Once Again a Bride (16 page)

“It’s locked, and we can’t find a key.” Charlotte had discovered this when rearranging the furnishings, and had not yet dealt with it. “Henry didn’t carry house keys around with him. He liked being let in by a servant. But we cannot find those keys either.”

“What?”

She looked away. “Henry kept his bedchamber locked.” Sir Alexander stared at her, no doubt speculating.

She’d been avoiding the room as if it didn’t exist, as if she could erase the past by leaving it out of her new household arrangements. “Holcombe had a key. He took the maid in when she cleaned.”

“But… you did not…?”

Charlotte turned away from his gaze. “I have never set foot in Henry’s room. He did not wish me to.”

Sir Alexander looked stunned. “Was my uncle completely mad?”

“I often thought so!”

Sir Alexander shook his head, then frowned. Charlotte would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking. “We might break down the door,” he said finally. “But I believe I would rather get the key from Holcombe.”

“He will not wish to give it to you.”

“Precisely.” His smile was humorless.

Picturing the meeting, Charlotte found the spirit to smile back.

Finding Holcombe was simple. Harold Wycliffe had kept a record of where each former servant had gone, partly supplied by the Bow Street Runner. Paying a visit to another man’s valet, as Holcombe now was, was somewhat awkward, but Alec managed it the following afternoon, meeting the man in his new master’s front hall. He didn’t bother with preliminaries. “I have come for the key to my uncle’s bedchamber.”

“Why would I have…?”

“You have it.” Alec was certain he’d kept it. It was the sort of small, sneaking thing the man would do. “You may recall what I told you about taking anything that did not belong to you when you left his house. I can summon a magistrate in a matter of…”

“I forgot about the keys,” Holcombe whined. A blusterer and a bully, he collapsed in the face of opposition, as Alec had expected. “I was distraught over Mr. Wylde’s death.”

“Give it to me.” He held out a hand.

“It’s put away, like…”

“Then go and get it.”

Holcombe twitched and grimaced and finally disappeared up the stairs. Alec had begun to wonder what he would do if the man simply did not come back when he returned and held out a small ring of keys. He dropped it into Alec’s hand. “What else did you steal?”

“Steal?” the valet squeaked. “I didn’t steal…”

“Keeping these keys was a theft. What else?”

“Nothing! I swear it on my mother’s life!”

The oath of an inveterate liar, Alec thought. “If I find that you’ve taken anything else, no matter how tiny, you will find yourself on a transport to Australia before you can…”

“Four neckcloths,” Holcombe blurted. “I didn’t see the harm.
She
didn’t need them, and they was… were brand new.” With the indignation of a liar lied to, he added, “Mr. Henry promised me he’d left me something in his will.”

The venom in his voice on the word “she” extinguished any sympathy Alec might have felt.

Holcombe took a step toward the stairs. “I’ll get them.” He froze. “One’s at the laundry.”

Alec waved this aside. “Keep them.” He wondered if there was anything else that Jem Hanks had not squeezed from this man.

“You’re not going to let
her
go through Mr. Henry’s things? He’ll turn in his grave, he will, to think of that chit pawing over his…”

Alec grabbed Holcombe’s shirtfront and twisted it in his fist, jerking the valet onto tiptoe. “Should you
ever
speak of Mrs. Wylde again—and I see no reason for you to do so—you will speak respectfully. Do you understand me?” He shook the man a little.

Red-faced and choking, Holcombe nodded. Alec held him a moment longer to reinforce his point, then thrust him away. Watching him cough and scrabble at the ruins of his neckcloth, Alec marveled again at the outrages his uncle had allowed, even apparently encouraged. He’d gone far, far beyond the line. Alec felt that old brush of fear. Did mental instability run in his father’s family, thanks to his grandmother?

Outside, Alec started to direct his carriage to Charlotte’s, bearing the key in triumph, as it were. But it was nearly six, and he remembered that she was going out with his Aunt Bella tonight.

Which led to another familial puzzle. Why was his aunt taking such trouble over a young woman with no fortune or position in society? Of course, Charlotte was very pleasant company—much more than pleasant. But Aunt Bella never listened to anyone else’s conversation and cared for nothing but her own social standing. Well, and Edward, he supposed, though signs of that were rare. He’d never known her to do a good deed for its own sake. Did she realize how much it annoyed him? That might explain it.

He really ought to go to this rout party. Alec had no doubt that an invitation was among the teetering pile of cream envelopes on the far corner of his desk. He was considered eminently eligible by the eagle-eyed mamas. In previous seasons, he had sometimes enjoyed being sought after. During his first, he had gotten quite puffed up by it, until a friend pointed out that the attention had nothing to do with his person and everything to do with his fortune. That, and familiarity, and his new responsibilities on his father’s death, had taken much of the savor from society for him. To idle away hours in amusement, with the way things stood in the country… Still, he could tell Charlotte about the key, set a time to visit and open the room. Yes, of course he should do that. She would be wondering.

At home, he found Lizzy hanging about in the front hall and immediately suspected mischief. “What are you doing down here?”

“Waiting for you,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

“Where is Frances?”

“Working on her embroidery in the drawing room.” Lizzy seemed uncharacteristically listless. “And Anne has gone to one of her dancing parties.”

“Ah.”

“We could play chess. I know I said it was boring, but…”

“I’m sorry, Lizzy. I’m going out this evening.”

“Oh.”

Lizzy’s lips turned down in the expression that Alec had always thought of as a sulk. Now, he saw sadness in it as well. “I thought I might speak to Aunt Earnton and arrange for you to meet some girls your own age here in town. Rather like Anne is doing.”

Lizzy considered this as if it were a trick. “Dancing classes?”

“No, not until you are older. Just, ah, tea, perhaps or… walking in the park.” He had no idea what activities his aunt might find appropriate for thirteen-year-old girls. And still less what they would wish to do.

“They’d probably be horrid,” Lizzy objected.

“Then you would fit right in.”

She laughed and stuck out her tongue. “I… would like that… I suppose.”

“Good. Now, I am going to change, and then we’ll have dinner together.”

“Just you and me?”

“And Frances, of course.” Lizzy wrinkled her nose, and he frowned at her.

“It’s just… she’s gotten so… lugubrious.”

“So…?”

“It’s from Dr. Johnson’s dictionary. It means gloomy and dismal.”

“It very well may. However, it is not a term you should apply…”

“Charlotte said if you learn a new word every day, before you know it you have a prodigious vocabulary.”

“Did she?” Alec was struck again at how rapidly a bond had formed between Charlotte and his sisters.

Lizzy nodded. “And you will sound very well educated without having to read a lot of tedious old books.”

“Charlotte said that?”

“Well… not exactly.”

“Your own conclusion?”

Lizzy nodded, giving him her dazzling smile. Then she turned to skip up the stairs, her mood seemingly lightened. Alec watched her go with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

“I am not in the drawing room working on my embroidery, nor am I lugubrious,” said a voice from the darkened reception room opposite. “I am plotting and planning.”

It startled him. “Frances?”

She emerged in the archway. “I came down for a book I left in the library. After Lizzy spoke…” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to… I’ll say embarrass her, though that is rather difficult to do. At any rate, bravo, Alec!”

“For…?”

“Your splendid idea. I should have thought of it myself. Amelia will be only too happy to find Lizzy some companions, I’m sure. Some lovely, calming companions. She has a stake in it, after all. She will be bringing Lizzy out in a few years and responsible for her conduct in society.”

“I thought it a good plan.” Alec was glad to have her confirmation.

“Well done.”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was C… Mrs. Wylde’s,” he added absently.

“Was it?” Frances took a step closer. “You have made it up with her then? Good!”

“There was nothing to make up. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Ah.” She eyed him. “You were calling on her then?”

“Yes. If you’ll excuse me, I want to write a note to Aunt Earnton before I go out.”

“Of course. What are you doing this evening?”

“Aunt Bella is taking Mrs. Wylde to a rout party, and I thought that I… that is…” It suddenly occurred to Alec that he wished to keep his motives to himself.

“I hope you have a very pleasant time.” Frances gave him a sweet smile; her dark blue eyes sparkled up at him. Alec was again struck by the resemblance to Lizzy, which had somehow eluded him for thirteen years. “What are you plotting and planning?”

Her smile broadened, and she laughed. “That would be telling.”

“I can be trusted,” Alec suggested. He remembered Frances’s inquiries about the house near Butterley. “Are you plotting escape?” he added lightly.

“I would never wish to wholly escape my family,” she replied.

This did not precisely answer the question. What did she mean “wholly”? But Frances walked up the stairs without saying any more. As Alec went off to his bedchamber to change and dispatch the note to his Aunt Earnton, he thought perhaps he should call on her as well. His mother’s sister was a woman of infinite resource, and he felt very much in need of her expertise.

***

There was a sagging bench in the narrow back garden of Henry Wylde’s former home. Unpainted, neglected, stuck in a corner behind a shed, it was like the rest of his place had been—awkward and comfortless. But it was hidden from the windows, and so Lucy used it as a place to hide when she wanted to cry.

She hated her need to weep. It made her feel weak and treacherous. But her resistance didn’t make it go away. Every so often, the lump rose in her throat and her eyes burned; circumstances loomed like a great wave rising over her head, ready to crash down and drown her. She just had to slip away and cry it out. The tears didn’t make her feel better, exactly—just less like she was going to burst into a thousand pieces. Her only comfort was that no one knew of her bouts. She couldn’t have borne the mortification.

On this particular evening, she had tiptoed out after readying Miss Charlotte for her evening party and seeing her off in a cab. The others were busy in the kitchen and probably thought she was still working upstairs. She wiped her eyes with her sodden handkerchief and sniffed. But the storm wasn’t over. Tears welled up again and spilled down her cheeks. Hiccupping sobs escaped her. She struggled to suppress them. Above all, she mustn’t be discovered.

As if the fear had brought it, a figure loomed over her in the growing darkness. At first she thought it was Mr. Trask. She leapt to her feet, groping for an excuse.

“Lucy?”

It was Ethan. Was that better or worse than exposure to his grandfather? Worse, Lucy decided. “What are you doing here?” It came out choked and sullen. But why was he creeping about, sneaking up on people? He didn’t even live here, though you wouldn’t know it half the time.

“You’re crying.” He sounded shocked.

“I’m n-not.” And then of course she was, harder than ever. She turned away. But he was blocking her escape to the house.

Ethan stood there, a great hulking lump, then he took a step forward and enfolded her in his arms.

Lucy froze. Obviously, she should shove him off and give him a blistering earful for his impudence. But the relief of those strong arms around her, the broad shoulder right there, seemingly designed to support her aching head, were so very tempting. And then his hand began to gently stroke her hair. “There now. What is it?”

Ethan held her without stiffness, without intrusion, as if there was nothing in the world he’d rather do. His hand moved softly on her hair, rhythmic and soothing.

Something broke open inside Lucy, and she let go the tears she had been trying to hold in. She didn’t understand what was happening at all. All she knew was—his touch magically made the crying a true release instead of a useless storm of emotion. She couldn’t resist. She gave herself up to the embrace, and leaned on him, and cried. His great, gentle hands held and comforted her. His body felt like a shield against every harm. The part of her that doubted and argued was stilled. Nothing seemed to exist but the two of them in the soft dark.

Some unmeasured time later, Lucy found herself sitting beside Ethan on the bench, his arm encircling her, her body tucked tight against him as if it had always belonged there. “Now, tell me,” he said. “If anybody’s hurt you, I swear I’ll…”

“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s stupid…” Lucy’s embarrassment over her weakness crept back. She had never been a weepy, clinging female, and she wasn’t about to start in.

“No, it isn’t,” Ethan declared.

Unable to help herself, Lucy blurted it out. “I heard your grandparents talking about going home. I didn’t know they were… temporary, like. I mean, if I’d ’a thought for a second. A ’course they want to go back to the country. Anyone would. It’s just I’ll miss them so…” Almost as much as she missed the countryside herself. She broke off, clenching her jaw. She would
not
cry anymore.

“Ah,” was all Ethan said.

She couldn’t see his expression in the dimness. Suddenly, she was afraid to say any more. She wriggled a little away, but his arm pulled her close again.

“I asked them to come as a favor,” he said. “I couldn’t stand the notion of you all alone here.”

The lump came back in Lucy’s throat.

“But they will be going home, it’s true. They’re not in service anymore, and they deserve their rest. I’ll have to be looking for somebody else.”

“It’s not your job to find…”

“I got to take care of you, Lucy!” The force in his voice stunned her. “I… I love you. I do.”

Lucy stared up at him. Though she could barely see his face, she could feel his sincerity in the hard lines of his body, the tremor in his arm around her shoulders.

Ethan spoke faster, nearly babbling. “I reckon Sir Alexander will give me the forester job. Old Elkins wants me to have it, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t listen to him. Can’t see why Hobbs—he’s the steward—would fight it. Would you marry me, Lucy, and come live in Derbyshire? There’s a cottage, with a garden and all. It’s a right lovely spot.”

Lucy’s head spun. Feelings she’d denied or ignored when she thought Ethan was only flirting broke free, like water from a burst dam. Tenderness, desire, trust, love—yes, love—flooded through her.

“Lucy?” Great hulking Ethan Trask sounded nervous as a boy. “We’d be happy there. I know we would. I’d do my utmost to make sure you had everything you wanted.”