The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

by Julia London

  Tobin groaned. He made himself stand and walk to the window. He had to brace himself against the frame, and when he saw the ships moored at the quays bobbing up and down on the incoming tide, he felt as if he was one movement away from tumbling headlong onto the cobbled street below.

  He swallowed down a swell of nausea. Tobin was not a man to drink to excess; he did not like the aftereffects. But the drink had had the desired effect: he felt nothing. Just a bit of rumbling deep within and a desire to head for Tiber Park, to gather his sister and niece and return to London with them. Whatever he’d come to Hadley Green to accomplish, he’d done. It was over. Finis. As he struggled to find his balance, the blackness filled in again and covered the cracks of light.

  “I am ready to leave,” he said, pushing away from the window.

  “No’ as quick as that, lad,” MacKenzie said. “I’ve ordered a bath and a meal for you. You willna want to return to Tiber Park looking as if you’ve been hanging from the highest mast.”

  As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, which MacKenzie was quick to open. “Well then, good afternoon.” He smiled and stood aside as two young women with golden hair entered the room, carrying a hip bath between them.

  The afternoon after the First Winter’s Night Ball, Lily went into the village, hoping that it would ease the restlessness that had kept her awake most of the night and had dogged her all morning.

  She found herself at Mrs. Langley’s Dress Shop. After exchanging a few pleasantries about the ball, she was studying the latest crop of gloves to arrive from London when Mrs. Shannon entered the shop with her young daughters.

  Mrs. Shannon began to gossip with Mrs. Langley. “How did you find the ball?” she asked. “Is Tiber Park as grand as they say?”

  “More than one can imagine,” Mrs. Langley agreed. “It snowed in the ballroom!”

  The two girls turned wide eyes to Mrs. Langley, who nodded enthusiastically. “Imagine it, little white flakes of snow fluttering down on the dancers. It was all very whimsical and I’d wager as grand as any ball in London.”

  “I suppose it went all night,” Mrs. Shannon said. “I’ve heard that London balls last until dawn.”

  “That was the most peculiar thing—Count Eberlin bade everyone leave when he left.”

  Lily’s hand stilled on the kid gloves.

  “Everyone had dined and the fourth set of dances had begun, when someone said that Lord Eberlin was in the stables, fetching a horse.”

  Lily turned around.

  “Oh, Lady Ashwood! You were there, too.”

  “No, I returned early to Ashwood.”

  “As I said, it was all so peculiar,” Mrs. Langley said. “He made quite a commotion fetching a horse.” She glanced at Mrs. Shannon’s daughters. “Mr. Langley said he’d fallen into his cups,” she added softly.

  “Alice, Allegra, go out onto the walk,” Mrs. Shannon said and shooed her daughters out the door. When they were out, she eagerly turned to Mrs. Langley. “Do go on, Mrs. Langley. What then?”

  Yes, what then? Lily wondered.

  “Well, then he came into the drive, hardly able to sit his horse, really, and going round in circles as his friend tried to stop him. The count shouted that he was returning to London, and that we could all bloody well have Tiber Park, that he never meant to come back here, and he would not have come back had he not had his father’s honor to avenge. Then he said some things about the innocent in God’s eyes or some such nonsense, and demanded that we all bring our carriages round.”

  “No!” Mrs. Shannon exclaimed, looking as stunned as Lily felt.

  “As I stand here,” Mrs. Langley avowed. “We were all shocked, for he has always presented himself as a gentleman. Mr. Fuquay said that he has never heard him raise his voice or utter more than a few words. But my husband reminded me that Eberlin was a seaman, and that seamen are prone to drunkenness and vandalism.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Lily said. “That seems unkind after he has invited you into his home.”

  Mrs. Langley merely shrugged. “Well he is a seaman and not Quality, is he? You did not see him, my lady. I was quite distressed by his inebriation.”

  “That is quite a tale!” Mrs. Shannon said, pressing her gloved hand to her lace-covered décolletage. “I tell you, when Eberlin returned to Hadley Green, and it came out that he was the son of Joseph Scott, I said to myself, the apple does not fall far from the tree, and if I were among his set, I’d be rather cautious.” She nodded, as if she had imparted some astounding insight.

  Lily looked from one woman to the next. “I cannot believe what I am hearing. Your opinion of Lord Eberlin seems very low, yet the invitations to his ball and his very grand house were highly coveted. His generosity to proprietors and to the orphanage has been exalted by everyone in this village.”

  Mrs. Langley pinkened, but Mrs. Shannon did not look at all contrite.

  “But you yourself saw his father riding away from Ashwood that night, madam. Everyone knows that,” Mrs. Langley said.

  Lily looked from one woman to the other. “Have a care, Mrs. Langley. Things are rarely what they seem. Good day, ladies.” She walked out of the dress shop, feeling on the verge of exploding with frustration and guilt, knowing full well that the two women were now gossiping about her.

  But was she really any different from them? She had fallen in love with Tobin but had let herself be persuaded that their affection could never evolve because she would never be allowed into society on his arm.

  She stood beneath the shop front’s awning, staring at the village green where Tobin’s father had been hanged fifteen years ago. She wished she could turn back the clock, turn back the events of that night. She wished she’d been an obedient girl and had gone to bed. If she had, her aunt and her lover would have been safe. Tobin and his family would have lived here, in Hadley Green, and he likely would have—

  “Lady Ashwood!” The sound of Lady Darlington’s voice startled Lily; she whirled about.

  Kate’s warm smile faded. “Oh, dear. You seem distressed. May I assist you in some way?”

  “No, I . . .” Lily drew a breath—an excuse was on the tip of her tongue, but instead, she said, “Yes. I cannot bear to hear a friend maligned. He’s been unfairly treated, and I am the only one who might help him.”

  Kate did not seem surprised. “I understand completely. Perhaps a cup of tea might help?”

  Lily shook her head. “I rather think nothing will help.”

  “I am a very good listener,” Kate said.

  Lily sighed. “Lady Darlington … Kate … it is a long and rather sordid tale, in truth.”

  “Then we shall have something in common, for I am no stranger to sordid tales. Perhaps it will require two cups of tea.” She smiled at Lily. “Shall we?”

  Lily had nothing to lose, and she could use a friend just now. “Thank you,” she said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The only person at Tiber Park who did not look at Tobin as if he were the devil come directly out of the mouth of hell was Charity. She said nothing about his behavior the night of the ball—only that she and Catherine were ready to return to London.

  “Then I shall escort you myself,” he said over dinner the night of his return. He smiled at Catherine. “I have only a few matters I must see to before I leave here.”

  “Are you merely escorting?” Charity asked between dainty sips of soup. “Or are you decamping?”

  It was an excellent question, and one he could not answer. In truth, Tobin was ashamed. He’d made a fool of himself at his ball. A man who was famously composed, no matter what the circumstance, he had lost his composure before everyone.

  But at the time, it had seemed that his only choice had been to either drink or disintegrate in front of all those people, and he’d feared the spectacle of his disintegration. Or worse. After Lily had left, he’d felt the spell come roaring at him like a wildfire. It was as if the walls were closing in, his guests piling on top of him, forcing
the air from his lungs. Their laughter, the gay sounds of their voices, had agitated him, echoing in his head just as they had the morning his father had been hanged.

  He’d begun drinking whiskey to calm himself, and since he was not a drinking man . . . well, it had all gone to hell very quickly.

  In London, Tobin had never felt the strange sensation of strangling, as he had from the first day in Hadley Green. He could not say why that was, but he knew instinctively that it was somehow tied into his father’s death and the presence of Lily Boudine. So it was better for his health, and his increasingly fragile peace of mind, to leave here. Just walk away from it all and leave the past in the past.

  Yet he could not leave without speaking to Lily. He could not leave without looking into her eyes once more. Nevertheless, while Charity grew increasingly restless, it took Tobin two days to pay his call at Ashwood. His reluctance stemmed in part from the fact that he had no idea what to say. This was new territory for him—these feelings, these longings for a woman. She’d said she loved him. She loved him! Him!

  He’d replayed those words over and over again in his mind, hearing her voice, seeing the softness in her eyes. At night, he heard her say those words and he imagined her there beside him, their bodies entwined, and the look of contentment on her face. I love you, Tobin.

  He didn’t know how he could leave that behind, but for her sake, he had to do it. He had a damaged body, a damaged past.

  On Thursday afternoon, as Charity had her and Catherine’s luggage taken down to the foyer in preparation for their departure, Tobin rode to Ashwood.

  Linford met him at the door with a slightly crooked bow. “My lord.”

  “I have come to call on your mistress,” Tobin said stiffly. “Shall I wait inside?”

  “Lady Ashwood is not here at present.”

  “Not here?” he repeated. “Then where?”

  “London.”

  Tobin was dumbstruck as he tried to absorb that news. Before he could find his voice, Mr. Fish strode into the foyer behind Linford, his face all smiles.

  “Lord Eberlin, how do you do,” he said crisply. “Won’t you come in?”

  Fish had never been happy to see him, and Tobin was immediately wary. He stepped inside and glanced at the staircase before focusing on Mr. Fish.

  “I cannot tell you how pleased her ladyship was to receive your letter that you will not use your mill as you originally intended. It was the right thing to do,” Fish continued. “I think there are enough profitable endeavors that our estates may flourish side by side.”

  Tobin had forgotten about that damn mill, had put it out of his mind. He’d instructed Mr. Howell to write the letter after Lily had been ill and Lucy had left, for Lily had seemed so distressed. That letter had been the first concession to the first little crack in his mud. Tobin shook his head and looked to the door. “May I inquire,” he asked tightly, “where in London Lady Ashwood has gone?”

  “She is the guest of Lord and Lady Darlington,” Fish chuckled. “I think there is a move afoot to find a proper match for her ladyship.”

  The news felt like a kick in Tobin’s gut. She had said as much, and now that he had sent her away from him, too afraid to face the truth of what he was feeling . . . He clenched his jaw. “I see.”

  “I should not be the least surprised if she receives an offer by the start of the new year,” Mr. Fish blithely continued. “I am perhaps a bit prejudiced, but I believe there is no other as desirable as she, in looks and situation.”

  No. There was no other. And there she was at Darlington House, a bloody fortress housing a formidable family. Tobin could picture Lily seated prettily at some elegant table, laughing and conversing with men who held power and wealth. At a table where he would never be welcome. He could imagine Lily regaling them all with the tale of how she’d battled the arms trader with the purchased title and bested him at his own game. Smiling warmly, charming the titled men, reeling in her offers.

  Tobin’s chest tightened at the thought of her in the arms of anyone else. What in heaven had he expected? “Thank you,” he said and went to the door.

  “Is there a message, my lord?”

  “No.” He walked out, striding for his horse. He wanted to ride as far as he could from this house, from this village. From the impossible, absurd thought that he could love someone. That he could wake up to one woman all his life and bed her each night, and give her children and affection and receive her affection in return.

  That was what had been lurking in him, was it not? The forbidden desire, the secret he had carried deep inside, beneath the muck and mire.

  What an ass he was.

  Tobin swung up on his horse and sent him galloping down the road. The cold wind stung his cheeks, his nose. That’s what he wanted—he wanted to feel that cold seeping into him, freezing him, locking down all the impossible feelings that had begun to sprout in the cracks of his mud like so many blades of grass.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  With the Duke of Darlington’s considerable help, Lily was able to find Walter Minglecroft. It took some doing, but at last the duke’s secretary located the offices of Minglecroft and Gross in Southwark. “I am quite certain this is he,” the young Mr. Patchett said. “However, I regret to tell you that he passed away a few years ago.”

  “Oh, no,” Lily said, deflated.

  “The good news,” Mr. Patchett continued, “is that his partner is still in the offices. Might he be of some use?”

  “Of course he shall be,” Kate assured Lily. She had her baby, Lady Allison, on her knee and was bouncing the gurgling little girl.

  “I cannot imagine what he might know of Ashwood,” Lily said doubtfully. “It was so long ago.”

  “Yes, well, you have nothing to lose from speaking to him, do you?” Kate glanced over her shoulder at a tall footman with curly brown hair. “Benjamin, you will see Lady Ashwood to Mr. Minglecroft’s office, will you?”

  “Yes, madam,” Benjamin said with a bow.

  “You will return in time for supper, Lily? I understand Merrick will be joining us.”

  That would be the third time Lord Christopher had joined them this week, Lily thought wearily. “Of course.”

  Kate smiled like a cat in cream. “Wonderful! I shall look forward to your news.”

  She would look forward to her matchmaking, Lily thought, but she put that out of her mind as she went to gather her things.

  Mr. Gross was a rotund and gregarious man, seemingly anxious for company, who insisted on making tea for Lily. He moved a stack of ledgers from a chair and proceeded to dust the seat with vigor. “You should have summoned me, madam,” he said happily as he stacked the ledgers precariously on a box of papers. “I should have been delighted to come to you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of putting you to the trouble,” Lily said. She had a sneaking suspicion that if Mr. Gross were allowed into Darlington House, extracting him would have been a fairly significant proposition, perhaps requiring the help of at least a pair of footmen.

  He settled in a chair across from her, his pudgy hands on his knees. “How may I be of service?”

  “I am hoping to discover what Mr. Minglecroft’s business was with Ashwood some fifteen years ago.”

  “Oh, that would be nigh impossible to say,” Mr. Gross said instantly. “I fear our record keeping has not been as orderly as we might have hoped.” He smiled.

  Lily’s heart sank. “Perhaps there might be some clue in Mr. Minglecroft’s occupation at that time?”

  “He was a trader, madam. Mostly cotton and coal, but he also dabbled in silver.”

  “I suspect that is my answer,” she said. “I suppose he sold silver to the earl.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gross—”

  “I cannot be certain that was the nature of his business with Lord Ashwood. However, Mr. Minglecroft’s daughter might be of service. She lives here in London. I have her location just here,” he said, hopping up and bending over a wooden box
filled with papers. “I am certain it is just here.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Lily said again. She couldn’t imagine that Minglecroft’s daughter would know what her father’s business had been with the old earl.

  “Not the least bit of trouble!” Mr. Gross declared. “Poor old Minglecroft. He would have been thrilled beyond measure to receive such an illustrious guest as you.” Mr. Gross continued to dig furiously through the box. “Aha! It is here, just where I knew it would be!” he cried triumphantly, yanking a paper from beneath a stack and waving it in the air. “Her name is Mrs. Pruscilla Braintree. How I might have possibly forgotten her name is quite beyond me. Oh, but I had boxes and boxes of records and such ferried to her after her father’s demise. I’ll just jot down the directions, shall I?” he asked, picking up the quill and dipping it in ink.

  Lily smiled and thanked him again as she tucked the vellum into her reticule. She guessed it would lead to nothing, but then again, she’d come this far.

  From the salon window of Tobin’s Mayfair town home, he could just see the top of Darlington House. It had as many chimneys as Tiber Park. He knew that because he had counted them.

  He stared at the chimney tops today through the mist of a light rain that had been falling for two days. He did not know the duke or any of his family. He did not have the requisite connections to accomplish an introduction. Tobin had his house in Mayfair; he had wealth that at times, to him, seemed immeasurable. But he did not have whatever it was the ton required to include him in their circle. He was an outcast, and he likely would always be an outcast.