The Bride's Secret (2 page)

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James Moore, now the Earl of Rutledge, was born under a lucky star. From his earliest days he had known it. He had been a great favorite with his nurse and had been blessed with good health. His strong body had not only resisted disease and infirmity but also gifted him with uncommon skill in rugby and cricket and any manner of gentlemanly sports. His extraordinary abilities distinguished him through Rugby, Sandhurst and in the Light.

He had been the only young man in his lodgings at Sandhurst not to succumb to a deadly fever that claimed many of his classmates. When he was a soldier in the Peninsula, his noble Captain Stephen Ennis saved James from almost certain death—at the cost of his own life. From Waterloo, he emerged unscathed. While later serving in India, he received the news that an uncle, whose existence he had been unaware of, had died and left his fortune and title to James.

At the age of seven and twenty James, whose father had been a gentleman farmer of modest means, found himself master of Yarmouth Hall. Now, he settled back in a comfortable leather chair, propped his boot-clad feet on the massive Jacobean desk, and surveyed the jewel-toned leather volumes that stacked row upon row two full stories up to the paneled wood ceiling far above. Bindings of red, emerald green and lapis blue wrapped around the cavernous room. James wondered how many of them his uncle had read.

A shadow darkened the west doorway, and he turned to see Adams.

“Your lordship has a visitor,” the tall, stiff, gray-haired butler announced.

The lord quickly dropped his feet to the Turkey carpet, hoping Adams had not witnessed his uncivilized behavior. James was not at all used to having a butler or to being master of any place, much less a four-hundred-year-old ancestral home of nearly one hundred rooms. He was not sure how he was supposed to act. And truth be told, he was a good deal intimidated by the overbearing butler. A haughtier man he had never beheld.

“Pray, who is it?” James asked.

“A Mr. Jonas Smythe.” Without saying another word, Adams conveyed his distaste for the unfortunate Mr. Smythe.

“Show him in,” James said.

The Bow Street runner had not been expected back so quickly. It had been less than a week since the man had been hired. James stood and greeted Mr. Smythe, then asked Adams to close the door. As Mr. Smythe had done at their first meeting, he lowered his stooped-over frame into a chair facing the desk James sat behind. “Have you a report so soon?” James inquired.

“Yes, milord.” The bearded man withdrew a small notebook from the pocket of his red vest. “I believe I have all the information you requested.”

James's anticipation heightened as he watched the man thumb through the Occurrence Book

Mr. Smythe leafed through a few sheets of paper to refresh his memory, then spoke without consulting his notes. “Let me jest give ye the the lay. Mrs. Ennis stays year round in Bath on a right respectable street, Queensbury by name. Seems like a dull sort of place. I'm from Lunnon meself, and I like a bit 'o bustle.” He looked down at his book once more. “Well, like I was tellin, she rents lodgings in a town 'ouse. The rub is the lady can't get the dibs in tune. She owes everyone, gov'nah. Quarterly income won't cover. 'Tis only sixty pounds. Too bad Mr. Ennis was put to bed with a shovel.”

James was almost relieved to hear Carlotta Ennis was in financial difficulties, for that meant he could have the pleasure of assisting her. It was a small price to pay for what her husband had done for him. And until James was assured of the happiness of Captain Ennis's family, he could never sleep well in his silken canopied bed at Yarmouth Hall.

“Tell me,” James said, “did you see Mrs. Ennis?”

Mr. Smythe looked up from his notebook, snapping it shut. His pudgy fingers twirled his moustache, and his drooping eyes glimmered. “As fine a looking woman as ever there was.”

James nodded.
Yes, that would be Carlotta Ennis
. “I thank you for the information, Mr. Smythe. My man of business will settle your bill if you will have my butler direct you to the morning room.” James pulled the bell rope.

The runner stood and handed James several pages of paper from his notebook. “'ere's the official report with all the proper documentation, yer lordship.”

Once the man was gone, James perused the report. How different Carlotta Ennis's life would have been had Captain Ennis lived. And it was James's fault she was a widow. He felt bloody bad about it. He always did when Lady Luck smiled upon him while trampling another.

Oddly, as he read the report he thought he smelled lavender, Carlotta Ennis's scent. It was as much a part of her as her glossy black hair. He vividly pictured the captain's elegant wife. Lavender and purple gowns of the latest fashion had softly molded to the smooth curves of her taller than average body, scarcely covering her full breasts. She carried herself so regally, she seemed almost ethereal. Her rich black hair—seldom covered with bonnet or hat—swept back, with wispy curls tumbling about her perfectly chiseled face. He'd always thought her cold, perhaps because she brought to mind a statue of a Roman goddess. Even her smooth skin reminded him of flawless polished marble. Only her smoky lavender eyes showed any warmth.

He was somewhat piqued that the report had not mentioned the son she bore in Portugal in eighteen-twelve. For it was the boy who troubled James the most. The poor lad would be raised without a father. The corners of James's mouth tugged downward as he remembered his own fatherless childhood. He had been the only one in his class at Rugby who had no male parent to visit him on Father-Son Day. But it was not that one day every spring which blemished his otherwise satisfactory childhood. It was not having a father to teach him the ins and outs of riding and shooting and angling, or to teach him the correct way to tie a cravet. It was having to become the man of the family when he was but four years of age. It was his self-imposed sense of isolation that permeated his childhood. He was different. He had no papa. Who could expect him to know what other lads—lads who had fathers—knew?

James turned his thoughts once again to Captain Ennis's son. James wanted to buy the lad's first horse and teach him to ride. They could go angling, and he would instruct the boy on how to shoot. If the little fellow needed help with his Latin or his sums, James wanted to be the one to provide it.

He pulled the bell rope again, and when Adams appeared he told him to inform Mannington to pack his things. “We go to Bath inside the hour.”

Surrendering an arm or leg to a sawbones would have been more pleasant than facing Captain Ennis's widow. For she knew James's insubordination had caused her husband's death.

Chapter 2

The knocking persisted. It was no use pretending she was not at home. Mrs. McKay knew Carlotta's every move and had likely witnessed her parting from the odious Sir Wendell earlier in the day. Carlotta suspected the woman's only entertainment derived from poking her hawk-like nose into her tenant's affairs. The woman's nosiness was exceeded only by her gall. She would solicitously inquire on the quality of the previous night's turbot after watching Carlotta's maid return from the fish monger's. And she would brazenly ask Carlotta how so-and-so was getting along, though her only acquaintance with so-and-so was through the keyhole of Carlotta's door. Of course, it had been some time now since Carlotta had entertained visitors.

After shoving her sewing in the drawer of her work table, Carlotta rose, crossed the faded carpet and opened the door to her landlady.

Without being asked, Mrs. McKay strolled into the room, sighing deeply.

“Won't you sit down?” Carlotta asked.

The plump, red-headed matron sat on the settee Carlotta had just vacated, a frown on her well painted face. Carlotta seated herself on the edge of a nearby armchair, her stomach tumbling over the dreaded confrontation.

The landlady mopped her aging brow with a hanky. “I don't get up those stairs as well as I once did.”

Carlotta nodded sympathetically.

Mrs. McKay's ample bosom lifted in an exaggerated sigh, and her face folded into a pained expression. “I had hoped it would not come to this, Mrs. Ennis, but if I cannot soon obtain the last quarter's rent you owe, I am going to be forced to evict you.”

Now it was Carlotta who sighed. Where did the money go? She had never had much of a head for numbers and was hopeless with managing money. If she had it, she spent it. Every last farthing.

As of late, she had tried her best to economize—really, she had. She'd not gone to the milliner's in a year. Of course, she had not needed to. She still possessed an extraordinary wardrobe. White champagne gave way to cheaper wine, then to tea, and now she drank only one cup a day. She had switched from candles to the cheaper tallows and could barely afford any coal. Green peas were so dear they were only a memory, as was the generous settlement from Gregory.

Her fine carriage had been sold—at a huge loss. And what good was her elaborate wardrobe when she had no where to wear the ball gowns with trains, the morning dresses and promenade wear in every color of the rainbow—with hats and shoes to match each. She had sold off all the jewels Gregory had given her, except for the diamonds. Within the next fortnight, they, too, would be gone. Then she would have nothing left of Gregory, save the emptiness in her heart.

“If you could but wait until the first of next month,” Carlotta said, “you'll receive what is due as well as an advance on the next quarter.”

The worry lifted from the elder woman's face. “If you can assure me, then that would be fine and good. A lady of quality such as yourself is precisely the type of tenant I wish to have, but I do have my own bills to see to.”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs. McKay,” Carlotta said. “Since...since I've been ill, I've acquired a great many debts myself, but I assure you that you're at the top of my list, come the first of the month.” Unlike the promises she made to the other tradesmen, this one she meant to honor. She simply had to keep a roof over head. Nothing could be worse than returning, as an unmarried woman, to Gran's house and burying herself in dreary Yorkshire.

Mrs. McKay stood up, crossed the carpet and patted Carlotta's shoulder. “There, there, Mrs. Ennis, all will come about—once you get your health back.” Her eyes traveled the length of Carlotta. “You look poorly. You've grown ever so thin.”

Carlotta nodded. She couldn't deny the woman's words. Indeed, she had lost her appetite—and so much more.

“If I might be so bold as to make a suggestion,” Mrs. McKay began, “if you'd sack your young woman, you'd have ever so much more money.”

Sack Peggy! Carlotta would beggar first. Since she'd rescued the starving thirteen-year-old Peggy from the London wharves upon returning from Portugal, Carlotta had formed a bond with the frail young woman that was as irrevocable as the tides. Peggy had served Carlotta alternately as abigail, cook and housekeeper during feast and during famine.

A huge lump formed in Carlotta's throat as she remembered Peggy vowing undying loyalty while inarticulately telling her that their relationship had been the only constant in the maid's dreary life.

“That is completely out of the question,” Carlotta said to Mrs. McKay. “I am all that Peggy has in the world. I could never sack her.”

The old woman shrugged. “I'll just let myself out,” she said meekly.

After her landlady left, Carlotta went directly to her bed chamber, donned her pelisse and decided to take a walk. A walk along the Royal Crescent would do her good. She had spent far too many days prostrate on her bed, crying over a love long lost and never to be resurrected. Buttoning her pelisse, closing the door behind her and descending the stairs, she left the precarious security of Mrs. McKay's chambers to ponder her hopelessly befuddled circumstances.

The few pounds she received each quarter from her late husband's estate did not go very far. First, she had to send half of it to Gran. The other half would not even cover half her bills. And never was there a penny left. What was she to do? Carlotta had always thought she would marry again. Indeed, she had never believed Gregory when he insisted he would never wed her.
I'll bring him around
, she had thought with as much confidence as foolishness.

Now she knew her beauty was no longer enough to secure a husband. Now that she had tarnished herself. The best she could hope for was to be set up as some peer's ladybird. No, she could never allow herself to sink that low. She had loved Gregory fiercely enough to ruin herself—but to cold-heartedly make an
arrangement
? She shuddered.

She took a deep whiff of the fresh air. She had kept herself cooped up long enough. Despite her recent misery, Carlotta would rather live in Bath than anywhere else. Yorkshire farm life had been fine for a youngster—including her own son who was being raised there—but for a woman who had seen the world and relished living in the bustling city of Bath, Yorkshire countryside seemed as lifeless as a tomb.

With the verdant hills as a backdrop, Carlotta headed down Royal Avenue toward the Royal Crescent, but could not help but sink deeper into hopelessness, for there were no solutions for any of her problems. It would be easy for her to wallow in self-pity. After all, she had become a widow at nineteen when her husband—the third son of an earl—was killed in the Peninsula. Then four years later she had recklessly fallen completely in love with Gregory Blankenship, who would not offer marriage. Not to her, anyway. Tears pricked her lids as she thought of how he'd turned to his best friend's young sister for a bride. It wasn't fair.

But Carlotta had seen enough of life to know unhappiness did not last forever. At the end of every storm, a rainbow bridged the way to a new and better day. Surely her rainbow was due. Throughout the valleys and peaks of her life, poetry had always sustained her. Now these words brought solace.
Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
She refused to give in to gloom. Somewhere on this earth there was a man with whom she would grow old—and reap her elusive happiness.