Chapter Eighteen #2
“I look forward to hearing what you discover.”
She gave her friend a nod before striding out of the room and downstairs. When Beacham appeared in the entryway, she halted. “I need you and Mrs. Torbett to attend to me in the study.”
“The study? Yes, my lady.” The butler quickly disappeared down the opposite corridor.
Ellie entered the study and settled herself behind Darius’s desk. As she waited, she looked at the drawers and contemplated investigating. She never would have thought to do so before, as it was his desk, but now…
The doors to the study opened and Beacham and Mrs. Torbett hurried in.
Ellie rose. “Please, take a seat.”
“If you’re worried about the Christmas goose, my lady, rest assured it will arrive tomorrow, and we will have it prepared and ready for the oven by Christmas morning,” Mrs. Torbett was quick to speak.
“I have no doubt at all about your ability to ensure we have a proper Christmas feast. Nor do I have any doubts about Mr. Beacham’s ability to ensure all the staff will be present for their boxes the following day. What I do doubt is your loyalty to me.”
“What?” Mrs. Torbett appeared duly shocked.
Beacham’s eyes actually rounded. “I assure you, my lady, that we are absolutely dedicated to you.”
“And, I must say, much happier to serve you than the late Lady Ferncroft. May she rest in peace.” Mrs. Torbett made the sign of the cross.
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “Then why is it that you have both lied to me?”
Mrs. Torbett’s brow furrowed, her confusion complete.
Beacham stared at Ellie for the longest time before something flickered in his gaze and he looked away. The man was astute.
“Beacham?”
He returned his gaze to hers, straightening his posture a bit more. “You must know, my lady, that our loyalty to you is only superseded by our loyalty to Lord Ferncroft.”
Ah, so her butler did understand.
Mrs. Torbett nodded her head vigorously. “Absolutely. I swear on my dear grandmother’s grave that—”
Beacham stopped Mrs. Torbett in mid-sentence with a squeeze to her forearm. “We are sworn to Lord Ferncroft.”
Mrs. Torbett’s eyes widened as she looked at him. She closed her mouth, pursing her lips as if it were the only way to avoid saying the wrong words.
Ellie studied them both. While she applauded their loyalty to Darius, she wanted answers. “So, what you are telling me is that he made you swear not to reveal to me that he is hiding even now in the bathhouse in the northern wood.”
“Oh no, my lady.” Mrs. Torbett faced her. “We swore not to tell anyone.”
Beacham’s shoulders slumped.
Ellie knew she shouldn’t feel good that the two servants were miserable at the moment, caught between their lord and lady, but she was far too hurt to care. “As I now know, then perhaps you can tell me why he is there.”
Mrs. Torbett appeared ready to explain, sitting up straight as if to launch into a dialogue that would be most edifying, but Beacham’s hand on her arm still remained, and if Ellie guessed correctly, he squeezed again. The housekeeper sank back in her chair.
“So, I am to understand that neither of you will explain why my husband hides away for a week or longer once a month?”
There was a slight frown on Beacham’s forehead for a moment before his face relaxed into his usual formal position.
“And you do both understand that with my husband supposedly away, it would be my decision which servants remain at Hawthorne Park and which are dismissed. I find I can no longer trust either of you.”
Mrs. Torbett clasped her hands tightly in her lap, but Beacham remained as usual.
Ellie continued, becoming more frustrated.
“I must admit to being angry at the moment at the lie perpetrated upon my person. But unlike the former lady of this house, I will not hide away and spread rumors among the neighbors and force the children to be hurt. One person doing that in this family is quite enough. Instead, all shall know the force of my will in the next few days. Now go. I cannot have you in my presence any longer.” She flung her arm toward the door, knocking the quill from the ink, causing it to flip end over end across the desk to land on the floor.
“I’ll have a maid clean that up right away.” Mrs. Torbett rose.
“No! Leave it. Let it stain. Just go.”
Beacham, who still held Mrs. Torbett’s arm, guided her out of the room quickly.
Ellie watched them leave then turned her gaze to the inkwell.
The need to tip it over on purpose was strong, her hurt and frustration growing.
Instead, she curled her fingers into her palms. Despite what Sophie had said, she needed to know why Darius had lied.
Her heart kept hoping for a reasonable explanation, even if her head said nothing would make the feeling of betrayal go away.
She slumped down in the chair, not sure where to turn next. Maybe the gamekeeper? But if it was dangerous, that wouldn’t be a good tack. Back to Darius? Even at the thought of seeing him again, she felt her eyes itching with tears.
She would not cry any more over a man who would purposely lead her to falling in love with him only to betray her. No, crying accomplished nothing. She needed to learn the truth of the matter.
Surprised the top-right drawer of the desk was unlocked, she opened it and found the estate ledger.
Quickly, she pulled the leather-bound book out and skimmed down the rows of neat penmanship.
Was that Darius’s writing or his steward’s?
The fact that she didn’t know just proved that in the two months she’d been married, she’d learned very little about Lord Ferncroft.
The items appeared normal, and if there were any mistakes or glaring issues with the sums, she wouldn’t know it.
Her mathematical skills weren’t up to par.
She flipped through the pages to see if there were any other papers tucked away.
Though she’d told Sophie there was no mistress, it was the only plausible explanation she could imagine, and she dreaded finding a love note buried in large volume.
When no perfumed paper could be found, she sighed with relief then checked the drawer to see if anything else resided there. Two extra quills sat at the back, but otherwise it was quite empty.
After returning the ledger, she turned to the top drawer on the left.
It stuck a little, but as she pulled harder, it released.
It was filled with blank paper and a few letters addressed to The Marquess Ferncroft, but one was addressed to Darius Taylour.
That was odd and very out of character. Hesitantly, she lifted the folded paper with the broken seal, not completely comfortable reading her husband’s correspondence—but since he’d already broken her trust in him, she unfolded the letter and read.
Dear brother.
Note I didn’t write “dearest.” As you know, I haven’t decided which of my brothers I wish to ingratiate myself with the most. Though I will say that your appreciation for my recommendation of your current wife has gone a long way in moving you to the top…for now.
That you would agree to hosting such a fete as a Twelfth Night ball, given your proclivity for isolation, proves to me that you hold Lady Ferncroft in the highest of esteem.
It also relieves me much that I haven’t thrown an innocent miss to the lions, or lion, so to speak.
My wish has always been that you, my eldest and most formal of brothers, could find some small amount of happiness.
To that end, I will gladly don any disguise you wish in order to pose as you if the need should arise, so that you may make your new bride happy.
Having her know of such arrangements, again, if needed, will aid me tremendously in convincing those attending that I am you.
I have perpetuated much more difficult disguises of people of whom I know much less of than you.
I’m quite sure I can take on the utmost formality that is the essence of who you are, and a pair of extra-heeled boots will bring me easily to your height.
Soot in my hair will hide my lighter strands, while the hooded cape will go a long way in hiding my bulk.
The full domino face mask you suggest is an exceptional idea, though I do believe we have a similar jawline.
Lissa is in agreement and willing to attend “without me” if necessary, though more for the happiness of her friend than for you in particular.
Of course, payment will be required, as usual, for such a significant favor.
After all, it sounds as if your future wedded bliss depends upon my performance.
That you have a chance at even a small bit of contentment gladdens me to no end.
You deserve to be so. I promise to arrive days in advance.
My wife is actually insisting that we do so, and since our investigation is almost complete, I see no impediments to being reunited with you once again.
Your ever-bothersome brother, Anthony.
Ellie blinked, not a little confused. Anthony was to pose as Darius at the ball?
Why? Did it have to do with why Darius hid now?
Did Anthony also know that Darius hid away for some reason and that was why he referred to his brother’s proclivity for isolation?
It had to be. What must Lissa think that her husband planned to be Darius?
She could feel a flush of embarrassment inching up her neck. What must Lissa think? Or had Anthony told her? Did everyone know except her? Maybe she should ask the children.
Even as the thought occurred, she shook her head.
She would not involve them in any way. If they did know and their father had sworn them to secrecy, it would only cause hard feelings between them and her.
And if they didn’t know, it would cause them to ask questions they were better off not knowing the answers to.
Because whatever it was, it was not pleasant.
As much as she wanted to read into Anthony’s letter that Darius deserved happiness after Dinah, her instinct was telling her it was more than that.
If that were true, it couldn’t be a mistress, as men were quite happy with them, or they wouldn’t have them.
Was it something more sinister? Was he being blackmailed, or was he actually telling the truth about tending to business—only what he didn’t say was that his business was with smugglers he met in the building in the north wood?
She had far too many questions and no answers…as of yet. But she would find them, even if she had to wait for Darius to return to the house.
She studied the letter again, noting it revealed the love and yet contention between the eldest and youngest Taylours. Her gaze fell upon a sentence she’d read but hadn’t pondered.
That you would agree to hosting such a fete as a Twelfth Night ball, given your proclivity for isolation, proves to me that you hold Lady Ferncroft in the highest of esteem.
He held her in the highest esteem? Darius himself had said he was protecting her. Had she indeed misinterpreted her discovery?
She finished folding the letter and returned it to the drawer. Now she didn’t know what to think or how to feel. But she couldn’t simply wait to find out the truth. She needed to act.