An Earl To Remember

by Jasmine Ashford

Evelyn agreed and curtsied to the pair of them before heading out and closing the door lightly behind her.

  A trip to London is perfect, Evelyn thought, walking down the winter-dark corridor to her bedchamber. It means I shall see him often.

  In her bedchamber, she reached for her notebook. She smiled to herself. She could not help her mind's insistence on returning, again and again, to her memories of the man. Now she had a reason to investigate his story: she would see him in London and have a chance to get to know him, perhaps for them to court! She needed to solve this puzzle of his evil nature.

  As a child, Evelyn had often solved puzzles as a challenge to herself – things ranging from “what's for dinner tonight?” to “where did Father leave his keys?”. She had devised a method for doing it: she wrote down every piece of information she gathered and then looked for links and ways that led from the answers she had to the questions she wanted answered.

  “It always worked then. Why not try it now?” she said aloud, reaching for her writing materials.

  The page to the right was blank, and, lifting her pen, she began a new page, writing a neat heading: Information about Lord Brokeridge.

  She listed the things she already knew, mourning the scarcity of the information. Lord Brokeridge was here nine years ago at Winchester Hill Heights. His son Barrett is now staying here. He lives in London. The family has lands here. People whisper about them: He is cursed. He is thought to be evil. He manages his father's estates. Both the father and the son are tainted by rumor.

  She read back over the information. She lifted the pen to change it. He is thought to be cursed. She would not countenance such foolishness as to believe in curses. No man was cursed. One might as well believe someone was evil, like Lord Tallinn seemed to insist. She looked out of the window at the snow-covered land, and then lifted the pen to add one more line. Lord Tallinn hates the family. Why?

  Evelyn sighed and clasped her hands beneath her chin, resting her head as she looked through the window, lost in thought. Lord Tallinn was a distant associate of both her own father and the Marquess of Leith, father to Alexandra. He was a wise, educated man, or so he seemed. Her family had visited him both here and in London, where he had a small townhouse. He always sounded urbane and sensible to her. Not the kind of man to believe in ghost stories and fancies. If he is saying things about the Brokeridges, he has good reason. What happened to make Lord Tallinn hate them so? What could he possibly gain from spreading such wild misinformation?

  There was only one source of information about that matter: Alexandra herself. She was here with Lionel, likely staying at Winchester Hill Heights. Barrett had seemingly borrowed the place to host a hunting party, and she knew Lionel was part of that group. If I could get invited back to Winchester, then I could ask Alexandra about this.

  She swallowed. Angling for an invitation to Winchester Hill Heights was not something she felt able to do. She would simply look desperate to see Barrett, and, much as she would love to see him, any pursuit from her would simply stroke the man's already monumental arrogance.

  She smiled as a picture of him flashed into her mind. Yes, he was arrogant. However, it was a delicious arrogance, like that of a racehorse that knows it will win.

  “Stop getting distracted, Evelyn,” she said to herself. She grinned. She could not help it. She wrote one more line in her book. Inquire about Lord Barrett's interests in the North. The fact that both his father and he spent holidays here on hunting trips suggested a connection in the past. In addition, she knew the family owned lands here in Ireland. Perhaps it was this that linked them to Lord Tallinn? Who could say? All she knew is that she had to find out.

  Closing her book, she glanced at the clock. It was close to midday. She stood to pull the bell to summon Stella to help her dress for dinner. At two o' clock, she and Ada headed to the village.

  “I was thinking that you could follow the latest fashion of a bound sleeve? It is so charming, like a Renaissance painting! It would suit you well, Evelyn,” Ada said as the carriage rattled on its way to the small village.

  Evelyn blushed and bit her lip as the carriage went over a bump on the road. “I must admit I like the fashion, Mother. And you are sweet to say it would become me so.”

  Her mother laughed. “My dear, you were made to wear Renaissance-style dress. You look like a painting by one of the Masters.”

  Evelyn looked at her slim hands in her lap, cheeks flaming. She was surprised to find her throat tight as she spoke to her mother. “Since you are the loveliest woman I know, your praise is meaningful.”

  It was Ada's turn to go pink. She did, spectacularly. Evelyn smiled.

  They reached the village and headed for the seamstress' shop. The three local manor houses – her parents', Winchester Hill and Greyling, Lord Toby's family residence, were the reasons that kept Mrs. Chapman here in this small village. She was a seamstress whose talents far outweighed her semi-rural status, and Evelyn rather wished she could move to a larger town, where she would have more custom.

  “Lady Donnelly! Lady Evelyn,” the woman beamed as they rang the bell and stepped into the shop. “What creations can I make for you?”

  Evelyn looked around the shop. A small space with a wooden floor, plain plastered walls and a high ceiling, it was crowded by shelves holding rolls and rolls of different materials: cottons, silks, satins, muslins and velvets. She gazed at all the colors, delighted by the range. All the world was here: Silks from India, cottons from the Americas, lace from Brussels. Reaching out to stroke a roll of damask velvet, she turned her attention to what her mother and Mrs. Chapman were saying.

  Ada had stepped forward. “We need two gowns for me, and four for Lady Evelyn.”

  “Oh, splendid!” Mrs. Chapman agreed brightly. “Though I hope they're not too urgent – I've a long list. When will you need them?”

  “If you could have them run up just after Christmas?” Ada asked. “We can do the final fitments in January. We need them ready by the twentieth of that month.”

  “Of course, my lady! Mercifully late!” she beamed. “I was frightened you would say you need them by next week! I have so much work now that I barely sleep! I thank the Lord that Judith is here to help me.”

  Judith was her niece. She was not usually needed as an extra hand. Evelyn raised a brow, surprised. “Are there so many fine ladies in Donnleigh now? You are usually not so much in demand.”

  “There are, yes!” Mrs. Chapman replied. “It's most unusual. Judy told me Winchester is let. That's why I'm working hard,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Some fancy feller's there with all his party. And they all want dresses!” She beamed. “Business has never been better, mind, but I have been awake after midnight every day this week!” She ran a weary hand down her face.

  Evelyn smiled. “You must be exhausted, Mrs. Chapman,” she commiserated. It seemed like the best opportunity to make inquiries, so she began. “Do you know who let Winchester?”

  “Aye!” Mrs. Chapman leaned in. “I do.” Her voice was hushed, and Evelyn tensed, knowing that she had heard the rumors too. She almost wished, for Barrett's sake, that the stories could be hushed somehow.

  “Who?” Ada asked, a frown creasing her smooth brow. Evidently, she had not heard the stories, but she did know Evelyn had been there recently. Evelyn held her breath, waiting for what would come next.

  “Brokeridge,” the woman hissed, as if his name was a curse. “The Black Lord.” She shivered.

  “Why are people so afraid of him?” Evelyn wanted to know.

  Mrs. Chapman stared as if that was a stupid question. “Everyone says they're cursed,” she explained. She seemed herself to find that explanation suddenly lacking, for she added, “And besides, they's rich as anything you can imagine. Makes you wonder how they got that money,” she added darkly.

  “They're rich?” Evelyn asked. Her own family was well-off themselves. If Mrs. Chapman was not frightened by their wealth, then the Brokeridge family must be even wealthie
r than they themselves were.

  “Aye!” the woman nodded. “Judy told me they have two carriages they use here. Two! And that's the spare ones, the ones they use on holiday. In addition, they own land here, and so many estates in England they can scarce manage them themselves. Judy was talking to Fran, a friend of hers in service at Winchester, and she says that his lordship is always receiving dispatches from his stewards, even here! How many properties do they have, may I ask?”

  “I am sure it is their own affair,” Ada said cautiously. She raised a surprised brow at Evelyn, evidently wondering why she wanted to listen to rumors about a neighboring lord.

  “I'm sure it is!” Mrs. Chapman nodded vigorously. “The likes of me don't want a part of their dealings.”

  Evelyn listened, head cocked to one side. She wished she could ask more, but did not want to distress her mother by prying. “Is Fran being paid well for her work?” she asked instead. It seemed a neutral question.

  “Oh, aye!” Mrs. Chapman said enthusiastically. “He pays her more than ever the Winchesters did as own the place,” she said. “One thing you can say of the Black Lord is he's open-handed with money.”

  “Oh,” Evelyn said mildly. “A redeeming quality, I think.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Chapman laughed. “A redeeming quality indeed. Now, how about the blue muslin for a gown for you, milady? I got it in yesterday, and it would suit you beautifully! It would bring out the color of those pale eyes you've got.”

  Evelyn smiled. “May we see it?”

  “Of course, of course! Come with me...”

  Mrs. Chapman led them to the counter, where all her materials were laid out.

  An hour later, when the gowns were finally designed and measurements taken, Evelyn and her mother headed home. They were both quiet, Ada content with their arrangements and Evelyn brooding about her latest information.

  At home, the first thing Evelyn did was head to her bedchamber and pull out her notebook. Dusk was already falling and the room was dark. By the light of candles, she carefully wrote down what she had discovered.

  The Brokeridge family is very wealthy. They own properties in England and Ireland. They have several stewards and are kept busy by the extent of the estate. How the money was acquired is thought to be somewhat a mystery.

  As she wrote the last line, she felt she wanted to cross it out. There was no reason why they should not be so wealthy. It was rumor, spread about by some malicious people who resented their prosperity.

  Still, she left it as it was. There was clearly some information to be had. She just had to find out more. The other question was: why did they own property in Ireland? An English family who spent most of their time in London, where had it come from? Moreover, was the tie to Ireland what had linked them to Lord Tallinn? She sighed: That was the question she had come up with yesterday, and she was still no nearer to the answer after today. Now she had a new question: Where had they acquired their wealth? This was the next question she wanted to answer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  It was a day before Christmas, and the carriage bearing Lady Alicia, her husband and Constance, the only one of her daughters still at home, and her two children, arrived that evening.

  “Alicia!”

  “Ada! My dear Ada!”

  Evelyn stood on the steps, watching her mother greet her oldest friend.

  Alicia, Lady Grey, Countess of Harwood, was a small woman with a mass of flame-red hair only slightly tinged with grey, and twinkling blue eyes. She was almost a decade older than Evelyn's mother, but no one thought of age when they saw Alicia: Vitality, energy and joy, yes. Not age. She was more youthful than Evelyn herself felt, and she was glad for her uncle Roderick's gentle hand on her shoulder, keeping her own thoughts from wistfulness. Uncle Roderick and his wife had arrived last week. She smiled up at him, glad for his familiar presence. He, like her, was a quiet soul.

  “We can say goodbye to peace and quiet,” he whispered, eyes sparkling.

  “Yes,” Evelyn whispered back.

  “Alicia is a dear, but she does cause quite a stir,” he smiled.

  Evelyn knew the teasing was fond. Roderick and Alicia had been betrothed from the cradle, but then Alicia had fallen for the handsome Lord Leo, Earl of Harwood. She and her friend Henriette had contrived to break the betrothal by the means of Henriette winning Roderick – something both parties had engaged in with alacrity.

  “Quite, Uncle,” Evelyn mouthed back. They shared a smile. Then Alicia was up the stairs and embracing Evelyn. She smelled of rosewater and gardenia, as always. Evelyn felt a pang of nostalgia and held the older woman close, kissing her soft cheek. Alicia must have been near sixty years of age, and her naive joy in life made Evelyn wonder at her own preoccupation with darkness and the mysterious.

  I should cheer up.

  She greeted Leo, Lord Grey, and then Constance and the two children – Lucas and Leo.

  As the children were led or carried across the threshold to the new place, Evelyn felt another pang. Will I ever marry? Constance was only two years her senior. She should have children by now!

  She fell in beside her mother, who was walking with her over the threshold.

  “You look sad, Eva,” her mother commented gently. “What troubles you?”

  “I was thinking...Oh, Mother!” Evelyn sighed. She felt an unaccustomed lump in her throat and swallowed hard.

  “What is it, dear? Don't cry! We should all be so happy now that all our guests are here for Christmas.” Her mother's tranquil face was alarmed, and Evelyn instantly regretted upsetting her.

  “I am sorry, Mother,” she said, trying not to cry, “but I have long felt that you must be ashamed that I am not married. Look at Constance! I am sure you wish I was like her, and giving you grandchildren by now.”

  Her mother stared at her. They were in the house and she gently drew her into a hardly-used parlor on the first floor. Inside, she laughed. “Eva!” she said incredulously. “I cannot believe you think that!”

  “Why not?” Evelyn asked, surprise filling her. “I thought it was natural you felt that way.”

  “Oh, Evelyn!” her mother was still smiling at her. “How could you think I would press you into marriage just so I can have a grandchild? I know you. I know you do not make hasty choices. I admire that quality. I want you to be happy. I want you to find love like I found with Liam, or not at all.”

  Evelyn stared. “Truthfully?”

  “Of course, truthfully!” her mother laughed. “What motivation have I to wish for anything else? After all, I thought I would never marry either.”

  Evelyn bit her lip, blushing. “You are right, Mother. I cannot imagine why you would want anything different for me. It is just that, well...I can hardly believe it!”

  Her mother chuckled. “Well, I trust your judgment, my dear. When you find someone you love, you will know.”

  Evelyn bit her lip. “Mother, I...” I think I have met him. I just don't know yet.

  “What, dear?” her mother asked. She was standing in the doorway, and turned to face her. Evelyn knew her mother wanted to get back to her guests, who were in the parlor and settling down to a late tea-time, so she came out with it straightaway.

  “I think I have found such a man.”

  Ada's face transformed. She beamed. “Well, my dear! That is wonderful news! I...”

  “Ada!”

  Ada whipped round as Constance burst in. She looked from Evelyn to her mother and back again.

  “Oh,” she said, turning red. “I am sorry, Lady Ada. I hadn't intended to interrupt. Little Lucas is sick, and I need to find a nurse?”

  “Oh, Constance, of course!” Evelyn's mother said, a hand covering her mouth. “Come, let me see him. We can call Doctor Elliot – he will know what to do.”

  Evelyn watched, biting her lip, as her mother led Constance away. She wished she could have told her more about Barrett. At least she knew
she was nominally released from the obligation to provide grandchildren. Feeling lighter than she had for months, Evelyn went to the parlor to join tea-time.

  Tea was rowdy and cheerful, as she would have expected. Sitting back on the upholstered chair, Evelyn indulged in her favorite pastime of observing people. She sipped her sweetened tea and let Alicia do all the talking. It freed her up to watch people.

  Lord Grey is worried about his grandson. You can see it in the way his leg is twitching – he wants to go out of the room and find Constance. Aunt Henriette is exhausted. Father is uncomfortable in so much company.

  “Lady Evelyn?”

  “Yes?” Evelyn turned round sharply as Mr. Dustin, the retainer, appeared.

  “There's a gentleman calling for you, Lady Evelyn.”

  Evelyn felt a blush creep up to fill her cheeks. “Oh!” She glanced at her mother. Ada nodded.

  “Go down, sweetheart. I shall go and prepare for dinner.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Evelyn nodded a farewell and left. Following Mr. Dustin down the stairs was an agony. There were so many questions she wanted to ask: what manner of gentleman was it? What did he want? Was he tall and dark haired? Was he...

  “Good afternoon, Lady Evelyn,” a voice spoke from the front step. The voice that haunted her dreams. It was him.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Barrett.” Evelyn dropped a deep curtsey. Is my hair still up? I wish I had worn the blue sprig muslin...

  “You look beautiful, my lady.”

  Evelyn felt as if her blood had turned to champagne, fizzing through her brain in little sparks. “Thank you, sir. May I return the compliment? I suspect you are amply aware of your charms, however.”

  “How so?” He raised a brow at her.

  “How could you not be?” Evelyn laughed.

  He met her gaze suddenly, eyes wide and round. “You think that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  The contact of their eyes was like a hammer blow. Evelyn felt it ricochet through her.

  “I did not wish to intrude at this late hour, my lady,” he said gently. “But I have news. Whether it is good or bad news, I will let you decide.”