Liz Carlyle - [Lorimer Family & Clan Cameron 02] (50 page)

Smoothly, she leaned forward to touch her lips to his forehead. “You were ill used, Elliot,” she whispered against his forehead, “and I know you must hurt. I wish it had been otherwise.”

For a moment, he said nothing. “Aye, I hurt sometimes, Evangeline,” he finally admitted, his voice soft. “What’s worse, I’ve hurt you as well. And right now, I fear that nothing I may do will rid us of the past and make us free.”

“Perhaps we need not hide from it, Elliot, but merely get beyond it?”

His eyes flickered open, and in their smoky depths Evangeline suddenly saw it all, the sorrow, the doubt, the love, and the seemingly eternal weariness that lingered there. “Do you think we can manage it?” he asked hesitantly.

With infinite care, Evangeline slid down into the bed and moved her head to share his pillow. “I love you, Elliot,” she answered, curling one arm across his chest and setting her lips close to the turn of his jaw. “I have always loved you. Together, perhaps we can overcome anything. We can try.”

“
Do
you love me, Evie?” he asked solemnly, his eyes focused on the ceiling above. “I must confess, I cannot go on teasing such words from your lips, no matter how desperately I need to hear them. And on the one occasion when you said them from your heart, you said them to another man. Not to me.”

“No, I think you are wrong about that,” she softly countered.

Elliot exhaled a long agonizing sigh. “Tell me true, sweet, for I think I very nearly made you a widow before you’d hardly become a wife. I will confess, that fact has rather unnerved me, and I want nothing more standing between us.”

“What are you saying?”

“Life can be short,” he answered gently, “and when I met you, I discovered a newfound desire to know where mine was headed. This throbbing pain in my leg makes for quite a reminder. So what I am asking is, can you set aside my past, which has admittedly been less than virtuous? And can you forgive me for pushing you into this marriage too quickly?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “And yes. But as to whether or not we wed too quickly—” Evangeline paused to run her free hand down her belly. “That remains to be seen.”

Elliot turned to look at her, his expression suddenly one of gentle astonishment. “Evie, I—why, I cannot think what to say. Do you mean it? All of it?”

Evangeline shot him an enigmatic, feminine smile and tilted up one eyebrow. “Certainly, I mean the
yes
and
yes
part. We shall shortly know about the last part.” She watched, enthralled, as utter amazement, then joy, chased across the gaunt angles of Elliot’s face.

With a little effort, he shifted his weight toward her, then trailed one big hand slowly down to rest across the flat plane of her belly. Smiling in obvious contentment, Elliot let his heavy eyelids fall shut. “Aye, if not now, soon,” he whispered. “Soon, love. I promise.”

They remained thus for a time, wrapped in each other. Elliot seemed to drowse, his breathing even, his hand still lingering restfully upon her stomach. Eventually, however, his fingers came up to slide through the hair at her temple. “Evie?” he whispered.

“Umm?”

“Let’s go back to Chatham. As soon as I may stir from this bed, let us leave.”

“Yes, of course,” she answered uncertainly. “But why?”

“If you are indeed with child, you’ll have need of Winnie and plenty of clean, country air. And for my part, I feel a need to be there just now. ’Tis a healing place, Evie. You know that, do you not? I will recover, we will recover.” He turned to smile softly at her. “And with any luck at all, I shall be able to watch your lovely, lithe figure grow round and fat.”

“Oh?” she said archly. “Fat, is it?”

“Aye,” he said arrogantly. “And I’ll likely make you paint, as well. I shall stand over you like a good Scottish husband and make you work. I’ll be wanting another portrait, of course. One that doesn’t look so bloody grim. And you’ll need your exercise, of course, so I’ll have you walk with me, Evie, through the woods, by the river . . . mayhap we’ll even go swimming, eh?” He shot her a wicked, suggestive wink, then shut his eyes.

“Oh, Lud!” she breathed. “Did you know about that?” But Elliot, feigning sleep, would not answer.

On these small cares of daughter, wife or friend,

the almost sacred joys of home depend
.

—H
ANNAH
M
ORE

A
utumn at Chatham Lodge was the most beautiful of seasons under any circumstance. This year, it was glorious indeed. The smell of late-summer flowers drifted through the air, carrying with it the exuberant voices of the children who played in the gardens below. Indolently, Evangeline reclined in her chair upon the terrace and watched as Zoë whacked a croquet ball soundly against Theo’s booted ankle, setting off a theatrical howl which the remaining players summarily ignored.

The match had been in progress off and on for the better part of the afternoon, interrupted only for arguments, accidents, and a bounteous al fresco luncheon which Mrs. Crane had laid out in the rose garden. Evangeline patted her growing stomach and wondered if the tray of cold ham had been taken in yet.

“Oh, my,” drawled a languid voice behind her. “Quite a rackety lot, are they not? Too early for it, my lady! Far too early in the afternoon for such vigorous merriment.”

“Aidan!” Evangeline leapt from her chair to kiss Lord Linden enthusiastically upon one cheek. Behind him, she saw Elliot closing the distance more slowly. In his left hand, he held a gold-knobbed walking stick, but he bore very little weight upon it now.

“Discretion, my darling!” whispered the elegantly attired viscount as he pulled away from her embrace. “I don’t think the old boy yet knows about my having taken you to bed.”

“Go bed someone else’s wife, you lecherous dog,” muttered Elliot, sinking into his chair with a grunt. He tossed the cane into the grass in feigned distaste. “I grow weary of you and Winthrop gawking at my wife. Besides, she’s big with child, for heaven’s sake. Have you no restraint?”

“I am hardly
big
with anything as yet,” Evangeline retorted, grinning at her husband. “Linden, it would serve him right if I grow as large as a house, would it not? And speaking of Major Winthrop, why has he not come with you? Was that not the plan?”

“Matt sends his regrets, my dear, for he was called home to his family seat,” answered Linden, but Evangeline did not miss the telling glance that passed between the viscount and her husband.

“To Cornwall?” Elliot’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “Family trouble?”

“Hmm,” droned Linden absently as he watched the croquet match with newfound interest. “Something like that, I suppose. But I did not come to discuss Matt’s troubles. I came, rather, to discuss yours, old man.”

“Then it shall be a short visit, Linden, for I haven’t any,” replied Elliot cheerfully. “Cannot an injured man retire to his country home to recuperate? After all, I have only another week before Mother arrives from Scotland to cut up my peace.”

“That’s
make peace,
darling,” corrected Evangeline gently. “Recollect, if you will, that the two of you have agreed to set aside your distinctly different personalities on behalf of your heir.”

Linden smiled, pulled out his ever-present snuff box, and flicked it open with an expert finger. “Familial concerns aside, you shall both rest more peacefully in your marriage bed when you hear what I have learned. Congratulate me, for I have discovered the identity of Evangeline’s mysterious Mrs. Pritchett!”

“No?”
interrupted Evangeline, who then blushed effusively. Confessing her assumptions to Elliot had been difficult enough, but the appearance of the ruby bracelet had required something by way of explanation Knowing that Elliot had shared with Linden the tale of the redhaired housekeeper’s visit, however, was worse still.

Linden continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “Do you not wish to know who she is?” he crowed, then did not bother to wait for a response. “She’s Mary Tanner, Antoinette’s sister! Can you credit such a thing? As different as night from day!”

“How do you know?” asked Elliot, his face fixed in an expression of utter amazement. “And how did you find her?”

Linden hesitated, then gave a lazy shrug. “Well, actually, Winthrop came up with the idea. We just asked Kemble. MacLeod gave the old boy her name and description, and Kem was easily able to tell us the name of her employer. We put a few facts together, then had an easy job of running down the mother.”

“How charming!” interjected Elliot dryly.

“Indeed,” answered Linden, his lip curling into a slight sneer. “She now operates a decrepit alehouse in Cheapside, by the by. We dropped in, made a few pointed remarks about the dreadful ramifications of jewelry theft, not to mention the stupidity of lying to Bow Street.”

“And?”

“And
voila!
The old buzzard sang like a spring robin, swore she’d never meant to steal the bracelet; she’d merely forgotten its existence. Then,
saints be praised
—those were, I recollect, her very words—the eldest daughter discovered it, inadvertently buried in Mama’s portmanteau. Realizing the grievous error, Mrs. Pritchett delivered it up to his lordship himself.”

“A likely story,” snorted Elliot.

“Oh, but it improves! Matt and I called upon the daughter as well, who just happens to be the devoted housekeeper of Lord and Lady Collup in Albemarle Street. Mrs. Pritchett, nee Tanner, was recently wed to the loyal butler, one Elam Pritchett, and the whole lot of them live snug as bugs in a Mayfair town house.”

“Is there a point to this story?” asked Elliot dryly. “Other than to display your astounding knowledge of London geography and your speaking acquaintance with the greater portion of its domestic service?”

“Well, yes!” answered Linden with a flash of white teeth. “Lady Collup, don’t you know, is first cousin and bosom-bow to Lady Howell. Over the years, they’ve traded horses, recipes, and even—on occasion—servants.”

Evangeline gasped audibly. “Lady Howell told me! Mary was the girl Lord Howell dismissed . . . ” She let her words trail off awkwardly, but Linden picked up her thought.

“Just so, Evangeline! Both Antoinette and her mother were present all those years ago when Lady Howell came to speak with Mary. At some point, probably after listening to Cranham rage on and on about the past, Antoinette must have finally put the pieces, or at least the names, together. And when it turned out that Cranham couldn’t really afford Antoinette, and Elliot would no longer have her, she evidently decided to cash in an old marker. It was, we now know, a fatal decision on her part.”

“And what of the woman, this Mary Pritchett?” asked Elliot.

Linden cut an appraising glance toward Evangeline, then hesitantly spoke. “Mrs. Pritchett was, I daresay, rather ashamed of her family. She admitted that her sister came to Albemarle Street several weeks before she died, asking pointed questions about Lord Howell. Afterward, I believe that Mary meant to do the right thing in coming to Strath, but she apparently had no notion that Elliot had wed. She became very much afraid she had made matters worse for him.”

“Will you tell me something else, Linden?” Elliot asked as he stretched out his leg and absently massaged his injured thigh. Evangeline fought back the urge to reach across and assist.

“But of course,” agreed Linden smugly. “I am a veritable fountain of knowledge.”

“How did you persuade Cranham to cooperate anyway?”

Uncharacteristically, Linden tossed back his head and laughed aloud. “Like most of his sort, Cranham’s instinct for self-preservation was highly developed. When I pointed out to him that you had had more than ample opportunity to kill him on the field, and had neither need nor inclination to go skulking about in alleys, he realized that it was remotely possible that someone else wished him dead.”

“Really?” asked Elliot, sounding skeptical.

Linden tossed off an elegant shrug. “Well, that . . . and I bribed him with a bloody fortune. By the by, old man, if it will make you feel any better, you can reimburse me! I should very much like to have that set of dueling pistols, since you’ll have no need of them now . . . and perhaps two months’ use of your hunting box for the next few years?”

Elliot snorted incredulously, but Evangeline ignored him. “And how did you know it was Lord Howell?” she asked breathlessly. “No one suspected him!”

“Oh, he didn’t,” answered Elliot wryly. “Linden merely stirred up enough gossip to flush the bird from the bush. He had no notion who might fly forth.”

Evangeline swallowed hard. “Oh, I see,” she murmured weakly.

“Indeed, as do I,” mused Lord Linden, his attention now focused elsewhere. Purposefully, he withdrew his quizzing glass and peered through it onto the terrace below. “Tell me, Elliot, whoever is that
jolie femme
with such an outstanding mallet technique? I vow, I have never seen the like of her, ah, her swing.”

“Ah, yes,” responded Elliot, glancing knowingly across the low hedge to the makeshift croquet field. “That woman with the impressive
swing
would be the merry widow, Mrs. Weyden.”

“Indeed?” commented Lord Linden with a small choking sound. “I take it she has put off her widow’s weeds?”

“Yes,” replied Evangeline sardonically, “about a dozen years ago.” Together, the three of them stared down at Winnie, who was industriously engaged in chasing Fritz from a wicket, which he had obviously targeted for some nefarious doggie deed. Today, her face glowed a charming shade of pink, her gold-brown ringlets were piled high atop her head, and she wore a cerulean silk walking dress cut, as usual, just a shade too low. Lord Linden exhaled a long sigh and began to polish his glass rather vigorously.

“She is my dear friend and companion, Linden,” scolded Evangeline. “And a bit older than you, I suspect.”

“Not to worry,” answered Linden amiably. “I find older women charming. I should no doubt make her acquaintance before Sir Hugh insults her obvious good taste with some vulgar overture.”

Elliot tilted his head to one side and studied Linden. “A charming lady, old fellow, if I do say so myself. More than up to any challenge you might present, and, I might further add, newly parted from a former admirer.” He turned his gaze to Evangeline.

Evangeline could not suppress a sharp laugh. “Honestly, Elliot! Does none of us have a secret you’ve not become privy to?”

“You, madam, are permitted none,” he intoned solemnly. “And as for his, I wouldn’t care to know them.”

But Lord Linden did not hear this last remark, for he had risen from his seat and was drifting aimlessly down the stone staircase to the next terrace, where he would no doubt offer up his services as chief mallet bearer or dog chaser or whatever position he might otherwise ingratiate himself into.

Smoothly, Evangeline rose from her chair. “Come, Elliot, give me your arm,” she invited. “For, unless I miss my guess, our athletes will be engaged for a while, and I have a wifely urge to rub that thigh of yours.”

Elliot flashed his wicked grin, took up his cane, and arm in arm they strolled up the steps and along the path that trailed along the terraces, Elliot’s rich laughter echoing in their wake and brightening the gardens of Chatham Lodge.