The Reluctant Earl (18 page)

“Anything else? Hair color? Distinctive clothing?”

Leah glanced at the whorls of fog—smoke?—beyond the hackney that blurred even the buildings looming over the streets. How would they ever find Alec in this gloom? “He wears a gray greatcoat from the army. Rather worn these days. His hair is reddish brown but difficult to see under his hat, of course.” Which would be pulled low across his brow, no doubt, to shield his features from his erstwhile confidant.

Chambelston tapped her arm and drew her gaze back to those mesmerizing eyes that pierced even the hackney’s shadowy interior. “Is he armed, do you think?”

“I—I don’t know.” If she gave Chambelston an honest answer, would he suspect Alec of being their mysterious shooter that day she returned from the asylum? She’d never seen her cousin fire a gun, but he’d spent years in the army. In a matter such as this...? She swallowed the lump in her throat before answering. “Probably.”

They lapsed into silence until the hackney crawled to a stop. Chambelston glanced at the magnificent building with its many towers and huge windows. “Westminster.”

Harrison hopped out of the vehicle and paid the driver while Chambelston and Leah followed.

Already throngs filled the streets—carriages with embossed crests on their doors, simple hackneys, swarms of ordinary folk on foot. Their faces blurred together as Leah’s gaze swept across the dozens, hundreds, even thousands. How would she ever find Alec amid such a multitude?

She edged closer to Chambelston lest she lose him. After two days of near-constant travel, even he little looked the part of well-heeled nobleman. Stains sullied his coat while mud and scuffs had replaced the shine of his boots. Indeed but for the bracing smile he wore for her benefit, he easily blended into the mundane mass of humanity. “What do we do now?”

Harrison shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Because he had a weapon there? “My lord, I suggest you and Miss Vance take this side of the street. I’ll cross and search the crowd on the other.”

“I trust Miss Vance’s description will be enough to identify her cousin.” Chambelston’s brows rose as he glanced between his friend and Leah.

“That, and a few prayers perhaps, my lord.” Harrison’s serene demeanor contrasted with the fear slithering through Leah’s middle. He tipped his sadly crushed hat and strode away with quiet assurance.

“I wish I had his confidence.” And his faith? Leah slid a hand through Chambelston’s proffered elbow again, loss welling within her and almost driving away her fear. How much Harrison reminded her of her father. And yet, look how badly that had ended. Or had it?

“Come now, Miss Vance. We’ve made it thus far.”

“With precious little time to spare.”

“Or perhaps at exactly the right moment.” They nudged their way through the crowd.

Leah examined each of the faces—some expectant, many sullen—as she searched for Alec. This “Oliver” would be as close to the street as possible. And no doubt armed. “Harrison’s trust and reliance?”

“Precisely.”

The mutterings and murmurings swelled, a palpable anger rising in the air. Men jostled each other. From somewhere nearby a woman shrieked. Leah tightened her grip on Chambelston’s arm. “Someone is agitating the people.”

“I think we can guess why, if not whom.”

“A distraction.”

“We must be getting close. Do you see your cousin?”

“Not yet. I—” A movement, unaccountably familiar, captured her attention. She peered through the churning mass. There! She spotted the motion again—a gray army greatcoat hitching her direction, the wearer’s hat pulled low over his face. Alec? The fear stirring in her belly began to boil. She bit back an instinctive exclamation, a reflexive need to call his name.

Beside her Chambelston’s indrawn breath hissed between his teeth. “Where is he?”

Leah looked down the street, at an ornate approaching carriage drawn by matching dappled gray horses. The crowd surged, the noise swelled. Then all receded as Alec—she was certain it was he—approached. She followed the line of his stare to a man in a commonplace brown coat slouching along the street, a humble felt hat drooping across his features.

“There!” Leah dropped Chambelston’s arm and pushed past the press of bodies in her way. The man—the assassin—slid open his coat as the carriage advanced toward them. He shouted unintelligible words over the din of the mob as he withdrew something from his coat.

She recognized the pistols at almost the same moment she heard the distinctive blast of a discharge. Glass shattered amid the roars and screams of the people.

“Alec!” Leah sprinted forward as her cousin hurtled into the man. A second detonation ripped through the air, and then the two men crashed to the ground. She plunged into the melee, trying to grab one of the villain’s flailing arms and prevent him from pummeling Alec with the pistols’ steel barrels.

And then Chambelston joined the fray, pulling Alec away while Harrison with surprising—or perhaps, not so surprising—strength, hauled the shooter to his feet. Other men, including some in uniform, rushed to join him in the capture.

Leah rose to her feet. Her legs trembled and her stomach lurched with the repercussion of her fear. The muscles in her side stung from the strain of her impulse to launch herself into the conflict.

“Leah?” Alec’s voice pierced through the dizziness clouding her mind.

Why was he moving away? She fought against the fog darkening her vision. She tried to say his name, but the words stuck to her tongue.

“Leah!” Chambelston’s shout echoed faintly through the mists in her mind. “She’s been hit!”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he candle’s glow shimmered on the bedchamber’s golden walls. The long hours of stillness and shadows and stress hammered away at Julian’s soul, so eerily similar to the days last month when he and Maman had held vigil next to his father’s bed. And yet, how much worse. A glimmer of understanding at his mother’s paralyzing grief filtered through him. And for the first time in years, he commenced to pray.

To no avail?

Below the pale sheet, the woman he’d admired, distrusted, and—yes—loved fought the infection rampaging through her body and weakening her by the minute. Perspiration beaded on Leah’s forehead, and her incoherent mutterings occasionally interrupted the quiet.

“Any change?”

Julian glanced across the bed to where Leah’s cousin sprawled on a chair. Dark circles of worry and weariness underscored Alec Vance’s green eyes—eyes that snapped with antipathy despite his fatigue. Julian pressed his palm to her face, feeling the frightening heat that radiated from her skin. “None for the better.” How much longer? He stared at the window where weak, wintery light filtered through the curtain. Morning again.

And yet, the dark persisted inside him.

“Julian?” Lady Langstern, his father’s cousin, joined them in the chamber. “You should get some food and rest. I’ll take a turn here.”

He smoothed a sweat-dampened lock of hair behind Leah’s ear and drooped against the back of the bedside chair. “I’m used to going without sleep.”

“You haven’t sought a bed the entire time you’ve been here, not to mention what transpired before. And I have yet to see you approach the dining room so much as once since I arrived. Even the navy doesn’t require men to deprive themselves for so long.”

Julian ran a hand across his jaw, feeling several days’ worth of stubble. But what did it matter? He would have an eternity to seek oblivion if Leah didn’t survive.... “When is the physician next scheduled to visit?”

“Ten, I believe.” A strained smile tweaked the older woman’s mouth. “Unless your appearance frightens the poor man.”

Or his attitude. “He said these hours would be critical. If the fever breaks, she will recover.” And if not... The horrifying thoughts would not remain at bay. Another plea welled in his mind. In his heart.

“My lord?” A gentle tapping drew Julian’s gaze to the doorway where Higgins, the long-time Chambelston butler, waited with impassive face. “Mr. Harrison has called.”

“I know you’ve turned away all other visitors, Julian, but you’d better see this one.” Lady Langstern touched his arm, her eyes gentle as she studied him. “I’ll sit with Miss Vance. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

He stared at Leah’s still form several moments more, committing her flushed face to memory and offering another—futile?—prayer. Perhaps Harrison, with his unshakeable faith, could be of assistance there. “Very well.”

“Higgins, usher Mr. Harrison to the breakfast room.” Lady Langstern’s command charged through the silence with the force of an admiral’s. “Mr. Vance, you should dine with them. I suspect you have eaten even less than Julian of late.”

Julian opened his mouth to rescind the invitation—he didn’t need this man’s presence during his conversation with Harrison. “I don’t—”

“If it’s all the same, my lady, I would prefer to stay with my cousin.” Vance’s hard stare challenged Julian from the other side of the bed.

“Very well. Higgins, tell Mr. Harrison his lordship will join him shortly, and have a maid bring a light repast here for Mr. Vance.”

“As you say, my lady.” The butler bowed and withdrew.

“Go, Julian.” Lady Langstern pointed at the door. “And eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He trudged through the hallway to the staircase, realizing for the first time since they’d brought Leah here—bleeding, suffering, dying?—the house and its contents now belonged to him. But what cared he for the future if...

Higgins hovered near the bottom of the stairs as Julian approached. “Has Miss Vance improved, my lord?”

“Not yet.”

“The staff have included her in their prayers.”

“Please convey my appreciation to them.” Julian nodded to the butler then joined Harrison.

“I gather by your rather unkempt appearance Miss Vance is no better.” Harrison politely waited until Julian gestured to a sideboard covered with all the necessities for a stout English breakfast in defiance of the famine.

“The fever persists.” Julian loaded a scoop of buttered eggs and a piece of toast onto a plate, but he could work up no great appetite for the meal. Perhaps the servants would enjoy what remained.

“And the cousin?”

“He’s with Miss Vance. I intend to find him a position.” Preferably one far away where he’d be conveniently out of trouble. And Leah’s life.

“That should bring her comfort.”

Julian set down the plate and dropped onto a chair. “That’s the only reason I concern myself with the fellow. I can’t help but consider that had I taken a horse and come alone, she wouldn’t be lying near death now.” Given Alec Vance’s barely veiled hostility, Leah’s cousin seemed to be of the same mind.

Harrison joined him at the table. “Trust and reliance, my friend. God has provided for us thus far.” The man bowed his head over his meal for several moments before tackling his food.

“So you think God will heal Miss Vance?”

Harrison’s lips tightened into a straight line as he shook his head. “Oh, my lord, it is not so simple.”

Julian lifted a forkful of eggs, but his stomach foundered as the smell filled his senses. “It never is.” He didn’t disguise the satirical edge on his words that matched the sharp pangs in his heart.

“Let me try to explain. I’ve noticed you carry a certain fondness for Miss Vance.”

“I doubt that took any great power of observation on your part.”

“No, you wear your feelings quite openly.” A shadow of a smile flickered across Harrison’s face. “There are hundreds, thousands of women who would gladly be the next Lady Chambelston—women who are more beautiful, wealthy, accomplished. Why this one?”

“I admire her.” Julian bit into the toast. It was as dry as dust, but at least, unlike the eggs, it didn’t make his stomach spin.

“I admire you, my lord, but I have no wish to marry you. Admiration is essential, but it is not the entirety of a relationship.”

“When I am with her, I feel more than what I am. She challenges me. She sees...” The real man, the man behind the title—and yet, she still seemed to care for
him.
“She sees more than an earl and what I can provide.”

“A glimpse of God’s perspective, my lord. God doesn’t want to be loved just for what He can do for us. He wants our love—our trust and reliance—even when His plan differs from ours.”

Julian pondered Harrison’s words, not certain whether he was yet ready to cede control over his future to some unseen power. What kind of god would be worthy of his trust if Leah failed to revive, would be able to create something good from her death? To think life and death itself held no ultimate meaning, that all was chance and purposeless—even the loss of a simple, impoverished governess—was to face an empty future. An abyss of futility.

“You changed the course of our country’s history this week, my lord. But God wants to change the course of your future.”

“I spent my entire naval career doing everything I could to avoid surrendering, you know.”

Harrison’s eyes crinkled with humor. “Ah, but you see, unlike Napoleon, God isn’t seeking your destruction. He wants good for you, even if that doesn’t always take the form we, with our limited perspectives, think it should. God has always been on your side. All He asks is that you join His. There is no weakness in giving deference to your King. And at least this one is infallible.”

“Unlike my earthly monarch, you mean?” Julian conceded the point. Why did he so fear yielding control to God when he had spent his entire life serving a sovereign often motivated by his own selfish desires? “You make a persuasive case, my friend.”

“Perhaps because I’ve been in your position.”

The clock on the mantel softly ticked its way through the moments of Julian’s introspection, the memories of his parents’ gentle faith since their transformation twenty years past. The walls around his heart cracked, crumbled, crashed. Surrender, once begun, grew increasingly easy as he yielded his life, his fortune, his future.

He stared at the sunshine streaming through the window panes, feeling...unburdened.

“My lord!” Higgins rushed into the room. “Lady Langstern insists you come at once!”

Julian’s heart stuttered and stopped, then raced forward. He jumped from his chair so quickly it tipped and fell backward onto the carpet.

Harrison clutched his arm before he could dash from the room. “Remember, no matter what, my lord.”

Easy words to say, but could he live them now the moment was at hand? Julian nodded and sprinted up the stairs. He burst through the door to Leah’s chamber, feet sliding on the polished oak as he lurched to a halt.

Relief poured through him and weakened his knees as he crossed the carpet to the center of the room. From the bed Leah met his gaze and smiled. Her eyes were dull and pain shadowed, the smile weak and wavery. But alive. She’d never looked more beautiful.

Lady Langstern sidled next to him and patted his arm. “Isn’t it wonderful? The fever broke.”

Julian pressed her hand, then approached the bed. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“S-sorry.” The breathy words were hoarse and faint. Leah waved weakly to her cousin, and he assisted her with another sip from the bedside glass. A spurt of irrational jealousy flooded through Julian as her only living relative performed this service for her.

“I’m glad to see you with us once again, Miss Vance.” Harrison paused beside Julian, a thoughtful smile parting his mouth. “But the sick room is no place for a convention. Perhaps we should let you rest.”

She half raised a hand, then let it drop back to the mattress. “Want to know...what happened.”

Alec Vance returned the glass to the table. “There will be time plenty for that once you have recovered.”

“Please.”

Unable to deny her appeal, Julian ignored the gentle shake of her cousin’s head. He lowered himself to the chair Lady Langstern had vacated and placed his hand over Leah’s. “We’ll keep the explanations short. It was Killiane.”

The hand below Julian’s tensed. Her lips moved but he interrupted her.

“No, don’t speak. Rest—else we won’t tell you. Killiane told Lord Sotherton he was visiting his friend Warren, but he went to Heckton instead for recruits. He needed a few people to start a ruckus. With the crowd agitated, he could take his shot at the prince.”

“But...why?”

“Chambelston told you to lie still.” Her cousin leaned closer to her. “Killiane yelled as he fired the first shot.”

“Something rather unintelligible, it seemed at the time,” Julian answered before Leah took any notion to try to talk again.

“Only to those who don’t have the Gaelic.” Alec Vance’s green eyes snapped his disapproval.

“Your cousin is full of surprises.” Julian stroked her cheek as he spoke lowly and softly, hoping the soothing words would lull her to sleep. “You never told me he was half Scots.”

“The best half, of course. My mother spoke the language. I was in the army with several men of Ireland. The languages share some similarities—even words. So, when Killiane yelled, I recognized the language and the sentiments, if not the exact meaning.”

“Viscount Killiane was indeed interested in politics—Irish politics. In particular, Irish independence.” Had she drifted off? Julian watched her slow, even breaths. “The famine had already thrown the country into turmoil, but he decided to create further chaos by assassinating the Prince of Wales. He hoped to exploit the unrest by moving for Irish independence at a time when the country was too preoccupied with internal matters to contest the situation.”

“Fleming? The letter?”

“You already know how the two brothers detested each other and that the writing on the note matched that on the paper we found in Fleming’s room. When we questioned Killiane, he blamed his brother for his ruin. We think Fleming suspected Killiane’s involvement in the troubles, so he contacted me anonymously with a specious claim about my father’s death. By involving me, he brought the full force of the government against the radicals and, by extension, his brother. A charge of murder receives more attention than the claims of a jealous brother. Killiane had other spies at Rowan Abbey. We don’t yet know if he learned of Fleming’s note, but if so, that would be a strong motive to have someone kill his brother.”

“That’s enough for today, I think. Any other details can wait until tomorrow.” Lady Langstern gestured to the doorway. “It’s time for all of you to leave. Miss Vance needs her rest—and so do you men, for that matter.”

Julian gave Leah’s hand one last squeeze then followed Harrison and Vance into the hallway. “Harrison, you are welcome to take the surplus from the breakfast room home to your family.”

“They are well provisioned, thanks to you, my lord.” Harrison gave him a bow. “I’ll call again tomorrow.”

As Harrison marched to the stairs, Julian clasped Vance’s elbow before he escaped to a bedchamber. “Not you. I have something to say.”

Affront glittered in the green eyes, then the other man shrugged.

Julian led the way to the library, slowing when he realized the other man’s limp made descending the stairs difficult. A fire burned in the grate, so Julian took a chair on one side of the hearth and gestured to its counterpart on the other. Mutual antagonism coiled through the room like angry snakes.

“I appreciate all you’ve done for my cousin.” Vance lowered himself onto the seat’s green upholstery, and yet, tension remained stiff across his shoulders.

“It was no hardship. She is a woman with many admirable qualities, not the least of which is loyalty.” To her cousin. To him? “I expect the Regent will recompense her with a monetary reward for her service—hopefully, enough she will not have to answer to the likes of my sister again unless she is very frivolous in her habits.”