The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne

by Madeline Hunter

  You unbearable ass. Admonishing himself more violently than he had her, he withdrew his handkerchief. He dabbed at a tear that began a tiny path down her cheek, and battled the impulse to use his lips instead.

  Southwaite did not ask her why she wept. Perhaps he assumed his long, hard scold caused it. Yet as he knelt there, too close, closer than was wise, she believed she saw in his eyes that he knew her tears were not in reaction to him.

  He pressed the handkerchief into her hand and stood. He hovered for a long moment, standing right beside her, before stepping away.

  With the absence of his close presence, other forces had their way again. Thoughts of her father evoked almost palpable manifestations of his person. The ghost was not in the house, she knew. It was inside of her.

  “I did not spend much time with him here,” she heard herself saying. “I do not think anyone did. This was all his, and nothing intrudes to dilute the lingering sense of him.” She used the handkerchief to blot her eyes. “It is different in London, except in his apartment.”

  “Have you entered that apartment much since you received the news of his accident?”

  She shook her head. She rarely went there.

  “You were remarkably composed at his funeral,” he said. “Less than a month later you were busy taking up the threads of your life. Perhaps you have not mourned him.”

  “Of all you have said today, that is the most cruel.”

  “It is not uncommon, Emma. I did not truly mourn my father until two years after his death. It is not an emotion one can command, so those accustomed to command might well avoid it.”

  She wished she could say he spoke nonsense, that of course she had mourned. Yet she realized now she had avoided the worst of it, and busied herself whenever grief threatened to break in her. She had not wanted to acknowledge the frightening emotion that had been gathering in her since she arrived at this house.

  “Will I go mad?”

  “No. You will just accept the truth of it.”

  She understood what he meant, in ways she would not have a week ago. She understood well enough that she now considered what would have been unthinkable even yesterday.

  “I want to see where it happened. Do you know exactly where?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “Will you take me there?”

  “Acceptance does not require that you torture yourself with the details.”

  “I should like to see, all the same.”

  He did not agree right away. Perhaps his protective inclinations debated against it.

  “We will take your carriage,” he finally said. “I will speak with your coachman and tell him to prepare it.”

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Norriston served a light supper before they left. Southwaite excused himself as soon as he was finished, to see that the carriage was ready.

  Emma noticed as she stepped into the carriage that the earl’s horse had been tethered to the rear. He would come with her and show her the spot in question but she would return alone.

  It took them no more than ten minutes to arrive at a rise along the coast where the shore began the climb that would end in the high cliffs at Dover. Southwaite helped her down, and they walked the hundred yards to the path that snaked at the top of this bluff.

  “He walked here from the house, I was told. There was no horse or carriage,” she said.

  “Apparently he walked along this path often. It goes all the way along the coast, and he could access it not far from his cottage.”

  She stepped cautiously from the path to where the ground dropped away. It was not as steep as it would become farther south, but it was steep enough. “I suppose he was right here when it happened.”

  “So I am told.”

  She raised her gaze and looked out to the sea. The height and location of this spot gave good prospects of the coast. Far in the distance to the north she spied a massing of lines and forms. It was the Thames fleet, she realized, guarding the sea route near London.

  “I was told he fell in the evening but was not found until morning.”

  “The justice of the peace learned at the inquiry that he was seen walking the path around eight o’clock.”

  “Late evening, then. Almost twilight. Did you attend the inquiry?” She had not. She had not wanted to hear the details then, or ever, until now.

  He nodded.

  Southwaite left her to her thoughts. She appreciated that, but she also found his manner very reserved. The man who had revealed his emotions so vigorously a couple of hours ago had become a cipher.

  She looked up and down the coast again.

  “He was here fairly late,” she said. “It would be dark when he walked home. Perhaps he fell on the way back, at a later time, when it was dark and he could not judge the path as well.”

  “That is possible.”

  “One wonders why he would take a turn along a dangerous path like this at such a time. Do you have any ideas about that, Lord Southwaite?”

  “No doubt there are many possible explanations.”

  She could think of only a few. One in particular made too much sense. She pondered it, and suspected from his closed and quiet manner that Southwaite had pondered it too.

  Her father could have been watching the coast for someone. Smugglers had such watchers, who would signal if the way were clear to bring in boats at night. She did not know if Southwaite believed her father had been doing that, but he was not stupid and the possibility would not have been dismissed by him.

  She looked at him, standing there with the sea behind him, waiting patiently for her to finish with this cliff walk. He commanded this deserted, windswept rise just as he had her drawing room that first day. His handsome profile, backed by the graying sky and shadowed by the setting sun in the west, defined his nobility in its expression as surely as its features.

  He had proven himself shrewd enough, and very clever in seeing her game. He had probably guessed much about her father and Fairbourne’s before she had known anything at all. He had most likely been suspicious from the start, upon hearing where her father had fallen. He had come to her house that day to rid himself of an investment that might compromise his reputation and his duty.

  She wished she could tell him his suspicions were wrong. She wanted to explain that her father had accepted some illicit goods, true, but had never played an active role. The admissions and excuses caught in her throat.

  She was not sure herself anymore, of what her father had done and not done, so how could she convince him? A reference had been made to her providing a favor in order to secure Robert’s release. Perhaps her father had been doing such favors too, by watching the coast one night.

  Even that was putting the best light on it. There were other explanations that did not acquit her father so well, or make him so innocent, weren’t there? He had not been in league with smugglers right here, near his cottage, but, as Tarrington had said, it was a very long coast.

  They returned to the carriage. She believed there had been some usefulness in seeing this bit of coast. It removed some of the vagueness about that evening, and helped the acceptance that her heart was experiencing.

  She only wished that what she had seen had not raised more questions about her father, and left her even more worried about her brother.

  * * *

  “Where are we going?”

  It took Emma a good while to ask that question. She had been lost in her thoughts and not noticed the carriage’s direction, or anything at all. Now she stuck her face to the window, and recognized nothing that they passed.

  “We are heading south, and not returning to my house,” she said.

  “It is not safe for you to stay there tonight.”

  “Do you think Tarrington will murder me in my sleep?”

  “He is not the only person who knows you have questions and sought a meeting with a smuggler.”

  She wondered what questions he thought might be attributed to her. He did no
t know Robert was alive, so it would not be the real ones.

  More likely his own suspicions had provoked this move. He thought he had interrupted a bit of trade at the tavern, and was not going to give her the chance to finish it.

  “I expect there is a decent inn in one of these local villages,” she said. “I wish you had told me of this plan, so I could have packed a valise at least.”

  “Mrs. Norriston provided yours, and packed your belongings. It is up with your coachman.”

  “It was very thoughtful of you to see to that.”

  “You are welcome. Regrettably, there is not a decent inn in one of these villages. Nor would you be any safer in one if there were. Therefore, you will be my guest tonight at Crownhill Hall.”

  He might have been informing her they would attend the theater this evening, he spoke so blandly.

  “I think that you should have mentioned this idea before we left the house.”

  “You were distraught. My decision might have only upset you further.”

  “Surely it should have been my decision, not yours.”

  “As it happened, it was not.”

  “Since it was not, you have abducted me.”

  “Do not be dramatic. I am doing this for your protection. If you think about it with a calm mind, you will agree that you will be safest at Crownhill, and that there was no other choice.”

  He conveniently ignored that she was going to be at Crownhill with him. “Is there a female relative there, or another mature woman?”

  “The housekeeper is quite mature.”

  “She lacks any authority. You are playing loose with my reputation. If it is learned that—”

  “It will not be learned. Have no fear of that.” Despite his charming smile, he managed to appear a little wounded. “I only seek to ensure your safety, as is my duty as a gentleman.”

  Yes, he was a gentleman. One with an expertise in discretion, according to Cassandra. He was a gentleman who privately broke the rules while presenting himself to the world as a man who obeyed and upheld the most stringent social conventions, and even demanded the same of others.

  A fraud, in short. She had quite forgotten that. She never saw him in the ton’s drawing rooms, and he had dropped most of the pretensions typical of his kind with her.

  Except now he was plying his smooth charm just as he might with a duchess. His wonderful voice soothed and his smiles reassured. It was a type of seduction, with the goal probably nothing more than her submission to his will.

  “And if I insist that you not be so presumptuous as to require that I accept this protection that you have decided I need, what then?”

  “As long as you are near the coast, you will be where I can keep an eye on you. I will not tolerate the risk of Tarrington or any of his kind coming near you again, Emma.”

  So there it was. Not plainly said, but said all the same. He assumed she had indeed been in search of more lots to sell, of an illicit nature. If he believed that he was stopping that by keeping an eye on her, she would never convince him to allow her return to the cottage.

  She formed an argument to attempt to persuade him anyway, but gave up on it. The truth was that she did not really want to go back to her father’s house and face the memories and questions about him. She did not want to fret the night away, worrying about Robert and whether she could find the money to ransom him.

  By the time the carriage turned up the drive to Crownhill Hall, she was half-convinced that nothing ill would come of this decision of his. She was almost sure that she would indeed be safe. Even from him.

  Chapter 19

  The housekeeper took Emma in hand at once and brought her up to a chamber. Darius handed the carriage and coachman over to the servants, and went to the library.

  There truly had not been any choice but to bring her here. The only alternative was to put her in an inn and sit outside her door. He had interrupted something at the tavern today, and try though he had, he was not able to convince himself that she would not pursue her little adventure if given the chance.

  It all depended on why she had met with Tarrington, of course. Her emotion had distracted him from discovering the reason. One tear and he had been vanquished.

  Just as well. She had not taken well his insinuations about her father. She would have hardly appreciated him quizzing her about her own activities, especially since she had certainly met with Tarrington for the most likely reason.

  By now she had most likely pieced together enough to at least be dubious about all those vague entries in the books, and about her father’s time here on the coast. She had even alluded to it while they were on the cliff walk, and invited him to give voice to his own suspicions. Well, if she had come here to follow in Papa’s footsteps and throw in with smugglers herself, he trusted he had thwarted that in time.

  He poured himself some brandy and carried it out to the terrace. She would remain up above in her chamber, he assumed. He doubted she would be brave enough to join him this evening.

  His body did not like that idea at all. Hunger coiled quietly inside him and ached for encouragement. He drank his brandy and watched the shadows gather in the garden, knowing it would be a long, wakeful night.

  A few faint splashes of light from windows above gave the terrace a golden wash, as if a thin glaze of pale paint had been brushed over the dark. While he finished his brandy he noticed that the illumination closest to him dimmed.

  He turned and looked up. Two levels above, Miss Fairbourne stood at the window, looking out.

  “Is the chamber to your liking?” He did not have to raise his voice at all to speak to her. The night was so quiet that one could hear even distant sounds like the surf clearly. “If you require anything, you must tell the housekeeper.”

  “It is very comfortable, thank you. Luxurious.” Her head tipped up a bit, as if matters more interesting than he absorbed her attention. “I think that I hear horses.”

  “They are bred on land to the west of here. We drove past them as we arrived, but you did not notice.” She had not noticed because she had been weighing the danger of being alone against that of being with him.

  “They are yours, then? There must be a lot of them, if they make enough noise to be heard here.”

  He listened. “Two stallions are facing off, so more noise than normal is being made. We can go see them tomorrow if you like. One field is reserved for thoroughbreds that are impressive.”

  “Since we passed on our way here, I expect we will pass on our way back west. If it will be no inconvenience, I would enjoy seeing them.”

  She remained at the window, a silhouette backlit by the chamber’s lamp. She is only taking some air, you ass. Bid her good night and be off.

  “The night is fair,” he said. “You are welcome to enjoy the garden if you want, or to read in the library. You are not obligated to remain up there.”

  “That is kind of you. It is early yet, and I have much on my mind and am unlikely to sleep for a while to come.”

  “Allow me to assist you. I will give you a tour of the public rooms. The portraits of my ancestors in the gallery will bore you enough to make you nod.”

  She said nothing. Her hesitation encouraged him as much as agreement would. He did not wait for her to reach a conclusion not in his favor.

  “I will meet you halfway, at the top of the main stairs.” He strode into the house before she had a chance to demur.

  No sooner did Southwaite disappear than Emma knew she had been foolish. She had rather counted on him not noticing her at the window, watching him. She had allowed herself to be bedazzled as she spied, however, and words of refusal had stuck in her throat because her heart kept rising to block their path.

  It had not been only his appearance on the terrace that undid her, although the night flattered him and the vague light washed the planes of his face in the most appealing way. Rather, she had been amazed at how she could feel him from this distance, could be captured by his presence even when he
was unaware of her, as if an invisible tether bound her. That kept tugging at her, creating an unbearably delicious sense of danger and…exhilaration.

  She pictured him walking up those stairs. She could remain in this chamber. She could hide from him. He might think it childish, but it would be the sensible thing to do now.

  The lure of being sensible could not stand against the bigger ones. Bedazzlement was far nicer than the other emotions that had owned her today. It had refreshed her more surely than the night breeze while she stood at the window. The forbidden excitement lightened her spirits and distracted her wonderfully. To her mind the choice was not between danger and safety, but between lonely worry and enlivening human stimulation.

  She composed herself before she moved. She built a little wall on her side of that tether, lest it pull her in entirely. Then she left the chamber and walked down the stairs.

  His expression when she saw him gave her heart. She might have been his cousin, he acknowledged her so casually. That tether was all on her side, it seemed. Of course it was.

  “This way,” he said. “The gallery flanks the ballroom. Let us visit that first.”

  He carried a candelabra into the ballroom. Large mirrors on the walls caught the flames and multiplied them a hundred times, so the huge room appeared to sparkle. There was enough light from those reflections and the row of long windows to see the silk-covered benches and chairs, and the heavy molding on the ceiling high above.

  The room ran the length of the house. She gazed up at the hovering chandeliers. The center one would hold dozens of candles and sported hundreds of crystals. “How many people attend a ball here?”

  “I do not know how many. Hundreds, I think. My mother hosted the last one, and it was some years ago.”

  “She is gone now? You are alone?”

  “I have a sister. She does not care for balls, so there is no incentive to have another one.”