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

by Jasmine Ashford

  They chatted a while longer, studiously turning aside any topic related to death or threats, and then Evelyn headed upstairs to her chamber to write a letter to her mother. Emilia stayed where she was, a cup of fragrant tea between her hands. She looked into the steam and thought how much had happened in a single morning. Most of what she could see, when she closed her eyes, was the soaring falcon and Oscar's grin.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A FRIGHTENING EVENT

  A FRIGHTENING EVENT

  Emilia drifted into the house on a tide of Mozart. She was smiling, swaying with the tune she still hummed. Evelyn, behind her, giggled and almost walked into her as she paused in the door.

  Emilia stood back to let her cousin pass through the doorway, then walked lightly across the marble floor, still waltzing from side to side. The recital had been truly enjoyable, the performances surprisingly accomplished, all of them. Lady Epsom's daughter was particularly good and shone where she sat at the pianoforte, fingers flying over the keys.

  “Oh, that was a lovely night!” Evelyn sighed. She held onto the marble railing, catching her breath. She was wearing a dark blue dress, her hair coming loose from its severe up-do.

  “It was!” Emilia said. “Where's Bronson?”

  “Oh, he's out paying for the hackney, I think,” Evelyn shrugged lightly. “I trust he'll be in soon. Would you like a posset, before we sleep?”

  Emilia nodded. “A wonderful thought!”

  They both giggled and drifted up the stairs to the drawing room, humming Bach sonatas in broken harmony.

  “I'll ask Janet to bring one up to us, and we can discuss everyone's performances in tiny detail,” Evelyn grinned where she stood beside the bell rope, cord in hand.

  Emilia laughed. “Quite so! And be hideously fussy and critical, especially if they're by someone we happen not to like.”

  Both women laughed. “Quite so. Is this not fun?”

  Janet, yawning, was summoned to fetch a posset, and the two ladies sat down to talk while they waited. Emilia smoothed her hands down her cream-colored skirts and tried to think when she had last felt so carefree.

  “Here you are, milady,” Janet said to Evelyn, bowing as she put a silver dish on the table that supported two tall glasses of posset.

  “Thank you, Janet,” Evelyn said, then frowned as she noticed the clock. “Where is Bronson? Paying the coach driver shouldn't take so long?”

  Emilia was leaning forward to reach for her spoon. She stopped. “That's correct.”

  Both women looked at each other.

  Heart pounding, Emilia sprang to her feet, followed quickly by her cousin. Both women rushed downstairs.

  Let him be talking to an acquaintance. Let him be arguing with the driver. Let him not...Emilia did not want to end the thought.

  She ran to Evelyn, who had overtaken her on the stairs and was frozen in the hallway opposite the door.

  “What, cousin dear?” She rested a hand on her shoulder and then followed her gaze out across the street.

  They could not see Bronson anywhere.

  Evelyn covered her mouth with her hands and Emilia embraced her. “Hush, dear. He could be well. Hush...”

  At that moment, the butler appeared.

  “Wallace!” Evelyn exclaimed. “The master. Is he..?”

  Wallace looked out of the door, evidently confused. He peered about then pointed. “There!”

  Emilia felt Evelyn go slack, all the tension draining so fast she almost swooned. She knew how she felt.

  “Wallace? Can you take the Lady Brokeridge inside?” she said, taking charge, new strength flowing through her now Bronson was well. “Help her upstairs to the drawing room and put her beside the fire.”

  Evelyn laughed shakily. “It is well, cousin. I can walk...”

  At that moment she would have collapsed, had not Wallace gallantly stepped in to support her. Emilia followed them as Wallace guided his lady upstairs as if she was made of crystal glass, and helped her to settle on the chaise, dragging it closer to the fire.

  Emilia turned back to the staircase in time to see Bronson come in. He was pale. His face was set in an expression Emilia had never seen on the friendly man's face before and she felt the blood drain from her. “Bronson?”

  “Where is Evelyn?” he asked at once.

  “In the drawing-room,” Emilia explained quickly. “Is it...?”

  “Wallace?” he snapped to Wallace, who stood straight and inclined his head deeply.

  “Yes, Lord Brokeridge?”

  “I want you to go and find the town Watch. Take Jarvis with you – I want no one going into the street alone. Find a bailiff and bring him here.”

  Wallace looked started. “Yes, my lord. Of course.”

  He bowed and left. Emilia stared at Bronson.

  “My love..?”

  They both faced Evelyn, who was sitting hunched forward, hands clasped. She looked up with eyes that were pools of worry and desperation.

  Bronson flew to her side and Emilia watched as he held her against him, hand holding hers, kissing her and speaking endearments and reassurances. She felt her heart flutter. What would it be like to be wedded to a man for whom one felt such deep love? Would she and Oscar...? She trailed off and left that thought deliberately unfinished, focusing on Bronson's story.

  “...it was on the gate when I came back in. I crumpled it up and threw it away. I'll not have such threats made...”

  Evelyn interrupted him. “May I see it, dear? I think we should keep it.”

  Bronson blinked, but replied affirmatively. “Quite so, dear. It was remiss of me.”

  Evelyn smiled. “You were right not to alarm our household. I know you. Always calm and rational...” she pinched his shoulder affectionately and Emilia felt her heart warm, seeing them.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Bronson gave Evelyn a glance, brows raised.

  “Tell her, dear,” Evelyn advised. “It is safer for everyone if we all know.”

  “I found a note on the gatepost when I came back from the street,” Bronson said. “It said: Pay your debts. We shall know if you renege. And you will suffer the result.”

  What?

  Emilia felt herself get light-headed, as Evelyn had been. She clutched the arms of the chair.

  “No...”

  Evelyn and Bronson both came to her chair.

  “Oh, cousin...”

  “Do not fret...”

  She smiled at them both, touched by how deeply they cared about her. However, her heart had turned to ice. The letter was for her, which meant she had brought death to Chelsea house. He had already taken Harrogate. Who else would die?

  “Evelyn?” she said. “Should we not call the magistrate?”

  “No,” Evelyn said firmly. “We do not want to give cause to have ourselves killed. Besides. I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BRUSH WITH DANGER

  BRUSH WITH DANGER

  “Are you sure this is the place...?”

  Evelyn stood in a cold, dark street. It smelled of fish and river water, of mud, weeds and decay.

  “Yes, milady.” Wallace stood behind her, a kerchief pressed to his nose. It would have amused Evelyn if her heart had not been almost frozen with nerves.

  “The corner of River Street and Fishmonger Lane?”

  “Even so, my lady.”

  She leaned against the cool stone of the wall behind her and thought. She looked up to where a sign was painted on the wall. “Sutton and Hargreave, Merchants.”

  She nodded. “I see. Well, then. Will you take the coach back?” she asked, pressing a coin into his hand to pay for the return home in the hackney. “I ought to be about an hour. If I do not return by dinner time, come and search?”

  “Yes, milady.” He frowned. “But Lord Brokeridge said...” he trailed off as she gave him a fierce look.

  “This once, love Bronson as I do, his recommendations can lie fallow.”

  Wallace a
lmost smiled. “Good, my lady.”

  She placed the coin in his hand and then patted it. “Stay safe.”

  “You to, Lady Brokeridge.”

  She watched as he headed back quickly down the street, evidently relieved to be out of the smell. Then she looked up at the sky and sighed.

  She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. The plan was dangerous at best, certain death at worst. However, she had to solve this mystery before someone else died.

  “I just hope the next someone isn't me.”

  She sighed and looked down the street, hearing wheels grate on the cobbles as a coach took the road back into the cleaner region of the town.

  Where are they?

  She had knocked on the door, but after three attempts an old man with blackened teeth and the smell of fish had told her that the merchants were at a meeting and would return around six of the clock. She looked around, watching as the sky went lilac over the river, the masts golden in the evening sunshine.

  They had best be here soon, or I shall leave.

  She was not sure how much longer she could wait, alone in the street, with the danger of thugs, or worse, lurking in every shadow and every nook.

  She heard someone laugh and she froze. It was only two men walking briskly past, one carrying a bottle of strong spirits. She exhaled sharply.

  “I don't know how much more waiting I can take,” she said aloud.

  Just as she was about to return home, she heard booted feet on the cobbled surface of the road. She heard a broad accent say something and then another man reply.

  “...as I said, Henry. As I said.”

  She glanced up the street. Two men – or three, it was difficult to see in the deeper shadow by the wall – were walking up the street toward where she waited. She stood so that the shadows obscured her, too, then, when the big man with the expansive voice stepped up with a key, she stood straight.

  “Good evening, sirs.” She said in impeccable tones. “Might you be Sutton and Hargreave, merchant seamen?”

  Two men stared at her.

  “Yes,” the big man said dubiously. “That would be us. Why?”

  “Well, I have a proposition to discuss with you.”

  All three men stared as if she had just vaulted out of hell, red, singed and flaming. The thought of doing business dealings with a woman was clearly too much for them.

  The tall, thin man with the lugubrious face elbowed his companion. He bowed.

  “Of course, my lady. We would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  The third man, the one of middle height and build, partly obscured, laughed suggestively. Evelyn shot him a look that made the other two blink and he wisely stopped.

  “You are the lady..?” the tallest of the three men continued politely.

  “Lady Musgrove,” Evelyn lied quickly. “I am here to discuss a matter of investments.”

  The three men exchanged a glance and then nodded.

  “Very well my lady Musgrove,” the loud man said. “Welcome inside.”

  He stood back and the three of them allowed Evelyn to ascend the four or five stone steps and enter through the front door. She waited, heart thundering, for them to lock her in there or for some other awful calamity. She was pleasantly relieved when they followed her inside.

  The tall man led her through to a paneled office. The table where they drew out a chair for her was vast, an oak desk that could have been a small dining table. There was very little of it apparent, mostly covered with maps and books.

  The tall man moved aside some of the clutter and the expansive one sat down opposite her. The silent one stood beside her chair, seeming to watch her every move.

  Evelyn swallowed and focused on the two men in front of her.

  “We are, as you know, Sutton and Hargreave,” the loud man said. He smiled affably enough. “He's Sutton, and I'm Hargreave. Just so as you know.”

  Everyone seemed to find that very amusing and Evelyn made herself give him a thin smile.

  “You wish to enter into business with us?” he asked.

  Evelyn cleared her throat. “I am here to enquire about the investment of my late husband,” she said, feeling tense. If anyone was thinking in this room, they would know they had no Musgrove on their books. She had deliberately chosen the name because Lord Musgrove had passed away when she was a child and Lady Musgrove was their neighbor, a pious woman who had dedicated her life to service. There would be no repercussions on the family, since Lord Musgrove was deceased and Lady Musgrove safely in a convent.

  “Yes?” the thin man asked, raising a brow. “What of your husband's investments?”

  Evelyn paused, steepling her fingers. “I understand he may have run up some debts with you?”

  The men looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable. The large man coughed. “Yes?”

  “I want to know how this is possible,” Evelyn said flatly. “My husband was never in debt to anyone!”

  She allowed an angry tone to creep into her voice, only partly falsified. She could very well be talking to the men who threatened her family, killed Harrogate and also killed Lucian. She felt a cold hatred that surprised her.

  The tall man cleared his throat. “It's complicated,” he said finally. “There could be many ways that your husband finds himself – found himself – in debt to us. Firstly, was there a partner who invested with him? Mayhap he reneged when your husband did not?”

  Evelyn blinked. “Yes,” she said at once. He did have a partner. Lord...what was his name? Lord Everett?”

  They stared at her. Evelyn saw recognition creep into their eyes. She felt her heart pounding.

  “Ah,” the silent man said.

  “That is a different matter,” the tall man said.

  “Fetch the books, Sutton?”

  The tall man reached and stooped, producing a book bound in white-marbled black leather. He opened it, and then placed it on the table before Evelyn.

  Evelyn's heart pounded. Every muscle in her body screamed a warning. If they even glanced at the book, they would notice that Lord Everett had never invested anything with a man called Musgrove. From then, it was only a matter of time before they guessed she was here under pretense and Heaven alone knew what they might do.

  Forcing herself to breathe, she ran a finger down the columns. When she caught sight of Everett as an entry, her heart thumped. As she looked down the list of contributions, she saw a second name. Her hand shook and she felt herself perspire, though she was not overly warm.

  The entry was for the Earl of Lonsdale.

  The silent, compactly-built man had moved so he could see her reading, and when she paused, he raised a brow.

  “This is...very informative,” Evelyn said quietly. “I think you are correct,” she added. Her heart twisted painfully as she closed the book and passed it back to the man. If he chose to check, all was lost and she must escape.

  “Oh?”

  “I think you are right that my husband did not owe the money, but his business associate, Lord Everett.”

  “Oh?” The man said again. He lifted the book and Evelyn almost fainted then. However, he did not open it.

  “I will have to discuss this matter with my attorney,” she said, her throat closing up with nerves.

  “I do not think we will need that,” the loud man said as Evelyn stood, already pushing in her chair. As she watched, he passed the book to Sutton, who opened it. “See if you can find the details, Sutton? We would all prefer to settle among ourselves.”

  “Oh...” Evelyn saw the man open the book and page to the entry she had looked at. It would be a matter of seconds before they found out Musgrove was not entered and asked questions impossible to answer. “Excuse me!” she said.

  “What...?”

  “Halt!”

  Evelyn was already running down the hallway. She reached the front door, pressing down urgently to turn the handle even as the solidly-built man erupted into the corridor, followed by Sutton and his p
artner. She burst through the door then slammed it shut behind her. She glanced wildly around the cluttered street.

  Thinking with desperate speed, she ran to the lean-to opposite and slipped into the shadow of the doorway. The door had stuck when it slammed, and the men were wrestling to open it. She said a prayer of thanks for the life-saving delay. Then she slid under the wooden fishing boat that lay on the quay.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Search the docks!”

  “Let no one pass out of this yard...”

  Evelyn laid on her belly, cramped in the pungent space beneath the boat, heart thumping with terror. She saw shadows pass, blotting out the light that seeped under the rim of the boat, and knew her pursuers ran past her. She closed her eyes.

  She prayed.

  If anyone moved the boat, she would be as good as dead. She repeated a prayer over and over again, asking that no one remove the boat.

  Nobody did.

  As the chaos settled, Evelyn could hear running feet in the streets beyond, doors being opened, people knocking on the timber shack walls, shouting for admission. They are checking the sheds.

  Huddling into a ball, feeling the river-slime soaking her gown, Evelyn could only close her eyes and pray no one thought to look below the boat.

  “Hal, let us in!”

  “Nae! I won't! You lads have no right.”

  She heard the three men struggling to gain access to a shed, and then a blow cracked against wood. She held her breath.

  More shouts, more running feet. Someone fired a gun into the air. Screams and the sound of wood, beating on wood. A woman screamed somewhere, and a man shouted.

  “Would you all stand back? This is Larkin of the watch. I demand to be let through...”

  Evelyn sighed. The watch-guard was here. She felt her whole body collapse. Her breath slowed with relief. She felt her hand uncurl from where it had knotted her gown in terror. She prayed a prayer of thanks.

  It was only a matter of time now before it was safe enough to emerge. She would need to choose her moment – some time before the merchant guild returned and while the watch still held the crowd's interest.