The Second Lady Emily (13 page)

“Surely, if there was a problem, it would have surfaced by now,” she reminded him, mostly because she did not want to accuse a man she had never met.

“Not necessarily. I’ve been in too much shock to review the books.” Both hands threaded his hair as frustration and horror increased. If Anne’s tales were accurate, Cherlynn had no doubt that Randolph was not the paragon Lord Broadbanks assumed, but Drew could investigate that on his own now that his suspicions were raised.

“Later. Continue the story,” she urged.

He took another restless turn about the folly. “Randolph demanded to know what I was doing here. I explained my business, seeking to reassure him that it didn’t concern him. He disagreed.”

“Why?” She knew she was putting him on the spot, but the truth was too important.

He scowled. “I was considering marriage, but wished to have Father’s blessing before speaking with the girl’s guardian.”

“The proper approach, but hardly Randolph’s affair. You have a duty to secure the succession.”

“It wasn’t his affair, but he exploded in fury, catching me off guard with a blow to the stomach. I knocked him down – as he should have expected, for I was always the better fighter – then demanded an explanation.”

She watched his mind retreat to that cliff top as he continued his tale. He’d forgotten her presence, so she remained silent.

* * * *

Drew shivered.

Randolph had been both drunk and furious – a lethal combination. “You were promised to Fay from the time she was two,” he shouted, staggering to his feet to renew his attack. “She counted on you, doted on you, loved you every day of her life. She wouldn’t even look at the rest of us because of you. And now you plan to jilt her?”

“There was no promise,” Drew countered sharply, panting a little as he sidestepped Randolph’s onslaught. “It was a fantasy fostered by our fathers. Fay has known for years that I wouldn’t wed her, for we discussed it more than once. I won’t let the dreams of two old men trap me into a marriage that would be hateful for both of us. And she can’t seriously claim to love me. She is a manipulative witch who loves only herself.”

“I won’t let you hurt her,” screamed Randolph, kicking out at Drew’s groin.

Drew sidestepped, but couldn’t avoid the blow completely. “The only dream she harbors is getting her hands on the Broadbanks wealth. No matter what lies Fay tells, I know what a woman in love looks like, and Fay doesn’t even come close. If you are so concerned for her future, marry her yourself.”

“She won’t have me,” he gasped, reeling from a blow to the stomach. “Not without Broadbanks.”

“Which proves how little she cares for either of us. Emily will make a better Broadbanks chatelaine than Fay ever could. Fay destroys everything she touches, as this encounter proves. Why else are we fighting over her?”

But Randolph didn’t listen. Like so many men who were the worse for wine, he couldn’t let an idea go once he latched on to it. So he fought on. Before it was over, Drew shoved him over the cliff, falling back to smash his own head on a rock. He did not regain consciousness until Fay arrived.

* * * *

Cherlynn let out a ragged sigh. “How can you call that murder?” she asked softly, ignoring his mention of Emily. He hadn’t even been aware of doing so. “It was an accident. Or at worst, self-defense. He was obviously trying to push you over the side. By killing you, he could have both Broadbanks and Fay.”

His eyes widened.

“Think, Drew,” she demanded. “By his own words, he wanted Fay, but she wouldn’t take him without the title and estate. He let her follow her heart, but when you declined to wed her, he saw only one way to make her happy – by killing you. If he had been sober, the thought wouldn’t have occurred, and certainly would not have taken root.” She uttered the lie with a straight face. Randolph sounded jealous of everything Drew had. For twenty-four years he had been the second son, expected to make his own way while his older brother needn’t lift a finger to acquire untold power and wealth. Many men would scheme to rid themselves of the impediment. But Randolph was dead. There was no point in defaming him now. “If you had lost that fight, you wouldn’t be here today.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I could have won without pushing him over the edge. I will forever bear the burden of having deliberately killed him.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I—” He frowned. “How can anyone remember their thoughts when in the heat of an argument?”

“Do you remember pushing him?”

His shoulders sagged. “Not exactly, but Fay saw the end of the fight.”

“That’s why you accepted my amnesia so easily,” she said triumphantly. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Do you remember hitting your head?”

He frowned before hesitantly replying. “Yes. It all happened in slow motion. I was swearing. I had meant to roll as I hit, but I came down on a rock. There was a blinding pain and a lot of stars. The next thing I knew Fay was bent over me. She had seen the whole thing and agreed that Randolph had clearly been in a belligerent mood. She chided me for shoving him over the side when he paused for breath, but swore she would never tell a soul. She didn’t want her husband to be suspected of killing his brother.”

“And the implication was clear,” she finished. “Either you married her or she would tell everyone that you had deliberately killed Randolph.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t do that to my father. He has always doted on Randolph. The shock of finding me a murderer would have killed him.”

“But you aren’t a murderer,” she swore stoutly. “And I’ll prove it. Show me where this fight took place.”

He started to protest, but shrugged and tossed her back onto her mount.

* * * *

The cliffs where Randolph had died were barely half a mile from the folly. The road turned inland to avoid rough terrain and skirt Broadbanks Hall, but an ancient footpath followed the cliff tops, offering a shortcut to men and horses. Woods crowded the hill, thinning at the edge into a clearing a hundred yards long by twenty yards wide. Gulls soared on the wind while others picked through the rocky detritus piled at the foot of the cliffs, looking for edibles washed ashore.

Drew remained silent as he searched for the exact spot.

“Here,” he finally said. “This is the rock I landed on. Randolph’s body was found just below.”

The rock was a dozen feet from the edge.

“How exactly did you land?” she asked.

He pantomimed his actions, stepped back a pace, then gingerly laid down with his head on the rock.

“You are sure that you landed precisely like that?”

“Positive.”

“Then you are no more guilty of killing your brother than I am.”

“What?”

“How did you fall here, if you were close enough to the edge to push Randolph over?” she asked.

He looked from the rock to the cliff several times. His feet had been angled inland when he awakened.

“Do you see what I mean?” she demanded. “Do it again. I am Randolph. We are struggling.” She stood between him and the cliff. “Fay claimed that Randolph stopped to catch his breath.” She let her hands drop to her sides. “Now shove me over.”

“I see. If I push, you might possibly go over, but I’m not likely to catch you far enough off guard to make you stagger that far. And when I stumble back, I land in the wrong place.”

“Precisely. To land where you did, you must have started here.” She moved to a spot nearly twenty feet from the edge. “I don’t care how drunk he was, a push at this point would not get him anywhere near danger.”

“But he did go over.”

“Of course he did. But the only way
you
could have killed him was to pick him up bodily and toss him there. Not only would you remember doing so, I doubt he would have cooperated enough to make it possible.”

“So it was an accident after all.” He sounded relieved.

“True, but not in the sense you mean. Since you remember falling, you can’t have been conscious when he went over the side. You would have had to stumble around for quite some time before going down if the fight had been responsible. I think he fell over later.”

“What are you saying?”

“It was an accident, all right. But you were in no way involved. Randolph knocked you into that rock. Perhaps he stumbled afterward, or perhaps his exertions on top of too much wine disoriented him so he turned in the wrong direction. Whatever the cause, he fell on his own.”

 “You’re saying that he simply stumbled over the edge after he had knocked me out?” he asked.

“Exactly. You had nothing to do with it.”

“But why—”

“—would Fay swear otherwise?” she finished. “Since she claimed to have seen the fight, she must have heard everything you told Randolph. There was only one way to prevent her dreams from going up in smoke. Once you got home and talked to your father, it would be too late.”

“So she convinced me that I had murdered my brother.” His voice turned deadly.

“Don’t do anything rash,” she said as he surged to his feet. “You can’t break your betrothal without cause. The scandal would kill your father. And if he has only her word versus yours, whom will he believe?”

She could see the admission in his eyes. Broadbanks would believe Fay over his own son. It hurt, and she longed to comfort him, but she couldn’t. Pulling him into her arms was much too improper for Emily and would only push her own feelings closer to the brink of disaster.

“So what do you propose?” he asked at last, weariness now etched on his face.

“You can’t let her get away with blackmail. But we need to find evidence to either support your claims or call her veracity into question. Jilting her will cause enough gossip without adding suspicion of murder.”

“I will gladly live with ostracism if it rids me of that witch,” he swore.

“I know, but you should try to avoid it. What would it do to your wife and children?”

He gave her a sharp look, but she hid her knowledge of who that wife would be. “Fay was the only witness. What evidence might there be after four months?” he asked.

“If she lied about this, she must have lied about other things. All you need to do is expose one deliberate falsehood.”

“True.” He nodded. “Thank you, Em. You may have just saved my life.”

That was truer than he knew. And perhaps he could uncover some useful evidence. But this didn’t let her off the hook, Cherlynn admitted when she reached her room. If Drew could handle everything from here, why hadn’t Emily returned?

Stupid question. Evidence must exist that only she could find.
Am I reading this right, Emily?
Impossible though it seemed, there was something that would prove Drew’s innocence.

She shook her head. This seemed an ideal task for the
Mission: Impossible
team. Too bad she didn’t know enough psychology to set up the kind of mind games that might trick Fay into confessing.

Stopping in front of the dressing table, she again stared at Emily’s beautiful face. The day had been a surprising success. She had looked for and found evidence that Randolph was not the paragon Lord Broadbanks assumed. She had discovered why Drew was betrothed to Fay and had proved him innocent of any crime, demonstrating that Emily would stand beside him through thick and thin. Never in her life had she accomplished so much in so little time.

Emily’s blue eyes widened as the realization hit. She was approaching this problem differently than she’d done in the past – with confidence. Emily believed that Cherlynn Cardington could help her. Accepting that faith had saved her from most of the dithery
can-I, should-I
soul searching she usually indulged in. Not to mention the paralyzing fear of failure. Had her own insecurities prevented her from succeeding all these years?

She paced the room while examining her frequent failures.

Yes, she’d been insecure. Very insecure. She had often refused to try things, so sure of failure that the effort seemed wasted. Even when she made a push, her attempts were hesitant or tentative, retreating at the least hint of resistance. Her persistence in writing was more a reaction to Willard’s taunting than confidence in her abilities. And the excuses came easily. She was pudgy and plain, easy to overlook. So of course she rarely dated. Of course she received less respect from fellow House aides than the beautiful women did. Of course the Cardingtons hated her and Willard disdained her.

Yet today’s successes had nothing to do with Emily’s appearance. They were a combination of her own intelligence, a sympathetic ear, and logic.

Now that she thought about it, she had blamed her body for her all her failures. Had she hidden behind fat so that she needn’t put her real self on the line? She had started gaining weight during childhood – about the time her mother forced her into dance classes.

Damn!
Once she returned home, she must adopt a new outlook. Expectations were very powerful. If she expected to fail, she would.

* * * *

Drew locked himself in the study before dinner. He had meant to examine the estate records, but he couldn’t forget Emily’s astonishing performance. She had pushed, prodded, and cajoled him into admitting facts he had suppressed. Such manipulative behavior was the antithesis of what he wanted in a wife.

Yet he couldn’t condemn her. None of her pressure promoted selfish goals. She had opened his mind to possibilities he had never considered and left him kicking himself in disgust. Why hadn’t he asked those questions before?

Randolph was suddenly an enigma. A guilty conscience would throw suspicion on his stewardship. And it didn’t do much for Drew’s own pride. He knew Randolph had died in debt. He knew his brother was a gamester. Yet Drew had never audited the books. Was Randolph in love with Fay? His words certainly implied such feelings.

More importantly, how had Emily recognized the possibility? He was beyond being irritated by her secrecy. The workings of her mind fascinated him. Her logical deductions astounded him. How had she come to be so astute?

His fingers tingled, recalling the feel of her waist as he’d helped her mount. He should have merely formed a step with his hands, but the temptation had been irresistible. And her amnesia might have demanded an explanation of what she should do. But touching her recalled their embraces and kisses, reviving the memory of her firm breasts and sweet lips. Was it possible that he might yet have her?