by Julia London
Dear God. Harry and Livi were in love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ashwood was not sufficiently far enough from Everdon Court and Olivia to suit Harrison. That was the most disappointing thing about the estate he’d inherited. Not that there weren’t a great number of things with which to be disappointed—the peeling paint, the cracks around the foundations, the worn furnishings, to name a few—but if Harrison could have picked up this once grand mansion and set it down in Scotland, he would have done it.
As he could not, he had relied on whiskey to numb his anger in the week he’d been there.
What angered Harrison was that he had never run from anything in his life before now. He’d always run toward things, looking for that place of acceptance, and he’d believed that he’d found it in his employment with the Marquis of Carey. He’d known true acceptance in his friendships with Robert, with Mr. Dembly . . . and with Olivia. As a result, Harrison had made a dire mistake: he had believed. When the marquis had died, Harrison had believed that even a man like him could have the things that every man wanted: a woman to love and cherish, children to adore and who would carry on his name. A hearth, a home, laughter, memories.
To have that belief so thoroughly and suddenly dashed had sent him into an internal rage that was directed at the world at large. He’d long been accustomed to the censure he’d suffered among polite society for the circumstances of his birth and his mother’s tawdry occupation, though he’d never really understood it. He was not his parents. He was his own man.
Lord Carey’s father had been a man of true integrity who was willing to look at a man for what he was, not who bore him. Had it not been for the senior Lord Carey, Harrison would never have enjoyed the life he’d led these last fifteen years. He would never have met Olivia.
He thought often of his last moments with her in the foyer. So many thoughts had rifled through his head in the last few days, so many things he wished he had said to her. But he’d said nothing. Nothing! He’d been stung when Olivia, with tears shimmering in her eyes, had said, “Please just go, Harrison. Do not look back, for I will not dishonor this family or betray my sister. Not for you, not for me.”
In that moment, Harrison could hardly look at her at all. He wondered if perhaps he had imagined the bond between them. Perhaps she had reached out to him in her grief, and not out of love as he had wanted to believe. Perhaps his love for her had colored his thinking.
Harrison knew only that he loved her yet, that he’d loved her for so long that he didn’t know how to feel any other way. Except, perhaps, rejected. He’d learned how to feel that rather keenly of late.
Harrison also felt deprived of a full vetting of his feelings. He needed time, he needed a bottle, perhaps even a woman—something to take the hurt away. He needed something to keep him from missing her. But as he stood on the drive of Ashwood, staring at the façade, waiting for Mr. Fish to arrive, he recognized that Alexa was unwittingly serving as a constant reminder of all that he’d lost.
How could he marry her? How could he commit his life, his affection, his loyalty to a woman he did not love? How could he not marry her? They’d gone down a long road, and to cry off now would invite an even worse fate for Alexa and her child. Would he condemn the child she carried to the same fate he’d suffered? Had that not been Olivia’s point in making him leave?
Yet his misgivings were becoming more and more obvious with each day. Alexa clearly sensed his reluctance. She had not pressed him, but she was growing impatient. Perhaps she was feeling reluctant, too. She had busied herself with taking full stock of the mansion, making lists of things they would need.
Harrison had assured her that once he reviewed the estate’s ledgers with Mr. Fish, they would go about the business of giving her a child a name. That’s how he had to think of it—he was giving her child a name. He could not think of it any other way, or that, God help him, he would have to make Alexa his wife in every sense of the word.
He heard the sound of an approaching coach and turned to see a barouche barreling down the road to the house, black plumes bouncing wildly. It rolled into the drive and before the coachman could remove himself from his perch on the back running board, the coach door swung open and out popped an attractive woman with black hair and pale green eyes.
“You are Mr. Tolly!” she called out to him, and came striding forward, her hand extended.
“I am,” he said, and took her hand, bowing over it. “And you are . . . ?”
“I am Lady Eberlin,” she said cheerfully. “Formerly Lady Ashwood, until we discovered that you exist.” She smiled broadly. Behind her, a gentleman with wavy golden hair emerged from the coach. “May I present my husband, Lord Eberlin,” she said, sweeping her hand in his direction and taking a slight step back.
As Harrison shook the man’s hand, he saw Mr. Fish hop down from the coach, a thick ledger stuffed under one arm.
“Welcome to Hadley Green and Ashwood,” Lord Eberlin said.
“Thank you,” Harrison said. “Mr. Fish. How do you do?”
“Mr. Tolly!” Mr. Fish adjusted the heavy ledger he held under his arm. “I am very well, sir, very well! I am exceedingly glad that you have come after all.”
“It was my letter, was it not?” Lady Eberlin said brightly. “My husband thinks I should not have written it, but then I heard you had come, and as I said to him, it must owe to my letter.”
She smiled so hopefully that Harrison was hard-pressed to deny it. “You did indeed pen a very persuasive letter, madam,” he said, and noticed Eberlin’s wry smile.
“You must have so many questions,” she said.
“A few,” he agreed, and gestured to the house. “Will you come inside?”
As they walked inside, Alexa was coming down the staircase. Harrison noted with slight chagrin that if one looked closely, one could see the swell of her belly. She seemed surprised that they had guests, and Harrison tried to recall if he had mentioned it to her. “Allow me to introduce Miss Alexa Hastings. Miss Hastings, Lord and Lady Eberlin and Mr. Fish.”
“A pleasure,” Alexa said, curtsying. She looked at Harrison, clearly waiting for him to say more.
“Linford, will you bring tea?” Harrison said to the butler, and to the group, “Shall we?”
He did not miss Alexa’s narrowed eyes as they walked to the salon.
They talked about the weather for a few minutes. Linford brought a tea service so quickly that Harrison wondered if he hadn’t started brewing it after luncheon. Alexa served, but Harrison noticed she was unusually reserved, hardly speaking at all.
“How do you find the house, Miss Hastings?” Lady Eberlin asked.
“Lovely,” she said. She sipped daintily from her teacup.
Lady Eberlin was eager to tell Harrison about the estate and the house. She was particularly proud of the unique staircase.
“It is a work of art,” Harrison agreed. “Who was the artist?”
“My husband’s father carved it,” she said, beaming.
Eberlin did not look up from his cup of tea, and Harrison had the sense there were other secrets floating about the room.
“I tell you the history because it may not be apparent that Ashwood is a worthy estate,” Lady Eberlin said. “I know that you were reluctant to accept it as yours.”
Alexa looked at Harrison.
“I never thought the estate was unworthy, Lady Eberlin. I was dubious that I had inherited something so grand. And I preferred my work at Everdon Court. To accept my responsibilities here was to give up an occupation that I quite liked.”
“But surely the title of earl and all the privilege afforded that title is more alluring than a stewardship?” Lady Eberlin asked laughingly.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Alexa asked, looking at him directly, waiting to hear his answer.
Harrison ignored her and put down his teacup. “Perhaps you are unaware, Lady Eberlin, that I never knew my father. Only in passing, and even then, I was not aware that he
was the man who had sired me until I was a young man. When Mr. Fish brought me the news that I had inherited his estate, I was not particularly intrigued by it. That is probably hard to understand unless one has been in my shoes.”
“Actually,” Lady Eberlin said as she put down her teacup and folded her hands in her lap, “I understand completely. He was my stepfather and I think he scarcely knew my name. I was quite surprised to have been named the heir, and quite reluctant to accept it. In fact, I fled to Italy and sent my cousin to oversee it—”
“Darling, perhaps we should leave that tale for another day,” Eberlin said quietly.
“Right,” she agreed. “The point is, Mr. Tolly, I can assure you from personal experience that you may come to appreciate this old place.”
“May I ask why you gave it up? I never would have known about it, had you not sent Mr. Fish to me.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Because it is not mine. It is yours.” She smiled. “I would have handed it over sooner, but I did not know of your existence until we learned of Mrs. Priscilla Braintree, and if she hadn’t been in possession of the portrait, we might never have discovered you. We are happy that we can put your rightful inheritance into your hands, and perhaps inquire after the jewels.”
“Pardon?” Alexa asked.
“Lily, darling, I think you have rushed ahead of yourself,” Lord Eberlin said, putting his hand on her knee. To Harrison, he said, “We sought the whereabouts of some priceless ruby jewelry that went missing from her aunt’s things more than fifteen years ago. We searched the old earl’s records, which led us to Mrs. Braintree. She had a portrait of your mother, Mr. Tolly, and in the portrait, your mother was wearing the ruby necklace from the collection. Mrs. Braintree didn’t know what had happened to the jewels, but she did know of you. With a little digging, we were able to uncover your identity and your whereabouts.”
“If I may be indelicate,” Lady Eberlin said, “may I inquire if you know what happened to the jewels?” She leaned forward as if his answer was of the utmost importance.
Harrison frowned a little. His mother had quite a lot of jewelry. “Rubies, you say?” he asked, thinking.
“Yes, rubies,” Lady Eberlin said eagerly. “A necklace, a coronet, and some earrings.”
“Ah yes,” he said. “I remember them well. She kept them in a box.”
Lady Eberlin shared a look with her husband before pressing Harrison. “Do you know what became of them?”
He shrugged. “Wrapped around some grand dame’s throat, I suspect.”
Lady Eberlin looked crestfallen. Eberlin frowned down at his teacup.
“Have I said something wrong?” Harrison asked.
“Not at all,” Eberlin said. “We rather hoped they might be found, to clear up an old mystery or two.”
“I wish I could help you,” he said. “The ruby jewelry was a gift to my mother. She occasionally had to sell large pieces to pay for our lodging and my schooling. I do recall the necklace quite well—she was fond of it and wore it often. But she sold it to a jeweler to pay for my apprenticeship.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Eberlin said, clearly disappointed. “Is it possible you might know where she came by the jewels?”
“It’s rather obvious, my love,” Eberlin said, and took her hand in his.
“From my father,” Harrison said flatly. “Very plainly put, madam, he took them from your aunt to please his lover, and for that, I am very sorry. But I cannot be surprised. After all, he had a son whom he never acknowledged.”
Harrison had not thought of the slights his father had given him in many years. But he was reminded of how painful it was to know that the earl had seen him, his son, so many times and looked right through him. It was as if Harrison had not even existed to that man. All those years he’d spent praying for a father, watching the men parading through his mother’s life, wondering if any of them could be the one. When Harrison was very young, he imagined that one of them was his father and didn’t know of him, and if only he could determine which one, he could tell them, I am your son. And in his innocence, he’d imagined the gentleman would fall to his knees in gratitude, would sweep him up and hold him tight, vowing to never let him go.
Harrison looked at Alexa. She was sitting very still, her gaze on a portrait above the hearth. She was surely thinking what he was thinking—that her child would be just like him. Harrison couldn’t live with himself if he left her child to suffer that. He was doing the right thing. As privately painful as it was, he was doing the right thing for an unborn child.
“I did not mean to dredge up unpleasant memories,” Lady Eberlin said. “I have been eager to solve the mystery of what happened to the jewels.”
“And now you have your answer, my love,” Eberlin said, and put aside his teacup. “Shall we leave them to the business of their estate? I am certain Mr. Fish has quite a lot of news to impart.”
“I do indeed,” Mr. Fish said, patting the ledger on his lap.
“Thank you for coming,” Harrison said, and saw the Eberlins out. They paused in the foyer to look at the staircase.
“It’s an astounding piece of work,” Harrison said as he admired the meandering vine carved into the railing. “Your father is a master woodcarver, I take it?”
“He was. He is deceased,” Eberlin said. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “He was hanged for the crime of stealing the ruby jewelry.”
“I beg your pardon?” Harrison asked, startled.
Eberlin swallowed and looked at Harrison. “He was Lady Ashwood’s lover. The old earl allowed him to be accused and to hang for the crime, so that he might give the jewels to your mother.”
Harrison was shocked. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Eberlin smiled. “There is nothing to say, Mr. Tolly. I have long since come to terms with it. I hope you will, too. By the bye, we’ve a box of things that we collected from Mrs. Braintree you might find of interest. I’ll have it sent round on the morrow. Good day.”
“Good day, sir,” Lady Eberlin added, and allowed her husband to lead her out of the house.
“One cannot say Ashwood has not seen her share of tragedies,” Mr. Fish said. “But I should like to think happier days have come. Shall we have a look at the books?”
They repaired to the study, where Mr. Fish gave Harrison a detailed discourse in the business of Ashwood. Mr. Fish was a thorough man and acquitted himself as well as Harrison would ever hope to do himself. It was clear the estate was suffering from poor fiscal management, but Harrison was seasoned at righting listing ships—Lord Westhorpe had given him ample opportunity over the years.
“I think we might reverse Ashwood’s fortunes with a few strategic moves,” he said as Mr. Fish prepared to take his leave.
“I agree, my lord,” Mr. Fish said.
“I am not a lord, sir,” Harrison corrected him.
Mr. Fish smiled. “Not at the moment, perhaps, but I think it inevitable. Lady Eberlin is determined that you shall have all that is rightfully yours.”
“Yes,” Harrison said. “About that. I would like to marry Miss Hastings as soon as is possible. It would be preferable if the posting of banns might somehow be avoided or expedited.” He gave Fish a sidelong look. “Is that something you might arrange?”
Mr. Fish blinked, then nodded. “I think I might.”
“You have probably guessed that time is of the essence. How soon might we stand before a clergyman?”
Mr. Fish’s cheeks took on a slightly rosy hue. “I should think Friday. Shall I speak to the vicar on your behalf?”
“With all due discretion, please.”
“Of course,” Mr. Fish said.
Harrison could feel the heat in his neck, and clasped his hands at his back. “Thank you, Mr. Fish. Is there anything more?”
“No. I shall return on the morrow with the details you need.”
Mr. Fish left—all but sprinting, really—and Harrison felt the heat in his neck climb to his cheeks. The die had
been cast now. There was no turning back.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Alexa dressed in one of the few gowns that didn’t strain across her belly and would contain her swelling breasts. She would have to speak to Harry about suitable clothing for her spreading waistline.
She wondered when precisely she should do that as she donned her earrings. Since they’d arrived at Ashwood, she hadn’t seen much of him. Should she mention it before their typically silent supper? Or after, during the silent respite in the salon before they retired?
Alexa studied her belly in the mirror, turning one way, then the other.
Ashwood wasn’t what she had envisioned at all, really. It wasn’t the house—the house and the grounds were worn, but she supposed that might be expected, given that no one had tended it for so long. The estate could all be made spectacular again with some funding and ideas.
What was wrong about Ashwood was Harry. Her would-be earl.
Alexa had believed they would marry, and she would be a countess, and she would spend her days readying her nursery and inviting ladies to luncheon. She hadn’t really thought much beyond that. She’d avoided thinking beyond that. For when she thought of herself with a baby, she inevitably thought of Carlos, and the ache in her heart would flare and . . . well, she would rather not think of it.
But Alexa did like to think of how she might dress the nursery, and how she and Harry might walk about the grounds and have a look at things, and they would talk, and they would become the sort of friends she supposed men and women must be if they were married.
Yet they’d been here a little more than a week, and instead of growing closer as she had hoped, Harrison seemed to grow more distant. Moreover, he was cross. He was no longer the smiling, self-possessed man she’d first encountered at Everdon Court. When Alexa had made the mistake of remarking on it one night, he had curtly informed her that Ashwood required his attention at present, and he apologized if that did not meet with her expectations.
