No, although it felt awful to know he had said those things to her in such a way, he hoped they would keep her at bay so that he might return his thoughts to the daily task of seeking penance.
Still, he could not rid himself of the fear that his actions might backfire. If anyone were to see her in the state she left him in, his head would instantly be on the chopping block.
Anxiously, he returned to the sanctuary of the little stone house. Sitting beside the fire, he let the hot flames dry the damp material of his shirt and trousers, though he could not stay in one position for long. He felt antsy and uncomfortable, his ears pricked for the sound of anyone approaching.
A short while later, they did.
“Here, you in there, I would like a word!” a voice called as a heavy fist rapped against the wooden door of the hermitage.
“Do come in, sir,” Mr Smith replied, feeling his nerves begin to jangle.
With an unceremonious creak, the door burst open, revealing a tall, well-built man with curly auburn hair and striking green eyes. Mr Smith recognised him as one of the Wyndham brothers, and he could see the two Nightingale sisters hovering behind him. They had evidently enlisted his services to come and demand retribution for Emmy’s tears.
“I trust you know why I have come to you, Mr...?”
Mr Smith stretched out his hand. “Mr Smith. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are?”
“I am Ambrose Wyndham,” the auburn-haired man replied, taking the proffered hand. “Now, as I say, I trust you know why I am here?”
Mr Smith nodded. “I believe I do, and I am sorry to have caused such a disturbance. It was not my intention,” he said sheepishly. “I did not wish for the young lady to find herself in trouble, so I sent her away.”
Ambrose looked at Mr Smith with an air of curiosity before his gaze drifted around the room, taking in the sights of the hermit’s humble abode. “Very noble of you, Mr Smith,” he murmured, his footsteps taking him over to a shelf on the far side of the room. There were several books lined up on top of it, but there was something else dangling from the corner of one of the dusty tomes.
“I respect a lady’s honour, Mr Wyndham,” Mr Smith replied as he hurried to the far side of the room in an attempt to cut Ambrose off. That shelf contained his private effects, and he did not like anyone getting too close.
“And yet, she is in tears, Mr Smith,” Ambrose countered before running his index finger along the leather-bound spines.
“For that, I am sincerely sorry, Mr Wyndham. It was only my intention to make her leave before someone saw her. Surely, you can understand that?” Mr Smith said, fidgeting anxiously beside the spot where Ambrose stood.
Ambrose froze, saying nothing. His finger had paused at the very last book on the shelf, just in front of the object that was dangling down. It was a signet ring hanging from the end of a golden chain. On it, the letter A was engraved. Mr Smith felt a wave of panic begin to course through his veins. It was clear from Ambrose’s face that he recognised the object, but it was much too late to hide it from sight.
“Where did you get this?” Ambrose asked, snatching up the trinket and whirling around.
Mr Smith cleared his throat. “If you would just let me explain, Mr Wyndham,” he began, only to be cut off sharply.
“That is what I am asking for—an explanation. Why do have this, Mr Smith?” Ambrose spat, his eyes ablaze with anger.
“I found it,” said Mr Smith, struggling to come up with a viable excuse. He did not wish for Ambrose to think him a thief, but it was clear he already did.
“You must think me a fool, Mr Smith. You did not find this. You could not have found this, unless you took it from the cold, dead body of my brother!” he snapped, brandishing the signet ring in Mr Smith’s face.
“It is not your brother’s ring, Mr Wyndham. It is simply one that looks similar,” Mr Smith promised, though he knew his words were falling on deaf ears. Ambrose’s temper was up, and it didn’t seem to be showing any signs of ebbing.
His eyes narrowed. “How dare you lie to my face, you vile wretch!” he bellowed, striking Mr Smith in the face.
Mr Smith staggered back, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood away, his gaze lifting to meet the eyes of Ambrose. Within them, there was a plea for Ambrose to stop, but it was clear that all Ambrose was seeing was a red mist.
Even so, Mr Smith did not retaliate. When Ambrose came for him again, he ducked and feinted out of the way of the other man’s punches, ensuring that none of them connected with his head.
For the most part, he managed to avoid the blows that were raining down upon him, until one connected with his shoulder. He was sent flying backwards, but he was quickly up on his feet again, determined not to fight back. He did not want to hurt Ambrose.
“I am not lying to you, Mr Wyndham,” Mr Smith promised, as another punch narrowly missed his face. “I did not steal that ring.”
Ambrose came at him again. “Liar!” he boomed, landing another punch in Mr Smith’s abdomen.
Instantly, Mr Smith crumpled to the floor, clutching his injured stomach. A blinding pain seared through his body as a grimace contorted his face. The air had been knocked from his lungs, and he could feel the rasp of his raw throat as he tried to speak again to prevent Ambrose from attacking once more.
“What on earth do you think you are doing, Mr Wyndham?” Nora was standing in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face. Immediately, Ambrose drew away from where Mr Smith kneeled on the floor, clutching his abdomen.
“Lady Hodge, I do apologise,” he said, backing away, almost as though he didn’t recognise his own actions. In his hand, the ring still dangled at the end of the golden chain. It was all Mr Smith could look at from his fallen position on the ground.
Nora looked between the two men. “Honestly, I would have expected more grace from you, Mr Wyndham. You would beat a man like you were a common ruffian?” she accused.
A shameful expression passed across Ambrose’s face. In that mortified moment, Mr Smith glimpsed an adoration for the beautiful young woman who had halted proceedings. It was clear that Ambrose was wholeheartedly embarrassed that Nora should have walked in on such crude behaviour.
“No, Lady Hodge. I have acted impulsively, and I would seek to remedy it,” said Ambrose swiftly, before turning to Mr Smith. “Mr Smith, I should like to challenge you to a duel. I could see you hanged for theft, but I fear the ladies present would not permit such a thing. And so, you being a religious man, we must leave it in the hands of God.”
Mr Smith felt his heart skip an anxious beat. A duel was the last thing he wanted, but he could see he had no other option. Either he accepted Ambrose’s challenge and put an end to the quarrel, or risk it being taken elsewhere. If Lord Nightingale found out, it would be the end of his time at Davenham Park. He wasn’t ready for that yet.
“Surely, I can just return the property you believe to be stolen, Mr Wyndham?” Mr Smith implored, but Ambrose was having none of it.
“Absolutely not, Mr Smith. You cannot steal and simply hope to be forgiven. No, it must be a duel, or I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands,” he insisted.
Nora rested a hand on Ambrose’s arm. It was a bold move and one that seemed to take Ambrose by surprise.
“Surely, you can forgive and forget, Mr Wyndham? I am certain Mr Smith did not mean to take the ring, and there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for how it has come to be here. Perhaps a duel is not necessary,” she prompted, flashing him a sweet smile. Even Mr Smith was almost convinced by it.
Ambrose shook his head. “I cannot let this go unpunished, Lady Hodge,” he remarked. “My brother was buried with that ring. If Mr Smith will not tell me how he comes to have it, then it must be a duel.”
Nora turned to Mr Smith. “Mr Smith, if you would just tell Mr Wyndham how you came to have the ring, we can be finished with this nonsense. Nobody will bo
ther you here again, and my father shall not hear of anything that has occurred. My sister has already implored that we remain silent on the subject of your upsetting her, given that we have you to thank for her safe return last night,” she said, speaking kindly.
Mr Smith found himself somewhat confused. If Emmy had told them about his part in last night, then why were they here, banging on his door, bringing him nothing but trouble? Could they not have forgiven the tears he caused in exchange for that safe return? Could they not have just let him be?
“I cannot tell you where I got the ring, Lady Hodge. I apologise, but I cannot say,” he said, after a long pause. If it was to be a duel, then so be it.
“Mr Smith, please just tell us where you got it,” Emmy’s voice spoke softly, sounding like sweet music to Mr Smith’s ears.
She had appeared behind her sister, an anxious expression on her face. “I did not mean to bring you trouble, and for that I am sorry. I was upset, but I am much recovered now. I should not have acted so rashly. Now, if you would just explain where you got that ring, we can leave you in peace.”
Again, Mr Smith shook his head. “I cannot say, Miss Emmeline. I wish I could,” he replied mournfully, taking in the beauty of her face.
Her cheeks were flushed with pink, and her eyes still glittered wetly from the tears she had spilled. Of everyone in the room, he felt the most shame at being forced to let her down. “I accept your challenge, Mr Wyndham. I hope it will make amends for the wrongs you believe I have caused you.”
“Tomorrow, just before sunset, in the glade behind Whitecroft Abbey. The weapon will be pistols,” said Ambrose firmly before turning to leave the hermitage, the signet ring still clutched in his hands.
Nora hurried after him, though she cast a sympathetic look back at Mr Smith before she left. Emmy, however, waited for what seemed like a lifetime, frozen in the doorframe, her teary eyes watching Mr Smith closely.
He gazed back, feeling emboldened by the notion that his life might end the following day. The world seemed to slow down, the earth belonging only to the two of them, just for that moment.
“I am sorry, Mr Smith,” she whispered.
And then, she was gone.
Chapter Nine
Unsettling
Chapter 9
Over dinner that evening, Emmy could barely concentrate, her hands shaking as she gripped her cutlery to eat.
Nora seemed similarly skittish, with any sudden sound making her jump. Lady Nightingale, however, hadn’t appeared to notice the peculiarity in her daughters.
“Excellent news, Emmy. I have sent word on the evening post to Lord James Fitzroy, son of Viscount George Fitzroy, inviting him to the house for a week or so for some shooting and fishing with your father and brothers. It will give you the perfect opportunity to get better acquainted with one another,” she cried, startling poor Nora.
Emmy stared into her soup, not listening to her mother’s words. All she could think about was the pained face of Mr Smith as he had sat there, crumpled on the floor, gripping his stomach.
The prospect of the next day’s duel was looming large in her mind.
She knew it was all her fault. If she hadn’t told Ambrose and Nora about her altercation with Mr Smith, they never would have gone to the hermitage, and Ambrose would never have found Albion’s signet ring.
She had tried to persuade Ambrose on the way back that it could be any signet ring, but Ambrose would not hear it. Apparently there was a very particular engraving on it that gave it away as the Wyndham family heirloom, but Emmy had never seen Albion wear it. She only had Ambrose’s word to go on.
“Emmy!” Lady Nightingale shouted, startling Nora so much she dropped her spoon into her soup. “Goodness me, what on earth is the matter with the pair of you?”
Emmy’s head snapped in the direction of her mother. “What were you saying, Mama?” she asked, wanting to take the heat off her elder sister, who was inviting a hard stare from her husband.
Hugh was due to leave for Fallow Manor the following morning, but Emmy knew there was a lot of damage he could do between now and then.
“I was saying I have sent a letter in the evening post inviting Lord James Fitzroy to stay in order to shoot and hunt with your father and brothers,” Lady Nightingale repeated, rolling her eyes.
Emmy frowned. “My apologies, Mama, but which one was he again?”
At this, Francis and Jasper erupted into fits of laughter, whilst Lord Nightingale gave a slight smirk of amusement. Emmy was usually the comic relief, and it seemed she had managed to fulfil her duties once again.
This time, however, she was grateful for it. The laughter had eased the cold expression on Hugh’s face, and even Lady Nightingale seemed to be somewhat tickled, though she struggled to keep it at bay.
“He was the exceedingly dull one,” said Francis, his laughter subsiding. “Do you recall? He kept telling everyone about the future of the locomotive,” he added, making a rude snoring sound. Emmy sniggered, despite the anxiety she felt.
“Francis!” Lady Nightingale scolded. “You will be courteous to him should he come to stay, and you will be interested in everything he has to say about locomotives—though I think them an abhorrent prospect myself. That goes for all of you!” Her eagle eyes darted around the table, resting upon her offspring and husband.
The laughter subsided as the Nightingale family returned to their evening meal.
Emmy could not eat, pushing her food around the plate, willing the serving staff to take it away before Lady Nightingale could notice how little was actually reaching her mouth.
She could not think about James Fitzroy, whoever he might be. Although she vaguely recalled the name and the dull droning on about locomotives, she could not bring a picture of his face to her mind. Not that it mattered; she had very little intention of making herself engaging in his presence.
Her mother could continue her endless attempts at matchmaking, but Emmy knew she would refuse to bite.
Nora’s words rang in her mind, urging her to find true love. Sadly, Nora was the cautionary tale that Emmy was determined never to repeat.
Her mind drifted toward thoughts of Mr Smith and the state he had been in when they departed the hermitage. Clutching his stomach, the air knocked clean out of him, Emmy had felt guilty for putting him in that position. It was all her fault, and now Mr Smith was on the proverbial chopping block.
She had heard from her brothers that Ambrose was an impeccable marksman, and Albion had always commented that he ought to have been the soldier, given his affinity for firearms. That knowledge filled her with an intense sense of dread.
There was no way Mr Smith could win; she could only hope that he would walk away wounded but with his life intact.
After dinner, the family gathered in the drawing room, with Emmy and Nora taking up their usual spot by the window, holding cards in their hands though they hadn’t any thought of actually playing.
Lord and Lady Nightingale were sitting by the fire, sipping brandy, whilst the two young men of the house sat off to one side discussing the latest scandal of one of Francis’ close friends. The man in question had been found at Gretna Green, about to marry the daughter of a pub landlord, only to be stopped a few minutes before the ceremony by his very irate father. They were laughing, but their joviality did not spread across to Emmy and her sister, whose heads were close in deep discussion.
“Ambrose will surely kill him,” Emmy whispered mournfully. “This is all my fault. Had I not reacted so absurdly, like a spoiled child, this should never have happened. The ring could have belonged to anyone, and now I feel I have sealed the fate of a quiet, well-meaning gentleman who would have continued in his solitude had I not intervened.”
Nora frowned. “Emmy, you mustn’t blame yourself. Indeed, you should not have set foot in the woods at night. For his part, I am certainly glad he came to your aid, and he has my gratitude for doing so, but you cannot excuse his thievery. If Ambrose says the ring belong
ed to Albion, then it surely must,” she said kindly. “Perhaps he shall walk away from this unscathed. In doing so, he shall regain his solitude, and there shall be no more spoken on the matter. Papa has not been informed, so you can be sure that Mr Smith will be permitted to carry on with his penance once this incident has been duly dealt with.”
“And if he dies? What then?”
“It is no longer in our hands, Emmy. A duel has been set, and though I do not agree with such things myself, I see it as the only way to confront this matter without involving any outside influence. Papa would undoubtedly see Mr Smith cast out if this was settled in any other way,” Nora warned.
Lady of a Recluse Earl Page 7
