The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy

by Audrey Ashwood

  He seemed to have hit Finch. He only saw him from behind, but it looked as if he was holding his wounded arm with the other, healthy one, close to his body. Despite his injury, he was running quickly. Marcus stumbled a few steps after him, but then decided – with gritted teeth – against a pursuit.

  He would deal with Finch later.

  The most important thing now was Annabelle. He could hardly wait to hold her in his arms.

  “Annabelle,” he said aloud, and even to his own ears it sounded like a prayer. She was everything that mattered. He stumbled on, his legs heavy and tired like never before. It was her face alone, seared into his very soul, that prevented him from falling to his knees on the spot.

  He had spent so many months, even years, plotting his revenge. How often had he imagined the moment when he would triumph over his enemies? His friend had betrayed him. The wife of his mentor and friend had deceived and lied to him. One single step separated him from everything he had to live for.

  On one side, there was revenge.

  On the other, life.

  He chose life.

  Chapter 20

  All of a sudden, she knew how to distract the countess. And for that she did not even have to make up a lie! It was sufficient that she told her the truth. Annabelle forced herself to relax and keep her feet still. She leaned back into her chair, crossed her hands in her lap, and bestowed a sad smile on the countess. Even that did not require any pretence. All she had to do was to allow her feelings to come up from the depths of her heart and reach the surface.

  Feverishly, she searched for the words that would pierce the countess’s heart. “I am well aware that I am nothing but the bait that is supposed to lure Marcus to come here. But what will you do when he does?” She paused for a moment, giving her opponent the opportunity to notice the new tone in her voice and her posture. “Have you posted someone on the road to ambush him from behind like a coward?”

  An inconspicuous twitch in the face of the older woman showed Annabelle that she was right. Hopefully, Marcus would not be harmed! It would be unbearable if something were to happen to him!

  “I pity you,” Annabelle continued. “Everything you did was for nothing. You have built your thirst for revenge on a lie.”

  “That’s not true,” the countess countered. She leaned forward until her face almost touched Annabelle’s. Up close, she did look as advanced in age as Annabelle had originally assumed. It was not so much the wrinkles, but the expression of profound exhaustion in her features, which betrayed that she had long traded her zest for life with everlasting bitterness.

  “Yes, it is true. It is not Marcus who is responsible for Matilda’s death.”

  “Are you now going to tell me that I should have taken better care of her? That I am the one to blame?”

  Annabelle shook her head. “Oh, no. If I have learned one thing over the last few days, then it is this: we cannot protect those we love the most from evil, unless we lock them in a golden cage. But that is not the way it works.” She longed for a sip of water, but there was no drink within reach except for the drugged sherry. “I mean something else when I speak of a lie. Marcus is not to blame for the passing of Matilda.” If she said it often enough, the statement might eventually reach the heart of the countess. “Greywood killed Matilda.”

  The woman’s face distorted into a painful mask. It was an ugly sight, one that showed her true face. She had loved her goddaughter, but after Matilda’s death nothing had remained but an idol, a false ideal in the countess’s spirit. Revenge for Matilda’s death had only been an excuse to carry out her hatred. Annabelle realised this truth with such clarity that she had no doubt of its accuracy.

  “That is not true! It cannot be. I have used him. I would have known if he…” She fell silent.

  “I am not lying,” Annabelle declared firmly. “Greywood was a deceitful worm.” She deliberately used the harsh term. Seizing the moment, she explained in a few words what Greywood had done to her sister. With every syllable she uttered, the frame of the countess slumped down into itself further and further.

  “Ask Felicity herself,” Annabelle ended her story. “My sister has no reason to lie to you. She knows nothing about St. John, Matilda, or you.” Was it a risk to bring her sister into the picture? She did not think so. The countess no longer looked dangerous to her, but more like someone who realized that she had been chasing a phantom for years. When she rose from her chair her gestures were choppy, resembling those of a marionette.

  “I will…” the countess began, but she was unable to finish her sentence. This was the moment that Annabelle had yearned for – and feared.

  Her head darted to her left, as Marcus stormed into the room, his gun drawn. The countess’s hand shot forward as if she wanted to grab Annabelle. In the next moment, a deafening bang split the air. The woman’s face turned rigid and expressionless. Her hand rose to her chest, where a dark red stain formed quickly. But before the countess fell to the floor, Marcus was with her, pulling her up into his arms and holding her against his chest.

  On the journey back to London, they travelled in the carriage that had brought them there. Marcus’s horse was tied to the rear, and he sat in the driver’s seat, but after a great deal of toing and froing, he had relinquished the reins to his wife. Felicity had, under grumbling protest, taken her seat inside the coach, but Annabelle knew that the defiance was only an excuse.

  When Felicity had stumbled into the sitting room, still half asleep, she had fainted at the sight of the countess’s corpse. The shock was still too deep and had numbed her limbs so that she had seemed satisfied with a brief explanation and the subsequent soothing comfort. Annabelle sighed and snuggled closer to Marcus. She owed her sister the truth, however, the violent death of the countess could not be explained without disclosing the true circumstances of Greywood’s death. First, though, it was important to take Marcus to a doctor and try to stave off the worst.

  They had not lost much time and set off back to London as quickly as possible. The countess’s cook was gone, as was the major-domo and the coach driver.

  “I think that she sent her servants away because she knew that she would not need them anymore,” explained Marcus and slightly corrected Annabelle’s hands holding the reins. The horses fell into a steady trot. He was pale, and the jolting about caused by the rough road added significantly to his overall discomfort. Still, he appeared as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. She would never forget the fear in his eyes when he had watched the countess rush up to her. It was the most precious gift Annabelle had ever received, and she held the memory like a treasure inside her heart – despite the sorrowful circumstances.

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked. “We cannot leave the countess’s death unexplained and simply disappear. There are too many witnesses to Felicity’s and my arrival at the cottage.” Hawthorne’s suspicious face emerged in her thoughts. “Did you receive my letter? The one I wrote to you about the Runner’s visit to my parents’ house?”

  Marcus shook his head no. “Finch must have intercepted it,” he growled, and Annabelle felt how another morsel of sadness pulled at her heart. He had told her about the betrayal of the man who had been pulling the wool over his eyes while secretly working for the countess.

  It soon became clear why he had been such a willing ally to the hatred-filled woman. Marcus, together with Annabelle, searched the man’s chamber as soon as they arrived to their London townhouse. In one corner of the room, they found a small chest full of coins. The traitor had not even bothered to hide it, knowing full well that Marcus trusted him completely.

  “The countess must have spent money hand over fist in order to bring you to your knees,” Annabelle remarked. She closed the lid of the chest with a loud bang, which made her feel elusively satisfied.

  “She paid the price of it,” Marcus agreed. “When I think about what she did to deceive me… I am not just talking about the money, but also the effort, su
ch as the house in Whitechapel.”

  Annabelle wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You should not forget that she was, in a way, ill.”

  “What are you saying? Are you trying to find an excuse for a woman who would have killed you just to get to me because of what she thought I did?”

  “Not an excuse – just an explanation,” Annabelle said softly. “After all, her obsession was born out of love, you should not forget that. She must have loved Matilda very much, just as you did.”

  Marcus fell silent for a while, then he turned around, pulling Annabelle with him. When they closed the door to Finch’s chamber, he paused for a moment. “I understand what you’re trying to tell me,” he murmured. “But I sincerely hope that I would never have gone as far as she did. The countess has corrupted a great many people because of her hatred.” Marcus thought for a moment before continuing. “Madeline must have known that Finch passed all my plans to the countess.” He shook his head again. “I don’t understand how I could have been so blind all these years,” he said bewildered.

  “Oh, I understand it perfectly,” Annabelle remarked, and he turned his head to her enquiringly. “You were blind because you only had one goal…” She tried to explain what she knew, deep in her heart. “… Revenge. You did not look to your right or to your left, just like a horse with blinkers.”

  That hit him. She realised it by his clenched lips. But Annabelle was not yet finished. “I love you,” she said, not looking at him. “But you are about to make the same mistake again. Revenge is a cold pleasure, one that will slowly but surely kill you from the inside.”

  For a while, he did not say anything. Out of the corner of her eye, Annabelle saw that he was deeply in thought, which was confirmed by his frowned forehead. How handsome he was, even with the hard look on his face! How had she ever thought of him as cold and unapproachable? In fact, he was quite the opposite. He harboured deep emotions. And it was her task to reawaken the tender feelings inside him, and to… no, not to help him forget his past, but to give him a future worth living for.

  “So, what you are saying is I should let Finch and Madeline off the hook?” She heard, in his voice, that this was a path he would not take.

  “No, that is not what I am saying,” she replied and expressly emphasised the negation. “I merely think that you should not do this on your own. I believe revenge should not be your only driving force. You must come to terms with your past.”

  “And you will help me with that.”

  It was not a question, but a statement. If she had not already given her heart to him, she would have been lost this very moment, lost beyond redemption.

  “The first thing I need to do is to call in a few favours.” His voice had taken on a harsh undertone. “I will go and visit the minister as soon as I’ve had a chance to make myself look presentable and tell him everything. He will see to it that the countess’s death is to be treated for what it is – an unfortunate death that occurred in the need for our survival. He owes me that much.”

  “Can this not wait until tomorrow?” Annabelle felt the fatigue, which she had suppressed this entire time, return. Felicity had already retired to one of their guest rooms and was being well looked after. She had been sedated, and then she had seen the Countess of York die – apart from the emotional turmoil, it had been a long night and day. She had reached the limit of what was bearable.

  However, Marcus denied. “I will quickly get ready and then go and see him.” He sounded grim, very much so. “Go to bed, my love, and do not wait up for me.”

  Annabelle was suddenly filled with an indefinable feeling that shot through her entire body from the tips of her toes to her head, before it settled as one blissful tingling somewhere in the middle of her belly.

  “What did you just call me?” She felt a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth, despite everything they had faced. He returned the smile and at a stroke looked incredibly young. The grim crease between his eyebrows was gone.

  “My love,” he whispered. The tingling in her body grew so strong that it was almost too much to bear. That was what happiness felt like! “And I will say it again and again, until you are tired of hearing it.”

  “That will never happen,” Annabelle replied softly. She swallowed down the rising tears, or at least she tried, for one tell-tale tear ran down her cheek. Marcus reached out and caught the tear. For a second, both of them looked at the shimmering pearl on his fingertip. Annabelle experienced a moment of harmony in which she no longer felt like one person, but more like one half of something whole. She knew with absolute certainty that Marcus felt the same way. Gone were the barriers between them, the fears and obstacles they had both built up between them, only to see them tumbling down.

  “I will go now,” he said, but it did not sound as if he meant it seriously.

  “I will wait for you,” Annabelle replied. She did not mean that she would stay up and hold out until he returned home –home! – instead, she referred to something deeper. Something close to the real meaning of the word love.

  She saw now that love was not the obsession that both Felicity and the countess had fallen victim to, but a trust such as that which had unfolded so unexpectedly between herself and Marcus – a certainty that the other person would always be there, regardless of whatever silly mistakes one might make.

  “I will come back,” Marcus said. He too meant more than those four words did on the surface. “My love.”

  He kissed her, swiftly and fleetingly, as if he dared not touch her any longer. She did not just watch him leave when he turned towards his room, but instead followed him as if it was the natural thing to do. Annabelle helped him to re-bandage the wound on his shoulder and sighed in relief when she saw that, against all odds, nothing had burst open.

  As he wiped the dirt from his face and was about to put on a fresh shirt, she bid him farewell and headed back to her room. Soon after, she buried her nose into the pillow and fell asleep.

  The next morning brought another surprise. While she had been sleeping, Marcus had not only visited the minister, but also spoken with Hawthorne. He had told the Bow Street Runner the truth about everything that had happened.

  She greeted the last piece of information, saying, “I thought you wanted to… well, brush everything under the carpet?” She had been awake awhile and was sitting in the parlour when he had finally returned home. Felicity, who had accompanied her, rose from her chair and excused herself under the pretence of wanting to write a letter.

  Marcus let himself fall into an armchair and gratefully closed his eyes, while Annabelle went and poured him a whiskey. She waited until he had emptied it before she sat down on the arm of his chair, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His free hand searched for hers.

  “I decided against it,” he replied. “Enough with all the lies and the secrecy.”

  “You have no idea how happy this makes me. What did Hawthorne say?”

  “He already inkled the correlations,” Marcus disclosed. “The Minister had pulled some strings earlier on and issued the orders not to investigate me as a suspect.”

  “Hawthorne indicated as much during his last visit,” she said. “It was in my letter, the one Finch had intercepted. I am sorry, in all this …” she waved her hand in a helpless gesture, “… I forgot about it. But what will he do now? Will he still try and prosecute you?”

  Marcus shook his head and set his empty glass on the side table. “He has no choice but to yield to the order from above. However, he has issued a warrant for the capture and arrest of Finch. Sooner or later they will find him. Sooner, if you ask me, since the harbours are already heavily patrolled, and Finch will try to flee the country.”

  “But,” Annabelle enquired, her head working overtime, “what will they accuse him of? After all, he shot at you, but if you testify, all the other circumstances will come to light. This can’t possibly be the plan of… the circle?” She purposefully did not
say the name of the man who organised the espionage network of Great Britain but referred to the group as a whole. “This means that you and Hawthorne would be going against a direct order.”

  Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “I owe nothing to the man,” he determined. “He did not try to hold me back when I was searching for those responsible for Matilda’s death, but he did not help me either. Regarding Hawthorne…” He now sounded deep in thought. “He does not give me the impression of a man who is afraid of the authorities. If you ask me, he is the extramarital scion of a member of the upper class and enjoys a certain protection.”

  That makes sense, Annabelle thought. The Bow Street Runner, who had impressed her against her better judgement, was not a man who was easily scared or whose quest for justice could be turned aside. “I am glad that he did not turn into one of our enemies,” she admitted, and felt Marcus tighten his grip on her hand as he pulled her closer towards him.

  “How is your sister faring?” Marcus asked. He did not let her go, so Annabelle leaned closer against him, even though it was conducive to her concentration. His mention of Felicity brought back a worry that had gnawed at her.

  “She is doing well, given the circumstances,” she answered. “If you agree, I would like to keep her with me for a little while longer. She is not yet over Greywood’s death, even though she claims she is.” He nodded. “You protected her for me, did you not? When you dragged Greywood’s body into this house?”

  His only answer was another nod, which was all Annabelle would get from him. But more was not necessary. “I cannot wish for a better husband than you,” she whispered, which led him to break his silence.

  “I had something to make up for,” he replied.

  Annabelle frowned. “How so?”

  “I am sorry that I distrusted you all this time,” he explained. “You did nothing to deserve the treatment I showed you, and in reality, I did everything to push your love away. Therefore–” he tried to lighten his voice but failed, “I did everything in my power to protect your sister. As I should have done right from the start with you.”