Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  About halfway back to the public house, he checked the contents of his portfolio, to ensure nothing else had gone missing. Several documents were gone, and he concluded they were still under his seat cushion where he had stored them for safekeeping. Mr. Coachman was not as thorough in cleaning out his coach as he’d been led to believe. Sighing at the further delay, he turned around and headed back to the coach.

  As he approached the stables where Mr. Coachman had tethered the horses, a familiar, angry voice stopped him in his tracks.

  Lord Newgate! What is he doing here with my coachman? On quiet feet, he sidled closer to the coach, using the stable’s shadows to disguise his presence. This position kept him hidden while allowing him to see and hear what transpired between Newgate and the coachman. From the looks of it, Newgate was in the middle of an interrogation.

  “I am going to ask you this one more time. Where did you get those bank notes?”

  “I told you. A lady give ’em to me. I don’t know where she got ’em. I swear!”

  There was a loud crunching sound, and he winced, fearing Newgate had broken the man’s nose.

  Newgate pulled the smaller man up by his neck and squeezed. “I’ll ask you once more, Coachman. Who is she?”

  Lady Evelyn was in desperate trouble. If Newgate wanted those banknotes, nothing good could come of his involvement. He willed Mr. Coachman not to reveal her name, had opened his mouth to call out and stop him, but he was too late.

  “Lady…Evelyn…Westby,” he gasped, and collapsed on the ground when Newgate released him.

  “Thank you.” Newgate pulled a letter from his breast pocket. “I believe I know where to find her.”

  As did he, and it was imperative he get to her before Newgate did. Once his lordship had disappeared, he rushed to the aid of the babbling, injured coachman. With a heave, he managed to hoist him into the coach. Taking the coachman’s spot, he grabbed the reins and hoped driving a team of horses was easier than keeping track of a reckless slip of a girl.

  Chapter 10

  “It’s raining cats and dogs again today,” Lord Atwood said as he walked into the breakfast room and over to the sideboard.

  Evie scowled at her plate, where she had been pushing her food around in circles, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Leave it to Uncle to state the obvious.

  “Good morning, Niece.” Her uncle sat at the table, his plate filled with food. She set her fork down and waited. Uncle enjoyed teasing about her bashful tongue. He did not disappoint.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Lord Atwood laughed at his own joke, one he told each time she visited him. She hated it.

  “Kendrick, you mustn’t tease her so,” Lady Diane said in her soothing voice. “She has been out of sorts since arriving, and as her relatives, it is up to us to see she regains some of her good humor.”

  Uncle Kendrick shoveled a forkful of beefsteak into his mouth and laughed. “I imagine she’s upset her betrothal was broken. It’s not every day a pretty lass experiences a broken heart. No wonder she’s off her feed.” He gestured to the untouched food on her plate.

  She restrained herself from showing her uncle exactly how out of sorts she was. Though dashing the china to the floor might release some of her anger, it would upset her aunt, a risk she was unwilling to take. Besides, he was right, or somewhat right, at least. She was hurt by Lord Newgate’s rejection, though her pride suffered the most abuse. Unlikable, less attractive women acquired rejections, not she, and her betrothed’s flimsy excuses served to fuel her malaise.

  Her poor appetite this morning had little to do with her broken engagement. Guilt and worry for Mr. Coombes consumed her. Images of him, insensible and alone in Southampton, had occupied her mind all evening and prevented her from a good night’s sleep.

  Exasperating man. Even when he’s not here he irritates me. She chided herself. After all, her actions caused her suffering. If she hadn’t been angry, she’d never have sent him away, but if she hadn’t sent him away, she’d never have discovered how much she missed his company. Once again, irrational anger at Mr. Coombes surged, and she stabbed a piece of ham with more force than necessary. Why did he have to be so kind and honorable and so…so right?

  Time with her uncle and aunt proved to be what she had needed after all, for it provided her with ample opportunity to scrutinize her actions. Impulsive by nature, rash behavior preceded forethought, often leading to trouble. A day with her aunt and uncle, though, and she acknowledged her plan to rush off to France was ill-conceived and imprudent. While the future was no clearer than when she had left London, her broken betrothal wasn’t a tragedy. Maybe a trip to France wasn’t the solution she desired after all.

  She stared at Uncle Kendrick, helpless to stop a disgusted grimace from forming. And one day with Uncle has me reconsidering the entire institution of marriage. He shoveled his food into his mouth, all the while emitting small satisfied grunts. How has he not choked to death? If this is the way all men behave, spinsterhood might not be the unattractive option society deems it to be. With a delicate shudder, she ignored his noisy mastication and sipped her tea.

  “There’s a visitor to see you, my lord.” The stooped and graying butler stood in the doorway of the breakfast room, holding a silver platter in his hand. A cream-colored calling card adorned the top.

  “Come here, Gerard, and close the door.” Her uncle waved him over. “It’s drafty out today, and my food will get cold.” Lord Atwood snatched the card from the platter and raised his eyebrows. “My, my, Niece. It appears you have a visitor, not I.”

  Who can it be? No one knows I’m here except for Mother, and a journey in this weather is too difficult. She itched to take the card and read it for herself, but she called upon her limited store of patience and waited until her aunt had read the card also and passed it on to her.

  “It’s Mr. Coombes. Whatever is he doing here?”

  Hearing his name had her palms sweating and her heart beating faster in her chest. Why is he here, after how I treated him?

  She examined the card as if it held a clue to its owner’s unexplained appearance, while her uncle said, “Show him in, Gerard. We can’t leave the young man waiting in the front parlor this early in the morning. The ladies will be forever at their breakfast, and he’ll perish from hunger before they are ready to receive him.”

  Now she was glad breakfast had held no appeal, for butterflies floated in her stomach. Her hands fluttered to her hair, and she sent silent thanks to her aunt’s maid, who had taken the time to style it this morning and had insisted she dress in one of her favorite dresses. She patted the cluster of curls on top of her head and smoothed out the skirts of her sky-blue dress. There was nothing to do about the deep circles under her eyes or the pale cast to her face, testament to her guilt-ridden, sleepless night worrying about Mr. Coombes. She hoped the gentleman in question wouldn’t notice.

  The door swung open and the butler bowed. “Mr. Coombes, my lord.”

  Peering past the butler’s shoulder, she saw him for the first time since she’d drugged and abandoned him to the coachman’s greedy mercy. Wet, disheveled, and muddy, he looked awful. What has happened to him? She hoped his rumpled appearance had nothing to do with her fit of pique yesterday.

  “I beg your pardon for my attire, my lord, and for the intrusion into your home, but I would speak with you at your earliest convenience. It is urgent.” He was stiff and uncomfortable standing in the breakfast room doorway. His words were clipped, almost as if it pained him to bring this urgent news. She feared his altered personality was a result of her trickery, and though he had every right to be angry with her, cowardice prevented her from seeing for herself.

  “I’m eating my breakfast, young man. Are you sure it can’t wait?”

  “If it were not of the utmost urgency, I would not dare to intrude, my lord. However, it is most important.”

  With a disgruntled grumble, her uncle rose and ushered Mr. Coombes to his study
. The door had yet to close when her aunt turned to her, speculation brewing in her blue eyes. “What do you make of it? He must have traveled through the night, and in this weather, too, to speak with your uncle. What urgent news can he have?”

  She gave her aunt a blank look.

  “I don’t know why you claimed he was happy to be rid of you and on his way to the Americas, when it’s obvious the man is infatuated with you.”

  She looked at her aunt as if to say, “What?”

  “He couldn’t take his eyes off you, my dear,” she said, taking a sip of her tea.

  Flushing, she bowed her head and mulled over her aunt’s observation. If he indeed could not keep his eyes from her, perhaps his reason for visiting her uncle was not unclear. Perhaps he wished to resume his acquaintance and was seeking her uncle’s permission to do so. The idea he wished to court her generated conflicting emotions, but when she resumed eating, it was with more gusto than she had mustered before the gentleman’s arrival.

  Her plate cleaned, she had just stood to depart when Gerard returned bearing another silver tray. Another calling card adorned the top.

  “What? Another visitor, Gerard? It must be you, dear. Your uncle and I never receive this many visitors in one week, let alone in the space of an hour.”

  “Show him in, Gerard.” Lady Diane waved away the calling card. “Let’s see who else is paying you a visit today, hmm?”

  The door swung open, and the butler bowed. “Lord Alexander Newgate, my lady.”

  As usual, his dress was impeccable. Tall legs encased in black breeches and black leather boots were offset by a white shirt whose lacy cuffs emerged from beneath the stylish riding jacket—a double-breasted, navy coat with silver buttons. His blond locks of hair were mussed, perhaps from his recent journey, and a healthy ruddy flush suffused his cheeks.

  “Lord Newgate. Welcome to Atwood Manor. I am Lady Diane Atwood. Lord Atwood is with another visitor right now, but you are acquainted with my niece, Lady Evelyn, are you not?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing to Lady Diane before turning to Evie and taking her hand in his to graze her knuckles with a kiss. He met her eyes with his own, their blue depths lit with twinkling amusement. “Lady Evelyn.”

  When once she would have shivered at his gentle kiss, no warmth lingered where their hands had touched. She had opened her mouth to reply, forgetting she could not speak, when her aunt interceded.

  “To what do we owe this unexpected call? And so early, too! We have yet to finish breaking our fast.” Lady Diane offered a seat to Lord Newgate.

  “I apologize for the timing of my visit. I received a missive from your niece a week ago stating her curse was broken.” Lord Newgate removed a familiar-looking paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Lady Atwood.

  I forgot all about the letter! She had sent it when she had been secure in her future with Lord Newgate. Now she was not. Too much had occurred since they last spoke, and she no longer resembled the young debutante who had accepted his proposal all those months ago.

  She had been naïve. A marriage without communication would never work, not when one did all the talking and the other was expected to listen. Lady Newgate’s doubts about the felicity of their marriage were no longer in question, and she worried he had wasted a trip.

  “However did you manage to travel in so little time with all this rain, Lord Newgate?” her Uncle Kendrick asked, returning to the breakfast room. Mr. Coombes was not with him.

  Gone again. She restrained a heavy sigh and pushed away the surging disappointment his absence created.

  “The roads have been washed out for days.” Uncle Kendrick took his seat and tucked into his neglected breakfast while Lady Diane poured a cup of tea and passed it to Lord Newgate.

  “I’m an excellent rider, my lord, and I was most eager to renew my acquaintance with your niece.” Lord Newgate smiled his most endearing smile at her uncle, one meant to placate and reassure.

  Steeliness replaced placid good humor, and Lord Atwood wielded his knife with something akin to rage, though his tone when addressing Lord Newgate was nothing but pleasant and jovial. “I am surprised to hear it, my boy, given the circumstances around your broken betrothal.”

  “My lord?” Lord Newgate showed the first signs of nervousness since arriving unannounced. “I don’t take your meaning.”

  “It’s odd for you to have risked life and limb to ride to an estate to which you had not been invited, to renew an acquaintance with a woman you had scorned.”

  “You read her letter, my lady. She invited me, did she not?”

  “I am sure my wife read it,” Lord Atwood interrupted, “but it does not explain why you would wish to see her after severing ties with her and our family.”

  “It was not my wish to break my engagement to your niece. I had no choice in the matter.”

  Lord Atwood set his fork and knife down, folded his arms across his chest, and pinned Lord Newgate with a hard, glinting stare. “There is always a choice, young man. Always.”

  Lord Newgate turned to her, his eyes imploring her to assist him. She, too, would seek a familiar face against her uncle’s unwavering ire. As the one-time recipient of her uncle’s gimlet glare, she sympathized with Lord Newgate’s nervousness. Against her better judgment, she softened and sent him a reassuring smile, and cursed herself when he flashed her a triumphant, arrogant grin. With renewed vigor, he straightened and prepared to defend himself, leveling at her uncle his own arrogant stare.

  Enough of this! He jilted you and is not worthy of your sympathy, no matter if Uncle Atwood can suck the soul from a man with his eyes. Lord Newgate has much to account for.

  Her resolve firmed, she folded her own arms across her chest and frowned. She was determined not to be swayed by her former attachment.

  Before she could even work herself into a fit of righteous indignation, her aunt’s smooth voice interrupted the tense, wordless exchange between Lord Newgate and Lord Atwood. “Perhaps the morning room is not the best location to have this conversation, Kendrick.” She rose from her seat and walked the short distance to the head of the table, where Lord Atwood sat, his arms folded across his chest. Lady Diane placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder and waited.

  The graceful cadence of her voice and her gentle touch penetrated the anger. Before too long, Lord Atwood grunted and broke his intense contest of wills with the younger man. “As always, my lady, you are the calming voice of reason.” He unfolded his arms and grasped his wife’s small hand in his. “We can finish this conversation another time, Newgate.” Both men sat back in their chairs, though the hard glint never left her uncle’s eyes.

  “It is time for my niece and me to take our leave.” Lady Diane stated. “We will be in the front sitting room attending to some correspondence.” Lady Diane assisted Evie from her seat and linked their arms together. “We will see you gentlemen at the noon meal.” Having delivered a firm dismissal to the two men, Lady Diane steered her out of the morning room and away from the undercurrents of conflict Lord Alexander Newgate had brought with him.

  ****

  “Mr. Coombes! Alfred!”

  After a morning writing correspondence with her aunt, she had escaped the front sitting room to hide in her room. Imagine her surprise when on the way there she spied Mr. Coombes’s familiar sandy blond hair and somber black attire as he strode toward her down the second-floor hallway.

  He bowed. “My lady.”

  “I’m happy to see you. I was worried about you.” She smiled and fluttered her lashes. He was unimpressed.

  “What an odd way of showing it, leaving me to the mercies of our coachman and his avarice.”

  “Whether you believe it or not, I regret my actions and passed a sleepless night worrying about you. Though I was angry, I didn’t want anything untoward to occur.”

  “Why did you tell the coachman to drop me in Southampton?”

  “I didn’t know how long you were supposed to stay asleep and h
ad no idea how to explain why my escort was insensible, so I sent you along and hoped you would awaken by the time you arrived at port.”

  “What do you mean, how long I was ‘supposed to’ stay asleep?”

  “Nothing.” But it was too late. He suspected something now and stalked closer to her, pushing her farther into the dark shadows of the hallway.

  “You had better explain.”

  She did, leaving nothing out. When she was done, she peeked up from under her lashes, expecting to see him livid with rage. Instead, he had a funny sort of smile on his face, though he tried to hide it behind a cough.

  How odd, and why does he keep looking at my mouth in so bold a manner?

  His explanation of his own trickery was next. “Had you asked me, we could have discussed the travel plans, but as you remained quiet, I assumed you were yet unconscious. I made the best decision, given the information I had, and the decision was to protect you from further harm. Your uncle’s home seemed a logical place for you to convalesce. You forget, too, I have five sisters, who all claim to be smarter than I am. When I weighed your desire to get to France against my precautions, I knew France would win. I wagered on your desire, took the necessary means to ensure your safety, and, as it turns out, I was right. You did try to change plans.”

  “I know you see it as your duty to be my protector, Alfred, but I assure you—”

  He leaned in closer; the press of his body so near her own was an intimate reminder of what had passed between them. With practiced finesse, he grabbed her hand and ran his thumb along the underside of her ungloved palm. Tiny darts of pleasure raced up and down her arm, and she swayed closer. Neither one heard the approaching footsteps.

  “Coombes.” Lord Newgate snarled as he walked into the hallway, surprising them both.