by Regina Scott
“That’s temporary,” she pointed out. “You’re liquidating assets rather than building a stable foundation.”
He couldn’t help his smile of pride. “Sounds like your father wasn’t the only financial genius in the family.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I may have learned a thing or two along the way, but my father never intended me to take over for him. I can point you to some other gentlemen he respected. They could help you determine what must be done.”
“I wouldn’t want to enlist their aid until I know the whole of the problem. But it does sound as if funds will be needed and soon. The earl accused me of stealing his only hope—having Thorgood marry you.”
She snorted. “If that was the best he could do, he’s in poor shape indeed.”
“Still, I share his concern. I will not see Thorgood and Lady Miranda suffer for his negligence.”
She cocked her head, sending curls tumbling down one cheek. “What can you do?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I could return to London with him, review the ledgers to see if I can find something he missed. But I don’t like leaving you here, especially when we suspect the French of infiltrating the area.”
“Speaking of which, the new employment agent was just here. She lost the key used by her staff to come clean the castle, and she suspects one of the maids, a Mrs. Bascom, might have given it to her husband, the smuggler.”
“She might indeed,” James said. “And that would explain why the light first appeared in the castle window as well. Mrs. Bascom was signaling her husband at sea.”
“But did he ultimately give her key to someone else?” she asked.
“Someone with ties to the French.” Frustration pushed him out of his seat. “But we still don’t know who or why they were leaving ciphers in the castle.”
“And who brought that boat into the caves,” Eva added.
“They must be near,” James said, starting to pace. “I should rally the militia. This is one of the reasons they were formed.”
She rose as well. “Only a few will know of the earl’s predicament. Catch the spies first, then deal with the family crisis.”
“Logical,” he allowed. He stopped and ran a hand back through his hair. “But I cannot shake the feeling that the family crisis is more urgent than we know. Why else would the earl risk coming all this way as sick as he is?”
She nodded. “You need money, immediately.”
“I suppose I do.”
She waited, as if she expected him to announce some grand scheme to raise funds. Short of selling off assets, he had no such plan.
“There’s another way,” she said. “My fortune.”
“No,” James said. “That money is yours. I thought we agreed on that.”
“So did I. We married to ensure our freedom from the earl. I find myself under another yoke, that of trust. I want to trust you, James, but I struggle.”
He had hoped they had come farther. “I can see why it would be difficult to trust a Howland, but I had thought you’d made an exception for me.”
“And so I have.” She crossed to her bedchamber.
He frowned after her, not sure of her intentions. All he could think was that he’d failed—his village, his family, and the woman he was coming to love.
Eva returned with a sheaf of parchment.
“What’s that?” he asked as she started for the hearth.
“Our agreement.” She rolled the pages together and stuck them into the fire.
James jerked forward. “Eva!”
She turned to him, face resolute, as the heat caught the paper and sent flames licking upward. “No, James. It’s done. I give you full control of my fortune. Use it to save Thorgood and Lady Miranda. They are my family now too.”
“Eva.” Could she hear the admiration in his voice? He stepped up to her, put his hands on her shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She nodded, curls trembling. “I did. I’m falling in love with you, James, and I don’t want my fortune to come between us. I want you to know I trust you, with my fortune, with my heart, with my life.”
He gathered her close, rested his head against hers. “Thank you, Eva. That gift is more precious than you know. I am honored by your trust, especially since I’m falling in love with you too.”
“You are?” She leaned back, searching his face. It was the work of a moment to kiss her.
Once again, light and hope blossomed from her touch. She kissed him back, bright, pure, and he knew they would find a way forward.
At length she sighed, pulling back just enough to lean her head against his shoulder. “So, you’ll do it? You’ll use the money to help them?”
“No,” he said, cradling her close. “You can use the money. What you burned was one copy, Eva. Julian Mayes has the other in London.”
“Oh!” She leaned away again. “Well, we can burn it too.”
James took her hands in his. “No, Eva. We keep the arrangement. I never want you to worry about whether I’m after your fortune. Once we determine how bad things are for Thorgood and Miranda, you can decide how to help them. And thank you.”
Her lower lip trembled, and he had to kiss her again. They had a chance for a real marriage, and he would be forever grateful.
~~~
Eva could have stayed in James’s embrace—protected, cherished—forever. But they still had far to go to unravel this mess.
She made herself step out of reach. “So, we are agreed how to deal with the financial crisis, if there is one. We should tell the earl.”
He was watching her as if he’d very much like to resume their kisses. Her heart whispered the same longing. She turned to the fire and hoped he’d think the heat had brought the color to her cheeks.
“Telling him would probably keep him from ruminating,” he allowed.
“And possibly from plotting more interference,” Eva added. She glanced at him in time to see him smile. To think, such a look might be hers for always.
For better, for worse…
“I wouldn’t wager on that,” he said. “The earl gains too much pleasure from manipulating people. I trust you will never let me grow that toplofty.”
Eva laughed. “But James, you’re one of the most toplofty fellows I know. It’s part of your charm.”
He laughed as well.
Their plan decided, they went to see the earl. His valet met them at the door.
“He’s sleeping,” he reported in a whisper. “I don’t expect him to wake until after tea.”
“If he wakes before we return,” James told him, “let him know that Eva and I are ready to do our part to help the family.”
The valet looked a bit mystified, but he agreed to relay the message.
They next went to find Mother Howland. She was just draping her harp, her hands gentle, tender.
“James, Eva,” she greeted them, straightening. “How are you? How is the earl?”
James led her back to the withdrawing room and over to the settee, then waited until she and Eva had sat side by side before answering. “Eva and I are fine, Mother. But our plans may have to change. The earl is dying. He may not have much time left.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips a moment. “Will he return to London?” she asked as she lowered her hand.
“If I know him, he will insist on it,” James said.
She nodded. “Then I will go with him. The countess will need me.”
Eva put out a hand. “She was never particularly kind to you that I could see, Mother Howland. You don’t owe her a duty.”
“Certainly I do,” she said. Her warm gaze brushed Eva as gently as her hands had draped the instrument they both loved. “The duty we all owe each other—care, respect, kindness. She will not know what to do with herself when the earl passes. I can help her, Thorgood, and dear Lady Miranda.”
Eva patted her arm. “Know that you take my respect and admiration with you.”
Her cheeks turned red. She looked to Ja
mes. “If I must be there long, will you send my harp to me? I’ve missed it so.”
“We’ll make sure you have it,” James promised.
“In the meantime,” Eva said, “could you bear to keep an eye on the earl now? James and I have business in the village.”
James looked at her askance, but his mother answered readily. “Of course. And I do hope you’ll be able to take Butterfly Manor after all. I was always happy there. I know you would be too.”
Eva hugged her. “I look forward to sharing that happiness with you.”
Mrs. Howland beamed.
They returned to the great hall, where James stopped her with a hand on her arm. “What are you up to, Eva?”
There was no concern in the question, only curiosity, and, she thought, a willingness to assist, whatever she suggested.
She pressed his hand on her arm. “You’ve had to fight too long alone. You have help—me, Captain St. Claire, Mr. Denby, Jesslyn, Abigail, and Maudie, to name a few. Our mysterious visitor may be gathering allies, if that boat is any indication. We should do the same.”
James lifted her hand to press a kiss against her knuckles. “I would follow you, madam, to the ends of the earth.”
She could lose herself in that gaze. “You needn’t go so far, sir. The village will do.”
~~~
Having left the castle and its dying owner behind, Linus Bennett frowned at the sign over the door of the shop in the middle of the village. All the Colors of the Sea. He hadn’t lived along the sea until now, but he hadn’t thought there were all that many colors associated with it. And why name a shop that way? It provided no guidance as to what was inside, though he could see an eclectic collection of goods displayed in the window. Still, this was the location given by the lady who had responded to his advertisement in the local weekly newspaper about caring for Ethan.
He stepped inside to the chime of the shop bell. Miss Archer came through a curtained doorway. One look at him, and she jerked to a stop, smile of welcome fading.
“You,” she said.
Linus bowed. “Miss Archer. Forgive me for troubling you. I must have gone to the wrong address.”
He started to turn, but her voice made him hesitate. “Who were you seeking, sir?”
He held up the letter he had received. “That’s just it. She doesn’t provide a name, but she is apparently interested in caring for my son, and she seems to have some qualifications.”
She frowned as she moved to join him. “That cannot be right. Let me see it.”
He was almost afraid to hand her the paper with that militant look in her eye, but he held it out, and she scanned over the contents. Her head came up. “Wait here.”
Mystified, he could only nod as she stalked back across the shop and disappeared through the curtain.
He glanced around. Interesting place. One table held tatted collars for lady’s dresses, another leather goods of various sorts, and still another wrought-iron wall sconces. And the paintings…
He wandered closer despite himself. He’d been wrong. The sea held a myriad of colors and moods, and each had been painstakingly rendered in the pieces before him. Some showed power—waves high and curled, splashing as they crashed into the Dorset cliffs. Others held peace—sun beaming through parting clouds, water soft and misty. And one showed a light gleaming in the castle, offering hope in the darkness. It was as if the painter had reached inside his chest, touched his heart.
“Doctor Bennett?”
He pulled himself back from a great distance to raise his head and acknowledge the call. A slight woman with tightly curled white hair and great brown eyes regarded him steadily, Miss Archer, still frowning, right behind.
“I’m Mrs. Archer,” the older woman explained when he met her gaze. “I wrote to you because I thought I might be able to help with your son. I raised two children of my own. I used to help at the church school Mr. Wingate, our vicar, holds during the winter. My days are rather lonely now. I thought your son and I could do each other good.”
Miss Archer’s face fell. “Oh, Mother, I didn’t realize you were lonely.”
Her mother smiled at her. “It’s all right, dear. I know you have work to do with your paintings. I wouldn’t have a home but for you. I just wanted to be useful.”
Her paintings? Linus’s gaze darted from the masterpieces to the ginger-haired lady who had gathered her mother close. What a remarkable woman.
But that didn’t mean her mother had the temperament to care for Ethan. His son had always been the quiet sort, and his mother’s death had only driven him deeper. Still, Mrs. Archer looked so hopeful as she disengaged from her daughter that he had to try.
“Perhaps you could come by tonight or after services on Sunday,” Linus told the older woman. “That way you can determine if you and Ethan will suit.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Doctor Bennett. I’d be delighted.”
He inclined his head in thanks, then turned to leave, but he could feel her daughter’s gaze on him all the way out of the shop.
~~~
It took a bit of effort for Eva and James to gather all the players later afternoon, and even then they could not collect everyone. Doctor Bennett had patients to tend at the spa, some Newcomers who had just arrived, and Mr. Carroll promised to join them shortly.
“A few more moments and I will have it,” he told them, waving the cipher above a counter covered in books and journals.
And so it was by nearly evening that they arrived at Shell Cottage. The front door had a fresh coat of paint since Eva had walked past with Mrs. Kirby, and flowers were blooming in boxes under the windows.
But James’s brows went up when Mr. Crabapple answered their knock.
Immediately the scrawny fellow stepped back and straightened his cravat. “Magistrate, Mrs. Howland. We were expecting Mrs. Harding.”
“I’m here, Warfield.” The widow sashayed up the walk and accompanied Eva and James inside.
Everyone else was already there. Lord Featherstone, the Admiral, Miss Tapper and Mrs. Baugh, Mr. Harris, Jesslyn and her brother, Lark, Abigail Archer, Quillan St. Claire, and Mr. Priestly, James’s secretary, were all crowded in the little withdrawing room, until it was hard to make out the plastered walls. Maudie came to link arms with Eva. She was back in her black gowns, but she’d threaded a purple ribbon through her grey curls.
“Have you made the acquaintance of the Lady of the Tower yet?” she asked eagerly.
“No, alas,” Eva admitted with a smile.
The others were waiting expectantly.
“Thank you all for coming,” James told them. “And thank you, Miss Chance, for making room for us.”
“The trolls were busy,” Maudie confided to Eva.
“You’re welcome, Magistrate,” Jesslyn said with a ready smile. “How might we help you and Eva?”
“Some of you are aware of a part of this story,” James began, “but allow me to summarize for the rest.” His look was cool and purposeful, and Eva’s heart swelled with pride.
“In the last month,” he continued, “a light has appeared in the castle window at odd times. We now believe it was lit by Mrs. Bascom, wife of Henry Bascom.”
“The smuggler!” Maudie crowed.
James inclined his head. “Exactly so, Mrs. Tully. She apparently had a key to the castle so she could come in and clean. That key has gone missing, and we fear it has reached the hands of our enemies.”
“French spies,” Maudie put in. “I knew it.”
“What’s this?” Mr. Harris demanded, while everyone but the Chances, Lark, and Captain St. Claire raised voices in alarm.
James held up his hands to quiet them all. “Once again, Mrs. Tully is correct. A note was found in the castle, written in code. It may well have been placed there by a French agent. In addition, Eva and I discovered a boat in the caves under the castle. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t belong to anyone in the area.”
Mrs. Harding drew her shawl closer. �
��Are they on our shores, then?”
Before James could answer, there was a frantic pounding on the door. This time, Jesslyn went to answer. She returned a moment later, with Mr. Carroll. His coat was unbuttoned, and his glasses were askew.
He held out a piece of paper toward James. “I did it! I solved the cipher!”
The others crowded closer, voices once more raised in surprise.
James took the paper from him, Eva close to his side.
“It was substitutionary,” Mr. Carroll was explaining, eyes shining. “It took a bit to work it out, but once I determined the vowels, the rest was easy.”
James looked down at the words on the parchment. “Location of landing confirmed. Report number, capability of defenses so can send advance guard. Stand ready to receive.”
“Capability of defenses?” Jesslyn echoed. “Whose defenses? Against what?”
“The trolls,” Maudie said.
“The French,” Lark corrected her, voice as solemn as a church bell. “Magistrate, the invasion is coming through Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Everyone started talking at once.
“This is terrible, horrible,” Mr. Crabapple lamented, hands worrying before his coat.
“We must rally for the sake of England,” Lord Featherstone told him.
“No, send for the dragoons,” Miss Tapper argued.
“The Royal Navy,” Mrs. Baugh insisted.
“You’re all off,” Maudie said. “We should call for the trolls.”
“Whatever you do,” Quill murmured, moving closer to James, “you must have Carroll share that code with the War Office.”
James held up his free hand. “Easy. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”
Mr. Carroll shook his head. “I think this makes it fairly clear, Magistrate. Who else would leave such a message but the French?”
They were all nodding, even Quill.
Miss Chance stepped forward. “What can we do, Magistrate? How can we stop them from invading?”