The Earl with the Secret Past

by Janice Preston

  While he waited, Adam leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, for the first time allowing himself to properly think about what Kitty had said and, more importantly, why she had refused his offer of marriage. No matter what words came out of her mouth, he knew—viscerally and wholeheartedly—that she loved him. Some women might fake their responses during intimacies such as they had enjoyed, but not Kitty. She was too honest.

  Yesterday...his anger and pain had roiled inside him, threatening to erupt, and he’d acted on instinct with the desperate need to get away from Kitty amid all those churning emotions...the need to give himself time to calm down and to recover his pride. Such a volatile situation demanded silence, yet accusations had been clambering over one another in his head, battling to be spoken out loud. All he’d been capable of thinking was what a fool he had been to believe he and Kitty could ever truly put the past behind them. There was too much past hurt and he’d been convinced she would never forgive him for abandoning her, no matter how good his motives at the time.

  Now, though...the question still remained unanswered. Why in God’s name would a respectable widow like Kitty be prepared to be his lover, but not his wife? It made no sense.

  He propped his elbows on the desk and dropped his face into his hands.

  I will put this right. Somehow.

  But he had no idea how.

  He straightened up at a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’

  ‘You sent for me, my lord?’ Carter waited just inside the door.

  ‘Ah. Yes. Good afternoon, Carter. Do sit down.’ Adam wrenched his thoughts back to estate matters and ledgers. ‘I have several questions about the estate records and, from what Mr Trewin said, I understand you have been keeping the books for the past several years?’

  The steward’s brow puckered. ‘Is there aught amiss, my lord?’ His defensive tone caught Adam’s interest and he studied the man opposite, who avoided making eye contact but sat back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I do my utmost to ensure accurate records are kept, I can assure you. Neither your father nor Mr Trewin ever found reason to complain about my work.’

  ‘This is not a complaint, Carter.’ Adam spoke calmly. There was no point in antagonising the steward if there was indeed anything wrong with the books. But his interest was piqued and he determined to examine them with even more thoroughness as soon as Carter left. ‘I merely require clarification upon a few points as I am unfamiliar with the running of an estate.’

  Carter visibly relaxed. ‘Of course, it must be difficult for you to decipher such records, my lord, being as you are unused to country matters and to estate business. I shall be glad to answer any questions you might have.’

  ‘Thank you. Now...first...crop yields. Wheat, barley and oats are, I think, all grown here?’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘As I know nothing about yields, I looked back over the records for the past five years.’ Carter’s expression stayed open. Unconcerned.

  Perhaps I am wrong?

  Adam ploughed on. ‘Even non-country folk like myself were aware of the disastrous harvest in 1816 and that it was hardly better in 1817.’ The entire country had suffered through a summer when the sun simply did not shine—all the result of a volcano that erupted the year before on the other side of the world, so it was said. There had been widespread failure of crops up and down the country, and much starvation as the price of corn rocketed. ‘And yet...’ Adam indicated the notebook where the crop yields were recorded, then swivelled it around to face Carter ‘...the last three years’ yields at Kelridge Place are barely better than they were in 1817. I found that strange.’

  ‘Our yields in ’16 and ’17 did not drop as much as they did elsewhere so they would not show as much recovery, would they?’

  ‘Where are the records for the years prior to 1816?’

  ‘They are in my room, my lord.’

  ‘Will you please fetch them?’

  ‘It may take some time to lay my hands on them. Were there any other queries first? In case I need to look out more old records for you.’

  ‘Very well. Yes. I have a question about stock numbers. There is an anomaly in the record of sheep numbers at the start of the year, the number of lambs born and the current flock size. What is the explanation for that?’

  ‘Sheep die all the time, my lord. They are notorious for it.’

  ‘Deaths are recorded. There is still a difference in numbers.’

  ‘Poachers and thieves, my lord. We lost three just the other day, as I told you when I spoke to you at Fenton Hall.’

  ‘Indeed ye did. Well, I suppose that explains it. What steps have ye taken to protect the flock?’

  ‘I have ordered the men to—’

  He broke off at a knock on the door. It opened and Green entered.

  ‘I am sorry to interrupt you, my lord. A groom from Fenton Hall has arrived with a letter and he refuses to leave. He says he is under strict instruction to deliver it direct to you.’

  Adam’s heart leapt with hope. Kitty. Surely it must be from Kitty. Could she have had a change of heart?

  ‘Please send him in.’

  Green’s lip curled. ‘He is a groom, my lord.’

  ‘I do not care if he is the night soil man. Send him in.’

  Green bowed and walked ramrod straight from the room. He soon returned, and stood aside for Davey to enter, cap in hand.

  ‘Beg pardon, milord, but milady said most particular that I was to hand it to no one but you.’ He slid a defiant glance at Green. ‘No one.’

  ‘Thank you, Davey. You may bring it to me.’

  With hands that, of a sudden, shook, Adam took the letter and opened it, his gaze quickly picking out Kitty’s signature at the end of the brief message.

  Dear Adam,

  I am aware I did not properly explain the reason behind my decision yesterday and would appreciate an opportunity to do so, if you will allow.

  I shall be on Fenton Edge at three this afternoon. I hope you will meet me there.

  Your friend,

  Kitty Fenton

  It did not say she’d changed her mind, but Adam would grab this chance with both hands. Whatever her reason, he would persuade her she was wrong. He must.

  He took out his pocket watch. He must make haste. The Edge was a good four miles from Kelridge Place and he must find the best route to the top from this side. He looked at the three men waiting patiently. He grabbed a clean sheet of paper, scribbled a note to Kitty—simply, I will be there—and blotted it before folding and sealing. He addressed it to Lady Fenton and held it out to Davey.

  ‘Make sure ye give this to Her Ladyship the minute ye arrive home, Davey. Thank you.’ The boy bowed, then hurried out.

  ‘Green?’ The butler bowed. ‘Please send word to the stables to saddle a horse for me. I am going out.’

  He still didn’t know the horses in the stables well enough to have a favourite. That was another matter requiring his attention—it would give him great satisfaction to buy his own horse, and a pair for his curricle, rather than keep using his uncle’s pick of animals.

  Adam pushed away from his desk and stood. ‘I am sorry, Carter. We will have to finish our discussion another time. In the meantime, though, perhaps you can locate that old crop-yield notebook and leave it on my desk?’

  Carter had already risen to his feet. He inclined his head. ‘Of course, my lord. If I might... I will just check the exact number of that book to ensure I find the correct one.’

  ‘By all means.’ Adam gestured at his desk and Carter reached across, moving Kitty’s letter aside to find the crop book. ‘I will be gone a few hours so I will speak to you again tomorrow.’

  They left the study together—Carter back to his work and Adam to the most important meeting of his life, his head full of hope and fear and doubt and dreams.

/>   Chapter Twenty-One

  Kitty’s stomach fluttered with nerves as she set Herald’s head up the long sweeping slope to Fenton Edge. There was no hurry, so she held the horse to a steady trot. She had come early deliberately. Adam had said he would come in the note Davey had brought back from Kelridge Place, so she would get there early and watch his approach—at least until he disappeared into the trees at the base of the Edge. He would have to ride around to the south side before he found a way up and that would give her time to prepare herself and to plan what she wanted to say. Not that she hadn’t already planned it, and practised it, ad infinitum. But she needed to make sure she missed nothing out. She had all her logical answers ready and must make sure she didn’t allow emotion to cloud her judgement. And she would pray that her honesty would tempt him to stay at Kelridge Place where they could at least see one another from time to time.

  She would stand firm. She would refuse to be swayed, even though she loved him to distraction and believed that he loved her. And it was because she loved him she must let him go. She would not...could not...trap him in a childless marriage. He would say it did not matter to him, but it did. It should. He had many others relying on him now...his workers, his tenants. It was Adam’s duty to sire an heir to take on that responsibility.

  She reached the top and dismounted, tethering Herald to the same bush she had used before. She stripped off her riding gloves, removed her hat and unbuttoned her jacket—she had dressed with such care in her best riding dress, with her midnight-blue spencer and matching hat, but now, with the sun still high in the sky and not a breath of wind, she was close to being uncomfortably hot. She hurried across to the edge of the escarpment, eager to catch her first glimpse of Adam.

  There he was—and her heart leapt to see him—astride a grey horse, cantering along a track that crossed a field far below. Kitty squinted, trying to make out his expression even though he was clearly still too far away. She estimated he had ridden three of the four miles that separated Kelridge Place from Fenton Edge, which meant she had plenty of time before he joined her, so she sat on the grass and watched his steady progress as she rehearsed her arguments in her head. He disappeared from view as he reached a tree-lined lane that edged the field. Kitty watched, waiting for him to reappear. And waited. She frowned.

  Where is he?

  He should have turned to his left once out in the lane. After about a quarter of a mile, there was a junction, where he would turn right on to the road that curved around the base of Fenton Edge, bringing him round to the gentler slopes to the west and south. Kitty jumped to her feet, her heart suddenly thundering.

  What has happened?

  She moved closer to the steep drop, peering down, trying without success to penetrate the canopy of the trees. Then, she spied a movement. Her heart leapt but, within seconds, her stomach lurched, filling her mouth and throat with the sourness of bile. The grey horse was there, yes. But he was tied to the back of a carriage drawn by two brown horses. A man—she could only see the top of his cap, but he was all dressed in black—drove and...she squinted again...she could just make out another figure through the carriage window. Although she couldn’t quite make him out, she would swear he was not Adam.

  She whirled around and ran for Herald, tore his reins free and mounted, using a nearby rock. She urged him into a canter and sent him careening down the slope, angling him to the left as they descended. He seemed confused, wanting to head for home, but Kitty insisted. As the terrain levelled out, she urged him even faster, bending low over his neck, his mane whipping her face. There was no time for thought. Or to plan. If she was wrong, if for some reason Adam had met friends and accepted a ride in their carriage, then she would laugh at her own stupidity later. Once she knew he was safe. But the image in her head, as she headed for that road that would lead her around to the other side of the Edge, was of Adam, his arm bleeding after he had been shot.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did we all so easily dismiss the threat?

  Too late to regret it. She thrust aside the pointless recriminations that threatened to engulf her. They would slow her down too much. All she could do now was concentrate on catching that carriage. After that...no point in even thinking about it. She would catch it and then she would do whatever she could.

  They reached the road at last and she reined Herald to the north. They did not slow until they reached the junction with the lane the carriage had been on. No sign of anything or anyone. She listened, but heard nothing other than her own heaving breaths. But there was only one direction they could have taken. She set Herald to a ground-eating trot, sitting erect in the saddle, craning her neck to try to see...anything.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, she slowed. A roadside gate afforded her a view across a paddock and, on the far side, she spied a small, enclosed carriage with a pair of brown horses hitched to it—their steaming coats glistening with sweat—next to a ramshackle wooden-sided barn. The barn stood in a yard behind an abandoned cottage, its thatched roof long caved in and its window glass shattered, which was set back from the road and fronted by a large garden enclosed by stone walls. Kitty could see no sign of the grey horse, or of Adam or the men she had seen earlier.

  Kitty slid from Herald’s back and tied him to the gate before running along the road until she reached the track that led up to the side of and behind the cottage, only to find the barn and the carriage were now hidden from her sight. A flash of white further along the road caught her attention, however, and she looked in time to see a riderless grey horse disappear from view. Her insides curdled with fear and she looked around her helplessly. She had no weapon. What could she do? She eyed a nearby hedgerow. A stick? Hopeless. What use a stick against two men? A rock? The broken-down stone wall that edged the cottage’s garden would provide plenty, but what would she do with one? Or even a hundred? Never had she felt her own sex and its lack of strength so keenly.

  She hesitated at the end of that short track, ideas darting into her head, only to be dismissed almost immediately. Then her nose twitched and she fought a sudden urge to sneeze, squeezing her nose between two fingers, as the creak and rumble of carriage wheels reached her. She jerked her head up in time to see the horses’ heads emerge from behind the cottage and, beyond them...her heart bounded into her throat as she took in the lazy spiral of smoke above the cottage roof, rising and spreading in the still, summer air.

  Oh, dear God! Adam! Then... Don’t panic! Don’t freeze.

  She could do nothing to help if she was seen. A glance up the track confirmed she still had time to hide before the driver spotted her, so she scrambled over the wall and crouched low, her heart beating so loudly she was afraid they would hear it. As the carriage drew level with her, she risked a quick look through a chink between the stones and caught one fleeting glimpse of two men on the box of the carriage. Her blood chilled and her insides turned liquid as she saw they were masked, with mufflers drawn up to cover their lower features. Sick with fear, she realised they would see Herald if they turned back towards Fenton Edge, but luck was on her side. The carriage turned north, away from the Edge and towards the village of Kelworth, beyond which lay Kelridge Place. She risked lifting her head high enough to peer into the carriage window as it passed her by, but there was nothing, and nobody, to be seen.

  She didn’t bother clambering out into the road again, but sprinted through the abandoned garden, brambles catching and tearing the skirt of her gown. She reached the cottage and raced around to the back, terrified at what might await her. She skidded to a halt, taking in the three fires spaced out along the base of the front of the barn, including one at the bottom of the big double doors that had been firmly wedged shut by two large poles, one end against each of the doors and the other ends jammed into the dry earth in front of them.

  ‘Adam!’ Her scream reverberated and she both longed to hear him answer and dreaded hearing him, still clinging to th
e hope she had misunderstood everything and that he was even now waiting impatiently for her on top of Fenton Edge.

  She started at a loud crack from the far side of the building and peered up to see thicker smoke rising, pluming black above the ridge of the barn roof. The sight jolted her into action and she fell to her knees, scrabbling at the bare dry earth in front of the doors and throwing it on the fire set there. It took time...too much time...to smother it. The other two fires had taken hold of the tinder-dry grass and brambles that grew right up to the side of the barn. There was no dry earth close by either fire and a quick scan of the yard revealed no shovel to help her douse them in time to stop the flames that even now licked up the side of the barn.

  She leapt to her feet and lunged at the nearest pole, tugging at it for all she was worth, but it was wedged too tightly and wouldn’t budge. Sobbing with frustration, she tried the other pole but, like the first, it was wedged solidly into the earth. Then, with a flash of inspiration, she moved to stand underneath it, allowing her to push it upright instead of trying to pull it. She shoved at it with all her might until the top end lifted away from the barn door. She didn’t have the strength to topple it right over, but she had loosened it sufficiently for it to slip sideways down the barn door until the entire pole lay on the ground. Grunting with the effort, Kitty rolled it, bit by bit, until she could open the door wide enough to slip inside the barn.

  Smoke had fingered its way inside, roiling and curling up to the roof and escaping through the many gaps in the tiles. It immediately caught in Kitty’s lungs and she coughed, her eyes smarting. Remembering Edgar’s nightmares about his frantic, futile efforts to save his first wife from the blazing wing at the Hall, and the things he blamed himself for not knowing—that he should have covered his nose and mouth, he should have kept close to the floor where the air would stay clearer of smoke—Kitty dropped to her knees and screamed Adam’s name again.