A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  “One I have no wish to repeat,” said Caroline.

  “Probably wise,” Mrs. Baker said, with a small nod. “Dangerous things lurk in these caves.”

  “Especially at full moon,” Caroline murmured.

  Mrs. Baker’s eyes widened. “You know?”

  “When we were trapped Mr. Kirby mentioned the cave might have been used for certain things.”

  “He never said anything to my Jem.”

  “No.” Caroline added, “I’m sure he has no wish to cause distress.” Mrs. Baker studied her for a long moment, then nodded, as if satisfied.

  “Where is your husband?”

  She jerked a thumb at the mouth of the cave. “In there, ’elping your Mr. Kirby.”

  Her Mr. Kirby? Heat swept her cheeks. So, the gossip had spread through the village also. Oh, how she needed to speak to him, to get matters sorted, to just know his feelings! A pricking sensation made her turn. The bearlike Mr. Browne stared at her. Why would he do so? Who was he?

  Heartened by Mrs. Baker’s affability, she motioned to the man and asked, “Has anyone yet learned about that man?”

  Mrs. Baker made a face. “He was seen talking to that exciseman Nicholls. Likely ’e be an exciseman.”

  Or a spy for Lord Pratt. Caroline saw how Mr. Browne was inching back, away from the crowd of spectators. Was he going to go to the beach cottage? What if he hurt Emma? Her pulse began to hammer.

  “You know,” she said slowly, “I rather believe he is.”

  Her words might malign the man, but he was clearly up to no good, and if Mrs. Baker felt it necessary to ensure her husband’s activities were kept safe from the man, then Caroline was not responsible for what actions might prevail.

  Mrs. Baker looked at Mr. Browne with a hard gaze, before tapping Mrs. Belcher on the shoulder and murmuring in her ear. Seconds later, the two women threaded through the crowd and went and spoke to Mr. Browne. He frowned. They nodded. Caroline watched them leave, until her attention was stolen by an Irish voice.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Hatherleigh,” said Mr. Kenmore. “I certainly did not expect to see you here. I’m so pleased you are feeling better. Have you come to revisit the scene of great calamity?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kenmore,” she said. “I am better, but will admit I do not consider it a great calamity, not when we are now safe.”

  “And I am certain that Mr. Kirby does not consider such an event a calamity either. Not when he is so fortunate as to gain two precious treasures.”

  “Two?” she asked.

  He gestured inside. “One being a skeleton of an ichthyosaurus—”

  “Oh, it really is one, then?”

  “It is,” he confirmed. “The work be slow—it took a blessed long time to remove the rockfall—but everything points to it being just as fine a specimen as that found by Miss Anning. And,” he added with an air of satisfaction, “as it seems to be a complete skeleton, it is definitely finer than the remains recently discovered by young Wilmont.”

  “That is wonderful news!”

  “It is.”

  He studied her with such an incomprehensible look that she had to ask his meaning.

  “I am surprised you did not ask about the second treasure this cave released. But perhaps you already know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” she admitted.

  “So humble,” he said, a gleam in his eye.

  There came a shout from within, and he excused himself to hurry back inside. She glanced to her right, pushing to her toes, but the figures of Mr. Browne and the two women had disappeared entirely from view.

  “Miss Hatherleigh.”

  The quiet voice belonged to Mr. Kirby. She turned, saw his bandaged head, and felt herself blush, conscious they were under the scrutiny of scores of eyes. “Hello, sir.”

  “Kenmore mentioned you were out here. I was surprised, but pleasantly so.”

  “I’m surprised that you were able to return to work so quickly. I’m so glad you are recovered.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to hold you up from your work, but I do wish to speak to you.”

  “We have much to say to each other, I suspect.”

  She glanced back at the faces surrounding them. “But not here, not now.”

  “But soon. I suspect we shall be only another hour or so, then begins the real task of getting this to the top.”

  “I do not wish to detain you. I will go and keep Emma company.”

  “Kenmore shall accompany you.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “I would not have you without escort. Not when …” His voice faded, his eyes warming into something that breathed hope into her heart. Perhaps he did care after all.

  Mr. Kenmore reappeared, Mr. Kirby excused himself to return to the excavation, and Caroline and her Irish escort soon began the long walk to the village. She chewed her inner lip. So much remained uncertain, unresolved.

  “What is it, my dear?” Mr. Kenmore asked. “You seem concerned.”

  “I hope Mr. Kirby will be safe in that cave. I would hate to think another cave-in might occur.”

  “It is now well braced and supported inside. I cannot think anything untoward will happen.”

  She exhaled. “I suppose I should simply pray for his protection.”

  “You believe?” he asked quickly.

  “Yes.” Conscious of his curious look, she felt compelled to explain. “When we were trapped, and Mr. Kirby was unconscious, I … I found myself calling out to God for help.” She remembered the assurance found in that moment of hearing Trust Me. “And He answered,” she added in a wondering voice. “I do not claim much faith, but enough to know we must trust God.”

  “Indeed we must,” he murmured, before clearing his throat. “It is good to see the solicitude you exhibit towards my friend.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Perhaps he’d think the color due to the exertions of this walk. “I would feel the same toward any of my acquaintances.”

  “Of course you would,” he agreed. “I have often noted your interest in my welfare.”

  “I am glad you have, as it obviously did not need to be vocalized.”

  “Obviously, indeed.” He chuckled.

  But a frisson of unease made her shake her head. “Enough frivolity. You truly think him safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Emma?”

  “She has some careful watchguards in the Ballards.”

  “You think Pratt will come again?”

  “It is possible, especially after the newspaper reports.”

  “And if he does, what will they do?”

  “As soon as Kirby retrieves the skeleton, he plans to return to London. There, I imagine, he and Emma will ensconce themselves at Grosvenor Square under the protection of their brother, until other matters are resolved.”

  “Other matters?”

  “Surely you want to know about the future?”

  The future? Oh, he meant her future. Queasiness rippled within. How she longed to know whether Mr. Kirby’s best friend knew of his feelings; how she feared to know he had none. She said carefully, “I know he was honor bound to offer for me, if that’s what you mean.”

  He looked quickly at her. “It was not just honor.”

  She shook her head. “I know what the gossips would be saying; he must have felt his hand was being forced.”

  “You truly think so?”

  “He has spoken no words to suggest otherwise.”

  “And you would want him to?”

  “I—I …” She stumbled to a pause. How could she talk of warmer feelings to this man she scarcely knew? “I would not wish for him to offer for me if he had no, no …”

  “No attachment?”

  She nodded stiffly.

  He smiled. “And you must see that I cannot permit my dearest friend to pursue matrimony with someone who holds him in aversion.”

  “In aversion? I do not think of Mr. Kirby in that way.”

 
“It is becoming plain to me just how you regard our friend.”

  Oh, what had he seen? Had she been so unguarded? She tossed her head. “You are quite as abominable as he.”

  “Which is why I must seek his best interests, seeing as we understand each other so well.”

  She released his arm, and quickened her footsteps away. “I do not wish to speak with you a moment long—”

  “Please.” He hurried to match her pace. “Please let me finish.”

  She sighed, drawing in her spine and bracing for whatever else it was he had to say. “What is it, Mr. Kenmore?”

  He appeared to wince. “So many errors remain to be rectified. Forgive me, Miss Hatherleigh. I had thought by now you would be made aware—but no matter. I shall explain; it scarcely matters your knowing now. You see, I am not a mister.”

  “What?” Her footsteps faltered. “Then what—who are you?”

  “I trust you shall not see it as a gross deception. I am a viscount, so I should more properly be addressed as Lord Kenmore.”

  He was the same rank as her father. They were equals.

  “I do not understand,” she said. “Why the subterfuge?”

  “Sometimes dropping accoutrements like titles makes things easier.”

  She bit her lip. Like Emma had dropped her proper name. Yes, she could certainly understand that.

  He held out his hand, helping her across a slippery section of dim path. “Perhaps, my dear Miss Hatherleigh, you will prove so good as to overlook my little ruse and dance with me the next time we meet in a London ballroom.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, dropping his hand. Then, aware how ungracious that sounded, added, “Of course.”

  “I shall look forward to it.”

  “Mr.—I mean, Lord Kenmore, is there anything else I should know?”

  “There is, but I regret I cannot fully explain. Not until … someone else speaks. It is not my place to tell you.”

  By now they could see the cottage lights aglow, the sun dipping lower in the horizon.

  “I suspect that I have spoken out of turn, and made you wish me at the devil rather than helped you see more plainly. The simple fact of the matter is this: Gideon is a decent-hearted, honorable man, and knowing how important propriety is to your family, he has done the honorable thing and proposed marriage rather than see you left abandoned. He would rather endure a loveless marriage and save your reputation than see the actions of last week cause you embarrassment.”

  Caroline stumbled. So, it was true. Mr. Kirby did not have warmer feelings for her. Pain wrenched so fiercely that she gasped.

  “Miss Hatherleigh?”

  She waved off his concern and offered arm, willing herself not to give in to base emotion. “It is nothing, just the steep climb.”

  “I thought—”

  “Look, we’re almost there!” she said, determinedly changing the subject. “I’m sure Emma will be glad to see us. I shall be sorry when she returns to London. She has proved to be a very good friend.” She chattered on, working to ignore the ache inside that shouted of her disappointment. Could she truly marry someone who had only offered out of obligation? Oh, why had she let the tendrils of affection wrap around her heart? Mama had been right; such things were not the Aynsley way. Her footsteps hastened. Really, the sooner she could get back to Saltings—get back to Aynsley!—the better.

  “Miss Hatherleigh, I fear my words have upset you. I’m sorry, I did not mean to suggest—”

  “I can assure you, Lord Kenmore, that I have no wish for a loveless marriage with Mr. Kirby or with anyone.”

  “No? But I thought—”

  “I still don’t know why I am speaking of this to you and not to him.” They had reached the gate of the garden. Lord Kenmore opened the gate for her and she hurried to the front door, knocking, before noticing it was ajar. She pushed and stepped inside. “Hello? Mrs. Ballard? Emma?”

  Lord Kenmore joined her in the hall. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  Before Caroline’s emotion-blurred brain could decipher what was happening, a tall figure struck the Irish peer with a heavy stick, and he slumped to the flagstone floor without a sound.

  Her breath hitched. Her legs wobbled. Her chest squeezed.

  “Hello, Miss Hatherleigh,” said Emma’s husband. “We meet again at last.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE SCREAM RIPPLING from her throat was cut short by the hand clapped over her mouth.

  “Now, now, let’s have none of that. I’m afraid my dear wife might grow frightened.” Pratt dragged Caroline past the slumped figure on the floor to the sitting room and shoved her heavily toward the sofa, where Emma sat motionless, arms crossed over her belly, her haggard, pallid expression suggesting that she was a long way past frightened.

  “Oh, Emma,” Caroline said, clasping the cold hands, working to keep alarm from her own face. Mr. and Mrs. Ballard were nowhere to be seen; what had Pratt done to them? “Has he hurt you?” Caroline whispered, reaching up to push aside an auburn lock fallen across her friend’s eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Emma said faintly, her eyes reddened from tears. “He can kill me, it doesn’t matter. But if he hurts you, I shall never forgive myself.”

  Caroline studied the pale man who possessed a distinct look of menace. “Did Mr. Browne tell you where they were?”

  “Who?” He made an impatient noise. “I know no Mr. Browne.”

  Caroline sent a questioning look at Emma, who shrugged, murmuring, “Gideon had employed someone to be a bodyguard. I believe that was his name.”

  Oh no! No wonder Mr. Kirby had not been concerned about Mr. Browne. And she had sent him away with Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Belcher to have goodness knows what happen! Nausea swirled within. Dizziness washed around her.

  “Such a fool to think anyone could save you. But Carstairs was always a fool.”

  Who? Where had she heard that name before?

  “A fool to imagine I would not learn the truth about the two decoys up north!”

  He was talking about Mr. Kirby? “But not such a fool since you followed them,” Caroline managed.

  A blur of hand, a strike of pain, and fire stung her cheek as she slumped against the sofa, eyes closed against the sharp throbbing, the ringing in her ear. She ran her tongue around the inside of her teeth; they at least all appeared to be there. Was this real? No one had ever raised a hand against her! “How … how dare—?”

  “Do not speak,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “You are nothing to me.”

  “Please, please don’t hurt her,” Caroline faintly heard Emma beg. Somewhere she could hear the sound of her pug barking. Then a thud. Then a whimper. Then silence.

  “How could you kick a helpless animal?”

  He’d kicked Mittens? Caroline made a moan of protest which he ignored. She opened her eyes to see his pale eyes and raised fist. The fear she tasted arrowed deeper.

  “I don’t know why I ever bothered with you,” he said to Emma. “I would have been better off with you dead! At least I could have married again and got an heir—”

  Her next attempt to speak was hushed by Emma’s whisper-light touch on her shoulder. “I am sorry,” she murmured, but whom she addressed Caroline did not know.

  Caroline struggled into a sitting position. “What are you going to do?”

  “I am going to take my wife home—”

  Emma gave a moue of protest, her horrified eyes flicking to Caroline.

  “—but before I do, I have some unfinished business to take care of. Starting with that brother of yours.”

  “Mr. Kirby will not—”

  “You dare still speak? And speak of what you do not know?” He sent an incredulous look to Emma. “Does the”—he called Caroline a most unflattering name she was not entirely sure she knew the precise meaning of—“not know the truth?”

  “I know enough truth to know that Emma married a monster.”

  Another backhanded whack and she was on the floor. Emm
a started to cry. “No, Caroline, no. He will kill you!”

  “No, he won’t,” Caroline said, staggering to her feet, her jaw burning, her heart thumping in rage. How dare this bully torment Emma so? “He won’t kill me, for everyone would know that he killed a viscount’s daughter. And he would be hunted down, and then hanged for all to see. Hanged like a common criminal at the crossroads.” She eyed Lord Pratt. “Your pride could never bear that, could it?”

  He stepped toward her; she stumbled back. “You—” He spat another word most ungodly. “You know nothing about me!”

  “I know all about what pride makes one do, and the honor due a family’s name.” She turned to Emma and managed to push out a somewhat wobbly smile. “I think you should tell him the truth.”

  “The truth? About what?” he demanded, advancing on Caroline, fist clenched.

  “A-about the baby.”

  “What baby?” He spun to face his wife. “Emma? Are you pregnant?”

  Emma pressed her lips together, her fearful gaze flicking from Caroline to the prone body of Lord Kenmore.

  A roar of rage filled the room. “Is this true? Have you and that Irish”—another expletive—“been carrying on?” He yanked Emma to her feet. “How long has this been going on for?”

  She shook her head, but he ignored her denials, and slapped her hard in the belly to her loud gasp. “How dare you?”

  He began to shake her. Caroline wrenched at his arm but he was too strong. His free palm sent her crashing to the floor.

  “Stop it!” Caroline begged. “Leave her! Can’t you see that she’s in pain?”

  “Good! I cannot stand the thought of that Irish spawn within my wife. You are mine, you hear me?” Pratt shook Emma harder. “Mine!”

  “Are you truly that stupid?” Caroline cried, stumbling upright once more. It did not matter what he might do to her. All that was important was that Emma be protected. “That is your child!”

  His head swiveled to Caroline. “You lie.”

  “Tell him the truth, Emma! Do you want to die?”

  But Emma only shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “I don’t care anymore. I don’t—” She gasped then moaned and clutched her belly, slumping to the floor.

  “Dear God! What have you done?” Caroline fell to her knees beside her friend’s body, the fear within massing to a new degree of horror. “Get a doctor!”