Edward bowed his head, cradled it in his hands, thinking of the last time he had seen his parents. They said goodbye on the quay as Edward left to take his father’s latest ship to a buyer in America. A grand adventure, his first solo voyage, meant to give him some experience in the business that would one day be his own.
If only he had been here, maybe…Maybe they would still be alive. Maybe Dora would not have been left alone to deal with the monster it appeared she had married. He and Anna would be together. He would not have lost seven years of his life.
He looked up to find Mr. Graham gazing at him with almost unbearable sympathy.
“So, your lordship,” the older man said. “What kept you from home for so long?”
Edward blinked. “Your what?”
Mr. Graham looked at him as if he were an imbecile. He certainly felt like one. “You are now Baron Tisdale. Did you forget?”
Edward shook his head and smiled grimly. “This has been a bit of a shock. The line of succession didn’t really enter my thoughts.”
In the ensuing silence, Mrs. Graham bustled back into the room and regarded first Edward, then her husband. She frowned and flicked the older man on one ear with her thumb and forefinger.
“You told him! With not an ounce of sympathy, I suppose. Look at the poor boy. White as a sheet.” She rushed to Edward and enfolded him in her warm embrace. The smell of home curled around his nose—flour, lavender soap, and an indefinable scent that was all her own. It was all he could do not to sob like a baby.
Finally, he pulled away and smiled sadly at the older couple. They were as much a part of his childhood as his parents had been, perhaps more. He certainly saw them more than he had his father when he was growing up.
“What of Anna?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “How is she?”
Mrs. Graham’s lips pursed in disapproval. “Never mind her, my boy.”
Edward was confused. Mrs. Graham had always loved Anna. She had been as welcome in the Masons’ house as she was in her own. Mrs. Graham had often told him she looked forward to the day when Edward and Anna’s children would be underfoot at the manor; she was so convinced the two would wed. She had been right—they did wed, after a fashion. But seven years had gone by, seven years apart. There were no children for Mrs. Graham to dote upon, no grandchildren for his parents to spoil.
Edward was suddenly weary. It must have shown on his face, for Mrs. Graham clucked sympathetically. “Come along, lad. It’s off to bed with you. There’ll be time to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders tomorrow.” She pulled him from his chair and gave him a quick embrace, as if she had to keep touching him to be sure he was real. “It’s good to have you home.”
Edward allowed himself to be led upstairs to a vacant room. A fire flickered in the grate, casting shadows upon the wall. After she left, he crawled into bed, too tired to remove his clothing, or to reflect on the fact he had never before been in this room in his own house. For all his worry, all his grief, he was asleep within minutes.
****
Anna Templeton wiped down the bar with a damp cloth as the last patron stumbled out into the drizzly night. She tossed the rag aside and headed for the door, intending to lock it behind him and check on the boy upstairs. Instead, the door burst open, and David Weston strolled in.
“Good evening, Miss Templeton.” He removed his hat and flicked the moisture off the brim before he hung it and his coat on a peg by the door.
Anna sighed. “Last call was an hour ago, Mr. Weston. We’re closed.”
“Surely you can spare a few minutes for a drink with a friend.” He didn’t wait for an answer but took a seat at the bar and waited patiently for her to pour him his customary whisky.
She sighed again. She was in poor shape indeed if he was any friend of hers, but she stepped behind the bar to pour the drink.
“Did you have a successful night, Miss Templeton?”
“Good enough,” Anna said with forced nonchalance. She had no wish for Weston to know how much her nightly take actually was. After what he had done to Mason Shipyards, she did not trust him as far as she could throw him. Given that he weighed at least ten stone, she didn’t think that would be very far at all.
Weston sipped slowly, watching her over the rim of his glass. She knew he wanted to marry her, although she couldn’t think why. Pregnant at seventeen, thrown out by her parents and forced to fend for herself and her child, she was a fallen woman. Not exactly the catch of the season. She thought fleetingly of Edward, wondered again why he had abandoned her. Short of death, she thought grimly, there was no excuse she would accept.
Now she tidied up behind the bar and ignored Weston, until he finally said, “When are you going to marry me, Miss Templeton, and let me make an honest woman of you?”
Anna stiffened. “Such a romantic, you are, Mr. Weston. How could I possibly refuse?”
“Does that mean your resolve is weakening?” Weston asked, a glimmer of hope in his beady eyes.
Anna pressed her lips into a thin line. “No, it does not. I have no desire to marry anyone. I have no time for men.”
Weston downed his remaining whisky in a single swig and gently placed the glass on the bar. “Sooner or later, I will make you an offer you can’t refuse, Anna.” He skirted around the bar and grabbed her hand. She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next, prepared to slug him if necessary. As if sensing her resistance, he simply raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Templeton.”
Anna willed herself not to flinch as his dry lips rasped over her skin. She could not afford to alienate him—he owned at least half of the town—but she was finding it difficult to continue to hide her revulsion whenever he touched her.
“Good night, Mr. Weston.” She followed him to the door and secured it behind him.
Blowing out the sconces that lined the walls, she trudged wearily up the stairs. She locked the door to her rooms behind her, then headed to the chamber at the end of the hall and quietly inched the door open.
Her son Zachary slept soundly. She moved toward the bed and brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead. She loved to watch him sleep. During the day, he was forever getting into mischief, independent beyond his six years. At night, he was angelic, so innocent, she could almost forget how much he resembled his father when he was awake.
Anna planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead and slid out of the room. Returning to the sitting room, she poured herself a tot of whisky and downed it quickly, shuddering as the liquid burned its way down her throat. She readied herself for bed, then crawled under her coverlet. Gaze fixed upon the ceiling, she tried not to think of Edward, of that last kiss they had shared, until finally, she fell asleep.
Chapter Two
The next day dawned gray and wet, a misty rain covering the landscape. Mrs. Graham had installed him in one of the larger rooms in what had once been the servants’ hall. She had been apologetic, but Edward was grateful. It was far better than his cramped quarters on board the ship, and even though he didn’t receive the homecoming he expected, it was still home.
He dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Edward sat at the table and allowed Mrs. Graham to fuss over him. She brought him more food than he could possibly eat, then left to tend to the laundry. Mr. Graham remained, lingering over his coffee.
After a short silence, he gestured at Edward with his cup. “You never said last night where you’ve been for the last seven years, lad.”
Edward hesitated. He did not want it to become common knowledge he had been in prison for most of those years. He looked at the older man’s earnest face. He had been a second father to Edward; he deserved the truth.
“I was in prison.”
A raised eyebrow was the only response.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
“I figure you’ll tell me when you have a mind.”
“I didn’t do what they ac
cused me of doing,” Edward said, a touch defensively.
“I figured that, too.” Mr. Graham pulled out his pipe and his tobacco again, and the only sounds were the clink of Edward’s cutlery on the plate, and Mr. Graham’s steady puffs on the pipe. The air filled with the sweet, familiar smell of Graham’s tobacco. Edward closed his eyes and inhaled. He could almost believe he was seventeen again, and nothing had changed.
“That how you got that scar on yer face?” Mr. Graham asked, after a moment.
Edward opened his eyes and fingered the raised mark that ran down his cheek. He was definitely not seventeen. “No, I got that at sea. I arranged to work on a merchant ship in exchange for passage to England, after the war. We were boarded by pirates in the South China Sea. One of them gave me this.”
“China, eh? Didn’t tell the missus that, did ye?”
“Of course not. She would fuss.”
“Hmmph.” Mr. Graham drew on his pipe, the smoke swirling around his head like a halo. “So, now yer back, yer lordship. What do ye plan to do?”
“I thought I’d go down to the shipyard today, after I call on Anna.”
“Hmmph,” he grunted again. “What shipyard?”
Edward frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what shipyard’?”
“Haven’t heard about that either, I expect. Well, you’ll see fer yerself, lad. ’Tis a fine mess you’ve come home to, and no mistake.” He unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and shuffled off before Edward could ask anything else.
****
After breakfast, Edward ventured to the stables, which had survived the fire intact. Only one hunter remained in the magnificent stable he and his father had maintained, and a cart horse the Grahams must use. Galahad had been a foal when Edward left, and he snuffled with interest as Edward entered the stall. The horse snorted in evident satisfaction and gently butted Edward with his head. Edward was probably being fanciful in thinking the horse recognized him, but he stroked the hunter’s nose and whispered reassuringly as he saddled him. How long had it been since anyone had ridden him? Graham was a bit long in the tooth to be riding a spirited mount like this one, and Edward couldn’t even begin to imagine Mrs. Graham on a horse. As if reading his mind, Galahad seemed eager to be receiving some exercise.
“You and me both, Galahad.” He gave the horse his head.
They raced across the fields along the cliffside, the beast reveling in the freedom as much as Edward. After a detour down to the beach, free of sea bathers at this time of year, he returned to the cliff path and followed it until he saw their neighbors’ home. Anna’s home.
Leaving his mount with a stable boy, he knocked on the front door. The Templetons’ butler, Grayson, opened the door. The man’s eyes momentarily widened, but that was the only indication anything at all was unusual about Edward’s unexpected appearance on their doorstep.
“Good morning, Grayson! It is wonderful to see you.”
“You as well, Mas…My lord.” Grayson stumbled over the greeting as he obviously recalled Master Edward was now Baron Tisdale, and Edward felt a pang in his gut as the same awareness hit him.
Edward thought for a fleeting moment of asking Grayson to call him Edward, but knew the man would never contemplate doing such a thing. A more proper English butler did not exist, he suspected. He sighed inwardly and said, “Is Anna…Miss Templeton at home?”
Something flickered across Grayson’s implacable expression, and Edward wondered again what the hell was going on. Before he could say anything else, Grayson said, “If you’ll just wait one moment, my lord, I will see if Mr. Templeton is available.” The butler pivoted stiffly on his heel and escorted Edward to the morning room.
Edward gazed around the comfortably cluttered room, with its massive windows facing the sea. He had spent so many hours in here, taking tea with Anna and her mother. Mrs. Templeton had always been kind to him, if a bit scatterbrained. He wondered how she fared.
He rose as the door opened, and Mr. Templeton entered. Well, Edward thought, he hasn’t lost that forbidding countenance. As stern as his wife was sweet-tempered, Mr. Templeton had never been a terribly welcoming man. As Edward watched the tall, bald man enter, he suspected he had only become even less so.
“Edward. I admit to some surprise at seeing you here. I should not have thought you would show your face.”
“I have always been welcome here. I realize I have been gone for a long time, but I don’t understand why that should have changed.”
“Edward,” Mr. Templeton said with exaggerated patience, “you promised to wed my daughter, and then you disappeared for seven years.”
“It was not my fault! I was…” Edward stopped. Revealing he had been in prison would not help his cause. “Detained.”
Mr. Templeton’s faded red brows rose halfway up his forehead. “Detained? For seven years? My daughter was ruined, and all you can say is that you were detained.”
“Where is Anna?”
“She is no longer welcome in my house. I don’t know if you were directly responsible for her current situation because she would not tell me, but you certainly contributed to it.” He moved to the bell pull and tugged on it. Grayson entered the room almost immediately. “Show Baron Tisdale out, please. He is no longer welcome in my house, either.”
Edward was terribly confused. Templeton had never been friendly, but he had never been hostile. Something dreadful must have happened to Anna, and his mind reeled as he imagined the possibilities.
Templeton looked down his beaky nose at Edward. “Good day.” He turned and left the room, leaving Grayson to escort Edward out of the house. The butler ignored Edward’s attempts to gain an explanation for this strange treatment, pinched his lips into a thin line, and said nothing.
Edward found himself staring at the closed, heavy oak door of the house, more confused now than when he stood before the ruins of Dora’s house a few days before. In the past two days, he had been given no answers, only more questions.
****
From Anna’s house, he set out on the four-mile ride to Wallsend. He had never quite understood why his father had built their house in Tynemouth, so far from the shipyard. He suspected it had something to do with his mother’s love of the sea. As children, Edward and Theodora had spent hours on the beach with her, swimming, scouring for shells and other evidence of sea life, telling stories, and watching storms roll in. It had been a glorious childhood, and Edward’s chest tightened as he remembered again his parents were gone.
As he drew closer to the shipyard on the northern bank of the River Tyne, he spotted a young boy racing across the road. The boy turned and glanced at him, giving a carefree wave as he ran toward the river. Edward smiled and waved back, and only after he had ridden for a bit longer did it occur to him that the boy rather resembled him. The same dark eyes and hair, the same cowlick. So alike that the boy could be his own child. He remembered running down the same street with the same heedless disregard for traffic.
He amused himself with memories, the boy forgotten, until he arrived at the shipyard. Edward’s first clue something was amiss was the sign over the drive. The modest wooden sign his father had carved with his own hands had been replaced by an ornate gate that read “Weston Shipyards.” Edward stopped his horse and looked around. Could he be in the wrong place? No, some of the other landmarks were just as he remembered them.
He proceeded up the drive, his stomach churning with unease.
****
All around him were signs of a busy shipyard, but sounds were oddly muted. There were none of the raucous shouts and laughter that had characterized the yard when Edward had last been here. Edward filed this curiosity away in his mind for later. Several ships were dry docked, and from what Edward could see, several more were in various stages of construction.
After dismounting, he tied Galahad to the rail outside the main building. He climbed the stairs to the office that had been his father’s, and his grandfather’s before him. In place of the heavy
oak door that had secured the office for decades, there was a new glass door with Weston’s name in gold paint. He opened it, taking in the luxurious furnishings.
A clerk looked up from the papers on his desk and plastered on a cheery smile. “Good morning, sir. May I assist you?”
Edward stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether to reassert his authority or simply gather additional information. The clerk was clearly confused, and his eyes flicked away from Edward’s face toward the office door to his right.
Making his decision, Edward said with an American accent, “I should like to see Mr. Weston on a matter of business.”
“Of course, sir. And who shall I say is inquiring?”
“A gentleman from America.”
The clerk frowned; he was clearly used to visitors who were more forthcoming. Edward gazed coldly at him, watching the man squirm under his regard. Finally, he must have decided he would get nothing else. “Please do sit down, sir,” indicating the plush chairs along the wall. “I will see if Mr. Weston is available.”
Edward nodded but did not sit. Instead he gazed at the pictures on the wall. In place of the delicate seascapes his mother had painted were dark, oil paintings featuring ships in various stages of distress on stormy seas. Interesting choice, he thought.
He turned at the sound of footsteps as the clerk returned to the room. “Mr. Weston will see you now, sir. If you’ll come this way, please?”
The man led him into the inner office. When his father had been alive, the office was full of light oak furniture, piled high with papers, comfortably lived in. Now the room was dominated by an ornate mahogany desk, behind which loomed a large chair facing the window with a view to the yard. The clerk gave a discreet cough and withdrew.
Edward stood there for several minutes, getting more irritated with every passing second. Finally, the chair swiveled around, and Edward caught his first glimpse of David Weston in seven years. He seemed smaller than Edward remembered, but perhaps that was the effect of the enormous chair in which he sat. His hair was thin but unnaturally black and glossy, as if he used a dark pomade.
Secret Promise Page 2
