The house felt cold and damp. She looked around, at crooked pictures in broken frames. Ornaments so caked in dust that they were colorless.
A young girl came to them and took their coats. “Where are the other staff?” Mrs. Barrow asked, with a frown.
The girl kept her head down and mumbled when she spoke. “There’s just me and Adam, ma’am.”
Extremely unusual. Before Mrs. Barrow could question her any further, the girl scuttled away quickly.
Then Loraine saw a shadow move at the top of the stairs. She sucked in a breath and stepped back into Mrs. Barrow. She put her hands on Loraine’s shoulders, leaned down and murmured into her ear, “It’s okay.”
Loraine looked back up at the shadow, which was moving quickly now. It descended down the stairs and came into the dim lighting.
It was a woman, whose face was manic and smiling. It looked like a specter’s face. The woman came so close so quickly that Loraine sucked in a sharp breath.
“Miss Loraine Beauchamp,” the woman said, too loudly for the quietness of the house. She seized hold of Loraine’s hands and started rubbing them. “So cold, so cold,” she said. “Come into the warm!”
But it wasn’t warm. In fact, the house was colder than outside. As she looked up at the woman’s face, she noticed a few things. Her eyes, which were pale and a little bloodshot. Her thin lips.
And then her hair. Loraine expected it to be in disarray, like the house. But it was immaculate. There wasn’t a single wisp out of place and it was pulled back into a beautiful English bun.
Loraine looked down. Her gown was beautiful too. It was emerald green, made of velvet and pristine. She looked ready for a ball.
“Do you like my dress?” She said, when she spotted Loraine looking at it. She let go of her hands and did a turn. “Lovely, isn’t it? I’ll have one made for you and we’ll match!”
Loraine thought that she was crazy and her fright hadn’t quite abandoned her. Until she saw something in the shape of her mouth which intrigued her.
It was a little crookedness at the very corner of her mouth, which Loraine could only see when she smiled. She recognized it. Because her father had the same quirk to his mouth.
In fact, the more she looked, the more Loraine saw of her father in her aunt’s face. The fine brows, the tiny crows feet either side of her eyes, the high cheek bones.
She felt less afraid suddenly.
“Will you not say hello to me, child?”
Loraine blinked. She hadn’t realized that she’d not spoken yet. “Hello,” she croaked.
“Oh, my darling, you sound awfully tired. Shall we have some hot milk and go to bed?”
Loraine looked up at Mrs. Barrow. It was then that her aunt noticed her. “Oh… you must be Mrs. Barrow.”
“That’s right, my Lady,” Mrs. Barrow answered, in a level voice.
“Splendid,” Aunt Esther said, but there was something uneasy in her voice.
Loraine noticed that the house seemed entirely empty. Her aunt must not be accustomed to having other people around, which was very strange to Loraine. Where were the other servants? “Why don’t you put on some milk, Mrs. Barrow? The kitchen is that way.”
Mrs. Barrow hesitated, then obeyed. She spared Loraine one more tender, comforting look, before she went into the kitchens. Loraine looked up at her aunt shyly. She smiled again, put her hand out and said, “Shall we?”
Loraine took her hand and was led upstairs by her new guardian, in her new home.
***
Her thoughts of her home in Louisiana faded away, and the home she’d left behind all those years ago filled her vision.
“Right,” her aunt said, having grown more accustomed to the light. “Shall we have some milk?”
Mrs. Barrow shared a secret smile with Loraine, then went to the kitchen to put some milk on the stove. Loraine smiled at her aunt, who had that same excited gleam in her eye that she’d had the first day they’d met.
It had taken time, but she’d learnt to love her aunt, mad as she was. Seeing her here, in Loraine’s childhood home, gave her a warm and melancholy feeling.
Her aunt smiled at her and Loraine smiled back.
Chapter 2
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
It was noisy in the tavern, just the way he liked it. He had spent the last several months avoiding silence like the Black Death and the sound of laughter and drunkenness was music to his ears.
Philip had a thick cigar in his mouth and a handful of cards. He had a second cigar tucked behind his ear and a glass of rum beside him. He arrived back in town about an hour earlier, having been gone for over half a year. He’d come here because he hadn’t wanted to go home.
He’d wanted to come here. Theodore, his best friend who’d accompanied him on his travels when he could, was sitting beside him. They could both do with some sleep, but they lived by the laws of mischief and living life to its fullest.
So they’d gotten themselves several drinks and fallen into another game of poker.
“I raise you,” Theodore mumbled around his own cigar. “All in.” Theodore pushed his pile of cash into the center of the table. Then he puffed out a cloud of smoke and blew it in the direction of their opponent.
The gentleman sitting opposite them was a man they’d gambled with before. In fact, they’d attended school with him. An arrogant chap who wasn’t worth his weight in horse manure, as far as Philip was concerned.
“I fold,” Philip said, and put his cards aside.
Theodore’s one remaining opponent met his bet and pushed his coins into the center. They showed their cards and Theodore smiled slowly, from ear to ear. “That’s a shame, Johnny,” he said, as he reached for the pile of coins and notes. “Better luck next time.”
But as he gathered the impressive pile into his arms, Philip caught sight of something white up Theodore’s sleeve. Johnny saw it too.
Philip winced as he realized what was about to happen, and Johnny seized hold of Theodore’s arm. He yanked up his sleeve to reveal three cards that Theodore had been hiding up there. “You damned cheat!”
He released Theodore and slammed his fist on the tabletop. Then stood and started rounding the table so that he could reach Theodore. Philip blocked his path before he could get there and planted his hands on Johnny’s chest.
“Now, now,” he said, in an amicable voice. “Let’s all calm down.”
“Calm down? The damned git has stolen from me. Move out my way, you brainless weasel. Unless you want a walloping too?”
Philip’s amicable expression turned to iron. He did not take well to being threatened or to being insulted. But then he plastered on a fake smile and stepped aside, gesturing for Johnny to pass.
This momentarily surprised Johnny, which was exactly what Philip had intended. When Johnny took a step to pass Philip so that he could drag Theodore outside and start a brawl, Philip drew back his fist and swung it at his gut.
Johnny’s breath was knocked out of him and he hunched over, holding his midriff. Then his friends came to his aid and swarmed on Theodore and Philip, instigating an all out tavern brawl.
When they were bruised and had bloody noses, Theodore and Philip stumbled outside laughing, having been booted out by the owner. “We need never have left,” Theodore said, through loud laughter. “We could have had just as much fun if we’d stayed here.”
Philip laughed too, with his arm over his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it hurt from laughing or from being hit. “The tavern brawls in France were better, by far,” he said, with a shake of his head. “British men can’t fight like the French do.”
Theodore agreed on that score.
As they started to walk away from the tavern, Philip felt the inside of his lip with his tongue. It was cut and there was some blood in his mouth. He spat it out on the ground.
“Where to next?”
“Where to?” Theodore echoed. “I’m going home. I’m knackered.”
Phil
ip looked up at the sky. It wasn’t late enough yet. His father and brother would still be awake and he wasn’t sure he could face them.
He’d hoped to sneak in after they were asleep and deal with them when morning came. “But it’s early,” Philip said.
“We’ve been on the road for days, Philip. And you can barely stand. We need a good night’s sleep.”
“And tomorrow?” He said, hopefully.
“Tomorrow we’ll have another adventure.” Theodore clapped him on the back as he said this and smiled. Then winced and held his arm. “He got me in my shoulder, the git.”
Before they made it more than a few strides away from the tavern, Philip heard someone call his name. He turned to see a young gentleman running towards them.
“I know you,” Philip said. “Alfie, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Alfie answered, looking entirely thrilled that Philip had recognized him. “We were at Cambridge together.”
Philip nodded. “That’s right.” Before he was kicked out, at least. He didn’t much like to see people from Cambridge. It was a painful reminder of what had happened that year.
“I recognized you when the fight started,” Alfie said. “And I wanted to give my condolences. I know that you were close.”
Feeling more than a little drunk, Philip frowned at Alfie. “It has been a while since my mother passed away,” Philip said, which made Alfie noticeably uncomfortable. The gentleman went red in the face and shook his head.
“No,” he said, uneasily. “I meant Edgar.”
It took a moment for that name to sink in. “Edgar…” He echoed, slowly.
“Yes… Edgar Strath? The Duke of Collingsworth? You were close, were you not? I’m sorry if I’m mistaken. Perhaps I have you confused with someone else.”
Philip couldn’t get his thoughts in order. He looked at Alfie, then at Theodore, as if one of them might be able to rearrange his thoughts and give him some clarity.
But Theodore had a blank, empty look on his face and wouldn’t speak a word.
“Were you back in town for the funeral?” Alfie went on. “I did not see you there this morning.”
Before Philip could muster a response, one of Alfie’s friends appeared in the tavern doorway and called for him. “Sorry, old chaps, I’ve got to run. It was good seeing you.” He reached out and shook Philip’s limp hand, then Theodore’s. Then disappeared back into the tavern.
Theodore and Philip stood outside the tavern for several moments, neither of them making a sound.
“Come on,” Philip said eventually, in a dead voice. He turned away from the tavern, and Theodore fell into a languid step beside him.
Neither of them spoke about what had just happened and what they’d learnt. They were too drunk. Too stunned.
Theodore didn’t even bid Philip goodnight when they got to his estate. He just went inside wordlessly, leaving Philip to walk the remaining mile back to his family home.
When he got there, he didn’t go in. The light in his father’s room was still on, so he sat outside and watched the windows until they went dark.
He sat in the grass and replayed what Alfie had said, over and over.
Edgar Strath.
They’d met as adolescents and no two men had ever been so dissimilar. But their differences hadn’t mattered. They’d complimented one another in a peculiar and unexpected way.
Perhaps most remarkably, Edgar had always seemed to understand Philip without him ever having to explain himself.
An understanding that had made him feel whole.
But he wouldn’t get that feeling again.
His friend was dead. And he hadn’t even been in town for his funeral. With a lump in his throat, Philip looked up at the house. He’d left this place so he wouldn’t have to face his mother’s death. And just as he’d felt that he was beginning to recover from it, he’d come back only to find that he’d let someone else down too.
***
Philip had gone inside during the early hours of the morning, but hadn’t been able to sleep that night. He rose at dawn, before the rest of the house had stirred and went to call on Theodore.
Theodore hadn’t slept either and he looked like he’d been expecting him. He already had his boots on. They both knew where they were headed without needing to say it aloud.
They went to an old friend’s house. A gentleman named Bradley Stenson. Philip, Theodore, Bradley and Edgar had spent almost every moment together throughout their adolescent years.
Bradley looked them up and down when they arrived, then stepped aside to usher them in. “It’s early,” he said.
“Do you care?” Philip asked, with a quirked brow.
Bradley smiled and had some strong coffee brought to them in the drawing room. “It’s good to see you,” Bradley admitted. “How long has it been?”
“It’s been seven months since we left,” Philip said. The scent of coffee roused his energy. He took a sip and wished it was liquor, which was better equipped to help him face this conversation.
“You’ve come about Edgar,” Bradley said, losing his smile. Theodore and Philip didn’t answer and Bradley nodded solemnly. “I tried to send word of his death to you. I swear.”
Philip felt guilt tighten in his gut. Yes, he was sure that Bradley had tried his hardest. But Philip hadn’t wanted to be found. He’d wanted to escape and had been selfish enough to actually go through with it.
“What happened?”
Bradley expelled a long breath. “It was the woman he told you about.”
Philip frowned. “What woman?”
“The American.”
It came back to him then.
The day of his mother’s funeral, Philip had decided to leave for America, against his father’s wishes. The pain had been so raw that day that he’d felt debilitated by it.
He’d been like a rat in a cage and flight had felt like the only thing that could free him from his own thoughts.
Edgar had been the only person he’d told about his imminent departure besides Theodore, and they’d both decided to accompany him.
They spent several weeks in America. Theodore and Philip gambling and drinking excessively, while Edgar pursued something far more dangerous.
A woman’s heart.
Philip visited Edgar in Louisiana, where he’d been staying. On that day, Edgar told him about a woman he’d met. “She goes to this gallery and I need you to come with me to see her.”
Bitter with grief, Philip hadn’t even been kind in his refusal. “To what? Help you win over this girl so you can tie yourself down to a life of domesticity? I’ll play no part in that.”
“You don’t understand,” Edgar had said. “I love her, Philip. But I can’t do this without you. I’ve never felt so out of my depth before and I’ve never longed for anything more. I need you there to keep me level-headed. Just help me figure her out.”
“I have no interest in spying on women,” Philip had said. “Just as I have no interest in assisting you in this fool’s endeavor.”
Edgar had begged until Philip had made an abrupt and apathetic departure. He recalled the feeling of anger as he left. An anger that had been simmering in him since his mother’s death. An anger that was so easily stirred at that time, but that kept his grief from overwhelming him.
That was the last he’d seen of Edgar Strath.
Bradley’s voice brought him out of the memory. “He took his own life.”
A terrible silence fell. One that seemed to swallow up the air. “What?” Philip heard himself whisper.
Bradley’s eyes were shining. He was looking at Philip as he spoke. “She turned him down, quite savagely. And he-” His voice broke, but he managed to hold his tears at bay. He cleared his throat. “He couldn’t take it,” Bradley concluded.
They sat in silence for a long time, each of them awash in their memories of Edgar. Philip thought of his kind, hazel eyes. The dimples of his smile and how free he was with it. His hopeless romanticism an
d long speeches about comradeship and brotherhood, which had always made them laugh.
He’d been the softer side of their little group. And as Philip looked around at Bradley and Theodore, he realized that their friendship was made more delicate by his absence. They’d needed Edgar’s softness to balance out their impulsiveness.
Philip stood and went to the glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Theodore and Bradley watched him. He returned with three glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He put the glasses down on the coffee table and filled them up, one by one.
A Wicked Scandal For The Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 28