He withdrew something from his coat before putting it on. It was the ring he’d asked her to give to his mother.
He sat upon the bed and looked at her soberly. “Chloe, this is yours,” he said, kissing her tenderly upon the forehead. He whispered, “Until I can make it right.” He laid it down upon the pillow beside her.
Once he was gone, she felt his absence like a terrible void. For the longest time she could only lay there, contemplating the night’s consequences. She was no longer a virgin, but she didn’t care. She had long adored his heart. Now she loved his body and mind. There could be no one else for her.
Ever.
Studying the ring he’d left upon the pillow, she wondered whose crest it bore. It wasn’t the MacEwen coat of arms, she knew. Their crest, wrapped with a ribbon of tartan, adorned the drawing room for all to see.
She considered briefly whether she should show it to Lady Fiona, and decided not to. At least until she understood its significance, it was best to keep it to herself.
Ian had asked her to trust him and she would.
She trusted him with her life.
Fiona didn’t emerge from her room all day long.
With the door closed, she sat upon her bed with the account ledgers piled on every side of her and on the floor surrounding the bed. After Edward delivered the bookkeeping that morning, she’d given him orders that not even Chloe should disturb her.
To her dismay, she’d yet to come across one book that wasn’t curiously altered. Edward had either worked furiously and finished the majority of the changes before she’d asked him to stop, or he’d blatantly disobeyed her and continued to adjust them even after she’d asked him to stop.
But why would he do that unless he had something to hide?
The thought left her ill at ease. She had trusted Edward implicitly, not only with the household ledgers, but with far more information than she should have.
There was nothing in any of the books that was even remotely similar to the entries she’d found in the one she’d discovered in his office, but, still, something didn’t seem right about them. They had been altered in the manner she’d requested, but he’d given them to her all out of order and it was difficult to study them randomly. She began to organize the ledgers according to date—no easy task since they represented nearly thirty years of accounting. It took her the majority of day to assemble the piles by year. In the end, the piles were not even, though each pile should reflect the number of months in a year. Some piles contained merely six books, others eight.
There were a lot of books still missing.
Hoping to get to the bottom of it all, Fiona got into bed, settled herself so that it wouldn’t appear she’d been up and about, then rang for Edward to come.
He was quick to arrive, rapping sharply at the door.
“Come in,” Fiona commanded.
He did as she bade him and came inside, closing the door behind him. “Yes, madame?”
Fiona frowned at him. “Edward,” she said, uncertain what, precisely, to say. She didn’t wish to accuse him unjustly. “There seems to be a few ledgers missing.”
He peered about the room, noting the twenty-seven neat piles and asked, “Missing, madame?”
“Yes.” She slipped out of the bed, determined to show him what she’d found. “Look… eighteen twenty, eighteen twenty-three, twenty-four and twenty-five all have piles of merely six.” She was speaking of the year of their creation. “Eighteen twenty-eight and twenty-nine both have only eight—June and November are missing. And eighteen twenty-nine and thirty are both missing February, June and November!”
Edward stared at the uneven piles, his expression perfectly blank. It gave her pause.
“Well… I must have simply overlooked the others,” he said at last. “There were so many, madame.” His expression seemed suddenly wounded. “You did not think I would keep them from you, did you?”
“Well, of course not!” Fiona felt instantly chagrined for having suspected him. “Yes, of course you overlooked them.” she declared. Whatever had she been thinking? “Please have them delivered to me straightaway,” she directed, lifting one of the books to pore over while she waited. It had been far, far too long since she’d involved herself with the household finances. It had always depressed her to know how little control she’d had over her own estate—and more, how little she was able to give her son. And therefore, she’d eschewed the task completely, leaving it to Edward’s capable hands. After all, it was Julian he had to answer to, and she knew he wouldn’t dare cheat his royal highness.
“Yes, madame,” he said, leaving her again to peruse the ledgers she had.
Chloe sighed as she peered out from the carriage, trying not to think of Ian.
With tears in her eyes, Aggie had begged her to come and tend her youngest sister. The girl had gotten a pin in her leg whilst scrubbing the parish floor. Poor Isabel was only eight years old and, like Aggie, was forced to take on hard labor to help feed her family. Whenever Chloe bemoaned her own circumstances, she needed only look to those unfortunate souls like Emily, Aggie and little Isa.
She smiled privately, thinking of Ian, who risked so much to bring a mere morsel of food to these good people’s plates.
“You’re thinking of my lord, are ye not, Miss Chloe?” Aggie said, gazing at her expectantly.
Chloe nodded, her cheeks burning a little hotter.
Was she so transparent?
“I knew it!” the girl exclaimed, her tone clearly pleased. “He’s perfectly dreamy,” she said, and sighed, as well.
Chloe couldn’t bring herself to feel the least bit jealous over the look of adoration evident on Aggie’s face. Every woman she knew felt the same way about both Lord Lindale and Hawk. But only Chloe knew that they were one and the same.
“Thank you for coming,” Aggie said, peering out from the window as they rode into the town limits. She sat in the facing seat, her expression one of wonder since they’d departed Glen Abbey Manor. She was clearly unaccustomed to the luxuries of a coach, because she kept touching the carriage walls, feeling the velvety lining, running her hands over the plush leather seats.
“I assure you, it is my pleasure,” Chloe said, and meant it truly. It wasn’t as though Lady Fiona needed her anyway. In fact, she’d all but refused Chloe’s attendance this morn.
Aggie peered up at her then, her expression suddenly regretful. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Miss Chloe.”
“Nonsense,” Chloe replied. “You did me a great favor, Aggie, now I shall do one for you.”
“Thank you,” Aggie said sincerely. “It’s little wonder everyone loves you! You’re so beautiful, smart and kind!”
Chloe blinked in surprise.
Aggie’s disclosure took her aback. She hadn’t realized anyone thought anything of her at all. She had, for most of her life, felt quite invisible, except to her father—not that she had been lonely. She hadn’t had time to feel sorry for herself.
Aggie’s expression turned to one of concern. “Isabel’s been in terrible pain these last three weeks,” she disclosed, worrying her lip. “She keeps a horrible fever and her leg stiffens so she cannot walk.”
Chloe shook her head, not liking the sound of it. She was careful how she phrased her rebuke, lest Aggie feel responsible. “You must never again wait so long to come to me, Aggie, and you must never worry about payment. Promise me you will not.”
Aggie nodded, preoccupied, and again peered out the window. “That’s curious,” she said suddenly, changing the subject yet again. “People are dancing in the street.”
“Dancing?”
Chloe peered out the window and was startled to see so much revelry going on. There were people everywhere, dancing and shouting.
“That is, indeed, quite curious,” she agreed.
Usually empty, the streets were filled with revelers—children running about their mother’s skirts—women carrying baskets of goods.
“Oh, my! Loo
k how many people are coming from Mr. Duncan’s store!” Aggie exclaimed.
As they passed the general store, Chloe saw the shop owner put up a sign, bearing a happy grin on his face. She rapped sharply upon the carriage roof and the carriage came to an abrupt halt. She and Aggie fought to exit first, so curious were they. Both women spilled into the street, righting their skirts. Chloe, with Aggie at her heels, hurried to Mr. Duncan’s store before he could close the door.
“There’s nothing left!” he said cheerily before Chloe could open her mouth to speak.
“What do you mean, nothing left?”
He cackled happily. “Precisely what I said, Miss Chloe—nothing left on the shelves!”
“What has happened here?” Aggie asked a little girl who passed by. It was Rusty’s daughter, chasing after her mother, who was so beside herself with glee that she scarcely noticed that one of her three daughters was struggling to keep up with her hurried pace.
The little girl lifted up her new doll. “It’s Christmastime!” she declared.
Chloe shook her head, completely bewildered by the strange event they’d encountered. She stopped another woman who passed, her skirts filled with staples from the market.
“What happened here?” she asked the woman.
The woman smiled. “Havena’ ye heard?”
Chloe shook her head.
“We’re all rich!” she declared. “Hawk left us all baskets full of money—everyone, everyone!” she said joyfully.
“Everyone?” Chloe asked, aghast.
“Aye!” the woman said, and laughed again. “Oops!” she said, struggling to keep the bundle of goods neatly tucked in her skirt.
It was the necklace, Chloe realized, and tears stung her eyes. “When did he come?” she asked the old woman.
“Last night,” she said, giggling beside herself. “He came like a thief in the night, bearing money and gifts for one and all.”
Good lord! He must have done it all before he’d come to her and he’d never said a word about it. The realization humbled Chloe to her soul. He hadn’t wanted praise, nor had he cared that she knew his good deeds. The knowledge tugged at her heart and thickened her throat.
The laughter and joy surrounding her were contagious. Chloe laughed, too. So did Aggie.
“I wonder what he left us!” Aggie said, excited. They raced back to the carriage, both eager to see what gifts had been left at Aggie’s house.
Chapter 19
Whatever gifts had been left for Aggie’s family, joy over it was tempered by Isabel’s condition. Her leg infection was horrid, but thankfully not so bad that the leg couldn’t be saved. Chloe had seen drawings and read many accounts of patients who’d lost their entire limbs over this wasting disease. Her father told her horrible tales of having to saw off arms and legs. It was a dangerous illness.
She found Isabel in her bed, sweating profusely, but her mood was barely dampened by her pain, because in her hand, she held a brand-new doll. Her elder brother sat upon the edge of her bed, recounting tales of what he’d encountered on the street.
Chloe’s heart went out to them. They were troopers, every one. Aggie’s mother died giving birth to Isabel. Her father died three years before. It was only the children in the household now—five of them in all—and they relied upon each other. Isabel was, by far, the youngest, with Jack, her cheery little guardian, being the next oldest by two years. The two were chattering feverishly while sweat beaded like dew after a storm on Isabel’s brow.
Chloe was thankful she’d brought her father’s bag, which contained enough laudanum to put the girl to sleep while she operated. She sent the brother from the room, allowing only Aggie to remain to assist her. Their first task was to sterilize the bed and wound. They changed the bedding, then cleaned the wound with scalding water after Isabel was asleep and then Chloe surgically removed the infected tissue, praying it hadn’t spread so much that she would have to amputate, after all. In the end, they were fortunate. It was a relatively mild case, and Chloe gave Aggie careful instructions on how to keep the wound sterile to prevent the infection from spreading. And though it wasn’t her place to do so, she suggested Aggie stay with her sister to look after her, fully intending to take responsibility with Lady Fiona once she returned to the manor. But she didn’t believe Lady Fiona would refuse Aggie the time off.
Chloe waited until Isabel awoke, to be sure she was well enough, before she made her way back to the manor, exhausted from the excitement of the day.
She climbed into the carriage, thinking today was the happiest day of her life. She’d very likely saved a young girl’s life, Hawk breathed new life into this dying town and Chloe was falling in love with Ian.
She closed her eyes, resting her weary head back upon the seat, wanting nothing more in that instant than to be able to fall into Ian’s arms.
Cursing himself for not adjusting the books sooner, Edward snarled. It was only that Fiona had never taken much of an interest in the household accounts. He couldn’t allow her to uncover the truth now. And if she did, he couldn’t let her share the knowledge with his royal highness.
His brain hurt as he stared at the missing ledgers he’d hidden in his room. He could blackmail Lady Fiona, perhaps. He could threaten to tell Ian that she could walk and that there was nothing wrong with her legs. But was that enough to prevent her from taking action against him?
Somehow he didn’t think so.
He could threaten to tell Ian the truth about his father… but if he did that, his royal highness would castrate him and hang his balls from his ears.
That wouldn’t do, either. What good would money do him if he weren’t alive to enjoy it?
He cursed the constable for being such a bumbling fool. He’d given the man ample clues as to Hawk’s identity. He’d even learned about Miss Simon’s intended rendezvous with him from Emily, the bigmouthed prostitute at the Pale Ale. He’d given that information to the constable, but to no fruition. The bloody fool had, instead of catching a thief, stumbled upon two lovers rolling about the fields like rabbits in heat. The thought was disgusting—that Ian could lower himself to such depths was deplorable. Miss Simon was no more than a filthy commoner, with no proper morals. What sort of girl went about pretending to be a physician and ogling men’s and women’s naked forms? It was absolutely despicable.
He would have come straight out and told the constable who Hawk was, but he knew he would have suffered consequences if he had. It could never be Edward who betrayed Julian’s second son.
Edward’s mother had been a servant, perhaps, but he shared the same father as Julian. He was quite certain the only reason Julian sent him away with Fiona was because Julian hadn’t wished to suffer his presence. How ironic it was that the son Julian would place upon the throne was little better than Edward—a bastard child.
It grated on his nerves.
As for Ian, the bugger, it did Edward much good to see him squirm, to have him come to Edward for his paltry allowances, only so Edward could refuse him.
Vengeance could be so sweet.
Fiona never once guessed at his connection to Julian. Despite that they shared much of the same look, it had never even occurred to her to question Edward’s birth. She had always assumed and treated him as though he were no better than her own servants, ordering him about, taking him to task—Edward this, Edward that!
She was nothing but a silly twit. For twenty-eight years she’d pined for a man who’d obviously never loved her.
In the beginning Edward hadn’t felt this way about her. In fact, he’d felt somewhat of a kinship with Fiona, because they’d both been cast away like so much rubbish. But Fiona had looked beyond him so many years that Edward felt nothing for her now but resentment. He felt it was his right to have this money after all his years of servitude. He’d been loyal to her to no avail. That had gotten him precisely nowhere.
He sighed. What to do… what to do…
He stared at the books, willing the answers to
come to light.
Light.
He could burn them…
But if he did, Fiona would continue to question their whereabouts. Only what if he burned them, along with the others… and perhaps the entire house?
He considered that avenue. The rest of the books were in Lady Fiona’s room… if he burned one, he would need to burn them all.
He could make it look like an accident….
Today was the day.
The charade must come to an end.
Merrick intended to take full responsibility for the necklace he’d stolen. The jeweler in Edinburgh who’d purchased it had agreed to hold it until Merrick returned, on the promise that Merrick would pay him double the money he’d been given for it. But there was no guarantee that he could safely return it to his mother now that it was out of his hands, and she must know what actions he had taken.
After leaving Chloe, he’d gone straight to his bedroom, intending to clean up before facing his mother. Gad, but he’d loved to have bathed Chloe, too… massage those lovely shoulders and ease the aches he knew she would feel in the aftermath of their loving.
The entire world had a new perspective this morn. Everything was clear to him.
The constable would be taken care of once Merrick was able to fully address the matter. But, at any rate, Ian hadn’t any more reason to don his mask and once Hawk joined the ranks of Glen Abbey’s legends, the constable would have no more need to make Hawk’s capture his life’s mission. Merrick would see to it that his brother had whatever he needed. He would make certain his father released Glen Abbey Manor and see to it that it was restored to its former glory. For all the injustices suffered here—never mind those committed against himself—he intended to make reparations. God’s truth, if his father wasn’t man enough to do it, Merrick would do it for him.
As for Edward, well, the steward wouldn’t be a problem, either, because Merrick fully intended to rake that bugger over hot coals, then deposit his charcoaled arse on the street. He never trusted that shifty-eyed fool.
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 17