Francis groaned as Mr. Thompson flushed a rosy red. “Lady Shaftesbury,” he stammered. “I was only going to request that Glenrothes and indeed yourself come to the station to make your statements on this matter. I, uh,” he tugged at his collar. “I had already determined Glenrothes was not at fault without your, uh, assurance otherwise.”
Now it was Eve’s turn to blush and turn away. “You had? Then I needn’t have…? Oh!” she moaned in embarrassment.
“Please, my lady, be assured that you have my utmost discretion regarding your admission,” he rushed to guarantee her.
“You know it wasn’t Lord Glenrothes then?” Eve couldn’t resist clarifying.
“Aye, m’lady,” he pledged to her. “Thanks to Glenrothes and what I have witnessed here, I believe we now have enough evidence to prove that he was not the murderer, though your husband did an excellent job of framing him.”
“Indeed he did.”
“Perhaps I will call on you tomorrow instead to get your complete statement, if that is acceptable?”
“Of course.” She nodded, regaining her calm, social mask and offering her hand. “Thank you so much for your assistance, Mr. Thompson.”
“Not at all, my lady.” He shook her hand and regarded Glenrothes. “Do you, uh, need medical assistance, my lord?”
“I have been well nursed enough to see my way home and my own surgeon, Thompson, but my thanks.” He offered the official his hand and shook it heartily before requesting assistance in gaining his footing. Eve wrapped an arm around his waist to help him as he limped to face Shaftesbury who was being tended to by the other two detectives.
“Is he dead?” Francis asked the question Eve had been afraid to voice.
“No,” Thompson shook his head. “It is a stomach wound though. If he does recover, it will be a painful trial. And even if he gets through it, he will face the hangman’s noose quickly enough for the murder of Lady Glenrothes.”
Francis stared down into Eve’s bright green eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “Shall we go, my love?”
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically. “I want to see Laurie and make sure he’s all right.”
Jack and James left Shaftesbury as other officers came in to assist Thompson. Offering their assistance to the limping earl, James asked his brother, “You all right there, old man?”
“No thanks to you two!” Eve snorted pointing a finger at both of them. “How could you just stand there and do nothing?”
“Wasn’t much to do but watch the fight. Francis had that under control. Enjoyed it no doubt. Can’t understand how the chap held on to that gun though,” Jack said defensively, raising his hands to ward her off. “By the time he needed aid, we were dodging bullets of our own!”
Eve merely humphed and they turned to go, Francis’ steps awkward even with the men’s assistance. He limped forward and frowned when a piece of pottery cracked under his boot. With a frown, he bent and picked up the shard and held it up to the light. “My God! I can’t believe you threw this. Do you have any idea what this is?”
“Yes, I have a very good idea what it is,” Eve raised an amused brow.
“Good God, Eden, what were you thinking? This was worth a fortune!”
“So are you,” she pecked his cheek playfully. “And I’ll buy you another if you like.”
Chapter 48
Love is born with the pleasure of looking at another,
it is fed with the necessity of seeing each other,
it is concluded with the impossibility of separation.
Jose Marti y Perez
“You hit him over the head with a Ming vase?” Jack repeated, astounded. “A 14th century Ming vase? Bloody hell, that one little piece of pottery might have saved my entire estate.”
“Leave it to Jack to think of himself,” Abby teased, hugging her brother’s arm. “Oh, Eve, I’m so glad everything turned out all right!”
Eve sat curled against Francis in the corner of the settee later that evening after changing her torn clothing and having her scrapes and bruises tended to. Laurie was tucked against her other side in her snug embrace. His joy when she had returned made her heart sing and she was glad to keep him by her side, though he should have been sent back to the nursery an hour ago. Eve could not bear to give him up either. She stroked the blond curls on his head absently while everyone talked over the events of the day.
After the two boys had found Richard and Jack, they had attempted to track the carriage but had split up when they reached the government district and had come upon Francis and the detective. Richard had gone on with the footmen and another detective, canvassing the stagecoach and railroad depots, hoping to find them there should they have already vacated the boardinghouse. Indeed they had been crucial in capturing the valet, Wilkes, when he had purchased tickets in Shaftesbury’s name.
As Hobbes brought n champagne for them all to celebrate, Glenrothes told his audience of his conviction that the truth would hold sway with the honorable detective Thompson. Something he had been sure of when he had gone with him that morning. He had given Thompson what they knew of Shaftesbury and Vanessa, knowing the man would see the logic in his argument. His arrest had never occurred, in fact he had spent most of the early afternoon taking a casual luncheon with the man and discussing the case while Thompson’s detectives had searched for Shaftesbury.
“You knew that he would listen to such an outlandish tale and believe you, rather than simply toss you in the clink?” Moira asked in amazement.
“You took a great chance,” Abby agreed with her friend.
“A calculated risk,” Francis shrugged in the face of their amazement.
“I wish you might have seen fit to share that with us. You might have spared us some sorrow,” Jack grouched irritably, and the others nodded in agreement.
Eve, in turn, related her tale of trying to get out of the carriage, of how she provoked Shaftesbury so that she might fall against the door and roll into the street, laughing now at how she pushed herself to run after hurting her hip in the fall. When she told them of the chase down the street, Jack jested that he might have liked to see her running with her skirts held above her knees, only to earn a glare from Francis. But all were aghast as she told them of being captured at gunpoint and the fight that had ensued in the boardinghouse, ending with the vase and Thompson’s well-placed shot.
A doctor had been brought in to clean and stitch Francis wound. While infection was always a risk, he was expected to make a complete recovery, though walking would be painful for some time. Shaw as well was expected to survive his gunshot. But Shaftesbury had died during the surgery performed on him to remove the bullet lodged in his lower torso. The doctor said that even if he had made it through the surgery, the bullet going through the vase as it did had propelled hundreds of shards of the pottery into the wound with it, damaging internal organs almost as much as the bullet itself. Had he made it through the surgery, he would have eventually faced a slow, painful demise.
Eve supposed she should feel some sense of loss, but she had already done her period of mourning and had no intention of doing it again. Instead all she felt was relief that it was all done and over with. Life was now hers to begin again on her own terms.
And that life surrounded her in this moment. Her son and the man she would marry. Her future was looking brighter than she could ever remember. She was ready to move on. “I’m just glad it is all over and we can move forward.”
“My lady?” Hobbes intoned from the hallway. “There is a gentleman of a religious persuasion at the door. He says he has an appointment with Lord Glenrothes.”
“A gentleman of a religious persuasion?” she echoed. “What is that all about?”
“If it would please you,” Francis murmured in her ear, pulling a piece of paper from his breast pocket while the others looked on with mischievous smiles. “In the spirit of moving on, I obtained a special license last week before all this came to light. I thought perhaps you might do me the honor of bec
oming my wife this evening?”
Eve gaped at him for a moment in surprise. “Just in the spirit of moving on?”
He brushed his lips against her temple. “Perhaps in the spirit of moving on with our lives together? I cannot wait to make you my wife, to have the right to take you in my arms at any time. To show you my love openly, every day, for the rest of our lives. I don’t want to be forced to deny my feelings ever again. I love you, paradise.”
“I love you as well.”
“Then will you marry me? Right now?” he asked once more. “If you prefer to wait for a large wedding, I will understand.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t marry me now or no, you don’t want a big ceremony?”
“No, Francis, I don’t want to wait and yes, I will marry you now.” Luckily enough after bathing, Eve had decided it was time to officially put off her mourning wear and had instead donned a new dinner gown she had recently ordered. It was light peach silk overlaid with chiffon, covered along the edges with a wide border of flora and fauna cut-outs in a variety of blues, greens, lavender and a darker peach color that covered the short train and framed the center panel of Point d’Angleterre lace. The bodice had a profusion of ruched silk and flowers that cut a dramatic V from the edges of her shoulders to the waist, where it nipped in tightly. More lace and chiffon filled that V, although the neckline was cut very low. She was glad she had worn it this night, for the fresh spring colors were a perfect match to the occasion. This would be her wedding gown!
She laughed inwardly, thinking how pleased her mother would be that she’d managed to land another earl, the very earl who might have been hers years before if Fate had only dealt them a better hand! She would have to write her parents and Kitty in the morning and let them know the good news. That she was a bride once again and madly in love!
Eve grinned brightly and Francis returned it with the same charming smile pulling up the corner of his lips that had captured her heart so many years ago. She turned to face the room of friends old and new, each wearing a smile on their face. Well, all except one, who was looking a bit green in the gills. “You all knew about this?”
“It was all MacKintosh’s idea. Been working on it all afternoon while you were being pampered,” Jack Merrill rolled his eyes. “He’s so disgustingly happy about it that it is making me fairly nauseous.”
“Well, don’t feel that you have to stay if you can’t stomach the sight of two people in love getting married,” the groom jested as he rose to his feet with the assistance of a cane and Eve’s arm.
“I suppose I might stay on,” Jack gave in. “I shall endeavor to turn away if the carnage upsets my delicate sensibilities.”
“Oh, please,” Eve mocked. “Jack Merrill, your day will come and I shall taunt you relentlessly when it does.”
Haddington merely shook his head and shuddered at the thought.
Francis took Laurie up in his arm and looked down into his little face. “My lord Shaftesbury, will it be acceptable for me to marry your mother?”
“If you marry my mother, you will become my father,” Laurie reasoned solemnly.
“Aye,” Francis nodded seriously, “that I will, if you might be able to accept such a thing.”
“I would like that very much, but,” he faltered a bit, but Francis gave him an encouraging nod, “but I will still be Shaftesbury, will I not, my lord?”
“You are Shaftesbury and always will be.”
The little boy’s shoulders sagged in relief. “That’s good. I have a responsibility to my people, you know?”
Francis grinned down at him. “As do I. Perhaps if your mother and I have another son who will someday become Glenrothes, I might count on you to help him understand his responsibilities as well as you do.”
Laurie smiled brightly in turn. “I should like that, my lord. I should like having a brother as well!”
“Very good,” Francis answered as he set the boy on the ground. “And perhaps you might choose to call me father before long?”
“Might I call you Papa?”
“I should like that very much,” was the serious reply. Francis was so pleased by the lad’s request that he asked in return, “And perhaps I might call you son? If you like?”
“Very much, my lord,” the boy returned, with a broad grin now.
Turning, he offered a folded piece of paper to Abby, “For you, minx.”
Abby smiled broadly as he slipped the fifty-pound note into her hand. “Well played, Francis.”
Francis offered his hand to Eve. “Shall we, my lovely bride?”
Flushed with happiness, Eve took Francis’ arm as he led her across the hall toward the larger drawing room at the front of the house, while the others fell in behind them. Her thoughts were a jumble of love for Francis, gratitude for his love of her son and eagerness for the moments to come. She was about to become his wife! A mere month ago, the very thought had paralyzed her with the same symptoms Jack expressed at the thought, but now! All she felt was excitement and anticipation. As much as she was about to become his, he was just as assuredly about to become hers.
She smiled beatifically up at him with her green eyes shining as they met the darker green of his.
“You look very beautiful this evening,” he whispered softly into her ear, seeing none of the slight bruising that marred her cheek and temple.
“So do you,” she returned, thinking he had never looked more handsome or happy as he did this night.
“No doubts?” he asked.
“Not one.”
With flourish, Hobbes swung open the double doors of the drawing room and bowed low. When he rose, she might have almost thought that there was a smile on his face and she smiled at him in return.
But when she walked into the room, her jaw sagged as she took in the bounty of flowers and candles that transformed the room as if her gown had come to life. A makeshift altar had been set up at the far end of the room, where a Catholic priest waited for them. The soft strains of music reached her and she located the violinist near the windows. A trail of rose petals marked the path to the altar.
Her sighs of appreciation blended with those of her two friends as she took in the scene. She could not imagine how all of this had gotten done so quickly and without her knowledge! It was lovely, just magical! Eve could not imagine a more perfect setting to mark her marriage to Francis.
“Do you like it?” he whispered softly in her ear.
Her eyes met his, bright with tears as joy pierced her heart. “You did all this?”
He nodded his eyes gleaming with pleasure and love.
“Why, Francis,” she smiled up at him and caressed his cheek lovingly. “This is almost, dare I say it? Romantic!”
“Only almost?” he teased and met her lips in a tender kiss.
Epilogue
The Glenrothes Townhouse
Carlton Terrace
Edinburgh, Scotland
Six Weeks Later
Perhaps it was the intensity of the silence in the cozy sitting room where Evelyn MacKintosh was reading Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil that made the slamming of the door and battery of voices below seem so loud. She was setting her book and tea on the side table and moving her sleeping son to the seat as a flurry of steps raced up the stairs. Rising, she opened the door just in time to meet her butler with his hand raised to knock. “What is it, Hobbes?”
“There seems to be a slight problem, my lady.” The old servant paused as if he did not know where to begin. If Eve hadn’t known better, she might have even said he was flustered, but dismissed the thought as unconceivable. “It appears that we have unexpected company.”
“Who is it?”
“A young female person of uneven temperament with a small girl-child and, if I am not mistaken, an aged Chinaman.”
“Aged Chinaman?” she echoed.
“Indeed, my lady, most particular.”
“I’ll see to it…” Eve rushed down the hall, wishing her husban
d were there as well. Her husband! She couldn’t stop the smile that flashed at the thought. The past six weeks had been more magical and fulfilling than she had ever imagined the days and nights of marriage might ever be. She’d never known such bliss and had been missing Francis mightily since he had gone to Glen Cairn for a meeting with his steward and would not return for a couple of days.
“I can’t believe this country!” were the words Eve heard as she reached the top of the stairs. She stood for a moment in the shadows and watched the late night visitor pace the foyer at a ripping speed. Her hair was disheveled and hanging from its coiffure at a precarious angle. The color was impossible to discern, given the rain and mud caking it. Her face was darkened with dirt and… soot? Her dress, once a probably very lovely yellow brocade, was torn and dirty and hanging limply to the ground. She was indeed in a temper, pacing as she was, and throwing her hands in the air. Fortunately, the countess could make out little of the stream of curses that were currently flowing from her lips.
“Damn Scottish idiots!” she heard briefly. “Can’t speak one decent word of English at all! I end up on the side of the road, in the rain with no way to get anywhere! Idiots! Every single one of them!”
“Is that so?” Eve questioned mildly as she descended the stairs. The words were soft but carried into the foyer as all eyes turned up to greet her. Two harassed looking footmen, one tiny old Chinaman holding a miraculously sleeping toddler and one angry, bedraggled woman.
“You there! Close that door,” Eve spoke with authority to the open-mouthed footman who stumbled over himself to do her bidding. “Now, may I ask what is going on here?” Her expression was serene until her eyes widened as they met the woman’s. “Kitty? Kitty, what is going on here?”
The four people before her, and the unusually nervous Hobbes to her rear, all began their versions of the tale at once in such loud voices Eve could barely hear herself think. “Enough!” Eve’s voice rang out and the hall fell completely silent. She wrapped an arm about Kitty’s shoulders. “You two may go,” she indicated to the footmen. “Is this your… servant? Yes, alright, Hobbes, please see to our guests and prepare a room for them and my sister.”
A Question of Love (Questions For A Highlander Book 1) Page 32
