-in-law. “Now, how did you get those marks on your face?”

  “I’m not sure where to start.” Eliza took a deep breath and let the words tumble out. She began with the letters her father had sent over the last six months and the threats against her mother.

  Falsbury interrupted. “By Christ, he’s gone through the money from the dowry property?”

  How did he know about that? “He… I—”

  “Come my dear, do you think the solicitor hired by my son would not keep me informed?” The marquess snorted. “Did you know he tried to get Carson to invest in one of his shipping schemes shortly after your wedding?”

  Eliza could only shake her head.

  “We both believed it was the reason he wanted the match to begin with. When Carson declined the offer, Landonshire got his back up and said there’d be the devil to pay for crossing him.” His face softened, and he stopped pacing to stand in front of her. “I apologize. You asked us not to interrupt. Please continue.”

  Her head pounded. She hadn’t known her father had tried to get money so early in the marriage. With an effort she finished her story, ending with the events at the cemetery. By the time she finished, her shoulders ached from the tension but her eyes were again dry. “When I saw his hand on Althea’s throat, I-I—”

  “Blast and bugger his eyes, he harmed my granddaughter?” Lo
rd Falsbury’s pacing had increased as her story progressed. “I’ll see him in Dunn territory before the year is up.”

  “He’s already ruined. Nothing you can do will make his situation worse. I feel it’s best if I marry Mr. Bellum. If I cooperate, he may allow Mama to come live with me.” She held up a hand as her mother-in-law opened her mouth to argue. “I will survive but I cannot allow Althea to grow up in such an environment. I would like to leave her here.”

  She grasped the older woman’s hand. “Please, keep her with you, raise her for me. I will visit as often as possible, but my heart will rest easy knowing she is in your care.”

  “My dear, under any other circumstance I would agree. But I cannot raise your daughter.”

  Eliza fought for breath. Would they truly deny her? There was no other way.

  “When Carson married you, I finally received the daughter I had prayed for. When I lost my son, you were there for me, comforting and patient.” The marchioness took her hand in a firm grip. “I love you as my own and will not see harm come to you. We will not give in to his cork-brained demands.”

  “I agree with my wife. He’s no better than a bully ruffian, and he’s made his last threat against my family. He’ll float in the Thames before he gets another penny.”

  “Chester, don’t frighten the girl. No one will end up in the river. He’s a bitter old man who’s lost too many sons,” Lady Falsbury said reprovingly. “Leave the bluster for later and come up with a solution.”

  Eliza laced her shaking fingers together and closed her eyes. This is what she had feared. Yet surprisingly, her racing heart had slowed. She was no longer standing alone against her enemy. They were older and wiser, and she would listen to what they had to say.

  The marquess took up his pacing again. “He’s got a spy in my household. I’ll have steward look over the books for any new hires, especially those who may have access to our private quarters. And you, my dear, must take a French leave.”

  Eliza drew in a breath. “Pack up and depart unannounced? But my father is expecting to call on us in London next week. He’ll be furious to find an empty house.”

  Falsbury gave a tight smile. “You misunderstand, my dear. I have every intention of receiving Lord Landonshire next week. He needs to be informed that his daughter and granddaughter have sailed for the colonies. Boston, perhaps.”

  “Boston? I should run away to America?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “That will be our story. At dawn, you will depart for Sunderland Castle. My son is more than capable of keeping the both of you safe, and I am sure his wife will be overjoyed to have her cousin for an extended visit.”

  Christopher, or Kit as his family called him, had inherited Carson’s title on his twin’s death. He was married to Eliza’s cousin and best friend, Grace. “I do not want to put anyone in danger—”

  “There is not a man in England I would put more trust in, even if he were not my son. He faced Napoleon at Waterloo, an aging marquess won’t be so difficult.” Falsbury grinned as he always did when speaking of Kit’s accomplishments. “As soon as you are safely away, we’ll find out who is supplying Landonshire with information.”

  Lydia chimed in. “Tomorrow morning the rest of the household will be informed you have fallen ill. A bit of a spring chill, nothing serious, and Althea will remain in her nursery until we are sure she has not caught it.” She put her a finger to her mouth, a habit that told Eliza she was plotting something. “Lauren will need to be told since she’ll accompany you, but we won’t tell her the destination.”

  “I’ll arrange for a coach without our crest.” Falsbury resumed his pacing again, his tall figure emanating power and comfort to both women. “He’ll know of someone that can be trusted. With only three outsiders in our confidence, our secret should be safe enough.”

  “Come my dear, let us have a quiet dinner while we finish the details. I will have a final meal with my daughter.” Lydia squeezed her hands, spreading warmth into Eliza’s icy fingers. “Whether you like it or not, you are part of our family and will always be treated as such.”

  “And protected,” added Falsbury.

  She was done to a cow’s thumb, exhaustion and relief creeping through her bones like thick molasses. Peace was all she wanted. All she had ever hoped for in this life. But Eliza had learned the carriage of life had a tendency to take sharp turns, and one had to be ready grab the leather strap and hold on.

  Chapter Three

  April 1818

  Durham, England

  The Viscount Pendleton took a deep pull of his ale and raised his tankard high. He threw back his head and added his voice to the drunken patrons of the Bear and Bull Inn.

  * * *

  But the standing toast

  That pleased the most

  Was the wind that blows

  The ship that goes,

  And the lass that loves a sailor.

  * * *

  He slammed the metal cup on the wooden table and leaned back in his chair, grinning at his estate steward. “Maxwell, this is one of your better ideas today. Good food, pretty maids”—he slapped a buxom redhead on the bottom as she walked by balancing four mugs—“and fine ale.” The girl smiled, winked at him, and moved on to the next table.

  “We’ve earned it, my lord. Work hard, play hard my father always said.” Ezra Maxwell raised his own tankard. “To a job well done, sir.”

  The sound of clanking metal and liquid slopping onto a tabletop joined another round of the maritime song.

  “You know I always wanted to be a sailor,” Nathaniel said, his voice slurring just a tiny bit. He was sure his steward hadn’t notice.

  “Ye can’t swim.” He leaned forward, eyes squinting as he focused on Nathaniel. “Not to be impertinent but what kind of blasted sailor doesn’t swim?”

  “The kind who is very careful never to fall off the ship!”

  Both men guffawed and slammed their cups together again as plates of mutton and gravy with fresh crusty bread was set before them. Nate took a bite of the tender meat and closed his eyes, the gravy sliding down his throat to answer his growling stomach. The food was surprisingly good and would help sober him up. How did Maxwell manage to find places like this? It wasn’t often either of the men overindulged, but this was a celebration.

  His investment in the Durham carpet factory had paid off in aces. Pendle Place and the accompanying properties, run to the ground by his father, once again turned a profit. It had taken thirteen years, but Pendleton was a respected family name again.

  “I would like to make a toast to the best man in England. Clever, industrious, and loyal. May I never have to make a decision without you.” He held up his ale but this time his voice was soft and serious. “You have been like a second father to me. I don’t know where I or my mother and sister would be without you this past decade.”

  “It’s not my doing, my lord. You were an astute student and eager to learn.” Red seeped up Maxwell’s neck and he waved off the compliment. “I only did as my position dictated and fulfilled my duties as estate manager.”

  “Your duties did not include raising a twelve-year-old boy and teaching him what his father never bothered to learn. Mother says if he hadn’t died, we’d have lost everything.”

  Died was a misleading word. The previous viscount had been in a duel after being caught with another man’s wife. His father had never been much of a shot, and he succumbed to a chest wound several days later. It had been a long and unpleasant death.

  “Your father should never have inherited the title. He was the third son and not suited to such a position of responsibility. He had no head for business.” Maxwell stroked his beard with his thumb and two fingers. “Or marriage for that matter. A wanderer’s soul, your father had. But he did care for his family, regardless of what your mother says.”

  “Don’t say that in front the viscountess unless you want to feel the barb of her tongue. She disliked him before his death and despised him afterwar
ds. I remember hearing the arguments whenever he made it home. He almost pilfered away my grandfather’s legacy.”

  “Your mother intimidated him. She was beautiful, awake on every suit, and more educated than your father. Sure, he went to university, but he learned more about gambling and horse racing than ledgers and economics.” He sighed, his blue eyes thoughtful.

  “I have no doubt on that count.” Nate had no illusions when it came to his parent.

  Both men were silent for a time while they ate. “You look more like him with each passing year. There are times when I swear it’s him riding up the road. He had some good qualities, you know.”

  “Yes, he was quite skilled with the opposite sex and the bottle. I’m thankful our similarities are only physical.” Nate’s features hardened and he took another long pull of ale.

  “It wasn’t until after the wedding he turned to drink as a serious escape. We grew up together, you know. He spent more time in the village than he did on the grounds of Pendleton. Got more affection from my ma than his own family bein’ the youngest son doesn’t count for much. He had a generous heart too, I’ll give him that.” Maxwell locked a gaze on Nathaniel. “His allowance was often used for coal or some such when he was younger. ‘Max,’ he’d say, ‘make sure the Ludlows stay warm. Heard their pig died so they may be short this winter.’ He never took credit for those kind acts. You have more in common with him than you think.”

  Nate shook his head, wondering if the excess ale had loosened Maxwell’s tongue. He’d never heard that story before. Then again, the steward had always defended the late viscount. “His one truly good deed was hiring you. He died leaving his title to a child and his widow neck high in debt and scandal. You had your hands full.”