by Cheryl Howe
“She was in love with him, my dear. Or, she had been as a child and I so hoped he would live up to her expectations. I was terribly wrong. Trent is the biggest disappointment in my life.” Her smile wobbled. “And you are my most treasured surprise. Thank you for rescuing us all from our grief and loneliness. And most especially for loving Astra. It has eased my guilt considerably to see her so happy. Rather, was happy. I hope my eagerness and Lady Seabrook’s determination to see you two together have not spoiled everything. Please tell me we haven’t.”
“From this day forward, I hope you shall only see Astra happy for many years to come.” James made it a personal vow. He finally realized that if Astra wasn’t happy, James wouldn’t be happy. Ever. “Where is she by the way?”
“She went into the garden earlier but I have not seen her since. And she did appear to glow. Perhaps, I need not have intruded after all, but my selfish nature won’t be quelled no matter how much damage it does. I had to be reassured. So, I did not make the same mistake twice by forcing you two into wedded bliss?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You won’t tell Astra what I have done, will you?”
James stared out the window, peering at the lawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of Astra. “Perhaps you should tell her yourself.”
“No, I think it best if we all keep up our pretenses. Lark is Lowell’s daughter and I never want that to change. He was so proud of her. Besides, Astra might never forgive me for what I did to her. I don’t think I could bear that.”
James leaned on his armrest. Wait. Was that Mr. Rudd pointing a musket at a man? James stood. Mr. Rudd was indeed pointing a musket at a dark-haired man that looked a hell of a lot like Darien Blackmore. Blackmore was walking backwards, his hands in the air while shaking his head. Apparently, Lord Blackmore had recovered from his suicidal tendencies because he appeared to be pleading for his life.
“Lady Phillina, I need to see to something outside. I won’t say a word to Astra, if that’s your wish.” James grabbed Phillina’s arm, hauled her out of the chair and walked her to the door, not giving her the chance to witness the drama unfolding on Eastlan’s lawn. “Would you check on Astra for me? She was feeling a bit weak this morning.”
“Certainly, James.”
Lady Phillina wandered in the opposite direction while James ran to the front door. He swung it open without pause, forcing the waiting footman to jump out of his way.
“Just give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you on the spot. At least I’ll be looking into your face while I do it. What did you think to do sneaking around the house like that?” Mr. Rudd yelled, then shoved Lord Blackmore with the barrel of his musket.
“I came down the driveway herding a dozen sheep and two rams,” said Blackmore, his tone rivaling Rudd’s. “That’s hardly sneaking. There’s Lord Keane. Just let me speak to him and we shall clear all this up.”
James ran down the steps. “Lower your weapon and let him speak, Mr. Rudd. I don’t want bloodshed on Eastlan’s grounds.”
“Tell that to the man who tried to shoot you in the back, and when that didn’t work tried to shoot you off your mount.”
“I did not do that.” Blackmore kept his hands in the air and his gaze on Rudd. “I would not ambush a man nor shoot him in the back. I aimed for the trees. And I sure as bloody hell didn’t try to shoot him while hiding in the bushes. I’m a surly drunk, not a murderer.”
Rudd didn’t lower his weapon, forcing James to get between them.
“You shall get no argument from me.” James wedged a forearm against Rudd’s chest and blocked Blackmore with his shoulder. “I told the sheriff who I thought tried to ambush me and it wasn’t you.”
“Get back, my lord. He’s dangerous.” Rudd tried to reposition the musket around James’s superior height and weight.
“I’m not armed.” Blackmore glanced over his shoulder. “The sheep are eating your flowers.”
James followed the turn of Blackmore’s head and finally noticed over a dozen shaggy sheep foraging in the front lawn. My God, they were beautiful. “Are those Devon Longhairs?”
“They are and I brought them for you as a peace offering. Call him off, would you?”
“Mr. Rudd, the man brought sheep and not just any sheep, Devon Longhairs,” pleaded James.
“Search him first,” Rudd insisted. “I told you, I ain’t losing any more Lord Keanes on my watch.”
“Do you mind?” James asked Blackmore, eager to get a look at the sheep he had only read about in livestock journals.
Blackmore rested his hands on his head and gazed at the orange-tinged sky. “If you must.”
James patted the pockets of Blackmore’s overcoat which wasn’t good enough for Rudd.
“Who works for whom?” Blackmore asked irritably when James asked him to take off his boots and turn them upside down. Surprisingly, Blackmore complied. “I suppose I deserve this,” he said as he yanked his boots back on. “I heard of your marriage to Lady Keane. Apparently, I misunderstood your interest.”
James shrugged. “And I misunderstood yours. Mr. Rudd, will you excuse us. Lord Blackmore and I have some things to straighten out.”
Mr. Rudd narrowed his gaze on Blackmore. “Aye, my lord. I’ll be within shouting distance.”
“Please forgive him. I have had a series of mishaps since I’ve been at Eastlan. He’s only doing his job.”
“The Keane Curse?”
“I’ve taken care of that,” or so James hoped. He didn’t trust Wesley, and though he had no proof of murder, he’d have him arrested on the spot if he showed his face on Eastlan’s grounds ever again.
“Yes, I heard you have already started producing replacements.”
“Who told you about that?” James’s response to Blackmore’s good humor was quick and intense.
In reply to James’s angry question, Blackmore lifted his hands in surrender.
“I only meant to congratulate you. I felt like even more of an ass when a servant told me Lady Keane was carrying your child. If you haven’t figured this fact out already, the servants know more about us than we do ourselves.”
James tried to shake off the uneasy feeling that had plagued him all afternoon. “And there is more to the Keane Curse than mere rumor. I didn’t intend to snap at you but I’m not used to being the center of so much scrutiny.”
Blackmore laughed. “I can’t imagine living any other way. I’m sure you heard that I have my own curse, or rather, I am my own curse.”
“You look somewhat sober at the moment.”
“I intend to change that shortly, but I wanted to apologize for ruining your party. Ivy Templeton left Cornwall and I don’t suppose she’ll be back.”
“And that makes you happy?” James strode to a group of sheep nosing around a hedge dotted with red berries that he remembered might be poisonous.
“No.” Blackmore shook his shaggy dark head. His long black hair and eyes made him appear more of a wandering gypsy than an English aristocrat. “Nothing makes me happy. Not even making her unhappy. But it’s a long story. One I would never consider telling in my temporary state of alertness.”
“No need. I understand well enough. Why the sheep?”
“You came to me for help and I turned you away. Not many nobles take an actual interest in farming their land, and I’m glad to see that you have. I bred these myself. I would be honored if you worked them into your herd.”
James examined the long curly wool of one of the sheep. “Amazing. I will indeed work them into my herd. Thank you.”
“And if there is anything else I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.” Blackmore held out his hand and James shook it.
Help me round up the rest of the herd and over a glass of cognac you can give me tips on breeding them with my stock.”
“Make it Irish whiskey and we have a deal.”
James shoved his hands in his pocket inordinately pleased with this day. The sun slipped behind a stand of trees that marked the entrance to
Eastlan’s long drive, painting everything gold and pink. It seemed all of his troubles had been solved except one. He curled his hand around the urgent note he had forgotten about. Perhaps Blackmore could smooth the way with some of James’s creditors while he recouped what Wesley had stolen. As far as James could figure, Eastlan cost almost as much to run as he could hope to make. But, he could be comfortable here.
He pulled the note from his pocket and opened it while Blackmore urged a stubborn ram away from the hydrangea.
Wesley’s Hutton’s painfully neat script stopped his heart.
He had Astra.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Astra pressed her face to the dirty window and peered into the growing darkness. Lark would be beyond reason with worry, believing Astra had been snatched by her troublesome little people. The first star of the night struggled through the gloom and Astra found no comfort in the knowledge that Wesley had likely lied to her about Melva’s condition. Speculation upon his other misdeeds worried her more. Why had Astra not taken a closer look at her daughter’s fears, no matter how silly she had thought them to be? Lark had a better grasp of the dark secrets swirling about Eastlan than did her mother.
Astra banged on the closed door. “I’m hungry, Wesley, please. I’m feeling faint.”
Even with her obvious imprisonment in Eastlan’s abandoned Dowager house, Astra struggled to believe Wesley could have ever hurt Lowell. But she had underestimated how desperate he had become. If she were not in such turmoil over her second marriage, maybe she would have realized how out of character the embezzlement had been. And perhaps if she had been less removed from her first marriage, Lowell would still be alive.
When Wesley had led her down the lane to the abandoned Dowager’s house, she had been so relieved that James had not betrayed their secret place, the gazebo where she had fallen in love with him, that she had eagerly followed Wesley into the deserted house and up into a dusty bedroom.
Once inside, Wesley closed and locked the door between them, with only a curt, “I’m trying to protect you,” muffled through the wood.
That was hours ago and Astra did not know what she feared more: being left here for days until a search would bring someone to the abandoned cottage, or Wesley’s prompt return.
A click of the door startled her and fear squeezed her throat. What if everything James claimed was true? What if Wesley was a calculating murder masquerading as her devoted friend? Astra gripped her stomach, fearing for her unborn child more than herself.
A shadow eased open the door. An obviously pregnant shadow with flaming red hair that cut through the darkness with its own illumination.
Astra gasped. My God, it was true. The tray rattled as Melva quickly deposited it on a table covered by a drop cloth. She hurried to Astra’s side and took her arm.
“Are you well, ma’am? I wouldn’t have waited so long to bring your tea and sandwiches but Mr. Hutton wished for me to wait for him before I fetched you anything. He thought my condition might upset you. Here. Please sit, my lady.”
Astra allowed Melva to guide her to a high-backed chair Astra had uncovered earlier when exhaustion and worry had almost overtaken her. The large four poster bed in the corner had been stripped of the mattress, leaving nothing but bare slats.
Melva stood, her hand on her back, balancing the weight of her swelling belly. She had to be no less than five months along and that was being generous. No wonder Melva had been missing from Eastlan as of late. Her uniform’s large white apron could only hide so much. Figuring the time properly, James could not possibly be the father of Melva’s baby.
Melva noticed Astra’s stare even in the dark. She placed both her hands protectively over her protruding stomach.
“Is Wesley the father?” Astra asked calmly. Her relief was tainted by the confirmation that Wesley had been cruelly manipulating her, playing on her darkest fears and deepest insecurities. Astra did not know Wesley Hutton at all.
Melva grinned, almost against her will, and Astra realized Melva was much younger than she had thought. No more than twenty at the most. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. Mr. Hutton and I shall be away before the townsfolk start to whisper that the baron has already fathered a brat on the wrong side of the sheets.”
Astra squared her shoulders. “Oh, I’m not worried because your child could not possibly belong to James. Are you five, perhaps six months along? Your child was conceived at least a solid three months before James set foot on English soil.”
Melva shrugged, unconcerned. “My kin are all big boned. Or perhaps it’s twins. The country folk just like something to talk about. They don’t care if it’s true.”
Astra felt the blood drain from her face and closed her eyes, not caring if Melva was right. Truly, she just wanted to go home. “I am supposed to be here to help you, not the other way around. Tell me what you want of me. My daughter will be worried over my disappearance.”
Melva wiped her hands on the lacey half apron covering her dark blue dress and poured Astra’s tea. “I don’t wish for your girl to be troubled my lady, or you. I never thanked you for sending Cook’s bread and pasties home to me mum. She loves them mightily. It always cheers her to know you think of her.”
“Your mother was kind.” Astra took the tea from Melva along with a puffed pastry she was sure she would be unable to eat. “She was especially good to me in the first year of my marriage. How is it that I can help you? I just want to return home before my daughter misses me.”
“My mother said kind things of you too.” Melva laughed. “She’d not forgive me if she knew I had a part in causing you trouble. I didn’t know you and the lord were special friends till I heard about the row in his room between him and Lady Phillina.”
“It was not exactly a row.” Astra hated that her worst fears concerning the household gossip were true. “But James is not the father of your child, is he? Please tell me the truth, Melva. I love him and I need to know how much I should guard my heart.” Though Astra already knew the truth, if she could convince Melva to confide in her, perhaps she could also persuade her to help her escape.
“You’ll be right enough, my lady.” Melva’s show of sympathy fell away and she straightened. “You have seemed to land on your slippered feet better than any serving girl I know.”
“Yes, I have been quite lucky. I realize other women who found themselves in my position were not so fortunate.” Astra’s honesty was a ploy to gain Melva’s trust, but her admission of something the entire village, if not the entire West Country, suspected brought about an unexpected surge of relief. Holding her secret, hiding her shame, had taken more effort than Astra had ever realized. “And that’s why I came when another woman would surely ignore a cry for help from her husband’s mistress. Please, Melva. I was never unkind to you despite your relationship with James.”
Melva turned to the dishes. “More tea, my lady? I need to gather up the crumbs. Wes—I mean Mr. Hutton does not like a mess left about. It attracts rats.”
“What did he tell you? That he would take you with him? That he needs money from James? He already has James’s money.” Astra rubbed her head, answers to all her questions so obvious it began a throbbing behind her eyes. “I fear he intends to harm James in hopes of inheriting Eastlan.”
“And why shouldn’t he? Lord Keane is only out for himself. Wesley is the only one who ever took a care for me. Not even your fine husband. I was no better than something to pass the time.”
Astra swallowed her panic for fear she might start to cry. “James has always been kind to the servants,” was all she could think to say in James’s defense.
Melva sauntered over and gathered the tray. “Might be he preferred the manservants because he didn’t seem too interested in me ‘cept for the wet kiss any bloke could give him. I believe a gent named Daniel had high hopes of moving up to valet.”
Astra blinked, shocked at Melva’s assertion. “That’s not true. I can assure you of that.”
Melva pa
used by the door. “I hope so for your sake. You have your own little secret, don’t you, ma’am? Even a lady like yourself is lucky to have found a gent to claim her second by-blow. A girl like me is fortunate to get one chance. Two would be asking too much. It’d be bad luck, you see.”
That Melva knew of the child Astra carried, perhaps Eastlan’s heir, made Astra even more desperate. She had assumed she’d only been speaking of Lark. “Please help me, Melva. You know Wesley is in love with me, don’t you? He will leave you when he inherits Eastlan.”
The tray occupying her hands, Melva pushed open the door with her hip and stepped out of the room. “I hope you are wrong, my lady. But you see, folks like me don’t have many choices in life. I just do as I’m told.”
Melva closed the door and Astra knew she was doomed. She had been a fool to believe Wesley would give up his plans if he discovered Astra carried James’s child. Her only hope for herself and her baby was to pray Wesley didn’t know of her condition. And for James, all she could do was pray.
***
James tore his gaze from the dilapidated dowager house to scour the dark woods behind him. A shaft of moonlight fell on Blackmore’s musket. James motioned him to lower his weapon. Locating Astra was his first priority, killing Wesley Hutton his second. Wesley was too smart to keep her so close to Eastlan. Of course, James knew Hutton had plans other than merely an exchange of funds for Astra. Wesley didn’t want a ransom but to see James dead. Knowing he was walking into an ambush didn’t frighten him as much as the fact that Hutton had heard the rumors racing through the county and beyond. James didn’t abide Astra’s theory that Wesley wouldn’t hurt her if he discovered she was carrying his child and the potential heir to the St. Keynes barony. In fact, he was positive the opposite was true.
James banged on the door of the deserted dowager house, and was surprised when the heavy barrier swung open of its own accord. Inside, a dusty gloom settled on what had once been extravagant furnishings. A chandelier hung from the ceiling and marble tile dully gleamed through a layer of dirty footprints. James cautiously tread down the hall, weaponless as Wesley requested. James didn’t need a weapon. If he got his hands on Wesley, Blackmore wouldn’t need to shoot him. Hutton would already be dead.