The Secrets of Lord Lynford

by Bronwyn Scott

  Eaton’s body stirred behind her, his voice warm at her ear. ‘Have I acquitted myself appropriately, my Queen?’

  ‘Extraordinarily so,’ she murmured, wishing to hold on to the night just a moment longer. They’d loved and slept, and loved and slept until they could conquer exhaustion no more as dawn crept up on them and the game had ended, taking oblivion with it. She was the Queen no longer, but a beleaguered businesswoman beset on all sides by those who wished to see her fail. Eaton moved against her and she amended the thought. Perhaps she wasn’t beleaguered on all sides. Perhaps she had one ally, one person who wished for her success.

  ‘Perhaps I might acquit myself one more time,’ he whispered, his arm tight about her waist, hugging her securely against him. She would be his Aeval one last time.

  Eliza moaned, her bottom wiggling against him. Morning pleasure was a habit one could easily get used to, addicted to. To wake like this beside such a man was heavenly indeed. No, not such a man. That suggested there were other men who could command such a response from her, that such a response was available on a whim.

  No, only Eaton would do. Not Blaxland, not Detford. None of the men who’d tried to woo her had ever succeeded in wringing a response from her even close to this. Nor would any man ever, her conscience counselled. Eaton was one in a million and she knew why. He wanted nothing from her that she did not want for herself. She was safe with him. He did not want to take the mines by manipulation or by matrimony. He slid into her, faster this time, his slow, drowsy seduction increasing its urgency as she gasped, her hands gripping his arm where he held her close as she came apart.

  She was reluctant to put the pieces back together. It would require getting out of bed, getting dressed, dealing with Brenley. It would also require putting distance between her and Eaton. That distance had to start today. That was what she’d promised herself and that was what the situation required if she was going to survive the scandal intact. Eliza sighed. She still had to be the one to do this. He could not fight this battle for her, although she knew he would insist otherwise.

  ‘That sigh sounds ominous.’ Eaton kissed her shoulder.

  ‘I need to get up. I can’t stay in bed all day.’ For so many reasons.

  ‘Why not?’ Eaton propped his dark head on a hand, looking entirely too seductive by dawn’s light.

  ‘Because it solves nothing.’ She shifted to the side of the bed and swung her feet over the edge, shivering now that she was away from the heat of his body.

  ‘What can we solve today? We can do nothing more until we hear from Inigo.’ She could feel his eyes on her as she moved about the room, gathering up her clothes.

  She stopped her gathering and faced him. ‘We can’t solve the issue with the mining board, but we can solve what lies between us. This has to end. Even without pressure from the board, there’s nothing here for us.’

  Eaton sat up, hands behind his head, his torso with its dark hair on blatant display, a reminder of what she was giving up—all that masculine virility. He smiled and her heart thudded. ‘Nothing here for us? Do you really believe that? I don’t. If you do believe there is nothing here, then it seems you and I have very different understandings of what has occurred between us in the past month.’

  Eliza set her clothes down, hands on hips. ‘All right, you tell me what you think happens next.’

  ‘I think we wait. We wait out Brenley. We wait for news from Inigo. I have no intention of deserting you in the heart of the storm, which is precisely where we are now. I am in no hurry to divest myself of you, Eliza. Yet you seem in quite the hurry to be rid of me. I am wounded.’

  ‘You’ll recover,’ Eliza said sharply.

  ‘I’m not so sure I will.’ The lack of humour in his voice caused her to pause. There was no laughter in his tone; he was in earnest. Eaton crawled out of bed and wrapped a sheet about his waist. ‘Let me help you dress. We can take Sophie to the woods today and hunt for another round of truffles. Baldor needs a good run. I’ll have a picnic packed.’

  ‘I have business in town, errands,’ Eliza protested, but Eaton was adamant on this point.

  ‘Do not go into town today, Eliza. Let Brenley do his worst. Your absence will simply show everyone how little you care for his accusations and how little you are worried.’

  She wanted to argue, but his advice made sense. It would be best not to invite comment by going into town. Still, she did not want him making decisions for her. He’d already made so many. She’d known it would happen like this; first the house, then dinner, then the little entertainments with Sophie, all harmless in the beginning. But now, here she was in his bed, allowing him to repopulate the shareholders with his friends, allowing him to decide where she went. ‘You have done too much.’ It was a warning that he’d exceeded the allotment of favours she’d take from him.

  His hands rested at her shoulders and she very much feared there was every chance they’d be back in bed before she got her dress on. ‘Eliza, let me in.’

  ‘You cannot fight for me. I’ve explained.’

  ‘No, I cannot. But we can fight together. I can fight with you. You just have to trust me, Eliza.’

  Eliza said nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The end of October was out in full, glorious colour. The golden leaves of the Trevaylor Woods crunched under their boots as they strolled beneath the autumn foliage, the sound serving as a reminder of the silence that had sprung up between them in the orangery. Up ahead, Sophie threw handfuls of leaves into the air, laughing and dodging among the trees, while Baldor wagged his tail and did his best to get in the way. Eliza envied the duo their romp, oblivious to the tension that had risen between her and Eaton. She had said very little to him since they’d left the orangery, focusing an over-bright smile on Sophie and getting ready for the picnic. In short, she was ignoring him. Did he not understand he was asking for the moon? The sooner she and Sophie left the better. This dalliance had gotten out of hand. She’d consented to the experiment, but now it had to end. She would retreat to Truro and clutch her fifty-five per cent majority to her for all it was worth. No matter what Brenley did, she would rise from the ashes.

  Eaton stooped to pick up a particularly vibrant red leaf and twirled the stem in his hand, breaking the silence. ‘Autumn has always been my favourite season. My father started bringing me truffle hunting when I was Sophie’s age. We brought Baldor’s grandsire with us. My father’s hounds are bred for truffling. They have incredible noses,’ he explained, casting her a smile, his dark eyes full of nostalgia. ‘I loved those days when it was just the two of us, tramping through the woods. We’d stop by the stream and build a bonfire. That’s where he taught me how to roast mushrooms. Sometimes we’d bring eggs and sausages.’

  ‘It sounds delicious. Is that where your love for food comes from? You and your father must be very close.’ She returned his smile warily, not wanting to be drawn into the story, this precious glimpse into his childhood.

  ‘We are. In many ways, he is my best friend. He taught me how to be a man, how a man takes care of his family, of friends, of those less fortunate around him. He taught me how to be a duke, when the time comes, although I am in no hurry to lose him. In fact, I can’t even imagine it. It will be so much worse than losing Richard Penlerick.’ A shadow crossed his face and he looked away from her, clearing his throat against emotion.

  ‘You’re very lucky to have a father who cares for you,’ Eliza offered, the wistfulness evident in her own voice. ‘Sophie was four when Huntingdon died. She barely remembers him at all. I worry for her, growing up with a mother who must also be a father to her.’ Eliza stooped to gather up leaves into a bouquet, aware she might have said too much, given the wrong impression. She didn’t want Eaton to think she was angling for a proposal despite her previous arguments to the contrary. She didn’t want to quarrel with him any more today. She’d rather enjoy this after
noon for what it was—a moment out of time where she could set aside her worries over the board and what came next.

  ‘Do you honestly think being mother and father to Sophie is your only choice? That you absolutely must remain alone for the rest of your life? That there could never be a man worthy of your trust and respectful of your independence? Who could love you just the way you are?’ Eaton was studying her. She was aware of his gaze, hot and contemplative. ‘Humans are meant to marry, I think. You included.’ Eaton handed her a golden fistful of leaves to add to the bouquet.

  ‘And yet you haven’t,’ Eliza was quick to argue. ‘You, who perhaps has more reason than most to marry.’

  ‘I keep finding better things to do.’

  ‘Like taking care of mining heiresses?’ she joked, but it was as she’d suspected. She was a project, something to fill the void for this energetic man. She could be nothing more. He was meant for a different type of woman: a younger woman, a more innocent woman, a better-born woman. He was not for her, not in that way.

  ‘I happen to like mining heiresses.’ They stopped by a tree and Eaton distractedly chipped off a piece of bark. ‘I used to think I wouldn’t ever marry.’

  She slanted him a questioning look. ‘Why not? Surely it is expected of you?’

  ‘No, not of me.’ He slouched against the tree trunk, arms crossed, dark eyes serious. ‘Can I tell you something, Eliza? Something I wouldn’t want anyone else to know.’

  He was asking her to keep a secret. A real secret. She’d learned to read him well enough to know this was not flirtation. She straightened, her leaf bouquet forgotten. She reached for his hands and held on. Intuition hinted whatever he wanted to tell her was difficult to speak of. ‘You may tell me anything, Eaton.’

  * * *

  He would rather tell her anything but this. But honour demanded it. If he did not tell her, there was no possibility of moving forward. ‘When I was fourteen there was a measles epidemic in Kilkhampton, which is not far from our family seat in Bude. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I was young, stupid and overly optimistic about my own immortality as many adolescent boys are. I sneaked away to take in a horse fair on the outskirts of the town. At fourteen I had no notion how illness was spread. I reasoned the fair was far enough from the village and I’d never been sick a day in my life, not the slightest fever ever.

  ‘My luck ran out that day. I caught the measles. I took ill and almost died. We were fortunate. No one else in the family caught it and I lived. Many families around Bude lost loved ones that year.’ Eliza nodded. Measles, mumps, any disease of that nature was a mother’s nightmare. But her thoughts weren’t for mothers in that moment. Her thoughts were for Eaton and where this story was headed and why she might need to know.

  ‘It took most of that summer for me to recover. I’ve never been so weak. I hope I am never that weak again.’ She squeezed his hands, giving him her strength once more the way she had that first night in the orangery when he’d told her about Richard Penlerick. ‘I didn’t realise it until a few years later, but it left me...unable to father children.’

  Her brow knit. She was trying to be delicate and yet it was obvious her disbelief and curiosity were so much stronger. ‘But, you don’t seem to have any trouble...in the bedroom.’

  ‘Sterility is not impotence. I can sleep with a woman as much as I like, but it will never result in a child.’ Eaton gave a dry laugh. ‘I know some men who wouldn’t mind that sort of problem. I am not one of them.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t be.’ He could see the thoughts chasing across her face: how good he was with Sophie, how dedicated he was to the boys at the school. Please, he prayed, don’t offer me pity. He simply wanted her to understand. He didn’t need consolation. Eliza did not disappoint. ‘How do you know for sure? Is there a test?’

  ‘Just my own and some observations I made. There are other boys in Kilkhampton who caught the measles and have not sired children in their adulthood. I think it’s unlikely there are that many barren females in Kilkhampton.’ He shook his head. He knew what she was thinking. He’d once thought it, too. ‘Eliza, do not give yourself false hope, that perhaps I am wrong, that there’s a chance somehow.’ This was the hard part, telling her about his experiment. ‘I did a test, Eliza. My seed is dead. I put it under my microscope in the orangery and it didn’t move. I know microscopic lenses are imperfect and I am no doctor but, taken with the other observations, there is no margin for hope. My father and I consulted a doctor in London and he was of the same opinion. He had made several studies of men who’d contracted measles in their childhood or adolescence. Not everyone was unable to father children, but there were enough to suggest it was a significant possibility.’

  He waited for the pity, the platitudes. He waited for her to politely move away from him as if she could catch it. She would leave him now that she knew loving him, being with him, came at such a price. But Eliza did none of those things. Her words were full of gratitude for his honesty. ‘Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.’ No, he could have kept the awful secret, could have let her believe their childless union was somehow her fault. It wouldn’t have been a hard argument to make. She’d had one child in ten years with Huntingdon. Perhaps it hadn’t been his age after all. Society would easily participate in that lie. But Eaton could not do that to her, this woman who wanted a family, who thought he might be able to give her one.

  ‘The school isn’t just for Cade and Rosenwyn, is it?’ Eliza said softly. ‘It’s for you, too, to fill a void. All this time, I thought your life was perfect. The boys at the school, they’re your children in their own way, aren’t they?’

  ‘Much like the miners’ children are for you. It seems we must make families where we can find them.’ He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each of them. ‘You and Sophie have been a family to me in these weeks. I will always be grateful to you for that. Huntingdon Blaxland was a lucky man.’

  Eliza laughed. ‘He thought so, too, but I always thought I was the lucky one. He gave me Sophie and a second chance.’ Baldor bayed in the distance, a reminder that the hound and Sophie had run far ahead of them. Eaton pushed off the tree trunk and they began to walk again.

  ‘He did more than give me financial security. He gave me the ability to make that security for myself. Hunt enjoyed the fact that I took an interest in his mining empire. It entertained him to show me how to calculate tonnage and profit, to take me along when he explored the new shafts and to explain the new technologies that harvested ore faster. For our first anniversary I asked for stock in the company and for each anniversary after that, then as a birthing gift when Sophie was born. I don’t know if he ever took me seriously, but it didn’t matter. I took me seriously. In his will, he left me twenty per cent of the stock, but I’d amassed another twenty per cent in gifts during our marriage. I knew I’d outlive Huntingdon. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to make every moment count.’

  The very words of his toast from Richard Penlerick’s funeral. Eliza knew the import of that. ‘I thought you were extraordinary from the start and I was right. What a surprise it must have been for the likes of Brenley.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you should have seen his face when the will was read. He’d been expecting to be named head of the corporation. He’s hated me ever since. Now, he’s having his revenge.’

  Eliza Blaxland was remarkable for her strength, her tenacity, her foresight. If he’d been uncertain of his love earlier, he was certain of it now. The woman he wanted to spend his life with was walking beside him, but the wanting did not make her any more attainable. ‘Eliza, I will keep you safe from Brenley. I will marry you if it comes to that.’

  She gave him a kind smile and squeezed his hand. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t.’

  Yes, that was probably the best to hope for. He wouldn’t steal her dreams. She’d already had to choose between financial security and a family once. He didn’t want he
r to have to choose again.

  * * *

  Eliza was hungry for proof of Brenley’s treachery. Eaton could not keep her away from Porth Karrek another day, so he did the next best thing: he accompanied her when she went to the mine. He stood at her shoulder as she asked Gillie Cardy about progress on the tunnel, making sure that digging hadn’t extended beyond her specifications. He went below ground with her as she inspected the new timbering in the shaft. He did nothing that would usurp her authority or give the impression that she took direction from him. But very soon he would have to intervene. There was a new tension when she passed the miners—gazes that slid away, or unfriendly bold ones that he was quick to dispel with a glare of his own.

  ‘Sir Brenley and Mr Detford were here yesterday.’ Cardy was distant but polite. ‘They said we were to push the tunnel further out, after all.’

  Eaton watched Eliza for the slightest hint of anger and found it in the narrowing of her eyes. ‘They have no authority here, Mr Cardy,’ Eliza reminded him in steely tones. ‘Detford merely oversees the mine for me and Brenley is not the majority shareholder.’

  ‘It wasn’t clear whose orders we should follow, begging your pardon.’ Gillie shifted nervously from one foot to the other and Eaton felt sorry for him. Dealing with an angry Eliza was not a comfortable experience. Gillie held out a crumpled handbill. ‘Sir Brenley said you would be resigning soon.’