An Earl To Remember (The Yorkshire Downs Series - Love, Hearts and Challenges) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “I need to go and write this down,” she said to herself. As she passed a clock, she noticed it was almost eleven o' clock. She would have to hurry – What if Barrett intended to return for dinner?

  Walking lightly and soundlessly upstairs, the tea of fever-few still warm and fragrant in her cupped hands, she returned to her room and shut the door behind her.

  Reaching for pen and ink, she sat down at the small writing table and began to make her notes.

  Lady Brokeridge was unhappy. She was reclusive. She argued with Mr. Adams sometime within a year before her death and thereafter withdrew into her rooms. Her maid is called Rebecca. She works at Tallinn House. Mr. Preston could find the place should I need to speak with her.

  She paused. She had been so intent on the thought that Lord Brokeridge had murdered his wife that she had not even considered it could be someone else. Who was this Mr. Adam? Why would he have wished the woman any ill?

  She wrote another note. Investigate Mr. Adam.

  It seemed preposterous that a manservant would have had any reason to kill the lady of the house. Nevertheless, what if he and Lord Brokeridge were involved in the plan together? The man clearly knew something of herbs and poisons. Having run out of room, Evelyn turned over the page and made a single note at the top of the next.

  Investigate the manner of Lady Brokeridge's demise.

  If she had died of a sudden and mysterious illness, or been found dead in her bed, the likelihood of poison seemed quite strong. If, on the other hand, there was any sign of violence on her body, perhaps it was her husband, and perhaps it had not been intentional. She thought over the description Mrs. Brook had made of his lordship. She described him as dangerous and unpredictable. What if he had attacked his wife, enraged, and killed her without meaning to? Would anyone know? Rebecca would, if anyone.

  Speak to Mr. Preston. Ask if he would take you to Tallinn House.

  If this man had killed his wife by accident, how dangerous was he? Evelyn shivered. The thought of living in the same house as him, even for the weeks before her parents arrived in town, was suddenly frightening.

  “Lady Evelyn?”

  Evelyn jumped. “Barrett?” She whipped around to see him standing behind her.

  “My lady Evelyn!” he bowed. “I did not mean to scare you.”

  Did I speak aloud? Has he any idea what I am writing? Evelyn sat sideways on the chair to face him, trying to block his view of the notebook with her body. She smiled up at him nervously.

  “My lady,” he said again. “I should have sent word of our arrival, but I had thought to surprise you. I didn't mean it to be a fright instead,” he said, looking at his hands contritely.

  “Oh, Barrett,” she teased, standing up to take his hands. “You didn't mean to scare me! I was just...lost in thought,” she finished. “It is just as well you disturbed me. Mother is right – I spend too much time in my own company.”

  Barrett laughed. “I think I am glad of that,” he said, smiling. “Were you to choose to spend time apart from me in other company, I am afraid I would grow jealous! And that would be terrible to be.”

  Evelyn laughed, but felt disturbed. She didn't much like the thought of him being so possessive. What if his father were possessive of Lady Brokeridge? Did he kill her because of it?

  “I would not give you cause for jealousy,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  “I am pleased to hear it,” he said lightly, and kissed her forehead fondly. “Now, my lady, I had hoped to have time to dine alone with you today, but I am afraid the whole riding party is insisting on staying to dinner. You feel well enough to join us yet?”

  “I am,” Evelyn agreed, relieved that he seemed to suspect nothing. For all he knew, she had been here writing poetry all morning.

  “Good!” he said, pleased. “Well, I ought to leave so that you can dress. The party plans to sit down for dinner within a quarter of the hour.”

  “Oh! That soon?” Evelyn looked surprised. “Well then! Please call Sutton so that she might repair my disarranged hairstyle and make me fit for company!”

  He smiled. “You are always the fairest of all company,” he said affectionately, and touched her tumbledown gold locks, “despite your disarranged hair.”

  Evelyn smiled gently, feeling her heart tense with tenderness for him. She reached for his hand and took it. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Don't mention it.” He had pulled the bell to summon her maidservant and, as the woman appeared in the doorway, evidently shocked to see him there in a lady's chamber, he bowed.

  “Until a few minutes from now,” he said teasingly.

  “Until then,” Evelyn agreed.

  She and Sutton worked furiously to have her ready for dinner at such short notice. After an impressively-short fifteen minutes, she left, walking quietly and quickly down the long staircase to the dining chamber.

  It was only as she crossed the threshold, mercifully not the last guest to enter, that she realized she had left her notebook uncovered on the table. She hesitated, thinking to go back, and decided it was more important to be on time for dinner.

  Dinner was delicious, if rather longer than she would have liked. Lord Brokeridge mercifully disappeared for a few moments, called off by Mr. Sutton for some business.

  Evelyn noticed that his absence made everyone relax. Even during the brief time he was gone, she heard the laughter and merriment increase in volume, and people seemed to sit back and relax. Barrett seemed to cheer up and he even made a joke. Evelyn found herself enjoying the company, especially after the solitude of the whole morning, and was almost sorry when Lord Brokeridge returned to the table. He stayed a few moments and then dinner was over.

  Evelyn returned to her room, feeling happy and relaxed. She stepped in through the door, noticing that it seemed someone had tidied, and the fire had been stoked in the grate. Feeling chilly, she reached for the chair to set it before the fire a while. She glanced down at the desk.

  Her notes had gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A LETTER OF WARNING

  A LETTER OF WARNING

  The weather in Ireland was still cold, though the frigid chill of December was giving way to the incessant rains of January. Upstairs, Lord Donnelly and his wife sat in the drawing room.

  “Liam?”

  Lady Ada, Evelyn's mother, was sitting at the big table, working on a likeness of Constance's little son Lucas. Her husband sat in the chair opposite, reading a dispatch. She looked up from the work to ask him a question.

  “Yes, my dear?” he asked, looking up at her from his novel, brown eyes concerned.

  “What think you the weather will be in London? I expect it to be cold, though hopefully not as cold as here,” she smiled. “I trust Evelyn packed her thicker coat.”

  “I am sure she did,” Liam assured her. “Though I must remember to take mine. You know my guess is fairly worthless information as far as weather is concerned,” he added, smiling warmly. “I led us all astray when planning the spring ball last year!”

  Ada laughed. “You were not to know the snows would strike again! No one would have predicted that. Poor Evelyn nearly froze – she trusted you and wore short sleeves!”

  “Well,” Liam sighed. “I should have listened to Mr. O'Connor. He was a shepherd before he worked for us, and he knows more of weather than anyone I know. He never let me forget my miscalculation,” he smiled. Mr. O' Connor managed their estate gardens, and Ada knew that Liam, unlike most of the gentry, respected the views of anyone who was an expert in their field, however humble their beginnings.

  “I know!” Ada laughed gently. “Though I still trust you as far as London weather goes – there's less scope for being wrong. It either rains or it doesn't.”

  They both laughed. Both quiet by nature, neither of them had attended the Season in London, even in their youth. In fact, their yearly visits for Liam's business matters were the most frequently either of them had ever been there.

  “I
wonder how Evelyn fares?” Ada asked, as much of herself as of Liam. “I miss her, I must confess. She has been in my thoughts all morning and I cannot help worrying about her.”

  Liam smiled. “As do I, my dear. Though I am willing to guess she is enjoying herself. We should have taken her there more over the years. I think she would have enjoyed that.”

  “I suppose,” Ada said reluctantly, “though she is as reclusive as we were at her age,” she teased gently. “And probably would not have thanked us for the visits.”

  Liam nodded. “It is good she seems to be so close to this Barrett Brokeridge,” he mused. “The Brokeridge family is certainly well-endowed. I would be pleased for her were she to marry into it.”

  “I, too,” Ada agreed.

  “I know there are some who do not like the family,” Liam admitted, “but what of that? A man who has wealth often has an abundance of enemies.”

  Ada laughed. “True.”

  They sat silently a while, even while Phyllis the maid came in and stoked the fire and then left. As Ada bent down to her work again, Mr. Preston, the butler, entered.

  “My lady?” he said, bowing low to Ada. “A message for you from London. Post haste.”

  “Oh,” Ada smiled. “I wonder who it is from? It can't be Roderick – he's in the North. It must be from Evelyn!” She felt her heart leap. “Thank you, Preston.”

  “Good, my lady,” he bowed and left.

  “But why post-haste, I wonder?” Ada frowned confusedly. “I wonder what the dear girl is up to. Perhaps she simply wanted to know it would arrive before we too leave for London.” She smiled fondly and slid her finger under the flap, breaking the seal.

  She scanned the letter, recognizing Evelyn's neat handwriting at once. When she read past the third sentence, her face fell. “Oh, my goodness!”

  “What is it, my dear?” Liam asked, raising his eyes from the novel he read.

  “It is from Evelyn! And...It seems she is in danger somehow!” Ada exclaimed. “You read it, Liam. See what you think.”

  She passed the letter to Liam, her hand trembling. He read it through, the frown spreading across his lean, handsome face. He reached the end and passed it back. “We should go,” he said shortly. “She needs someone she can trust in London. You know Evelyn as I do, Ada. She does not make a fuss about nothing.”

  “Yes,” Lady Ada said faintly. “I agree. But dear, it seems so strange!” She read through the letter again. It made no sense, and yet it was very clear and precise in its request.

  Dearest Mother, she read. I am in good health and at Brokeridge Manor, which is on the outskirts of London, some twenty minutes' carriage ride from the city. It is sumptuously-appointed and I am comfortable here. That is where my good news ends. Please, Mother, could you and Father come to London sooner? I fear I am in danger. I cannot put my concern into words, for fear that they will intercept this letter. But please, hurry to me? I am endangered. I know it.

  Yours sincerely and with all love,

  Evelyn.

  Lady Ada lifted the note to her eyes, looking at the date. It was from eight days previous. What had happened in this time? How could they know, or help her? Her thoughts whirled. It was so unlike Evelyn to make a fuss about anything – if she had chosen to write this letter, it was because something was gravely wrong. Moreover, who were the “they”?

  Lady Ada folded the note, put it in her purse, and stood, heading to the door.

  “My dear?” Liam asked.

  “Liam, we have to leave tomorrow. If you could have the servants make ready the carriage for a long journey? I will call Priscilla and have her pack my things right now.”

  Liam nodded and stood to do as she suggested. As he reached the door, he stopped.

  Ada blinked, surprised. “What is amiss, dear?”

  “I forgot! We can't leave tomorrow.”

  “Why not?” Ada frowned.

  “If I want the carriage readied, I will have to send to Donahue in the village. Our carriage-repairman's disappeared.” He sighed in frustration.

  “Oh, yes,” Ada recalled. “Bronson. That was his name, yes?” She shook her head. Odd business, that. Only a week after Evelyn left, he disappeared as well? Strange.”

  “I know,” Liam agreed. “It was odd that those men came asking about him, too. I suspect he was hiding from the law. Shocked me, actually – he seemed a decent sort. But it's dashed annoying to have to wait – perhaps if I tell Gilchrist to take it down there now, he can make repairs by tomorrow.”

  “I pray we can,” Ada said quietly.

  They had to reach London as soon as possible. Before it was too late.

  Shaking her head, Ada hurried down the corridor to her bedchamber. She did not even want to contemplate the question: too late for what? She just knew they had to reach London soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MORE DISCUSSIONS

  MORE DISCUSSIONS

  Evelyn jumped as the fire crackled in the grate. She turned back, heart thumping.

  Stop it, Evelyn, she told herself sternly. It was just the fire. You are losing your wits. She shivered, despite the warmth in the room, and turned to her desk.

  Her book had definitely been taken last week. She had searched everywhere, questioned Sutton, and even looked in the library in case she had left it there when she returned her novels, though she knew perfectly well she had left it on her desk after making her entries in it from interviewing Mrs. Brook.

  The only person who saw it was Barrett.

  Evelyn pushed the thought away. He would never have taken it! Why would he? I must have put it somewhere and forgotten where it was.

  She turned back to where she had laid brown paper on her desk, writing her notes on that instead. Instead of keeping them on or in the desk, she had taken to folding them and wedging them underneath the mantel. Just in case someone knew of her investigations and was trying to stop her.

  The fireplace was a convenient design – the stone facing created a little lip on the inside, where something the thickness of a small book could be hidden. The risk of it catching alight was minimal – the sparks mostly went up the chimney behind and did not stray into the stone space before.

  I know I am being silly, she thought to herself firmly. Why would anyone want to take my book? No one could gain from it.

  She shook her head. If she was right – and she was certain she was – that Lady Brokeridge had been murdered, then anyone with an interest in preserving that secret would have every reason to steal her notebook. Its disappearance was almost a confirmation that she was correct in her assumption. Someone had murdered Lady Brokeridge. Moreover, that someone now knew that she suspected them.

  Evelyn shivered again and drew her shawl about her shoulders, despite the fire that crackled and popped in the grate behind her, keeping out the last of the early-spring chill.

  Ever since the disappearance of the book, she had been afraid. It seemed as if it was only a matter of time before whoever it was realized how much she knew and came looking for her. It was terrifying, which was why she had written to her mother the following day, begging her to come to London early, so she could stay with them. Any reason to leave this wretched, frightening place! This place with its secret rooms, silent servants, and its brooding sense of mystery.

  Silent servants. The thought reminded her of her latest line of thinking. Who was Mr. Adam? Mrs. Brook had mentioned that he and the mistress were not on good terms. How did he fit into the story?

  Setting aside her shawl and reaching for her coat, Evelyn headed downstairs and out into the garden.

  A gardener directed her to a small shed near the rose garden. There she found a tall man, slightly stooped, his face weathered and angry-looking. “Mr. Adam?”

  “That's me,” he said flippantly. “Why do you ask?”

  Evelyn blinked at his tone. She was not used to servants being surly or rude, and his tone was both. She swallowed her anger and tried again. If she wanted information ou
t of this man, she did not want to lose her temper with him.

  “I wanted to ask you about the rose arbor,” she said conversationally. “Did you design it?”

  “Nah,” he said bluntly. “Master got some poxy feller from the Town to do it. Should have trusted me. I would have planned it better.”

  “Oh?” Evelyn asked, raising a brow.

  “Aye,” he said heavily. “All you lot up in Town – full of tomfoolery, the lot of you,” he said dismissively.

  “I beg your pardon?” Evelyn said, feeling her temper fray. “Have you no idea of manners at all? I have never been spoken to so rudely, and someone will hear of this!”

  “You just try complaining to the Master,” he said, smiling. “See how far you get. Lord Brokeridge ain't going to mind me cheeking you.”

  Evelyn flinched, amazed that anyone could have been so rude. Then she had another thought. Why would Lord Brokeridge not discipline him for his ill-mannered ways? What did this man know about Lord Brokeridge?

  “If he refuses to tell you to curb your tongue with visitors, then I shall,” Evelyn said frostily. “In any other house, you would have been dismissed this moment.”

  He stared at her, but said nothing. Evelyn, shaking with rage, turned her back and walked away stiffly. She did not turn round, but headed through the gate and toward the manor.

  When she had left the arbor, she broke into a run. She was panting by the time she reached her bedchamber, but she felt calmer.

  She shut the door and locked it, and sat down at her desk, thinking.

  The more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Lord Brokeridge had wished to end his wife's life, and he had paid Mr. Adam, who knew about plants and poisons, to kill her. That was why Lord Brokeridge was so lenient – the man had information with which to blackmail him.