by Ella Edon
“June…” she began, then paused. Was it fair, to put this burden on a servant? Even a friend?
“What, milady?” June asked. “You can tell me anything.”
“I’m glad you’re my friend,” Emilia said softly. “I just…I wish I knew where Lord Westmore is.”
She’d asked June to talk to a friend of hers who worked in his house, and she’d only been able to confirm what they suspected – that he’d left town.
Her maid frowned.
“Have you been past his house? Yourself, I mean. There’s only so much we servants know.”
Emilia shook her head. “I don’t want to make a scene. If I go and call on him, then half of London will start to discuss a possible liaison between us. I don’t want to do that to him. Or to me,” she added sadly.
The sadness of the fact that there was a liaison between them – though she had no proof – made her stomach twist painfully.
“You could go with your cousin,” June suggested after a moment’s thought. “Perhaps Lady Hestony can act as a chaperone? Nobody could say anything then.”
Emilia nodded slowly, feeling sudden elation. “June Stratford! That is the most wonderful idea I have ever heard of.”
June blushed. “Thanks, milady.”
Emilia felt a glimmer of hope and smiled genuinely for the first time in days, as she turned back from the gloomy weather outdoors. “I’ll call on Hestony directly. Could you summon a coach, please? I’ll fetch my bonnet and things. And please tell Father I’m going out? I think he’s in the study upstairs.”
“Very good, milady.” June smiled placidly.
Emilia took the coach to Hestony’s home through a wet, gray London. The wheels of the contraption hissed over the cobbles, which were slick and wet with rain. The sound of the hoofbeats were muted by the constant swishing sound. The roadside vendors had either covered their stalls in oilcloth, or given up altogether, and they stood, shivering, under awnings by the roadside. The light from café windows glowed like beacons in the darkness. Emilia felt her heart start to thump with excitement as she got down outside the manor.
“Can you call Lady Hestony, please?” she asked the housekeeper. She tried to keep her voice stern.
“Yes, milady.”
Emilia waited nervously, until she saw Hestony appear at the door. She ran to her cousin, who squealed and hugged her exuberantly. She was wearing a long cream muslin frock, decorated with beige sprigs. Her pale hair was in a cloud of ringlets. She smelled of roses.
“Hestony. It’s good to see you.”
“Cousin! Oh, I was so worried about you! We’ve had no word for days! How are you?”
“I’m well.”
Hestony looked at her, and Emilia knew she was noticing the small signs of distress on her face. She shook her head.
“I’m not that well, Hestony. I’ll explain in the coach. But, first…do you know where Lord Westmore lives?” Her voice sounded tense, even to her.
Hestony raised a brow. “The Earl of Westmore? I believe he lives in Westmore Mews. I don’t know the exact address. Mr. Hall?”
Her butler nodded. “Yes, milady?”
“If you could inquire of our coachman if he knows the address of Westmore Mews? Thank you, Hall. And, Hall?”
“Yes, milady?”
“Have cook pack a picnic hamper. We’ll take luncheon in the coach. We’re going out.”
“Very good, milady.”
Emilia squeezed her cousin’s hand. “Thank you, cousin,” she whispered as Hestony donned her outdoor-gear. Trust her cousin to think of a hamper! She watched as she shrugged into a cream-colored day-coat.
She smiled and squeezed Emilia’s hand back. “It’s nothing. Now, on the way, I can ask you what you think I should do with my hair for Lord Hatherley’s ball! It’s next week and I want you to come, too. I think I want a ringleted style, but I don’t know if I should rather opt for one of these ostrich plumes that’s all the rage…and that’ll look a trifle odd with ringlets. Perhaps you can advise me?”
Emilia smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
They bundled into the coach together. As luck would have it, her coachman knew the address. They sped off towards the Mews. The wet city sped past, the sound of rain pattering on the windows, mixing with the urgent clip of horse-hoofs on the cobbles. Emilia focused on the noise.
“…And I quite agree…I think I’m too short to look truly elegant with a plume in my hair. What say you?” Hestony asked firmly.
“Um…” Emilia brought her attention back from where she mused anxiously about Luke. “I think a plume can suit a shorter person, too,” she said. “Anyway. You’re as tall as me. Or almost. You aren’t short.”
Hestony chuckled. “I suppose. Now…tell me about the Earl.”
Emilia blinked, feeling instantly defensive. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Her cousin looked surprised, but said nothing.
Emilia looked out of the window, hating the fact that she was shutting her cousin out, but unsure of what else to do. She didn’t want to have to talk about Luke, for fear she’d start sobbing.
“I’m sorry, cousin,” Emilia said, hearing her own voice wobble dangerously.
Hestony nodded. “I understand. You must care a great deal for him.”
Emilia said nothing, just blinked wordlessly, her eyes filled with all those tears she hadn’t cried for days. Hestony put her hand on her knee, comfortingly.
“It’s alright, cousin. Whatever it is, it cannot be that bad. Now, shall we open the hamper?”
Emilia smiled. “Oh, cousin,” she said gently.
Trust Hestony to think that a picnic would make everything alright again! She wished it was that simple. She let her cousin calmly parcel out the bread and cold fowl from the hamper onto two small plates. She hadn’t felt like eating for days, but now she felt a twinge of hunger coming back to her. At least now they were heading out to do something. If Luke was there, at his home, she could confront him for once and for all.
“Thank you,” she murmured, biting into a bread-roll.
Hestony, teeth clamped on a small jam tartlet, just blinked and said nothing. Emilia laughed. Together, spirits lifted, they sped off through the cold rain.
The Mews was a grand place. In the gray day, it reared up in imposing grandeur from the sidewalk, a pale sandstone edifice with gables and a long doorway. Emilia stared up at it, feeling intimidated. She reached for the bronze door-knocker. Her heart was in her mouth. Behind her, hefting a large oilcloth umbrella over herself, Hestony waited.
“Good afternoon?” a butler asked, raising a brow at her.
Emilia swallowed. “Um…good day.” Her throat was blocked and she coughed to clear it. “Is…is the Earl of Westmore at home?”
The butler’s graying eyebrow shot up. Emilia felt her hands start to go clammy. She forced herself to stand firm. The butler glanced back into the street, as if reluctant to divulge a truth in front of strangers.
“That’s my cousin,” Emilia explained. “Lady Hestony.”
“Um, yes, milady. Well…um…I regret to inform you that the Earl of Westmore is not here. He was called away to urgent business. In the North, I believe.”
“I see,” Emilia whispered.
“He’s away for an unforeseen family matter,” the butler elaborated. “May I take a message for him?”
“No,” Emilia said, blinking back the tears that gathered in her eyes. “No. Don’t tell him.”
She turned and headed back down the stairwell, to the coach. Hestony followed, deconstructing the umbrella with a little frown, fighting with the spokes. Emilia would have been amused, but the place in her heart that felt humor had retreated behind a wall made out of ice.
“He’s not here, but that doesn’t mean he’s not coming back,” Hestony protested, dragging herself up into the coach, shaking the rain off her hair. “Emilia! You’re being silly…he’s just away for a few days.”
“No,” Emilia said. She was sob
bing, now, utterly unable to conceal it. “He’s not just away for a few days. This is serious.”
“Cousin…” Hestony reached out a hand to her.
Emilia didn’t take it, mute in sorrow. “I just know,” she declared at length. “I just know.”
They rode the coach back in silence. As the streets rolled past, Emilia watched them, detached. It felt like her heart had turned to frost. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. She just knew.
He’s heard about Papa’s dealings. He’s heard about the agreement with the Duke. He decided I was not the woman for him, and he’s trying to cover our little liaison up again.
She sniffed, too sad even to cry. What about her? What would happen to her, now?
He had acted as if they were married, in truth. They had lain together, and she had not thought it wrong because they were man and wife. She thought of what a fool she’d been.
“I’m going to ask Mama if we can visit Lady Arnott, later,” Hestony was saying. “She has ever so fine a garden, and we can see the river from there, and if it’s flooded. Want to come?”
Emilia shook her head. She didn’t feel any interest in doing anything anymore. All she wanted to do was curl up somewhere and cry and never stop.
“It’s a beautiful day out…” Hestony began.
“Hestony, please. Don’t talk to me about the weather.” Emilia said through clenched teeth.
Hestony nodded. Emilia felt bad. “Thank you for coming out with me,” she said.
“It’s nothing, cousin,” Hestony assured her. “Truly. It’s a pleasure.”
Emilia had a thought. “Hestony…if I needed it…do you think your mama would agree to let me stay at Haverley House?”
Haverly was her uncle’s property, a small farmhouse more than a true estate. The family historically used it to retire from city life, or as a retreat. As far as Emilia knew, nobody lived there. If she was to retire from society life, that would be the place to do it.
Hestony nodded. “Of course, cousin. But…”
“Please, just ask her?” Emilia said firmly. “I might need to get away from London.”
If her reputation was ruined, if Luke had truly used her that cruelly, then she would have no other choice. The thought weighed on her heart, but it was at least an option. How many poorer lasses had no such refuge to use?
Her cousin nodded. “Yes, Emilia.”
They rolled back to her home in silence. When Emilia finally reached Mowbray House again, she brushed wordlessly past June, unable to get a word round her tears.
“Oh, milady,” June murmured as she hurried past. “He’s a bad lot, he is. He ain’t worth tears.”
Emilia, lying sadly on her bed, wished that she could believe that June was right. That he wasn’t worth her sadness.
Chapter Thirty
Making a Decision
In the study, Luke sat in front of Uncle Ranvier’s desk, feeling like ants were crawling up and down the legs of his trousers. He was in an agony of impatience. His very skin pricked with it, and the sound of the rain on the windowsill only made it worse. It beat on his eardrums until he thought he might go mad.
Behind the desk, Hal was reading out demands from the solicitor’s office. He held the page before him, enunciating like actors at the London Playhouse.
“To the tune of…A…dash me! He wants us to ensure that a bill of fifty pounds is paid by next week! Can you imagine that! Fifty, Luke!”
“I don’t care if it’s a hundred!” Luke snarled. “I’ll pay the damn thing if you’ll just shut up.”
Luke heard the angry outburst issue from his own lips with surprise. He looked around the office, hearing the echoes of it dwindle in the dusty room.
“Sorry,” he muttered. He looked at his hands, feeling sheepish. Hal stared at him with an almost fearful expression, which made Luke feel shameful.
Hal shook his head. “I say, Luke. Something’s wrong.”
“I can’t bear this anymore,” Luke confessed. “I’m three whole days ride away from London, Hal! What am I going to do, if…”
“It’s about her, isn’t it?” Hal interrupted.
“Of course, it is!” Luke almost shouted. His friend and cousin shot him a hurt look.
“I say, Luke. I’m not deaf.”
“I know,” Luke mumbled. “It’s been five days –a week, if you count the days it took to get here. And it’ll take three more days to get back. Hal…I cannot leave her alone in London for so long.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Hal said, “but I understand. You cannot stay here, Luke. I’ll find a way to manage. I can do this, somehow. I know I can.”
Luke shook his head. “I can’t do that to you, Hal. But…but I also cannot stand this wait. It’s making me worse than useless around here.”
“I don’t want to make you suffer, cousin,” Hal said gently. “Go back to London. If I need help, I can ask Mr. Rowley in the village. If my father continues to be out-of-commission...”
“Your father is perfectly capacitated, and damn well capable, to boot!” a cross voice rang out from the doorway.
“Father!”
“Uncle!”
Luke looked at Hal, feeling a grin stretch his face, and then at the doorway, where the older man strode in.
Ranvier was still pale, and he was walking with the assistance of a walking-cane. He was coughing and clearly not nearly well yet; nevertheless, he was downstairs. He awarded his son a hard look.
“Hal, you would do better as a writer or a poet than you ever would as a solicitor,” he said. “Luke…whatever you’re bellowing about, I’m sure it’s got more need of you than an old man who’s perfectly capable of managing his own accounts. So, I advise both of you to get yourselves down to London. I’ll manage just fine alone.”
“Father…” Hal said gently.
“Son, I’m feverish, I haven’t ended up soft in the head.” Ranvier sighed. “I can make sure my accounts are paid. The coach needs a run. Get yourselves hence.”
“Uncle,” Luke began. “Thank you. I am so…”
“Nephew, you know me. Just take the damn coach and get yourselves down to London for a week or two.” He grinned. “I don’t know what you’re embroiled in, but it sounds quite exciting.”
Luke shook his head. “Nothing of scandal, Uncle.”
“I’ll bet.” Uncle Ranvier sounded gloomy. “You and my brother…you’re so much his son, it’s nauseating. Both such upstanding examples of citizenry, you’d never cause scandal.” He shook his head as if he was tired of the whole business.
Luke chuckled. “Thanks, Uncle.”
They set out after two hours, which were more than enough time for packing and ensuring the smooth running of the place while they were away.
“And, Father…please do as Doctor Macely advises you?” Hal pleaded, standing on the steps.
“Doctor Macely be hanged,” Ranvier grumbled.
Hal shook his head, seemingly deciding to give in. “Just take care of yourself, alright?”
“I’ll take care. You, too.”
The two men shook hands.
“Goodbye, Luke.”
“Farewell, Uncle.”
Luke shook his hand and then followed his cousin down the steps to the waiting coach. With the power of six horses to pull them, it might be possible to stretch the journey out to two days, if they stopped often to change horses. He felt hopeful about it.
“We’ll be back in London soon,” Hal assured him.
Luke nodded. “We will.”
Light filtered through the mist on the afternoon of the second day, when they arrived in London. It was late – well past dinnertime. Luke was dazed and tired. They’d travelled all through the night, changing horses three times. He heard the church bells proclaim the hour and glanced at Hal.
“Can you let me off hereabouts?”
Hal nodded. “I’m going on to the townhouse. You’ll be safe?” He glanced around.
“Cousin, it’s Ba
kerwell Street. Yes, I’ll be safe.”
“Farewell, then, cousin.”
Luke gripped Hal’s hand briefly. “Farewell.”
He walked through the mist and headed down and then around the corner, seeking Mowbray House.