by Eliza Lloyd
“My lord. My lady,” Mintz said before he bowed and departed.
Since Nora was still reclined, Gabriel poured the tea. “Sugar? Cream?”
“Both. Or however you make it. I’m not particularly fussy about my tea.”
He set the teapot aside. “What? That is blasphemy, I’ll have you know.”
“Bland one moment, bitter the next. Why am I the only one who will admit this? But it warms the bones, so I never decline a serving.”
He smiled. Just another of the odd quirks in her personality. Idiosyncrasies that he quite enjoyed. “Please don’t ever repeat that in polite company or the ton will think I’ve married a heathen.”
“They must already suspect.” She accepted the cup and asked, “Two sugars, a small dollop of cream? Just so I know if I ever pour for you.”
“Yes. I prefer cream over milk. And the two sugars are a requirement. Mintz is well-trained, so he knows exactly what to put on the tea tray. I thought you would scream and scurry away as soon as you knew you had packages to open,” he commented.
“Molly is in my room writing letters. She can open the boxes and put the goods away. I’ll see them when I need to wear them.”
Gabriel reviewed the tray of foods and selected a scone on which he spread butter and jam. He took a bite and then glanced up at the light blue sky. “It’s too bad your riding habit isn’t available. We could have ridden on Rotten Row this morning.”
“We can ride at Henbury.” She sat up, placed the diary at her side, then sliced a muffin, buttering one half of it. “I feel as if I am disrupting your routine. That’s not my intent. My intent is to stay out of your way for the duration of our marriage. Certainly, while we are in London.”
“But at Henbury Hall you will get in my way?”
“I think there is a higher probability that I will be in your way there. Unless you will live at another estate.”
“Then we should leave right away. Together. Since I will live where you live,” he said, smiling at her. Could she read his humor? Did anything he said warm her heart in the slightest?
“When do we plan to travel? Reading my mother’s journal has left me with a deeper homesickness than I have experienced in many years. Maybe because I am so close to my dream.”
“Soon. In a few days.” He poured himself more tea, then leaned back, crossing his legs. “I’ve been wondering about something, Nora. You are very confident about my father’s misdeeds, yet you were only a young child when all this happened. Who told you the stories?”
“My mother.” She held up the diary.
Ah, someone Nora trusted. Someone who lived through the horrible events of her past. Had Nora reread her mother’s diaries so many times she’d conjured up the villains as a child and allowed them to grow with each passing year?
Nora continued, while Gabriel listened, waiting for answers. “Not in great deal. But as I grew older, everything became clearer. My mother was sick at the end, at about the same time Father was in Newgate, I think. It’s all a bit jumbled. Being so young was part of it. All I remember clearly was Lord and Lady Fortenay driving us away from Henbury. Timothy and I were both sobbing for our parents. The apple trees along the lane where in bloom. Even today when I smell fragrant spring blossoms, I am transported to that awful day.”
Nora nibbled at her muffin, while she told a small bit of her story. “I had one small valise along with one of my dolls and Mother’s diaries. Timothy had a travel trunk and he gripped a bow and arrow, the last thing Papa had given him. Timothy was only six; I don’t think he remembers anything. At least he says he doesn’t. I was hoping—I know it’s a small hope after all this time—that Father’s library or some of mother’s paintings might still be there. Do you know? Is the house let?”
He did know. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be able to see for yourself. And what fate brought you to Lord and Lady Fortenay?” Should he feel guilty about not answering her questions directly? Now was not the time for perfect honesty. He wasn’t the vindictive sort but had to believe there would be a right time to tell her, just not now.
“My mother and father were second cousins. So, my grandmother and Lady Fortenay were first cousins. Gigi was equally related to both my mother and father. Evidently, she felt it her solemn duty to interfere. I think if there had been property, other distant family might have come forward to care for we orphans. And here we are.”
Gabriel was full of suspicions. Were Lord and Lady Fortenay also under the spell of the Blasington Hoard? There weren’t closer relatives, in either distance or familial ties? Had Nora asked the right questions or was she so single-minded that nothing else mattered but Henbury Hall?
After she finished her muffin, she leaned back on the cushions and closed her eyes. “Carlow, I know it’s too late to change things, but I do regret that you are in the middle of this. I’m having a hard time imagining you as the villain when it was really your father who caused this.”
“That’s a small step forward.”
“If we had Henbury Hall and our three tin mines in Cornwall and the Henbury stallions, there would have been a dowry for my marriage.”
“I’m surprised a woman like Lady Fortenay isn’t a strong advocate for abolishing such a backward tradition.”
She peeked back at him, opening just one eye. “She railed against the practice, certainly, but when her sons’ time came to marry, she negotiated a hefty dowry, especially for the Fortenay heir. Cit merchant’s daughters are happy to marry into a titled family. It was astute of you to guess her nature.”
“Astute? Or putting two and two together?”
“I’m not sure she would like you. She prefers to have men under her thumb. Even Timothy is intimidated by her. But I think she would enjoy conversing with you, as long as you agreed with her position at the end of the discussion.”
He clucked his tongue. “Sounds like my mother.” Gabriel braced his hands against his knees. “I should leave you to your reading.”
“No, stay awhile. How often do we have such a magnificent day? No rain, no fog. Just the right amount of breeze. The kind of day we used to have when I was child.”
“Nostalgia can be deceptive.”
But Gabriel remained seated and enjoyed the pleasant conversation with his wife, one where neither of them were agitated or accusatory. One that made the future as promising as the beauty of the day and as hopeful as young love.
* * * * *
Another box arrived from the dressmaker the next day. Molly carried it to the bed and carefully removed the string securing the lid.
In the room’s boudoir, Nora sat at a beautiful mahogany escritoire, with a smooth finish and enough small pull drawers to satisfy the most ardent epistler. Her note to Lady Fortenay was late but allowed her to tell more of the story. Nora had always trusted Gigi but there was only so much she wanted to share. Lady Fortenay wouldn’t like the messiness of it all.
“Oh! Oh, Lady Carlow! You must see this,” Molly said. At Whitmarsh, Molly had been an all-purpose servant, helping Lady Fortenay with a torn seam, assisting with the laundry, delivering polished shoes to Lord Fortenay’s room or helping Nora with her hair. She hadn’t been with Lord and Lady Fortenay that long, so it was a surprise when she had been selected to attend Nora as her lady’s maid while they traveled. And they had gotten on swimmingly. Of course, Molly ironed cravats for Timothy and saw to it that he had all his buttons and seams intact.
Nora pushed her chair away and hurried into the room. “What is it?”
“Lady Carlow, isn’t it elegant?” Molly held up the wispy, lacy night rail and twirled around. She threw it on the bed and withdrew a heavy velvet robe and ran her hands over it. “Feel how soft it is,” she said.
Nora ran her fingers over the velvet collar and imagined the cold, damp nights of an English winter and how much she would enjoy wearing it. “What else?” she asked. She peeked into the box to see folded muslin pantaloons that would reach her ankles, drawers, embroidered kerc
hiefs, silk stockings and two chemises—that she could see!
Nora lifted the night rail and carried it to the cheval mirror, holding it in front and admiring the beauty and simplicity. And wondering what Carlow would think if he could see her in something other than one of her day gowns.
She threw the garment on the bed and pretended an interest she didn’t fully feel.
Her plans did not involve a life of leisure with a perceived enemy. Nor did it involve accepting jewelry and clothing or tender visits in the garden.
Gabriel! How very challenging it was to be so casual and close with a man. Carlow had tolerated her trickery. He’d excused her lack of ton manners. He’d patiently listened while she’d explained her unprovable—yet!—accusations. He’d expressed a desire for her, and no man had ever done that before. If they had, she hadn’t noticed. Or Lady Fortenay had frightened them off.
“You must wear this tonight. Carlow’s eyes will burst from his head,” Molly said.
“No, I don’t think so.” He’d been very much the gentleman, and very little the husband. He hadn’t knocked on her door yet, hadn’t requested to fulfill his husbandly rights, hadn’t made her feel less of a woman because of it.
She had no instinct to pursue a man, but somehow she had captured his complete attention at the Weatherby Ball. Would a proper temptress knock on his door wearing such revealing clothes?
“Have you not seen the way he looks at you?” Molly asked.
“Tosh. Don’t say anything so ridiculous.”
“What husband, in his right mind, would not want you in his bed?”
Nora’s face burst with heat. “How would you know? You’ve never been married either.”
“I know a few things.” Molly picked up the night rail and twirled about the room before stopping in front of Nora. “I know a lot of things,” she teased, swishing the nightgown’s skirt in a seductive manner.
“About men? Or about what you’ve heard from the scullery maids at your last position?” Nora asked.
“I hear things. I see things. And I’ve enjoyed the attentions of a few men before.”
“If Lady Fortenay heard you speak in such a manner, she would dismiss you without a reference.”
“A lady’s maid should speak freely, or she would be no help at all. Your plan was to seduce him. Your plan worked, but you need to complete the seduction. It’s what he wants. Did you not wonder why he decided against attending the Radcliff Ball this evening? And that the dowager countess is going?”
“He’s not going because I cannot dance with any sophistication and he doesn’t want to be bored.”
“My lady,” Molly scolded, “men will be where there are women they want. And Lord Carlow has something he wants, right here in his house.”
“You overestimate my appeal. We’ve been married less than a week and I tricked him into that. I just want Henbury and all that belongs to the estate, and I want to never hear from any of them again.”
“How will you get the mines and the horse stock rightly returned to you?”
“Maybe I will have to settle for what I can get. I think Timothy would be happy with Henbury Hall. At least he would have a home where he could start a family.”
“Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“You seduce Lord Carlow into helping get the rest of the Henbury properties too! They are his friends, aren’t they? They are the sons of those wicked ones who took advantage of your father.”
“I’m not sure how I would do that. The Weatherby Ball was a gambit, a ploy that worked because Carlow was—”
Carlow was and had been decent to her. He’d found humor in her plans. He’d been solicitous, generous and curious. Nothing like the scandalous ne’er-do-well she’d believed him.
“He’s a man. You got what you wanted from him once. You can do it again.”
Except Nora didn’t want to. She’d done what she had to do, but deep down, she wasn’t that woman on a normal day. She could imagine a time in the future where she would regret that lengths to which she had gone to get Henbury Hall. More importantly, she would regret treating Carlow with less respect than he deserved. Could she do it again? Could she use deceit to get the other properties when she found she had no taste for such deception?
“Molly, let’s put these away. I need to finish my letter to Lady Fortenay and then send a note to Timothy. I want to invite him for a meal before he returns to Dorset.”
“Think about it. There must be a way.”
“I think of nothing else, but at some point, I must admit I was lucky once, and a second time seems impossible.” She was lucky it was Carlow. She was lucky he was the sort of man who made other men look mediocre.
The room grew quiet as she wrote. Once complete, she sanded the paper and sealed it up.
Another knock sounded, but this time it was Carlow, stepping into the room and waving a piece of paper. “I found it! I found the proof we acquired Henbury Hall legally.”
* * * * *
Gabriel thought he, his solicitor and his man of affairs had all the earldom’s papers in order, except the one piece of paper he desperately wanted to find. Not only would it prove Nora wrong—that wasn’t his main goal—but it would also clear away the fresh doubts about his father’s involvement in a possible scheme to defraud George Blasington.
For years, Father had kept a certain type of account ledger and he had always kept several as spares, he liked them that much—one for the house, one for the estate in Wiltshire. Even one for Henbury Hall. Any reason at all to use one. Already dated in his precise handwriting.
The title deed was placed inside one of those ledgers, one that would be started next year.
Frustration had caused Gabriel to begin the arduous task of opening books and shaking them in the hope something would fall out. He had a good reason to do this: Father was also notorious for placing notes inside the pages of books.
On a cold winter evening, one could settle in with the famed Scottish tale of Rob Roy and find a white fiver between the pages. A note that, as a young boy, he got to keep. It was a pleasant reward, a sort of treasure. Maybe his father’s way to reward him for learning.
So, it was no surprise when the folded sheaf floated to his desk. There was another note in his father’s handwriting that said, To dispose, with a month and year. The same year the ledger might be used—when Father had planned to use the ledger. He couldn’t have known when he would die; he would have known when he planned to make a transaction ahead of time.
Another contradiction occurred to him. If Father had planned to dispose of the property, why would he destroy its value by looking for a rumored treasure? Had he made one decision while sane? Another while in the throes of his madness? It wasn’t like a noble to sell property at all, such was the value of a good English estate. Or had he forgotten about his intent to sell when he was overcome with his search for riches? Gabriel hated adding more layers to the odd story of Henbury.
He unfolded the crinkly papers and looked at the signatures. He wasn’t an expert, though he had seen his fair share of legal papers. George Blasington’s signature appeared authentic, in that it was signed in ink and witnessed.
Gabriel folded the papers, headed out of the library and took the stairs two at a time. Nora answered the door and he blurted out the news. “I found it! I found the proof we acquired Henbury Hall legally.”
“You did?” she asked.
He grabbed her hand and led her to the small table in her boudoir. “Sit, sit. Look at this.” He opened the pages and spread the proof before her. “Look at this date. Right before your father…your father died.” He flipped to another page. “And your father’s signature with two witnesses. It’s real, Nora.”
She leaned in to examine the signature, then lifted her fingers, tracing his name with its loops and flourishes. “It looks like his signature,” she said weakly. When she lifted her gaze, there were tears in her eyes. “He wouldn’t have done this willingly.”<
br />
All Gabriel’s enthusiasm disappeared. “I thought you wanted to know.”
“I want my father and mother. I want things to be as they were.”
He squatted next to her. “It’s been over fifteen years. Wouldn’t it be best for you and your brother to accept your father’s decisions, as thoughtless, as unfathomable, as sorrowful as they are? He had his reasons, which we will never know.”
She pushed the title deed away. “It’s one piece of paper and it may not be real.” A sob shook her body. She laid her head against the table bracketed by her arms.
He went to his knees and braced his hands against his thighs. He closed his eyes because he couldn’t bear to see her suffer. The weight of her grief filled the room. He might think he knew the truth, but there was little he could do to convince her of it.
Gabriel drew close to her, going to his knees again, and put his arm across her shoulders. “Oh, my dear, I thought I was helping.” She turned into him, her face buried against his neck, racking tears convulsed her body and he hugged her tightly. With one hand, he soothed up and down her back.
Minutes—hours, it seemed—later she calmed and drew away. He plucked a linen from his jacket and handed it to her. She wiped at her eyes and below her nose. “I’ve waited so long, Gabriel. I want to vindicate my father and his legacy. I want people to shake my brother’s hand with the respect due an earl. I want what I can’t have.”
She turned away and held the handkerchief over her mouth. Gabriel got to his feet and called for a servant. Instead of tea, he requested negus, a mulled wine with cinnamon and nutmeg and heated for a pleasant, soothing draught. Hopefully, it would comfort Nora since he could not.
“Come. Let me take you to the chaise.”
“I’m not helpless, Carlow,” she said, but allowing him to help.
“It might be easier if you were.”
“Easier for whom?” She took a seat. Gabriel reached for a blanket and shook it, settling from her waist down.
