by Kelly Boyce
The older man’s voice filled with love and fierce determination when he spoke of his daughter and somewhere deep inside the curious question arose, would Marcus’s mother have done the same for him? Not Mary Bowen, but the author of the journal. If she had not abandoned him to others, would she speak his name with the same parental love as Cosgrove did his daughter? Or would she speak of him with shame and regret? Was that why she’d abandoned him? Because she could not endure the constant reminder of her fall from grace? Or did she believe he would have a better life than what she was able to provide?
Marcus cleared his mind of the thought, though it lingered in the air around him like a half-remembered dream.
“Your determination is very commendable. Tell me, when you were with Lord Walkerton, what were your duties?”
“I was steward to his country seat, Westcombe Court, as my father was before me and his before him. The Cosgroves have given three generations of stewardship to the lordships of Walkerton.”
“And how was it you left the position to enlist in the war?”
“His lordship decided to enlist as an officer in the British Army. He insisted I enlist as well as his soldier-servant.”
“And you agreed?”
“I was not given much in the way of choice. He promised to keep Mrs. Cosgrove and Maddie in a small home on the estate and ensure they were cared for until we returned.”
“I see. And did he?”
“He did.”
“How long were you away for?”
“It was ’04 when we enlisted. We came and went over the years. Lord Walkerton received several furloughs. As heir, he should not have enlisted at all, but he often looked for ways to shirk his duties. I believe he was more interested in playing the dashing hero than in running the estates. He did not think any true harm would come to him. He had a rather romanticized idea of what war was. When his ideas proved false, he preferred to cower rather than put himself in harm’s way.”
“Though he did not have any difficulty if you did?”
Cosgrove lifted the shoulder of the missing limb. “Maddie saw me sporadically, as did her mother. She spent her early years knowing little of me save for the letters I sent. When we returned in 1814 for another furlough, Lord Walkerton feigned illness and when it came time to return, he sent me in his stead.”
“Could he do that?” Marcus had little knowledge of how the military worked, having been only a boy during the Napoleonic Wars.
Again, Cosgrove shrugged. Sun shone in through the window and lit the older man’s white hair, revealing hints of the blonde it had once been. Though thin lines marked his face, Marcus realized he was not as old as he’d originally perceived. Perhaps fifty-five, maybe a little more.
“No one questioned it and where my future employment depended upon my compliance, I went. It was during the Battle of Waterloo that I sustained my injury and when I was well enough, I returned home. Upon my arrival, I was dismissed.”
“Why?”
Cosgrove’s gaze left Marcus and he glanced out the window for a moment, the first hint of discomfort given, as if he wanted to choose his words carefully before he spoke them. “We had a disagreement over his treatment of one of the maids. It became heated and when I refused to back down in my opinions, he dismissed me without reference.”
“But without a reference—”
“I had no hope of obtaining another similar position. The lack of an arm did not help my circumstances.”
“And so here you are.”
“And so here I am.”
The man’s story shook Marcus, reminding him of how quickly a man’s fortunes could turn when he did not have an inheritance or title to fall back on. He could just as easily be Cosgrove if a bastard as cowardly as Walkerton had employed him.
“What were the circumstances regarding the other employee?”
Again, Cosgrove hesitated before he spoke. “There was a young maid—Alma, her name was. A sweet girl. I often believed Walkerton took advantage of her, but she was too timid to speak against him. While I was away, she finally worked up the courage to refuse his advances. In return, he accused her of stealing from him and dismissed her.”
“Was there any evidence to support the claim of theft?”
Cosgrove shook his head. “The housekeeper searched her room but nothing was found. When I discovered this, I raised my objections. But Lord Walkerton was adamant and refused to change his decision.”
“What was it she was accused of stealing?”
“A watch.”
Marcus stilled and his heart banged against his ribs until each beat became more painful than the last. “May I show you something?”
The older man’s brow dipped slightly. “You may.”
Marcus rose and walked back to his desk, opening the top drawer. He stared down at the watch and hesitated. A part of him rejected the idea that the watch his mother had sent could be the same one Cosgrove spoke of, yet Rebecca had been adamant it was the Walkerton crest engraved on the outside.
Was she right?
He picked up the watch and returned to the table, setting it in front of the former steward.
“Do you recognize this?”
Cosgrove lifted the timepiece in his hand and turned it over. His mouth pulled into a grim line and his sharp gaze lifted to meet Marcus’s. “Yes.”
He answered with a question of his own. “Is that the Walkerton crest?”
“It is.”
“Is this the item the maid was accused of stealing?”
His calloused thumb rubbed against the worn engravings. “It is. How did you come by it?”
“It was left to me by someone who, near as I can fathom, had no reason to have it in their possession. Do you know what happened to Alma?” Was this maid his mother? It didn’t make sense. The journal read as if written by a lady of quality. Someone educated and refined. Had he assumed wrongly? Could it have been the maid, after all? And if so, how had she ended up at Braemore and where was she now?
Cosgrove stared at the cracked glass for a moment. “Alma fell upon hard times as you can imagine. A charge of theft, regardless of how unfounded, made it impossible for her to find respectable work and so she turned to less reputable ways to survive.”
The former steward set the watch onto the table and pushed it toward Marcus with his fingertips as if it was tainted. “I wanted to help, but I could barely afford to put food on my own table and I had Maddie to consider. I lost track of Alma after a bit, but I heard from others she had not lasted long in that life.” He shook his head and sadness invaded his blue eyes. “She had far too gentle a nature for such work.”
“Then you’re certain she is dead?”
He nodded. “They buried her in a pauper’s grave.”
The idea soured Marcus’s gut. Walkerton seemed to have no compunction about tossing people out like they held no more value than last week’s news. It sickened him.
“And you’re certain this is the watch in question?”
Cosgrove nodded. “It had been commissioned by the second Lord Walkerton and he passed it down to his son, who then passed it onto his, until it came into the possession of the current Lord Walkerton.”
Confusion pulled at Marcus’s brow. Based on Cosgrove’s information, it was obvious Alma had not stolen the watch, nor authored the journal. How, then, had Mary Bowen come to have it in her possession? Had the woman who gave birth to him had an association with Walkerton? An illicit dalliance, perhaps, that had landed her in such a state? But why would she take the watch? Or if Walkerton gifted it to her, why did he then claim the maid had stolen it?
He shook his head. The entire matter remained a mystery he could not solve. Though one piece of the puzzle had become clear.
Lord Walkerton may well be the man who’d fathered him.
His stomach churned at such a possibility.
He picked the watch up and slid it into his jacket pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Cosgrove. I appreciate your honesty and wh
at information you have been able to give. Can I trust you to keep this conversation between us?”
Mr. Cosgrove stood. “You may, sir. I hope you find the answers you seek. Now, if I might beg your leave, there is still daylight left and I need to continue my search for work if I am to put food on the table this evening.”
Marcus quickly rose to his feet. “Forgive me. I should have said something sooner. I wish to offer you employment, Mr. Cosgrove. I cannot say at this moment what the position will be. I need to look at the estates and see where your skills will best suit. Until then, I will pay you a retainer. A good faith gesture.”
“Your word is enough, sir.”
Marcus shook his head, compelled to right a wrong he had no part in. “Which you have along with the retainer to hold you over until I can find the proper placement.”
Mr. Cosgrove’s shoulders drooped, then lifted again as if his body had heaved a sigh of much needed relief. “I accept then, sir. Most heartily and with much gratitude.”
Marcus smiled and shook Mr. Cosgrove’s hand then went to his desk and wrote the man a bank note. “I will be in touch, very soon.”
As the older man walked out onto the street, his step appeared much spryer than when he had walked in. It did Marcus’s heart good to know he had helped. Yet beneath the good feelings, questions lingered. He touched his pocket where the watch resided.
How had the watch fallen into his mother’s possession?
And was he the bastard son of the Earl of Walkerton?
Chapter Ten
Rebecca tried not to fidget during the recitation given by Lady Prudence, but the entire piece left her ears pleading for mercy. How could the girl take daily lessons on her violin and still sound as if she were massacring each note? It went beyond all comprehension. Regardless, the unmitigated relief experienced once the impromptu concert ended left Rebecca seeking the solace of the small garden as even the din of conversation coming from the drawing room proved too much for her tender ears.
Lady Martindale, mother of the aforementioned butcher of all things musical, had a small but pretty garden that bloomed in all different colors of the rainbow. Its bounty filled the June afternoon with a pleasantly sweet scent that blocked out the stench of coal and smog that sometimes drifted in from the city beyond. If Rebecca closed her eyes and tilted her head back to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, she could almost imagine she was at Sheridan Park once more.
In another garden, behind a certain statue, kissing a certain man.
Her eyes snapped open.
No. She would not think of that.
A lofty goal, though not one she had succeeded at since the last kiss. It had been even more potent than the first. It resurrected every feeling she had tried to squash, every attempt to convince herself the kiss had resulted from nothing more than the upset she had experienced. But it was a lie. She’d known in her heart her feelings for Marcus were true, yet somehow it had become easier to pretend otherwise. Easier to block out the disappointment. The regret. The fact that it could never be.
But Marcus’s latest kiss had robbed her of that. Now, there was no going back. No pretending her heart didn’t demand its due.
Perhaps if she escaped to the countryside—but no. Marcus had been such a mainstay in their lives, there was not a room on the large estate where his presence had not been imprinted, save her own bedchamber—the one room she wished to see him in most of all.
The idea shocked her, coming unbidden. Though it wasn’t the first time. Marcus stirred her desires, fuelled her daydreams, and made her long for things she could not name.
How did a kiss, a touching of the lips, a melding of bodies, fire her blood until it boiled, until the heat of it flowed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes? She could not get close enough to him and the press of his body against hers made her long shamefully for the layers of their clothing to be stripped away so she might feel his skin against hers. The emotions he evoked frightened her because they were everything she wanted. Everything she had ever dreamed of.
And the one thing she couldn’t have.
“I am of the strong opinion that there are some instances in which no amount of practice will improve a situation.”
Rebecca turned toward the intruding voice and shielded her eyes against the sunlight as Miss Eugenie Caldwell took a seat on the bench next to her. Rebecca had seen Miss Caldwell within the group attending the performance—for lack of a better word—but they had not spoken. In truth, they had barely said a word to each other since the engagement debacle with her brother a year earlier.
Rebecca had not thought too much of it, to be truthful. They had never been bosom bows after all, but she had attempted to cultivate a friendship with the woman her brother had been set to marry. It had proven a bit of a Herculean task. Eugenie Caldwell did not necessarily exude warmth, though as she got to know her, Rebecca had the sense it was not so much that Eugenie was a cold person, but more that she was so tightly wound no one could break through the barrier to see what hid beneath. At least, Rebecca had never been able to.
After the broken engagement with Nicholas, however, she and Eugenie had little to do with one another. Though Eugenie had sent a nice note to her upon the death of Father and she had responded with a proper thank you, awkwardness had invaded their acquaintance and it became easier to simply avoid one another rather than try to breach it.
Which is why it took her by surprise to find Eugenie seeking her out now. “Yes, indeed. I think perhaps Lady Prudence should attempt a different instrument. The wood blocks, perhaps.”
Eugenie smiled—at least as much as Eugenie ever smiled—but a small bit of it warmed her brown eyes if only briefly.
“I understand you had a bit of a scare at the Park the other day.”
Heat rushed to Rebecca’s cheeks. “Yes, it was rather frightening.” Not to mention mortifying. Embarrassing. Humiliating.
“I am also told Lord Selward was beside himself over the notion you could have been grievously injured and is determined to make it up to you.”
Rebecca had been equally determined to hide away for the rest of the Season, certain any hope she had in regards to Lord Selward had ended. Had Mother not suggested hiding away in her room was not the best way to capture a proposal, she might still be there. But the suggestion reminded Rebecca of why a proposal from the future earl was so important. For Mother. For her memories and her heritage.
As it turned out, Lord Selward came by the house to ensure her good health and reiterate his own wish that she not keep herself locked away. He took full responsibility and ensured everyone was made aware of it. He should have taken better care of her, as Mr. Bowen intimated, and he was overcome with guilt that he had not.
Guilt plagued her as well, for completely different reasons. For as solicitous as Lord Selward behaved, and despite how desperate she was for his proposal, she could not look at him without wishing for all the world it was another man sitting there. Another man whose attention she commanded.
It had been an odd thing to speak to the man she planned to marry while the taste of another man still teased the tip of her tongue.
Rebecca cleared her throat and shoved the memory away. She would not deal with this now. Mostly because she did not know how to deal with it. How did one go into a marriage with one man when another held her heart?
Perhaps she could ask Mother for advice, but she would only counsel her to follow her heart above all else. That ignoring one’s heart brought only strife. But so would losing everything her mother held dear.
Putting Rebecca in the proverbial middle between a rock and a hard place.
She refocused her attention back on Eugenie. “It was most kind of Lord Selward to say so and he has been most attentive.”
Eugenie folded her hands in her lap, her back ramrod straight as if it took no effort at all. Rebecca, on the other hand, despite years of comportment training, wished to slouch, even just a little.
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��I also understand my sister, Rosalind, has spoken to Mr. Bowen in her endeavor to find employment for those who have fallen on hard times.” Disapproval edged Eugenie’s voice.
“Yes. It’s a very good cause, I think. You must be proud of her generous nature. The good work she does is an inspiration to the rest of us.”
“Indeed, though such behavior does not come without a price.”
“A price?”
Eugenie nodded. “Mother worries her ferocity toward helping the under-privileged and wrongly treated eclipses her wish to marry to such a degree the latter will never happen. My dear sister does nothing to thwart this notion and I fear eventually it will come back to haunt her.”
“In what way?”
Eugenie glanced down at her gloves and rubbed her thumb along the finger on her opposite hand. “Am I wrong in assuming Lady Huntsleigh’s introduction of Mr. Bowen to Rosalind was in the hopes of making a possible match?”
Rebecca didn’t know quite how to answer. Caelie had mentioned to her that Huntsleigh had thought them well-suited, but in the end, it had been she who had asked Rosalind to join them. “I’m afraid the invitation was my doing. She had suggested to me Mr. Bowen might be able to help her with the charity. Although, I believe Lady Huntsleigh thought the two might strike up a friendship.”
“Which did not happen, did it?”
“I’m sure they liked each other just fine.” But when Eugenie gave her a knowing look, Rebecca gave up the pretense of politeness. “But no, I do not think there was an attraction.”
How odd to speak of Marcus in such a way, as if he were meant for someone else, when in her heart, he had already been claimed. A claim she had no right to make.
“That is my fear.”
“That she and Mr. Bowen will not be attracted to one another?”
Eugenie waved a hand in the air. “Not Mr. Bowen in particular, but anyone. It is only a matter of time before her diligence toward her causes drives even the most lenient of gentleman away. Many in our circles have already begun to look at her dubiously. Soon, she will make herself a pariah and no one will pay much attention to her or her cause. I have tried to speak to about it, suggest she marry first. A married woman has much more leniency in these matters, does she not? But she will not listen to my counsel.”