by Brenda Novak
“It’s nothing. I’ll grab my cloak so we can take a walk. I… I need to tell you something.”
Mrs. Tate offered to go down to the church, where several of the older ladies were sewing a quilt for an upcoming wedding, but Rachel wouldn’t hear of it. “No, you already decided it was too cold for you today. I wouldn’t think of putting you out of your own house. We’re fine.”
The earl watched her step outside, his expression grim; her injury had upset him. “Have you had something to eat? There’s a tavern halfway to Newcastle. I could take you there.”
“Have your visitors arrived?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s no need to go to so much time and trouble. We can talk here, at my cottage. Then you can go back, just in case they arrive.”
He said nothing as she led him next door—not until she let him in and he saw the destruction. Then he cursed. She’d cleaned the shop yesterday but hadn’t yet made it to the house. Cutberth’s visit had set her back, made her afraid to be alone, even when she was so close to Mrs. Tate. Her proximity to her neighbor hadn’t helped yesterday.
“I wish I knew who did this,” he ground out.
She shot him a glance. “I can tell you.”
He stripped off his gloves. “Who?”
The scars on his hand didn’t bother her. They never really had. She wanted to slip into his arms. It’d only been a day and a night since they’d been together but she had missed him terribly. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like in London, knowing she’d probably never see him again. “Jonas Cutberth.”
His eyes narrowed. “That name seems to be coming up a great deal.”
“He was looking for the ledgers, which means he must know something about that mysterious monthly payment I discovered.”
“He does. He started helping your mother as soon as the money your father received to fire Blackmoor Hall ran out.”
“Helping her?” Instinctively her fingers sought out the place where Cutberth had struck her. She’d been thinking such bad thoughts about the mine clerk. Were they—at least somewhat—unwarranted?
The earl didn’t answer her question. He stepped closer and touched the bruise himself. “What happened here?”
She didn’t want this to become any more about her than it already was. She only had to stay another couple of weeks. It was better to leave matters as they stood, with Cutberth feeling as if he’d exacted a bit of revenge for her defection. “I ran into something yesterday, at the shop.”
“What?”
Her mind grappled for a plausible scenario. “The… door.”
He lifted her chin. “If someone hurt you…”
She cleared her throat so that she could speak more stridently. “No. Of course not. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and he stole a kiss before stepping away. “About Cutberth…”
“Yes. Cutberth.” When the earl was around she could hardly think straight. “Why would he ever help my mother?”
His expression showed concern. “They were having an affair, Rachel. I didn’t want to burden you with this news, didn’t think you’d believe it even if I did, but I confirmed it with Mrs. Cutberth just this morning.”
She struggled to take that in and to find some credibility in it, but it wasn’t easy. Wouldn’t she have seen some indication of inappropriate behavior had her mother been sleeping with Jonas Cutberth?
“You’re right—I can’t believe it,” she said.
“I get the impression he’s admitted it, at least to his wife.”
“So the payments have nothing to do with the fire?”
“It doesn’t seem that way. He probably wanted the ledgers because he was afraid evidence of those payments would reveal the affair.”
“But if his wife already knew…”
“She found out this week, after…” he motioned around them “… all this. Mr. Tyndale was at the office when she showed up with several letters they’d written to each other. Jonas must’ve found them here or at the shop and taken them home.”
“Why wouldn’t he simply destroy them?”
“Sentimental value? I don’t know, but they’re gone now. Jonas burned them the day she confronted him.”
Rachel couldn’t see Cutberth with Jillian. The thought that they might be lovers had never even crossed her mind. “He was helping my mother because he loved her?”
“That’s what Mrs. Cutberth indicated.”
She thought back through all their many encounters. “But he came here quite often. I never got the slightest inkling that he was involved with my mother.” Had she been blinded by her own romantic fantasies? By the hope that he found something worthy in her, since she was so taken with him?
No! Feeling the way she did toward him would’ve made her more sensitive to how he dealt with other women, rather than less. “That can’t be true, my lord.”
“It’s difficult—”
“No more difficult than what I believe to have happened,” she broke in.
“And that is… ?”
“It was hush money.”
“Blackmail?”
She couldn’t imagine her mother blackmailing anyone. “Maybe not blackmail exactly. Perhaps an incentive to remain quiet, offered rather than extorted.”
“And Mrs. Cutberth was in on the whole thing?”
“She could be protecting her husband.”
“Subjecting herself to such humiliation wouldn’t be easy.”
He was sensitive to it because he’d been through it. He couldn’t imagine anyone lying about such matters. But Rachel could see where they might view that as the lesser of two evils. “Is she standing by him?”
A cynical smile curved the earl’s lips. “Yes.”
“It’s only been a few days. That’s not very long to come to terms with something so painful.”
“And to think I liked her.”
Rachel righted a chair that had been tossed on its side. “Jonas couldn’t find those ledgers, so he had to cover for what they revealed.”
The earl massaged his hand, as he so often did. “Why? I’ve been through them carefully. There’s nothing in the ledgers that indicates the money came from him.”
“He doesn’t know that. My mother could’ve kept far more meticulous records, even left an explanation.”
“No wonder he searched your house and shop.” He scooted the broken shards of a bowl into a pile with his feet. “There’s this, too: He’s aware of the paintings, as well as what they’re worth. I asked his wife about them this morning, and she readily admitted a familiarity.”
Rachel used her broom to sweep the glass away. “Are you going to have him arrested?”
“Not yet. But I will have him sacked, especially if he’s the one who struck you.”
She brought her head up. “How’d you know?”
“You had to have learned he did this somehow. I’m guessing he paid you a visit.”
“Yes.”
“If he ever touches you again, I’ll kill him. He needs to understand that.”
“Don’t ever court trouble on my account.” When she met his eyes, she saw steely determination and that made her fear for his safety. “Truman, please.”
“Now you’ll use my first name?”
“You have to listen to me. The miners will not tolerate much more.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Against how many?”
“As many as want to precede me to the gallows.”
She flinched. “Don’t talk about the gallows.”
When he saw how worried she was, his expression softened. “I saw Geordie in the stables this morning,” he said. “He’s sad you left.”
She felt a pang of longing for her brother. “I said good-bye, but… give him my love, will you?”
“Of course.” He glanced around the house. “I’m sorry about this.”
“I know.”
In a sudden, brisk movement, he st
epped toward her and took her hands. “Come back with me to Blackmoor Hall, Rachel—at least until I can get you situated in London. You want to be with me. I know you do.”
She stared at their joined hands instead of searching his face. She knew if she saw the same longing she felt, her willpower would crumble. It was even harder to deny him than it was herself. “And if His Grace and Lady Penelope arrive before that can happen?”
“They are aware of the situation. They understand I have to make arrangements before… before I can move on.”
She finally met his gaze again. “I can’t go back with you.”
Scowling, he released her. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to stay out of your bed.”
“I wouldn’t want or expect you to.”
“I would expect it of myself. Don’t you see?”
“No. I don’t see. I don’t have to see. I simply demand it!”
That autocratic statement should have put her off. It would have, at one time. But she knew him now, knew he was wrestling with the same demons she was—desire, frustration, loneliness. Only he was far more used to getting what he wanted.
“I’m no longer one of your servants, my lord. You cannot order me about. And I can’t go back to your bed. You’ve already agreed to marry Lady Penelope. We must remember her and… and be kind.”
“But if we find the paintings I will be free of suspicion.”
“Does that mean you won’t marry her? You’ll break the betrothal?”
“Yes!”
“Why? It won’t change the fact that I’m a-a shopkeeper’s daughter. A poor village girl. An unsuitable wife for an earl.”
“Then for God’s sake be my mistress!” he growled.
“It’s a sad reflection on my state of mind that I’m tempted by that offer,” she said with a bitter laugh.
“It won’t be so bad. You’ll want for nothing, I swear it.”
“Your money is the last thing I’m after. And such an arrangement would destroy your marriage, make certain it never had a chance.”
“The last thing I need is you trying to save me for another woman!”
“What choice do I have?” she argued. “How long do you think you’d be happy in such a situation? How long would it be before you began to regret being with me? In the end, you’d hate me for making you into the kind of man you never wanted to be.”
“I could never hate you.”
“Do you think I don’t understand who you really are?”
He lifted a hand. “Stop painting me as more noble than I am. I can’t be that noble if I’m asking. At least we’d be together. What matters more than that?”
“Duty and honor, because I know you were raised to prize those things above all else.” She gripped his forearm. “You told me you were loyal to Katherine.”
“That is of no account.”
“It signifies a great deal. You didn’t love her. You didn’t even respect her. Yet you remained true. You can’t become someone other than who you are, my lord, at least not for very long.”
He jerked away. “Don’t tell me that. I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want you,” he said and stalked out.
Dammit! Rachel did things to him no other woman could. It didn’t matter what he did—if he tried to put her out of his life or draw her back in—there was no way to win. He couldn’t find any peace where she was concerned. He could only ache with want.
He was on the edge of town when he saw his own carriage.
As soon as Timothy spotted him, he pulled the conveyance to a stop and Linley stuck his head out.
“There you are, my lord.”
“What is it?” He hoped they’d found the paintings—but he knew in his heart that wasn’t it. Linley’s next words confirmed it.
“The duke and his daughter have arrived. I wanted to make you aware as soon as possible.”
Truman pressed a finger and thumb to his forehead. He was in no mood to be diverted. He had yet to deal with Cutberth. He also wanted to oversee the search at the mine.
But Cutberth wasn’t going anywhere. And, reward or not, there was a good chance the paintings would never be found. He couldn’t go off on a whim when his best chance at salvaging all he had, including his good name, was waiting for him at Blackmoor Hall.
“Thank you, Mr. Linley.”
“Would you like to tie your horse behind and ride back, my lord?”
“No, this will be quicker,” he said and urged his horse into a gallop.
Mrs. Tate was working in the kitchen when Rachel returned. “What did Lord Druridge want?”
Rachel wasn’t willing to share too much of their conversation. She knew Mrs. Tate loved her, but her neighbor was defensive of her to a fault and might repeat some of what she heard in an attempt to change the villagers’ minds about her. “To tell me he’s made inquiries about a position in London.”
Her neighbor frowned. “I hate to see ye leave. With yer mum gone and yer brother out at Blackmoor Hall, it’s gettin’ mighty lonely ’ere in this ’ouse.”
She had her two sons, but they were married, worked long hours and lived across town. She saw them and their families every Sunday, but it was Rachel’s family that had given her daily company and purpose. “I’ll miss you. But it will be better for me to start over somewhere else.” It had to be better. She didn’t see how her prospects could get any worse.
“I suppose he saw your injury.”
Mrs. Tate had been angry over that since Rachel returned from the shop yesterday with her face red and swollen. “How could he miss it? Cutberth must’ve hit me just right for it to look so bad.” He’d hit her hard, too—hard enough to rattle her teeth—but she was trying to calm the troubled waters, not make them worse.
“What kind of cad strikes a woman? I wish yer dad was still around. ’E’d take care of Cutberth.”
With a smile for the love her protective anger proved, Rachel decided to ask Mrs. Tate about Jillian and the earl’s mine clerk. “He would indeed. Especially if he heard what I just did.”
She put down the knife she’d been using to cut up a chicken. “Which was… ?”
“Mrs. Cutberth claims that her husband had an affair with my mother.”
Mrs. Tate blinked several times before she could find words. “Gah! Jillian never even liked ’im. ’E made her nervous, comin’ ’round the ’ouse, spendin’ so much time with you. She didn’t want ye to get caught up in what ’e was doin’, didn’t want ’im to lead ye into trouble—an’ she saw ’im as trouble, I assure ye. An agitator—that’s what she called him.”
Mrs. Tate would know. She’d spent long hours with Jillian in that final week, caring for her while Rachel worked. They’d had nothing to do but talk, at least when Jillian was lucid. “Did she tell you that?”
“Several times. She’d ask me almost every day if ’e’d been by.”
He’d stopped in at the shop quite often. Her mother didn’t know about those visits and neither would Mrs. Tate. But had he also been secretly visiting Jillian?
It didn’t seem plausible.
“Mum agreed with the need for a union,” she said.
“That could be true,” Mrs. Tate responded. “Most of us ’ere in the village agree. But she didn’t want ye to ’ave any part in the fight.”
“I understood why at the time. She’d had enough of the mine and everything connected to it and wanted it out of our lives. But now I wonder how she could feel that way when Mr. Cutberth was helping to pay the bills.” Rachel wasn’t convinced he and her mother had ever slept together, but she had to believe he was the one who’d given them the money, or he wouldn’t have been so interested in finding the ledgers.
“Maybe it wasn’t Cutberth who was ’elping,” Mrs. Tate said.
Rachel didn’t give this much credence. “Mrs. Cutberth admitted as much to Lord Druridge.”
“It could be that they’re both protectin’ someone.”
This was an interesting
thought. “Such as whom?”
After drying her hands on a towel, she sat at the kitchen table. “Once, when yer mother was tossin’ an’ turnin’ with fever, she was arguin’ with the earl’s own cousin, she was. I ’eard ’is name clear as a bell. ‘Wythe,’ she said, ‘you’ll protect my children when I’m gone. Promise me you’ll protect my children.’ I wasn’t sure what business she’d ’ave with Mr. Stanhope, or why she might be on a first-name basis with ’im. But I knew it was none of my business, so I said nothin’. I figured it was the delirium talkin’.” She gazed across the room, eyes unfocused, as if reliving the incident. “But after ’earing such rubbish about ’er and Cutberth… I wonder.”
Rachel had never heard her mother speak of Wythe in any particularly passionate way. It was always the earl. “Stay away from him,” Jillian had told her, over and over. Had Mrs. Tate witnessed the nonsensical ramblings of a very sick woman? Or was there some meaning behind them? “Did Mr. Stanhope ever come to the house when I wasn’t there?”
“Not that I remember.” Mrs. Tate smoothed her apron. “The only place ’e bothers to go ’ere in the village is the brothel. An’ ’e goes there so often they should rent ’im a room.”
That had to be at least part of the reason Elspeth felt she could claim to know so much about the goings-on at Blackmoor Hall and the colliery. Was it also why she’d refused to see Rachel? Was she afraid of what Wythe would do if he thought she might share his secrets?
As far as Rachel was concerned, that was a strong possibility. She was certainly frightened of the earl’s cousin.
But if Elspeth really did know something that could help Lord Druridge, and Rachel could get her to talk, maybe it wouldn’t be so all-important to find those missing paintings.
Chapter 20
Lady Penelope smiled whenever he looked at her, but Truman couldn’t help feeling as if her eyes were a bit… vacant. She was so placid, so quiet, which added to the feeling that her mind was somewhere else. Her father carried the conversation at dinner. He even spoke for her whenever Truman tried to draw her out.
Richard Mayberry, the Duke of Pembroke, sat on his right, across from Penelope, and had a booming voice for such a small man. He barely came up to Truman’s shoulder and was often bedridden with gout, but when he could get around he carried himself like a king. “I thought we might see Wythe for dinner,” he said, “but I suppose what I’ve heard is true.”
