Neddy fell into step with him as they walked from the graveyard back to the waiting carriage. In their muted black ensembles, they were perfect duplicates, their red hair luridly bright against the dark velvet. Only their stocks and shirts were white. Yet they remained steadfastly different. Few saw it, but little things separated him from Ned, small but fundamental things.
‘How badly has she left you off?’ Neddy asked as the crested landau pulled away from the cemetery gates. ‘I know her creditors have been circling like vultures.’
Rumours of Lucy’s illness had spread surprisingly fast, considering they’d kept themselves confined to the Onnerley estate. All manner of folks had washed up at his door demanding their dues. ‘Nothing too colossal, and only her mantua-maker made any fuss. The poor woman hadn’t been paid since Lucy and I married, but she was too worried about losing custom to risk making a fuss prior to her death.’ She’d been the first to arrive with a bundle of logbooks and receipts in hand to substantiate her claim. He’d paid her extra just to be rid of her and out of fear over who would turn up next. If news of Lucy’s illness had spread, rumours of her involvement in Lyle’s injury would surely follow. But they never did.
‘Still no word?’ Neddy asked, accurately interpreting the direction of his thoughts.
‘Nothing substantial, only what Drummond’s managed to glean from the locals.’ Lyle’s valet had come to him in despair after Hill dismissed him without warning or references and for no discernable reason. The man had done his best for Lyle, which made his treatment all the more abominable. The best Darleston could do was offer him a position – one that predominantly involved keeping tabs on the goings-on at Field House. Things had been overly quiet there for far too long, although the residents had been stirred up somewhat over the last sennight.
Damn Lucy to the eternal pits of hell, she’d given him naught but anguish and taken from him the only good thing of recent years. No matter how much he longed for it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever see Lyle or Emma again. His only consolation was that there’d been no similar entry to Lucy’s in the newspapers, announcing Lyle’s interment also.
‘You could have gone back and insisted upon seeing them.’
Darleston turned his head to the window and watched the green field rolling past. If only it were as simple as Neddy made it all sound. He’d known when his carriage left Field House that there’d be no returning; to insist upon it even now would only provoke a scandal. Lucy might be dead, but he doubted whether Hill’s outrage over the unlawful conduct in which he and Lyle had engaged themselves had calmed in the least.
‘What are you going to do, Rob?’
‘Wait. I don’t see that there’s anything else that I can do. I don’t even know how they feel about me after what happened.’
It was Neddy’s turn to peer out of the window. Although accepting of his foibles, Darleston knew his brother still found the topic uncomfortable. Ned thought nothing of hopping into bed with another man providing they had a maid to share, but exchanging affections with another man beyond some playful ribbing was a step beyond his comprehension.
Regardless, Darleston pursued the topic. He needed to vent, and Neddy was the only one prepared to listen. ‘They’re everything I want, Neddy. Lyle always was. I just never dared think about what might have been after he’d been packed off to India. There seemed no sense in making an issue out of something that I’d already lost.’
Neddy’s gaze remained steadfastly set upon the sheep outside. ‘I know how much it hurt. I heard you sobbing through the night. It’s why I brought you together. I didn’t know if you’d still feel the same way but, when I saw Lyle again, he was carrying that same sort of lonely shroud I’ve seen you wear. I never anticipated you making Emma part of it. I’d heard the rumours about her iciness.’
Darleston stared hard at the back of his twin’s head until Neddy turned to face him.
‘I don’t have any answers, Rob, other than for you to walk away and start afresh somewhere else now that you’re free of Lucy.’
‘You don’t mean me to do that.’
Neddy bowed his head. ‘No, but someone had to state it as an option. You’ve wasted years of your life already, waiting for something that was never going to happen. I don’t want to see you stagnate like that again.’
‘It won’t happen.’
The flicker of irritation that briefly furrowed the space between Neddy’s brows betrayed his doubts over that, but Darleston chose to let it go. He had no intention of allowing things to carry on like this indefinitely. At some point either Emma or Lyle or both would appear in public, and then he’d be there. Hill could warn him off, but he couldn’t prevent them meeting outside his territory. His main fear, however, was not Hill, but that it had been Lyle and Emma’s decision to shun him. They hadn’t spoken after the shooting. He had no way of knowing how much that one incident had influenced their thoughts. Perhaps they saw him now as a passing summer folly, something best forgotten and never spoken about. It would kill him to hear that, but one way or another he had to find out.
* * *
Two weeks later
‘We’re leaving, Father. It doesn’t matter how much you object to it. Lyle is recovered now and we have our own property to tend.’ That was explanation enough for their departure, without bringing up the myriad other reasons why they were so keen to hurry away. He’d kept them here as virtual prisoners for nearly three months. For much of that time she’d had no choice but to weather his scrutiny and disdain. He’d only softened his censure a little when he saw how much effort she’d put into saving her husband’s life. He’d been genuinely pleased to see Lyle recover, so she guessed he’d shuffled all his low opinions onto Darleston’s shoulders. It was easy to blame someone who wasn’t present and already had a reputation as a fiend. She hadn’t heard a good word spoken about the entire Darleston clan since the day they’d left Field House.
‘Your sister is missing. How can you even think of going home?’ Mr Hill blocked her path across the hallway, though there was still room to flit past him.
Emma looked up at her father’s wrinkled brow and saw his fears and loneliness. ‘Amelia is not missing, father. She’s eloped. I’m sure we’ll hear from her in a week or so.’ Her sister wanted nothing more than to be able to return home a wedded woman and show off her new husband.
‘And this elopement doesn’t bother you?’
‘No. I’m afraid it doesn’t. It was her choice, her mistake to make, if that’s what it turns out to be, though I don’t believe it shall.’ She had initially wondered, just like her father, if Amelia’s interest would wane through lack of contact, but her love for Harry had remained remarkably steadfast. ‘She loves Mr Quernow. It’s who she wants to spend her life with, and you like him father, for all your grumbling.’
‘He was a fine secretary is all I said.’ Mr Hill placed particular emphasis on Harry’s former role.
‘Well, perhaps he will be a particularly fine son-in-law too. He’s more interested in your business of prize-fighting than Lyle will ever be.’ And more able too, after what had happened, she might have added but didn’t.
‘Hmph,’ her father snorted. ‘And I suppose you think I should just welcome them back without a quibble?’
‘Exactly.’ Emma walked around him. She did not want an argument to be the last words they spoke to one another before parting. For all his faults, he had tried to do his best for her. He’d been a good parent to her for most of her life. He’d done his best to provide for them, but at the moment he seemed so blinded by the horrors of his own past that he refused to imagine anything but the worst outcome for everybody.
Mr Hill tapped his walking stick hard on the floor, signalling her to stop. Emma turned back to him reluctantly. ‘And who do you love? That’s what I should like to know,’ he asked.
Her nose prickled at the question. Memories she fought daily almost overwhelmed her. Emma stiffened her spine and pushed her shoulders back. ‘I should have thought th
at was perfectly apparent, given that I’ve spent so many weeks nursing him.’ She did love her husband, just not as her father meant.
Luckily, Lyle emerged from the bootroom at that very moment, upon his lips a thank-you to Grafton for his aid. He smiled when he saw her, which warmed her from inside and at least seemed to calm some of her father’s suspicions. She smiled back.
‘Yuletide,’ Mr Hill announced. ‘I’ll expect to see you both then. No excuses, unless it’s for a confinement.’
Maybe they’d come back, maybe they wouldn’t. Too much depended on what happened next. She was fair certain that a baby wouldn’t be it.
Lyle had grown thinner during the summer, so that his clothes fitted a little less well, and Drummond was no longer around to adjust them. His hair was cropped short. It had made it easier to tend while he lay bedridden, although it was just now starting to show a tendency to curl again.
Four times she had nearly lost Lyle during the night; three times she’d prayed that her life be forfeit in place of his; the last she time she’d sold her soul to the devil instead. She’d climbed onto the bed and lain beside Lyle, their bodies stretched out like two matchsticks, and she’d whispered to him about all the reasons he had to live. She’d recounted the paired vision of loveliness he and Darleston had made when their bodies were entwined. She’d told him how it felt to take Darleston’s cock inside her, and speculated how it would be between them if they all made love to one another at once. She’d touched him to show him how brave she’d become and how it would work.
Miraculously, the next morning Lyle woke. She wouldn’t pretend he’d been immediately hale and hearty. It’d been a long fight to get him back on his feet. Now, though his arm was whole and appeared to be healed, apart from a small ruddy gouge at the top, he was still handicapped. He could no longer hold things or form a tight grip. Sensation there was unreliable too. He didn’t always know when she was touching him.
Lyle held his arm stiffly as Grafton fastened up the buttons of his greatcoat. He still wore his injured arm out of the sleeve, though he no longer kept it bound in a sling.
‘Mr Hill, we really, really must be off. Your hospitality has been incomparable, but I can no longer abstain from seeing to my affairs. Things have to be dealt with, and I can no longer use this –’ Lyle lifted his injured arm ‘– as an excuse. Good day, sir.’ He gave a very formal bow, which Emma copied in the form of a curtsy.
‘Father. We’ll see one another soon. I’ll write to you, if I hear anything from Amelia.’ She thought he might cry as they made their way outside to the waiting carriage. She prayed he had Amelia back with him soon. Maybe she and Harry would give him the houseful of offspring he wanted. Mr Hill had always forgiven his youngest daughter in the past, and she knew he had a soft spot for Harry Quernow. As for Harry, he knew he’d made mistakes in his past, and he’d worked ridiculously hard to fix them. He now seemed to be doing very well for himself.
‘Free.’ Lyle pushed down the window and stuck his head outside to breathe in a lungful of air the moment they left Field House and turned into the lane. ‘I didn’t think he’d ever allow us to go. Now, have you managed to locate Darleston’s address?’
Emma delved into her pocket for the note she’d made of it. She’d written several letters of her own over the last few months, only to find their burnt remains in the library fire. Whatever offences her father had decided she’d made, he’d been determined to ensure she didn’t repeat them. This address was new, though, acquired in the last week through a network of servants. ‘Here it is. It’s a small cottage he’s taken in Derbyshire. Drummond is working for him.’
‘Excellent. Tap on the roof and have the driver take us straight there.’
Emma hesitated in carrying out the instruction. ‘I thought you meant to write first.’
Lyle took the card from her and transferred it to his injured hand before he pulled her firmly to his side. ‘I’ve written to Darleston before. He’s abysmally bad at sending any sort of reply. No, I think the best thing would be to face him and ask him straight out what he wants. That way, at least we’ll know.’
‘Yes,’ she said meekly. Lyle was right, of course, but, God help them, what if Darleston said no?
* * *
Tangled thickets of wildflowers bordered Grindley Grange, the riverside cottage Darleston had hired. A climbing rose straddled an archway that led onto the driveway, from which one gained one’s first real sight of the house as the road sloped down towards the river. It was not as grand as Field House, though it dated from a similar era. Nor was it a property one expected to find inhabited by a lord.
‘Why is he here?’ Emma asked, as they waited for the carriage steps to be folded down.
The bulk of the building was formed of thick slabs of grey stone, to which a more recent red-brick façade had been added. The grounds too were modest, bordered all around by steep slopes and farmland. There were no near neighbours save the occasional stray sheep.
‘Why do you think?’ Lyle replied. He descended ahead of her, and then used his good arm to help her down. ‘To hide, of course.’ Whether he meant as a result of the ever circulating rumours or from society mammas eager to introduce him to their daughters, he didn’t explain. Either, she supposed, might induce a man to hide.
She let go of Lyle’s hand once her feet were safely on the track. How quickly she’d come to depend on these little shows of affection between them. Not that she accepted them from everyone, only from Lyle and sometimes Amelia. Occasionally, she wondered how she’d managed to get through life before their comfort. ‘Do you think he’s mourning his wife?’
‘No.’ Lyle loosed a little laugh, which did nothing to ease the tension wrought by their arrival and magnified by the isolation of the property. ‘Emma, he hated her. She did nothing kind the entire length of their marriage. She branded him as her property and cared not at all how he felt about that.’
‘Do we knock?’
There was no need, for Drummond emerged from the cottage. He immediately hurried over to greet them, and to instruct their driver and footman about the disposition of their luggage. ‘You look well, sir,’ he said to Lyle, having ushered them both into Grindley’s modest hallway. He took her pelisse, and then helped Lyle shed his greatcoat. Drummond’s gaze lingered over the fact that Lyle still wore his frockcoat with one arm outside the sleeve. He gave a tut of displeasure, but made no further remark. ‘Milord isn’t expecting you, is he?’
‘Isn’t he?’ Lyle asked.
Drummond sucked in his cheeks and gave a swift shake of his head. ‘No, I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Then perhaps you’d better announce us.’
‘Very good. If you’ll just wait a moment, Mr Langley. Mrs Langley, there’s a chair behind you if you need to rest.’
Emma accepted the chair by the bootrack, which seemed to house as many walking sticks as items of footwear. She had wished so ardently for this moment over the summer months, but now trepidation made her stomach clench. Why had they not addressed him in a letter first? It was so much easier to speak one’s mind on paper, although she understood it was not always wise to do so. Letters could go astray. Folk other than the recipient could read them and make light of the contents. Still, she had to question if they’d done the right thing in coming here without giving him due warning.
He might not want them here. Perhaps he was hiding from them.
The house smelled of linseed oil and dried flowers that had been set there to mask the mustiness of long disuse. The windows in the entrance hall were small and let in hardly any light. They were still mired with cobwebs and grime around the edges. She didn’t think Darleston had been in residence all that long. It wouldn’t surprise her to find several of the rooms still masked with drapes.
Drummond returned within seconds to show them the way. He threw open a door onto a lovely sunny parlour that overlooked the river. Here at least the furnishings were clean. The walls were painted an appealing yell
ow, giving everything a homely glow. The room reminded her strongly of the Dog Parlour that she’d made her own at Field House, though there was a stag’s head set above the fire instead of a pompous portrait.
Emma’s hands flew to cover her mouth as she set eyes upon Darleston. It had been midsummer when they’d last seen one another. He’d dipped his head and kissed Lyle upon the cheek before her father arrived and the doctors set about probing the hole in Lyle’s arm. He had not said goodbye to her in any way. Nor did he greet her familiarly now.
In appearance, he hadn’t changed from how she remembered him. Red hair, the same burnished shade as the copper kettle that sat upon her kitchen stove, still framed his narrow face. The strands had grown a fraction longer, so that the ends bobbed just short of his shoulders. His clothes, too, still enticed her to reach out and touch.
Darleston’s gaze strayed first to Lyle and then to her. ‘Will you take a seat?’
How different this was from the way he and her husband had greeted one another at the start of the summer. She’d looked on them then as they damn near winded one another, and cursed the closeness that excluded her. Now she longed for such a display of devotion, so that it could unravel all the knots that held their affection in check.
Lyle prodded her into a seat beside him on the sofa facing the unlit fire.
‘How is your –’ Darleston began.
‘We heard about the funeral.’
‘– arm?’
Both men settled back, neither giving a response to the questions asked. Lyle crossed his legs before him, an action Darleston soon duplicated. They gazed at one another, but without truly seeing each other, almost as if their images were warped like a reflection in a pond beset with ripples.
‘There’s a little stiffness.’ Lyle hitched his right shoulder to rub at the wound. ‘The feeling’s returning slowly.’ He bent and stretched his fingers, but Emma knew he didn’t have the same degree of sensation in them that he’d possessed before.
Darleston’s jaw relaxed a fraction. ‘I’m glad you’re healing.’
Her Husband’s Lover Page 29
