She was astonished that a justice of the peace possessed such a grand house. Everything within the walls was new. There was no sense of tradition and permanence as at Cothaire. Maybe in two hundred years this house would have gained that aura of time.
Twice, she had to ask a footman for directions to the kitchen. And she was still lost. She was sure she was going in the right direction, but entered a room at the end of the house that did not open into the kitchen. Stopping another footman, she hoped he was not one she had spoken to before, because they were all tall, dark-haired and good-looking, like a set of tin soldiers taken from the same box.
He pointed her in yet a different direction, and she began to wonder if, once she found the kitchen, she could return on her own to the nursery with the food for the boys. She needed to hurry.
With her head down, Maris rushed along the corridor. Voices were coming from the opposite direction.
Familiar voices.
She looked up and stared. She had never thought she would see Belinda and her father again. Lord Bellemore was talking with a man Maris did not recognize. He was as handsome as Mr. Miller’s footmen, but not as tall, and his brown hair matched his bushy mustache.
Maris sought a way to escape. She slipped into an intersecting corridor, pressing against the shadowed wall. The trio walking past paid her no mind. Or so she thought, until Belinda glanced in her direction. Her friend’s eyes widened before Belinda looked away. She replied to something the attractive man by her side had said, acting as if she had not seen anything out of the ordinary. She did not look back as they continued along the corridor and disappeared into a room.
Resting her head against the wall, Maris blinked as she tried to keep tears from sliding down her cheeks. She never had imagined, even when Belinda did not come to her aid after the attack, and stood in silence while Lord Bellemore cast her out of Bellemore Court, that her friend would cut her direct.
She put her fingers to her lips to silence a broken gasp. Would Belinda tell Arthur that Maris was accused of seducing a young lord and then crying foul? She wrapped her arms around herself, but could not hold in the shivers racking her. What if Arthur believed Belinda, as Belinda and her father had Lord Litchfield? Once Arthur knew about Maris’s lies, he would have no reason to believe anything she said. Even if she was foolish enough to admit she loved him.
And if he knew the truth of her falsehoods, how could she return to Cothaire? Nobody wanted to have a liar among the household staff. She closed her eyes and saw him in her mind’s eye. Shocked, hurt, as betrayed as she had felt at Bellemore Court as he put her out of his life.
“Don’t go,” she wanted to cry out. “Won’t you listen to me? No one else did. Not even God. I don’t want to be alone any longer. Stay with me.”
How addled her dreams were! She had been foolish to think a nurse, one who had written her own recommendation for the position, could win the love of an earl’s heir. He treasured the truth and despised liars. Liars like her. Even if he had not yet asked Lady Gwendolyn to marry him, there could be no future for Maris and Arthur.
Lord Trelawney.
She must never think of him in any other way until he assumed his father’s title as the Earl of Launceston. Marrying was his most important duty as the heir to the ancient title. He needed to marry a woman of impeccable birth who could give him a son to follow as earl after him. Not a woman who had lied about her past in order to become the nurse at Cothaire.
Somehow, Maris found the kitchen and food for the boys. Somehow, she traced her steps back to the nursery without getting lost. Somehow, she smiled as she gave the food to the boys and then asked another nurse to watch them while Maris did something about her roiling stomach.
Nobody else was in the attic room when she rushed to where the visiting servants would sleep. She reeled as far as her simple bed beside a dormer window; then sank to her knees beside it. Dropping her head, she let the thin wool blanket absorb her tears and the sound of her sobs.
Lord, I feel alone.
The prayer burst from her heart before she was even aware she was sending it up.
Our lesson today is from Hebrews 13. The parson’s voice from Sunday’s sermon whispered softly in her mind. I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.
“I need Your help,” she whispered. The four words opened a floodgate long closed in her heart. Father, You know how sorry I am I have had to lie. Now the lie weighs on my shoulders like a yoke. I cannot carry this burden any longer by myself. I thought it was my way to free myself of the past. I never thought it would threaten my future. Help me, God. Please!
She pressed her forehead to her clasped hands. With her next breath, a calm settled over her. The heaviness faded from her. She raised her eyes toward the stars glittering between the clouds. From inside her came a knowing that was neither a voice nor a feeling, simply an awareness that she was not alone.
“You have always been there for me,” she whispered, too in awe of the truth to speak more loudly. “Even at my darkest hour, You were there with me, leading me away from the pain. Nothing, even the worst my enemies and my friends could do to me, could change that. You have never forsaken me and kept hope alive in my heart. I cannot see Your path for me clearly, but I know I want to walk it, because that is where You will be. I never want to forsake You.”
She bowed her head again, awed by the power of the love that had always been all around her. When more tears fell, they were tears of healing and joy.
Chapter Fifteen
Maris hoped any signs of her tears had washed away when she returned to the nursery. Bertie and Gil clung to her, and she knew they were exhausted. She drew out a book to read them a story, but was interrupted by a call from Lady Caroline.
“I will be right back,” she assured the boys.
“Read story?” asked Gil.
“Yes.”
“Arthur come.” Bertie had suffered as much as she had when Arthur—no, Lord Trelawney was how she must think of him—had stopped visiting them. Guilt tightened her throat. The viscount had given them a look-in in the nursery, but either she and the boys had been “helping” Mrs. Ford in the kitchen or the children were napping and she had been elsewhere.
“I am sure he will come to see you one of these days,” she said, hoping for Bernie’s sake she was right. “I will be back as soon as I can.”
Maris hurried to Lady Caroline’s rooms. The lady must want her to watch Joy while Mr. Miller’s guests went in to dinner. Jubilation at rediscovering her faith made Maris’s feet as light as the kite dancing on the wind. She felt as if everything in her life had been set to rights.
Almost everything, she realized when she entered Lady Caroline’s sitting room and found the lady was not alone. The viscount stood beside her. Both of them were dressed exquisitely for dinner. The lady wore a bright purple gown with a string of gold beads woven through her black hair. Lord Trelawney—oh, how it stabbed at her to think of him formally—had never looked more handsome than he did in his black coat worn over a white waistcoat and breeches. His shoes shone with Goodwin’s polishing. Brother and sister were talking intently, their voices low and sharp. Were they arguing?
Maris wished she had knocked instead of walking through the half-open doorway. She considered clearing her throat or speaking Lady Caroline’s name, but interrupting would be rude.
A sharp cry from Joy saved her. The lady glanced toward the baby, noticing Maris as she did.
“Just in time,” Lady Caroline said with forced serenity. “Joy needs to be readied for bed, then tucked in.”
“I will see to her, my lady.” She moved to lift the baby off the bed, where she was surrounded with pillows. “Enjoy your evening.” She dipped in a curtsy. “Good evening, my lady. My lord.”
As she turned to leave, Arthur said, “Maris, a moment please.”
Lady Caroline swallowed a sof
t gasp as her brother addressed her by her given name. Maris looked hastily away from the questions in the lady’s eyes.
Neither woman moved as Lord Trelawney came to stand beside Maris. He raised his fingers, but lowered them before he touched her arm. She looked at him and saw strong emotions clashing in his eyes.
“Arthur, we need to go,” Lady Caroline said. “We do not want to delay the beginning of dinner.”
He kept looking at Maris as he said, “Tomorrow after we ride to the hunt, I want to take the boys for an outing.”
“I will have them ready for you, my lord.” Many questions filled Maris’s mind. Did you ask Lady Gwendolyn to marry you? What answer did she give you? When I tell you the truth about my lies, will you dismiss me? How will I go on without ever seeing you and the children again? She could not speak a single one.
“Will you join us, Maris?”
Again she heard Lady Caroline’s quick intake of breath. Aware of Lord Trelawney’s sister listening to every word, Maris said, “If my duties allow it, my lord.”
“Good.” His terse answer told her he felt as constrained as she did with his sister beside them. “I will send for you and the boys when I am ready.”
Maris rushed out of the room, holding on to Joy. Even though she dreaded hearing that Lady Gwendolyn had agreed to his proposal and was unsure how he would react when she revealed her deception, she wanted to put the uncertainty and the dishonesty behind her.
She took Joy to the wet nurse staying in a small room not far from the kitchen. When the woman said she would bring the baby to the nursery after her feeding, Maris thanked her and headed toward the nearest set of stairs. She passed a door leading outside and shivered when the night air surged in, cold and damp and warning that winter was not far away.
As she went up the lower flight of stairs, a motion caught her eyes. She smiled when she saw a small shadow moving along the uppermost gallery. Bertie! The little boy had scanty patience, and it had run out. Grabbing the banister, she waved to him as she rushed up the stairs. He waved back.
She was almost to the top of the staircase when a man stepped out of the shadows. He blocked her way.
Lord Litchfield!
Panic swelled in her, but the quiet knowing of God’s presence with her urged her not to give in to it. She was not alone, as she had believed she was the last time she encountered him.
“It is you!” he snarled. “I thought I saw you rushing through the house earlier.”
“Good evening, Lord Litchfield.” She tried to move past him, but he refused to let her go around him. “If you will excuse me, I will not delay you from joining the others for dinner.”
He paid her words no attention. “What are you doing here?” His face was distorted with rage and, she realized with shock, fear. “Are you here to destroy my betrothal to Lady Eve?”
“I have no idea who Lady Eve is. If you will step aside, my lord…”
He came down one stair, then another. She had no choice but to back down, because he refused to stop. She would not let him knock her to the bottom.
“Don’t even speak her name! To have it sullied by the likes of you…” He spat a curse that made her gasp. “If you think you are going to run to her with your lies and destroy my chance to marry a marquess’s daughter, you are sadly mistaken.”
“I have no interest in destroying anything or anyone.” She met his eyes steadily as she reached the ground floor again. “Unlike you.”
He swore again and drew back his hand.
It took every ounce of her strength not to cringe, but she continued to regard him with the cool hauteur she copied from Lady Caroline.
Slowly he lowered his hand. “I don’t believe you. You are a proven liar.”
He kept backing her down the stairs as she said, “Lord Litchfield, I did not lie. You know that as well as I do.” She raised her chin. “But I have no interest in ruining you as you tried to ruin me. I believe vengeance belongs to God.”
Seizing her chin, he ordered, “Tell me why you are here.”
Maris faltered. If she admitted she had taken a position in the household of the Earl of Launceston, he would go to the Trelawneys to spread his poison. He would say she had wrongly accused him. With Belinda and her father to confirm his lies, who would heed a woman who had been hiding the truth since she fled from Bellemore Court?
When she did not answer, he said, “You need to leave.”
“Gladly.” She was astonished by her own audacity.
He was, too, because he stared at her long enough so she could turn on her heel and walk away.
She went two paces before he seized her arm. Spinning her to face him, he roared, “Where do you think you are going?”
“I am leaving.” She tried to shake his hand off her arm, but he tightened his grip until she winced. “Release me, my lord, so I might do as you requested.”
A motion on the stairs drew her gaze past him, and she almost moaned. Bertie! He was coming down. No, she did not want him to see how despicable Lord Litchfield could be. Panic curled around her throat, tightening until she could hardly breathe. Would the baron hurt a child?
“Like I said,” Lord Litchfield snapped, and she guessed he had not noticed her looking beyond him, “you need to leave.”
“I was trying to.”
“Not from this corridor or from this house. You need to leave England.”
She stared at him, sure she had misheard him. When a slow, cruel smile tilted his lips, she tried again to yank her arm from his grasp. It was futile. He was stronger than she was. He pulled her through the exterior door and out into the darkness. When she saw a carriage waiting there, she realized he had planned this from the moment he had seen her. She opened her mouth to scream. His hand clamped over her lips, pressing them into her teeth.
She tried to drive her fists into him. A few of her blows landed, because he groaned, then compressed his arm around her until she could not draw in a breath. When she thought she would swoon from a lack of air, he released her with a merciless laugh. She gasped as he snapped his fingers. A man stepped forward to open the door edged with bright crimson, as pretentious as Lord Litchfield himself.
He made another motion, and his servant picked her up roughly. As he swung her around, she saw a short silhouette in the doorway. Bertie had followed them.
“Let me go! I cannot bear the sight of you.” Raising her voice, she shouted, “I cannot bear it! I cannot BEAR it!”
“Be quiet, woman!” When his man had tossed her into the carriage, Lord Litchfield followed, then shouted to the coachee to whip up the horses to their top speed.
She pulled herself up onto the seat facing him, but looked out the window. He reached past her and yanked down the leather curtain. He did the same at the other windows.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You will know when we arrive there. Be quiet, or I shall make you sorry you opened your mouth.”
Maris obeyed, because screaming for help while the carriage careened along deserted roads would be worthless.
Her lone hope was that Bertie had understood her cryptic message. Had he caught how she emphasized bear? Would he connect the word with the need to alert Arthur? Had he even understood she was in danger?
She pressed her face into her palms. Her sole chance to escape Lord Litchfield’s plans for her depended on a toddler.
Dear Lord, please help Bertie know I need help. Put wings on his feet and guide him to Arthur in that big, unfamiliar house. Open Arthur’s ears to Bertie. I know You are with me in my darkest hours, even if my faith wavers. This time, I will take comfort in knowing that, no matter what happens, I am always in Your hands.
As she finished the prayer, her heart called out a single additional word.
Arthur!
*
Arthur strode out the terrace door and looked to his left, then his right, ignoring the lovely pool of water glittering in the moonlight in the center of the garden in front of him
. He saw the light of a cheroot to his right. From the voices and the clink of glasses, he guessed Joel Ellington was not alone.
He continued across the terrace, his focus steadfast. Three men gathered in the shadows were talking about the horses they planned to ride for the hunt in the morning. Their voices faded away as one, then another turned to face Arthur.
“Ellington, we need to talk.” He used the arrogant tone he despised in other peers who considered the rest of the world beneath them in every way.
The two men standing on either side of Ellington mumbled something, then took off as if they had to check their horses at once.
Ellington, a tall man with the florid face of someone who drank too much, hissed in a deep breath, before he said, “I see.”
“You don’t look surprised.”
“Actually I am relieved, if you must know the truth, Trelawney.” He ran his hand through his thinning, dark hair and glanced up at the moon. “And it would seem you do.”
“At last.” Arthur fought to keep his voice even. Like Cranny, Ellington was reputed to have a quick temper. If so, it was even more important Arthur restrain his. “I have been searching for the truth for months. Otis Miller revealed his suspicions to me tonight over dinner.”
Ellington nodded, then sighed as he dropped the cigar and ground it beneath the heel of his boot. “I know you have been trying to discover what happened the night Cranford died.”
“If you knew, why are you here, when I was also invited to the hunt?”
“Ask me something I know the answer to. Maybe I simply am tired of carrying around this burden.”
“Is Miller right? Did you kill Louis Cranford?”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
Arthur was shocked speechless. He had expected Ellington to try to baffle him with lies. He had been prepared to find their host and swear out a complaint against Cranny’s murderer, so the truth could come out during a trial.
Something was not right. Why would Ellington say he believed he killed Cranny? Didn’t the man know one way or the other? Otis Miller was sure whispers of Ellington’s part in Gwendolyn’s husband’s murder were true.
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 43
