An Earl To Remember

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Oscar?”

  “Mm?” He was sitting forward, his knee just touching hers. Emilia felt her heart shiver for that. She could not help that her hand moved forward and grasped his fingers where his rested on his knee. He smiled and they sat silently.

  “Oscar?”

  “Yes, Emilia?”

  “You did say you'd explain when we lose the coach.”

  “Yes, I did.” He nodded. “And you know I will never lie to you. So I will indeed tell you when we...whoops...”

  Emilia laughed at his expression as he shot forward in his seat, the carriage lurching over bumps.

  Then she stopped laughing. His knee had moved and his thigh now pressed against hers, his knee against the edge of her seat. The skin of his leg was warm and the contact thrilled through her. He had evidently noticed it too, for he coughed and cleared his throat.

  “Huston could be a bit more careful when he leaves the road,” he grumbled. His voice was tight and he moved back to sit on his seat. His leg slid away and Emilia felt bereft of it.

  They sat quietly for a moment while they listened. Emilia felt her own chest tighten, though this time from worry. What if the other coach had seen them? What if they stopped? What if they had guessed and would not pass them?

  They sat for a tense few minutes. Oscar turned to look at her, evidently worried. Then he grinned at her. They heard it together: carriage wheels.

  “Whew.”

  They both sighed. Then they laughed. Oscar smiled and took her hand. She squeezed his.

  “That worked,” Emilia said.

  Oscar grinned. “I see you need convincing.”

  “I shan't believe everything you say, you know,” Emilia said teasingly.

  He chuckled. “Good. It makes it difficult to convince you. And the hardest won converts are by far the most passionate.”

  Emilia felt her whole-body flush with warmth. It was impertinent and shocking for him to say such a thing, but she was not offended. Far from it.

  He smiled a little uncertainly. “My lady? I trust you do not find me incorrigible?”

  “I do,” Emilia grinned. “But I am not sorry you are.”

  He actually roared with laughter. “I am very hard put not to declare my love for you right now,” he said.

  Emilia stared at him. “Oscar..?”

  He tried valiantly to stop smiling, but seemed to admit defeat, for he gave her a smile, lips compressed.

  “I meant it,” he said gently. “But I perhaps shouldn't have said it. I should offer you my story first. And wait until we get out of this alive.”

  Emilia swallowed. “Oscar, I...have something to say.”

  “Please, say.”

  “I think I am...I have the highest regard for you. That is all I shall say now. Just so as you know.” She said the last with a touch of her arch wit.

  She saw his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow. It was a look of awe he gave her, and Emilia felt her heart thaw.

  “I thank you,” he said, and cleared his throat. “That is...possibly the most wonderful thing I have heard. But let me say that I will hold you to nothing of what you have said – you are free to change your opinion as soon as you have heard my story.”

  Emilia sat back to listen. “I reserve my judgment on that. Tell me.”

  Oscar smiled. “You ever been to a play and seen how scared some of the actors look up there, the first time they say lines? You make me feel like that.”

  Emilia giggled. “I don't believe a word of it. Pray proceed.”

  Oscar bit back a grin, and then looked serious. “I could be killed for telling you this.”

  The carriage started again at that moment, lurching her forward against him. They both laughed and his arms came around her and, very gently, he kissed her on the brow.

  The he began to tell her who he was and what that meant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  UNDERSTANDING GROWS

  UNDERSTANDING GROWS

  “You have heard I expect, of the brotherhood?” He began quietly.

  “The what?”

  “The new Brotherhood. I think I mentioned it to you?”

  “You said you were part of it, yes,” Emilia agreed. “But not anything more.”

  “Ah.” he paused. The carriage was speeding along, taking the turn to St. Alban's. Emilia guessed he meant to stay there or somewhere along that road, to throw their pursuers – now their outriders – off the scent entirely.

  “Well,” he continued after a moment, “they are the masked men. You know that too, yes?”

  “Yes,” Emilia felt herself growing impatient. “But why do they wish to kill me?”

  “I do not think they wish to kill you, my lady. To harm you, quite probably. They are...not nice people.”

  “But then why are you with them?”

  Oscar laughed. “I hear admission that I'm a nice person? If somewhat indirect, I admit.”

  Emilia felt herself blush. “Stop it,” she said stonily, though she was smiling.

  “Stop what?”

  “Teasing me.” She chuckled. “You're as bad as Henry.”

  “Who's Henry?” he asked.

  Emilia laughed. “An admission of you being jealous? If somewhat indirect, I admit.”

  Oscar roared with mirth. “My lady, I promise not to tease you again. I am sorely outmatched.”

  “Good. Well, I did ask you not to. And Henry is my brother.”

  “Oh? I have a brother too. A younger one, called Gavin. I hope someday to introduce you to him, if we survive this ridiculous ride...” he added, as the carriage sped and made the boards of the side walls jolt.

  Emilia stared at him. “Gavin's a nice name,” she said, feeling overwhelmed by what he had said and trying to sound light-hearted.

  “My mother loved the King Arthur stories. That's why she picked it. She wanted to name me Percival, but father wanted a family name. She raised us on tales of chivalry and wanted us to be holy knights – in manners, that is, if not in fact. The Brotherhood, you see, was a modern King Arthur. It's why I joined, I think.”

  “Oh? How's that?”

  “They believe in an equality of all men. Like the Round Table. No nobles, no kings, no nothing. Just the people, ruling themselves. Electing their own governors, like parliament elects the prime minister, only bigger.”

  Emilia stared at him. “But that's like...”

  “It's like a revolution. Exactly. Like in France. A lot of our members came from France. They brought their revolutionary ideas here. A lot of noblemen heard them and took them to heart. The Brotherhood was made.”

  “But that is...”

  “Treason,” he finished smoothly. “Which is why we have the secrecy.”

  “The masks, cloaks, anonymity.”

  “Exactly.”

  Emilia closed her eyes. This was all too much. There was a brotherhood of men, mostly nobles, high-placed men, who wished to overthrow the monarch? Replace him with a system like parliament, but with everyone voting? It was shocking! It also had its own appeal.

  “You want to make a society where no one suffers, yes?” she asked. “Where no one can exploit others.”

  Oscar smiled at her then, his face gentle. “I wanted that.”

  “And that's why you joined,” she finished. “But they don't see that?”

  “Some of them, I think, are like me,” Oscar agreed. “But our leader he...” he stopped. He looked tense.

  “Your leader? He is...”

  “The man in the woods,” they finished together.

  Things were starting to fall into place for Emilia. She understood too much, too fast.

  “He wanted something from me,” she said slowly.

  “Yes, he did,” Oscar agreed.

  “My debts.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CONFRONTATION

  CONFRONTATION

  “I demand to see Lord Everett.”

  Evelyn was standing on the doorstep of Everett Heights. She
was facing the butler. He was the same elderly man who had opened the door for her the first time she visited. He said Lord Everett was not to be disturbed.

  “I need to disturb him,” Evelyn said unflinchingly. “He needs to hear this.”

  The old man closed his eyes a moment as if in extreme agitation. He nodded.

  “My lady, he is in his chambers. I will take you up. I would not do this for anyone else, mind...” he said, standing back to let her in.

  Evelyn grinned her thanks. She was far from cheerful, but she was grateful.

  She followed the elderly man up the steps to the topmost rooms. Everett Heights still made her shiver. The place had a gloom that spoke of evil deeds. She shivered as she walked along the unlit corridor behind the butler, who held a candle for them.

  “Wait here.”

  Evelyn swallowed and nodded. She stood almost behind a velvet curtain in the narrow space as the butler knocked at a solid, dark-stained door.

  “My lord...?”

  “Go away, Elmerton. I'm busy.”

  “I know, my lord. But you have a visitor with grave tidings. They demanded to be brought at once to you.”

  Evelyn heard a chair scrape back. Whoever was in there evidently stood. She heard someone sigh, then clear their throat gravely.

  “Let him in.”

  Elmerton, which appeared to be the butler's surname, smiled at her and raised a brow. Evelyn nodded. Her throat was dry. Her heart ached. Courage.

  The butler opened the door.

  “Evelyn, Lady Brokeridge, my lord.”

  Lord Everett stared. He looked horrified to see her there. He had wide, bulbous eyes of pale washed blue and he blinked as if not used to the light. He was a tall man with a narrow face and a shock of gold hair which was standing up as if he had not brushed it for a few days. He looked as if he had not been outdoors for several days.

  “Lord Everett,” Evelyn curtsied gravely. She did not intend to be impolite, even if she did suspect this man of murder. She had to convince him to talk to her and open hostility wouldn't help matters – she had, after all, just disrupted his work.

  “Lady Brokeridge,” he said slowly. “Do I know you at all?”

  Evelyn cleared her throat. “I do not think you know me, but I think you know my family.”

  “Oh? Your husband is a shooter, is he?”

  Evelyn sighed. “My husband does not shoot. You know my cousin, I think.”

  “Ah, yes. Henry mentioned you – I remember now. Unusual sounding name, Evelyn...of course I remembered it.”

  “Henry?” Evelyn stared at him. “Henry Grey?”

  “Yes. He's a good friend of mine. We did some investing together back in the days when I dabbled in that,” he added slowly.

  “Henry Grey and you made business dealings together?” Evelyn stared.

  “Yes, my lady. You seem surprised. Which reminds me – I am remiss as a host. Please let me find you a chair. In fact, should we not conduct this conversation in the parlor? My office is...not the most comfortable.” he smiled ruefully.

  Evelyn was still staring at him. She shook herself. “I'm sorry, my lord. I was just surprised. Yes, the parlor would be most agreeable.”

  He laughed. “I hope so. Probably not, though – this place is a mess. Could do with a woman's touch, actually. Not had one since Jessalyn passed.”

  He gestured her into the corridor, she followed, and together they went next door.

  “I'm sorry,” Evelyn said quietly. “I did not know your wife had passed on.”

  “Indeed. Eight years ago. Which is, if I think about it, why I'm in a mess now.”

  “A mess?”

  “In debt, my lady. But shall we sit?”

  He waved her to a chair and she took it. He sat down at the fire, which cast ruddy light on his face. He looked, if Evelyn was fair about it, haggard and ill.

  “Tell me,” Evelyn said quietly.

  “I have never been good with finances,” he sighed. “Jessalyn would keep me on the straight and narrow – she was a ruthless lady, I must say,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “You would have liked her, considering your bold entry here.”

  Evelyn smiled. “I'm sure I would have. So you made some bad investments?” she hazarded. Things were starting to sound like they made sense

  “I did,” he agreed. “Sharp, you are,” he smiled. “Like Jessalyn as well. You're married, aren't you?”

  Evelyn gave a smile. “Yes. Continue?”

  He rolled his eyes. “The best ones always are. Well, I was telling you about my debt. I trusted the wrong people. Gave money to bad schemes. Hired the wrong people to manage my investments. My steward – he did not tell me when the money was finished up.”

  Evelyn covered her mouth with her hand. “No!”

  “Yes. Anyhow. I continued to invest. I was, of course, signing papers left and right, giving money that wasn't mine. Because I didn't have any money anymore, that is. It should have been mine that I was giving away. But it wasn't.”

  “You invested alongside friends?”

  “Yes. Lord Sumpter was my best partner in that. Henry, too – when Henry still played with shares. He ran out of expendable income and then stopped. Sensible man.”

  “He is,” Evelyn agreed.

  “He is your cousin, you would say that,” Lord Everett smiled. “Anyhow. So here I was, investing money I didn't have. And then people found out.”

  “Debts started to come in.”

  “Yes. I couldn't deliver what I had promised. The worst were the ships.”

  “Hargreave and...”

  “And Sutton. Them. You didn't give them cash too?”

  Evelyn smiled. “Not me. But I think my relative might have done so.”

  “Henry, no. He wasn't in by then. This was three – no four – years ago. He was saving by then.”

  “But Lord Sumpter?” she asked. “He is a type of relative.”

  “...Gave a lot, yes.” Lord Everett inclined his head sadly. “This meant that when my debts came up, he shared them.”

  “Even though he had produced his share?”

  “Even though,” Lord Everett nodded. “The merchants didn't know that, did they?” he shrugged sadly.

  “So they think the debt is his?” That made a lot of things clear now.

  “Partly, yes,” Lord Everett sighed. “Not that those captains haven't come knocking on my door more than once, I tell you. Why do you think I never answer?”

  Evelyn stared at him. “Really?”

  “Yes!” He laughed. “I hardly ever go out of this house now. That's why it's such a blessed ruin. I don't leave and no one enters. I don't have any servants besides Elmerton – and that's because he wouldn't leave me, not because he's paid, by the way – and so I can't clean the place.” He sighed. He looked up at the ceiling miserably.

  Evelyn felt her heart relinquish a great deal of anger. How could she have hated this man? Then she paused. She had good reason. He had threatened her beloved friend! His carriage, she reminded herself, the one with the blue marking, had abducted her! And he could well be the murderer of Emilia's loving husband, Lucian, Lord Sumpter.

  “I can see how terrible the situation is,” she said quietly. “But does that really justify a death?”

  Everett shot to his feet. “How dare you?” He stared at her with those round blue eyes, mouth open. He shut it, but still stared. “Are you saying I...killed him?”

  “How did you know I meant a death by murder?”

  Lord Everett swallowed. He stepped forward again and sank into his chair. “You mean Lucian,” he said gravely. “Don't you?”

  “I didn't say that,” she said evenly. While he was talking she had been glancing round the room, looking for means of exit, should she need them. She was sitting in line with the door, though it was behind her. She thought that if he made a grab for her she would drop, roll, and run through the door, then close it...

  “You didn't,” he sighed. “But I did.”

>   Evelyn looked back to him. He had slumped forward, in utter dejection. He held his head in his hands, long, gnarled fingers pulling at tufts of his hair. He looked like a man defeated and she could not, again, help feeling pity.

  “You have something to tell me?” she asked gently.

  “I can tell you about his death.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A NIGHT’S REST

  A NIGHT’S REST

  “Come, rest you here...”

  Oscar was carrying Emilia, who had fallen when she had alighted from the carriage, whispering encouragement as they went up the stairs. They had arrived at a nameless inn late at night and it was dark. Emilia could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt and her bodice and it made her tremble. Her brain was still foggy from weariness, though, and she had no idea where she was or what was happening.

  “I... where are we?”

  “We are in a small, quiet inn in the middle of nowhere,” he informed her. “Whether or not it is a good middle of nowhere, we will discuss in the morning. When it's light and we can see where this actually is. Hush, now, and try and rest – that's all we can do.”

  “Oscar,” Emilia whispered. “Put me down! I can walk, you know. And this is...improper.” She said the last more reluctantly than she meant it, and was horrified and delighted at once to notice it.

  “And we are on the run from a group of shadowy insurrectionists who intend to murder us if they catch us,” he retorted sharply. “I think you can allow propriety to stretch a little. Just a little.”

  Emilia sighed. “Here we are. We're upstairs now,” she added, looking around the space in which they now stood. A torch burned in a sconce behind them, halfway up the stairs, sending threads of smoke to stain the ceiling. She could see wooden beams which were closer than they were before.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can almost touch the ceiling. If we were downstairs I'd need much longer arms.”

  He chuckled so loudly then she winced.