The Rebel Heir (32 page)

“Yes, quite eventful,” she agreed.

“In addition to your…display,” he finished, clearly struggling to find a polite word for what she'd done, “there have been quite a few uninvited gentlemen attempting to enter through this very door. The last of which I refused. His attire—”

“
Refused
. You turned someone away?” she asked.

“He awaits entrance still. On the steps outside.”

“You left a guest waiting on the steps on a damp night such as this?” She reached for the doorknob, but the butler wouldn't budge. “Perhaps you
should
abandon your post.”

“My lady!” he exclaimed and steadied his mulish stance in front of the door, blocking her from opening it beyond a small crack.

She glared up at the man standing between her and the door. “If Lord Braxton is allowed entrance—and he has a band of men in his company, all of whom mean one of our guests harm—then I see no trouble in admitting the poor gentleman you left to stand outside in the dark. What is his name?”

“It's a Mr. Dean.” He drew back a fraction in disgust, reminding her of her mother. “He doesn't even possess a title, my lady.”

“Neither do you,” she retorted. “Stand aside so I may open the door, or you may do the job you were hired to do and open it yourself.”

He drew himself up to his full height. “I have worked in this home for ten years.”

“And you have clearly spent far too much time in my mother's company. Open the door,” she commanded.

Then a new voice sounded over her shoulder, making her turn. “My lady, at the risk of having you turn your weapon upon me, I believe I can help in this matter.”

Evie looked up to see the man she'd seen Ash with on several occasions. Perhaps she could send him in search of Ash while she quarreled with her butler. Would he listen to a friend over her? She tried to remember his name from the gardens that night he'd chatted with Isabelle. They'd been introduced, but Ash had been there that night and he'd been quite distracting. “St. James, isn't it?” she asked, hoping she was correct. “I've seen you with Lord Crosby.”

“You have.”

This was it, the assistance she needed. “Perhaps you can speak with him. There's a lord here who's set on hurting your friend.”

“Lord Braxton,” St. James replied. “I'm aware.”

“He has a band of men at his back. And Lord Crosby insists—”

“Lord Crosby has a band of men at his back as well. Now, if I could allow Mr. Dean entrance?”

“A band of men?” Evie muttered. Ash worked alone and only kept one man in his employ. Or had that been a lie as well?

But before she could inquire over his meaning, Lord Hardaway joined them in front of the door, with her butler still standing sentry. “St. James, I think you need to come into the next room. It's worse than we imagined.”

“I knew it would be,” St. James stated.

“My lady, perhaps you should excuse yourself from the festivities,” Hardaway began.

“What?” She raised the walking stick in her hand, preparing to use it if necessary. “Not likely.”

“Very well,” he said, easing away from her. “I know Crosby is sweet on you, and I thought it would be best if you didn't see…”

“See what?” She didn't wait for an answer. She was running toward the drawing room door.

When she rounded the doorway, she heard Braxton's clipped tones over the rustling of the crowd. Everyone was looking toward the middle of the floor. Shoving people aside, she made her way to the front of the audience and gasped.

Ash was there, a line of angry-looking gentlemen blocking his escape. He wore chains at his wrists and was shackled to the chair he sat upon.
No
. She tried to scream the word, but no sound came out. She was too late to save him.

“This man has stolen funds from many of you,” Braxton announced. “He claims to be gaining investors for his steam works, but it's a lie. This man is a fraud. His name isn't even Lord Crosby. I have it on good authority that he's without a title and from the Isle of Man.”

“Where he is the younger brother of a duke,” Evie cried out. “Mind your wording, sir.”

Murmurs carried across the crowd, but Ash didn't look up from the point he stared at on the rug before his feet.

“I heard the steam works was true. Release him,” a gentleman yelled from the back of the room.

“Yes, release him,” another man joined in to rumblings of assent.

St. James's claim of a band of men at Ash's back flashed in her mind. Was it true?

“You heard lies,” Braxton countered, turning back to Ash. “Your
Lord Crosby
doesn't even defend himself.”

“Nor should he have to,” Evie said, stepping forward into the open section of floor around Ash and his enemies. “He's an honorable man, Lord Braxton. Otherwise, he wouldn't be present tonight.”

“Honorable?” Braxton asked. “He swindled funds from every one of these gentlemen you see before you. He's a common thief.”

“No, he was gaining investors,” she tried.

“Investors in Crosby Steam Works? Crosby Steam Works didn't even exist until he arrived in London. In Bath his name wasn't even Crosby. Oh, but he claims to be on the edge of a breakthrough. He claims steam will be a part of everyone's lives and not simply for factories. They are lies, my lady.”

“You don't know that,” she bluffed. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she couldn't allow Ash to remain there shackled to a chair.

“If what he claims is true, where is the proof? Where is the steam?”

She had no answer. The crowd around her rumbled. There was no proof to be given, and even with a few men in the crowd supporting Ash's claims, the weight of fact was on Braxton's side. She looked down to where Ash sat, beaten by his own life choices and with heavy iron holding him to this place. It was too much. Lord Hardaway had been right—she couldn't watch this. It was too painful. Soon the authorities would arrive and he would be led away from here, away from her. Trapped forever.

“Where is
Lord Crosby's
much-promised steam?” Braxton pressed further.

“Here,” someone behind her called out.

At the same time, a loud grinding noise had everyone turning and placing their hands over their ears. A moment of confusion passed before a stream of white vapor began to rise to the ceiling of the drawing room.

“Steam,” Evie murmured.

She turned to look at Ash, who wore the same look of shock as everyone else in the room. Turning back, she saw St. James, Lord Hardaway, and a man she'd never met before pushing a contraption farther into the room.
A band of men at his back.
But what was his connection to these gentlemen?

“Make a path, if you please,” she called out, shooting a smile over her shoulder at Ash.

The sputtering machine was pushed to the center of the room over fallen daisies, and everyone began to applaud. The unknown dark-haired man in the brown waistcoat nodded his appreciation as St. James and Lord Hardaway clapped him on the back. Even Ash, still chained to a chair, was grinning in amazement.

“Lord Crosby may not be this gentleman's true name; however, Crosby Steam Works is quite real, as you can see,” St. James stated.

Evie marched forward until she was in front of Lord Braxton. “Remove Mr. Claughbane's restraints immediately.”

Behind him, the other gentlemen were suddenly gleeful and congratulating one another for having the foresight in their investments. Lord Braxton, however, was studying the contraption. Probably searching for weaknesses.

“Lord Braxton,” Evie said again to gain his attention. “Release Mr. Claughbane. He has just earned you a great deal of money, and I believe is owed your thanks.”

“Perhaps,” Braxton muttered with his gaze still locked on the swirls of steam. “But if he ever comes near my family again, I'll see that he goes straight to prison.”

“I believe you're safe there, my lord. I've heard that Mr. Claughbane is attempting to leave the swindling business, intent on righting wrongs.”

Braxton shifted to look at her, an understanding of some sort dawning over his face. “See that he does so.” With a final nod, he turned, gave the command to have Ash released, and left the room.

A moment later, Ash was free and swept up in the congratulations surrounding him.

“To Mr. Claughbane and Mr. Dean, founders of Crosby Steam Works,” Hardaway called out and glasses were raised beneath the gathering cloud of steam.

Through the group all vying for his attention, Ash's gaze met hers for but a moment. In that look there was hope. Then he was pulled away, and she took a step backward. She didn't belong at his side, no matter how she longed to be there. He had a new business venture to sort out, and she…well, she wasn't certain where she would go from here. Taking another step back from the group, she became aware of Victoria at her side.

“We look like drowned rats covered in daisies, and I couldn't be more pleased,” Victoria said with a playful nudge of her cousin's arm. “I have my work ahead of me, though.”

“How so?”

“If I'm to keep the moniker of the wild one of our group, I'm going to need to improve my play. Well done, Evie.”

In spite of the steam now falling like rain on their heads in the middle of the drawing room, and the desire to rush across the room to an Ash who was no longer hers, she laughed. Her mother's precious furnishings were destroyed along with everyone's gowns and formal clothing, yet no one appeared to mind. Merry chatter continued around the room as everyone enjoyed the novelty of it raining indoors. Perhaps in some situations, the weather could be an interesting topic of conversation.

Evie linked arms with her cousin to take a stroll around the room, which currently resembled a sodden garden.

“What will you do now that you've banished your mother from your life and ended your engagement?” Victoria asked.

“I'm not sure,” Evangeline said, but as she spoke her gaze found Ash's once more. “Your sister advised me to listen to my heart.”

“Your heart is leading you toward steamy rooms and rain showers?”

“It is,” she admitted. “Even though I believe my time in this steamy room in particular is at an end.”

“Last week I was down all of my pin money playing cards when I finally was dealt a winning hand. I won every bit back, plus some. Don't give up hope.”

Evie ignored her cousin's admission that she'd gambled again and focused on her words. “Hope,” she repeated as she looked across the room to Ash once more. He'd told her he loved her once. Did she dare hope he loved her still?

Ash stood in the center of the swirl of excitement that had migrated from the drawing room to the terrace by the early hours of the morning. Glasses clinked together repeatedly, and steam mixed with the smoke from cheroots as the gentlemen celebrated success.

“I, for one, am glad you didn't take another day to polish the damn contraption before arriving in town, because I'd be across town in prison if you had,” Ash said with a thankful nod for Oliver Dean.

“St. James didn't mention a deadline,” Dean countered.

“I can't be expected to know when one of our own will decide to throw himself on his enemy's sword,” St. James said, stepping into the conversation.

“Really?” Hardaway drew back in surprise. “You know everything else.”

“Except for Claughbane's idiocy, it would seem,” St. James retorted.

“This was all part of my plan,” Ash said with a smile.

“You're a terrible liar.” Hardaway laughed. “How did you make a single coin selling potions and tonics?”

“Desperation, mate. Neediness makes my lies more palatable.” Ash took a sip of his drink. “An honest company should be interesting, though.”

“That'll be something new for all of us,” St. James mused in a low voice only the other Spare Heirs could hear.

“Mr. Claughbane, I believe,” Lord Rightworth said as he joined their conversation. “You're quite the hero of the evening, much to the dismay of Lord Winfield and Lord Braxton alike.”

Ash turned and took a step away from the other Spares to respect the group's secrecy. He looked at the older man. So much of his life had been spent in anticipation of destroying this man. Yet Ash hadn't accomplished that task at all. If anything, he'd further lined his pockets.

Evie would be pleased at this outcome at least. Ash wasn't certain of his own feelings on the matter—only that he now saw this man as Evie's father and not a faceless man who'd destroyed his family. His long-ago promise to his mother would have to go unfulfilled, but somehow Ash thought she would understand. The plot against Rightworth was at an end, and if that didn't please his mother, it certainly would please his living family members. And someday long from now, he would get an eternity to explain to his mother how everything had changed once he arrived in London and set eyes on Evie.

Either way, it was done.

But what did any of this mean for Ash?

“My apologies for interrupting your celebration,” he told Rightworth, with his mind still on Evie despite every other distraction the night had produced. “It wasn't my intention.”

“Not your intention to find yourself in chains in the middle of my drawing room? I'm certain it wasn't. I came as soon as I heard the commotion, but you seemed to have things well in hand by then.” The older man gave him a nod of approval.

“I had help.” Ash resisted the urge to look at the Spare Heirs, who were still gathered around Dean's steam machine only a few paces away.

For the first time in his life, he was part of something greater than himself, and that alliance had proven its worth this evening. They'd created the first portable steam engine. Crosby Steam Works was real. He hadn't sold a lie—he'd gathered investors in his steam works. He still hadn't worked out what this meant for him, but he imagined it entailed being honest and staying in one city. Was he wealthy from legitimate funds now? He supposed so. Who would have guessed this outcome? Not Ash.

Lord Rightworth looked down at his feet for a moment before he spoke again. “I knew a Claughbane from the Isle of Man.”

“My father,” Ash stated. He'd waited for this conversation for seven years, and just like his expectations for the rest of this evening, this wasn't the conversation he'd envisioned.

“Yes, I suspected as much,” Rightworth said, running a hand through his hair. “I didn't think your appearance here was one of coincidence. I…regret what happened all those years ago. I was desperate and…”

“I already know,” Ash said, thinking of Evie. He knew why this man had taken what he had. Ash's father had lost everything on a poor hand of cards—a hand of cards he never should have played. Rightworth hadn't stolen from them, no matter what Ash had convinced himself to believe to fuel his rage in his youth. He was willing to admit the truth now. Every circumstance in life was much more complicated than he'd once thought.

“Nonetheless, I'm sorry,” Rightworth said. “Regret is a terrible thing.”

“Yes, it is.” Ash took a breath. “I've enjoyed spending time with your daughter this season. I wished her well in her betrothal when I saw her earlier tonight. I hope she'll be very happy as Lady Winfield.”

Rightworth paused, studying him. “You don't know?”

Ash's heart was somewhere between beating a wild rhythm and stopping altogether. Had something happened to Evie he wasn't aware of? “Know what?”

“She refused Winfield.” There was a knowing gleam in her father's eye that made Ash uneasy as Rightworth continued. “I believe her heart lies elsewhere.”

“She…” Ash's words faded away as he tried to piece together their conversation in the parlor, but came up empty-handed. “She refused Winfield? She isn't…”

“No,” Rightworth confirmed. “And Winfield was pleased enough to back away, after the spectacle of the evening. I don't think he wanted a wife who knew her own mind, and I have no intention to force the issue. Evangeline deserves to be happy after what she's endured at her mother's hand. I should have intervened years ago.” He gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Yet another regret.”

Ash only nodded in response. Evie wasn't going to marry another gentleman. The gray night tipped sideways as everything else he thought he knew came into question.

“I married that woman to align our families, out of duty to my title,” Rightworth continued. “I would call it a mistake if not for my daughters. One shouldn't marry for such reasons.” The older man stared off across the dark gardens, lost in thought for a moment. Ash didn't move, sensing their conversation wasn't at an end. “I was never in favor of Winfield,” Rightworth finally said. “What does social position matter when you must spend your life in the company of someone whom you can barely tolerate? That's no life, believe me.”

“Then, you're advocating a love match for your daughter? Rather unconventional, don't you agree?”

“You seem the sort to appreciate a lack of convention, Claughbane, much as I've seen you appreciate my daughter.”

“I…” Ash didn't know how to respond. Of course he appreciated Evie. More than that, he loved her. Evie had made her views clear on the subject though, hadn't she? She'd wanted him gone. And then she'd attempted to save his life…

“If you wish to call, we plan to be at home tomorrow. Excuse me, I have many things to see to now that the festivities are ending.”

Ash watched Evie's father walk away. After years of planning the perfect revenge for the demise of his family, the moment had come and he was the one left reeling.

* * *

The excitement and surprise of the previous evening boiled over into a sludge of exhausted confusion the next morning. While her father had taken the news of Evangeline's failed betrothal rather well—a fact she contributed to his anticipated wealth in steam—her mother had yet to emerge from her bedchamber.

Evangeline had seen her father for only a few minutes this morning before he disappeared into the library for the day. He'd looked uncomfortable for a moment before informing her that her mother would be taking some time away from city life to visit Great Aunt Mildred in Scotland. Evangeline would remain with her father while her mother was away—a fact he seemed quite pleased about.

“How long will she be in Scotland?” she'd asked.

“Indefinitely,” he'd replied, and they'd said nothing more on the subject.

Her mother's reign over their family was at an end.

Evangeline had spent the remainder of the morning making a list. She wasn't sure what her future held now, but she was determined it would contain at least some activities that interested her. She had to focus on herself now. Life must somehow go on. She curled further into the corner of the settee in the sunny front parlor, pulling the lap desk into the crook of her arm.

Learn to make an arrangement of daisies.

It was true, her heart was broken and would likely never mend, but she had helped set things right for Ash. She'd done the right thing for him. He was free to live his life as he chose now. And he'd chosen to walk away, just as she'd known he would since the beginning.

Watch birds in the park.

Her short-lived engagement had been shredded, the plan she'd maintained all season to find a husband falling to the floor with it. After last night, there would be no finding a husband, after all. She would need some means of…well…means, now. She could stay with her father for a time, but even that should come to an end. But she wasn't afraid. Life wasn't a thing to be feared; it was to be lived.

Learn to gamble on horses and cards.

Her mother had been mortified at the scene she'd caused, but Evangeline held no regrets for her actions. For the first time since that day when she was twelve, she wasn't afraid of her mother. There was no pain or torment that woman could inflict on Evangeline that she couldn't withstand—not anymore. And now they would likely never see one another again. Her father hadn't said many words on the subject, but she now wondered if he'd spent many of his days being beat upon by that woman as well. Somehow with Evangeline's show of force last night, her father had found his strength to stand up to his wife as well.

Visit the museum.

Evangeline was free. Alone, but free. Ash had seen to both outcomes in the end. She swallowed and closed her weary eyes for a moment. It was true that she'd become strong enough to overcome her fears at his side, because of him. But she would have to find a way to continue on by herself.

Eat more flavored ice.

Send weekly notes of apology to Sue.

Go back to the theater.

Purchase gloves that fit.

She squeezed her eyes shut again. She could spend the rest of her days eating ice and attending the theater, but neither would ever be the same as it had been with Ash. She no longer needed his strength to survive her life; however, she would want his company forever.

It wasn't to be. Would he have left town by now?

She wasn't sure how long she sat there envisioning him arriving in a new town, picturing the style of house he would make his home, his sly smile as he made plans for his future. He would be the centerpiece of her daydreams until she was old and wrinkled. For a time he'd been hers. He'd loved her, and she would carry that small serving of happiness with her forever.

A floorboard creaked by the parlor door and she opened her eyes. To her astonishment, Ash was standing in the doorway—but it wasn't the sly smile she'd envisioned that covered his face. It was confusion.

“Ash,” she whispered as she stood.

“I was passing by… Damn.” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “That's not true. I was on the other side of the city this morning.”

“My father is in the library if that was what you—”

“No, that's not why I came.”

Her heart was in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Blundering my way through this conversation it would seem,” he admitted as he moved across the room toward her.

“Would you like…”

“Some tea? I don't believe I could properly discuss the weather just now.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to take a turn around the garden. I've yet to be outdoors today.” She glanced down at her day dress. It was pale pink with no adornment, but she liked how soft it was beneath her bare fingers.

He stopped. “Of course,” he murmured and lifted his arm to offer her escort.

As she wrapped her hand over his arm, for a moment it was as if nothing had changed between them. Yet everything had. They walked in silence until they reached the outdoors, only communicating in small, curious glances.

They were down the steps and moving into the grass when Ash finally broke the silence. “I wanted to thank you for what you did last night.”

Was that the only reason he was here? To express his thanks? “You already thanked me,” she countered.

“So I did.”

“I find I rather enjoy causing a scene in the middle of a ballroom—much to my mother's dismay,” she mused in an effort to lighten the strain of their conversation.

“I'm pleased I could be of service, then.” He took a breath and turned to look at her, stopping their movement through the garden. “Evie, I find I'm troubled by one small detail of last night.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “When you came to my defense and tried to explain away my actions before Mr. Dean with the steam machine, did you do so because it was the proper thing to do? Was it in the name of honor that you did it? Or was it…was
I
the reason you took such a risk?”

And there it was. The question she'd been steadily avoiding since yesterday. He was waiting for an answer, of course. He'd made no commitment to her. He was likely only curious, one last question before he left town. She wanted to be honest with him anyway. She had to, if only for her sake.

“I wanted to help you. When I saw the opportunity to mend things for you, I did what I must.”

“Then it was out of a sense of right and wrong.” He released a breath and cast his eyes down, his hands resting on his waist. “I thought there was a chance…but I suppose I should have known.”

“A chance? A chance of what?”

“You ended your betrothal to Winfield and assisted me in the same evening. I was hoping…” He muttered a curse and turned away from her. “This is clearly why I was able to sell bottles of love potion for such a high price.”