“My lord,” said Reverend Swan as a small, white-haired gentleman in a maroon coat and bright yellow waistcoat approached them, “may I present Lord Lieutenant Sir David Milner.”
Milner made his bow. “My lord, may I offer you a belated welcome to the district, as well as my apologies for neglecting to pay a call to Ashby Hall?”
Nash could not believe his good luck. “Not at all, Sir David.” He could not have planned it better—having Cumbria’s ultimate civil authority present when he accused Carew of murder. And if Magistrate Wardlow had any part in Carew’s scheme, he would also answer to Milner. “I wonder if I might have a word?”
“Of course.” They took their leave of Swan, and Nash found a private alcove away from the crowd, where he showed him Hardy’s letter and told the man what he’d discovered.
Milner frowned fiercely. “This is most disturbing, Lord Ashby.”
Nash looked at him solemnly. “Aye. It could not be more so.”
“And you expect Mr. Carew to attend tonight?”
Nash gave a nod. “He told me he and Miss Carew planned to be here. I expect the magistrate as well.”
The two men conferred for a few moments more, and when Nash returned to the ballroom, he avoided being drawn into the dancing. Prowling the periphery of the main assembly hall, he felt very much like a bear with a thorn in its paw. Quite unsettled and decidedly unfriendly.
Magistrate Wardlow appeared with his wife on his arm. Nash waited for the man to greet his acquaintances, and when his wife left him to join some ladies near the refreshment table, he started in the man’s direction.
He stopped suddenly when a vision of perfection stepped into the room. Nash’s breath caught in his throat and his chest swelled with a fierce kind of tenderness when he saw her.
It was Mercy.
The music faded from his ears, as did the flickering light of the sconces and chandeliers above him. All he could see was her.
She wore a gown Nash had never seen before. Its vivid color accented the glossy darkness of her hair and her lily-pure complexion perfectly. The low-cut neck and simple lines of the dress complemented her fine figure. She’d done something incredibly beguiling with her hair, and her eyes sparkled like exotic jewels.
His fingers itched to touch her.
Young men swarmed around her, barely allowing her to move into the room. And while Nash’s heart quaked at the sight of her, he forgot his reasons for thinking it was best that she stay away. He did not know why she’d changed her mind about coming, but he drank in the sight of her, very glad that she had.
She hardly seemed to notice the horde around her, but glanced about the ballroom, as though searching for someone. Her eyes lit on him . . . And she smiled.
He did not think he’d ever seen anything as arresting or beautiful as Mercy’s smile. And by God, he loved her. He intended to marry her, and not some cold, indifferent dowry with a woman attached. Only Mercy could assuage the deep, desolate pit that had been his soul until now. She filled the void in ways he would never understand.
Pushing through the crowd, he made his way toward her, then stopped before her, his heart surging with love as he made his formal bow. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, and for a moment he could not move. He wished they were alone, because then he’d be able to take her in his arms and kiss her sweet mouth.
Instead, he took her hand and led her away from the group. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen . . .”
“My lord,” someone protested, “the lady has only just arrived.”
A few others called out, asking her for a dance.
Nash took her to the dance floor, and just before the orchestra started its next set, asked her to dance with him. Mercy smiled again and took his hand, then lined up with the other couples for the quadrille.
Nash barely noticed the other dancers. He executed the steps of the dance, but kept his full attention on Mercy—the tilt of her head, her graceful arms, her agile steps enthralled him. He did not understand how he could ever have entertained the idea of marriage to any other woman.
The dance ended, and Nash bowed to Mercy, then placed her arm in the crook of his elbow and retreated from the dance floor. He found a relatively quiet space and bent to whisper in her ear. “You are the most beautiful lady here, love.”
She blushed madly, the color rising from the swells of her breasts, then blooming on her cheeks like the petals of a rose.
He lifted one hand and nearly caressed her bare neck before remembering himself and what proper etiquette demanded. “One day I will adorn you with jewels.”
She touched his lapel. “I don’t want jewels, Nash. I only want—”
The sight of Horace Carew startled Nash and brought him back to a harsh reality. “Wait, Mercy.” He took her arm and drew her away to where Sergeant Bassett stood with Oscar Parker. “I want you to stay with my men while I take care of some business,” he said.
He was loath to leave her, but at least she would be safe with Bassett and Parker.
“But Nash—”
He would have kissed her to reassure her, but such an act would draw unwanted attention, as well as damage Mercy’s reputation. Already, Nash noted far too many pairs of eyes trained in their direction, speculating on the new earl’s female interest.
No one but the Metcalfs had met Mercy, although Carew knew of her. Someone at Ashby Hall had been talking out of turn, and Nash believed he knew who it was. Lowell. And he was standing before Helene Carew, his eyes locked on hers as though she were the only woman in the room.
Nash watched him for a moment, frowning as a distinct possibility came to mind. The steward was in love with Helene. His frequent, unexplained absences might not have involved a lover in Lake Road, but trysts with Miss Carew herself.
And if her father was so determined to see her married to an Ashby earl, it might be enough motivation for a lovesick madman to rid himself of the competition. And yet Arthur could not have been construed as any kind of competition.
It was the land, the coal-veined land.
Nash left Mercy in Bassett’s capable care, although she did not appear too happy with the arrangement. He started making his way toward Carew, collecting Lord Lieutenant Milner on his way. “Here is the gentleman I wanted you to meet, Sir David,” he said when they reached Carew. Nash drew the men out of the music-filled ballroom and made the introductions.
“Carew, I just discovered that there is a piece of Ashby land that interests you.”
Carew appeared nonplussed by Nash’s remark. His eyes narrowed and he tightened his lips for an instant before speaking. “I do not know to what you refer, my lord.”
“My late brothers both made notations about your offers to purchase some worthless Ashby land. I found them quite interesting.”
“Lord Ashby—”
“What do you say, Carew . . . are you still willing to buy?”
Carew pulled on his waistcoat, a vague sign of some discomfiture, which gave Nash a fleeting sense of satisfaction. “I only thought to relieve them of that worthless property, and it made sense since it adjoins my land. Your brothers were in need of funds, and I had the wherewithal to make the improvements necessary.”
“Improvements?”
“Why, yes. The land is flooded.”
“How very generous of you.”
A number of gentlemen had come out of the ballroom and were standing close enough to hear, but Nash was indifferent to his audience.
“You also proposed that my widowed brother marry your daughter, did you not?”
Carew glanced around at the men who had gathered nearby. “My lord, I don’t see how that is—”
“It was an attempt to get control of those worthless southern crags, wasn’t it?”
Carew glanced away from Nash, then looked at Milner. He set his jaw, clearly of the belief that he was above any sort of questioning. “My lord, perhaps we can discuss this at a more appropriate time.”
Nash ignored the
suggestion. “I would like to ask you this: If I also decline your offer to wed Miss Carew, will I soon meet with a freak, accidental death?”
“That is preposterous, my lord. For you to suggest—”
“Ah, Mr. Wardlow!” Nash called to the magistrate. “Come and join us.”
Wardlow tried to stutter an apology and move away, but Milner beckoned Wardlow to him and the man joined the group, albeit reluctantly.
“Just to be sure I’m clear on what would happen,” Nash said to Wardlow. “If I die without an heir, Ashby land will revert to the crown, is that right, Magistrate?”
“I b-believe in Ashby’s case, that is so, my lord.” He rubbed his face with his hand, his eyes darting nervously between Milner, Carew, and Nash.
“But the crown will not want my poor, neglected acres, will it?”
The color drained from Wardlow’s face, and he was clearly at a loss for words.
“What say you, Wardlow?” Nash asked.
“My lord, I am not an authority on the laws of—”
“No doubt the crown will want to rid itself of such worthless land quite quickly, will it not?” Nash interjected.
Carew spoke angrily then. “I see what you’re getting at, Ashby, but it just doesn’t hold—”
“Ah, but it does, Mr. Carew,” said Sir David as the men around them grew eerily quiet. “I find it very curious that both of Lord Ashby’s brothers died under suspicious circumstances after declining to sell you their land.” He turned to Wardlow. “Mr. Wardlow, did you not—”
“I had naught to do with it, Lord Lieutenant!” Wardlow cried out. “I-I-I . . . Mr. Carew said they were accidents!”
Carew jabbed his fingers through his hair. “I never said—”
“Aye, you did!” Wardlow said in alarm. “You told me there was no need to go into any great depth with the inquests because no one would—”
Carew turned on him. “Get hold of yourself, Wardlow!”
“I want no part of it anymore, Carew.” He turned to Milner, his face flushed now. “I did not want the surveyor to alter the property lines, sir. The coal rightly belongs to Lord Ashby.”
The music in the next room stopped just as Wardlow made his damning statement, resulting in an astonished hush. Now everyone knew that the two had been involved in a deadly plot to seize valuable land from Nash’s brothers.
“Coal?” someone said.
“There’s coal on Ashby land?”
A loud hum of excited banter followed those words, everyone wondering what was going on and how the discovery of coal would affect Keswick and the rest of the district.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Milner shouted over the din. “I believe it is time for us to take this discussion to the Moot Hall.”
“Now, see here,” Carew protested just as Nash’s men made their appearance. One stood behind Carew, the other next to Wardlow. Nash looked for Mercy and saw that she was flanked by Henry Blue and Corporal Childers.
“Miss Carew, too. Lottie, I think you call her.”
Carew blanched at Nash’s words, as the magnitude of his misfortune became clear.
“Lowell.”
The steward had protested Helene’s removal by Sir David and Nash’s men. Blue and Childers had needed to restrain him. He sat down heavily on a bench in the gallery outside the ballroom, where Nash decided to show him the letter from Gerald Hardy.
Lowell perused it carefully, then swallowed thickly and looked up at Nash, his face ashen. “I was no part of this, my lord.”
Nash believed him. “But you have worked against Ashby ever since you arrived.”
He gave a weak nod. “I’d hoped that if Ashby remained insolvent, Helene’s father would not be so keen on marrying her to its master.”
Nash shook his head in disbelief. “She could not have married Arthur.”
He put his head in his hands. “No. I thought it a terrible tragedy when your eldest brother died, but . . . I believed I had a chance with Miss Carew when Lord Arthur inherited.” He looked up at Nash. “Your brother alone was responsible for his own failures. He would not listen to anyone’s advice.”
“Clear your possessions out of Ashby, Lowell. I don’t want to have to see you again.” In utter disgust, Nash walked away.
His anger dissipated the moment he set eyes on Mercy, sitting in a chair on the far side of the ballroom with Childers beside her and several young men surrounding her. She was unreservedly stunning, and Nash felt exceedingly fortunate that she was his. He could not wait to take her home, away from all these handsome swains who were clearly smitten with her.
He started in Mercy’s direction, only to be sidetracked by a man he had not seen in over a year, a man whose presence commanded attention no matter what the setting.
“Briggs!” Nash exclaimed. The captain wore a greatcoat and gloves, and he looked bruised and worn. Nash could not imagine what mission would bring him to Keswick.
“Captain Farris,” Briggs replied, taking Nash’s outstretched hand, flinching slightly at the sight of Nash’s scarred face. “I did not expect to see you here.”
He was as tall as Nash, and dark-haired, with a fresh cut on his lip and bruises on his jaw and the crest of his cheek. They had not known each other well, but Nash was aware that Briggs had been an elite agent of the crown who’d carried out secret operations during the war. Clearly, he was on some assignment now.
Nash drew him to an outside terrace, away from the crowd in the ballroom. “What happened to you, Briggs? What brings you to Keswick?”
“I was involved in an altercation with two dangerous men,” he replied. “I killed one, the other is likely here somewhere.”
“In Keswick?”
“Aye. Or he may be out looking for a place called Ashby Hall, as I am.”
A feeling of dread roiled in Nash’s gut. He’d thought it was over—the threat against his person, his estate. “I am Earl of Ashby. You’re talking about my home.”
Briggs frowned with surprise. Everyone knew that Nash was a younger son. “I thought—” He stopped and gave a sympathetic bow of his head. “My condolences, my lord.”
“Who’s the man, Briggs? And why is he looking for Ashby Hall?”
“Do you know a young woman called Mercy Franklin?” Briggs seemed preoccupied, and tautly vigilant.
“Why do you ask?” Nash said, loath to disclose anything about Mercy until he understood why Briggs sought her.
“I’ve been charged with the task of finding her.”
“For what purpose?” Nash asked, keeping his eye on the throng that had gathered around the woman he loved.
“I believe she is in danger.”
“From whom?” Nash asked.
Briggs turned and looked about the ballroom, searching the crowd. “An assassin.”
Nash felt as though he’d slipped into one of the strange, laudanum-induced dreams he’d had right after being injured at Waterloo. “An assassin? To kill Mercy?”
It made no sense at all. Nash was the one Carew had wanted to murder.
“I’m here to see that she comes to no harm,” said Briggs, “and take her to her grandfather. Where is she? At Ashby Hall?”
Nash gave a puzzled shake of his head. “She has no grandf—”
“My God, who is that?” Briggs asked, catching sight of her as she rose from her chair and started toward him.
“That is Miss Franklin,” Nash replied as he went to meet her. “And be warned, Briggs, she is mine.”
Whatever Briggs had to say about assassins and a grandfather would have to wait. If Mercy was in danger, then Nash wanted to get her away from the swarming crowd and into a safe location.
Nash met her halfway, and when he turned, he saw that Briggs was no longer in the open terrace where Nash had left him. When he saw the captain prowling on the opposite side of the room near the outer gallery, the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Nash could hardly credit that an assassin was after Mercy, but Briggs had not co
me all the way to Cumbria on a bad hunch. “I need to get you out of here,” he told her.
She looked confused as well as disappointed. “Nash, I—”
“Quickly, sweet.” He took her by the shoulders and shepherded her out of the ballroom, quickly finding an empty servants’ staircase that led to an isolated hall below. They started down, but Mercy stopped abruptly halfway down. “Nash, wait! Where are we—”
“Keep moving, love.”
“No!”
When he turned around to face her on the step above him, the stubborn woman placed her palm on his chest. “I have something to say.”
“Mercy, love. Not—”
“Nash, I know I told you I wouldn’t come tonight, but—”
He cupped her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers. His heart pounded with urgency, though he did not know if it was because of his desire to make love to her, or his need to keep her safe.
“Please,” she said, taking hold of his arm, “let me say this . . .”
“Quickly, love. There is some danger . . .”
“The only danger is my giving up.”
He looked at her, puzzled but impatient.
“I love you, Nash. I . . .” She swallowed and her eyes brightened with tears. “There might be other women with better pedigrees, and rich d-dowries. But no one will ever love you as I do. I—”
He dragged her into his arms and kissed her fully, his love and desire eclipsing everything else. But the necessity of getting her to safety prevailed, and he broke away. “Mercy, sweet, I love you with all my heart.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “There is no one in the world like you . . . And—though I would rather have proposed in a more suitable setting—will you be my wife?”
“Nash! Oh yes!”
“Mercy, love—if we don’t find you a safe place—”
Mercy had no chance to savor Nash’s brief proposal before the door above them opened and a bruised and battered man in a dark greatcoat came through it. “Lord Ashby, he is not here. But we must get—”
“Who? Who is not here, Nash?” Mercy asked, feeling quite alarmed.
“Captain Briggs, allow me to present my fiancée, Miss Franklin.”
Seducing the Governess Page 28
