His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6

by Sophie Barnes

  “Bats,” Richard said. Spinning toward her, he pulled her down to the ground without warning and flung his cape over her head just as the air stirred to life around her. Mary instinctively felt like leaping to her feet and running, especially when the bats dipped low enough to brush against her back. She shuddered in response, huddling closer to Richard who knelt beside her, his arm draped securely around her waist.

  “Are they all gone?” she asked when it was once again quiet.

  Pulling his cloak away from her, he helped her to her feet. “I believe so.” He continued forward while she followed hesitantly behind, ready to duck down again if the need to do so arose. A few more paces and she heard him suck in a breath.

  “What is it?” she asked, edging closer to where he was standing.

  “Something that is bound to astound you.”

  Curious, she hurried up alongside him and peered through the yellow haze illuminating the space beyond the tunnel as Richard held his lantern forward. It took a moment for Mary to comprehend what she was looking at, all things considered. Eventually, she said, “This appears to be a foyer.” It wasn’t nearly as large as the one inside Thorncliff Manor, but it was impressive in its own right, the floor a mosaic of intertwined ropes, spiraling disks, animals and warriors, combined in the most intricate pattern that Mary had ever seen. The ceiling was flat, though beautifully painted in bright shades of blue and red. Across from where they stood, a thick pair of columns marked a doorway.

  “My lady?” Richard inquired.

  “It is beyond compare,” Mary whispered, scarcely able to believe that she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Speaking of Romans, I believe that they are the ones who built this.” Stepping forward, he headed in the direction of the doorway. “The architecture is reminiscent of their style.”

  Shaking her head in dismay, she went after him. “Under the ground like this? It makes no sense.”

  With a shrug, he said, “Unless they knew about the cave, built the tunnel to allow for easy access to the sea, and then constructed this room as some sort of transitional area.”

  “I suppose anything is possible at this point,” Mary agreed. Even so, she wasn’t quite prepared to discover a hallway beyond the doorway—least of all one with a sweeping staircase at the end of it. On either side of the hallway were a series of rooms, each concealed by a wooden door similar to those inside Thorncliff.

  Unable to contain her curiosity, Mary reached for the handle closest to her and pushed down. The door swung open, revealing a room that was equally Roman in style, though the furnishings suggested that it had been used in more recent years. Any doubts that this might have been the case were immediately eliminated by the presence of a large painting that hung on the wall—an impressive portrait of the former king.

  “It looks as though this might have been used as a study,” Richard said, peering past Mary’s left shoulder.

  She stepped aside so he could enter the room properly, watching as he walked across to the large desk that formed the centerpiece. “Anything of interest?” she asked when he opened a drawer and pulled out a book.

  He didn’t answer immediately, flipping instead to the first page and taking a moment to read. Too curious to wait for Richard to offer an explanation, Mary hastened over to where he stood and looked down at the text herself. It appeared to be the title page of a personal notebook, reading simply: The Cardinal Truths.

  Mary frowned, uncertain of what that meant. Richard turned the page, revealing an elegant script that seemed to fill the entire page. At the top was a date. 1780. Below it, Mary read:

  Our duty, as described below, defines us. It runs through our veins and keeps us on a steady course, guiding us in the name of justice. We are the defenders of the weak and the protectors of the poor. Our sacred oath is first and foremost toward God. May He give us strength and courage in the years to come.

  “Do you recognize the handwriting by any chance?” Mary asked.

  There was a brief hesitation before he answered. “As a matter of fact, it bears a striking resemblance to my late grandfather’s.”

  “Your grandfather’s?”

  Richard nodded absently. “He was a close friend of Lord Duncaster’s father.”

  “So then, Lady Duncaster knows you well?” She hadn’t realized, though it did explain the countess’s insightful words when she’d spoken of Richard.

  “Yes. Or rather, she used to. Our families have been close for as long as I can remember.” Closing the book, he placed it just as they had found it. “It is growing late and we have been gone for longer than I expected. We ought to return to Thorncliff.”

  “And abandon our search?” It felt as if he was asking her to do the impossible. “At least take the book with you.”

  He shook his head. “I feel as though it would be wrong of me to remove it from here. We can come back tomorrow, preferably at an earlier hour if you can manage it.” Turning toward her, he forced her back a step. “But if your aunt discovers that you are not in your bed where you are supposed to be—”

  “I claimed a headache like you suggested and insisted upon a good night’s rest,” Mary said, determined to argue his point. “She will not disturb me.”

  “Nevertheless,” he insisted, already pulling her toward the door. “If she finds you gone, then you can forget about coming back here any time soon or of ever seeing me again.”

  Knowing how right he was, Mary reluctantly followed him out of the room, surprised to discover that it was almost two o’clock in the morning by the time she returned to her bedchamber. She’d spent over three hours in Richard’s company, yet the time had flown by, making it feel like no time at all.

  Careful not to make a sound that might wake Amy, whom Mary had insisted should go to bed, Mary snuck inside her room and closed the door gently behind her. It didn’t take too long for her to undress, thanks to the gown she’d selected, which wrapped across her front and fastened at her sides. Letting down her hair, she then pulled on her nightgown, attended to her toilette and climbed into bed before retrieving the book that she’d brought up earlier in the day from the library: Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage.

  Fluffing up her pillow, she leaned back with the book in her lap and opened it, determined to get a better idea of who Richard might be. He’d mentioned siblings, and the way in which he’d spoken of his parents suggested that they were still alive. Considering all the people she’d seen at dinner since her arrival at Thorncliff, Mary looked up each family in turn, checking to see if any of the peers had a son, or even a nephew, named Richard.

  Of course, there was every possibility that he might have given her another fake name. In fact, the thought had just occurred to her by the time she reached the Earl of Oakland’s family. Her index finger trailed below the fine print listing the earl’s name, his date of birth, title and parentage, along with other relevant information. Next was a mention of his wife, with similar details attached, followed by their issue: Christopher Maxwell Heartly, Viscount Spencer, born, 1790. Below him, Mary found Spencer’s sister, the Duchess of Stonegate’s name, along with a mention of her previous marriage to the Earl of Newbury, and then . . . Richard Anthony Heartly.

  Her breath caught and she sat up straighter, leaned forward and continued to read. Born, February 27, 1795, at Oakland Manor in Wiltshire near Swindon. Fought at the battle of Waterloo, 1815. Reported missing in action.

  It had to be him. The coincidences were just too great.

  Setting the book aside, Mary scooted down beneath her blankets and turned down the light. Her heart felt jittery. No wonder Lady Duncaster had been willing to vouch for him. She’d been right. Richard . . . Mr. Heartly, that was . . . did indeed come from a very good family. And if she married him . . . Good lord, she could scarcely breathe at the very thought of such a possibility.

  She bit her bottom lip, not wanting to ruin her excitement with thoughts of her brother and the duty that she had toward him. Wincing, she turned on
her side. Mr. Heartly worried that she would not care for his appearance, but at least his actions were commendable. She, on the other hand, was a scandal waiting to be discovered. And yet, he had approved of her singing, so perhaps he’d understand? Perhaps he might even be willing to help her deal with her brother’s difficulties? It would be so much easier to share the burden with someone, but would he be open to the idea or would he judge her harshly for what she’d chosen to do?

  One thing was certain: she wouldn’t know until she told him the truth.

  Chapter 10

  Four days later

  “Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Mary’s aunt asked. The two of them were sitting in the zoological salon where wildlife murals of exotic animals and plants graced the walls.

  “Perfectly so,” Mary said, a little surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because it has not escaped me that you have been rising later than usual for several days now.” Lady Foxworth peered at Mary from behind her spectacles. A maid arrived with a knock at the door, bustling in with the tea tray the ladies had ordered. As soon as she was gone, Lady Foxworth said, “I fear you might be ill.”

  “Well, if you will recall, I have had a headache almost every evening for close to a week,” Mary said, reaching for the teapot and beginning to pour. “And then of course there is my ankle to consider.” Much to her annoyance, she’d sprained it three days earlier, preventing her from exploring the villa any further. The only positive outcome had been Richard’s insistence on carrying her to and from the cave so she could at least continue singing.

  “My point exactly.”

  “But I feel much better now.” Eying her aunt, Mary slid one of the teacups across the table in her direction. “I have had to socialize a great deal more than usual since coming here so the rest required by my injury was not completely unwelcome.”

  Sipping her tea, Lady Foxworth nodded. “Yes, it can be quite exhausting, having to speak to other people all day, though I must admit that I do enjoy the change. It is a departure from our otherwise tranquil life.”

  Mary didn’t argue, though she did momentarily wonder how her aunt would react if she knew that Mary’s life was far from tranquil. “How are things progressing with Mr. Young?” she dared ask. “Has he shown you any of his experiments?”

  Lady Foxworth’s eyes lit up. “Oh, indeed he has! Truthfully, he is such a kind man, Mary. I have enjoyed his company immensely these past few days and shall hope to continue doing so.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” Mary said, and then she added, “You should invite him to Dunholm in the fall. I am sure Vicar Brinsley would be happy to have him stay at his home for a week so that Mr. Young can call on you at Foxworth House during the day.”

  “I . . . I really don’t know,” Lady Foxworth hedged, her cheeks flaming as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “I am not so sure that we know each other well enough yet for me to suggest such a thing.”

  “Perhaps not yet, but I do believe that you will by the time we leave Thorncliff.” Mary paused a moment before adding, “Imagine showing him your telescope, Aunt Eugenia. I daresay he would be quite impressed!”

  The smile that graced Lady Foxworth’s lips belonged to that of a young girl fresh out of the school-room. Raising her gaze, she looked at Mary. “I think you might be right about that.” She reached for a sweetmeat and turned a little more serious. “But what about you? How are you progressing with the young gentlemen here? Do you find either Rotridge or Belgrave pleasing?”

  Suppressing a shudder, Mary sat up a little straighter and proceeded to tell her aunt the truth. “Belgrave has proven himself to be most agreeable—a true gentleman through and through.”

  Lady Foxworth inclined her head. “This sounds promising.”

  “Except for the fact that there is no spark.”

  “No spark?”

  “Precisely. In fact, I fear a marriage between the two of us would be somewhat bland and . . . lacking any degree of passion.”

  Lady Foxworth’s eyebrows rose. “Have you been reading fanciful novels recently?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, but if I marry—”

  “If you marry?” Lady Foxworth’s eyes widened with horror while her voice conveyed her alarm.

  Mary bit her lip. “What I meant to say was when.” Her aunt breathed a visible sigh of relief, as did Mary. The fact that she’d seriously been considering spinsterhood until recently wasn’t a conversation that she wished to endure at present. “When I marry, I would like for it to be for love. Mama and Papa have both allowed me to try and do so.”

  “And how much longer do you suppose that will take?” Lady Foxworth raised an eyebrow. “In my estimation you are extremely fortunate to have gained Belgrave’s attention. To receive an offer from him would be quite splendid.”

  Mary was aware. But her heart could not be controlled by the promise of a title. Instead she found herself increasingly drawn to a man whose face she’d not yet seen, though she knew it to be scarred. He didn’t know that she’d discovered his true identity and she had made no further mention of any desire that she might have to see his face. Instead, she allowed him the time that he needed to accustom himself to the idea of her knowing him so well.

  “Mary?”

  She blinked, her mind abandoning the memory of the time that she and Richard had spent in each other’s company these past few days and the pleasure that she felt when she sang for him. Instead, she forced herself to return to the conversation that she was having with her aunt. “You are right, Aunt Eugenia. But I need to know that I am making the right choice before I commit to spending the rest of my life with someone. And frankly, if I am to be honest with myself, none of the eligible bachelors I have met since my debut has been able to hold my interest. Not even Belgrave.”

  Lady Foxworth snorted. “If you ask me, they cannot all be lacking, Mary. Are you sure the problem does not lie with you?”

  Mary sat back. “With me?”

  Lady Foxworth nodded sharply. “You are too picky.”

  Of course she was, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Instead she countered with, “I liked Signor Antonio well enough. A pity that you would not allow me to spend more time in his company or I might have been on my way to the altar already.” A stretch perhaps, but a valid argument nonetheless. At least to Mary’s way of thinking.

  “You must understand why I could not allow for you to continue associating with him.” Lady Foxworth paused a moment before adding, “Although, if he is a guest here, as he surely must be, then you must have crossed paths with him since the night of the masquerade. He has to be one of the gentlemen among us, which means that unless he happens to be Lord Belgrave, then he has yet to approach you without wearing his costume. The fact that he has not done so only confirms the fact that he is not deserving of you.”

  Mary felt her lips flatten in a tight smile. As always, her aunt’s thought process was logical, even though it happened to be completely wrong in this instance. But Mary couldn’t tell her that. Not without the risk of being prevented from seeing Richard again. So she simply nodded her head in agreement and said, “You are probably right.” Determined to return to their initial topic, she said, “As for Rotridge, however, please don’t ask me to spend more time with him.”

  Lady Foxworth frowned. “Has he done something to displease you?”

  Mary didn’t want to talk about how disturbed she was by the earl’s strange advances, but she didn’t want to lie any more than necessary either, so without answering the question, she said, “He has made it clear to me that he requires an heir.”

  “So . . . not the love match you were hoping for?” Mary shook her head. Lady Foxworth raised her chin and studied Mary closely. “It is not an uncommon reason though, for marrying someone, that is. Perhaps there is something else that I ought to know about?”

  Mary’s shoulders slumped. She averted her gaze. “He enjoys sniffing my hair.”

  A brief
silence clung to the air between them. “How positively peculiar,” Lady Foxworth eventually said.

  “I did not enjoy it in the least,” Mary admitted. “In fact, there was something horribly unnerving about it—like being forced to sit still while a large spider crawls all over you.”

  “An unpleasant experience indeed,” Lady Foxworth murmured. “I shall have a word with Lady Duncaster, but I doubt she can ask him to leave unless there were witnesses.”

  “There were not,” Mary said. Richard wasn’t an option.

  “Nevertheless, I will make every effort to ensure that he keeps his distance from you from now on. A pity since you would have ended up spending part of the year as your grandfather’s neighbor. I know how fond you are of him.”

  It was true. Mary had always been close to her paternal grandfather—perhaps because she’d been her father’s only child. “I would rather visit him a bit more often than marry Rotridge in order to become his neighbor.”

  Lady Foxworth nodded sadly. “And to think that I was encouraging you to spend more time with him!”

  Seeing the distressed look in her aunt’s eyes, Mary leaned forward and clasped her hands between her own. “Please, you must not blame yourself, Aunt. You are not at fault here.”

  Lady Foxworth nodded. “No, but apparently I have more work ahead of me than I had thought. Since neither Belgrave nor Rotridge will do, we must consider other gentlemen if you are to leave Thorncliff with an agreeable offer.” She rose to her feet while Mary tried not to look too dissatisfied by such an idea. “Not to worry though. I asked Lady Duncaster to make a list of the most eligible gentlemen currently staying here, as well as those who plan to arrive before we depart. There are fifteen in total.”