by Jun, Kristi
They were nearly approaching the end of February now. What an awful reminder for the family. But she still didn’t understand why Michael would be singled out for the earl’s wrath.
“Miss Ashley was…well, quite impetuous. She couldn’t wait even if her life depended on it. In fact, she sobbed her heart out in this kitchen, where yer sitting, when his lordship threatened to ship her off to the Americas. That night they found a note and she was gone.”
“To Gretna Green?”
The cook nodded. “Mr. Whitfield convinced the earl to let him go after her. But when he returned….” Tears brimmed in the cook’s eyes followed by sniff, sniff. “Instead of bringing her back home, she was buried in the parish. He never speaks of what happened at Gretna Green. Not to anyone.”
“I see,” she said, her heart aching to soothe Michael’s grief. To soothe away the pain.
The cook shook her head. “Mr. Whitfield left after the funeral. Gone fer good. The rumor has it that he quit University and left home to roam the country in grief. I think, in many ways, he blames himself,” the cook said shaking her head. “Poor Mr. Whitfield.”
Emma recalled seeing a melancholy woman in the painting when she arrived yesterday. That must have been Miss Ashley. “It’s not his doing.” But Emma understood all too well the power of guilt despite the fact that he had no reason to be blamed for it. She felt, in many ways, if she’d been with her parents, she could have somehow prevented their murder. It’s the helplessness of not being there to prevent it that is far more difficult to bear.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk…her ladyship was just heartbroken. When I heard of his arrival last week, I couldn’t have been happier for her ladyship.”
Emma heard light, quick footsteps behind her. A young maid walked in and curtsied. She looked as though she’d been in the chimney as soot smeared her cheeks.
“Shall I come back?”
“No, no,” Emma said, standing up. “Please don’t let me get in the way.”
“Get cleaned up and come back to help me with breakfast,” the cook said with hurried impatience to the young maid before waving her off. “Be quick about it.” The maid curtsied again and quickly left the kitchen.
“Thank you for the lovely food,” Emma said to the cook with a smile before she picked up the candelabra and left the kitchen. Continuing up the stairs and to the living quarters, she made her way through the halls, her mind on the conversation she just had with the cook.
As she neared the main stairs, she heard someone walking down from upstairs. She looked up and saw Lord Chatham, impeccably dressed with a thick greatcoat. Pulling her nightrail tightly around her, she awkwardly crossed her arms.
“Miss Willoughby, what has you up so early this morning?” Lord Chatham chirped as he met her at the bottom of the stairs.
Instantly, she took a step back. “My lord,” she said touching her unruly hair in a nervous gesture. “I did not realize you awoke quite so early.”
“Usually no, but this is the day I visit my tenants and see to their welfare.”
She saw his gaze lower to her bosoms again, sending a prick of discomfort to her tummy. While they may be identical twins, they were nothing alike. “I see,” she said, crossing her arms to cover her bosoms. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think—”
“Miss Willoughby….” When she turned to face him again, he continued. “May I be frank?”
She couldn’t very well refuse his lordship, could she? He was a man used to getting what he wanted and she surmised he would tell her what was on his mind whether she liked it or not.
“I’d advise you to take caution where my brother is concerned. I don’t know what he has told you as of late, but domestic life is quite a challenge for him.” The earl paused as if searching for the right word. “I fear, one day, you may find yourself in a difficult predicament.”
If he were anyone else, she would not have felt the need to sock him. No matter what had transpired between them, they were still brothers. “I am perfectly aware of what Michael is capable of,” she said quite firmly, more than she meant to. “He is a good man, no matter what you may think of him. Perhaps it is time his lordship took the opportunity to get to know him a little better while he is still here.”
“It seems my brother has pulled the wool over your eyes, too.”
“If I may be frank, my lord…,” she inquired.
“Please…,” the earl said cautiously.
“I can’t help but feel your brother has been a target of ridicule. I don’t pretend to understand, but I think Mr. Whitefield deserves a little bit of kindness from certain members of his family.”
His eyes narrowed as if to warn her, but she refused to let him intimate her. “Don’t fool yourself, Miss. While he may speak of honor and duty, he is rarely one to deliver on his promises; you can count on it, just as you can count on the sun to rise every morning.”
This situation was considerably sad. Very sad, indeed. While Lord Chatham couldn’t know Michael’s true purpose, it saddened her to see how much they were both suffering because of their pride.”What a pity,” she said, shaking her head, “you still refuse to see him for who he is because of your pride.”
“I fear my brother has fooled you, indeed.”
“Your brother, my lord, may keep silent to protect his family and to spare you from the truth, but I don’t have to.” His lordship glared at her with warning, his jaw twitching. “He is your twin, and yet you treat him with distain and malice. Do you blame him for staying away? It’s not as though you give him cause to feel welcome or share anything he may have to say.”
“Bite your tongue,” he roared. “Just because you are marrying into this family does not give you the right to interfere. You have no idea what Michael has put us through.”
“You’re right. I don’t know. But have you considered for a moment that he has suffered too? If you really cared about your family’s welfare like you say you do, you’ll put your pride aside and speak with him, to really see him for who he is and not what you condemned him to be.” Oh, blast. She’d already said too much.
Walk away. Walk away now.
“His suffering?” he snapped. “I’m the one who stayed to build a future. I’m the one who pulled this family together when he left with no consideration for his own family. I’m the one who stayed when—”
“As you should, my lord. It is your duty, is it not? Have you considered that he blames himself and he stayed away to protect your family? I may not know what has transpired here, but I know one truth even if I had my life to bet on it: Michael is a good, honorable man.”
“Honorable?” he snorted. “My God, Miss, he has poisoned you quite thoroughly.” He glared at her, thinking. “You are quite liberal with your opinions and I will not have it in my house. Is that understood?”
She nodded with a reluctant glare. “Yes, my lord. If you’ll excuse me….” The truth was his lordship had already damned his own brother. She saw no point in arguing with someone who was so blinded by anger and resentment.
“What is going on here?” Michael said, appearing at the top of the main stairs. His gaze shifted from Emma to his brother, then back to her.
She didn’t want to fuel the argument and cause more trouble between Michael and his twin. “It’s nothing.”
Michael quickly descended down the stairs and stood by her side. “What the bloody hell did you say to her?”
“Why don’t you ask your precious fiancée?” He shoved his leather gloves on and stormed out the front door.
For the first time since coming here, she was sad—truly sad.
“What did William say to you?”
She shook her head, lowering her gaze. When she lost her parents in the bloody murder, she lost everything and part of her had died with them, not knowing if the grief would ever go away. Yet he had everything she could ever want, a family and a home, but they seemed intent on hating each other because they failed to let go of the past. “I can’t pretend to
understand all this…this malice between the two of you.” She paused wondering if she should bring up the subject of his sister, Ashley. If she could somehow reach out to him then shouldn’t she try? “If this is about your sister—”
“Kyra has nothing to do with this,” he said, abruptly breaking off her sentence.
“I meant…the other sister.” Michael’s jaw twitched. He seemed troubled, but suddenly it morphed into something far more dangerous as his eyes grew dark.
“You know nothing about Ashley. I suggest you leave her out of this.”
Emma chose her words carefully, too. Not because she feared she’d hurt his feelings somehow, but because in the end he would surely regret it. “You’re right, I don’t. And I’m sorry I brought it up. But I know this to be true.” She gazed into his dark, fathomless eyes, as if he was ready to go to war. “There is no room for pride when it comes to family, Michael. Fix what is broken, if not for William then do it for Kyra and her ladyship. There will come a time when you will regret your choice of not doing so when they are gone. Without family, there is nothing,” she said. “Trust me on this.” She walked away, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She was glad when he didn’t stop her, for tears threatened to burst and she didn’t want him to see her cry.
Not this time.
Not ever.
CHAPTER 20
Without family there is nothing.
Emma’s last words relentlessly hammered through him. While he kept his opinion closely guarded to spare his family from the burden he’d been carrying since Ashley’s death, he refused to stand by and let William treat Emma as he pleased.
Michael stepped out of the house and felt the crisp February air cool his warm face. Blood pumped through him as he quickened his pace toward the stable where Brandon was preparing his horse.
His mobility was considerably restricted with all the layers of clothing he was forced to don. Under his chestnut greatcoat, he wore an ivory cashmere waistcoat and his over-starched cravat was nearly choking his neck, not to mention his breeches were a tad too small. He felt like a damned stuffed duck.
Apparently a day-old shirt, breeches and dark gray cloak didn’t suffice the old butler. He recalled how the old man had stopped him at the door with a snide glare to inform him that while Michael was residing in his lordship’s residence, it would be prudent to reconsider his attire. He was about to tell the old man exactly what he thought of his damn observation when Mother approached them, so he grudgingly forced a grin and called for a valet to assist him.
Mounting a horse, he trotted towards the small village up ahead. It took nearly half an hour to locate William on a hill overlooking the tenants who farmed his land. Michael quickly dismounted and approached his brother.
Without haste, Michael said, “An earl should have more care of his conduct, brother. You may say whatever you wish of me, but keep Emma out of this.” His twin slowly turned and faced Michael.
“You won’t fool her for long you know,” William muttered.
“You will formally apologize to my fiancée upon your return home,” Michael warned.
William ignored his command. “If you want my advice—”
“I don’t.”
William glared at him. “I suggest you start taking some responsibility in your life if you seriously intend on marrying her. I don’t want to see her wake up one morning to find her husband gone. You do recall, don’t you?” He threw him a mocking smirk. “Or shall I refresh your memory?”
Michael clenched his jaw. “I don’t need reminding. Or your advice.” He fisted his hands so tight nails dug in to his flesh. William’s tone was bitter and spiteful. His brother’s anger toward him was unrelenting and unforgiving. When Michael left home, he’d been young and in many ways a coward. And for that he would pay the price, but it was his price to pay, not Emma’s. “That happened over a decade ago and you know my leaving had nothing to do with any of this.”
William shook his head. “Perhaps, but as you know habits are hard to break and I doubt will do so overnight. Face it; you’ve always done whatever the hell you please.”
Perhaps there was some truth to what his brother said. While he may have served his countrymen, spied on his enemies, rescued prisoners of war, and dodged bullets deep in enemy territory, it was William who had been there for Kyra and Mother. Still, that didn’t mean he’d concede so easily. “You know nothing of what I do.”
“I certainly hope not,” William said shaking his head.
He did not come here for this. No, this was about Emma. “Listen well brother. I’m warning you. Keep your distance from my fiancée.”
“Jealous are you?” William taunted. “Are you afraid she’ll see you for who you are and realize she’d be better off with—?”
Bam! Michael’s fist smacked into William’s jaw and his brother was thrown off balance. William grabbed onto Michael’s coat and both men went tumbling down the hill like an avalanche. Both rolled and plunged faster and faster until they broke through the wooden fence and slapped into the muddy pig’s pen. Half a dozen frightened pigs and piglets grunted and oinked their way to the opposite side of the enclosure.
William wiped the mud off his face and coat and tried to find his footing in the slippery muck, but he fell on his arse instead. Michael watched as his brother charged at him like a bull but he quickly sidestepped a few seconds before impact, causing his brother to land flat on his face.
He touched his forehead and felt the rise of a bump from tumbling down the hill. Just then, William charged a second time and he avoided a head-butt.
“Stop this,” Michael barked, walking the perimeter. He kept his eyes on his twin who was bent on hurting himself. The scared pigs grunted as they scattered about when Michael neared them. “You’re going to get hurt.”
William glared at him, wiping the blood off his lips with his coat sleeve. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Michael’s brother discarded his soiled greatcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. “Let’s get on with it, I am a busy man.”
Oh, hell. Michael didn’t want this, but if William insisted on a fight, he’d give him one. Michael loosened his cravat and peeled off the greatcoat. Blood flowed through him, surging through his core as he was pumped up for the impending fight. Michael steadied his breath and focused on his brother.
William moved side to side, his fists rolled in a ball. Michael dodged a sloppy blow, gave a swift upper cut to his jaw and received a like blow in return, blood splattering out of his mouth.
Just then, a farmer came running around the corner. “What the devil are you two blokes doing to me pigs, you swine?” The farmer stopped dead in his tracks and glared at them. “You miserable sod, look what you—your lordship?”
Michael touched his lips and saw blood. The old farmer quickly went to assist his brother.
“I’m all right,” William said. His hands were on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He straightened and looked around to see the mess they’d caused. “I’m sorry about this. I will send someone to mend the damage.”
The farmer looked up at Michael. “Mr. Whitfield…I’ve heard you were back in town. Welcome home.”
Michael politely smiled at the old man. Looking around he saw the proverbial willow hung over the roof of the cottage. If he remembered correctly, there was a rose garden on the other side of the cottage and a small pond a quarter mile away where he used to fish.
“You remember Fits Martin, don’t you, Michael? You used to steal Mrs. Martin’s apple pie every Sunday.”
How could he forget? “I wasn’t stealing.”
“If you don’t mind me sayin’, my lord, it’s about time the two of you finally decided to have at it.” Martin shook his head.
Just how much did the townspeople know about his family’s affairs? It must have been the look on Michael’s face because William chimed in and said, “This is a small town, Michael. We take care of our own. Maybe it’s time you unde
rstood that. But then again, that would take a miracle, wouldn’t it?”
“Come, come. We’ll get you all cleaned up nice.”
“Thank you.” William followed the farmer inside.
Michael grudgingly followed the two men several steps behind. He didn’t have time for this, but he feared he’d offend the farmer if he declined. After all, they nearly destroyed his farm; it was the least he could do to accept an invitation to his cottage.
The back door squeaked opened and the men entered the kitchen one by one. The three men nearly filled the quaint kitchen. Warm childhood memories flooded back to him. Directly in front of him was a metal range and a smoke jack above it. To his right was a dresser for cookery and dishes, just as he recalled when he’d been a boy. Of course, everything seemed very much smaller than he remembered, but the fond memories were still quite potent.
Just then, Mrs. Martin entered the kitchen through another door that led to the living quarters. The three men looked back at the gray-haired woman as though they’d been caught stealing from the confectioners. She stopped dead when she saw Michael, her brown eyes slowly softening. Once again he was the nine-year-old kid she’d often coddled.
There were speckles of gray in her hair and wrinkles that added a touch of wisdom to her eyes, but she was still the jovial Mrs. Martin. And for a moment he thought her eyes were watering, but that couldn’t possibly be.
She wiped her eyes. “Men.” She shook her head. “I hope you’re not here to steal my apple pie again.”
Michael smiled at her comment.
“My apologies, Mrs. Martin.” William approached her. “We seemed to have gotten into a bit of a….”
“Nothing surprises me with you boys. You’ve been at it for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if you two fought your way out of this world.” Mrs. Martin said to the twins. “Where have you been all these years? Speak up, don’t be shy.”
“On business, I’m afraid,” Michael said.
She nodded. “What business keeps you away from home for nearly a decade?”