Standing at the edge of the cliffs, Brook stared down at the beach below with her fists clenched. She had felt nothing for so long that it took her a few minutes to recognize the churning in her stomach as resentment. The man perched on one of the large, flat rocks near the shore was to blame. Blissfully ignorant of her presence, he had drawn one knee up and was using the limb as an easel for his sketching book. For the moment, his art commanded all of his attention. Brook had felt the force of his blue-eyed intensity and knew she was safe from being discovered. Even so, prudence had her stepping away from the edge and returning to the woodland path. She did not have the strength to endure a confrontation, nor did she want to be alone with him. Mallory Claeg was a careless bounder who disregarded propriety. If an opportunity presented itself, there was no telling how outrageous he would become.
Like kissing.
Brook ducked to avoid a small tree branch. The man wanted to kiss her. She had sensed his interest almost from the beginning, although she had no clue why someone like her would interest him. He was a sleek, sensual beast who reveled in decadence. The women he chose as companions and bedded were equally outlandish and sophisticated. Brook understood her true worth. She was as exotic as a sparrow. Lyon
had voiced his disappointment often enough during their short, turbulent marriage. Gentlemen like Mallory Claeg rarely spoke to women of her sort, let alone desired to steal a kiss from them. No, she would not play his cruel games. If he was bored, Mr. Claeg could return to London.
“My lady—Brook.”
Brook blinked, surprised as much by the newcomer as she was that sometime during her dark musings she had stopped. She glanced down at her fist and saw she had snapped off one of the branches she had passed.
“They told me that I would find you out here,” the gentleman said, his voice filled with indulgence. Without permission, he took her hand and kissed it, handling her like she was composed of delicate glass. “You should not wander alone. Even here, it is not safe, Cousin.”
She looked away, letting her companion think she was properly chastised. Brook treasured her quiet walks. Her outings were small acts of defiance in a world that was at times too confining. She doubted anyone could dissuade her from taking them. “My lord, your appearance is unexpected. Mother A’Court’s letter did not mention that you would be joining the party.”
A fortnight past, Brook’s mother-in-law’s letter had arrived, announcing their intentions for a brief visit. Brook dreaded these encounters and assumed Lyon’s mother found them equally unpleasant. However, the dowager considered it her duty to occasionally check up on her son’s widow. There had definitely been no mention that the elder Lady A’Court had invited the cousin who had inherited the A’Court title after Lyon had died.
“I—we wanted it to be a surprise. My sister, May, has also joined our little gathering.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them together, pleased by his lighthearted mischief. “Come let us return to the house. May has been eager to see you again.” He hooked his arm through hers and
they continued down the path. Brook was content to let him dominate the conversation, adding the appropriate sound of approval when he gazed expectantly at her.
Seaton Hamblin, affectionately nicknamed Ham by family and friends, might have shared a superficial resemblance to his deceased cousin, but that was where the similarities ended. Ham was average in height, and build. His clothes were fashionable, an indulgence of his new rank, and his straight brown hair had been recently cut. He had not been reared to be the next Earl of A’ Court, but his hands had the softness of privilege. He had spent the years strengthening his mind with books and lectures rather than his body. Lyon and Ham had not been close. However, before her marriage Brook had encountered Mr. Hamblin and had formed a conversational acquaintance with him. The new earl possessed a sincerity that warmed even the gray hue of his eyes. Lyon’s eyes had also been gray. Odd, how the same color could represent kindness in one man and the frigid depths of hell in another.
She had chosen to return to Loughwydde after Lyon’s death because her wounded spirit had craved the wild isolation. The farm had been part of her father’s estate. At his death, her mother, unable to cope with the financial disarray, had turned to their solicitor, Mr. Horatio Ludlow. He had assisted the family in selling off most of their landholdings and had invested the proceeds in mining prospects so they had not been left destitute. Loughwydde had been retained as the family’s residence.
Another man might have taken advantage of her mother’s confusion and grief. Mr. Ludlow, seven years Lady Lanston’s senior, had instead fallen in love with the beautiful widow. Her mother had initially refused the solicitor. Two years later, practicality had outweighed her grief. She was a woman
alone in the world with a five-year-old daughter. Marrying Mr. Ludlow provided the stability she had needed.
Their joyful union had given Brook three half siblings: Tye, Ivy, and Honey. There had been a place for Brook in the Ludlow family. Mr. Ludlow gave her the affection and discipline he bestowed on his own children and yet she was not allowed to forget her legacy. She was, after all, Baron Lanston’s daughter.
“Good! You have returned. Ham, you were so gallant to find my wayward daughter,” Mrs. Ludlow said, leaning out one of the second-story windows. “Brook, darling, take your fine gentleman into the parlor. Once the ladies have settled into their rooms we will join you.” The excitement of having guests had boosted her vivacity.
Passing the two carriages in her front yard, Brook sighed. Unlike her mother, who had convinced Mr. Ludlow to move the family closer to London once they had married, Brook preferred leading a solitary life. Perhaps old memories were ruling her decision; not that she cared. Only she understood that she had paid a dear price for her freedom.
“We have our orders, my lord,” she said, giving him a little smile. In the foyer, she removed her toque and wool cloak and handed them to her housekeeper. Ham surrendered his hat and walking stick. “Thank you, Min. I assume preparations for a celebratory supper are under way.”
“Yes, madam. Cook has a gooseberry tart baking in the oven even now,” the housekeeper briskly said, hustling them into a parlor so she could continue with her chores.
“Gooseberry tart, eh?” Ham said, choosing the chair closest to the fireplace. “You know how to make a man feel like he is returning home after an arduous journey.”
The innocent compliment gave Brook a frisson of alarm, but she brushed off her reaction. The earl was just being kind. “My mother keeps the staff on alert with her frequent visits.
Often she has one or all of my siblings in tow, so we have learned to adjust to the unexpected.”
Ham cleared his throat. “Speaking of the unexpected—”
“Miss Hamblin.” Brook crossed the room and embraced her. They touched cheeks and separated. “How good to see you again. I trust your journey was bearable.”
“Just,” the young woman admitted wearily. May Hamblin was two years younger than Brook. Her hair was darker than her older sibling’s and she wore it short, letting her natural curls frame her oval face. At the moment, she was scowling at the chair her brother offered her. “After spending days in that awful carriage, I vow I cannot face sitting for at least a day, maybe an entire week.”
“I doubt it is your
face
that pains you, pet,” Ham quipped.
“Beast,” she replied affectionately. She kissed him on the cheek and turned back to Brook. “Your mother told us that you spend your days exploring the wilds here, Lady A’Court. You must take me with you on one of your adventures. I adore anything right now that does not involve sitting.”
“Please call me Brook, Miss Hamblin. There will be enough confusion with so many family members assembled under one roof.”
“And you must call me May,” she countered, seeming relieved to shed the rigidity of manners. “Besides, we are family. Ham has been filling my ears with endless praising of your virtues. I am pleased we will have the time to become better acquainted.”
Brook’s half sisters, Ivy and Honey, burst into the room. Their lively chatter masked Brook’s soft reply: “We will?” Lyon’s grandmother, Mrs. Byres, shuffled into the room using Brook’s stepfather’s arm to steady herself.
“Papa, when did you arrive?” Brook lifted her brows in surprise. She had not expected him to journey so far from London at this time of year, when his business demanded his attention. His arrival explained her mother’s joy.
“When Lord A’Court expressed a desire to join his family at Loughwydde, I decided to travel with him. How are you, my girl?”
“Pleased to see you, Papa,” Brook said. She waited until Mrs. Byres was seated before she gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Welcome back to Loughwydde, Grandmother Byres.”
The elderly woman beckoned Brook closer with a gnarled hand crippled by arthritis. She had been a renowned beauty during her youth. Age had caused her proud carriage to stoop with the burden of the years and had weathered her skin into wrinkled parchment. Patting Brook’s cheek fondly, she said, “You’ve added a bit a flesh to your bones since last we met.”
“Ah yes,” Brook said, flustered that the observation had invited everyone to scrutinize her body. The loss of Lyon and her baby and then the ensuing scandal had ravaged her slender form. It had taken more than a year to recover her appetite.
“Good. It is a sign you are healing,” Mrs. Byres rasped, focusing her faded blue eyes on Brook. “You have color in your cheeks again. Do we have a certain gentleman to thank?”
The image of Mallory Claeg flashed in her mind. She could recall how it felt, his crushing embrace and the tender caress of his tongue on her lips. It was madness to contemplate a union, even a brief one, with such a man. Ruthlessly she doused the memory. “I do not believe—no, not a gentleman,” Brook corrected herself, not interested in explaining to the family that each day without Lyon had been rewarding.
“Madam, have a care,” Ham entreated, visibly uncomfortable with the old woman’s question. “You are embarrassing the lady.” He removed a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat and dabbed at his upper lip and brow.
“Dare I hope you have resisted springing the surprise in our absence?” Mrs. Ludlow demanded, clearly frustrated at being excluded.
Lyon’s mother, Lady A’Court, was an imposing presence behind Brook. The warmth she had experienced from the rest of the A’Court family was noticeably absent in the dowager. Duty had Brook straightening and showing her respect by curtseying. Her mother-in-law returned the courtesy with a slow nod. Nothing in her expression or posture invited intimacy.
“What surprise are you referring to, Mama?”
Mr. Ludlow touched Brook’s shoulder to gain her attention. She glanced up and was comforted by the gentle squeeze. “Sweet wife, unlike the rest of the family, you are fairly bursting from the suspense. Why not share your news with our daughter?”
Honey poked her head through her father’s arm and clung to his waist. She was still a child and had a child’s impatience. “Can I tell her, Papa? Can I?”
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Ludlow objected. “And I cannot see how it is any of your concern, since you are too young to join us.” Defiant, Honey stuck her tongue out at her sister Ivy. Mrs. Ludlow frowned, her face losing its eternal zeal. “Any further impudence will result in your taking your meals in your room. If you remain here, you must conduct yourself with decorum.”
Honey pulled away from her father, her countenance sullen. “Yes, Mama.” The notion of Ivy having fun without her was unacceptable.
Satisfied that she had won their latest battle, Brook’s mother looked to Lady A’Court for her approval. The dowager had chosen the sofa to accommodate her generous proportions. She met Mrs. Ludlow’s gaze with indifference. Anything that did not involve the elder countess held little interest for her.
“What were you saying, dear?” Grandmother Byres asked. Since she was speaking to the empty space to the right of her, whom she was talking to remained in doubt. The elderly woman had claimed on several occasions that spirits visited
her. Her particular favorite was her husband, who had died over twenty years ago.
“Yes, m’dear,” Mr. Ludlow encouragingly prompted, deciding Mrs. Byres was speaking to his wife. “Share our news with Brook.”
“Yes, Mama, tell me the news.”
Dispelling the dark mood Mother A’Court’s silence had summoned, her mother seized both of Brook’s hands, obviously brimming with excitement. “Brook, having lost your father at such a tender age, I above all others understand your grief.”
No, you cannot.
She quickly glanced at Ham and May and found their expressions sympathetic. “Mama, this is not the appropriate occasion to discuss the matter.” She silently pleaded with her mother to end this conversation.
Mrs. Ludlow shook her head. “No, it must be addressed. You are not the only one here who misses Lyon. It is laudable that you wish to honor his memory—”
Covering her mouth with her hand, Brook made a small choking sound. She had spent the past two years trying to forget what he had done to her—to all of them. The man had chosen to marry her because she bore a physical resemblance to the woman he lusted for and could never have. Brook had paid for his disappointment in ways no one would ever know.