And you were disappointed
. A wife with whom he could hold a rational conversation would be a real treasure. Emily now proved to be just such a person.
“Devil take it!” he muttered. Emily was off limits. Why had she divulged her interests now? It was bad enough to rue the loss of her beauty and sweetness. Must he also regret losing a keen mind?
Footsteps climbing the hillside interrupted his reverie. Fay. She stormed across the folly to loom over him.
“I won’t have that girl at Broadbanks any longer,” she hissed, her face twisted in fury. “It’s all over the village that you tended her sickbed and practically live in her pocket now that she is recovered. How dare you insult me so! If she is well enough to leave her bed, then she is well enough to return to Yorkshire.”
Damnation! The servants must be spreading exaggerated tales. Why did they hate him so much? But Fay needed to learn that he had limits beyond which nothing could push him. “We may be betrothed, but that does not give you the right to rule my life,” he replied calmly. “Your father allowed you to act the hoyden, but I expect decorum from my wife. And obedience.”
Her expression changed to contrition. One hand touched his sleeve in supplication, making his skin crawl. “You are making me a laughingstock, Drew,” she protested. “It is your duty to protect me.”
“Duty?” He snorted with a mirthless laugh. “You’ve had all the duty you’ll ever get from me. Don’t push your luck.”
She stomped her foot. “Is this how you treat the woman who has loved you for so many years? You’ll both regret insulting me. I won’t have your doxy here another day.”
“Insulted? Impossible. Your lack of breeding shines, as usual,” he taunted, injecting coldness into his words. “Lady Emily is the sister of my closest friend and the daughter of a highly respected earl. She was more a lady in her cradle than you can ever be.”
Fay laughed. “So masterful, my love. But you forget with whom you speak. I know that you fancy yourself in love with the chit. She has to go. Either she leaves tomorrow, or I will visit your father. He doted on Randolph, you know. The poor boy could do no wrong. The shock of learning that you murdered him would have a detrimental affect on the dear marquess’s health.”
“So precipitous,” he drawled, hiding his fear and loathing. But part of him wished she would divulge everything. It would remove the responsibility for hurting Broadbanks from his shoulders and destroy his credit enough that jilting Fay would seem a mild transgression in comparison. “You would cut off your nose to spite your face. Lady Emily will remain here until the wedding. Despite taking an occasional turn about the gardens, her health is still precarious. A lengthy journey can only harm her. And she would hardly arrive home before she would have to return for our nuptials.”
“She needn’t go all the way to Yorkshire if her health is that bad,” sneered Fay. “Clifford could just as easily house her in London. She would be closer to her doctor there anyway.”
He rose, his expression forcing Fay back a step. Ice dripped from every word. “This discussion is pointless. Lady Emily stays. Run to my father if you must, but you are correct that he doted on Randolph. Learning that I killed my brother would infuriate him. Do you know what he would do?”
“Die. Leaving you with more blood on your hands.”
“You underestimate his strength. He would cut me off without a shilling. The inheritance I received from my grandmother would support us in a cottage, but no more. And that is not all. He has the connections to force a bill through Parliament removing me from the succession. The only reason he hasn’t already done so is because I begged him to disown me. I would rather join Wellington than take over his honors.”
“You lie. He has too much pride in family to ever do such a thing.” But her voice revealed uncertainty.
“Exactly. So much pride that he would do anything to prevent the marquessate from falling into the hands of a Cain. But just so we understand each other, if you do anything to damage my reputation, I will terminate this accursed betrothal in an instant. The only reason I agreed was to spare my father distress. Once that is no longer necessary, I care nothing for my own credit.”
“Very well, my lord.” Fay’s fury was barely controlled. “Your mistress stays – for now. But you will rue this day.”
He watched as Fay swept down the steps and disappeared. Not until her horse cantered across the valley did he relax. Then a wave of desolation left him shaking. He should have followed Randolph over that cliff when he’d had the chance. There had been a moment when the urge to jump had nearly overwhelmed him. But cowardice had frozen him in place, accepting even dishonor in lieu of taking his own life.
And cowardice was still directing his actions. Fay was right. He already rued the exchange. He should have let her expose him, but he didn’t want Emily to know he was a murderer. Perhaps he deserved Fay after all.
It was all he could do to walk back to the house.
* * * *
The moment Cherlynn identified the speakers, she slipped between the shrubbery and the rear wall of the folly where she could hear without being seen. Within moments she realized that Fay was Emily’s deadly enemy. But even that knowledge receded under the weight of Fay’s other revelations. Drew had killed his brother. And despite his claims, he was terrified that Broadbanks would die if he learned the truth. Had Fay also heard that note of panic in his voice?
That explained his betrothal. He had fully intended to wed Emily, but when he came home to discuss the match with his father, something had happened that left Randolph dead. Fay knew what it was and had used that knowledge to blackmail him into marriage. Emily’s expectations were clear. The girl had not only lost the man she loved to Fay’s manipulation, the man himself had lived every day of his life in fear of exposure.
She shifted when Fay left, catching a brief glimpse of her. Even livid with fury, Fay was beautiful. Blonde hair clustered in natural ringlets. The slender body emitted an aura of fragility that would raise protective urges in most gentlemen. But that was as false as her protestations of love. She untied a massive gelding and leaped into the saddle. The athleticism needed to control her fractious mount belied any hint of weakness, just as grasping greed belied her pretended jealousy.
Drew remained in the folly. Cherlynn considered slipping away, for he would probably stay until his temper was under control. But he suddenly strode out and headed for the house. Her one glimpse of his face made her recoil in shock. After Fay’s threats, she had expected fury or possibly resignation. Instead, his face was twisted in an agony so intense it took her breath away.
She gave him time to get well away, then slipped into the folly and sat on the curved bench that hugged the rear wall. What must Drew be suffering? Fay’s blackmail had forced him to jilt the woman he loved. No wonder he hadn’t spoken to her before the ball. Shame would have tied his tongue. And what could he have said? It was better that Emily believe him a cad than a criminal.
But this gave her a bevy of new questions. How had Randolph died? Drew must have been involved, but she could not believe that he had deliberately killed his brother. Such an action was out of character. He had often accosted her since she had left her room, their discussions revealing a sensitive, caring nature that complemented his intelligence. Drew was not a man who used violence to solve his problems. Nor was he a man who could kill a brother in cold blood. Even her own history of poor judgment couldn’t make her this wrong.
Appalled at her vehemence, she ran through her impressions again. Her feelings were growing too strong. His allure was obvious, for he was a man like none she had ever known – physically powerful, blatantly masculine, devastatingly sexy. Yet it was the contrasts that made him truly memorable. His gentleness, his concern, his aura of carrying a burden too heavy for even Atlas to bear. The desolate face in his portrait had mesmerized her. The reality was even more striking. But falling in love would be a grievous mistake. Emily loved him, and Emily would ultimately have him – by his own choice. Cherlynn wouldn’t even be around to wish them well.
She deliberately focused on business. This new information made her task even harder. She must save Drew from Fay without revealing his part in Randolph’s death. She must prevent Fay from spreading tales. And she must convince Drew that Emily would forgive that death, no matter what he had done. That last might be the toughest. He had alluded to his misdeeds shortly after Emily’s fall, claiming that she would hate him if she learned the truth – at least she thought that’s what he’d said; she’d been out of her mind with fever at the time.
Perhaps learning about Randolph would help. If his death was an accident, Fay would lose most of her bargaining power. If he had deserved death, Drew’s actions were excusable. Either way, he could break the betrothal with minimal social censure.
Who was her best source of information? Broadbanks had apparently idolized his second son, so he would hardly be reliable. Besides, she had no desire to hasten his death by agitating him. And Drew’s sacrifice had been in vain. His father had died just after the wedding. What a pity.
She scolded herself for extraneous thoughts.
At this point Drew was also a poor source. Once she discovered what kind of man Randolph had been, she could decide how to approach him.
That left Anne. The girl was eighteen, but horribly shy. It had taken several visits to the sickroom before she relaxed enough to exchange more than ritual greetings with Emily. Not until they had met in the morning room just yesterday had they become friends.
“Pardon me,” Cherlynn had said, turning to go when she realized that Anne was curled in the window seat with a sketch pad and pencil. “I did not mean to intrude.”
“You needn’t leave,” she protested. “I am relieved that you are feeling better. Has your headache gone?”
“Long since. My real problem was that first doctor, who nearly bled me to death.” She paused, deliberately taking a deep breath and vowing to control her tongue. “You sketch?” she asked politely.
Anne flinched, but hesitantly held out the pad. “My governess does not consider it proper sketching,” she reported shyly.
Recalling Miss Anders, who had accompanied Anne on her calls, Cherlynn grimaced. The woman would probably condemn eating and sleeping if she thought Anne found the activities enjoyable.
She flipped pages, awe growing with each new picture. The pad was filled with detailed drawings of trees and flowers, showing the stages of development from young shoot to leafy plant and from flower to fruit. The trees included silhouettes of their characteristic shapes and intricate renderings of their bark patterns. “But these are marvelous! You must be a naturalist.”
“I only sketch to occupy my time,” Anne protested.
“Perhaps, yet these are the best I’ve seen,” said Cherlynn. “They should be published.”
“Oh, no.” Horror filled Anne’s eyes. “I could never! And I know little about the plants themselves. Pictures are never enough.”
Cherlynn reined in her enthusiasm. Regency! This is the Regency. Ladies would never stoop to trade, and a female who turned to commercial art would be considered fast. “It is your decision, of course. But don’t lose these.” She paused for a moment. “May I ask a favor of you, Lady Anne?”
The girl nodded, though she was clearly surprised. The question must have broken another rule. Despite reading hundreds of books set in this era, she knew only the importance of proper behavior, not the details of what propriety entailed. No one published books that contained information proper ladies learned from birth, but which members of the lower classes did not need.
“My memory shows no signs of returning any time soon, and it is terribly frustrating not to know how to go on. Now that I am on my feet again, I will undoubtedly meet many people – you can’t always dine
en famille
– but the thought of committing a
faux pas
frankly terrifies me. Would you instruct me in etiquette? I would ask my brother, but he is too frustrated over my problem to make a comfortable teacher.”
“Of course.” Anne was clearly pleased to be consulted. “I cannot imagine suddenly forgetting everything one has been taught.” And without further ado, she had set in.
The afternoon had been the most enjoyable that Cherlynn had spent in years. Their budding friendship filled a void that she usually ignored. She had made no new friends since leaving Willard. Nor had she ever acquired the kind of lasting friends that others took for granted. School. College. Work. Marriage. People had moved through her life who seemed to like her when they were together, but who quickly forgot her when she moved on. Once she returned home, she must work on finding some real friends. Loneliness took too great a toll on her emotional resources.
Anne was again in the morning room. It seemed to be her favorite place. The girl craved solitude almost as much as Cherlynn did herself.
“Your father mentioned Randolph when we were walking in the garden, but he seemed so saddened that I hesitated to ask for details. How did he die?”
Anne jumped, but controlled herself immediately. “He fell from the cliffs just outside the estate boundaries.” She sighed. “It seemed too fantastic. I had just finished reading
Julius Caesar –
‘Beware the Ides of March’ – and then Randolph died on that day.”
“How tragic,” Cherlynn murmured, but her skin crawled and her mind was whirling. The cliffs. Nine members of the family would die there, all on March 15. What did Randolph have to do with the curse? It had not yet been uttered. Fay was Marchioness of Broadbanks when she triggered it. Or so the story went. But it couldn’t be that far wrong. Mabel Hardesty was a direct descendant of an eyewitness.
“Yes. Papa had his worst spell just afterward. He hasn’t been the same since.”
“From the shock, I suppose.”
Anne nodded. “Randolph was always Papa’s favorite. It was never a secret, not that Randolph deserved such favor,” she added under her breath.
But the words carried. And this was exactly the information Cherlynn needed. “Why?” she asked softly.