The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

by Julia London

  “Nonsense. I am an excellent judge of character,” he said grandly. “I know a good woman, and you, muirnín, are a good woman. Now tell me, what has happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the room. “Things seem much worse for the wear since I last saw it. And how are you faring? Frankly, your appearance worries me—you are too thin, aye?”

  “I’ve been ill,” she said. “But I am much improved.”

  He did not look persuaded. “After all that has happened and the threats against Ashwood . . . how do you fare?”

  For a moment, Lily felt herself on the verge of telling him everything. She wanted to rest her head on his strong shoulder and allow it all to come tumbling out—the isolation, the finances, the threat to Ashwood—but she could imagine what he would say to Keira, who in turn would speak to Aunt Lenore, and then they would all fret about her. So she smiled reassuringly and squeezed Declan’s hand. “Thank you, I am well. I had a bout of ague, but I feel fine and I am doing well.”

  He frowned. “Stubborn as any Hannigan I’ve ever known,” he muttered. “At least allow me to give you money—”

  “I would never!”

  “Lily, for God’s sake, you obviously need it,” he said plaintively. “I am a wealthy man, I am your cousin, and I can help you.”

  But Lily had no way to repay him. She couldn’t conceive of another debt on top of those that seemed to erupt like tiny Mt. Vesuviuses around her. So she smiled as cheerfully as she could force herself to do and said, “Declan, you are a dear. But I do not need your money. And besides, I intend to find the jewels.”

  Declan blinked, then groaned. “Ah, lass . . . you cannot pin your hopes on finding those jewels! They are nowhere to be found. They will not be found.”

  “You cannot know that for certain. I am now firmly convinced that Mr. Scott did not steal those jewels, and if he didn’t, someone else did, and I daresay no one besides Keira has looked at who else might have had them.”

  Declan snorted.

  “If I can find that person, and what became of the jewels, I can end the poverty on the edge of which Ashwood is teetering and satisfy Eberlin as well.”

  “Eberlin,” Declan snapped. “What’s he to do with it? And why was he here? Has he threatened you? Does he mock you somehow?”

  “Mock me?”

  “I can think of no reason a man might present a lady who is not his wife with a gown, unless he is making an overture or has corrupted her—”

  “No, no,” Lily quickly interjected.

  “Then what? Tell me what it is, and I shall ride to Tiber Park and put an end to it at once.”

  “Declan!” She put her hand on his knee to soothe him. “It is not anything as you imagine. You must understand that he is . . . he is a damaged man. He saw his innocent father hanged and his family destroyed, and he wants revenge, no matter how misguided it may be. I can hardly blame him for it.”

  “Most gentlemen who desire revenge do not exact it from innocent and unprotected women,” Declan spat. “I will not allow him to treat you ill.”

  “I understand,” Lily said, but her emotions were terribly jumbled: anger, humiliation, sorrow. And that bothersome bit of affection. “And yet . . . ,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “am I not the one who essentially put his father on the gallows?”

  “You cannot blame yourself!”

  “Yes, but . . .” She twisted around in her seat to face him fully. “It was I who gave the old earl precisely what he wanted—a body.” She suddenly stood and began to pace before the settee. “And once that old man had his body, he could not wait to hang him! What I do not understand, what I shall never understand, is why my aunt did not stop it. She could have stopped it! She could have testified to where Mr. Scott was that evening, but she wouldn’t even get out of the coach! She sent me into the trial all alone. I shall never understand why she let a man she supposedly loved hang for something he did not do!”

  Declan’s eyes widened. “Lily . . . did Keira not tell you, then?”

  Lily’s heart leapt; she stopped. “Tell me what?”

  Declan came to his feet. “Muirnín.” He took her hands in his. “Your aunt did not come to her lover’s defense because the earl had threatened her.”

  “With what?” Lily asked angrily. “Pray tell, what could he have possibly said to her that would keep her from sparing that man’s life?”

  “He threatened her with you.”

  Lily gaped at him. She did not understand him. How could the earl threaten Aunt Althea with her?

  “Ach,” Declan said, clearly distressed. “What I mean is, that he told her if she spoke out, he would put you in a London orphanage.”

  Lily gasped. She tried to step back, but Declan held her firmly. “She was forced to choose between you and Mr. Scott.”

  “No,” Lily said, shaking her head. “How vile, how—How do you . . . who told you this?” she stammered angrily.

  “A gentleman by the name of Captain Corbett. Do you recall him?”

  Of course Lily recalled the captain. He was the man her aunt had dispatched to see Lily safely to Ireland. She remembered him as a jolly old soul who’d enjoyed chess and had taught her how to play the game.

  “He knew your aunt quite well,” Declan said. “They were old friends. And when he came for you, she told him of the threat. It’s true, Lily. I tracked the man down to ask him that very question, to understand why Lady Ashwood had not testified on Mr. Scott’s behalf. Captain Corbett told me what her ladyship had related to him all those years ago.”

  Lily suddenly felt ill. Her mind whirled with a host of fractured memories—the earl shouting at Aunt Althea that he wouldn’t have Lily underfoot. Aunt Althea begging Lily to be quiet, to not upset the earl. Her aunt had saved Lily over her own lover. The weight of that grief, that guilt, began to sink Lily, and she sank down, almost to the floor, before Declan caught her with an arm around her waist and put her on the settee.

  Lily was shaking. How could the earl have forced her aunt to make such a wretched choice? “But . . . the earl adopted me.” Why would a man who did not want her adopt her?

  “Aye, that he did,” Declan agreed. “One can only guess why, but I’d wager there was something he stood to gain for it. Perhaps another concession from your aunt.”

  Lily sank back against the settee and stared up at the ceiling. It was an extraordinary discovery, and she was shocked and hurt—and surprised that the one person she wanted to share this astounding news with was Tobin.

  SIXTEEN

  Word swept quickly through Hadley Green that Lord Donnelly had returned for his horses. By midafternoon the following day, a letter arrived at Ashwood inviting Declan and Lily to dine at Kitridge Lodge with the Darlingtons.

  Mr. Fish, who was in the study with Lily when the invitation arrived, was beside himself with joy. “We could not have planned it better with Lady Horncastle’s help,” he said.

  “Mr. Fish, do contain yourself. It is an invitation to dine, not an offer of matrimony.”

  “Perhaps you see it that way, madam, but it is the sort of opportunity I have been hoping for.”

  Mr. Fish put so much hope on the occasion that Lily felt a bit nervous. There seemed to be so much riding on this introduction. But Declan was quite at ease. He explained to her in the carriage on their way to Kitridge Lodge that he had known the duke for many years and considered him one of his closest friends.

  Kitridge Lodge was as stark on the inside as it was on the outside, and unreasonably close, what with its thick stone walls and low ceilings. A fire blazed in the dining hall’s hearth, which helped chase away the chill and the musty smell. The table had been set with an array of yellow daffodils Lily was amazed to see this time of year.

  “From London,” the dowager duchess said, noticing that Lily was studying the twin arrangements. “My daughter-in-law is quite fond of fresh flowers, and these daffodils grow in hothouses there.”

  “You say that as if it were a defect of character, M
amma,” the duchess said cheerfully.

  Lily had liked Lady Darlington instantly. She had greeted Lily at the door with one open arm, a baby in the other, and a warm smile. “Lady Ashwood! I’ve heard so much about you from Lord Donnelly!”

  The duchess had insisted Lily hold her infant daughter, Allison, an angel with chubby cheeks and a tuft of honey blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Lily had felt a tugging deep inside of her; she wanted children. A lot of children.

  The duchess had also insisted that Lily call her Kate. “I’m not really a duchess, you know,” she’d confided with a smile. “More the usual sort of woman who fell into a bit of good luck.”

  Kate did not seem the usual sort of woman at all to Lily. She was uncommonly beautiful, with silvery blonde hair and blue eyes. It was obvious the Duke of Darlington—a tall, gray-eyed man—adored her. Lily envied the couple more than she wanted to admit to herself. They seemed very happy with one another, and very proud parents. And for one infinitesimal moment, she imagined a life with Tobin. The thought shocked her—it was imprudent and dangerous, and certainly not what she’d ever intended.

  It was also absurd—to marry Tobin Scott was to give up Ashwood and her title, to give up society altogether.

  She dismissed the notion instantly.

  The duke’s mother, the dowager duchess, was petite and gray, but possessing powerful opinions and a wide range of advice on any number of topics. “Well,” the older woman said as they sat down to dine. “Your cousin created quite a stir in London with her tomfoolery.”

  Lily blinked.

  “Mamma,” the duke said, his voice full of warning.

  But Declan laughed. “She creates quite a stir wherever she appears,” he agreed. “I beg your pardon if you were offended, Lady Darlington.”

  “You know very well how I feel, Donnelly,” the dowager said. “It is fortunate that I am quite fond of you, for I would not otherwise condone such shenanigans.”

  “For the love of heaven,” the duke sighed, but Declan merely chuckled.

  “Lady Ashwood, I knew your father many years ago,” the dowager continued as she began to delicately consume the soup placed before them. “He was a mercurial sort, as I recall. Grayson, you were so young likely you do not recall this, but Ashwood very nearly shot Lord Alnwick on a hunt one autumn. Alnwick swore it was intentional, and Ashwood did not deny it.”

  Kate gasped with surprise, then laughed. “I suppose that is one way to dispose of your enemies, eh?”

  The dowager lowered her tiaraed head and pointed a look at the younger duchess. “As I was saying,” she continued when a smiling Kate had turned her attention to her soup. “He was a very volatile man, as was his sister. Awful woman, that one. I rather think that is why she never married, in truth. One cannot abide a woman who does not know her place.”

  Kate coughed; the duke patted her hand and smiled thinly in a manner that suggested he had done it many times before.

  “You recall her, do you not, Lady Ashwood?” the dowager asked.

  “No, madam,” Lily said. “The earl was not my father, and—”

  “Not your father!” the dowager said sternly, lowering her spoon.

  “My lady aunt was his wife, and they adopted me after my parents passed.”

  The dowager put her spoon down and leaned across her soup bowl, peering closely at Lily. “You are not his blood kin?”

  “I am not,” Lily said apologetically.

  “Then how in heaven have you come to inherit?”

  “Madam!” the duke said sternly.

  “She doesn’t mind a friendly conversation, Grayson,” his mother said, her gaze still on Lily.

  “The entail of Ashwood is rather complicated,” Declan offered. “The title and the lands were a gift of Henry VIII, and certain allowances were made. As she was his legal ward and the only surviving heir, she inherited.”

  The dowager blinked. “Well!” She picked up her spoon again. “Well, then you have done quite well for yourself, have you not, Lady Ashwood? An orphan! Whoever would have believed it?” She looked at Kate. “Here we have two titled orphans. Times have certainly changed since my day,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “And we are all eternally grateful that they have.” The duke smiled warmly at Lily. “Please do forgive my mother. She considers herself to be the arbiter of all that is proper.”

  “At least I can rest easy that my second son shares my views,” the dowager said with a sniff. “Are you acquainted with Lord Christopher, Lady Ashwood?”

  “I have not had the pleasure, no.”

  “Regrettable. You would find him very interesting, as well as charming.”

  “Is he coming?” Kate asked.

  “I think not,” the duke said. “Although I cannot imagine why he’d not want to be in close quarters with his family.” He exchanged a wry grin with Declan.

  Poor Mr. Fish, Lily thought. He will be terribly disappointed.

  “I think you’d get on with Merrick, Lady Ashwood,” Kate said.

  “What are your prospects for marriage at present?” the dowager asked.

  Lily almost choked.

  The duke put his fork down and leveled a look at his mother.

  “Her prospects are as good as anyone might expect out here in the midst of nothing, Lady Darlington,” Declan said. “Perhaps you might be of some assistance in that regard.”

  Lily managed to kick him under the table, but the dowager duchess perked up. “I should be delighted!”

  “Are you thinking of Merrick?” Kate asked her mother-in-law.

  “Certainly not!” the dowager said instantly, but Kate smiled at Lily.

  Lily very much desired to crawl under the table.

  Fortunately, as the second course was served, the talk turned to hunting. The duke had been stalking a wild turkey for a few days. “I am determined to bag the blasted thing before we return to London.”

  “And when would that be?” Declan asked.

  “A fortnight, I suspect.”

  “You’ll stay for the ball, won’t you?” Lily asked. All heads swiveled in her direction. “The First Winter’s Night Ball at Tiber Park,” she clarified.

  Kate and the duke exchanged a look, but the dowager groaned. “Not that again! I beg your pardon, Lady Ashwood, but we will most certainly not attend that ball, and I should hope that you wouldn’t, either!”

  Surprised, Lily looked to Declan, who was studying the roast beef on his plate.

  “My dear, you do know that Count Eberlin’s title was purchased in Denmark, do you not?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I have heard that.”

  “Well, that cannot be!” the dowager exclaimed. “He is a merchant, and moreover, he deals in the most vile of trades. His family cannot be recommended, nor does he have any proper connections in London. You are not yet married, madam, and you must be circumspect in who you associate with. That sort of association could have a negative impact for your happy future when you come to London to seek an offer.”

  It was not Lily’s idea to “seek” an offer, but she rather imagined someone had given them the idea. Probably Declan, whom she would very much like to throttle at present. Her life was in enough turmoil without help from anyone else.

  “What my mother means to say, Lady Ashwood, is that she does not care for Count Eberlin,” the duke said with a smile. “I am quite certain she does not mean to insinuate you should follow her lead.”

  Lily looked from the duke to the dowager duchess, who was glaring at her son. “He’s had a rather mean life, I grant you, but he has worked very hard to overcome—”

  “He cannot overcome the circumstances of his birth or his family’s reputation, Lady Ashwood, and he certainly cannot overcome the circumstances of his wealth or his title or his occupation.”

  Declan’s hand touched hers beneath the table, warning her not to argue with the duchess. As wildly angry as Tobin had made her, Lily could not help but feel sorrow for him. How could a man w
ho had worked so very hard to overcome the hardships of the past be so roundly condemned for it? It seemed as if the world refused to let him belong no matter what he did.

  It all made Lily indignant and angry and terribly, terribly confused. The old woman was rigid in her thinking, but Lily understood the value of social connections, particularly in her precarious financial state. So she smiled and lifted her wineglass. “The weather has been rather impossible this autumn, has it not?” she asked, and silently fumed as the people seated around the table blithely discussed the weather.

  SEVENTEEN

  On a mild, sun-dappled morning, Tobin and his stable master rode to Kitridge Lodge to take possession of the horse he’d commissioned from the Earl of Donnelly earlier in the year. The broodmare, for which Tobin had paid a great amount of money, had been impregnated by a champion runner. The foal she carried would be trained to be the finest racehorse England had ever seen. It was a pity, then, that the Earl of Donnelly, whose reputation for training racehorses was unparalleled, would not be the one to train her, but Tobin had severed their agreement when he realized that Keira Hannigan was perpetuating a fraud.

  If he hadn’t done it then, he certainly would have when Donnelly kicked him out of Ashwood.

  Or when he’d appeared at Tiber Park yesterday to inform Tobin that he was taking his horses to Ireland, and that the broodmare was ready to be moved. The Irishman had stood out on the drive, his legs braced apart, a dark expression on his face. Tobin had found his demeanor curious, given Donnelly’s history in Hadley Green, which consisted basically of whoring and gambling and assisting Miss Hannigan to dupe everyone into believing she was Lily. Yet somehow the man gave off an air of superiority.

  “Mr. Noakes will be happy to continue the care of the mare if you’d like,” Donnelly had said, referring to the caretaker at Kitridge Lodge.

  Tobin said nothing. He stood on the landing of his house, leaning against the stone wall, watching Donnelly. “Very well,” he said, and turned to go inside, but Donnelly said, “Eberlin, a word.”

  Here it was then: the moment Donnelly would tell him to keep his distance from Lily. Perhaps he’d even call Tobin out, and frankly, Tobin would have welcomed the opportunity to do him bodily harm in that moment. “And what word would that be, my lord?” he’d asked calmly. “Do you mean to present yourself as the new king of England and order me off this island?”