“Go back to the house if you don’t want to come with us,” Harry said to his sister. “But you have to promise not to tell Mother or Miss Freed.”
“I won’t tell. And I’m not going back to the house.”
“When were these tunnels constructed?” Adam asked as they rounded the side of the house and made their way along the side that faced the ocean.
“Ages and ages ago,” Harry said.
“How long ago, exactly?” Adam asked. “Do you know?”
Harry frowned. “I don’t know, exactly. But Jacoby said they were used as far back as his grandfather’s time, to bring goods from ships to the cellars, where they were stored.”
If that was true, the tunnels had existed long before Clarissa or Jared Delaware had been born. But that didn’t mean they weren’t perfect for the smuggler’s purpose.
“Around this way!” Harry called, and ducked behind a ragged hedge that paralleled the house’s foundation. He stopped in front of a wooden door that was half-hidden by a curtain of ivy. He pushed aside the ivy, then let out a wail.
“What is it?” Fanny, a little out of breath, joined them.
“Someone’s put a lock on it.” Harry pointed. Indeed, a large iron lock hung from a hasp on the door.
“They probably did it to keep you out,” Fanny said.
Adam studied the lock. Unlike the door, it looked new, not a speck of rust on its surface. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about the tunnels,” he said. “Perhaps we can explore them some other time.”
Harry scowled at the padlock, then threw up his hands. “Do you want to see the alehouse?” he asked. “Miss Freed says they used to make ale there. They don’t anymore, but there are a bunch of big casks and things.”
“By all means, let us visit the ale house,” Adam said. He motioned ahead of him. “Lead on, squire.”
Giggling, Harry raced ahead of him, Fanny flying after. Adam glanced back at the locked door. This place would indeed be worth revisiting later. Perhaps after dark. When he was sure he was alone.
Clarissa watched from her sitting room window as Harry and Fannie gamboled around Mr. Kendrick like two puppies. She could not hear his words from behind the glass, but he smiled and laughed with the children, and they responded in kind. Happiness mixed with pain clutched at her chest. Harry and Fannie so clearly longed for the attention of a father. Her brother might have filled the role, but Waverley disliked the country, and had little experience with or patience for children.
If she were able to remarry, she could give them a father, but each passing year made that less likely. She had no idea where Jared might be or how to reach him. In order for a divorce to be granted, the husband had to file, and she very much doubted Jared would ever go to the trouble and expense to do so.
She was well and truly stuck. Married, but not a wife. Forced by circumstance to remain faithful to a man who had abandoned her.
“M’lady?” She turned to find her butler, Evans, standing in the doorway of the room, an anxious expression on his face.
“Yes, Evans?” She moved toward him. “Is something wrong?”
“Two…men are here to see you. I’ve put them in the red parlor.”
She frowned. “Who are they?”
“One is a constable,” Evans said. “The other one did not identify himself.”
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Had they come with some news of Jared? “I’ll go down at once,” she said.
On the landing, she met Emma coming up. “What is it, Clarissa?” The governess took in Clarissa and the butler’s pained expressions.
“The constable is here to see me,” Clarissa said.
“I’ll come with you.” Emma turned and fell into step beside her.
The two men who stood by the empty fireplace in the red drawing room had the rough skin of men who spent long hours out of doors. They sported matching walrus moustaches and bushy sideburns, and had big bellies that swelled their waistcoats and spilled over the tops of their trousers. They differed only by a few inches in height and the color of their hair. The shorter of the two had flaming red hair, while the taller sported sandy hair flecked with gray. “Constable Ryan,” the red-haired man introduced himself. “And this is my colleague, Mr. Trent.”
“Why are you here at Waverley House?” Clarissa asked. She slipped her hands into the folds of her skirts to hide their shaking.
The two men exchanged a look she was at a loss to interpret. “We need to search the grounds,” Ryan said. “We’ve been alerted to possible smuggling activity in the area.”
“What do you know about that?” Trent asked.
“Smuggling? I know nothing about it,” she said.
“Surely you’ve heard the rumors,” Trent said, his voice chiding.
She glanced at Emma. “My friend, Miss Freed, mentioned that she had heard something about it in the village, but I don’t pay attention to gossip.”
“When was the last time you heard from your husband, Lady Delaware?” Ryan asked.
“My husband? What does he have to do with this?”
“I would like to know the last time you heard from him.” Ryan’s face was stern, unreadable.
“Five years ago.” Her face flamed. It still felt shameful to her, that her husband had not even bothered to communicate with her in that time. “Do you know something about him?” she asked. “Where he is? If you do, please tell me.”
“You truly have no idea where he is?” Trent looked as if he didn’t believe her. “What he is up to?”
“No. I…” She swallowed, trying to collect herself. “Over the years, I have heard that he was on the continent – France or Italy. But I was never able to ascertain the truth of those stories.” She bowed her head. “I was never able to get in touch with him.”
“What was he doing on the continent?” Trent asked.
“Hiding from his debtors, I suppose.” Not that they could have done anything to him – a baron could not be sent to debtor’s prison. Hiding from me, but she did not say this last. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She had no reason to cower before these men. “I cannot help you,” she said. “I have no idea where my husband is or what he is doing.”
“And you don’t know anything about these smugglers?” Ryan asked.
“Lady Delaware is not in the habit of lying,” Emma said. “And as for rumors and gossip, she is far too busy running this household to pay attention to any of them.”
Clarissa flashed her friend a grateful smile, then returned her attention to the constable. “What do you expect to find in your search of the property, Mr. Ryan?”
The constable’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe that is any of your concern, Lady Delaware.”
“Except that it is my property you want to search.” She struggled to keep her voice even. If he were speaking to a man – Jared, or her brother – would he take such a tone?
“We’re looking for signs of ships anchoring in the cove, of goods being off loaded,” Trent said. “Anything suspicious.”
“Search then, if you like,” she said. “You’ll find nothing like that.”
“Good day to you, my lady.” Ryan nodded and led the way from the room.
When the men were gone, Clarissa dropped into a chair. “Thank you for coming to my defense,” she said to Emma.
“I only spoke the truth.” Emma sat across from her. “Though I do wonder sometimes how you reached almost your fourth decade, yet remain so naïve.”
“What do you mean?” Clarissa asked.
“Did it not ever occur to you that Jared might be involved in smuggling?”
Clarissa stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps the constables came to this house because they believe Jared is the smuggler they seek,” Emma said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Clarissa said. “If Jared were here, why would he keep himself hidden? This is his home.” Why would he be so close to her, yet n
ot say a word?
Emma shook her head. “If the law is after him, he dare not show his face. Smuggling is a hanging offense.”
“He would not do such a thing,” Clarissa said.
Emma stood and patted Clarissa’s shoulder. “You always believe the best in everyone.”
“I find that preferable to always believing the worst.” She wore her optimism like a shield against all the bad things life hurled at her. But such belief had not protected her from the man she had married. Wanting him to be good, she had not seen all the bad in him, until it was too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Adam was alone in the library, perusing a collection of philosophy books, when Clarissa found him. “Mr. Kendrick, how are you feeling this day?” she asked. She wore a simple gown of gray silk trimmed in sky blue, the simple lace-trimmed cap atop her auburn hair marking her as a matron, though he could not think of her as such. “I am feeling better, thank you,” he said.
“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “If you are agreeable, I suggest we continue the course of treatment for a while longer.”
“I have no objection,” he said. “Though I am not yet ready to admit that your treatments are any more effective than the rest and relaxation I have found in your home.”
Her smile did not completely reach her eyes. “Let us sit. I would like to speak with you a moment.”
She took a seat on the sofa and he sat beside her. “Were you aware that I received an invitation to Lord Carstairs’ ball?” he asked.
“Evans informed me,” she said. “I hope you will agree to attend.”
“Yes, I plan to attend. Was that what you wished to speak with me about?”
She knotted her hands in her lap, then met his gaze. “I had a visit from the constable this morning,” she said.
He had not expected this. “The constable?”
“Yes. He wanted to search the grounds. He said he was looking for signs of smuggling – that rumors had it that smugglers are operating in my cove.”
The hair rose up on the back of his neck. If the local constabulary were nosing about, that might mean the smugglers were very near. That Devon was very near. “I can see how you might find that distressing,” he said.
“I want to know why you are here, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. “And I want the truth. Are you one of the smugglers the constable is seeking? Did you come here to rendezvous with a ship in the cove? Or to receive a shipment of stolen goods? Did you think you could carry on your illegal business right under my nose, without my knowing about it?”
The fierceness of her words and the fire in her eyes stirred him. “I am not a smuggler,” he said. “But I did come here looking for them.”
Her eyes widened. “Then you believe what the constable told me is true? That smugglers really are using this cove? Are you some kind of lawman?”
“I am not a lawman.”
“Then what are you? Who are you? Explain yourself, sir.”
“My name is really Adam Kendrick. I came here searching for my brother, Devon.” He shifted enough to withdraw the letter from his pocket. “I came here because of this letter.”
He handed her the letter, studying her as all color left her face as she scanned the page, then returned in a warm blush. She clutched the paper, white knuckled, and glared at him. “Where did you get this?”
“I paid a man to find information about my brother’s whereabouts and he brought me this.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked at the letter again, perhaps remembering the occasion she had written such passionate words, perhaps mortified to have a stranger read the deepest longings of her heart. “What does this letter have to do with your brother?”
“My brother ran away and joined up with a group of smugglers. The leader of the group goes by the name of Jacques DeLae, but this letter proves his real name is Jared Delaware.”
“My husband.” She swallowed, and he saw her draw courage around her like a cloak. “My husband is not here, Mr. Kendrick. I have not seen him in years, and I know nothing of your brother.”
He wanted to believe her, but he was not a naïve young man, easily swayed by a pretty woman with a pretty story. “Tell me about your husband.” He nodded to the paper in her hand. “Tell me about that letter.”
“It was written a long time ago, by a very foolish girl.”
“Those aren’t the words of a fool.” His throat tightened, remembering the emotion poured into the page. “They strike me as the writings of a woman very much in love.”
“What did I know of love?” The bitterness in her tone stung him. She smoothed her hand across the page, almost tenderly. “I wrote this letter after Delaware left me. I thought our parting was only temporary, and thought to woo him back to my side. I was shameless in my pleading. I thought…I thought if I revealed myself, naked on the page, as it were, that he would come home. That we could be a family again.”
“You loved him very much.” He had to force the words past the knot in his throat.
“I debased myself for nothing.” She crumpled the paper, the sudden violence of the gesture jarring. “He never answered this letter. I never even knew he received it.”
“You gave him a great gift and he rejected it,” Adam said. “He didn’t deserve you.”
She shook her head, no longer able to meet his gaze. Her pain wounded him; he wanted desperately to ease it, as she had eased his own suffering. He grasped her shoulders. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She lifted her head and met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with tears. Her lips, so full and soft, trembled slightly, and that vulnerability was his undoing. He pressed his mouth to hers to still the tremor, to silence her unspoken doubts. The man who had a woman like Clarissa Delaware was blessed indeed, yet Delaware had failed to value that blessing. Adam wanted to howl with rage, but all he could do was pull her to him and try to comfort her with a kiss.
She clung to him, her mouth slightly parted on a sigh that sent heat through him. She tasted sweet as berries, the satin softness of her lips setting every nerve alight with awareness of her. Her breasts pillowed against his chest, their curves enticing. He ached to caress them, to lay her back on this sofa and bury his face between them, to sink himself between her thighs, to pleasure her with all the skill he possessed, and all the tenderness she deserved.
He forced himself to pull away, before he forgot himself altogether. Clarissa was a married woman, and a lady, and thus unavailable to him. She stared up at him, eyes still fogged with lust, lips swollen with the evidence of their passion. “I don’t regret for a moment doing that,” he said, his voice rough. “But I had better go now.”
She nodded, mute. It took every bit of his strength to pull away from her and stand. It would be some time before he recovered from her effect on him. Maybe a lifetime.
The evening of Lord Carstairs’ ball, the elderly residents of Waverley House gathered in the front hall to admire the finery of the departing ball-goers. “Oh, isn’t Lady Delaware a picture!” Mrs. Landers exclaimed, clapping her hands together as Clarissa, in a pale green silk gown with a wide band of embroidery at the hem, descended the stairs. Her hair was dressed in curls, with a bandeau of darker green silk trimmed with tiny pearls.
“Miss Freed is also quite fetching,” Miss Mosely said. Emma wore white, embroidered with blue flowers, a few golden curls peeking from beneath a white satin turban.
“If I were ten years younger, I daresay I’d ask the both of them to dance,” Sir Henry said.
“If you were thirty years younger, they might agree,” Mrs. Landers said, drawing a snort of laughter from Mr. Fletcher.
“And here’s a fitting escort for our ladies,” Miss Mosely said, as Mr. Kendrick descended the stairs. Dressed in black knee breeches, black waistcoat and tailcoat, with snow white stockings and white cravat, he was the picture of elegance.
“The carriage should be here at any moment,” Clarissa said, straightening her gloves, then allowing Evans to help h
er into her cloak.
“Do you have everything you need?” Miss Mosely asked. “Your dancing slippers? A shawl in case the ballroom is too cool? A fan should it be too warm? Smelling salts?”
“Why ever should she need smelling salts?” Emma asked, slipping into her own cloak.
“In my day, a lady never went without her smelling salts,” Miss Mosely said.
“I have everything, Miss Mosely, thank you,” Clarissa said. She turned to Adam, who had added a greatcoat and top hat to his outfit. “Are you ready, Mr. Kendrick?”
“I am.” He stepped forward to take her arm and escort her to the carriage.
“Oh, they do make a handsome couple,” Miss Mosely said, before the door closed, cutting off any comment that followed.
“Don’t mind the old dears,” Emma said, as Mr. Kendrick helped her into the carriage after Clarissa. “They seem to have taken into their heads some foolish idea of making a match of you and Clarissa.”
Beside her, Clarissa felt her face flame. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emma.” She avoided looking at Mr. Kendrick as he seated himself opposite them. She had avoided being alone with him since their meeting in the library, though the mere memory of the encounter was enough to make her whole body feel on fire.
“I’m sure it is only their fondness for Lady Delaware that makes them wish to see her happy,” Mr. Kendrick said, his expression bland. He, apparently, had not been as affected by their kiss. Perhaps he kissed women all the time.
Beyond the kiss, she didn’t know what to make of his story about his brother and how he had come by her letter. She had sensed real longing when he spoke of his brother, but was it really possible that Jared had turned to smuggling? And that he was using Waverley House for his crimes?
The carriage pulled into the drive for Angelus House, the baron’s seat, and they joined the other guests ascending the stairs to the ballroom. In the ladies’ retiring room, Emma and Clarissa shed their cloaks and donned their dancing slippers, then returned to the antechamber, where they joined Mr. Kendrick for their entrance into the ballroom.
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