by Cheryl Holt
A buzzing noise reverberated through the church, and at first, she assumed it was all in her mind. Her thoughts were careening so wildly that she couldn’t keep track of them all. Frowning, she tried to shake the sound away, but it didn’t help.
She peered up at the vicar, who continued to preach, but she could no longer hear him. His lips were moving, but he was being drowned out.
Someone outside was shouting, then another person, and another, and another. The pandemonium increased in volume and intensity until it was a frightening ruckus.
Was it that horrid Barbara again? Or the brutal Mr. Dudley, who’d had the audacity to assault Edward? Had they come back to disrupt the ceremony?
For goodness’ sake, let John rest in peace!
The vicar halted and snapped his prayer book closed as a cacophony of voices began to swell.
“He’s here!”
“He’s alive!”
“I can’t believe it!”
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!”
“It’s a miracle! A miracle, I tell you!”
Like a giant tidal wave, a mob loomed into the chapel, villagers and tenants rushing into the vestibule as if planning to crush the gentility inside the nave.
“What is the meaning of this?” Esther bellowed, but the din was so raucous that only Violet, who was seated right next to her, could hear what she said.
Esther and Edward rose, and Violet rose with them. They left the pew and stepped into the aisle. Instantly, Violet saw what those outside had already seen.
John entered the church and marched toward them. He was covered with dirt, his skin filthy, his clothes grimy and torn. Appearing battered and bruised, he had cuts on his hands, forehead, and cheek.
Miss Lambert hovered behind him, in the same wretched condition, but Violet ignored her. Who cared about a stupid servant?
“John!” Edward and Esther gasped in unison.
He stopped in front of them, his fists planted on his hips, as he gazed up at the vicar.
“Lord . . . Lord Penworth?” the minister wheezed. “Is it really you?”
“I’m told,” John retorted, “that you’re holding a memorial service for me, but I must inform you that the rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”
Violet looked at him, at the vicar, and at Edward, who was no longer the earl and who would never be able to marry her now.
She fainted dead away.
Chapter 20
“WHAT was it like, swiving the earl?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Lily was taken aback by the outrageous question, and she glowered at the housemaid who’d been rude enough to ask it. The idiotic female simply grinned, as if Lily would participate in such a shocking conversation.
“We women here at the castle,” the maid explained, “have always thought him a fine specimen of a man, but he’s a tad reticent with the ladies—if you get my drift.”
“I’m sorry, but no, I don’t get your drift.”
“He’s never lifted a skirt on a single servant. A right, proper gentleman, that one.”
“He certainly is,” Lily huffed.
“You’re the first who’s had a chance to find out.”
“Find out what?”
“Does he know his way around the bedchamber? There’s some what says he’s too much of a stuffed shirt to be any fun, while others says he’s a bundle of unbridled passion. Which is it? We’ve wondered for years.”
Lily was aghast. “You’re asking me if . . . you want me to discuss . . . you assume I would have ...”
“Come now, you was down there with him for an eternity. There’s no use pretending nothing happened. Everyone is talking about it.”
“About me and . . . the earl?”
“Yes, and there’s no harm in speaking the truth. We’re all glad he’s back, and we don’t begrudge you your little tickle.”
They were in Esther’s boudoir, in her sitting room. Lily had been commanded to attend Esther, who hadn’t shown herself yet. The maid dusted as Lily dawdled, but the insult and innuendo were too much.
People knew about her and John? People were speculating over what had transpired between them?
She’d become so notorious that this servant—a virtual stranger—felt it perfectly appropriate to interrogate Lily on John’s sexual prowess!
Mortification colored her cheeks, and she rose to her feet, fury rocking through her as she seethed, “Of all the despicable, disloyal, uncivil—”
“What’s this?” the housemaid sneered. “You spread your legs for him, and now you’re putting on airs? I’m just a working girl like you. There’s no need to get your drawers in a knot.”
“I must return to my bedchamber.” Lily pushed past her and headed for the door. “Tell Lady Penworth I’ll confer with her later.”
The maid snorted. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re thinking you’ll be allowed to stay on, that you’ve earned some bloody spot that will elevate you above the rest of us.”
“I think no such thing,” Lily lied. She was panicked, needing to believe that their time together had changed everything. John loved her, and he wouldn’t abandon her over a bit of gossip.
“He’ll marry his precious Violet Howard,” the maid sniped. “Just see if he doesn’t.”
Lily was so irate that she could have slapped the woman. Instead, she kept on and had nearly made it to the hall when Esther appeared, preventing any escape.
“We have a meeting scheduled, Miss Lambert,” Esther pointed out.
“I realize that, but I am exhausted and feeling unwell. We’ll have to proceed when I’m more myself.”
“No, we’ll finish this now.”
Esther was standing in the threshold, and Lily could have shoved by her and stormed out, but theatrics weren’t in her nature. Besides, with the way Esther was glaring, she had something to get off her chest. Lily would have no peace until Esther said whatever it was she was intent on saying.
Lily wished she could send for John and have him intervene with Esther, but she was quite sure no request would be granted.
During their harrowing climb in the unexplored tunnels behind the grotto, they’d struggled and clawed their way to safety. They’d gotten confused in the twists and turns, stuck in narrow passageways, injured in scrapes and falls. Through it all, they’d continued to move, seeming to ascend from the bowels of the earth, but not certain if—at the end—they would escape or perish.
The shared experience of peril and fear had bonded them, had brought them closer than two people could ever be. Or so Lily had thought.
The trek had been lengthy and impossible, but a hint of daylight had spurred them on. Yet once they’d found an opening and pushed to the surface, once their feet had been on solid ground, she’d become superfluous. John had instantly assumed the mantle of power and authority he so easily wore, being swept into the role of earl with numerous imperative chores to attend.
Lily had assumed the mantle of . . . what? She couldn’t describe precisely where she fit in the castle’s hierarchy. From the moment the crowd in the village had espied them, she’d metamorphosed into his forgotten companion who—she was terrified to consider—might no longer be necessary or needed.
Ever since they’d burst into the chapel, she hadn’t spoken to him. He’d been whisked away, like a conquering hero, while she’d been left to stagger back to the castle on her own. After all, she was a servant, and thus a person of no consequence. No one cared that she’d survived, too.
Once she’d stumbled into her bedchamber, it had been abundantly clear that the societal distinctions separating them were firmly in place. She couldn’t skirt around them. Her room had been shuttered, the furniture covered with sheets, as if she’d never resided in it. No assistance had been provided to make it more habitable.
She’d bathed in a washbasin—no bath had been offered—then she’d wrapped herself in a blanket and huddled before the small fire she managed to build in the hearth.
> Though she’d asked to see John, the footman she approached scoffed at her impudence. She’d tried to come down for supper, but a curt warning from the housekeeper had advised her that she wasn’t welcome and should keep out of sight until further notice. A tray of bread and cheese had arrived at her door instead.
She’d waited through the night, presuming John would sneak in for a furtive visit, but he hadn’t, and she wasn’t certain what his absence indicated.
The first hint that her fate had been sealed—without her opinion being sought—was Esther’s summons, and Lily wasn’t stupid. Esther did not have Lily’s best interests at heart, so what was happening?
Where was John? Why was he ignoring her?
“Fine,” Lily fumed. “I will listen to you, but I am very weary, so let’s make this brief.”
Esther motioned to the maid to leave, and the woman grabbed her bucket of supplies. As she walked out, she leaned very close to Lily and muttered, “Good-bye, Miss Lambert, and good luck in your next endeavor.”
The snide remark rattled Lily. Servants always heard gossip before anyone else. What did the maid know that she, Lily, did not?
Esther gestured to two chairs, and Lily went over and sat. Esther joined her.
“I won’t beat around the bush, Miss Lambert,” Esther began, “and I shall be extremely candid.”
“I hope you will be.”
“I’m sure my comments will be distressing to you, but it can’t be helped.”
“Get on with it. Please.”
“We have decided that you will depart the property immediately.”
“To go where?”
“Back to London.”
“I don’t wish to do that.”
“It is not up to you.” Esther stared at her, an awkward silence ensuing, as a thousand thoughts careened through Lily’s head.
“Who has decided that I am to leave?” Lily ultimately asked.
Esther didn’t answer, but said, “There is a carriage ready for you out in the stables. I will escort you down to it. You will see no one; you will speak to no one. You will be conveyed to Edinburgh, where a ticket will be purchased for you to take the public coach for the remainder of the journey.”
“I want to talk to John.”
At Lily’s familiar and brazen use of John’s Christian name, Esther inhaled sharply.
“Lord Penworth is unavailable.”
“When will he be available?”
“To you? Never.”
Lily’s temper flared, and she stood and started out.
“Where are you going?” Esther inquired.
“To find him. I’m a grown woman. I am fully capable of locating him on my own and initiating the conversation I insist we have.”
Lily yanked open the door, prepared to march out, but to her stunned dismay, two burly footmen blocked her way. Unless she planned to brawl with them, she couldn’t exit.
She scowled, calculating the odds, wondering how fiercely they would carry out Esther’s orders.
Or were they John’s orders? Who had commanded that she be detained?
“Close the door, Miss Lambert,” Esther said.
For a moment, Lily dithered, then she shut it and returned to her seat.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“As I mentioned, we intend that you depart at once.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. Why must I?”
“Why? You have the audacity to ask why?”
“Yes.”
“Let me be blunt: You were hired as companion to the earl’s wards and fiancée. The countryside is agog with tales of your carnal antics.”
“There was no dalliance between us,” Lily lied.
“You may spew what falsehoods you like, but they will have no effect on me.”
“There was no affair!”
Esther raised a dubious brow. “Even if you were chaste as a saint, the truth is irrelevant. Rumor has spread, and only salacious details will be believed.”
Esther went to her writing desk and pulled out a piece of paper. She lifted a quill and pointed to the inkpot.
“Come here, Miss Lambert.”
“Why?”
“You will pen a letter of resignation to the earl, then we shall be on our way.”
“I won’t resign.”
“You won’t? You think to stay on? As his what?”
It was an intriguing question for which Lily had no answer. Before the quake, she’d been relieved of her duties, and she’d arranged to sneak away because of it. What had changed?
Nothing, except that Lily had fallen in love with John Middleton, had spent a desperate, glorious week by his side. If she could have figured out how to survive down in the grotto, she’d have remained there with him forever.
Lily glared at Esther, and Esther glared back.
“You’ve been returned from the grave,” Esther said, “for approximately eighteen hours.”
“I won’t apologize for it.”
“How do you suppose Lady Violet feels about your being on the premises?” Lily didn’t respond, and Esther added, “I’ll tell you how she feels: She is aghast.”
“For what reason?”
“Your torrid frolic with her betrothed has shamed her before the entire world.”
Esther placed particular emphasis on the word shamed, and Lily couldn’t hold her gaze. Glancing away, her mind whirled as she struggled to formulate a reply.
She’d asked to see John and had been denied. She’d tried to stomp out in a huff but had been physically prevented.
What to do? What to do?
Ever since the liaison had begun, from the instant John had first noticed her in an inappropriate way, she’d known he was promised to Lady Violet. Lily had fought her attraction, had attempted to deflect his interest, but it had all been for naught. Passion had erupted, and they’d acted on it.
She’d convinced herself that Violet Howard didn’t matter, but Violet was still in the castle, and as Esther had stated, Lily had been back for eighteen hours. During that time, there had been no mention of John’s engagement being severed. She’d anxiously told herself that he hadn’t broken it off simply because he’d been too busy and would deal with it as soon as he could. She refused to accept any other possibility.
“I think, perhaps,” Lily cautiously started, “you should speak with John about Lady Violet.”
“I have spoken to him. Why would you imagine I am speaking with you now?”
“He asked you to?”
“Yes.”
Lily’s pulse pounded with dread. She studied Esther, searching her expression, but there was no hint of fabrication.
“Are you claiming,” Lily demanded, “that he will proceed with his marriage?”
“Of course. Why would he do anything else?”
Esther’s remark fell into the room like the kiss of death.
Lily felt lightheaded; she was dizzy with dismay. The earth seemed to have tipped off its axis, and she was positive if she stood and walked across the floor, it would be tilted.
Tears welled into her eyes, her tongue thick in her mouth. “I must talk to him,” she mumbled.
“Why?”
“I need him to . . . to . . .”
What did she need him to do?
Considering Esther’s confident, stoic manner, if Lily could locate John Middleton, what would she say?
Esther returned to her chair. “Let me explain something, Miss Lambert.”
“What?”
“I don’t mean to be deliberately cruel”—Lily snorted at this—“but there’s no easy way to make you understand what’s happened.”
“What has happened?” Lily tersely inquired. “I’d appreciate it if you’d enlighten me.”
“I know you’ll find it hard to believe,” Esther said, “but I was a young woman once. I learned—from bitter experience—how fickle a man’s attention can be.”
Lily started to tremble. Since their desperate underground escape, she
’d been overwhelmed by sensation. Everything was moving too fast. Colors were brighter, noises louder. People bustled by at a speed she couldn’t match.
At Esther’s implication that John hadn’t been genuinely fond of her, Lily’s defenses crumbled. She could no longer assert that nothing had occurred between them. All pretense was abandoned.
“He loves me,” she tried to insist.
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Has he ever told you he loved you?”
After a lengthy hesitation, Lily murmured, “No.”
“In all the time you were trapped with him, did he ever tell you he would renounce Violet?”
“No,” she said even more slowly.
“Has he ever—by the smallest word or sign—indicated that he would wed you instead of her?”
They both knew the answer, so there was no need to respond.
Lily peered at the rug, remembering her amazing interval with him. She forced herself to truly see what had transpired: not much of consequence. Even in the grotto, when their demise had seemed imminent, he hadn’t declared himself.
“Men are like beasts in the field, Miss Lambert,” Esther quietly stated. “They can be amorous, physical creatures, but it doesn’t mean anything to them.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Lily argued, but it was a feeble protest. “He cared about me.”
The fact that she would use the past tense, that he had cared about her, said it all. If he might have once, he didn’t now. It had been a fantasy.
“He might have been fond,” Esther allowed, “but where does that leave you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you wallow here in Scotland on the fringe of his life? Will you have him rent you a house so he can drop by in the evenings? These Scottish villagers are very conservative. They wouldn’t tolerate such immoral behavior. You’d be tarred and feathered and run out of town.”
“I wouldn’t want to live like that.”
“Will you follow him to England? And then what, Miss Lambert?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered again.
“You seem like a good person to me.”
“I am! I always have been.”
“I’m positive you don’t wish to hurt Violet.”