by Jane Charles
But what was she now to do?
Kilsyth no longer needed her and she knew for certain that Brendan would not return, which meant she now only had her sister.
Oh, how Eve missed Cait and now she must go to her. News of their brother’s death should not come by way of a letter. Cait needed to be told face to face, and it was time Eve confessed everything she’d hidden. After that, Eve would find a way to make her way in the world. And maybe one day, she’d find someone for herself. Someone who would like her just the way she was without trying to change anything about her.
At those thoughts, tears sprang to her eyes. She’d lost her brother tonight but her heart had fled a few days ago. One she could get back; the other was lost to her forever.
Chapter 15
Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies,
Cornwall, England
“Where do you suppose it is,” Eliza asked from her bed.
“Where what is?” Sophia grumbled. It was far too early to be pondering any question.
“The mummy, of course.”
At that, Sophia groaned. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“How can you not?” Eliza demanded as she rose up to balance herself back on her elbows.
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
“It would matter if it were near,” Rosemary said as she sat up in her bed.
“Only because then we’d have thieves in the area,” Sophia rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. They didn’t need to be down in the dining room for another hour and she fully intended to get a bit more sleep.”
“It isn’t the thieves that worry me,” Eliza said.
“Me either,” echoed Rosemary.
Sophia ignored them. She wasn’t going to engage or ask after their concern since she already had a fairly good idea.
“It’s the curse!”
Eliza wasn’t letting go of the idea of a curse being attached to the mummy. Thank goodness it hadn’t made an appearance in Cornwall, or all of Sophia’s time would once again be spent trying to keep her two friends out of trouble. With such an imagination, Eliza should be penning her own horrid novels.
In an instant, Sophia’s eyes flew open. That was it!
“Eliza,” she said as she pulled the covers away. “I’ve a brilliant idea.”
“What?” she asked anxiously.
“You’ve complained about the lack of horrid novels and you are clearly concerned about the curse of the mummy, why don’t you write your own novel, thus you’ll solve both issues.”
Sophia held her breath while Eliza studied her and what Sophia assumed was pondering the idea. A moment later, her eyes lit. “That is exactly what I’m going to do.” She jumped from her bed. “With the journals from Mrs. Fairview and my own imagination, I’ll write the best horror novel ever to be written.”
“Do you think you can?” Rosemary asked with excitement.
“Of course she can,” Sophia answered before Eliza could.
“As soon as lessons have completed for the day, I’m going into town to purchase parchment, pencils and quills.” She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, I cannot wait to get started.”
Sophia rolled back on her side, facing away from her friends and grinned. Finally, something that just might keep Eliza and Rosemary out of trouble for a change, and give Sophia a much-desired peaceful existence.
Mayfair, London
When Henry retired early in the morning, he might have said that he could sleep for a week, but anticipated that he’d be awake by seven like he was every morning. However, that had not been the case and he didn’t open his eyes until it was nearly noon, which was completely out of character. Not only had he missed his morning coffee, but he’d need to hurry to be ready for all of Eve’s admirers.
As long as they were worthy admirers, of course. In fact, he’d be very careful about who he allowed into his home. Eve knew nothing of the bachelors of London and as Henry was her guardian, it was up to him to decide whom she could take tea with and whom she’d not be at home for. In fact, he must hurry so that he could advise Jeffries to alert him to any callers before Eve so that Henry could make those decisions for her.
After quickly dressing, Henry bounded down the stairs, anxious to greet Eve this morning to see how she fared. Except, he was greeted with nothing but silence. A young footman remained near the door and a maid waited, as if to see if he needed anything.
Where the blazes were Mrs. Peade and Jeffries? Henry barely finished his question when he reminded himself that he’d given them both the day off.
Oh well, he’d make do with the lower servants. “If anyone were to call for Miss Doyle, please speak to me before her,” he told the young footman.
“Yes, Lord Kilsyth.” Then he turned to the maid. “Coffee and could you have cook prepare something small for breakfast, to tide me over until luncheon.”
She bobbed a curtsey and quit the room as Henry settled behind his desk.
“Morning, Kilsyth,” Pickmore greeted jovially as he entered the library. “I assume you slept well, or were you at your desk at an ungodly hour as always.”
“No, Pickmore. I have just joined the living myself.”
“Good! Good for you. You really do work too hard.”
“Ah, but it’s work I enjoy.”
“True, I suppose.” Pickmore did a turn. “Is there not coffee or tea yet?”
“I’ve just sent the maid for it,” Henry answered. “Now, we need to discuss a few matters.”
“Of course, what is on your mind?” Pickmore settled into the leather chair near Henry’s desk.
“As you observed, Miss Doyle was a smashing success last night and I anticipate callers.” Saying it out loud was more uncomfortable than thinking about the possibility and his stomach actually tightened.
“Of course. You might even marry her off.” Pickmore laughed.
Henry did not share the same humor. While it was usually the position of a guardian to want to see his ward wed, Henry could think of no candidate worthy of her. Of course, he didn’t know all of the bachelors in London, but those he was aware of would never do. Eve required someone special. Someone who was intelligent and would appreciate her mind, as well as her beauty. One who would not be intimidated by her wit or anger. Anyone seeking a simpering miss would do better to call elsewhere. Of course, given Eve’s performance last evening, it was unlikely anyone was aware that she was so much more than she presented.
“But we must not shirk our duties either.”
“Us?” Pickmore questioned.
“Well, me, but I’ll need the Devils’ assistance.”
Pickmore leaned forward. “How so?”
“We will investigate any suitor before Miss Doyle even walks with them. I’ll not have her waste her time if the gentleman isn’t up to snuff.”
“Isn’t that for her to decide?”
“Of course not,” Henry argued and got up from his desk. “What does she know of men? She’ll not be able to make the right decision unless we guide her toward it. I’ll not have her settle simply to be settling. No, we must be very careful in who we allow her to give consideration to.”
Pickmore leaned back and studied him. “Exactly what are your concerns?”
“Vices for one, such as gambling or drinking too much.”
Pickmore nodded.
“Nobody in debt, of course, nor can they have disreputable reputations or questionable family ties.”
“Anything else?” Pickmore asked with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Nor can they be in trade. He must be a gentleman, not necessarily titled, but well enough off that Miss Doyle will not need to worry where she might rest her head at night or if she’ll eat the next day.”
“I see,” Pickmore said slowly as he studied Kilsyth.
“And, no bachelors with clinging mothers.” Which would put Mr. Francis Hilliard out of the running immediately. That whelp had the audacity to dance with Eve twice last evening, and Henry
was bound and determined to end that courtship before it began.
“With all of the restrictions, it’s unlikely you’ll approve of anyone who wishes to court Miss Doyle.”
“Perhaps,” Henry admitted. “But I’m certain there is a respectable, well-to-do gentleman in London. They can’t all be bad.
“But you intend to have the Devils investigate these gentlemen.” Pickmore asked slowly. “Don’t they have other duties.”
“Not at the moment,” Henry dismissed. “They’ll do this, or I’ll do it myself if I have to, but it will be done much quicker with their help.”
“I’ll send word around later, after you have a list of potential candidates,” Pickmore assured him.
“That’s the spirit, Pickmore. I knew you’d see matters my way.”
“What of your other plans?” Pickmore asked. “Might those be impeded if there is a suitor or husband involved?”
Henry frowned. “What other plans?”
“To find and inform on French sympathizers?”
“Oh that,” Henry dismissed. He’d forgotten that he’d not told Pickmore as to his change of plans. “I’ve dismissed the idea. I’ll not put Miss Doyle in danger.”
“Danger? At a ball?”
“We don’t know who might learn her real purpose, and if they do, she could come to harm. I won’t have it so I’ve decided against using her in such a manner.”
“I see,” Pickmore observed slowly.
Henry wasn’t certain exactly what his friend saw, but it mattered little. With that, Henry returned to his desk to begin going through the post. Except it wasn’t there.
He frowned. Maybe it hadn’t arrived.
He then looked for his slippers, but they weren’t by the chair.
He always left them by his chair, so where the blazes had they gone off to.
He turned and made a study of his library. Was any wonder he couldn’t find anything in here? It hadn’t been straightened in days. Not since before Eve finally began speaking as a lady.
That’s right. She hadn’t been in here, as if she were avoiding him. Certainly that was not the case and though he’d had some concern, it was for the best, as he had needed that time to gain control over his desire. And, he’d been rather proud of himself for doing so, except that very control had slipped away the moment she had walked into the library last evening clothed in light green silk. It was no wonder the gentlemen of London had lined up almost instantly for an introduction as soon as they took their place within the ballroom.
But that was now all behind them. She’d be courted but it would be Henry who determined who she married. However, in the meantime, he really needed her to attend him to locate the post, along with his slippers. Further, his correspondence was behind and he needed her assistance with that as well.
“Mrs. Peade,” he called.
The footman stepped into the library. “You’ve given Mrs. Peade the day off.”
Oh, yes, that is right. “Have someone send for Miss Doyle and ask her to join me in the library.”
“Right away, Lord Kilsyth.”
A moment later, a maid entered with the tea service. One pot contained coffee, even though it was past the normal time that he drank coffee, but as he hadn’t risen until a short bit ago, an exception needed to be made. The other pot held tea, which Eve and Pickmore would enjoy before they went about the rest of the day.
“Lord Kilsyth,” another maid interrupted.
“Yes, what is it?”
The young maid clung to her skirts as if she were frightened of him. He might bark on occasion, but he wasn’t a tyrant.
“Is there something you wish to tell me or ask?”
“It’s Miss Doyle, Lord Kilsyth.”
“Yes. What about her?”
“She’s not here.”
His pulse skipped for a moment. “What do you mean she’s not here? Did she go out?” Eve knew that she didn’t have permission to leave the house. Yet, the experiment was over so perhaps she’d decided the rules no longer applied.
“Perhaps she’s out back. I remember her admiring the garden from the sitting room,” Pickmore suggested.
“She’s not,” the maid interrupted.
“Ah, then you know where she’s gone. Well, out with it. Where is Miss Doyle?” Henry demanded even though he tried to tell himself that she was taking a stroll and her being missing was something rather innocent, yet panic surged in his veins.
“I don’t know where she went, but all of her belongings are gone.”
“Belongings?” Pickmore questioned, sounding almost as panicked as Henry was feeling.
“All of her clothing that is. Miss Doyle didn’t have much in the way of possessions.”
Except a necklace that she’d taken from him last evening.
“Jeffries!” Henry bellowed.
The maid winced and took a step back. “He has a holiday as well, Lord Kilsyth.”
Blast, he had given the man the day off. “Is he at least here?”
“No. He left early this morning. I don’t know where he’s gone.” The maid was shrinking further and further into herself.
“And Mrs. Peade. Has she left the house as well?”
“Yes,” the maid squeaked.
“Well, have a footman find them both and bring them back here. One of them must know where Eve has gone.” And when he found her, he’d drag her back to him where she belonged!
Bloody hell! She was out there. Alone. Anything could happen to her.
Henry’s stomach churned. Why had she left? Why now?
Where had she gone and what was he to do?
He needed her, didn’t she realize that?
Chapter 16
“Mother!” Henry called as soon as he entered the townhouse that he’d left not twelve hours earlier. The servants were still busy cleaning up from the ball and setting the place to rights but his mother wasn’t about.
With each passing moment, since Eve had disappeared, his heart had not let up on its fierce pounding and if this kept up, it might just come right out of his chest.
“Mother!” he yelled again.
“Henry, what is it?” she called from the top of the stairs.
“Eve! I mean, Miss Doyle. Is she here?”
His mother frowned. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”
“Damn and blast!” he pounded the wooden balustrade.
“Come up and tell me what this is about.”
Henry looked up at the woman who gave him birth. “She’s left me.”
“Left you?”
“Yes, left me,” he answered with a bit of indignation. “That’s what I said.”
“Come up. We’ll have some tea and you can explain.”
“I don’t have time for tea.”
“Yes, you do!” Her sharp order took him back to a time when he still wore short pants and his mother’s demeanor hadn’t changed since that time, with her arms crossed before her and an eyebrow raised. It was a demand not to be ignored, and feeling much like he had as a child, Henry climbed the stairs, ready to be chastised for whatever he’d done.
Of course, he’d done absolutely nothing he shouldn’t have, but suspected his mother might not agree.
By the time he reached her sitting room, Henry’s mother was already seated and pouring tea.
“Tell me what has happened?” she asked slowly, just as she had done when he was a child. “I don’t think you’ve been this anxious since…well, it’s been quite some time.”
Well, he wasn’t usually an excitable fellow. Not even when his father and brother died and Henry suddenly found himself being addressed as Kilsyth instead of Cochran.
“Eve…Miss Doyle left sometime after I retired and before I rose today, and took all of her belongings with her.”
“What time was that, dear?” she asked as she handed Henry a cup of tea.
“Noon, I believe.”
At that she raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that rather late for you?”
“Yes, well, I’m no longer accustomed to being out at all hours of night.”
“So, she left sometime between…say three in the morning and noon?”
“That is my estimation.”
“And nobody saw her leave?”
“If they did, I wouldn’t be here wondering where she’d gone.”
“There’s no reason to be sharp,” his mother scolded.
No, there wasn’t. “I apologize.”
“Do you think her brother may have come to take her away?”
Henry thought on it for a moment, but found it unlikely. Not in the middle of the night. Had he, Jeffries would have alerted him. “I don’t believe she’s with her brother.”
“So where do you think she’s gone?”
His mother was so blasted calm that it added to Henry’s irritation. “If I knew where she was, I wouldn’t be here looking for her, now would I.”
“Calm yourself, Henry, and tell me what happened. Why would she leave?”
“How the blazes would I know?” He stood and began pacing, ignoring the tea his mother had provided. “I took her in when it wasn’t required. I could have turned her and her brother away, but instead, I assumed guardianship, rid her of her Irish lilt and taught her to actually pronounce a “g” at the end of a word when required.”
“Is that so?” His mother observed as she reclined back in the settee, watching him.
“I gave her a roof over her head, food, and all comforts afforded to her station as my ward.”
“Go on.”
“We worked together and Miss Doyle became invaluable in her assistance with returning correspondence and keeping the library tidy.”
“Did you ever thank her?”
Henry turned on his mother. “Thank her?”
“If she’s so invaluable to you, then I assume you thanked her for her assistance.”
Henry pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to recall. Yet, he couldn’t remember.
“And this wager, between you and Pickmore.”