by Brenda Novak
Her cold fingers circled his wrists, although he could only feel it on the one that was ungloved. “Someone has to fear for your safety, my lord. It’s not as if you take much care to look out for yourself.”
Wythe accused him of not caring whether he lived or died. He often wondered if that was true. As Linley so often pointed out, he hadn’t been the same since the fire. The long, lonely nights wore on him, the constant soul-searching, the despair of ever finding the answers he craved.
But when Rachel was around he felt new again. That was why he couldn’t bring himself to part with her.
“I have rarely been denied. I fear it has made me no better than Wythe.” Touching her was a mistake. Such close contact turned his blood to fire in his veins, making it difficult to let go. But he did—and put some distance between them. “Do you like the gown?”
She peered down at herself. “It is by far the loveliest thing I have ever owned.”
Thanks to the difference in their respective heights, he had a generous view of her bare shoulders and cleavage. Perhaps she wasn’t as curvaceous as was fashionable. Her life had been too difficult. But he thought she looked better in that dress than Katherine ever had. And her delight in such simple things brought a little of the innocence back into his own life. “Enjoy it. I will treat you well while I can.”
“Meaning what? You will send me away once you marry?”
“I will have no choice.”
Her voice softened. “Will that happen soon?”
“Most likely.” Given his precarious circumstances, it was a small miracle that the Duke of Pembroke was willing to help. He’d be a fool to let the opportunity slip through his grasp. Although he continued to proclaim his innocence, he hadn’t found any hint or trace of the paintings he believed were missing, and that shook his faith, made him wonder if he’d dreamed up the absence of Landscape with the Fall of Icarus to absolve himself from the guilt that plagued him.
Maybe he deserved to swing. Part of him would be grateful to put a decisive end to the matter. But duty got in the way even there. If he was hanged, who would look after Blackmoor Hall? Should he die without a son, the entire estate would pass to Wythe, and his cousin showed no aptitude for running his own life, let alone managing so much land, money and servants. Wythe could barely fulfill his duties as steward of the mine.
“Wythe would not make a proper lord,” she murmured as if she were reading his mind.
“Wythe cares more for drinking and whoring than anything else,” he agreed. “I would be letting down every Stanhope who came before me if I allowed Blackmoor Hall to pass to him.”
“Then you must do everything in your power to avoid it.”
But that meant he should be doing everything in his power to avoid her, because the more time he spent with Rachel, the less inclined he was to notice another woman.
Rachel was so sure it was the storm that disturbed her sleep, she almost rolled over and drifted off again. Rain slashed the windows and wind howled through the eaves but, despite the intense weather, she heard a far more subtle sound: a key, turning in the lock on her door.
At first, she thought the earl was coming in. He’d been awake when she left the study. But she couldn’t figure out why he’d be entering from the hall. She almost called out his name, but a sense of foreboding snatched her words away. She didn’t even have the chance to sit up before the hinges on the door whined.
Mouth dry, pulse racing, she blinked repeatedly, trying to make out the shape of her intruder. She wanted to believe it was Mary coming to avoid the dampness of the attic. But when a bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky outside her window, she realized who her visitor was.
“Wythe?” she whispered.
He moved more quickly once he realized she was awake and knew he was there. “What you’re trying to do will never work,” he whispered harshly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was drunk again. She could smell the alcohol on him, remembered how he’d treated her that night she’d been coming up the road from Creswell. She hoped this wouldn’t be a repeat performance.
“You think you can pretend to be a lady? That some coalminer’s daughter can keep company with the Stanhopes?”
She drew the covers up under her chin. “You have no business here. Get out.”
“Or what?” he taunted. “You’ll call my cousin? Do you realize how easy it would be for me to break your neck? I could throw your body into the ocean and tell my dear cousin that you ran away in the night.”
“Except I wouldn’t believe you.” The earl’s voice shot through the darkness. It came from the far corner of the room, but Rachel couldn’t see him.
“My lord?” she said.
“Go back to sleep, Rachel,” he replied. “You have nothing to fear. I will walk Wythe to his own room. It appears that drink has gotten the best of his judgment once again.”
At first Wythe seemed too stunned to speak. But he soon rallied. “You are making a mistake, Truman. She’s a poor village girl, not worth what she will cost you.”
“I will be the judge of that.”
“But you’re not thinking with the correct part of your anatomy. She will lead you right to the noose!” he responded and stormed out.
Rachel jumped when the door slammed, but only because she was on edge, not because she was still frightened.
“My lord?” she whispered to make sure he hadn’t left too.
“I’m here.”
“How did you know he would come?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “That’s what worries me.”
Before she could say more, the door opened and closed between their rooms and he was gone.
The next morning Rachel was almost sure she’d dreamt that incident in the night. She couldn’t believe Wythe would threaten her life, whether he was drunk or not. She also couldn’t believe that the earl had been in her bedroom. How long had he been sitting there? And why?
She planned to ask him the next time they were alone, but he didn’t send for her that night or the next. He and Wythe seemed to be gone, possibly overnight. She listened for his return, especially late, when she typically heard him next door, but there was only the usual movements of the servants.
When the earl did reappear, his cousin wasn’t with him—a fact that seemed of particular interest to Mrs. Poulson.
From where Rachel hovered at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, she heard the housekeeper ask after Mr. Stanhope. She also heard the earl reply that he was lodging with the Fore-Overman at Cosgrove House until he could bring his drinking under control.
“You put your cousin out?” the housekeeper asked in shock.
“I made it clear that his behavior needs to change,” he responded and handed his coat to one of the footman.
“For her sake?”
Rachel didn’t have to guess who Mrs. Poulson meant; she knew she was the subject of that question.
“For his sake,” the earl replied and started up the stairs.
Rachel waited until he reached her. Then she stepped forward.
When he noticed her, he paused. “Let me see your hands,” he said without preamble.
She held them out for his inspection.
“Better. Already. You are looking healthier every day.”
“Thank you, my lord. But…”
His eyebrows slid up when she didn’t finish.
“I do not want to be a problem for you.”
A rare smile broke across his face as he fingered a lock of her hair. “Be a problem? Dear Rachel, you feel like the antidote.”
Their eyes met for a second but then he pulled away. “If you will excuse me, I have a commitment in town and must change.”
As soon as the earl left, Rachel pulled on a heavy cloak, slipped out the back and walked to town. It took over an hour to get there, which meant it would also take considerable time to get back. But she was desperate to accomplish two things: She wanted to pay Elspeth a visit,
and she wanted to go to her former home and pick up the ledgers. Before her mother died, she’d seen for herself that the bookshop hadn’t been making a profit. She’d been over and over the accounts. It was that one extra payment each month that had sustained them. So who’d been helping Jillian—and why? Had she been receiving hush money? Is that what that one payment had been?
If Rachel could determine that, maybe she could also learn enough about the mystery of Katherine’s death to prove Lord Druridge wasn’t responsible. She didn’t want to do anything that might besmirch the memory of her dear mother, which was why she’d let the matter go until now. It was easier not to think about it, or to assume that mysterious income had no correlation to the fire. But if her parents had done something wrong, she didn’t want to perpetuate their mistake. The memory of that argument between Lord Druridge and Mr. Linley had been wearing on her. She couldn’t ignore what she’d discovered, not if it might stop an innocent man from being hanged.
Her errands were simple. She hoped they’d also be quick because she felt a deep sense of foreboding when she reached the edge of town. Other than her former neighbor, Mrs. Tate, she had no friends in Creswell. She hated the thought that she might run into the blacksmith’s apprentice. Lord knew how much his opinion of her must’ve changed. She didn’t want to see Mr. Cutberth either. Or anyone else. She no longer trusted them, and they no longer trusted her. When she’d proclaimed her innocence mere weeks ago, no one would believe her. Imagine what the villagers thought now, after hearing she’d been installed in the room adjoining Lord Druridge’s. Her most recent accommodations would seem to suggest that they’d been right about her.
For all she knew, even Mrs. Tate had turned on her. Considering what the poor woman had probably been told, Rachel couldn’t blame her.
Keeping her hood up and her head down, she blew out the lantern that had guided her steps so far. Any household facing the main thoroughfare had to put out a lamp from dark until eleven, so she no longer needed her own. She preferred to conserve her oil and stick to the shadows. Although it was dark, it wasn’t late. She could easily encounter someone she’d rather avoid if she wasn’t careful.
She could smell chimney smoke and food cooking, see light gleaming around the shutters of even those cottages that were off Creswell Proper, but as she made her way to her former home, the streets were, thankfully, quiet.
The shop had been locked with a heavy padlock and chain, and someone—the earl’s solicitor?—had posted a notice that trespassers would be prosecuted. The sight of it looking so forbidding reminded her of how drastically her life had changed in the past month. But there was no time to dwell on her losses. At least Geordie was in an enviable situation.
Voices rose on the night air, coming from down the street. It sounded as if two men were walking her way, so she ducked into the alley. She had to go around to the house anyway.
The small, wooden cottage where she’d grown up was as dark and empty as the bookshop. The memory of returning, so recently, to find her mother dead made Rachel’s breath catch as she stepped into the garden, but she pushed the pain aside. She’d come here for a reason; she couldn’t think too much or she’d get nowhere.
She had the key out of her pocket, ready to open the front door, when she realized that a key wouldn’t be necessary. The door wasn’t latched, let alone locked. But that wasn’t how she’d left it. The day the earl rescued her from the mine, he’d brought her home to pack a bag and collect her brother. She’d locked both the house and the shop.…
A prickle of unease crept up her spine. Someone had been here since. Was it Mrs. Tate on some innocent errand? Or was it a thief? Had someone stolen their simple furnishings, and what had been left of their candles and coal?
That was hard to believe of the high-minded people who’d turned on her. But she supposed anything was possible. Maybe her former friends thought she owed them whatever was left.
The door creaked as she pushed it wide. “Hello?”
She heard nothing in response. No one’s here, she told herself—and yet she hesitated, too nervous and unsettled to go farther. She feared what she might find, but she’d stowed the ledgers under the loose floorboards in the bedroom. If she didn’t get them now, maybe she never would.
Inside it was even darker than outside, but she didn’t want to go to the time or trouble of relighting her lamp. She left it at the entry so she could grab it as she left and slipped into the main room. She should have been able to navigate such a familiar place with ease, but it no longer felt familiar. The smell—cold and damp without a fire for so long—wasn’t even the same. She bumped into several objects that weren’t where they were supposed to be before she managed to reach a window and open the shutters.
The moonlight that filtered through made it possible to see why she’d been having difficulty. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. The entire place had been ransacked.
Why? From what she could tell, nothing had been stolen—except, maybe, the ledgers. She’d hidden them in the bedroom, but she had no idea how thoroughly it had been searched, whether or not someone had found those loose floorboards.
Careful not to trip, she made her way to where she and her family had slept and opened the shutters in that room too. Someone had scattered and overturned everything here as well. Obviously whoever it was had gone through the whole house.
What had they been looking for?
She feared it was what she’d come to claim herself. Perhaps she’d been right to return. Perhaps the ledgers held some clue as to who had fired Blackmoor Hall—or at least could offer the earl proof that he hadn’t done it himself.
The floorboards hadn’t been disturbed, but her chest tightened in spite of that.
“What have I gotten myself into?” she murmured as she pried them up. She couldn’t see inside the hole, but when she reached in, she felt the telltale bindings and let her breath go. “Thank God.”
She was just climbing to her feet when she heard someone at the front door. A moment later, she saw a light. Whoever it was had a candle. She didn’t want to be caught with the ledgers for fear they’d be taken from her, but there was no time to put them back.
Chapter 14
“Mrs. Tate! What are you doing here?”
Her neighbor nearly fainted. “Good Lord, child. Ye gave this old woman a start, that ye did. Why ye sneakin’ around in the dark? An’ where’s Geordie?”
Rachel tucked the ledgers under her arm. “He’s at Blackmoor Hall. Fortunately, he loves it there.”
“And you? Do you like it too?”
For the most part, she did. She just wasn’t as optimistic about the path it had put her on. “It keeps a roof over my head.”
Eyes alight with curiosity, her neighbor’s gaze shifted from the hole in the floor to what Rachel was carrying. “What ye got there?”
“Ledgers, for the shop. I… I shouldn’t have left them behind. I need them to create the financial statements necessary to sell the business.”
“Someone else is goin’ ter come in an’ run the shop?”
Feeling guilty for the lie, she gave a noncommittal shrug. “I hope so. If not, I’ll have to sell the inventory, and the earl will have to lease the building to someone else.”
“Ye’ve seen this.” She lifted her candle higher and motioned around them.
“Of course.”
“They ransacked the shop too. Did a lot more damage there.”
Rachel hated the thought of that. The shop had been her sanctuary for so many years, maybe even more so than this house, considering all the faraway places she’d visited via the books she’d read there. “How? There’s a sturdy lock on the door. I saw it.”
“On both doors,” she volunteered. “They broke a window.”
“When?”
“Only a day or two after ye left—as soon as they knew ye were gone. I tried to keep an eye on the place, but the buggers came at night. One morning, I noticed that the door was busted and walke
d in to find the damage.” She heaved a sigh. “I would’ve sent word of it, but I didn’t want to put any more on yer poor shoulders, not when there was nothin’ that could be done. Do ye have any idea what they were lookin’ for?”
“I can only guess it was Collingood, Thornick, Greenley and Henderson bent on revenge. The miners aren’t very happy with me, as you know—those four in particular.”
“I ’eard there was a misunderstandin’ in the mine.”
Rachel didn’t correct her, didn’t tell her that “misunderstanding” was clearly an attack. It wouldn’t change anything. Why split her loyalties?
“An’ what’s ’appening with you must be a misunderstandin’, too,” she was saying. “That’s what I keep tellin’ myself—and them. I’ve told my own sons not to believe a single word. I’ve known ye since ye were born; ye’ve always been a good girl.”
Homesick for the way things used to be, Rachel smiled. “Thank you for that.”
A pained expression settled on her round face. “It’s not true, is it? What they say about… about you and Lord Druridge?”
Rachel wished she could deny it, but she couldn’t. Maybe she wasn’t technically the earl’s mistress, but she had been compromised, and ever since then her thoughts, where he was concerned, had been impure—far from what an innocent maid should be daydreaming about. “Yes.”
“I can… I can understand a young girl gettin’ bowled over by the attentions of such a… a remarkable man. But ye know ’e’ll set ye aside eventually, Rachel. Ye ’ave to know that.”
Everyone felt inclined to warn her. Warnings weren’t necessary, however. No one understood the perils of her situation better than she did. “I do know, Mrs. Tate. But nothing has been simple since Mum died.”
“Child, ye can come live with me if—”
“And have the whole village turn on you too? No. I won’t hear of it. Geordie has a good position. I’ll remain grateful for that and fare as best I can.” Feeling pressure to reach Elspeth’s so she could begin the long walk to her new home, she shifted the ledgers so she could give her neighbor a hug. “Thank you for all you have done for me and my family. Someday I hope to repay you. But for now… I must go.”