by Candace Camp
Lily nodded. “I’ll be fine. You should lie down and rest. Cousin Fitz said I should make sure that you don’t tire yourself.” She paused, looking at Eve speculatively. “I think Cousin Fitz is a little sweet on you.”
Eve felt a traitorous blush steal into her cheeks. “What? Don’t be silly.”
Lily smiled archly but made no reply. She walked toward the chair beside the bed, but as she started to sit down she made a face and exclaimed, “Oh! I almost forgot.”
Lily reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a square of white paper, which she held out to Eve. “There was a letter for you on the hall table downstairs, so I brought it up.”
Eve froze, her heart seeming to flip in her chest. Lily looked puzzled, and Eve forced herself to take the letter from her. “Thank you, dear.”
Her eyes went to the writing. It was the same strong masculine hand. She managed to give Lily a smile before she walked away. She could not remember afterward if she had even said good-bye to the girl.
When she reached the privacy of her own room Eve ripped open the letter.
Your husband was a thief.
Eve gasped as she read the first bold line of the note, and her hand flew to her mouth. She made herself read on.
The watch you wear is proof of his thievery. I could reveal his transgressions to the world. How do you think the mighty Earl of Stewkesbury would like having a chaperone who is the widow of a thief ? What do you think he would do if he knew the watch you flaunt is stolen? Or that Major Hawthorne was about to be cashiered from the army? That he killed himself rather than face that shame? Do you really think his fall was an “accident”?
Eve sank onto the side of her bed, pressing a hand to her stomach, as if to hold in the turmoil inside her. Bruce, a thief ? It couldn’t possibly be true. Bruce had always been one of the most honorable men she knew. She was not the only one who thought so—he was respected by the men under him, his fellow officers, and his superiors. However extravagant he might have been, however lavishly he might have spent, he had never lied about it. He had never tried to cheat anyone. He paid his gambling debts immediately. And when he made a promise he followed through on it.
She could not, she would not, believe that Bruce had been a thief. He could not have been in danger of being thrown out of the army in disgrace. It was impossible, unthinkable.
It was easier somehow to believe that he could have killed himself. His failure to consummate their marriage had haunted him, she knew; he had felt himself inadequate, his condition shameful. There had been times when Eve had wondered if his reckless riding, his wild courage, had been at their heart as much attempts to end his life as proof to the world that he was a real man. If he had done the things the letter accused him of, if he had faced being publically disgraced and cashiered from his beloved army, then she could conceive of him kicking free from his stirrups and rolling from his saddle as his horse sailed over the stone wall. As long as he was certain that his mount would not be harmed, he would have faced death willingly. But throwing oneself off a horse would be a far from certain method. Bruce would have known that and chosen a gun, surely.
Her heart clutched as she thought of it, and tears sprang into her eyes. But no, she could not believe it. Besides, Bruce would not have been in that situation. He would not have stolen. He had not been teetering on the edge of disgrace. She would have known it surely if he had been worried and tormented. She could not have been so blind to what was happening to him.
No, she thought. She was certain that the person who had written the letters was lying.
But why? It made no sense. The first letter had told her to leave. The second had hinted at Bruce’s wrongdoing and told her to get rid of the watch. And this one accused Bruce of thievery and threatened to tell Lord Stewkesbury what the major had done. But it had not asked for anything or instructed her to do anything. Usually when people threatened one it was in order to get something. Yet this letter seemed intended merely to frighten her.
Well, it had certainly accomplished that. If the person who sent the letter should tell Lord Stewkesbury his claims or even start rumors about Bruce that got back to Lord Stewkesbury, it would be disastrous for Eve. She knew that whether or not the rumors were true would make little difference. It would be difficult to disprove them, and even if she could, the mere fact of the rumor would follow her the rest of her days. A chaperone’s most valuable asset was her reputation; no one would want a widow who inspired whispers of gossip to usher their daughters through the ton.
The earl would dismiss her, and she would be doomed to spend the rest of her life at her father’s house. Her stomach lurched at the thought of leaving Willowmere, of never again walking through its lovely gardens or idling away an hour or two in the magnificent library, of never seeing Lily or Camellia—or Fitz.
She had not realized until this moment how much she had come to love this place in the last few weeks or how easily the Bascombe sisters had stolen their way into her heart. As for Fitz . . . well, it was better not to think of that.
But what could she do? How could she combat the creature who was sending these letters? She had no idea who it was or what his purpose might be. She had little attachment to the watch and would be just as happy not to have it. But she could not imagine how the letter writer would know that she had gotten rid of it. Besides, she had a stubborn reluctance to cave in to the beast’s demands, as if she would be failing Bruce, admitting that she believed the wicked things he had said about her husband.
Eve took the letter and placed it with the other two and the watch, deep in the drawer beneath her nightgowns. Then she sat in the chair beside the window and stared out, trying to think. Who could hate Bruce so much? Or perhaps it was Eve herself who was hated. But she could not think of anyone who hated her to such an extent. Lady Sabrina obviously disliked her, but this seemed extreme for someone who barely knew Eve, even someone as unpleasant as Sabrina. Perhaps a soldier whom Bruce had disciplined had held it against him all these years? She felt sure that her husband had made decisions that others had resented, and there might be those who would hold a grudge so long.
But she could not understand why they would have waited until now to bring it up. And what in the world did it have to do with the watch that Bruce had gotten for her just before his death?
She wished quite badly that she could talk to Fitz about the letters. He would smile and toss off a remark that would make her smile, too, and her fears would ease. Fitz had that way about him, the ability to shrink fears and problems down to a manageable size. He would kiss her and take her into his arms, and she could lean her head against his shoulder, and somehow everything would be better.
But even as she thought of going to Fitz with her problems, she knew that she could not do so. He was the earl’s brother, and she would be putting him in a terrible position. Stewkesbury would have no choice but to dismiss a chaperone with such scandal in her past, so Fitz would feel compelled to keep her secret from his brother. She could not ask him to choose between her and his family, and indeed she was not sure she wanted to learn what his choice would be.
Besides, she disliked the thought of exposing her late husband in that way to another man. Fitz had not known him. He might assume that Bruce had been exactly the sort of man the letter writer had described. She had loved Bruce, and she had been loyal to him for ten years. However much she might feel for Fitz—and she was not yet certain what that was—she could not bear to hear Fitz express contempt for Bruce.
No, Fitz was out of the question, she told herself, and there was no one else. She could scarcely burden Lily or Camellia with it, and she could not justify taking time off from her many duties here at Willowmere to visit Vivian and pour out her troubles to her. She needed to resolve this on her own. Unfortunately she could think of no way to do so.
Eve stood up, mentally shaking off her unproductive thoughts. It was useless to worry over a letter sent by someone who would not even reveal
himself. Until she knew more, there was nothing she could do. She looked at the clock. It was almost time for tea.
Despite the disarray of the household the past few days, she had tried to keep them to a traditional schedule. It was helpful for the Bascombes, she thought, who were trying to catch up on twenty years of life experience. And she suspected it was good for the rest of them, too. If there was anything she had learned from her years as a military wife, it was the importance of tradition and discipline.
Eve washed her face and hands, then brushed out her hair and repinned it in the simple knot she usually favored. Feeling somewhat refreshed, she made her way downstairs to the drawing room where they usually had afternoon tea. Neville was standing at one of the windows, looking out, and he turned at her entrance.
“Ah, Mrs. Hawthorne. Good afternoon.”
“Mr. Carr.” Eve was never sure quite how to act with Neville. He was amusing, and in other circumstances she would have probably enjoyed a conversation with him. But because of Lily she always felt as if she needed to be on her guard with him.
“I was hoping we might have a chance sometime to speak alone,” he said now.
“You were?” She looked at him, surprised and a trifle wary.
He smiled faintly. “There is no need to look suspicious. I do not mean to make a nuisance of myself.”
“Mr. Carr . . .”
“Please, just hear me out. I know that you disapprove of me, and Fitz has told me why.” He looked into her face, his gaze direct, without pleading or artifice. “I have not been the best of men; I admit that. And I cannot change what I have done in the past. But I can tell you that I am not the same man I used to be. My feelings for Lily are deep and strong. I love her, Mrs. Hawthorne, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her. No doubt there are better men than I who would fall in love with her—indeed how can anyone not?—but I promise you that none would try harder than I to make her happy.”
Eve sighed. “I have no doubt that what you say is true. But there is an impediment to any relationship with Lily, is there not?”
His face darkened. “Yes, but I have hope—if I can but talk to—” He muffled a curse as Gordon walked into the room.
The moment was gone. Neville could do nothing but bow to Eve and move away. She was frankly relieved. She could not help but feel sympathy for the man, but there was nothing she could do. Her first consideration must be Lily and what would happen to her. And in any case, she had nothing to say in the matter. Eve could only turn it all over to Fitz.
She turned to greet Gordon, and the three of them sat down, making social chitchat. Lily came rushing in to join them just as Bostwick and one of the footmen carried in the tea trays. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, prettily flushed, and sat beside Eve on the sofa. “Camellia awakened, and I wanted to make sure she did not need anything before I left.”
“How is she feeling?” Neville asked.
“Better, I think. This time when she awoke I really thought she seemed less warm. Her color was not as high, and she sounded more like herself.”
“Excellent. Let’s hope we can look forward to a speedy recovery.”
Gordon glanced around. “Where is Fitz? Isn’t he joining us?”
“He was riding out to visit some of the tenants this afternoon, I believe,” Eve told him. “He said not to expect him before tea.”
“I don’t understand. Why is Fitz doing all this work?” Gordon asked rather plaintively. “I had hoped we might get in some hunting while I was here.”
Eve was not sure how to reply to this statement. “It’s a bit of an urgent situation right now, I’m afraid. Mr. Talbot is standing in for his brother, and the estate manager has taken ill.”
Gordon shrugged. “The place would hardly fall apart while Stewkesbury’s gone.”
“Yes, Fitz has become distressingly level-headed,” Neville agreed. “Perhaps you can exercise some influence on him, Gordon.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Gordon replied seriously. “Never known him to pay any attention to me.”
Eve, suppressing a smile, leaned over to take the cup of tea Lily handed her. As she did so she became aware of voices in the foyer. They rose in volume, a man’s voice, polite but insistent, countered by a woman’s, growing louder and higher, until finally they resolved into audible words.
“I am sorry, miss, but—”
“Don’t take that tone with me!” The woman’s voice came back sharply.
Eve glanced at Lily in surprise. As she turned toward the doorway Eve caught sight of Gordon’s face. He had paled and turned rigid, his teacup held stiffly out in front of him.
“Here! You can’t—” Eve recognized the man’s voice now as that of Paul, one of the footmen.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, high and rather harsh, and while the accent was that of a lady, there was something about it that rang false. “I tell you, Mr. Harrington will be glad to see me. Now, get out of my way, unless you want to explain to him why you’re not letting in his fiancée!”
Something like a bleat escaped Gordon’s lips as the other three occupants of the room swung around to look at him. With a clatter he set the cup and saucer on the small table before him and jumped to his feet. Face white, eyes large, he looked rather like a hare with the hounds after him. He glanced toward the door, where the sound of footsteps was fast approaching, then swung back, casting a desperate glance around. He darted across the room, shoved up the lower section of one of the long windows overlooking the front garden, threw his leg over the sill, and went out the window.
Lily and Eve stared in astonishment at the window through which he had disappeared. Neville cried, “Yoicks away!” and began to laugh.
The women swung back to the door as the footman and a woman entered in a kind of peculiar dance. The footman, facing her, was shuffling backward, trying to maintain his position between the visitor and her goal, while she tried to circle around him, first to the left, then to the right, all the while gaining ground on him.
The woman looked to Eve to be around her own age, several years older than Gordon Harrington. Her hair under the stylish blue bonnet was a froth of golden curls, and her face was rather pretty, with a rosebud mouth, round blue eyes, and a small, tip-tilted nose. She was dressed in girlish white dimity, with a great deal of fluttering blue ribbons and ruffles. But startlingly, the neckline of the dimity dress was cut quite low, exposing much of her bosom, without a fichu or even a ruffle to cover it up. Her pink lips and blushing cheeks obviously owed more to a rouge pot than to nature. A blue cloak shoved back behind her shoulders, short white gloves, and a blue-and-white-beribboned parasol completed her outfit. She looked, Eve thought somewhat uncharitably, like Bo-Peep without her shepherdess crook.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, miss.” The harassed footman turned toward Eve and Lily. “I tried to explain to this lady that visitors must be announced, but—”
“He would not let me in!” The woman exclaimed, seizing the opportunity to step around the footman. She clasped her hands at her bosom and turned her beseeching gaze upon Mr. Carr. “I’ve never been so surprised in my life. I know that my darling Gordy will be very much distressed to learn how I have been treated.”
Eve nodded to the footman, and he bowed and turned away, his footsteps ringing a quick retreat toward the back of the house.
“Indeed I believe he is already greatly distressed,” Neville replied gravely. “I fear that I do not have the honor, Miss . . .”
“Oh! I am so sorry.” She let out a little titter, raising one small gloved hand to cover her mouth shyly. “Of course I should have told you my name. Gordy is forever telling me I am a goose.”
“Is he?” Lily asked. “That sounds very rude.”
Eve detected a bite in Lily’s polite tone, and she sensed that Lily had taken an immediate dislike to the woman. Just, Eve admitted, as she had.
The woman cast a faintly disconcerted glance at Lily. “What
?”
“Calling you a goose. I think I would take exception.”
The woman looked at her, and Eve saw a moment of calculation in the baby-blue eyes before they resumed their previous vacuity. “Oh no, it is only Gordy’s way. His little affectionate term.”
“Mm.” Lily’s tone was noncommittal.
“I am Elizabeth Saunders.” The visitor turned once again toward Neville, simpering as she said, “You must be my Gordy’s cousin. I am so happy to meet you.” She held out her hand to Neville.
“Must I?” His eyebrows rose a little, but he stepped forward to take her hand and sketched a very brief bow over it. “I fear I am quite unrelated to young Harrington.”
“Oh, silly me.” She looked toward the women inquiringly, but Carr made no move to introduce the woman to either Eve or Lily, which confirmed Eve’s suspicion, growing stronger by the moment, that Miss Saunders was anything but a lady.
Even though Miss Saunders had adopted a number of young, even shy mannerisms, from downcast eyes to sweet smiles to covering her mouth in an embarrassed way, there was something quite bold about her. No young lady would have forced her way in past the footman, nor would she speak of her fiancé by a diminutive name in front of strangers. Most of all she would not have introduced herself to a strange man and stuck out her hand. Eve knew that any of these things might have been done by her own charges, at least when they first arrived in England. But there was a fresh, innocent quality to Lily and Camellia that was utterly missing in Elizabeth Saunders. And none of the Bascombes would have exposed her bosom in such a manner, even when they first arrived.
Miss Saunders was not deterred by Neville’s lack of introduction. She merely turned to Lily, then Eve, repeating her name and holding out her hand.
Lily, of course, responded with her own name and a handshake, though there was a reserve in her that Eve had never seen before. Eve felt sure that though Lily might not know why, Lily suspected something was off about their visitor. Eve merely nodded and said hello. She could see the other woman assessing her. Then Miss Saunders bared her teeth in something that was as much a challenge as a smile. Without waiting to be asked, she sauntered over to a chair and sat down.