The School for Brides (33 page)
Read The School for Brides Online
Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith
Amusement finally flickered across her face. “I want you to marry my sister.”
He stilled. This was an interesting turn. The woman was a curiosity. If he wed Eva, it would be difficult to keep the true nature of the sisters’ relationship secret. Gossip had flared over Eva’s appearance at the ball and hadn’t waned with her just as sudden disappearance. If she became his duchess, the scrutiny would be intense.
For the first time he could see Eva’s concerns through his own eyes. It was no wonder she balked at his proposal.
“Why should I marry your sister?”
“Because you love her.”
The statement nearly took him off the bed. He raked his gaze over her face. Had his feelings been so clear to everyone but himself?
She continued, “And because you took her innocence, and she might well be carrying your child. Because in spite of your father’s reputation, you are a man of character, though you tarnished it when you seduced Eva. Because she is warm and loving and wonderful, and you could do no better than to make her your duchess.”
He cocked a brow and hid his amusement. “Are you always so forthright, Lady Seymour?”
She smiled. “It is my most endearing trait.”
Nicholas chuckled. “I agree with the part about Eva making a fine duchess, and I do love her. And just to be clear, I asked for her hand and she refused me. She is fiercely protective of her mother. She believes our marriage would harm Charlotte.”
Lady Seymour slumped back in the chair. “That is certainly a concern. Gossips do like to dig up dark family secrets and bandy them about. Charlotte is in no condition to have her past exposed. Eva is right to be worried.”
They sat silent for a moment. “There has to be a way to solve this issue,” Lady Seymour said. “I know you and Eva are meant to be together. It will shatter her heart to lose you.”
“It will do me no better.” Was it possible Noelle was right, and Eva did love him? She’d given him no sign she felt anything more than desire. If she loved him, it would certainly change everything. “I will find a way to assuage her fears.”
A satisfied smile lit her face. “I have faith, Your Grace.” She winked, then left him to ponder the situation.
With Charlotte at risk, he needed to protect her and still wed Eva. The years ahead of him would be empty and dark without her. He loved his courtesan-spinster.
He’d do anything to have her. Anything.
Chapter Nineteen
E
va brushed aside her tears and splashed tepid water on her face. All her life she’d known she’d never marry or be a mother. It was impossible when she had so many secrets to keep. Now the man she loved wanted to give her a family of her own, and she’d had to refuse him, though he knew everything about her. And didn’t care.
va brushed aside her tears and splashed tepid water on her face. All her life she’d known she’d never marry or be a mother. It was impossible when she had so many secrets to keep. Now the man she loved wanted to give her a family of her own, and she’d had to refuse him, though he knew everything about her. And didn’t care.
Had he been born to a bookkeeper or a farmer and lived a quiet life, she’d have eagerly accepted his proposal. But a duke? Not only was Nicholas a duke, but a member of a powerful family and subjected to constant scrutiny from society.
Not even his scandalous father could keep the Ton from embracing his son and widow to their ample bosom as if they were royalty. But a courtesan’s daughter was another scandal entirely. There were some lines one didn’t step over, and this was one of them. Her mother was considered a whore, though she’d had but one lover. Her daughter could not become a duchess.
She’d be shunned, her mother would be exposed, and Noelle and the phantom Margaret would be ostracized. A bastard sister was not unexpected, the way noblemen planted their seed far and wide. However, one didn’t drag her from the shadows and parade her at a society ball.
Eva released a shaky sigh and left her room. Nicholas needed several days to recover, and though she wanted desperately to return to London and her mother, she couldn’t abandon him. He’d saved them. She owed him the loyalty of caring for him until he was well enough to travel. Then she would leave him at Collingwood House and wish him well.
The women, except Noelle and Yvette, who were resting upstairs, were gathered in a small, simple drawing room. The excited chatter silenced when Eva arrived.
They were curious, and she couldn’t blame them. The previous night had been one of revelations. She would offer her explanations later. Right now, she was too weary to deal with questions.
The furnishings were limited to a settee, a table, and three chairs, and the settee and the chairs were fully occupied. The fabric of the furniture and the drapes was faded and frayed, and the papered walls had crackled with age. Overall, the house had an air of neglect, and its mustiness was that of a house long closed up.
The owner of the house remained a mystery. If a family resided here, she’d seen no sign of them. Only a few elderly servants and several spiders appeared to call this place home.
“How is the patient?” Abigail asked, worried. She wore a faded pink dress that looked as if it had been donated by a housekeeper or maid. In fact, all the women were clad in frocks of cotton or wool in faded colors and sized to fit bodies of slightly larger girth and height. The women looked as if they had found a trunk of old clothes and were playing dress up.
“He’s resting,” Eva said. She looked down at her borrowed trousers and shirt, stained with blood and dirt. She hadn’t given her appearance a moment’s thought since Nicholas was shot.
“The housekeeper, Mrs. Moore, gave us these dresses.” Rose grimaced when she leaned forward and her bodice gaped to show a yellowing chemise. “She found them in the attic. There was a trunk of finer gowns, but moths had rendered them unwearable.”
“The baron and his wife had a daughter who died of a fever when she was sixteen,” Abigail said softly. “Mrs. Moore said the things were hers. The family was impoverished for many years due to bad investments by the baron.”
“There is a dress for you in Lady Noelle’s room,” Sophie said. “We didn’t want to disturb you with His Grace.”
“I shall have to thank the baroness for her kindness. Has anyone seen her?”
“There is neither baroness nor baron.” Harold strode into the room, his face a stony mask. He carried a bottle and glass in his hands, and he’d changed into breeches and a coat of blue wool that fit his pugilist’s body as if they’d been custom-made. The housekeeper must have spent some time rooting through trunks to find those garments. “The baroness drowned in the lake shortly after Louise died, and the baron passed away last year in his sleep. Mrs. Moore is responsible for the clothing.”
Eva watched as Harold poured a draught of what she thought was whiskey and downed it in one deep swallow. Her brows shot up. She’d never seen him imbibe spirits. The night, and the shooting, must have troubled him more than she’d imagined.
“How do you know so much about the family, Harold?” she asked. Her suspicion grew. His clothing looked new, and he’d made himself at home as if he’d been here before. A quick glance out the window at the overgrown lawn and the house’s distance from the road made her realize he hadn’t stumbled on the place by accident. So she implored him, “No more secrets. Please.”
Their eyes met, and he was the first to look away. He poured another drink and tossed it back. “The house is mine.”
Abigail let out a gasp and went pale. With a whimper, she rose to her feet and raced from the room. Harold grimaced and tensed.
“It was my family who died here.” He set down the glass and went to the window. “After my sister and mother died, I became estranged from my father for several years. It was only after his death that I returned, finding the house in ruins.”
The courtesans had become silent as stones. This wasn’t a conversation to be had with an audience. Eva motioned them to leave, and they did so reluctantly. She was left alone with her secretive friend.
Her stomach soured. She sensed the rest of his story would end badly. For her. He was a baron who had been masquerading as a servant. She guessed his arrival on her doorstep hadn’t been accidental. She had to pray he was not an escaped murderer or wanted highwayman.
“Please continue.” She braced herself and focused on breathing slowly and calmly. She owed him much, and he had the right to her full attention.
He drew his hands over his head to cup the back of his neck before he finally turned to face her. His stoic mask had changed to an expression of deep regret. “After Father died, I discovered he’d left me with nothing but this property and mounting bills. After I left here, I served several years in the army, working under a physician. Mostly I drifted around, working jobs to keep myself fed. I ended up in Kent, at Bridgeton Manor, as a groom.”
Eva swayed. Puzzle pieces started to snap together. Harold rushed to her side, but she shook him off. She stumbled to a chair and slumped into it. “Noelle.”
“No,” Harold barked sharply. “Noelle’s mother.”
Eva clasped her hands and put them to her mouth. Hurt filled her. “That horrid witch! I thought the Dowager had accepted what she couldn’t change and had moved forward.” Eva lifted her eyes and let Harold see the depth of her hurt. “You betrayed me from the beginning.” Her lower lip quivered. “The one person besides my mother I trusted, and it was all a terrible ruse put together by the one person in this world who wants to see us destroyed.”
“Eva”—Harold dropped to one knee before her, pain etching lines into his face—“she offered me a way to live comfortably and to return this house to a usable property. She wanted to know everything about you and Charlotte, to see if I could find a weakness she could use against you.”
It felt as if the air had fled the room. Her head began to spin. “You must have had much to report.” Her mouth was dry, and it was difficult to speak. “Am I to expect guards from Bedlam, Harold, to drag my mother from my home in the dead of night?”
“No. Eva, please listen.” He splayed his hands. “She knows nothing. You saved me when the footpads left me for dead. I knew then that I couldn’t honor my contract with Lady Seymour. You and Charlotte became my family.”
Closing her eyes against tears, Eva shook her head. He had been a spy for the enemy. He could be lying still. “You could have warned me of her intentions so I could protect us. How do I know anything you say is truth?”
Harold reached to place a hand over hers. “I fed her some false information and thought it best if I stayed and watched over you and Charlotte, lest she send someone else. Lady Seymour is driven by an insane desire to punish you for being born. There was no telling the depths she’d go to in her plotting. I couldn’t worry you needlessly. I thought it best to keep silent.”
“And Noelle?” Eva wasn’t ready to forgive him. She understood his manly desire to protect her. It was the curse of all members of his sex. “She must have known something.”
“She knew nothing about her mother’s betrayal.” Harold looked down. “Before I left for London, she asked me for a favor: to discover your address so that she could visit you in the future. She has always been curious about you.”
Noelle had told her as much.
“I was surprised when she showed up at our door,” Harold said. “It took much convincing for her to accept that I was there for a good reason. Once she discovered her mother’s involvement, she quickly agreed to keep mum and allow me to continue as your protector. We both feared you would release me from your employment if you discovered the truth. Then you’d be left unprotected.”
Eva pulled her hand free and stood. Harold rose to his feet. Forgiveness wouldn’t be easy, even if his intentions were honorable. She needed to seek out Noelle. Her sister had her own explaining to do.
Until the last secret was revealed, she wouldn’t rest. “I have much to think about. Somehow I feel this macabre play isn’t over. There are always many twists before the end. You must give me time to think this through, My Lord—?”
“Lerwick.” Harold said with the hint of a grin. “The Right Honorable Lord Lerwick, at your service. But I insist you call me Harold, My Lady.”
Her mouth twitched. She took a step closer to forgiveness. She could not give up their friendship over what had been his desperation to save his home. Their paths weren’t so dissimilar. She’d taken the duke to bed to save her home and her mother. “If you will excuse me, Your Lordship, I have a sister to confront.”
Other books
Fifty Days of Solitude by Doris Grumbach
Jocelyn's Choice by Ella Jade
Deadly Little Lessons by Laurie Faria Stolarz
Raine: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber
Indecision by Benjamin Kunkel
The Bruise_Black Sky by John Wiltshire
Ace Is Wild by Penny McCall
The Palace Library by Steven Loveridge
Fenix by Vivek Ahuja