by Cheryl Holt
Even as he offered, she could see the dread in his gaze. It was never safe to confront Beatrice, so Rebecca calmed their fears. “I don’t need any of you to intervene. You can’t get yourselves in trouble over me.”
“You can’t leave as she’s demanded!” a housemaid said. “Where does she expect you to live?”
“She’s not concerned over my fate, and I’m reconciled to my departure.”
They had an intense conversation, where they urged her not to obey, to wait for Beatrice to relent, but she was stoically resigned. And in light of Mr. Shawcross’s cruel conduct over at Oakley, why would she remain?
She was a proud woman—Viscount Matthew Blake’s daughter!—and she’d rather die than bump into Mr. Shawcross ever again. She’d rather die than let Beatrice discover how right she’d been about how he would behave.
She advised the footman to march down and inform Beatrice that she was packed and about to walk out the door. Then she passed around hugs. The maids were weeping, and their woe made Rebecca cry even harder. They were all so miserable, and she couldn’t abide their commiseration.
She shooed them out, encouraging them to return to their chores. What with Mr. Shawcross about to kick them out, the manor was already in an uproar. They shouldn’t ignite Beatrice’s wrath as well.
Rebecca promised to write to the butler once she was settled somewhere—so they wouldn’t worry. Finally, her room was empty and quiet, and she was able to focus. She had an old portmanteau Millicent had given her, and she pulled it out and laid it on the bed.
How was a female to cram twenty-four years into a single portmanteau? In her case, it wasn’t difficult. She didn’t have much: a few dresses and undergarments, a few pairs of shoes and stockings. For the most part, she was a poor person who’d never had many possessions.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Alex rushed in. She blanched. Her mental state was so disordered that she’d forgotten about him.
“I just heard the news,” he said. “You’re really going?”
“Yes, I’m going.”
“Will you permit Mrs. Carter to chase you away? Why would you? Please put up a fight. Stay here and spit in her eye!”
“It’s a delicious thought, but I’m not interested in further quarreling. It’s pointless.”
“Mr. Shawcross will arrive shortly to force her out. Why don’t you tarry until he’s dealt with her?”
“I don’t care to see him ever again either.” At her comment, he looked so surprised that she added, “I realize you think he’s quite grand, but he’s been awful to me. If I dawdled, hoping for his assistance, I’d only be in greater jeopardy.”
Alex studied her, his fury growing. He could be such a fierce little champion. “What did he do to you?”
“It was…nothing,” she claimed. “I assumed he and I were friends, but I’m a Carter, and that’s how he views me. There’s no reason for me to count on him. He’ll evict me too—as if I was of no consequence—and I couldn’t stand his disregard.”
“He hurt you!”
“No, he didn’t hurt me. I had entirely misconstrued his opinion about our relationship, and he was just brutally honest.”
She’d ruined herself for him, believing it would make him happy, that it would make him love her, but wasn’t that what every ruined maiden believed?
Well, she was done being gullible. She was done being a naive idiot. She was leaving Carter Crossing forever, and she would never wonder what happened between Mr. Shawcross and Beatrice later on. She was finished with both of them—and relieved to recognize it.
“I’m going with you,” Alex suddenly said.
“You can’t come. I can’t imagine where I’ll be living. For all I know, it will be in a ditch.”
“As if I’d allow you to live in a ditch by yourself!” He scowled. “Would you like me to talk to Mr. Shawcross for you? Would you like him to apologize? I bet I could persuade him. Would that help?”
“I don’t want him to apologize.”
“Are you sure? He probably lashed out in anger. He’s probably regretting his conduct.”
“Trust me. He’s not sorry.”
Alex skipped over to his bedchamber, and in the blink of an eye, he was back. He had a packed satchel slung over his shoulder.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” she told him.
“I won’t, so don’t argue about it. I would never remain here without you.”
“All right, and I have to admit I’ll be glad to have your company. You’re a good boy, Alex.”
“Of course I am, and don’t fret. Maybe we’ll find a ship in Frinton that’s taking on passengers, and we can sail away together. Maybe we’ll find a safe place, where people will like us for a change.”
“Maybe.”
She gave him a tight hug, and as she drew away, he said, “Can I tell you a secret.”
“You’d better.”
“You have to promise you won’t be angry.”
“I’m too sad to be angry.”
He grinned. “It’s the perfect moment to confess my crime then.”
He reached into his shirt and pulled out a stuffed purse, and he opened it to show her it was full of money.
“Will this smooth over a rough beginning?” he asked.
“Where did you get that?”
“I’ve been stealing little bits from Mrs. Carter and my father.”
Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “You’ve been stealing?”
“Yes. I always expected to be kicked out. Mrs. Carter constantly threatened it, and I thought I should be prepared in case she followed through.”
“You’re ten! Why would your mind work in such a convoluted way?”
“It seemed smart to plan ahead.”
“You are in luck, Alex Carter. Any other time, I would have scolded you to Heaven and back. But not today. Today, I say: Let’s hurry and depart before Beatrice comes up to check on me.”
They marched out of her room and down the stairs, and as they stepped outside, he asked, “Where should we go?”
“We’ll walk to Frinton for now and stay at a coaching inn. Then…? I have an idea, but I’m not certain it’s viable or wise. I have to think about it.”
“Will I like it?”
“I can’t decide.”
“Mr. Shawcross will be upset when he learns that you left.”
She stopped and stared at the promontory, picturing him across the hill, all alone in his deserted mansion.
“Mr. Shawcross won’t be upset. He barely knows I’m alive.”
They rounded the house and strolled down the lane, her portmanteau banging into her leg. Servants had tiptoed out to watch them leave. They stood at attention, and the stable hands removed their caps as if it was a funeral procession. Lest Beatrice hear them voicing fond farewells, no one uttered a word.
They continued on until they were in the trees, then she turned and waved. The crowd waved back, and she tarried for a minute soaking it in, but it was unbearably depressing. She whipped away and kept on until she vanished in the shadows.
In an instant, it was as if she and Alex had never resided there at all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What was Mrs. Carter’s response?”
“She claimed my clerk was misinformed, and we have the wrong Carters. Apparently, they have no cousin named Rebecca.”
Sarah stared at Nathan and asked, “Did your man believe her?”
“He wasn’t certain what was happening. He had no opportunity to speak directly to Mrs. Carter. On each visit, the butler insisted she was indisposed, but the stable hands were gossiping that there was some sort of massive drama occurring.”
“What sort of drama?” Sarah inquired.
They were in the front parlor at Selby Manor. The afternoon was waning, evening on the horizon. It was her favorite time of day. The house was quiet, the servants down in the kitchen having tea before they began the busy
push to get supper on the table.
The children, Noah and Petunia, were upstairs in the nursery, and Nathan’s wife, Nell—who was in the family way—had been feeling under the weather, so she was taking a nap.
Sarah had Nathan all to herself, although her husband, Sebastian, was with them too. She could hardly demand he leave them alone. He and Nathan had been best friends since they’d met at school at age seven. Their relationship had nearly been destroyed during their final trip to Africa, and they were bonding again. They couldn’t stand to be parted for a single second.
Nathan had almost died in Africa, having barely survived the maiming he’d received during the melee that had resulted in Sir Sidney being murdered by natives. Then he’d been declared deceased by Sebastian and left for dead on the Dark Continent. He’d staggered home on his own, and he still hadn’t explained how he’d managed the amazing feat.
After that hideous incident, it had seemed he and Sebastian would never reconcile, but they had. Their connection was too vital for them to carry on without it. Nathan regarded Sebastian as his brother so, when Sarah and Nathan enjoyed a whiskey, Sebastian blustered in, and neither of them would tell him he shouldn’t.
“I guess Mrs. Carter’s son is addicted to wagering,” Nathan said, “and he’s gambled away their property. Some fellow from London bought it from his creditors, so they’re about to be evicted. It means she has bigger issues on her mind than my clerk and a long-lost sibling.”
Sebastian jumped into the conversation. “Did you say that woman’s surname is Carter?”
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “Mrs. Beatrice Carter.”
“They live out on the coast?”
“Yes.”
“I could swear Shawcross once told me he had his sights set on a Carter family and that he was intending to implement some mischief against them.”
“Why would he?” Nathan asked.
“It’s wrapped up in the trouble his parents had when he was a boy. His father was swept into a quagmire he didn’t deserve, and they were ruined. I was never sure on the particulars. He didn’t like to discuss it, so I didn’t press.”
“He was the same with me. He never mentioned any details.”
“When I last talked to him,” Sebastian said, “he was headed to the coast, to execute the scheme he envisioned.”
Sarah asked, “You think it might be the same people?”
Sebastian pondered, then scowled. “It would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t it? I probably have the names confused, and he’s probably in a completely different area of the country.”
“I hope you’re correct,” Sarah said. “You’re fond of him, but I loathe him. I wouldn’t want him within a hundred miles of my sister.”
Nathan chuckled. “You don’t like Shawcross? I didn’t realize you’d met him.”
“Oh, I met him all right.” Just from remembering the pompous ass, her blood boiled.
“Your dislike is understandable, I suppose,” her brother said. “His normal demeanor is severe and daunting, but what did he do to you specifically?”
Sebastian answered for her. “He was simply his usual overbearing self.”
“Before I was married”—Sarah cast a glower at her husband—“when I was staying at Hero’s Haven, Shawcross was an obnoxious prig who constantly lectured and manhandled me.”
Nathan smirked. “I’m surprised he was brave enough.”
“I almost punched him in the nose a few times.” She shook off thoughts of the despicable oaf and focused on her sister instead. “What about Rebecca? What if Mrs. Carter was lying about her? If they’re pushed into an eviction, Rebecca would be imperiled too.”
Sebastian said, “And if they’re scattered to the four winds when they’re kicked out of their home, it will become even more difficult to find her.”
“If any of that is a possibility,” Sarah said, “we can’t ignore the situation.”
“Why would Mrs. Carter lie about Rebecca being her cousin?” Nathan asked.
Sarah shrugged. “Why does a person commit any crazed act?”
“A valid question,” Nathan retorted.
She rose and went to the window to gaze outside. For several days, she’d been anxious and apprehensive. She’d always been able to mentally communicate with Rebecca, but for some reason, the ability had abruptly stopped.
She couldn’t figure out why she was sensing it, but she was certain Rebecca was in danger. She would never explain her heightened perception to her brother or husband though. They weren’t twins, so they wouldn’t comprehend the bond she and Rebecca shared.
“I’m so restless,” she murmured more to herself than them.
“I agree,” Sebastian said. “You’re either pacing or fidgeting. Why don’t you have another glass of whiskey? Perhaps it will calm you.”
She frowned. “I just feel that something’s about to happen.”
“Something bad or something good?”
“Just…something. I can’t describe it. It seems as if my skin is itching or maybe that I’ve been electrified.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If I pointed a finger at you, sparks might fly from the tip.”
“Please don’t shoot any at me,” Sebastian said.
“Or me,” Nathan added. “I’ve been wounded enough. I don’t need more scars.”
She stared outside again, wondering if she shouldn’t walk into the village. It was cold and blustery, the seasons changing. The fresh air would be invigorating. Even though it was growing late, she could visit her father’s grave in the cemetery behind the church, which was soothing.
She’d decided to announce that very plan when she noticed two people approaching the manor. They were down the lane, and she studied them, seeing that it was a woman and a boy about Noah’s age. The woman was carrying a heavy portmanteau, and the boy had a satchel slung over his back—as if guests were about to arrive.
As far as she was aware, Nathan wasn’t expecting any company.
She continued to watch them, and her anxiety spiraled out of control. There was a ringing in her ears, and suddenly, her heart was pounding so hard that she feared it might simply burst out of her chest.
“Oh, my lord,” she muttered. “I think it’s her. But it can’t be, can it?”
“What are you talking about?” Sebastian asked.
“It is!” she whispered, agog with amazement. Without peeking over at the men, she mumbled, “Would you excuse me?”
She dashed out of the room, and as she fled, they leapt to their feet, and Sebastian called, “Sarah! What’s wrong?”
Not slowing to reply, she ran down the hall, through the foyer, and out the front doors, blind to the shocked expressions of the servants she passed. She raced down the grand stairs to the driveway, and she flitted across the grass.
“Rebecca!” she shouted. “Rebecca! Is it you? Tell me it’s you!”
She was crying so vehemently she couldn’t hear a word so—if her sister answered—she had no idea.
* * * *
“What if we’re turned away?”
“You know the old adage,” Rebecca said to Alex. “Nothing lost, nothing gained. If Lord Selby refuses to meet with us, we’ll keep on to London.”
It was probably what they should have done anyway, but when the mail coach on which they’d purchased seats had stopped in a village near Selby, it had felt as if invisible ropes were dragging her to visit her half-brother.
She had fleeting memories of him as a brave, fierce boy, but she couldn’t judge whether they were accurate or not. She might have simply conjured a picture of him in her mind to counter Beatrice’s horrible stories.
According to her, he was a typical aristocrat—lazy, imperious, cruel—and he was especially harsh with his servants, that he flogged them and had them jailed for petty infractions, that he never paid their wages and retaliated against any who complained.
Rebecca couldn’t guess what was true
and what wasn’t. He’d joined Sir Sidney Sinclair’s expeditions, and his close friend was Sir Sidney’s son, Sebastian. Sebastian had penned travelogues about their adventures, and Nathan Blake had been at the center of their escapades, with his exploits and daring-do constantly praised.
Mr. Shawcross had praised him too, had claimed he was tough, courageous, and loyal, but in light of Rebecca’s current predicament, she didn’t put much stock in Shawcross’s opinion about any issue.
Despite the conflicting tales, she was an optimist, and she wouldn’t accept that her brother would be awful to her. Her biggest worry was that he wouldn’t remember her, but why would he?
When their parents had died, he’d been six and she’d been three. He’d been whisked off to Selby, and she’d been sent to Carter Crossing. Why would he have looked back for a single second? Why would he have fretted over her?
It was merely a fact that illicit children were born into noble families, and she was a disgraceful little secret wedged onto a branch of the family tree.
She would politely request an audience with Lord Selby. If he was away from home or if he declined to see her, she would try not to be too disappointed. If he agreed to speak with her, she would brace for any sort of reception.
If her brother was dreadful, she had Alex by her side, and they had a purse full of money. They would head to London and build a new life there. She wasn’t concerned about the future. At least that’s what she was telling herself.
“Does Lord Selby know Mr. Shawcross?” Alex asked.
“Yes. We discussed him once.”
“I wonder what Lord Selby would think of how Mr. Shawcross treated you.”
“I can’t imagine.”
She gnashed her teeth, determined to avoid talking about Raven Shawcross. Alex had developed a serious case of hero worship, and he was eager to confer about him. Her heart was absolutely broken though, so whenever Alex mentioned him, she’d slyly steer the conversation to a different subject.
“What do you suppose Lord Selby will be like?” she asked. “Cousin Beatrice told me he was rich, lazy, and obnoxious.”
“Well, we should ignore her view on every topic. Sebastian Sinclair described him as a great fellow.”
