The Daughter of an Earl

by Victoria Morgan

  “We should stroll the perimeter of the room to be sure to be seen.”

  Julia was clearly enjoying herself, no doubt, pleased to see Emily express an interest in any man, whatever her reasons. Pity her sister had the wrong man. Emily’s guilt deepened, but she gamely lifted her chin and looped her arm through Julia’s.

  They nodded to acquaintances, pausing to chat with those who offered Julia congratulations on the birth of the twins. As friends swarmed them, Emily released Julia’s arm, no longer needing her support. During her rare appearance in society, Julia’s arm had provided a lifeline she had clung to as Julia cleaved a path through the crowds, like a ship’s masthead breaching stormy waters.

  It helped that the murmurs carrying Emily’s name had tapered off to near silence. From the comments she had overheard, the ton had moved on to a more scintillating absence than her own—such as the mysterious disappearance of a higher ranking personage than she. Her ears perked up as she overheard another mention of Brett’s cousin.

  “No, I have not seen Prescott since he came into the title,” a gentleman drawled. “Probably busy running the estate into the ground. Flunked out of a string of schools, you know. Gordon said his brother was practically illiterate, had little use for him.”

  His companion snorted. “Gordon was a colossal arse. Do not believe half the rot he uttered. Loaned the bastard blunt to cover a substantial wager, and he never repaid a farthing of it. Even if Prescott is a mutton-headed half-wit, he is a better sort than his brother.”

  Their voices faded as they drifted away. Her eyes widened. Illiterate? Could that be why Brett was so determined to locate his cousin?

  She recalled Melody mentioning Prescott flunking out of a few schools before landing at Dunbar with Brett and Daniel. Was Brett concerned about Prescott’s competence to manage the ducal estates? Then again, as the gentleman had said, these could simply be rumors that Prescott’s late brother had circulated. Acrimony between brothers was not uncommon. And lord knows, she had learned the damage that unchecked rumors could inflict.

  “Emily, you remember Mr. Drummond, do you not?”

  Julia’s introduction broke through her train of thought. “Of course. Mr. Drummond. It is a pleasure.” She dipped into a curtsy, noting his flamboyant attire.

  Only a liberal application of hair wax could have achieved the wild and unruly look of his fine auburn hair. She doubted Brett’s thick golden locks needed assistance in achieving the casually disheveled style that was the men’s fashion of the day. No doubt, Brett simply did not bother to brush it. Women studied Drummond with interest, but unlike Brett, she surmised that to be Drummond’s intent.

  He executed a deep bow, and as he straightened, his golden eyes glowed warmly. “The pleasure is always mine. Your beauty steals my breath. This evening my pleasure is twofold, for the Chandler sisters, like the most stunning gems, enhance every setting they deign to grace.”

  Emily bit down a madcap urge to sputter out a laugh, and quickly waved her fan in front of her face. She had forgotten the ritual of flattery and flirtation. It had been so long since Jason had showered her with compliments, and Brett was more frugal with his.

  She pondered that. Did Brett not find that she enhanced a setting like the most stunning gems? Obdurate and determined appeared to be his adjectives of choice for her. She frowned. Perhaps Americans courted differently—not that they were courting. Far from it. They were . . . she did not know what they were, and certainly did not have time to ponder the matter at present.

  “How you flatter, Mr. Drummond. You are too kind.” Julia ostensibly fanned herself, while from behind it, she flashed Emily a behave yourself glower. Drat Julia’s acute hearing. Emily’s snicker must have escaped her before she fully stifled it.

  “As I have told Emily, that is candor, not flattery.” Drummond grinned. “Now then, the evening is a temperate one, and they have opened the doors to the terrace. May I escort you ladies outside? I see you fanning yourselves, and concede it is rather warm in here.”

  “That sounds lovely. Would you care to take a turn outside?” Julia sent a pointed, will you say something look on Emily.

  “Yes. Yes, a stroll. Lovely idea,” she blurted inanely.

  Drummond offered them each an arm, and as they moved toward the French doors, he asked about the twins.

  Julia followed with an inquiry about Drummond’s sister, easing them into the smooth rhythm of social discourse. “And Clarise, is she enjoying her Season thus far?”

  “My sister would dance the night away if given the opportunity. Alas, it appears the gentlemen are delighted to assist her in achieving her goal. All well and good for Clarise, but you must understand, it is trying for a protective and doting older brother.”

  “Believe me, you would be finding her far more difficult if she were sitting out most of the dances,” Julia pointed out. “Isn’t that right, Emily?” Julia said as they stepped onto the terrace.

  Drat and blast. She had lost track of the conversation. Something about dancing? “Yes, the nights pass much faster when one is dancing.” Julia gave her an odd look, and Emily hastened to clarify her words. “That is, they can be far more enjoyable when one spends it on the dance floor with a handsome partner such as yourself, Mr. Drummond.”

  There. She could dredge up her flattery when forced.

  “Thank you.” Drummond dipped his head in acknowledgment of her compliment. “As for dancing, I hope I can claim one from you, Lady Emily. We were rudely interrupted the last time I asked.”

  She knew she shouldn’t smile, but her lips curved. “Yes, well, ah . . . Mr. Curtis is American, so you have to excuse him. He is not as familiar with our rules of proper etiquette,” she lied glibly.

  As they headed toward the yard benches, Julia paused, forcing them to stop. “Oh, dear. I fear I have a pebble in my slipper. Please, do continue. I will catch up once I remedy the matter.”

  Caught off guard at Julia’s subterfuge, Emily hastened to voice a protest. “No, really. I am happy to wait—”

  “Come, Lady Emily, we are well chaperoned,” Drummond said with an inviting smile, waving a hand to draw her attention to the pockets of guests who had also ventured outside. “And I recalled some information on that topic you brought up the last time we spoke, which would be of little interest to your sister.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. Drat and blast. Now what? She resisted the urge to swipe clammy hands down her skirts.

  “Go ahead,” Julia prodded. “But I trust you not to venture too far.” She gave them a stern chaperone-like look.

  “If you insist.” Drummond bowed to Julia, and turned to Emily. “I believe we have been summarily dismissed. Shall we?”

  She cursed Julia’s sudden penchant for matchmaking, because short of giving Drummond the cut direct, and then later having to explain to Julia her reasons for doing so, Emily was left with no choice. “We will not venture far. Just down this path.” She still had no intention of disappearing with the man, and it was best to make that clear at the onset.

  It was early evening, that indecipherable time of twilight that defined the breach between daylight and darkness. Tall lanterns were interspersed along paths leading into the gardens, like patient sentries poised to illuminate the paths when the final light faded.

  She fell into step beside Drummond, careful to keep a safe distance between them. She did want to hear what he had to impart, but refused to pay a price for it.

  “The last two times we crossed paths, Mr. Curtis interrupted us. I am relieved to find you alone,” Drummond said. “I understand he is Bedford’s former business partner and godfather to his twins, but speaking as a friend who has borne witness to his boorish behavior, not once, but twice, it might be wise to limit your exposure to his sort. I only presume to caution you because you have been absent from society for some time. You forget that one is judged not only by
their character but by the company one keeps. I would hate for you to be viewed poorly due to your naïveté,” he finished, his tone apologetic.

  What a pompous arse.

  Bristling, she opened her mouth to scathingly inform him that as an earl’s daughter, she was well versed in knowing whose company to avoid, but then paused. If she wished him to speak openly with her, she should not begin their conversation with a chastisement. With difficulty, she bit back her retort. “I will keep that in mind.”

  As they continued, he offered up the usual platitudes on the balmy evening, following with tidbits on shared acquaintances. She listened with half an ear, hoping he broached the subject soon before her patience wore thin.

  “I am glad we are alone because I have something important to discuss with you.” He paused beside a marble statue of some Grecian robed personage, hands raised in a plaintive plea.

  “And what is that?” She braced herself, wary of his seeking to rekindle the sentiments he had proclaimed in their last encounter. She glanced back to ensure Julia was within calling distance, and took another step back from Drummond.

  “I paid a call on Viscount Weston and his lovely sister a couple of weeks ago, and he mentioned your visit.”

  “Yes, I saw the viscount and his mother just before I left for town.”

  “That is kind of you to stay on good terms with the family.”

  Why would I not? she wondered, but held her silence.

  “The viscount mentioned some documents he had turned over to me. These papers belonged to Jason and concerned unfinished business matters from his time in Calcutta.”

  “Oh?” She kept a neutral tone, while silently cursing Tristan for blundering into areas she had asked him to stay out of. She had no patience for another of Drummond’s lectures on keeping her pretty little head out of men’s business matters.

  “Those papers were placed in my care shortly after Jason’s death, and over the years, Tristan has never mentioned them. You must understand that I found his interest, coming on the heels of your own inquiry about Jason’s work, well, curious at the very least, but more so, alarming.”

  Her eyes widened, and she feigned surprise. “Do you think the viscount has come upon the same information that I did in rereading Jason’s letters? Could he possibly—?”

  “Certainly not!” Drummond snapped, but hastened to gentle his tone. “Lady Emily, the viscount did not discover discrepancies in accounts or any other evidence of malfeasance because he did not review the papers. He left that for me to do because I am familiar with Jason’s work. Mind you, had the viscount studied the documents, he would not have found anything of interest because as I told you once before, there is nothing to discover.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure? Because in Jason’s letters—”

  “For God’s sake, you cannot believe anything Jason wrote!”

  Startled, she studied his flushed features, the barely controlled anger, and wondered at his words.

  Drummond pressed a gloved hand to his brow. Lowering it, he paced away, but then turned back with a sigh. “You must understand, I had my reasons for trying to deter you from your course when you first approached me for assistance. I did not want to cause you pain, pain that I know what I am about to confide will inflict, but you leave me no choice.”

  A chill suffused her. “Please, if it involves Jason, whatever it entails, as his fiancée, I have a right to know.”

  “Jason was not himself toward the last few months of his life. I do not know if you know this, but his work for the East India Company involved overseeing the opium trade.” He reiterated Caleb Little’s explanations of Jason’s work. “It is not uncommon for, well . . . It is a difficult posting in that infernal country, so it is not unusual for men so far from home and separated from friends, family, and those they love . . . to suffer loneliness. To alleviate their despair, some seek an escape, or rather, find solace elsewhere,” he said softly.

  She had to moisten her lips before she could speak, feeling the blood drain from her face. This was Jason’s friend. “I do not understand. What are you saying?”

  “Lady Emily, a lot of men posted over there sought their comfort through the oblivion provided in smoking opium. And for some unfortunates who partake, they become dependent upon the drug.”

  She fought to draw deep and steady breaths. She wrapped her arms around her waist and clung tight. If she did not, she would lunge at the lying, deceitful bastard and gouge his eyes out.

  A noose was too good for this man. He deserved to be drawn and quartered. She swallowed the pain his words inflicted. “So like one addicted to laudanum, Jason was . . . delusional? Is that why I should not heed anything he wrote in his letters? Is that what you are saying?” she pressed.

  Drummond held up his hands plaintively. “I am sorry. I did not want to tell you this, but I worry that you are digging into matters best left buried. Let us forget I said anything. Please, as your friend, allow me to leave you with the memory you have of Jason and not tarnish it with things we cannot change.”

  “I am trying to understand. Please, help me to do so. Laudanum is readily available here. People take it all the time. It is prescribed as a remedy for sniffles. I do not understand how—?”

  “Laudanum is but a tincture of opium,” he interrupted impatiently. “Opium in its purest form is far more dangerous. If consumed in large qualities, one sees things that are not there. Imagines things that are not real. Those who fall under its spell . . . well, it is not a pretty picture, so let us not finish drawing this out. Jason would not want you going down this path. Let him rest in peace.”

  He reached out to her, but she retreated, evading his treacherous touch. “Yes. I now understand why you did not want me to pursue my course.”

  Because it would implicate you.

  Had Jason identified Drummond as the embezzler? It would explain why Marsh had said Jason’s findings had disturbed him. To learn a trusted friend and colleague was the culprit would be upsetting indeed. It was easy to jump from lying bastard to embezzling thief—but from there to murderer?

  She pressed her hand to her temple. Uncertainty and confusion battled within her, making it difficult to think clearly. Not with Drummond standing so close, hovering over her, feigning solicitous concern.

  But she had one more question, and once they were answered, she would be quite finished with the man. “His clerk, Mr. Marsh, and his valet, Winfred, must have been aware of Jason’s . . . ah, his affliction and chose to keep quiet. I suppose I should be grateful for that. It is a small comfort that his reputation was protected.”

  Drummond did not immediately respond, but something hard flared in his eyes.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Allow me to give you another warning. Stay away from Marsh. The man is no good.” He paused, as if battling with himself how much to confide. “Just who do you think helped Jason to procure the opium? To prepare it? Helped to keep his secret?”

  “Mr. Marsh?” She remembered the sadness, the pain, and the bitterness that darkened the frail man’s eyes. Jason was not the only one deserving justice.

  “Marsh,” Drummond confirmed, spitting out the name as if it was toxic.

  “And Winfred?”

  Drummond waved a hand dismissively. “He always had his head buried in his books. Never understood why Jason taught that boy to read, because when he finally lifted his eyes to notice what was going on around him, it was too late.”

  “I see,” she murmured. Lies. Malicious, slanderous lies. Winfred had been ready with a bandage before Jason cut himself. Yes, he loved his books, but he had cared for Jason more. His teaching Winfred to read had sealed the young man’s devotion. She recalled the tears Winfred had manfully fought to stifle, and the agonizing grief they shared over the loss of a man they had both loved. “I understand.” All too well.

 
“I hope you do. Lady Emily, I tell you these things because I am your friend. But . . .” He stepped closer to her, his eyes locked on hers.

  She again retreated, wary of the warmth in his gaze.

  “But you must know I continue to hope that someday, we can be something more to each other.”

  She nearly shuddered. “Please. I have explained to you—”

  “Yes, you have. You loved Jason. But in light of what you have now learned, you must understand that the man I knew those final months was no longer the man you loved. He never should have left you. I would not have done so.”

  Good lord. The man was mad. There could never have been anything between them before. Now all she wanted from this man was his head in a noose.

  She could not hang him for his slanderous words, but she would find the evidence to drag him before the magistrate on charges of embezzlement. And perhaps . . . just perhaps murder.

  “Mr. Drummond, it is too soon. I have much to think about, and need the time to do so.”

  “Of course. Forgive me, but you must understand that I have waited a long time, and—”

  “Patience is an admirable virtue, and I appreciate yours.” She sounded like a veritable prig, but did not care. “Now we must find Julia and return,” she said, raising her voice as she evoked her sister’s name.

  “Emily—”

  “There you are. I was on my way to join you, when look who found me,” Julia said, materializing before them as if she had been awaiting Emily’s call, which thankfully, she had been.

  Emily followed her sister’s gaze to the group standing behind her, and froze as her eyes locked on one man.

  Brett.

  She really needed to get him that damn warning bell.

  When she met his eyes, they blazed with an icy blue rage, chilling her to the bone. She forgot her nerves and every thought in her head but one—she had made a grave mistake. She swallowed, fearing what price she would be paying for it.