by Lavinia Kent
A moment later, seated at his desk, he reached for a packet of papers placed at the exact center of the desk. His ink jar had been filled and the quills were honed. Even his cheroots were trimmed and laid out. Everything was in readiness.
He swung to his feet and headed back to the door. He almost bowled over the footman, who had arrived at the moment the scraping of his chair indicated his presence in the room. Arthur pulled up short, towering over the startled servant.
“Tell Cook that Lady Elizabeth requires coddled eggs rather than fried ones.” He turned sharply and returned to the library.
She had to find a way to escape. This was her chance. Sometime soon they would find her. She had to protect her son. Carefully, Lily eased open the door to her room and peered around the corner. Her long ago talent for sneaking about quieter than a mouse returned.
Fighting the tension curled up in her belly, Lily forced herself to slink down the hall until she reached the top of the wide stairs. She stroked the long baluster. Her childhood fantasy of sliding down its length caught at her, but she pushed it away. This was not the time for memories; she had more pressing duties.
She glanced down at her attire. It would not be easy to explain her presence were she detected here in her night dress, with only a light shawl draped about her shoulders.
Step by step, she crept down, cringing with each creak and groan of the wide floorboards. She had to manage it now; there might not be another chance.
Hearing voices down one of the long halls, she pressed herself back against the baluster, held her breath. It was not until she heard Gertrude’s giggle and the closing of a door that she resumed her progress. Grasping her shawl about her shoulders, she continued down.
At the bottom she paused. She glanced towards the massive front door before darting into the morning room. Closing the door silently, she leaned back against it, drawing a deep breath. The room still glowed with the cheery yellow she remembered from childhood. The delicate furniture was sculpted to a woman’s taste; Lily stroked the well-polished arm of a chair. The scent of beeswax and lemon tempted her to sink to the floor beside it. She had sat in the same place, quietly playing on the rug with her baby doll, Sunshine, while in the chair her mother laughed and sparkled. Secure for awhile.
Lily edged to the long glass door leading outside. If she remembered correctly, a path led around the corner and to the stables. She couldn’t go there now, dressed as she was, but she could survey a little, and then try later.
Her hand settled on the cold handle, and carefully, quietly, she turned it.
But it didn’t turn. It didn’t budge.
It was locked.
She shook the handle, hoping to find out she was wrong. She had been counting on this, as the easiest way out of the house. She bit hard on her lip in frustration and once again battled the sudden tears that welled in her eyes. She’d never been a leaky pot before Simon’s birth. The steady pain in the pit of her stomach grew. She had not managed to catch Nanny again privately and feared that at any moment her identity would be revealed. Once they knew who she was, it would not take long to find out what she’d done.
As if in response to her thoughts, she heard a loud knock coming from across the hallway. Cautiously she crept towards the door and, easing it open a crack, peeked out. An older, slightly bent man — she recognized him as Jeffers, the butler – stood across the way, tapping on what had once been the old duke’s study. She guessed it was now his son’s.
“Enter.” Westlake’s voice echoed down the hall.
“Excuse me, your grace. There are some men I think you should see.”
Listening carefully, Lily could hear the scrape of a chair as Westlake rose.
“I am rather occupied, Jeffers. What do they want?”
“I am not sure, your grace, but I think it’s about Lady Elizabeth. They’re looking for somebody. And she suits the description.”
Without actually hearing it, Lily could sense the deep sigh that met the remark. She pictured Westlake’s still face as he contemplated his answer.
“Where are they?”
“At the kitchen door.”
“Send them around and I’ll meet them in the yard when I’ve finished here.”
Jeffers walked back down the hall, leaving the study door ajar. For several minutes there was no sound from within.
Lily stood still, counting her breaths. This couldn’t be happening now. She hadn’t had time to plan, to prepare. As the fear threatened to overtake her and freeze her to the spot, she forced herself to move.
She stole into the hall, slowly and silently shutting the door behind her. She hesitated but a moment. She longed to creep after Westlake and eavesdrop on his conversation. Her fingers curled at her sides as she tried to think of a way. She caught her lip between her teeth until blood welled beneath the skin.
No, it was too great a risk.
Turning, she plodded back up the stairs. It was an effort to climb each stair; she longed so deeply to sneak out and listen. Her mind whirled with possibilities and plans.
It was her hesitation that caught her. She had nearly reached the top when the study door swung wide and Westlake came striding out. He headed towards the back of the house, each step covering a wide expanse of the fine carpet. Then, he stopped. Lily did not know how she had given herself away, but his eyes swung to her and locked. His glance swept over her, taking in her bare toes and the light wool of her shawl. She could feel herself blanch beneath his gaze. Her knees wobbled, and for a moment she was afraid she would tumble down the stairs. Westlake took one step towards her, firmed his lips and then, without a word, continued away.
Lily’s knees did give out then, and she sat hard on the top stair, hugging the baluster, her chest heavy and her eyes prickling. She fought for a calming breath and refused to give in to the terror that threatened to swamp her. She had to be strong for Simon’s sake. Somehow she would get through this labyrinth.
Chapter Four
Westlake found himself cursing under his breath as he tramped out towards the stable yard. He should have had the men brought into his study, but something in Jeffers’ tone prevented him. After all the years Jeffers had been with him, Arthur had learned to understand the tiniest inflection, and it was clear that these were not men who would be welcome in his home.
He could have had them brought round to the front, but again he’d stopped. It was only when he’d glanced up and seen Lady Elizabeth perched at the top of the stairs, looking like she could melt away with the slightest breeze, that he’d realized what had drawn him from the normal course of action. He didn’t want anything unpleasant coming anywhere near her, and judging from the edge to Jeffers’ tone, this could be very unpleasant.
Approaching the door, he saw the two men stomping impatiently. He understood instantly why Jeffers had not had them wait inside. In fact, he almost called for Jeffers again to take care of them. They weren’t much dirtier or more badly dressed than the average stable hand, but they reeked of disrepair. He would never have allowed anyone so disheveled into his own service. Still, he needed to find out what they wanted, and if they were searching for Lady Elizabeth, he could scarcely ignore this chance for information.
Unaware that he was observed, the larger of the two men brushed back a lank strand of hair and sent a stream of spittle across the cobblestones of the courtyard. It stuck there, gleaming wet in the sun. The smaller, darker man turned to his companion and let loose a stream of curses.
“Do you really think his prissy lordship is going to make his way back here? I’ll bet that starched, old bag of bones is keeping us waiting to get his jollies. What d’ya bet, he’ll be out soon and tell us there’s no wench here after all? If she had any looks about her I’d think they were keeping that bitch here for their own fun.” Arthur felt his ire rise as the man, apparently finished speaking for the moment, let his own glob loose to sit beside his companion’s, shining on the stones.
“Don’t forget she’s
got a bun cooking,” said the other.
“What’s that matter? Never bothered me none. A wench is still a wench, even if she is a member of the puddin’ club.” He hitched up his pants and gave himself a good scratch. “Besides, without the babe we wouldn’t be forced to traipse about looking for her. Do you really think St. Aubin cares one way or the other about her? Nah, he wants to know about the brat.”
Scratching his fingers through his hair, the larger man considered. “Yeah, that’s true. Not even Worthington cared much for her. Probably thought playing in the hay was one of the biggest mistakes he ever made, sticking him with a colorless bit like her.”
As he finished speaking, he turned and saw Arthur standing in the doorway. Immediately he straightened up and tried to look like he hadn’t been cursing and spitting. He gave his companion a kick to get his attention.
“My man said you had information for me.” Arthur spoke coldly, letting his disapproval show. He fingered the quizzing glass in his pocket. For all their unsavoriness, they didn’t look like they’d stand up long under real questioning.
“Ahh, yes, your grace,” the smaller man responded. “I’m Jack Divers. My friend Will, here, heard that you found a lady wandering and we thought it might be the one we’re missing.”
“You’re missing . . . .” Arthur let his words trail off, giving the unmistakable impression that he couldn’t possibly imagine these two creatures missing a lady.
They shifted uncomfortably under Arthur’s continued stare. “Well, not us exactly. Lord Geoffrey St. Aubin, Earl of Worthington, went missin’ a few days ago, and his wife with him. It’s her we’re supposed to find.”
Arthur felt a cool burn in his gut at the words. Was Lady Elizabeth married after all? But, perhaps it wasn’t she. She hadn’t had a husband with her.
“And why aren’t you looking for Worthington? Surely finding the earl would be your first priority.”
“Well, sir.” The larger man, Will, sniffled and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.
Arthur refrained from correcting him. He wanted to hear this.
The man cleaned his hand with a quick rub across his pants and continued. “Well, he’s been found. Or at least, so to speak.”
Arthur continued to stare, waiting for the man to continue.
The smaller man, Divers, cuffed his friend and took over. “He’s dead, he is. Caldwell, the head groom, found him at the bottom of the cliffs. He’d been bashed about by the waves some, but they figure he must’ve been attacked. Why else would a young man like him end up taking a header?”
Worthington dead? Odd that he hadn’t heard. He couldn’t say it was any great loss to the world. The man had been of the lowest sort despite his title. He couldn’t remember anything about the wife. Could it have been Lady Elizabeth?
“And the countess?” Arthur found himself asking impatiently. He knew the best thing to do was to let them ramble on, but he needed to know.
“That’s it. Nobody’s really sure. She’s not where she should be. Took a day or two to even notice she was gone. Quiet thing.”
“Her maid didn’t notice?” This whole story sounded strange to Arthur.
“Well, it weren’t unusual for her to shut herself up for a day or two after . . . .” His companion gave him a kick in the shins. “Well, it wasn’t strange for her to want to be alone. It wasn’t till after they found him that the staff started to wonder.”
Arthur had many questions, but held his tongue. It was clear that these fellows would ramble about without thought, and a direct question might slow their progress. Silence was powerful.
Will resumed where his companion had left off. “Don’t know who would’ve gone after Worthington. He’d a bit of a temper. I wouldn’t have wanted to start in with him.”
Divers cuffed his friend a third time. “No need to go into that. What’s important is tracking down her ladyship. Worthington, the new one that is, is worried about . . . something may have happened to her. He wants her found.”
Will nodded agreement. “Yeah, so if we can just take a look at your lady we can see if she’s the right one.”
Arthur froze at the thought of allowing these two ruffians near Lady Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be seemly. Beyond that, it galled him. Someone as small and delicate as she shouldn’t have to put up with this. One whiff of them would probably have her confined to her bed for an additional week.
“Why don’t you describe the countess to me and let me judge if ‘my lady’ is your missing one?” Arthur put every bit of starch he could into his words.
“Ahh, well,” Divers began. “She’s real little and has dark hair. Wears it all caught up real tight. Otherwise she’s not much to look at, kind of a mousy thing.”
A picture of Lady Elizabeth sleeping like a Botticelli Venus came to Arthur. He could see her spread across the bed. He didn’t want to admit that it was his own bed he pictured, her long curling locks spread about, those deep red lips parted delicately, the full breast peeking innocently from the elaborate black lace of her décolletage.
With a shudder at the unintended direction of his thoughts, Arthur forced his attention back to the men before him.
“. . . large with child. Looks like she’s ready to burst.” Will was still babbling on, despite a couple of sharp jabs from Divers.
“The countess is increasing and yet you implied there’s a new Worthington . . . .” Arthur let his words trail off, the implication clear.
Will stood there, looking befuddled, but Divers clearly caught his meaning. He shifted from one foot to another restlessly, his dusty boots tapping against the cobbles.
“Well, Worthington’s – the dead one, that is – his brother had just come from London when they found him . . . and naturally . . . well she’s a bitty, little thing, probably won’t survive the birth. Probably be a girl, anyway.”
Clearly Jack Divers was not comfortable with this subject, and Arthur sensed he had gotten most of the useful information from the two.
“I’ll inquire if my guest is the Countess of Worthington. Surely she’d have no reason to hide the fact.” Arthur did not miss the quick glance that shot between the two men. “Perhaps she is still in shock from the apparent attack and has thus been silent.”
He turned to leave, feeling no need to discourse any further. The implications of her identity began to coalesce. She had been married. Her husband was dead. She was a widow, a widow in need of rescue. But, she’d lied to him. He tapped his fingers against his leg. What reason had she to lie? Her injuries? No, they must have been from the same attack that had killed her husband. Whatever the true story, neither her wounds nor her distress had been contrived.
Divers called after him, clearly at a loss with the duke’s sudden departure. “So your lady’s . . . increasing?”
Arthur shot one last look over his shoulder, as he stalked towards the house. “No, she is not . . . any longer.” He uttered the final words at a mutter.
Lily huddled among the bedclothes. She’d managed to make it back to her room after nearly collapsing on the stairs, and now lay curled up and shaking. Thankfully, Simon was still sleeping, and neither Nanny nor Sally, the nursery maid, had appeared.
She had missed her chance. Somehow she should have made her escape in the last day, regardless of her own health. She could not risk being caught, leaving Simon alone . . . A cold wave washed over her.
Lily jumped from the bed, not caring that her hair tumbled about her shoulders or that her bare toes peeked beneath her nightdress. She searched the wardrobe quickly, looking for anything she could possibly wear. Why hadn’t she pressed the maids to bring her some proper attire? With no other option in sight, she grabbed the heavy quilt off the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in it. She snatched together an armful of linens and lifted the still sleeping baby from the cradle.
She grasped the baby close to her chest and turned to slip out of the room before Nanny returned. No matter how well meaning, Nanny would only point ou
t all the pitfalls of attempting to traverse the country on foot, wrapped only in a blanket and a thin nightdress, a helpless babe in her arms.
So great was her panic, she didn’t even see Westlake before she bowled into him. He stood in the doorway, watching her flurry with those too cool, all-seeing eyes. She clenched the baby to keep from trembling. She could see in his face that he knew the truth.
“Going somewhere, my Lady . . . Worthington, is it?”
Lily quivered as the low timbre of his voice enveloped her. She was aware of his eyes moving over her, as if they actually touched her. When they paused on her bare toes, Lily barely refrained from withdrawing them back under the folds of the blanket.
Forcing herself to assume a calm she didn’t feel, Lily turned and lowered Simon back into his crib. She took a moment to smooth his blanket and gaze at his tiny perfect features. She must be strong for him.
“No,” she said at last, “why would I be going someplace?”
Westlake stepped towards her.
She stepped back.
His gaze swept over her again, very slowly, before coming to settle on her face.
This time she met his continued stare without relenting. She had realized what a tool silence was for him, and she refused to be his pawn. She forced her shaking hands to be still beneath the folds of the blanket and resolved that he must never suspect the power he held over her.
Westlake waited another moment for her to say more. When she didn’t, he stroked his scar once before returning his hand to his side. He paced into the room and took up his favorite spot by the window. The bright sunlight flooded behind him, revealing him in silhouette and blinding Lily.
“Why indeed would you be going anywhere . . . Lady Worthington? Elizabeth Worthington?” His tone was bitingly cold.
Lily shook her head.
Westlake continued to stare. She felt like an insect pinned to the paper.
“It’s Lily. Lily Elizabeth Worthington,” she whispered. She backed towards the bed and hovered on the very edge. Her legs shook.