Bound by Their Secret Passion

by Diane Gaston

  She turned to Mr Filkins. ‘Thank you for arranging this.’

  He nodded solemnly.

  She seemed to remember the will had provided well for him. ‘Will you retire, then, Mr Filkins?’

  ‘Who would hire me?’ He attempted a smile. ‘I have a cousin in Yorkshire. Mayhap I will settle there.’

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘You must let me know if you do. I will write to you.’

  He looked embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

  She released him. ‘Do not think I am insensible to your assistance and—and your support, Mr Filkins. I will always cherish it.’

  Now his face did turn red. She smiled and let him escape.

  Tess walked up to her. ‘Do you have need of me, Lorene? Because I am suddenly quite fatigued.’

  ‘No. No need of you.’ Tess’s health and that of her baby were of utmost importance. ‘Rest for as long as you like.’

  Glenville peered worriedly at his wife. ‘Are you unwell?’

  Tess smiled and touched her abdomen. ‘We are quite well. But I am in great need of a nap.’

  He gestured to the solicitor. ‘I was going to accompany Mr Filkins and the solicitors to call upon the vicar, to make final arrangements for the funeral.’

  ‘Go,’ said Tess. ‘I assure you I simply need a nap.’

  Rossdale stood nearly at Lorene’s elbow, listening to this exchange.

  She turned to him. ‘You and Genna need not stay, either, Rossdale. I am grateful that you were here for the reading of the will, but I suspect nothing more will require your presence today.’

  Rossdale gave her a direct look. ‘Are you certain?’

  She nodded. ‘I will relish some quiet time.’

  He continued to peer into her face. ‘Because we will stay if you need company.’

  ‘No, at the moment I desire solitude more than company.’

  She thanked the solicitors and walked with the entire entourage to the hall, saying goodbye to Genna and Rossdale, and letting the others know she would see them all at dinner. Glenville, Filkins and the solicitors called for their topcoats and hats. The vicarage was only a short distance away and, after some discussion, they decided to walk there rather than order the carriage.

  Lorene walked up the stairs with Tess and saw her to her bedchamber. ‘Are you certain you are all right?’ she asked.

  Tess took her hand. ‘Very certain. You could do with a rest, too, you know. We have some more days to get through.’

  Tess meant the funeral. And the inquest.

  Lorene gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. ‘Perhaps I will.’

  But when Tess disappeared into her room, Lorene wrapped her arms around herself for a moment and leaned against the wall. The thought of retiring to her bedchamber or to her sitting room or to any room in this house was unbearable. Left alone with her thoughts? It was the last thing she wanted.

  But she also did not want company. She loved that her sisters and their husbands were so attentive, but, to a certain extent she had to hide her emotions from them. The only one who knew how she felt inside about Tinmore’s death was Dell. The others might guess or even presume, but they did not hear it from her lips. She’d told Dell, though. She’d told him that her overwhelming feeling about her husband’s tragic death was...relief.

  Thinking of it now filled her with shame. What sort of wife felt like this? Not even sad for him?

  These were precisely the thoughts she sought to escape.

  She glanced at the walls surrounding her and suddenly wished they would disappear. Even the air in the house felt oppressive. She wanted to breathe fresh air. She wanted to be free of walls. She wanted to feel the way she had walking to Summerfield House on Christmas Day.

  She hurried to her bedchamber and pulled out her warmest cloak, the one she’d worn that day. She kicked off her slippers, put on her half-boots, gloves and a warm hat and she was ready to escape.

  Lorene hurried down a back stairway and slipped out a side door rarely used by anyone. She crossed the park in front of the house in the opposite direction from the way Glenville, Filkins and the solicitors went to the vicarage. She had no destination in mind except to walk far enough to be off Tinmore’s land where she still felt his spirit scolding and belittling her. When she’d walked to Summerfield House on Christmas Day, she’d been free of him. She walked in that direction now.

  The day was grey and dismal, like her spirits, and her mind spun into knots of confusion. How could Tinmore have given her such wealth when she could not even bring herself to mourn him? What should she do with that money? With that Mayfair town house? She did not want to think of such things!

  The further she walked, the more her mind cleared itself. She was left with only the sensation of inhaling cold air into her lungs and feeling the wind sting her cheeks. The earth beneath her was frozen hard and that cold seeped through her boots. The wind whistled in her ears and rustled the bushes and trees.

  It felt glorious!

  She quickened her step and wished she could be like the deer that bounded across the fields. She wished she had the courage to run so free.

  Why not?

  She gathered her skirts in her hands and took flight, dashing across the field with nothing and no one to stop her.

  * * *

  Dell had been restless the whole day, knowing from Ross that Tinmore’s will would be read this day. Would Tinmore have done well by her?

  If not, she needn’t want for anything. He’d help her himself if it came to that. Most likely, though, he need not concern himself over it. Ross or Glenville would step in for Lorene if it were necessary.

  Any help he gave would arouse suspicions. Make it seem there was a connection between them, when there was not. True, he was related to the Summerfields, but the connection was through a distant ancestor. Possibly he was no blood relation at all. It was said the Summerfield sisters were not fathered by Sir Hollis, but by their mother’s different lovers.

  Their appearance certainly fuelled that rumour. The three ladies were about as unlike as sisters could be. Genna was tall and blonde. Tess, shorter and chestnut-haired. Lorene’s hair was the shade of fine mahogany, although it glistened with auburns and golds when the sun hit it just right. She was the shortest of the three even though the oldest. Their eye colours were different as well. Only Lorene had those dark brown eyes that seemed perpetually warm and inviting.

  He liked Lorene. He could admit that much, could he not? But that did not matter, did it? He did not want to feel any connection with her. He did not want anyone to matter to him. His family had mattered and their loss was too painful to bear.

  Grief threatened to engulf him once again.

  He strode out of the house and down to the stables. A good ride would set him to rights.

  Within a few minutes his horse was saddled and he was galloping over fields and up the hills that made the undulating Lincolnshire landscape so pleasing to the eye. He gave his mare a rest at the crest of a hill. Both he and the animal sucked in the brisk winter air and savoured it.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spied a figure in the distance. He turned and knew immediately it was Lorene, even though he was atop the hill and she below, running as if the devil himself was chasing her. What a lovely sight. The hood of her cloak had fallen back and her hat was held on to her neck only by its ribbons. Her hair had come loose of its pins and flew wild and free behind her.

  He shook himself. Why was she running? Was she in trouble?

  He signalled his horse to action and they galloped down the hill as fast as they were able. No matter his promise to avoid her—if she needed him, he would be there for her.

  He reached the valley ahead of her, still a distance away. She stopped immediately when he came into her view and waited while he slo
wed his horse.

  He rode to her and dismounted. ‘Lorene’ was all he could manage.

  ‘Dell.’ Her voice was equally as hushed.

  ‘How—how do you fare? Are you in need of assistance? You were running.’ What was this unease he felt being near her? She—no one—could matter that much.

  Her lovely smooth cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. ‘I—I was running. Silly of me. I simply—wanted to run.’ She sounded out of breath.

  His shoulders relaxed. ‘I saw you and thought something was wrong.’

  ‘Nothing...bad.’ But she remained unsmiling. ‘I just needed to run. Hoydenish of me, I realise, but I did not expect to be seen.’

  He felt the rebuke. ‘Forgive me. Perhaps I should not have—’

  She interrupted him. ‘Oh, no. I did not mean any criticism of you. I simply realised how I must look to you.’

  He had never seen her lovelier. ‘May I ask the reason you—?’

  She cut him off again. ‘Why I was running? I—I felt so closed in all of a sudden. Penned in, you know. I just wanted to escape. For a little bit. I will return, of course, and preside as hostess for dinner.’

  They began to walk, a leisurely aimless pace that his horse was content to follow.

  He spoke first. ‘Ross told me the solicitors had arrived to read the will.’

  She made an anguished sound. ‘Indeed. They read it today.’

  ‘Did they?’ he asked.

  She nodded, but the expression on her face was doleful.

  ‘What happened? Did Tinmore not provide for you?’ The miserable miser.

  She gave a dry laugh. ‘On the contrary, I—I inherited a fortune. And a town house. And carriages and such.’

  His brow knitted. ‘That is good news, is it not?’

  She would be a wealthy widow, but she would also be prey to every impoverished, fortune-seeking gentleman in town. That was not good news.

  She smiled wanly. ‘I am churlish to be distressed by it, I know.’ Her gaze was earnest. ‘But, Dell, I did not want a fortune. I did not expect it. I am not even sure I deserve it, the way I am feeling about his death.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Or not feeling. I cannot seem to feel much of anything. That is so very bad of me, I know.’

  He wanted to remind her that Tinmore did often treat her very shabbily, especially that last night.

  ‘It is honest,’ he said instead.

  She sighed. ‘That is another thing. I am not honest. I am hiding how I feel. You are the only one I have told.’

  It warmed him that he would be the person in whom she confided. He was a confidant to his sister when they were growing up, but he had not been there for his sister at the end.

  ‘There is no reason to speak aloud what might rain criticism upon your head.’ Or what might fuel Tinmore’s accusation about the two of them.

  Her shoulders relaxed. ‘I am so glad you think so.’

  They walked a few more steps in silence.

  ‘I must decide what to do with this fortune,’ she said, as if musing to herself. ‘At one moment I decide to give it all away; at another, I think I must keep it and live in a manner that does not please me.’

  ‘What would please you?’ he asked.

  She sighed again. ‘I just want to hide in a little cottage somewhere.’

  That surprised him.

  ‘You do not have to decide now, you know,’ he said. ‘You have your year of mourning. Plenty of time to figure it out then.’

  ‘My year of mourning...’ she repeated, her voice trailing off. ‘Where can I go for that year?’ She spoke firmly. ‘I will not stay at Tinmore Hall or in its dower house—or, at least, I do not want to.’

  ‘I am certain Ross and Genna would welcome you.’ He knew his friend well enough to be certain of that. ‘Or Tess and Glenville.’

  She frowned. ‘Tess and Glenville live with his parents. And the baby is coming. I should be in the way.’

  ‘Ross and Genna, then.’

  ‘Theirs is such a visible, high-society life,’ she said with feeling. ‘It would not suit me at all.’

  The sun fell lower and the sky turned greyer. The temperature dropped and Lorene wrapped her cloak more tightly around her.

  After a while he said, ‘Then stay at Summerfield House.’ What could be better for her than to be among people she knew since childhood, people who cared about her?

  She stopped and averted her gaze so he could not see her face. ‘Summerfield House?’ Her voice sounded anguished.

  He suddenly felt discomfited. ‘I would not be there, of course. Nothing to fuel gossip, I assure you. I merely thought you might be most comfortable where you grew up.’

  She whirled towards him and flung her arms around him. ‘Dell.’ Her voice still sounded strained. ‘I could not desire anything more.’

  He held her against him, glad to give her some comfort. Well he knew how necessary comfort could be. ‘It is done, then. We will accomplish it somehow without causing talk. Say you are leasing the place or something.’

  He released her, but she took his hands in hers. ‘I should be able to breathe in Summerfield House.’ She seemed to collect herself then, letting go and avoiding his eyes. ‘I thank you.’

  ‘It is the least I can do,’ he said.

  It was a pragmatic idea. He did not need the house and she did. It meant nothing more.

  He glanced at the sky. ‘I think you should turn back now, though, before it gets too late.’

  She nodded. ‘Walk with me a little?’

  ‘Of course.’

  When they reached the spot where he’d met her, they said their goodbyes.

  ‘I will see you again, will I not, Dell?’ she asked.

  ‘At the inquest,’ he said. After that he would return to London.

  Her face fell. ‘Of course. At the inquest.’

  Chapter Six

  Four days after Tinmore’s burial, Dell, Ross and Genna rode in Dell’s carriage to a village inn near Tinmore’s estate where the inquest was to take place.

  As they entered the town there was little to indicate that anything noteworthy would occur there that day. A few more carriages, more people on the street, perhaps. Dell’s coachman pulled up in front of the inn and the three passengers stepped out to the pavement below.

  Dell took a steadying breath. He’d attended courts-martial while in the army, but an inquest was something new to him. A court-martial determined guilt or innocence, an inquest merely whether a crime had been committed.

  And if it was ruled that a crime had been committed, he would be accused of it.

  He followed Ross and Genna through the inn to the room where the inquest would be held. As soon as they entered the room heads turned and murmurs erupted from those already present. What did they expect? To see an earl accused of cuckoldry and murder?

  Ross led the way to seats at the front of the room, assuming, as the heir to the Duke of Kessington always did, that they would be provided for him. As they reached that row, Dell saw Ross was indeed correct—and that Lorene, Tess and Glenville were already seated there. Dell took the last seat, as far away as possible from Lorene and, he hoped, from the chance someone would make something of him sitting with her family. Tess and Glenville included him in their greetings to Ross and Genna. Lorene acknowledged him with a slight incline of her head. He returned it in a like manner.

  Two gentlemen in London garb sat in the row behind them. Tinmore’s solicitors, perhaps? Others he recognised as servants from Tinmore Hall. Dixon was among them. Dell’s coachmen would be there soon, no doubt, after the horses were stabled. Who the other people were, Dell did not know. Curious villagers, perhaps.

  Closer to London an inquest into the death of the Earl of Tinmore might have caught the intere
st of various newspaper reporters. Thank God they were this distance away and that the Christmas and Twelfth Night festivities had occupied most peoples’ minds.

  Dell’s chair faced a table behind which the magistrate and coroner would sit. In front of it was a dais where Dell presumed those who were testifying would stand. To the left of the table were twelve chairs for the jury, the people who would ultimately determine his fate.

  On the Peninsula, he’d faced sabres and cannon and muskets and battle-crazed enemy soldiers in the throes of blood lust. These he knew how to fight. With what weapons did one fight lies and distortions?

  Truth? His word?

  He girded himself. He’d done nothing criminal. He’d done nothing but come to Lorene’s defence. Tinmore had set his own fate in motion when he’d unjustly accused her of infidelity.

  That fact would be of little consolation if this inquest believed Dixon.

  Ross leaned towards him and whispered near his ear, ‘They had better do the right thing.’

  Or what? Dell wanted to say. What could Ross do if the jury decided Tinmore had been murdered?

  The minutes ticked by and finally Squire Hedges and Mr Walsh entered the room and took their seats. Twelve men followed them and noisily settled in their chairs. All wore what appeared to be their Sunday best. Some had coats of fine cloth, others were more simply attired. Some were nearly as old at Tinmore himself; others looked barely out of schoolroom.

  The formalities were attended to and the first witness was called.

  ‘The Earl of Penford.’

  Dell started. He’d expected Dixon to be the first one questioned.

  Walsh gestured to the dais facing the table.

  Dell stood, walked to the dais and faced the magistrate and coroner.

  The coroner questioned him much as he had at Tinmore Hall. Dell answered as he had that day. He kept his voice strong and unwavering, telling of escorting Lorene back from the Christmas dinner, of hearing Tinmore’s accusation, of coming to her defence, of what happened on the steps of Tinmore Hall.

  Would the jury believe him? When he finished he glanced at their faces, but it was impossible to tell if he had convinced them or if they thought he was trying to get away with murder.