by Gill, Tamara
Arthur’s blood ran cold at his grandmother’s words. “Was this letter informing you of this by any chance from a Mr. Stewart?”
“Why, yes it was. Do you know of him?” she asked, seemingly excited by the chance that they both knew the man. By god yes, Arthur knew him and when he got his hands on Mr. Stewart he would strangle him so he could not cause any more trouble. “You may not care, but Mr. Stewart has been blackmailing Miss Evans for some weeks. Threatening to disclose her son, ruin her chances of earning an income all because he’s the cousin of the late Lord Oakes, the very gentleman who tried to kill the Duchess of Whitstone. I doubt very much the duke would look favorably on anyone who aided such a man.” Arthur watched as his insinuation was understood by his grandmother, her face paling. “Let us not forget that Miss Evans is the close friend of the duchess as well.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “Threatening me, no matter how vague you are being with words, will not work, my boy. You must admit your mistakes and move on from them. Miss Evans may have been a little diversion for you while in the country, but over my dead body will I allow her to become the next Countess of Duncannon.”
“What if I want her to be my wife? Will you accept that and mute your viperish tongue? I would hate to have to send you to the country. And please, my dear Grandmama, understand my words are not a vague threat, but a promise of what is to come if you cause any more trouble.”
“You’re going to marry her! How could you do that to your family? The Duncannons do not marry fallen women. You’ll bring the whole family down into the pits of scandal and debauchery.”
He shrugged, having heard enough. “I love her. I have always loved her, even before she left for Egypt and I thought I’d never see her again. I find that I do not care about her past, only that I want to be in her future. If she and her son will have me.” Never a bigger question to be asked. He would fight to keep her in his life, and if that meant he would become a father to her child, then so be it. He would not turn away from anyone whom she loved. Not even another man’s child.
Some would call him a fool, turn their backs on him and some doors in London would be forever closed to them over his choice and yet he did not care. Let them close their doors, he knew there were some who would forever give admittance and that was enough. They were his true friends.
“I forbid it, Arthur.”
He raised his brow at his grandmother’s voice that brooked no argument. “When I drop you in London I’m going to continue onto Berkshire and win back the woman whom I adore, and nothing that you or anything that society says will change my mind. I’m happiest when I’m with her. I need nothing else.”
She pointed a knobbly finger at him, her face pale. He was sorry for causing her such pain, but he knew the truth within himself. This was the right course. His body thrummed with expectation for his life to start and he knew who he wanted at his side when it did.
“I will never admit her to my home. Nor any children that you have. From this point forward you’re dead to me.”
He sighed, shrugging. “Well, that is a shame, Grandmother for I am the viscount and head of the family and as thus I control the money that supports the family. If you punish Hallie for a life lived to the fullest, I shall punish you in the same way. Is that what you really want?”
“How dare you, you insulant boy!”
The carriage rocked to a halt and Arthur glanced outside to see they’d pulled up before his grandmother’s Mayfair townhouse. “I will write to you the details of my wedding. I expect to see you there.”
His grandmother alit from the carriage, and huffing her discontent, stormed up the townhouse front steps. Arthur watched as she pushed the door open, not giving the butler time to get out of the way, making the man stumble.
Arthur shook his head, yelling out directions to Berkshire and settling back in the squabs. If they traveled through the night and changed the horses regularly he should reach Hallie’s cousin’s home by dinner tomorrow, perhaps a little later. His task to beg for forgiveness would not be an easy feat. Hallie would not be easily swayed that he was sorry, but he was. So sorry that his chest ached every time he thought of living a life without her.
He would not lose this war. He would win her and her love. For him, there was no other choice.
Chapter 19
Hallie walked into the taproom of the local inn later that afternoon, the venue eerily quiet and without its usual customers. She was thankful for the little brass bell that was above the inn’s door, for not a moment after she’d walked into the room, filled with tables and a fire, well alight and filling the room with warmth and cozy ambiance, a short, but stout man walked in behind the bar. Hallie smiled, hoping her politeness would help her in making the publican disturb his guests and bring them down here to talk to her.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’m hoping to speak with some guests staying here, I understand. They’re not English and perhaps have a thick accent. Do you have anyone who’s staying her similar to that?”
“Oh ay, we did, miss, but they’ve rented the late Sir Garrick’s estate just north of the town. If you follow the road that leads back to London, make a left about a quarter mile up and you’ll come to the estate quick enough.”
“Was there a woman who was part of that party?”
The publican rubbed his bearded jaw, pulling down on his tuft of hair as if stroking some sort of animal attached to his face. “No, there were two gentlemen, very well dressed, but no lady that I know of. They only stayed one night here before they were able to take up residence at the estate.
“Thank you for your help. I shall go there directly.”
Hallie went back into the hitching yard at the inn and using a mounting block, jumped up on the back of her cousin’s only mount. She patted the horse, hoping the beast didn’t let her lose her seat. It was times like this that she wished she was as good a rider as Ava. Unfortunately, it was not a specialty of hers.
She made her way up the north road and turned left when she came to a well-worn road, the roof of the estate just visible over the tree tops. Nerves pooled in her stomach at the thought that the people there may well be Omar’s family, his mother or father. They were such a wealthy and influential family in Egypt. Their presence here only meant one thing. They had learned of Ammon and wanted him.
Never one to deny people what they wanted, she of course would allow visitation to Ammon. Had Omar not warned her against contacting them, she would have done this herself, but he’d made her promise that their union be a secret. His family, he explained, would never understand his love for her or hers for him. Hallie had kept that promise, but perhaps with Omar’s death, his parents had mellowed. Losing a child changed people, maybe it had changed Omar’s family in regards to their thoughts on her.
It only took a few minutes before she pulled the horse up to the front of the house, tying her mount to the front step railings. The place looked deserted, no sign of gardeners or staff about the property. She glanced up at the building, a shutter on a window hung haphazardly from its broken hinge, and the steps looked like they’d not been swept for some months.
Hallie wrapped the brass knocker on the door, a hollow echo running throughout the house before the clipped footsteps of someone inside met her ears. She took a calming breath, ready to discuss and negotiate with Omar’s family if need be, but she would not crumble under that great family’s pressure.
The door swung wide and she stumbled back, fear spiking through her. “Mr. Stewart. What are you doing here?”
He stepped outside, his pace cautious as if she would bolt at any moment. The thought had crossed her mind, but the fact that she wasn’t a fast runner and her horse was currently tied up behind where Mr. Stewart stood, the option seemed pointless.
“Miss Evans. I thought you would come. You’re a clever woman, I will give you that.”
She frowned, confused by the turn of events. She’d expected to see Omar’s family here, but then maybe�
�� “You made it appear as if my son’s family were here from Egypt. Perhaps it is I who should say that you’re a clever man. A cruel one too I should think.”
He chuckled, the sound laced with menace. “Oh, I’m all of those things. I did do as you said. Made it look like your son’s family were here to collect. But even I cannot get word to them quick enough that I found out where your son was, or have them here to take him away from you. I have, however, sent word to them, so I’m sure in the future your son will be well cared for. As for you, that’s another matter.”
“What do you mean?” She edged back and he followed like a lion stalking its prey.
“I hope you made your goodbyes with your son because you’ll not be seeing him again.” He clasped her arm, wrenching her toward the door. “Do come in, my dear. I’ve prepared a room especially for you.”
Hallie tried to tug free, but his grip, punishing and stronger than she thought it would be given his wiry frame only tightened. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you either. I’ll be leaving here today, but you, my dear will be well received downstairs in the bowels of the house. This place was owned by the late Sir Garrick. Their family is currently arguing who will inherit the house and lands. The disagreement shall go on for some months I’m sure, plenty of time for you to wither away and starve to death alone and in the cold. Just as you deserve since you helped snuff out the life of my cousin.”
He pulled her toward a door that had it not been open Hallie would not have seen. It melded into the paneling of the room when closed and if he placed her down there, no one would hear or look for her in such a place. No one other than the publican knew she was here, and she’d not given her name.
Panic seized her and she twisted from his hold, slipping on the dusty parquet floor as she tried to run for the door. Her skirts, damn them to hell, caught on her legs and she fell to her knees. Mr. Stewart grabbed her from behind, hoisting her up against his front. “Shhh. Shhh, my dear. You’ll only be hungry for a few days. After that you’ll merely grow weak and tired. Eventually you’ll not wake up at all. I could set the house on fire, give you an ending like my cousin, but I’ll take pity on you and won’t do that. I’m not that much of a monster.”
He laughed at his own words and Hallie fought to remain calm. Not to panic. She stomped her foot hard against the top of his, and he let her go, swearing. Hallie took the opportunity to run, this time her focus on her feet and legs, making sure they remained upright and steady.
Pain sliced through her head as he clasped her hair, pulling her back. She landed with a thump on the floor, her head snapping back and sending her vision to blur.
He came over her, clasping her jaw and squeezing her mouth until the coppery taste of blood ran onto her tongue. She whimpered. “Do not attempt to escape again, bitch. I’ll not be so kind next time.”
Tears blurred her vision and he tugged her up onto her feet, pushing her toward the door that led down to the cellars and who knew what else. The staircase down was made of stone and looked to be a lot older than the structure of the house itself.
“Is your clever mind wondering if this is the home’s original cellar?” He glanced at her, his easy smile and politeness back again instead of the deadly ire and loathing she’d read in them only minutes before. How a man could be so changeable was impossible to fathom and something she did not want to be around ever again. Not that there was a chance of that with her being buried alive down here.
“There once stood a castle here, during the eleventh century I believe. The cellar is all that remains and when the house was constructed they simply built over the existing footings. Perfect for you, my dear. As you’re wasting away, you may study it if you like. I’m not so barbaric to leave you in the dark. I have supplied you with candles so you may see during your stay. Are you not pleased?” he asked, smiling.
Hallie clamped her mouth shut and kept her hands still at her sides lest she scratch his eyes out. The bastard was mad. As mad as his cousin. There must be some kind of disorder that ran through the family for these cousins to act out in such a mean and deadly way.
The thought of Lord Duncannon flittered through her mind, that she would never see him again. That her beautiful son would never know where his mama went or why. The stairs spiraled ever downward and even if she were to yell out for help until her voice was hoarse, no one would ever hear. This was in effect a tomb. Her tomb.
How fitting indeed since she’d spent her life studying the dead in places such as these and now she was going to be one of them.
Mr. Stewart had lit some sconces on the wall that showed them the way until the sight of a wooden door, leading into a room at the end of the corridor, revealed itself. Hallie rubbed her arms, the dark closing in about her, threatening to send panic to spiral through her mind. She would not succumb to panic. To panic meant death. Probably sooner rather than later.
Her cousin would send out a search party. She would find her way here. This was not the end. Mr. Stewart thrust her into the room, slamming the door closed. One candle burned in the corner and she raced over to it as the sound of steel locks sliding into the stone outside.
“Goodbye, Miss Evans. I do wish you a pleasant death,” she heard him say, his voice muffled by the thickness of the door.
Hallie went about the room with the candle, searching the space for any way out, for more lighting. Fear turned her blood cold and she shivered. He’d left her one candle after all his talk of not leaving her in the dark, and nothing to light it with. She was going to die. Alone and in the dark. She leaned against the wall, her knees feeling all of a sudden less than steady and she slid down to sit on the floor.
The stone scratched at her back but she didn’t care. There was no way out of this mess. She bit back a sob and fought not to cry. She was a strong woman, intelligent and brave. She would not give in, not now. If she was here in a week and still no one came, then she may lay down and wait to die, but until then, she would fight like hell to remain in this world. As unkind and unfair as it was at times, it still beat being entombed and buried alive like she was right now.
Arthur made it to the small village of Slough the following afternoon just as the sun started to drop in the eastern sky. He asked for directions in town and a young woman carrying a basket of bread and other foodstuffs pointed for him to continue along the road he was on until he came to the small, thatched-roof cottage on the outskirts of town that Miss Evans’s cousin resided in.
At the nearby inn that he’d checked into earlier he had ordered soup, bread, and cheese to be packed and taken up to the residence just in case it was needed. He wasn’t sure what was going on, or at least the severity, but the maid at the inn had mentioned a Mrs Nibley, Hallie’s cousin had taken ill a week or so ago and was doing poorly.
Arthur came to the cottage that had a large front door and two windows on either side. It was quaint, but not as tiny as he’d thought it would be. The garden, mostly vegetables, looked well-tended, the windows sparkled clean in the afternoon sun. He knocked on the door, dread curdling his blood that Hallie would be displeased he had followed her. That she would not see him and send him away.
He could well understand that. He would not be impressed if the situation were reversed. Her wrath he deserved more than anything, he just hoped that from that pain and disillusionment they could rebuild a life. Together as a family. He would not let her son’s family take the boy away from her. Not after all she had done to keep him safe and protected.
His grandmother’s words had haunted him this past day, and he could not help but fear that he was already too late. That Mr. Stewart’s evil vendetta had already marked its victims and her son was lost to her. On a boat headed east. Arthur stood before the red door.
He took a fortifying breath and knocked. He fixed his cravat as the door swung wide, but instead of there being a servant or Hallie opening the door, a small boy looked up at him, his large brown eyes tak
ing in his every feature and sizing him up. The boy was undoubtedly Hallie’s, he could see her features in the boy’s face, forever curious to know more. Something in the region of his heart squeezed and he kneeled, smiling to try to put the young boy at ease.
“Hello, I’m Arthur Howard, Viscount Duncannon. I’m wondering if Miss Hallie Evans is here.”
The young boy shook his head, but opened the door wider.
Arthur stepped inside and took in the home. It was as clean and well kept on the inside as it was on the out. The small sitting room that the front door opened into had a large, roaring fire and comfortable-looking settee with a floral pattern on it. He went over to the hearth and stood before the flames, warming his back and hands.
The little boy ran off toward the back of the house and within a moment the steady beat of footsteps sounded on the polished wood floor. “Can I help…” a young woman’s words faltered at the sight of him and she frowned.
He took her in, her modest morning gown that was a little thread worn and covered in an unflattering apron. Her hair was askew and looked as if half the pins were missing. Even so, he could tell she was a relative of Hallie’s. He was doomed to see people, it seemed, who reminded him of the very grave mistake he’d made. Of losing the woman he loved.
“I’m Lord Duncannon.”
“I know who you are, my lord. Miss Evans is not here.”
Her abrupt answer was more than he deserved, but he needed to speak to Hallie. To beg forgiveness. Promise her everything she’d ever wanted, if only she would be his. Be his wife.
“I’m looking for her. A matter of great importance that if you’re willing, I thought to speak to you about.” He glanced at the small boy and smiled as the little boy’s mouth gaped up at him, watching the interaction with enthusiasm. Arthur winked at him, smiling as a small grin tweaked the boy’s lips. “Alone if you’re willing, Miss Nibley, I assume.”
