The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1)

by Paullett Golden

  “What death? She didn’t die. What are you talking about?” Catherine thumped her cane in agitation.

  “Sebastian says she drowned.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Where did he get such a notion? She did no such thing. My brother shipped her off to some parish in Durham or Cumberland or wherever it was to live with all the other bastards. And rightly so. She should have been sent away immediately. A bastard living in my father’s estate as though she were a lady. It was unseemly. That wife of his paraded her about Society, I’ll have you know, claiming the girl as her own. A shameful disgrace to the Roddam name.”

  Liz sat stunned. “Then why does he think she died?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. My brother paid a handsome sum to be rid of her, and it was generous of him to do that. My father, if he had ever found out that child lived with my brother, would have drowned her himself.”

  “I hardly consider it generous to send a child away from her family. But that doesn’t answer why Sebastian believes she died. Are you sure she’s alive, or maybe there’s been some confusion?”

  After all these years of him feeling responsible for her death, Lilith couldn’t still be alive, could she? Had his father lied to him? But why? Liz had more questions than answers.

  “There is no confusion. She was sent to the orphanage, I assure you. No one died in that family except my brother’s wife, Jane Lancaster, and she of a contagious fever. Her death destroyed my brother.”

  “I can hardly believe it. Sebastian feels responsible for a death that never happened. I must find her! I must go to her. He’ll never believe me otherwise,” Liz muttered more to herself than to the dowager.

  She thanked her own foresight for packing the letters with her, for the letter from Mrs. Brighton contained the address of the orphanage. Lilith would have likely left the orphanage years before, well over a decade ago, but if they could at least confirm the child had arrived and lived there, that she hadn’t died, that could be enough. Better yet, maybe they could direct her to where Lilith went after staying at the orphanage.

  “That’s the silliest notion I’ve ever heard,” stated the duchess. “She’s better off where she is and hopefully has no memory of her childhood.”

  “You don’t understand. His father is the one who told him she drowned. He blamed Sebastian for her death and the subsequent death of Lady Roddam.”

  The dowager sighed. She remained silent while she stood to ring the bell-pull. Catherine returned to her seat, waited, and then after the disapproving butler brought a tray and scuttled away, she poured tea and milk into a fresh cup.

  This was hardly conversation to have over tea. She grew impatient. This was wasting time while Sebastian suffered.

  Liz watched her, declining the tea with a frustrated shake of her head. Catherine nursed her own cup. Only after emptying the contents did she speak again.

  “My brother and I suffered at the hand of our father. He was a proud man, full of righteous indignation. He disciplined corporally when we sinned. If my spine were not straight enough, he would whip my feet until they bled, then make me stand from morning to night balancing objects on my head with my spine aligned. I do not tell you this to gain your pity. I tell you this so that you will understand my brother.” The dowager poured another cup to nurse, studying Lizbeth over the rim.

  “I married the Duke of Annick when I was sixteen. It was the happiest day of my life to leave that house. My husband may have been far older than me, but he was never abusive. I begged him to take Tobias with us, but of course that couldn’t be done. Tobias was only twelve. I left him alone, defenseless against our father. When I left, I removed myself completely from the family, never speaking to my father or Tobias again. I did, however, seek out information about my brother through the servants.”

  Liz continued to listen, silent and absorbing, trying to place it all into perspective of Sebastian’s childhood.

  “There were rumors when Tobias was about seventeen that he fell in love with a servant on the estate, a groomsman’s daughter or maybe a parlor maid.” Catherine paused to eye Lizbeth. “When his father learned of their affections, he married Tobias to the only daughter of a wealthy peer. Jane’s death was tragic, especially with Sebastian being so young.”

  Lizbeth probed, “But what of the servant girl?”

  “According to my confidants, Tobias’ lover ran away, his by-blow in her womb. A year later, she irresponsibly left the child on his doorstep. From what I understand, his wife Jane took to the child and wanted to raise her as her own. It only makes sense the child would be sent to an orphanage once Lady Roddam fell ill. Tobias wouldn’t want a bastard in the house.”

  Lizbeth had deduced most of this herself from the paltry correspondences she found, but other explanations were possible, of course. Regardless of the reasons, none of this helped her to understand Sebastian’s plight. The most she learned from this was that Lilith might still be alive.

  The dowager hadn’t finished her tale, apparently, as she continued to talk, Lizbeth growing antsy that she wasn’t out searching for proof of Lilith or Lilith herself.

  “Tobias was a pleasant boy, not unlike Sebastian. Tobias always enjoyed reading and had a passion for exploring. He wanted above all things to travel. But, you must understand, there is only so much cruelty a person can take. My father enjoyed humiliating punishments, especially treatments that debased one’s self in front of servants.”

  A third cup of tea later, she expounded, caught in memory. “Tobias was wild, careless, often purposely inciting our father’s wrath. I cannot imagine how badly life became for him after I left. Tobias was never a bad person. He was a person to whom bad things happened. I pity my brother and can only assume he told Sebastian the girl died to spare him the sorrow of her being sent away, or he had already gone mad with grief over his wife. Either way, my brother is not to blame for his actions. I am aware he was heavy handed, but I suspect Sebastian provoked him as Tobias had done with his own father. All in all, you do the right thing to help him. He’s always been troubled, and I would rather not see him follow in the footsteps of his predecessors.”

  It took every inch of restraint Liz possessed to keep from throttling the duchess who defended her brother after the abuse Sebastian suffered at Tobias’ hands, after the lies and persecution he suffered.

  No amount of sympathy could be given to Tobias after knowing he turned out just like his own father. If anything, he was worse than his father, for he knew all too well what it was to be mistreated, yet he repeated the same behavior against his own son. She refused to see Tobias as a victim. She had no pity for him.

  Her heart, however, swelled thinking of Sebastian and how he had broken the cycle of cruelty in the family, violence that had continued for generations. Never could a gentler soul be found than Sebastian. A kind person, a devoted employer, a loving husband. It was only himself he abused, internalizing his pain.

  Liz wanted nothing more than to go to her husband this minute and hold him, cover his face and body with kisses and tell him how proud she was, how proud his mother would be if she could see him now. She wanted to lay his head in her lap and run her fingers through his hair. Her lion. Her love.

  But she still couldn’t do these things. Not yet. She needed to find Lilith, or he would never believe her. She needed to find proof beyond the duchess’ words that Lilith did not die as Sebastian had been told.

  She fretted about the result of finding proof. Would the realization that he had been so viciously lied to, that he had been blamed by his father for a death that never occurred sink him into an even worse depression, or would it lift his burdens of responsibility? If she found Lilith alive and well and took her to Dunstanburgh, would Sebastian even believe it was her, or would he think Lizbeth antagonized him?

  She couldn’t know how he might react or what she could say to resolve this, but she w
ould decide after she found proof of Lilith’s survival.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, for everything that you’ve shared. You’ve given me insight to my husband. Do you think my sister would be interested in a brief journey with me this afternoon?”

  “Ask her, not me. She’s in the conservatory. I believe you love my nephew, and for that I am pleased. If he ever strikes you, however, come to me. I will shelter you as I could not do for my brother. I do not have the legal right to keep you from your husband, but I am a powerful woman and can hide you. In a way, that would atone for my inability to help Tobias.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Liz rose to find Charlotte.

  While the dowager meant well with her offer, and Liz did appreciate the sentiment, she realized how little Catherine knew her own nephew, a woman still trapped in her own past, fighting her own demons.

  Sebastian glowered at his desk. She had left him, never to return. He knew she would leave, had anticipated her departure, but now he struggled to accept he’d lost her.

  All his fears came to fruition in a matter of minutes. His last look at her had been those pained eyes, angry and betrayed. He supposed he should feel angry and betrayed, as well, but he had no anger left, only sorrow.

  Gerald had visited an hour prior to inform him the countess had packed and taken the carriage for Lyonn Manor. He knew in that moment she had left him forever.

  She had seen him for what he was and left, horrified to have married such a man, knowing he didn’t deserve happiness with innocent blood on his hands. People were always predictable from his experience, always acting according to his expectations, living up to his estimations. Even his once unpredictable wife had followed the path he set for her, right through the front door.

  Determined to do something right, he had already finished the letter to his solicitor to set up a fund for Lizbeth, asking his man of business to visit her at Lyonn Manor to discuss the details of Creighton Hall, the money, and any provisions for a child.

  Waxed and sealed, he still needed to send the letter. And he needed to have her possessions packed and delivered to the manor. He couldn’t do either of these now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.

  He buried his head in his hands. If only he had time to craft his words before telling her, he might have been able to share his secrets in such a way that wasn’t completely villainizing. He deserved this fate, but he would have tried everything in his power to keep her from seeing him as a monster. If only.

  Briefly, he entertained what his life might have been like if his sister had lived and he never had to shoulder this responsibility. Would his mother have lived? Would his father not have gone mad or died from heart failure? Would his father still have beaten him? Would his father, the one person who was supposed to love him, still have made him feel worthless, or was that purely the effect of Sebastian’s poor choices?

  He imagined life with a sister. Lilith had loved him unconditionally. As much as he wanted to be the protective brother, it always seemed to be the other way around, with her bossing him, convincing him to disobey rules, taking the brunt of Father’s anger when they were caught, never realizing he would be punished regardless. He imagined her grown, likely as headstrong as Lizbeth, likely an exceptional beauty. Would they have grown together as best friends or fallen to sibling rivalry?

  A vision of a grown Lilith and his Lizbeth picnicking at the cliff’s edge flashed into his mind, both laughing at a shared joke, turning in unison to wave at him. What an absurd vision. He scoffed. Lilith would never see this castle, just as she would never grow older than eight years of age. And Lizbeth would never again picnic on these grounds. He had lost everyone who ever meant anything to him, everyone who had ever loved him.

  What did love even mean? A useless emotion. Love hadn’t kept Lilith alive. Love hadn’t kept his mother alive. Love hadn’t kept Lizbeth with him. He thought when he married Lizbeth that maybe love would be enough, maybe if he gave it a chance, love would cure his troubled heart.

  Had she ever loved him? She mentioned falling in love with some part of him, some sliver of him that she had seen, but her love hadn’t been strong enough to love all of him, the darkness and the demons. Loving some small part wasn’t enough if she couldn’t love all of him, not that he would expect her to love a murderer, but he had hoped, somewhere inside he had hoped she would see him and not turn away, just as she had done with the scars, kissing them instead of being repulsed and shunning him.

  God, he missed her, and she had only been gone for two hours. Facing a lifetime without her seemed unbearable. He would do what he did before: bury himself in his estate business and work the fields with the laborers. Keeping busy was his only survival strategy for facing a world without his wife. In time, he could bury her memory.

  First things first, he would burn his father’s journals. He moved from the desk to the hearth to stoke the dying embers. As he did so, a handkerchief slipped from the side of his desk onto the floor.

  Looking up at him with colorful embroidery was the handkerchief Liz had sewn for him. Reaching down to retrieve the fabric, his vision blurred. Grown men didn’t cry. Hardened men who built castles and tilled fields, titled men who sat in the House of Lords did not cry.

  He sat back in his chair, fingering the kerchief. The soft embroidery caressed his fingers, reminding him of the feel of her skin beneath his hands. The scent of the fabric recalled the intoxication of her hair when he buried his face against her neck at night, the sweet aroma of fresh flowers. He cried into the kerchief until his sobs were silent heaves.

  Chapter 34

  Charlotte talked nonstop for the entire journey to Allshire, a parish in the heart of Cumberland, a fact they gratefully learned before they set off. As desperately as Liz wanted to head straight from Lyonn Manor the day before, both her sister and the coachman agreed it would be best to wait for a new day to arrange for the horse exchanges that would be needed to make the journey in good time.

  Reluctantly, she had agreed, not knowing that Drake would take both the carriage and the coachman with him the next morning on some errand, delaying the trip even longer. Liz had fretted and paced in the parlor until the duke returned. She wanted to make haste, knowing the pain Sebastian must be experiencing now and not wanting to be gone from him for long.

  The trip exhausted the day and should have realistically taken two days if they hadn’t encouraged the coachman to hurry, even rushing the exchange of horses along the way at coach stops in the duchy. The trip covered nearly eighty miles.

  Lizbeth worried it was a fool’s journey. Who would logically travel such a distance in hopes of finding a girl presumed dead? It would have been easier to write a missive to Mrs. Brighton inquiring if Lilith had arrived safely those many years previous and if her current whereabouts were known. Logic didn’t weigh into Lizbeth’s plans.

  If Lilith were alive, she wanted to find her in person. She wanted to drag the woman back to the castle as living proof Sebastian wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death.

  She wasn’t even sure if Mrs. Brighton would respond to a letter. A personal visit seemed the best option in her fevered determination to resolve the conflicting information surrounding Lilith’s disappearance. If the girl were indeed alive, showing him a letter wouldn’t suffice. He may even accuse her of forging it. Only the flesh and blood person would do.

  She hadn’t quite worked out how she would convince Charlotte or the coachman to go on yet another drive to wherever Lilith may currently be living. What if she lived somewhere like London? Lizbeth hadn’t thought of that. The closer they got to the parish, the more of a fool’s errand this seemed. Not completely disheartened, Liz knew at least some questions would be answered with this trip.

  At one time, Sebastian had questioned her rationale to travel four hundred miles to see her sister after a single letter of invitation, and Lizbeth had responded that she would do anyt
hing for the people she loved. Well, now he was on the receiving end of that, for she would do anything for Sebastian, anything to help him slay this demon so he could find peace.

  When Charlotte and Liz finally arrived at the parish of Allshire, the coachman asked if they wanted to go directly to the orphanage or to the inn.

  “The inn of course,” replied Charlotte.

  “No! The orphanage! We haven’t a minute to lose,” countered Lizbeth.

  “Don’t be silly. The girl has waited this long already. She can surely wait one evening more so we may rest and be fresh for the visit. No one expects uninvited visitors this late. The sun is already setting. At the most, let us send our card to the orphanage to announce our intention to visit tomorrow.” Charlotte sat back on the bench, satisfied to resolve the deliberation.

  “This is not a social call,” defended Liz. “And I don’t care about following social protocol. We will go now and at least ascertain if she is still alive.”

  “Very well. But I’m not getting out of the coach.” Charlotte directed the coachman to continue to the orphanage.

  Being a small parish, the orphanage was not far from the edge of town, a two-story building connected to the church. Lizbeth exited the carriage, leaving her sister behind to watch out of the window.

  Above the door of the building, an engraving read:

  Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. Matthew 19:13

  Closing her eyes to garner strength, she rapped on the door.

  After a lengthy wait, a middle-aged woman, short and lean with a lace cap and high-necked dress opened the door, eyeing Lizbeth skeptically. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Brighton, please.” Lizbeth could only imagine how it must look to be paying a call at dusk to a complete stranger. Perhaps Charlotte had been right after all about waiting and sending a card first.