by Jane Goodger
“How can I take affront when you were simply being honest?”
“Tact is something I fear I’m still learning,” Lilian said, feeling a bit sheepish. “I do realize I should have left as soon as possible. I have no excuse other than the complete terror I feel when I think about seeing anyone I know. They will not be able to look at me without thinking about the duke’s murder. It matters not that I am innocent. I wish I had my own Merdunoir so I could hide there forever.”
“I am not hiding,” he stated flatly.
“Aren’t you? Again, I apologize.” What was wrong with her? Suddenly, she felt like weeping, for she’d never been so rude in her entire life, and she certainly had no reason to be angry with Granton, who’d saved her life, fed and clothed her, and asked nothing in return but that she join him for dinner. “Lord Granton,” she said, pushing her words past a closed throat. “You must think me the most ungrateful and shrewish sort of woman. I am not. I don’t know why—”
He held up a hand, stopping her midsentence. “You are forgiven, my lady, and I took no affront. Shall we go? The tide will be coming in soon, and I have no wish to get my boots wet.”
“Of course. Come along, Mabel. I’m sure his lordship can bring you down another time.” Even as she said the words, she could hardly picture Granton coming down to the caves alone with Mabel.
Mabel scrambled down from her perch and ran over to her, a small shell in her hand. “Look, miss, I found a seashell like the one in the house.”
“My lady,” Granton corrected.
“Look, my lady, I found a seashell,” she repeated.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilian said, bending over to get a better look. “Look in the center, how pink it is. I believe that’s my favorite color.”
Mabel beamed, her hazel eyes turning to half-moons, then tucked the shell into her pocket before running to where Granton stood holding the lamp. She grabbed his hand as if it were something she’d done a hundred times, and Lilian couldn’t help but smile at the confused look on the man’s face before he turned toward the tunnel, Mabel’s hand firmly grasped in his.
* * *
Marcus walked ahead of them, holding the lamp high, as they made their way back toward the house. When they reached the steps, he handed the lamp to Lady Lilian, then picked up Mabel, who wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “Do you mean to strangle me?” he asked, raising one brow as he leaned back so he could see her face.
She immediately giggled and loosened her hold. “I shouldn’t like to strangle you, sir.” Then she did something much worse; she laid her head against his shoulder, her soft curls touching his cheek. He suspected, without turning around to verify, that Lady Lilian would be smiling at him, as if carrying a child were some sort of heroic deed. The truth was, he wanted to be up the stairs and into the house as soon as possible, and carrying Mabel made their trip shorter.
They reached the main level of Merdunoir, and Marcus put the girl down and turned toward Lady Lilian, steeling himself against his reaction, reminding himself again that it was good she was leaving. Pulling out his watch, he said, “I daresay you don’t have much to pack. Palmer should be leaving shortly and I’ll bid you good-bye now.” He gave her a small bow, ignoring the odd tightness he felt in his chest at the thought of never seeing her again.
She curtsied and smiled, as if she knew what was going on behind his carefully dispassionate expression, and he had the oddest thought: I shall never kiss her.
It seemed important that he amend this and just as important that he never act on such an impulse.
“I bid you a good journey home,” he said, stepping back, sealing his decision.
“Thank you. For saving me from the moors, for allowing me to stay. Perhaps if you go home to Cannock, we will meet again?”
“I spend most of my time in London, and I believe I shall stay on here for a while.” He looked around at the library where they stood and noted the cobwebs floating from the ceiling and the thick covering of dust on the furniture and books. “I think I might try to bring the old girl back to life.”
“That’s wonderful. Merdunoir is such a lovely home. Even with its ghost.” She pressed her lips together to hide her mirth.
“He and I get on quite well,” Marcus said. “We keep the same hours.” Mabel leaned against Lady Lilian, looking very much like she might fall asleep standing up, and the tightness in his chest grew stronger. “I think my charge is in great need of a nap. Good day and Godspeed, my lady.”
Marcus left the two there, standing in the library. No doubt Lady Lilian watched his hasty departure with a mix of dismay and bemusement. He’d produced that very expression on enough faces to suspect it was there. He planned to take a long ride on the moors to clear his head of beautiful women with creamy skin and eyes the color of butterflies. He planned not to return until Mr. Palmer and the carriage and the lady were long gone. And then, when he came back to his nearly empty house, he could pretend she’d never been in his home, or tempted him with her soft lips and her untamable hair.
He rode hard and fast away from the sea, streaking across the moors, lush and green from the recent rain, blind to the beauty of his surroundings until he crested a hill and looked down at a valley dotted with farms, the sheep small bits of cotton in the distance. “Sorry, old man,” Marcus said, patting his horse, which heaved great lungfuls of air after the bracing run. He rode down the hill at a slower pace, aware that the sun was moving lower, painting a golden light on the grasslands.
She’d be gone soon and he was glad of it. He didn’t need the distraction of her presence, the uncomfortable and powerful lust he felt for her. If he felt a bit lonely sitting at his table this evening, then so be it. He would get used to Sadie’s simpler fare, the quiet, endless nights, the absolute silence that permeated the old house. Mabel would be there, of course, at least until he could find her a good boarding school. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about it. Certainly he was in no position to offer a small child what she needed, other than a bed and food. That duty would go to either a nanny or a schoolmistress. She would be far better off in school than with him. Perhaps he would find her real father and give him the responsibility of raising the child.
Such thoughts battered his conscience, try though he might to push them away. He knew better than most what it was like to grow up without affection, to have only teachers and tutors to guide him. When he was seven years old, his father had sent him to a school, one known for its strict discipline, one, it turned out, that was run by a sadistic headmaster who seemed to loathe his charges as much as they feared him. His only respite had been Christmas and a few precious weeks in the summer, when he would return home to his rambunctious brothers. He’d hardly spent any time with them growing up; his father had seen to that. All his life, he had been kept separate; he didn’t even know why they cared a fig about him and was quietly surprised when they showed him affection. He’d been set apart, as if not even a member of the same family, better, special, and so damned lonely it didn’t bear thinking about. It had been a kind of torment, those awkward moments when he’d returned home, so happy, so glad to be away from school. It always took weeks for Marcus to relax enough to have fun with his siblings, and by the time that happened, it was time to return to school.
Marcus let out a curse, hating that his heart was so soft, that he longed for something that could never be. He’d be damned if he sent Mabel off to live in a school alone. Shaking his head with no small amount of disgust for his changeable mind, he turned Chief around and made his way slowly back to Merdunoir, his gut churning until he saw that the carriage and the day servants had departed. He told himself he was glad, but for some reason, the house didn’t seem quite as welcoming as it had just one day ago.
“Bloody hell, Marcus,” he muttered as he eased himself off the horse. After taking care of his gelding and making certain Chief was settled for the night and was well fed, Marcus headed to the house, bracing himself for the complete emptiness of
the place. When he realized what he was doing, he shook his head—hard—as if he could rid himself of her image, her scent.
God, he wished he’d kissed her. Just once.
Chapter 8
“Mister?”
Marcus was in his room, flipping through his copy of Edgar Allen Poe stories and trying not to picture what Lilian looked like in his bed, when he heard Mabel’s soft voice calling to him from outside his door. Heaving a sigh, he placed the book aside and stood to go to the door. Opening it, he peered down and down, slightly surprised at how very little Mabel looked peering back up at him. She was dressed in a nightgown, her long hair a tangled mess.
“How may I help you?”
She worried her hands in the soft cotton of her nightgown and bit her lip. “Where is the lady?”
“She’s gone. Did she not say good-bye?”
Mabel shook her head, her big eyes shining with unshed tears. Marcus hunkered down to her level, hoping the little thing wouldn’t burst into tears and force him to give her a hug. “I’m certain she meant to say good-bye. She was likely just excited to be on her way.”
“But . . .” She looked past him as if Lady Lilian might be hiding behind him. “Did she give you my dolly?”
Marcus furrowed his brow. “Your stocking? No, she did not.”
“I don’t know where dolly is. The lady said she was getting her.”
Something cold blossomed in the pit of his stomach. “Where was she going, Mabel?”
“To get dolly. But she didn’t come back.” It was obvious she was trying her damndest not to cry.
Marcus’s heart seemed to stop at that moment, then beat painfully, almost sickeningly in his chest. “Where is dolly?” he asked, trying with all his might to sound calm.
“The cave.”
* * *
Lilian gave her lamp a worried look and realized, with no small amount of dread, that the oil would be gone before the tide was out enough for her to leave her safe haven. She knew, in a short time, she would be alone in utter blackness and completely helpless even when the tide was low, for the idea of feeling her way toward the main cavern was completely unthinkable.
When she’d returned to the caves to retrieve Mabel’s doll, she hadn’t thought twice about what she was doing. It wasn’t a very complex route, a straight path directly to the main cavern, where Mabel had no doubt left her doll on the rock shelf where she’d been playing. At that time, there hadn’t even been a hint of an incoming tide, and Lilian thought she’d have hours to complete her task. Just the thought of poor Mabel doing without her doll and falling asleep with empty arms was enough to drive Lilian down into the caves. She hadn’t been afraid; indeed, she’d thought of the task as a bit of an adventure. She’d always had an adventurous spirit when she was young. When she was a child, she had lived in Cornwall, a rugged and isolated part of England, and had spent many happy hours outdoors, exploring. She was no frail miss, afraid of spiders.
But she did have a wee bit of fear of the dark.
Unfortunate, that, because she was about to be thrown into complete darkness with only the eerie sound of sea water moving in the cave for company.
It was her adventurous spirit that had gotten her into trouble. When she’d returned to the cave, she’d taken a bit more time to explore without the distraction of Lord Granton’s brooding gaze. The cavern, with the sun still streaming weakly through the crevice above, was a purely wonderful place. She’d never seen anything quite like it, and she found herself wishing she could take hours to explore rather than a few spare minutes. As she moved around the perimeter of the cave, she noticed a large pile of heavy boulders, as if long ago a rock fall had covered up an entrance. Moving to the wall of boulders, she could feel a bit of air seeping through and she smiled. Indeed it was likely there was another room beyond the rock fall. It seemed a silly thing to do in hindsight, for what were the chances that she would be able to move even one heavy stone away, never mind an entire wall? But it so happened, the one rock she pulled had acted as a keystone, and removing that rock caused the entire wall to tumble down. If not for her quick feet, she might have been crushed, but Lilian was too excited to dwell overlong on how lucky she’d been to escape injury.
Holding her lantern up high, she looked past the fallen boulders to see a low, narrow passageway. With a game smile, she clambered over the boulders and, holding the lantern in front of her, moved along the rock corridor, silently praying it wouldn’t take too long to discover where it went. The path moved upwards, and for a time Lilian wondered if this was some sort of secret entrance into the caves. The ceiling got suddenly higher, and Lilian found herself at the entrance to a large chamber. She let out a small, happy gasp, for before her were dozens of crates. It was like finding a treasure, long hidden, and Lilian grinned. Walking to the first of the crates, she put the lantern aside to try to pry it open, surprising herself at how easy it was to lift the lid.
There she found dark bottles neatly stored in sawdust. Lifting one she read, “BOUTELLEAU FIL 1795.” Brandy. “Oh, my.” Lilian grinned. She imagined the smugglers returning to the cave only to find that their treasure was completely covered in boulders—or so they must have thought. Lilian opened a few more crates and found more of the same. It was a bit disappointing. While it was exciting to find anything in the cavern, it would have been much more exciting if it had been fine porcelain or gold or silver. Still, brandy from nearly a century ago was a bit fun. She couldn’t wait to tell . . .
And then she felt a small piercing of disappointment. She would tell no one, except perhaps Sadie or Mr. Palmer. No doubt Marcus would not appear to say good-bye; he’d already said it, after all. With one last look at the brandy, Lilian headed for the passageway, then laughed aloud when she realized she’d forgotten, on one of the crates, Mabel’s dolly, the whole reason she’d been in the caves in the first place. She was very near the main cavern when she stepped into water. Sea water.
“Oh, no,” she said, lowering the lantern so she could see proof of what she felt. “Oh, drat.” Water lapped up into the passageway, deepening toward the tumbled boulders that had given Lilian access to the secret room. She looked with disbelief at the water that now nearly covered the entirety of the boulders that had fallen and knew with a sense of inevitability that she was trapped until the tide went out. The water would nearly be above her head and she couldn’t swim. That she was safe gave her some comfort, but she immediately thought about Mabel, who would be worried, and Lord Granton, who would be angry she’d delayed her departure yet again. She hadn’t even told Sadie that she would be leaving that afternoon, so she wouldn’t be missed when Palmer headed to Whitby with the day servants.
“You stupid girl,” she said, almost in awe of how foolish she’d been to allow the tide to rise and block her way. It had been surprising, though, how very quickly the chamber had filled. She’d obviously been exploring longer than she’d realized.
With a sound of disgust, Lilian turned around and headed back to the chamber, wondering idly what brandy tasted like.
* * *
Marcus felt fingers of cold fear trying to take control of him, but he pushed them away. It wouldn’t do to show how very worried he was in front of Mabel. “I’ll go get her, shall I?” he said to Mabel, who looked at him with those solemn eyes that so much resembled Eleanor’s.
“And dolly?”
“Of course. Now, back to bed with you. I’ll bring you your stocking when I get back.”
Mabel giggled. “It’s a dolly.”
Marcus watched the little girl head back to her room, then took a deep, bracing breath, refusing to allow the fear back. Had he told Lady Lilian about the dangers of the caves at high tide? If she’d gone exploring, she might have gotten lost. She might have ended up in one of the chambers that was completely submerged at high tide. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to imagine Lilian struggling as the water grew ever higher; it would not be a pleasant way to die.
Throw
ing on a pair of old boots, Marcus headed to the caves, silently praying he would meet the lady as she was heading back to the house. But the further he got, the more worried he became, and when he hadn’t run into her by the time he came to where the tide had reached, a terrible sense of dread washed over him. It was a full moon and the tide was unusually high. Where he stood, with water lapping gently at his feet, was normally dry. “Lilian,” he called, peering into the darkness in front of him. He listened intently for a reply, and cursed aloud when there was none.
He stepped into the water, grimacing slightly at the cold temperature. The North Sea was never a very warm body of water, even in July. As he sloshed through toward the main chamber, the water edged up higher and higher, until he had to hold the lantern above his head to keep it dry.
“Lilian,” he called, stopping briefly. He was about to take another step, but froze. Had he heard something? “Lilian!”
“In here.” Her voice, sounding as if she were standing quite near. Fierce joy nearly felled him, and he swung the lantern toward the sound of her lovely voice only to find himself quite alone in the chamber. The light from his lantern was illuminating nothing but rock walls and boulders piled high from a long ago fall.
“Where are you?” he called out, frustrated and confused that he could see nothing but could hear her voice quite clearly. Unless he was going insane.
“In here. A secret chamber. Behind the boulders. It’s marvelous, though a bit dark, and I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve found brandy.”
And been imbibing a bit, Marcus thought, from the sound of her overly cheerful voice. “Can you get to me?” Marcus asked as he moved quickly toward the boulders. His left foot jammed into an unseen stalagmite and he found himself falling helplessly forward with no way to brace himself. Thrusting the lantern as high as he could, Marcus struggled to keep the flame above the water, but the splash from his impact sloshed up and over the lamp, dousing the flame and leaving him in utter blackness.