by Regina Scott
Besides, Samantha had to go to London for her Season, to fulfill the requirements of her father’s will. Too much depended on it. Richard could set sail and bring in an income, and Vaughn had always been able to fend for himself. They might survive another year waiting for their inheritances. Jerome could not. He was counting on it to sustain him and his new wife. These damages from the spring floods made it critical that he have cash at hand, or he would lose all. He’d trusted Richard to get Samantha safely to London. How could Richard let him down?
His brother had always been the one to sacrifice. Jerome had stayed with Uncle and safeguarded the legacy while Richard was at school; he’d helped Richard understand the cargo side of the business when Richard had returned. Richard had sailed away twice, once to seek his fortune and once to try to forget Claire, leaving Jerome to carry the burden of managing the Everard legacy alone. Richard refused to be so selfish again.
I know what You expect of me, Lord. I will not forget it.
Claire was another matter. Why was she so determined to stay in Cumberland? The last note almost made her sound like a conspirator. He hated that suspicion. But he’d been able to bargain for her services; someone else could bargain for them as well, ask her to convince him to heed the note’s warning. A smile from her still held far too much power over him.
But why go to such trouble? He found it just as difficult to imagine Giles as his villain. Who else cared where Samantha went? How could her presence in London affect anyone but the Everards? Was someone intent on keeping Jerome, Richard and Vaughn from their inheritances? Or was there something else at play here?
What he wouldn’t give for an ally, a trusted friend to help him think through these issues. Lord, show me. I’ve lost sight of the beacon; I can’t guide my ship through these rocks. I need a navigator.
Claire’s face came immediately to mind, mouth curved in the heartwarming smile she’d worn that afternoon when he’d returned from the woods. The sweet promise called to him. If he wanted to take her up on that promise, if he wanted her help, he had to trust her.
Richard pushed back from the table. Tomorrow, he would find the opportunity to clear the air with Claire, once and for all. She might fall into his arms or order him from her sight. He thought his chances of success were better surviving a hurricane at sea. There he might lose his ship. Now he stood to lose his last chance at love.
Chapter Twenty-One
Claire was up at dawn the next morning. Mercier had nearly dropped a tray of hot cocoa when she saw her mistress, swathed in a ruffled dressing gown, writing desk on her lap, sitting in the chair making lists.
“I’ll sip while we work,” she told the maid, lifting the cup with one hand and waving the tray away with the quill of her pen. “And I will need all your considerable skills today.”
Mercier gave a sharp nod and set to work dressing Claire for the day.
Claire was thankful for the maid’s efficiency. She’d had a difficult night, alternating between worrying and praying. But with the light came clarity. She might not be able to convince Richard to wait, but she could do her best to make sure the trip went smoothly. And she could help Samantha and Richard face whatever they would find in London.
Samantha was more than willing to help with the preparations. Together with Mercier, they determined the bare necessities needed for the trip and Samantha’s first fortnight in London, located those items in the various trunks and boxes as well as rooms around the manor, and packed everything for immediate travel. Mercier also repacked Claire’s things. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott was even sent for this item or that, and Claire thought at least a few things had been “found” in the dower house.
As much as the housekeeper could, given her other duties, Mrs. Linton worked beside them.
“I want to make sure I know how to finish the packing when you’ve gone,” she said with a sniff, her quicksilver eyes shining with unshed tears, “so I can send our Lady Everard what she needs by mail to London. And if I may say so, Lady Winthrop, this house will not be the same without you all.”
Claire knew what she meant. She was going to miss Dallsten Manor. Odd how she felt more at home in a house she’d lived in less than a fortnight than in the town house she’d shared with her late husband for ten years.
She wasn’t sure how Monsieur Chevalier spent the morning, for he could not have had much to pack, having only been at the house a few days. She did bump into him from time to time, once near the muniments room that held the manor records, and once near the library, and he’d gibbered some flattery before hurrying about his business.
Richard, however, was more determined. Three times he attempted to commandeer Claire’s attention, appearing in the doorway of the room where she was working, touching her arm as they passed in a corridor. All three times she dismissed him with a curt, “Not now, sir.” She was only surprised he hadn’t argued.
Claire, Samantha and Mrs. Dallsten Walcott were in the receiving hall, collecting sheet music and other items that had been used in the room over the last few days, when Mrs. Linton located them late that afternoon.
“Sorry to interrupt, your ladyships,” she said, “but there was a letter for Lady Everard.”
Claire, on the other side of the room, felt as if the floor dipped beneath her. Turning with care, she saw the housekeeper hand Samantha a folded sheet before bustling out. Even from where Claire stood, she recognized the bold writing.
“Lady Everard,” she started, moving toward her, but the girl had already broken the seal and opened it. As Claire reached her side, Samantha paled.
Claire drew her away from where Mrs. Dallsten Walcott was shuffling through sheet music. “What does it say?” Claire asked Samantha quietly.
Samantha met her gaze, eyes dark and troubled. “It says if I go to London, something dreadful will happen to Cousin Vaughn.”
Claire took the note from her stiff fingers to read it.
Do not go to London, or someone you love will die.
How could he! Oh, but she’d have a word or two with Toby Giles if she ever saw him again.
“Horrid creature,” Claire said aloud, tucking the letter into her sleeve. “He’s a great bully, threatening death from the shadows. You mustn’t fear it, Samantha. All your cousins are strong, intelligent men who can look out for themselves. I pity the wretch who thinks otherwise.”
Samantha managed a smile, but it quickly faded. “But who would hate me so much to say such things?”
“You don’t recognize the hand?” Claire asked, watching her. “Perhaps your Mr. Giles?”
Samantha drew herself up. “Toby? Never! Why would he do something so mean?”
Why would any man be cruel to the woman he claimed to love? “You said you once planned on marrying him, dear,” Claire reminded her. “Perhaps he feels the same way and wants you to stay here with him.”
Samantha tossed her golden curls. “Then he would jolly well tell me to my face. He’s never minced words with me before.”
Claire still wasn’t convinced. In a conversation with the vicar one Sunday, even the church leader had lamented that Mr. Giles was something of a jokester. But Samantha was clearly not willing to accept the fact that her beau might be immature enough to try to scare her into staying.
“Is there another young man who would prefer that you remain in Cumberland?” Claire asked.
“Jamie Wentworth, Lord Kendrick’s grandson?” Samantha mused with a frown. “But I doubt he could write so boldly.”
Claire remembered the shy eight-year-old from services. By the way he clung to Samantha’s side, gazing up at her wide-eyed, it was obvious that he worshipped the ground she walked on. Claire could not imagine him writing such notes, nor daring to threaten harm to the girl.
Samantha touched her arm. “We must warn Cousin Vaughn.”
Claire covered her hand with one of her own. “Now, then, I’m sure he’s fine. Someone is just trying to frighten you.”
“Well, he’s doing a good job.” Samantha glanced around as if expecting the villain to pop out of hiding and accost her. “Swear to me we’ll leave first thing in the morning.” She held out one fist.
Claire wasn’t sure what she meant by the gesture. “Of course we’re leaving in the morning. This changes nothing. You must stand up to bullies, Samantha. You cannot allow them to rule your life.”
She dropped her hand, dark eyes stormy. “No, only kill the ones you love.”
“It won’t come to that,” Claire promised. “I’ll show this to the captain. In the meantime, perhaps you should go distract Mrs. Dallsten Walcott. She seems inordinately interested in your piano all of a sudden, and I fear Mr. Linton’s heart would burst if she convinced him to move it down to the dower house for her.”
* * *
With Samantha settled, she hoped, Claire stepped out into the corridor. She pulled the note from her sleeve and frowned down at it. Samantha seemed so certain Toby Giles was innocent. But if not Toby, then who? Surely no one in the household would leave such notes. Mrs. Linton was tearful about their departure, she’d brought the notes each time, and she certainly could have had her husband fire from ambush. Yet Claire could not see her as so cruelly manipulative. Maisy and Daisy, the maids, she dismissed out of hand.
Samantha’s fears about going to London waxed and waned in proportion with her feelings for her cousin Vaughn. She needed an excuse to stay in Cumberland. She might have engineered the letters and enlisted the aid of her Mr. Giles to post them, and to fire from cover. But she truly wanted to help her cousins, despite her trepidations, and Claire did not think her dismay at this latest note was an act.
That left Mercier and Monsieur Chevalier. The idea that her little maid might have betrayed her hurt. Yet, what reason could she have? Mercier had made no secret of the fact that she preferred the more active life, a more prestigious household. She would want to return to London. And what could the dance master hope to gain by keeping Samantha in Cumberland? At best, they amounted to a fortnight of work for him.
No matter which way she considered it, she could no longer avoid talking with Richard. He needed to hear about this latest threat. She searched for him in the manor and finally located him out by the large pond on the front of the grounds. Though the mist crept down from the mountains, he stood on the grass, looking out over the water. She could imagine him standing by the wheel on his ship, gaze as steadfast, frame as confident. The image caused a pang of regret. He’d be back at his post all too soon, sailing away from her life and taking her heart with him.
But she knew how to put on a pleasant face when confronted with heartache. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said, as she drew up next to him.
“My thoughts aren’t even worth that, I fear,” he replied, gaze focused on the still waters, a deep green today with the darkening sky.
“I doubt that,” Claire said, “but what I have to say will hardly help.” She held out the note. “This just came, for Lady Everard.”
He eyed the note as if she held a snake. “Did it indeed? More of the same?”
“Yes, though this time it promises death to someone she loves.”
He closed his eyes a moment, as if to block out the thought. Opening his eyes, he turned to her. His face was lined, weary, and she wanted to hug him close and share the load that burdened him.
“There are too many secrets in this house, Claire.”
She dropped her hand. “What secrets?”
“This creature’s threats, my uncle’s plans. Did you know your husband visited Dallsten Manor?”
Claire frowned. “How can that be?”
“According to Samantha, he joined Uncle and Widmore at the summer party.”
Claire shook her head. “I never knew of it, though I suppose it’s possible. Winthrop went off to inspect his estates for a fortnight each summer. And he was friends with the Marquess of Widmore at one time, though he distanced himself from the man toward the end.”
Richard took a step closer, as if intent on understanding her. “How did he die, Claire? You never said.”
The ugliness rushed back at her, and she rubbed a hand along her sleeve. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Why can you never answer my questions? You’ve hidden yourself behind a wall.”
Why couldn’t he focus on the issue in front of him? She felt as if he were trying to pull out her heart. “Hardly surprising,” she returned. “I am convinced none of us shows the world a true face. We keep that safely tucked away. Just as this person who writes the notes wishes to avoid us now.”
He waved a hand as if that matter could not concern him. “But why do you hide, Claire? Do you distrust the world so much?”
Do I, Lord? The thought came unbidden, yet she felt the answer inside. Protecting herself from Winthrop’s abuses, Society’s judgment, had seemed the only choice. Surely God did not expect her to give in, to be destroyed by them. Surely hiding was the best way to keep herself safe.
For I have not given you a spirit of fear but of boldness.
There was that verse again. Had God expected her to be bolder in her marriage? Did God want her to be bold now, to tell Richard everything? Yet how could she admit aloud that her marriage had been a sham, that she was a sham? She couldn’t.
“Perhaps I have been in the world too little the last year to know my way around it now,” she said instead.
The tension in his face told her he didn’t believe the tale any more than she did. “And yet you agreed to shepherd Samantha into that world.”
“I did. I suppose I hoped I could help her avoid the mistakes I’d made.”
“It seems to me you never make mistakes, madam.”
That was the face she’d shown the world. Suddenly the falseness of it made her want to sob. If she had any hope of a future with this man, if she wanted to help him with Samantha, she had to tell him the truth.
I think I understand what You want of me, Lord. I should have asked for Your will to be done all those years ago. Forgive me. Help me be bold now, to take advantage of the chances You’ve given me.
“I am not perfect, Richard,” she said, starting to tremble. “And I make far too many mistakes. The biggest, I fear, was in not trusting my feelings for you, and yours for me. Please forgive me.”
* * *
Richard stared at her. Her lovely face was drawn, as if each word cost her dearly, yet the light of conviction gleamed in her pale eyes.
Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.
That was what the Bible said; that was what the Lord expected. Richard had done all he could to forget Claire, yet some part of him had still clung to the pain of losing her, as if that somehow could keep his love alive. Knowing her now, learning to love her again, it was all too easy to forgive her, to acknowledge his own mistakes.
“We both bear our share of the blame, Claire,” he said. “I hope you can forgive me as well. You must know that I loved you.”
She bowed her head as if to avoid his gaze, finger curling a stray honeyed lock behind one ear. “I believed you loved me. I also believed you’d never stay with me.”
Richard frowned. “I would never have been unfaithful.”
“Not in that way. I never even considered that. I was so naive.” She sighed, as if mourning the death of the girl she’d been. “Winthrop kept a mistress while we were courting. He had several others over the course of our marriage. As if to make sure I knew it, he left them each a bequest in his will. Of course, the solicitor couldn’t honor them. Nothing remained after all the bills were paid.”
She said it so calmly, with less emotion than if she was discussing the dinner menu for the week, or had long resigned herself
to the sad facts. He wanted to seize something, hurl it into the pond.
“You deserved better,” was all he could think to say.
“Did I?” She shook her head, gaze going out toward the mountains. “I wanted to think so. The first time he hit me in a drunken fit, I thought perhaps God was punishing me for my choices. One night I made the mistake of meeting him at the stairs when he came home. He struck me, and I fell. He refused to call a physician. I think he feared the gossip. If it weren’t for Mrs. Corday, I might never have walked again. She brought in a doctor while Winthrop was out, and he set the bone.”
“Oh, Claire.” He reached for her, but she held up a hand and stepped away as if fearing his touch. He let his hands drop, feeling impotent and wanting to rage at the sky for it.
“He took his anger out on me, Richard. It would have been easy to take mine out on God. But I learned that God wasn’t to blame.” Her gaze rose to meet his, determined. “I chose that marriage, and I learned to live with its lack of comfort.”
“By hiding,” he said, unable to keep the rancor from his voice.
“By keeping my face composed and my focus on God,” she returned. “He was there for me the night I returned from the theater to find Winthrop with a lead ball through his temple. My husband had finally realized he could not hope to pay the debts he’d run up. He chose to flee his responsibilities again. His heir had the matter hushed up so the Crown wouldn’t take Winthrop’s moveable property, what was left of it.”
Richard wanted to rail at the viscount for betraying his duty to Claire, but had Richard done any better? In the pain of loss, he’d abandoned her, never offering friendship, never checking on her welfare. Some might have said he was justified.
But I know You expect better of me, Lord.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said. “I’d like to think I’d have been the better man, but perhaps you were right about me. I wanted to see the world, to make my mark on it. Your father’s edict to earn my fortune gave me the excuse to try.”