Lady of a Recluse Earl
Page 18
“Gil,” she breathed, testing out the name. Deciding she liked it, she melted into his embrace.
“My love… my Emmy,” he whispered, smiling at the secret they shared.
“My darling Gil,” she murmured back.
As the stars twinkled kindly upon them, Mr Smith opened up a whole new world to Emmy, that she had never known existed, one in which love could be so much more than a feeling.
In truth, it was so much more than anything she had ever known. She loved and was loved… There was nothing else to need.
Chapter Twenty-One
Miscalculation
Chapter 21
Emmy rose late for breakfast after returning from the woods shortly before dawn. Ensuring nobody had seen her enter the house, she had fallen straight into a deep slumber, her dreams filled with the memories of what had just happened.
As she stretched and remembered the events of the previous evening, a smile spread across her face.
Feeling elated, she bounded down to the dining room, only to find it empty.
Checking the clock, she frowned, knowing she wasn’t that late down to breakfast. Jasper or Francis were ordinarily still eating at such a time, and Nora usually stayed there awhile longer to keep her company if she came down late.
Poking her head back out of the dining room door, she called for one of the passing maids—a young woman named Jemima. Startled, the poor girl hurried over to where Emmy stood, making an attempt at a curtsey before standing nervously, awaiting instruction.
“Where is the rest of the household?” Emmy asked, her mood still high. She knew that what she had done was wrong, given that she was unmarried and Mr Smith was somewhat unsuitable, but she had not been able to help herself.
Even now, she wanted more. Never had she know such excitement and exhilaration. In truth, she had never known it could be like that.
From the horror stories she had heard, such acts were usually clinical and lacking pleasure, but what she had experienced had been a million miles away from any of that. It had been a truly wondrous thing between two people in the depths of love.
Jemima fidgeted uncomfortably. “I believe they are out on the lawns, Miss Emmeline,” she said, her voice tight.
“On the lawns? What on earth are they doing out there?”
Jemima shook her head. “I do not know, Miss Emmeline. A man came to the house early this morning, and the rest of the family departed with him,” she explained.
Forgoing breakfast, Emmy hurried down the hallway and out of the house, heading through the gardens to the perimeter, where they connected with the rolling lawns.
Freezing in her steps, Emmy saw that a large group of people were gathered at the entrance to the woodland. Her mother and father were there, and Nora was there, as were Jasper and Francis, but there were four other men present whom Emmy did not entirely recognise.
As she ran up, the group turned to her with stern faces. Panic bristled through Emmy’s body, and she feared that they knew everything that had taken place the night before. Perhaps it was etched across her face, which had been beaming with joy just moments before.
Now, however, there was nothing but fear and concern, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“Emmeline, there you are!” Lady Nightingale cried, lifting a handkerchief to her lips. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and it was clear she had been crying.
“We thought to wake you, but the constables were insistent we come straight out. Oh, Emmeline, it is so awful! It shall break your heart all over again. I simply dread the task of telling you!” she wailed.
“What is it, Mama?” Emmy asked, instantly fearing the worst.
Was Mr Smith injured? Had something happened to him? Did they all know what had transpired between them?
“No, it is too horrible! I cannot say. I simply cannot say,” she wept, disappearing back into the centre of her handkerchief.
Giving Lady Nightingale the moment alone she so clearly needed, Nora approached Emmy and gently took her arm. “It is to do with Lord Fitzroy, Emmy,” she said pointedly, showing Emmy she needed to react accordingly.
Emmy frowned. “Lord Fitzroy? I thought he had returned to his home to deal with family matters?” she replied, loud enough for all to hear.
“Indeed, so did we all. However, his valets arrived at the house this morning to say that Lord Fitzroy had not returned to his lodgings in town, where he had taken up rooms for several days,” Nora explained nervously. “We do not understand why Lord Fitzroy was staying in town after informing us he was returning home, but we have sent word to his family to tell them what has happened. They will undoubtedly arrive any day.”
“Is he unwell? I am not sure I follow entirely,” Emmy pressed, knowing she had but half the story. At this question, the congregated party hung their heads, a solemn atmosphere taking hold.
“He is dead, Emmy,” said Nora softly, placing a caring arm around her shoulders.
“His body was discovered at the bottom of the waterfall. It was too late to save him, as he was already drowned. It is unclear why he was in the woods, or how he came to be in those waters, but these fine constables have come to investigate the area to see if they can discover something,” she ventured, giving two of the unfamiliar men a thankful smile.
There was one young and one old, with the latter stepping forward to speak. “We’re not of the mind that there was any foul play involved,” he piped up, his strong, northern accent somehow comforting. “Looks like the man went for a walk and slipped. They’re treacherous waters—can take down a man of any size and strength, if you don’t know how to navigate them. I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Nightingale. I hear the two of you were soon to be betrothed.” He nodded, removing his hat in solemnity.
“Why would he have been walking these woods, Constable?” Emmy pressed, her curiosity piqued.
The older man shrugged. “Might be he was keen to be closer to you and took a wrong step, Miss Nightingale.”
Emmy began to reel with the news that was bombarding her mind. Moments ago, she had been the happiest girl in the world, and now everything was crashing down around her.
If James had fallen into the water near the hermitage, the constables would undoubtedly question the whereabouts of Mr Smith.
Still, she knew he would not betray her… Not that they knew anything about the viscount’s tragic demise. All throughout their night together, they had seen and heard nothing but each other. There had been no indication of their being watched.
A sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach as realisation dawned. She had known there was something amiss about the sudden manner in which James departed Davenham Park. Even as he had turned to go, there had been a furtive quality to his behaviour, as though there was something he was hiding. Now she knew what it was.
He had said it himself—he wished to have her as his wife, regardless of her relationship with Mr Smith.
Undoubtedly, he had sought to trick her. He had sought to catch them in the act so that he might use what he had seen as blackmail against her to force her hand into marriage. It all made sense now. James was used to winning and certainly going to any dastardly means to get what he wanted. Spying would not be beyond his limits of deviousness, Emmy knew.
That was it. That had to be it.
James had crept into the woods under the cover of darkness and watched the hermitage, knowing that Emmy would return there. He had found a spot overlooking the cottage, or positioned himself in a place with an excellent vantage point, and slipped into the water by accident. Emmy had done it herself; she knew how easy such a mistake could be. With the icy cold rush of the water dragging him down, it was not impossible that James had no time to cry out. Even if he had, in the heat of the moment they would not have heard him.
Shame burned Emmy’s cheeks as hot tears prickled her eyes. To those looking on, it seemed as though she was grief-stricken for the loss of a potential fiancé when, in reality, she was ashamed beyond word
s. As far as she could tell, a man had died because she and Mr Smith had been too busy to hear the splash and call of someone in distress.
Yes, James was a cruel man, but that did not mean he deserved a lonely, desperate death.
Glancing frantically around, she leant upon the steady arm of her sister, who held her close. The only person she wanted to see was Mr Smith, so she might warn him of all that had happened and all that might be about to happen, but she knew she could not run to him, as she wished to. Besides, she presumed he already knew, if the constables had been called upon. He would have been their first port of call. Emmy just hoped that he had given enough information to satisfy them so they would not question him further.
“And you do not believe there was any foul play, constables?” she asked, lifting her teary eyes towards the two men.
This time, the younger one stepped forward. “No, Miss Nightingale, we do not believe so. There was no evidence of such, and the hermit down there said he’d not seen or heard a thing. Poor man just slipped, it looks like.”
Emmy nodded. “Thank you, constables. I fear I cannot stay here a moment longer. Please, excuse me,” she said swiftly, her stomach turning in knots, the blood draining from her face.
Heading for the house, she felt as though she might be sick at any moment.
Behind her, she heard her mother wailing to the heavens. “My daughter must be some sort of jinx!”
Tears fell from Emmy’s eyes at the sound of such cold words, her chest heaving in a wretched sob of sorrow.
She could not help but feel them resonate within her, picking away at some dark fear in the very heart of herself that she was precisely what her mother had proclaimed her to be.
A jinx, destined to be the death of those who longed to have her.
If that was true, what did that mean for poor Mr Smith?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Promises
Chapter 22
After taking to her bed for much of the day, shunning all company, Emmy was awoken by the sound of carriage wheels crunching on the driveway.
Jumping out from beneath the covers and hurrying toward the window, she looked down to see a rather grand phaeton-and-four arrive in front of the house.
A woman stepped out.
She was tall and lean, with the same auburn hair verging on true red and the same steely grey eyes that Emmy had come to recognise as a signature of the Fitzroy family.
Scrutinising her more closely, Emmy felt as though there was a bird-like quality to her features, her nose somewhat hooked, her mouth thin and pursed. Despite that, there was an unusual beauty to her too. Everything seemed to work in harmony when viewed from a distance, the impression a rather elegant, handsome one.
It was only upon closer inspection of the sum of the parts that things began to take a less pretty turn.
Still dressed from that morning, though she had taken to her bed, Emmy ran for the door, tearing down the stairs so that she might meet this strange guest in the entrance hall. To her dismay, she found that the rest of her family were already waiting there to greet the new visitor.
“You must be Miss Maria Fitzroy?” Lady Nightingale asked, her voice still choked from almost a whole day spent in grief.
The stern-faced woman nodded, extending her hand toward Lady Nightingale. “Indeed. I sent an express rider to inform that I would be in attendance in place of my father. He is unwell at present, and I thought it unwise that he make the journey to oversee something as strenuous as an investigation into his only son’s death. He is quite bereft, as you can imagine,” she explained curtly. “I trust the rider reached you in good time, Lady Nightingale?”
Lady Nightingale nodded. “He did, Miss Fitzroy. We have had rooms made up in the house for you, should you wish to utilise them,” she said, her tone almost grovelling.
“That will not be necessary, Lady Nightingale, though I thank you for the gesture. I have taken up the rooms my brother was residing in before his untimely demise,” Maria remarked. “I must investigate his belongings so I might have a better idea of his final movements.”
“It has many of us confused, Miss Fitzroy,” Lord Nightingale cut in. “Your brother, Lord Fitzroy, had just taken his leave of us with no word of when he might return, so it seems peculiar that he should have been found out there, in the woodland of our property. We thought him returned to his home. As you can imagine, it has come as quite a blow to our family, given his fledgling romance with my youngest daughter, Miss Emmeline. We are all grief-stricken that this should have happened.”
Maria narrowed her eyes. “It is peculiar indeed, Lord Nightingale, though I plan to get to the bottom of it. I do not believe it was mere accident that took my brother’s life, and I shall see to it that justice is served,” she said coldly, surprising everyone.
“I trust you already called for the constables when my brother was discovered?” she continued, her tone intimidating.
Emmy could tell this was not the kind of woman anyone should mess with. In fact, she was precisely the kind of person who could ruin everything.
Lord Nightingale nodded. “Of course, Miss Fitzroy. They are taking one final look at the woods, but they should be back at the house presently. Shall I get someone to fetch them?” he asked, visibly cowed by this daunting woman.
“If you could, Lord Nightingale,” she replied sharply. “I shall await their return in the drawing room, if you have one?”
“Certainly, we have one, Miss Fitzroy,” Lady Nightingale chimed in, evidently offended by such a question.
In any other situation, Emmy would have been forced to stifle a giggle, but this was no time for laughter. Maria was a troubling creature indeed, with a tangible determination to see a different side to her brother’s tragic end.
When the constables returned a short while later they were corralled through to the drawing room, where Maria was waiting for them. Emmy and the others had not been permitted to sit in on the bizarre interview, though Lord Nightingale had demanded he be present.
All they could do was wait to hear what this strange woman had to say and what was to be done about the situation at hand.
Even so, Emmy could not help but loiter outside the door to the drawing room, pressing her ear close to the keyhole so she might hear what was going on within. The voices were muffled, but she could make out just enough of what was being said to feel fear make her blood run cold.
“I demand you begin an investigation into the death of my brother, Viscount James Fitzroy. I have evidence to suggest that this was not the accident it seems, and I am keen to see someone brought to justice for his death,” Maria began. “I wish you to do a thorough inspection of the woodland all around the waterfall where he was discovered, in case there are any signs of a disturbance. And I wish you to interrogate that man who lives in the woods,” she added sharply, her tone bitter.
“The hermit, Miss Fitzroy?” Emmy heard one of the constables ask.
“If that is what he is masquerading as, then yes, him,” she replied, matter-of-factly.
“He is a simple hermit, Miss Fitzroy—a religious man. I doubt he had any part to play in your brother’s death, God rest his soul,” the older constable insisted, much to Emmy’s relief. However, it did not seem as though Maria was convinced.
“I have reason to believe he is involved, constables,” she explained defiantly. “My brother sent a letter to me several days ago. He was worried, and he was anxious about a suspicious character he knew to be living in the woods of Davenham Park. By all accounts, this vile creature had been loitering in the house gardens, trying to steal glimpses of the youngest Miss Nightingale. When my brother intervened on one occasion, this ‘hermit’ grew aggressive and argumentative, though my brother was too polite to bring it up with you, Lord Nightingale. My brother believed this man to be a danger to Miss Emmeline and to himself. This is my reasoning for further investigating this ‘hermit’ of which you speak, and I would ask that it be respected.”
She did not care about the eyes she could feel burning a hole in her back, watching from the windows of the house. It was her mother, no doubt, finally realising that something was the matter.
In that desperate moment, she did not care about anything but Mr Smith. The constables would come for him, under the duress of Maria, and there was no telling what might happen if they arrested him. It would be his word against that of a dead man and Maria. Of course, he had an alibi, but Emmy knew he may as well not have one. That secret simply could not be brought to light.