Chapter Twenty-Eight
Longford Hall, Sussex, November 1817
T he path opened out into a clearing in the woods, where the sunlight, broken by the canopy of trees overhead, formed a dappled pattern on the ground. Clusters of ferns nodded in the breeze, their bright green fronds curling to form tight spirals at the ends. Etty reached out and caressed the tip of a fern with her fingers, letting out a soft sigh.
Though Arabella had assured her the forests surrounding the estate were perfectly safe, Etty shivered as shadows moved in the gaps between the thick, gnarled trunks.
Then light laughter filled the air, followed by footsteps as Etty’s companions approached—Arabella’s stepdaughter Roberta, hand in hand with Florence Smith.
“Here it is!” Roberta cried.
“It’s so pretty,” said her companion, “just like a fairy den!”
“See? Didn’t I tell you, Florrie?” Roberta said. “Not that I’d call it a fairy den,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Fairies aren’t real.”
“But we can play at being fairies, can’t we?”
Roberta let out a snort. “That’s a game for girls .”
“You’re a girl, are you not?” Etty said, suppressing a laugh at the look of horror in Roberta’s eyes.
“But I don’t play silly make-believe, Miss Howard.”
Etty placed her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you declare yourself to be Admiral Nelson yesterday and make your brother walk the plank?”
“Yes, but Admiral Nelson is real .”
“I doubt he made his lieutenant walk the plank,” Etty said, “and nor did he tie Empress Josephine to the mast—or in your case a sapling—and threaten to feed her to the sharks.”
Florence—also known as Empress Josephine—shivered, then slipped her hand in Etty’s.
“You didn’t mind our tying you up, did you, Florrie?” Roberta asked.
Florence glanced toward Etty, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m not a good sailor.”
Frowning, Roberta stared at her new friend, and Etty steeled herself for an argument. Roberta was a bright, intelligent creature, but her forceful, assertive nature dominated the little group of friends, and Florence, having grown up in a home where her mother was repeatedly beaten, had learned the benefit of shrinking into the shadows when challenged by a more forceful personality.
At length, Roberta nodded and embraced the younger girl. “Not everybody has to be a sailor,” she said. “For one thing, there’s not enough ships to go round. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I was horrid to you just because we like different things. That’s not what being a friend is.”
Etty smiled as Roberta—who couldn’t have been much older than ten years—nodded as if she stood in a pulpit addressing a congregation while the sunlight illuminated her features.
Then she caught her breath at the memory of another who had stood in a pulpit, the sunlight on his face casting myriad colors from the stained glass windows, while he delivered his sermon to his parishioners before he settled his gaze on her.
“Miss Howard, is something wrong? You don’t look at all well.”
Roberta stared at Etty, a curious expression in her sharp blue eyes. Arabella had said her stepdaughter was one of the most insightful children she’d known. At first Etty had believed her friend’s words were merely those of a doting stepmother, but there was no doubting Roberta’s intelligence. Had she been born a boy, Roberta would have been destined to grace the colleges of Oxford, excelling over her fellow scholars. But her father had done the next best thing and engaged both a governess and tutor to school her in mathematics and history. A most remarkable man was Mr. Baxter.
Etty smiled to herself. To think—she had been raised to consider a man in trade not worth even looking at, let alone inviting into her acquaintance. And yet her best friend with whom she’d prowled the Marriage Mart in search of titled husbands—rivals for the attentions of a duke—had found her perfect match in a simple gardener with uncouth table manners and a perpetual layer of grime under his fingernails. But in place of the gentility that Mr. Baxter lacked, he had other qualities rarely seen in men of Society—loyalty, generosity, and a sharp intelligence. Together with a propensity to work hard for his loved ones, such qualities rendered him the best of men.
Or, perhaps, the second best.
Etty could never hope to encounter another such man. Perhaps Arabella was right in that it was time for her to settle—to aspire to peace and contentment, lest she be perpetually disappointed by her hopes for something more. A union of convenience where both parties negotiated the terms of the marriage contract might not promise a life of passion, or of love, but it would at least save her from disappointment and heartbreak. She had a dowry to offer, and, in reality, most prospective suitors cared for little else. In return, all she wanted was a home of her own, and a father for Gabriel. If a man existed who would accept her on those terms, then she could at least live out her life happier than she had been before.
Such as this Viscount Radham.
A marriage of convenience…
Etty shook her head and laughed inwardly. Most likely Lord Radham would flee back to his ancestral pile the moment he learned about her past. He’d certainly be disinclined to love her.
But what was a husband and lover compared to good friends? Arabella had those in abundance. Only that morning, she’d introduced Etty to the first guests to arrive: Lady Marable, with her extraordinarily stimulating verses, together with her sister-in-law, who worked as a physician despite being the daughter of an earl, and their husbands, who both supported and encouraged them in their careers. Such liberal ideas would have them chased out of Almack’s, despite their titles. But here, in the country, Arabella had created a haven for souls who wished to engage in honest conversations and genuine friendships, far from the drawing rooms of the ton .
Yes—with good friends, a woman alone had no need of a man’s love.
And I shall tell myself that each morning I wake.
A rustling noise in the forest caught Etty’s attention, and she approached the edge of the clearing. But the denseness of the trees restricted the light and she could only make out a few blurred shapes where the trees receded into the distance and the darkness. For a moment, two pinpoints of light flickered in the depths of the forest—a pair of eyes. A beast, perhaps? Or a phantom?
Her skin tightened as a low snarl filled the air. Then the lights flickered and disappeared, leaving the darkness and the hush of the breeze sliding through the trees.
Laughter came from behind, and Etty turned to see the girls amusing themselves at the opposite end of the clearing. Then Florence placed something on Roberta’s head.
“What do you think, Miss Howard?” she said. “Can you guess who Bobby is?”
Etty approached the girls. Roberta had a crown that seemed to have been fashioned from bracken leaves on her head. “Is she Titania?”
Florence’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Two reasons,” Etty said. “First, Miss Evans has been reading Shakespeare’s plays to you—I found a copy in the schoolroom when I was helping her clear up.”
“You helped our governess clear up?” Roberta asked. “But you’re Mama Bella’s guest.”
“Which means that I am creating more work for her household,” Etty said. “It wouldn’t be fair if I sat idly by and watched someone else work when I have arms and legs of my own to help.”
“And the second reason?”
“That’s easy,” Etty replied with a laugh. “The look of horror on Roberta’s face. But I commend you, Roberta, for accommodating your friend and wearing the crown of a fairy queen.”
“What does ‘accommodating’ mean?” Florence asked.
“It means doing something you wouldn’t usually enjoy doing, because you know it makes a friend happy,” Etty replied.
“Like how you’re helping the servants to make them happy?” Roberta asked.
“That’s nothing more than showing them a little consideration,” Etty said.
“But none of our other guests would be so helpful,” Roberta replied. “Except Mr. Ryman. He’s always helping Connie, but that’s because he likes her so much. And Duchess Eleanor, of course.”
“My sister helps out when she stays here?” Etty asked.
“All the time,” Roberta said. “She’s so kind. You’re very like her, Miss Howard. She’s helped Miss Evans with our lessons when she’s stayed here. She showed me how to draw a tree trunk.”
“Yes.” Etty nodded, a memory drifting into her mind. “Eleanor used to love studying trees. I’m ashamed to say that I took little interest in her paintings when we were younger.”
“I could show you some of my drawings if you’d like,” Roberta said.
“I’d like that very much,” Etty replied. “And your drawings also, Florence.”
“Would you like to see them before supper?” Roberta asked.
“I’d love to,” Etty said. “And I think perhaps it’s time to return if we’re to be ready before supper. Your mama would never forgive me if we were late.”
“Mama Bella would forgive you anything,” Roberta said. “She loves you as a sister.”
“Roberta…” Etty began.
“Yes, she does,” the girl said firmly. “She told Papa yesterday that you’re one of the kindest people she knows but have had little chance to show it. She said that out of everyone in the world, you deserve to be loved the most.”
Etty blinked as moisture blurred her eyes, and Roberta slipped a hand into hers.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying that, Miss Howard.”
“Of course not, my darling,” Etty said, smiling. She extended her other hand, which Florence took, and the three of them set off on the path leading back to the road.
Before they emerged from the forest, a faint sound pulsated in the air. Etty’s stomach clenched again. Was the beast—or whatever it had been—following them?
“Hurry along, girls,” she said, quickening the pace. But the sound only increased, filling the air with a rhythmic tattoo.
Then she smiled to herself, cursing her folly.
It was a horse—traveling at speed, from the sound of it. But nevertheless, her heart rate steadied as the trees thinned out and she caught sight of the road leading toward the house. With a final glance over her shoulder toward the darkness of the forest, she stepped out onto the road, flanked by the children.
The hoofbeats increased in volume, reverberating in her chest until she could almost believe the ground vibrated beneath her feet.
Then the rider emerged at the turn at the far end of the road—a man on an enormous black horse, approaching them at a gallop. The horse’s mane rippled with the motion as man and beast claimed the path, riding as one. He leaned forward in the saddle, urging his mount on, and Etty tightened her grip on the girls’ hands as the rider swallowed up the path, moving closer with no sign of slowing.
Florence let out a whimper and Etty stepped back, drawing the girls to her, lest they be trampled.
Then the rider stiffened and straightened his back. “Whoa there!” he roared, and leaned back, grasping the reins. With a neigh that split the air in two, the horse reared up and unseated the rider, who tumbled to the ground with a curse.
He made to stand, then collapsed back, his leg giving way beneath him.
“Damnation!”
His top hat had come off, and Etty plucked it from the ground and approached him. “Are you hurt, sir?” she asked.
“What in the name of the Almighty does it look like?”
Etty’s gut twisted at the familiar voice. He turned to face her, and her voice caught in her throat. “I…”
Dark, expressive brown eyes widened as they recognized her.
“You!” he cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping you up,” she said, offering her hand. He stared at it for a moment, then took it, curling his gloved fingers around her wrist as he struggled to his feet. “How do you come to be here, Andrew?”
“I-I’m a guest at Longford Hall.”
“You’re Bella’s guest?”
He nodded. “Mr. Baxter issued the invitation.”
“I didn’t think…” Her voice trailed off as she cast her gaze over him, taking in the perfectly tailored jacket and cream breeches—albeit streaked with mud now. Then she turned his hat over in her hands, running her fingertips along the soft charcoal-gray felt exterior to inspect the inside, lined with cream silk, bearing a label embroidered with the inscription Lock & Co . St. James .
She ran her fingertips along the silk, and a nugget of pride swelled in her heart. Lock & Co. was one of her father’s customers. Perhaps Papa had supplied the very bolt of silk from which the hat’s lining had been fashioned.
“Why do you smile?” he asked, reaching for the hat.
“Because…” Etty hesitated as understanding slid into place. “You’re Viscount Radham, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“But that’s wonderful! I’m happy for you, Andrew.”
His eyes narrowed. “Happy that my brother is dead?”
“No, of course not. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, madam,” he said. Then he shook his head and sighed. “I ought to have known—fool that I am. You’re the woman, aren’t you?”
“What woman?” she asked.
“The woman looking to purchase a titled husband,” he said. “I ought to have known when Baxter made such a business of insisting I attend to meet his wife’s particular friend that some stratagem was afoot. Tell me, madam—was the plot of Baxter’s making?”
“No, of course not!”
He nodded, brushing leaves off his jacket. “I didn’t think so. Baxter strikes me as an honest sort, though a determined deceiver is capable of making even the most cynical believe his lies. Or should that be her lies?”
She took a step back, clutching the brim of the hat. “Is that what your elevation to the aristocracy has done, Andrew?” she asked. “Turned the kind man I once knew into a misanthropist?”
“I have no war with humankind,” he said, “merely those individuals who have done me wrong. No doubt you and Lady Arabella schemed to secure you a titled husband.”
“Bella did nothing of the sort!” Etty cried. “She’s merely inviting a few friends to widen my acquaintance now that I’m no longer welcome in Society. Had I known that you were Viscount Radham…”
“Ah, there we have it,” he said. “From your own lips, you confess that you set your cap on a viscount. But I suppose given that in your last missive you informed me that you were going home —a return to the drawing rooms of Society and the Marriage Mart to secure the prize you’d failed the win before—I should expect nothing less. Tell me, did you and your friend also scheme to deceive your quarry about your history?”
“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” she said, but even as she spoke the words, her conscience stabbed at her and she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
“Your friend, then. Is Lady Arabella Baxter nothing more than a scheming—”
“Do not impugn my friend’s honor!” Etty interrupted. “You may say, and think, what you like about me—you’ve already made your disgust clear. But I will not give you leave to dishonor my friend. She invited you out of friendship because her husband thinks highly of you.”
“And will you seek to correct his opinion of me?”
“No, sir,” she said. “I have long since learned the cost of attempting to influence the opinion of others. I care nothing for his opinion of you—just as I no longer care for your opinion of me.”
He opened his mouth to respond. She shook with the need to hear his soft words of love—the words that had plagued her every night since she fled Sandcombe with a broken heart and a determination to free two similarly broken women from misery.
But such a need was an exercise in futility. To succumb to it would only lead to heartbreak.
He snatched the hat from her grasp and rammed it onto his head. Then he limped toward the horse, which stood patiently in the middle of the path. He grasped the reins and hesitated.
“Do you need help to mount?” Etty asked.
He turned to face her. “No, I need nothing from you—including your dowry. Some men cannot be purchased.”
He lifted his foot into the stirrup, then launched himself upward, grimacing. He swung his leg over the saddle, almost toppling over the other side, and muttered a curse. Then he righted himself and squeezed the horse’s flanks. The animal veered toward Etty, and she leaped back into the verge, almost losing her balance. He cursed again, then urged on the animal on, which galloped along the road, disappearing at the far end where it curved toward the main house.
Moisture pricked Etty’s eyes, and she bit her lip to stem the tears that he did not deserve. Then a small hand slipped into hers, and she looked down to see Florence staring up at her, the child’s face streaked with tears.
“I-I d-didn’t know the vicar could be s-so unkind,” she said softly. “Do all men turn cruel?”
“Certainly not!” Roberta said, taking Etty’s free hand. “My papa would never behave like that to a lady. Why was he so horrid to you, Miss Howard?”
Etty squeezed her hand. “He said nothing I did not deserve,” she said quietly.
“ Nobody deserves such incivility,” Roberta huffed. “I can’t think why Mama Bella invited such a horrid man to stay. And Papa’s a fool if he thinks highly of him.”
“He was always so kind,” Florence said, sniffing.
“Well, I think he’s horrid,” Roberta said. “And I’ll tell Mama how horrid he is.”
“No, you won’t,” Etty said.
“Don’t you want him punished?”
Etty shook her head. “He was only meting out the punishment that I deserve,” she said. “You may think he behaved badly just then—but I’ve behaved much worse than he did, and for far longer.”
“But you’re not horrid now, are you?” Roberta said.
Etty sighed. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“My opinion is that you’re one of the kindest people I know,” Roberta replied. “And even if you weren’t before—well, the right thing is to forgive, isn’t it? That’s what Mama Bella always says.”
Roberta was right, of course, but what she didn’t know was that Etty had deliberately set out to hurt a lot of people, including someone Andrew loved.
Which was a sin that no man could be expected to forgive.