All was quiet again for several minutes and then the sound of mournful wailing grew so loud not even the combined efforts of Emma and Wynbrook could prevent Mrs. Saunders from rushing to check on the welfare of her mother. Emma and Wynbrook followed her to the door of the small room, where all three stopped, transfixed by the sight before them.
A small woman with thinning, gray hair was hunched over on a chair, while Kate knelt beside her, trying to provide comfort. Mrs. Hennings was talking of her time in service at Greystone. She was recalling the time just before the first Darington died, when the master lay ill and things were disappearing from the house with no explanation.
“She never speaks of this,” whispered Mrs. Saunders to Emma and Wynbrook. “Never.”
“More and more things went missing.” Mrs. Hennings stared straight ahead, wringing her hands. “Finally, the steward told me that the earl was in dire financial straits and the things must be sold to pay his debts. Most of the staff was let go and we shut up parts of the house. I was glad you and Master Robert were at school, and I hoped Lord Darington would recover and be able to set things to rights. The doctor came more frequently and stayed with us for a while, him and his son. By this time, practically everything of value had been sold. I was starting to look for a new position, you understand, not knowing how much longer they could afford to pay me. In truth, toward the end, I had not received my pay in over four months.”
“You are a good woman, Mrs. Hennings, to continue to serve my father so,” reassured Kate in a kind, compassionate tone Emma had never heard from her before. Kate may have had a cool exterior, but she had a true heart.
“Then came the night his lordship passed away.” The housekeeper’s scratchy voice was strained. “It was late and I wished for some tea to steady my nerves, so I went down to the kitchen to prepare it. I heard voices. It was the doctor, berating the cook, saying ‘You gave him too much’ and ‘I didn’t want him to die yet.’”
“He didn’t want my father to die yet?” asked Kate.
Emma gasped. Lord Darington’s father had been murdered? She stared at Dare, her heart breaking for the man who stood perfectly still and silent as Mrs. Hennings went on to describe how the cruel doctor had threatened to kill her children if she ever spoke a word, and so to protect them, she had tried to kill herself.
“Oh, Mama!” cried her daughter, running into the room. “You were trying to protect us? Why did you never tell us?” They embraced each other tightly. Emma reached for her own handkerchief, while Wynbrook handed his to Kate. Dare said nothing, his countenance frozen.
“I do not suppose you know the name of this evil doctor?” asked Kate.
“He went by the name of Dr. Bones, but I am certain that was not his real name. He was in his midthirties perhaps, a muscular man, with black hair and gray eyes that squinted when he talked.”
Wynbrook stepped up to Kate and put a hand on her shoulder. Emma longed to do so for Darington too, but his eyes were blazing with fury and she did not dare.
“I wish there were a way to know who this man was or why he did something so horrible,” said Wynbrook.
“I do not know why,” Mrs. Hennings looked up with tears in her eyes, “but I might know his name.”
Everyone in the room held their breath.
“The doctor, he stayed at Greystone before his lordship passed and I did his laundry. In one of his coat pockets, I found an old letter.”
“Did it have a name?” whispered Kate.
“Captain Harcourt.”
The name meant nothing at first to Emma, though she noted Dare’s hands balling into fists and his jaw growing tight. He knew that name. Where had she heard it before?
“Captain Harcourt?” asked Wynbrook when they were back outside the cottage. “The Captain Harcourt whom your father exposed as a traitor?”
“Oh my stars!” gasped Emma.
“They arrested Harcourt for treason, but the ship taking him back to England was lost at sea. He and all souls aboard were presumed dead,” said Dare, his voice like gravel.
“That is why we have been so cursed. He came back to effect his revenge. Evil, hateful man!” Kate paced back and forth.
Dare said nothing more, but his look had turned murderous. Kate and Wynbrook decided to walk back to Greystone, while Dare would drive Emma. Emma wanted to ask if he was strong enough to handle the coach, but she wisely held her tongue. He had just discovered his father had been murdered. Dare wanted vengeance not sympathy.
Dare offered to have Emma sit in the coach, but she swung herself up to the box instead to sit beside him. There was no way she was going to sit by herself in the coach while her future husband wrestled with such devastating news. Now was her time to let him know her decision and her regard for him. She would tell him he would not have to face this alone; no, she would be at his side.
He looked as if he was going to protest but sat beside her on the coach box and clicked for the horses to get moving.
“As soon as we get back to the house,” he said in a tone so low it was almost a growl, “you need to leave.”
Twenty-six
Emma sat next to Dare as he drove back to Greystone Hall along the sea cliff. He said nothing, but his jaw was tight, and he held the reins so firmly that his knuckles showed white. She wanted to ask what he meant by wanting her to leave but could not find the words. Instead, she remained silent and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder for a moment before returning it to her lap. She wanted to provide some comfort yet was unable to shake the ominous cloud that had descended upon them.
“I am sorry you have received such dreadful news,” began Emma, painfully aware how inadequate her words were.
Dare gave a nod of his head without looking at her, his jaw still clenched.
“I had hoped you would find answers and that would bring you peace. One could not have suspected such a revelation as this.”
“I have answers but no peace.”
“I am sorry,” Emma murmured. “I wish I could be of service to you.”
Dare met her gaze with a look of intense longing, only to have it cloud over the next moment and he returned to staring at the road ahead. “No. There is naught you can do. My father was murdered many years ago, but this crime will be avenged, I swear it.”
Emma said nothing, for she feared the vehemence with which he spoke.
Dare glanced again at her and must have seen the fear in her eyes, for he forced a breath and continued, “Forgive me for speaking of this before you. I do not wish to frighten you with such talk.”
“I am not fearful of you. I am afraid for you. You are going to track down this Harcourt, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Do you know how to find him?”
“No, but I warrant the bastard is near.” Dare coughed. “Forgive my language.”
“Oh no, think nothing of it. I was thinking something much worse.”
“So was I.” Dare pulled up, bringing the pair of horses slowly to a stop on the empty road. Wind whipped along the bluff and buffeted the white-capped sea. They stood on the edge of a storm.
“My father was a good man.” Dare stared out over the churning waves. “Had he not discovered Harcourt’s treachery, many would have lost their lives, and the princes either captured or killed. I wish I could have known him better.” Dare closed his eyes and hung his head.
“He was a hero. Just like his son,” said Emma softly.
“I never got to spend much time with him. He was away at sea, and when he returned the last time, he had been injured in a cannon misfire, which affected his eyes. We saw him briefly and then were away at school. I had hoped to spend time with him at holiday. Instead, my father was slowly poisoned as everything he owned was stolen from him, and then he was finally killed.” Dare worked his jaw, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, Dare, I
am so sorry.” This time her hand lingered on his arm.
He turned to her, the frozen mask cracking open to reveal the anguish beneath. She opened her arms and he fell into her, holding her so tight it almost hurt, but she would never let him go. She pressed herself closer and tried to soothe away the hurt and pain, though she knew the depth of emotion was far beyond healing with an embrace.
“We will work through this together,” murmured Emma.
Dare jerked back and looked around the barren landscape as if worried they might have been seen. “No. You need to get away from here.”
Emma’s stomach clenched as the growing sense of doom washed over her. “I could not think of leaving you at such a time.”
“And I could not think of having you stay. You are in danger if you do.”
“Danger?”
“Those men who attempted to abduct Kate and shot me—they are surely Harcourt’s men. He must have heard that I had managed to crawl back from ruin and regain my fortune. He is determined to destroy me and anyone around me. No, you must go immediately. I can only hope that Harcourt will not connect you with me.”
“But—”
“At least you had the good sense to refuse my offer,” continued Darington, snapping the reins and getting the horses moving again.
Emma’s heart dropped with a sickening sense of falling. “You no longer wish to marry me?”
“What I wish does not matter now. As long as Harcourt lives, I cannot take a wife. I would only put her in grave danger.” Dare looked at her, his eyes softening. “I would not put you at risk for the world.”
A lump formed in Emma’s throat. What could she say in return? She suddenly had the urge to cry but stifled the impulse. She did not wish to burden him with her emotions. This was no time to focus on her own distress. Her mind spun, looking for a way to stay by his side, even as her darling dream crumbled before her.
They reached the house and pulled up to the stable. A stable lad ran out and held the heads of the horses, while Dare helped Emma down. Despite his injury, he lifted her down, his hands lingering for a moment about her waist before he turned back to the house.
They trudged against the wind, but Emma put her hand on his sleeve to stop him. She could not give up. She needed to tell him how she felt. Maybe, somehow, that would make a difference.
“Lord Darington, I cannot begin to express my sorrow for the difficult information you learned today.” She paused, not quite knowing how to proceed.
He stared down at her, his eyes dark, full of longing.
“I want to let you know that, though I have not known you for long, I have come to admire you greatly. I would like to… That is, I should very much…” Emma was not sure how to accept the proposal of a man who had just rescinded it.
“Stop!” Dare yelled past her and pulled her behind him.
Emma was shoved to the ground, hitting the cold mud hard. The dark figure of an unknown man ran from the side of the house. Dare ran after him as fast as he could manage. “I command you to stop!”
The stranger sprinted behind a copse of trees and the sound of hooves could be heard a moment later. Dare did not make it far before he doubled over in pain. He pulled a pistol from his pocket and shot.
Emma scrambled up off of the cold, wet ground and ran to Dare, who was still holding his side. Several members of the house staff ran outside toward them.
“Are you all right? Did you shoot that man?” she asked, her voice drowned out by the others demanding what happened.
Dare was breathing hard, holding his side. “I did not stop him. Go catch him. Quick now!” he commanded, and the men hastened to follow his commands, though the stranger was no longer in view.
“Forgive me.” Dare turned to her as the heavens opened up and began to pour down rain. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, I am well,” she answered. She had lost her bonnet and so rain streamed down her face.
Dare took her arm and tugged her back to the house. “Probably best for you to stay here tonight and then I’ll take you to Portsmouth tomorrow. Glad you are going to America. You need to get away from me. Far away.”
Emma was glad for the torrential rain, for he would not be able to distinguish the rain from her tears. The dream was gone. She had lost him.
And now he would never know.
Twenty-seven
Emma woke early the next morning with her two familiar companions: hope and resolution. The dream of marrying the Earl of Darington may be gone, but she was accustomed to loss. She had weathered many a storm in her life, and she would weather this one too.
Emma dressed quickly, not wanting to linger in her farewells. She had only known the Earl of Darington for a few days—surely her attachment could not be too strong. Yet, she suspected what she had experienced with Dare was not something that came along often. No, it was a rare thing. And precious. And lost.
She pulled out her small Bible and penned verses for Dare and Kate. If she must leave, at least she wished to leave them with hope. She knew Darington would never pursue any sort of connection with her as long as his father’s murderer roamed free. Harcourt had gone undetected for over a decade. How long could he evade Darington? Months? Years? Would Dare ever bring him to justice?
The uncertainty of Darington’s quest made one thing clear. This would be where they would part ways. She needed to return to her original plan, which meant meeting her chaperone today in Portsmouth. So much had happened since she had left home, it was odd to think she was right on schedule.
No doubt Eustace would be looking for her, but he would have no reason to suspect she had gone to Portsmouth. Even if he had found her overturned coach, he could not possibly guess her plans.
Emma pasted on a smile and walked down to the foyer, where Kate and Wynbrook stood, holding hands.
“Am I to wish you every happiness?” she asked Kate.
Kate gave her a small nod with a rare smile.
Emma’s forced smile warmed into a real one. “I wish you and Lord Wynbrook all the joy in the world.” At least Kate had finally accepted Wynbrook’s offer of marriage. Emma was genuinely pleased…though not without an aching longing to become part of the family.
Emma continued to exchange pleasantries with Kate and Wynbrook, but her mind was on Darington. She had assumed he would see her off as well, but he was not present in the hall. Her stomach sank as she tried to attend to what Kate was saying. Where was he? Would he not even say goodbye?
Emma paused, looking around to see if he was coming down the stairs. He was not.
Wynbrook sensed her concern and leaned toward her with a conspiratorial grin. “Hope you don’t mind riding with Darington to Portsmouth. He’s off to take the fight to Harcourt and we have a dearth of carriages I fear.”
“Oh! I don’t mind.” Relief flooded through Emma followed by a rush of apprehension. She was to ride all the way to Portsmouth with him? It was to be a long and painful farewell.
She walked outside, the wind instantly tugging at her red cloak. It was not raining, but the blustery wind was having its way with anyone foolish enough to step outdoors. Darington stood by the open door of the carriage, solemn, grim, handsome. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him.
He helped her into the coach and she struggled to know what to say. Sally entered next, taking the seat across with an audible sigh. Emma had forgotten the presence of her sullen maid. Darington climbed in next, sitting beside her, but now all meaningful avenues of conversation were closed. Emma struggled to find something to say to Dare that could be expressed in the presence of her maid.
“So you travel to Portsmouth, my lord?” Emma asked, the formality sounding strange in her ears.
Dare nodded. “Harcourt is a man of the sea. The only way he could have evaded justice for so long was by leaving England. Portsmouth is the closest port that can handle a
ship of any significant size.”
“So you expect to find him there?”
“We shall see.” His eyes were dark, but they blazed with emotion.
“I wish you well,” she murmured, not knowing what more to say.
“And I you.”
She was struck with the finality of the interaction. Were these the last words they would utter to each other? Dare turned to the window, staring at the gray landscape. She wished to embrace him one last time, but despite their proximity, there was no way to reach him.
Her heart splintered, close to breaking. She watched him from under the edge of her bonnet. His face was stoic, impassive. He was not one to let his emotions show, even if they had not had their unwanted witness.
The carriage bounced on the road, and her hands flung to her sides to steady herself on the seat. Her fingers brushed against his, their hands hidden by the folds of their respective outer garments. Slowly his fingers curled around hers, until his gloved hand was holding hers. It was everything they could not say. Whatever emotions she was feeling, they were shared.
She tried to draw comfort from the warmth of his hand, but instead, her chest tightened. This was her true love. And the last time she would ever see him. She squeezed his hand. He returned it. They passed the remainder of the journey to Portsmouth in silence, hand in hand.
The coach bumped with jarring rapidity as it reached the cobblestones of the Portsmouth streets. A few minutes later, it slowed to a stop before the weathered inn. They had arrived. Emma would say farewell to Dare and resume her own journey into the unknown.
“Forgive the rudeness, but it would be best if I am not seen with you,” said Darington in a solemn tone. “I do not know who is in the employ of my enemy. I will not put you in danger by being seen with me.”
Emma nodded.
“If anyone asks about the friends you stayed with, please do not mention my name or that of my sister. I fear it is not safe to do so.”
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