With that gentle admonition, the earl pressed warm, moist lips lightly against Emily’s forehead again. Little did she know how much more he wanted to do. His feelings for her had burgeoned in earnest when Eustace took her captive. He yearned to enfold her in his arms, pull her young body close, feel her lush breasts warm and soft against him, and do more than comfort her. He wanted to make her his—now and always.
However, after the unexpected and horrifyingly events of today, the time didn’t feel right. Not yet, but soon. He believed Emily had been badly shaken by stress and the danger she had gone though, although she dismissed any further fear of her uncle.
Slowly, Gavin let her small hands glide from his injured ones. He would press the Squire with deeper queries on the morrow. Ferret out more of what was unknown to him about the Morrows and Dancys, and their family connection.
Leaving Emily, Gavin quietly shut the door to her room. He went below, stopping at the concierge’s desk to reserve another night’s lodging for himself.
Meanwhile, in Grafton’s office, Squire Morrow and the lawyer engaged in a long and detailed discourse. First about Eustace Dancy, and next about Mary Morrow’s will. New information came to light concerning Grace and John Dancy’s elopement as the men delved into the legalities and legitimacy of Morrow’s granddaughter’s birth and inheritance.
Chapter 19
WHEN the two women awakened from their naps, Emily ordered supper trays sent up to her room. Neither girl wished to dine in the Inn’s public room.
“What happens now, Miss Emily?” Betsy asked, finishing her meal.
“I’m not sure,” Emily responded. “Gavin…err…the earl and me are to visit Squire Morrow again tomorrow. He wants to question my grandfather further about my family.”
“I thought that ‘twas why we went there today—”
“Yes, it was. But I was not able to ask the Squire anything pertinent before my uncle grabbed you and me and hustled us into Tunbridge Wells and Mr. Grafton’s office.”
Emily sighed.
“I’m sure, Betsy, that you overheard what Eustace said about my parents not being wed. I always simply believed my parents spoke their vows in church before a clergyman. The earl says—” She suddenly stopped, scoffing. “But the earl doesn’t know very much about my family other than what I told him when he hired me.”
Emily rose from the small table where the pair ate their evening meal. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I don’t want to think about anything tonight. I feel hollow inside, empty, and completely drained without a spark of life left in me after what happened to us today. You must feel the same way, Betsy.” She smiled wanly at Wilma’s maid. “Why don’t you seek your bed, too? We’ll be up early tomorrow to visit the Squire.”
“Aye, I’ll do what ye suggest. So, g’night, then, Miss Emily. I’ll leave our supper trays outside the door for the kitchen maids, and I will see ye in the mornin’.” Betsy shut the door and retreated to her room.
Emily changed into a fresh nightgown, believing she would fall asleep again immediately from nervous exhaustion. But she was wrong. Instead, her busy brain whirled and spun, jumbled images popping into her head and reminding her of the day’s horrible events. She lay on the mattress open-eyed while her tired muscles cramped, keeping her awake.
Her thoughts flicked back to Eustace. By now he must be under the watchful eyes of guards in Tunbridge Wells’ gaol. The earl’s powerful fists and the men who dragged him away must have silenced him. Rolling onto her side, Emily pulled a blanket higher over her shoulders, recalling the nightmare she had about her uncle. She didn’t want to go through that again. She buried the vision deep in her mind, but it still took a while before she fell asleep.
Her dreams tonight, however, were very different.
She was at the Duke of Carlisle’s house party with Leathem. The two of them were strolling along an overgrown path lined by bushes and towering trees, the same wilderness path she had taken to visit her parents’ grave the day the earl and his horse almost ran over her. A breeze teased the feathers on her bonnet, the one she purchased specially for the duke’s party. Leathem had placed her gloved hand in the warm curve of his elbow, his muscular forearm resting beneath her fingers. As they strolled, her heart thudded against her ribs more rapidly than it should. She felt breathless walking beside him.
Goodness, she thought, rolling over in bed, half awake and half asleep. It felt like weeks instead of days ago when she arrived at the duke’s house party with Wilma and Harry Porter. And now…slowly, her mind slid back into the dream.
The earl brought her to a halt on the path. She wondered why. Dark and handsome, tall and perfectly attired, he gripped her shoulders gently and turned her to face him. Ebony-colored eyes peered into hers beneath the wide brim of her bonnet. Questions hovered in his gaze as his lips formed the words, “You promised to give me an answer at the ball, but—”
Emily’s heart froze briefly before it began to beat again.
How do I know what is true or false? If what Eustace told me was not a packet of lies, London’s beau monde would never accept me as the earl’s countess—not only because he had married a governess, but because she was a bastard. And even if she were legitimate, she would be deemed a country mouse—a nobody—a commoner—not nearly lofty enough to bear the title of Countess Leathem, wife of the wealthy Earl of Leathem.
Only half awake, Emily flipped onto her back, remembering what else occurred in that dream. The earl had kissed her beneath a canopy of leaves high above them. Slowly, tenderly, at first—then more passionately. His desire was laced with carnal hunger, and his deepening kiss had left her shaken. Her fingertips and toes tingled. She remembered hearing birds chirping in the trees and small animals rustling the tall grass. Probably frightened by their intrusion. The rapid pounding of her heart, however, replaced other sounds when Leathem again took her lips in a profound, torrid kiss that had her sensibilities whirling into an unknown universe, one she had never known.
Leathem’s mouth was hot and persistent as sensations swirled through her psyche. An older man with a world of experience, he knew how to dissolve a woman into a quivering puddle of blancmange. She recalled his bruised, caressing hands. In her dream they roamed lightly but thoroughly over her torso, sliding up her ribs to cup and tease her breasts. He squeezed them gently before rubbing across her nipples already roused by his devastating kisses. Arms, strong and tight, held her close, as if he didn’t want to let her go.
Finally, Emily emerged from her dream feeling safe, warm, and happy. Her deep contentment lingered until she remembered her thoughts about illegitimacy still hung over her head like a smoke-filled London fog.
Leathem promised her things would be fine. But he had to been wishful thinking.
Emily sighed, burying her nose in the rough cloth of the Inn’s bed pillow. Wearied by distress and frazzled nerves, she again fell back to sleep.
* * * *
A peach-colored dawn brightened Emily’s chamber as she recalled parts of last night’s dreams. She even dreamt about Squire Morrow. Her dream about Leathem, however, had unsettled her. The earl had kissed her here yesterday, but lightly, on her forehead, and not as passionately as in her dream. On the wilderness path he kissed her in ways that were not quite proper. But she allowed him to kiss her in that dream, reveling in his caresses. And when she awakened this morning, safe and content, she felt better than she had in a very long time.
Stretching leisurely, Emily rubbed sleep out of her eyes, smiling for no reason. She listened to Betsy moving around next door. They both were unnerved and overset yesterday, but hopefully, a night’s sleep would cure them of the shivers.
When Betsy tapped on Emily’s door, she responded, “Come in,” her feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. “Did you sleep well, Betsy?” she asked when the girl approached her with a tray carrying delicious aromas wafting from under the dishes’ covers.
“Aye, that I
did. And I brung us both breakfast. Oh, but I must tell ye that I bumped into the earl belowstairs. He said to tell ye we should be ready to leave for Lesser Bodem at ten of the clock. He already alerted Lord Porter’s carriage driver for our trip.”
“Fine. I’m a little nervous about meeting my grandpapa again. From what I saw of him yesterday, he looked ancient. I didn’t think he’d be that old.” Emily looked somewhat disappointed.
“Granpapas tend to be both crotchety and hoary.” Betsy grinned at her. “Lots of whiskers and wrinkles. How old do ye think he should be?”
Emily grimaced, wryly. “I don’t have the faintest notion.”
Betsy giggled. “We’ll soon know, won’t we?” The maid rummaged through Emily’s luggage and pulled one of her gowns out and held it up. “Will this do?” She shook the wrinkles out of a russet-colored morning dress trimmed with ecru lace and dark green, velvet ribbons.
“Umm, yes, I that should be fine. I can still wear my bonnet with the cream-colored ostrich plume. But we had best hurry and get dressed. We mustn’t keep the earl waiting.”
* * * *
The Porters’ carriage and driver were waiting at the entrance to the Fallen Virgin Inn at ten o’clock. The earl lounged against its door.
“Good morning, Miss Dancy,” Gavin greeted Emily, straightening up and tipping a fingertip against his hat brim. “And, morning to you, too, Miss Squiller.”
Each woman dipped a tiny curtsy.
Opening the door for them, Gavin pulled down metal steps. They entered the carriage with the earl following close behind them.
“I daresay,” Leathem said as he tapped lightly on the vehicle’s roof to get the driver moving. “A night’s rest did a world of good for you both. You look a deal more bright-eyed and chipper this morning. Oh…and lest I forget. Earlier, I visited Tunbridge Wells’ magistrate.” The remark was meant for Emily. “Your uncle has ceased claiming his innocence. He sent Porter’s driver on a wild goose chase and then tied up Miss Squiller.” The earl’s eyes swung briefly toward Betsy. “That’s why no one was on the carriage’s bench when your cousin arrived and untied you, Miss Squiller.”
“I wondered where he got himself to, your lordship,” the maid responded. “I feel better now, or I mighta squealed on him to Lord Harry for leaving the carriage unattended.”
Rumbling out of town in the direction of Lesser Bodem, the Porter’s vehicle now lurched ahead. It soon entered the drive to Henry Morrow’s manor.
Mrs. Pearce greeted Emily, Betsy, and the earl at the front door. “The Squire has a touch of gout this morning,” she whispered when they paused in the foyer. “So he’s a mite grouchy. More than usual, I should say.” She chuckled, unable to hide a smile. “He mentioned ye’d be visiting us again, your lordship,” she said, turning to Gavin. “But I wasn’t told the ladies were coming with you.”
“I asked Miss Dancy and Miss Squiller to come along. Is the Squire ready to see us?”
“Aye. Come ahead.”
A slippered foot rested upon a small stool in Morrow’s cluttered study. Henry was scrunched low in his wingchair. “Come in, come in. Don’t let the warmth get out in the hallway what with the price of coal nowadays to heat this place,” Morrow grumbled. His gnarled fingers curled around a cane. He gestured to two of his visitors, pointing them toward straight-backed chairs. Then he said, “Mrs. Pearce, take the maid to the kitchen with you.” His heavy eyebrows twitched. “Go along with my housekeeper, Miss Squiller. I wish to speak with my visitors in private.” Again, he ordered Mrs. Pearce, “Now get on with it and bring us refreshments if you will.” The Squire then leaned back, his watery blue eyes fixed on the pair facing him.
“Good to see you again, Squire,” Gavin began. “I had hoped you’d feel better after yesterday’s ungodly mishaps.”
“I’d feel better without the gout plaguing me. But this blasted affliction comes with old age,” the Squire muttered, referring to his throbbing foot.
Emily sneaked a peek at her grandfather from beneath her bonnet’s rim. She was still unsure how to address him. Yesterday Eustace had hustled her out of the room before she had a good look at the old man who was trussed up with drapery cord. A gag had hidden his mouth, but she remembered his light blue eyes burning defiantly.
So far she hadn’t spoken, only bobbed her head in greeting. The old man returned a polite nod. She hoped he would greet her more warmly, and accept her immediately as his long lost granddaughter—his daughter’s child. Instead, their current meeting didn’t seem to bode well. Emily’s heart sank into her half boots. She sighed, unconsciously, crystal blue eyes swinging back and forth from Morrow to the earl.
“That dastardly devil trounced me, hurt me aplenty I must admit, Leathem. But he’s in gaol now, ain’t he?” Blue eyes, faded but crystal-clear like Emily’s, were a lot brighter than they were yesterday. “I’ll see that he gets a positive punishment this time when I tell my story in court. Dancy’s a blasted thief, and he kidnapped and threatened his ward. If not dangling at the end of a noose, I’ll see that he spends the rest of his miserable life at hard labor. In the hulks, the colonies, or New Wales if I can manage it.”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly, Squire,” Gavin responded. “But I—we—came here today to discuss a different matter.” Leathem met the old man’s gaze straight on. “I am no longer thinking about Dancy or his criminal history. What I am curious about is your daughter, Grace. And even more curious, I wish to know about her daughter. Can you tell us more, Squire Morrow?”
The squire explained Grace’s elopement with John Dancy just before Mrs. Pearce, accompanied by Betsy, knocked on the door, carrying in two trays—a teapot with cups and saucers, and another with a plate piled with raisin scones and a bowl of clotted cream.
Newly surprised, Emily had learned her parents had indeed been married in a church in Wrotham, the village in which Gavin’s ancestral estate was located. She discovered also that Morrow was her grandfather, and her grandmother had been born to aristocrats. She clung tightly to that knowledge, but would examine the Squire’s explanation more closely when she had time to think. The earl promised Emily they would visit Wrotham’s church on their way back to Surrey and verify her parent’s marriage. Emily definitely wasn’t a bastard, she was the Dancy’s legitimate offspring.
Finally, a harried-looking and weary Henry Morrow suggested that Leathem and Emily meet again with Percy Grafton. Later in Grafton’s office, Emily signed several legal documents. Much later, Emily and Gavin visited Wrotham’s clergyman who then checked old records. Emily was told of her true natal day and that she was baptized in Wrotham as well. Her birth date turned out to be the ninth of April twenty-one years ago, not the month of June. The earl sent a messenger to Grafton stating that Emily had legal rights to inherit from her grandmother, Mary Morrow, and provided written verification from Wrotham’s vicar. The lawyer began the process which would release the funds to Emily. It turned out, she was rather a wealthy young lady.
* * * *
When three weary travelers arrived at the Duke of Carlisle’s castle days later, more than a few eyebrows were raised. Wilma’s questions, of course, had come fast and furious when she deserted Harry and rushed to meet her friend, seeing Emily and Betsy were back. She was surprised to note the Earl of Leathem had returned with them, too.
“Emmie, you must tell me this minute what happened in Tunbridge Wells,” Wilma pressed. “I am all ears, my dear, so do confess!”
Emily was breathless thinking about the exciting news she had to tell her friend. “Goodness, Willy, I scarcely know where to begin! There’s so much to say, it will take hours. I’ll tell you a number of good things…and some bad things, too. Things I would never have known if I didn’t make the trip. I’m truly glad I had the courage to do what I did.”
Worn out by the past events, Emily sighed deeply, leaning back against the settee. “First, I must thank you and Lord Harry again for inviting me here. My wh
ole world has changed drastically since we left London. I’m top over tails, dear friend!” Emily squeezed Wilma’s hand. “And what an exciting week!”
“Ahh, dear girl, I see the change in you already. Wonderful things must have occurred while you were in Kent. I never saw you look so happy. Not since when your parents were alive. Tell me more, Em. I want to share your happiness.” Wilma winked, mischievously. “Is it because of the earl?”
Emily contemplated Wilma’s question silently. Leathem was a part of what happened, but he wasn’t the biggest part. And she had better make up her mind about that soon. She drew in a long, slow breath. “I know what you’re thinking, but no, Willy, more took place besides Leathem.”
Plunging onward, Emily described what went on in Lesser Bodem and Tunbridge Wells. Her and Betsy’s kidnapping, her uncle’s harassment in Grafton’s office, and Eustace’s subsequent capture and arrest. She also discovered a grandfather who was very much alive. Squire Henry Morrow. Her mother’s father. Even more unexpected news was the fact she had inherited a fabulous fortune. Her inheritance made her well-to-do. And, besides that, she now knew her true natal day and could celebrate it again and again if she felt so inclined. Much of what she learned, however, was still incomprehensible to her, and left her feeling somewhat confused.
Betsy described her own experiences with Emily’s uncle and his dastardly actions when she later helped Wilma dress and fix her hair.
“Oh dear me!” Wilma replied. “How awful for you and Emily! What a horrid man Eustace Dancy must be! I met him once, but it was a long, long time ago. Who knew that he would turn out to be a nasty criminal? Poor Emily! Oh, and her parents, too! If alive, they would have been devastated to learn they harbored a black-hearted rogue in their family!”
“Indeed, the man is quite terrifying, Lady Wilma. A scary beast. I didn’t know till later that he tried to slash Miss Emily’s throat!”
“What? Good heavens! She never told me that!”
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