by Julie Beard
He pushed open the door and inhaled the familiar scent of a burning beeswax candle and dried thyme. He didn't see her at first and panicked.
"Liza?"
"Here." She'd been slumped down in a high-backed chair and jumped to her feet. She sailed the distance between them and flung herself into his open arms. "Oh, Jack, I knew you'd come."
He squeezed her tight, his heart full of love.
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"My darling, what has he done to you?" He drew back and with shaking hands cupped her face and marveled at her beauty. Her hair was disheveled, her gown dirtied and oddly loose. She had no cosmetics on her face, no jewelry, no flattering cap or dazzling plumage on her head, and yet, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Then she nestled her cheek in one of his hands and he saw precisely what had happened. She was bruised. The cretin had struck her in the face.
"Damnation!" he roared. "What did Barrington do to you?"
She blinked, startled by the depth of his rage. "I'm well, Jack." She touched her cheek, only now beginning to feel the lingering pain. "Do not fear for me."
"Did he strike you?" He firmly placed his hands on her shoulders. "Did he, Liza? He did, didn't he?"
She squeezed her eyes tight and nodded rapidly. "Yes."
"I'll kill him!" Jack shouted and he stepped away from her, slamming a fist in his palm. "I'll kill him. I swear it!" He headed blindly for the door, fumbling for the latch.
"No, Jack! Don't go."
"I will not let this stand, Liza. I won't rest until my hands are around his worthless throat. The damned blue-blooded bastard thinks he can get away with it because you're a commoner! Hell, what's wrong with this latch?"
He finally managed to fling open the door and bolted forward. Liza ran after him. He didn't know what he was doing. He was so furious he was even walking in the wrong direction, batting at the branches of apple trees that got in his way as if they were foot soldiers protecting the king he would kill on the field of battle. She reached out as he strode with long legs through the orchard. "Jack, come back!"
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She caught up with him and threw herself at him. She missed and fell to the ground, grabbing his legs just in time. Jack tripped and fell forward, landing amidst the ripe fruit that had fallen. The scent of apples filled his face, as did the smell of dirt. He felt her crawl up his body, pulling herself along as she lay on top of his back.
"Jack, my darling, Jack," she whispered, combing his hair away from his ear. "You do not have to kill him. It's over. I'm going to end it tonight."
He held his breath, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Then he breathed deep the loamy earth, as the tension melted from his taut muscles.
"Yes, my love, I'm going back to the house and telling my parents I cannot marry Barrington."
Jack rolled over in the grass and stared at her in the orange glow of the setting sun. "What?"
"This can't go on. I must follow my own advice. I cannot sacrifice the future to the past. I do not know what I will say, but I will make it clear I cannot marry the viscount. I simply wanted to tell you before I did it, in case ... in case the worst happens."
Jack sat up. "I will come with you."
"No. I do not want my father to blame you, for I'm not certain how he will take the news."
"If you're going to do this alone, Liza, then you have to bluff your way through this. You must pretend to know all about the fire. You must confront him as I had planned to. Tell Barrington you have enough evidence of arson to bring him down, and then demand that he tell you what evidence he has to ruin your family. If he admits he has nothing, then you needn't tell your father about Desiree. Simply tell your parents you had a change of heart and you refuse to marry the viscount."
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"You expect Lord Barrington to answer honestly simply because I ask?"
"No. I expect him to tell you because he's afraid you'll report his crime to the authorities."
"Why would he believe me?"
'Tell him you've been speaking to the Davises."
"Then he will try to find them and harm them."
"I'll take the entire family and put them in hiding away from Cranshaw Park."
"Do you think it will work?"
"It has to. You want to save your family, don't you? And you now know you can't go through with the engagement."
"Then I don't have to tell my parents anything about the blackmailing?"
"Not if you play your cards right. Come on, Liza. You're a brave girl. You play a mean hand of whist. You can bluff your way through this, can't you, old girl?"
She threw herself into his arms. "Oh, Jack, I love you."
He froze, then squeezed her tight, letting the love heat his cold heart at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
hen she returned to the house, servants were running to and fro, shouts rose from the stables, and horses came and went. Hounds bawled and a half dozen torches jostled like fireflies in the distance. There was so much chaos that no one noticed Liza. If the search party was looking for her, why hadn't the hounds picked up her scent?
As she cautiously approached the back of the house, she could see that the ballroom was dark. Her parents had canceled the party. But the west parlor was lit up like a blazing torch. Her mother would be there, pacing the floor, worried out of her mind. Liza hurried into the house and entered the parlor without changing.
She found her mother, Aunt Patty, and Celia gathered around a tray of tea. When the footman opened the door for Liza, the women looked up and gasped in unison.
"Liza!" Celia cried out, jumping to her feet and rushing into her sister's arms. "Thank heavens you're back."
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"Liza, my darling," Rosalind crooned, coming around the tea table and hugging both her daughters. "I am so relieved. Oh, dear, you're a sight. At least you got away."
"Got away?" Liza asked, spinning with confusion. Did they already know the viscount had tried to rape her?
Soon Aunt Patty was there as well, clucking over her. "And to think that Mr. Davis would do such a thing."
Liza gripped her mother's arm. "Mama, what is this all about? What do you mean, Aunt Patty?"
"Viscount Barrington explained it all," Celia said. "At first I thought he might have hurt you, but then he said that Jacob Davis had kidnapped you. That's why you screamed at the pavilion."
"What!" Liza looked incredulously from one to the other.
"Your father and Lord Barrington are searching the woods for Mr. Davis," her mother explained. "Your father is vowing to see him into the gaol before the night is through. He's already sent word to the sheriff."
"Lord Barrington says Davis is armed and should be shot on sight if anyone finds him," Celia added.
"No!" Liza said, shaking her head violently. "It's not true. Mr. Davis has done nothing to harm me. I must help him at once."
Liza extricated herself from the gentle embraces and started for the door.
"Where are you going?" her mother called out.
'To save Jacob Davis before it's too late." She paused in the doorway and caught her mother's eye. "Mama, I think you should know that I'm not going to marry Lord Barrington after all. But do not tell his lordship. And do not tell Papa just yet. Let it be our secret awhile longer. I'll explain everything when I can."
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All three women gaped, speechless, then each uttered a sound of relief, and smiles broke out everywhere. Liza grinned at them all, adoring her family as she never had before. Then she went to the library and dashed off a note to Jack. If anyone could save the Davises, it was the remarkable Jack Fairchild. He would come up with some way to rescue the situation. He always did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
fter receiving word from Liza, Jack left 2 Hanley Street and returned to Cranshaw Park in his carriage. Together, he and Liza returned to Birch Road, then traveled the rest of the way on foot. Fortunately, the Davises' hideaway could not be reached on horseback, and that gave them the adv
antage over the search party.
Narrowly escaping detection, Liza walked home after bustling the Davises into Jack's carriage. He returned to his rooms and let Giles take over from there. The clerk fed the hungry and frightened family, but no one slept. There was too much at stake.
Shortly before dawn, Jack was ready to depart. They crammed themselves into the carriage and headed to the one place Jack thought he'd never willingly return. Tutley Castle.
******************
It rained all the way, which made the roads rougher than usual. The carriage pitched and groaned on the rutted thor-
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oughfare, and the thudding of rain on the roof made conversation difficult. It was just as well. The distraught members of the Davis family were weary and worn and in no mood for talk. Jacob wore his usual angry demeanor, but his wife was frail, thin, and haunted-looking. Their pretty daughter had the resilient air of youth, but Jack imagined her soft green eyes had once kindled more brightly, and that her disheveled auburn hair had once bounced with vitality.
Tutley Castle always looked nobler in inclement weather. Mist rose and swallowed the green grounds and the first level of the castle, leaving nothing but the upper reaches to rise out of the gray soup. The enormous stone castle would outlive them all by centuries. That fact always managed to put Jack's travails in perspective. By the lime he reached the massive front door, he felt more confident about the prospect of helping the Davises. Jack was glad to be greeted by dear old Kirby.
"Master Jack, what a surprise."
"Yes, to me as well, Kirby. I want to speak with Grandfather."
"Very good, sir, very good."
"You sound clogged, Kirby. Are you ill?"
"I've just taken a slight chill, sir. Thank you for noticing."
"Yes, it's as if autumn has suddenly sprung upon us. I have some friends in the carriage. Would you take care of them? They need some nourishment and a warm place to wait while I visit the old man."
The butler squinted through the steady gray rain and focused on Jacob Davis. Jack held his breath. The dirty and unkempt chandler wasn't the usual type of visitor with whom the butler had to contend.
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"Do it as a favor to me, Kirby, won't you?"
Kirby frowned curiously at Jack, breathing through his mouth, and wiped at his snuffly nose with a kerchief, then smiled. "Very good, sir. If I take them round to the back entrance Lord Tutley will never know."
"Good man, Kirby. You always were."
"Shall I show you to Lord Tutley's chamber, sir?"
"Yes. The time of reckoning has come."
The journey down the long corridor to Lord Tutley's private quarters felt like the longest walk of Jack's life. He never thought he would come begging on bended knee, but he would do it for the Davis family. For Liza.
When at last Kirby opened the double doors to Tutley's bedchamber, Jack cringed at the smell of old age. He paused in the doorway, suddenly awash in a sea of regrets. Might he have forgiven the old man sooner? Might he have tried harder to understand his grandfather's motivations?
He moved on to the foot of the bed. Kirby excused himself and left Jack alone. The old man was sleeping.
While Jack stood and waited for him to stir, listening to the unpleasant rattling of his grandfather's lungs, time seemed to stop. To recede, in fact. How suddenly and poignantly clear were his memories! His mother laughing in her staccato, almost uncontrollable way with his grandfather. Jack saw her beautiful fingers flying over the keys of the pianoforte, and felt her kissing his forehead between songs, and smelled the rose water that permeated her soft bosom. He remembered, too, his grandfather, having bought material for her on a trip to the Continent, showing it to her, beaming, waiting for a hug of gratitude. Then praising her when a dress was made and she paraded
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in front of him. She always hugged Jack especially warmly when Lord Tutley was happy.
God, that had been so long ago he'd almost forgotten. He'd almost forgotten how he had basked as well in the light reflected from his domineering grandfather. Then the baron had been a vibrant character, a man whose ruddy, hungry nature made the castle team with activity—hunting parties, balls, dinner parties, card games until dawn. When Richard Hastwood was in a room the candles always seemed to gutter, as if he consumed all the air with his strapping body and relentless energy.
Jack's mother had adored him. Naturally, she had done his bidding, even marrying the man he'd chosen for her. But after her marriage to Henry Fairchild had rescued the ailing estate, Grandpapa had grown disenchanted with his choice for a son-in-law. He didn't think Henry was worthy of his daughter. And since he was such a charismatic figure, used to bending people to his will, he'd expected Jane Fairchild to grow disenchanted with her husband as well. When she refused to separate from her ill-chosen mate, Lord Tutley had punished her by withdrawing his considerable affection. Ironically, this had propelled his stubborn daughter more firmly into her husband's domain.
So what had made her choose the husband she disliked over the father she adored? Perhaps an attempt to establish her own free will. Or perhaps she was trying to force her father to bend to her will by withdrawing her affections. If that had been her plan, it hadn't worked. In the end, both she and Jack had been summarily excluded from his will and stricken from the castle.
What a damned pity, Jack thought, staring at the old man. He could use a daughter to comfort him now. He looked so frail. His eyelids sagged like those of a droopy
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dog, his skin was corpse white, and his once strong fingers were now reduced to swollen joints and paper-thin skin. But weakness of the body did not necessarily indicate a similar fragility of the mind or the soul. Jack had no doubt that his grandfather would not let Jane Fairchild into this castle today, even if her ghost rose from the grave and knocked on the door. Sadness whistled in Jack's bones, settled in his empty gut. Tutley would rather die lonely than ever admit he'd made a mistake. Just as Jack would rather rot in debtor's prison than admit he needed the old man's financial help.
Jack didn't want to be that way. After making love with Liza and enjoying the fullness of her companionship, he'd learned how true two people could be, how utterly in step with one another. Experiencing such warm brilliance of feeling, he now realized that hatred, vengeance, vindictiveness, and pride were utterly useless emotions. And he reluctantly admitted to himself that he no longer had it in him to hate the old man.
Hatred had served a purpose, though. It had kept Jack from feeling the full brunt of his grandfather's rejection. But the old man couldn't hurt him now. Not when he had Liza by his side. Theirs was a unique world of two in which there was no room for scalding hurt or burning pride.
"Grandpapa," he said at last, though he knew, perhaps because he knew, the old man couldn't hear him. He rounded the bed and sat on the edge. He leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I am sorry that you are so ill. The world will be a lesser place when you're gone. You lived life to the fullest, sir. I always admired that about you. I understand that a man so full of passions could not temper them easily. And only now, remembering the past, do I
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realize that my mother hurt you. You loved her so much that the only way to endure her seeming betrayal was to turn her out. You know, old man, I always thought you did it because you blamed her for her unhappy marriage. But now I think, Grandpapa, that you blamed yourself. You wanted to make it up to her, and when she refused your plan, you were infuriated."
A clock ticked on the mantel. Jack looked at it accusingly. What was time in a moment like this, when everything seemed suspended? When he wished he could reverse time and live it all again with this new understanding.
He didn't know this man lying before him. This man who was once so strapping and tall, now frail and unable to rise. The old bugger had let time get the best of him. Didn't he know he was supposed to live forever?
"I shall miss you, Grandfather." Having sai
d his piece, Jack turned to go, but stopped on his toes when he heard a low croaking voice.
"The bloody hell you will."
The corners of Jack's mouth curled upward. He turned slowly. "So, old man, you're not dead."
"Disappointed?" The word was full of venom, but it bore no sting. "What do you want?"
Jack sauntered forward and leaned casually on the bedpost, crossing his arms. "I'm glad to see you still retain your good humor, sir."
"What do you want from me? You wouldn't have a nice word to say about me unless you wanted something. I know you too well, you worthless jackanapes."
Jack drew his brows together. "In fact, sir, I do want something from you."
He expected a snapping refusal, but the old man's eyes
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merely stewed and simmered with a glint of curiosity.
"I have in my care an unfortunate family from Middledale. You may remember them, the Davis family. Jacob Davis was the town chandler. He was burned out of his home and business by a nefarious viscount. Now Davis is being hunted down like an animal for a crime he didn't commit. I need a place to keep the family until I can sort out this mess and make sure he doesn't land in debtor's prison again."
The baron's lips widened in a humorless smile. "Unlike you, young man, I don't waste time with people who should have taken better care of their finances."
"Sir, this is a matter of arson. You can't blame Davis because someone far richer decided to burn him out of his home and destroy his business."
"If you had been the grandson I expected you to be, you wouldn't have to tangle yourself in this petty business. You'd be at Court dealing with politics."
His grandfather began to cough, a wracking that sent shivers down Jack's spine. He took a step forward, but then stopped. His grandfather was too proud to accept comfort from him. Jack nevertheless poured him a glass of water from a bedside pitcher and lifted his head so he could drink. The old man's milky blue eyes became startlingly clear. He looked at Jack as if he'd never truly seen him before, then his face softened and he sipped, sinking back in weary relief. It was time to go, but Jack couldn't leave before taking one last stab at reaching through the crusty old bastard's thick skin.