by Brenda Novak
That was a lot of words for a man like Tyndale. “Yet you assigned her to Number 14 Stall when she applied to you for work.”
“Mr. Stanhope may have indicated that was my doing, but it wasn’t. I would never have put her in the mine with the men.”
“Did you try to persuade my cousin to do otherwise?”
He sat up taller. “Indeed I did. I don’t want to risk my job by saying anything… unflattering about Mr. Stanhope, but the truth is the truth.”
“Nothing you say here will risk your job, Mr. Tyndale. I commend you for trying to protect Miss McTavish.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He seemed slightly mollified. “As I have indicated, I care about the girl. I can’t help but take exception to what Mrs. Poulson has to say about her.”
“But Mrs. Poulson is no real threat to Rachel.”
“Make no mistake, she wants her gone and plans to throw her out as soon as… as soon as…” He couldn’t quite spit out the rest.
“I tire of her?”
He flushed. “Those were her words, yes. But no matter what folks think of Miss McTavish, what you may think of her, I can’t hold her accountable for the decisions she’s made since her mum died. When it comes to taking care of Geordie, she’d do anything. I-I saw that firsthand when she came to my office to sue for work.”
Truman liked Tyndale, respected him. “Don’t worry about Miss McTavish. I will take care of her.”
He sniffed, obviously surprised by the commitment. “Thank you. Truly. I am grateful for any help you can give her.”
“Back to Cutberth, then.”
From what Truman could tell, Tyndale didn’t completely relax, but he came off a little more confident.
“Has he been derelict in his duty, my lord?”
“Not quite in the way you might think. I’ve heard he’s trying to start up a union. Is that true?”
Tyndale seemed shocked. “I couldn’t say, my lord. But other than you, and Mr. Stanhope, I fear I would be the last person he’d include in such plans.”
“So all seems as it’s always been at the colliery?”
“At the colliery, yes. But”—he paused before continuing—“there have been some surprising developments in Mr. Cutberth’s personal life.”
“What kind of developments?”
Again Tyndale jerked on the bottom of his waistcoat. He was attempting to straighten it, but he was too overweight to make it lie flat. “You haven’t heard?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mrs. Cutberth came to the office last week, almost in hysterics. She had a pack of letters she claimed she found hidden amongst his belongings.”
“And what did those letters signify?”
“They must’ve been love letters of some sort because she accused him of… of being unfaithful.”
While he couldn’t admire a man who would betray his wife, Truman hardly felt as though he was in a position to judge, given that he was currently embroiled in a less-than-ideal situation himself. But he had never broken his marriage vows. At least he could say that. “Something gossipmongers would find interesting,” he said. “But what does Mr. Cutberth’s personal life have to do with me?”
Mr. Tyndale clasped his hands together. “That’s where it gets interesting, my lord. I couldn’t help hearing the name she screamed at him.”
“What name was that?”
“Jillian McTavish.”
Truman took the seat closest to his Fore-Overman. “You can’t mean Rachel’s mother.”
“That’s exactly who I mean.”
Jillian had always been pretty—almost as pretty as her daughter. Many had marveled that she’d wound up with Jack. Someone like Cutberth would’ve been a much better fit, except for the age difference. “She must’ve been eight or ten years older than Cutberth,” Truman said.
The Fore-Overman sighed. “Apparently that did not deter them.”
While he sat at dinner with Rachel, Truman wrestled with whether or not to tell her what Tyndale had shared about her mother. It was only hearsay, after all. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut and pray she never learned of it. She deserved to take her good memories of her mother with her to London, didn’t she?
On the other hand, this could explain the extra income she’d noticed. Maybe Cutberth had been using Rachel’s mother to convince Jack to set the fire, and she wound up blackmailing him when the affair ended. Or it was possible he’d really loved her and had been giving her money to help.
“You’re quiet this evening, my lord.” Rachel paused, fork in hand, to look up at him.
She was on his left. He’d had the dressmaker send another gown, this one burgundy and made from Rachel’s own measurements. It had arrived this afternoon and looked even more attractive on her than the one he’d allowed her to take from Katherine’s wardrobe.
“I’m not good company today. I apologize.”
“Is something wrong?”
He cradled his wine glass in his hand. “I’m concerned about the future.”
“Shouldn’t your marriage resolve at least some of that concern?”
“I wasn’t talking about my future.” He was tempted to set her up in a house in London, where he could visit whenever he liked. But he’d never been an adulterer and knew he wouldn’t be able to respect himself if he became one. His wife would deserve better than that. Rachel too. At the very least she deserved marriage to a man who could live with her and openly love her. A man who would be a full-time father to her children.
She toyed with her cheese soufflé.
“You seem distracted yourself,” he observed.
“Maybe I am.”
“Is there any particular reason?”
“I’m curious, I suppose.”
“About… ?”
Giving up the pretense of eating, she put down her spoon. “Lady Penelope. What is she like?”
He pictured the duke’s buxom daughter. “She has dark hair and eyes. Although she’s not quite as tall as you, she’s larger overall.”
“Do you find her attractive?”
He covered her hand with his own. “Don’t make it worse, Rachel—for either of us.”
“I was just wondering if you could see yourself being able to love her.”
No. He didn’t see that at all, but he couldn’t say so without denigrating his future wife. “Maybe that will come with time.”
“Have you learned any more about… ?” She fell silent as Linley came in to clear the plates in preparation for their next course.
“About… ?” he prompted when his butler was gone.
“Jonas Cutberth?”
“Not much. And I’m not sure it will do me any good to keep digging.”
“Because… ?”
“If Cutberth is responsible for the fire, why would he set it?”
“You showed me the reason last night.”
“But the more I think about it the more preposterous that seems. He is still working at the mine. If he had money, wouldn’t he take his family and move elsewhere?”
“Maybe he hasn’t sold the paintings. Maybe he’s been unable to sell them or is waiting until he feels it will be safer to try.”
That was a definite possibility, especially for a novice like Cutberth. “Where would he store them?”
“They could be anywhere.”
Linley entered again. Only he didn’t carry food; he carried an envelope. “My lord?”
Truman relinquished his drink in anticipation. “What is it?”
“This just arrived.”
The note bore the seal of the Duke of Pembroke. “Another missive?” he muttered.
Linley frowned and didn’t respond, but Truman knew what he was thinking. The man Truman had met with last night could not have had time to return to London with his answer. So maybe the duke had changed his mind and didn’t want to move forward with the wedding regardless of how he had responded to the ultimatum.
Truman wasn’t sure i
f that would make him happy… or sad. He craved an excuse to turn his back on what he felt he must do. But any relief would be short lived when the Abbotts made their next move and he had no way to counter it. He couldn’t abide the thought that he would be the one to bring shame on the Stanhope name.
Rachel watched with quiet consternation as he broke the seal and read the note.
“Good God,” he muttered.
“Is it as I fear?” Linley asked.
“No, but it’s almost as bad.” He tossed the note aside. “The duke has decided to bring Penelope for a visit.”
The color drained from Linley’s face. “When?”
“He’s already on his way.”
Chapter 17
It was late but Rachel was fighting sleep. She feared this might be her last night with Lord Druridge and didn’t want to waste a second of it. The uncertainty of travel made it difficult to guess when the duke and his daughter might arrive. Would it be tomorrow? The next day?
“What are you thinking about?” the earl murmured.
“I should leave at dawn,” she admitted.
He stiffened beside her. They were lying naked in each other’s arms because he’d insisted that she join him in bed, but they’d barely kissed. That letter at dinner had changed everything, had made the end so imminent. “Where would you go, Rachel?” he asked. “Linley hasn’t had the time he needs to make proper arrangements.”
“Why should I wait for Linley, my lord?”
“Don’t call me ‘my lord,’ anymore,” he said with a grimace. “I think we’re on an intimate enough basis that you could use my first name, don’t you?”
“You are ‘my lord’ to me, and you need to stay ‘my lord.’ I-I am not your responsibility, and I don’t want to get in the way of you reestablishing your happiness.”
His arms tightened around her. “Don’t talk like that. I would only worry about you if you left.”
“But it would be far better if I were not here when your guests arrive. You can’t argue with that.”
“They already know about you.”
“Now you’re being stubborn. That’s all the more reason I should go. They will, no doubt, be watching you closely.”
His fingers slipped through her hair. “Don’t talk about leaving until I know where you’re going and feel comfortable with it. Don’t even think about it.”
“What’s our other option? Shall I remove myself to the far wing while Lady Penelope is here? Hide there with Peasant Wedding Feast until she and her father leave?”
“This is a big enough house that we can make sure your paths do not cross.”
“And afterwards, would we simply take up where we left off? I could never feel good about that, and I know you couldn’t either.”
He sighed. “Bear with me, sweet Rachel. I have to be certain I’ve got the right situation for you.”
“That could take weeks, my lord. In the meantime, I refuse to get in the way.”
“Stop,” he growled, growing impatient. “I won’t hear any more of this.”
The fire popped and crackled but brought little comfort. Rachel felt cold in spite of its heat. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m leaving in the morning.”
Assuming they’d only argue if she stayed with him tonight, she tried to get out of bed, but he stopped her.
“I don’t think I can give you up,” he said and kissed her fingertips, her arm, her neck.
The lethargy that’d gripped them since dinner burned off like fog beneath a hot sun. Suddenly they were touching and tasting each other as if they might never have another chance.
Maybe they couldn’t have forever, but they could have this one night.
It would be her good-bye, Rachel decided and let go of all restraint. “One more memory,” she whispered.
He didn’t like the finality of that any more than what she’d said before. Briefly he pulled back to scowl at her so she’d know it, but she brought his mouth back to hers, kissing him with all the pent-up longing she knew she’d feel the moment she left him, and he seemed incapable of further protest. His tongue was too busy mating with hers; his hands were too busy making her shake with desire.
“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve never needed a woman like I need you.”
She needed him too. She wanted him to take her hard and fast. Even that wouldn’t be decisive enough to change their situation, but the defiance of it appealed to her. Then she wouldn’t have to fear that this moment might be stolen from her, too. She could feel the firmness of his shaft against her belly and knew he was ready. With the way her body clenched with anticipation, she knew she was just as ready.
For a moment, he seemed willing to forget all that had held him back before. He rolled her beneath him and spread her legs. But when he cursed and shifted as though he would bring her to completion some other way, she wrapped her legs around his hips and whispered, “Truman?”
He seemed pleased that she’d used his given name. “Yes?”
“Just once. Let me feel you inside me this once.”
Truman knew better than to concede. He told himself she didn’t realize what she was asking for. A baby was no small burden for a woman alone. But she insisted that it wasn’t her fertile time of the month. And he planned to make sure she had everything she needed, regardless. That gave him just enough excuse to take the risk.
Allowing himself to succumb to the compulsion that drove him, he eased himself inside her. Thanks to Wythe, he’d made love to Rachel once before, but under much different circumstances. He knew her now, cared for her, and that made such a difference.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Katherine had claimed to be a virgin when they married, but he doubted she’d been truthful about that. Because she used sex as a weapon, or an incentive, he had a hard time believing she hadn’t manipulated other men with certain… opportunities. She’d definitely used her sexuality indiscriminately after they were married.
But Rachel was different. Since this was only her second time—with him or any man—and the first hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped, he wanted to make sure she was comfortable before he continued.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Better than fine. I want to be joined like this forever.”
He couldn’t resist a powerful thrust. “Then tell me you’ll stay, or I’ll stop.”
When she hesitated, he started to withdraw, but she clutched his shoulders. “I’ll stay.”
Relief as well as pleasure flooded through him as he began to move in earnest. They weren’t down to good-bye quite yet. But knowing they would be soon made every moment precious—every touch, every gasp, every whispered endearment.
Rachel’s body seemed made for his. She quickly caught on to the rhythm, lifting her hips to meet each thrust, but she didn’t close her eyes. She watched him with such intensity that he was staring into her eyes when she gasped and shuddered, and then it was impossible to make himself withdraw. He wanted this too, wanted to let go inside her.
Just once, he said to himself. Just once, and felt the pleasure overcome him.
“Don’t leave me quite yet,” he said afterwards, making sure she wouldn’t as he shifted, exhausted, to one side. But when he woke up, she was no longer in his bed. She wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t anywhere to be found in the house. And the few belongings she’d brought with her when she came to Blackmoor Hall were gone.
Rachel had nowhere to go except Mrs. Tate’s. She didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, especially someone she loved like her dear neighbor, but now that she knew she’d never be returning to the home she’d grown up in, there was no need to try to preserve the belongings that were left. If she could sell the furniture and books that hadn’t been destroyed, she could pay Mrs. Tate for food and maybe retain a small amount for her upcoming travel expenses. Linley had caught her when she was leaving, just before she went to say good-bye to her brother, and assured her that he was working on the arrangements. It wasn’t as if she had
to hang on indefinitely. She also had her wages from when she’d worked as a servant to carry her through. That didn’t amount to a lot, given she’d been a maid for slightly less than a month, but it enabled her to leave the earl’s estate with her head held high instead of lingering like some desperate, greedy beggar, hoping to live off his largesse.
She wasn’t in Creswell long, however, before word spread that she was back. She wasn’t sure how everyone figured it out. Maybe the servants at Blackmoor Hall had gossiped to certain vendors who returned to the village with the news, but several people came by, including one of the hewers she’d worked with—Mr. Greenley. Mrs. Tate turned him and all the others away. Rachel had no idea if Greenley had come to apologize or berate her but she didn’t want to find out.
By nightfall, even Mr. Linley came knocking. Rachel could hear him ask to speak with her, could hear him say the earl had sent him to ask her back, but she refused to come to the door. There was nothing he could do to convince her to return to Blackmoor Hall. She loved the earl too much to give the duke any reason to withdraw the offer that would protect him from prosecution.
“Ye won’t say a word to ’im?” Mrs. Tate asked, her voice low since there were only two rooms in her house, and the door and Mr. Linley wasn’t that far away.
Rachel shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“But ’e’s adamant that ’e speak with ye. ’E says ’e shouldn’t ’ave let ye go this mornin’.”
“I heard.” She couldn’t allow herself to be tempted. Now that it was growing dark, she missed the earl—missed Truman—more than ever.
Once Linley left, Rachel went to bed feeling cold and lonely and cast adrift on a mighty ocean of change.
London will be a good place for me, she told herself. She couldn’t imagine she’d like it, but at least she would have a clean slate. She wasn’t important enough that her reputation would follow her. She hoped. The fact that her only reference would come from Blackmoor Hall concerned her. She didn’t want to be the notorious maid who’d had an affair with the notorious earl. Would she be better off striking out on her own?
