Safe in the Earl's Arms

by Liz Tyner

  Warrington stepped back, knowing the servant had been instructed to show the guests directly to him. He waited for them, thinking of a spider’s carefully constructed web, and how fragile it was. Success or failure depended on the whims of nature.

  Daphne’s yellow day dress swirled around her as elegantly as if she glided into a ballroom when she greeted Warrington, her hands outstretched. ‘Did you have a grand adventure?’ Daphne asked, mentioning the reason Warrington gave for his travels. Her husband, Ludgate, entered the sitting room, his crutch working in tandem with his leg. He stood slightly behind her, watching the welcome.

  Daphne had Cassandra’s colouring. Cassandra’s features. But on Daphne they’d taken a wrong turn. Her azure eyes, pert nose and full mouth were spaced too close to each other—giving her a full forehead and long jawline, which had made her face seem wide. But now, with the thinness in her cheeks, her features blended together. Age favoured her, except for the way the shadows around her eyes seemed to make them shrink into her face.

  Even Ludgate had a paleness Warrington didn’t remember, but then it had been years longer since the two men had seen each other.

  Warrington grasped Daphne’s hands, lifting one to kiss the air above her glove.

  ‘I would find another word to describe our voyage besides adventure.’ Warrington released her. ‘Ben can make hell sound like a paradise. He put the hook in my mouth, slowly pulled me in, and I didn’t know what was happening until salt water splashed all over me. The dousing was warm, but all the same, a rude awakening.’

  ‘Oh, it could not be so terrible…’ Daphne’s voice chided, and she reached briefly to pat his cheek. ‘A sea voyage. New sights. New lands. Surely you have some good to say of it.’

  Small brackets framed her mouth—ones he’d never noticed before. But he’d not seen Daphne since right before her sister’s death. Daphne had returned home after the women’s tiff. He’d sent his brother Dane to break the news of the death because he’d not wanted to tell her in a letter. Dane said she’d collapsed and later Warrington had received the missive telling him how troubled she’d been because the last words the two women had spoken had been harsh.

  Pushing the memories aside, Warrington chuckled. ‘I assure you, it was not a grand adventure. You will not again get me on a sailing ship unless it is at gunpoint.’

  Daphne continued into the room, walking past him. ‘You jest.’ She spoke lightly, but her voice had an edge. ‘You want to make it sound difficult so men who travel will appear brave and strong. I dare say you quite enjoyed it.’ She pulled at the strings of her reticule, twisting them around her finger, sliding free and then roping them around her hand again.

  He heard the forced gaiety. He supposed Daphne still suffered the loss of her sister.

  ‘Of course.’ He put warmth into his words. ‘I slept every night and dreamed of the novelty of getting stranded at sea in a longboat, with Ben’s smelly feet sticking in my face, and I would awake to discover the scent of bilge water in my nostrils. Bilge water. Imagine a swamp so distasteful animals will not even drink from it and that is perfume compared to the sloshing liquid in the hull of a ship.’

  Ludgate barked a laugh and nodded to Warrington.

  Daphne, back straight, looked deeply into Warrington’s face. ‘You’ve darkened in the sun. And you look strong enough to lift a horse.’

  His smile warmed, but inside, regret sliced him. Daphne had inherited the heart for both the women, but her presence made his palms sweat.

  ‘I had to experience the whole of sailing, according to Ben,’ he said. ‘Steering the vessel wasn’t so bad. But after working the sails, my arms ached as if I had lifted the masts. The first time I climbed the ratlines, my heart pounded in my ears so loud I could not hear the instructions shouted from below. When I put my feet back on deck, I acted as if I could do it over and over. I didn’t worry I’d end up swimming if I fell, but missing the water and damaging the deck. If I did, Ben would insist I scrub my blood from his precious ship.’

  She moved to the sofa and turned back to him. ‘I’m just thankful Ludgate wasn’t along—the three of you would have surely overturned the boat.’

  The caring in her eyes comforted him. He’d known Daphne so long and they shared truths that bound them. She’d loved Cassandra, yet she saw her sister’s flaws just as he had eventually.

  He shrugged. ‘Never again. Ben’s the mermaid hunter, not me.’

  Ludgate’s laugh bounced from the walls. His crutch wobbled and he followed his wife to the sofa. He used the wood as a balance, lowering himself to sit. The tool had been a part of his life since a childhood accident where he’d fallen from a roof. Ludgate seemed no more aware of the stick than he was of his own fingers. In fact, he used the aid as another extremity.

  ‘Been thinking of investing in a ship myself—though I don’t have a brother to sail for me, of course,’ Ludgate said. ‘Wanted your opinion.’

  ‘One.’ Warrington held up a finger. ‘Don’t.’

  Daphne leaned forward, her voice a whisper. ‘So dangerous. I cannot imagine.’

  ‘Truly, I am pleased to keep my feet dry. Don’t know how I let myself get talked into it.’ Warrington made himself comfortable on the facing sofa. He shook his head. ‘We saw no mermaids and everyone looks like a sea monster after anything longer than a fortnight from England. Except, of course, Ben. He kept himself dandified. He is more at peace on Ascalon than he will ever be on land.’

  Warrington paused. Of course, he was pleased to see Daphne and Ludgate, but this visit had none of the familiarity of before. He felt as if he were talking with two people he had just met at a dinner party and didn’t quite know if he liked them or not. Ludgate kept looking around the room and Daphne’s jaw appeared clenched. Perhaps she suspected he had a question for her.

  ‘You surely favoured some of it?’ Ludgate asked.

  Warrington smiled. ‘It will take a bigger man than Ben to get me from land again. I’ve had enough sea air—everything still tastes like salt to me.’ He made a face as if he had a mouthful of ocean water.

  Ludgate chuckled. ‘Can’t be that terrible if you two youngsters can tolerate it.’ He balanced his crutch across his knees.

  ‘We barely survived. Had a fire when the ship rolled a bit and the bail of a lantern slipped loose from its mooring. The liquid flamed about. I didn’t expect when I departed on the journey I’d be bobbing around in a wooden bowl coated in a resin to keep it watertight—resin that just happens to be easy to ignite, especially with a lantern dashed on to it. Nothing matters once the fire starts—but putting it out. If I had any chance of liking the sea, it burned to ash in the blaze. After that, I decided if I had the need to sail again, I’d reside at Newgate for a while. Same luxuries—without the chance of drowning, or burning to death.’

  ‘It cannot be as bad as that.’ Ludgate patted a rhythm on his crutch. ‘Adventure at sea.’

  Warrington shut his eyes. ‘Misadventure at sea. Not even a good place for ships to be.’

  Daphne shook her head, ear bobs dangling, a teasing gleam in her eyes. ‘I think Ludgate should go before the mast if he wishes. Then he would truly know if he enjoys it. Maybe a short trip first, of course.’

  ‘No trip at sea is short unless you go gills up.’ Warrington nodded. ‘The first day is not terrible. The novelty. But the suffering grows with the days. Your clothing turns to a board from the salt mists drying on the garments. Your face burns from the wind and your hair tangles over your eyes. You listen to the everlasting groans of the ship—the vessel complains, as well.’ He put an arm along the back of the sofa, trying to relax. ‘Ben didn’t even consider it a concern when a wave slammed him into a spar and nearly knocked him over the side.’

  Daphne leaned forward, eyes wide and her glove touching her cheek. ‘He is well?’

  ‘He will be. I’d rue the day I bought the ship with him, but better for him to be sailing on a vessel he knows than risking a rotted one.’ Warringt
on grimaced and stood, walking to the decanter.

  He wanted to get the ugly part of the conversation over. He did want to know who had fathered the child in his house and not just because the man had knifed him. He was curious to find out if one could gut a worm.

  Before, he’d not truly blamed the man. Warrington understood, in some deep recess of himself, the man’s betrayal. The need for a woman’s body could be overpowering. But time had cured that empathy. Now the cur was going to pay.

  Warrington filled them in on the details of his journey. By the time the conversation lulled, Ludgate had a jug-bitten look in his eyes and Daphne’s face kept pinching when she looked at her husband.

  Warrington could feel bile in his mouth, knowing he’d soon be able to say the name of his wife’s lover. He no longer cared if the man were a footman, a cit or a king. Death treated all men the same.

  He tapped his forefinger a slow heartbeat on to the base of the goblet while Ludgate rambled about some tailor’s choice of a button. The man had never been so eternally boring before and he refused to meet Warrington’s eyes.

  Ludgate knew… Ludgate knew who Cassandra’s lover was. Of course he would have to know. She carried on her liaisons under his roof. Warrington’s gaze locked on Ludgate’s face and anger slammed Warrington’s body. Ludgate. Could it have been him? But, no, Warrington had seen the man who attacked him. And one thing he knew, knew positively—he would have recognised his brother-in-law. And the man who ambushed him didn’t limp or speak the same as Ludgate.

  Warrington sipped his brandy, and just wondered if—if perhaps Ludgate could have had something to do with the stabbing. But he wasn’t murderous—he practically swooned if his tea was too hot and couldn’t even reprimand his horse or command his servants.

  When Warrington rose to lift the decanter to refill Daphne’s glass, her eyes darted to her husband. Her words were slow. ‘Maybe we should—’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Warrington wasn’t letting them leave. Let his foxed friend ramble all he wanted. Warrington would garble and warble along with him, right up until the moment Daphne conversed on one particular subject.

  Warrington poured the wine for Daphne and more brandy for her husband. ‘Please stay longer, Daphne. It’s so rare I have guests.’

  Ludgate talked on, the liquid in his glass sloshing as he mumbled and sipped. He’d discussed the construction of the frame over the mantel and the way the wood had been carved, and now he compared that to the pictures in his house.

  Warrington watched Ludgate’s brandy nearly spill. Who else would think of the skill to make a picture frame? Apparently Daphne had heard her husband expound on artistry many times. Her stare was fixed on the wall and she looked to be asleep with her eyes open, entranced in her own recollections.

  Warrington didn’t for one blink think Ludgate could not know about Cassandra’s loose corset ties. Ludgate’s valet probably knew about the playthings. The sisters talked. Servants talked. Even the wind carried tales when two people whispered and breezes blew their words into another’s ears. Secrets didn’t go to the grave. They couldn’t lie still.

  Warrington asked Daphne about her dog, a little hairy creature smaller than a man’s boot. She placed great store in the dog and War kept the conversation going while he eased his way to the pull. When the servant peered in, Warrington pointed to the near-empty wine glasses and the woman left immediately.

  When she returned, she brought a decanter, filled, and sat it beside the first. Warrington gave a firm shake of his head and indicated for the maid to put the liquid near his brother-in-law. It didn’t take long for Ludgate to put his glass down, prop the crutch at his side and cross his arms. His head bobbed a bit to the side and his half-closed eyes fixed on the tooth decoration. Then Warrington saw the lowered jaw and heard the heavy breathing. Ludgate slept.

  Daphne followed Warrington’s gaze. ‘He’s going to be aching tomorrow if his head hurts as I think it will.’ She sighed, looking at Warrington. ‘But he’ll get over it. He always does. I suppose we should leave.’

  ‘Daphne, I have something important we must talk about.’ He tapped the edge of his glass. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘We must go.’ She stood, reaching to wake Ludgate.

  ‘No, Daphne.’ He stopped her movement with his words. ‘This is vital. I need you to tell me about Cassandra.’

  The emotions behind her eyes blazed, but he couldn’t decipher them.

  ‘I’m sure your memories are as strong as mine,’ she said. ‘I read her letters again from time to time and I miss her so. Really, I can’t talk about her. Makes me too sad.’ She stood.

  ‘Who’s Willa’s father?’

  Daphne’s jaw dropped and she stumbled, almost falling back to the sofa. ‘Warrington—this is not proper conversation.’

  ‘Daphne.’ His voice brooked no argument. ‘I need to know.’

  She grasped her skirt in both hands, shaking her head.

  He put his glass on the side table and stood. He reached out, moving forward and securing her elbow. ‘Daphne, this is about a child’s life.’

  She turned back to him, eyes flat. ‘We won’t talk of this. I lost as much as you. Nothing will ever be the same.’

  ‘That may be. But I need to know who Willa’s father is.’

  ‘Why, you, of course.’ She pulled from his grasp, but he grabbed her fingers before she could jab Ludgate awake. She jerked her hand from Warrington’s and pounced on Ludgate, pulling him up while handing him his crutch.

  ‘Time to leave.’ She bit out the words.

  Ludgate wobbled and Warrington instinctively reached out to give him assistance. Warrington felt a stab of guilt while he helped his friend down the stairs. Warrington hadn’t thought of the trouble Ludgate might have walking should he drink too much. Loading the sotted man into the carriage was no easy task. Ludgate mumbled his gratitude before sliding back into the squabs and closing his eyes.

  Daphne avoided Warrington’s gaze when she rushed into the conveyance and shouted to the groom, ‘Home. Now.’

  Warrington turned back to the house, angry with himself, but more displeased with Daphne. She knew. He could not blame her for wanting to keep Cassandra’s confidence if she’d been alive, but this was a different matter.

  Then he wondered if a spider ever built two webs at the same time. A good practice.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Warrington walked to Melina’s door and knocked. Melina peered out, a question in her eyes. He took her by the hand and she squeezed his fingers. He led her to the sitting room.

  ‘They’ve left. Daphne claims not to know. But it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t tell me from her own mouth. Perhaps I only asked her to see if she would speak of it.’ He stopped near the fireplace, and stared at the chip in the mantel.

  Melina didn’t sit. She put her hand on his forearm.

  He gave a long blink and nodded. ‘My illness before Cass left—I have not been able to get it out of my mind. Something about the watchfulness in Cassandra’s eyes before I became ill. Suddenly she was at my elbow every moment, watching me. Even putting a palm to my forehead.’ His lips twisted in mockery of a smile. ‘She’d never shown such care for me before. Not long afterwards, my stomach began to revolt, my heartbeat changed and I could hardly think of anything except how ill I was. Cassandra’s concern vanished and so did she—with my son. To protect his health, I was later told. I wondered if she’d tainted our food.’

  When he’d finally regained his strength and reviewed the household ledgers and accounts, he discovered that Cassandra had struggled through his illness at the modiste’s and the perfumer’s, and even the stationer’s—and she never neared ink because it might stain her hands.

  ‘Because she didn’t care for you, didn’t mean she wanted you dead.’ Melina squeezed his arm.

  ‘It certainly didn’t mean she wanted me alive, either. My father died of the same sickness I had.’

  In the days she was gone, Cassandra became
visible to him in a way she’d never been before.

  She never let herself be alone. In her quiet moments, the maids would work with Cassandra’s hair or fingernails, or somehow change a dress she liked, and he would be aware of the gossipy hum of conversation. Not only did Cass know of every movement in society, she knew if the stable master fancied a household servant and who’d bedded whom.

  Cassandra held no past, only the present moment. She’d never had a portrait or miniature of Jacob done and the knowledge plunged regret into him. He’d not asked for a painting, either.

  Pulling himself from his memories, he spoke again. ‘I found nothing in her chamber to indicate she wished me ill.’

  His eyes reflected the past. ‘Even now, I cannot believe she would do such a thing. I tell myself I must be imagining it, and after the knife attack, I felt some relief, because she couldn’t have planned that. No matter how much I say Cassandra cannot rest in peace and would continue her mischief in her death, I know it’s not possible.’

  He put his hands on her hips, holding her, and she didn’t know for sure if he steadied her or himself.

  ‘I could not go back,’ he continued. ‘But I could not leave her be, either. If I put her from me, she would have other men’s children. If I kept her near, I wanted her in my bed.’

  He turned and seized a near-empty glass from the table and raised it as if making a toast to the memory. ‘At first I saw her in a halo of sunlight and the world bloomed with the hint of her rose perfume. Now I hate the stink of roses.’ He turned his back to Melina, took a drink, thumped the glass back on to the table and continued speaking. ‘I don’t believe my recollection of her appearance is tainted— because as I think of her compassion, I see nothing. Her heart beat for herself.’ He uttered something from deep within that she couldn’t decipher. ‘She had very little care for our son, I suspect. She only kept him with her because if my father and I died, then Jacob would inherit and, likely, Dane would oversee things. She thought Dane much more gentle of heart than I was. He’d never shown her his true distrust. And I assure you, when he saw her put to rest, he could not keep the smile from his face. I had him by the throat before I knew it. We both understood the other, though.’