For Elise (30 page)

He was a mess. A
complete and utter mess. Miles couldn’t seem to decide what to do with himself. He’d walked out to the stables earlier only to turn around and return to the house. He’d sat down with the estate ledgers and never accomplished a thing.

Elise was leaving.

Intellectually, Miles understood why. The reasoning was sound, the logic irrefutable. And considering he was finding himself tempted almost beyond endurance to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her to him every time he was in her company, putting distance between them grew more and more essential.

But on a deeper level, he couldn’t accept that she would soon be gone. How could he be expected to live without her? He’d endured four years of separation. Now that he had found her, he was to be deprived of her again? It was insupportable!

Miles glanced up at the sky from a window in the drawing room, where he, Beth, Langley, and, of course, Elise had gathered after dinner.

“It is a very clear night,” Elise said, joining him at the window.

He kept his gaze on the sky. “It is, indeed,” he said with believable neutrality.

“Miles, I need your opinion on something.” Elise dropped her voice to a level that suggested a desire for privacy but also a certain urgency that immediately pulled his eyes to her. “The day is all but over, and I have yet to receive a letter.”

He had wondered why she hadn’t brought him the daily correspondence. He’d worried, in fact, that she felt she no longer needed his support or advice. He was glad to be wrong, though it was a bittersweet realization in light of her imminent departure.

“I would very much like to feel relieved by the change, but I find I cannot be,” Elise said. “I am almost certain that he means to worry me more by not sending a threatening note.”

“You are most likely correct,” Miles admitted, though it gave him some pain to do so. He would much rather have been a source of reassurance and consolation.

“Surely he will eventually run out of things to write and simply give up his campaign,” Elise said, though she sounded unconvinced. “He would not, I hope, continue this for the rest of my life.”

“I am confident we will discover his identity before long.” Miles spoke with more conviction than he felt.

“You will keep me informed of your progress?” Her eyes entreated him. “I will worry less if I know something is being done.”

Again, she was requesting correspondence, quite as if they were old schoolmates leaving behind their days of education to begin separate lives. His feelings might have been in a jumble, but hers did not appear to be.

“Of course I will write to you,” he promised, feeling once more as if the foundation beneath him were crumbling. “How are the preparations coming for your move?” He decided to tackle the matter head-on rather than wait for her to force it upon him.

“Anne and I have very little to our names, so there is not much preparation to be completed. Mrs. Ash has agreed to help in the kitchen as well as with Anne. I have written to Mr. Cane, asking that he send along to Gilford more particulars of my finances. I think all shall turn out well for us in the end.”

“I sincerely hope so.” Miles fought an almost overwhelming urge to plead with her to reconsider. How could she leave him? How could she not be as disheartened by the prospect of a separation as he was?

He had to say something, had to cover his desperation and frustration. “You leave on Friday, Langley tells me.”

“Yes.” Elise nodded. “Immediately following breakfast.”

“The journey will require three days at the very least,” Miles said, suddenly seeing an impediment. “Are you ready for such a long carriage ride? I know you are still uneasy traveling.”

“Another reason to settle permanently.” She far too easily sidestepped his objection. “After I reach Gilford, I need never travel far from there again.”

She would never come back to Tafford? Not even to see Mama Jones? Not to see him? Miles hoped it was merely nerves that caused her to say as much.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you prepare,” he offered halfheartedly.

She nodded but didn’t speak. Beth called her over in the next moment, and all Miles could do for the remainder of the night was watch from a distance, knowing he was days from losing her again.

* * *

“Is that ever’thing?”

“Yes, John,” Mr. Langley answered. “We will be on our way momentarily.”

Elise felt her heart crack painfully. She would be leaving in a moment. She had thought the prospect of getting into a closed carriage would be the most difficult part. It was not.

Miles stood beside her on the front steps of Tafford.

“Are you certain you are equal to this? You are facing three entire days.”

“It is a necessary evil,” Elise answered.

“I suppose it is.”

She knew she could delay the inevitable no longer. “Thank you, Miles, for everything these past weeks. I have been happier here than I have been in years.” Her words broke with emotion despite her desperate efforts to prevent her inner turmoil from showing.

“Oh, Elise.” He pulled her into a warm hug. “Do not cry, dear. It isn’t as though we will never see each other.”

Elise held to him, repeating those words in her mind. He intended to see her again. He would come visit. He’d all but promised.

“Beth has already insisted I come for Christmas,” Miles said.

That was more than six months away. Would she not see him until then?

“By Christmastime you will be settled in and happier still.” He hadn’t let go yet. “You will look back on this moment and wonder why you were even reluctant to be on your way.”

“You will look after Mama Jones?” Elise needed a topic to ponder other than her own breaking heart.

“Of course.” He put her a little away from him and offered a very friendly smile.

“And you will tell me if you discover anything else about the man we are attempting to identify?” she asked.

He nodded. “Just as I expect you to tell Langley and write to me if you begin receiving any of those letters again.”

It was Elise’s turn to nod. The murderer had not written to her all week. The only reason they had been able to concoct was that he knew she was leaving the county and, for whatever reason, did not think her a threat any longer. Even so, they were taking no chances. An armed guard sat atop the carriage with the driver.

Mrs. Ash arrived with Anne. Heloise had been given over for the doll Miles had given her. None of them knew what the doll’s name was but had come to recognize Anne’s sign for it. Her big brown eyes found Miles immediately. Her brow tugged low, confusion written there.

Miles opened his arms for her. She went without hesitation. He held her lovingly and watched her make several gestures. She was asking him about the horses, though he clearly didn’t know that. There’d not been time enough for Miles to learn to understand her. Still, he watched her intently, fondness in his expression.

Beth stepped next to Elise. “It is time to go,” she told them all.

Miles pulled Anne into a true hug. He looked almost as though he would cry. Elise’s throat thickened at the sight.

“I feel like a villain in a Gothic novel,” Beth said. Her eyes were on Miles and Anne. “He will miss her terribly.”

“And we will miss him.” Elise couldn’t even begin to express how much. “But what else can be done? We need a home of our own. And staying here is not an option.”

“It will all work out for the best,” Beth said. “I am certain of it. And he has promised to visit for Christmas.”

Elise would likely spend the next six months counting down the days until he arrived. How she hoped the roads proved passable. Such a thing was not always guaranteed in the winter.

Beth joined Mr. Langley at the waiting carriage. He handed her inside.

Miles, with Anne held in one arm, offered his hand to Elise. “I think the staff will understand a moment’s familiarity,” he said.

She accepted his hand. He walked her down the steps. At the door of the carriage, he released her and focused all his attention on Anne. “Have a safe journey, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few months.”

She simply smiled and made her gesture for red hair, the words that had become his name to her.

Miles hugged her once more before handing her in to Mrs. Ash. He turned back to Elise.

“Good-bye, my friend,” he whispered. He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her on the forehead as he had always done in the moments before they were to part. One hundred different farewells sped through her mind. How many times would she be required to say good-bye to him?

“Promise me you will come at Christmas,” she said.

“I will do everything in my power to be there,” he promised.

Knowing her emotions would not hold out a moment longer, Elise hastily climbed inside the coach.

She kept her gaze firmly forward as they pulled up the drive. She would not look back, she told herself. But she did.

He was gone already.

Miles knew his feelings were
written all over his face. He’d turned back toward the house before the carriage had even disappeared from view. Elise would have worried if she’d seen the agony her departure caused him. She needed support and encouragement, not misplaced guilt. Elise had found a home, a future for herself and Anne.

Anne.
Saying good-bye to her had broken his heart in ways he hadn’t expected. He loved that dear little girl. Young as she was, she would likely not remember him at all the next time he saw her.

By the time he reached the windows of his library, he could no longer see Langley’s carriage. Anne was gone. His beloved Elise was as well.

“Good-bye, my dear,” Miles whispered.

How pathetic he sounded. One would think she’d married someone else or had died rather than merely moved two counties away. It wasn’t as if he’d lost her forever. He would always have her friendship, as inadequate as that felt. Perhaps in time he could convince her there was more between them than that.

He sat listening to the stillness of his house. When he’d first arrived at Tafford, the house had felt like little more than an overly large inn, a place to lay his head, nothing personal or welcoming. He’d thought the estate simply lacked the familiarity of Epsworth, that given time, it would feel like home to him.

But that wasn’t it at all, he now realized. Elise had made Tafford his home because home would always be wherever she was.

“Now she’s gone, and Tafford will likely never feel like home again.”

Deciding he was in almost desperate need of distraction, Miles made his way to his desk. He had plenty of correspondence to catch up on. But he stopped before taking his seat. On the center of his desk sat the copy of
Robin Hood
he’d given Elise on her first night at Tafford. Why hadn’t she taken it with her? Surely Anne had not yet grown tired of looking at the pictures.

Miles sat in the desk chair, running his fingers down the book’s spine.

What an absurdly dramatic Little John Elise had always been during their childhood games. Half the time she’d been conspiring
against
Beth’s Maid Marion rather than helping rescue her from an imaginary Sheriff of Nottingham.

He flipped through the book a moment. Then, seized by a sudden desire to read the tales he’d once had almost memorized, Miles opened to the first page.

“Come listen to me, you gallants so free,

“All you that love mirth for to hear,

“And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,

“That lived in Nottinghamshire.”

* * *

“Mr. Hanson, my lord.”

Miles looked up from the next-to-last page of
Robin Hood
as his solicitor entered the room. “Thank you, Humphrey.”

The butler bowed and left, closing the doors as he did.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lord Grenton,” Mr. Hanson said, offering a bow. “I come with some information that I believe you will be interested in receiving.”

Miles set aside the book. “Come. Sit.” He waved Hanson to a chair beside the desk.

“I have been investigating your late father’s failed business ventures, my lord.”

“What have you discovered?”

“The first two of these ventures to fail were widely invested in. Many others lost money. Your father and Mr. Furlong were far from bankrupted by these disappointments but were understandably desirous to recoup their losses.”

Miles nodded. He himself had lost everything and spent four years of his life halfway across the world trying to make up for it.

“The investments they made after that were not nearly so widely embraced; there were far fewer investors, and they were obviously very risky.”

Mr. Cane had said as much. He had, in fact, urged Miles’s father to seek expert advice before investing.

“They failed one after another. And your father began investing greater sums of capital in each successive venture, only to lose all he had invested. Based on what I have seen and read, I do not believe your father was a gambling man,” Mr. Hanson said, his tone almost a question.

“He was not. There was the occasional game of whist with gentlemen in the neighborhood. But he did not indulge in true games of chance, nor did he bet on the races.”

“And yet,” Hanson continued, “the high-risk investing he embraced the last eighteen months of his life is precisely the sort of gamble one would expect from a hardened gamester. A gentleman like your father would be far more likely, after several losses of even minor significance, to choose investments that were
more
conservative, not
less
, in his attempt to gain back what he had lost.”

“Perhaps he was feeling desperate,” Miles suggested.

Hanson shook his head. “I spoke with a few well-respected members of my profession who have more experience than I in such matters—without giving names, of course—and they agree with my assessment. Your father’s situation early on was far from desperate. I am confident a characteristically careful, responsible gentleman would have chosen less risk.”

“What precisely are you saying?” Miles felt in his gut that Hanson had truly discovered something of significance but was unable to guess what.

“I began to suspect early on in this investigation—within the first day, in fact—that your father had been swindled.”

Miles immediately tensed.

“Someone misled him or tricked him into investing in impossible schemes. So I began looking into the companies and projects in which he invested. Not a single one still exists, which, considering their failures, wasn’t surprising. But I found information enough to begin piecing together a startling puzzle.”

“Why do I get the feeling I ought to pour myself a brandy?”

“You may very well want one after I finish telling you what I have discovered, my lord. It is one of the most corrupt and tangled webs I have had the misfortune to stumble upon.” Hanson looked angry.

“Before you go any further, tell me this. In this web you have discovered, was my father the unwitting victim or the heartless spider?”

“The victim, my lord. As was Mr. Furlong.”

Miles let out a tense breath. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

Hanson pulled out a stack of papers but did not give them to Miles or set them on the desk. “My first clue came when I traced a now-defunct canal-building project back to a single individual who could not in any way be connected with canal building. I looked into a shipping company, which, when unraveled, proved not to be a company at all but a nonexistent organization. Its bank accounts were under a single name.”

“The same man connected with the canals?”

Hanson nodded. “This individual proved to be connected to every single investment your father made after the initial two, though in some instances, he had hidden his connection very well. In the end, we found bank accounts at”—he looked back at the stack of papers in his hands—“Barclays; Drummonds; Thomas Coutts & Co.; Baring Brothers & Co.; Lloyds, which is in Birmingham; and even the Royal Bank of Scotland. Deposits into these accounts coincide almost perfectly with losses sustained by your father and Mr. Furlong and several members of their club.”

“They were fictionalized investments.” Miles began to understand.

“Yes, Lord Grenton. Every one of them. And I have found evidence that your father did not actually authorize these investments,” Hanson said. “Your father and Mr. Furlong were not the only victims.”

Miles growled several curses, noticing Hanson nodding his agreement or, perhaps, his approval.

“I looked into the other gentlemen who invested in these schemes,” Hanson continued. “I am sorry to say, a number of them were killed as well.”

Miles’s mind lurched to a halt. He couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around the startling and entirely unexpected revelation. “There were other murders? How did no one realize this?”

“They did not happen one right after the other,” Hanson said. “And none of the victims were truly close friends, except for your father and Mr. Furlong. The connection wasn’t at all obvious until I began looking at these fraudulent companies. Without that piece of the puzzle, the only connection is that they belonged to the same club. But considering the sheer number of members, that isn’t enough to tie them together.”

Members of the same club.
That was how Mr. Haddington had known Father and Mr. Furlong.

“I fully believe the villain behind your father’s ruination is the same man who—”

“Murdered him,” Miles finished the sentence, knowing beyond a doubt that Hanson was entirely correct.

“And, as near as I can tell, Mrs. Jones is the only living witness to his crimes,” Hanson added.

Which explains why he was so intent on threatening her into silence.

“Who is our villain?”

Hanson held up the paper in his fist, positioning it so Miles could easily read the name written across the top of the first sheet.

Merciful heavens.
Elise had no idea. If the blackguard found her, she wouldn’t realize she was in danger!