The Daughter of an Earl

by Victoria Morgan

  In a daze, she followed his movements. His tender gesture cut through her grief and severed her stunned immobility. Her heart thundered, and a protest sprang to her lips. She needed to do that.

  She refused to let him go. She would not lose Brett. He was alive. The darkness could wait. Brett needed her.

  With unsteady hands, she shrugged off Prescott’s jacket, and knelt beside him in the tight confines of the cab’s floor space. “Let me.” She moved Prescott’s hands aside, and gently brushed her fingers through Brett’s hair. She gazed at his ashen features, the long lashes, and his body so ominously still. She pressed her mouth to his ear, whispering the words of her heart. “Hold on. Hold on for me. I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  GOOD lord, is he all right? What the devil happened?”

  Her father’s booming voice rolled off Emily, so intent was her focus on directing Prescott to Brett’s bedchamber. Sully supported Brett beneath his arms while Prescott carried him by the legs, and she hovered beside the two men—close to Brett.

  She shoved open the door to his room and dashed ahead to yank back the bedcovers. “Gently!” she cried, biting her lip as they lowered Brett onto the bed. The site of his still form, pale features, and the ominous blood-soaked cravat that bandaged his head tore at her already frayed nerves.

  She cursed her shaking hands as she leaned over to remove Brett’s boots, but her father’s grip on her arm drew her back. “I need—” she began.

  “It is all right, Emily,” Prescott interceded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let me tend to him for a minute. He is my cousin, I love him, too.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but her father’s housekeeper Petie then rushed into the room and hurried to assist the men. With reluctance, Emily allowed her father to draw her away from Brett’s side, but kept her eyes locked on his figure.

  “Emily, what happened?” her father said gently.

  She moistened her lips to respond, but she stammered, finding it difficult to articulate the words. “He was . . . he was shot, but he will be all right. Daniel has sent for Doctor Malley. Prescott told him to duck, but he . . . he did not heed the warning because he was protecting me. He . . . he lunged at the cab to shut the door. I had opened it. Why did I open it? He told me not to, to wait inside, but I . . . it is my fault. I never should have . . . I . . .” She was babbling, could not seem to stop until her voice broke on a sob.

  “Shh. None of that.” Her father drew her into his arms and held her tight. “It is not your fault. That fault belongs to the man who pulled the trigger. It is his alone to carry. Brett Curtis vowed to protect you, and he did. He is an honorable man, and you would not love him so if he was anything less.”

  “He is reckless and foolish . . . and thickheaded,” she cried, drawing deep, ragged breaths.

  “And that is fortunate considering the location of his wound. He is strong; he will come through. After all, he has you to fight for.” Her father pressed his handkerchief into her hand and drew back to smile at her.

  “Well, I—”

  Doctor Malley’s arrival curtailed her response. She turned to follow him, but to her annoyance, her father once again intervened.

  “Please, love, let the doctor see to him,” he said gently but firmly. “Brett is all right for now, but you are not. You have been through a shock. Once the good doctor finishes, you can return. Prescott will get you should he wake or you are needed.”

  “Well, I . . .” Conflicted, she glanced over her shoulder, but seeing Doctor Malley lean over Brett, Prescott close beside him, she nodded. “Just for a minute.” She let her father guide her into the hall, but then whirled and grasped his arm. “Melody and Miranda!” Good lord, she could not forget Brett’s sisters.

  “They are at the park with Julia, the twins, and Jonathan. They will—”

  “Sully must collect them. Instruct him to do so immediately. They need to be here. They will want to be with Brett should . . .” She paused, unable to finish the thought. “They will want to be at his side during this time. He must not be alone.” She pressed a hand to her head as she fought to collect her scattered thoughts. To push aside the shock and grief that warred within her.

  “No, of course not. We will arrange a bedside vigil. Everyone can take a shift.”

  But she needed to do more. Surely there was something she could do or she would go mad.

  She tamped down that thought as well and pressed an unsteady hand to her brow.

  “Here, you need to sit. You cannot help him if you do not have a care for yourself.” Her father guided her to a nearby chair and collected another to move it beside her. “Ah, here is Agnes. She will sit with you while I see how the doctor fares. I will return for you as soon as he is finished.”

  She nodded jerkily. She did not like to concede it, but Julia had always been better at nursing wounds than she. She cursed her squeamish stomach and unsteady hands.

  “He will be all right, miss. He is fighting strong,” Agnes said. “Besides, he needs to do right by you. Marry you properly.”

  Emily emitted a hysterical laugh. The man was so bullheaded that she could almost believe he would not deign to let a mere bullet to the head thwart him. Leave it to Agnes to know just what to say to her.

  She drummed her fingers on her thigh, unable to sit still, strung so tight with nerves. She was better at planning—with Brett. She closed her eyes, but then immediately opened them.

  Drat and damnation.

  She should have thought of it immediately.

  Brett was not safe so long as Drummond remained free.

  She needed to find Winfred. She dug out the note from her skirt pocket, the one Winfred had ostensibly penned, and whirled on Agnes to thrust it impatiently at her. “I need you to return to Halford’s and show this to the footman who rooms with Winfred. Ask him if this is Winfred’s hand.” Emily desperately wished to go with Agnes, but she refused to leave Brett.

  Agnes frowned. “You think it is not?”

  “I wonder if it was a trap. Those men were after Brett. They could have killed Prescott or Daniel, but the only shot fired was at Brett.”

  Agnes blew out a breath. “Of course, miss.”

  “You told me you are friendly with the footman who shares Winfred’s room. I know you have spoken to him on this matter before, but it is now imperative that you press upon your friend our need to speak with Winfred very soon. Each day Winfred does not come forward further endangers himself and others.”

  “I will, miss. Ralf will assist me.” She winked at Emily. “I think he fancies me.”

  “I have no doubt,” Emily said, a half laugh escaping her. “And Agnes, if Winfred is there, you must convince him to come here. I must speak to him as soon as possible.”

  Agnes bobbed her head. “That I will, miss. I promise.”

  Emily bit her lip as Agnes scurried off. It might not be enough, but it was something. She glanced up as the door to Brett’s room opened and her father reappeared, waving her inside.

  She almost mowed him down as she dashed to reach Brett’s bedside.

  Later Miranda and Melody joined her vigil. And that was where Agnes found her when she returned from her errand.

  Emily turned, her pulse racing at the beaming smile that split Agnes’s face.

  “Winfred has sent word! He is returning tomorrow and will come here directly.”

  Expelling a breath, Emily grasped Brett’s hand and squeezed. Perhaps, just perhaps, this nightmare was winding to an end.

  “EMILY, SIT. BURKE said he would bring Winfred here as soon as he arrives, and your wearing a hole in the carpet will not expedite matters,” Julia said.

  Emily turned, her hands cupping her elbows. “I cannot. That is all I have been doing. All I could do until now.”

  After spending a night sitting vigil in the easy chair
in Brett’s room, her body had paid the price. She felt aches and pains in muscles she did not know she had. When others had shared her watch, she had been able to sleep on the nearby settee, but her rest was fretful and uneasy. Doctor Malley’s assessment of Brett’s recovery had haunted her.

  The good doctor had launched into a lecture on the complexity of head wounds and the complicated workings of the mind. He ominously pronounced that only time would tell the true nature of Brett’s injury. The wretched doctor then sought to alleviate their concerns with reassurances that on the other hand, Brett could wake up speaking impeccable Latin. She snorted. Brett’s Latin was atrocious, so his prognosis looked bleak indeed.

  “What was that?”

  Daniel’s question startled her, and she waved her hand airily, but froze when Burke appeared at the door to the drawing room.

  “Mr. Reginald Winfred,” he intoned. After Winfred entered the room, Burke discreetly departed, closing the drawing room doors behind him.

  Heart hammering, Emily stared at the young man. He was slight of stature, with a shock of brown hair peeking out of his hat and wide brown eyes that surveyed their group. He clutched a satchel against his chest, and her breath caught at the sight of it.

  It was a large leather portfolio.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach. She recognized it, having purchased the case for Jason just before he had embarked for India. It was her parting gift, and she had even taken care to have his initials sewn into it.

  Winfred removed his hat and dipped his head. “It is just Winfred. I rarely acknowledge the Reginald part, but your butler seemed insistent upon the matter.”

  “Welcome, Winfred, and thank you for coming,” Julia said, keeping a straight face, but her lips twitched. “Please, have a seat. There is much to discuss.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Winfred said.

  Emily took her seat on the settee beside Julia, while Daniel and Winfred settled in the chairs across the coffee table.

  “Allow me to apologize, Lady Emily,” Winfred began. “I would have returned the viscount’s portfolio to you much sooner had I known you were looking for it.” He leaned over to hand the satchel to her.

  She caught her breath and laid it almost reverently on her lap, running an unsteady hand over the battered leather. Half of her wanted to tear it open and dig inside, but the other half of her had questions for Winfred. “Not that I am not grateful for your care of Jason’s personal effects, but I am interested to know how you came to safeguard this particular item and for so long.”

  “Well, it is where the viscount kept his diary and his personal correspondence. Why, he saved every letter you wrote to him. As it was private, he directed me to safeguard it in the false bottom of his trunk. When the viscount died, I thought it was right that the trunk go to you, per his request. You should have your letters back, and I knew you would take good care of his diary.”

  “So if the portfolio was sent to Emily with Jason’s trunk and then on to the Bransons, how did you next acquire it?” Daniel said, breaking the silence that had followed. At Winfred’s hesitation, Daniel continued. “Please, you can speak freely here. You are among friends who appreciate your coming forward.”

  “I was residing at the Bransons after the viscount’s funeral and was there when the viscount’s trunk was delivered. When I heard his brother planned to turn the contents over to Mr. Drummond, I took the portfolio into my safekeeping. It was personal, you understand. I did not want that man to have it, refused to let him touch the viscount’s things,” he said, sneering at the reference to Drummond.

  He turned to Emily. “I planned to give it back to you. But when your father delivered the trunk, he explained that it was too difficult a reminder for you. I thought perhaps later when you were married and had someone else to care for, you might be ready then.”

  Emily blinked back her tears, and clutched the portfolio to her chest. “Thank you, Winfred. You were right and kind to think of that. I shall be forever grateful to you.”

  Winfred flushed, but gave a shy smile.

  “You did not care for Mr. Drummond?” Daniel said, returning to Winfred’s earlier comment, his tone neutral.

  “No, Your Grace, I did not,” Winfred said curtly, his smile fading.

  “Is there a particular reason for your opinion?” Daniel pressed.

  “There is,” Winfred snarled. “I know a trickster when I see one. The man had a shifty manner about him, and he was always sniffing about the viscount’s room.” He drew a deep breath, and again spoke directly to Emily, his expression contrite. “I should have come forward sooner, but I had no evidence against the blackguard, just suspicion. I also had heard what happened to Mr. Marsh when he spoke up, so I did not think anyone would listen to me, a mere servant.”

  “I understand, Winfred. It is all right. I, too, wish I had acted earlier,” she said.

  “Well, I was right glad you wrote to me. After my room was ransacked, I asked for a week’s leave. I took the time to visit Mr. Marsh, who you had warned me had been recently assaulted and that is why you had concerns for my safety. I had not seen Mr. Marsh since the viscount’s funeral. He confided to me your plans to implicate Mr. Drummond in the viscount’s death. He asked me if I could help, particularly in finding Drummond’s valet.” He straightened in his seat and lifted his chin. “I can, and that is why I am here.”

  Emily squeezed Julia’s hand so tight she sucked in a sharp breath. “Winfred, do you . . . have you found evidence that could implicate Mr. Drummond in the viscount’s death?”

  “I have,” he stated, staring her straight in the eye. “When Marsh told me about your investigation, I took the rest of my week’s leave to find Mr. Drummond’s former valet, who left his employ after the viscount’s death. I found out why he left. He was afraid, because he overheard Mr. Drummond berating a sepoy for his inaccurate shot at the viscount. Mr. Drummond said he was to kill the viscount, not wound him, so the man did not deserve the full amount that Mr. Drummond owed to him.”

  “Good lord,” Daniel breathed.

  Emily gave a sharp cry and covered her mouth. Julia’s arm curled around her shoulders.

  “He said more, too. He said Mr. Drummond had opium stashed in his room, and it was gone after the viscount’s death. I saw Mr. Drummond leave the viscount’s room right after he died. It was Mr. Drummond who gave the opium to the viscount. I do not know how he did, but he must have done so, because that is what they say killed the viscount.”

  She sagged in her seat. She knew it! She had been right. Right all along. She wanted to cry in anguish and shout in triumph.

  “Drummond will hang,” Daniel declared. “Will Drummond’s former valet testify to this? Is he willing to speak to a magistrate? More important, we need to ensure his safety until he does so.”

  “He is. He was scared to do so, but I convinced him to step forward. I told him the viscount’s brother would no doubt give him a generous reward if Billy did so. If we both gave our testimonies. But I—” He paused to swallow. “I can do no less for the viscount. I just wish I could have done something sooner.”

  Recovering, Emily smiled at Winfred. “This is enough, Winfred. Jason would be proud of your stepping forward like this.”

  Winfred flushed, and ducked his head.

  “We have Drummond on charges of attempted murder, but let us see if we can implicate him on embezzlement as well,” Daniel said, and nodded toward the portfolio.

  Still reeling from the turn of events, Emily blinked. “Yes, of course.”

  “Oh, my mistake, the key.” With a sheepish look, Winfred leaned over to hand it to her.

  Not daring to breathe, Emily unlocked the satchel, slid it open, and extracted a stack of envelopes. They were tied with a rose-colored ribbon that she recognized as one of her own. Through a blur of tears she ran her finger over Jason’s name and address t
hat was penned in her hand.

  She recalled Winfred’s words. He had kept all your letters. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and smiling wistfully, she hoped they had given Jason the same comfort that his had given her.

  After a moment, she reached back into the satchel and withdrew Jason’s diary. Not ready to review its contents, she placed it with the letters, exhaled, and then removed the hefty leather-bound ledger that barely fit into the confines of the portfolio. She held it in her hands for a moment, her pulse racing.

  She opened the ledger to the middle, and then gave a choked laugh. “He has not made my journey easy.” Reams of columns and rows with figures were scrawled across the page in Jason’s meticulous hand.

  Daunted, she flipped through the pages, and then caught her breath when a sheaf of paper slipped loose. Curious, she lifted it and her eyes widened. “My pardon, I spoke too soon. What was I thinking? Of course, Jason would neatly tie up all his accounts. He was so meticulous about his work, would never leave anything to chance. He used to try my patience when he gave detailed instructions in regard to a simple task or problem, but not this time. For once, being annoyingly, wonderfully, magnificently fastidious is his most admirable attribute.” She lifted her face and smiled through the sheen of tears blurring her eyes.

  “What is it?” Julia took the sheet, her eyes skimming over it. “Good lord. It is all here in painstaking detail. It is Jason’s testimony to the embezzlement of funds and then a full accounting of Drummond’s culpability.” She laughed and turned to Emily, her eyes shining. “Do you understand what this means?”

  Daniel beamed at Emily. “Of course she does. You probably never doubted that you would succeed, because once you set your mind to something—”

  “—there is no talking you out of it,” Julia finished with a laugh. “I am so proud of you. So very proud, and so is Jason. I just know he is smiling down at you, never doubting that this moment would come. It must be why he sent the trunk to you.”