Lady of a Recluse Earl

by Mirella Tinley

  She brushed it away gently, taking her sister’s hands in hers, though they were damp from the towel. “I am not delirious, sister. Indeed, I do not think I have ever seen so clearly in all my life,” she gushed.

  “I may be mistaken and, if I am, then I shall suffer the consequences. But if I am not mistaken then I am doing as you asked… I am finding my way toward true, real, honest love.”

  Nora looked horrified. “He is far from suitable, sister. I must beg you to reconsider what you are asking of me,” she said after a tense pause.

  “I ask only that you take a letter to him,” Emmy murmured softly. “I ask nothing more. It is as I say—I do not know if I am mistaken in my affections, and I will not take any unnecessary risks in fulfilling them. It is one letter, dear sister. One letter, to confirm or deny my hopes,” she added, her tone tight with desperation.

  “When I said find true love, I—” Nora began, but Emmy cut her off.

  “It is one letter, sister. I do not know if it is true love, since I have never known such a thing before,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “He may not be perfect, nor may he be deemed suitable, but I care for him, Nora. There is a strength in him… It makes me feel a security I have never experienced.”

  “Emmy, you hardly know this man,” Nora warned.

  “I know, but I hope to learn more,” she replied. “Surely, that is the only way to truly know if what you have before you is the real thing that all of us wish for?”

  Nora sighed, getting up from her chair and wandering over to the window. She gazed out silently, her eyes scanning the horizon.

  Emmy watched her, not wanting to disturb her thoughts, though she longed to know what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. If Nora said no, then Emmy knew her dreams were surely dashed.

  Without Nora’s help, there would be no way to get word to Mr Smith. The post would deliver it to the house and there would be questions asked—questions she would not dare to answer in the face of her mother and father.

  “One letter,” said Nora, finally.

  Emmy grinned, wanting to leap from the bed and embrace her sister. Instead, she held out her arms in an amusing manner, flailing them until Nora’s serious expression morphed into one of good humour. She crossed back to where Emmy sat and wrapped her arms tightly around her younger sister.

  “I hope your wish comes true,” she whispered, though it was barely audible. In fact, Emmy was not sure she had heard it at all, though she clung to the idea of her sister’s support like a life-raft.

  After pulling away from their sisterly embrace, Nora brought a box of stationery over to Emmy’s sick bed, with a board for her to write on.

  Emmy could sense her sister’s disapproval all the way through her eager writing, but she paid it no mind. Mr Smith would receive a letter that day, and that was worth all the discontentment in the world.

  When she was done, Emmy folded up the letter and sealed the back, choosing to use a wax stamp she rarely utilised, in case Nora was somehow intercepted on the way to the hermitage. With that, she handed the letter over to her sister, entrusting its care to her fair hands.

  “I must say it again, for the sake of my own conscience—I do not feel that this is a prudent idea,” Nora said, taking the letter regardless.

  “The responsibility rests with me,” Emmy countered. “I am the architect of my own fate, and I am entrusting the foundations to you. Whilst you are there, perhaps you could take a moment to ask questions of your own so that you may come to a better conclusion of his character. I know, in the depths of my heart, that he will not disappoint either of us in our judgment of him.”

  “I shall not be long. Remain in bed until I have returned—no peeking at the windows to see that I am honouring my promise,” she chastised warmly, tucking the covers tighter around Emmy’s body.

  Emmy smiled. “I shall not move from this spot until you are by my bedside once more,” she promised. This time, she meant it.

  With a dubious frown, Nora left the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Emmy listened out for as long as she could, but Nora’s footsteps soon disappeared into the distance. Impulse taunted Emmy, trying to prise her out of the bed with the temptation of what she might see, but she held true to the oath she had made, trusting that her sister would do as she had asked.

  To her mind, it was like the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice; if she did not keep her word and tried to look before she was allowed to, then she knew she might see something she did not wish to.

  No, this way was better.

  Ignorance was indeed bliss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The viscount

  Chapter 15

  Mr Smith was standing inside the entrance to the woods, looking up at the house, when he saw the figure of Nora hurrying down the sloping lawns, headed straight for him.

  Ducking behind a thick trunk so as not to be seen in the act of watching the house, he waited until she had entered the dense line of trees.

  Squinting to get a better view, he noticed that Nora held something in her hands.

  It was a letter.

  Joyful disbelief coursed through Mr Smith’s veins. In sending the letter to Emmy, he had never expected to receive one in return. Yes, he had hoped that such a thing might occur, but he had learned a long time ago that getting one’s hopes up led nowhere.

  In truth, it usually resulted in a deep wound of disappointment and hurt.

  “Lady Hodge?” Mr Smith called out, realising he wouldn’t reach the hermitage before she did.

  Startled, Nora turned, her eyes scanning the trees for the origin of the voice. “Who goes there?” she asked, her voice anxious.

  “It is Mr Smith, Lady Hodge,” he replied, stepping out of the shadows.

  “Of course. My apologies, Mr Smith—you took me by surprise,” she said, dusting down the front of her coat.

  “Then it is I who ought to apologise, Lady Hodge,” Mr Smith remarked politely. “I should not have called out in that loutish manner. I simply did not wish for you to go to the hermitage and find it standing empty,” he explained.

  Nora frowned. “Who is to say that I was heading for the hermitage, Mr Smith?”

  Mr Smith realised he had shown his hand. Now his cards and his hopes were firmly out on the table.

  There was a glimmer of understanding in the wary eyes of the beautiful young woman who stayed at a comfortable distance from where he stood, yet Mr Smith did not dare to entertain the idea that Emmy might have discussed him with her sister.

  Even so, Mr Smith answered boldly. “That letter in your hand, Lady Hodge—is it not intended for me?”

  Nora’s eyes narrowed further.

  Mr Smith could see that she was figuring out what to do next, and he could not blame her. If the message truly was from Emmy, then perhaps Nora felt duty-bound to keep it from his sight. Either that or she wished to keep him from suffering an injury of the heart. It had only just occurred to him that it could contain bad news as well as good.

  “It is, Mr Smith,” Nora said tentatively. “I have sworn to bring you a single letter,” she added, a touch more curtly.

  Mr Smith moved closer to where Nora stood and waited patiently to be handed the letter that she clutched tightly in her hands.

  When she did not immediately give up the message, a silent war raged between them. It was a strenuous tussle, though no words were exchanged. It was a battle of expression, with Nora making her feelings more than clear.

  There was anger and disapproval on the beautiful woman’s face, but there was a strange softness too, verging on wistful.

  At first, he did not understand it, but then it dawned on him.

  He had seen the vile behaviour of Hugh, the way he spoke to his wife. More than once, he had seen the vicious, ugly brute put his hands on the fragile neck of Nora with the very real threat that he might snap her like a twig. Nobody deserved to be treated that way.

  Suddenly, he realised
that Nora did not wish that same fate for her beloved sister, Emmeline Nightingale. Saying that, she did not wish her sister to feel affection for a man such as him either, by the looks of things.

  “Tell me, Lady Hodge, is it truly from Miss Emmeline’s hand?” Mr Smith asked as Nora finally relented and handed over the square of parchment.

  “It is, Mr Smith,” she replied, her voice softening. “She was insistent that you should have a response.”

  Mr Smith grimaced, realising what Nora must think of him. “Lady Hodge, please allow me to assure you that I meant no offence or dishonour by sending your sister, Miss Emmeline, a letter. After the incident with the river, I merely wanted to ensure that she was well and recovering from the ordeal. You see, I have only been able to garner snippets from some of the serving staff, and though I heard she was on the mend, I felt the need to offer my well-wishes too.”

  Nora frowned. “The incident with the river, Mr Smith?”

  Mr Smith froze, realising he had been caught out. There was no semblance of understanding on Nora’s face, only confusion.

  Mr Smith had presumed that Emmy would have told her sister everything, but it seemed she had kept the secret to herself, telling no-one of how she came to have a terrible cold in summertime.

  “She did not tell you, Lady Hodge?” Mr Smith asked, testing the waters.

  Nora shook her head sadly. “She did not, Mr Smith, though I feel you ought to.”

  Backed into a corner, knowing he should obey the request of a woman like Nora, he sighed reluctantly. “Lord and Lady Nightingale know nothing of this incident, Lady Hodge. It is only Mrs Harbour who is aware of the truth. It was her quick-thinking that may have saved your sister’s life.”

  “What in heaven’s name happened to my sister, Mr Smith?” Nora asked, her pitch rising with her nerves.

  “Several days ago, your sister came to visit with me. Naturally, I turned her away, insisting it was improper to meet in such a manner, and requested she bring you with her next time, should she desire to visit me again,” he began, dropping his gaze as he recounted the tale.

  “I understand the importance of a chaperone, Lady Hodge, and the need for propriety in such circumstances. You may think me coarse and uncouth, but I know the rules of polite society. And so she went on her way, only to return the following day… Once again, despite my pleas to the contrary, she was entirely alone. I spotted her through the trees and returned to the hermitage, to await her. Are you familiar with the narrow pathway that curves around the outcrop before you reach the waterfall?” he asked.

  Nora nodded. “I know it well, Mr Smith. Our brothers, Francis and Jasper, used to taunt one another from that spot, pretending to push one another in. The waters there are treacherous, are they not?”

  “Indeed they are. It was upon this pathway that Miss Emmeline slipped and tumbled down the bank, into the water. I dived in after her and pulled her from the undertow. She was deathly pale and freezing cold, so I brought her back to Davenham Park, where I knew the doctor could be sent for,” he continued, trying not to dwell too long on the image of her colourless, macabre face.

  “I went through the kitchens so as not to arouse suspicion within the house—I did not wish Miss Emmeline to get into trouble. I only wished for her to be well again. As I say, Mrs Harbour helped, and appears to have kept the secret that Miss Emmeline implored her to keep.”

  For a long time, Nora said nothing.

  Every so often, she glanced Mr Smith’s way, a curious expression on her face.

  He wanted to say something, to ease the tension between them, but held his tongue, knowing that Nora needed a moment or two to process what he’d said.

  “You saved her?” she said, though it almost sounded as though she was talking to herself.

  Mr Smith nodded. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did. She was in peril—I had to do something. I could never have lived with myself should anything have happened to Miss Emmeline.”

  “I must leave you, Mr Smith,” she continued. “There are things I must think on and things I must attend to, but I shall return to the hermitage tomorrow morning to retrieve another letter from you should you desire to write to my sister.”

  With that, Nora turned on her heel and wandered back out of the woods, heading back up the emerald green lawns toward the house.

  Mr Smith was speechless. Never in a million years had he expected Nora to feel some pity for him—enough that she might permit him to begin a conversation with her sister, albeit on paper.

  In a daze, he followed the path she had taken, pausing at his usual spot by the entrance to the woods.

  He could see her clearly, walking up to the impressive façade of Davenham Park, her head bowed low in contemplation.

  As she reached the bottom of the summer gardens, Mr Smith saw a carriage arrive outside the grand house. It was pulled by a gleaming pair of black geldings, their manes elegantly plaited.

  Having watched the comings and goings of Davenham Park for quite some time, Mr Smith realised that he did not recognise this particular carriage, nor the man who alighted from it.

  Wanting to get a closer look, Mr Smith hurried up the slope of the Davenham lawns and ducked behind the low wall of the rose garden, peering around the side of it so he could get a better view of the newly arrived stranger.

  He was a tall, imposing sort of fellow, with broad shoulders and long limbs.

  Upon removing his hat, Mr Smith saw that he had curling auburn hair, bordering on true redhead, and a set of steely grey eyes that seemed to survey the landscape in a disapproving manner. Mr Smith had seen countless men like him before, men who thought the world owed them something.

  “Lord Fitzroy!” Mr Smith heard the rich voice of Lord Nightingale say from within the entrance hall of the house. “We are absolutely delighted to welcome you to our humble abode. I trust your journey was well?”

  “Very well, indeed. It is my pleasure, Lord Nightingale, to be invited into a home such as this,” Courtesy Viscount James Fitzroy, replied in a smooth, polite voice.

  It was the kind of voice that Mr Smith had come to detest, knowing it led to nothing but privilege, with no understanding of the real world.

  “It is our pleasure to host you, Lord Fitzroy. My sons are eager to meet with you so they might begin our sport as soon as possible,” Lord Nightingale said with a hint of amusement. “They love nothing more than to fish and hunt, and we are always thrilled to have new visitors to join us in our summer pursuits.”

  “And the ladies of the house, Lord Nightingale? Are they well?” James asked, the question instantly making Mr Smith’s hackles rise. What right did he have to speak so impertinently?

  It was a question that evidently took Lord Nightingale aback too, as he visibly fumbled for the right words.

  Mr Smith frowned, sensing that Lady Nightingale was the engineer of this particular visit. Lord Nightingale did not seem particularly bothered by the presence of this viscount, though he was doing an excellent job of keeping up appearances.

  Mr Smith felt a twinge of irritation grip at his chest; he was aware of Lady Nightingale’s fanatical desire to see her youngest daughter wed, but the thought made him feel nauseous.

  Before he had come to know Emmy better, he had felt sorry for her and her sister, but his own feelings had not been in the equation then. Now he felt outright disgusted by the idea that she was to be paraded around in front of this fop before a betrothal would tie them together in a future of unhappiness.

  No, he would not permit it.

  He was not arrogant enough to think that he could fill that position, but he felt it only right that the choice of who she married be up to Emmy herself.

  This matchmaking business made him angry. How could a mother sell her child off to the highest bidder, as if she were no better than cattle at market?

  Lady Nightingale had already ruined one daughter’s life, but, between himself and Nora, it would not be allowed to happen again.


  Chapter Sixteen

  Dim suitor

  Chapter 16

  Emmy awaited her sister’s return with bated breath, feeling a rush of excited anticipation shiver through her veins.

  Her joy faded when Nora walked into the room, her face downcast.

  Through the gap in the bedchamber door, Emmy could hear the shrill sound of her mother’s voice echoing up the stairs, shrieking about the James’ arrival.

  “Mother’s latest scheme has arrived, you will be pleased to know,” Nora remarked grimly, as she walked over to the window-seat and sat down.