The Second Lady Emily (12 page)

“I—” She stopped in confusion. “Please forget I said that.”

“Of course I will, but I suspect you need to talk. I know one is not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I am more concerned with the living. If you keep irritation locked in your heart, it will make you bitter. Whatever you say will go no further.”

Anne appeared undecided, but she soon sighed and turned to stare out the window. “Randolph had a mean streak,” she confessed. “He lashed out at anyone who annoyed him – not in anger but in revenge. He delighted in hurting people. And terrorizing them. When I was five, he shut me in the priest’s hole, knowing that I was afraid of the dark and that the release was too high for me to reach. He didn’t free me for three hours, and I doubt he would have done so then if Papa had not been showing visitors through the Elizabethan wing where they would have heard my cries.”

“How awful! Why didn’t you tell someone?”

“Who would believe a child? Randolph had the sort of charm that could sell sin to heaven. Besides, he would have done worse if I had even hinted at his actions. I learned to stay out of his way when he was home from school. And to ignore anything I saw.”

“That is an unconscionable burden to place on a child,” Cherlynn said softly, then remembered that she was supposedly the same age as Anne, with no experience of the world.

But Anne saw nothing wrong with her statement. “It is over. I wish I could mourn his death, but I can’t. It saved untold multitudes from his fury, and it saved Papa from having to admit that Randolph had sold his soul to the devil.”

“It must have been difficult for Lord Thurston to return home to a death.”

“Drew arrived the night before Randolph’s body was found, though Randolph must have been dead by then. He was last seen in the Blue Parrot’s taproom. If he indulged to his usual extent, it is no wonder he fell from the cliffs. Many is the night I heard him return home in his cups. Again Papa did not know because he always retired early. The servants learned long ago never to say anything against Randolph if they valued their jobs.”

Poor Anne. Cherlynn extracted a sampling of Randolph’s deeds. The man was a sadistic monster who had terrorized the girl, belittling her interests, destroying her enjoyment of any gathering, and harming any people or things she liked. No wonder she was painfully shy and had no confidence in herself or her abilities. Having a dragonish governess who forbade everything fun had finished the job. And Randolph had used even her shyness against her, convincing Broadbanks that Anne was too delicate to attend school. Thus she had no close friends.

“What about your other brother?”

“William? He had been in Portugal barely a month when he fell. And not even in a pitched battle. It was some nameless roadside skirmish in which he was the only English casualty.”

“But he is just as dead,” Cherlynn said with a sigh. “So Lord Thurston is all you have left.”

Anne nodded. “But he is so morose these days. I don’t know if it is Randolph’s death or if something happened earlier. Except for William’s funeral, I’ve not seen him in years.” She glanced hopefully at Cherlynn.

“I cannot help you there, at least until my memory returns. You say he is not usually so glum?”

“He has always been full of life – which is one reason he and Papa never got along. Papa demands proper decorum, which he interprets as solemnity and complete control of one’s emotions. Drew loves to laugh – or he did – an attitude more suited to the lower classes. And they argued often about the estate – planting, investments, and other things I don’t understand. Drew finally got tired of it all and moved to Thurston Park.”

A knock on the door cut off any reply. Drew stuck his head into the morning room, his eyes lighting at the sight of Emily.

“I was going to ask Anne to ride with me. Are you up to joining us?” he asked.

She stifled her panic. She had been on a horse only once in her life – astride, using a western saddle atop a lethargic trail horse who did nothing but plod in the wake of his peers. “Do I ride?” she asked hesitantly, hoping the answer was no, though he wouldn’t have asked in that case.

Drew’s expression softened. “You ride quite well, but if you wish, we can test your memory with a refresher lesson before we go into the park.”

“Very well.”

“I will pass for now,” said Anne softly. “Perhaps another day.”

* * * *

The animal Drew chose for Emily’s first ride was small, as horses went, but appeared enormous to Cherlynn. The sidesaddle included a leaping horn – the second horn that would supposedly keep her in her seat when jumping fences.

Drew noticed the direction of her eyes. “We won’t do any jumping today,” he assured her. “In fact, you’ve never been much for cross-country riding, but the extra horn will improve your security.”

“Thank you.” A comment found in most historical romances was the instability women endured on sidesaddles, so she wasn’t looking forward to this. All she could hope was that Emily’s muscles remembered what to do. Unfortunately, only a few primitive reptiles had helper brains in their extremities that might make that possible.

She had read many stories in which the heroine was tossed onto her horse – and had written that very line more than once – but she had never appreciated just what it meant.

“Easy,” murmured Drew as he grasped her waist with both hands. His touch burned clear to her toes. Lifting her effortlessly, he set her gently onto the saddle, twisting her so she faced forward. A glare had already sent the grooms back to their jobs so only he would witness her skill or lack thereof. It allowed her to relax.

“Keep your back straight and your hips square,” he suggested, adjusting the single stirrup. Her right leg curled around the horn, while her left rested loosely against the horse. She nearly asked why it did not fit against the leaping horn, but remembered reading that a lady only tightened her grip on the horns when actually jumping. The position was surprisingly comfortable.

“Are we ready?” he asked, swinging onto his own mount. The restive bay sidled under the sudden weight, but he controlled it easily. Her horse paid no attention. Lovely placid animal.

Riding was an exciting new experience. Drew kept her in the meadow behind the stables until he was satisfied that her lost memory had not impaired her abilities. She found that the sidesaddle was actually easier to sit than a cross-saddle. Or perhaps the horse was unusually smooth gaited. They did nothing strenuous in deference to her recent injuries. But an hour of riding through the park gave her a sense of freedom that she had hitherto lacked.

She might have known that Drew had an ulterior motive for his attention. “Did riding trigger any memories?” he asked as he helped her dismount near the Roman folly that overlooked the Channel. On clear days like today, one could glimpse France on the horizon.

“Nothing. It might have been my first time on a horse except that my muscles seemed to be familiar with the motion,” she admitted truthfully.

He sighed, but his eyes contained both disappointment and elation. She suddenly realized his problem. He loved Emily and wanted to spend as much time with her as possible – especially since Fay had made it clear that Emily would not be welcome in her home. But if Emily recalled their past, he would no longer be able to treat her as a friend. She might even turn on him. And so he was trapped between desire for her recovery and the need to keep his perfidy a secret.

But that last was impossible. One of her tasks was to prove that Emily would forgive him. And now was the perfect time. No gentleman could abandon her here. Settling onto the stone bench, she invited him to join her, then turned her eyes to his.

“Tell me about the day Randolph died.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drew jerked back in shock, but Cherlynn’s hand on his arm kept him from rising. “I need to know why you feel responsible for his death,” she continued relentlessly.

“Why?”

“I can’t explain.” She shrugged. “But it’s vitally important. Trust me. Please?”

“Who told you I killed him?” Resignation sagged into his shoulders even as fear threaded his voice.

“No one else knows,” she assured him. “I was walking in the gardens this morning and thought to visit the Grecian folly. But it was already occupied. I did not intend to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t force my feet away. I am asking for the details because I don’t believe you are capable of murder, and it’s not worth sacrificing your life over an accident.”

His face was stark white. “I never wanted you to find that out, Emily.” Suspicious moisture glinted in his eyes.

“I don’t need protecting from the truth, Drew,” she vowed, tightening her grip on his arm. “Nothing you can tell me could be worse than imagination.”

“Are you sure? What happens when your memory returns, reviving the rules you are now ignoring?”

“Whatever rules limit my life, I will still judge you on the merits. But I cannot judge at all if I don’t have the facts. Please, Drew? Tell me how Randolph died.”

He restlessly paced the folly. “You won’t recall, but for the last four years I’ve split my time between Thurston Park and London. My father and I disagree about many things, so it was easier for both of us. Randolph remained here, assuming the estate’s management when Father’s health began to fail.”

He paused to look out over the Channel. “The arrangement was acceptable to all parties and allowed me to leave immediately after William’s funeral despite Father’s recent attack.”

She nodded, ignoring the break in his voice.

He pulled himself together and continued. “I didn’t return until March. Some business arose that required consultation with Father.” He glanced at her, but she kept her face expressionless. This wasn’t the time to discuss his relationship with Emily. But it might help if she clarified his feelings for Fay.

“Was your father the only reason you stayed at the Park, or did Fay have something to do with it?”

“My dealings with my betrothed are private,” he said haughtily, suddenly becoming the quintessential aristocrat.

“Please, Drew. I have to know everything.” Her pleading softened his eyes, but not his stance.

“I am to bare my soul, though you refuse?”

“I didn’t refuse to explain. I said I can’t. Perhaps that will change once I’m fully recovered. All I know now is that I must understand everything.” It was close enough to the truth that she felt no guilt over her lie.

He walked away, and for a moment she feared he would leave her there. But he moved into a breeze and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Several minutes passed in silence before he returned to the folly. After taking another turn about the floor, he propped his shoulder against a column and again stared at the Channel.

“Fay is the only child of my father’s closest friend,” he said on a long sigh. “Raeburn House is unentailed and will be her dowry. Father and Lord Raeburn often discussed the desirability of a match between Fay and myself, but left the ultimate decision to us. Yet she acted as though the betrothal were carved in stone, assuming that I would succumb to pressure. So she was less than pleased when I informed her five years ago that I wasn’t interested. She tried many wiles to change my mind. When her tantrums and possessiveness grew wearisome, I moved to Thurston Park.”

“So your absence was a way to avoid Fay?”

“That was the impetus for the move, but the advantages of being apart from my father kept me away. And living near Charles, of course.”

She could easily see why he’d left. Fay was spoiled and selfish. Even at fifteen, she had probably been unscrupulous. At twenty, she was deadly. “What is the problem with your father?”

“We’ve spoken of that many times,” he protested.

“None of which I recall.”

He sighed. “We have several. I both love and respect him, but we disagree on nearly everything.”

The love was obvious. Why else would he sacrifice his life to spare his father pain? He wasn’t the type to cower in fear. “Everything?” she asked in surprise.

“I wanted to buy colors, but he refused. Although Randolph would make an unexceptionable marquess should I die, he would not allow the heir near danger.”

She nearly contradicted him, but caught herself. Either he was unfamiliar with Randolph’s true character, or he was skirting the subject out of guilt or respect for the dead.

Again he sighed. “But mostly we disagree about the estate. He refuses to try anything new, despite my successes at the Park. Even Coke’s stunning results won’t sway him. Unfortunately, Coke is a Whig.”

“As are you, I suppose,” she guessed, then noted his nod. “Politics have ruined even more relationships than religion.” That earned her a puzzled stare. Biting her tongue, Cherlynn returned to business. “So you were on your way home to speak with your father. What happened?”

He turned back to the view. “The weather was unusually warm for March. I was so eager to conclude my business that I pressed on rather than stopping for the night. I had outpaced my baggage carriage and was nearing Broadbanks when I caught up with Randolph. Naturally, I dismounted to talk to him.”

“Of course.”

“Not until we exchanged greetings did I realize how foxed he was – nearly three sheets to the wind. Normally, drink only intensified his tendency to sneer at others’ foibles and ridicule pretensions. But something must have already irritated him that evening, for he was argumentative and suspicious from the moment he saw me.”

“Did he start a fight?”

He shook his head. “He was surprised at my arrival, for I hadn’t bothered writing ahead. Thus he immediately assumed that I was sneaking home to check on his stewardship.”

“Why would he care? You already said he was doing a good job.”

“Of course he was!” He glared at her. “Father was satisfied . . .” But his voice trailed away, his expression changing to horror as thoughts raced past his eyes. “Why would he care?” he echoed in a whisper. “He’d been helping for three years before assuming the entire job. Father often praised his efforts. Yet this year, Father was too weak to check on him.”