The Reluctant Earl (11 page)

“I’m so glad.” The concern eased from the Molly’s mouth. “Anna?”

Leah turned to see the maid in the doorway.

“I’ve come to take Lady Caroline to her dinner.”

“Dinner.” The girl’s smile broadened and she obligingly left with her maid.

“No doubt Mrs. Anderson requires me.” Molly paced toward the door, then stopped and turned. “What of Mr. Fleming?”

“A gang of men attacked and severely beat him. He was still unconscious when we returned. Wetherel went to fetch the doctor.”

“But they left Lady Teresa unharmed?”

“Other than being understandably distressed, yes.”

Pain shadowed the maid’s eyes and rested on her still features. “Mr. Fleming obscenely used women he didn’t consider his equal. Perhaps he ill-treated the wrong man’s sister or wife. Still, I will pray for his recovery.”

“And do you believe God will hear your prayers?” He had ignored enough of Leah’s—and if Molly had fallen victim to Fleming, at least one of hers had also gone unheeded. Leah no longer bothered the Almighty with her petitions.

“God always hears our prayers, Miss Vance. But sometimes he has another plan, a greater vision for our future than we can see with our limited focus on the here and now.”

Try as she might, Leah had never perceived any great purpose in her sister’s suffering. “And what great design did your God have in mind when He allowed you to be abused by the likes of Fleming?” The unkind words and bitterness poured forth before Leah could block them as she had for so many years.

“Perhaps, Miss Vance, God allowed my ordeal so I could minister to you.” With quiet dignity, the maid exited.

Leah stared at the closed door for several long moments, emotions whirling with a mix of contempt and contrition. Despite the hardships, Molly had a serenity Leah lacked.

Because...?

Her gaze dropped to the desk where she’d sat for so many hours and days and years with Teresa. Teresa, who even now probably shared dinner with her mother and other members of the family, except for her incapacitated cousin.

Who had attacked Fleming? Local men, if they came on foot and knew how to disappear like wraiths into the trees. But why?

Leah slid into the chair and withdrew a sheet of paper. After a moment’s hesitation she also retrieved her invisible ink and its antidote—just to be safe. Then she composed a note to Alec. Once she had completed the words—both visible and not—she sealed the letter and departed for the stable.

Somehow she would find a way to leave the manor on the morrow.

* * *

Julian tapped on the schoolroom door. His heart pounded a louder tattoo in his chest as he debated what he would say, what excuse he would make. Should he apologize? He didn’t feel particularly remorseful for kissing Miss Vance—Leah—in the yard where all and sundry could see them. Indeed, he felt...enthralled. Even optimistic. And like doing it again. The murky future extending before him crystalized into splendid possibilities.

The silent seconds stretched. He glanced over his shoulder, aware that should any of the staff find him skulking in the hallway like an infatuated schoolboy, he would irreversibly damage Leah’s reputation.

Had she retired for the night already? He knocked on the door one more time, waited, then turned to leave. Only to spy her stealing around a corner.

Her eyes widened the moment she detected him. “My—my lord. Did you need something?” Surprise? Or guilt?

Pink roses bloomed on her cheeks from embarrassment at his presence...or exposure to the cold night air. His gaze traveled the length of her humble gown, pausing at the piece of straw still stuck to her hem. Not a typical schoolroom accessory.

He desperately wanted to believe it lingered from their legitimate sojourn to the stable that afternoon—before their madcap ride to Teresa’s rescue, her return via the sleigh, their kiss in the courtyard. Alas, he’d never been one to gamble against the odds, and he wouldn’t start now. Not when his future, perhaps even his heart, was at risk.

Julian could deduce only one reason she had visited the stables at this time of night, why a woman with an injured foot would ignore the pain to scale the stairs and traipse through the corridors. Dreams—real, for all that they were yet indistinct—blew away like grass in the wind. Mere illusions without substance. “I came to ensure you suffered no ill effects from this afternoon.” The lie came easily. The anger even more so.

“No. No. I’m fine, as you can see.” Her large, expressive eyes glimmered in the glow of a distant sconce.

“In all the...excitement, I forgot to ask if you had delivered the message.”

“About your inquiries into your father’s death? Yes, I took it to the stable last night.”

Last night. If only she’d said tonight. “And do you know if your mysterious contact received it?”

“I believe so. I’ll check in the morning.”

A whiff of lavender teased his senses with false promises. He fought back the urge to gather her in his arms and demand answers. Perhaps there was an explanation. Perhaps he was too sensitive and suspicious, too susceptible to cynicism. “Good, then.” He backed away, intent on retreat.

“Has Dr. Grant come?”

“Ah, yes. He seemed more concerned about some of the critical blows to Fleming’s person than the wound on his head. The doctor fears he could well be bleeding internally.”

“Is there anything to be done?”

“Only wait.” And wait is all Julian could likewise do—wait to see if Harrison’s endeavors uncovered Miss Vance’s dependability. Or disloyalty. “He awakened finally, though he seems very weak and confused. He is suffering rather acutely—the miscreants broke several of his ribs and the bone in his forearm—so the doctor gave him a sedative. The maid Molly is going to stay with him during the night.”

“Molly! You can’t ask that of her.”

“She volunteered. Is there some reason she isn’t competent for the task?”

“Oh, no. Of course not. Molly is supremely capable. It’s only...”

Julian waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “The magistrate will come tomorrow to speak to Teresa.” And Fleming, if the man regained consciousness.

“The magistrate?”

“A crime was committed, Miss Vance.” He stared into the wide hazel eyes. Did Miss Vance fear for her confidants? Unfortunately Julian doubted either his niece or her cousin could provide the necessary details to identify the villains. “He’ll want to question Teresa. Fleming also, if he is up to it.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Julian offered her a brief bow, then with heavy feet, and heavier heart, he left to find solitude. He had nearly reached his bedchamber when a footman intercepted him.

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“This message arrived for you moments ago.”

Maman again? Pulse pounding, he accepted the missive and dismissed the servant with subdued thanks. In the seclusion of his room, he broke the seal.

Not Maman. Worse, really. Harrison wanted a meeting to discuss their next actions. As Julian read the words a second time, the last vestiges of his regard for Miss Vance vanished. The radicals had begun to make moves on Wellingborough. Someone, it seemed, had discovered the bogus report in his bedchamber and shared its contents.

He tossed the note on the fire and watched it burn—like the dreams he’d injudiciously entertained—to ashes.

Chapter Eight

T
he expressive song of a piano drew Julian to the music room where Miss Vance perched on the stool, her fingers marching across the keys in absolute precision. And yet, for all her meticulousness, she imbued the music with both passion and poignancy.

He leaned against the doorframe and let the melancholy harmonies mitigate his anger. An ivory ribbon twined through the simple knot of her brown hair, a contrast of light and dark rather like the woman herself.

She stopped, as if suddenly aware of another presence, and turned her head. Vague, unfocused eyes gazed upon him.

“I’m sorry. I interrupted.” He started to retreat.

“No, don’t go.” The dreamy mien cleared from her gaze, replaced with a smile that stretched all the way to the dimple on her cheek.

He fought his reaction with reminders of her duplicity as he joined her at the piano. “I haven’t heard you play since that dinner.”

“I haven’t. I, ah, I’ve found much to occupy me of late.”

Or reasons to avoid Fleming? He gestured toward the pages on the music rest. “What are you playing?”

“Mozart’s
Piano Sonata in C Minor.
” She lifted her hands from the keys and folded them on her lap. “How is Mr. Fleming this morning?”

“The doctor just left. He believes the worst may be past.”

“The dowager will be relieved.”

But not Miss Vance? “Fleming is still somewhat confused, but that could be an effect of the laudanum the doctor administered for his pain.” Or a blow to his head from which he might never recover all his faculties.

“Did he tell you anything of the mob that attacked Lady Teresa and him?”

“Very little. The magistrate will be arriving later. I realize you didn’t get a good look at Fleming’s assailants, but by chance, would you have any conjectures as to their identity? You’ve been working with a group of local radicals.”

“I’ve been passing messages along, not joining mobs or bludgeoning gentlemen.”

“Tell me the identity of those who receive your messages.”

Wariness shuttered her gaze and removed his last qualms. “I told you, I don’t know. But I don’t believe local men attacked Teresa.”

“Such would be hardly a worse crime than those they’ve already committed.” A bitter vision of his father’s broken body lodged in Julian’s mind. “If they resent the aristocracy, why would Teresa’s presence be a deterrent?”

“Her father is a powerful official and confidant of the Regent himself.”

“Many youth of France went to the guillotine with their parents.”

“Surely you do not find the situation here in any way similar?”

“I suspect you have some sympathy for the rabble rousers, Miss Vance, but surely you can see they must be stopped.”

The muscles along her jaw tightened as she lifted her chin. “I pity all people with empty bellies—but not enough to endanger Teresa.”

No, in all her transgressing, Miss Vance had thus far carefully avoided involving her charge. Julian acknowledged it would have been uncharacteristic of her to plan an assault when she knew Teresa would be present. “Very well, I concede your loyalty to Teresa.”

She inclined her head, but her eyes still glittered with affront. “Is the maid Molly still with Fleming?”

“No, she went to get some rest. One of the footmen—William, I think—is tending to his needs today.”

The conversation languished into silence. Truly, what was one expected to say to the woman he’d kissed, only to see her betray him mere moments later? What kind of woman would exchange her chance to snare an earl—a wealthy earl, no less—for a few coins? The intensity of the loss roused his rage again and tightened around his throat. At least he hadn’t offered his heart to one so undeserving. He retreated a step to expand the space between them. “I’ve distracted you from your pleasure long enough.” He bowed and exited.

More distance. More anger. Less pain.

* * *

The early afternoon sunshine pushed into the schoolroom where Teresa parted the curtains to peer out at the drive. “The magistrate has arrived. What will I say to him?”

Leah pulled the thread through the fabric before she glanced up from her creation, a collar with unfinished—and uninspired—embroidery. “The truth, of course.”

“What if I get something wrong?”

“You’ve suffered a distressing experience, and it’s natural for the aftermath to leave you disquieted. Mr. Mason is not here to trap you—just to prevent the men who hurt your cousin from harming anyone else.”

“My lady.” Mrs. Anderson tapped on the door. “The magistrate is here.”

Teresa concentrated a full barrage of wide, pleading eyes at Leah. “Come with me.”

“What could I possibly contribute to the magistrate’s inquiry?”

“You were there.”

“Not for all of it, or even much of it.”

“My lady?” Mrs. Anderson rapped again.

“Please, Miss Vance, you needn’t say much, or anything at all—but I would feel ever so much more composed with you at my side.”

Leah glanced at the clock. Perhaps if she performed this service, her charge would cooperate with Leah’s later endeavors. She set aside her tedious work and rose from the chair. “Very well, I’ll come with you, if only so you will answer Mrs. Anderson’s inquiry rather than leave the poor woman knocking on the door any longer.”

Moments later Leah followed Lady Teresa into the drawing room. At least her foot no longer throbbed with every step—good news if she intended to take that hike to meet Alec later. Lady Sotherton swept forward, clasped her daughter’s hand and drew her toward a man of slight stature and extensive girth. “Mr. Mason, I’m certain you remember my daughter Teresa.”

“Lady Teresa.” The magistrate offered her a lumbering bow. The spectacles perched on his nose imparted a more scholarly than scary appearance. “You have become such a beautiful young lady. I regret seeing you under these circumstances.”

“Thank you.” Teresa shuffled forward and perched on the edge of the settee. Her mother selected a nearby chair while Leah flanked her on the other side.

“I see you brought your governess.” Chambelston flicked back the tails on his coat and resumed his seat. The stark white of his carefully tied cravat matched the formality of his expression. The blue of his gaze—so appealing and attentive when he had kissed her only last night—narrowed. Despite his carefully crafted nonchalance, Leah detected the reappearance of his cynicism, just like during those awkward moments in the music room. And yet, below the palpable chill, she glimpsed traces of...vulnerability? Confusion swirled in her mind, her heart.

“I—I asked Miss Vance if she would... That is, is it not all right if she remains?”

“Of course Miss Vance should be here if it will make you more comfortable.” The magistrate offered a kindly smile. “I apologize for asking you these questions, Lady Teresa, but we need some answers.”

“I understand.”

“Your uncle informs me that you and your cousin were attacked while riding yesterday.”

“Yes.” Teresa clasped her hands in her lap.

“Tell me about the attack. Where were you?”

“Reggie and I had been riding for a couple hours. There is a manor some miles away he wanted to see, near Norford.”

Icy unease rippled along Leah’s back. The asylum?

“Did your cousin have an acquaintance at this house?”

“No, we only rode past, then we started home. We raced a bit—just in a spirit of fun because Reggie had the faster horse. And—and then we came upon the grove of trees near Ricks Run. Men rushed out from behind the trees and seized the bridle of Reggie’s horse. Reggie pulled out his pistol, but his horse reared and the shot went wild.”

Fleming had a pistol? Leah glanced at Chambelston in time to catch the contemplative blue eyes focused on her.

“Can you tell me how many men there were, my lady?”

“Uncle Julian suggested five yesterday. To tell the truth, I didn’t count. There was nothing distinctive about their dress, and with their faces blackened, I couldn’t distinguish among them.”

“Ah, yes, Plough Monday.” Mr. Mason templed his fingers and leaned back in the chair. “What did the miscreants do next?”

“They dragged Reggie from his horse. He yelled at me to ride away, then I saw him hit the ground.” Teresa’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Leah edged closer and patted the girl’s clenched hands. “Th-the men circled around him and began to beat him with their clubs.”

“Take your time, my lady.”

Teresa nodded. “I screamed. I don’t know whether I was more angry or afraid, but I shouted at them to stop. I swung my crop at one—”

“Next time you should take Reggie’s advice,” Lady Sotherton scolded. “You could have been killed.”

The magistrate tapped a stubby finger against his chins. “This man—did you hit him? Could he be sporting a welt today, perhaps on his face or arm?”

“I—I don’t know. He jerked my crop from my hand. I kept pleading with them to stop, but they refused to listen to me. And then Uncle Julian and Miss Vance arrived moments later.” Moments that had seemed forever, no doubt.

“You have lived in this district all your life, Teresa.” Chambelston sauntered to a desk and poured a glass of water which he passed to his niece. “Did you notice anything distinctive about the men’s voices—anything that might identify them? Did they speak like local men?”

Teresa sipped her drink before she answered. “They didn’t say much—mostly shouting and such. Or perhaps I was too frightened to notice. I—I wish I could be of more help.”

Leah squeezed her shoulder, felt the tremble that vibrated through her. “Are we finished, Mr. Mason?”

Lord Chambelston’s broad shoulders stiffened, and the muscles around his mouth tightened. So Leah hadn’t imagined his reserve. Did he regret his impetuosity of the previous night? Did he object to her interference? Or only to
her?
How like a man to blame the woman for what happened.

The magistrate offered a sympathetic smile. “Thank you for all your help, my lady. I’m sorry you had to recall so traumatic an event.”

“I wish I had more to offer.” Teresa surged to her feet. Ever polite, both men rose.

Chambelston touched her arm. “Teresa, you and your cousin were gone for several hours yesterday. During all that time, did he say or do anything you find remarkable in hindsight? Anything that might provide us a clue as to who would have done this?”

“No, nothing. In fact, he mostly asked about Miss Vance.”

“Me?” Leah felt Chambelston’s heavy regard, but she refused to turn, refused to look. At least Fleming would be indisposed for a while. But afterward? Her throat burned as she considered what delicious scandal he might share.

Teresa’s impish smile flashed for the first time since her ordeal yesterday. “I think he rather fancies you, Miss Vance.”

As the cat fancied the mouse—for torture and a tasty treat.

“We all admire Miss Vance, of course.” Lady Sotherton hastened to add, as if to assure everyone her nephew suffered no undue—personal—interest in a mere governess.

Mr. Mason presented the women with a parting bow. “My lady, if any other details occur to you, you have only to send for me and I will come immediately.”

“I will.”

Leah trailed Teresa up the staircase. She needed to leave if she was to meet Alec at the appointed time, but what excuse could she provide to escape the manor? The two women reached the schoolroom with Leah’s mind still whirling with possibilities.

“Please tell me you won’t make me practice French today, Miss Vance.” Teresa cradled her head in her hands. “I haven’t the concentration for it. My head already aches.”

“As a matter of fact I do have an errand I need to accomplish.”

“A meeting with an older, mysterious gentleman perhaps? I noticed the way my uncle Julian watched you during the meeting.”

A thrill of feminine pleasure charged through Leah despite her better sense—and her own observations about Chambelston’s demeanor today. “He was probably exasperated with me for not insisting a groom go with you. I doubt those hooligans would have tackled two men.”

“If the district is so dangerous, perhaps you should take an escort for your errand.”

“Any thief would realize I haven’t the coin to make such exertions worthwhile.”

“You think the men intended to steal Reggie’s money?”

No. “It’s a possibility.” Leah grabbed her coat from a peg.

“Give Uncle Julian my regards.”

“
If
I happen to see him, I’ll deliver your message.”

Leah shoved her arms into her coat sleeves and, ignoring Teresa’s smirk, left to find her cousin.

* * *

Julian led the magistrate to Fleming’s chamber. The injured man’s labored breathing filled the air with raspy wheezing. Heavy green drapes swathed the windows, casting the room in shadows and intensifying the odors of blood and sweat and drugs.

The footman jumped from a bedside chair. “My lord?”

“William, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“The magistrate is here to ask Mr. Fleming some questions.”

Fleming twisted his head toward them, then winced. His eyes flickered in their bruised sockets, then fell shut again. “Chambel...” His reedy voice drifted off.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The footman swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob above his cravat. “Mr. Fleming was in such pain, I gave him another dose of laudanum like Dr. Grant instructed. If I’d known you would be coming to speak to him, I’d have waited a few more minutes. I’m afraid his thoughts are rather muddled.”

“No one will criticize you for showing compassion.” Julian gestured the magistrate to take the footman’s vacated chair and hauled another to the bedside for himself. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and ask Cook to get you something to eat? The magistrate and I will see to Fleming for a few moments.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The footman beat a hasty retreat.

“Fleming?” Julian exchanged a look with Mr. Mason. “Fleming? Can you hear us?”

“Hurts.”

“Yes, of course.” The magistrate studied the purple welts on Fleming’s face, the unnatural angle of his nose, the splint on his arm. “Do you remember why it hurts?”