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

by Jasmine Ashford

  She listened to the noise in the street behind the shed. It seemed to be quieting down.

  Three, two...one!

  Counting to herself, she shifted and crept forward, slipping her fingers under the rim of the boat. Pushing up and forward, she lifted it and slithered out into the darkening evening.

  As she pushed the boat back into place, the old man who had greeted her when she arrived stared at her. This was his boat, his nets. Never had anything like this happened in his yard, that much was clear. He drew in a breath and Evelyn darted away.

  “Evenin' lassie,” he said quietly.

  Evelyn tossed him a pale smile, heart grateful. Then, ankles stiff, breath tight, she ran soundlessly into the night.

  She did not stop running until she had reached the top end of the wide, more pleasant street, Station Street. Then she leaned against a stone wall, breath rasping in her lungs.

  “Thank you,” was all she could whisper, over and over again. “Thank you.”

  For saving her life. For helping her. For the information she had uncovered.

  When she had caught her breath, she half-dragged herself up the stone steps behind her and settled herself in the shadow of a doorway to wait for Wallace to return.

  When he eventually did so, she took his arm, shaking, and allowed him to help her through the streets, an oilskin cloak over her shoulders. She was shivering and frightened and, when they had hailed a coach, she collapsed into the back, completely exhausted.

  By the time they drew up outside Chelsea house, the night settling quickly over the stone roadways and houses, she was asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE HEART’S CONFESSION

  THE HEART’S CONFESSION

  Evelyn sat up in bed. Everything hurt. She remembered why. She had lain cramped and shivering in the cold, clinging mud for a quarter of an hour or more. Her joints were stiff and sore and her head throbbed.

  She felt someone stir and Bronson sat up, looking at her with big dark eyes. “Evelyn? Are you well?”

  Evelyn bit her lip. Bronson was already worried and she did not want to worry him further.

  “I am just tired, dear. I didn't sleep well.”

  Bronson was looking down at her with concern. The fire was still burning in the grate, if quite low, and he could clearly see her face, for he reached out and stroked her hair where her high forehead met it.

  “You're sweating, dearest,” he said. “Are you fevered?”

  Evelyn had not considered that, but she did now. She had walked through the streets in wet clothes, sitting in the chilly evening while she waited for Wallace to find her. She had broken every rule for avoiding sickness – it would be surprising was if she was not ill.

  “I might be,” she said hesitantly.

  Bronson slid out of bed. “We should call Doctor Hewitt...” he was pulling the bell for the maidservant before Evelyn's feeble denial reached him. He returned to the bed, crouching to hold her.

  “You can't not see a doctor. I won't let you be ill.”

  Evelyn chuckled as he held her tightly against his chest. She could feel his strong arms around her and her heart soared even as she felt a sudden throb in her forehead. She held him close to her.

  “You are a complete dictator sometimes,” she whispered into his hair. “I shall have to call you Emperor.”

  “Like Napoleon.” he chuckled, following her drift.

  They both laughed softly and when Janet appeared at the door Bronson was lying beside her, Evelyn resting her head on his arm lightly.

  “Yes?” he sat up, drawing his nightgown closer.

  “My lord?”

  “Could you send Jarvis to fetch the doctor?” he said. “Lady Brokeridge is ill.”

  “Of course, my lord.” She glanced at Evelyn with care. “Can I do something?”

  Evelyn propped herself up on the pillows with Bronson's help. “If you could bring a warming pan for the end of the bed? I am terribly cold...” Evelyn trailed off as she shivered.

  “Of course, my lady!”

  The maid fled down the stairs to call the coach driver and Bronson held Evelyn close, stroking her hair.

  It was three days before Evelyn left her bed. She did not know much of what passed during that time, spending a lot of it in shakes and semi-conscious. When she finally awoke, she pulled herself up the bed to sitting, shocked by her weakness.

  Bronson helped her into her clean nightgown and carried her into the parlor, where he propped her on the chaise, calling for Janet.

  When she appeared, he turned to her. “My dear? What would you like to eat?”

  Evelyn felt her stomach contract. She was very hungry. She was not sure if she could keep down any food, though. “Broth, please?”

  “Broth it is.” Bronson sent the maid away and sat with her until Wallace appeared, calling him to a meeting downstairs.

  Evelyn sat by herself a moment, trying to recollect her thoughts. She had been hiding, and then she had been taken ill. She found out something important...she remembered, then, the merchants and what she had learned. When Janet returned, she asked her to fetch pen and paper, and then set about the task of feeding herself a thin broth. Her efforts were interrupted by a soft tap on the door. She turned to see her cousin standing there.

  “Evelyn?”

  Emilia's blue eyes were huge and her face was thinner than Evelyn remembered. Her hair was loose about her shoulders and she looked haunted.

  “Emilia!” She beckoned. “Come! I am recovered.”

  Emilia flew to the couch and kissed her cousin on the forehead. “My dear cousin! I am so glad. I have been so worried...”

  The two were both crying when Emilia sat down.

  “What has been happening in my absence?” Evelyn asked, finishing the broth and reaching hesitantly for the crusty end of a loaf which had been brought with it. She crumbled a piece off and popped it in her mouth.

  “Not a lot,” Emilia admitted. “Bronson has been everywhere – he practically had the house sealed off. I think he thought someone had poisoned you, for he would not even let Lady Epsom in to see you.” She chuckled. “Your husband is completely devoted, that's a certainty.”

  Evelyn chuckled. “Poor Bronson. I am so sorry to have worried him. Where ever did he find the notion someone poisoned me?”

  Emilia grinned. “I have no idea! Possibly it occurred to him because of all this business with the note on the gate, and someone being caught prowling in the yard...” she trailed off, covering her mouth with her hand as Evelyn stared at her.

  “Emilia?”

  “Oh! I was supposed not to tell you. Bronson did not want you worried.”

  “Tell me,” she said grimly.

  “When you were ill, about a night after Doctor Hewitt visited us – the second night of your malaise – Jarvis was walking toward the stables when he caught sight of a movement. He hid and waited until he saw it again – a man, skulking by the window. He challenged him and the man struck out, but Jarvis was too fast. He subdued the man. He tried to hold him until someone could call the watch, but the man wriggled out of his grasp. He ran away down the street, and disappeared.”

  Evelyn was staring. She had set aside her spoon and the empty bowl of broth, and hung on her cousin's story.

  “No one saw him after?”

  “No,” Emilia admitted. “Bronson sent the watch out looking and they scoured the area, but he was not discovered here.”

  Evelyn leaned back. There were two immediate answers. One, that the man had been sent by the merchants she had foiled. They had somehow tracked her here and now wished to seek vengeance. Or two: that the merchants and the masked men were different people, and this man was sent by them.

  “Did anyone see him clearly?”

  “Yes. Bronson asked Jarvis, and he said the man looked like no one he had seen here before. He was of middling height, he said, with close-cut dark hair and a plain face.”

  “And? What was he wearing?”
r />   Emilia shrugged. “Something dark.”

  Evelyn felt her heart sink. “A black cloak?”

  “Mayhap...” Emilia paused. “Oh.”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said. “I think we have both arrived at the same conclusion.”

  The women stared at each other. Evelyn felt a sense of sick foreboding, but even that was as nothing compared to the look that was now on her cousin's face.

  Emilia was leaning back in the chair, face rigid with fear and horror.

  “Emilia?” she whispered. “What is the matter? Tell me?”

  Emilia covered her face and sobbed. “Oh, Evelyn,” she said, gasping. “I am so, so sorry. I should have told you a week ago. However, I could not make myself do it. Oh...” she trailed off.

  Evelyn pulled herself to her feet and, step by slow step, walked around the table to where her cousin sat, face covered by her hands. She dropped down on the low table so she could embrace her.

  “Tell me,” she said gently.

  So, sniffing, tears streaking pale cheeks, Emilia told her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  PIECES OF A PUZZLE

  PIECES OF A PUZZLE

  Almost an hour later, Emilia leaned back on the chair, exhausted. She had told Evelyn everything: the rescue in the woods, the note, meeting Oscar in St. James' twice, the information he had given her about his involvement in the group. She left nothing out.

  “...and so you must truly hate me,” she finished miserably. “I have put us all in such terrible danger.”

  She waited for Evelyn to say something. When she did not, she looked up at her cousin.

  Evelyn met her eyes with a look of such gentleness it made Emilia want to sob afresh, but for different reasons. Could it be that Evelyn understood? That she forgave her?

  “Evelyn?”

  “Oh, cousin,” Evelyn said. She stroked her hair with a thin, pale hand. “My dear cousin. That is such a moving story.”

  “It is?”

  Evelyn laughed. “I should think so! This man clearly cares about you a great deal.”

  “Truly?” Emilia stared at her. “You really think so? You think he is not responsible for our intruder?”

  Evelyn bit her lip. “Yes. I think it far more likely that someone saw you meet him and sent whoever this was here to threaten you, than that I think it was him or someone acting on his command.”

  Emilia breathed out raggedly. She had been so afraid! What if she had been fooled and Oscar really was a murderer? What if he had lurked there intending harm? What if Evelyn really had been poisoned by him? The relief of tension made her feel weak.

  Evelyn saw how relieved she was and chuckled lightly. “From your description, I suspect if it had been Oscar he would have been here to elope, not to poison.”

  Emilia stared at her. Evelyn really believed that Oscar cared for her?

  Evelyn laughed again. “My dear friend! Anyone would think you were a young girl, not a woman with experience! Surely you must have noticed how he feels?”

  Emilia bit her lip. “I didn't think much about it,” she said. “I was too concerned with how I felt. And with deciding whether or not to trust him.”

  “And do you?”

  “Yes.” Emilia was surprised when she said it so strongly, but when she thought about it, she knew it to be true. She trusted Oscar. In her heart, she always had.

  “I think you are right,” Evelyn nodded gravely. “And if I am not very wrong, then there may come a time when you need to put your trust in him, and soon.”

  Emilia stared at her. “Cousin? Why...?”

  Evelyn looked at her hands, clearly unsure what to say. Emilia waited for her to decide what to say.

  “When I went out on Monday – that is, was it Monday? How long was I abed?”

  “Today is Thursday. Three days.”

  Evelyn gave a low whistle. “When I went out on Monday, I did not go for a walk as I said I had done.”

  “You too?”

  They shared a laugh.

  “Well, I also was dishonest. But for another reason.” She paused as they smiled at each other, blue eyes merry, and then continued. “When I left, I went first to see a man called Grenville Ormond.”

  Emilia frowned. “I know the name..? Who is that?”

  “The solicitor of the earl of Warwick.”

  “Lord Everett?”

  “Yes.”

  Emilia leaned forward to listen carefully as Evelyn told the story. “While I was there, I inquired about the interactions between Lord Everett and your husband. What he told me was very interesting. He said that Lord Everett and your husband had invested capital in a few ventures, and all had been successful. Except one.”

  “Which one?”

  “They invested a large sum in a mercantile company, Sutton and Hargreave. They are, I understand, jute importers who travel to the East Indies, carrying cargo from there to here. No matter. As it happened, this investment had not been successful. Because at the last minute, Lord Everett had pulled back. He could not come up with the money. The merchants, by then, had of course bought supplies and stock, perhaps a ship. They could not back out.”

  “And so Lucian...”

  “So Lucian and this man were together indebted to the merchants. Exactly.”

  Emilia stared at her. Was it truly so simple? In which case, had Lord Everett been trying to threaten her? To abduct her? And had he been the one who murdered her well-beloved husband?

  “Evelyn. If what this man said is correct, then...” she paused.

  “Then Graham Everett is very, very dangerous.”

  “Do you think he murdered Lucian?”

  “I do not know,” Evelyn said quietly. “I think it is not unlikely.”

  “What can we do?”

  “We have to think of a way to make him show himself,” Evelyn said slowly. “Lure him out so that beyond a doubt we know whether or not it is him.”

  “How would we do that?”

  “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MESSAGE OF DANGER

  MESSAGE OF DANGER

  Emilia was sitting at the pianoforte, long fingers on the keys. The notes of a Mozart sonata drifted out of the drawing room, floating and gentle. The curtain moved in the gentle breeze that flowed in through the big windows on her left. Emilia did not turn to close it, even when it blew the loose sheets from the top of the piano.

  I don't want to move. All I want to do is sit here and forget.

  She did not want to think about the plan Evelyn had laid, which they must put into action that night. She was terrified. What if their guess was right, and they were about to confront a murderer? Worse, though, was the second question. What if their guess was wrong? That question brought too many new ones with it. If the murderer was not Graham Everett, then who was it?

  What if her suspicions had been correct all along and it was Oscar Hampton?

  That was the possibility Emilia could not bear to face.

  “Emilia?”

  She jumped and looked toward the door. “Oh! Evelyn! You scared me.”

  “Sorry,” Evelyn apologized. “I am going into town to replace my old evening gloves and to find some other things. Will you stay here?”

  Emilia nodded vigorously. “I want to practice.” She was already focusing on the music, playing the next bar.

  “I can imagine!” Evelyn laughed. “I always feel myself sweating when recitals start – what if someone persuades me to play? I never have enough time to prepare adequately!”

  That was not quite why she wanted to practice, but it did no harm for Evelyn to think so. “Enjoy town,” Evelyn said as she played.

  Evelyn grinned impishly. “I shall. I intend to spend far more than is healthy. I'll buy some beautiful silk ones like those Celia Everidge wore the other evening. Would you like some too?”

  “Thank you, dear, but I can't let you spoil me like that!”

  Evelyn's protest was cut off by Bronson, who had just
arrived.

  “What was that about spending?”

  He was grinning, and Evelyn flipped him with her glove. “I said I am going to spend you out of house and home,” she said with a big smile.

  Bronson raised a brow. “Well, I'd be interested in your trying that. I'd love to see what you bought!”

  Emilia could not help a laugh as Bronson and Evelyn teased each other. Evelyn waved. “Goodbye, dear! I'll be back soon and show you my purchases!”

  The two disappeared down the stairs, still exchanging banter and chuckling. Emilia listened as the front door opened and then closed, showing she was alone in the house.

  She shivered. The last thing she needed was to be alone right now, though she also felt as if all company grated on her nerves. She had a sense of impending doom, as if there was some terrible threat hanging over all of them.

  “Perhaps it is the weather,” she said aloud, pausing to turn the page of her sheet music. The day was quite warm, and dark clouds had gathered ominously as the afternoon wore on. It seemed as if they would have a thunderstorm soon.

  A fitting accompaniment for what we are about to do, Emilia thought with some humor. She could imagine little as frightening as having to face the murderer of Lucian surrounded by thunder and lightning. It would make an awful situation almost amusing.

  All we need is for him to grow horns and a tail to match and then we could make it a moralistic piece at the theater.

  When she heard herself chuckling about that, she stopped. The laughter was a little hysterical, even to her own ears. The thought that fear had finally made her lose her senses was a sobering one. She focused on the page in front of her, trying to lose herself in the music.

  When she had reached the last bar of the piece, the first roll of thunder echoed dryly around the city.

  Here it comes, she thought.

  She went to the window to look out, seeing the sky gray and low over the tiled roofs and gleaming church spires, a menacing gray backdrop to the tiny city that stretched out under the towering clouds. Man and nature, Emilia thought with a sad smile. Whatever plans we make, nature will always run its course.