by Cora Lee
“Then what’s the bad news?”
The corners of Eddington’s mouth turned down. “He is the only aristocratic guest. The others are well enough off, but not wealthy enough to produce three thousand pounds...except for Lady Cecilia. But she won’t be useful.”
James felt like he’d been punched in the chest. She was here! “Lady Cecilia?”
“Yes,” Eddington answered slowly, his eyes darting around the room. “I’m sorry. I did tell you at least one member of the family would attend. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a female member with no husband to petition, and one you have a past with.”
James sat in silence for a long minute, concentrating on breathing normally. He foolishly hadn’t prepared himself for her actual presence, and now he had to contend with a jumble of emotions right here in front of Eddington.
“I can’t borrow money from a woman,” he managed at last. “And certainly not from Cecilia.”
Eddington shook his head. “Of course you can’t. Nor could she deal effectively with Grimsby if a problem arose.”
James scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind by sheer force of will. “That leaves me with Hadleigh. He will undoubtedly find me vulgar if I lay out my case plainly before him and ask for his protection at dinner. You’ll have to help me devise a way to sound like a gentleman when I speak to him.”
They spent the next thirty minutes putting together some topics James could use when conversing with the marquess. And both James and Eddington took great pains with their appearances as they made ready for the social hour before dinner, James even allowing Eddington’s valet to brush his clothing and tie his cravat.
But when they entered the drawing room at the appointed time, they found they could not locate the Marquess of Hadleigh.
“Good evening, Mr. Eddington, Mr. Fitzsimmons.” Margaret Maitland greeted them each with a nod as she circulated among the guests. “I trust you are feeling well-rested this evening.”
Eddington took her offered hand and bowed over it. “Indeed we are, Miss Maitland. It seems not everyone is as fortunate as we are, though. We were hoping to speak with Lord Hadleigh for a moment before dinner, but he does not appear to have come down from his chamber yet.”
She took her hand back and shook her head. “Nor will he, the physician said. Not for several weeks.”
“Physician?” Eddington asked.
“Weeks?” James put in, only half registering the note of anxiety in his voice.
“Did you not hear?” Miss Maitland took half a step closer. “He was conversing with my brother this afternoon,” she answered in a quiet voice, “and was paying more attention to his words than to where he was going.”
James winced inwardly, knowing that whatever came next was bound to be painful for both himself and the marquess.
“Lord Hadleigh fell down the staircase and broke his leg. He’s confined to bed until further notice.”
For the second time that day, James felt as though he’d been punched. Not only would a broken leg prevent Hadleigh from participating in house party events for the entire duration, but he would probably be dosed with laudanum to combat the pain.
He would be asleep or insensible.
And James’s hopes for Hadleigh’s patronage disappeared.
~*~
It was as if her conversation with Margaret had conjured him directly into her cousin’s drawing room.
Cecilia spotted James from across the room. Even though it had been seventeen years since she’d set eyes on him, she recognized him easily. His hair was shorter now, but still the same golden brown it had been when she’d last run her fingers through it. His skin was not as tanned as she remembered, but his face and hands were still several shades darker than those of the other guests. His clothes were some years out of fashion, but were as neat and well-tailored as they had been during that long ago visit to London.
What was he doing here? She didn’t remember his name being on the guest list Phillip’s wife had shown her. Nor could she fathom how a farmer from Kent would have an acquaintance with her idle cousins in Gloucestershire.
But then again, no one would have ever guessed that the same farmer had once been very, very close to a duke’s daughter.
She circulated about the room, mingling with her cousin’s guests and making small talk about the usual nonsense, pretending her heart wasn’t beating as though she’d danced a dozen reels. Her eyes took on a life of their own and kept darting toward James, watching as he performed the same rituals. Was he as nervous as she was? Had he even noticed she was there?
And then he was walking toward her.
Dear God in heaven, what did one say to the only man one had ever loved seventeen years after breaking his heart?
“Cousin, are you acquainted with Mr. Eddington and Mr. Fitzsimmons?”
Cecilia focused on Margaret, who was positioned between the two gentlemen as they approached, and forced herself to breathe normally. “I don’t believe so. Perhaps you’ll do the honors?”
Apparently, one pretended not to know the broken-hearted party at all.
Cecilia offered her hand to Mr. Eddington as Margaret made the introduction, and attempted what she hoped was a genteel smile. “It’s a pleasure to have a face to put with the name—my cousins tell me you’ve been spending a fair amount of time here since you settled in at Westwood.”
“I wouldn’t say that I’ve settled in just yet,” Mr. Eddington replied politely. “But it has been very pleasant to have neighbors as welcoming as the Maitlands.”
“And Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Cecilia said, turning to face James and offering her hand. He took it carefully, his brown eyes intent on her blue ones despite his relaxed expression. “I understand you have been visiting Mr. Eddington these past few days. Are you enjoying your stay in the Cotswolds?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t experienced much of the region yet.” He touched only her fingertips, but stroked his thumb across them before letting go. “My stay has been all business up until today.”
“And what kind of business are you in?” Cecilia asked, as if she hadn’t heard all the stories about his childhood on the farm.
“I am here to rescue someone,” he told her. The corners of his mouth curved upward in what she recognized as his I’m-being-modest smile. “A relation got himself mixed up in a distasteful business matter, and I am attempting to keep him out of debtors’ prison.”
There was a Banbury tale if she’d ever heard one—who would admit that a family member was in financial trouble? But he hadn’t called attention to her lie so she decided to play along with his, raising her brows and forming her mouth into a little O. “How awful,” she breathed. “I do hope you are successful.”
“So does his relation,” Mr. Eddington replied in a rather serious tone.
Margaret’s lips quirked and pressed together, as if she was trying to fight a smile. “I’m sure he does. You will let us know how it turns out, Mr. Fitzsimmons?”
“I will.”
Cecilia remarked on the weather, hoping—for once—to steer the conversation into more conventional waters. Or at least to a topic she didn’t have to think much about. Her mind was busy sorting out a quandary she hadn’t seriously considered, despite her conversation with Margaret. Should she tell James about the blackmail? It was one thing to keep the incident to herself when his whereabouts were unknown to her, but here he was in her cousin’s home, an arm’s length away.
Was he still unattached? If so, would he marry her to save her brother?
Did she want him to?
James and Mr. Eddington took their leave, drifting toward a knot of gentlemen that were talking near the window. Cecilia counted slowly to five, then drew her cousin to a quieter corner of the room.
“That was him.”
“Who was whom?” Margaret asked, her brows raised.
“Mr. Fitzsimmons is the man I wrote the scandalous letter to.”
“The letter that Grimsby i
s using to extort money from you?”
Cecilia nodded, her eyes seeking out James before refocusing on Margaret. “Yes.”
“He’s the lover from long ago?”
“He is.”
Margaret frowned. “Wait, didn’t I just introduce him to you?”
Cecilia felt herself cringe. “You did. I apparently decided that it would be easier to pretend I didn’t know him, or that I’d forgotten him.”
“But you haven’t.”
Forget James? No. Even before Grimsby had dredged up old memories with her letter, James had been in her thoughts more than one would think possible after so long an absence. “Even if I had, Grimsby’s little enterprise would have brought him to the forefront again. But things did not end well between us, and I was unsure of Mr. Fitzsimmons’s reaction to me.”
“He seemed perfectly civil,” Margaret replied. “Assuming he remains so, you now have your chance to tell him about the letter and Grimsby’s use of it.”
“Do you think I should?”
“The way I see it, you have three options. You can quietly pay his lordship the money he demands and get your letter back. You can come up with a plan that results in Grimsby’s downfall without harming your brother. Or you can ask Mr. Fitzsimmons his opinion of the matter since, strictly speaking, he is already involved.”
Cecilia smiled and touched her cousin’s arm. “This is why I came to you in the first place—you can always boil a situation down to its essence. Now all I have to do is come up with a way to put Grimsby in his place.”
“You won’t tell Mr. Fitzsimmons about the letter, then?”
“I don’t believe I will. The only reason he’s involved is because his name is on the letter. If I can resolve the situation, he need never know it was an issue at all.”
Margaret opened her mouth as if to reply, but was interrupted when Phillip appeared at her side holding out a piece of paper to Cecilia.
“This came in the post this morning addressed to me, but it’s for us both.”
“Why are you bringing correspondence to the drawing room twenty minutes before dinner?” Margaret asked, her voice a mixture of irritation and concern.
“I only just found it a few minutes ago, when I was looking for the book I wanted to lend to Mr. Hobbes. It’s from Orchard Lake.”
Orchard Lake was the Duke of Alston’s favorite residence. Cecilia accepted the paper from her cousin and scanned it quickly. It wasn’t a summons to her brother’s death bed, but it wasn’t a glowing report either.
“It seems His Grace has taken to his bed again,” she said aloud for Margaret’s benefit. “The duchess writes that while he is too weak to walk unassisted and his breathing grows ragged, he is still in good spirits with a healthy appetite. She does not want us to abandon the house party, but wishes us to be apprised of his condition in case...”
Margaret nodded. “We are apprised, then. And Her Grace will certainly inform us of any changes.”
Cecilia handed the paper back to Phillip. “Thank you. You’ll find me again if more news arrives?”
“Of course.”
Phillip tucked the paper into the pocket of his cutaway coat, patted Cecilia’s shoulder, then threaded his way across the room, presumably in pursuit of Mr. Hobbes. Cecilia’s eyes met Margaret’s and she suspected they were both thinking the same thing: whatever Cecilia was going to do about the Earl of Grimsby, she had better do it before he decided to make public the contents of her letter.
Chapter 3
Cecilia made it through dinner, and tea with the ladies afterward, by sheer force of will and good manners. She even managed to participate in the game of Charades someone suggested when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. But all the while her mind was spinning, grasping at any possibility that might keep the Earl of Grimsby’s mouth shut.
As soon as was polite, she said goodnight and excused herself to her bedchamber where she could move around freely while she tried to think.
“Very well then, Cecilia,” she said aloud, “what can you do to keep Grimsby from telling Alston about that letter?”
The obvious answer was to pay the five thousand pounds he required and hope that he kept his promise to return the letter to her. It was the quickest, easiest way to put the whole matter to rest. But it was also predicated on a blackmailer keeping his promise.
She began walking around the room, skirting the edge of her bed and heading for the washstand before turning back toward the fireplace. “I don’t like that at all. What’s to stop Grimsby from refusing to turn over the letter, or demanding more money?”
She could always even the score later. Grimsby had a wife and daughter who enjoyed the entertainments of the Season, and Grimsby himself had been known to escort them about Town. With Cecilia’s social position it would be easy keep Lady Grimsby’s name off the guest lists for balls and soirees. A word in the ear of one of the Patronesses and vouchers for Almack’s would be withheld. It would be a miserable year for a husband-hunting girl and the mother watching her flounder.
Yet it wasn’t the Grimsby women that Cecilia wanted to punish, it was the earl himself.
“He might be indirectly affected, but it wouldn’t be enough. And Lady Grimsby has never been anything but kind to me.” Running a hand over the footboard as she passed the bed again, she shook her head and discarded the idea.
What else?
“I suppose I could arrange to have him injured.”
Cecilia halted abruptly as soon as the words were out of her mouth. No, that was clearly unacceptable. She might feel justified in imagining scenarios where his lordship got what he deserved, but to actually cause physical damage would be unconscionable.
Sighing, she resumed her circuit about the chamber at a more somber pace. “I’m just going to have to pay him. My brother’s peace—his very life—is certainly worth five thousand pounds. If I insist on a simultaneous exchange, the chances of getting my letter back are much greater.”
Perhaps her cousin’s cook would have some pastries squirreled away in the kitchen that would make Cecilia’s pride easier to swallow. She strode to the door and opened it, pausing in the hallway to get her bearings. As she located the main staircase, she noticed candlelight spilling out from a partially open door further down. A male voice joined the light.
“And there’s no one else in a position to help, is there?”
It was James. Cecilia crept closer, gathering the material of her skirts in one hand to quiet the rustle. What was this about?
“No. I’m sorry, Fitz. I thought for sure you’d find your patron here.” That was Mr. Eddington, sounding truly sorrowful. Why did James need a patron so badly?
“There has got to be a way to save the farm and keep my father out of debtors’ prison. I will not give over my family’s livelihood to that man, earl or not.”
Keep his father out of prison? Was Mr. Fitzsimmons the relative James had cheekily discussed before dinner? And who was the earl threatening him?
Cecilia’s hand went to her mouth to stifle her gasp, but it couldn’t stifle her words.
“It’s true, then.”
~*~
James turned and found Cecilia standing just outside the partially open door, her eyes widened with surprise. He gestured her inside and closed the door tightly behind her as she entered, mentally kicking himself for not having done so in the first place.
“Yes, it’s true.” There was no point in denying anything now. Cecilia was an intelligent woman and he was a terrible liar—she’d see through any story he tried to concoct.
“Who is it?” Her lips pressed into a firm line and her eyes narrowed. “Wait, it’s Grimsby, isn’t it? He’s at it again.”
James turned sharply. “Why would you think that?”
“How many other blackmailing earls do you know?” she shot back.
“Blackmailing?”
Cecilia nodded. “That is what he’s doing to you, isn’t it?”
“Did
you say ‘again’?” Eddington cut in. “He’s done this before?”
“He’s doing it currently. To me.”
The room went quiet and James tried to understand what he’d just heard. Cecilia was being blackmailed by the Earl of Grimsby?
“He has a financial hold over my father,” James explained to her, glancing back at Eddington, then refocusing on Cecilia, “It isn’t blackmail, but a loan was made and now he wants full payment or we lose the farm. No one else can know. Promise me you won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
She nodded slowly and didn’t speak for a moment. The Cecilia he’d known all those years ago would have taken a secret to her grave for him. But would she now?
Then the corners of her eyes crinkled as her mouth formed a cheerful smile. “Oh, I can do better than that—I can help you stop him.”
“What? You’re a woman—what can you do to an earl, a peer of the realm?”
“First of all, I have money to hire solicitors and barristers and private investigators...whatever and whoever is necessary to combat his lordship legally, if such a thing is possible. At the very least, I can pay back your loan.”
“That would be helpful,” Eddington said transferring his gaze from Cecilia to James. “Neither you nor I have the funds to do that.”
“I also have connections to powerful lords, not the least of which is my brother.”
“There’s your patron.” Eddington directed his words to James with a slight nod and raised brows.
“That’s assuming I agree to this...this partnership. Eddington is correct in his assessment of our financial situation, but borrowing money from a female is unseemly. And what makes you think that your connections would bother with a lowly farmer you once knew? They certainly aren’t going to stick their necks out because you ask nicely.”
Cecilia laughed a little. “No, they probably wouldn’t. But they would do anything to see justice done for a member of the family.”
“Which I am not.”
“You would be if we married.”
Eddington made an inarticulate noise in his throat and tried to cover it with a cough. “Did you just ask Fitz for his hand?”