by Tessa Candle
“I am sure they will keep her safe from her relatives, and from that awful woman.”
“In fact, I was working on exposing Red Martha as a traitor before I ended up here.” He caught himself. He sounded as though he were despairing, and he must not let Eleanor lose hope. “She must be stopped. That is another reason we must not give up.”
“I know what you are trying to do, my dear. But I am afraid I am too much of a realist to give in to your optimism.”
“Then I shall just have to have enough faith for both of us.”
“Such a noble man. I wish the world could see you as I do, now.”
“You mean completely blind in the pitch black darkness? Aye, from such a vantage point they would think me everything good and delightful.”
“Well, I suppose having some falling rubble hit them on the head might assist their euphoria.” Her voice was beginning to sound sleepy.
He felt it too. Were they running out of air? Damn it! He should have been trying to dig his way out, or at least tunnel back to the chimney, to let in air. If only he could be sure that the digging would not bring the rest of the ceiling down on their heads.
Eleanor was snoring, and despite his worry, he chuckled to himself. Everything about her was utterly adorable. His heart clenched. How could he let her down like this?
He did not know how long he had been dozing when he heard the noise. Was it a dream? No. He was awake, and there it was again, a clanking sound—multiple clanking sounds. He was not sure where they came from, but they were growing louder.
His heart soared. Surely it was the sound of men digging! Their friends had sorted out where they were, somehow. Were they saved? The clamour grew louder. He waited until he thought he heard voices, then he shook Eleanor’ shoulder.
“Wake up, my darling. We might be saved! But you had best do your dress back up as well as you can.”
Chapter 29
The light was blinding as Eleanor emerged from the hole. She squinted at the shapes around her and thanked the servants who had hauled her out.
Her father and Rosamond were there immediately, embracing her, holding up a parasol to shade her eyes, exclaiming their relief and thanking God. Then everyone else—even Tilly and Rutherford were standing by—expressed similar greetings. Eleanor smiled and nodded, but was stunned and could hardly attend.
Eleanor accepted the drink of barley water offered her, but resisted being led off to see a physician. She turned instead to watch the long process of extracting Delville from the excavated chimney. “I will let the doctor examine me soon enough, Papa. But I must see Delville safely out first. Then you may coddle me as much as you like.”
Her father harrumphed, but contented himself to stand at her side and watch disapprovingly as Delville was lifted up. Eleanor was overjoyed to see Delville finally come to the surface, but was irritated that she had to keep her elation to herself. All their intimacy was now at an end. Indeed, no one seemed to think they should even wish to speak to one another, and they were kept quite separate.
Eleanor did not get a chance even to exchange a look with Delville. His eyes were too bedazzled at first even to see her, and he had scarcely got his legs under him on the solid ground, before Mr. Wells descended upon him, exclaiming, “At last, Mr. Delville! Now will you not finally have done with dying and resurrecting yourself, and simply acknowledge that you are Carrington Delville? Or must I resort to more extreme measures to prove you are the Pallensley heir?”
In the darkness, Eleanor had forgotten how handsome Delville was, but she was again reminded as his roguish smile flashed brightly in the sunlight, framed by a face that was as dirt-smudged as the first day that she met him.
And yet there was a sense of circumspection about his features now. His devil-may-care wit seemed chastened, as he said, “Mr. Wells, it is your lucky day! I have every intention of ascending to my birthright, but perhaps we could discuss the details at a later time?”
Delville was looking about him, and Eleanor wondered if he was trying to find the face of Miss Fitzpatrick, whom Eleanor had already ascertained was not present.
He shook his head suddenly in wonder. “How on earth did you find us?”
Eleanor too felt the miracle of it all wash over her. At first she had been too stunned to contemplate the rapid change in their circumstances, but now she shared Delville’s marvelling sense of gratitude. They had survived, though it had seemed utterly impossible that anyone should uncover them.
Rutherford strode forward, attended by Mack, his favourite hound. “Mack followed your scent into the cave. It took a little time, but he showed us the chimney as well, where the stone is soft lime. I never doubted his nose for a moment, and we started digging right away.” He patted Mack’s head affectionately. “He really is the best dog in the world. I believe you owe him some roast beef and a belly scratch.”
“And he shall have it! Ah, thank you, Mack!” Delville leaned in to pet and embrace the heroic hound.
Mr. Wells was not about to let his advantage slip through his fingers, and forthrightly demanded, “Do you promise, then, on your word of honour, not to try to dodge me and disappear again?”
“Hand to heart, Mr. Wells. I am quite prepared to be a duke, I assure you.”
Eleanor turned to see how her papa might react to this bit of news, but the gaze he cast at Delville was about as hateful a look as she had ever seen upon her father’s face. He was normally so good natured, but not in this instance. Eleanor could see it might take some time to win him over. And yet, what would be the point in that? Now that Delville was thoroughly outed as the Duke of Pallensley, Miss Fitzpatrick would not wait long to claim her due.
Eleanor’s heart sank. Everything that had passed between them in the collapsed cave were the desperate acts of two people who thought they were going to die. All was left behind in the rubble of that cheated tomb. It changed nothing, now that they were returned to the land of the living. Delville belonged to another.
Chapter 30
Delville’s eyes were still watering in the bright light above ground. He squinted and screened them from the sun with his hand as he peered about him. He could just make out Eleanor, standing between an older man who must be her father, and an indistinct blob that he guessed was Rosamond. He thanked god that his beloved was safe. Was she looking at him?
Perhaps he had declared his ducal intentions too precipitously. Was Miss Fitzpatrick lurking nearby, waiting to pounce? But surely she would have done so already. “Has the deviltante gone away, then?”
Wells, who apparently thought this query was addressed to him, sounded confused. “Who, your grace?”
So the your-gracing was to begin immediately. Capital. “I mean Miss Fitzpatrick. I had thought she would be on me like a tick, now that I am to be a duke. Not that I would marry the little minx now. I have a second chance at life, and it has given me a clear perspective. I would rather be known as a jilt and a blackheart, than to spend my existence shackled to a horrid little beast like that. Particularly when my heart,” he turned to squint at Eleanor, and wished he was not too blind to make out her features, “so thoroughly belongs to another.”
Despite his impaired vision, Delville could see two things fairly clearly. First, everyone was suddenly turning to look at Eleanor. Second, her father was scowling at him sourly enough that even a blind man could not ignore it. Perhaps Delville should have been more tactful.
Rosamond reached over and took Eleanor’s hand in a gesture of transparent joy. At least his family approved of the match.
Tilly cleared her throat loudly and declared, in tones that suggested she was quite pleased with herself, “Oh it will not come to that, Delville. Your erstwhile fiancée has accepted another offer. No jilting necessary.”
It was a relief to Delville, but he could not help his disdain for Miss Fitzpatrick and her chosen suitor. “Oh? Did Auchdun prove himself twice as much a fool as he is a cretinous persecutor of women, and give up his pursuit of th
is angel,” he looked again at Eleanor, “in order to marry that little cat?”
Delville thought the better of his choice of words when he heard the loud harrumph of displeasure from Eleanor’s father. He was clearly not impressed by this state of affairs.
“No, no!” Tilly was now openly gleeful. “Even better! She had been buttering up two suitors, it seems. Not two days after Auchdun came to ask Laurentian’s permission, Lord Benton came to do so. Such a spectacle of stupidity!” She clapped her hands with delight. “I was utterly charmed that it was unfolding under my very own roof. We thought she meant to throw over Auchdun entirely, but she delayed. I suppose she wanted to sort out how much money each of them had, first. And then there was the possibility that Wells was right and you were still alive. However, upon hearing of your being in the cave when it collapsed, she accepted Lord Benton’s offer immediately. I believe the two of them are off somewhere eloping.”
Frobisher scoffed. “Eloping? Romantic thought. Laurentian probably loaded the carriage and hitched up the horses himself.”
Rutherford laughed. “Doubtless he even treated them to the special license.”
Even Delville’s dazzled vision could detect great merriment in Tilly’s face, as she shook her head and added, “She told me she understood that I would not be able to attend the wedding, because of the sad business of trying to retrieve your bodies. That was quite a tearful moment, but she mentioned that she looked forward to meeting me again as a duchess.” She chuckled. “She is truly quite something. I have not been so diverted by another such creature since—well I believe it has been since I got to know my sister-in-law. I condole with you at having lost her affections, Delville.”
“Well, Deville,” Frobisher chimed in, “it looks like you are finally delivered from the perils of the parson’s trap. All you had to do was die twice.”
Delville’s vision was improving and he thought he could detect a smile on Eleanor’s face. “I am delivered from Miss Fitzpatrick, but I am not out of peril yet.” He wanted to propose to Eleanor then and there, but realized that he had already affronted the Duke of Grendleridge by presuming to so freely announce his admiration for Eleanor. It would be a novel undertaking at this late stage in his life, to finally do things the right and gentlemanly way, but he must try.
Delville walked to Eleanor’s father. “Your grace, I hope you will forgive the unusual circumstances and the suddenness of my address, but I must beg your permission to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Eleanor gasped. Delville was now close enough to see that her expression was not horrified, however, so he thought he must be more or less on the right track. He wished they could speak openly.
The Duke of Grendleridge lifted a bushy white eyebrow and replied, soberly, “I shall consider the matter. However, I assure you that I will not pressure her to accept you. You should not think that, just because your recklessness got her trapped in a collapsed cavern with you, I will easily be persuaded to dispose of my daughter for appearance’s sake.”
“Papa, it was not Mr. Delville’s fault.” Eleanor’s voice was conciliatory. It gave Delville hope that, whatever her father’s objections, she did not mind his lamentably public request.
Eleanor’s father did not remark upon this defence. “My dear, when the doctor has pronounced you quite well and you have had a chance to rest up from this ordeal, you and I can discuss how this situation came to pass, and then I suppose we must speak of this proposal.”
Delville gave Eleanor a secret alarmed look, which he hoped she saw, as her father led her away.
“Come, Delville. You have some explaining to do.” Frobisher was at his side in an instant. He pulled a face. “But perhaps a bath should be the first order of business.”
Chapter 31
Eleanor smiled nervously at the romantic figure Delville cut as he slipped into her chamber, his face lit up by the cheerful fire, his fists each grasping a flask of champagne. She clasped her hands in her lap to steady them. There was no powder obscuring her bloom, and no ash washing out her hair. This was her first time without trying to disguise her personal appearance, and she felt almost naked.
He set his bottles down on a table and locked the door behind him, before exclaiming in a whisper, “My darling, we have much to celebrate!”
“Oh?” Eleanor sat on the bed, trying not to tremble. She knew it should not make a difference, but being with him in her chamber, in the full light of the fire felt more nerve-wracking somehow than their liaisons in the cave. “You mean aside from your imminent and preeminent inheritance?”
He flapped his hand dismissively. “Much better than that! You will scarcely believe it, but I have had the astounding good fortune of only being scowled at twice by your father, today. I think he is warming to me.”
“In all seriousness, I do not think he will resist the match for long. When I spoke to him, his principal concern—aside from a fear of losing me to anyone—was that I really wanted to marry you. He did not wish me to be pressured in any way by, um, our compromising circumstances. Of course I did not tell him how compromised they really were.” She blushed, feeling suddenly shy. “He was also a tad concerned about your character, and why, for example, you should have had reason to dig a secret cell in the first place.”
He sat down beside her and looked into her eyes. “But are you quite well? Look you are shaking.”
“I know it is ridiculous, and that a secret meeting in my chamber was my idea, yet my nerves will not be calmed. But do not believe for a moment that I missed your redirecting the topic away from Screwe. Are you going to tell Rosamond and Frobisher, at least?”
“I have told them. They were angry, but when they fully understood my motives, they forgave me. Mostly.”
“And what did you tell them?”
He sighed. “I suppose you have a right to know. The short story is that I, and another person—whose identity I shall reveal to you, but you must keep it a secret—came across Screwe and Delacroix attempting to murder Rosamond, and we intervened.”
Eleanor had to know who the other person was, of course. “I will indulge your vanity as a storyteller bent on preserving mystery, and deign to ask. Who was this other intervener?”
“It was a friend of Lady Screwe’s, who is generally believed to be her lover, though from what I can gather they mostly just go for walks and read poetry to each other. He had witnessed Screwe meeting with Delacroix, and followed them from Brookshire to Fenimore, where they attempted to burn Rosamond alive.”
“I was here when the fire burned down the cabin Rosamond had been staying in. I recall being somewhat dissatisfied with the explanation I was given, but I knew better than to ask too many questions. So, what happened to Delacroix?”
“He died in the struggle.”
“And was it you who wrote to Lord and Lady Aldley?”
“Yes. I shall visit them in person soon and explain the entirety. But in the meantime, Tilly will write to Lady Aldley to affirm that they need not fear that little goblin anymore. It was a relief to come clean to everyone, and I was better able to explain Persephone’s situation. I am afraid this abduction of Screwe means she is even more at risk.”
“You are sure it is Red Martha who took Screwe?”
“Most certainly. I wish I had trusted my friends, sooner. That way I might not have put you in the awful position that I did. I should have protected you, and instead I nearly killed you.”
It was nice to hear him speak protectively, and a great relief to know that he imprisoned Screwe, at least in part, because he was protecting Rosamond’s life. But she wished he could forgive himself.
“You should have no bad conscience over me. I do not regret my involvement in the least—not even being trapped in the cave. I find I rather like being a fallen woman.” An ill-timed shiver belied her bravado. “But I am glad you have decided to believe in the goodness and competence of your closest friends. That is the key to your future happiness.”
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br /> Maybe being allied to him was not the horribly bad decision that her father thought it was. But being here with him, with her feelings exposed and in the well-lit room was almost making her teeth chatter.
“No, you are the key to that. Only I wish I was not so disturbing to your nerves.” He put an arm around her. “Honestly, Eleanor, you are safe with me. I only came here to spend time with you, and I will leave whenever you wish.”
“I do not want you to leave. I just wish…” What was it that she wanted? “…that I did not feel so exposed, now.”
“Exposed? We are quietly tucked away. I am sure one or two of the servants will suspect me of being up to something, but no one will ever have the least misgiving about your engaging in any,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “shenanigans.”
“I mean exposed because of the light. When we were in the cave we were under the cover of darkness. It felt safer somehow.” She knew she sounded very silly.
But Delville did not ridicule her. “Shall I put out the fire, then?”
“No, I like the warmth. I am sure I will get over it eventually.”
Delville grinned roguishly. “Well, if you do not, I can be accommodating. I had been looking forward to the comfort of a nice down mattress, but I am sure I can find a cellar or two in my estate that will suit the purpose. My naughty duchess is to be accommodated in all her perversions.”
She laughed. It made her feel much better to simply embrace the comedy of the situation. “That is a great comfort to know, but I do not think I have ever been accused of having perverse tastes before.”
“Just wait until it gets around that you have married a dead man.” He then assumed the plummy tones of two society busy-bodies exchanging gossip. “Oh Mrs. Squanderpence, that Lady Pallensley is so deceptively demure. Whoever would have known she was secretly a necrophile? I should have guessed it, Mrs. Mushroom—indeed I should! Do you not know that she insists upon having congress underground and in the dark? No! But you do not say, Mrs. Squanderpence! What is the world coming to?”