The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (32 page)

“Supper is to be served soon,” Miss Babcock said. “Will you join me?”

“In a moment,” Lily said. But as soon as Miss Babcock had moved on, Lily walked to the foyer, where two footmen were on hand. “The Ashwood coach, please.”

“Aye, madam,” the young man said and darted out the door.

“My cloak,” she said to the other footman.

He nodded and stepped into an anteroom. He returned with her cloak and held it open so that Lily could step into it. She felt it settle on her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her throat. As she moved away from the footman, she saw a movement from the corner of her eye.

Tobin was standing at the edge of the foyer, his expression pained. He moved slowly forward, his gaze moving over her as if he was seeing her for the last time. “You are leaving.”

“There is nothing left for me here.”

His gaze bored into hers. “I wish that you would stay.”

Lily could scarcely look at him, and averted her gaze. “I do not see a reason to stay.”

The footman who had gone to fetch her coach startled them both as he entered the foyer. “Your coach, madam.”

“I will see you out,” Tobin said. His hand closed
around her elbow, and Lily felt a jolt that snatched the air from her lungs.

When they reached the coach, Preston hopped down, opened the door, and lowered the step for her.

Lily looked at her coach. She had every intention of stepping inside, of never looking back . . . but she suddenly stepped back, away from the open coach door. She looked up at Tobin. “I do not . . . I do not know . . .” She was grasping at words, trying to explain the myriad emotions she was feeling. “I do not know what to do,” she confessed in a whispered rush. “I do not know what to make of it all.”

Tobin’s throat bobbed on a hard swallow. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but his fists clenched and he swallowed as if he was swallowing down his words. “I understand. Perhaps better than you will ever know. Perhaps,” he said, his voice rough, “this is for the best. Goodnight, Lily.” He stepped back, his jaw clenched tightly shut.

There were no words to describe how Lily felt in that moment. She turned almost blindly to her coach. Tobin did not help her into it. He did not stand by and watch her go. He turned away and strode back into the foyer, disappearing into the bright light spilling out of it with his fist still clenched tightly at his side.

T
obin was aware of light coming from somewhere and the briny smell of the sea. He was reluctant to open his eyes; the slightest movement exacerbated the brutal pain just behind his eyes. His throat felt parched, his mouth tasted of dirt.

Someone nearby cleared their throat. Tobin opened his eyes and winced at the blinding light. In the next moment, a cold rush of water hit his face. With a choking sputter, he shot up so quickly that he almost heaved the contents of his belly. “What in blazes!” he said hoarsely.

“I would assure myself that you are indeed alive,” MacKenzie’s voice said.

Tobin wiped the water from his eyes and then blearily looked around him. As his eyes focused, he took in rough-hewn walls, a bare floor. He was lying on a bed that creaked and groaned with every movement. “Where am I?”

“Southampton,” MacKenzie said and tossed a dry cloth to him. “The Spotted Owl Public House, to be precise. No’ as grand as Tiber Park, mind you, but a room with a view.”

Tobin wiped his face and squinted in the direction of MacKenzie’s voice. His old friend was leaning casually against the recess of a cracked dormer window, one foot propped against the wall. The window was open, and the sounds of the sea and those who made their living from it began to filter into Tobin’s consciousness. He could hear the calls of the fishmongers, and the dockworkers shouting back and forth as they handled cargo.

Tobin slowly moved his legs over the edge of the bed, cautious that any sudden movement could have an adverse effect on his stomach. “How have I come to be here?”

“Do you no’ recall, then?” MacKenzie asked, a little too gleefully to suit Tobin. “It was too much of the inferior Irish whiskey and a determination to leave Tiber Park. That, and a horse willing to take you—bareback, naturally, until I made you stand still for the horse to be saddled. I came along to ensure you didna’ harm yourself. As for this particular establishment? You examined them all, lad, and decided this one had the best lassies about.”

“Lassies,” Tobin said thickly.

“Aye. You were quite determined to find a pair who would appreciate your natural talents, as it were.” MacKenzie chuckled.

Tobin buried his face in his hands. He had a vague recollection of two women in nothing but stockings, their hands and mouths on one another, and he . . . he
what
? “How long have I been here?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“Ach, donna fret, old friend. You’ve been here only two days.”

Tobin lifted his head so quickly that an excruciating pain shot down his neck. “Two
days
?” he repeated as he rubbed his neck. “Where are Charity and Catherine?”

“Oh, tucked away at Tiber Park, I suspect.” MacKenzie sat next to the bed, propped his ankle on his knee, and shoved his hands into the waist of his trousers as he leaned back. “But it wasna your sister’s name you called out in your sleep,” he added with a grin. “And it wasna your sister who kept you from enjoying the attentions of those two lassies. They were determined to make you forget your sorrows, and you’d no’ have it.” MacKenzie casually studied his cuticles. “Naturally, as your friend, I thought it me duty to stand in for you. No need to thank me.”

Tobin groaned. He made himself stand and walk to the window. He had to brace himself against the frame, and when he saw the ships moored at the quays bobbing up and down on the incoming tide, he felt as if he was one movement away from tumbling headlong onto the cobbled street below.

He swallowed down a swell of nausea. Tobin was not a man to drink to excess; he did not like the aftereffects.
But the drink had had the desired effect: he felt nothing. Just a bit of rumbling deep within and a desire to head for Tiber Park, to gather his sister and niece and return to London with them. Whatever he’d come to Hadley Green to accomplish, he’d done. It was over.
Finis.
As he struggled to find his balance, the blackness filled in again and covered the cracks of light.

“I am ready to leave,” he said, pushing away from the window.

“No’ as quick as that, lad,” MacKenzie said. “I’ve ordered a bath and a meal for you. You willna want to return to Tiber Park looking as if you’ve been hanging from the highest mast.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, which MacKenzie was quick to open. “Well then, good afternoon.” He smiled and stood aside as two young women with golden hair entered the room, carrying a hip bath between them.

The afternoon after the First Winter’s Night Ball, Lily went into the village, hoping that it would ease the restlessness that had kept her awake most of the night and had dogged her all morning.

She found herself at Mrs. Langley’s Dress Shop. After exchanging a few pleasantries about the ball, she was studying the latest crop of gloves to arrive from London when Mrs. Shannon entered the shop with her young daughters.

Mrs. Shannon began to gossip with Mrs. Langley.
“How did you find the ball?” she asked. “Is Tiber Park as grand as they say?”

“More than one can imagine,” Mrs. Langley agreed. “It snowed in the ballroom!”

The two girls turned wide eyes to Mrs. Langley, who nodded enthusiastically. “Imagine it, little white flakes of snow fluttering down on the dancers. It was all very whimsical and I’d wager as grand as any ball in London.”

“I suppose it went all night,” Mrs. Shannon said. “I’ve heard that London balls last until dawn.”

“That was the most peculiar thing—Count Eberlin bade everyone leave when he left.”

Lily’s hand stilled on the kid gloves.

“Everyone had dined and the fourth set of dances had begun, when someone said that Lord Eberlin was in the stables, fetching a horse.”

Lily turned around.

“Oh, Lady Ashwood! You were there, too.”

“No, I returned early to Ashwood.”

“As I said, it was all so peculiar,” Mrs. Langley said. “He made quite a commotion fetching a horse.” She glanced at Mrs. Shannon’s daughters. “Mr. Langley said he’d fallen into his cups,” she added softly.

“Alice, Allegra, go out onto the walk,” Mrs. Shannon said and shooed her daughters out the door. When they were out, she eagerly turned to Mrs. Langley. “Do go on, Mrs. Langley. What then?”

Yes, what then? Lily wondered.

“Well, then he came into the drive, hardly able to sit his horse, really, and going round in circles as his friend tried to stop him. The count shouted that he was returning to London, and that we could all bloody well have Tiber Park, that he never meant to come back here, and he would not have come back had he not had his father’s honor to avenge. Then he said some things about the innocent in God’s eyes or some such nonsense, and demanded that we all bring our carriages round.”

“No!” Mrs. Shannon exclaimed, looking as stunned as Lily felt.

“As I stand here,” Mrs. Langley avowed. “We were all shocked, for he has always presented himself as a gentleman. Mr. Fuquay said that he has never heard him raise his voice or utter more than a few words. But my husband reminded me that Eberlin was a seaman, and that seamen are prone to drunkenness and vandalism.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lily said. “That seems unkind after he has invited you into his home.”

Mrs. Langley merely shrugged. “Well he is a seaman and not Quality, is he? You did not see him, my lady. I was quite distressed by his inebriation.”

“That is
quite
a tale!” Mrs. Shannon said, pressing her gloved hand to her lace-covered décolletage. “I tell you, when Eberlin returned to Hadley Green, and it came out that he was the son of Joseph Scott, I said to myself, the apple does not fall far from the tree, and if
I were among his set, I’d be rather cautious.” She nodded, as if she had imparted some astounding insight.

Lily looked from one woman to the next. “I cannot believe what I am hearing. Your opinion of Lord Eberlin seems very low, yet the invitations to his ball and his very grand house were highly coveted. His generosity to proprietors and to the orphanage has been exalted by everyone in this village.”

Mrs. Langley pinkened, but Mrs. Shannon did not look at all contrite.

“But you yourself saw his father riding away from Ashwood that night, madam. Everyone knows that,” Mrs. Langley said.

Lily looked from one woman to the other. “Have a care, Mrs. Langley. Things are rarely what they seem. Good day, ladies.” She walked out of the dress shop, feeling on the verge of exploding with frustration and guilt, knowing full well that the two women were now gossiping about her.

But was she really any different from them? She had fallen in love with Tobin but had let herself be persuaded that their affection could never evolve because she would never be allowed into society on his arm.

She stood beneath the shop front’s awning, staring at the village green where Tobin’s father had been hanged fifteen years ago. She wished she could turn back the clock, turn back the events of that night. She wished she’d been an obedient girl and had gone to bed. If she had, her aunt and her lover would have
been safe. Tobin and his family would have lived here, in Hadley Green, and he likely would have—

“Lady Ashwood!” The sound of Lady Darlington’s voice startled Lily; she whirled about.

Kate’s warm smile faded. “Oh, dear. You seem distressed. May I assist you in some way?”

“No, I . . .” Lily drew a breath—an excuse was on the tip of her tongue, but instead, she said, “Yes. I cannot bear to hear a friend maligned. He’s been unfairly treated, and I am the only one who might help him.”

Kate did not seem surprised. “I understand completely. Perhaps a cup of tea might help?”