Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman (9 page)

“How much longer?” he asked desperately.

Elenore shrugged. “No more than three weeks, at most.”

Devon breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he had thought she had a change of heart and was going to flee before their bargain was up. He had been so overcome with desperation at the thought of her leaving, he had resorted to begging her to stay. What had gotten into him? He knew that if they hadn't currently been short on funds, he would've offered her monetary compensation next. The degree of desperation he felt was unsettling even to himself. He rationalized that it was all of the late night escapades as Black Lightening that were getting to him, but something inside warned that it might be something else.

Suddenly anxious to get away from the intoxicating little imp, he bowed before her saying, “I have some business I need to attend to, so I'll let you get back to your ride,” before cutting in front of his carriage and entering his home.

Sunday, May 8, 1814

Elenore was proud of herself—she had just successfully fed Lord Brat an entire meal without spilling on him once. It seemed as if her nursemaid skills were improving, and if the content grin on the earl's round face meant anything, he was pleased with her improvements as well.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?” she asked, desperately hoping he would let her leave. She had been itching to go for a ride on Sally ever since Daniel had assured her that she was welcome to the horse whenever she liked.

“Actually, there is.”

Elenore bit the inside of her cheek to keep from expressing any irritation. “Very well, what can I do for you?”

Lord Brattondale sat silently mulling his thoughts before he got the courage to voice his request. “Would you mind staying and just talking for a spell? I confess I'm getting rather lonely these days.”

Walking to the chair, her fists clenched tightly beneath her robes, Elenore said nothing as she sat, hoping and praying that he wouldn't want to talk long. She had been dreaming of riding Sally all day and this might be the only chance she got for some time.

“My wife died one and twenty years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Truly she was.

Lord Brattondale continued as if she hadn't spoken at all. “Now that my children are grown and have their own lives to live, I find I'm quite beside myself with loneliness.”

“Understandable.”

“My daughters are both wed so I hardly see them at all, and Devon is so busy with his own life in London, he hardly has time to waste on an old man such as myself. ”

Elenore wasn't without empathy for the man, for she too had experienced her share of loneliness, but his pouting like a sullen child was almost more unbecoming to her than his gruff manner, of which she had grown accustomed to. “Well, my lord, then you must treasure these visits from your son immensely. Would you like me to send for him so you can enjoy his company?” She really hoped her offer to call for Lord Bridgerton would relieve her of having to remedy his boredom. She knew that Lord Bridgerton was still at Westbrooke Hall, though she had hardly seen him at all since his arrival and hoped that he would willingly come to her relief.

“I suppose, though I'm not sure he'll come.”

“Oh phooey, why would you say such a thing?” Elenore rose from her chair. “I'm sure he would be delighted to spend some time with you.” Before he had a chance to reject her offer, she was rushing out of the room, hoping to still enjoy an evening ride.

As she began walking towards the stairway, Charlotte was just slipping out of one of the rooms, smiling kindly at Elenore as she approached. “Oh Charlotte, would you mind sending for Lord Bridgerton? His father is most anxious to spend some time with him this evening and has requested he come to him at once.”

“Certainly,” she said, but before she did as instructed, she pulled a folded note from her apron pocket and handed it to Elenore.

“What's this?”

“It just arrived here for the master. Will you see to it that he gets it while I go summon Lord Bridgerton?”

Though the last thing she wanted to do was return to the earl's room, she knew she couldn't say no. “Very well. Thank you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte curtsied before turning to see to her task. Elenore huffed straight back to Lord Brattondale's room, entering without so much as knocking. He looked up at her beneath hooded eyes but didn't seem surprised by the intrusion, just that it was her and not somebody else he was expecting.

“Where's Charlotte?” he asked.

“She went to find Lord Bridgerton to let him know that you requested his company. She asked if I'd deliver this missive to you.” She stepped forward and handed the folded piece of paper to him.

Lord Brattondale quickly opened the letter, scanning its contents before pushing his lower lip out in a pout. Whatever the letter said, apparently it was unwelcome news.

“Is everything well, my lord?”

“No,” he pouted. “My daughter and her husband, unbeknownst to me, were on their way for a visit, when one of their carriage wheels broke. They decided to stay at a nearby inn while it was getting repaired. My daughter is with child and according to this letter, staying on the inn's lumpy mattress only served to exhaust her for the remainder of the journey. They decided to return home instead of continuing on to pay a visit as they had originally planned.”

Oh dear, thought Elenore. Lord Brattondale had just been lamenting his loneliness to her moments before and now this would seem like a crushing blow to his already dejected spirit. She wished that his daughter would never have sent the note informing him of their doomed trip. It would have been better had he never known of their intentions than to be made aware of the visit. She could understand why the earl would feel disappointed, but she thought his pouting reminded her more of an overgrown child than an earl.

Attempting once more to console him, she said, “I'm sorry, truly I am, but your son should be here any moment and that should do wonders to buoy your spirit.”

“I suppose,” he said without conviction.

Making her voice sound light to help lift his moods, she bade him goodbye once more, before turning to leave. It was with light feet that Elenore scurried back to her room, anxious to prepare for her ride.

***

“You wished to see me?” Devon asked, as he peeked his head into his father's chambers.

“Come in son, don't be a stranger.”

Devon walked into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He chose to sit in the chair closest to his father's bed, hoping that this would give him the opportunity to speak to him about the missing funds in the account books, the funds he knew he had gambled away.

“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked, not wanting to instantly delve into things, knowing his father would not be eager to talk finances with him.

“Oh, I suppose I'm alright.”

“That didn't sound too convincing. Is your stomach bothering you? Can I ring for tea?”

“No and no. Sister Genevieve just finished feeding me my supper. I'm sure I couldn't manage anything else at the moment.”

Devon propped one booted ankle up on his thigh, resting casually back in the chair he was occupying. “So tell me father, how have you been feeling as of late?”

“Decent I suppose. It really depends on the day.”

Seeing this as his chance to pry a bit, he asked, “Have you felt well enough to get out of bed much?”

“Of course not. I'm not nearly well enough to be up and about. The doctor ordered strict bed rest. Surely you remember that. You were after all, here when the old chap came by last.”

Devon was rankled. He knew his father had just lied to him twice. He obviously felt better than he was letting on, well enough to have traipsed into London and spend an evening gambling away precious funds, and he was certain that the doctor had not ordered strict bed rest for his father, but rather had suggested he rest when his episodes got bad, making sure not to overdo it. For some reason, knowing his father had lied to him gave him the courage he needed to be blunt about his concerns. It was clear that his father was going to great lengths to hide things from him, and he was getting sick of it. “I went over the books today.”

He noticed his father stiffen slightly, though he tried to appear unaffected. “What books would that be? Have you been going through the library again?”

Devon rolled his eyes. “I've never gone through the library in the first place, you know that. And I'm positive you know what books I am referring too.”

Lord Brattondale's jaw clenched in fury but he didn't utter a word. Devon forged ahead. “I noticed two hundred pounds missing that weren't accounted for. Do you happen to know what that's about?”

“I'm sure it must be a mistake in counting—work the figures again, and I'm certain you will see there isn't a discrepancy.”

“You're wrong, Father. I have gone over the numbers time and time again, and I can't seem to make them match. No matter how you work it, we are coming up two hundred pounds short. There must be some explanation. This has been happening regularly and it's starting to cause me a large amount of concern. If this continues, there won't be enough money to run the estate properly. As it is, we will already have to make some immediate and noticeable changes in how things are being run.”

Lord Brattondale's eyes widened in surprise, before his thick eyebrows settled into a scowl above squinted eyes. “You shouldn't be concerning yourself with these things, boy. I am in charge of the finances around here and have not asked for your assistance. These things do not concern you.”

“How can you say that?” Devon sat forward, leaning both elbows on his thighs. His voice rose to match the quickly rising anger brewing inside of him. “How can you pretend like this doesn't affect me? Have you forgotten that I am your heir, that I will be inheriting everything you have, including a pile of debt if this keeps up?”

Devon watched as his father's face went red with anger. “That's what this is about, your inheritance? If you were so concerned about that, then I would think you'd be more eager to find a wife with a large dowry. That would solve your problems nicely. What about Lord Bingham's daughter? She would make a suitable wife and her dowry is rumored to be enormous.”

“Lady Isabelle? She's as dull as a mud puddle. I couldn't care less what size of a dowry a lady has if her ability to think doesn't compare.”

“Who cares how much the chit does or does not think if she has good connections and an even better dowry? You can't afford to be picky, my son or...”

“You'll wager my hand in a card game like you did Noelle?” His father gasped, and Devon immediately regretted the words he let slip. He didn't make it a habit of talking disrespectfully to his father and was just as surprised by his actions, if not more so than his father was.

After a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, Lord Brattondale finally spoke. “I think you should leave. I'm suddenly feeling quite fatigued.”

“Yes, Father,” Devon replied sternly, as he got up to exit the room, anxious to get away before he said anything else he might regret.

“And Devon,” his father called after him, “I don't want you poking your nose into my finances anymore. You'd be better off investing your time wife hunting, before I decide to do it for you.”

Devon didn't bother answering. He grabbed a candle from the small table sitting next to the door, before letting the door shut firmly behind him. That had not gone well at all. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he began making his way down the darkened hall. The sun had set, leaving the hall dark and dreary. The only source of light came from a few candles flickering in sconces on the wall and the candle he was holding directly in front of him. He paused momentarily, closing his eyes and reaching one hand up to rub his temples, his thumb and forefinger placed on each side of his face massaging gently to help alleviate some of the tension the conversation with his father had caused.

He had been foolish to think that his father would actually be forthright with him regarding the disappearing funds. No, his elusiveness wasn't what had bothered or shocked him. It was the turn in conversation, when his father practically demanded he find a wife with a large dowry, that bothered him the most. He didn't want to be one of those men who married for connections and family pedigree. Nor did he simply want to find a wife based on the monetary value she would bring to such a union. How depressing to think that his marriage could be based on the mutual benefits of an advantageous match and nothing more. To Devon, it would be a fate worse than death. And if he could somehow keep his father from gambling away the rest of his dwindling fortune, he wouldn't have to make a match based on such distasteful qualifications.

Letting out a slow sigh, he opened his eyes to see an aura of white literally floating down the stairs a floor below where he stood. His eyes widened, was he seeing a vision? He jogged quietly down the stairs, anxious to follow the angel drifting through the house before him. It wasn't until he saw the vision slip out of the front door that he realized it wasn't an angel but rather it was a nun, Sister Genevieve to be exact. She was dressed in a gauzy, white dress that looked ethereal in the dim, flickering light of the night. It clung to her body in a way that her nun's robe never did. The clinging dress revealed a petite almost childlike form, though her hips and bosom were rounded like a woman's. His mouth went dry. What was she doing to him? Her long, brown hair hung in a braid down her back, causing her to look fetchingly innocent yet wild and carefree all at the same time.

He crept along as quiet and stealth as a jungle cat, eager to follow her and see where she was going without her knowing he was there. He really wasn't all that surprised when she headed for the stables, knowing that she enjoyed riding, but he was surprised that she would be foolish enough to go riding at night and alone. He decided he better follow her to make sure that she would be safe.

He entered the stables a few yards behind her. She was already standing at Sally's stall, her palm extended towards the beast as Sally nuzzled something out of her hand, presumably a treat that she had brought with her. Sister Genevieve giggled softly as Sally's tongue tickled the tender flesh of her palm. Devon took in her appearance once more, noticing her bare feet sticking out beneath the gossamer fabric of her dress and wondered if her feet still pained her.