Emery frowned but did not argue with her. “How will you be traveling to Southridge?”
“Harley is taking his sisters home. I will travel with them. So, you see, you have nothing about which to worry.”
He nodded approval and departed soon after.
Lord Killarnon called the day before their departure. Aubree considered that an auspicious sign for her plans for Anna. Unfortunately, the sisters were last-minute Christmas shopping. Aubree did what she could to retain him until they returned, but Killarnon had other plans.
“I just learned you will not be going with Beresford to Ashbrook, Lady Aubree. Are you returning to Devon for the holidays?” he inquired as he donned his gloves in preparation for departure.
“No, Hampshire, my lord. A friend of mine is getting married and my aunt is expecting me.”
“Ahh, Southridge, that is but a half-day’s ride from my place.” He nodded knowingly. “Excellent. I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to linger a while in Sussex before traveling on to your aunt’s? I’m having a small house party at the end of this week, and your refreshing honesty would add spice to what might otherwise be a tedious time.”
“That is scarcely a recommendation for my attending.” Aubree laughed, but her mind had already leapt at the possibilities. She would like to see Aunt Clara again, of course, but without her pets, Southridge would scarcely be the home she had once loved. And Lexa’s marriage wasn’t until the new year. There was plenty of time for that. Time seemed to loom eternal over these next months. She would have more than she would know what to do with.
“I will bestir myself to make the festivities bright if I know you are to be there. Bring your lovely companions and we will be merry together.”
“You are going down this night?” Aubree ran over possible ploys to persuade the Sothebys to linger.
“You are my final farewell, my lady. I am off this moment. Say you will consider it and I will go with glad heart.” He held a mocking hand to his heart in imitation of a romantic young suitor.
Aubree laughed at these dramatics. “You are a fraud, sir. Or must all politicians be actors, too? No matter. I will give it my consideration.”
At this much agreement, he bowed politely and departed.
Aubree paced the salon until her guests returned. Killarnon had offered no invitation to Harley, and she felt certain Harley would have no interest in stopping under those circumstances. Perhaps he could just take Anna and herself to Killarnon, and other transportation could be arranged for the journey.
When Aubree shared her invitation with the sisters, they showed no such reluctance. They were eager to return home now that all their plans were made. Anna remained adamant in her opinion of Lord Killarnon.
“He is a kind gentleman, Aubree, and I am grateful for his invitation, but there really is no chance of making a match there. He is charming, and I am pleased that he has taken the time to bring you out of the dismals, but he stirs no other interest in me, nor I in him, I believe. If you truly are set upon going, I will accompany you for propriety’s sake, but I beg not for my own.”
Aubree wished she could feel the same way about returning home as the Sothebys’ did. Perhaps she could turn the situation to some advantage, though.
She stopped her pacing and smiled. “There is no need for that. I am an ancient, doddering old married woman now and Mattie will serve as sufficient companion. Since she cannot possibly accompany us in your brother’s coach, I will use my father’s landaulet.” Before they could protest, she hurried to distract them. “I wish you would do me a great favor, though.” She hesitated, waiting for a nod of acquiescence. When it came, she finished, “I miss my pets terribly. Do you think it would be possible, if I sent the landaulet with a footman after you later, that you could persuade Heath to part with Lady and the kittens? I do not believe Myna would travel without me.”
Both girls protested in anguish at this indication that Aubree did not mean to return to the abbey, but from their hostess’s defiant expression, it was obvious their arguments were useless.
Chapter 33
Winter twilight had already descended by the time the landaulet sped up the tree-lined drive of Lord Killarnon’s estate. Her father’s driver knew the way, and they had made good time, but Aubree suffered a weariness of heart that was not eased by the sight of a strange house. She wished she had never agreed to this excursion.
Matilda’s disapproving frown had not eased Aubree’s guilt. Married woman or not, Aubree was but eighteen, and the old-fashioned maid disapproved of gadding about. She had scarcely spoken a word throughout the journey, and Aubree had been left to contemplate her rashness in silence.
But she climbed from the carriage with determination, smiling at the footmen who hurried to greet her. Chilled by the evening air, she was eager for the warmth of a fire.
Inside, she learned the other guests were either still out hunting or in their rooms preparing for dinner, and she greeted this news with relief. She was not yet prepared to meet a crowd of strangers.
The chamber reserved for her was modishly styled in the Egyptian motifs made popular by Nelson’s defeat of Napoleon off those foreign shores. Aubree had never learned to like the heavily carved mahoganies and rosewoods with their grotesque sphinxes and crocodiles, and she had thought the style on the wane—but not so in the country, it seemed. She glared at a sphinx staring down at her from the towering dresser and threw her pelisse over its head.
Mattie helped her undress, and Aubree lay down awhile before dinner, but a chill was in her bones and no amount of covering seemed to warm it. While Mattie unpacked and scurried in and out with garments to be pressed below stairs, Aubree closed her eyes, but her mind would not be stilled.
Half a day’s journey closer to Devon and already she felt the pull, as she had feared. She wondered where Heath was now, what he was doing, what he was thinking. Lady Heathmont had said nothing of his selling the abbey, and she wondered if his ship had returned to give him some reprieve. For Lady Heathmont’s sake, she hoped so, but she would wish her husband in hell if she could.
By the time Mattie returned, Aubree’s head felt as if it might split in two, and she had no desire to join in the small talk about the dinner table. She had no desire for dinner, for all that mattered. But the alternative was to stare at four walls and contemplate murdering Heath, so there was nothing left to do but rise and dress for the evening.
Lord Killarnon greeted her effusively and whirled her around the room, introducing the other guests. Aubree had met most of them at one time or another—most were closer to Killarnon’s generation than her own—but she smiled and repeated polite phrases learned since childhood. Her head throbbed, but etiquette must be observed.
Aware of the odd looks she received as various of the guests recognized her or whispered the latest gossip about her separation from Heath, Aubree chose to ignore them. She spent all her concentration on enduring dinner.
Killarnon led her into the dining hall and set her on his right, not only the position of the guest of honor but the one due her rank. None of the other guests could claim the title of countess or descent from a duke. Aubree struggled to listen to his lordship’s slightly racy jests and bottomless lode of gossip. She understood why others considered him a charming host, but she longed for silence, or at least a sensible topic.
With relief, she withdrew into the salon after dinner with the remainder of the ladies, leaving the gentlemen to their port. The baroness who had served as Killarnon’s hostess approached, and Aubree noted the light of dislike in her eyes. The baroness was of the type of fading beauty who did not age well, and Aubree very likely presented a challenge to her.
She grasped this opportunity to offer her apologies and make her excuses. Even boring walls seemed more appealing than making polite chatter. The baroness’s eyes narrowed at her excuses, but the older woman promised to pass her message on to Lord Killarnon and even offered the services of her maid, who was apparently a
dept at curing aches.
Aubree escaped and closed her chamber door with relief. Surely, in the morning she would feel better, and then the holiday could begin. She simply didn’t have the heart for it now.
Mattie helped her into a nightdress. “It is unlike you to feel ill from a carriage ride,” she said in concern.
When the better part of dinner came up shortly after Aubree retired, Mattie chose to stay in her mistress’s chambers rather than retire to the attic.
A scratch at the door later disturbed Aubree’s stupor, but Mattie answered it.
Lord Killarnon met the maid’s stern gaze with surprise. “I have come to inquire about Lady Aubree. Is she still not feeling well? Shall I send for an apothecary?”
“My lady is sleeping. It would be best if she not be disturbed. I shall tell her you inquired, milord, and if she requires a physic, she will let you know,” Mattie replied stiltedly, in her best imitation of her betters.
Killarnon nodded. “Call me if her ladyship worsens. Otherwise, give her my regrets and tell her I shall see her in the morning.”
He departed, and Mattie noted his direction with cynicism. The servants’ hall was rife with gossip, and she already knew the hoity-toity baroness was Killarnon’s mistress. His direction now proved it. What worried her was the other rumors, the questions she had received about her own mistress. What kind of evil minds would think her innocent young ladyship would consent to bed with that smarmy old man? Mattie shook her head and firmly closed the door.
Heath slumped into the old leather chair and stared at the crackling fire, oblivious to the pounding of hammers and curses of workmen in the great hall and salon. The stables had been resurrected with the improvement of a cozy room just for Aubree’s litter of animals, and the renovation of the abbey itself was well under way, but he could find no interest in it.
His gaze returned to the vellum letter propped against the inkwell on his desk. Addressed to Aubree, the letter held him fascinated as a snake does its intended victim. The workmen had disturbed it from its hiding place while they tore out rotting floorboards and replaced damaged paneling, otherwise, under present housekeeping arrangements, it could have lay hidden for years. Heath knew he should forward it, but he could not bring himself to it just yet.
He knew its contents. The familiar scrawl from his solicitors told him that much. He had made all the arrangements when he was last in London, then set them from his mind. It had never occurred to him that Aubree had never received the letter, designed to be delivered on her eighteenth birthday, more than two months ago. She must think him a royal cad, indeed, but to offer her the freedom promised by that letter now would decimate what remained of his hopes.
Still, except for that taunting package of hair, he had heard nothing from her since she had left. Perhaps she had decided the freedom of a married woman was preferable to that of a scandalous divorcee. In that case, the letter would give her the wealth to do as she pleased, which would most likely be to go as far from him as she could.
Heath stood and crossed to the bottle of brandy on the table. It was morning; he shouldn’t be touching spirits so early. He stared at the glass in his hand and reluctantly placed it back on the table. He knew better than to follow the example his father had set. He needed to make this decision with a clear head instead of reacting impetuously in the heat of anger—or liquor.
Swinging on his heel, he stalked toward the window. With Adrian’s aid, he had stolen back his captured ship, and it should safely be on its way to the Americas now with its precious passengers on board. He missed the sound of the little scamps giggling in the hallways, and the old house seemed to echo without Adrian’s shouting laughter or Emily’s scolding jests. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the golden ghost that disappeared behind doors wherever he walked. The ship and all else was gone, and he remained.
It had taken a pocket of gold to see his captain released, but it had been worth it once that reliable man had revealed the whereabouts of the profits of their smuggled goods. Now with the sum Adrian had given him for the ship and its cargo, Heath had emerged from financial difficulty long enough to contemplate his empty future.
He watched as Harley Sotheby strode up the newly laid walkway to the front door. The young man seemed perturbed, and remembering that he was expected to return from London with his sisters last evening, Heath set out to greet him. The letter could wait.
“Your sisters are well?” he questioned, leading the younger man toward his study, out of hearing of nosy servants.
“Quite well. Their tongues did not stop once on the entire journey.” Harley met Heath’s anxious gaze as soon as they entered the study and the door closed behind him.
“And Aubree?” the earl demanded.
Harley met his gaze with sympathy, but no fear. “She stayed behind, or so I thought, until Anna informed me she had accepted another invitation. It seems an old friend of her father’s invited her to his home in Sussex for a house party.”
The tension in Heath’s taut shoulders did not relax. He shoved the lock of hair from his forehead and waited for the rest. “The man’s name?” he inquired.
“Killarnon.”
The name resounded like a curse spoken in church on Sunday, and the reverberations of Heath’s response sent the spiders in the rafters into retreat.
Harley attempted to calm him. “He is a friend of the duke’s, you cannot deny that. His intentions very well could be innocent.”
“The most notorious rake of the century and his intentions might be innocent! Don’t be a damned fool, Sotheby. The only thing that can be said about the man is that he leaves marriageable women alone. I’ll have to fetch her.” Heath threw the glass from the table at the fire and strode toward the door.
“Heath, curse you, wait!” Harley hastened to intervene. “What can you do? Isn’t Eversly still at large?”
He had scarcely given that worthy a thought since his disappearance. “He’s not been seen. He’s out of the country by now which is where Killarnon will wish he was when I’m through with him.”
“I’ll go with you, then.” Harley grabbed his hat.
“I’ll travel faster alone.”
With angry impatience, Heath brushed aside all protests from both his neighbor and his groom as the eager stallion was saddled. Sussex was a long, hard ride from Devon. He had very little chance of making it in time, but he would have the satisfaction of grinding Killarnon into the ground when he got there.
Though weak and looking wan, Aubree felt better in the morning, and she descended the stairs intending to enjoy her day. The sun had even condescended to shine, howbeit half-heartedly, and it was an ideal day for a jaunt across the countryside.
The other guests were not so partial to that entertainment, but Killarnon and several of the younger gentlemen agreed a ride would be pleasant. Several of the ladies fell in with the scheme. A picnic basket was prepared, and the party planned to make a day of it.
The cold drove them in by midafternoon, but spirits were high. Card tables were produced for the whist players, backgammon boards for those so inclined and another group provided entertainment at the spinet. In front of a cozy fire with cups of hot toddy or brandy, they made a merry company.
Except for Aubree. The toddy made her head spin and the pangs of nausea struck again. She concealed her distress, but by dinnertime she was prepared to call it a day. Only by gritting her teeth could she force herself to change into evening dress.
By picking at the array of delicacies Aubree kept rein on her rebellious stomach. Perhaps the nervous strain of first London and now this new setting had conspired to upset her normally healthy system. Or perhaps Killarnon’s cook used spices more liberally than she was accustomed to. Whatever the reason, by the end of the evening Aubree was determined to return to Southridge the next day. Home was the only place to be when ill.
Lord Killarnon spent the evening in solicitous attendance and lingered over her hand when she announced her in
tention of retiring early.
“You are absolutely correct, my dear. When in the country, we must learn to keep country hours. The day has been a long and pleasant one, and we must all think of our beds with pleasure. I trust you are feeling better tonight?”
Aubree murmured something reassuring and escaped. She disliked causing a scene by announcing her intention of leaving in the morning. Perhaps she could speak to his lordship privately before then.
Matilda’s hovering solicitude had a depressing effect, and she sent the maid away. After the prior night, the poor woman needed her sleep.
Aubree snuggled beneath the down comforter and tried to push all else from her mind. The room was warm and the bed was soft. Her stomach stirred uneasily, but not so badly as the night before. Yet sleep would not come.
Those nights she had spent beside Heath haunted her. While she was awake, she could ignore the memories of his lean frame lying next to hers or the touch of his bare leg, but when she drifted toward sleep, she would seek the comfort of his strong arms and wake at the emptiness encountered.
Near tears at the impossibility of ever finding comfort again, Aubree heard the scratch on her door with bewilderment. Without any other warning, the door eased open and a shadow carrying a bed candle slipped through, closing the door behind him.
Aubree nearly cried out until she recognized the face in the candle’s glow as Lord Killarnon’s. Still puzzled but not frightened, she made room for him to sit on the edge of the bed as he set the candle on the bedside table. He was in his dressing gown, and without the props of high collars, starched cravats, and padded shoulders to hide his sagging flesh, he appeared nearly as old as her father. Aubree smiled at the comparison. The duke had never come to sit at her bedside when she was ill.
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