An Improper Encounter (The Macalisters Book 3)

by Erica Taylor

  “Did he explain what happened?” William inquired.

  “His horse tripped on something under the mud,” Mthunzi relayed. “He said he lost control of his rig, which went crashing around the corner into this carriage as they were passing.”

  William checked Gracie’s abdomen and was thankful there were no cuts or swelling, but her neck did worry him. Neck injuries were tricky. “Their coachman? Footman?” he asked.

  “Dead on the other bank,” Westcott replied.

  “Will, I recognize the coat of arms on the door,” Sarah said softly. “It is the Earl of Ensbrook’s.”

  William was less concerned with the man’s title and more with the health of the two surviving children. Though as he checked over the young lordling, he realized the implications of the accident.

  “Grey, how old are you?” William asked.

  “Ten, sir,” the boy replied.

  William stared at the boy, realizing he was the same age William had been when his own mother had died. Poor Grey was now the new Earl of Ensbrook. In one moment, his father and mother had been taken from him, turning his life upside down and reshaping his future.

  “Be brave, lad,” William whispered to him. “You cannot control any of this, and none of this is in any way your fault. Your parents loved you—you will survive this and make them proud.”

  The terrified boy nodded, tears filling his eyes. Gracie’s hand came out from under the blanket, and Grey scooted closer to where she lay along the bench, taking her hand in his. They were both crying in earnest, slow, silent tears. Abe lay his head on the boy’s lap.

  Sarah was crying also, William realized as he glanced up, her head shaking slightly. She looked more grief-stricken than he imagined she would be, given she did not appear to know the children personally.

  “We cannot be terribly far from a town or residence of some sort,” William said to Westcott, who nodded in agreement.

  Turning towards his companion, Westcott had to nearly shout to be heard over the roar of the storm. “Mayne, return to London so no one worries at our delay. I will accompany Mr. Gordon and the children to safety.”

  Mr. Mayne nodded in agreement, a knowing look in his dark eyes. With no further comment, he quickly found his horse and departed into the storm.

  “Is that wise?” William asked, watching the Irishman disappear into the rain.

  “We were expected hours ago,” Westcott answered. “I don’t want anyone to worry.”

  The traveling party slowly made their way along the roads, the storm raging around them, pelting sheets of icy rain down on them.

  It took nearly an hour for them to reach a town, though at their slow pace and with the poor visibility from the weather, it could have been only a mile down the road. After inquiring about the Earl of Ensbrook at the first inn they came across, they were directed another half mile out of town to Ensbrook Manor where the Dowager Countess of Ensbrook was in residence.

  Nearing dusk, the rains had lessened as the carriage rolled through the gates to a large estate house, the likes of which William had not seen in years. It reminded him of a French chateau that had been fashioned into a military hospital of sorts during his time as army surgeon. The house, if one wanted to call the opulent mansion a house, was beige in color with grey, steep roofs and elaborately ornamented towers with spires and dormers sprouted up at varying degrees. It was a monstrosity of a building, boasting both elegance and madness.

  “Ensbrook Manor,” Sarah said from the carriage window.

  Glancing towards her, William asked, “Have you been here before?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I’ve always wanted to visit this site. It’s the most fascinating architecture, so daringly French, even for its construction nearly a hundred years ago.” She disappeared from the window as the carriage rolled to a stop.

  William gazed up at the structure with dread. These were the worst sort of visits to make.

  Mthunzi opened the carriage door, and William helped Sarah as best he could as she descended with Gracie in her arms.

  “I suspect the dowager countess will not take the news easily,” she said, shifting Gracie from her arms into William’s, her face grim. “Best to let me do the talking.”

  Without further word, Sarah quickly made her way to the massive front door, the gravel crunching ominously under her boots.

  Sarah wrapped her pelisse around her as best she could, hiding her creek-soaked dress from view. Not that the pelisse was in much better condition. Thought it was a lighter grey, it was soaked dark in the rain.

  Lifting the substantial door knocker in her hand, she stared into the face of a stag, the same from the crest upon the carriage door. Pooling her courage, she thumped it heavily on the door.

  A confused looking butler opened the door, but Sarah didn’t stand on ceremony as she pushed past him and entered the house.

  “Please, we need to speak to her ladyship as quickly as possible,” Sarah said to the butler as he looked at her aghast. “There has been an emergency.”

  “I beg your pardon, but who are you to come storming into this house uninvited!” the butler demanded as Mr. Westcott and William followed her inside. The butler’s voice was creaky with age, but not without authority.

  Both Mr. Westcott and William tried to speak at the same time, but Sarah cut them off. Since neither one seemed in possession of a title, there was little they could do.

  “I am Lady Sarah Hartford, the Marchioness of Radcliff,” Sarah stated, straightening her spine with an authority bestowed upon her by the drones of the ton. “I wish to speak with her ladyship.”

  “What is all the commotion, Monaby?” came the elderly countess’s voice from the top of the stairs.

  Turning to face the dowager countess, Sarah dipped into a curtsy. “Your ladyship,” Sarah said. “We mean no disrespect, but there has been an accident. I am Lady Radcliff; these gentlemen are Mr. Gordon and Mr. Westcott. There has been an accident on the road, and we . . .” Sarah paused with a glance to the children, Gracie in William’s arms, Grey standing solemnly beside him. “We have brought your grandchildren home.”

  The elderly woman came down the stairs much quicker than Sarah would have expected, clutching her fist against her heart.

  “An accident?” she repeated, her eyes floating from Sarah to William to the children. “Gracie, and Grey, my, what . . . what happened?”

  Sarah placed her hand gently on the woman’s arm. “There was a carriage accident, I am afraid.”

  A maid was at William’s side, sliding Gracie into her arms, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. William was giving instructions to the maid and the butler.

  “Where is my son?” the countess asked, her voice quivering, and Sarah could feel the shock rocking through the elderly woman’s body. Sarah led her the few steps to the foot of the staircase and sat down with her.

  “Your ladyship, I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of such sad news,” Sarah said gently. “We came upon the wreck shortly after it occurred. Mr. Gordon and Mr. Westcott were able to pull the two children from the wreckage, but the parents . . .” Sarah paused, laying her hand on the woman’s arm. “I’m sorry to tell you, the earl and countess did not survive the crash.”

  “They’re dead?” the countess asked in a daze. “They were to return home this morning, from visiting with Ensbrook’s brother. The rains, I thought it would delay them.”

  “The heavy rain from yesterday unfortunately made some of the roads muddy, which triggered the accident,” Sarah said softly. “I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

  “Ensbrook,” she said numbly. “He and Celia need to be brought from the wreckage. And we need to call a physician to look over the children.”

  “Your ladyship, I am a physician,” William said as he turned towards where Sarah sat with the countess. “And a surgeon. If you will allow it, I would like to continue to monitor the children, at least through the night.�
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  “Mr. Gordon is an excellent surgeon,” Sarah said. “He looked them over and will check on them again before we depart. But if you wish to call your own physician, that is understandable. You do not know me, so I do not expect you to cater to our suggestions.”

  “I am not so far removed from society that I don’t know who you are, gel,” the countess said, patting her hand. “I know what this experience must have dredged up, and I am grateful to you.” She looked past her, eyeing the two men in the foyer. “And don’t think I don’t see you two either, Mr. Gordon and Mr. Westcott. I thank you for bringing my grandchildren home to me.”

  Sarah nodded, attempting a comforting smile, not sure what the countess was implying. He had said he name was Mr. Westcott, had he not? At any rate, he hadn’t corrected her if she was mistaken.

  The countess rose to her feet, regaining the composure and strength of one of the oldest titles in England. “You three will, of course, weather this storm here. I will not allow these rains to claim any more lives.”

  With a glance to William, Sarah nodded in agreement.

  “Your ladyship, I am humbled and appreciative of your hospitality in such a troubling time,” Mr. Westcott replied. “But I simply cannot accept.”

  “Westcott, I am insisting,” Lady Ensbrook stated with a finality in her voice that made Sarah envious of such a tone.

  Mr. Westcott shook his head again. “And I am insisting more. I’ve been away for too long, I need . . . I need to return to town.”

  “You’re going to ride to London in this weather?” Lady Ensbrook inquired, disbelievingly.

  “I would ride through hellfire to return to London tonight,” Mr. Westcott vowed.

  Lady Ensbrook considered him, understanding crossing her face, and she nodded. Glancing at Sarah, she informed her, “You were fortunate to be traveling with such gentlemen.”

  “We only met Mr. Westcott at the crash site,” Sarah replied. “Mr. Gordon and I were . . . acquainted previously.”

  The countess nodded with a knowing gaze in her aged eyes, though Sarah could only wonder what the woman had taken from such a remark; she was probably thinking the worst things of her.

  “Be off Westcott, and be careful,” Lady Ensbrook said to him. He bowed and escaped the foyer with a quick “goodbye and good luck,” to William and Sarah.

  Patting Sarah’s hand, Lady Ensbrook added, “Don’t worry about Westcott. I suspect you’ll have time to thank him later.”

  What could that possibly mean? Watching the countess, Sarah concluded that the death of her son and daughter-in-law must have addled her mind a bit.

  “I will aid in the retrieval of Lord and Lady Ensbrook,” William offered. “If I could request the assistance of two strong footmen or grooms?”

  Lady Ensbrook nodded to the butler. “Monaby, fetch him two such men, and give him any assistance he needs. Have their luggage brought inside.” She gave more instructions for rooms to be prepared and fires to be lit, dinner to be postponed, and warm baths to be sent up for the children. Sarah was barely listening to the household bustling to do the countess’s bidding; she was no stranger to tragedy or death or the chaos left in its wake. She watched William with increasing awe as he moved about the foyer, issuing instructions to the footmen who appeared ready to assist him, giving direction on water temperature to the maids who carried bath water up the stairs, speaking to everyone directly and with authority. Military doctor seemed to fit him perfectly.

  “Come, Lady Radcliff,” Lady Ensbrook said, steering her up the staircase. “We do not need you to catch a chill in your soaked gown. Your trunk has been brought up to a room, and I insist you change into something dry and warm.”

  “Of course, Lady Ensbrook,” Sarah replied, following the dowager countess through the house to a set of rooms, open and already warm with the fire lit in the grate. She spied her trunk beside the bed. Through the antechamber was another set of rooms, William’s traveling case at the foot of the bed.

  “I will leave you be,” Lady Ensbrook said. “I wish to see that my grandchildren are put to rights. I will join you at dinner soon after. Don’t worry about dressing for dinner, please, I implore you to find comfort, as London fashion is wasted on such a day.”

  Knowing any words she had within her to convey the sadness of the day would be of little comfort to the dowager countess, Sarah simply nodded and offered a reassuring smile.

  Nothing dulled the pain of a loss except for time.

  Sarah donned another grey dress, her gown count dwindling because of this blasted rain. It wasn’t elaborate or even evening wear, but a simple warm frock of thick fabric that helped ease the chill in her bones. It felt good to have on warm, dry clothing, stockings, and boots. After setting her hair to rights, brushing through the wet locks, and fashioning a simple braid wrapped into a knot, she made her way down the stairs in search of a warm cup of tea.

  The countess greeted her as she entered the dining hall. Thunder crashed outside, the rumbling echoing through the dining room, rain assaulting the glass panes of the windows.

  “Has Mr. Gordon returned yet?” Sarah inquired, scowling at the storm.

  The countess shook her head. “Please, sit and eat. Dinner is informal tonight, I am afraid.”

  Taking a seat beside the countess, Sarah managed a supportive smile. “I appreciate informal sometimes.” The footman assisted her with the beef and a helping of potatoes, but she declined a glass of wine, asking for tea instead.

  “Countess,” Sarah said, turning towards the elderly woman. “Mr. Gordon and I, that is to say . . .” The words caught in her throat.

  Lady Ensbrook patted her arm. “Whatever you are up to with Mr. Gordon is none of my business.”

  “That is just it, there is nothing we are up to,” Sarah explained. “I met him yesterday and merely offered him a place in my carriage to journey to London shielded from the rain. We are not . . . There is nothing . . .”

  “My dear girl, you may feel obligated to tell me such things in order to convince yourself,” Lady Ensbrook said. “But allow me to inform you that you are quite wrong.”

  Sarah’s brow furrowed. “In what way?”

  “You may think there is nothing between you and your Mr. Gordon, but despite having only just met the two of you, you haven’t fooled these old eyes. I have seen the look of love, my dear, and that man only has eyes for you, and you for him.”

  “But I just met him yesterday,” Sarah argued, shaking her head.

  “If you’ll permit the unsolicited advice of an aging woman, I may be far from the years of when an encompassing love took hold of my life, but I have not forgotten how it felt to be swept up in such an emotion.” Lady Ensbrook paused, her eyes glazed over in memory as she took a sip of her tea. “I was once young and widowed, and I remember how it felt to have those widow greys pull you down into the ground, into the grave with a dead and buried husband. It took a special type of man to whisk me away from the darkness, sweeping me off my feet and shaking me awake. He was the love of my life, and the week we spent together falling head over heels in love was something I would never give up for all the breath in my soul.” She set her cup down and leaned towards Sarah. “If you are anything like I was, you are in need of love and companionship, someone to cherish you. You’ve done your duty, Lady Sarah, even though Radcliff is gone, you are not dead and buried in the ground with him. Yes, you are a widow, but you are still young. Have a little fun, and if you find something that takes your breath away, don’t take that for granted.” Lady Ensbrook’s gaze was pleading, damp with tears.

  “Don’t waste a single day on this earth on pursuits that feed someone else’s plan for you, and don’t pass up the chance of a love that could change the way you look at the world,” she continued. “If displeasing the world terrifies you, then to hell with the world. The people who might judge you don’t have to live your life, you do, and so do it to the fullest. One day you will marr
y again and have children, and you’ll love them and hold them until the time comes when either you depart or they do. Love is the only thing that truly matters in life.”

  Reclining against the cushion of her chair, Lady Ensbrook’s shoulders sagged in exhaustion. “Take it from an old woman who has just lost her oldest child: life is fleeting, and wasting it is a sin.”

  Realizing she was crying silently along with the countess, Sarah dabbed her eyes with her napkin and managed a bite of her beef. Something in the woman’s words rang true, and they tumbled around in her head, clamoring for something to take root. She was certainly attracted to William and drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain, but there was so much about him she did not know.

  “I don’t even know who he is,” Sarah admitted softly. “It was a stupid, irresponsible thing to entwine myself with a stranger, except . . .”

  “Except you couldn’t help it,” Lady Ensbrook supplied softly and Sarah nodded.

  “Don’t worry too much about your Mr. Gordon,” the countess continued. “I suspect he is a trustworthy character. His actions speak more than his words.”

  “Why do you say his name like that?” Sarah asked. “As if it is humorous?”

  Lady Ensbrook took a sip of her tea. “If you know him as Mr. Gordon, then who am I to argue?”

  “Is there another way I should know him?”

  “Dr. Gordon, perhaps,” Lady Ensbrook replied. “I do not mean to be obtuse, my dear, but if he told you his name is Gordon, then that is his name until he tells you otherwise.”

  “You are implying he is someone else,” Sarah stated.

  “Not for nefarious reasons of his own,” the countess explained. “But I suspect he does not give his birth name freely and does not maliciously deceive. I doubt he even considers himself a part of that name any longer. But I have always had a gift for recognizing a face, even when that face chooses not to be recognized.”

  “I really cannot be angry if he has given me a false name,” Sarah replied. “Initially, I told him I was Mrs. Hartford.”