The Reluctant Earl (8 page)

“Yes, thank you.” She slipped through the opening, fighting a wince as the lock clicked behind her.

Eerie quiet reverberated across the lawns as Leah trudged to the house. Despite the lofty status of the residents, most of their families limited contact to paying the exorbitant fees. Few carriage wheels had left their impressions in the snow, probably only the occasional delivery dray. But as she drew closer to the house, Leah caught the unearthly moans, punctuated by the occasional screams, of mental distress. Sunlight winked on discreet bars that lined the windows.

Breath tightening in her chest, she climbed the steps and rang the bell. The door swung open to reveal the unsmiling matron in a dress as white as the grounds.

“A bad night, Miss Vance.”

“But she is better now?”

“As much as we can expect.”

As if any of them had expectations for Phoebe. Leah lingered on the stoop, then forced her feet across the threshold. The heavy oak door slammed in place, the sliding of the bolt echoing like a thunderclap through the empty entrance hall. The familiar sense of panic squeezed around her stomach.

Unlike a typical home, no personal touches warmed the interior. No rugs blanketed the floors. No sideboard sported a vase presented to some long-forgotten ancestor. No flowers filled the air with perfume. Only cold utilitarian sterility filled the rooms.

“Alice will take you to your sister’s chamber.” The matron gestured to an orderly who marched up the staircase, shoes tapping against a flight of bare risers.

Leah removed her hat and gloves, then willed reluctant feet to follow.

Down a hallway the orderly paused by a door and retrieved her keys. “We had to administer a double dose of laudanum last night. Your sister was most agitated—tried to kill herself. Took three of us to get the laudanum into her.” Alice pushed open the door.

Leah stepped into a room that reeked of sweat and urine. Despair washed over her. Phoebe lay still and deathlike on the mattress that comprised the room’s only furnishing. Filth dulled the shorn blond locks that had once been her glory. “Why hasn’t she at least been bathed?” Phoebe’s care cost enough coin.

“We have to wait until she regains her senses. She could drown in her current state.”

Leah stared through the bars that prevented escape via the window, feeling as trapped as her sister. The sun glared against the snow-swathed grounds so brightly as to cause her eyes to sting. And yet the thought persisted. Did Phoebe, in her more lucid moments, seek to flee her mental and physical prison, even by death?

“If you need anything, or if you decide to leave before your usual time, ring for me.” Alice passed Leah a small silver bell.

Leah sat on the mattress beside her sister’s motionless form and closed her ears to the sound of the lock imprisoning her in the cold, barren chamber. Why the need for locks for an insensate woman? “Phoebe?” She shook a thin shoulder. Phoebe’s head rolled to the side, her cold cheek coming to rest against the back of Leah’s hand. But for the gentle rise and fall of Phoebe’s breathing, she could have been dead. Leah raised one of her sister’s wrists and examined the skin for welts or bruises. Relief welled within her at the sight of the unblemished skin. While she disapproved of the matron’s enthusiasm for laudanum, at least here the orderlies eschewed binding unruly patients.

Leah retrieved a comb from her reticule and set to work unsnarling the tangled nest of Phoebe’s hair. The golden strands gleamed with memories despite their dirty condition. If only Leah had thought to have Alice bring a warm, wet cloth to wipe the dried sweat and grime from the porcelain skin.

Guilt welled in her, spilling out at the corners of Leah’s eyes. Clever David had been their parents’ pride and lovely Phoebe their joy. For years Leah had resented her role as the plain, overlooked middle child, had envied David his quick wit and Phoebe her beauty.

What kind of malicious God would spare her while taking everyone else?

* * *

“That the house?” Caroline pointed out the window as the carriage pulled up before Rowan Abbey.

Julian glanced past his youngest sister to the forbidding pile of redbricks. The many-paned windows sparkled in the sunshine, an ironic counterpoint to the anything-but-sunny welcome he expected inside. “Yes, that’s the house.” Unfortunately.

He could already imagine Elizabeth’s reaction. If only he could have left Caro with Felicity...but Maman needed respite. Grief and exhaustion had drained her body and mind—not that Caro could understand. No, she demanded the same care and attention from her only parent. He had to separate them, for Maman’s sake. For now.

On the facing seat the maid interrupted her nap long enough to glance at Sotherton’s manor house. Anna wiped her nose with her sleeve, making him yearn for the days when Nanny had been young enough to travel.

The coachman reined the horses to a halt, and a footman came to assist Caro with the carriage step. The sun had melted the top layer of snow, turning it treacherously icy for one with Caro’s precarious balance. Julian gripped her arm and waved the maid to take the other side. The trio ambled to the entrance where the butler opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Hawkesworth.” Julian passed him their coats.

“I’ll tell his lordship you have returned.”

“Thank you. I must speak to my eldest sister first. Where is Lady Sotherton?”

“The blue drawing room.”

“I’ll show myself in. And Hawkesworth, please inform the housekeeper to have a room prepared next to mine for my youngest sister. Lady Caroline will be here for a short stay.”

Not even the excessively impassive butler held his surprise in check. His gaze darted to Caroline, then with supreme control, he recovered his composure. “I’ll have Mrs. Anderson make the gold bedchamber ready, my lord.”

Julian led the increasingly wary Caro by the hand to the blue drawing room where his oldest sister concentrated on her needlework. “Ah, Lizzie. Did you miss me?”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “So you returned.”

“As promised.” He offered a brief bow and an infuriating smile.

“Benedict and Killiane leave for London on the morrow.”

“Then I will meet with him forthwith.” Julian’s business no longer involved Sotherton anyway—although he’d have to provide his brother-in-law with a convenient excuse for his continued stay. His jaw tightened as he swept Caro forward. “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Caroline. Your youngest sister.”

The warmth of the room brought a rosy glow to Caro’s cheeks that, with her diminutive size, made her appear so much like a porcelain doll. She glanced at Julian through her oddly uptilted eyes. Julian smiled and gestured, and she dipped into a pretty curtsey.

Elizabeth locked her perpetual frown on her face “What is she doing here?”

“Caro has come for...a short visit.”

“How short?”

“Several days.” Julian wrapped an arm around Caro’s shoulders. “Perhaps several weeks, depending on how long my business lasts and how well Maman fares.”

“Bad enough you seem to have taken up residence in my house—”

“Lord Sotherton’s house—and with his permission.”

“But now you are inviting guests.”

“Caroline is not a guest. She is your family.”

Elizabeth rang the bell for a servant. “I understand there are establishments for her kind.”

Under his arm, Caro trembled. Julian hauled her closer.

“My lady?” An older woman with a cap covering her graying hair entered the salon.

“Mrs. Anderson, please show our guest—”

“Lady Caroline. Her name is Lady Caroline.” Julian folded his arm across his chest and fixed a defiant stare on his older sister.

“—to her bedchamber.”

“Very good, my lady.” The housekeeper dropped into a curtsey.

Julian transferred Caro’s hand to the maid’s grasp. “You and Anna go with Mrs. Anderson.”

Doubt and confusion and caution darkened Caro’s blue eyes. “Jules.”

“Go on.” Julian touched her cheek. “I’ll be along after I take care of some business.”

“Come, my lady.” The housekeeper grabbed Caro’s other hand.

Caro glanced back one time at Julian before she exited the room.

Elizabeth’s frown etched new lines around her tight mouth. “She seems quiet enough. I suppose she won’t be too much bother so long as her nursemaid restrains her.”

“Caro is not an animal that must be caged. She’s a human being, and a far kinder one than many I know.”

Elizabeth clamped her lips together. Reconciliation never seemed so far away.

* * *

Leah smoothed the rag over Phoebe’s brow. Alice had been none too pleased with the request. But a reminder of the fee Leah paid, along with a suggestion that perhaps the matter could be taken up with Alice’s employer, had convinced the grumbling orderly to bring a cloth and a pan of tepid water.

Footsteps rapped against the hallway floor, then the door clicked open. Alec strode into the room and settled onto the mattress beside her, lowering a large strong hand to her shoulder. His grim green eyes stared at Phoebe, his cheeks tight with emotion.

Leah tossed the rag into the basin. “Last night she tried to...”

“I know. I heard.” He drew Leah close and tucked her head under his chin.

She rested her face against the rough wool, letting some of the anxiety and fatigue bleed out of her for several blissful moments. The outline of the pistol under her cousin’s coat—left over from his army days—pressed against her cheek.

Presently, Alec released her and rose. “We should go. You can’t do any more today.”

“But it will be another week before I can return.”

“And hopefully Phoebe will be more responsive to visitors. Besides, if we leave now, you’ll arrive back at the Abbey before dark.” Alec jingled the bell.

Leah brushed her knuckles along her sister’s cheek, the cold skin soft and smooth to her touch. Her impotence weighed heavily on her heart.

The orderly reappeared, unlocked the door and escorted them to the entrance hall where the matron met them at the door. “Miss Vance?” She waited, hand outstretched.

Leah opened her reticule and extracted the requisite coins. Only a few remained—not enough to cover Phoebe’s care another week. The great expense of her sister’s extended illness had depleted their father’s legacy by last year. Leah had continued to provide for Phoebe these past few months by furnishing Alec’s...friends with the contents of Lord Sotherton’s correspondence.

But what to do now? Lord Chambelston had provided only instructions—no payment—before his hasty and mysterious departure.

“I heard Chambelston left the county.” Alec seemingly read her mind as he escorted her along the drive.

“Thursday morning.”

“Will he be returning?”

“Assuredly.”

The gatekeeper let them out with a cheery wave. Leah breathed more easily outside the estate’s confining atmosphere.

Alec fell into step beside her. “Tell me about Lord Sotherton’s other guests.”

“Viscount Killiane and his brother, Mr. Fleming.” Fortunately, with the departure of both Mr. Warren and Chambelston, Lady Sotherton hadn’t needed to press Leah and Miss Godwin into attending dinner again. “Viscount Killiane will be leaving with Sotherton for London tomorrow.”

“It’s my understanding that while Killiane is a frequent visitor, Fleming hasn’t called on his family in some time.”

“Three years.” Thirty wouldn’t have been long enough.

“I can understand why Killiane would visit his uncle, what with their mutual interest in politics. But what is Fleming’s business?”

“Pleasure, I suppose.” His, and no one else’s. “So far as I know, it’s his only occupation.”

“That makes no sense. If the man is a fribble, what would he be doing in Northamptonshire in the middle of winter? He’ll find no entertainment here.”

“Perhaps he needed a retreat from his creditors? For certain, he and Lord Killiane seem to be at daggers’ drawn.”

“So two men who can’t stand each other decide to travel from Ireland to Northamptonshire to spend the remainder of their holiday together?”

A fair point. So why had Reginald Fleming come? To torment his brother?

To torment her?

The houses and barns of tiny Norford loomed before them with a crossroads in the center of the hamlet where she and Alec would part. The road to their right led south toward his lodgings in Heckton, while the other direction headed westward to her duties at Rowan Abbey. Her residence, but never her home.

“Did you learn the reason for Chambelston’s visit?” The fringe of mahogany hair peeking out from Alec’s hat brim gleamed with fire in the sun and lit a twinge of guilt in Leah. But other than agree to Lord Chambelston’s proposal, she hadn’t actually done anything yet. Nothing that could cause Alec harm.

“He believes certain factions of your group murdered his father.”

Alec’s face stilled. “The late Lord Chambelston? Why would we kill him? He was an ally of our cause.”

Leah stopped so abruptly Alec stumbled on his bad leg and nearly went sprawling into the snow. “An ally?”

“Of sorts. He offered to assist us in presenting our grievances to government.”

“Then who would want the man dead?”

“The son who inherited his title and fortune?”

An image of Lord Chambelston’s eyes—the blue muted with grief—flashed through Leah’s mind. “I think not.”

Alec’s brows arched as he studied her face. Could he read her cooperation with—and fascination with—the new earl? Heat crept over her cheeks.

Who stood to gain if the cause failed...and would be willing to murder an earl to achieve that goal? “Alec, be careful. If the government believes your group responsible for Lord Chambelston’s death...”

“They will interpret every demand as a declaration of war and respond accordingly.” Alec’s vivid green eyes regarded her steadily for several long seconds. “You must be careful, cousin. The county...the country...is in turmoil. Things could quickly become dangerous.”

Chapter Five

J
ulian escaped Lord Sotherton’s study after a brief consultation with his brother-in-law. He climbed the stairs—thoughts focused on where he would stash his carefully crafted note—and nearly knocked over a redheaded maid polishing the woodwork.

“Pardon me.”

The maid blinked, as if she’d never been addressed by a member of the household. Knowing his sister, she probably hadn’t.

Julian strode into his bedchamber and scanned the furnishings. Where would Miss Vance look should she prove disloyal? Perhaps the armoire? He slid open a drawer and tucked the note amongst his linen shirts, trying not to imagine her searching his belongings. And hoping against hope she wouldn’t betray him.

Now to check on Caroline. He exited to the hall and tapped on the door next to his bedchamber. Silence. “Caroline?” He knocked again.

Unease stirred low in his stomach. He twisted the knob and let himself into the room. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, its light glowing on the golden walls. A quick survey of the room revealed only Caro’s nursemaid dozing in a chair, but no Caro.

“Anna!”

She blinked sleepy eyes, then bolted out of the chair. “I—I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Where is Lady Caroline?”

“Lady Caroline?” She glanced toward lonesome toys in the corner and blanched. “She... I—I—”

“You lost her?” Julian marched out of the room, the groveling maid pleading forgiveness in his wake. He gestured down the hallway. “You look there.”

“Yes, my lord.” She curtsied and backed away, then turned and ran.

With a sigh, Julian retraced his steps to the still-polishing maid. “Excuse me.”

She lifted a wary gaze to his. “My lord?”

“I seem to have...misplaced my sister, Lady Caroline. She is small, with brown hair and blue eyes. I was rather hoping you might have seen her.” Surely Caro wouldn’t have wandered to another floor, not when stairs gave her such difficulty.

The suspicion on the maid’s face softened. “I saw Mrs. Anderson bring her here, but I didn’t notice her leaving. She is...” The maid hesitated, as if searching for a gentle word to describe Caro’s condition.

“Yes.”

“I’ll locate Mrs. Anderson. Perhaps she knows where your sister is.” The maid collected her rag and disappeared to find the housekeeper.

Julian checked his own bedchamber, just in case Caro had wandered there in search of him. No one. He returned to the hall.

“Caro!” he called to the face peeking from behind a door across the hallway.

“Jules!” She rushed to embrace him.

He glanced past her to a gaping doorway. “What were you doing?”

“Look for you.”

“You found me.” He started to wrap his arms around her, but she pulled away.

“See?” She held up a hand and uncurled her fingers to reveal the gleam of gold.

“What do you have here?”

“Pretty gold.”

“Yes, very pretty. May I?” He picked up the item, a gold locket and chain. “Can you show me where you got this?”

Caro grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the room. Assuming he wasn’t violating a woman’s privacy—Elizabeth had mentioned no female guests in residence—Julian followed her into a masculine-looking chamber of dark paneling and rich green fabrics. Opposite the four-poster bed, a paper-strewn desk was home to a half-filled brandy decanter and glasses. An odd location to find such a feminine bauble. His sister paused on the rug, her head tilted and her bemused gaze on him as she waited.

“Where did you find this, Caro?”

She pointed to the armoire.

Julian slid open the drawer and peered at a cache of other feminine trinkets. He settled the locket against a bit of green ribbon. Sentimental reminders of a lost love? Hopefully their owner—Killiane? his brother?—wouldn’t notice they’d been disturbed. “Come, Caro.” Julian guided her to the hallway and pulled the door shut behind them just as the maid returned with the housekeeper.

“Ah, Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for coming. As you can see, my quest met with success.”

“I’m delighted you found her, my lord.”

“Yes, it is a relief to us all.”

But no doubt especially for Anna, the nursemaid who raced to join them, her face red and her breaths rapid and raspy. “For shame, my lady! Running off like that!”

Julian bit back his annoyance for his sister’s sake. “Come, Caro.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her toward the gold bedchamber. Once he had shut the door behind the three of them, he rounded on the nursemaid. “Don’t you ever again berate my sister for your negligence.”

Anna’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yes, my lord.”

“Now, we shall speak no more of this.” Unless Anna proved inadequate to the task. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Caro’s head. “I have to go for a while, but I’ll return in time for dinner.”

“Dinner.” Caro’s face broke into a smile. “What for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps we can convince Cook to provide you a special treat. You stay with Anna.” Julian let himself out of the room.

Dinner. Another obstacle. Undoubtedly Lizzie would reject the notion of Caro eating with the family.

He paused beside the maid who had returned to her polishing duties. “Do you know where I might find Lady Teresa?”

“I believe she often reads in the blue salon on Sunday afternoons.”

“Thank you. I shall check there.” He paused, turned and looked at the maid again. “And thank you...?”

“Molly, my lord.”

“Thank you, Molly, for your assistance with my sister.”

“I had a sister myself thus, but she died quite young—only eight.” A sad sort of smile tugged on the maid’s face. “We all loved her the same and felt her loss keenly.”

Julian tried to remember Caro at eight, but he’d spent most of that year—the year of Trafalgar—at sea. “I’m sorry. When was this?”

“Four years ago.”

A younger sister, then. Like his.

“My sister found enjoyment in simple pleasures.”

“Yes, Lady Caroline has much to teach the malcontents.” Including him. And Elizabeth, if she were only willing to surrender her resentment.

The maid’s expression closed again, returning their relationship to its proper distance. “Is there anything else you require, my lord?”

“Ah, no. Thank you.” He withdrew and traipsed to the blue salon.

“Uncle Julian!” Teresa smiled as he entered. “Did you just return?”

“About an hour ago.” How would this relative accept the news of Caro’s arrival? “I brought a guest with me. Your aunt Caroline.”

“How delightful! Caroline is your...youngest sister?”

“Yes. Felicity is between your mother and me.” As had been Gregory, whose untimely death had propelled Julian from ordinary sea captain to a land-owning aristocrat. “Our youngest brother Kit lives in America, and Caroline is our baby sister—not much older than you, in fact.” In years, anyway.

“I should like to meet her.” The blue cushion of the window seat echoed the same hue in Teresa’s eyes.

“She is in the chamber next to mine—the gold bedchamber, I believe Hawkesworth called it. I left her there with her maid. Caroline is...” Not like other people.

Understanding softened Teresa’s brilliant gaze. “I’ve heard.” That she seemed indifferent could only issue from her governess’s influence. He didn’t doubt Miss Vance’s sense of justice and compassion for the weak and oppressed—even if he disapproved of how she manifested those convictions.

“I, ah, thought perhaps I would ask Miss Vance if she would evaluate Caroline.” An unwelcome thrill simmered through him at the prospect of seeing Teresa’s governess again. “You wouldn’t know where I could find her?”

“She has Sundays off, of course. I think she goes to visit a friend. Or maybe a relative.”

Friend or relative—or companion in arms against the government? “Do you know where?”

A sly smile stole across Teresa’s mouth. “I can’t say for certain, but I believe she usually walks in an easterly direction. She should be returning presently if you’d like to intercept her.”

“Then perhaps I shall ride that direction. Would you care to join me?”

“Thank you, but I already agreed to ride tomorrow with my cousin Reggie. I think I shall visit my Aunt Caroline. It’s long past the time I should have made her acquaintance.” Teresa set down her book and rose from the seat. She walked to the doorway with him.

“I’m certain Caro will enjoy your company.” He gave her a bow and marched away. Once at the stable, Julian ordered the groom to saddle Sotherton’s bay.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Mr. Fleming took him out some while back. Perhaps the black gelding...?”

“That will be fine.” Julian yanked his gloves over his fingers. When the groom had readied the horse, he rode off to find Miss Vance. And her mysterious friend.

* * *

The sun’s glare had warmed the top layer of snow to slush, and as Leah trudged along the path, water squished inside her boots and soaked her stockings. The cold radiated from her toes upward, until the chills rippled along her spine and reminded her she needed her boots resoled. With what funds?

She considered the few coins remaining in her reticule, and the weight of her responsibilities sat heavily on her shoulders. A few birds flitted among the branches of the rough-barked trees along the path, and she watched their flight with envy. If only she could mount the sky and escape.

In the distance a beautiful bay—Sotherton’s stallion, she was certain—raced across the snow-covered field, its well-mounted rider dressed in black. His tall hat and fashionable cloak marked him as a gentleman. Lord Chambelston, perhaps, returned to finish his quest—or to spy on her? Anticipation stirred in her belly. Leah squinted, but the low afternoon sun hid the rider’s face in shadows.

She glanced over her shoulder, but Alec, like the small hamlet where they’d parted, had vanished in the distance. Her cousin’s last words echoed in her mind and circled her heart with icy dread as the horse and rider drew closer. The blood froze in her veins as she identified that scornful smile.

Not Lord Chambelston.

To be certain, she’d rather meet a roving band of rioters than this so-called gentleman.

“Good afternoon, Miss Vance.” Reginald Fleming steered the horse to block her path. “Are you having a pleasant stroll?”

“Until now.” She tried to continue forward, but he refused to let her pass. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, no. I fear I can’t do that. Didn’t your companion warn you the path is dangerous for a woman alone?”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “My companion?”

“Shame on him, leaving you to fend for yourself.” He nudged the horse closer, forcing her to retreat into deeper snow. “And here you give the appearance of such a paragon. What would my virtuous aunt say about your wanton ways? Surely she would not approve of keeping her daughter in the care of such a woman.”

A frisson of fear joined the cold rippling down Leah’s spine. What price would Fleming demand for his silence? And how much more expensive should he ever discover the destination of her Sunday walks?
Phoebe.

Too much.

Fleming leaned from the horse. His arm snaked forward as he reached for her wrist.
No!
Leah yanked away, leaving her glove in his grasp. Her momentum propelled her backwards against a tree trunk and knocked the wind from her chest. A bare branch scraped her cheek as she struggled to regain her equilibrium.

Too late. Fleming seized the advantage of her momentary paralysis.

His fingers circled her forearm. He hauled her closer, close enough she could see the mad pleasure that lit his eyes at her unease, could smell the wine that polluted his breath, could feel the excited heat of his power over her. His hat tumbled to the ground, revealing the scar on his forehead. Unfortunately she would find no convenient poker this time.

The temperamental horse lurched and snorted and stomped on her foot, pinning her in place. Pain shot through her leg.

A leer of lewd pleasure twisted Fleming’s lips. “A pity it’s so cold. Perhaps we can find a more sheltered place—a place where we could finish what we started three years ago.”

“No!” Never, never,
never.
Leah jerked but he tightened his grip.

“Oh, you will regret—”

She lowered her shoulder and thrust it into the horse’s side. The stallion’s ears plunged back as it staggered and thrashed. Fleming lost his hold on her hand in his attempt to control the animal. Leah snatched the opportunity and—ignoring the agony in her foot—fled to the other side of the tree.

Fleming lashed the horse’s haunches and charged toward her, crop raised above his head. She ducked under a branch, steeling herself against the imminent blow.

Air whooshed above her, then a crack reverberated across the landscape, that of leather on flesh, followed by a roar. But not hers. A stripe of red slashed the length of Fleming’s cheek. He wiped his sleeve across his face, dropping his crop as he whirled to face this new threat. “Who do you— Chambelston!” He fought to control the high-strung horse.

“Fleming.” Chambelston’s low growl rolled across the suddenly still landscape. A tic throbbed along the tense line of his square jaw as he once more swished his riding crop against his shoulder. The bay stallion flinched and pranced again, footfalls muffled by the packed snow.

“What are you doing here,
my lord?
” Fleming hauled on the bay’s reins, his eyes glittering challenge and promised retribution.

“My business is not yet concluded. And I believe you have an urgent commitment. Elsewhere.”

Fleming aimed another—threatening—stare at Leah. “As you say, my lord, a pressing commitment elsewhere. Miss Vance, your servant. I didn’t realize your next companion would arrive so precipitously.” He wheeled the horse around and cantered off in the direction of the hamlet where Leah—and Alec—had recently passed, his uncovered locks bouncing in the breeze.

What if he should encounter her cousin? And learn his identity?

“If I may be so bold as to escort you home, Miss Vance?”

Slowly Leah turned to look at Chambelston, high above her on an ebony horse, crop still upraised like an avenging angel’s sword. Several days’ absence only made him more imposing, and her pulse quickened with her reaction. His dark cloak billowed out behind him, and his hat threw all but his frown in shadows. And yet, though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt their careful regard, studying her, weighing her.