An Earl's Redemption: Regency Romance (Brides of London)

by Joyce Alec

  “Do not come near me, Lord Ancrum!” She pulled her arm away from him, slamming it hard into the door and letting out a cry of pain. Joseph made to go near her again, only for the door behind her to open suddenly and Lady Templeton to be seen framed in the doorway.

  A hush seemed to come over the entire house. There was no music, no singing, laughter, nor conversation, and the tension seemed to heighten all the more.

  “Lady Templeton,” Joseph croaked, seeing the flash in Lady Templeton’s eyes. “I just came across your daughter when—”

  “If this is what you meant when you said you should make your own decisions and behave as you choose, Lydia, then I must say I am more than disappointed with you.” Lady Templeton’s voice filled the hallway, bouncing off the walls and making Joseph cringe with mortification. “I must say that I—”

  Joseph could not bear to see Miss Whitaker so shamed in front of not only her mother but the other assembled guests within the drawing room who, of course, would be listening to every word that came from her mouth. He knew that this was not at all what he had intended, knew full well that Miss Whitaker might refuse to go along with what he was about to do and instead choose to reveal him as the murderer of Lord Paulson even though he was not, but it was the only option left to him.

  “I was, at this very moment, offering your daughter my hand in marriage,” he said loudly, cutting Lady Templeton off entirely. “She has not yet given me her answer but I must hope that she will accept me.” Excited murmurings made their way from behind Lady Templeton towards both himself and Miss Whitaker, revealing that the guests of Lord Paulson were, in fact, listening to everything that was being said. He saw Lady Templeton jerk back in surprise, her eyes narrowing and her expression becoming grim. She had obviously wanted to shame her daughter, perhaps in the hope that she would return to the shadowy wallflower that Miss Whitaker was trying so hard to escape from, but Joseph’s sudden interruption had brought an end to all that.

  Joseph turned his gaze back to Miss Whitaker, seeing her as ashen as she had been before. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes filled with tears and her hands clenching tightly together as she held them in front of her. Joseph looked deeply into her eyes, his heart thundering furiously as he waited for her response. If she refused him, then she would ruin herself with scandal, although it could be somewhat relieved if she revealed what it was she had seen and placed the blame solely on his shoulders. However, if she accepted him, then he had the hope that she might be able to consider him in a different light. She might be able to trust that, whilst he had faults, he was not the sort to kill a man. Their engagement could easily be brought to a quiet end when the time was right, such as when another scandal eclipsed all else and could hide the ending of their betrothal. His eyes fastened to hers, silently begging her to believe that he was not the killer of Lord Paulson and that, should she give him the chance, he would discover the truth of the matter.

  Miss Whitaker closed her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Lydia?”

  Lady Templeton’s voice was high and tight, her gaze sliding towards her daughter as she held her head lifted.

  “You have not answered Lord Ancrum as yet, I believe,” Lady Templeton continued, her irritation becoming apparent. “Do decide so that we might all return to our business. The performance is not yet at a close.”

  “I hardly think performers are of more importance than your daughter’s decision about her future,” Joseph found himself saying, yet again seeing the evidence of how poorly Miss Whitaker was treated by her parents. “For myself, I shall wait for as long as it takes Miss Whitaker to make her decision and I shall not hold anything against her if she refuses me.” He saw Lady Templeton’s eyes narrow all the more but, ignoring her, looked back at Miss Whitaker, who had pressed her clasped hands to her mouth, her eyes bright with tears as she looked back at him. Joseph felt the weight of this very moment sinking down upon him, pushing him into the floor. He could not blame Miss Whitaker if she chose to refuse him. She would have every right to step away from this incident and from him. He had not managed to gain her trust as yet.

  “I… I…” Miss Whitaker closed her eyes again and let out a shaking breath. “Thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she said, her voice tremulous. “I should be glad to accept you.”

  Joseph felt such relief that he practically sank to his knees, stumbling just a little as he took a few steps closer to Miss Whitaker, although he dared not touch her. “I am truly grateful, Miss Whitaker,” he said, realizing that he, too, was still shaking. “Thank you.” He could say nothing else. “Thank you.”

  Lady Templeton sniffed in evident disinterest. “Well, if you are both satisfied, perhaps the three of us might attend the rest of the performance.” She turned about and walked into the drawing room, leaving both Joseph and Miss Whitaker standing together. There was no time to say more, no time to explain, for they were expected inside at once.

  “Lean on me, Miss Whitaker,” he whispered, seeing her shake her head fervently. “You must. We must make the appearance of contentedness until there is a chance to explain.”

  Miss Whitaker swallowed hard, looked as though she would refuse, only to grasp his arm so tightly that it was a touch painful. “What of the… Lord Paulson?” she asked, as he pushed the door open.

  “I shall deal with the matter,” Joseph replied, even though he had very little idea as to what he was going to do. “And tomorrow, we shall speak of it all. Might you be strong enough until then?”

  He walked into the room and saw every face turned to them. He could not make out any expressions due to the dimness of the room and so began to move forward at once, pasting a bright smile on his face that he did not feel in the least.

  “It seems I shall have to be, Lord Ancrum,” he heard Miss Whitaker say, as he cleared his throat gruffly and attempted to smile, all too aware that behind him in the library lay the cold, dead body of Lord Paulson.

  “I presume you have all heard that I am now betrothed to the lovely Miss Whitaker,” he said, feeling Miss Whitaker’s hand tighten even more on his arm as he moved closer and saw the first few faces become clearer. “Thank you for your congratulations, all of you.”

  A light spattering of applause met his words, although the dark expression on Lady Templeton’s face did not bode well. Somehow, Joseph managed to seat Miss Whitaker before sitting down beside her. The performers, seated at the front of the room with their cello, violins, and violas, seemingly understanding that they were to start again, began to play and a peace descended upon the room once more.

  Joseph felt no such peace. Instead, he was barely able to put his thoughts into coherent order, looking across to see Miss Whitaker staring blankly ahead, her hands clasped together tightly. He could not imagine what must be going through her mind, wishing that he could find some way to comfort her but finding nothing to say.

  Shaking his head, Joseph resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and instead forced himself to remain seated and appear as calm as he could. It was only after some moments that he began to recall that it had not only been he who had gone in search of some sort of evidence of Lord Paulson’s wrongdoings. Lady Starling had been meant to follow him some minutes later, although where she might have gone, he had very little idea. He had not seen her and, indeed, had forgotten all about her when he had seen Lord Paulson’s body. Jerking in his seat, he began to look all about for her, fearing that he would hear her scream and that all would be lost.

  It was only then that he saw her sitting in the very seat that he had left her in. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her face milk white but her eyes narrowed with anger. Joseph could not understand why she was looking at him so, why her anger was so evident when he had not done anything wrong.

  And then, the truth hit him right between the eyes. Lady Starling had not yet left the room. Perhaps she had not intended to. After all, had he not felt as though she was manipulating him somewhat? And now, she
did not know of Lord Paulson’s death and had only heard that he was now betrothed to Miss Whitaker. She did not understand what had occurred and therefore thought that he had turned his back on her and instead pursued Miss Whitaker.

  The only thing he could do was shake his head carefully, seeing her eyes narrow a little more although some of the anger left her expression. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling as though yet more weight was being settled on his shoulders as the evening’s events began to settle on his mind. What was he to do now? He would have to pretend that Lord Paulson had been taken ill and see the guests from the house and, thereafter, decide what he was to do with the shock of Lord Paulson’s death. Somehow, he would have to explain to Lady Starling what had occurred and ensure that he spent time with Miss Whitaker, so that he might explain how she had come across him only a few minutes after he had discovered Lord Paulson’s dead body.

  Looking all about him, another startling realization crashed into Joseph’s mind. He would have to speak to the staff, but he presumed that none of the guests had been seen to leave. Nor would there have been anyone unknown or uninvited allowed into the townhouse—which meant that, if his considerations were correct, someone present this evening had been responsible for Lord Paulson’s death.

  He just did not know who such a person might be.

  10

  Lydia had not been able to sleep until the early hours of the morning, when the crack of light coming through a chink in her drapes had given her the reassurance she needed in order to rest. The staff would, by now, be up and about and she need not fear that the person responsible for Lord Paulson’s death would now attack her also.

  It was a most ridiculous fear, she knew, but it was a fear that had captured her ever since she had seen the lifeless body of Lord Paulson staring at her from the library floor. Her horror had grown steadily as she had felt herself withdraw from Lord Ancrum, thinking that he had been the one to kill the gentleman.

  Lord Ancrum had, of course, insisted that he was not the man responsible, but she had not been able to accept that from him. After all, she had seen him stumble out of the room, had seen him look at her with those wild eyes as he had clung to the door handle, and no one else had been about either.

  What had made matters worse had been the arrival of her mother and Lord Ancrum’s sole offer of aid. His proposal of marriage had been an additional shock and she had not known what to say. The tears had come to her eyes, her heart beating so quickly that she thought she might go into a panic—and then her mother had mocked her silence and made out that her only wish was to hear the rest of the musical performances. It had been another attempt to ensure that Lydia knew just how little she meant to her mother and, with the shock of what had already occurred, she had felt herself break a little more.

  Lord Ancrum had not, it seemed, been able to remain silent. He had spoken directly to Lady Templeton, had derided her for her lack of interest in Lydia and what Lady Templeton was meant to believe was a moment of great importance to her, and in that moment, something had shifted in Lydia’s mind.

  She knew precisely what Lord Ancrum was asking her to do. He was asking her to believe him. To believe that he was not the sort of man to murder another, to leave him lying there alone with his lifeblood escaping from him. She had let her mind return to what she had seen when Lord Ancrum had first thrown himself from the room, seeing that she might have been mistaken with her first impression of him and what he might have done.

  The wild eyes she had seen might have been flared with the horror of what he had seen. The way he had clung to the door could have been his utter shock, forcing himself to stay standing by leaning back against it.

  And then, she had recalled the candelabra that had been sitting on the floor by Lord Paulson’s body, the light spreading across the room towards his frozen features. It would not have been the murderer who would have set the candles there, surely? She did not understand all that had occurred and certainly was not convinced that Lord Ancrum had not been involved in some fashion, for she could not understand why he had quit the drawing room and what he had been doing in the library with Lord Paulson, but the desperation in his eyes had convinced her that she must, at the very least, give him the opportunity to tell her all.

  That had meant that she was required to accept him, to state that she would be his bride, and those words had come to her lips with more difficulty than she had ever expected. Her mother had shown no discernible interest, although she had evidently been frustrated that she had been unable to shame her daughter in the way she had intended, mayhap as punishment for how Lydia had dared speak to her earlier that evening.

  But now, Lydia realized, she would have to wed Lord Ancrum. She was a betrothed lady now, and she closed her eyes tightly as though she might be able to hide the truth from herself if she did so. Her mother and father would care very little, of course, although her father might be displeased with having to part from her dowry, but it seemed to be quite inevitable. To break away from one’s engagement was to bring scandal down upon one’s good name and even one’s family, and Lydia had no intention of doing such a thing. If she did that, then her only choice would be to live as a spinster with her parents, no doubt forced to do every single thing they required without question or delay. She would have to marry Lord Ancrum.

  “Unless,” she whispered to herself, a single tear tracking down her cheek and dripping into her hair, “he is proven to be a murderer, in which case, I cannot allow myself to do what has been set in place.” She would not marry a gentleman willing to take the life of another, recalling with a sudden chill how he had glared at Lord Paulson at the ball some time ago, and how he had demanded that she stay far away from Lord Paulson herself. Why had he been at Lord Paulson’s soiree if he cared so little for the fellow? Had he intentions of seeking out Lord Paulson at the first opportunity to talk about something particularly weighty, only for their discussion to grow heated? Mayhap it had been an accident and he had—

  “No.”

  Pushing herself up from where she lay in her bed, Lydia took in a long breath and swung her legs from the blankets, so that she might rise and prepare herself for Lord Ancrum’s visit, which she was to expect later that afternoon. She would not begin to allow various thoughts about what might have occurred to fill her mind, would not guess what might have occurred. She had to allow Lord Ancrum to explain, and upon hearing it, would make certain to consider it all before choosing whether or not to trust him.

  Lord Ancrum was indeed a very confusing gentleman, for she felt as though she did not know him in any way even though they had spent a good deal of time together over the last sennight. He had been so eager to improve his reputation, had been so fearful that she would reveal to the ton what he had done in knocking her to the ground and hurrying on without regard, but only a short time later had berated her with such force that she had been quite insulted. Then to see him with Lady Starling had only furthered her disappointment, finding that her heart was sorrowful upon the sight of his face next to the rich widow’s. Now, it seemed she was to start preparing for her marriage—marriage to a gentleman whom she did not really know.

  Tears began to burn in her eyes, but Lydia pushed them back with an effort. She could not permit herself to be weak now. She had to discover the truth, whether it be from Lord Ancrum’s lips or in finding the true culprit, else scandal would be all that waited for her. Her stomach tightened with anxiety as she rose from her bed and made her way to the dressing table, tugging the bell pull for her maid to come help her prepare. A pale, wan face looked back at her, holding none of the confidence that she had exuded only yesterday when she had first attended Lord Paulson’s soiree. Would the news of his death have become known by now? Would it have been passed through the rumor mills already? And what would the ton make of it? Lord Ancrum had ushered them all from the house last evening, stating that a footman had informed him that Lord Paulson had been taken unwell and thus had been unable to return to bid the
m all farewell, and, much to her relief, the guests had merely accepted this and left the townhouse without even a murmur of concern.

  “Miss Whitaker.”

  The maid came in with a tray, a cup of chocolate waiting for Lydia as well as some hot, buttered toast. Lydia’s stomach turned over but she accepted the cup of chocolate regardless.

  “I must prepare for Lord Ancrum’s arrival,” she told her maid, her voice thin and weak. “Dress my hair and then lay out my best day gown.”

  The maid nodded and stepped away, leaving Lydia to try and build up her courage within so that she would be fully prepared to meet with her betrothed in only a few hours’ time.

  “Lord Ancrum, Miss Whitaker.”

  Hating that her legs were shaking, Lydia rose a little unsteadily as Lord Ancrum came into the room. Finding it hard to consider this gentleman her betrothed, the one who had confused her terribly with his behavior both good and ill, Lydia could not quite force a smile to her face and instead simply held Lord Ancrum’s gaze.

  A rush of fear ran down her spine. Had he been the one to instigate Lord Paulson’s death? Or was it that he had been as shocked as he had appeared? For all she knew, he might very well be playacting, for had she not felt that she did not truly know him at all?

  “Miss Whitaker.”

  Lord Ancrum’s voice was soft, his tone gentle as his eyes lowered to the floor at her feet. “I have no doubt you must be greatly confused by all that has gone on.”

  “I am,” Lydia replied clearly, despite the fact that her hands, held in front of her, were now tightly clenched together. “I do not know what to think, Lord Ancrum.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers again. “And yet you agreed to our betrothal.” There was a small flicker of hope in his eyes, a hope she could not instantly quench.

  “I—I wanted to trust that there was some explanation,” she told him carefully, choosing her words with precision. “I have wondered at your reaction and have chosen to believe that you were as shocked and as horrified as you appeared.”