An Earl To Remember

by Jasmine Ashford

  The thought was perversely comforting, and Emilia stayed where she was, looking out over the stormy dark city.

  “Milady?”

  Emilia turned to find Wallace in the doorway behind her, a note in hand.

  “Oh! Wallace. It looks like the storm is coming, does it not?” Emilia said, gesturing out of the window where the curtains flapped and danced in a warm breeze.

  “Very true, my lady,” Wallace nodded. “I did not mean to disturb you. Here is a letter for you.”

  “Oh?” Emilia felt a shiver run down her spine. Somehow she knew it was from Oscar. She reached out and took the note with trembling hands, sliding her finger under the seal to break it. Her eyes scanned the page. At the end, she pressed her hand to her breastbone, heart pounding with fear.

  “My lady! Is something amiss?”

  “No. Thank you, Wallace.”

  Emilia waited until he had left and then collapsed onto the chaise, hand on her heart. She could barely believe what she had read. She read it again, eyes widening as she reached the end.

  My dear Emilia. I do not wish to alarm you, but you are in gravest danger. Someone knows that you know of us. I do not know whom and I do not know if I can stop them. All I can do is flee with you. Meet me in the park before four of the clock today. Bring only what you need. Trust me? Yours, Oscar.

  Emilia dropped the note. The wind lifted it and blew it under the desk against the far wall. She sat where she was, too shocked to move.

  Trust me.

  It was as if the words echoed round her head, taunting her. Trust me. Trust me. The breeze whispered them, swaying the curtains on its sibilance.

  Emilia closed her eyes. Did she trust Oscar?

  No.

  The answer surprised her. She absolutely did not trust Oscar. Not at all. Part of her still believed that he was the murderer. In which case, this letter might be her damnation. However, she could not ignore it, could not fail to notice that what she wanted, more than anything, was to comply. To meet him in the park. To run away with him and never turn back.

  Am I in love with Oscar?

  Yes.

  That one was easy and immediate. A resounding, overwhelming “yes”, whispered from every aspect of her being.

  Emilia shook her head. She was being ridiculous! She was the dowager countess of Lonsdale. She could not risk everything by putting her trust in a man simply because he stirred her feelings. She was not a silly little girl!

  Even as she chastised herself, she knew how futile it was. Her mind had already made the decision and, even as she berated herself and called herself a fool, she was standing and walking to the door. She bent to lift the note from the floor and then hurried to her bedchamber. To pack.

  “I should take only what I need.”

  Emilia was in the small wardrobe room that adjoined her bedroom, a suitcase at her feet, and a cream muslin dress over both arms. The house was quiet. Bronson and Evelyn were clearly still in the town. They would probably be back at any moment, Emilia realized, panicking. The note had said, “Before four.” She glanced through to the clock on her bedroom wall. It was three of the clock in the afternoon.

  “Come on, Emilia!”

  She threw two more gowns into her case, selecting her best traveling gowns. Then she closed the lid. She ran lightly through to her bedroom, case in one hand.

  She paused at her writing desk.

  “Should I leave a note for Evelyn?”

  She decided it would be safest if she did. On the distinctly possible occurrence that Oscar was the murderer, she would at least like someone to know where she had gone. If nothing else, they would have a good idea of where to look for her body.

  She shuddered at the thought, and sat down at the desk.

  Dearest Evelyn, she wrote. Forgive me for the disruption to your plans for this evening. I received word from an acquaintance, warning me of danger. I believe it may have connection to our cloaked intruder. I will send word to you as soon as possible to tell you I am safe. With love and care, Emilia.

  She sanded the page to dry it, then folded it and sealed it. Then she ran from the room.

  “Janet!” she exclaimed, almost walking into the darkly clad maid as she crossed the hall.

  “Milady!”

  Janet looked almost as afraid as Emilia felt. She sighed. She must have looked a sight, her bonnet so hastily set on her head that her hair was tumbling loose from its style, her eyes wide and scared.

  “Sorry, Janet,” she demurred. “I am called to the city somewhat urgently. If you could please hand this letter to Lady Brokeridge when she returns? I would be most grateful.”

  Janet curtsied. “Of course, madam. Shall I hail a carriage for you?”

  “Thank you. That would be very kind.”

  Janet followed her out and together they hailed a hackney coach as it passed. Nodding her thanks to Janet, Emilia climbed in, heart thumping with terror.

  “To St. James Park,” she called up to the driver. Her voice was quavering and she swallowed, pressing her hand to her sternum as her heart leaped ominously.

  As they sped through the town she glanced up at the church tower. The clock said half-past three.

  “Please let us reach there before four of the clock...” she said aloud. She did not tend to pray, but she did so now, desperately.

  The prayer seemed to be answered. There were no incidents on the road and they drifted smoothly down the cobble streets toward the park.

  “St. James' park!” the driver called down.

  “Thank you!” Emilia called up breathlessly. She passed coins up to the driver, then turned and ran toward the gate, heart pounding.

  “Oy!” he shouted behind her. Emilia guessed that she had passed the wrong coins, and hoped that she had paid him too much and not too little, but she could not stop. She ran blindly up the path toward the copse.

  Let him still be there. Let him not go yet...

  She ran, lungs burning, heart thumping in her chest.

  He was there. She could see him, tall and slim, his top hat still perched on his head. He was standing looking out across the park and then down at his watch.

  “Oscar!” she panted.

  “Emilia!” He ran down the little hill and embraced her. “Oh, thank Heavens! You're safe. You're here. Now, let's go. We don't have much time.”

  She nodded breathlessly and the two turned to run toward the gate. People stared as the tall, well-dressed gentleman and elegant lady hurtled down the path toward the side gate, but none attempted to stop them.

  Emilia cried out as her ankle twisted on a cobblestone and she almost fell.

  “Emilia!” Oscar turned round, face a picture of concern. He grabbed her and supported her. They walked the last paces to the gate. “Oh, for Heaven's sake...I should have taken that!”

  He took her case from her right hand and stood holding it in his own right hand, using the other to hail a coach.

  “Where to, guv?” the coach driver called down, accent thick and almost impenetrable.

  “Marylebone Street. Quick as you like.”

  The driver raised a brow, clearly amused. “If you say so,” he said. “Though I'll be wantin' my rhino before we head off, then.”

  Oscar rolled his eyes in impatience. “Rhino” was the street slang for money. The driver clearly intended to charge them some exorbitant fee. He sighed. “How much?”

  “A quid, guv. For those in a hurry like yourselves?”

  Oscar looked as if he wanted to argue with him, but Emilia laid a hand on his arm.

  “I have it, Oscar.”

  The driver was watching their exchange, for his expression softened somewhat. “If the lassie's paying, half price. Now in you get and off we go.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Emilia called up breathlessly. Then the door slammed and she and Oscar were inside, the luggage on the floor between them in the cramped space.

  Emilia stared at Oscar. Oscar stared back.

  The cab driver took
off and, true to his word, almost flew down the street toward Marylebone Street, people shouting and cursing as they jumped aside or scrambled onto the pavement to avoid them.

  “Oscar...” Emilia began.

  “Emilia.”

  He leaned forward and his mouth, tender and passionate, met hers. They kissed.

  As the coach drove on and Emilia felt her whole body ignite under his probing mouth in a way that she had never experienced before, she realized that she had been right. She was in love with Oscar. Now, whatever his identity – that of friend or foe, an ally or a killer, there was nothing she could do about it. As he held her close, eyes looking into hers, she did not want to. She did not wish to change a single thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DESPERATE TIMES AND DESPERATE MEASURES

  DESPERATE TIMES AND DESPERATE MEASURES

  “Emilia?”

  Evelyn waltzed in over the threshold, calling for her cousin. She was smiling. She had such a lovely afternoon! She had almost forgotten about the perils which faced her and Emilia that evening. Shopping in town always raised her spirits. She held the package with the gloves in her hand, all neatly wrapped in paper, scented and tied with a silk ribbon. She had bought a pair for her cousin – it was impossible to resist spoiling her sometimes!

  “Emilia! How was your practicing? I cannot wait to show you what I found.” she called as she climbed the stairs to the drawing room, skirt in hand. Bronson was behind her, still talking to Wallace in the entrance hall.

  She reached the door of the drawing room, still smiling.

  “Emilia...?”

  Her face fell. The window was open. The wind streamed through thinly, lifting the white gauze from the window. There was no one there.

  Evelyn walked briskly in and closed the window, stooping to gather up the sheets of music that had drifted to lie under the desk across the room. Emilia was always so careful about everything! It was strange that she would have simply left the music in disarray, the window open to the wind.

  “Bronson?”

  “Yes, dear?” Bronson put his head around the door, smiling at her.

  “Have you seen Emilia?”

  He frowned. “No, dear. I thought she was in here. Have you checked her bedchamber?”

  “No,” Evelyn agreed. “She is most likely in there. I hope she is not feeling poorly.”

  “I, too,” Bronson agreed. “I'm sure she just felt tired. Do not worry so.”

  Evelyn smiled and smoothed her hair out of her face. Her husband was right, she did tend to fuss. Probably a result of never having had children, she thought.

  Breathing deeply to quell the rising panic, admonishing herself for her worry, Evelyn headed to Emilia's bedchamber.

  She knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again. Then she opened the door and walked in.

  No one was there.

  “Emilia?”

  She glanced around. The bed was made up and clearly not slept in. The writing desk was neat and orderly, the coat and bonnet on the chair still there from the previous day. Nothing looked out of place.

  She walked through to the wardrobe room. There she noticed something. A button, clearly fallen from a dress. She picked it up.

  As she stared at it, she heard someone call for her.

  “My lady?”

  She walked quickly to the bedroom. Janet was there. She stared at her.

  “There you are, my lady!” Janet said, eyes round. “I was asked to give this note to you. It is from Lady Sumpter.”

  “Oh!” Evelyn ran to her and took it. “Thank you, Janet.” She felt relief flow through her as she lifted the seal.

  She read the note and felt her heart fall. When she looked up, she must have had an expression of horror on her face, because Janet looked appalled.

  “Milady?”

  “Janet?”

  “Madam?” Janet was beside her, hand on her shoulder. “Is something amiss?”

  “Find Lord Brokeridge for me? Please?”

  “Of course, madam.”

  While Janet ran to find Lord Brokeridge, Evelyn leaned back, trying to make sense of what Emilia had told her.

  She had run away? But why? With whom? The possibility of danger from the masked man was not unreasonable to assume. Yet could she trust whomever had gone away with her?

  “Evelyn!”

  Bronson was kneeling in front of her, looking up into her face, eyes wide with concern. “My dear?”

  “Oh, Bronson...” Evelyn could no longer hold back. She felt tears running soundlessly down her face. Why had Emilia not trusted her? Told her more?

  “What, dear? What has happened? Tell me. We can fix anything.”

  She smiled at him through her silent tears. “Oh, Bronson. I do hope so.”

  “Yes, we can. Tell me. What is it?”

  “Emilia has run away with someone.”

  “Emilia? Why?” Bronson stared. Then he grinned. “Is it a suitor?”

  “What?” Evelyn stared. “Bronson?” She had never considered that possibility.

  “What?” he smiled still. “It's not unheard of, dear. Emilia is a grown up, you know. And she has been widowed for two years now. She met someone she loves, perhaps?”

  Evelyn nodded slowly. As it happened, Emilia had met someone she loved. Even if she had said she did not trust him.

  Was that the person she had run to now?

  She stared at Bronson. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Thank me?” Bronson looked utterly confused. “Why ever would you do that?”

  Evelyn laughed. “For giving me an idea. I think I know where she has gone. And why.”

  “Oh.” Bronson nodded. “Good. But is it a good thing?”

  “It depends.”

  “Oh.”

  It depended on a lot of things. On who Oscar was. On who he knew. On whether or not he knew Lord Everett. On how much Emilia had told him of their progress with the case as well.

  Because if she told him we were going to trick Lord Everett, and then she disappeared immediately before we planned to, then it would only be natural for his friends to step in. To try and remove the threat.

  “Bronson?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Could you call the coach? I'm going out.” She had already stood and was walking to the door.

  “If you say so, dear.” Bronson looked dubious. “Could you say where?”

  “I would prefer not to – not yet.” Evelyn paused. “I have an idea, but it might be wrong.”

  “Can you tell me when to expect you back?”

  Evelyn smiled. “Yes, dear. If I am not back before midnight, please come and look for me. I will leave details about where to start looking in my desk drawer upstairs. Bring Jarvis.”

  Bronson nodded. “If you expect trouble, you should take him with you, though.”

  “True,” Evelyn paused. “I shall. If you need to fetch me, bring someone with you and take a hackney coach to the address I write.”

  He inclined his head. “Of course. Keep safe. Please?”

  Evelyn smiled. She turned and faced him. She took his hands in hers. “I will be as safe as I can be. And you are at my back, which makes me even safer.”

  Bronson squeezed her hands. “You are the light of my days. If aught happened to you, I would walk in darkness forever.”

  Evelyn felt her heart contract. Very gently, she leaned forward and kissed him on the brow. “And you are the candle in my window even in deepest night. I love you.”

  “And I you.”

  They stood there, Evelyn looking into his big brown eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Then, abruptly, she squeezed his hands and went to the door. “Janet?”

  “Yes, milady?” Janet was apparently in the parlor next door, for she appeared almost at once.

  “Call Jarvis and tell him to prepare the carriage. I'm going out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  FLEEING FROM LONDON

  FLEEING FROM LONDON


  “Oscar?”

  Emilia turned to Oscar, who sat beside her in the coach. They had changed coaches at Marylebone Street about thirty minutes ago and now rode in his personal one, which was unmarked and as inconspicuous as possible.

  “Yes, Emilia?”

  “That coach has been behind us for a long time.”

  Oscar blinked. He turned and looked out of the window, opening it and craning his head to look toward the coach Emilia mentioned. He abruptly sat down and pulled the window shut. He had gone white, Emilia noticed.

  “What, Oscar?”

  “That coach.”

  Emilia felt herself tense, suddenly. “What about it, dear?”

  “I know who's in it.”

  “Who, Oscar? Tell me, please?”

  “I can't say. That is, I don't actually know his name. However, I know who he is. If you know what I mean.”

  “Oscar, that makes no sense,” Emilia protested. “If we are in danger, I need to know more.”

  “I will tell you, I promise. But first we have to do something to lose this coach.”

  “I agree.”

  Oscar grinned at her, a sudden flash of white in the gathering dusk around them. “Good.”

  He reached up and banged on the roof of the coach. Then he opened the window.

  “Yes, sir?” The driver shouted down.

  “I want you to stop when we reach the road that crosses to St. Alban's. You know where the trees grow near the road? I want you to go off into the trees. Stay in the shadow. Wait for ten minutes, and then drive on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he finished the instructions and sat down again, Emilia gave him a stare. “He seems to be used to this.”

  Oscar chuckled dryly. “I suppose.”

  They rode on a while in silence. Emilia had noticed that the pace had increased somewhat, and now they went at a significantly faster pace. She guessed the driver had understood Oscar wished to lose their unwanted follower and planned to put as much distance as possible between them before he left the road. She wanted to look out of the window but did not want to risk the coachman of their follower seeing her, and so remained inside.