Lord Wentworth wasn't smart enough to drop his pistol, instead he directed it at Lord Martineau and said, “You have no proof that she is who you say.”
“You're right, I don't but I wouldn't risk it if I were you.”
Devon stepped forward adding, “Harm her in anyway and you won't live long enough to face the duke's wrath. I'll kill you with my own hands.”
“Not if I kill you first.” Elenore sucked in a breath of surprise, as she watched Lord Wentworth thrust the pistol into Devon's chest and pull the trigger. She screamed but the gag muffled the sound to an imperceptible noise. Time slowed as she watched Devon step back and clutch his hand to his heart. She clamped her eyes shut, feeling hot tears leak out of the corner of her eye and run down the side of her face. She refused to watch the man she loved die, for surely it would kill her too. She heard another shot ring out, and against her will, her eyes flew open to see what was going on.
She watched as Lord Wentworth slumped to the ground as Elliot lowered his pistol and turned to Devon. He pulled his hand away from his chest and laughed mirthlessly. “His pistol misfired.”
Elenore's eyes widened. Could it be true? She glanced from his chest to his hands, noticing a complete absence of blood. Her head grew dizzy, and she thought she might swoon from the overabundance of relief that washed over her.
Devon rushed over to the bed and quickly untied the bindings around her wrists, before scooping her into his arms. She had never been so grateful to be held in all of her life. She ran her hands searchingly over his chest to see for herself that he was not injured, ignoring the way they tingled as the blood began to flow once more with ease through her veins. When she was satisfied that he was alright, she collapsed against him and sobbed.
Devon ran his hand along the length of her brown hair as he shushed her. “You're safe. Everything is going to be alright.”
In the corner of the room, Elliot bent over Lord Wentworth and felt for a pulse. Once he found it, he straightened and turned to Lord Brattondale, “Unfortunately, he's still alive. We'll send for the authorities and let them deal with him.” Then, turning to a fearful Lord Grayson, he said coldly, “You're not going anywhere either. I'll stay here until the authorities arrive to ensure you don't try to run.” He waved his pistol in front of his face in warning.
Devon pulled Elenore into his arms and cradled her against his chest. He turned to his father and said, “Let's get Sister Genevieve out of here and send for the authorities.”
Lord Brattondale nodded in agreement, but as they made to leave, Elliot stopped them. “What did you call her?”
“Sister Genevieve,” Devon answered slowly.
Elliot surprised them all by laughing. “I do not know what she said to deceive you, but she is most certainly not a nun. I wasn't joking when I said that she's the duke's ward. She ran away a few months ago, and he has not been able to find her. I'm sure he'll be greatly relieved upon her safe return.”
Devon looked down on the girl in his arms. Was it possible that she had lied to him about her identity the entire time? His voice came out gravely, as he asked, “Is it true?” then waited anxiously for her response.
Elenore searched his eyes wishing she could explain to him why she had done what she had, but she suddenly realized that no amount of excuses made her subterfuge right. She had betrayed him. “Devon,” she began then dropped her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the pain hidden in their brown depths. “I'm sorry.”
Devon sucked in sharply before slowly releasing her from his arms and letting her slip to the ground. Elenore noticed the withdrawal of his emotions almost more than she felt the physical withdrawal of his body. She locked her arms tightly across her chest and felt her body shake with the emotion she was trying to conceal. She wanted so badly to explain things to him, but she knew her words would sound trite.
Next to her, Devon balled his hands into tight fists, turned on his heal and stalked angrily out of the cottage leaving her to gape after him hopelessly, her heart shattering into thousands of agonizing pieces.
Chapter 28
Devon felt numb as he returned to the main house, like the last few months of his life had been a lie. How could he have been so foolish to have allowed himself to be betrayed, to have allowed himself to fall in love with someone he didn't even know? He paused momentarily in the hall, unsure of what to do with himself. His natural instinct was to flee, to get as far away from Westbrooke Hall and Sister Genevieve, or whoever she was, as he could.
“Devon,” his father's deep voice called from behind him. Devon stood still, unwilling to turn and look at the man who he was becoming increasingly disgusted with.
His father came to stand next to him, “We need to talk.”
“I think it's a little too late for that,” Devon replied bitterly.
Ignoring him, his father continued, “I'm beginning to see that my actions have caused you a lot of damage, and for that, I want to apologize. You should never have had to witness that scene between your uncle and me, nor should you have ever had to learn the truth about our family’s dark secrets.”
Devon scoffed, “I don't regret learning about Charlotte. What I regret learning about is your callousness towards the poor girl. She's your niece, a part of your own bloodline, and you've allowed her to be raised as a common servant. You disgust me.” He knew he was being cruel, but the anger he was directing at his father was far preferable to the heartache that was threatening to consume him.
His father clamped his large mouth shut, his jaw pulsing in barely restrained anger. Devon knew that he was trying with all of his might to contain the fury building inside of him, and to his credit, he managed to remain silent.
“What are you planning on doing now? Are you planning to just sweep it under the rug and forget any of this ever happened? After all, I'd hate to see you lose such a loyal servant.”
“Enough!” Lord Brattondale finally broke his short silence. “I do not give you liberty to talk to me like that. I am still your father.”
Both men were caught in a battle of wills, as their eyes locked and both refused to look away. Finally, Lord Brattondale spoke, his voice unusually contrite as he confessed, “I don't know what to do concerning Charlotte. It won't benefit her to know the truth, for there is nothing her mother can do. Richard would never allow her to be the mother she has always longed to be, nor would society be willing to turn a blind eye towards her indiscretions.”
Devon didn't hesitate to respond, “She still has the right to know. Nobody deserves to be lied too.” Then, turning on his heel, he quickly retreated down the hall.
Lord Brattondale stared after his son, so many emotions whirling through his body, the forefront being shame. He was ashamed of himself for the way he had dealt with his son. The disgust that was evident in Devon's voice when he spoke to him was enough to make him want to scurry to his room and hide. He had never wanted to let his own son down, and now he had, in so many different ways. He vowed to start by making at least one of his mistakes correct.
Lord Brattondale felt out of place, as he slowly walked into the kitchen in search of Tabitha, trepidation written all over his face. The portly cook glanced up at him, her eyes widening in surprise to see him. “Can I help you, my lord?” She asked anxiously, hoping that his unusual visit did not mean something was wrong.
“Yes, I'm looking for Charlotte. Do you know where she is?”
“She just left to go dust the dining room.”
“Very good, thank you.” Lord Brattondale took slow, deliberate steps towards the dining room, dread filling him at the conversation he knew he must have with the girl. He didn't like the guilt that consumed him at Devon's disapproval of his choices regarding his niece. He had thought at the time that what he was doing was best for the child. He had rationalized that a lifetime of servitude in his house was better than a lifetime spent in an orphanage, and he still felt that was correct. But now, he felt regret for not doing more, for not providing her wit
h a better life than that of servant.
Entering the dining room, he paused in the doorway to watch, as Charlotte stood on tiptoe to dust one of the paintings on the far wall, her back to him. He smiled shyly as he watched her. He had always held a soft spot in his heart for the girl, even going so far as to treat her with greater kindness and familiarity than he did any of the other servants in his employ, maybe as a way to make up for her unfortunate lot in life, of being born on the wrong side of the sheets.
Charlotte finished dusting the frame then turned to move to the other side of the room. She gasped in surprise when she spotted the earl standing in the doorway, “Pardon, my lord, you startled me.”
Taking a step into the room he said, “Please forgive me, I didn't mean to. I came to speak with you.”
Charlotte dipped her delicate chin in a nod, prompting him to continue. “Please have a seat. What I have to say might come as quite a shock.”
The pair moved gingerly towards the long, wood table taking up the majority of the room, each remaining silent as they sat. Lord Brattondale was hesitant to speak, unsure of how to break the news to her of her true parentage.
Finally, when he could tell the silence was making her uncomfortable, he spoke. “I have something long overdue that I need to tell you. There is no easy way for me to say this, and I probably would never have told you had I not been prompted, but now I see that it's important for you to know.”
“You are making me nervous, my lord. Whatever is wrong?”
“I haven't been truthful with you regarding your birth. Your parents never worked for me and neither are they dead.”
“What?” Charlotte asked, confusion marring her lovely face.
“You weren't born a servant. You are the illegitimate daughter of my sister, Gertrude. I am your uncle.”
Charlotte clamped both hands over her mouth, as her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Slowly letting her hands fall from her mouth, she replied, “Surely you jest. What is the purpose of you telling me this, my lord?”
Lord Brattondale didn't blame her for being confused, the revelation must seem to her as if it was coming from nowhere. He didn't have the energy to explain every last detail to her of why he was choosing to tell her the truth now. Instead, he chose to start from the beginning, relaying the circumstance of her birth and his role in her upbringing, intentionally withholding the facts about his accepting money as compensation for keeping her a secret from the ton.
When he had finished explaining everything, she surprised him by speaking, her voice shaky with emotion, “You mean I have a family?”
He couldn't help the tears that formed in his eyes, obstructing his vision of the girl. Devon had been right; she did deserve to know the truth. “Yes, you have a family.” And he knew that no matter the outcome, no matter what she chose to do, he would treat her as such for the remainder of his days.
“I have a family,” she repeated airily, as if the truth was slowly sinking in.
“You must forgive your mother; she only did what she had to. It nearly shattered her soul to leave you behind, but it was the only thing she knew to do. I promise to give you the opportunity to meet her---that is, if you would like to.”
Charlotte was in a stupor. The information she had just received was so hard for her to process, everything seemed surreal, so she opted to sit in silence.
“I'm not sure how it will change your life...” he let his sentence trail off, reluctant to get her hopes up.
She nodded soberly, “I understand.”
“You do?” he asked.
“Of course I do. I'm not ignorant of the way things are in society. Besides, I like my life here at Westbrooke Hall. I am content.” Lord Brattondale marveled at her calm assurance. “I know that meeting my mother will not change anything, besides knowing the woman who gave me life, which makes no difference to me. If it makes no difference to you, I'd like to stay here at Westbrooke Hall. I'd like for life to continue on as normal. The servants have become my family, and it would pain me greatly to leave.”
“It would pain me as well,” he confessed truthfully.
Charlotte smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you for your kindness towards me, for taking me in and giving me a better life than I would have surely experienced elsewhere. I'm deeply indebted to you.”
Lord Brattondale ruffled at her praise, feeling it was undeserved but relieved nonetheless at her calm acceptance of the life she had been given. “If you ever change your mind and want to meet her, that can be arranged,” he offered, compelled to do all he could for the girl.
Rising from her chair, she moved to stand next to him. “I won't. The servants are my family now and you,” she added as an afterthought.
Lord Brattondale smiled, a glimmer of happiness piercing his old, crusty heart, feeling for the first time that he had done the right thing by her and feeling grateful that he had.
Chapter 29
Elenore had thought her life had reached an all time low at the cottage when Devon had been informed of her betrayal and his subsequent refusal of her as he had walked out without a single word. She had been wrong, however. The events of the last few hours had been infinitely worse.
After the authorities had arrived at Westbrooke Hall and questioned her intensely, they took a barely coherent Lord Wentworth and a defiant Lord Grayson into custody, ensuring them all that it would be a long time before either of them saw the light of day, when charges of kidnapping where brought against them both. Lord Martineau had insisted that they all return immediately to London so that Elenore could explain herself to the duke and duchess and be held accountable for her actions. If she didn't like the man before, she definitely didn't like him now.
The ride back to London had been awkward and highly uncomfortable, as she sat in the carriage next to Lord Martineau, with Devon and his father on the seat across from her. Devon refused to look or speak at her the entire ride, so she was forced to listen to Lord Martineau gloat about his recently acquired wife and child. It seemed as if much had happened in her absence, and though she should be happy for him, she didn't wish to hear about his happiness when hers had been shattered.
Now she sat in the duke's drawing room, her hands clasped together anxiously in her lap, as she waited for the him to appear. She wished she would get the opportunity to speak to him in private, but Lord Brattondale and Devon had been instructed to stay in the room. It seemed her humiliation was destined to remain public.
Clearing his throat, the duke entered the room. “Miss Ogglesby, what a surprise to see you here. I think you have some explaining to do.”
Elenore lifter her chin to meet his eyes and wished she hadn't. Though his voice sounded calm, his eyes flashed obsidian. She gulped before muttering the only words she seemed to be able to say, “I'm sorry.”
The duke marched over to stand directly in front of her. “Sorry? Is that the only thing you have to say for yourself? You ran away and disappeared for over two months, leaving both my wife and me heavy with concern, and the only thing you have to say for yourself is that you're sorry?”
Elenore's lower lip quivered as she raised watery eyes to his, but she couldn't speak beyond the lump in her throat.
“I want a full report of where you have been and what you have been doing. Why did you leave? Don't you realize that if your brother would have returned to find you absent he would have wrung my neck? He trusted me to care for you and protect you.”
It took several minutes of swallowing to get to the point where she felt like she could speak. Though the duke intimidated her, she made sure that she looked directly at him as she spoke, if only to avoid having to look at Devon. She couldn't endure the pain she saw every time she looked at him.
“I don't really have a good excuse for what I did, except to say that I never felt like I belonged in society.”
“You’re a baron's daughter, of course you belong.”
“No, that isn't true. I wasn't raised the way most ladies of t
he ton were raised. I felt increasingly stifled by the rules of propriety and always being made to feel as if I didn't measure up. I craved adventure that life here in London did not provide, so I decided to leave and find it for myself.”
The duke listened intently to everything she was saying as she described her intent of sailing to America and the odd encounter she had with Olivia that led to her being disguised as a nun. When it came time for her to relay the part of the story involving Black Lightening, she hesitated, unsure of what to say that wouldn't implicate Devon.
When it became clear that she wasn't going to continue, the duke asked, “How did you end up in Surrey at Westbrooke Hall?”
“Well...I um, it's kind of complicated...” she stammered awkwardly.
For the first time since the cottage, Devon spoke, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I had an encounter with Miss Ogglesby at the inn, and thinking she was truly a nun and not being informed otherwise, asked her to come to Westbrooke Hall to care for Father. When she told me she was attempting to make her way to America, I offered to help aid her in gaining passage, in exchange for her time nursing and caring for Father.”
The duke looked at his father-in-law curiously. “Why would you need a nurse?”
Lord Brattondale cleared his throat nervously before responding. “I hadn't been feeling well, and Devon needed someone to care for me while he spent time in London enjoying the season.”
Pierce nodded then slowly turned his attention back to Elenore. “So, you are meaning to tell me that you spent the last several months living at Westbrooke Hall caring for the earl?”
“Yes,” she answered quietly.
Turning to Devon, the duke asked pointedly, “Where you often present at the estate?”
“On occasion.”
The duke leaned back on the sofa and was thoughtful for a moment before he spoke. “Well then, as Miss Ogglesby's ward, I will be forced to do the right thing by insisting that arrangements be made for you two to wed before the season is over.”
Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman Page 21
