The Secrets of Lord Lynford

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Those birds can’t fly.’ Eaton followed her gaze. ‘They all have various injuries. I brought them home from wherever I found them and nursed them as best I could.’ He took the parakeet from her and set it to flying with its friends; Eliza felt her heart lurch in an unfamiliar way. Here was a man who was kind to animals, who built a school for a friend so she could marry the man she loved, who gave a stranger a home just because she asked for one, who mourned the loss of a dear friend. He was a rarity, like the orchids along the pathway.

  ‘I fear too much of tonight has been about me. I didn’t mean to monopolise the conversation.’ Eaton reached overhead and plucked an orange. ‘Dessert?’

  She nodded. ‘I was the one who asked the questions. You needn’t feel guilty. You’re an interesting man.’ She could listen to him talk for hours.

  ‘Well, you’re an interesting woman and I’m wasting my opportunity to learn more about you by talking about myself.’ He began to peel the fruit. ‘I should have asked how the house is? If you have everything you need?’ He passed her a section of the orange. ‘I should also have had the decency to ask what has caused the change in your plans and whether I can do anything to assist? I hope it’s nothing too serious?’

  That depended on how seriously one took potential mutiny. Eliza took a bite of the succulent orange, buying time to gather her wits. Too often tonight she’d allowed herself to forget about business, to focus instead on being with him and the joy of simply being with someone who wasn’t interested in her mines or her money. But his questions brought back reality and with it a reminder about how careful she needed to be.

  ‘Just some unexpected mine business. We’re timbering a new tunnel and I need to be on hand more than I’d anticipated.’ She could see the answer disappointed him in its brevity, but she could not clarify further.

  ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ He offered her another section of the orange with a smile, but she could see her lack of trust had insulted him.

  ‘Thank you, but it’s something I need to take care of alone.’ A man like the Marquess, born to power, would never understand that she had to work twice as hard, had to be twice as strong as any man, that any weakness was enough to have her leadership called into question.

  ‘Do you always handle everything alone?’

  ‘Yes.’ She met his gaze unabashedly. ‘I’ve learned the hard way what happens to a woman when she doesn’t.’

  His eyes were on her, contemplating, his voice quiet and serious. ‘Tell me, what happens to a woman who accepts help from a friend?’

  ‘She becomes the target of society gossip. The worst of her character is assumed and the worst of her friend’s character is assumed as well. Society does not tolerate men and women being friends.’ It had started innocently enough with Miles Detford. She’d been establishing her control over the shareholders in that first year, unsure how to proceed on a matter. She’d gone to Detford for advice. She been naive in those early days. She’d not thought how others might look at those efforts with less friendly eyes. ‘There were rumours that I was weak, unable to assume control of my husband’s company. And that the gentleman in question was after my money, swindling me with kindness. I’ve never believed it. But I’ve made sure such a situation doesn’t occur again.’

  ‘Is this a cautionary tale for me?’

  ‘No, it’s for me. So that I remember what happens when I let down my guard.’ Their eyes held for a moment before she rose. ‘I ought to go. It’s getting late and I’ve taken so much of your time today. Thank you for the evening.’ If she left now, she might escape without offending him further, or without making herself vulnerable. She’d let down her guard too often tonight. There’d been only the one casualty for the indulgence—far better odds than she deserved.

  ‘I’ll see you out.’ Eaton rose with her, but there was a stiffness in their politeness now—gone was the laughter in the carriage over spilled champagne, and the easy flow of conversation at dinner.

  ‘My carriage will take you back to the dower house.’ She understood the hidden message. He wasn’t accompanying her, unless she asked. He was giving her every subtle assurance that he would not impose on her further in any way tonight. Eliza found the assurance disappointing and impressive. There wouldn’t be any kisses tonight. He handed her into the carriage and stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Eliza. Thank you for a lovely evening.’ He motioned to the driver and the carriage set off, leaving him behind.

  She ought to be glad of that. She also ought to be glad that he understood her need for formality and distance, that this was strictly a business arrangement, that she saw him as a business acquaintance only. Except she didn’t. She saw him as a problem, a very attractive one. She’d only known him the sum of two days and three encounters. Already it was incredibly easy to let him shoulder her concerns and solve her problems. She could get used to that without even realising she was doing it. She preferred to keep her independence fully intact because she knew how this would end.

  She had learned her lessons well and she would not repeat her mistakes with Eaton Falmage. She would not let these friendly encounters get out of hand or signal that she might be interested in something...more. She was worldlier now. She knew how her association with any man would look to others. She knew exactly what she risked in marriage to any man who might offer. And she knew how these stories ended in the real world.

  Chapter Eight

  The night had gone differently from what Eaton had anticipated. What had started as dinner and a chance to explore the connection between them had quite unexpectedly deepened into something more. Eaton made the long walk to the main house under the stars, hands in his pockets. It was chilly in the evening now, autumn had definitely arrived and he was without both his greatcoat and his carriage, having not brought one and having given the other to Eliza.

  He’d not meant to talk of Richard Penlerick and yet once he’d started he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Tonight had been about more than a physical connection between them. They’d both experienced great loss. Her words tonight had been a balm to him in a way the platitudes of others who’d not experienced such loss could not be. He was touched as well by what she’d shared, cognisant of the honour she’d done him by offering her own story in proof of her understanding. Yet there were other things she had not been willing to share, like the business that kept her in Porth Karrek. For all her openness about the loss of her husband, she’d withheld other things.

  Eaton kicked at a pile of early fallen leaves. The restlessness that had tugged at him that afternoon was riding him hard now. It would be nice to enjoy autumn with Eliza Blaxland. They could pick apples, stroll the Trevaylor Woods, check on the boys at the school to see how the new curriculum was working. Perhaps they could work on her schools together. Perhaps he could persuade her that the first school should be right here at Wheal Karrek. Eliza would be a welcome distraction; an intelligent, discreet woman who could discuss the world and ideas with him. She would need persuading, though. Despite her abrupt dismissal tonight, she did respond to him. His attentions were not unwanted but he would need to take things slowly. She was not a merry widow but a very circumspect one, a woman who took her virtue seriously. He could respect that.

  The sound of a dog howling in the distance brought a smile to his lips. Baldor, his hound, was out night hunting, restless like his master. Eaton whistled. The two of them could prowl the grounds together. He whistled again and Baldor bounded to his side, ready for an evening romp in the woods. A walk beneath the autumn moon would be just the thing to clear his thoughts, beginning with images of Eliza Blaxland as she’d been tonight—laughing in the carriage with him, her face inquisitive and glowing by the candlelight of their dinner, her exclamation of delight over the parakeet landing on her finger, her sincerity as they’d talked of Richard.

  Tonight, he’d had a glimpse of the Eliza Blaxland who existed beneat
h her façade. But that glimpse had been fleeting. She’d remembered all too soon she had something to hide. That mystery would have to wait until tomorrow. He had business in Penzance that would keep him away most of the day, but he would look in on her later in the afternoon, perhaps invite her to another dinner where he could try once more to unravel her secrets.

  * * *

  The day had not gone as Eliza would have preferred. She’d wanted answers and she had none. She’d spent the day at the mine office going over books and peering out of the window at every noise, hoping to see Miles Detford ride in. But there’d been no news, not even a note. She hoped she hadn’t erred in sending for him, that he wasn’t raising the alarm among the shareholders. She was relying on his friendship to keep her circumspect message private between them. But Miles had not come.

  There were plenty of grounds on which to excuse his negligence. It was entirely possible he was off to Scotland, shooting grouse. The message might not even have reached him. He might be delayed by other matters. Still, Miles’s absence niggled at her against the backdrop of another who had far less reason to come to her aid and yet had arrived immediately.

  Her mind whispered the comparison: Eaton Falmage came and he owes you nothing, not even friendship. Eaton had responded to her note with his presence, with the offer of a home. She’d asked for nothing more than some answers from Miles.

  Then again, perhaps Eaton Falmage had made the offer in hopes of getting something in return. He’d been disappointed in her last night. Would he still come if she summoned him today, or was he already regretting his generosity? She knew how these trades worked. She’d refused Detford’s honourable overtures of marriage when society had confused their friendship for something more intimate. In retrospect, though, society wasn’t the only one who’d imagined intimacy where she’d been blind. Detford had wanted more than friendship. There’d been a few kisses stolen in a moment of loneliness, of weakness, kisses that had meant more to him, signalled more to him, than she’d intended in her early grief. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. It was why she’d left Lynford last night. To have stayed any longer in the orangery would have resulted in more kisses, more steps along a path she couldn’t travel, no matter how handsome the companion.

  Eliza looked at the wall clock and shut the ledgers with a resounding thump. Half past three. These were thoughts that made it impossible to work. She’d daydreamed the better part of the last half hour away and to no purpose. She was destined to be alone for Sophie’s sake and for her own security. She’d decided this years ago. It was useless to persist in wasting time on such folly. It was time to go home. Sophie would be arriving and she wanted to be there. The day would be infinitely better once her daughter had arrived. Five days away from Sophie seemed like an eternity. She was never truly alone when they were together.

  Eliza stopped at Chegwin’s mercantile on Budoc Lane to purchase a kite and a doll for Sophie. She would leave the toys on Sophie’s bed as a surprise. They could have a picnic tomorrow at the beach if the weather held. Her head was full of plans. This would be a holiday for the two of them. She would carve out time for fun even though she had business to look after. She was always so busy in Truro with the banks and the mines. A holiday would do them both good and the fresh air had much to recommend it.

  * * *

  Halfway down the drive to the dower house, she noticed the activity in the drive, an unfamiliar coach outside the house, servants bustling about hauling trunks inside. A tall, slim, young woman whom Eliza recognised as Miss Gilchrist—Sophie’s governess—stood amid the chaos, looking about helplessly as progress was made without her. Eliza’s mood lifted with realisation. Sophie was here! They must have arrived early. She spotted her daughter’s dark curls bobbing in and out of the servants. ‘Mama!’ Sophie rushed towards her.

  Eliza took her skirts in one hand and began to run. It was an awkward run, burdened as she was with a kite and a doll, but it served to close the distance and within moments Sophie was in her arms, her packages forgotten. ‘Oh, sweet girl, you’re here! How I’ve missed you!’ Eliza held her tight. This was everything, her whole world right here in her arms.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too, Mama, but we’ve had such grand adventures, Miss Gilchrist and I. The wheel on the coach broke just as we were almost here and Miss Gilchrist didn’t know what to do. The driver said we should walk back to the last town,’ Sophie rambled enthusiastically, ‘but Miss Gilchrist said that was impossible because you were expecting us tonight and you’d worry if we didn’t arrive. Then a man came by on a great big chestnut horse...’

  Sophie paused for a breath, then continued in a rush to make up for lost time.

  ‘We told him who we were and he brought us here. He said he was a friend of yours. He sent his coach back for our things and for Miss Gilchrist, who was too scared to get on the horse. But I wasn’t too scared. I climbed right up and he held on to me tight so I didn’t fall.’

  A hundred thoughts hit her at once. Her precious child had willingly gone off with a stranger just because he said he knew her and Miss Gilchrist had allowed it. She ought to sack the woman for such a poor decision. Sophie was the Blaxland heiress. When she came of age, she’d be worth a fortune. In the right hands, or in this case the wrong ones, Sophie would be a powerful weapon to wield against her. Yet beneath Eliza’s fears there was gratefulness, too. What a kindness the man had done them. ‘Is your rescuer still here?’ She searched Sophie’s sweet face to assure herself Sophie had come to no harm. They would have to discuss the demerits of going off with strangers later.

  ‘He’s inside, giving orders. He’s very good at that. Almost as good as you, Mama,’ Sophie averred, obviously impressed. ‘But he smiles when he tells people what to do.’

  A man was inside her house? Giving orders? That seemed a bit much. She needed to offer her gratitude and send him on his way. Eliza rose, remembering her dropped packages. ‘I brought you presents. Why don’t you go inside and unwrap them while I make my thanks?’

  ‘There he is, Mama!’ Sophie pointed at the archway of the arcade where a tall, dark-haired man emerged from the house, recognisable for his confidence as much as his greatcoat. Eaton Falmage. Eliza’s heart skipped as he waved and strode towards them. He knew, then. Her secret. One of them, at least, was out. Would he be angry she hadn’t told him?

  ‘I see you’ve called for reinforcements. Have you tired of my company already?’ He was all easy laughter and grins. ‘I met this fine young lady on the road on my way home from Penzance. She was stranded.’ He gave Sophie a wink and then fixed Eliza with his merry stare. ‘You can imagine my surprise when she told me she was yours. For a moment I didn’t believe her. How could that be possible? I thought. In none of our conversations had the mention of children ever come up.’ He was teasing her and scolding her all at once. His gaze turned serious. ‘But then I decided it must be true. After all, there are other things you haven’t told me as well.’ Such as her mine business. Or the fact that she was the second Mrs Blaxland.

  ‘You must forgive me, I’m a very private person.’ She rested a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. ‘I do thank you for your timely intervention and your efforts. Once again, I am in your debt.’

  Eaton shook his head. ‘I am not keeping score, Mrs Blaxland.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ she replied coolly, a little frisson of awareness passing between them.

  ‘A man of honour doesn’t leave a young girl and her governess stranded on the road, score or not,’ Eaton scolded and she demurred. She’d not meant to slander his honour. What was wrong with her? Had her life really become nothing more than tally marks in ledgers? A keeping of score between her friends and her enemies?

  Miss Gilchrist bustled up, having recovered her senses, ready to take charge of Sophie. ‘Shall we go to our rooms and see to the unpacking, Miss Sophie?’ She ushered Sophie away, the girl chattering excitedly about seeing the house.


  ‘Does she never stop talking?’ Eaton asked with a laugh. It wasn’t meanly said. ‘I find it a marvel she has so much to say.’ He slanted her a sideways glance. ‘Unlike her mother, apparently. Why didn’t you tell me, Eliza?’

  ‘Would it have mattered? Would you not have offered the house?’ Eliza answered swiftly.

  ‘Of course it would have mattered. I would have offered more. There are toys in the nursery at Falmage Hill just gathering dust. I’ll have someone clean them up and send them down. There are picture books, a boat, toy soldiers, my sisters’ tea sets and dolls.’

  ‘Your sisters?’ Eliza interrupted, intrigued.

  ‘Four of them, all younger than me, and a younger brother, too.’ Eaton shook his head. ‘They were the bane of my existence growing up, but now that my sisters are all married and live away with my darling nieces and nephews, I love them far more than I ever did when we were all together.’ He chuckled. ‘They don’t come here any more. Falmage Hill is too far away and there are too many of them. It’s quite the mobilisation. It’s much easier for me to travel to them.’

  ‘You miss them.’ Eliza heard the wistfulness in his voice. He was always so confident, always in charge, always knew what to do. It was hard to imagine there were any voids in his life, any gaps he struggled to fill.

  ‘I suppose I do, in my own way.’ He grinned, but Eliza wasn’t fooled. He’d grinned to hide the hurt. ‘I’ll tell Cook to send extra cake. Sophie told me her favourite dessert is chocolate cake, but that any cake will do in a pinch. Very practical, your daughter is, very sensible when it comes to desserts.’

  ‘Perhaps Cook should send food for three.’ The spontaneity of the offer surprised even her. The words were out before she could take them back. She was toying with temptation now, creating more time in his intoxicating presence, and she was being bold. Perhaps too bold. He might read an invitation in it. Eliza hastily backtracked, offering him a way out. ‘That is, if you’re not previously engaged or if Sophie hasn’t already talked your ears off.’