by Cheryl Holt
“No, I don’t.”
“Can you imagine what your continued presence is doing to her?”
Lily could only say, “Yes, I can imagine.”
“How long will you tarry? How long will you hurt her? When will the scandal become sufficiently hideous that you’ll go away?”
Lily kept staring at the rug, feeling petty and horrid and very, very foolish.
From the beginning, she’d been aware that she didn’t have a chance with a man like John Middleton, yet she’d stupidly succumbed to his seduction. She’d persuaded herself that it could work out, that he could actually look beyond convention and tradition and wed her rather than Violet Howard. But it had merely been a dream.
“He could have loved me,” she contended, needing to hold on to the fantasy a bit longer. “He could have married me.”
Esther scoffed. “Violet Howard is a duke’s daughter. Her dowry contains tens of thousands of pounds. A plantation in Jamaica. A villa in Italy. Factories in Massachusetts. A shipping company in Portugal. What do you have that could compare with any of those?”
Just me, Lily pathetically thought. Just me and all the love I carried in my heart for him.
She didn’t think anyone had ever loved John Middleton, but perhaps, from his perspective, it didn’t matter. If you were rich, and you could have even more ships and money and property, how could a paltry emotion like love possibly count for anything?
“I will give you two choices, Miss Lambert.” Esther cut into Lily’s miserable reverie. “You’re a smart woman; you’ll do what’s right.”
“What are they?”
“You know the first one. You stay on in Scotland as John’s mistress, but then, you’ll be renowned far and wide as the Earl of Penworth’s whore.” Lily flinched at the derogatory term, and Esther paused. “Is that the future you’ve envisioned for yourself, Miss Lambert?”
“No.”
“Or you may pen the letter of resignation I’ve requested and depart for England. If you will, I’ll pay you two month’s wages as severance, and I’ll send a glowing letter of recommendation to Mrs. Ford at the Ford Employment Agency. That way, you’ll rapidly garner another post. What is your decision?”
Lily was drowning and had been thrown a rope. Still, she said, “May I talk to Lord Penworth?”
“He declines to meet with you, and he hopes you’ll understand his position. He’s embarrassed by his conduct and distressed at how it’s leaked out as crude gossip. Violet is mortified, and he wants the issue resolved quickly and quietly and with a minimal amount of discomfort for her.”
“Oh.”
So . . . it was all about pretty, wealthy, aristocratic Violet Howard. Could Lily really have expected any other conclusion?
How ludicrous to believe that Lord Penworth would have sided with her after the affair was exposed. She’d always comprehended the precariousness of her situation, that the liaison would bring her nothing but trouble, and it had.
Now, she had to extricate herself from the mess she’d made.
She could pick the harlot’s existence, could loiter on the edge of his world, praying he tossed her a few crumbs of attention. Or she could return to England and build a new life for herself.
From the day she’d initially interviewed with him, she’d recognized him as a man of duty and responsibility. He had obligations to his family and his title that didn’t—and never would—include her.
She didn’t belong with him, and even if by some absurd stroke of fate he’d agreed to marry her, she would never have wanted to be a countess. She wouldn’t have had the slightest idea how to comport herself in such an elevated, bizarre realm.
Violet Howard would know. Violet Howard would fit right in.
Lily disliked Esther immensely, and Esther had no kindly intentions toward Lily, but she had stepped forward and offered Lily the means to move on. It was that fact, more than any other, convincing Lily of the truth: Esther was acting on Lord Penworth’s behalf. Esther was passing on his instructions.
He was doing what was best for Lily. He was doing what he could to save her reputation, to salvage something from catastrophe. If the end result was much less than she’d anticipated, much less than she’d dreamed, what did it signify?
“Yes,” Lily murmured, “I’ll write the letter. What would you like me to say?”
Chapter 21
“EXPLAIN yourself to me.”
“Well . . . uh . . .”
John stared at Edward, who—of course—could not explain himself, and the moment stretched to infinity.
They were in the castle library, with John seated behind a desk that no longer looked to be his own. His inkpots and pens had been removed, the desk drawers emptied or rearranged, as Edward made himself at home.
John lifted a stack of papers, copies of letters mailed to his lawyers and bankers, notifying them of his demise. He was an important man, his business affairs wide-ranging and complex, so it was only natural that associates be apprised.
It was the question of when they’d been apprised that particularly galled.
He waved the letters at Edward. “What have you to say about these?”
“People had to be informed.”
“Before you started digging? Were you that certain I wouldn’t return?”
Edward’s cheeks flushed with chagrin. “Mother thought it wise to seize the reins quickly.”
“You’re blaming this on Esther?”
“No. I agreed with her. I felt a smooth transition was imperative.”
“I’ll just bet you did.” John fumed. “You ordered a new coach, restocked the wine cellar, purchased a wardrobe, and authorized a remodel of my London bedchamber—and I wasn’t cold in the ground. Much less in the ground.”
“Sorry, old chap. Priorities, don’t you know?”
“Edward?”
“Yes.”
“Shut the hell up or I will come around this desk and beat you to a pulp.”
Edward’s features were still bruised from the pounding Dudley had administered, and John wouldn’t mind imparting another.
They’d occasionally brawled when they were boys, but John hadn’t given Edward a sound thrashing since he was fourteen. Whenever Edward had been reprimanded, Esther was always so upset that John had stopped making him pay for his petty crimes. But it might be a good time to begin again.
An enormous amount of satisfaction would be gleaned from feeling his fist smash into Edward’s smug, unrepentant face.
“Aren’t you curious,” John inquired, “as to where I spent the morning?”
“You were out at the west tower.”
“Can you imagine why?”
“I assume you went to see the scene of the calamity.”
“Or perhaps I went to see the scene of the crime.”
John was leveling a filthy allegation, one that would tear the family asunder and sever his relationship with his brother forever.
Did it matter? Did John care?
The sad answer was: not very much.
“What are you implying?” Edward hesitantly broached.
“I was accompanied by our neighbor, Phillip Dudley. He told me a very interesting story.”
“What was it?”
“The rescue workers were almost into the grotto. He insists Miss Lambert and I would have been located the next day.”
“How bloody prescient of him.”
“Someone ignited a charge in the tunnel, to destroy it so I couldn’t be saved.”
“Dudley has proved himself a violent fiend. I didn’t realize he was a geologist, as well.”
“The whole neighborhood felt the explosion.”
“Really? We didn’t feel it here in the castle.” Edward sipped his whiskey, exhibiting what was—for him—an abnormal calm.
“Why would Dudley spin such a wild tale?”
“He’s a madman. He assaulted me—for no reason—and threatened to have his sister poison me. Then he showed up at the memorial se
rvice and put a curse on my mother. If you hadn’t come back, I’d have had him hanged by now.”
“Lucky for him, then, that I’m alive.”
“Yes, it is.”
Fratricide was an ugly term, and John hated to have it popping up, but history was replete with accounts of brother killing brother in order to inherit title or land or money. Could Edward have behaved so despicably? Was he truly that greedy?
“Where is Barbara, Edward?”
“I heard that she’s staying with the Dudleys.”
“How did that happen?”
“She and my mother had a bit of a tiff, and Barbara decided to leave.”
John scowled until Edward fidgeted.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Edward, that I talk to my servants? Has it ever occurred to you that they might have told me what actually transpired?”
Edward scoffed with derision. “You’d take a servant’s word over mine?”
John raised a brow, but didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
A lengthy interval ensued, where they angrily glared, but Edward never could best John. Not in games as a boy. Not in their school lessons. Not in their adolescent sporting contests. Not in their business associations or societal status.
In every way, John had always been the superior brother—bigger, stronger, smarter. It was why John had inherited everything from their father, and why Edward had been given a small trust fund that was dispersed by John. Their father had had no illusions about either of them.
“It has recently dawned on me,” John said, “that when you are on the premises, I should fear for my personal safety.”
Edward’s temper flared. “What are you saying?”
“Did you try to kill me, Edward? Did you blow up the staircase so I couldn’t get out?”
“How dare you hurl such a contemptible accusation!”
“I notice you haven’t denied it.”
Edward vehemently shook his head. “I may be many things, but I’m not a murderer.”
There was a significant pause, where John could have accepted the declaration, where John could have forgiven him and smoothed over the impasse.
Ultimately, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t try to harm you!” Edward asserted. “I don’t know what caused the collapse, but it was none of my doing. I swear it.”
John stood. “You’re going back to London in the morning. The maids are already in your room packing your bags. I suggest you go up and supervise their preparations.”
Edward stood, too, and he held out a hand, as if in supplication, but at the moment, John was beyond courtesy or absolution. There might come a time in the future when they could reconcile, but it was far in the distance.
“It is my intent,” John explained, “that you and I will never again occupy the same lodgings. When I arrive in London in a few weeks, I expect that you will be happily ensconced in your bachelor’s apartment and out of my sight.”
“John, don’t be like this.”
“Unless I specifically send for you, you will absent yourself from my surroundings. Should you need something from me, deliver a written request to my London clerk. You have his address.”
Edward’s cheeks reddened further, and John couldn’t decide what was fueling his heightened emotion. Embarrassment? Rage? Fury at being banned from John’s presence?
Edward garnered many boons from being John’s brother, from attending his parties and eating at his suppers. Most likely, his upset was driven by the fact that he would no longer be able to help himself to the wine stock when he stopped by for a free meal.
John nodded toward the door. Livid, Edward spun and marched out, and John was relieved to have him go.
Esther would leave in the morning, too, as would the twins and Violet. John would be alone with Lily while he figured out how to proceed with her.
He hadn’t seen her since they’d burst into the chapel during the memorial service. They’d been separated by the crowd, and his reappearance had created such a stir that he hadn’t had a chance to slip away and be with her.
No doubt she was confused by his conduct, but he’d been busy with many pressing issues that—in light of Edward’s shenanigans—couldn’t be ignored.
First, he’d wasted hours being doctored for injuries he’d sustained in their dark and treacherous escape. Next, he’d spent a good portion of the afternoon and evening with his land agent, drafting letters to revoke the power Edward had seized.
By the time John had fallen into bed, it had been very late, and he’d been too exhausted to visit Lily.
Then, shortly after dawn, Dudley had shown up, demanding that John accompany him to the old dungeon to review Dudley’s evidence of perfidy. Upon John’s investigation, his entire life was suddenly in flux.
His betrothal was up in the air. His brother and stepmother couldn’t be trusted not to murder him, and he’d ceased to care about the twins or his obligation to them.
His experience with Lily had altered him, had forced him to understand that he needed to make different choices and consider other options. She would be front and center in any new situation, and he was excited to tell her.
He left the library and climbed the rear stairs to her bedchamber.
There had been terrible gossip about her—he’d heard some of it—and he’d sent word through the housekeeper that she should stay out of sight to avoid any discomfort.
In the meantime, he’d arranged for the family’s exodus so he and Lily could have the castle all to themselves. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he told her of the changes he’d instituted. Just for her. Just to make her happy.
He rapped on the door, then walked in, but he was befuddled by the scene he encountered. Her possessions had been removed, and the furniture was covered with sheets.
She isn’t here . . . she isn’t here . . .
He couldn’t shift his thoughts beyond that point.
Hurrying out, he stopped a maid to ask about Lily, only to learn that she’d departed early that morning.
“Departed?” he gasped.
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know, milord. Your stepmother would have more information.”
Esther! He should have guessed.
While he’d been putting out the fires Edward had ignited, Esther had been perpetrating further mischief. She hadn’t yet realized that the pendulum of authority had briefly swung in one direction, but it had swung back swiftly enough. If she’d behaved horridly to Lily, John would wring her scrawny neck.
He stormed to her boudoir and entered without knocking. He was about to unleash a blistering tirade of questions and commands, when he noticed Esther wasn’t alone.
Violet was with her. They were seated together on the sofa, watching the door, expecting him to arrive. He was momentarily confounded, and his bluster waned.
Since his return, he hadn’t spoken to Violet, and he wasn’t about to speak with her now. What was he to say?
I’ve been having an affair with your companion, and I’m not sorry.
“John, there you are,” Esther said. “Please join us.”
She gestured to a chair across from them, but if he sat in it, he’d have to stare at them while they chatted. He couldn’t bear the notion.
“Violet, would you excuse us? I need to confer with Esther.”
Violet bristled, but she couldn’t refuse him. Grudgingly, she stood, her lips pursed with fury.
“I will go,” she replied, “but I must know one thing before I do.”
“What is it?”
“Are you still planning to marry me? If so, I would hear your affirmation at once.”
“Wait outside,” was his response.
“Should I take that to mean that your answer is no?”
“You should take it to mean that I would like to speak with Esther—without you being present.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to verify
your promise to me? Is it because you have decided to break it?”
This was not a conversation he was ready to have. Nor was it the setting in which he would have it. He was anxious over Lily’s whereabouts, and he merely wanted to talk to Esther about her. Was it too much to ask that he could have some privacy while he did so?
“Go down to the library,” he insisted. “I will meet you there shortly.”
He forced himself to calm, forced himself to remember that it had been a traumatic week for everyone. They had all been operating under extreme stress, and she was only eighteen.
“I won’t go to your library,” she retorted with unusual temerity. “I won’t waste another second wondering what you are about to do.”
He sighed. “What would you have me say?”
“You have made me a laughingstock throughout the kingdom. Will you jilt me, too?”
“Wait for me in the hall.”
He took her arm to escort her out, but she yanked away.
“I will tarry for fifteen minutes,” she snapped. “If you do not emerge to inform me that your commitment is firm and unshakable, then we shall have nothing more to discuss.”
She stomped out and slammed the door, leaving him with Esther. Esther studied him with a stony expression, and his own wasn’t any better.
He was aggrieved over the power she’d usurped, over her treatment of Barbara. While his feelings for Barbara were conflicted and complicated, he would never have cast her out without a penny.
“Where is Miss Lambert?” he started.
“Why on earth would you feel it appropriate to mention her?”
There was a tea tray on the table in front of her, and as if she hadn’t a care in the world, she leaned over and poured herself a cup.
“Where is she?” he demanded more sharply.
“Honestly, John, Violet is standing just outside. Lower your voice or she’ll hear you shouting your paramour’s name.”
“I don’t give a damn about Violet.”
“Really? With how you’ve embarrassed her, you’re lucky she’s willing to proceed with the marriage.”
He marched over, grabbed teacup and saucer away from her, and banged them down so hard that the saucer cracked in half.
