Always Believe in Love (Emerson Book 4)

by Maureen Driscoll

  “And how is Mrs. Carson?”

  “She’s doing better than me, despite her bein’ the, uh, means of little Tommy gettin’ fed. But such is the way of women, I suppose,” he said, smiling. “They can handle everythin’ better than a man. But don’t let her hear me say that.”

  “Too late,” said a cheery Mrs. Carson, who walked onto the porch carrying her infant son. “G’morning, yer lordship.”

  Nick crossed to them. “Good morning, Mrs. Carson. I hear young Tom isn’t shy about making himself known.”

  She laughed. “Not shy at all, milord. Would you like to hold him?”

  She froze after making the spontaneous offer, perhaps not knowing if an earl would do such a thing. Nick’s father certainly wouldn’t have. But he wasn’t his father – either the one who sired him or the one who held the title before him.

  “I would love to,” he said, holding out his arms with some trepidation. “I don’t have much experience with babies, but I promise not to drop him.”

  “We’d appreciate that, milord,” said Mrs. Carson as she carefully deposited the babe into Nick’s arms.

  Nick held on tight, but not too tight. He didn’t want to squash young Tom, after all. He was startled when the baby kicked his legs. “He’s a strong lad.”

  His parents beamed. “It’s all this good country air,” said his father. “I suspect he’ll be a big help to me on the farm.”

  “I’m certain he will,” said Nick as he looked at Tom, who was staring intently back. Nick had no experience with babies. But he suspected his brothers and Win would soon begin having children of their own. The thought gave him an unexpected twinge of envy, though he couldn’t quite picture himself being a father.

  Perhaps sensing his conflicting thoughts, Tom began fussing.

  “Oh, Tom, where are yer manners, love?” asked Mrs. Carson as she took the baby into her arms. “Yer first time meetin’ the earl and yer not making much of an impression.”

  “On the contrary, young Tom is a fine lad,” said Nick. “I fear I’m not an expert at holding babies.”

  “One way to fix that,” said Mrs. Carson, her attention now focused on her beloved son. “Get yerself a wife and heir. Ye’ll get practice enough.” She then curtsied to him and returned to the cottage.

  “You heard the woman,” said her husband, amused. “Like I said, women tend to know things we don’t. Perhaps ‘tis time.”

  “Perhaps ‘tis time I was letting you get back to your family,” said Nick. “I’m pleased you’re all doing so well.”

  Mr. Carson chuckled at the evasion, but waved him onward. Nick continued his ride across the fields where snow was giving way to mud. Buds were on the trees and he knew spring would soon be there. It was his favorite time of year on the estate. It was too bad it might be his last one.

  An hour later, he arrived back at the house to find the Marquess of Grayson’s carriage parked in front. Nick had just seen Nathanial Gage back in Wiltshire. Grayson’s ancestral home, Bancroft Castle, was just a few miles from Ridgeway Manor. Nate had been friends with the Emersons since they’d all been boys. Nate hadn’t spent much time in the country the last few years and to see him so soon after leaving Wiltshire was surprising.

  He entered the house to find Nate and Colin in the study. Both looked worried.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked. “The villains haven’t come after Win and Alex, have they?” Win’s late husband had been blackmailing men using a coded ledger. The ledger had been stolen and there were concerns the perpetrators might chase after Win to find it.

  “No, thank God,” said Colin. “We’re almost certain whoever has the ledger has moved on to bigger quarry. But we have something else to discuss.” He glanced meaningfully at the butler, Higgins, who was hovering at the door.

  Nick had learned that many of his servants were loyal to his cousin Simon. He wasn’t sure whom to trust, so he was wary around all of them. “Thank you, Higgins. You may go.”

  The butler bowed himself out.

  “Now what is going on?” he asked his visitors.

  “We received word from Olson today,” said Colin, referring to the family’s solicitor. “He didn’t want to risk sending word to you in case it was intercepted. But he has learned how Simon intends to take the title. As you know, it’s not enough to say your birth was the result of an affair and you aren’t Layton’s son.”

  “If that disqualified a man from holding a title, I suspect half the seats in Lords would be empty,” said Nate. “The ton isn’t exactly a monogamous lot.”

  Nick nodded, even as he poured the men a drink. “If memory serves, there is one sure way to divest a peer of his title, along with any direct descendants. That means Simon is going to accuse the late earl of treason.”

  Colin slowly nodded. “Olson believes that is his plan.”

  Nick handed the men their drinks, first the fair-haired Grayson, then the brother who looked so much like him. “So they would go back to my grandfather and see that Simon is next in line to inherit. Clever play. To be honest, I didn’t know he had it in him. But what is he citing for proof? The old earl had many faults but treason wasn’t one of them. I never knew him to be anything but loyal to the Crown.”

  “Simon is claiming that the coded ledger points to the old earl’s guilt,” said Nate. “I’m not sure how he came by that accusation since even I was unable to decipher it.”

  The ledger had been found in the desk of Winifred’s late husband. Three people had been killed by someone intent on possessing it. Nick wasn’t certain why Nate had been trying to decipher the ledger when it had been briefly in their possession. It was true that he had the intellect for it. At university, Nate had played with ciphers for fun. But these days, he was more likely to use his skill at maths in a gaming hell than on a project like that.

  Nate continued. “I was able to make some discoveries before it was stolen away. There was evidence to show a peer had been involved with smugglers on the southern coast during the war, specifically Weymouth.”

  “That in itself wouldn’t have been damning enough,” said Colin. “Quite a few families made a profit from the war, though none like to speak of it.”

  “But I do not believe they were only dealing in items like brandy and lace.”

  “Spies?” asked Nick.

  Nate nodded. “It had to be. Why else go to so much effort to disguise it? My guess is that something in the ledger implicates a nobleman in spying.”

  “My father?” asked Nick. He hated to think that was true. He couldn’t live with the guilt that his father’s actions might have cost British lives.

  “There’s no reason to think that,” said Nate. “Simon could just be bluffing. Word of the coded ledger leaked out. He could be claiming proof he doesn’t have.”

  “Layton didn’t live on the coast,” said Colin.

  “But he could have gone down there easily enough,” said Nick.

  “Most of the spies were transported on fishing vessels,” said Nate. “The kind smugglers used.”

  Nick nodded. “And Simon only has to make the accusations somewhat plausible. You know how the ton loves a scandal.”

  “Yes,” said Colin, dryly. “As an Emerson, I can duly attest that scandals are popular. How are we going to fight this?”

  “This isn’t your fight,” said Nick, who was, nonetheless, heartened by the question.

  “You’re my brother. Every fight of yours is mine. We cannot let that weasel win.”

  “My suggestion would be to travel to Weymouth to learn as much as you can,” said Nate. “Olson will continue investigating and he’s going to consult with Arthur and Vanessa Kellington in the Home Office. I do not believe your father was a traitor and I don’t think you should pay the price just because Simon wants to play earl. I’ll be hard-pressed not to plant the arse a facer when next I see him.”

  “When do we leave for the coast?” asked Colin.

  Colin’s offer gave Nick a bit of a lump i
n his throat, which was embarrassing in the midst of a conversation with these two men. How like his brother to volunteer to assist him when Colin had enough to do with his own affairs. “You aren’t going to the coast, brother, nor you, Grayson – though I appreciate your support. If Simon is able to prove treason, I want to keep the damage to a minimum. I cannot allow either of you to be sullied by association.”

  “The Emersons will never distance themselves from you,” said Colin. “We are your family.”

  “And I’m your ne’er do well friend,” said Grayson. “If anything, you should keep your distance from me.”

  Colin put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Nothing would make me happier than to finally have all my brothers and sisters under one roof. If, somehow, that bastard prevails, you would always have a home with us. For that matter, you’d always have a home with us even if you remain the disgustingly well-to-do Earl of Layton.”

  The offer was so genuine and touching that Nick once again found himself on the verge of tears. From the way Colin was now studying the artwork on the walls, he suspected his brother felt the same way.

  “Shall I leave you ladies alone?” asked Nate, nicely breaking the mood.

  “I only invited you to come because of your carriage,” said Colin.

  “And I only came for Layton’s brandy.”

  Nick refilled their glasses. “If Simon does take the title, I’ll be damned if I leave any good spirits in the cellar.”

  “If you need my help drinking it,” said Nate, “I’ll be only too happy to oblige.”

  “To my brother,” said Colin, raising his glass. “A man who doesn’t need a title to be noble, though I hope he keeps it just the same.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Weymouth

  Kate Winston stood at the drafty window in the small bedroom of her cozy cottage and looked out at the rising sun. She had been tempted to stay in her warm bed, but she could never resist a sunrise when she was already awake.

  It had been another restless night and worries always seemed so much worse in the dark. She knew she had much to be thankful for. She was in good health. She had her own home – for now – which had a roof that didn’t leak. She had food in her pantry and, thanks to her late guardian’s foresight, she even knew how to cook it.

  She wasn’t particularly vain, but knew she’d been blessed with pleasant enough features. She had light brown hair and green eyes. At five feet six inches, she was considered tall for a woman, though she thought it was a convenience when one lived alone and had no one else to reach the highest shelves. She was a bit on the slim side since the food she prepared, while nourishing, wasn’t tempting enough to eat too much of. She sometimes dreamed wistfully of hiring a cook.

  She had come to live in Weymouth under the saddest of circumstances. Her father had been an officer in the East India Company. She’d lived with her mother and father near Bombay and their time there was idyllic. Or perhaps it was simply because she’d been so happy to be with her parents that nothing else had mattered. Not the oppressive heat, nor the typhoons which were terrifying in their intensity. There had been any number of snakes, insects and wild animals which could have killed her. But she had always felt safe with her family.

  She had never been alone.

  She had never been lonely.

  Even now she could smell her mother’s exotic perfume. She had worn the scent every day and Kate used to admire the beautiful bottle which sat in a place of honor on her mother’s dressing table. When the bottle was nearly empty, another would take its place, courtesy of an adoring husband.

  Kate knew little of romantic love in those days. ‘Struth, she didn’t know much more today. But she could tell her parents had loved each other very much. And she never for a moment doubted that she was cherished and safe. Which is why it was all the more tragic when her parents died of a fever when Kate was only eight.

  Within days, she lost the two most important people in her life.

  A family friend had put her on a boat to England three days after the funeral. She was placed in the care of a lady who’d had enough of the Subcontinent and little use for a grieving girl. Kate spent most of the voyage alone, mourning her parents and scared of the country she’d never seen but was supposed to be home.

  She was placed with her father’s second cousin in London, who hurriedly sent out inquiries to anyone who’d be willing to take her. Kate would never forget what it was like to be unwanted, unloved and without a home.

  But then her fortunes turned. Her father’s old tutor, the Reverend Oscar Lowell, had volunteered to take her, despite his already being in his sixth decade of life. She arrived in Weymouth a sad, frightened young girl who couldn’t get over the chill of her native land. She knew she was English, but the country had seemed incredibly foreign.

  Dear Oscar had immediately made her feel welcome. He had never had children of his own and didn’t have the first idea how to plait hair. But he was patient, kind and loving. After crying herself to sleep for a week, Kate was surprised to find a kitten in her bed.

  And that’s what their life had been like over seventeen years, until his death six months earlier.

  It was a devastating loss because she loved him like a grandfather. For seventeen years Kate had lived with him in the rectory, caring for his home and serving as the church historian. She had recorded births and deaths and all the ceremonies in between. She’d ensured that the villagers who needed food and medical care received it. And she was always ready to lend a hand to plan weddings, baptisms and the occasional handfasting ceremony for those not wishing to form a more permanent union. Those ceremonies, pagan in nature, were officially frowned upon by the church. Oscar had simply chuckled about the desire for impermanence.

  Despite his age, he had a keener understanding of young people than many would have guessed. And he had never failed to guide the village through difficult times before, during and after the war. He was sorely missed. Especially since his replacement was so soundly disliked.

  Kate chastised herself – mildly – for the unkind thought, though there was no denying the Reverend Edgar Bramwell was in many ways dear Oscar’s opposite.

  The new vicar was young, only three and thirty. But he rarely chuckled about anything. He was half the age, half the size and had half the wit of Oscar.

  He was also the cause of most of her worries.

  The old vicar guided. The new one judged. And most pertinent to Kate, the old vicar never would have looked at her ankles, even when she stood on a chair to get a book. The new one stared, making her glad she’d moved to the cottage after Oscar’s death.

  She had a small inheritance from her parents which paid her living expenses, but she still worked with the parishioners because she enjoyed it so much. Unfortunately, whenever she was at the rectory she became the subject of Mr. Bramwell’s unwanted attention. To make matters worse, he had begun using his sermons to rail against the independence of young females. He’d even read from an old copy of Lady Elizabeth Kellington’s manifesto where she called for the better treatment of women and the prosecution of husbands who beat their wives. Mr. Bramwell had predicted Lady Elizabeth would never find a husband. Kate had taken a fair amount of unholy glee in informing him that according to a newspaper she’d read, Lady Elizabeth had married the Marquess of Riverton.

  Mr. Bramwell had taken the news with his characteristic lack of humor and good grace. Kate felt sorry for the lady who would eventually marry him. Unfortunately, from the hints the vicar had begun making, it appeared he thought Kate should be his bride. That was worrisome because Kate’s cottage was on the vicarage grounds. She paid rent to the church and, should Bramwell wish, he could evict her.

  She wasn’t certain where she would go if that happened. One option would be to marry someone in the village. But most men were either too old or too young. Some of the fishing lads were near her age, but they all seemed too young. She wouldn’t mind being the wife of a fisherman, though she wasn’t
exactly fond of the smell of fish.

  She might have to leave Weymouth, which scared her. But she wouldn’t be a coward. She looked to the future as an adventure, though she didn’t know where she would go, nor what she would do when she got there.

  She just hoped it wouldn’t smell like fish.

  It was Tuesday, which meant she would be working on the rectory ledgers. She had been copying records from the last two centuries in order to preserve their contents. Most of the old ledgers were crumbling and she had to take great care to ensure they didn’t dissolve in her hands. Oscar had suggested the activity to her, saying her handwriting was much better than his. At first, she’d undertaken the task simply because he’d asked her. But then she’d grown quite fond of learning about the village’s most important moments.

  She had to leave her cottage soon if she hoped to arrive at the archives to take advantage of the morning light. She quickly made her ablutions – if she longed for anything more than a cook it was for a maid to light the fires and heat the water – then chose one of her serviceable gowns. None of her gowns was in the first stare of fashion even by village standards. But they were clean, well-mended where needed, and the dark blues and greens she preferred didn’t show the dust of the ledgers.

  She donned Oscar’s old greatcoat against the wind, then set out on the short walk from her cottage to the rectory. She loved the crisp, salty air on early spring days. She looked out at the water, hoping the fishermen would be safe in collecting their bounty. She thought about all the others through the centuries who’d set out on happy, yet ordinary days. Then she wondered how many more days she would have in Weymouth.

  Her desk and the ledgers were in one of the outbuildings on the rectory grounds. Bookshelves lined the walls, and her desk was in a corner where it got light from two windows. There were two ledgers on it, one old and one new. After hanging Oscar’s greatcoat on a hook and putting her lunch on a shelf, she sat down to begin her work.

  Three pages and perhaps two hours later, she heard the door open. She looked up to see Mr. Bramwell standing there. She hoped she schooled her features to disguise her irritation.