by Gill, Tamara
“Miss Evans, just the woman I wish to see.”
Hallie jumped at the sound of Mr. Stewart’s voice, a voice that was both nasally and grating on one’s nerves all at the one moment. “I hear you’ve been hired to work at Lord Duncannon’s estate after finishing here.”
She frowned. How had he found out? She’d asked Arthur not to say anything, and yet, here was Mr. Stewart not two hours later querying her about it. “Who told you?”
He smiled, the action more like a grimace. “I have my ways, but that’s not important. I will tell you that Lord Duncannon did not bestow the information.”
As pleasing as that news was, still, having Mr. Stewart here meant he knew some of the agreement. “I suppose you want your share.”
“Of course,” he said, seating himself across from her at the table.
Hallie took in his hair, a little oily and slicked back over his head. He reminded her of an eel, slimy and untrustworthy. She stood and went over to a box that was hidden in one of the tool trunks in her tent. It was not where she left such valuables, but she also had learned to carry her valuables with her at all times. If she were up at the dig site, so too was her money. No matter how great or small that sum.
She quickly took out the two hundred and fifty pounds she had separated earlier, closing the money box and the lid to the trunk. “Here you are. This is what I’ve been paid, minus one hundred pounds that I kept for myself. I cannot work and not have any money, so if you wish to fleece me of my funds, you must accept that I will be keeping a little for myself.”
He rubbed his jaw, not taking the money from her outreached hand. Hallie schooled her features, trepidation edging in on her at his continued stillness. “And the rest of it?”
She swallowed, frowning for good measure. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, hope that she may have tricked him fading.
He chuckled, the sound weary. “Ah, Miss Evans. I know you were paid one thousand pounds. So I would suggest you go back to the little money box in that trunk of yours, fetch out the six hundred and fifty pounds owed to me and do it quickly before I change my mind and take the one hundred pounds I’m willing to let go.”
“How did you know? Tell me.” She glared at him, all hope for her plans burning to ash before her. Her life with her son where they would not have to scrimp and save for every penny gone in a flash. That she would not have to take on multiple jobs such as what she’d done before Baron Bankes had offered her this position.
As much as she loved history, learning and exploring past lives through excavation, the position was hard work, hard on the body and tiring. Ideally she’d pick and choose the locations to explore and be paid fairly for it so she may be home most of the time, raising her son as best she could.
“I was in the library when you had your meeting with Lord Duncannon. Totally by chance as it was, but timely for me. Had I not been I would not have known you were trying to thieve from right under my nose. In future I will have to watch you more closely.”
Anger spiked through her and she wrenched up from her seat, the stool she sat on falling down behind her. “Surely nine hundred pounds is enough for you that you do not need to keep blackmailing me. Is that not enough? I cannot do this forever.”
“As I said before,” he said, his tone bored and indifferent. Did the man have no heart? No moral compass? “You will keep paying me until I say otherwise. I’m looking forward to enjoying what this money can purchase me.”
“You bastard. That is my life you hold in your hands. My son’s future with me. His mother. You’re taking that from me.”
He pouted at her words and the urge to scratch his eyes out grew. Hallie clasped the table’s side lest she do as she wanted. “So very sorry for you, but you did assist the Duchess of Whitstone on snuffing out my cousin’s life. When you look at it, this revenge is all very equal. You hurt my family, and now I shall hurt yours.”
“I did nothing to your cousin. Any bad tidings that happened upon him were brought on by himself.” The vision of Mr. Stewart blurred and she blinked, hating that she was upset and he was seeing her so. She went back to the trunk and counted out another six hundred and fifty pounds, slamming it onto the table. “Get out.”
“Oh, do not cry, my dear. You’re a tough, working woman. You should be pleased you’re able to help your fellow man,” he said, sweeping up the money, his eyes greedy little beads at the blunt in his hands.
“What is going on here?”
Hallie gasped and swiped at her eyes as Lord Duncannon entered the tent, confusion written across his features until he saw the wad of cash Mr. Stewart was holding. If murder had a look, his lordship was the essence of that word.
“Nothing,” she blurted, “Mr. Stewart was just leaving.”
“With your money.” Lord Duncannon strode about the table and ripped the money from the gentleman’s hand, the man’s mouth pulled into a displeased line. “What are you doing taking the payment from Miss Evans?”
Bile rose in Hallie’s throat and she thought she may be sick. She needed to tell Arthur of her past, no one else. He would hate her for lying to him. For others to know of her past before him. For giving him false hope.
Mr. Stewart adjusted his coat in an unhurried air. “In truth I’ve been blackmailing her. No point in not telling you everything if you wish to understand.”
Arthur glanced at her, confusion and anger simmering in his blue orbs. “Why would you do that to her?”
“Because as I was just reminding her, she was involved in my cousin’s death, Lord Oakes if you recall.”
He frowned, before his eyes widened at recollection. “The bastard who almost raped and killed the Duchess of Whitstone?”
“The very one,” Mr. Stewart said as if this was of such importance that it was worthy of such actions.
“Are you mad?” his lordship asked Mr. Stewart, staring at him as if the man had sprouted two heads. “This is not the behavior of a gentleman. You ought to be strung up for such underhanded, illegal business.”
Mr. Stewart merely raised his brows, glancing at Hallie. “Perhaps Miss Evans would like to explain how it was that I’ve been able to blackmail her. Miss Evans,” he said, “Do tell his lordship everything.”
Hallie looked between them, warring with herself with the need to flee or stay and fight. The urge to flee rode hard on her heels, but she knew there was little point in doing that. Lord Duncannon needed to know the truth, she had just hoped he had not found out this way. Certainly not through the urging from Mr. Stewart, who seemed to be taking pleasure from both their pain.
She took a steadying breath, clasping her hands before her to stop herself from fidgeting. “Mr. Stewart has been blackmailing me because he knew of my past. My life in Egypt.”
“I know of her life there, and yet you do not see me treating Miss Evans in such a way.”
“You do, do you?” Mr. Stewart glanced at his lordship in surprise. “You know all of it? Everything?”
Lord Duncannon looked between them, doubt creeping into his gaze. “I thought so.”
“You thought wrong,” Mr. Stewart said, laughing and clapping his lordship on the back. Mr. Stewart headed for the tent exit. “I shall be off then, this little tête-à-tête has made me quite famished. I believe dinner will be served within the hour. Nothing like a little disagreement to warm the blood and make me salivate.”
“Hallie?” Lord Duncannon said, pulling her attention back to him. “What happened in Egypt?”
Mr. Stewart popped his head back into the tent at the question. “She had another man’s child, my lord. Thought you knew.” He shrugged. “I must have been wrong. My mistake.”
Hallie met Arthur’s gaze and read the confusion and hurt within his stormy, blue orbs. She stepped toward him and he held up his hand, halting her progress.
“You’re a mother!” A look of repulsion crossed his features and she raised her chin, not willing to be looked down upon, not even by the aristocracy.
“I am a mother. I can see by your face that this disappoints you, my lord, but if you expect me to apologize for my life I will not.”
“You said… I thought you said there was no one in Egypt.”
“I never said that, I merely did not tell you there was. You made your own summarisations on my situation. They were wrong.” She was being unfair, and cruel, but then she had to protect herself now. No one else would do it.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking out toward the dig site. “The child is not mine, is it? That night in Felday. You did not get with a child.”
“No, my son is not yours. He’s a man’s named Omar whom I met in Egypt.”
His lordship’s eyes widened and he stepped farther away, as if being near her was akin to being near someone who had leprosy. “Your child is half-Egyptian?”
She nodded, having no shame in that. “Yes he is. He’s living with my cousin at present. Once I’m finished at Baron Bankes’s estate I planned on traveling there to spend some weeks with him. He’s only four, you see.”
“I do not believe it,” he stated, his face one of disbelief. “How could you not tell me such a truth? Were you ashamed?”
“I’m not ashamed of my son, but I’m also not a fool. I know that my options of positions like this or even as a servant in a great home would be compromised if they knew I had a child out of wedlock. I need money, my lord. I do not have a dowry or great estates that would earn my income and keep me well pleased and placed in life. That is the reason I chose not to tell anyone of my past. For capital reasons only, not moral.”
“You allowed me to believe there was a chance for us. How could you do such a thing?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat at his words. So he was throwing her aside without hearing the whole story, her truth. Not even willing to see her side or to trust in the feelings she had thought he had for her. “I tried to dissuade you, to tell you that a future with me was not possible. You would not listen.”
“I did not mean… It was one thing for me to overlook your status in society, the fact that you would come to the marriage with little compared to my wealth and property. That is what I thought you were concerned about. I did not care for that and would have ignored my grandmother’s bouts of melancholy over our marriage, but I cannot overlook this. You are a mother. A mother to a child who is born out of wedlock.”
“You’re no better than Omar. We’ve been intimate and a child could have been made. How is this any different? Is it that you’re a lord and Omar was not, and that makes it alright?”
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. “It just is different.”
Hallie sat back down at the table and picked up her small brush that she used to take the mud off of artifacts. “I guess we’re done here then.” She would not fight for a man, a life with a man who had double standards. If he would change his mind about her simply because she had birthed a child, he was not the man for her.
Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked for everything that she’d lost. If Omar had lived, she possibly would not be in this situation, even though his family too were against the union. Had, in fact, refused to consider such a thing. It was probably for the best. She would finish up here, return and collect her things tomorrow and go home. There would be other positions she would get, if Lord Duncannon did not tell everyone of her past. “Are you going to tell anyone?”
“Of course not,” he said, staring down at the ground as if it would give him some magical insight. “I gather Mr. Stewart found out about your past. How much was he exploiting you for?”
“He had,” she answered, seeing little point in keeping anything from him now. “He found out about my son, about Omar. He threatened to tell everyone everything so no one would hire me, not as an archaeologist, historian or servant,” she told him, matter-of-fact, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her throat physically hurt at holding her feelings in order and she’d be thankful when he left.
She glanced at him and found him watching her, his face a mask she could not read. “In light of what you’ve told me, I see now that you will be unable to work at my estate. I will however give you the money, that’s yours to do with as you will. Mr. Stewart will not get his thieving hands on that blunt.”
“I do not want your money or charity, my lord. Please leave.” She picked up the cash, handing it to him. “You know everything there is to know about me and my life and have said yourself that you’re not interested in any of it. I think we both know there is little left to say to each other.”
“I am sorry, Hallie. Had the circumstances been different…”
She nodded, not game enough to look at him. “Goodbye, Lord Duncannon.”
“Goodbye, Hallie.”
At the sound of his retreatment, she looked up and watched him walk down the hill, back toward the estate. She slumped back down into her chair, swiping angrily at the tear that snuck down her cheek. She would finish up her position here and then leave. She no longer wanted to be here, or anywhere near where Lord Duncannon was or his hypocritical ilk.
Chapter 16
Arthur returned to Baron Bankes’s estate and, spying a footman, ordered his things to be packed and a carriage be ready within the hour. He paused mid-word to the sound of a woman’s shrieking, authorative voice. He inwardly groaned, recognizing the voice of his grandmother.
What the bloody blazes was she doing here?
“I demand to see my grandson. Where is Lord Duncannon?”
God damn it. This was the last thing he needed right at this moment. His mind was a jungle of thoughts and denials of over what had just happened. Hallie was a mother! He could not wrap his mind around it. Anger thrummed in his veins that she’d lied to him, kept such important and personal details about herself secret. Did she not feel anything for him? Certainly it proved she did not trust him.
He started up the stairs for the first-floor drawing room. Guests of Baron Bankes’s house party milled in the hall and some were also in the drawing room, all of their attention set on his grandmother and her demands.
“Where is Duncannon? He needs to answer to me and this news I received. Where is this vixen Miss Evans who thinks to make herself a countess?”
“My lady, you’re mistaken,” Arthur heard the baron say, trying to placate his grandmother with a soft tone. It would not help. The woman knew only one tone and that was abrupt.
“Miss Evans is employed here to do an excavation of my Roman ruins. She’s in no way seeking marriage with Lord Duncannon.”
Arthur made the door, seeing his grandmother wave a missive in the air. “This is not what this letter states. I demand to see him at once. Where is he?”
“Right here, Grandmother,” he said, coming into the room. “Everyone leave, thank you.”
“Have you offered for Miss Evans? The historian who has birthed a child out of wedlock? A child to a foreigner? An Egyptian no less.” His grandmother clasped her chest, searching for a chair before seating herself down with the aid of two female guests who looked in no rush to leave.
“We will speak of this alone.”
“Oh, no we will not. There is nothing to speak about,” she said, her jowls vibrating with each word. “You’re not marrying any hussy. The next Countess of Duncannon will be a lady of good birth and breeding. Why, any one of these young women present will do. I’ll not have my grandson bringing the family name down for a common tart who should be working in St. Giles instead of digging up dirt in Somerset.”
“Do not speak of Miss Evans in such a way, Grandmother. I’ll not have it. No matter what your thoughts are on her past.” Or his. Arthur glanced at the many faces who had heard everything about Hallie. She would return here to a pack of wolves, all waiting to take a bite out of her.
He turned to Baron Bankes. “Send word for Miss Evans’s things to be packed up. You can see as well as I that she cannot stay here.”
“I will do it,” Willow said, stepping forward from behin
d some of the other guests, her disdain for him written plainly across her features. Willow’s aunt looked at her charge, her face ashen with the news his grandmother had told them all.
“You’ll not go near Miss Evans again, Willow. I forbid it.”
“She is my friend, Aunt. I shall ensure she is protected before she leaves. Unlike some here, I do not forget my friends or those I care about,” she said, looking directly at him.
Her words shamed him and he fought not to cast up his accounts. “Thank you, Miss Perry.”
She turned to him at the door, glaring at him. “I do not do this for you, do not fool yourself on that account, my lord. Neither do I wish to ever see your spineless self again near my friend. Did everyone hear that?” Willow said, her voice peaking an octave or two. “Or do you wish for me to repeat it?”
Arthur watched her storm down the passage, her skirts flying about her ankles. Her steadfastness toward Hallie shamed him further and he inwardly swore. “Everyone. Out. Now,” he yelled, startling the few about him. They scrambled from the room.
“I will ensure Miss Evans leaves today. We cannot have that sort in our homes. What will everyone think?” the baron said, clucking his tongue and shutting the door, leaving Arthur with his grandmother.
“How could you be so irresponsible, Arthur? You know our family do not, ever, marry anyone that is not the finest, best bred, accomplished, and has a good dowry and from a respectable family. You will uphold tradition, and you will cease any contact with this Miss Evans. Whoever heard of a woman historian, or one who goes about digging up ancient piles of stone that no one cares about?” His grandmother rolled her eyes, clutching at her diamond necklace about her neck for support. “Your parents would turn in their graves should they see you now.”
