The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2)

by Madeline St. James

  Mrs. Buxton entered the room, brushing past Beatrice in her state of annoyance. Thankfully, the housekeeper did not question her as she stormed down the corridor. Unable to contain the emotions that scuttled chaotically within her, Beatrice threw open the door to the Earl’s study.

  “What were you thinking?” She shouted in indignation. “Are you so selfish that you cannot see that your mother is suffering? I have dealt with many gentlemen of nobility. But never, My Lord, have I encountered such an insensitive and pompous child in all of my years!”

  He just stood there, shocked with his jaw hanging loose as she ranted. And then Beatrice said something she had never intended to say.

  “Mrs. Buxton was right! I was foolish to have ever fallen in love with you…” her hand slapped over her mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  Ruteledge Estate

  Winchester, England

  James did not move in fear that he would startle Beatrice and trigger her nervousness further. No one on his staff ever dared to speak to him in such a way. In an instant, the fearful, blushing young woman who had stolen his heart replaced the fierce and irate woman who scolded him.

  I was foolish to have ever fallen in love with you…

  He felt ill at the fear he saw in her eyes as she took in his appearance. James knew he smelled of liquor and looked a bit disheveled from raking his fingers through his hair. The messy blond strands fell across his forehead and tickled his nose a bit. His eyes were rimmed with red and his breathing was labored.

  His sweet, delicate Beatrice cowered. She ran from the study and he chased after her, unaware that the sound of his thundering footsteps would summon a scream to erupt from her lips. James stopped instantly, knowing that the scream came from reliving her darkest nightmares; it was a sound that he had made too often.

  Mrs. Buxton attempted to stop Beatrice in her mad scramble through the corridors. If she did not stop, she could injure herself. James rushed after her once more and followed her down the staircase and out the main entrance. Beatrice ran for the stables. He slowed to calm his breathing, not wanting to corner her in a time of distress.

  “Miss Haddington,” he called, creeping through the slight opening in the stable doors. “I apologize if I have alarmed you. Miss Haddington. Beatrice, please.”

  She pushed herself against the furthest wall, her eyes unfocused as small hiccupping breaths broke his heart into a million pieces. Her shivers never ceased and her hands pulled at her hair. Part of her dress had torn at her hip, the fabric dangling from a nail beside her.

  He attempted to look away, but failed. Thick scars blemished her flesh. James’s breath had ripped from his lungs, that blinding anger rearing its ugly head once more. Someone had harmed her. The scars looked old, much like the one on his shoulder where he had been shot. But someone…some animal, had harmed his lovely Beatrice.

  James noticed William and Lady Knight approach, but he motioned for them to stay in the shadows until she calmed. Mrs. Buxton would disapprove if she was there, but James couldn't care less. He threw out all thoughts of what was proper and knelt before her.

  The position was one of surrender; it brought him lower than her height in a way to show that she was in control. His tall form still brought his head more than half the distance up her body, but it was enough that she no longer felt the looming presence of his shadow above her.

  “Beatrice,” he whispered.

  His eyes flickered to the deepest, longest scar for only a second before returning his gaze to her beautiful eyes. Tears spilled over her lashes and her trembling hand brushed his cheek. She was still hesitant, but her actions made him wonder if she was trying to reassure him that he had not frightened her, but the memories had. Sweet, wary, darling Beatrice…

  James wrapped his fingers around hers and placed a kiss in her palm. “I will never harm you…I lov-”

  “My Lord,” William interjected. His address was too polite and it snapped James to his feet. He quickly removed his coat, wrapping it around Beatrice so that she was decent once more and warm from the slight chill in the air.

  Lady Knight entered the stables and pulled Beatrice into her embrace. He envied her that right. James wanted to carry Beatrice inside and bundle her into a thousand blankets, just to convince himself that she was safe.

  William handed James the gift he had been instructed to purchase as Lady Knight and Beatrice made their way back into the manor. James looked down at the small locket in his hand. It was a bronze sea turtle with an emerald shell. It was perfect. He clapped William kindly on the young man’s back, a very uncharacteristic display of affection, and walked to the gardens for a moment of peace.

  Elias joined him soon after, taking a seat on the bench where James was lost in his thoughts. “Everyone heard.”

  “I do not care…”

  “You should,” Elias barked. “If it the situation had ended with the shout and a broken glass, no one would worry. But the guests have witnessed you chasing a hysterical girl out to the stables! That is far worse than Lady Knight’s scandal, James!”

  “I did not harm her.”

  “But you did. Your reputation may remain unscathed, as this is your home and we are your guests. But her image will not recover. You know how society plays this game even if she does not wish to be a part of it. Mrs. Buxton and your mother are furious, and with good reason.”

  James flinched. He knew Elias spoke the truth. He always treasured his friend’s honesty and righteous behavior even when it hurt him most to hear the truth. “What do you suggest, Elias?”

  “Defuse the problem. Speak with your mother first as well as Lady Knight and Mrs. Buxton. You will need their help as you and Miss Haddington make your debut to society as proposed companions. It does not have to be done publicly at an assembly, but make sure that your guests of notability do not misunderstand your intentions.”

  The wind rustled his hair. James sputtered in an undignified manner. Did Elias truly think it wise for him to openly court Beatrice even after everything that happened in the last hour? “You have clearly gone mad, Elias. Surely you cannot be suggesting…”

  “What?” his friend snapped, cutting off his words of protest. “That you stow your insecurities and selfishness to mend the damage you have caused to a bright young woman’s stunted reputation? Yes. And there is not one person in your manor at this very instant that would not shun you if you do not. That includes me, James.”

  Elias had been angered with him before. But never had he threatened to end their lifelong camaraderie. It was a threat James did not take lightly. Over the course of her stay, it was obvious that Beatrice had earned the affections of his peers and the members of his household. “I shall do as you have proposed, my friend.”

  “Splendid; see that you do. And while you are otherwise occupied with the reparations of your transgressions, I shall speak with the authorities in London and find out who the gentleman was that frightened Miss Haddington.”

  ***

  Beatrice awoke the next morning on the small cot that rested in the corner of Lady Ruteledge’s bedchamber. The fire had died sometime in the night and she scurried across the floor to bring it back to life. A guttural groan sounded from beneath Lady Ruteledge’s coverings.

  “Beatrice,” she called weakly.

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  “Please, Beatrice. For all that is holy, stop calling me that! My name is Helena and you are my friend, I will not tolerate any formality between us any longer. I insist.”

  Beatrice knew better than to push the matter any further. For days, Lady Ruteledge, or Helena, would not budge. She had the same stubborn inclinations as her son. That was for certain. Helena reached out for Beatrice, summoning the young woman to her bedside. Beatrice sat upon the soft top of the bed and brushed the hair away from the ill woman’s face.

  “What happened between you and James?”

  “Nothing…I overreacted and said things that I regret,” she evaded. “He proba
bly thinks that I am not…stable.”

  “James would never think such things.”

  “You did not see the way he looked at me. It was like he saw me as a broken doll or a bird with an injured wing. There was so much pity in his eyes,” her voice dithered.

  “My son pities no one. What you saw in his eyes was only what you wanted to believe. I am certain of it. James suffers as much as the rest of us. He is simply better at hiding it. There are walls he has built around his heart after his father left us.”

  She knew it was hard to Helena to speak of her late husband. On the many nights neither of them could sleep, they would lie side by side and share their secrets to one another. Beatrice could not see her friend’s condition getting better and it made her want to withdraw into her shell once more.

  Her heart ached at the thought the she may not have long with the woman she had taken care of, but it pained her more when she considered the fact that James would be left alone in the world. “I love him…” Beatrice whimpered.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes. Tragic, isn’t it? The weepy little dormouse in love with the Earl of Winchester. I must have seemed so pathetic when I told him.” Beatrice looked down at her hands.

  “You told James that you love him? What were you thinking? That sort of power is dangerous in the wrong hands, Beatrice. It is not as though I do not trust my son, but anyone who learns of this could use it against both of you.”

  “I told him. We were the only two in the room. I’m sure Mrs. Buxton has informed you of the rest…”

  “She has,” Helena confirmed. “What do you intend to do about the situation?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You are just as much at fault in this as James, Beatrice. The two of you should work together to make things right. I will not allow any words of protest.” Helena’s words were stern and poised. Beatrice knew better than to question her when Helena used her motherly tone. It left no room for refusal and made Beatrice wonder how her own mother would have reacted to her outburst. “I apologize. Lord Ruteledge and I will come to an accord.”

  “Be sure to speak with the Marquess. If anyone can tell you how to improve this predicament, it is Elias. No one knows James the way Elias does. They were friends as children and even fought in the war together before earning their titles.”

  “How will I speak with him alone? It is not proper.”

  Helena chuckled. “We both know that you are not bothered with what is proper and what is not, or you would never have confessed your affections to my son. Even so, Mrs. Buxton could accompany you. However, I do believe Lady Knight would be a more suitable chaperone.”

  Seeing a wicked, playful wink from the Dowager Countess of Winchester was more than she could handle. Beatrice curled on her side, her laughter chiming through the bedchamber. Helena joined her merriment, basking in a moment when she did not feel any pain.

  Beatrice grew serious, causing Helena to place a warm palm against her cheek. “What is it, dear?”

  “He does not know that I...”

  “James does not know what, Beatrice?”

  “That I am the one who eases his sorrows when the nightmares invade his sleep or that I am the one who leaves tea on his bedside table. He does not know that I care for him,” Beatrice sniffled. Helena brushed a tear from her cheek. “I love him and now he is aware. He must think that I am a foolish girl who dreams of marrying a man of nobility. But I am not!”

  “Then you must be willing to show him in a way that does not compromise either of your reputations any further.”

  What is life without a little humiliation? She thought.

  Chapter Ten

  Fortress of The London Lords of Crime

  London, England

  Mr. Ripper tapped his cane against the edge of his desk as he peered through the open window to his left. The sky was streaked with auburn and lavender. A light rain misted against the glass as London sang her song of grinding metals and children playing in the streets. Carriages passed by and his men were stationed at every corner of his beloved city.

  A knock on the doorframe jangled his thoughts. Mr. Ripper tilted his head in confusion. Not many would have the courage to disturb him when he was so clearly in the middle of contemplation. He arched a brow and flickered his gaze to the tall, slender man standing stiffly at the entrance of his office.

  “M-Mr. Ripper, sir,” the man stuttered. “Lady Dunn has sent a letter from Winchester.”

  Mr. Ripper reached out his scarred hand and snatched the envelope from the shivering clutches of…whatever his name was. He did not care enough to learn the names of those who did not have enough dignity to make themselves a force to be reckoned with. “Leave...me…now.”

  “Y-yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  The coward disgusted him as he nearly tripped over his own feet to hurry from the room. Mr. Ripper tore open the letter and read the graceful, leaning penmanship of Lady Dunn. He growled low in his throat, crumpled the letter, and tossed it. Apparently an attempt to poison Beatrice Haddington was successful. Lady Dunn’s orders had been to only watch the girl.

  He should have known better than to send a bloodthirsty assassin after his intended wife. But it was too late. Beatrice was sick, although she was unaware why. If she continued to be poisoned, eventually she would die at the hands of Lady Dunn. Mr. Ripper stood from behind his desk and hobbled across the room to the door.

  His hand hesitated on the handle.

  Mr. Ripper could save her, or he would wait until her father returned with his shipment. Josiah Haddington had just over four weeks left until his deadline. And Mr. Ripper was interested in seeing how everything would fall into place.

  He took one step at a time down the staircase until he reached the landing. His breath came in short, winded huffs that were, if one could believe it, more painful then they sounded. The damage that had been done to his throat from his time at the gallows was what pained him the most.

  Mr. Ripper could suffer through the aches in his bones from the torture and the phantom pain from the burn scars on his side. But breathing calmly was a luxury. Mental trauma only fueled his work. The London underground was no place for a stable man with a healthy mind.

  The men gathered in the foyer jumped to their feet the instant they noticed his arrival. Lower rank rogues dropped to their knees in a show of respect. “Your…. queen…needs you. Find the remedy…to the… poison that Lady Dunn…uses to…kill her…victims.”

  “The Ravens have a very rare blend, My King,” said Bacilli. “It could take a long time and if she has been given a strong dose, we may not able to heal ‘er in time. But for you – our king, our queen, and Lady London – we shall do as you ask.”

  ***

  Beatrice looked up at the ceiling of Helena’s bedchamber. Her bones felt brittle and her muscles ached. Sweat dampened her pale flesh as she struggled to sit upright. Trembling hands gripped the thin linens on the cot beneath her, trying to use all of her strength to stand.

  When she climbed to her feet, Beatrice felt the world tilt and fell to the floor. Her long hair fanned out around her like the wings of an angel. The nightdress she wore left her cold, and she was unable to move more than an inch at the time. Helena’s concerned voice reached her ears.

  “My dear! Beatrice, what is the matter?” The ill woman crawled out of her bed, slowly made her way to the door, and shouted for help down the halls. Helena was in no condition to help Beatrice. Guilt was eating her alive. Beatrice did not know what happened to her, but she did not want to stress Helena.

  “Please…” was all she had managed to croak from her tight, dry throat. Her skin was cold to the touch, but burning hot within. James appeared in the doorway with Mrs. Buxton. Unlike her, he was still in the clothing he had worn to dinner, an indication that he had no intentions of sleeping through the night.

  “Mrs. Buxton, please tend to my mother,” he ordered.

  “My Lord, I do not think-”

 
; “Now, Mrs. Buxton,” James demanded with a stern voice. That cold indifference that she grew to expect was in his eyes and aimed at the housekeeper. She nodded her head once and crossed the room, clearly unhappy. James tucked his arm beneath Beatrice’s shoulders and lifted her small frame.

  Once her torso was off the floor, he used the sleeve of his shirts to dab away the moisture that collected on her face. She expected to see the same cold stare he had used with Mrs. Buxton, but she saw only worry in his beautiful eyes. Her over stimulated nerve endings screamed at each brush of fabric against her skin. “She has been poisoned,” James whispered through tightly clenched teeth.

  Beatrice heard the gasps from Mrs. Buxton and Helena.

  She tried to speak, but her tongue felt swollen. She attempted to move, but her bones felt like glass. Whatever had been done to her was clearly intentional. “Beatrice, I need you to blink once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”

  After she recovered from the shock of hearing her name upon his lips, Beatrice blinked once.

  “Very good,” he praised. “Did anyone who was not a servant give you anything to drink or to eat?”

  She thought carefully and blinked twice before she cast her eyes toward Mrs. Buxton. All of Beatrice and Helena’s meals came directly from the housekeeper in an attempt to keep Lady Ruteledge’s condition a secret. James nodded his understanding. “Mrs. Buxton, did anyone out of the ordinary prepare any of the meals?”

  The housekeepers face had gone unnaturally pale. “Lady Dunn assisted me in preparing the afternoon tea, but no one else aside from Miss Haddington herself.”

  “Then we have no other choice but to suspect Lady Dunn in these circumstances.” James brushed his hand down Beatrice’s cheek. “I am dreadfully sorry that this happened to you…the responsibility is mine. I should have protected you.”