He and his father had returned to Ramada Estate, his father ranting the entire ride back.
“That Prescott woman is nothing more than a harlot!” he had said at least five times. Then he pointed an accusatory finger at Holden. “This is all your fault, you know. If you were not such a disappointment, you would have learned about that woman and her daughter before roping yourself into this noose.
Holden had been unable to get a word in edgewise, but the truth was he had no argument. His father was right; if he had been assiduous, he would have learned the truth long before he had found himself in that unfortunate position David put him in.
That friend was with whom he sat now. As luck would have it, David’s father had left the day before on some trip for business. Holden had called without invitation, but to his relief, he was not met with scorn.
After explaining what had transpired at the unfortunate dinner at Scarlett Hall, David shook his head. “What you say is troublesome,” he said as he poured them each another drink. “If your father is correct, and the woman is the daughter of Lord Drake or some other man who was not married to her mother, it will not bode well for you.”
Holden thanked David for the brandy, although he did not drink. “To be honest, I do not believe Lord Drake is her father. I do believe this Michael Skylark existed, but perhaps not as he was portrayed.” He was uncertain how much he believed this to be true. Even Rose seemed confused who her father was.
“If the man was not titled,” David mused, “perhaps she is ashamed of him. That would also explain why Lady Prescott retained the name of her first husband; there is a certain je ne sais quoi to being a titled woman—a baroness if I remember correctly. Plus, is there not also an heir to her former husband’s title?”
“I believe Rose mentioned a brother, yes,” Holden replied absently. He could not have cared less for Rose’s brother at the moment. His only concern was for Rose.
“And this man, this Michael Skylark, is he nothing more than a ghost?” David said. “Has no one heard of him or does no one even recall him?”
Holden shook his head. “According to my father, no. However, how many men have been a part of society only to be forgotten when they lost their wealth or were plagued by rumors?”
“True,” David said. “Yet neither seems to apply to this man. I wish I could offer sound advice, but I have none to give. Perhaps you should wait a few days to allow your father’s anger to subside before you broach the subject again.”
With a sigh, Holden replied, “You are right. I will do just that, although I fear the attempt will be futile. I have never been able to earn the man’s respect. I thought with Rose I had.”
David turned the glass in his hands. “Have you considered what you will do if your father continues to resist?”
“I have,” Holden replied. “I love Rose and wish to marry her, but if Father will not allow it, what can I do? Run away with her and become a blacksmith? I lack the skills to do such work, or the patience to learn a trade, and she does not deserve such a life.” Not wishing to dwell on the matter further, he decided to change the subject. “Are you still seeing Caroline?”
To this, David gave a wide grin. “I am. I find the woman quite fascinating. It is as if she sees the world in a way I could never have imagined.” His lips thinned in thought. “I will admit something to you, but you must not mock me.”
Holden raised a brow. “I will not.”
David stared across the room, as if his mind had gone on holiday. “When I am in her company, I feel the urge to do what is right. It is as if there is nothing I will not do for her. To see her happy and smiling is all I want.” He chuckled and turned back to Holden. “I told her as much, which seemed to please her immensely. Then I asked permission to court her. She readily accepted.”
Holden could not contain his smile. “Why, that is marvelous!” he said, grabbing his friend’s hand and shaking it. “I am very pleased for you both. Caroline is an admirable woman. I believe you will be quite happy together.”
“Thank you,” David said. “I could not agree with you more.” He glanced behind him. “Although, I must admit, the woman has a temper.”
“A temper?” Holden asked, trying to imagine Caroline angry. “How so?”
The man laughed. “She warned me that if I make any suggestions as I did at my party, she will not hesitate to slap me into place.” This made them both give an uproarious laugh, and soon the conversation changed to other matters.
Holden found his mind turning to Rose. He had to make a decision soon, and although he wished to choose her, he was unsure if that was the best choice. His father would not only disallow the marriage, but he would cut Holden off from his inheritance. With no money or land, Holden would be unable to provide for her. What good was a title with no financial backing?
This is a dilemma in which I never thought I would find myself, he thought. Yet, unlike the business ledgers, he had no solution.
Chapter Twenty-Six
If there was one thing Lady Eleanor Lambert wished to control above all else, it was to keep hidden any and all secrets pertaining to any inhabitant, former or future, of Scarlett Hall. After Rachel had confessed that dark secret about her daughter last week, Eleanor racked her brain for any reasonable—or unreasonable if that is what it took—way to bury that secret forever. These considerations were what brought her to the home of Reverend Ambrose Creassey, the vicar used often by her late husband—and herself.
Although the cottage in which the vicar lived appeared humble with its single oak tree and tiny garden outside the window, the man within was anything but humble.
She had written Reverend Creassey the day following Rachel’s disclosure to Rose, requesting his attendance. Whether or not he would agree to come to Scarlett Hall, she had been uncertain, for he preferred to do business from his home. Including a small sum had persuaded him, and he accepted without hesitation.
Initially, when Eleanor presented what she would need from him, the man had refused to aid her, nearly walking out of the meeting before they had completed negotiations. However, when she informed him of the amount she was willing to pay, he discarded his misgivings. He always did.
Then yesterday, she received word that the requested documents were ready. What was strange was the man’s demand that she go to him rather than him returning to Scarlett Hall.
No amount of money will change my mind in this matter, he had written in his correspondence, so if you decide not to come, I will have no choice but to burn everything I have prepared for you.
Thus the reason her carriage now sat in front of the house belonging to the good reverend.
“I do not like you going into that man’s house alone,” Forbes said as he handed her down from the carriage. “He cannot be trusted, and I fear for your safety. Please, allow me to accompany you.”
Eleanor turned to the butler, her friend. “I appreciate very much your concern, but I must honor his request to enter alone.”
“I will be here waiting,” Forbes said.
Eleanor nodded and walked across the grounds, and the door opened to a young woman of perhaps twenty.
“He’s expectin’ you,” the woman said as she absently brushed at her burlap dress. Many women of insufficient means reacted in this manner when encountering one of the aristocracy. However, it was the protruding stomach that caught Eleanor’s attention. Yet, what did it matter? The woman’s condition was not Eleanor’s concern.
She gave the young woman a smile as she stepped into the cottage, walking directly into the main room that housed the sitting room, dining room, and kitchen all in one.
The furniture had not changed since her last visit. It was simple and could have used a good cleaning, but the good vicar never did care for such things. The only replacements he deemed necessary were those who kept him company.
Well, the man’s sins were his own.
The vicar stood beside a shelf of decanters, and he turned when Eleanor entered
. “Ah, Lady Lambert, you decided to grace me with your presence. It has been many years, has it not?”
Eleanor gave him her most amiable smile. “I believe it has,” she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. When he offered her wine, she said, “Thank you, but I will not be drinking.”
“What is a glass of wine between friends?” he said. Then he chuckled. “Well, we may not be friends exactly, but we can drink as if we were.”
Eleanor let out a sigh. She did not know what game Reverend Creassey was playing, but she refused to engage him. “Do you have the documents?”
He walked over and forced the glass into her hand. “I do,” he said amiably. “Do I not always do as you request?”
“For a fee,” she said with a sniff. “What you do are not favors.”
He threw his head back and laughed before going to the couch to sit. “Join me,” he said, patting the place beside him.
Eleanor eyed the couch and decided to do as he requested. She had nothing to fear from this man. Despite this fact, however, she kept as much space between them as she could.
“Now drink,” he demanded.
Wishing to bring this meeting to a quick—and tolerable—end, she complied, forcing herself not to grimace at the bitter wine. “Why do you insist on drinking with me?” she asked.
He heaved a heavy sigh. “I see you still judge me with your eyes, Eleanor,” he said.
She gripped the wine glass to keep from slapping him. How dare he speak to her in such a familiar manner! Using her Christian name without her permission, indeed!
“You have always judged me,” he continued. “Yet you sit here today ready to pay me money to deceive someone else. I assume this is not the first time you have deceived another.”
Eleanor straightened her back in annoyance. “No, it is not,” she replied, mustering as much dignity as she could. “I do not deny that I have taken actions to protect those for whom I care.”
The vicar chuckled. “You justify all you do,” he said. “And perhaps you are right. But it is nice that you have come to me rather than I being forced to go to you.” He took a deep gulp of his drink.
She sipped her wine. “I am here and am drinking with you. What else do you want?”
His smile sent a shiver of fear down her spine, but he chuckled again. “Do not believe I wish to take you to my bed,” he said. “Oh, God has blessed you with great beauty, but I have many here who serve my needs.”
Eleanor’s thoughts turned to the poor girl who had answered the door.
“There it is again,” Reverend Creassey said. “That look of condemnation.”
“The girl is old enough to be your granddaughter,” she admonished. “She is clearly naive, but you give her a child she will be forced to carry alone.”
Rather than be offended as she had expected, he turned baleful eyes on her. “Did your husband not do the same?” he said in a low voice. “I am no fool. I know who the true father of the girl is. Do you think that Charles would not have confessed it to me?”
Eleanor’s stomach sank. Was there anything the man did not know?
As if hearing her thoughts, he said, “Oh, yes, I know more than even you know. Charles did indeed confess to me, but I will not reveal his secrets to you any more than I will tell anyone yours. If I let known even the smallest detail, who would trust me? His secrets—and there are many, I assure you—will follow me to the grave.” He gave her an evil smile as he rubbed his chin. “But your secrets…I cannot help but wonder what you have yet to confess.”
She could take no more. “Why must you torment me?” she demanded. “What is it you wish me to say? That I engage in behavior I despise? Then yes, I admit as much. But I do not do it for myself; it is always to protect the ones I love!”
As if satisfied with her response, the vicar gave a single nod as he set his glass on the table and rose from the couch. “I have the documents you requested with the correct dates,” he said as he returned from a nearby shelf with several papers in his hand. “Marriage certificate, church records, death record and the others you requested.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor murmured, wishing for nothing more than to be on her way. “I have the money. I believe it is adequate.” She reached for her reticule, but the Reverend Creassey grabbed her wrist.
“I do not require money as payment this time,” he said. “I was considering another form of payment.”
Eleanor raised herself up in indignation. “What do you want?”
“A favor,” he said. He placed the documents in her hand but did not release her. “I do not know what that favor will be, but one day I will call upon you, and you will grant me whatever I ask. Will you agree to this?”
She glanced at the papers that would allow Rose to marry Holden and that would clear Charles if anyone were to learn of what he had done. Although she knew those secrets were safe, she also knew someone, somewhere would always know the truth. Yet, agreeing to an unknown favor was foolish.
“How can I agree if I do not know the conditions?”
“That is for you to decide,” he said with a grin. “Trust me, with all I know about your husband, you will be in need of my services again. He was far more wicked than you can ever imagine.” He gave a maniacal laugh. “And I suspect you are no less innocent than he.”
She had no choice. What this man knew that she did not would come to light, what had happened concerning Rose proved that. “I agree to your terms.”
“Your word is binding,” he said, narrowing his eyes and moving in closer to her. When she nodded, he released her. “You may see yourself out.”
Eleanor had to force herself not to run from the house, but once outside, she inhaled a deep breath of fresh air to ease the panic that threatened to overtake her. Upon seeing Forbes, however, the anxiety eased as he hurried to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her by the arm and leading her toward the carriage. “Did he hurt you?”
“All is well,” she said. “I have what I needed.”
The butler gave her a nod and handed her into the carriage before closing the door behind her.
Eleanor peered out the window and saw Reverend Creassey standing on the tiny stoop outside the front door of the cottage, his hands resting on his thighs. The hair on the nape of her neck rose. When would the man call? And what would he request of her?
Well, that did not matter at the moment. Rose was safe, as was the Lambert name, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rose sat at the vanity table of her bedroom, a sense of anticipation mixed with trepidation inside her. Her aunt had presented her with several documents, refusing to reveal where she had gotten them, that proved beyond any doubt that Michael Skylark had indeed existed. That they were forgeries her aunt never denied, but they appeared to be as real as any she had ever seen.
The fact she would be forced to reveal the truth to no one, not even Holden, was clear. It was not that she did not trust him, but omitting the information was to protect her mother and aunt, not herself.
“You look beautiful,” her mother said, breaking Rose from her thoughts. “Truly there is no woman like you on this earth.”
Rose stood and walked to the standing mirror. Blue had always been a color that suited her well, and at the risk of being vain, she had to admit she did like how she looked.
She smiled at her mother’s reflection. The woman wore green, her favorite color, for it complemented her red hair. She looked haggard, but after what had transpired this past week, Rose could not blame her.
“I am hopeful that all will go well today,” Rose said. “Do you believe Lord Bradshaw will accept the documents Aunt Eleanor gathered?”
“I do,” her mother replied. “Then the reading of the banns will begin this Sunday, and soon you will be married, ready to spend your life in love.”
Rose turned to her mother. “I am proud of you,” she said. “I wanted you to know this.”
“Proud?” her mother said, shock filling her features. “I do not deserve such praise.”
“But you do,” Rose insisted. “You raised Graham and me alone. It was your strength from which we learned and that which we draw on in times such as these. There was every reason for you to fail, yet you stand here today as a testament to that strength.”
Her mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Your words have healed me in ways you will never know.” She took Rose’s hands in hers. “Now, let us go to the drawing room. The Bradshaws will be here any moment.”
Rose followed her mother to the door and then stopped. “I will be right there. I forgot something.”
“Do not be late,” her mother said with a wink before leaving Rose alone.
Hurrying back to the vanity table, Rose opened a small jewelry box and removed the two documents she had hidden behind the lining. One was the letter her mother had written to Charles years earlier and the other was a writing that Rose had penned the night before.
She unfolded the writing and read it silently to herself.
A woman must keep many secrets that she prays she will never be forced to reveal. My mother kept one such secret for nearly twenty years, and I fear that the burden has affected her health. The burden she was forced to carry she kept from me, protected me: that Lord Charles Lambert, the former Lord of Scarlett Hall, is my father.
Although I was born out of deception, I was raised with love, a love that I now understand and carry in my heart.
I do not despise Lord Lambert, even though he tricked my mother in order to lie with her. Rather, I pity the man who felt the need to deceive others in order to get what he wanted. The truth is, he never found happiness.
I, on the other hand, did find happiness with Holden, and we share a love that can never be broken. I may carry with me this secret concerning my origin, but it will remain buried at Scarlett Hall forever.
Songs of Yesterday: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 5 Page 22