Dear Deceiver

by Mary Nichols

  If it wasn’t for the effect it might have on Dominic, Emma would have laughed, might even have told her that she was no lady’s maid. Instead she turned away and walked slowly back into the house.

  Chapter Nine

  Emma was alone in the small salon, trying to read, when Dominic joined her half an hour later. She put the book down and looked up at him. He appeared exhausted, his shirt was crumpled and stained, his face was grey and his eyes lacked their usual shine.

  ‘How is Brutus?’ she asked. ‘Will he recover?’

  ‘The scars will heal,’ he said, sinking onto the sofa beside her. ‘But he will not be happy about having anyone on his back again for a long time.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘Goodness! You didn’t think I blamed you, did you? I know who did it and I know why.’ He sounded grim.

  ‘Why, Dominic? He is a strong horse to be sure, but he is easily controlled. There was no need to whip him.’

  ‘It was not the horse she wanted to whip.’

  ‘Me? What have I done to make her hate me so? If she is angry with me, why take it out on a dumb animal?’

  ‘Who knows why people do the things they do?’ His voice was infinitely weary, infinitely sad.

  ‘I am so sorry, Dominic,’ she repeated. ‘You have enough troubles without me causing more. I think it will be better if I leave as soon as it is convenient.’

  ‘It is not convenient,’ he said sharply. ‘Do you think I am not master in my own house? I say who comes and who goes.’

  ‘But I can’t bear to be the cause of dissension between you and Miss Mountforest. If I am not here to upset her…’

  ‘It is nothing to do with you, Emma, it is me she is angry with. I am afraid I was obliged to tell her about the loss of the Silken Maid.’

  ‘Is it really lost? Is there no hope?’

  ‘I fear not. I am afraid it means economies.’ He picked up her hand from where it lay in her lap and held it fast. ‘I had to tell her, I couldn’t let her go on making plans for renovating the house and buying new carriages. I simply could not afford it.’ He surprised himself with this disclosure because he usually kept his problems to himself, but she was easy to talk to, listening sympathetically and looking at him with those expressive green eyes, as if his problems were also hers. ‘I am afraid she did not understand.’

  ‘Has she no dowry?’

  ‘Yes, but I could never use that.’

  She didn’t ask him why, but she knew if Teddy had his way Sophie would not be treated so generously. The bad side of her, the side which wanted revenge, took a perverse delight in thinking of that, but the good side, the side which would put Dominic’s happiness above her own, deplored it. ‘I am sure you will come about,’ she said softly.

  ’emma, I…’ His voice was husky with suppressed emotion and he could not go on. Whatever his feelings, he neither could nor dared put them into words.

  When she looked up into his face and saw the look of tenderness in his eyes her heart almost stopped. But it could not be; she was seeing what she wanted to see, not the reality. She shivered and looked away.

  ‘Lucy and your aunt will be home soon,’ she said flatly, too emotionally exhausted to continue the conversation. ‘It is time I changed for dinner.’

  He smiled slowly and released her hand.

  Although Sophie was not present at the dinner table, her presence was felt by everyone, a sort of spectre at the feast. There was no conversation and though Mrs Standon made one or two attempts to break the brooding silence, she soon gave up, and concentrated on the food on her plate. The servants padded around, offering dishes, but no one took very much.

  As soon as the meal was over, Dominic excused himself from joining the ladies in the drawing-room, saying he had a great deal of work to do, and returned to the library.

  ‘What is the matter with everyone?’ Lucy said, after they had settled round a comfortable log fire. ‘The atmosphere in this house is so gloomy, it’s enough to give anyone the dismals.’ She picked up her embroidery but made no attempt to work on it. ‘It is all Sophie’s doing.’

  Her aunt who had been reading now lifted her head to look at Lucy over the top of her spectacles. ‘Why so?’

  ‘She ruined Brutus and tried to blame Emma. Oh, I know Emma would never say so, but I saw that horse and I talked to Martin. As if anyone would believe that Emma could mistreat any animal, let alone a horse!’

  ‘Why would Sophie do that?’

  ‘Because she had to have someone to blame, didn’t she? She knew she had hurt Brutus very badly and Dominic would be angry about it and she would rather he were angry with Emma than with her.’

  Agatha turned to Emma who was trying to hide her fiery face behind the pages of a Ladies Magazine. ‘Was he angry with you, Emma?’

  ‘No, ma’am, but I beg you not to mention it. It was all a misunderstanding and done with now.’

  ‘I don’t know why Dominic doesn’t break off the engagement,’ Lucy went on. ‘He is surely not so blind he can’t see what life with her will be like.’

  ‘Lucy, he can’t break it off, even if he wanted to, you know that,’ Mrs Standon said. ‘He is an honourable man and honourable men do not break off engagements, no matter what the provocation. It is as good as being married already.’

  ‘Then I wish she would tire of him, but it is unlikely because she wants to be a marchioness too badly. If she did not, she would have married Bertie Cosgrove ages ago. Except he hasn’t enough money.’

  ‘Lucy!’ Emma was shocked; could Lucy possibly have seen what she had seen? ‘You must not say such a thing.’

  ‘It is true. Viscount Mountforest and Bertie’s father were like that…’ She linked her two little fingers together to demonstrate. ‘And Bertie and Sophie have known each other all their lives. Sir William Cosgrove was very plump in the pocket in his younger days, but he lost almost everything, which means Bertie is not at all a good catch.’

  ‘How did he lose everything?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Do you know, Aunt Agatha?’

  ‘I believe it was all to do with that scandal over Arthur Boreham’s killing,’ Mrs Standon said. ‘Some say Sir William had a hand in it, but whether he did or no, it certainly affected him badly. He took to drink and gambling and ruined himself. I admire Bertie for the way he has come about since his father’s death and looked after his mother.’

  Emma’s elation when she realised that Sir William had probably been present on that fatal day, slowly drained away. Dead witnesses were no good and she doubted if there had been any more. She let out her breath slowly and looked at her two companions to see if they had noticed her agitation, but Mrs Standon had picked up her novel again and Lucy was stabbing at her embroidery.

  She stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, I think I will go to my room and write to my brother. He is good with horses and their ailments, he might be able to do something for Brutus.’

  She needed to talk to Teddy, not only about what she had learned, but about her need to leave Cavenham House; asking him over to look at Brutus would provide the opportunity. Besides, he very well might be able to help the horse.

  On her way past the library she noticed the door was open. Dominic was sitting at his desk surrounded by papers, many of which also littered the floor. He had his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. He must have heard her light footsteps or the quick intake of her breath because he looked up and attempted to smile. His face was haggard.

  ‘Come in, Emma.’

  She advanced into the room, overcome with sympathy and a longing to say something to comfort him. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Dominic?’

  He rose, walked round the desk and took both her hands in his own, holding her at arm’s length to look at her. She was wearing a plain merino wool gown in a soft green which enhanced the colour of her eyes, gentle eyes so full of sympathy and understanding. ‘Nothing except to be your usual compassionate self
and pray this nightmare ends for me.’

  ‘I will do that with all my heart,’ she said, wishing fervently that she could do what she most longed to do, which was to put her arms round him and hold him close to comfort him, but she knew doing that would make matters infinitely worse.

  He moved nearer and, one by one, lifted her hands and put them to his lips, watching her changing expressions. His own dread, tenderness, hope and despair, were all mirrored in those lovely eyes. ‘Bless you, Emma.’

  ‘I thought I would write to my brother,’ she said, endeavouring to sound calm and practical, even though her insides were in tumult. ‘He has always been good with sick and injured horses and perhaps he can do something for Brutus.’

  ‘Oh, Emma, how thoughtful you are! If Brutus were my only problem…But thank you, all the same.’

  ‘Do not give up hope, the Silken Maid may yet come safely home,’ she said gently. ‘I believe Captain Greenaway is an excellent seaman.’

  ‘Then, pray for that too, though I fear it will take a miracle.’

  ‘Miracles have been known to happen.’

  ‘Then I must have faith.’ He smiled wryly and bent his head, gently putting his lips to hers. For one wild moment, she responded, putting her arms about his neck, her hands into his hair, drawing him closer so that the kiss, which had been so featherlight, deepened into an expression of a passion so urgent, so undeniable, she was engulfed by it, lost in wonder and desire.

  ‘Oh, Emma,’ he murmured. ‘How I wish I had met you long ago…’

  His voice was enough to bring her to her senses. She pulled herself away, breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably. ‘Please do not go on, my lord. Please, please don’t say anything. You must let me go.’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’ He reached for her hands again, stroking them with the side of his thumb, watching her face. His touch sent shivers of desire coursing through her. It was her own fault, she scolded herself, he had not meant to kiss her like that, she had instigated it out of her own selfish need and she had set an avalanche in motion. She had to stop it, had to return to sanity.

  ‘I must go and write my letter,’ she said, turning from him and running from the room.

  He started after her but by the time he reached the door, she was already halfway up the stairs. ‘I have to ride over to Cosgrove Manor tomorrow,’ he called after her. ‘I will take your letter and ask Mr Cosgrove if he can spare your brother.’ She gave no indication if she had heard him and he returned to his desk, though not to work. The figures he had been studying danced before his eyes and made no sense.

  Once in the safety of her room, Emma flung herself on her bed and sobbed. The time had come to leave; it was impossible to stay. She loved Dominic with all her heart, loved him enough to turn her back on him. They had no future together; he was bound in honour to marry Sophie and staying near him would not help either of them to do what was right.

  She had told Teddy they must think ahead, but try as she might, she could not do so because it meant planning a life without the man she loved. The future seemed too bleak to contemplate. It was a long time before she felt calm enough to fetch out pen and paper and write her letter.

  In spite of a sleepless night, Dominic rose early, dressed in buckskin breeches and riding coat and went to see Brutus. He spent some time in the bay’s stall, talking to Martin, and it was mid-morning before he returned to the house. He went straight to the salver on the hall table, but the longed-for message telling him the Silken Maid had docked had not arrived. There was nothing there but Emma’s letter to her brother.

  He picked it up and put it to his nose to sniff the scent of her which lingered there, a faint smile on his face as he remembered her kisses, so sweet, so compelling. It was when he put it down, his attention was taken by the way she had written the name Woodhill. The initial W finished with a curl which ran over the next letter. It seemed familiar to him and he stood puzzling for some moments, wondering where he had seen the name written before, then he turned and hurried into the library.

  He went to his desk, pulled out a drawer and shuffled through the contents until he found the reference Emma had furnished him with. Opening it out, he laid it on the desk beside the letter addressed to E. Woodhill Esq. Miss Mountforest had written Emma’s name in exactly the same way, with the curl on the W. And there were other similarities. He was sure Emma had written both letters, which could only mean she had forged the reference.

  His first reaction was anger, his second amusement. After all, it was not uncommon for servants to fake references and he should not have been so gullible. But he could have sworn Emma would not do such a thing. He paced the floor with the letter in his hand, tapping it on his chin thoughtfully, remembering things she had done and things she had said, particularly about Major Mountforest.

  She had spoken of him with such affection, such intimacy, that it was difficult now to recall when she had been talking of her father and when the Major; it was almost as if they were the same person.

  Neither was her demeanour like that of a servant, not even in the beginning when she had been so green about the ways of English society; he had thought then that she was a gentlewoman fallen on hard times. A servant would never have dared to give Lord Billings the right about that she had!

  Woodhill and Mountforest, strangely apposite names and both called Emma! Could it be that Emma Woodhill was really Emma Mountforest?

  He dashed from the room with both letters in his hand and strode down the hall to the drawing-room, intending to confront her with it and demand an explanation. However, Emma was out visiting Mrs Payne with Lucy and the only person he saw was his aunt, immersed in a book of Lord Byron’s poetry.

  She looked up at him and smiled. ‘You look agitated, Dominic. Is something wrong?’

  ‘Look at these.’ He dropped the letters into her lap. ‘See the way the name is written on the outside of this one, and here, in Miss Mountforest’s letter, when she says she has found Miss Woodhill a competent and trustworthy companion? It is the same. I am sure Miss Woodhill and Miss Mountforest are one and the same.’

  Her eyes twinkled. ‘Of course they are. What I cannot understand is why you have taken so long to wake up to it.’

  ‘You knew?’

  She chuckled at his look of astonishment, set aside her book and straightened her cap which, like her bonnets, never seemed to sit securely on her head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘How?’ He dropped into the chair opposite her.

  ’emily Morton wrote to me because she was afraid something smoky was going on. She was at your ball, you remember, and saw Emma there and recognised her. Emma was once engaged to marry her son but he died of fever before he had been in India a year; Mrs Morton met her when she went to visit his grave.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘It amused me not to. It was evident you had no idea and I wanted to see how long it would be before you tumbled to it. I was also curious to know why Emma had undertaken the deception. And how far she would go to maintain it.’

  He picked up the letters. ‘I have been well and truly gulled and you find it amusing!’

  ‘Oh, come, boy, you are not such a gowk as all that. You knew there was something strange about her from the first and you chose to shut your eyes to it.’ She paused and looked closely into his face. ‘I wonder why.’

  She was looking at him with a smile of satisfaction which made him suddenly very annoyed. ‘I felt sorry for her, she had nothing but what she could cram into a carpet bag and a small trunk and yet she had such presence…’ He paused. ‘And Lucy liked her.’

  ‘Oh, it is your sister’s fault, is it? I am ashamed of you, Dominic, putting the blame on a seventeen-year-old hardly out of the schoolroom. I wonder Lucy has a shred of reputation left.’

  ‘It wasn’t as bad as that, Aunt. You know how the gossips like to make mountains out of molehills.’

  ‘Yes, I do, which is why I decided I had to come to London to see for m
yself, in spite of my creaking bones.’

  Dominic could think of no one of his aunt’s age whose joints creaked less. He smiled wryly. ‘And you made matters worse by taking her under your wing like some motherly fowl with a baby chick, heaping clothes upon her and taking her out and about in Society.’

  ‘After you had told the world she was your kin, would you have me deny her and call you a liar?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’

  ‘Besides—’ she chuckled suddenly ‘—when you marry Sophie, Emma will be your cousin—by marriage.’

  ‘Sophie. Oh, God, what shall I tell Sophie?’

  ‘That depends on what she knows already and what Emma has in mind.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘You remember that conversation we had about Viscount Mountforest’s brother and whether Sophie knew of him?’

  ‘Yes, and I have since found out she does know.’

  ‘Which means of course she probably knows she has a cousin—two cousins, in fact.’

  ‘Teddy!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s working in Bertie’s stables. Do you think he has come to claim his inheritance?’

  ‘Very probably.’ She paused, watching the changing expressions on his face: confusion, anger, curiosity. ‘I never did give much credence to that Banbury tale they told after Arthur Boreham was shot. It didn’t make sense.’

  Curiosity won. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the different characters of the young men. Edward was a gentleman in every sense of the word, he was definitely not quarrelsome. And I know many and many a time he stood buff for James’s mischief. As for James, he had a quick temper and, from all accounts, drank too much, even as a young man. He has not changed.

  ‘But he was the heir, the future Viscount Mountforest, and he was engaged to be married to Lady Dorothea Brinkley, who, as you know perfectly well, is the daughter of the Earl of Lincoln. The old Viscount set great store by that match. Unfortunately, the only outcome was Sophie, no son and heir.’