“They are talking about me in the clubs, sir. It is not for me to point out your unscrupulous dealings,” Ewan said. “Though they must be evident in your businesses, my lord. But no one of high rank will accept your mistreatment of your heir.”
The earl sneered. “Do not think to play games with me, Mr. Hales. I assure you, you are out of your league, and your mind, if you think to best me. Mr. Norwich, you have your orders.”
Ewan watched in disbelief as the earl stood. A cough racked the bent frame, then he steadied himself, though his face had gone pale.
The earl, an expression of absolute disdain on his face, unsteadily stalked out of the office, followed by the other man, who slammed the door behind himself. A pile of books wavered at the top of one bookcase and fell. Dust rose when they landed.
Norwich was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief when Ewan swiveled back around. “Oh, dear.” He pulled a sheaf of papers toward himself on the desk.
“Now what?”
“I can offer you three hundred a year,” Norwich said, licking his finger and flipping through the papers. “You will have nothing to do with the family or the businesses.”
“Can he really disinherit me?”
“What proof do you have? Parish registers can be lost. Documents can be burned. Memories can be bribed into forgetfulness.”
“He’d really go that far?”
“You have led a powerful man on a merry chase these past weeks. And insulted him besides. An earl going to the extreme of kidnapping the bastard grandchild of Sir Bartley Redcake? Come, sir; it’s laughable.”
“I never said he knew about it,” Ewan protested. “But I’m certain people in his organization are involved.”
“Nonetheless, you’ve insulted his honor one too many times.”
“Honor,” Ewan muttered.
Norwich cleared his throat. “Well. If I were you, sir, I’d tour the Continent or the colonies or such for three or four years. Live simply and the money will hold out.”
“I’m going to marry Matilda Redcake.”
“I see no faster way to guarantee the disappearance of evidence of your lineage,” Norwich said. “May I be frank?”
“Please.” Ewan leaned forward.
“An earldom is worth a dozen Matilda Redcakes. You are a young man. Come back in four years. Get some polish in Italy. Learn to paint or something. You’ll have your pick of the year’s debutantes in, what, 1894, and the Redcake hoyden will be long forgotten.”
“I can’t forget her,” Ewan said. Could she forget him?
“Then by all means marry quietly and live invisibly,” Norwich said. “I am not without sympathy for the plight of a young man, and I do realize you have known the Redcakes for a very long time. I will not claim your affection is a passing thing.”
“Thank you for that.”
Norwich nodded. He cleared his throat, then opened his drawer and pulled out his brown bottle and a ledger. Taking a pen, he wrote out a draft and handed it to Ewan. “Your first quarter’s income. I assume you didn’t leave anything of value in your office?”
Spring had a more intense scent here in Sussex. Matilda sat in her parents’ garden behind Redcake Manor, watching Jacob run across the sprightly green lawn, chasing Sir Barks. The boy laughed heartily, his short legs spinning, all troubles quite forgotten. He’d stayed close yesterday and slept in her bed the previous night, but now, in bright sunshine and soft breeze, all his cares seemed forgotten. Once again he was the cherished child of the house. She watched his brown ringlets bounce from a combination of breeze and movement. His hair had grown too long, but he hated to have it cut and she would do nothing to trouble him now.
Her sister Alys had telephoned, a couple of weeks out of childbed now, and suggested she bring Jacob to Hatbrook Farm. Equally free of London and Bristol kidnappers, she would have access to nursery maids and Jacob’s beloved, slightly younger cousin, Lady Mary Ellen. Matilda wanted her father, though, more than she wanted nursemaids. How silly to be twenty-four, and a mother, and think her father was still her safe haven.
Yet he’d brought her son home to her.
Later that night, she lay in bed, Jacob beside her, breathing in little snorts. Afraid he was coming down with a cold, she’d refused to leave him in the nursery. Her mother had looked at her with sympathy and not argued. A strange expression had come over her father’s face as he wished her good night and left the room. Even now, she could see him through her open curtains, a dim shape in the garden, a lantern at his feet. She wondered what thoughts had him in thrall.
Her mother had gone to bed. Gawain was still in Bristol, dealing with the police who were coordinating with London to search for Wyld and Augustus Hulk, though Ann had returned to her son in Battersea. Dougal Alexander had probably reached Edinburgh by now. Mrs. Miller had told her she and Daisy would be busy giving the house a thorough cleaning after so many houseguests, but she’d told her housekeeper to give Daisy a night off and money for a new dress, so she could have a nice evening with Mr. Barker, who’d been promised such. She’d told Mrs. Miller to take some time for herself, as much as she needed, after the cleaning was completed, and of course both women could attend Izabela’s funeral, if her mother had one.
Her parents had separated from Ewan in London. She hadn’t heard from him. Had he asked the earl’s forgiveness and gone back to work? Surely he had access to a telephone. Or maybe he had written her a letter. She’d see it soon enough if he had.
The next morning, she sat in the breakfast room with Jacob and her mother. She had not been able to push her fiancé to the back of her thoughts. “When you left Ewan in London, was it his choice?”
“No, dear, but it seemed for the best. I’m hoping he could help the police there find those two horrible men who were involved,” her mother said.
“So he’s busy with the police, then?”
“I expect so, dear. Have you attempted to communicate with him?”
“I don’t know how. I know where he lives, but all I could do is write him a letter.”
“No telephone?”
“I don’t really know where he is employed, and of course he could not have one at his room. He doesn’t have much money, you know. He lives very neatly, but just in one room.”
“You’ve been there?”
Matilda nodded sheepishly. “We were engaged, Mother.”
“Are engaged,” her mother corrected. “Nothing has changed, dear.”
“But he’s in London and I can’t go there, not with Wyld and Hulk still on the loose. We still don’t know the full story.”
“Write him a letter. Ask him to telephone. He can use the telephone at Redcake’s.”
“I suppose you are right. I just thought he’d make an effort to contact me.”
Her mother reached across the table and took her hand as Jacob snatched up a spoon from his porridge and spilled droplets of mush on Lady Redcake’s sleeve. She chuckled affectionately and took the spoon away. “This is the man who risked his life to save your son, Matilda. He loves you. Don’t risk his feelings now.”
“I have felt myself so unequal to love,” she admitted.
“Now Jacob is home and you are nothing but love. You are full to bursting with it,” her mother said. “Save some of that overflow of emotion for your soon-to-be husband.”
Did she love him? She needed to see him through eyes not glazed by terror, a heart not still confused by her agreement to marry Theodore Bliven. She had to go to London, but how could she leave Jacob?
Her father entered the room, his eyes looking red-rimmed and tired. He stood upright, however. She thought he had lost a fair amount of his paunch these last couple of weeks. None of them had been eating much. Her stays had been much easier to tighten.
“Papa, I don’t think I can go back to Bristol,” she said.
“Not until we get to the bottom of our troubles,” he said readily enough.
“You should give Ewan the position,” she said.
“But Ewan—”
“Needs to make his own way, Matilda,” her father said. “Presumably under the iron fist of Lord Fitzwalter, but he does need to learn the family business.”
“It’s not a possibility. Not if he marries me. The earl made that clear.”
“Everything can be mended in a family,” her mother interjected as she dabbed at her flowing sleeves with a damp rag. “It just needs time.”
“I don’t think the earl sees Ewan as family, not precisely,” Matilda said.
“He will come to love Ewan, just as we have,” her mother said.
Her mother’s placid tone held such assurance that Matilda was startled. “We have?”
“Of course. He’s been in our employ for years. We’ve watched him become a man. I’m very happy he’s to be my new son,” her mother said. “London isn’t far, and you owe him a duty, Matilda. Take the train up there for a day, as soon as you’ve made contact, and see him. Sort out your wedding date. Do you think you’ll want to be married from here?”
I don’t know what I want. I have to go to London. Matilda stared blankly at her mother.
“Don’t panic,” her father said. “Be grateful you have the opportunity to be a bride. And to an honest and intelligent man.”
“A handsome man, too,” her mother said with a twinkle.
“I’m not ungrateful,” she protested, blushing. “Am I good enough for him, Papa? A future earl. So brave. He sacrificed so much for me.” She put her head in her hands. He’d given her everything and what had she done? Made love with him a couple of times, and she hadn’t even sacrificed her virginity for that. He was a better person than her. She didn’t deserve him.
“He loves you,” her father said. “That is good enough for him, and it ought to be good enough for you.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“You have to ask him that.”
She stood, tucking her hands under Jacob’s legs as he wrapped his chubby arms around her neck and squeezed. “I’ll telephone Lord Judah at Redcake’s and ask him to send one of the deliverymen to Ewan’s home with a note. Maybe he will come in tomorrow and telephone me so we can speak.”
Her father nodded. “That would be an excellent idea. I know he needed to speak with the earl, but he’s had yesterday and today to do that. Now he can turn his thoughts to matrimony.”
While she continued to wait on Jacob, attending to all his needs, even his bath, which she had avoided in the past due to the damp mess of the procedure, her thoughts were consumed by Ewan. She reviewed their physical encounters, the pleasure of them. Without meaning to, she compared them to her experience with Theodore Bliven and found there was nothing to say. She and Ewan had been heat and light, passion and pleasure. Being with Theodore had been a terrible, unpleasant mistake with ruinous consequences. She hadn’t even worried with Ewan. He made her feel safe. He attracted her physically. She respected him, appreciated his stubbornness. These were all good things, important things.
Did she like him? The thought struck her as she cut tiny bites of egg for her son on Friday evening. Had he ever made her laugh? Long for his company? She enjoyed sparring with him, but that involved a certain degree of lust. Those pomaded, glossy curls, so tightly contained for so long, now disturbed by this new habit of tunneling his hands through his hair, made her face hot when she saw them. That was still lust, not liking, but she thought her regard was more than just lust. Yes, she liked him, wanted to be in his presence.
Then there was love. She hoped for it. And she hoped he would love Jacob, too. He would be the only father her son ever knew.
On Saturday morning, she felt elated when Pounds, returned from London, came to her sitting room door to tell her she had a telephone call from London.
The crackling noise made him hard to hear, but she almost recognized Ewan’s voice.
“Darling, hello?” he called.
“Yes, I’m here, Ewan.” She smiled, feeling truly happy.
“How is Jacob?”
“He seems fine. He clings to me a fair amount, but he goes to my mother and father, too.”
“Poor mite. Is he eating well?”
“Oh, yes. He’ll have the weight put back on in no time.” She hugged herself with her free arm.
“I spoke to Mrs. Miller briefly, when I called to speak to Gawain. She expressed her joy and hopes to see you soon.”
“I can’t go back to Bristol. Not now.”
“I understand.”
The line crackled badly, and she was afraid she’d lost him. “Hello?”
“I’m here. Do you want me to come to Polegate?”
“Aren’t you busy with your work and the police?”
“I’m not working for the earl now, though he has given me an allowance. I’m walking the streets every day and stopping in with the police superintendent at teatime to spur them on. Wyld and Hulk have vanished, though.”
“I am never going to feel safe until we’ve figured this out,” she said.
“I know, and I’d like to offer you my protection. Can you marry me now, or do you want to plan a big wedding?”
His words made her smile with relief. “Heavens no; quietly, please. I’d like to see you. Shall I come up to London for the day, on Monday?”
“Yes, please do, if you can tear yourself away.”
“It’s important. I mean, you are. I owe you so very much; everything, really. What you did, going into the house. You could have been killed.”
There was a long pause before he said, “I have no regrets. Listen, the line is getting worse. Come to Redcake’s? I’ll meet you in the tearoom, whenever you can arrive on Monday.”
“I’ll visit your room,” Matilda said. She wanted to see him in private. “Wait for me there.”
“Very well.”
She thought she detected a note of humor in his voice.
“I shall have to do some tidying.”
“You have two days in which to accomplish that.”
“I shall spend them thinking of you. I’ve missed you.”
She felt her eyes prick with tears. She had thought herself done with them, after all she’d shed over her son. “I’ve missed you, too.” Thankfully, she knew it to be true. “I can’t wait to see you, and make our plans for the future.”
“Yes, I want that, too. Until Monday, then.”
Chapter Twenty
“I had to confess to my mother that I’d been here before,” Matilda said as Ewan drew her into his room. It fairly sparkled with cleanliness, and she was touched that he’d gone to such an effort for her. She also noticed that he hadn’t done any packing. She could see no sign of a man about to take up a post in Bristol, or even with a thought of moving to the Redcake family home on St. James’s Square. He’d even placed a small bouquet of violets in a chipped tea mug on his table.
“Your mother seems the sensible sort.” He half-smiled and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets under his coat.
She realized he must have meant to embrace her and she’d missed a cue. How embarrassing. “It looks very nice here,” she commented, craning her neck to make it clear that she really had missed his gesture.
“I thought we might spend our wedding night here,” he admitted. “You must want to remain in hiding.”
The muscles around her rib cage tightened painfully. “Are we marrying today?”
“We don’t have to. I didn’t make an appointment or anything like that.”
“I’m not prepared.” The words left her mouth before she’d thought them through. She put her hand to her lips. “Oh, Ewan, I’m doing this all wrong.”
“I can completely understand you being unprepared.” He put his arm around her shoulders, his expression softening. “It is such an important matter. Perhaps upon reflection, you don’t even want to marry me.”
“Why would you think that?” She let him take her to one of his two chairs and sat in front of the violets.
He took the other chair and leaned forward earnestly. She’d seen that look before, on the rare occasion when she’d been at Redcake’s and he’d been expressing some important point to her father. His hair wasn’t mussed today. She missed the curls that hid beneath his pomade.
“You haven’t been yourself through our courtship. Extreme emotional distress. I know I wasn’t good enough for Matilda Redcake in the past. You may continue to feel that way. I have little to offer financially right now.”
“I don’t care about money.”
“Ha,” he said. “Of course you do. You’ve always had it. You’ve no notion of how to live like most people.”
“Should I be offended?” She stared at the violets.
“No, I’m just being honest.” He sat back. “Regardless, you will never be poor, no matter who you marry. Your parents are very liberal. It’s part of why I respect them so much.”
“You must think I am not good enough for you,” she said slowly. Was this his way of breaking the engagement?
“You know I don’t feel that way at all,” he countered.
“Do I?”
He touched her face. His elbow brushed the violets, but she closed her eyes to feel his touch more acutely instead of trying to rescue his teacup.
“I have missed your touch,” she whispered. “In the south, it felt a little like nothing had ever changed, like it was two years ago, when I was still living there. But I was dissatisfied. I’d learned to want more than I deserved. I’ve learned to want you, Ewan.”
“You have?”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes. “I only had to hear your voice again to know that.”
“What else?”
“You sound like the old Ewan, getting your business reports.”
“I don’t mean to.” His fingers tucked around her jaw.
“It’s who you are. You’re a good businessman. I told my father to offer you Bristol, but he said you would not want to be apart from me.”
Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) Page 26