by Adele Clee
Lord Farleigh placed a hand on the boy’s head. “Go now. Spend time with Rose. Tell her all the things that trouble you. You can trust her. We all can.”
The sudden sense of elation she’d felt moments earlier dissipated. Would he still feel the same when she finally found the courage to reveal her identity? Would he say the same when he discovered the full extent of her deceit?
Chapter Nine
They climbed the stairs to the first floor, but Jacob tugged Rose’s hand and pulled her towards the next flight leading up to the nursery. A mild sense of relief filled her chest. The children slept next door to Lord Farleigh. Visiting their room made for an awkward affair when her mind conjured images of the master lying naked in his large bed.
Jacob stopped outside Rose’s room. “What I want to show you is in here.”
“In my room?” She opened the door and gestured for Jacob to enter. “I must say, it is all rather mysterious.”
He waited for her to close the door before moving to the armoire. Tapping his foot on the floorboards to the left, he found the one he wanted and prised it loose. With his cheek pressed flat to the floor, he ferreted about inside the gap and pulled out a book with a blue cover.
“This is what I stole from Mama’s room.” Jacob blew dust and cobwebs off the surface and handed it to her. “When a letter came, she always left the house in a hurry.”
“Is that why you stole them?” She opened the cover of what looked like a small ledger. One would need a magnifying glass to read the writing with it being so small. Hidden between the pages, she found a handful of letters. The broken red seals bore no identifying marks. “Did you read them?”
“I tried.”
No doubt as his reading progressed so did his understanding of the context.
“May I read them?” Every fibre of her being told her to hand them back, to nail the board to the floor and never speak of them again. “You have my word I’ll not reveal their contents without your permission.”
Jacob’s small hand settled on her arm. “Don’t tell Papa. It will make him sad again.”
Her heart grew heavy. A child should not have to live with such pressure on his shoulders. A man deserved to have peace in his life, to have some semblance of happiness, too.
With some trepidation, she removed a letter, tucked the book under her arm and scanned the missive. She would have described it as a love letter, except the contents focused on the gratuitous aspects of a physical relationship. A blush rose to her cheeks. Heavens. What would a child make of such vulgar language?
“I understand why you didn’t want to show them to your father.” Indeed, once she’d gained Jacob’s permission, how was she to explain them to Lord Farleigh?
The absence of a signature was not surprising. The gentleman in question thought nothing of sending them to Lady Farleigh’s home. In itself, it spoke of conceit and arrogance.
“Mama kept them in the drawer next to her bed.”
Oh, the poor mite. How had he kept them a secret all this time? Children struggled to hold their own water let alone something so damning. But of course. The last thing Jacob wanted was to hurt his father.
“Why did you keep them in here? Did you not worry your governess might find them?”
Was that another reason he chased the women away?
“No one would look in here unless the governess was ill.”
“And a governess is never in the house long enough to catch the mystery illness.” All parts of the puzzle seemed to be coming together. “You could have burned them. Your father knew nothing of the letters.”
Jacob’s gaze shifted about the room. He stepped forward and whispered, “A lady died in the woods, just like Mama. I think the letters might say why but I don’t understand all the words.”
Rose closed her eyes for a moment. Two women had died in the woods? She’d assumed Lady Farleigh died of an illness. No wonder his lordship insisted on an escort to Morton Manor.
“What if I read the letters? I shall only mention the important things to your father.”
Jacob pursed his lips.
“Is it not better I explain their contents than him reading them himself?” she added. The thought of Lord Farleigh discovering the depth of his wife’s deception chilled her bones. “What do you say?”
“Don’t make him sad. He likes you. Tell—”
The loud rap on the door made them both jump. Rose placed the letter back inside the book and clutched it to her chest just as Mrs Hibbet entered.
“Here you are. We’ve been looking everywhere. Dr Taylor is here to examine Jacob.”
Dr Taylor hovered at the door. The furrows on his brow marred his usually bright countenance. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear of the child's speedy recovery. But it is wise to be prudent. Perhaps we should retire to the comfort of the child’s bedchamber.”
“Of course.” With a tight grip on the book, Rose took Jacob’s hand and followed Mrs Hibbet and the doctor down to the first floor.
They all paused outside the door to Jacob’s room.
“Would you care to be present while I examine the boy?” Dr Taylor’s gaze drifted over her face before falling to the blue ledger. “Mrs Hibbet will stay of course.”
“Thank you, but I must see to Alice. I’m sure she would appreciate a distraction after such a dreadful shock.”
Dr Taylor nodded. “Mrs Hibbet will relay any information regarding the child’s recuperation, but I advise bed rest. We don’t want him to catch a chill.” He paused. “I trust you didn’t find the tonic too distasteful.”
“Not at all.” The last thing she wanted was a lecture from the doctor. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Alice.”
Rose hurried back to her room and spent a few minutes skimming through the other letters hidden inside the book. The sender failed to comment on Lady Farleigh’s character and spoke only of her ability to perform lewd tasks with the skill of a seasoned courtesan. The last words were always the same — to meet in a secret location at the agreed time.
Why any woman would want to take a lover when married to a man as handsome as Lord Farleigh was a mystery. Rose had spent the last two nights imagining his strong arms holding her close.
She scanned the ledger by way of a distraction but had to squint to read the words. The names listed in the left-hand column were barely legible. Miss Emma Perrin and Mrs Mary Drew were two she identified. To the right were various amounts of money ranging from thirty pounds up to two hundred.
Were they fees or repayments of debts?
Perhaps Lady Farleigh enjoyed gambling, and it was a list of her creditors. Or were they simply the names of servants she’d hired over the years. Evidently not, as the wages listed were extortionate even by a king’s standards. The only other notable thing was the paper compartment attached to the back cover. Rose peered inside and found it empty.
But she had no time to consider the matter further. Alice was waiting. And so she returned the book to its hiding place beneath the floorboard. In truth, the mystery surrounding those named in the ledger was of no consequence. The most pressing problem was how she would tell Lord Farleigh about his wife’s sordid affair.
After a quiet dinner alone, Christian returned to the study where he’d spent most of the afternoon. He poured a glass of brandy and gulped it down. The liquid fire burned his throat, but by God, it felt good. A couple more drinks and he might clear the fog filling his head. How was it he knew nothing about the letters? How was it Cassandra still caused mischief from beyond the grave?
Well, he was done with it.
No more governesses. No more secrets. No more lies.
It was time to bury the past for good.
He removed the crystal stopper from the decanter but hesitated. Brandy wasn’t the answer to his problems. Still, one more nip would chase the cold from his bones.
The light rap at the door dragged his attention away from the assortment of spirits. “Enter.”
When Rose came
into the candlelit room, it was as though the clouds had parted to reveal the hot midday sun. Her smile warmed his heart and dragged him from his melancholic mood.
“Rose. It’s good of you to come.” Why on earth had he said that? As the governess, she had no choice but to abide by her master’s request. “I mean it’s late, and you’ve had a tiring day.”
“Eventful would be a more appropriate word.”
“Indeed.” He stared at her, and she pursed her lips while she waited for him to speak. “Would you care for a drink?” Damn. He had brandy and port, nothing else. “I can see if Mrs Hibbet has sherry.”
“No. One glass and I tend to ramble. Thank you, but I’d best keep my wits.”
Christian chuckled. “You’re safe with me. I’ve yet to take advantage of a governess.” Indeed, the thought had never entered his head until now.
Rose swallowed. “My only thoughts are for the children. What if they should wake and call for me?”
Of course she was thinking of the children. That is why he paid her. Well, he would pay her once the week was out, and he’d persuaded her to stay.
“Please, close the door. We’ll sit by the fire. After a swim in the lake, it’s wise to keep warm.”
She closed the door and came to sit in one the chairs in front of the hearth.
“Do you mind if I take a nip of brandy?”
“Not at all.”
Christian poured the amber liquid into the glass and then sat in the chair opposite. He glanced down at her empty hands resting in her lap. “You recall why I asked you to join me? We were to discuss the letters Jacob mentioned.” And he could not deny his growing need to spend more time in her company.
“Yes.” Her gaze flicked to the crystal decanters. “Perhaps I will have a drink. Port if you have it as I’d rather not disturb Mrs Hibbet. My brother dared me to try brandy once, but it’s so potent it scorched my throat. Then again, I was only twelve.”
One did not need to be a genius to know she sought a distraction.
“It’s an acquired taste.” He poured a half measure of port into the daintiest glass on the tray and handed it to her before returning to his seat. “The first gulp is the hardest to bear.”
She watched him over the rim of her glass while sipping her port. Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Jacob gave me the letters.”
“And did they make for interesting reading?” Oh, he knew Cassandra well enough to guess the nature of their contents. “I suspect they are not for the faint-hearted.”
“Interesting is not the word I would use.” Rose breathed deeply. “I found them rather sad.”
“Sad? For whom?”
“For you.”
A heavy silence filled the air.
His heart raced. Not because he gave a damn about Cassandra’s antics, or what people thought of him, but because those two words brimmed with tenderness.
“I don’t need your pity, Rose.” He had to be sure he wasn’t mistaken. “I was foolish and naive. Some might call me pathetic for ignoring the matter. But the truth is I’d grown weary of her games.”
Christian swallowed the rest of his brandy, but it failed to soothe him.
“It’s not pity. I find it sad that you didn’t receive the love and recognition you deserved. You’re a good father, an honourable man.”
“And a terrible husband.”
“From what little I know of you, I don’t believe that’s true.”
There it was again. An unnamed emotion lingered behind the words.
“I did not love my wife.” He had no idea why he was telling a stranger about his personal affairs. But Rose was easy to talk to, and he had been alone for so long. “That makes me the worst kind of husband.”
Rose sat forward. “And it is clear from the content of the letters that she did not love you, either. That’s what makes it sad. Two lives ruined, and for what?”
Christian snorted. “To appease overbearing parents.”
For a man born with privilege and title, love was bottom of the list when looking for someone to wed.
“Then you should count yourself lucky.” A weary sigh left her lips. “At least your father didn’t lock you away and deprive you of your freedom.”
A woman as innocent as Rose had no idea how destructive a volatile marriage could be. “Marriage was my prison. And while I’m blessed to have two wonderful children, I am not sorry Cassandra’s gone.”
He exhaled long and deep. God, it felt good to tell the truth, to say the words that had festered in his heart for the last two years.
Rose sat back in the chair. She stared at the crackling flames while cradling her glass between her hands. Was she shocked by what he’d just said? Was it right to feel relief over his wife’s death?
“Jacob said his mother always left when a letter arrived. He must have been five when this occurred.”
Christian brushed his hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “It makes me sick to my stomach to think he understood some of what went on.” How did a child so young learn to manipulate events?
“Some say children are extremely perceptive.” Without warning, she stood and walked over to the window, placing her empty glass on the silver tray as she passed. She looked out at the woods in the distance. “There is something I want to ask you.” She paused briefly. “It’s dark, and yet you’ve not drawn the curtains. Why?”
That was not the question that troubled her.
He took a moment to answer. “Perhaps I need to see what’s happening outside.”
She swung around and raised a challenging brow. “You’re not telling me the whole truth.”
This woman could see into his soul, could read his thoughts.
“What more do you want me to say?”
“That you have a fear of those you love going into the woods because your wife died there. That another woman died there too, and so you keep watch, waiting for something to happen, but you don’t know what.”
Christian jumped to his feet and placed his glass on the mantel. “How do you know Cassandra died in the woods?” He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Did Mrs Hibbet tell you?”
“Jacob told me.”
Christian stepped back and perched on the edge of the desk. “That poor boy.”
“He didn’t mention the details.” Rose turned to face him. “Though he believes the deaths are connected in some way. He must have overheard a conversation to assume such a thing. Does it have anything to do with this mysterious illness?”
God, how he wished it was something as simple.
“The woman Jacob is referring to escaped from the asylum. No one knows how Miss Stoneway died. Another woman escaped too, Miss Turner, but to date, no one has found her.”
A frown marred Rose’s brow. “Do you suspect foul play?”
Christian shrugged. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Methods could be quite brutal when it came to ridding the insane of their demons. “The consensus is that Miss Stoneway’s mental imbalance somehow contributed to her death.”
“I see.”
She fell silent.
“Just say what is on your mind, Rose.”
She cleared her throat. “If Morton Manor is as horrendous as some suggest, perhaps Miss Stoneway took her own life.”
He considered Rose’s pursed lips, could almost hear the questions, the suspicions bouncing back and forth in her mind. “And so you’re wondering if that’s how Cassandra died. Well, it’s not. Would you like me to tell you about that fateful night? Would it surprise you to learn that my wife died in the arms of her lover?”
Rose gasped. But instead of stepping back in shock, she moved closer. Of course, she’d read the letters, and probably knew every sordid detail of the affair.
Christian grasped the edge of the desk. “Her lover, Mr Watson, died, too.”
“Mr Watson?” The colour drained from Rose’s face. “Is that not the name of the warden at Morton Manor?”
“Indeed.”
“But … but I heard the warden died in a fire.”
She seemed well informed for someone who’d recently arrived in the area. But then servants enjoyed gossiping below stairs.
“He did.” Christian stared into Rose’s blue eyes, hoping to prevent the horrid vision he’d encountered that night replaying in his mind. “They died together in a cottage in the woods.”
Recognition dawned. Her head shot around to the window.
“The property was north of the boundary between Morton Manor and Everleigh,” Christian clarified.
The cottage once housed the gamekeeper, when poaching was rife, and the woods provided the perfect place to move about undetected. Now just a few stones remained — the headstones of adulterers.
Rose turned back to face him. “It must have been dreadful,” she whispered. Wide blue eyes searched his face, journeyed over his hair. Slowly, and with some hesitance, she cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to experience such a tragedy.”
Christian closed his eyes as the warmth of her skin broke through his ice-cold barrier. He couldn’t open them for fear of what he’d do if he caught even a hint of affection in her eyes. How was it possible for so gentle a touch to soothe him and ignite a fire in his belly at the same time? He wanted her. More than he’d wanted anything his whole damn life.
“You … you deserve to be happy,” she continued breathlessly. “And you look so … so handsome when you smile.”
His ragged breath echoed in his ears. He sensed her drawing near, felt her sweet breath breeze across his skin. When her hand slipped away, and her soft lips touched his cheek, his heart almost leapt from his chest.
“Forgive me, my lord.” She broke contact almost immediately. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”
Christian opened his eyes and knew there and then he was lost. He’d be repenting until the end of his days for what he was about to do. But he didn’t care. Surely a man deserved to taste heaven after spending years in hell.
He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and held it there while he inhaled the floral scent of her skin. Rose. So sweet. So delicate. So tempting.