The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter (14 page)

“I must send a note to Genie with the news,” Eugenia said. “She will be surprised!”

“Unfortunately, business takes me into the country. I may not return until late.” Brendan cast Chloe a warning glance when she opened her mouth to protest. “Would you two mind spending a quiet evening here?”

Eugenia studied him with a worried frown. “You’ll be home before dark, Brendan?”

“I hope to be.”

“We can play cards,” Chloe said. “I shall teach Eugenia a few tricks.”

“Oh no.” Brendan groaned. “I have a hard enough time holding my own as it is.”

Chloe smiled and tactfully exited the room.

Eugenia made to follow her, but Brendan caught her hand and pulled her back. “Don’t go yet, my love.” He drew her to him and kissed her again. Now that his future with her was assured he didn’t want to let her go. It was as if a dam had burst and pent-up emotions spilled from him, making him lightheaded. He wanted to tell her so much. But there wasn’t time. He drew away as passion swirled through his blood like fire.

Eugenia stroked his nape. “What shall I call you in public? Trentham?”

“It’s what you call me in private that matters more.”

“That is easy. I shall call you darling, or Brendan when I am pleased, and Trentham when I am not,” she said with a teasing smile

He gently flicked her cheek. “You believe I shall displease you?”

“Rarely. I shall displease you too, but not too often, I hope,” she said, showing wisdom for her young years. She placed her arms around his neck, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. “But always, I shall love you, my darling, until the end of my life.”

Her words sounded like a knell recalling him to his task. He pressed a brief kiss to her lips. “I must leave now, sweetheart. Promise me you will remain at home tonight.”

She studied him, her brow creasing with unease. “I promise. You’re not about to do anything dangerous, are you Brendan? You will take care?”

She was so perceptive this lovely girl who would soon be his wife. “Merely business my love.”

BRENDAN APPROACHED the elaborate wrought-iron gates of Mortland Hall. The sprawling stone edifice made up in size for what it lacked in charm. He pulled up his horse as the gatekeeper limped over from the gatehouse.

The wizened fellow studied Brendan’s card. “The duke is away from home, milord.”

“Then I am remiss. I believed His Grace had returned,” Brendan said.

“No, my lord, but he is expected soon.”

“I see the ivy has covered the blackened stone left by the fire,” Brendan observed. “Appalling tragedy. Apart from the two young heirs, were there many killed?”

“Five people died. It could have been much worse, but the local fire fighters brought their cart with the hand pump and prevented the flames from spreading too far. The fire began in the nursery on the third floor. Very sad business. The children, their nurse, and two nursery maids were killed.”

“I had heard. How did the fire start?”

“There are several theories, but no one knows for certain. Some think an oil lamp was knocked over, but I knew those young nursery maids. They adored their charges and would not have been so careless. It was a blessing that the former duke had died of the influenza six months before. It would have broken his heart to lose his sons.”

Brendan glanced over his shoulder to view the long, straight elm-lined approach to the Hall. No sign yet of the duke. “Indeed. You were here then I take it?”

“Oh yes. I watched the fire with the other staff, but we could do little to help.”

“You saw nothing to suggest it was deliberately lit?”

The gatekeeper’s aged eyes grew hazy. He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I still go over it in my mind. There was talk at the time. A stranger was seen in the area. I couldn’t say who he was. But half the village was here trying to help.” He turned to view the road, settling his hat on his head. “I should not be discussing it. The duke would not approve. He wants the whole sad episode relegated to history. Shall you continue on to the house, milord?”

He had hoped to steal a march on the duke. He would give Mortland a distinct advantage if he were discovered on the duke’s land. He might have better luck in the village. “Thank you no. Good day to you.” He turned his horse and rode back along the road.

Brendan reached the crossroads and was about to take the village road, when a black coach barreled its way toward him. He edged his horse onto the grass verge, as the vehicle bearing the duke’s crest on the door panel, drew up beside him. A window opened, and Mortland’s visage appeared.

“I’m surprised to find you visiting my estate, Trentham.”

Brendan studied the man’s implacable face. “I’m pleased to have surprised you.”

“Might I assist you? I gather it was me you wished to see?”

“Not unless you’re prepared to admit that you were behind the fire at the Hall.”

Mortland’s face reddened. “What drivel you speak. If you spread that about, I shall sue you.”

“Too frightened to come down and face me, Mortland?”

The duke glared. He banged with his cane. “Put down the step!”

A footman jumped down from the back of the coach and complied.

Mortland stepped down. “You are treading on dangerous ground, Trentham.”

Brendan dismounted. “Tell me, when you escorted Miss Hawthorne through the streets of Mayfair, did you discover a resemblance to you? Or to her mother, Eliza, perhaps? You knew the lady intimately.”

A muscle quivered at his jaw. “The young lady is a beauty.” He recovered himself with a sneer. “Perhaps I do want to get to know her better. Should you like that, Trentham? Or do you want to keep her for yourself?”

Red hot anger shot surged through Brendan. He stepped forward and seized the duke’s coat in his fists hauling him closer. “Keep away from her,” Brendan growled. “I’ve killed many men during the war. Good men some of them. It won’t bother me to kill a snake.”

A footman on the box stood up and trained a rifle on Brendan. Mortland sneered, but he backed away smoothing his expensive greatcoat. “I don’t advise you to get any ideas. My footmen are armed as you see. Friends have told me of your dramatic performance at White’s. Rivaled Edmund Kean playing
Shylock
they say. I believe you’ve missed your vocation. Mr. Kean might have something to fear from you.”

“Not Kean, but you, Mortland. Fear that the truth is closing in on you.”

Mortland rocked back on his feet. “I fear nothing. You are like an annoying wasp. I shall slap you down.”

“You are welcome to try.” Brendan shrugged. “But I seem to recall you didn’t wish to chance dueling with me two years ago. You ran away to the Continent with your tail between your legs.”

Mortland scowled. “You cannot blame me for Anne’s death. She died at the hands of a felon.”

“Another felon, you mean. She was already suffering at your hands.”

“You should have taken better care of your wife. Then she would have had no need of me.”

“Did you introduce Anne to laudanum while I was fighting in Portugal? You knew I couldn’t help her.”

Mortland’s eyes blazed. “I could have you shot down this minute, like the cur you are.”

“Can you rely on the discretion of your staff?” Brendan pulled back his coat to reveal the pistol tucked into his waistband, but he kept his hands away from it. The rifle in the young footman’s hands wobbled, his face anxious. “Not your style, is it? You prefer your dirty work to be done in secret and by others.”

“I don’t need to soil my hands with you.” Mortland shrugged. He turned and climbed back into the coach. “You can’t touch me.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Mortland yelled an order and the coach drove off at a furious pace.

In the taproom at the village inn, Brendan began to talk of the fire. Two older men drinking ale soon joined in the conversation, recalling how they’d all rushed to the Hall and formed a chain to pass buckets of water from the ornamental lake to the house. 

“Yes, rumors did abound that the fire had been deliberately lit,” one elderly fellow observed. “A stranger had passed through the village the day before. Asked a lot of questions about the Hall, he did.”

Another fellow slammed down his tankard. “And who benefited, I ask you? Only one man. And he’s above the law.”

The proprietor ran a cloth over the counter. “Mortland’s not popular around here as you see. Not like the old duke. He was a decent sort.” He was swiftly silenced by his wife, who whispered in his ear.

“Mortland has blood on his hands.” A man’s bitter accusation, from a table by the window, drew everyone’s attention. “He killed my sweet Flossie. She was a nursery maid at the Hall,” he explained to Brendan.

Silence fell in the room as Brendan studied the man. Dressed in a yeoman’s clothes, he was around forty, but the deep grooves etched into his face made him look older. He threw back the chair, which tottered on two legs before falling. Disregarding it, he strode from the inn, banging the door behind him.

“That’s Jake Small,” the innkeeper told Brendan when he returned from righting the chair. “He’s always maintained Mortland was behind the fire.” He shook his head. “Never got over losing Flossie, poor devil. They were about to marry.”

“Local farmer is he?”

“He has a small holding a mile south of the village.”

Brendan left the inn and rode south. He dismounted in front of the dilapidated thatched farmhouse and knocked. Paint peeled off the timbers, the weedy front garden bare of flowers or feminine touches. No one answered.

At the rear of the house, Brendan found Small pitching hay in the barn. He looked up. “Ye were at the inn,” he said his voice flat, his eyes impersonal.

“Earl of Trentham,” Brendan said. “I have an interest in the fire at Mortland Hall. Do you have any credible reason to suspect Mortland?”

Small’s mouth turned down and the grooves deepened on his face. “Met a man on the estate when I was returning from visiting Flossie the day of the fire. My fiancée and I used to meet on a bench overlooking the lake where we couldn’t be seen from the house. “He was a shifty lookin’ fellow. I was concerned for Flossie’s safety and demanded he tell me what he was doing skulking about.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“No, but when I asked what he was doing on the estate, he told me he worked for Mortland. I’d never seen him there, and I heard village gossip after the fire that a stranger was seen around making inquiries about the Hall. At the time, I decided to let it go, as I was trespassing myself, and didn’t want to get Flossie into trouble.” He groaned with anguish
.
“I should have hung around, my instincts told me he was up to no good. It wasn’t ’til afterwards that I put two and two together. By then, he was long gone. Nothing was done to find him. I approached the duke but he brushed me off—seemed intent to close the investigation down.”

“You don’t think you might be wrong? That the fire was accidental?”

“Never! Flossie was extra careful around those mites. The other maids were too.” His brown eyes went hard, and he stabbed the pitchfork into the ground. “I’ve wanted to kill Mortland every day since.”

Brendan left the village. He would not reach the city before dark. Although there were certainly some who believed it to be arson, perhaps Chloe was right. Had too much time passed to prove Mortland’s culpability? It wouldn’t stop Brendan trying to bring him to justice, even if it took him years to do it. He’d employ a Bow Street Runner to investigate. He might have better luck. Brendan felt far too fortunate to let this wasted trip cast him down. He urged his horse on toward London where his lovely bride-to-be awaited him. 

“Well, Brendan?” Chloe glanced up from the games table where she sat with Eugenia as he entered the salon.

“Nothing much to impart,” he said easing his tired shoulders.

Candlelight lovingly caressed his beloved’s sweet face. Eugenia threw down her cards and jumped up to greet him. She came over to him shyly, her muslin skirts swirling around her dainty ankles. “We became worried when dusk fell.”

He drew her into his arms and kissed her soft cheek. “No need.”

“Have you eaten, Brendan?” Chloe asked. “Shall I have food sent up?”

“No, thank you.” He sat down. “I’m not hungry.”

“Your betrothed has become far too adept at faro.” Chloe gathered up the cards.

He smiled at Eugenia, who perched unaffectedly on the padded arm of his chair. “I was afraid of that.”

“You still beat me at chess,” Eugenia said, taking his hand and holding it to her cheek.

“For the moment.” He traced his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, wishing he’d been able to settle the matter with Mortland. If only the duke had challenged him, that would have been a tidy end. But Brendan had done enough killing during the war. He couldn’t justify to himself the act of shooting a man down in cold blood, no matter how much he wanted to. No doubt Mortland relied on the fact that Brendan wouldn’t dispatch Eugenia’s flesh and blood, but he should not count on it. He would do what was necessary to keep her safe.

Eugenia twined her slender fingers with his. “Shall I pour you a whiskey?”

He leaned his head back against the chair and grinned at her. “I should like that.”

She hopped off the chair arm and went to the drinks table. He watched as she measured out a whiskey and brought him the crystal tumbler.

“My goodness, I’ve never seen the like,” Chloe said good-naturedly. She yawned behind her hand. “I’m ready for my bed.”

When the door closed, Brendan put the glass on a table at his elbow. He held out his arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”

With a soft smile, Eugenia nestled in his lap, her head against his shoulder.

“I’ve been too busy to visit Tattersalls, but I’ll hire a hack for you tomorrow and we’ll ride in Hyde Park.”

“I should like that.”

“Did you and Chloe discuss the wedding?”

“Yes. Chloe thinks we should marry in London, at St. George’s in Hanover Square. A big society wedding will serve to introduce me to society.”

“I don’t see the necessity for it. It will happen all in good time.” He tipped up her chin with his finger, and his gaze lovingly roamed her face, her delicate features and velvety skin. “And what was your answer?”

“That it will take too long to organize,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “And I want to be your wife.”

“I can only agree.” He lowered his head and kissed her soft lips and down the tender column of her throat to the curve of her collarbone. His hand rested beneath her rounded breast, her heart beating fast beneath his fingers, in rhythm with his. Engulfed with emotion, he managed to drag his mouth away from hers. Chloe had left him alone with Eugenia. His sister trusted him to conduct himself appropriately, and by God, he must.

“Brendan,” Eugenia whispered, tracing a finger over his jaw. “You decide where and when we marry. I’ll be happy with whatever you want.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I just want you, my love.” And once they were married, he could better keep her safe.

“Then could we marry at Lilac Court? I should like that above anything.”