Authors: Laura Landon
Without a word as to where he was going, or why, Stephen had mysteriously disappeared nearly two years ago and hadn’t been heard from since.
Ethan rubbed his throbbing temple.
Bloody hell. Where could Stephen be?
Didn’t he realize how close he was to losing everything?
Ethan pulled his mind back to the multitude of details he had to take care of yet tonight. “I am expecting some papers from the steward at Penhurst Manor. Have they arrived yet?”
“A messenger brought them a few minutes ago. I put them in the study, sir.”
Ethan nodded as he paused to sift through the cards and messages left on the silver tray on the hall table. A dozen or more invitations to an endless round of dinners, balls, and soirées. How he hated participating in such frivolities. They were the exact reason he’d left London five years ago. The reason he’d never intended to return.
Bloody hell.
If Stephen were here right now, he’d beat him within an inch of his life. How dare he disappear with only a note saying he needed time to see the world before he settled down with a wife. How dare he leave with his affairs in such a precarious state.
Anger simmered to a slow boil. Ethan could not afford to spend much more time in London. He had a plantation of his own to run and a fleet of ships whose cargo needed checking. He didn’t have time to keep Stephen’s holdings afloat, too.
Hargrove turned from placing Ethan’s garments in the closet. “A message also came from East Sussex that requires your attention.”
Ethan looked at the butler with raised eyebrows, waiting to hear the evaluation he knew was coming.
“I would say an answer can wait until morning, sir. There is, however, a letter that came by special messenger that appears quite urgent. I put it on your desk. It would seem it cannot wait.”
“Anything else?”
“Perhaps that is enough for tonight, sir,” Hargrove suggested in his most conciliatory tone. “There are a few more minor details—personal cards and social invitations,” he said, glancing at the tray, “but I will go through them and present those I deem most important in the morning.”
Ethan nodded, then flipped the card he held in his hand back onto the silver tray before walking to what was beginning to feel more and more like his own study and less like Stephen’s. For a few hours at least, he would put the pressures behind him. And he would try to put behind him the anger he felt toward his brother.
He walked to the small oval table on the far side of the room and pulled the stopper from one of Stephen’s expensive cut crystal decanters. After pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid into a glass, he raised it to his lips. The first long swallow burned on its way down his throat. He welcomed the feeling.
“One of these times, Mac, you’re not going to make it past Hargrove,” Ethan said without turning.
Ethan heard a hearty laugh and turned to face his friend and fellow sea captain Malcolm MacDonnell. The big Scot sat in the dark on the other side of the room in one of the burgundy leather wing chairs angled before the blazing fireplace. An empty brandy glass dangled from his fingers.
“Your wily butler nearly discovered me tonight,” he said, holding out his glass to be filled. “I’m going to have to remember to oil the hinges on that window before I return. Hiding in your closet while your protector checked for intruders was damned uncomfortable.”
“It would not hurt for you to come in through the front door like everyone else.”
A long pause stretched between them. “I think I’m being followed.”
Ethan stopped filling Mac’s glass, then breathed a deep sigh. Mac’s warning was not welcome. Not now. Ethan still had too much to do.
Ethan shrugged his shoulders, then continued filling Mac’s glass. The broad-shouldered Scot had sailed the seas with him since the day Ethan had boarded one of his father’s trader ships bound for China. He was more a brother to him than Stephen had ever been. “I guess I’ll just have to take more care,” Ethan said.
“I think it may require more than that.” Mac stretched his long, muscular legs out and studied Ethan with a look of concern.
“Perhaps it will give me an excuse to beg off from a few of my more unpleasant obligations.”
Mac sighed. “Another enjoyable evening with the countess, eh?” he said, sitting back in his chair.
Ethan sat in a chair opposite Mac and threw another swallow to the back of this throat. “She can’t see his faults, Mac. Even after all these months, she still seems more eager to cut out her tongue than say something negative about her firstborn.”
“She’s his mother. Mothers have a tendency to turn a blind eye to their children’s mistakes.”
“That’s fine to a point, but Stephen has lost nearly everything that was left him. He is far from the bloody saint she thinks he is. And what’s worse, there’s a bitterness growing in her that’s frightening. She’s more convinced each day it’s the girl’s fault he left.”
Mac pinned Ethan with a hard look. “What do you think?”
“Don’t forget, it was my luck to be in London when Stephen decided to take off. I was the one who had to take his note to his betrothed and explain that Stephen had left her practically standing at the altar.”
“Have you seen the girl since?” Mac asked, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and propping his chin atop his steepled fingers.
Ethan shook his head. “Not since the day I was issued the invitation to travel to their country estate so her father could tell me that because Stephen had abandoned her so abruptly, his daughter was calling off the betrothal.”
“Surely you don’t blame her for crying off, do you?”
“No. I just wish I knew why Stephen left like he did.”
“I cannot imagine it, either,” Mac said, sitting forward. “He had everything to gain from the marriage. The girl seemed perfect. An eighteen-year-old beauty. The picture of youth and innocence with a dowry that was the envy of every eligible bachelor in England.”
Ethan lifted the glass to his lips again and fought the fury smoldering inside him. “My mother believes that the girl’s innocence and naïveté when Stephen courted her was nothing but an act.” He walked toward the fireplace and stared at the flames. He saw the face of the girl betrothed to his brother, as pale as it had been the day he’d broken the news to her. “Mother is convinced she was only playing the part of the enamored fiancée. The shocked look in her eyes and the drawn expression on her face seemed a superb performance.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
Ethan looked up. “If the way she nearly collapsed in my arms was not real, the girl should be on stage. When I had to reach to hold her, there was no doubt she was overcome by shock.”
Mac crossed his legs in a relaxed pose and leaned back in his chair. “Stephen must have known when he left she would cry off. He must have known that leaving like he did would cause every gossipmonger’s tongue to wag. I’m surprised there was not more of a scandal.”
Ethan watched the flames dance in the blazing fireplace. Mac had never been known for mincing words. His directness hit home. “Damn him to hell, Mac. I can understand his wanting to leave for a little while. But not without a word to anyone, and not for eighteen bloody months! He needed the girl’s dowry to stay afloat. What did he think would happen if he left?”
“Perhaps your mother is right and he didn’t want to marry. Or perhaps the girl intended to cry off, and Stephen didn’t have the courage to stay and face the consequences.”
Ethan fisted his hand and brought it down on the arm of the chair. “No. I think the girl truly loved Stephen and was devastated when he left. That, followed by her own mother’s death not even a year after Stephen’s abandonment has been very difficult for her. Evidently she rarely goes out in public.”
“Perhaps she entertains in the country?”
Ethan shook his head. “Mother has made a point of watching the girl’s every move. She never entertains, and in the eighteen months since Stephen’s been gone, she’s left Fallen Oaks, the estate where she lives, only to help her father with his shipping interests. It’s as if she’s determined to remain a spinster if she cannot marry Stephen.”
“Have you seen her father, Baron Langdon, lately?” Mac asked.
“No, why?”
“He commissioned William and James Hall, of Aberdeen fame, to build one of the new clipper ships.”
Ethan’s head rose. “Have you seen it?”
“Aye. She sailed into London just this morning. The
Abigail Rose
. She’s far and away the most beautiful ship I have ever seen. I hear clippers like her can average fifteen knots a day and can make the run from China to London in about one hundred ten days.”
Ethan rose and walked to Stephen’s desk. He lowered himself onto the soft leather chair and picked up the important letter Hargrove had placed on the desk. He absently fingered his name written on the front, then stopped. “Was Langdon there for its docking?”
“Nay. Word has it he took ill nearly two months ago and has been confined to Fallen Oaks. His captain, James Parker, was there. Everyone knows Captain Parker runs Langdon Shipping as efficiently as Langdon.”
Ethan turned the letter over in his hands. “There’s a hefty profit to be made with the tea runs to China, as long as the Americans are occupied with their war.”
“And Langdon’s ships are bound to be passed down to his daughter.”
“As if that might benefit Stephen any longer.”
“Perhaps if Stephen were to fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness, she would take him back. The fact that she hasn’t put herself back on the marriage mart must mean something. Perhaps she fancied herself so in love with Stephen that she couldn’t fathom the notion of keeping her place in Society without him. Perhaps if he were to ask, she would still marry him.”
Ethan threw his head back on his shoulders and gave a bitter laugh. “That would be the perfect answer, except I do not have a bridegroom to fall on his knees and beg her to take him back. Nor do I have enough capital of my own to cover Stephen’s vast debts.”
Mac’s expression turned serious. “You cannot stay here forever, Ethan. It’s only a matter of time until Stafford finds you. He has runners looking for you. I think that’s who followed me tonight.”
Ethan shrugged his shoulders. “England is a long way from the colonies. Perhaps he won’t think to look for me here.”
Mac shook his head. “He’s searched for you in every port from India to Australia. What makes you think he won’t look for you in England?”
Ethan swept his fingers through his hair. “I cannot leave with matters the way they are. I have to find some way to hold off the creditors until Stephen comes back. I still have three ships at my disposal, and I intend to get tea commissions for all three of them.”
“Then you will na want to see these.” Mac leaned forward and handed Ethan the papers he’d brought.
Ethan read the papers slowly, panic welling inside him at every word. When he finished, he crumpled the pages and threw them into the fire.
“You need a clipper to stay in the running for the tea trade, Ethan. The buyers are only contracting with those who can guarantee the fastest delivery from China. They want the freshest China tea that is harvested in May and June.”
“We will take what we can get,” Ethan spat out, every word as bitter as gall.
Damn Stephen and his irresponsible behavior.
Ethan didn’t want to care, but he did. That had always been the problem. He had always cared too much. He had looked up to Stephen—had idolized and loved him his whole life. How could Stephen have done something so irresponsible?
Ethan rubbed the tense muscles at his shoulders. “There has to be another answer.”
“Your ships are nearly ready to set sail now,” Mac said, his enthusiasm hinting at an optimism Ethan knew was not really there. “With everyone else concentrating on the tea trade, there are other goods in demand, like Australian wool. We will garner the lion’s share of that.”
“And pray it will be enough,” Ethan finished. He took another swallow of the brandy in his glass and turned over Hargrove’s important letter. “I tried to hint to my mother that her purse is not as deep as it was before Stephen left, but she still spends money as if Queen Victoria prints it special just for her.” He threw the letter on the desk in frustration. “What could have happened to make Stephen leave like he did when he knew—”
Ethan’s eyes focused on the seal, the Langdon seal. A sudden jolt punched him in the chest. He snatched up the letter and turned it over. The writing was a small, shaky scribble, definitely not in a feminine hand. It was not from her.
He broke the seal and opened the missive, scanning the words quickly the first time, studying them intently the second.
Cambridge—
I fear I may have waited too long to write you. My health fails me more each day, and I do not want to face my Maker before I atone for my greatest sin. You must know the truth.
Be assured, I alone am responsible for the tragedy. My daughter Abigail is completely blameless. But unless I confess what happened, she will be the one left to suffer the consequences.
Even though Abigail had no part in it, she does have something of the greatest importance that belongs to your brother, Lord Burnhaven. I know she will never give this up willingly, but she must. For her own sake, and any hope for her future, there is no other way. I only pray in time she can find it in her heart to forgive me for what she will see as my ultimate betrayal.
Do not tarry long or it will be too late for me to help you.
Langdon
Ethan stared at the letter in his hands and let his mind conjure anything that Stephen could have left with the girl. Nothing he could imagine seemed important enough to match the desperation he detected in Langdon’s words. Perhaps there was a diary, or a book of Stephen’s personal thoughts their mother would cherish.
The air caught in Ethan’s chest. Could it be the fortune in Burnhaven jewels that Stephen claimed had been stolen? Could he have given them to her, and Langdon knew, whether out of bitterness, or spite, or the remembrance of a cherished love that had been lost, she’d never part with them?