The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (25 page)

Fortunately, as the second course was served, the talk turned to hunting. The duke had been stalking a wild turkey for a few days. “I am determined to bag the blasted thing before we return to London.”

“And when would that be?” Declan asked.

“A fortnight, I suspect.”

“You’ll stay for the ball, won’t you?” Lily asked. All
heads swiveled in her direction. “The First Winter’s Night Ball at Tiber Park,” she clarified.

Kate and the duke exchanged a look, but the dowager groaned. “Not that again! I beg your pardon, Lady Ashwood, but we will most certainly
not
attend that ball, and I should hope that you wouldn’t, either!”

Surprised, Lily looked to Declan, who was studying the roast beef on his plate.

“My dear, you
do
know that Count Eberlin’s title was purchased in Denmark, do you not?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have heard that.”

“Well, that cannot be!” the dowager exclaimed. “He is a merchant, and moreover, he deals in the most vile of trades. His family cannot be recommended, nor does he have any proper connections in London. You are not yet married, madam, and you must be circumspect in who you associate with. That sort of association could have a negative impact for your happy future when you come to London to seek an offer.”

It was not Lily’s idea to “seek” an offer, but she rather imagined someone had given them the idea. Probably Declan, whom she would very much like to throttle at present. Her life was in enough turmoil without help from anyone else.

“What my mother means to say, Lady Ashwood, is that she does not care for Count Eberlin,” the duke said with a smile. “I am quite certain she does not mean to insinuate you should follow her lead.”

Lily looked from the duke to the dowager duchess, who was glaring at her son. “He’s had a rather mean life, I grant you, but he has worked very hard to overcome—”

“He cannot overcome the circumstances of his birth or his family’s reputation, Lady Ashwood, and he certainly cannot overcome the circumstances of his wealth or his title or his occupation.”

Declan’s hand touched hers beneath the table, warning her not to argue with the duchess. As wildly angry as Tobin had made her, Lily could not help but feel sorrow for him. How could a man who had worked so very hard to overcome the hardships of the past be so roundly condemned for it? It seemed as if the world refused to let him belong no matter what he did.

It all made Lily indignant and angry and terribly, terribly confused. The old woman was rigid in her thinking, but Lily understood the value of social connections, particularly in her precarious financial state. So she smiled and lifted her wineglass. “The weather has been rather impossible this autumn, has it not?” she asked, and silently fumed as the people seated around the table blithely discussed the weather.

O
n a mild, sun-dappled morning, Tobin and his stable master rode to Kitridge Lodge to take possession of the horse he’d commissioned from the Earl of Donnelly earlier in the year. The broodmare, for which Tobin had paid a great amount of money, had been impregnated by a champion runner. The foal she carried would be trained to be the finest racehorse England had ever seen. It was a pity, then, that the Earl of Donnelly, whose reputation for training racehorses was unparalleled, would not be the one to train her, but Tobin had severed their agreement when he realized that Keira Hannigan was perpetuating a fraud.

If he hadn’t done it then, he certainly would have when Donnelly kicked him out of Ashwood.

Or when he’d appeared at Tiber Park yesterday to inform Tobin that he was taking his horses to Ireland, and that the broodmare was ready to be moved. The Irishman had stood out on the drive, his legs braced
apart, a dark expression on his face. Tobin had found his demeanor curious, given Donnelly’s history in Hadley Green, which consisted basically of whoring and gambling and assisting Miss Hannigan to dupe everyone into believing she was Lily. Yet somehow the man gave off an air of superiority.

“Mr. Noakes will be happy to continue the care of the mare if you’d like,” Donnelly had said, referring to the caretaker at Kitridge Lodge.

Tobin said nothing. He stood on the landing of his house, leaning against the stone wall, watching Donnelly. “Very well,” he said, and turned to go inside, but Donnelly said, “Eberlin, a word.”

Here it was then: the moment Donnelly would tell him to keep his distance from Lily. Perhaps he’d even call Tobin out, and frankly, Tobin would have welcomed the opportunity to do him bodily harm in that moment. “And what word would that be, my lord?” he’d asked calmly. “Do you mean to present yourself as the new king of England and order me off this island?”

Donnelly’s expression had darkened even more as he’d walked up the steps to stand before Tobin. “I understand that you believe you’ve somehow been harmed by the Lady Ashwood. She refuses to tell me precisely what misery you have inflicted on her, but it is obvious that you’ve caused her distress. So hear this, sir: if you cause her harm, you will have me to deal with.”

“You are quite determined to vex me, I think.”

Undeterred, Donnelly moved closer. “I am a powerful man,” he said evenly. “I could ruin you with a word.”

“Then say it,” Tobin snapped. “Say your bloody word, Donnelly. I have nothing to fear from you.”

Donnelly smiled coldly. “Are you certain of that?”

“Take your leave,” Tobin had snapped, and he’d turned and walked into his very grand house, his fist clenching. For once, it was not a spell that made him tense. This time, he kept his fist clenched to keep from hitting Donnelly square in the face.

Today, as Tobin and his stablemaster rode up the path to Kitridge Lodge—an old Norman castle that had been converted into a hunting lodge for the Darlington family—he saw a small carriage in the drive drawn by a single horse. Behind it was the larger Ashwood coach. And standing next to the coach were Lady Ashwood, Miss Taft, and Donnelly.

Tobin slowed his horse as he joined those gathered on the lawn. Lily was wearing a wide-brimmed bonnet, so he could see only the lower half of her face. Donnelly noticed him, of course, and leaned into Lily to say something before walking away.

“Good morning, ladies,” Tobin said as he dismounted.

As usual, Lucy greeted him sunnily. “I am going to Ireland!” she announced grandly, as if this news was just this moment known to her.

“So you are,” Tobin said. He reached into his saddlebag. “I have a gift for you, if Lady Ashwood will allow me.”

“For me?” Lucy asked, clearly thrilled.

“For you,” Tobin said, and held out a mink muff. “I understand it can be quite cold and damp on those Irish moors.”

Lucy gasped with delight. “Thank you!” She touched her cheek to the muff. “It’s so very soft! See what he has given me, Lady Aswhood!” She whirled around to Lily to show her. “May I accept it?”

“It is only a small token,” Tobin said before she could refuse. “With winter coming, she will need it.”

Lily stared at the muff, her bottom lip between her teeth. “That’s a very thoughtful gift.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Lucy stuffed her hands into it and whirled about to Tobin. “Thank you! I am to have my own carriage. See?” She pointed excitedly to the little carriage.

“Quite grand,” Tobin said.

“And then I shall sail on a
boat,
” she continued. “Have you ever been on a boat?”

“Many times.”

“May I put my muff in the carriage?” Lucy asked.

“All right. But do stay out of the way of the men,” Lily said. She reached out to touch Lucy’s head, but Lucy skipped away before she could reach her.

Lily lowered her hand and looked away from Tobin.

“Do you refuse to speak to me now?” he asked quietly.

“Should I not?” Lily said lightly, and wiped a gloved finger beneath her eye. “Have you done something untoward?”

Tobin frowned. He dipped his head a little to see under the brim of her hat, but Lily turned away again. He moved closer and dipped again. “Are those tears?”

“
Hush,
” Lily whispered, and when Tobin touched her arm, she batted it away. “I don’t want Lucy to see me. The poor girl feels responsible as it is, and I don’t wish to upset her.”

“Responsible?” Tobin said, confused. “For what?”

Lily sighed and cast her gaze to the heavens as if he tried her patience. “Does it matter?”

“I cannot begin to fathom what an eight- or nine-year-old girl might feel responsible for,” Tobin said.

Lily swung around and pinned him with a look.

Baffled, Tobin looked her up and down. “What?”

“Can you not fathom even one thing?” she asked irritably. “For you seem to think that
I
should have felt some responsibility at that age.”

“That is different,” he said gruffly, but he felt stung, called out.

She clucked her tongue and turned away just as Lucy bounded into their midst again.

“Pappa said he is almost ready,” she said. “He said I am to call him Pappa now and that it will take us a week to reach Ballynaheath if the weather does not turn.” She glanced at Tobin. “That is where I shall live. It’s a
castle
in
Ireland.
”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “You have told me. At least four times now, if my count is accurate.”

Donnelly appeared behind Lucy, his gaze cold. “If you have come for your horse, it is over there,” he said, pointing away from them.

“I know where the stable is,” Tobin said.

“Then if you will excuse us,” Donnelly said, and put a protective arm around Lily’s shoulder to lead her toward the carriage with Lucy skipping ahead of them.

Tobin did not walk on to the stables—he followed them.

Lucy was floating with excitement, and while Tobin kept a respectable distance, he watched as Lily sank down before Lucy. “You will do as Lord Donnelly asks you at all times, will you not, Lucy? And you will mind your manners as well?”

“Yes, I remember everything you told me,” Lucy agreed, her head bobbing in agreement.

Lily grasped the girl’s arms. “And promise you will write to me, Lucy. Lady Donnelly writes a letter a week, and you may send one along with hers so that I will have all your news.”

“One letter every week,” Lucy said solemnly.

Lily wrapped her arms around so tightly around Lucy that Tobin feared she was squeezing the breath from her. When the girl squirmed, Lily reluctantly let her go. “Godspeed, my darling,” she said, and kissed her cheek.

“Farewell, countess!” Lucy said brightly.

Lucy was, Tobin realized, too young to understand Lily’s loss, and too excited to notice her sadness.

Lily stood up. “Have a care for her,” she told Donnelly.

“With my own life,” Donnelly assured her, and hugged Lily. “Come home, lass,” he said, and Tobin felt his heart quicken. “You need not stay here if you do not desire it, aye? You will always have a home in Ireland.”

“Aye.” She smiled sadly at Donnelly, but her smile brightened when she turned to Lucy. “Safe journey!”

“Good-bye, Count Eberlin! Good-bye, Lady Ashwood!” Lucy called as she bounded to the carriage. “Good-bye, Louis!” she said with a jaunty wave to the footman who sat next to the coachman.

“Good-bye, lass! Godspeed!” Louis called after her.

Donnelly swung up on one of the horses and looked down at Tobin. “We will return,” he said. “All of us.”

Tobin didn’t know if Donnelly meant the king’s army or Lily’s family, but either hardly mattered to him. He shrugged.

Donnelly looked down at Lily and with a wink, he made a
tchk
sound that started the horses forward, the carriage following behind. Tobin moved to stand beside Lily as the carriage pulled away, and Lucy leaned out the window and waved furiously at them before disappearing inside once more.

Tobin glanced at Lily. As he suspected, tears were trickling down her face, and he felt another tiny leap of his heart.

The footman hopped off the Ashwood coach and opened the door. “My lady,” he said. With her head down, the brim of her hat covering her eyes, Lily started for the coach. But as she walked past, Tobin reached out and touched his fingers to hers. She paused for a slender moment, and he felt her fingers brush against his. And with that, he felt a tiny little crack form in the black ooze inside him, and an even tinier bit of light shine through.

Tobin thought of what he should say, to ease her loss, to comfort her. But before he could think of the appropriate words, the door of the lodge was flung open and a beautiful woman stepped outside. “Lily, do come in for tea!” she called out. She glanced at Tobin, then at Lily again.

Lily hesitated.

Another man appeared at Tobin’s side. “My lord, your horse is ready,” he said.

“The tea is freshly brewed and Mrs. Noakes has made biscuits. Please come in, Lady Ashwood.”