Lady of a Recluse Earl

by Mirella Tinley

  Skidding around the corner of the rocky outcrop, careful not to lose her footing, she hurtled toward the front door of Mr Smith’s hermitage, not bothering to knock before she burst through. He was sitting by the fire, heating water for a cup of tea, though he turned sharply at the sound of the door banging open.

  “You have to go, Gil, right this instant,” Emmy insisted, wrapping her arms tightly around him, pulling him to her as fiercely as she could. “You have to pick up your things and leave before they come for you! If they arrest you your life will be in danger, and I will not stand by and watch any harm come to you.”

  Mr Smith kissed her delicately on her forehead, brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I cannot leave, Emmy,” he said sadly. “I made a promise some time ago to stay here. It is my penance, and I must remain. I cannot leave—I am sorry, Emmy. I must face whatever comes my way, to uphold the promise I made.”

  “And what about the promise you made to me, Gil?” she asked, heartbroken. “Does our love mean so little to you that you would allow yourself to be torn from my side? I want you to live, Gil. Please, leave now. Leave now and live.”

  Again, Mr Smith said: “I cannot go. I made a promise long before I met you, and I must keep it.”

  “I cannot protect you, Gil,” Emmy whispered desperately. “I cannot tell them that I was with you that night. It would ruin me.”

  Mr Smith smiled, his beautiful blue eyes glittering with adoration for the woman he loved. “I would never ask that of you, sweet Emmy. I am not asking that of you, and I never shall. If they take me in, so be it. I know I am innocent, and I know that I shall find a way back to you should the worst happen,” he promised, though Emmy struggled to see how such a thing was possible.

  They would hang him, for sure, if he was accused of murdering a man such as Lord Fitzroy. The viscount was an influential man with a rich family and a sister with an apparent thirst for vengeance. In such times, it did not matter that Mr Smith was innocent. Besides, James had already sown the seed of Mr Smith’s guilt. Even from beyond the grave, he was determined to see Emmy miserable. If he could not have her, it seemed nobody could.

  She clung to Mr Smith, revelling in the feel of his strong arms around her, holding her close. If things went awry, there was no telling when she might be in those arms again, and the very thought of such a tragedy broke her heart in two.

  At the sound of footsteps approaching, Emmy reluctantly drew away from her lover and disappeared around the back of the hermitage, hiding in the shadow of the rockface that surrounded the cottage. Through a narrow window she could see Mr Smith standing proud, awaiting his fate.

  Lacing her fingers together, she prayed to whoever might be listening that he might be saved.

  Her heart could not take the loss of another.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  revelations

  Chapter 23

  Mr Smith did not know how to tell Emmy how frightened he was of what might befall him. He knew he had to be strong in her presence so that she did not break to pieces in his arms. Watching her leave to hide out in the shadows of the hermitage was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

  All he wanted was to call her back and hold her again until they tore him away from her embrace.

  Now it was too late.

  A group of people were approaching the hermitage. He recognised the familiar face of Lord Nightingale, with Francis and Jasper standing to either side of their father, but he did not recognise the two men behind them, nor the woman that had joined them. She did, however, remind him of James Fitzroy. It became clear a moment later when the woman moved to the front of the group and confronted Mr Smith head-on.

  “Are you the hermit who resides here?” she asked coldly.

  He nodded. “Indeed I am, my Lady.”

  “You may refer to me as Miss Fitzroy,” she remarked, confirming his suspicions that she was somehow related to the deceased Lord Fitzroy.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fitzroy. I am Mr Smith,” he returned, though her expression irked him somewhat. She looked at him as though she had stepped in something unpleasant, and her tone only reinforced the sentiment.

  “Indeed,” she scoffed. “I believe you had something of a conflict with my deceased brother, Lord Fitzroy?”

  Mr Smith frowned. “There was something of a scuffle at one point, if that is what you are referring to, Miss Fitzroy,” he replied evenly, unwilling to let any of his fear show on his face.

  “A scuffle, you say, Mr Smith?”

  He nodded. “He approached Miss Emmeline in a rather uncouth manner, and I stepped in to prevent him from doing her further harm,” he explained, knowing it would rile this woman. The constables behind her exchanged a confused glance, whilst the Nightingale men seemed not to know what to do with themselves.

  “Nonsense,” Maria barked. “Mr Smith, you were the one prevented from doing Miss Emmeline harm. I have seen it in black and white, written by my brother’s fair hand before you so cruelly saw to it that he met a grisly end. You were jealous of his affections towards Miss Emmeline, and you took matters into your own hands, did you not?” she accused sharply, a flush of angry colour coming into her pallid cheeks.

  Mr Smith shook his head. “I did no such thing, Miss Fitzroy. I was not jealous; I merely stepped in where I thought his actions were bordering on inappropriate. I may seem a mere peasant to you, but I was born a gentleman. I would not seek to lie, and I would never seek to harm a woman,” he insisted firmly, defending his honour. “As for your brother’s death, I know nothing of it. Yes, I was here at my hermitage, close to where it must have occurred, but I heard nothing, and I saw nothing.”

  “I have evidence, Mr Smith. I have it all written down,” Maria pressed. “I shall see it put before a magistrate, where your guilt shall be discovered. I know my brother, Mr Smith. I know he was frightened by you, and now I see why.” Her cold eyes looked him over, sending a chill up his spine.

  “I have my word, Miss Fitzroy,” he countered, knowing it was a feeble defence.

  Turning to the constables, Maria raised an eyebrow. “Surely my evidence is enough to see this man arrested and put on trial? Constables, I ask that justice be delivered, and I believe my brother had enough reason to believe this man was a threat to his safety. It cannot be coincidence that, mere days after receiving that letter, my brother should turn up dead?”

  The two constables eyed one another uncomfortably.

  Mr Smith waited patiently for one of them to speak, though he could feel his heart thundering in his chest.

  The only thing that kept him remotely calm was the thought of Emmy standing just outside listening to everything that was being said, but knowing his innocence to be true.

  As long as she believed in him, that was all that mattered. He could endure the rest. He had already endured more torment than any man should be forced to. Compared to that, this was nothing.

  “Can anyone testify to your being here that night and hearing nothing of the viscount’s death?” the younger constable asked, though it was clear he already knew the answer. In the constable’s eyes, Mr Smith knew there was no hope. He had guilty stamped on his forehead.

  Mr Smith shook his head. “There is no one but me and the lord God himself.” He thought of Emmy once more, listening in to the conversation, and willed her to stay put. He would not see her reputation tarnished because of him.

  “Then I am afraid we’re going to have to take you away, Mr Smith,” said the older constable with a hint of apology. It was clear these men were all running scared of this vulture-like woman, with her stern face and frosty glare.

  “Very well, constables,” Mr Smith replied calmly, holding out his wrists for the shackles they would undoubtedly wish to clap on him.

  “There’ll be no need for that, Mr Smith,” the older constable said before taking hold of his arms and marching him away. As Mr Smith passed by Maria, he saw a look of triumphant delight flicker ac
ross her face and felt his ire burn against her. He could not imagine a more hateful creature.

  Solemnly, they walked back toward Davenham Park, where there was a carriage waiting to take Mr Smith away. He said nothing as they approached it, keeping his head down, his thoughts focussed upon returning to the loving embrace of Emmy. They could not hang him on such paltry evidence, or so he convinced himself as he waited for the constables to open up the back of the carriage.

  Just then, he heard a voice piercing the air, and his heart sank.

  “Stop! Stop, please! You have an innocent man!” Emmy cried as she raced toward the gathered group. Lady Nightingale and most of the house staff had come out to see what all the commotion was, the audience growing with every moment that passed. It wasn’t every day the inhabitants of Davenham Park got to see a criminal hauled away.

  “Miss Emmeline, should you not be at your rest, mourning my deceased brother?” Maria remarked icily.

  Emmy turned her gaze upon Maria, fury burning behind her dark eyes. “No, Miss Fitzroy, I should not be. Your brother is everything that Mr Smith said him to be. He brutally attacked my sister and threatened me in the basest manner imaginable,” she snapped. “I have witnesses to both attacks. My sister shall vouch for me on the former, as Mr Ambrose Wyndham will vouch for the latter.”

  Maria gave a tight laugh. “Even so, it does not make Mr Smith innocent of the crime of murdering my brother, Miss Emmeline. Even if he did not deliver the blow himself, I am almost certain he did nothing to prevent my brother’s death, though he must have heard a commotion and known what it would mean for my brother.”

  Emmy shook her head vehemently. “You are mistaken again, Miss Fitzroy. I have a witness to that evening also.”

  “Emmy, no,” Mr Smith gasped, trying to move toward his love so that he might stop her from saying something she would later regret.

  At the sound of the nickname tumbling out of his mouth, a disapproving gasp of horror went up from the gathered crowd.

  With a warm smile, Emmy moved forward to touch Mr Smith gently on the arm, offering him reassurance before she turned back to her substantial audience. Every single one of their faces wore a mask of shock. This day was turning out to be more eventful than any of them could have imagined, by the looks on their faces.

  “I am the witness to that, Miss Fitzroy,” Emmy said quietly, her cheeks reddening, though she held herself as proudly as she was able.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued, though her voice trembled as she spoke. “I was with Mr Smith the night your brother died, and there was no occasion to hear such a commotion… as we were otherwise engaged. I am deeply sorry that such a tragedy has befallen Lord Fitzroy, as I would never wish death upon a man such as him, regardless of his cruelty and violence towards my sister and I.”

  Another gasp rippled around the congregation, though few of them had actually heard the words Emmy had spoken. Mr Smith had, however, and he knew there was no way he could make it right.

  She had sacrificed her honour and her reputation for him, and nothing could ever change that.

  “What on earth do you mean, ‘otherwise engaged’?” Maria taunted, wanting to make Emmy say the words aloud.

  “I went to him, Miss Fitzroy, as I was worried for his welfare,” she began to explain, her cheeks reddening further.

  “We sat for a long while and spoke about what your brother had done. With him gone, I felt able to visit with Mr Smith to discuss the violence I had endured and how pleased I was to see that he had given up his pursuit of me,” she proclaimed, raising her voice so all could hear.

  “It is true, I felt affection towards Mr Smith, but there was nothing untoward, as you are insinuating. My only fault is speaking with a man unchaperoned in the middle of the night. I know how this might make me appear, but it is the truth, and I will not see an innocent man hanged when I can protect him with the truth.”

  Mr Smith knew it was not enough to save the tatters of Emmy’s reputation. There would be gossip, as there always was, and though she would maintain her good position, she would likely never be permitted into polite society again.

  Lady Nightingale’s howls were enough to confirm his suspicions on the future that lay in store for Emmy.

  There would be no chance of an excellent match with a suitable bachelor somewhere in the country. News would spread, and nobody would want to have Emmy as a wife.

  In truth, somewhat selfishly, that suited Mr Smith just fine. He wanted Emmy as his own wife, though he knew Lady Nightingale would never allow it… not unless they knew the truth of his past. He had sworn to keep it secret, but Emmy had given up her good name with barely a moment’s hesitation.

  Surely, he thought, it was time he gave up the ghosts that haunted him and came clean with those around him.

  If it could save Emmy, he knew there was no finer time.

  “I believe your brother knew of my affections toward Mr Smith, Miss Fitzroy, as he assaulted my sister in order to wrestle a letter from her hands that he suspected was from Mr Smith,” Emmy continued, leaving Mr Smith in awe of her strength. “It was not, but he suspected it to be so. It is my belief that your brother’s departure from Davenham Park was a ruse so that he might catch Mr Smith and myself in the act, so to speak, which might give him a better position from which to negotiate my dowry. It is the only feasible reason for his being here after informing us all that he was leaving,” she ventured boldly, clearly knowing she had nothing left to lose.

  “He must have hidden away somewhere close to the hermitage and lost his footing. I have done it myself, and that water can consume a person with barely a fight. Anyone from around here will tell you that.”

  The two constables nodded in agreement, though they looked a little taken aback by the revelations that were coming their way. Mr Smith didn’t blame them. Emmy was the sweetheart of the local area, and to hear such things coming from her mouth… well, it would be enough to surprise anyone. Mr Smith longed to step in and protect her from the glare that was focussed entirely on her, but he did not yet know what to say or how to say it.

  “That sounds… reasonable to me, Miss Fitzroy,” said the younger of the two constables, much to the stern woman’s evident displeasure. “As yet, we have no other explanation for why your brother was even in this area at such a time of night when he had clearly informed the household that he would not be returning.”

  The older constable nodded. “As baffling as the whole thing is, Miss Fitzroy, I’m afraid we’re going to have to let Mr Smith go. Looks to me like your brother’s death was an accident, after all. I know it won’t lessen the grief, my lady, but at least you know there’s nobody to blame,” he said in a blatant attempt at comfort.

  “Perhaps we ought to go back into the house,” Lady Nightingale suggested, chiming in between heart-rending sobs, realising that her remaining daughter was now, for all intents and purposes, a hopeless cause.

  Mr Smith raised his hand. “Lady Nightingale, I am aware I have no right to request this, but I feel there is something you all ought to know before we proceed. As your daughter has defended my honour, I feel I must defend hers,” he said, bracing himself for the severe reaction that did not come.

  “What harm can it do now, Mr Smith?” she said sourly before turning on her heel and disappearing into the house.

  Aside from the constables, everyone followed, eager to hear what Mr Smith had to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A recluse earl

  Chapter 24

  Emmy sat anxiously at the card table in the drawing room, her gaze flitting between Mr Smith, who stood beside the fireplace, and Nora, who sat beside her.

  Ambrose had been sent for, for some unknown reason, whilst the rest of them were forced to wait for his arrival.

  Mr Smith had insisted upon it, much to Emmy’s surprise. After their former disagreement, it seemed peculiar that Mr Smith should wish to have him present.

  She was shaking, wishing for the who
le day to be over as soon as possible.

  She knew what she had done and what it would mean for the rest of her life, but she did not care. The only man she wanted was Mr Smith, and if she couldn’t wed him, then she wouldn’t wed at all. She was glad of Nora’s calming presence beside her, her sister’s hand rubbing her back gently, reassuring her that everything was going to be fine.

  “That was a very brave thing you did, sister,” Nora whispered.

  “Or a very stupid thing, sweet Nora,” Emmy sighed, feeling the ferocious gaze of Maria upon her.

  There was to be no divine justice, after all, and Emmy could tell that James Fitzroy’s stern sister was particularly annoyed by the outcome. The woman was not very good at hiding her true feelings, which was putting it mildly. Every time Emmy met Maria’s gaze, she felt as though the steely eyed woman wanted to tear her head off her shoulders.