The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t Eva. There was only one Eva.

  “Enter,” he grumbled. She walked across the room and took the recently vacated chair, perching uncomfortably on the edge.

  “How are you feeling, Your Grace?”

  “As well as can be expected after being shot by a footman, then carved up by a butcher,” he grumbled. His mood was darkening by the minute. “I am lucky to be breathing.”

  Lady Seymour bit her twitching lips, clearly to smother a smug smile. “Harold did a fine job of patching you up, Your Grace. You should be grateful.”

  At the moment he felt anything but grateful. Surly, yes. Aggrieved, certainly. In pain, most definitely. The last thing he wanted was to launch into a string of idle chatter with this near stranger, not when stewing over Eva was the one thing he wanted to do most, alone. “What is it you want, Lady Seymour?”

  Amusement finally flickered across her face. “I want you to marry my sister.”

  He stilled. This was an interesting turn. The woman was a curiosity. If he wed Eva, it would be difficult to keep the true nature of the sisters’ relationship secret. Gossip had flared over Eva’s appearance at the ball and hadn’t waned with her just as sudden disappearance. If she became his duchess, the scrutiny would be intense.

  For the first time he could see Eva’s concerns through his own eyes. It was no wonder she balked at his proposal.

  “Why should I marry your sister?”

  “Because you love her.”

  The statement nearly took him off the bed. He raked his gaze over her face. Had his feelings been so clear to everyone but himself?

  She continued, “And because you took her innocence, and she might well be carrying your child. Because in spite of your father’s reputation, you are a man of character, though you tarnished it when you seduced Eva. Because she is warm and loving and wonderful, and you could do no better than to make her your duchess.”

  He cocked a brow and hid his amusement. “Are you always so forthright, Lady Seymour?”

  She smiled. “It is my most endearing trait.”

  Nicholas chuckled. “I agree with the part about Eva making a fine duchess, and I do love her. And just to be clear, I asked for her hand and she refused me. She is fiercely protective of her mother. She believes our marriage would harm Charlotte.”

  Lady Seymour slumped back in the chair. “That is certainly a concern. Gossips do like to dig up dark family secrets and bandy them about. Charlotte is in no condition to have her past exposed. Eva is right to be worried.”

  They sat silent for a moment. “There has to be a way to solve this issue,” Lady Seymour said. “I know you and Eva are meant to be together. It will shatter her heart to lose you.”

  “It will do me no better.” Was it possible Noelle was right, and Eva did love him? She’d given him no sign she felt anything more than desire. If she loved him, it would certainly change everything. “I will find a way to assuage her fears.”

  A satisfied smile lit her face. “I have faith, Your Grace.” She winked, then left him to ponder the situation.

  With Charlotte at risk, he needed to protect her and still wed Eva. The years ahead of him would be empty and dark without her. He loved his courtesan-spinster.

  He’d do anything to have her. Anything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eva brushed aside her tears and splashed tepid water on her face. All her life she’d known she’d never marry or be a mother. It was impossible when she had so many secrets to keep. Now the man she loved wanted to give her a family of her own, and she’d had to refuse him, though he knew everything about her. And didn’t care.

  Had he been born to a bookkeeper or a farmer and lived a quiet life, she’d have eagerly accepted his proposal. But a duke? Not only was Nicholas a duke, but a member of a powerful family and subjected to constant scrutiny from society.

  Not even his scandalous father could keep the Ton from embracing his son and widow to their ample bosom as if they were royalty. But a courtesan’s daughter was another scandal entirely. There were some lines one didn’t step over, and this was one of them. Her mother was considered a whore, though she’d had but one lover. Her daughter could not become a duchess.

  She’d be shunned, her mother would be exposed, and Noelle and the phantom Margaret would be ostracized. A bastard sister was not unexpected, the way noblemen planted their seed far and wide. However, one didn’t drag her from the shadows and parade her at a society ball.

  Eva released a shaky sigh and left her room. Nicholas needed several days to recover, and though she wanted desperately to return to London and her mother, she couldn’t abandon him. He’d saved them. She owed him the loyalty of caring for him until he was well enough to travel. Then she would leave him at Collingwood House and wish him well.

  The women, except Noelle and Yvette, who were resting upstairs, were gathered in a small, simple drawing room. The excited chatter silenced when Eva arrived.

  They were curious, and she couldn’t blame them. The previous night had been one of revelations. She would offer her explanations later. Right now, she was too weary to deal with questions.

  The furnishings were limited to a settee, a table, and three chairs, and the settee and the chairs were fully occupied. The fabric of the furniture and the drapes was faded and frayed, and the papered walls had crackled with age. Overall, the house had an air of neglect, and its mustiness was that of a house long closed up.

  The owner of the house remained a mystery. If a family resided here, she’d seen no sign of them. Only a few elderly servants and several spiders appeared to call this place home.

  “How is the patient?” Abigail asked, worried. She wore a faded pink dress that looked as if it had been donated by a housekeeper or maid. In fact, all the women were clad in frocks of cotton or wool in faded colors and sized to fit bodies of slightly larger girth and height. The women looked as if they had found a trunk of old clothes and were playing dress up.

  “He’s resting,” Eva said. She looked down at her borrowed trousers and shirt, stained with blood and dirt. She hadn’t given her appearance a moment’s thought since Nicholas was shot.

  “The housekeeper, Mrs. Moore, gave us these dresses.” Rose grimaced when she leaned forward and her bodice gaped to show a yellowing chemise. “She found them in the attic. There was a trunk of finer gowns, but moths had rendered them unwearable.”

  “The baron and his wife had a daughter who died of a fever when she was sixteen,” Abigail said softly. “Mrs. Moore said the things were hers. The family was impoverished for many years due to bad investments by the baron.”

  “There is a dress for you in Lady Noelle’s room,” Sophie said. “We didn’t want to disturb you with His Grace.”

  “I shall have to thank the baroness for her kindness. Has anyone seen her?”

  “There is neither baroness nor baron.” Harold strode into the room, his face a stony mask. He carried a bottle and glass in his hands, and he’d changed into breeches and a coat of blue wool that fit his pugilist’s body as if they’d been custom-made. The housekeeper must have spent some time rooting through trunks to find those garments. “The baroness drowned in the lake shortly after Louise died, and the baron passed away last year in his sleep. Mrs. Moore is responsible for the clothing.”

  Eva watched as Harold poured a draught of what she thought was whiskey and downed it in one deep swallow. Her brows shot up. She’d never seen him imbibe spirits. The night, and the shooting, must have troubled him more than she’d imagined.

  “How do you know so much about the family, Harold?” she asked. Her suspicion grew. His clothing looked new, and he’d made himself at home as if he’d been here before. A quick glance out the window at the overgrown lawn and the house’s distance from the road made her realize he hadn’t stumbled on the place by accident. So she implored him, “No more secrets. Please.”

  Their eyes met, and he was the first to look away. He poured another drink
and tossed it back. “The house is mine.”

  Abigail let out a gasp and went pale. With a whimper, she rose to her feet and raced from the room. Harold grimaced and tensed.

  “It was my family who died here.” He set down the glass and went to the window. “After my sister and mother died, I became estranged from my father for several years. It was only after his death that I returned, finding the house in ruins.”

  The courtesans had become silent as stones. This wasn’t a conversation to be had with an audience. Eva motioned them to leave, and they did so reluctantly. She was left alone with her secretive friend.

  Her stomach soured. She sensed the rest of his story would end badly. For her. He was a baron who had been masquerading as a servant. She guessed his arrival on her doorstep hadn’t been accidental. She had to pray he was not an escaped murderer or wanted highwayman.

  “Please continue.” She braced herself and focused on breathing slowly and calmly. She owed him much, and he had the right to her full attention.

  He drew his hands over his head to cup the back of his neck before he finally turned to face her. His stoic mask had changed to an expression of deep regret. “After Father died, I discovered he’d left me with nothing but this property and mounting bills. After I left here, I served several years in the army, working under a physician. Mostly I drifted around, working jobs to keep myself fed. I ended up in Kent, at Bridgeton Manor, as a groom.”

  Eva swayed. Puzzle pieces started to snap together. Harold rushed to her side, but she shook him off. She stumbled to a chair and slumped into it. “Noelle.”

  “No,” Harold barked sharply. “Noelle’s mother.”

  Eva clasped her hands and put them to her mouth. Hurt filled her. “That horrid witch! I thought the Dowager had accepted what she couldn’t change and had moved forward.” Eva lifted her eyes and let Harold see the depth of her hurt. “You betrayed me from the beginning.” Her lower lip quivered. “The one person besides my mother I trusted, and it was all a terrible ruse put together by the one person in this world who wants to see us destroyed.”

  “Eva”—Harold dropped to one knee before her, pain etching lines into his face—“she offered me a way to live comfortably and to return this house to a usable property. She wanted to know everything about you and Charlotte, to see if I could find a weakness she could use against you.”

  It felt as if the air had fled the room. Her head began to spin. “You must have had much to report.” Her mouth was dry, and it was difficult to speak. “Am I to expect guards from Bedlam, Harold, to drag my mother from my home in the dead of night?”

  “No. Eva, please listen.” He splayed his hands. “She knows nothing. You saved me when the footpads left me for dead. I knew then that I couldn’t honor my contract with Lady Seymour. You and Charlotte became my family.”

  Closing her eyes against tears, Eva shook her head. He had been a spy for the enemy. He could be lying still. “You could have warned me of her intentions so I could protect us. How do I know anything you say is truth?”

  Harold reached to place a hand over hers. “I fed her some false information and thought it best if I stayed and watched over you and Charlotte, lest she send someone else. Lady Seymour is driven by an insane desire to punish you for being born. There was no telling the depths she’d go to in her plotting. I couldn’t worry you needlessly. I thought it best to keep silent.”

  “And Noelle?” Eva wasn’t ready to forgive him. She understood his manly desire to protect her. It was the curse of all members of his sex. “She must have known something.”

  “She knew nothing about her mother’s betrayal.” Harold looked down. “Before I left for London, she asked me for a favor: to discover your address so that she could visit you in the future. She has always been curious about you.”

  Noelle had told her as much.

  “I was surprised when she showed up at our door,” Harold said. “It took much convincing for her to accept that I was there for a good reason. Once she discovered her mother’s involvement, she quickly agreed to keep mum and allow me to continue as your protector. We both feared you would release me from your employment if you discovered the truth. Then you’d be left unprotected.”

  Eva pulled her hand free and stood. Harold rose to his feet. Forgiveness wouldn’t be easy, even if his intentions were honorable. She needed to seek out Noelle. Her sister had her own explaining to do.

  Until the last secret was revealed, she wouldn’t rest. “I have much to think about. Somehow I feel this macabre play isn’t over. There are always many twists before the end. You must give me time to think this through, My Lord—?”

  “Lerwick.” Harold said with the hint of a grin. “The Right Honorable Lord Lerwick, at your service. But I insist you call me Harold, My Lady.”

  Her mouth twitched. She took a step closer to forgiveness. She could not give up their friendship over what had been his desperation to save his home. Their paths weren’t so dissimilar. She’d taken the duke to bed to save her home and her mother. “If you will excuse me, Your Lordship, I have a sister to confront.”

  It took Eva some time to discover Noelle in an animated conversation with Abigail near a small lake at the back of the property. The two women were clearly arguing. Raised voices carried across the meadow; though Eva couldn’t understand the words. As she neared, Noelle turned her head, saw her arrive, and flushed guiltily. Abigail turned, and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Eva,” Noelle said sharply, “I—we—” She snapped her mouth shut. Both women’s faces turned pink, a matching set of flushes high on their cheekbones. Abigail appeared skittish, ready to flee, and Noelle put a protective arm across her body.

  Eva walked around a tree stump and stepped close. She sensed that the conversation she’d interrupted involved her. Her life appeared to be the topic of interest to everyone close to her, the subject of endless speculation. It rankled to be the subject of gossip. Her business was not anyone else’s concern.

  “Is something amiss, ladies? Noelle? Abigail?”

  Abigail became fascinated with her hands. Noelle seemed suddenly stricken mute, an unusual condition for her. “If you do not tell me this instant why you’re hiding in this weed patch discussing me”—Eva paused and put her hands on her hips—“I will drag both of you down to the lake and push you in.”

  Noelle darted a glance at Abigail, who refused to look up but visibly quaked under the scrutiny.

  “Coward,” Noelle said, and Abigail pulled her lower lip between her teeth and worried it for a moment.

  “You tell her,” Abigail finally said. Her voice dropped to a breathless whisper. “I cannot.”

  Noelle let out a sharp sigh, drawing the attention back to her. Eva focused on her face. Like Harold, her sister was clearly troubled. Several heartbeats passed before Noelle finally opened her mouth and her shoulders drooped. “Abigail is our sister.”

  “What?” Eva gasped. She’d expected hurdles while unraveling the tapestry of this confusing story, but not this. Her shock couldn’t be greater. “We have a courtesan sister?”

  Her mind fractured into bits. She couldn’t pull together a single clear thought. After Harold’s confession, she’d thought the worst of the secrets were behind her. No revelation made by her servant and friend compared to this one. She was in shock.

  Noelle shook her head. “Abigail is Margaret.”

  Eva’s expression of shock widened as she glanced from one face to the other. Why had she never noticed the similarities in the two sisters; the cut of their jaws, the likeness of their noses? She supposed it wasn’t clear without the two standing side by side. Clearly Margaret favored the coloring of their mother, though she did have a hint of amber in her eyes.

  The shyest of her courtesans was her sister. Eva slumped against the stump. Darkness called to her mind, and she blinked to keep from dropping to her knees.

  Abigail rushed to her side and fanned her with a hand. “I think you should explain quickl
y, Noelle, before she faints.”

  Their eldest sister joined them, hesitant, as if she expected Eva to regain her strength and claw her eyes out. At the moment, Eva could do nothing but hold herself up. Two shocks in one morning had undone her. Had the sky chosen to fall at that moment, she wouldn’t be able to lift her hands to cover her head.

  “Actually, I forced Margaret to pose as a courtesan and made up a story for her,” Noelle rushed to explain. “She was adamantly against it. She wanted no part of the deception.”

  “I wanted no part of you. You were a shameful secret better kept hidden, and I hated you,” Abigail-Margaret admitted. She reached to take Eva’s limp hand. “Mother cursed you and your mother every day of our lives. I thought you were a twisted troll and your mother was a deceitful sorceress who stole Father from her and was responsible for his death.”

  Eva flinched. Father was traveling to see them when his coach slid off an icy road and tumbled down a ravine. It was easy to see why the sisters would blame Mother and her for the tragic accident.

  Margaret added, “As you have learned, it is impossible to refuse Noelle when she has her mind set. I finally agreed.” She squeezed Eva’s hand. “When I saw how you helped and cared for the courtesans, I realized I’d been so very wrong about you. Father’s death was an unfortunate accident. And when you risked your life for Yvette, I knew that I would be happy to call you my sister.”

  Eva trembled, then burst into tears. “You two are the strangest pair,” she sobbed as Margaret slid an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “You should run from me. I am the product of Father’s betrayal of your mother.”

  Margaret smiled. “Mother spent her life making Father miserable. Charlotte gave him happiness. I know that now. We cannot change the actions of our parents, and if you can forgive us for our deceit, we can be sisters. Now and always.”

  Tears flowed freely as the three women held each other. Eva knew she should be angry, yet she couldn’t fault them for wanting to know her, deception aside. She’d known about her sisters since she was a child and had grown up thinking they were spoiled wretches. To discover they were not was a delight.