Amy Lake (28 page)

“She wasn’t sure about the baby, Edward,” Pam continued. “Do you understand?  She didn’t know if the baby was Frederick’s or not, she’d been sleeping with Trevor Fitzjohn all that summer–”

Edward’s breath caught in his throat.

He took Frederick’s hands, to kiss them–

Something glittered in his brother’s left hand.

It was a woman’s gold locket and chain, finely wrought. He stared at it for untold minutes, certain he had never seen it before, unable to look away. Inside was a lock of hair, and an inscription:  Until I am  in your arms again. TF.

“She didn’t
want
the baby. Melissa never wanted children at all. The doctors told her that she would have difficulty if she didn’t stop–well, all the things she was doing, but Melissa just didn’t care.

“You know it’s true, Edward. You must. By the end, even Frederick knew.”

* * * *

Claire banged furiously on the roof of the coach with her parasol. When the carriage showed no signs of slowing down, she stuck her head out the window and started yelling.

“Darby!  Darby, stop!  This is the wrong road!”

What was wrong with the man?  He must be able to hear her–

“
Darby!
” she shouted, wondering if there was any other way to get his attention. How fast was the carriage traveling?  Would he even notice if she threw herself out onto the road?

This was ridiculous. Claire took a firm grip on her parasol and leaned out the window as far as she dared.

“Stop!” she shouted again, banging on the side of the coach with the parasol and hoping she wouldn’t spook the team. After a minute or two she heard the coachman yell and felt the horses slowing. Finally!  she thought.

“Darby!  We have to go back!  We’re on the wrong road!”  The carriage was still moving slowly forward, but a face now peered down from the top of the coach.

Not Darby Jones’s face.

* * * *

“Frederick knew?” Edward asked Pam. “There was a locket–when I found Frederick, he was holding a locket–”

Lady Pamela sighed, her anger spent, and sat down on the bed next to the earl. “Not at first. You know Frederick. He walked away from things he didn’t want to see.” 

Edward nodded.

“Melissa used to laugh about wanting to make him jealous. It wasn’t easy. He could overlook an occasional tumble between friends, I guess, but when she starting sleeping with Fitzjohn at Wrensmoor, practically parading it in front of his face–”

Edward remembered the house party at the castle, his brother angrier than he had ever seen him.             

“Fitzjohn must have given Melissa the locket,” he told Pam, “and Frederick had it with him when he died. I didn’t want to admit what it meant. I threw it away.”

They sat in silence for a time. The maid brought in Lady Pamela’s morning chocolate and–to Edward’s amusement–his usual cup of strong tea. News traveled fast belowstairs.

“Edward,” said Pam, finishing her chocolate. “I’m guilty, too. I knew what was happening, and I never told Frederick. Sometimes I think that if he had known sooner, if he’d had a chance to adjust to the truth before she died–”

“No–”

“But it’s too late. I can’t help Frederick now. Neither can you. Spend your love on the living, Edward. On Claire.”

The earl sighed. “That’s just the problem, Pam. Melissa may have been unfaithful, but I still cared about her as a sister. I can’t just look back on it and think she deserved to die that way–”

“What does that have to do with Claire?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”  Edward stood, and threw up his hands in agitation. “I know, none of this makes sense. But Frederick was so angry, so distraught, and then Melissa died, and–”

He hesitated. Pam said nothing.

“I don’t think . . . I don’t think I could stand to be hurt so badly by someone–”  Edward stopped.

“By someone?” Pam echoed.

“–someone that I loved.”

Chapter Seventeen

Darby Jones had been lying in the dirt for only a few minutes before one of the other stablehands found him, but it was a good while before they managed to wake him up, and even then Darby wasn’t too clear about what had happened.

A discussion ensued. Big Jerry opined that they ought t’ stick the lad’s head in the drinking trough again, but Darby said no, that wouldn’t be necessary, that he was sure he was starting to remember.

Big Jerry said as what Darby’d just be tryin’ to get out of doing a good day’s work. Darby said that if Big Jerry’d done a good day’s work in his worthless life he sure never’d seen it. Things were starting to go downhill–Darby’s skull felt like the cats were havin’ a go inside of it, and he didn’t really care to have Big Jerry pounding on him–when the head groomsman returned.

“Cor!” bellowed the man. “Have the lot of you run mad?  Where t’ hell is the carriage?”

* * * *

Edward took his time walking back to Tremayne House. He needed to think, and he knew that once he saw Claire again, thinking wouldn’t be easy.

I don’t think I could stand to be hurt so badly by someone that I loved.       

Strange that he had entered into a marriage of convenience, only to fall in love with his wife. Strange that it took a conversation with his ex-mistress to realize the truth -

He loved Claire. He would never willingly live apart from her again.

Edward looked around him, startled at what a difference joy could make to the senses. The grass of the park looked greener than usual, the sky bluer. Even the street noise of London sounded like a symphony.

He turned in the direction of Tremayne House and lengthened his stride. If he was lucky, Claire would still be asleep.

* * * *

Jody wondered how early he dared call upon Lady Pamela. He had snuck out of Tremayne House before sunrise–although not before helping Mrs. Huppins light the ovens and extracting a promise for a batch of apple tarts–and was now hunched at the edge of the St. James’s pond, watching the geese.

Silly creatures. Jody was out of sorts with the world this morning, having put all his hopes for a reconciliation between Claire and the earl at the Lincolnshire ball, only to discover that his sister had returned home early last night, and alone. Then there was her note to him this morning–

Mon cher, his sister had written. It’s very early, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to say goodbye. I’m certain that Lord Tremayne will send you to Wrensmoor whenever you wish, but Jody–give me a few days.

And that was all. Claire was returning to the castle immediately and the earl was remaining in London. Something must have happened at the ball. He was angry with Lord Tremayne, angry with his sister–why did everybody keep treating him like a child?  Claire wouldn’t talk to him, the earl wouldn’t talk to him–he didn’t need to be protected, for pity’s sake, he was almost sixteen years old!

Indeed, he knew exactly what the problem was, and he knew it wasn’t going to be solved, not one little bit, if his sister and her husband continued to live separately. But did anyone ask for his advice?  No, they did not.

Jody stood up to relieve his cramped muscles and shooed away an old goose who thought breakfast was being served. He hadn’t seen Lady Pamela since those few days after Claire was shot, but he couldn’t think of anyone else who might be willing to hear him out. He decided the morning was advanced enough to risk a visit, and headed off in the direction of Lady Pamela’s townhouse.

* * * *      

The head groomsman wasn’t looking forward to telling the earl he had lost one of his lordship’s carriages. Lord Tremayne was a fair man and a good employer, but–

Sighing, Mr. Andrews looked at Darby Jones and decided to try one more time. He kept a kindly expression on his face, thinking that the lad looked confused, and a bit worse for wear.

“Now, you say you don’t remember how you ended up lying on the ground?”

“No, sir, Mr. Andrews,” said Darby. “But my head hurts terrible, sir, and I think someone must’ a hit me.”

“And stolen the carriage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“With the horses.”

“I . . . I suppose so, sir.”

Darby knew as well as Mr. Andrews did where the difficulty lay with this story. Someone hadn’t just taken a carriage. Someone had taken two large geldings–and the earl’s cattle didn’t take well to strangers–and the proper strappings for those particular horses,
and
hitched them to a carriage. It would have taken a fair bit of time.

“His lordship didn’t ask you to ready a carriage, did he?”

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”  Darby screwed up his face with the effort to remember. Lord Tremayne hadn’t asked for a carriage. Lord Tremayne wouldn’t talk to Darby Jones, anyway, he’d ask Justin MacKenzie, who would tell Mr. Andrews, who would–

“Oh!  Oh, Mr. Andrews!” exclaimed Darby Jones. “I remember now!  I did hitch ’em up!  But it weren’t for his lordship!  It was her ladyship what asked me for the carriage!”

“Don’t be a rattlebrain, lad. Her ladyship’s not up in the wee hours of the morning, asking for the likes of you to ready her a traveling coach.”

“No!  No, sir, she did!  She was going to Wrensmoor!”

A truly frightful thought had come to Mr. Andrews, and he felt the chill breath of calamity at his neck. Had they lost a carriage–or his lordship’s wife?

* * * *

It was turning out to be a busy morning for visitors.

“Monsieur Jodrel de Lancie to see you, ma’am,” said the butler, with only the slightest lift of an eyebrow.

Jody?  What was this about?  Lady Pamela barely had a chance to put down her hairbrush before the boy burst in.

“Claire’s gone back to Wrensmoor!  Today!  I just know something awful happened last night. She and the earl went to the ball together–you know, the Duke of Lincolnshire–but Claire came home alone and it was really early–not even midnight–and she wrote me a note and now she’s gone!”

“All right Jody, all right. Sit down for a moment,” said Lady Pamela, “and I’ll call for more tea.”

“But she’s gone!  And he won’t talk to her, I know he won’t, he never even wrote her the whole time he was in London!”

 “Jody,” said Pam firmly, “sit down. Let me think.” 

Claire had left Tremayne House?  Lady Pamela chewed on her lower lip and decided that she had a pretty good idea why. Before Edward left–had it been only an hour ago?–he had told Pam about the rather unpleasant scene in the Lincolnshire gardens. Listening to Edward’s description of his wrestling match with Lady Hansfort, she had been torn between laughter and wanting to hit him over the head with the nearest heavy object.

“Danilla Hansfort?  Out in the gardens?  What on earth were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t . . . thinking,” said Edward. “I saw Claire waltzing with Lord Radleigh, and then Danilla was there, and I didn’t know where Claire had disappeared to, and–”

“You were jealous.”

“No!  No, of course not, I just–”

“Oh, stop,” Pamela had told him. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

Bother it all. She had thought it would all be sorted out when Edward returned to Tremayne House that morning. But if Claire had already left for Wrensmoor . . .

“Jody?”

Despite her requests, the boy was pacing frantically around the room. “I’m sure he’s done something to hurt her feelings!  Claire doesn’t deserve this, Lady Pamela, she loves him, I know she does. I’m going to call him out!”                                                                                                                         

Call him out?  Jodrel de Lancie was going to challenge Edward Tremayne to a
duel
? 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Lady Pam had grown up with an older brother and numerous male cousins, and she knew all about the level of common sense to be expected from an adolescent male. This must be stopped at once.

“Jodrel, no. The earl is not going to duel with a fifteen-year-old–”

“I’ll be sixteen within the fortnight.”

“It wouldn’t signify if you were twenty-six. Lord Tremayne will not shoot his wife’s brother. If you somehow manage to force a duel, he will delope. Then what will you do?”

“I . . . ” Jody hesitated.

She persisted. “The person who will be hurt the worst is Claire. Do you think she wants you involved in a duel?  Or her husband shot?”

“No, but–”

“Jody, Lord Tremayne was here earlier this morning.”

The boy looked up at her, miserable and hurt.

Pam laughed. “The earl and I are no longer associated in that way, Jodrel. You should know that.”

“Oh.”  Jody sighed his relief.

“He came here to talk about Claire. He loves your sister and no longer wishes to live apart from her. He told me so this morning, and when he left he was going straight back to Tremayne House to tell her the same thing.”

“Oh!”  For once speechless, Jodrel de Lancie grinned at Lady Pamela and hugged her–and then burst into tears. “But she’s gone!  What are we going to do?”

“Don’t worry, Jody. It might take a little longer than I thought, but Lord Tremayne will find his wife.” 

* * * *

“What did you say?” 

At that moment, Mr. Andrews wished himself anywhere other than standing in front of the Earl of Ketrick, looking at the fury and disbelief on his employer’s face.

“It weren’t Mr. Andrews’s fault,” said Darby Jones. “Her ladyship asked for t’ carriage, and I was hitchin’ the bays–”

“Darby,” interrupted the earl, “let me feel the back of your head.”

“Ow!”

The lump on the back of Darby Jones’s head suggested a blow hard enough to have felled any man, and Edward no longer had any doubt that Claire had been kidnapped.

Sandrick Rutherford, thought Edward.

I’ll kill him.

“Have Achilles saddled immediately,” Edward told Mr. Andrews.

“Bein’ done as we speak,” the man replied.

Chapter Eighteen

“What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?  And where is Darby Jones?”

“We’re going to Cheltdown Manor!  Get back into the carriage!  Get back!”

The horses stomped and snorted uneasily.