Wilma shook her head. “Harry told me Leathem’s wife ran off with one of his grooms soon after he married her. Supposedly, Fielding was head over tails in love with her.”
“Oh my! That’s awful. What happened? What did the earl do?”
“My Harry doesn’t normally repeat gossip, but he did say Leathem’s wife drowned while fleeing with her erstwhile lover. It happened almost two decades ago, so Harry didn’t know much else about it. Only that Leathem’s wife is buried at Four Towers in Kent. Presumably, the groom escaped unscathed and was never captured nor was his body found.”
Emily sat very quiet for a long moment before she turned her crystal gaze on her friend, her eyes brimming with more questions. “The earl was quite honest about his feelings, describing ours wasn’t a love match. I believe I’ll be well taken care of, of course, but I still have trouble making up my mind. Tell me, Willy, what you think I should do.”
“Have you feelings about him?”
“None of a deeper kind, although I’m still flabbergasted by his offer. I sense other things about him though…mostly in his tone of voice. But what I saw in his eyes and heard from his lips was cynicism about love and romance that bothers me. Perhaps, now that you told me about his wife, I understand him better because of her infidelity. I glimpsed loneliness in him. If his wife cuckolded him, that could be reason enough not him to remarry for years. Something like that is too difficult to forgive and forget. And, yes, he may be lonely, but he may also be rather wary of falling in love again.
“The earl, however, explained to me about wanting a wife to launch Lilianne and fact it would fulfill his promise in her parents’ will.” Emily grasped Wilma’s hand tight. “Oh, Wilma, I-I’ve worried this bone around ever since I awoke, turning it over and over in my mind. What is best for him…and what is good for me? I’m almost ready to agree, but I’m still afraid."
Wilma asked, “Did he give you an ultimatum?”
Emily gulped. “He asked me to give him an answer before he…we…leave here. You said the duke’s party ends with an extravagant ball, right?”
Wilma nodded.
“Leathem asked me to save him the last waltz that night, and he wants my answer then.” Emily locked her gaze on Wilma’s face. “So, I suppose he did give me an ultimatum. If I accept, we’ll be married next week. We’ll pick Lilianne up in Oxfordshire and bring her back to London and get her launched soon after our wedding. Right now, she’s visiting his aunt."
Wilma asked, “Did he say anything else when you spoke last night?”
“Only that he’d like more private time with me so we can get to know each other better. Oh, Willy, what am I going to do?” Emily moaned. “Should I marry him?”
“Yours is an odd situation, Em.” Wilma hummed to herself, unconsciously. “Somewhat different from anything I know of.” Wilma sighed out loud. “Firstly, peers don’t usually marry governesses. It’s rather bad form.” Wilma pondered a moment before adding, “But I know, too, that it has happened more than once. And you are not common.”
Emily rose again and began to pace, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “There’s something else I didn’t tell you,” she began. “And it frightens me. So I had best spit it out this minute.” She turned on a heel and halted in front Wilma.
“Frightened, you say? Of what, Em? You don’t mean you’re afraid of the earl?”
“No. I’m afraid of my Uncle Eustace.”
Emily again took her seat and leaned toward Wilma. “Last night I had a frightful dream. I have no idea what prompted it. Perhaps the blow to my head, but…well, I dreamt about Eustace.”
“Your nasty uncle?”
“Ye-es,” Emily hissed. “It wasn’t a dream. It was more like a nightmare!” Emily shuddered. “I was standing outside the Tower of London looking up, and I saw him standing high above me. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never been anywhere near the Tower, Willy.” Emily drew in a tiny breath. “I heard my uncle cursing me, swearing he would escape from the Tower, find me, and demand my inheritance. Or do worse, if I didn’t give it to him. He claimed I owed it to him.”
“Good heavens, that’s horrible! What happened, Emmie, when you woke up?”
“That’s when the earl tapped on my door. I almost forgot about Eustace and his threats because I was in shock after talking with Leathem. What do you suppose my nightmare meant? Something bad if I marry the earl?” Emily exhaled. “Or worse—if I don’t!” Emily slouched down beside her friend. “My uncle gives me the shivers. He makes my skin crawl even though I am no longer a youngster.”
Wilma patted Emily’s forearm consolingly. “I don’t see how the government could release a traitor like that, but what do I know?” Then Wilma’s expression brightened. “You would be under the earl’s protection if you wed him, Emmie. It’s as good a reason as any if you’re that afraid of your uncle. Never mind other reasons.”
Emily replied with a wry smile. “But first I must make up my mind.”
Wilma’s forehead smoothed. “Well, we have four days left at the duke’s party. Let’s see how the earl behaves, and what he says when you see him again. You should get to know him, Em. Consider his offer…and him.” Wilma pursed her lips. “If only you had come out two years ago when I did, none of this might never have happened. You would probably be married by now like me.” Wilma smiled again patting her friend’s arm. “Leathem’s proposal isn’t unreasonable, now that I think about it. Marriage proposals like that are often made during the season. And Leathem’s sounds genuine, so don’t discard his unless this marriage…or him…are something you can’t live with.”
Chapter 9
A treasure hunt was announced for the entertainment for tonight’s festivities.
“Come now,” the duke said, “my wife thought up this bit of silliness, so our younger guests, at least, must participate. She called the treasure hunt, “A Lady’s Gamble.” The duke’s silver brows twitched, and he winked openly at men in the room. “My duchess has promised an hour of dancing later, but first, the treasure hunt. Couples have an hour to find and bring back what is written on their card. Now, gentlemen, dig out a card from that large bowl in the center of the room. It indicates the name of your hunt partner. I’ll set my watch soon and send you off. Hurry now. Time is fleeting.”
The older guests grunted. Many declined to join the festivities, but that was to be expected. Some scurried to alcoves where tables were set up for card games. Others settled on French-styled furniture to chat, ignoring the hunt, and gossiping rather than playing the game.
Acquiring a hunt partner was a matter of blind chance. On a lady’s calling card with her name was a list of three items with reasonable clues. Since Emily did not own a calling card, Wilma had crossed off her name and wrote in Emily’s name.
“This is going to be fun,” Wilma chortled, squeezing Emily’s arm as they mounted the stairs to the Rose and Blue salons. “I haven’t played this game for ages. I wonder what my partner and I must look for.”
Normally, Gavin wouldn’t join with such a silly game, but tonight he reached a big hand into the bowl, fished around inside it, hoping to pull out Emily’s card. When he read the name of the Marquess of Treford’s daughter, Ardella, he groaned inwardly. The chit was as young as his ward and not nearly as pretty nor likeable. Harry had dug out his wife’s card, but with Emily’s name written across it. Grinning, he showed it to the earl. In a flash, Gavin grabbed the square from Harry’s fingers and shoved the other girl’s card into the viscount’s.
“Thanks, old chap. I owe you one.”
“Bloody hell,” Harry sputtered. “Here now, Leathem! Come back with that!”
The earl strode off and was heading toward Emily and Wilma.
Wilma had joined the party guests while Emily lounged in her room after their morning chat. Captured by tangled vines of anxiety, Emily hadn’t decided yet to accept the earl’s offer. She nibbled at lunch when Betsy brought it up on a tra
y, and afterward reclined for another nap. By evening, she was feeling more herself and went down to supper. She didn’t plan to participate in the treasure hunt. Nevertheless, Wilma tossed Emily’s name in the bowl. ’
Lord Dane Witherspoon, one of the duke’s youngest guests, had picked Wilma’s card. He bowed and grinned up at her. “I’ve played this game before,” he said, his adolescent tones crackling with excitement. “If we hurry, ma’am, we can return as winners.”
Wilma glanced over at Emily, an amused gleam shining in her eyes. “Ma’am?” She chuckled throatily. “Dear me, has my hair turned gray overnight.” The wry remark was meant for Emily’s ears only. “However, I’m looking forward to having a lark with my adolescent partner.” She nudged Emily and laughed. “Did you hear what Lord Witherspoon said Emmie? We are going to beat you and the earl to the punch bowl.” And with that, Wilma grabbed the young lord’s arm. “Let the games begin, my lord!” The grinning pair scuttled away, leaving Emily staring up at Leathem. Soon other treasure hunters spilled out of the Rose Room and onto a wide, long hall of the mansion. Laughing couples hurried to snatch up items written on their cards.
Now Emily’s heart lurched when the earl halted in front of her, bowed, reached out, and grasped her hand.
“I believe, Miss Dancy, you and I are destined to be…uh…partners in tonight’s game. Shall we get on with it?” Emily and Gavin were the last couple to leave, egged on by the smiling duchess and duke. Gavin took Emily’s hand as they strolled along the corridor until he halted them and faced her. His ungloved hand gripped hers. “I’m of a mind to forget this game since you still look rather pale to me, Emily. Do you still feel unwell? Or is our talk last night—and not our accident—what is troubling you?”
Of course, our talk is bothering me. But there is another reason, too. Or, should I say—other reasons.
The earl’s touch had shot goose bumps along her skin; his strong fingers on her arm. Awareness bloomed as he tucked her hand into the curve of his elbow.
Sitting with him on his horse, she experienced those odd feelings. Tonight wasn’t that different. It left her breathless, reminding that this handsome, rich, titled nobleman had asked her to marry him.
“Emily, dear girl, let’s find a quiet spot…and talk some more, shall we?”
She didn’t mistake his endearment. Her father had often called her ‘his dear girl.’ Did Leathem think of her as his daughter—rather than as his wife? Quite suddenly, she hoped that wasn’t the case. The more she mulled over her predicament, the more she wondered what her future would be like if she agreed to the earl’s proposal.
“I shall find a place that is private so we can chat. The treasure hunt only lasts an hour. We can return when the others do.” Gavin chuckled. “It doesn’t surprise me one bit that Witherspoon and Lady Wilma will win. I heard the young lord is quite the trickster.” Gavin didn’t know his way around the duke’s castle, so he kept walking until he spied an open doorway. A nearby lighted sconce poured faint illumination into an unoccupied room. He guided Emily inside and latched the door behind them.
“Stand still until I open the drapes. There’s a full moon tonight, and I can probably locate a candle and a flint here as well.”
Emily stopped in front of the closed portal. She knew the rules of proper behavior. Her mother had drummed them into her. It wasn’t proper for her to be left alone in a closed room with an unmarried man. The earl was a widower, however. Did that alter things? Emily’s heartbeat flapped against her ribs. Did it make it all right? Somewhat confused, she wasn’t sure.
The earl located a flint and a single candle. A warm, orange glow blossomed in his hand. He came toward Emily with the lit candle and took hold of her elbow. “Come, sit down, Emily. Over here.” He led her to a couch. “I don’t think we shall be interrupted.”
Emily settled her new secondhand gown around her, smoothing the silky folds with nervous fingers.
Placing the candlestick on a nearby table, Gavin flipped his tails out of the way and lowered himself next to her on the couch. “Now, what shall we talk about?”
“Uh…I’m sure I don’t know, my lord.”
“Not, my lord. Do me that favor, Emily and do as I ask. Call me Gavin.”
“It’s not proper I should call you that. Not if I don’t agree…to accept your offer…”
He quickly captured one of her hands and raised it to his lips. His dark eyes were unreadable in the dim glow of the single candle. “Dammit, I hope you don’t refuse,” he muttered, unconsciously huffing in an exasperated breath as he brushed lips across her fingertips. “I don’t want you to rush your answer, Emily. But think long and hard about what we discussed. If you need more time, take it.”
A silent moment later, the earl grumbled, “Blast it!” Gavin blurted out, grooves deepening his broad forehead. “Are you saying you’re turning me down?”
A butterfly fluttered in Emily’s chest doing odd things to her insides. “I—I didn’t decide yet.” She pressed on. “But shouldn’t we discuss more than just wedding vows. More of what…our life…and my future will take its course.”
Holding her hand, Gavin ran a thumb lightly over her knuckles, aimlessly, it would seem. “Yes, I suppose I should tell you what to expect. Ask me whatever you wish to know. I promise to be as candid as I can be when I answer you.”
Emily paused and cleared her throat. “All right.” She drew in a deep breath. “First, I would like you to agree as part of our agreement that my inheritance, the one I am expecting soon, will belong to me and me alone…”
“Your inheritance?” A dark eyebrow quirked upward. She had mentioned it during their meeting in his study. “Oh, that’s right!” he added with a wry smile. “Not those funds you expect from me when I finally stick my spoon in the wall, am I right?” His eyes glistened with a hint of humor, but he went on. “Emily, I have no problem with you receiving an inheritance of your own. But can you tell me what it entails?”
“I can’t, I’m afraid, because I don’t know.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “All I know is that I am to receive an inheritance when I turn one and twenty.”
“And when is that supposed to take place?”
“I’m guessing sometime in June.”
“Guessing? Don’t you know?”
Emily’s cheeks flushed as she swallowed her embarrassment. “I-I’m not sure of the precise date,” she answered, truthfully, seeing questions in his gaze. “I-I never asked my parents what day I was born.”
“You mean your parents never told you?”
“No. Not that I remember.”
“Umm, that is strange,” the earl muttered. “Do you know where you were born?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that either.”
“But surely there are records in the village…”
Emily interrupted him. “I wasn’t born in that village. My parents brought me there as a very young child. They moved about often and came here seeking work in Toynton-under-Hill. My father was a cooper, and my mother did fine embroidery and sewing. They liked the area, so they settled in the village in Surrey.”
“What else can you tell me about your background, Emily? I didn’t ask much when I hired you, but now, well, I’m more than curious. Especially, since I know you grew up in a hamlet nearby.” Gavin’s piercing dark orbs bored into hers. He knew so little about the woman he asked to be his wife. It was odd, though, that she didn’t know her natal day or where she was born.
Emily leaned her stiff, bruised shoulders against the couch and attempted to relax. “I know my mother’s maiden name, because she let it slip. It was Morrow, and she grew up in Kent. Beyond that, my mother told me she married John Dancy out of love for him, and for no other reason.”
Gavin’s ears perked up. “Well, that’s a beginning.” He rubbed a broad palm across his chin. “If you wish to know where you came from and whom might be left of your family, perhaps, I can help.”
E
mily’s eyes widened. “You can? Oh, my, yes!” Emily exclaimed excitedly. “I would be ever so glad to know that, my lord!”
“Very well. Now, what is next?” Gavin asked gently, a smile creasing his lips.
“I have no further questions.”
“Hmm? Well, I have some.”
Emily’s gaze locked onto his face.
“Marriage contracts made with those as young as you are, are normally agreed upon by a parent or guardian. I would rather not face Dancy when you agree to my proposal. I suppose, however, I shall have to visit your uncle in the Tower and get his approval.”
“Oh, good heavens, no! You mustn’t see him!” Emily pulled away and rose from the couch abruptly. She turned and walked to a window. Silvery moonlight streamed through the glass, delineating her tense silhouette. “He is an awful man…quite mean…and terribly wicked. My lord, I am quite afraid of him!”
“Emily? Good God! What has the rogue done to you?”
She suddenly spun around and walked hurriedly to the door to the hall, and yanked it open.
Gavin sprang up and followed her.
“No!” she exclaimed sharply, raising a hand to hold him off. “I don’t wish to talk anymore tonight, Lord Leathem. I-I’m going to my room. Don’t follow me, please. I wish to be alone. And I beg you to make my excuses to the duke and duchess. And to the Porters. Explain that my head still bothers me. Which it does. G’night, m’lord.” She left Gavin wondering what had happened here.
Chapter 10
EUSTACE Dancy huddled on the narrow cot in his tower cell. Taken into custody two weeks ago and lodged in the Tower of London, he managed to send help to his cronies for funds to ease his incarceration. First, he paid to be removed from among other prisoners—pickpockets, thieves, murderers—to a private cell. He next spent handsomely for a straight-backed, wooden chair, and a small table upon which rested a half flagon of wine and a single glass. A stack of dirty dishes from today’s noon meal spread atop the table.
A washstand with a basin, hard soap, tattered towels, and shaving instruments stood in a corner of his cell. A metal chamber pot was shoved beneath the wooden stand. Not the comforts of home, but more than what other inmates, crowded into cells of twenty or more, endured. The vile stench of men kept in close quarters, sweating, pissing against the walls, and doing other things, permeated the larger cells’ atmosphere. There was even a small square carpet on Eustace’s private cell to stop dampness from seeping from up the gray stone of the Tower. Always slick of tongue, Eustace talked himself into the rather lush surroundings after naming names, falsifying his information, and managing not to incriminate himself. He would not hang nor would he be transported. Negotiations on his upcoming release were now ongoing.
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