Eveline imagined herself in Richard’s place, imagined the choice between the ruin of a stranger and that of a beloved younger sister and the poverty of one’s tenants. He had not known her when he had made the choice. Given that choice, she, too, would have gone down the same road he had, she was sure. Then he had married her—and that was not in the bargain; she assumed he was supposed to abandon her.
But he had not. He had married her, and because of that was apparently still tied to Mr. Teufel. Richard could not, at the very last, do something that would ruin her life.
And who was this Teufel, who apparently hated her or her father so much that he plotted her downfall? Eveline’s brows drew together. She knew of no enemies she might have who wished her ill. Her father, while having many business rivals, had no enemies she knew of, for the rivalry between him and other merchants had always been friendly, though highly competitive.
Eveline stood up, clutching the piece of paper. She would confront Richard with this letter. Then she crossed the library threshold and stopped. If she went to him with the letter, what would he do? Despite the letter, she knew, knew with every part of her heart and soul, that he loved her. It was in his gaze, his kisses, his touches, and his words. But though he spoke of the things he felt for her, he did not tell her of other things, the things that pained him most. If there was any danger to her from this Teufel, she could not expect him to tell her of it. Just as he had protected his sister, and just as he had tried to protect Eveline by making her his wife, he would try to protect her now with some misguided gentleman’s code of honor she would rather not have to deal with. It would be useless for her to confront him about this, for he would not tell her.
It would be useless, also, for if she tried to find out, he would know what she was about and stop her. Eveline pulled in her lips to a straight, hard line. She would not, then. If Richard felt he could not share his concerns with her, she would not air hers, either. She would go to London and find out for herself, leaving a note to be given him later in the day. Her father kept a town house there in which she could stay and there was always a staff ready, so coming unannounced would cause a small stir, but not a horrible inconvenience. She would go soon. If not today, then tomorrow.
She needed an escort. Going over her acquaintances in her mind, she settled on the only ones available: Wyvern and Marianne. She would go to them now.
This time she took Marianne’s horse, for Wyvern always sent his carriage for his governess, or provided Marianne with a horse from his own stables. The stable boy goggled at her as she spat out orders to have the gelding saddled. She did not want to waste any time. Quickly she mounted and spurred the horse to Wyvern’s estate.
The earl’s butler was clearly startled at her appearance. In her haste she no doubt looked a fright, but she did not care. “Miss Clairmond,” she said to him. “Where is she? Is she still in the schoolroom?”
“Y-yes, my lady, but I think—”
“Thank you. I know my way.” Eveline moved past him and up the stairs.
She turned a corner, then stopped, startled. She could see the long sweep of Marianne’s old brown dress she had mended but two days ago. But the rest of Marianne was hidden by a large masculine form that had her in its arms in a crushing embrace. Marianne seemed to struggle a little, but it was only to pull her arm out from under his and curl it around the back of his neck, while the man who held her caressed her waist and hip.
“Marianne! Wyvern!”
Marianne pulled away, her hands flying to her cheeks to hide their redness. Wyvern turned, a frown crossing his brow, but when he saw Eveline, it was replaced with an obviously embarrassed look. Despite the anxiety Eveline had felt on the way here, she had to suppress a smile at the red that appeared high on Wyvern’s cheekbones and at his definite discomfort.
“It … it is not what you think, Eveline!” blurted Marianne. “Truly!”
“I am sure you do not know what I think,” said Eveline, making her voice cool. She turned to the earl. “And you, sir! What do you have to say for yourself? If either Lord Clairmond or I had known the way you treat your employees, and that employee his sister—”
“She is not my employee,” Wyvern said abruptly. “That is to say, I discharged her today.” He looked more uncomfortable than ever.
“Oh? And for what reason?”
“Because I want her for my wife, dash it all!” Wyvern replied, obviously goaded.
“He proposed, you see,” Marianne said. “And I accepted.”
Eveline nodded. “I thought that was it. Congratulations.”
Both Wyvern and Marianne stared at her, then Marianne burst into laughter and Wyvern grinned widely. “Oh, Eveline, you are a terrible tease! I am so happy! I have loved Wyvern—”
“Anthony,” the earl said. Marianne beamed at him.
“Anthony,” she said, and her voice was a caress. She looked at Eveline shyly. “I have loved him ever so long! And then I found he loved me, too! But he had to dismiss me, for he could not properly ask me to wed him when I was his employee.”
Eveline took their hands in hers and smiled at them. “I have known it for quite a while, you know. You have been smelling of April and May since I came to Clairmond Hall. I am happy for you.” She released their hands, and Marianne grew solemn.
“Eveline, do you think Richard … would approve? He does not seem to like Anthony at all.”
“I think, my dear, that I shall deal with your brother.” A closed look crossed Wyvern’s features.
Eveline’s impatience suddenly exploded from her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Richard will not talk, and now you! If someone does not tell me what the dispute is between you two, I swear I shall burst!”
Marianne glanced up at the earl. “You see, I said it would not serve.” She turned to Eveline. “Anthony was not very pleasant to Richard. He won a great deal of money from my brother, but threw the vowels away when he had Richard’s permission to pay his addresses to me. Anthony thought if he lost to my brother, perhaps Richard would use the money to make me more comfortable. But he won instead and thought then to ask to court me.” She smiled. “I think it was excessively noble of Anthony to do so, but he was not right in allowing Richard to think he cared nothing for me.”
“I still think I—” began Wyvern, but Marianne put her hand to his lips.
“No, you were not right. You should have discerned the true situation between Richard and myself before you assumed he had neglected me.”
“I am older than he is, Marianne, and a widower. He must have thought to have you marry someone more eligible than I. I admit I was selfish enough not to want him to do that.” Marianne opened her mouth to reply, but he held up his hand. “And no, I do not want to argue about it. That is the past. If I have erred, then I shall make up for it.” He smiled at Marianne, and she sent him a look so full of love that Eveline looked down and adjusted her pelisse over her dress, so as to give them some measure of privacy.
Eveline wondered if she should tell them of Richard’s predicament. Would it put a burden on them, knowing all that he had done for Marianne and the estate? She had gone to them, thinking to ask for their help, but now she felt she could not—not now. But perhaps there was another way she could get an escort.
She looked up at the earl and said, “I … was wondering if I could ask a favor of you, my lord. I shall need escort to London. There is some extremely urgent business I must transact for my father, who has been quite ill. It is a long way, and I do not think I should ask Richard, for he needs to attend to crucial estate matters daily. But while I have transacted business in Bath by myself, I know well it is not seemly for me to do so in London. So I was wondering …” Eveline wet her lips, for they were suddenly dry. “I was wondering if you could accompany me, and Marianne, as well.” She smiled at her sister-in-law. “I do not want it to be altogether a business trip. I thought perhaps we could go to Vauxhall, and such, as well.”
Marianne clasped her hands, and
her eyes glowed with pleasure. “Oh, Eveline, yes! When?”
Eveline looked uncertainly at Wyvern. “Well, I was hoping it would be tomorrow.”
Wyvern raised his brows, but said, “Of course. However, perhaps you could do me a favor in return, and let your nurse stay with my daughters while I am gone. They no longer have a governess, you see.” He smiled down at Marianne, and she beamed at him.
“Yes, of course. Tomorrow?” Eveline said. Wyvern bowed in assent.
Both Eveline and Marianne went home, then Eveline rang for a maid to pack up her clothes. She had wanted to go today, but saw that it was not wise. Better she present it to Richard just as she had done to Wyvern and Marianne, and then leave an explanatory note for him to read later.
Richard was cordial to her at dinner and throughout the evening, but his restraint was almost tangible. Marianne looked to and from each of them, obviously wondering what was afoot, but neither Richard nor Eveline enlightened her. It was while Marianne entertained them at the pianoforte in the parlor that Eveline broached the business trip to him.
He gazed at her and his lips pressed together before he said, “I suppose it is to settle your inheritance.”
Eveline lowered her eyes. “Yes. I have been used to dealing with Papa’s solicitors, and you mentioned you did not want to be involved with any dealings with them, so I thought I might go myself. And I thought Marianne might like to accompany me as well, perhaps to see a few sights.” She hesitated. “It would be such a treat for her, I am sure, Richard! You cannot begrudge her some pleasure after all her hard work, even if it means using my own funds for it.”
Indecision flickered across Richard’s face, and then he nodded shortly. “No, I cannot deny her that. Perhaps,” he said, and he looked away from her to Marianne, his expression harsh. “Perhaps it would not be amiss if she were to procure bride-clothes as well. I will, of course, reimburse you when you return.” Marianne had told him of her acceptance of Wyvern’s marriage proposal during dinner, and though he smiled and congratulated her on her good fortune, his smile did not reach his eyes.
“Of course,” Eveline replied, and she, too, looked away. She went up to her chambers not long after, and when Richard did not come to her that night, she did not know whether to be relieved or sorry.
Chapter Seventeen
Richard sat in his study, slumped in his chair, and stared at the pile of bills upon his escritoire. More bills. He had found them stashed in a cupboard in his father’s room and did not know which had been paid and which had not. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, then gave a short bitter laugh. Teufel’s letter had solved it all for him, didn’t it? He did not need to reread it to remember what it said. The bold, stark handwriting blazed in front of him every time he closed his eyes.
The letter had sniggered at him and put a tawdry cast upon the gilt-edged days he had spent with Eveline. A month of joy, more than he had ever known before, and of hope. Eveline. He missed her already, though she was gone only yesterday. It would be a good thing for Marianne, he had to admit, however, and he could not deny his wife’s request that Marianne go with her.
He had hoped to be free of Teufel; he had hoped perhaps to make something of his estate by his own efforts. He had begun to do so—oh, in small increments, to be sure, for he was still learning—but he had begun. And now this filth of a letter from Teufel. Richard felt ill. He could not even think to touch Eveline that night after he had read it.
He rose, rang for a servant, and ordered brandy from the maid who appeared. He let out a short laugh. His father could not pay the bills, but the cellar was full of the best brandy that could be smuggled during wartime. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it away. Not now. Not now when he had to think of a way to solve his problems.
A light, sharp knock sounded.
“Come!”
The door opened, and it was not the butler who came in with his tray, but Lescaux. Moreover, he carried no brandy but a light repast of tea, jam, and scones. The little man placed the tray on a side table and poured hot tea into a large cup.
“Lescaux, I ordered brandy.”
The valet gazed at his master in disapproval. “Milord, you ’ave had no meals since this morning. The sun, he is dropping down the horizon. Also, I ’ave looked upon the brandy—and it is of a sort inferior.” He curled his lip slightly. “Tea is preferable.”
The corners of Richard’s mouth twitched upward. “And why are you the one to bring me up my dinner?”
Lescaux’s face brightened. “Ah, it is dinner you wish? Eh, bien! I shall go and procure the ham.”
“No, Lescaux. This will do quite well. And answer my question if you please!”
The man shrugged. “Eh, what can I say? The so good Tilton is old and has heavy duties. Your footman has many things to do, also.”
“You surprise me, Lescaux! I would have thought it beneath you to do a footman’s duty.”
The valet gave him a quick look and said smoothly, “My pride does not suffer in doing what is right, Milord.”
There was a short silence, then Richard burst out, “Damn it, Lescaux, I do not know how I put up with your impertinence!”
Lescaux smiled benignly upon his master. “Why, Milord, it is because you know I am right.”
“More like I could not afford another one, you should say!”
The man looked at his master with eyes full of hurt.
“Oh, for God’s sake, cut line! I know you better than that, and you can’t come over me with your cozening looks.”
Lescaux grinned widely. “As ever, Milord, you know me well.”
Richard could not help grinning back. Then he looked once again at the pile of bills before him and sobered. He sighed, almost groaning.
“That let—these deuced bills. Good Lord, Lescaux, what am I to do?” Richard drew in his breath and let it out slowly. He had almost spoken of the letter.
The little man frowned thoughtfully. “There is always something one can do, good or bad, n’est-ce pas? What else can you do? You have done more good than your father, I think.” He shrugged.
The viscount grimaced. “And that is little enough!” He rubbed his hand wearily over his face, then took a sip of tea. It was strong and the hot astringency felt good going down his throat. He took a few more sips, felt revived, and eyed the scones with a little more attention. He looked up to see Lescaux gazing at him in an interested manner.
“Perhaps a little ham, Milord?” ventured the servant.
Richard thought on it and shook his head. The staff needed to be fed as well, and if there was a ham in the kitchens, he’d much rather his servants ate it. Lord knew they had more work to do than he did.
“I think, Milord, perhaps Madame le Vicomtesse or her father could well advise you on such matters.”
The viscount stiffened, and the scone he had bitten off felt dry in his mouth. He swallowed and stared hard at the other man. “That is enough, Lescaux,” he said softly.
The valet sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and left the study.
Richard cursed softly to himself. Lescaux never said much directly, but what he did say was like a thorn in Richard’s side. He did not need it, not with Teufel’s letter whose words were like a chain around his neck. And for what?
To save his estates and to save his sister. Richard felt nauseated again and pushed the plate of scones away, groaning softly. But there was nothing else, not even the Clairmond pride. Pride! Good God. He had none, despite the lie he had told Eveline. Teufel had made him all too aware of that; Richard was nothing more than his slave. He had thought to save his home and Marianne, but now he wondered if he could bear to look at his sister or his wife, with the knowledge of his own degradation hot in his mind for the rest of his life.
Eveline! Richard cringed inwardly. He had at the very least bewildered her with his rejection of her help. Yet, at the moment she had told him of her fortune, he had seen Teufel’s side of the bargain come to fruition a
t last, and knew he was not free, had not ever been free of his damned influence at all.
There is always something one can do, good or bad. Lescaux’s words came back to him, and he pulled up his shoulders as if to ward them off. Certainly, he had done the bad. But the good? Was there any good to be had of his situation?
Richard pushed aside the pile of bills and absently picked up the tea cup once again. The tea was less hot now, but a large swallow warmed him and stirred his thoughts to more activity. He felt, suddenly, that there had been something missing, that perhaps there might be something he could do that he had not thought of. He went over the past year, the initial agony of mind he had suffered upon notice of his father’s death, and the despair he had felt when he found how impoverished his estates were, and how his tenants were near to starving. Now these were old pains, more like an old ache rather than the sharp persistent agony that permeated his mind at first. Perhaps it was because of the promise of release from ruin by his own efforts, small as they were. He felt, somehow, he could think more clearly now. He thought of the letter again and clenched his teeth. No. No, he was not going to London. Not after all that he had established here at Clairmond Hall from his own efforts. He would not touch any of Eveline’s money, which was actually Teufel’s, he felt sure—it was the last thing he could hold on to and still retain what little pride he had left.
An odd warmth crept in his heart; it felt a little like hope again.
And then the hope burst into a flaring thought: the land by the brook. Marianne had said that Wyvern had acknowledged it as Clairmond land—and it was the only land not entailed. He could sell it, perhaps, to Wyvern. Their fathers had disputed the ownership of it; Wyvern could not deny it would be a good addition to his estate. It would bring in just the amount of money, he was sure, that would enable Richard to make the repairs on his estate so sorely needed. His solicitors would be scandalized at his selling off the last of his unentailed land, but what did that matter if it meant the rest of his estate would suffer if he did not sell it?
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