Always Forever (Emerson Book 5)

by Maureen Driscoll

  “Very well,” she said. “But I would request that you give me several hundred feet of distance.”

  For a moment, it looked like he would protest, but then he nodded. “Yes, milady.”

  Rose forced a smile to her lips, then set off for her ride. While the man kept his distance, Rose developed a sense of dread which seemed to increase the further she rode from the house.

  * * *

  “Are you in search of a dungeon?” asked Mirabelle as she walked into the basement chamber that Nate was searching.

  Nate had not heard Mirabelle approach, which was worrisome. Mayhap he was losing his touch. Or, perhaps, he should stop daydreaming about his wife so much. “Are you looking for me, your grace?” he asked.

  “You do not have to address me so formally when Bancroft is not around,” she said as she walked into the room and surveyed the dusty shelves and trunks Nate had moved from the wall, while he searched for a hidden panel. “You may call me Duchess or even Mirabelle when we are alone.”

  “Not Stepmama?”

  “Certainly not!” She smiled to take the sting out of her tone, which had been as sharp as a cracked whip. But there was no mistaking how little she liked that idea. “What is it you are searching for in here?”

  “Some old journals from school. Rose had expressed an interest in my studies.”

  “I have always been much more interested in the future than the past,” said Mirabelle, as she dusted off a chair, then sat and leaned toward him, exposing an impressive décolletage. “I wonder about your future, Nate. What are your plans?”

  “As I am certain his grace can attest, I have never been overly concerned about that.”

  “But now that you have a wife, the question must have crossed your mind. Will you stay here? Move to one of the other estates? I can use my influence with Bancroft if there is an estate you would like to use.”

  “Trying to get rid of me, Duchess? You have only just arrived. It usually takes people longer to wish me to the devil.”

  “Ahh, but you misunderstand, dear Nathaniel, it is not I who wishes you to the devil. It is your father.”

  * * *

  Rose had been riding for a quarter of an hour and the groom was obeying her directive to stay far behind her. It was not her nature to distrust people, but until the situation with Nate and his father was resolved she had to take all precautions.

  She slowed her mare as she approached a small wooded area. She bent close to her horse’s neck to avoid low-hanging branches. While there was a narrow path through the small forest, the canopy of trees blocked out much of the sun, making it as gloomy as Rose’s mood. She was definitely feeling an odd sensation at her back. She didn’t like being enclosed, but the ground was slippery from moss, so it was not safe to rush her horse.

  Finally, she spied light ahead. The trees were growing less dense and the sun of open pasture lay ahead. In another few feet her horse would clear the forest.

  And that is when it happened.

  There was a loud crack and her horse reared, knocking Rose’s head into a tree branch. She fell off onto her back and everything went dark.

  Rose then felt like she was floating up from the cold hard ground. Up to the trees and over them. She felt a touch at her hand and turned to see Charlotte.

  The next thing Rose knew, she was back in the little shed where the duchess had met her lover. But instead of an idyllic lover’s tryst, there was shouting. Charlotte was there in human form, trying to stop an older man from beating someone. Rose could not quite see who was being beaten, but from the duchess’s cries, it was likely her lover.

  The sound of fists against flesh was sickening, but when the older man stepped back, Rose gasped to see the bloodied form of a man whose hands had been tied together. He was a young man, and might have been handsome, except for the blood and torn flesh on his face and body.

  Rose realized there were others in the room, as well. She looked back to see three servants wearing livery that was all too familiar to her. So that was how an elderly duke was able to so viciously beat a much younger, stronger man. He’d had help tying him up.

  Charlotte was begging the duke to stop, to spare the man’s life. The duke punched her, sending her sprawling across the floor. Then he crossed to the hearth and reached into a crevice in the bricks at the top of it. He removed a sword, then ran the man through.

  Charlotte screamed as her lover shrieked, then began gasping for air. A horrified Rose had tears streaming down her face as she turned to the apparition at her side. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you show me this?”

  Charlotte said nothing. But Rose could see tears on her cheeks, as well.

  A moment later, Rose awoke on the ground, with the Duke of Bancroft crouched over her. She immediately recoiled from his touch.

  “Steady on, girl,” said the duke. “You had a nasty fall. I am simply trying to learn how badly you are hurt.”

  It took Rose a moment to realize Bancroft was doing exactly as he said. She tried to sit up, then winced as her head pounded with the movement. She put her hand on her forehead, only to feel blood from where her head had hit the branch. “Where is my horse?”

  Bancroft gently probed her scalp with a handkerchief. “She could be halfway to London by now, judging from the speed she came racing out of the woods. What were you doing on her, anyway? Grayson said you were to ride Liberty.”

  “She was lame.” Rose heard footsteps approach from behind, then was alarmed to see it was Jones. She suddenly felt quite vulnerable being alone with these two men in the woods.

  “Did you find anything?” Bancroft asked Jones.

  “No, your grace. Whoever it was must have taken off at a gallop as soon as he shot.”

  “As soon as who shot?” asked Rose.

  “Did you not hear the gunshot?” asked Bancroft. “I suspect that is what spooked your horse.”

  * * *

  Nate wasn’t certain what Mirabelle was about. Had Bancroft sent her to find out what Nate knew? Or was Mirabelle sincere in wanting to warn Nate of his father’s intentions?

  “Why do you think my father means to harm me, Duchess?”

  “I did not say he means to harm you. I said he wishes you to the devil. It is not unusual for fathers and sons to be at odds, especially given some of your past activities. You yourself warned me your father could be a dangerous man. I have seen nothing of it, though I have never caused him distress. I am not so certain he likes Rose, though.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nate.

  “I do not know anything for certain, but she does have a rather plain-spoken way about her which would rub many men the wrong way.”

  “I love her forthright nature.”

  “And that could be part of the problem, Nathaniel. You do not see her as others do, therefore you are blinding yourself to the dangers she may be exposing herself to if she continues to be so willful. Mayhap you should curb her tongue.” She reached out and put her hand on Nate’s waist. “I can show you how if you would like.”

  Nate had to fight his revulsion at her touch. But he carefully picked up her wrist by two fingers and drew it away from him. “I thank you for the kind offer, Duchess. But I like my wife’s tongue just as it is.”

  Anger flashed in Mirabelle’s eyes at his rejection and in an instant Nate saw how dangerous she could be. He did not know what her game was with Bancroft, but the duchess was a threat all on her own.

  * * *

  “Are you well enough to walk?” the duke asked Rose, as he helped her to her feet.

  Jones watched her intently, but did nothing to help.

  “I am, thank you. Now what was this about a shot?” She tried walking on her own, but stumbled over a root.

  Bancroft caught her and placed his arm through hers.

  “Why would there be hunters in this part of the estate?” asked Rose.

  “There aren’t,” said the duke.

  “Could it have been poachers?”


  “I have all poachers transported, so I do not believe anyone would be so foolish in broad daylight.”

  “What about the groom who was following me?” asked Rose quietly, not knowing where the man was.

  “Hardly. He is the one who waved me over when he heard the shot.”

  “Do you think someone was shooting at me?” asked Rose as they finally found their way out of the woods with Jones close behind.

  “I do not know. He could have been shooting at me. When we find the man, we shall get the answers we need.”

  It was clear Bancroft believed he would find the man, though Rose still wasn’t convinced the shot hadn’t come from him or one of his men. Of course, if that had been the case, he and Jones would have had the perfect opportunity to kill her in the woods just now. Mayhap this was simply a way to draw Nate out, since she had no doubt he would be enraged when he learned what had happened.

  She wasn’t looking forward to explaining why she had not heeded his advice to stay close to home.

  Another thought occurred to her. Could Nate have shot at his father? They were all convinced Bancroft was a killer. Mayhap Nate had decided to take justice into his own hands. She also knew he would do anything to protect her. Had he tried to kill his father in a misguided attempt to keep her safe?

  “Can you ride back to the castle?” Bancroft asked Rose. Her mare was now peacefully eating the grass near the other horses.

  “If my horse keeps to a walk.”

  “I will make certain she does,” said the duke, as he turned both horses back toward the castle, but on a route which would avoid the forest.

  Without warning, Bancroft lifted Rose into her saddle. The surprise, coupled with the landing, jostled her head yet again. She could not quite hide her grimace.

  “My apologies,” said Bancroft. “I hope Grayson does not think I have been mistreating you. There is no telling what he might do in retaliation.”

  With that, he neatly climbed into his own saddle and the two of them set out for the castle, with Jones and the groom following behind, pistols at the ready.

  They rode in silence for the rest of the journey, but pandemonium broke out at the stables as they arrived. The head groom went pale when he saw the blood on Rose’s forehead and Bancroft himself was the one who helped her from the saddle, then had to steady her once she hit the ground.

  He took her arm, rather than offered his, as they strode back to the castle. They must have been spotted, because they were still some distance away when Nate ran out of the castle, followed by Win and Alex.

  “What happened!” demanded Nate, when he reached them. He was both frightened and angry, as he removed Rose from Bancroft’s grasp, then gingerly checked her head wound.

  “My horse reared in the forest and I hit my head.”

  Nate looked at his father. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. There was a gunshot.”

  “You were shot?” asked Nate, who examined his wife anew.

  “No,” said Rose. “I am well, other than in possession of a terrible headache.”

  “We need to put you to bed,” said Nate, who was shaking physically. It must have taken extreme will to keep it out of his voice.

  “Do you not wish to know if I am unharmed?” asked a bemused Bancroft.

  Nate stopped long enough to look at his father, though he did not loosen his hold on Rose. “I have never doubted your ability to emerge from anything unscathed. But are you well, your grace?”

  “Quite, other than wondering who was shooting at either me or your wife. Know only this…when I do find out who it was, retribution will be swift. I cannot tolerate those who would threaten what is mine.”

  “Nor can I,” said Nate, before heading into the house with his wife by his side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rose wasn’t sure what hurt worse. Her head or knowing how upset Nate was about the accident. She was now lying on their bed, with Win at her side holding her hand, while Nate paced and Alex silently contemplated the situation from a chair by the fire.

  “Nate, I am truly sorry that I went out without you,” said Rose.

  “If anything had happened to you….” He stopped and Rose felt guilty anew by his look of anguish.

  “I promise to be more careful in the future.”

  “I feel like I am to blame,” said Win. “I should have been with you.”

  “You need your sleep!” said Rose. “Ava slept constantly in the early stages of being with child. It is time we moved you into your new house so you can get some rest.”

  “We will not go,” said Win. “So enough of that talk.”

  “Why would Bancroft save her?” asked Alex. “He could have easily done away with her in the woods.”

  “I do not know,” said Nate. “It surprises me, as well. Of course, we do not know for certain that he was behind the shot.”

  “Then who was?” asked Rose quietly.

  Nate turned to his wife. “Are you asking if I took a shot at my father?”

  Rose sighed. “I know you would do whatever you thought you had to in order to protect us.”

  “That is true,” said Nate slowly. “But I would not strike pre-emptively and certainly not in such a cowardly manner. No, if I ever do take my father on, it will be face-to-face.”

  “If only Bancroft would obey the same rules,” said Alex.

  “Then if neither you nor Bancroft fired the shot, who did?” asked Win. “And who were they aiming at?”

  “What about Mirabelle?” asked Rose.

  Nate shook his head. “She was in the basement with me.”

  “Oh, really?” asked Rose. She knew her husband would never stray, but she did not trust Mirabelle in the least.

  “She could have hired someone to do her bidding,” said Alex.

  “But the question is who would it be?” asked Win.

  “There are a lot of questions,” said Nate. “But one clear directive stands. You will never leave the castle on your own again. Am I clear, Rose?”

  “But…”

  “There are no ‘buts.’ Am I clear?”

  Rose sighed. “Yes. But I do hope you are not turning into a tyrant of a husband.”

  “Let’s just say that when my wife is threatened no one should get in my way.”

  * * *

  Bancroft looked at Canning, Jones and Mortimer, drinking in his library with him. Dinner had been a quiet affair since Grayson had insisted his wife should be confined to their suite, given the events of the day. And, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis had remained with them.

  Mirabelle had been in alt to be the only lady at dinner and her flirtation with their guests had quickly reached the point of absurdity, when she wasn’t being overly solicitous about his welfare. There was the rather insulting implication – though never voiced outright – that he was too old to be galloping about the estate.

  Sometimes he wondered just what she knew about his health. But one thing was certain. His wife was wearing out her welcome. Fast.

  Bancroft studied the men around him, listening in various states of boredom to a story Canning was telling about his last visit to Madame Thurmond’s brothel. “I asked if she could bring in some younger girls. The last one I had must have been at least seventeen, if not older. I was looking for someone a bit newer to the game.”

  “And the poor girl was probably looking for someone more skilled,” said Frederick Mortimer, which made Jones snort his laughter before taking a sip of his drink.

  Canning was not amused. “I’ll have you know, Mortimer, that my talents in the bedchamber are widely touted. You might be surprised to know of the many ladies who cry out for my attentions.”

  Bancroft almost choked on his drink at that preposterous idea. More likely the ladies cried out for parting gifts from him. Canning had certainly earned enough money in their long association to afford some very expensive baubles.

  The duke wondered whether Canning might have been behind the shooting earlier tha
t day. He couldn’t have done the shooting himself, of course. Bancroft had seen the man on several hunts and it was akin to a miracle each time the viscount returned without having blown off his toes.

  Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t hired someone to do the job. But even Canning wasn’t so stupid as to risk being caught. However, if Canning did have anything to do with it, he would have to be dealt with in the most serious manner.

  Bancroft turned his attention to Jones. There was the possibility that Canning had somehow convinced Jones to kill him and he had been out of sight at the time of the shooting, supposedly relieving himself in a copse of trees. But it wasn’t very likely. Jones knew how profitable it was to remain loyal. There was no possibility Jones would enter Society, while Canning had always been keen on rising in it. No. It was in Jones’s best interests to keep the status quo. Not to mention, Jones had had the perfect opportunity to kill both Rose and himself in the woods, but had made no suspicious moves.

  That left Frederick Mortimer, who was in a state of bored amusement as he listened to Canning drone on and on. Mortimer was by far the most likely candidate. His arrival had been wholly unexpected and more than a bit suspicious. He definitely had the skills to kill Bancroft and he was smart enough to blackmail people on his own.

  Yes, it could definitely be Mortimer.

  Unless it was Grayson. Bancroft was actually a bit uncomfortable at the thought of his own son trying to kill him. He knew he was capable of it. He had no doubt fought and killed a few men during his work for the government. But could he kill his own father?

  There was certainly no love lost between them and it would be rather embarrassing if his son was weak enough to let such sentimentality hold him back. But he liked to think his son respected the power and position of the Duke of Bancroft. One simply did not kill a duke, regardless of whether or not he was your father.

  Which made Bancroft all the more determined to find out who had taken a wild shot earlier that day.

  * * *

  It was the end of a long and trying day. Rose and Nate had made love and now lay in each other’s arms. Neither spoke and it was not unlike the calm before the storm. Rose realized this might be the best time to ask him about Charlotte, especially in light of her most recent vision. If Nate laughed at her, she could blame it on being hit on the head.