It was a week later, and Evelyn and Bronson were sitting in the small dark wood-paneled office of a solicitor in Lewis, the small village near the Brokeridge Irish estate, a place called Blackwood Manor.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said in a small voice. She and Bronson looked at each other.
“Thank you,” Bronson said to the solicitor politely. “We can leave now?”
“Yes, of course, sir,” the man said politely. Evelyn had noticed that his deference toward Bronson had increased markedly throughout the interview, a fact which made her want to chuckle.
The two of them greeted the man and left. Out on the pavement of the office in the village, Bronson and Evelyn turned to each other. “Whew,” he breathed.
Evelyn giggled. “It does take quite some getting used to!”
“I'll say!” Bronson laughed.
Evelyn grinned at him again. “Well, now what do we do? Do you want to tell him?”
Bronson looked worried, and then his face hardened, resolved. “Yes.”
“Good,” Evelyn whispered. Together they walked to the waiting carriage. The coachman, Mr. Gilchrist, jumped down and helped them in. Bronson handed Evelyn up into the carriage. She smiled into his face, sitting opposite him on the velvet seats. He was staring at her, and he looked quite frightened.
Evelyn giggled. She couldn't help it. She had never in her life felt quite this happy.
“It's confusing,” Bronson said bemusedly. “I know that sounds silly, Evvie, but try and understand. It's scary.” He looked affronted, as if hurt she could not understand his concerns.
Evelyn laughed, and reached a hand out to take his strong, wide hand. “Oh, Bronn! I'm not laughing at you! It's just...amazing.”
“I'll say!” Bronson said. They both laughed.
“Well,” Evelyn teased him, “once you are Lord Bronson, you will have to stop saying such things. You'll have to be dignified and restrained and...”
“Oh, stop it, Evelyn,” he said. “You'll make me want to stop this coach and get out straight away! It sounds terrifying.”
That made it even harder for Evelyn not to laugh, and the two of them collapsed in delighted giggles.
“I'm serious, dear,” he said, sighing as they both stopped giggling. “I don't know anything about being a lord or anything. You are going to have to teach me a lot.”
“Oh, that sounds a lovely prospect,” she purred.
Bronson went red. “Evelyn,” he said, smiling. “Do stop it?”
She chuckled. “I can't help it, dear. You are so teasable. And I am so, so happy!”
He smiled, a little stunned. “Me too.”
An hour later, they were at Blackwell Manor, the manor the Brokeridge family owned in Ireland.
Meeting Barrett again was strange, Evelyn thought. As he stepped out and bowed over her hand, she could not help but notice that he looked lighter. Happier. His father's departure seemed to have lifted the air of sadness off him, and he was a new man. Here in Ireland, away from his father and all memory of him, he stood taller and his smile was clear-eyed and at peace.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said gently. He kissed her hand. If Evelyn had been concerned that he was angry, her worries fled. The care between them was true, deep, and real.
“Lord Barrett.” Her voice was soft, and when they looked at each other, it was with compassion and the glimmering of a new friendship.
He turned to Bronson, letting go of Evelyn's hand. The air was suddenly tense as the two men looked into each other's eyes. It was a long moment, and Evelyn held her breath, wondering what would happen.
“Brother,” Barrett said simply. He held out his hand. He shook Bronson's hand and Evelyn saw tears track down his cheeks.
“Brother,” Bronson acknowledged.
Evelyn, standing beside Bronson, looked from one man to the other. This close, it was possible to see the similarities: the same hook-ended nose, the same defined mouth, the same chin. The same dark coloring. Bronson had a broader face, more compact, while Barrett had his father's longer, leaner face and high forehead. However, in all other respects, they were alike. Barrett had the dark eyes of his ancestry, and Bronson had eyes of a softer brown, the color of roasting nuts.
Evelyn smiled. “I am so pleased to meet you both as brothers,” she said warmly.
“We are indebted to you, Lady Evelyn,” Barrett said in a low voice. “Not only for the fact that you exposed my mother's murder, but for giving me my long-lost brother.”
Evelyn felt a lump in her throat, hearing the depth of feeling in those words.
“It is nothing, Barrett,” she said gently. “Or should I say, Lord Brokeridge now?”
He tensed. “I hesitate to step into that role. But yes, you may say it, if you like.” He turned to Bronson.
“I am glad to meet you, brother. Lord Brokeridge,” he added formally.
The two smiled uncertainly. Evelyn, observing them, could see how alike they were, could see the easy gentleness that Bronson had inherited from his mother, the maidservant at Blackwell Manor, and the merry humor Barrett had from his own mother, the gentle lady who had died so wronged.
“The lady raises an interesting point,” Barrett continued, as if Bronson had not spoken. “I am earl, now, which leaves me with some nominal powers. I can, for example, sue to the Prince Regent to have the ancient title of Viscount Harroway revived. It was, I believe, connected to our lands here in Ireland. If you would like that...?” He left the question hanging.
Bronson stared. “You'd make me a viscount?” he breathed.
“It's not so grand a thing,” Barrett demurred. “I am an earl, after all, and so outrank you, Brother. Just.” He grinned. “And yes, I would try. Though why His Majesty would refuse such an honest request is beyond imagining. I would say it is as good as done.”
“Then...” Bronson stared at Evelyn.
“Yes,” Barrett smiled vaguely. “Quite.”
Evelyn stared at him. “Barrett?” Something strange was happening in his chest. Something strange and wonderful and beyond her imagining, as if flowers bloomed there.
“Yes?” he said distantly. Then he grinned. “Oh, come, you two! I can't exactly leave my blood brother sitting in the stables as a carter, now can I? Besides, I only have to look at the two of you and the way you stare at each other to know that you would marry anyway. Even if Bronson here had no title. And I cannot see the noble Lady Evelyn out on the street.”
“Barrett!”
“Lord Brokeridge...”
They both spoke at once. Evelyn threw her arms around Barrett, and Bronson reached for her hand. They all ended up in a heap, leaning against the wall, laughing and crying.
“Well,” Barrett smiled when he had extricated himself. He dusted off his black velvet coat, laughing lightly. “I hope I am invited to the wedding?”
“Of course!” they chorused.
“Oh, Barrett!” Evelyn said, pretending moodiness. “How could you possibly think otherwise?”
“Brother, we owe you so much.”
Barrett smiled, a little sadly. “No, I owe you two a great deal. You, Evelyn, for avenging my mother and for freeing me of a life of fear. And you, Bronson, for being my brother without my knowing it.” He sniffed. “I always wished for a brother, and now I have one.” He turned to Evelyn, smiling. “And having you as a sister would be worth any effort. I almost think that is why I want you raised to peerage.” He grinned teasingly at Bronson.
“Oh, you!” Bronson said, laughing. It was the sound of a brother teasing his older sibling, and Evelyn felt her heart soar to hear it.
“Me, indeed.” Barrett grinned.
“Well, come, you two!” Evelyn said. “I had heard mention of dinner, and I am afraid that if we do not sit down at table soon, I might pass away from lack of food.”
The three of them laughed and still laughing, arm-in-arm, they headed for the dining room.
EPILOGUE
The sun filtered in through the windows at Blac
kwell. It was late spring, with the first true warmth of summer in the air, the rain clearing to allow the sunshine to warm the soaked flowerbeds.
Evelyn, sitting beside Bronson on the embroidered chair, stirred and turned to him, smiling. “Bronson?”
“Evelyn,” he said. He kissed her forehead. She smiled and nestled closer to him, feeling his strong arm around her shoulders tighten its grip.
“Are you happy?”
Bronson gave a chuckle. “As happy as I have ever been in my life, Evvie. How can you ask?”
Evelyn smiled. “Good. So am I.”
“One thing, though,” Bronson said, whispering into the soft mist of her hair.
“Mm?”
“Next time you are investigating some terrible mystery, please tell me?”
Evelyn smiled. “It's not like I meant to,” she demurred. “These things just happen to me.”
“I know,” Bronson agreed warmly. “But, next time it happens, please? I need to know. I don't want you risking your life again. Not without me beside you.”
“Very well,” Evelyn agreed. “But then, you have to promise me something, too.”
He looked down at her, brown eyes warm and teasing. He kissed her forehead, his lips warm on her skin, breathing moist warm breath against her in a way that made her body ache “Mm?”
“If you are risking your life, tell me too?”
He laughed. “I promise.” His arm squeezed hers. “Not that I meant to. I'm not drawn to peril.”
Evelyn smiled and leaned against him. “Nor I.”
He laughed. “I'll believe that when I turn into a doorpost.”
“A doorpost?” Evelyn could not help the merry laughter rising in her. “Why a doorpost?”
“You never heard the tale about the man who turned into a doorpost? Well! Now that's one worth the telling.”
Evelyn couldn't help it. She collapsed, laughing helplessly. He was chuckling with her as he helped her sit up beside him.
“What?” he asked, still grinning. He looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” she said. “Oh, Bronson, I love you so very much.”
“I love you, too.” They kissed.
All around them the house was warm and quiet, the day just beginning beyond the windows.
ANOTHER SURPRISE
A BONUS NOVEL
BOOK 5
LOVING THE MYSTERIOUS LORD
THE YORKSHRE DOWNS - LOVE, HEARTS AND CHALLENGES
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Can She Trust a Stranger?
Coming out of mourning for her beloved husband Lucian, Emilia, Lady Sumpter, longs to discover the truth behind his mysterious death. Was Lucian really killed in a duel? And if not, who slew him in cold blood? And why? Urged by her mother to find a new beau, Emilia bravely attends the first ball of the social season. There she meets Lord Oscar, a shadowy but genteel man with a dark, sinister charm. Emilia is at once attracted and repelled by this secretive character.
Time To Catch a Killer...
Shortly after the ball, Emilia receives an invitation from her cousin, Evelyn, Lady Brokeridge, to spend the season at her London estate. Emilia agrees at once. Not only would it be pleasant to have Evelyn's help during this time, Emilia realizes that her astute and observant cousin is the only person who can help her solve the murder.
Trapped In Murderous Hands...
When Emilia is kidnapped by a band of brigands who threaten dire results if she does not pay her husband's debts, she has no choice but to wonder if she is in the hands of Lucian’s murderers. But then one of those same masked men rescues her from unknown peril, and she is sure she recognises his voice. But how could she possibly know him? Who are these men, and what does Lucian owe?
Returning home to Evelyn, the two cousins pledge to find out the truth behind Lucian's shady debts and his untimely demise.
Will they find Lucian’s killer and discover the truth behind the masked men's shady threats?
Will they uncover Oscar's true identity?
Or will Emilia be forever in danger, forever unable to find peace after Lucian's death?
PROLOGUE
“I don't believe it.”
This was the last day of Emilia's mourning. It still seemed impossible. The fact that her husband Lucian had gone was unbelievable, never mind that two whole years had passed since that time. She smoothed her hands down the green silk of her new gown, amazed to see herself wearing anything but black. She felt as if she had been transformed, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Is that really me?
The reflection showed her a delicate woman with golden hair, pale blue eyes brought out by the emerald silk of the gown. She stared at her new self with a mix of wonder and fear.
Like the gardens below the window, she was coming back to life after the winter. The landscape below her was lovely – fresh, green grasses on the lawns, the first flowers blooming and the trees flushed with leaf-buds. The sun was delicate and glinted off the dew. Emilia felt that newness echoed in her heart – a renewal, a breaking of ice. Yet it still felt wrong somehow.
I still think that Lucian was murdered.
No matter how often she dismissed herself as crazy, or her friends and family assured her it was not possible, Emilia still felt there was something truly, deeply strange about her husband's death. It was not just a natural refusal to accept he had gone. It was more. Lucian should be alive. The circumstances of his death did not make sense.
Everyone she knew believed that Lucian had been challenged to a duel, accepted and been shot fatally. That was the most widely known account. It simply did not ring true to Emilia. She knew Lucian. In their five years of marriage they had developed a deep kinship that was, if not passionate, a gentle and abiding trust. She could not believe this of him. Lucian would have told me. Lucian was not the kind of man to keep secrets. Or to deal with people who did.
The particulars of the duel were secret, which was what bothered her the most. That is all she had been told by Lord Everett, her husband's trusted friend. All Emilia had known of it was, when she arrived home and found him, prone and already cold, on the chaise in their parlor, Everett had been with him. He was seemingly the only person who had been told anything about the duel. Yet even he did not know with whom Lucian had fought.
Perhaps if Graham Everett had been his second, he would still be alive.
The death had left Emilia bereft of joy, her heart filled with nothing except questions. Even after retiring to her ancestral home, Wilding Manor on the imposing Yorkshire Downs, she could not find answers.
“I will not know peace until I know who is responsible.”
Emilia turned blank blue eyes to the mirror. She needed to find peace soon. Because her mourning was over, and her mother, Lady Harwood of Wilding, Alicia Gray, wished for her to find a new life. This was why she had planned a ball. Emilia hated the thought of facing crowds of people. She craved quiet time to heal the wounds left on her heart, mind and soul. However, there seemed no chance. The ball was tonight, and everyone expected her to be there.
I wish with all my heart that someone could help me find those answers.
CHAPTER ONE
PREPARATIONS FOR A VISIT
PREPARATIONS FOR A VISIT
“Cousin Emilia has agreed to our invitation.”
Evelyn, Lady Brokeridge, looked out of the window, a letter in her hand. Her pale blonde hair was loose about her shoulders, hanging like silk thread to her hips. Her delicate face wore a happy smile. She was at Brokeridge Manor, her husband's vast country estate half a day's ride from London.
Bronson, her husband, looked up from his writing and smiled back at her.
“That is good news, my lady.”
“It is.”
Evelyn looked over at her husband fondly. Busy with the accounts even now, he was her anchor whenever her world shifted. She ran a hand down her elfin features and tucked a stray lock behind her ear before going to join him at the desk.
&n
bsp; “She agreed to attend the season?” he asked, looking up mildly as she joined him at the writing desk.
“Yes.” Evelyn was clearly pleased.
“Good. That is well,” Bronson said, a frown on his ruggedly-handsome face. “She was so deeply wounded. This time in London should help her heal.”
Evelyn nodded. She and Bronson would move in to their townhouse, Chelsea Place, and take Emilia with them for the duration of the season. Evelyn was glad her husband cared for her family almost as much as she herself. She loved the gentle side of her husband's nature. He had been a groom once, before discovering the accident of his birth that made him the legitimate heir of the Earl of Norwich, and his gentleness had grown while he cared for horses.
“I last saw Emilia this past autumn, when my parents visited Newgate Park,” Evelyn said musingly. Newgate Park in Yorkshire was her mother's ancestral home. The connection between Evelyn and Emilia was distant – they were not first cousins – but Evelyn, an only child, treasured all her connections. “The poor lady – I have yet to see anyone so overcome.” She bit her lip, remembering.
Emilia was one of Evelyn's favorite relatives. Witnessing her pain had made a strong impression. She had no idea of the particulars of Lucian's death – she had not been informed and understood it was a closely guarded secret. The thought interested her: she had uncovered the murder that led to Bronson becoming heir, and her naturally deductive mind took pleasure in unraveling mysteries big and small. She hoped Emilia would choose to confide in her while they stayed in London.
“Yes. It was terrible to have to see that,” Bronson agreed gravely. “I have never seen anyone...freeze like that.”
Evelyn nodded. She knew exactly what her beloved meant: her beautiful golden-haired cousin was as empty and icy as a freezing plain. It was as if all life had been driven out of her when her husband died.
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