The Christmas Secret (2 page)
“Surprised, are you?” His gaze had turned into something hard and cold that Lily had not understood.
“Yes,” she’d answered honestly. “I never knew . . . I never knew where you’d gone. And your name, Eberlin—”
“A title that derives from an estate I own in Denmark.”
“Denmark? But how—”
“I have returned to Hadley Green and Tiber Park with but one goal in mind,” he’d said, interrupting her. “Would you like to know what that is?”
Honestly, Lily could not now recall if she’d said yes or not, but Tobin had given her a cold smile and had carelessly, boldly, caressed her cheek, tracing a line to her mouth. He’d seemed strangely distant, as if he could not be touched by her, by anyone. “To destroy Ashwood.” He’d said it low, almost as if he’d been speaking to a lover.
Lily had gasped and jerked away from his hand.
“I’ll not rest until I have,” he’d added, and with that, he’d walked out of her salon without another word, leaving Lily to stand there, her heart beating with the strength of a thousand wings.
The recollection prompted Lily to press the flat of her palm to her abdomen. Every time she thought of that afternoon, she felt a strange flutter. He clearly held her responsible in some part for his father’s demise.
She
was beginning to feel responsible for Mr. Scott’s demise. She was not going to accept that from him. Lily had her own demons; she did not intend to adopt his as well.
She had not seen him again after that afternoon, but the letters from his solicitor, Mr. Sibley, had begun to come fast and furiously. They’d demanded that she turn over the one hundred acres that had been given to Ashwood from Tiber Park as part of a gift decades ago. One letter had informed her that Tobin had offered her tenants a lucrative share of the harvested crop at Tiber Park in exchange for their tenancy. Another letter had reported that he’d lured men from the mill Keira had begun to build in the hopes of generating some income for Ashwood to build his bigger and better mill upstream. Lily had lost three footmen to Tiber Park, as well as a groom.
But Lily had not seen him again until today, at the hearing regarding the one hundred acres. And when the judge had handed her property to him, and the hearing had ended, Lily scarcely had been able to contain her loathing of him a moment longer. She’d been furious with the way in which she’d been dismissed, and before Mr. Fish had been able to stop her, she’d marched after Tobin, had stepped in front of him before he’d been able to walk out the door.
Tobin had nodded politely and had tried to step around her, but Lily would not have it. “Are you content?” she’d demanded. “Do you now have what you want?”
Tobin had looked at her then. “I don’t know,” he’d said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you have something to offer me?”
Lily’s face had burned. “You know very well what I mean.”
“I couldn’t possibly know what you mean,” he’d said easily, and his gaze had drifted to her mouth in an alarmingly prurient way. “But in answer to your question, I rather doubt I shall ever have all that I want.” He’d lifted his gaze to hers again, a gaze burning with animosity, and tipped his hat. “Good day.” He’d brushed past her, striding out the door.
Lily had expected as much from him. But she’d seen something she had not expected. In a flash of a moment, a single moment, she’d seen a hint of something oddly vulnerable in Tobin’s expression. She’d seen the edge of a wound.
Not that it changed her opinion of him, not in the least. He was a ruthless, angry man, and he was pushing her into a corner with alarming ease. She reviled him, despised him, and she was determined to get out of the corner he’d put her in before she lost Ashwood completely.
She would not remove herself from the corner today, however, for little Lucy Taft had music lessons to attend, and there was the matter of the mess she’d made with the wallpaper.
The hallway at Everdon Court that led to the Marquis of Carey’s private study was as long and as daunting as the choir aisle at Westminster Abbey, and with every step, Miranda sniffed a little louder and tried to suppress her gasping sobs a little harder.
To her older sister Olivia—the Marchioness of Carey—it felt as if the two of them had slowly been proceeding toward the gallows, one leaden step at a time. “Buck up, Miranda,” Olivia murmured, pulling her younger sister closer into her side. “There is nothing to be done for it. You must face up to what you’ve done.”
“Yes, I know I must,” Miranda said weakly. “But I do not understand why you cannot tell him for me.”
Olivia sighed at that—Miranda knew very well why. Olivia had waited as long as she might before Miranda’s thickening waistline would draw attention, but she could wait no longer. If Olivia’s husband discovered her unmarried sister’s condition before Olivia told him, she and Miranda would both suffer for it. On that rain-soaked afternoon, Olivia thought it entirely possible that she dreaded telling his lordship even more than Miranda did.
After what seemed a lifetime, they reached the polished oak doors to the study. As Olivia lifted her hand to rap, Miranda sagged against her. “I am so weary,” she uttered. “I do not feel well.”
“Stand up,” Olivia softly commanded her, then jostled her a bit and rapped on the door.
One of the twin paneled doors swung open immediately, and behind it, a footman bowed. “Is my lord husband within, Charles?” Olivia asked.
“Come, Olivia.”
It was the rumble of her husband’s voice. Olivia looked at Miranda and tried to smile, then entered, half pulling, half leading her sister with her. But as she crossed the threshold, she discovered her husband was not alone. Mr. Tolly, the Carey family’s steward, was present as well.
Mr. Tolly smiled warmly as they entered, inclining his head in greeting. “Lady Carey. Miss Hastings. How do you do?”
“Ah . . .” Olivia tried to think of an appropriate response. They did not fare well at all.
“Yes? What is it?” her husband asked curtly without lifting his head from the papers on his desk.
Olivia gave Mr. Tolly a brief smile of appreciation, then shifted her gaze to her husband. “Miranda . . . and I . . . have something we must tell you,” she said. “May we have a moment?”
“Go on,” he said impatiently, “and be quick about it. As you can see, we are presently engaged.”
Olivia’s gaze flew to Mr. Tolly, whose smile made his gray eyes seem to dance. He bowed as he started to make his leave.
“Where are you off to, Tolly?” his lordship said. “You may stay.”
“Edward . . . it is personal,” Olivia said quickly. For Miranda’s sake, she did not want Mr. Tolly to be present.
“Mr. Tolly has heard more personal and private details about this family than even I. He will stay.” Edward lifted his head and looked at Olivia. “What is it?”
Mr. Tolly, she noticed, slowly stepped back, his expression suddenly stoic.
For her own sake, Olivia was thankful Mr. Tolly remained. Given today’s occasion, she expected to be sliced to ribbons and was selfishly comforted by his presence. Mr. Tolly had an equable influence on Edward. He had an equable influence on everyone, really. Olivia presumed he was only slightly younger than her husband, but much fitter, the latter having grown soft in the last few years. Mr. Tolly was a bit taller as well, and where Edward was golden-haired, Mr. Tolly had brown hair the color of mahogany, and eyes the color of a mourning dove. Edward’s eyes were so brown they almost looked black. Two black, bottomless holes.
But most strikingly, Mr. Tolly was also the one person Olivia knew of who could reason with Edward. Where others were quickly dismissed, Edward valued Mr. Tolly’s opinion and always had. And once, on a particularly awful day, Edward had lifted his hand to strike Olivia for some perceived slight, but Mr. Tolly had caught his arm.
Edward had threatened him. “You think to lay a hand on me?” he’d bellowed. “I will have your position!”
His position was a lucrative one, that much Olivia knew. Yet Mr. Tolly had calmly returned Edward’s gaze, as if the exertion of stopping the man from striking his wife required no strength at all. “Then have it. If you believe that my position here is more important to me than my code of conduct, you are mistaken. I will not stand by and allow a man, any man, to strike a woman.” Olivia had winced for Mr. Tolly. She’d expected his instant dismissal, even a brawl. But amazingly, Edward had gathered himself. He’d seemed to take note. And he’d never tried to strike Olivia again.
No, he preferred to strike her with words.
It was true that Edward had not always been so cruel to her. Indifferent, perhaps, but not particularly cruel in the beginning. Yet as the years had slipped by, and Olivia had not conceived a child, Edward’s patience, and his regard for her, had dwindled to nothing. The cruelty had begun three years ago, when Olivia had believed herself, at long last, to be pregnant. Edward had been happy, so very happy. He’d pampered her, showered her with gifts . . . but after two months, her courses had begun to flow again, and Edward’s cruelty had flowed right along with it.
“Why do you keep me waiting?” Edward asked curtly. “I asked you to speak.”
Miranda shuddered; Olivia put her arm around her sister’s shoulder and began the little speech she’d privately rehearsed: Miranda had gone to Spain. Miranda had behaved poorly, for which she was terribly sorry. And Olivia ended it with the damning words, “Miranda is with child.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Tolly flinch, and she wondered if it was revulsion at what Miranda had done, or recognition that this would not go well for anyone.
Her speech was followed by a moment of pure silence. There was not a breath, not a creak, as Edward turned his cold gaze to Miranda. The poor young woman stood shaking before him as if she was on trial—which, in a manner of speaking, she was. Edward’s gaze flicked to her abdomen, then to her face. “Is this true?”
“Yes, my lord,” Miranda admitted, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
“Who has done this?” he asked, his voice so soft and dangerously low that a shiver shot down Olivia’s spine. When Miranda did not answer straightaway, Edward smiled a little and said, “You may trust me, Miranda.”
No, Miranda, you cannot trust him! Never trust him!
Miranda lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head. “I will not say.”
Olivia glanced at Mr. Tolly. He held her gaze a slender moment, and she thought—or perhaps hoped—that she saw a flicker of reassurance in his gray eyes. He was always so calm, so hopeful! Olivia wanted to lean on him now, to put her head on his broad shoulder, to feel his arms, strong and protective around her, safe from Edward. Was that even possible? Could she ever really be safe from her husband?
“You will not say?” Edward asked, rising from his seat.
“I will not,” Miranda repeated.
Edward made a sound of surprise. “But Miranda, you must surely realize that if you refuse to tell me who has put this bastard in your belly, I can only surmise he is unsuitable in every imaginable way. Or . . . that you are a whore.”
Miranda choked back a sob.
“Edward, please,” Olivia pleaded for Miranda’s sake.
Her husband shifted his hard gaze to her. “Please what?” he asked, the venom dripping from his cold smile. “Olivia? Please what?”
“Please leave her be,” Olivia implored him. “She knows her mistake, and the good Lord knows she will pay for it in many ways. You need not punish her further.”
“I see,” Edward said casually as he came around to the front of his desk. “You suddenly believe yourself in a position to tell me what I need not do. Shall I tell you what I find interesting?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the desk.
“No,” Olivia said quickly.
“I find it interesting that while you are as barren as a Scottish moor, your sister is a whore who will conceive a by-blow apparently with any man who lifts her skirts.”
Olivia’s face flamed. The conflict between her and her husband was no secret, but it was humiliating nonetheless. She was nothing more than a vessel.
“There is only one,” Miranda tried, but Edward quickly turned on her.
“Only one, eh?” He chuckled, as if that was somehow amusing, and idly gestured to Miranda’s belly. “The only difference between the two of you is that one of you is only half a woman. One of you led me to believe you could give me heirs, and cannot. Or will not.”
He shifted that hard gaze to Olivia, and her stomach turned; Miranda burst into tears. Behind Edward, Mr. Tolly turned his back to them and looked out the window, his hands on his hips. Olivia could see his profile and the tension in his jaw, as if he was fighting to keep from speaking.
“The question we have before us is what to do with this one,” Edward mused, his gaze raking over Miranda. “With your mother buried, there is no one who will stand up for you, is there? You are entirely at my mercy as your benefactor and provider. What shall I do, Miranda? I daresay your sister connived her way into this marriage, and there is precious little I may do about that. Yet I can keep the blight of your judgment from bringing scandal to my family’s name, can I not, Miranda? I still hold at least some degree of influence over this family, do I not? Or is there someone else to whom you may turn for assistance in this . . . unpleasant matter?”
Miranda paled. “No,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She regarded Edward uneasily as she dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief.
Olivia’s scalp tingled with foreboding. “I have a cousin—”
Edward’s gaze turned even harder. “Thank you, madam, but I do not need your assistance in determining what is to be done. If there is no one to marry her, then I shall send her to St. Brendan’s convent in Ireland with a generous endowment. That ought to keep her out of sight. As for the child, the sisters may determine what is to be done with it.”
“What?” Miranda said, looking stricken. Olivia felt the blood drain from her body. Mr. Tolly turned from the window, his brow furrowed with a deep frown. “What do you mean, what is to be done with it?”
“It is a bastard child, Miranda,” Edward said. “It will be better off raised by an Irish crofter than seeking acceptance in our society. If you think that I intend to put you up and allow you to raise some bastard child at the end of my purse strings—”
“You will not take my child from me!” Miranda exclaimed.
“And you will not presume to tell me what I will or will not do,” Edward said tightly.
The tone of his voice was bitterly cold, and Olivia knew from experience it would go from bad to worse. Frantic, she stepped in front of Miranda. “My lord, perhaps you might consider an alternative?”
“By all means,” he said grandly, flourishing his hand at her. “Amuse me with your suitable alternative, for the Lord knows I am in want of amusement after this news.”
“Olivia, I cannot give my baby to anyone!” Miranda said tearfully behind her. “I won’t!”
Olivia willed Miranda to be silent and shifted closer to Edward, blocking his view of Miranda completely. “My lord, my father’s young cousin lives in a small manor in Wales and has four young children. It is quite remote and there is very little society. Perhaps Miranda might go there, and when the child is born, my cousin will take her in.”
She heard Miranda gulp down another sob.
Edward’s brows lifted. “That is your idea? Send her to this agrarian cousin?”
He was the black cat now, toying with the mouse. Olivia never won these rounds, but she never stopped trying. “To remove her from your sight, my love,” she said. “My cousin is my father’s blood—I know she will not speak of this to anyone,” she added desperately, but Edward chuckled, as if Olivia was speaking nonsense.
He stood up from his perch on his desk and put his fingers under Olivia’s chin, forcing her to tilt her head back so that she was looking into his cold, dark eyes. “Dearest Olivia,” he said, sighing a bit. “Do you honestly believe I would trust anyone in your family?
Anyone?
Was it not your family who deceived me into believing that you were the best match for me?” He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, sending a shudder of revulsion through her. “We both know that you were the worst choice for me.”
She wanted to claw the smirk from his face. She was aware of Mr. Tolly somewhere in the room, of Miranda whimpering behind her. “I am aware of how much you despise me, Edward,” she whispered. “But do not punish Miranda for it. She’s done nothing to you.”
Edward’s cruel smile returned. “She will go to St. Brendan’s convent on the morrow, or she may go to hell.”
“No!” Miranda sobbed, and collapsed, sinking down to her hands and knees. Olivia whirled around and knelt beside her, trying to help her to her feet, but Miranda was inconsolable.
“Stand up, love, stand
up,
” she urged her sobbing sister.
“I shall marry her,” Mr. Tolly said clearly. Olivia’s heart lurched in her chest. Her gaze flew up; Mr. Tolly had appeared at Miranda’s side and exchanged a look with Olivia as he leaned down and took Miranda by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Olivia stumbled to hers, gaping at him. He was mad, quite mad, to offer such a thing, but Mr. Tolly had a firm grip of Miranda and was looking at Edward, his eyes slightly narrowed.