by Julia London
“Your aunt? She could have saved my father’s life,” he said and picked up his wine, drinking fully.
“I am painfully aware of that. I cannot fathom why she didn’t, but knowing her as I did, there had to have been a reason.”
Tobin looked away.
“She tried, you know,” she said quietly. “In the days before your father was . . . was hanged,” she said, nearly choking on the word, “she tried to find the jewels. She searched every room of this house. She took the books from the shelves, opened the drawers and emptied their contents.”
Tobin made a sound of impatience.
“I remember overhearing my nurse tell one of the maids that Aunt Althea was quite mad. But she wasn’t—she was desperate.” Lily shook her head at the memory. Lily had been so young, so naïve! She could recall trying to reason with Aunt Althea, to tell her that if Mr. Scott had stolen the jewels, she could not possibly find them. Lily could not bear to think of how her aunt must have suffered. To see her lover hanged! To endure the marriage she must have endured!
“I don’t expect you to understand me. But I must do it for Aunt Althea and your father. And for me, quite honestly.”
That brought Tobin’s head up. “What do you mean?”
“Is it not obvious? If I can find them, I can end Ashwood’s slide into complete disrepair. And I won’t be forced to pursue a husband like a hunter after a wily fox.”
He stared at her as if he’d never considered it.
She smiled ruefully. “Surely you are not surprised. A rich and titled man will save us all,” she said dramatically.
Tobin looked oddly disconcerted. Perhaps even a bit guilty.
Let him feel guilty. But when she looked at him again, she saw sympathy in his eyes.
She closed her eyes so she’d not see it.
When he looked at her like that, it made her soft. She couldn’t allow herself to be soft with him, not even for a moment. Any weakness, and he would win their war . . . if he hadn’t already.
“Lily, are you unwell?” Tobin asked quietly.
She opened her eyes. He was gazing at her with genuine concern. “I’m quite all right.”
“Perhaps you should return to your bed.”
“But I am feeling much improved. Perhaps you will humor me and play a round or two of cassino? I am desperate for a diversion.”
His brows rose with surprise. “Lady Ashwood, are you a gambler?”
“As it happens, I do enjoy a good wager,” she said pertly. “Alas, I have no coin to spare.”
“Allow me,” he said, withdrawing a pouch from his pocket.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I can’t begin to guess what you might demand in payment if I were to lose.”
He smiled at that and withdrew several coins, which he placed on the table before her. “No payment but the pleasure of your company.”
“Oh, my.” She smiled brightly. “It would appear I have come up in the world.”
She rang a bell to signal Linford. When the table was cleared, the fire stoked, and Tobin had his port and Lily a cup of medicinal tea, he shuffled the cards and dealt them to her. They played one round, Lily winning quickly. The next hand was won by a very stoic Tobin, who helped himself to the crown she had just taken from him.
“You are very practiced at this,” she said.
“One cannot sail the high seas and not be,” Tobin said as he shuffled the cards. “There is little else to do when one is not working. Tell me where you learned to take a man’s hard-earned money?”
“Here and there,” she responded coyly.
He smiled a little lopsidedly at her. “I would rather imagine a line of gentlemen would be at your disposal to teach you the art of card-playing . . . among other things.”
“A lady never speaks of such things,” she teased.
“Aha,” he said, and laid his first card. “I believe I have my answer. You are a temptress.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You are very coy and you smile with your eyes. I can see a line of London fops toppling over with just a glance from you.”
“You make them sound as if they are easily toppled, like wooden soldiers.”
“I would know a thing or two about what would cause a man to topple, and I think you possess an abundance of that particular magic.”
Lily smiled and trumped his card, drawing the pair to her side of the table. “I sense a thawing of your cold heart, Tobin Scott.”
He grinned a little sheepishly. “It is your fault—your fair looks are quite disarming. But I have iron resolve.”
She was gaining on him, she could see it. He was becoming less disposed to hurt her. “What do you think,” she asked idly, “might have happened to the jewels?”
Tobin groaned to the ceiling. “That again?” He trumped the card she’d just played.
“Come now, you must be curious.”
“Of course I am,” he said and threw down another card. “But the jewels are gone, Lily. A servant probably took them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone assume a servant would be so eager to risk so much? I don’t believe it—I think Lord Ashwood was looking for someone to blame. It was as if he wanted to point at someone instantly, without evidence, and see them hanged. Why would he not want to understand what had happened? Why was he so eager to accuse?”
Tobin shrugged and trumped her again.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. “I know! He was eager to accuse someone, anyone, because he knew where the jewels were.” It suddenly all made sense! The earl had been eager to accuse and to blame, without benefit of investigation. He hadn’t searched for the jewels at all that Lily could recall; he’d just assembled the servants and accused them one by one. “He knew all along where they were and who had taken them, and he wanted to find someone else to blame. And I . . . I unwittingly provided him with that person.”
The memory of that awful morning, when he’d threatened to hang any of the servants, was still vivid. To think she had played into his hands! She closed her eyes against the image.
“Lily.” Tobin’s hand on her cheek startled her, and she opened her eyes. He was leaning across the small table.
“You are fatigued,” he said. He felt her forehead. “And warm.”
“I am fine—”
“Do not deny it,” he said. “You should be abed now. I’ve kept you too long.”
“Tobin, please,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the wrist of the hand that caressed her face. “Help me find the jewels.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “All right, you foolish girl,” he said at last. “I will help you look.”
Relief weighed down her body. “Thank you,” she said. “Where should we begin?”
“We will begin with you in your bed, recovering from this illness. No,” he said, squeezing her hand as she tried to speak. “I will not entertain any argument.” He stood, and before Lily could move, he picked her up.
“Tobin!” She pushed against him. “I can walk!”
“Hush.” He carried her to the adjoining bedroom, holding her against his solid frame as if she’d weighed no more than a child, and deposited her on the bed. “Take good care of your mistress,” he said to Ann, who stood with her mouth gaping open. “Get well, Lily. I cannot have you ill.” He moved to the door and opened it to go out.
“Wait!” she said. “What of our search?”
“Start with the books,” he said. “See if anyone was owed a great deal of money. But not a moment before Dr. Trittman says you might. And be warned, madam, if I hear that you are disregarding the doctor’s advice, I shall increase your demise tenfold.”
Lily smiled at that ridiculous notion.
She sank back into the pillows when he’d gone. For the first time, she felt as if she was winning the war.
Tobin reached Tiber Park just before noon the next morning, having resisted an unholy desire to see Lily once more. But he’d already waded
ankle deep into unfamiliar waters, which had left him feeling at odds with himself.
Rise up, press on, he’d told himself, and he’d left just as soon as the snow had begun to melt.
He found Bolge at Tiber Park, ale in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. “Well, well,” Bolge said. “I wondered when the dogs would drag you home.”
“What brings you here?” Tobin asked.
“A problem with your newest ship,” Bolge said. “Where the devil have you been?”
“Ashwood. I was snowed in.”
“Were you, now?” Bolge said jovially and bit off a hunk of bread. “And here I made it all the way from London in the snow. I hope you kept warm between her legs—”
Tobin grabbed Bolge’s collar, yanking the larger man halfway out of his seat. “Watch your tongue,” he said sharply and shoved Bolge back in his chair.
The moment he let go, he felt appalled. His reaction had been so visceral, so . . . protective.
Bolge merely looked amused. “Well, well,” he said, nodding sagely.
Tobin colored. He ran his hand over his head and moved to the hearth. He couldn’t imagine what had just happened to him. Had he lost his bloody mind?
“What you need,” Bolge said, pointing the bread at him, “is to clear your head, lad. Come to London and have a look at the ship. I think we must replace the masts if she’s to sail.”
London suddenly seemed like an excellent idea. “When do we leave?”
FOURTEEN
Lily slept deeply and dreamlessly, and didn’t awake until the bright sun was high in the sky. Ann told her that Tobin had left.
“Good,” Lily said.
She’d awakened with conflicting emotions about their snowbound evening. He’d been so different, so gentle—not the man he’d tried to make her believe he was. It confirmed that there was so much more to him than he was willing to allow anyone to see, but that was dangerous thinking. That sort of thinking led to sentimentality, which led to weakness, and Lily was not foolish enough to believe that a gentler Tobin was any less her enemy.
In the days that followed, Lily slowly regained her strength. Dr. Trittman finally allowed her to rise from her bed and do more than just sit about and answer the letters of concern that had been delivered. Mrs. Morton had written to request that she and her friends be allowed to call and see for themselves that the countess’s health was improving, so on a cold, overcast day, Lily received the ladies for tea.
Mrs. Morton and Lady Horncastle were filled with gossip about Tobin’s sister, who was, apparently, coming down from London for the ball. Lily tried to remember Charity, but she could conjure nothing but a fair-haired girl who’d been close to her in age.
“She’s to be his hostess,” Lady Horncastle said behind her lorgnette in a voice of disapproving authority. “One cannot begin to fathom how she might handle the duties of a hostess, given that she was reared in plain circumstances.”
“Well.” Mrs. Morton patted a sausage-like curl back from her temple. “They say she has been schooled in proper etiquette in London. I rather suppose that one cannot rise to such prominence as Count Eberlin has done without bringing up the rest of the family, can one?”
“That is not at all true,” Lady Horncastle said, letting her lorgnette drop. “You may recall Mr. Hutton, who found himself suddenly in possession of seven thousand pounds a year after the death of his uncle, yet he did not bring up his family.”
“I should think not!” Mrs. Morton laughed. “I should think it impossible to bring up a family that practically swims in their handmade whiskey and considers poaching to be a sport! One cannot possibly compare the two families, madam. The Scott children were born into a good Christian family and were brought low by the incomprehensible actions of their father. Of course the count would raise his sister up.”
“She has a daughter,” Miss Babcock said idly.
Lady Horncastle and Mrs. Morton’s heads swiveled around and their gazes fixed on the young woman.
Miss Babcock smiled prettily and held up the teapot. “Shall I refresh your tea?”
“What do you mean, she has a daughter?” Mrs. Morton demanded. “I had not heard she’d married.”
“I did not say she had married,” Miss Babcock said coyly.
Miss Babcock’s words hung like anvils over their heads, and Lily’s guests reared back, as if they feared they would be tainted by mere association.
“And how are you in possession of this knowledge, Miss Babcock?” Lady Horncastle asked. “I am certain I would have heard such news from the many contacts I maintain in London,” she said, clearly angered she had not been the first to hear of it.
“Mr. Fuquay mentioned it in passing,” Miss Babcock said, to which Mrs. Morton snorted. “He took a delivery of furnishings to Mayfair for Lord Eberlin. He happened to mention he’d made the acquaintance of both and that they are a handsome pair.”
“Well,” Lady Horncastle said. “Well, then!”
“And she will serve as his hostess?” Mrs. Morton was clearly appalled.
“As I understand it,” Miss Babcock said, obviously enjoying her role as the fount of all knowledge regarding Charity Scott.
“It is not to be borne!” Lady Horncastle blustered, now quite pink. “It will only invite scandal and gossip-mongering. Count Eberlin must have a care for his actions! He must be aware of how he presents himself to the world. His actions reflect on all of us—have we not suffered enough scandal and gossip of late?”
If there was any gossipmongering that would result in this shire, Lily had no doubt that it would be these three women to do it. She said, “I hardly think it is the end of the world as we know it.”
“Some of us are perhaps more tolerant of bad behavior than others,” Lady Horncastle sniffed, and brushed the crumbs of her teacake from her bodice.
An awkward moment passed as Keira’s ghost hovered above the tea. “I am not intolerant,” Lily said calmly, to which Lady Horncastle flicked her wrist dismissively and looked away. “I feel very sorry for Charity Scott.”
“Why would you feel sorry for a woman who took no more care of her virtue than that?” Mrs. Morton asked.
“You are assuming she was careless, Mrs. Morton. I know only that she was scarcely older than me when her father died, and her mother soon thereafter. How would a girl without protection guard her virtue? She was quite helpless, and I cannot condemn her for that.”
Lady Horncastle blinked. “Do you mean to say you knew of this, Lady Ashwood?”
“Yes.” Lily glanced around at the three women. “I asked Eberlin and he told me what happened to his family after . . . after that summer.”
Her three guests exchanged a look. Lily did not care to talk about that summer to these women, and suddenly, she did not care to talk to them at all. They sat in their tidy houses in Hadley Green and gossiped, judging others by some ridiculous social standard. They could not begin to imagine the trials that other people endured!
“Well I shall be on tenterhooks to meet her,” Miss Babcock said, trying gamely to turn the conversation. “She’s down from London and I am certain she will be dressed in the finest fashion. I intend to make a proper acquaintance of her.”
“That is very shrewd of you, my dear,” Mrs. Morton said. “A man as rich and handsome as Eberlin will certainly look for a wife among women who are not put off by the misfortunes of his sister or his questionable occupation, will he not?”
“Pardon?” Miss Babcock asked.
“Arms, my dear,” Mrs. Morton said. “The man trades in arms.”
“Oh! How very disagreeable,” Lady Horncastle exclaimed.
Miss Babcock faltered for only a fraction of a moment, then turned a bright smile to Lily. “Lady Ashwood, have you heard the Darlingtons have come? The duke and duchess and their infant daughter, Lady Allison, as well as the dowager duchess. Rumor has it that Lord Christopher will join them, as well.”
“Now there is a man for you,” Lady Horncastle said
. “Lady Ashwood, you should set your sights on him. He is as fine a match as you would ever hope to make, and he is a man of high morals.”
“Yes, yes, it would be a perfect match of fortunes and holdings,” Mrs. Morton eagerly agreed. “And what beautiful children the two of you would make!”
Lily felt hot. She tried to smile but failed.
“You will make his acquaintance, won’t you?” Mrs. Morton pressed.
“Of course she will! I shall see to it myself,” Lady Horncastle said. “I take great pride in my ability to match young people.”
As Lady Horncastle nattered on about her incomparable ability to pair young lovers, Lily thought that at the very least, Mr. Fish would be made happy by the arrival of the Darlingtons.
Neither the Tiber Park ball, nor the arrival of the Darlingtons, occupied Lily’s mind over the next few days. She was preoccupied with Lucy’s imminent departure, which also overtook any thoughts of how she might find the jewels.
Worse, Tobin had managed to dispel her idea that a kind human being existed beneath his hard exterior. One morning, Louis escorted Agatha into the study, where Lily and Mr. Fish were reviewing the accounts. Agatha’s news quickly deflated them.
“He’s got a granary in Eldagirt,” she reported nervously. “He’ll carry grain to it and store it free of charge for anyone who promises to mill with him in the summer.”
Mr. Fish’s face darkened. He looked at Lily. “Free granary now?” he said sharply and tossed some papers he was holding onto the desk before stalking to the windows.
“Thank you, Agatha,” Lily said.
“He is vile,” Mr. Fish said after they’d gone. “I fear I will fail you, Lady Ashwood. I am not skilled in combating such a virtueless man.”
“We mustn’t fret,” Lily said, although she sounded unconvincing to herself. “As he has not yet begun to store grain, we have a window of opportunity, do we not?”
Mr. Fish looked dubious. “I think our best opportunity is your introduction to the Darlingtons.”
