The Resurrection of Lady Somerset

by Nicola Beaumont

  Before Jonathon could reply, the man set his gaze on Lark. “And are you quite the thing this morning, Miss Black—Blackburn?”

  Lark’s gaze bolted to his face. Just then, he began to sneeze and quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

  “Excuse me,” he apologized. “Observed you looked a little underdone last evening,” he continued. “Rotten case of megrims or some such female ailment? You are better, I hope.”

  She looked to Jonathon a second time, pleading with her eyes for him to rescue her.

  “She is well,” he answered for her.

  “Ah, that is good.”

  Jonathon needed to depart in a hurry. He needed to attend to Lark presently. “We must be on our way, Aubury. I shall see you at Tatt’s next time I am able to attend.” He snapped the reins before Aubury had time to say anything more.

  Lark’s entire body relaxed the moment the horses hooves clipped the street.

  “There is something the matter,” Jonathon said.

  She shook her head.

  “Do not begin with this again,” he told her bristly. “I was positive we were past coy games of mistrust. If there is something the matter, you will tell me this instant. I insist.”

  She looked at him reservedly and he returned her gaze with one which he hoped was of comfort.

  “Do you think he is your relation, too?” she signed in clipped movements.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jonathon scanned the room as he waited for Drew Hollingsworth. Watier’s was a bustle of activity, and Jonathon feared their conversation would be overheard. Hollingsworth’s missive had not indicated the nature of his uncoverings, but if it fared disparaging to Lark’s parentage, Jonathon certainly did not want anyone to overhear it.

  He disposed of his meal sparingly, picking at the Shepherd’s pie with little enthusiasm. Apprehension mixed with the meal in his stomach as he impatiently waited for his friend’s arrival.

  He sipped on his brandy and smiled tightly at a gentleman passing his corner table. If Hollingsworth did not arrive posthaste, Jonathon feared he would choke on the trepidation his throat refused to swallow.

  When Hollingsworth came through the door, Jonathon was not appeased, however. Instead, he found the tension in his throat grew to the expanse of his entire body. Even his toes tingled with all the alert and dreadful possibilities he had but contemplated.

  Hollingsworth smiled as he came to the table. He leaned his cane against the table’s edge and took his seat. “You look in queer stirrups, my friend,” he observed casually.

  “Let’s be done with this,” Jonathon hissed, scanning the room once again for eavesdroppers.

  Hollingsworth seemed unmoved. “Remember, it was you who commissioned me to this investigation.”

  “You state the obvious. Get on with it.” Jonathon swilled the brandy in his glass, took a healthy drink then fixed his eyes on his friend once again.

  “I don’t care for a drink,” Hollingsworth said sarcastically.

  At Jonathon’s warning glare, Hollingsworth put up a conciliatory palm.

  “All right.” From memory, he relayed what he had discovered. “There really didn’t seem much to uncover. The fire was considered an accident, as you know. There was never any suspicion of foul play. I realized this would not satisfy, mind you, so I investigated further. It was quite a nuisance at the onset, I can tell you.”

  Jonathon’s patience was threadbare. “I apologize for the inconvenience. Get to the point.”

  “Tut, tut,” Hollingsworth chided. “Some curious facts arose.”

  He paused, obviously for effect, and Jonathon silently cursed the day his friend was born.

  “Were you of the knowledge that Nigel Aubury was not the initial heir to the Blackwell property?”

  Jonathon shook his head. “I did not keep up with such triviality. Truthfully, once my mother was gone and Father put us out, I didn’t think much of the Blackwells at all.”

  “Mmm. Well, Putnam, Nigel’s older brother was the first to come by the estate. In fact, he took residence of the place as soon as Fire Protection had sufficiently rebuilt the house.”

  Jonathon forced himself to remember twelve years past. He studied the air but could not recall Putnam ever residing at Blackwell House. “I thought Putnam kicked up his boot heels not long after the fire.”

  Hollingsworth nodded and adjusted in the chair. “Yes,” he said, awe reverberating in his tone. “But that is not the crux of it. Putnam died under very mysterious circumstances.”

  Jonathon wished he had paid more attention to what had happened all that time ago. But he had been so sick with grief over the loss of his mother that he had scarcely cared for his own life during those early months following the tragedy. “Was he not struck by an accident?”

  “Horse kicked him in the head somehow. Events are still unclear as there were no actual witnesses. But—and here is the most interesting of things—it was suspected that Nigel had something to do with it.” He rested back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face.

  “I cannot believe such things. If that were the case, why was there no investigation?”

  “Ah, well, ’twas all speculation, you see. You would not believe the low places I had to go to retrieve this information.”

  “I have heard plenty about your escapades, old chap,” Jonathon replied, not wanting to know first-hand the lengths his friend went to gather piquant information. “But speculation does me no good. I need to know of the danger to Miss Lark. What of—”

  A waiter came and asked if they needed refreshments, and Jonathon impatiently told him not to return.

  Hollingsworth turned surprised eyes to his friend. “Brutal. It was not him that did it, you know.”

  “Tell me more of Nigel Aubury,” Jonathon had never been fond of Aubury, and Lark had obviously taken an immediate dislike to him. Perhaps there really was something sinister there.

  Hollingsworth shrugged. “That is really all there is to tell. But we all know what a greedy hugger-mugger he is. All seems perfectly logical to me. He did in his own brother for the inheritance of Blackwell House. It is a rather substantial estate.”

  “Shh!” Jonathon looked about. “You cannot make such accusations without proof. Aubury would have your head. Besides, what of Lark? None of this reveals why my father would think she needed protection.”

  Hollingsworth’s mouth dropped open. “Are you daft? It is the most perfect conclusion of all.” Hollingsworth shook his head in disgust. “You used to be awake on every suit. Has this woman addled your brain? If she were to be found alive, she would be able to claim her rightful inheritance, even though she is merely a woman.”

  Jonathon shook his head. “Now, yes. But what of twelve years ago? Neither Aubury, nor his brother, would have ever received the property had my father allowed Lark’s survival to be known. Nigel would have felt no threat, would have had nothing to hide…Unless…” He thought for a moment. His father’s letter had revealed the fire was not really an accident. “Unless—”

  “Unless, Aubury had set the fire himself,” Hollingsworth finished impatiently.

  “There is just one thing wrong with this theory,” Jonathon went on.

  “And what is that? I need a drink now.” Hollingsworth hailed a waiter. The young man approached them quite warily. “See what you have done,” Hollingsworth told Jonathon. “You have shattered the poor chap’s confidence. He shall never be the same again.”

  Jonathon ignored the comment, although he did observe the waiter suddenly recoil.

  Hollingsworth ordered a brandy for himself and another for Jonathon then returned to the subject at hand. “And what is that?” he repeated.

  “Nigel was not the first to claim ownership. Why would he have set the fire in order for his older brother to receive the estate? Doesn’t make sense.”

  Hollingsworth refused to meet Jonathon’s gaze and Jonathon knew his friend well enough to realize not all was set to light.


  “Out with it,” Jonathon said and, when Hollingsworth shot him a questioning glance, explained, “You have a very expressive face. Tell me.”

  “It is merely that although you cannot seem to attend the idea, it is quite clear to me. It is well-known that both the Aubury men were, shall we say, different. It is not past my inclination to believe that perhaps the older Aubury committed the fire and Nigel in turn did him in later.”

  The waiter brought the drinks and scurried away without delay. Jonathon took a sip. “That is possible, I suppose.”

  “Highly possible,” Hollingsworth urged, much too vehemently for Jonathon’s liking.

  “There is something you’re not telling me.” Jonathon felt that rise of anxiety swell within him. He had known Hollingsworth a long time and something was definitely amiss.

  “It is nothing I can tell you until I have further investigated.”

  “Tell me regardless.”

  “I shan’t. It is of no consequence as yet.”

  “You shall, or I shall make known of your escapades in Surrey.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Perhaps not. But are you willing to take a chance? You live on the fringes of society as it is.”

  Hollingsworth leaned forward, placing his brandy on the table between them. “I know you are bluffing. We have had a go at cards one too many times. I know your game.”

  Jonathon sighed. “All right. So I will not spoil your reputation, such as it is. But please, I am weary. Just tell me what you know. I understand it is speculation and shall take it as such.”

  Hollingsworth took in a considerable breath. “Aubury…well, Aubury acquired the estate from the actual heir. According to the fire protection and the will of Miss Lark’s father, there was an underlying stipulation that if Miss Lark, or any future heirs born after her, were to perish before Blackwell’s own death…Peter Rexley would become sole owner of Blackwell House.” He let out his breath and sat mutely while Jonathon drank in the information.

  The silence stretched between them and Hollingsworth began to fidget. Jonathon stared at him blankly. He felt as if he had just been shot in the chest by a dueling pistol.

  Finally, he found his tongue. “I do not understand. If my father was heir, then why did he not merely allow Lark’s survival to be known? Wouldn’t the fire have been an accident in that case?”

  “I have posed the same questions to myself more than once. My explanation is quite plausible. You see, Aubury would naturally assume himself as heir. As Lark’s cousin, it would be highly unusual for Blackwell to bequeath his holdings to a member outside the family.”

  Jonathon nodded.

  “He sets the fire thinking to gain for himself and is disappointed afterward when he discovers the truth.”

  “Go on,” Jonathon prompted.

  “Your father somehow discovers the deed. I do not know how, but it is possible. When he confronts Aubury, Aubury threatens to kill him also if he doesn’t hand over the property to him as the rightful family heir. Of course, your father, being the upright gentleman that he was would see the immediate danger in allowing Lark’s survival to become known and does as Aubury wishes in order to save Lark’s life.”

  “’Tis true my father would not have needed, nor wanted, I suspect, Blackwell House. He had his own estate to contend with.” Jonathon thought further. “Yes, that would possibly explain why he would feel the ongoing need to protect Lark, but if he knew of the fire being set by Aubury, why did he not just call in the Robin Redbreasts.”

  “That I don’t understand, unless Aubury threatened your father with something else.”

  “Damnation!” Jonathon hissed across the table. “Why couldn’t my father just have explained everything? This is most vexing.”

  “Indeed. Nevertheless, you must agree that we have uncovered a very good reason for Lark to need protection, and is that not what you were after? I should be wary of Nigel Aubury, if I were you. No matter what happened twelve years ago, he is the one who will lose all should Lark’s identity be revealed.”

  “You have the truth of it,” Jonathon replied. He leaned forward. “A word in your ear.” He waited for Hollingsworth to close the gap across the table. “What of Miss Lark’s parentage? Did you uncover any information regarding that?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Have you not before tried to speak?”

  Lark shot a nervous look across the picnic blanket to Jonathon. The bite of chicken lodged in her throat forcing her to swallow hard several times to coax it down.

  He had to ruin it.

  He had surprised her with this wonderful luncheon, just the two of them surrounded by the blossoming trees at Somerset, a soft, cooling breeze and the most delectable meal. And now he had to broach the subject of speech.

  She had thought of that a great deal lately, but fear had overcome her at every instant. She couldn’t speak to him, no matter how much they both wished it.

  She wiped her hands with a napkin before answering him. “Do you not think that were I able to speak, I would do so?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s easier for you to remain silent.”

  “Silent and shameful rather than vocal and accepted?”

  “Why did my father bring you here?” Accusation laced his tone.

  Lark sat rigid, conscious of the swell and fall of her breasts as she breathed. The gusty breeze that fanned the air chilled her as much as his words.

  “I have already told you. I don’t know why. Nor would I purposely wed my own brother! Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  “You don’t sound as if you believe me. You say the words, but they are tinged with doubt.”

  “Do you not remember anything of the fire?”

  “I remember nothing, nothing, I tell you.” Her hands clipped the air as her frustration piqued. “Did you bring me out here and arrange this wonderful day merely to interrogate me?”

  “Repeat that?”

  Lark slapped the ground at her sides. Tears of frustration pricked the backs of her eyes. She hated that he could not always understand her. She knew she must make her movements more pronounced, but whenever emotion rose in her, she didn’t feel in control of her own hands. They flew about with a will of their own.

  Successfully, she fought back the tears and repeated her question.

  “No,” he said quietly, and she thought she heard remorse come through that single word. “I brought you out here that we might enjoy the time together. You see, tomorrow I must take my leave for a little while.”

  “Because of me?”

  “No, no, dear.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile but the grim insecurity within her did not fade.

  “When I returned last evening there was word of some business I must attend in Scotland. I shall be gone only a few days’ time, but…” His words trailed off.

  Worry seemed to dull his eyes, and it made her worry, too. What could be so grave that he couldn’t voice it?

  “I wish for you to remain safe while I am gone,” he said, finally. “Take care when you are about. All the better, do not leave Somerset Hall while I am absent.”

  Jonathon’s tone remained matter-of-fact, but his words tied a knot of misgiving in Lark’s stomach.

  “I do not understand this,” she signed, thoroughly overset. “I have lived a prisoner’s life all these years and now when it is unnecessary, you still wish for me to remain hidden away. I had believed all that was past.”

  “It won’t be for much longer. I swear it. But you must obey my wishes.”

  “If I am in so grave a danger, why leave me at all? What were I to greet death during your absence?”

  ~*∞*~

  Jonathon felt like an ogre. For a moment, he could not respond, his sight remaining transfixed on the cloth-covered distance between them. She deserved to know what she might have to face, but how could he tell her of what Hollingsworth had said? He could not, but it was im
perative that she take care to remain safe while he was gone. Once he checked into some facts on Aubury’s family, he might rest more easily, but not until then.

  He raised his eyes and looked into her face. “This endeavor is something I must undertake to ensure your safety and that of our future. You may not understand, but if I do not see to matters now, the opportunity may not present itself again.” He looked away trying to figure out a way to make her understand. “No one knows of your residence here. If you stay on the estate, I am confident you will be safe.”

  Lark expelled a breath laden with frustration. “I am a child no longer. Tell me why Lord Peter thought to protect me. Tell me why you order me imprisoned. Perhaps if I know the danger, I will share your belief in the need for caution.” Her arms seemed limp and weary as she spoke, and Jonathon wished he could tell her more.

  “If I knew exactly, I would tell you. However, my father saw fit to keep it undisclosed. He kept a great many secrets, I am beginning to discover…”

  Jonathon’s allowed his words to trail off. He knew not what to say. For long moments, silence stretched between them, until finally Lark sighed and lifted her hands.

  “All right,” she signed. “I supposed if I trusted Lord Peter, I should trust him—and you—now, still.” She shrugged. “I have lived most of my life on this estate and will likely live the rest of it here as Lady Somerset. Not long past, I had hoped to lock myself away forever and never have to face another soul again. I suppose it will not be so burdensome to do so for another short while. I will honor your wishes and remain on the estate until your return. But there is one stipulation.”

  “What is that?”

  “That when you can explain all of this, you will do so in detail. It is not fair that I should not know why I have lived the life I have.”

  Jonathon nodded. “Done.”

  ~*∞*~

  “I am going to miss morning tea out here with you,” Jonathon said two days later.

  Lark turned worried eyes to him. “But you said you would be away for only a few days.”

  He smiled. “That I will, but I am entirely too accustomed to seeing your beautiful face every morning. I shall become a withered man without you.”