by Jo Ann Brown
Maris wished she had knocked instead of walking through the half-open doorway. She considered clearing her throat or speaking Lady Caroline’s name, but interrupting would be rude.
A sharp cry from Joy saved her. The lady glanced toward the baby, noticing Maris as she did.
“Just in time,” Lady Caroline said with forced serenity. “Joy needs to be readied for bed, then tucked in.”
“I will see to her, my lady.” She moved to lift the baby off the bed, where she was surrounded with pillows. “Enjoy your evening.” She dipped in a curtsy. “Good evening, my lady. My lord.”
As she turned to leave, Arthur said, “Maris, a moment please.”
Lady Caroline swallowed a soft gasp as her brother addressed her by her given name. Maris looked hastily away from the questions in the lady’s eyes.
Neither woman moved as Lord Trelawney came to stand beside Maris. He raised his fingers, but lowered them before he touched her arm. She looked at him and saw strong emotions clashing in his eyes.
“Arthur, we need to go,” Lady Caroline said. “We do not want to delay the beginning of dinner.”
He kept looking at Maris as he said, “Tomorrow after we ride to the hunt, I want to take the boys for an outing.”
“I will have them ready for you, my lord.” Many questions filled Maris’s mind. Did you ask Lady Gwendolyn to marry you? What answer did she give you? When I tell you the truth about my lies, will you dismiss me? How will I go on without ever seeing you and the children again? She could not speak a single one.
“Will you join us, Maris?”
Again she heard Lady Caroline’s quick intake of breath. Aware of Lord Trelawney’s sister listening to every word, Maris said, “If my duties allow it, my lord.”
“Good.” His terse answer told her he felt as constrained as she did with his sister beside them. “I will send for you and the boys when I am ready.”
Maris rushed out of the room, holding on to Joy. Even though she dreaded hearing that Lady Gwendolyn had agreed to his proposal and was unsure how he would react when she revealed her deception, she wanted to put the uncertainty and the dishonesty behind her.
She took Joy to the wet nurse staying in a small room not far from the kitchen. When the woman said she would bring the baby to the nursery after her feeding, Maris thanked her and headed toward the nearest set of stairs. She passed a door leading outside and shivered when the night air surged in, cold and damp and warning that winter was not far away.
As she went up the lower flight of stairs, a motion caught her eyes. She smiled when she saw a small shadow moving along the uppermost gallery. Bertie! The little boy had scanty patience, and it had run out. Grabbing the banister, she waved to him as she rushed up the stairs. He waved back.
She was almost to the top of the staircase when a man stepped out of the shadows. He blocked her way.
Lord Litchfield!
Panic swelled in her, but the quiet knowing of God’s presence with her urged her not to give in to it. She was not alone, as she had believed she was the last time she encountered him.
“It is you!” he snarled. “I thought I saw you rushing through the house earlier.”
“Good evening, Lord Litchfield.” She tried to move past him, but he refused to let her go around him. “If you will excuse me, I will not delay you from joining the others for dinner.”
He paid her words no attention. “What are you doing here?” His face was distorted with rage and, she realized with shock, fear. “Are you here to destroy my betrothal to Lady Eve?”
“I have no idea who Lady Eve is. If you will step aside, my lord...”
He came down one stair, then another. She had no choice but to back down, because he refused to stop. She would not let him knock her to the bottom.
“Don’t even speak her name! To have it sullied by the likes of you...” He spat a curse that made her gasp. “If you think you are going to run to her with your lies and destroy my chance to marry a marquess’s daughter, you are sadly mistaken.”
“I have no interest in destroying anything or anyone.” She met his eyes steadily as she reached the ground floor again. “Unlike you.”
He swore again and drew back his hand.
It took every ounce of her strength not to cringe, but she continued to regard him with the cool hauteur she copied from Lady Caroline.
Slowly he lowered his hand. “I don’t believe you. You are a proven liar.”
He kept backing her down the stairs as she said, “Lord Litchfield, I did not lie. You know that as well as I do.” She raised her chin. “But I have no interest in ruining you as you tried to ruin me. I believe vengeance belongs to God.”
Seizing her chin, he ordered, “Tell me why you are here.”
Maris faltered. If she admitted she had taken a position in the household of the Earl of Launceston, he would go to the Trelawneys to spread his poison. He would say she had wrongly accused him. With Belinda and her father to confirm his lies, who would heed a woman who had been hiding the truth since she fled from Bellemore Court?
When she did not answer, he said, “You need to leave.”
“Gladly.” She was astonished by her own audacity.
He was, too, because he stared at her long enough so she could turn on her heel and walk away.
She went two paces before he seized her arm. Spinning her to face him, he roared, “Where do you think you are going?”
“I am leaving.” She tried to shake his hand off her arm, but he tightened his grip until she winced. “Release me, my lord, so I might do as you requested.”
A motion on the stairs drew her gaze past him, and she almost moaned. Bertie! He was coming down. No, she did not want him to see how despicable Lord Litchfield could be. Panic curled around her throat, tightening until she could hardly breathe. Would the baron hurt a child?
“Like I said,” Lord Litchfield snapped, and she guessed he had not noticed her looking beyond him, “you need to leave.”
“I was trying to.”
“Not from this corridor or from this house. You need to leave England.”
She stared at him, sure she had misheard him. When a slow, cruel smile tilted his lips, she tried again to yank her arm from his grasp. It was futile. He was stronger than she was. He pulled her through the exterior door and out into the darkness. When she saw a carriage waiting there, she realized he had planned this from the moment he had seen her. She opened her mouth to scream. His hand clamped over her lips, pressing them into her teeth.
She tried to drive her fists into him. A few of her blows landed, because he groaned, then compressed his arm around her until she could not draw in a breath. When she thought she would swoon from a lack of air, he released her with a merciless laugh. She gasped as he snapped his fingers. A man stepped forward to open the door edged with bright crimson, as pretentious as Lord Litchfield himself.
He made another motion, and his servant picked her up roughly. As he swung her around, she saw a short silhouette in the doorway. Bertie had followed them.
“Let me go! I cannot bear the sight of you.” Raising her voice, she shouted, “I cannot bear it! I cannot BEAR it!”
“Be quiet, woman!” When his man had tossed her into the carriage, Lord Litchfield followed, then shouted to the coachee to whip up the horses to their top speed.
She pulled herself up onto the seat facing him, but looked out the window. He reached past her and yanked down the leather curtain. He did the same at the other windows.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You will know when we arrive there. Be quiet, or I shall make you sorry you opened your mouth.”
Maris obeyed, because screaming for help while the carriage careened along deserted roads would be worthless.
Her lone hope was that Bertie had understood her cryptic message. Had he caught how she emphasized bear? Would he connect the word with the need to alert Arthur? Had he even understood she was in danger?
Sh
e pressed her face into her palms. Her sole chance to escape Lord Litchfield’s plans for her depended on a toddler.
Dear Lord, please help Bertie know I need help. Put wings on his feet and guide him to Arthur in that big, unfamiliar house. Open Arthur’s ears to Bertie. I know You are with me in my darkest hours, even if my faith wavers. This time, I will take comfort in knowing that, no matter what happens, I am always in Your hands.
As she finished the prayer, her heart called out a single additional word.
Arthur!
* * *
Arthur strode out the terrace door and looked to his left, then his right, ignoring the lovely pool of water glittering in the moonlight in the center of the garden in front of him. He saw the light of a cheroot to his right. From the voices and the clink of glasses, he guessed Joel Ellington was not alone.
He continued across the terrace, his focus steadfast. Three men gathered in the shadows were talking about the horses they planned to ride for the hunt in the morning. Their voices faded away as one, then another turned to face Arthur.
“Ellington, we need to talk.” He used the arrogant tone he despised in other peers who considered the rest of the world beneath them in every way.
The two men standing on either side of Ellington mumbled something, then took off as if they had to check their horses at once.
Ellington, a tall man with the florid face of someone who drank too much, hissed in a deep breath, before he said, “I see.”
“You don’t look surprised.”
“Actually I am relieved, if you must know the truth, Trelawney.” He ran his hand through his thinning, dark hair and glanced up at the moon. “And it would seem you do.”
“At last.” Arthur fought to keep his voice even. Like Cranny, Ellington was reputed to have a quick temper. If so, it was even more important Arthur restrain his. “I have been searching for the truth for months. Otis Miller revealed his suspicions to me tonight over dinner.”
Ellington nodded, then sighed as he dropped the cigar and ground it beneath the heel of his boot. “I know you have been trying to discover what happened the night Cranford died.”
“If you knew, why are you here, when I was also invited to the hunt?”
“Ask me something I know the answer to. Maybe I simply am tired of carrying around this burden.”
“Is Miller right? Did you kill Louis Cranford?”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
Arthur was shocked speechless. He had expected Ellington to try to baffle him with lies. He had been prepared to find their host and swear out a complaint against Cranny’s murderer, so the truth could come out during a trial.
Something was not right. Why would Ellington say he believed he killed Cranny? Didn’t the man know one way or the other? Otis Miller was sure whispers of Ellington’s part in Gwendolyn’s husband’s murder were true.
“Answer one question for me, Ellington. Why would you kill Louis Cranford? You were his friend.”
Ellington shook his head as he stepped forward into the light spilling from the ballroom, where the orchestra was beginning to play. His face was contorted with rage that was, Arthur realized, not aimed at him. “I was not Cranford’s friend. Maybe once, but not for a long time. He had no friends.”
“I was his friend.” But Arthur would not have remained Cranny’s friend after learning how he had abused Gwendolyn.
Lord, in how many other ways have I walked through life without seeing? Or seeing, but not comprehending what is before my eyes. Not being there for those who need me because I failed to recognize their need. Not holding up those whom I love. How many have I hurt or allowed to be hurt while I went on the path I thought You chose for me? How can I learn how to tell them how important they are to me?
From the deepest recesses of his heart, he heard Maris knows how.
He glanced toward the ballroom. She would not be there. Instead, she would be in the nursery, close to the children who adored her and whom she adored. She never was stinting with her love, showing it freely. When he had drawn her into his arms and kissed her, love was on her lips. Why had he questioned it?
“If you were his friend,” Ellington said, “you were his last friend, Trelawney. He liked keeping you in the dark about his true nature. I am not sure why, but I think it amused him.” He swallowed roughly. “He joked about how you were as gullible as a child, and he could make you believe anything he wanted. As he had his wife until...” He looked away as he muttered, “No gentleman should act as he did with any woman, most especially his wife.”
“I agree, now that I know the truth.”
Ellington stood straighter. “I wondered why you did nothing about that, but I assumed you had your reasons.”
“Ignorance is the only reason I had.” Arthur rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me about the duel you fought with him. The night he died.”
“It began when he challenged me.”
“You could have walked away.”
“I tried, but he threatened to fire a ball into my coachee. I could not allow that to happen. Cummings has served my family long and loyally.” Ellington’s hands fisted at his sides before he crossed his arms in front of him. “I know what you are thinking. I could have fired in the air and let honor be settled.”
“But Cranny would not have returned the favor.”
“No.”
“Go on.”
Ellington did. “We fired at the same time. I was struck in the arm and knocked from my feet. I lost my senses. When I awoke later in my own bed, I was told my shot had found its mark. Apparently Cranford tried to flee, but was found dead among the trees.” Tears rose in his eyes. “I am left with the burden of knowing I took another man’s life.”
“Are you certain it is your burden?”
Ellington’s gaze searched his face like a man seeking water in the desert. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t see your shot take him down.”
“But it must have. Who else could have slain him?”
Arthur sighed. “You know, as I do, the list of suspects would be very, very long. It could have been someone who took advantage of the situation or someone loyal to you.”
“Not Cummings! He had no weapon.”
“I am not accusing him. I have no doubts he, as a longtime servant to your family, was focused on your welfare. He must have been so busy tending to you that he would not have noticed anything else.”
“And he is half-deaf.” Ellington’s expression relaxed from lines of fear and self-hatred. “If he had his back to the other side of the field, he would not have heard a pistol fired.”
“It looks as if we will never know the truth.” Arthur sighed, knowing Gwendolyn was right. He needed to put aside the past he could not change and look toward the future. “Thank you, Ellington, for being honest with me.”
“I am glad I could finally tell the truth. I...” He looked past Arthur.
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice came from the shadows. “Are you Lord Trelawney?”
He turned to discover a young woman emerging from the darkness. He could not see much of her face. “Yes, I am Arthur Trelawney.”
“I am Belinda Bell. Lady Belinda Bell.” She dampened her lips, then said, “Maris Oliver is...or I should say, she was my friend until I betrayed her.”
“I am sorry. I don’t understand.” He noted the fine fabric of Lady Belinda’s gown and recalled her father was a well-respected member of the peerage. Why would she call Maris her friend?
For the same reason you wish to give Maris your heart. Because she is a wonderful woman with a heart big enough to welcome everyone into it, no matter if they are of the ton or a waif cast upon the sands of Porthlowen Cove. Did she have a place for him there? He prayed he had not made such a complete muddle of everything that she had closed her heart to him.
“From a young age, we were friends,” Lady Belinda said. “Her family’s home was close to my father’s estate. Both her mother and
father hoped she would meet someone with a higher rank than gentry, so they were delighted with our friendship. My own father was mourning my mother’s death, and he was glad for anything and anyone who kept me busy so he could be alone with his grief. When I asked, he even agreed to allow Maris to take lessons with me, both in the schoolroom and in deportment and dancing and other skills a lady needs to know.”
“I see.” That explained one aspect of Maris that always puzzled him. She curtsied as beautifully as a young miss about to be presented at court before embarking upon her first London Season.
“But then I betrayed her.”
“You said that before. Would you please explain?”
Whatever Lady Belinda might have said went unspoken as his name was shouted in a childish voice.
Bertie!
Seeing the little boy poking his head past the open door, Arthur rushed to him. He knelt in front of the child, who stared at him wide-eyed.
“What are you doing here, Bertie?”
“Be a bear!”
Baffled, he asked, “A bear?”
“Arthur is a bear. Be a bear. Bite hard. Run hard. Go fast.”
Arthur put his hand on Bertie’s shoulder. The little boy shivered as if caught in a north wind. Something had scared him. What?
“I am sorry, Bertie,” he said. “I don’t understand.”
From behind him, Lady Belinda murmured, “They get such odd ideas at that age. Do not let him unsettle you, my lord. I need to explain everything to you, so you can explain to Maris why I did not speak to her earlier.”
“Maris!” Bertie exclaimed. He tugged on Arthur’s sleeve as if afraid Lady Belinda had his full attention. “Maris!”
Gently Arthur drew the little boy’s fingers away. Holding Bertie’s elbows, he bowed his head so his eyes were even with the child’s. “Maris is not here, Bertie.”
“I know. Maris not here.”
“Shall we look for her together?”
Lady Belinda cried, “But, my lord, I need to speak to you!”
“I am sorry, my lady, but it must wait.” He never took his gaze from Bertie’s face as he stood and held out his hand. “Shall we go? Maris may be looking for you because you are not in bed.”
