To Love a Tormented Earl, page 5
'Miss Rumsley?' Emilia murmured, feeling quite out of sorts. She could only imagine the way the Duke of Sussex, Miss d’Este’s father, would react if he saw his daughter now.
'Miss Rumsley is my governess—my chaperone now, since my debut,' Miss d’Este explained without hesitation. She hooked her arm in Emilia’s and they began to walk. 'And I’ve said over and over, ‘Dear Mama, dear Miss Rumsley, surely taking the air is most effective if one has a bit of exercise as one does so.’ But they wouldn’t hear a word.'
Emilia nodded, uncertain as to how to respond, or what twist of fate had brought her to this moment in time, walking arm in arm with the natural granddaughter of the king, through Hyde Park. Charlotte and Alice had fallen in step behind them.
'So I must say, I am very pleased with myself today,' Miss d’Este continued, apparently quite happy to carry the conversation without very much assistance from anyone else. “Miss Rumsley, why not wait here in Lady Charlotte’s carriage?” I said. She looked fatigued, you see. She dislikes such warm weather. “Why not allow Lady Charlotte to accompany me?” I said. And here we are. No one to gainsay us.'
***
'Am I cursed?' Max demanded of Roberts, thoroughly out of temper.
Jollyboy took this as being addressed to him and responded by bounding over, scattering gravel, and trying to jump on Max. The latter dodged him with a scowl.
'Down, Jollyboy!' Roberts intervened, taking the lead from Max and wagging a finger at the dog, who responded by making a leap in an effort to lick his face.
Even Jollyboy’s antics weren’t enough to cheer Max, however.
Between discovering that Miss Whitmore might well have a paramour, and then seeing his cousin, Lady Charlotte Emery, join her for a walk, he was quite beside himself. Under no circumstances could Max approach Miss Whitmore now—Charlotte would inevitably recognize him just as Miss Whitmore had, and there would be no hope of containing the news of his return from the dead then.
And yet he found himself unwilling to turn back and give up on his pursuit of Miss Whitmore. ‘Twas his confounded stubbornness at work, no doubt.
Something has to be done to separate Miss Whitmore from my cousin, Max mused. I must come up with some sort of plan.
Jollyboy yanked Roberts after him as he spotted a squirrel in a tree.
That gave Max an idea.
The ladies were nearing the north-west enclosure, where they would have to slow to pass through a gate, if they wanted to take the footpath beyond.
Max was pleased to see that another group was at the gate, as well as a carriage, which should cause a delay.
At last, a bit of luck.
'Roberts, I need you,' Max said.
His friend cast a glance his way, but Jollyboy was lurching into the bushes and took back his attention.
Producing the wax paper wrapped bacon Max had brought with an idea that he would continue the dog’s training at some point, he offered it to Roberts.
'Why the devil didn’t you give me this before?' Roberts demanded as he avoided the dog who was jumping at the bacon.
'Don’t give him any now,' Max said. 'Hand me the lead.'
Then, he explained his scheme.
A moment later, Max held the dog’s lead, and Roberts approached the gate at a jog, looking for all the world like a man late to meet someone. As he passed the group of ladies, he jostled Lady Charlotte, and paused to apologise profusely, steadying her arm, from which hung a fine brocade reticule.
Meanwhile, Jollyboy was lapping from a large puddle, forelegs submerged to the ankles.
As soon as Roberts had passed some distance beyond the ladies, he gave a sharp whistle.
Jollyboy’s head darted up, and Max let go of the lead.
The dog loped toward Roberts, ears perked, but then as he passed Lady Charlotte, he skidded. His paws were caked in mud now.
With a visible sniff of the air, the dog turned back, bounding toward the ladies.
Miss Whitmore saw him first, and gave a small cry, but her warning was too late. Jollyboy jumped onto Lady Charlotte, snatching the reticule and tearing it from her wrist.
Mud smeared Lady Charlotte’s gown as she fell. She screamed in horror.
The dog raced off, triumphantly carrying the bacon-stuffed reticule in his mouth.
Max was near enough, and the ladies loud enough in their distress, that he heard every word from their mouths.
'Oh, that beastly animal!' Lady Charlotte screeched.
'My heavens,' Miss Whitmore said, reaching out a hand to her, helping her to her feet.
'Are you hurt, my lady?' Miss Whitmore’s companion from earlier asked.
'I’ll have its hide!' Lady Charlotte snapped.
'The state of your dress, Lady Charlotte!' the youngest of them said, her eyes wide.
Lady Charlotte looked down at herself and gave one of the streaks of mud a swipe with her hand. Then, when she saw the mud on the fingers of her delicate glove, she let out another cry of consternation.
'I must go home at once,' she said, her cheeks red and her eyes wide.
'Oh, must you?' protested the young one.
Yes! Max thought with heat.
Lady Charlotte began marching resolutely away from the enclosure’s gate, down an alley heading west.
'Lady Charlotte, do reconsider!' the young one said, following.
Miss Whitmore met the gaze of the other remaining lady, and they both burst into giggles.
Max smiled. He was pleased, as well. At last, he would be able to approach Miss Whitmore and settle the matter of her discretion about his secret to his satisfaction.
And all thanks to Jollyboy.
***
Lady Charlotte Emery came close to outright rudeness as she traded places with Miss Rumsley, Miss d’Este’s chaperone, who had been waiting in Charlotte’s carriage.
'Oh, I am disappointed,' Miss d’Este pouted, as Miss Rumsley exclaimed her shock that they had returned on foot.
'I do apologise,' Charlotte managed. 'I was in such distress I never thought to go back for the phaeton. Shall I drive you over?'
Royal Miss d’Este’s features took on a most unroyally mulish expression. 'No,' she said. 'It shall do Miss Rumsley a world of good to walk with me.'
Not my concern, Charlotte told herself. She had been cultivating this friendship for the influence the silly girl could bring her, but she had quite had her fill today. Leaving the phaeton to walk through the Park, and with the likes of Miss Emilia Whitmore and her companion. It was unthinkable.
'Don’t forget to send Miss Whitmore an invitation!' Charlotte heard the impertinent Miss d’Este call as she walked away.
Charlotte gritted her teeth and took a long breath.
'Take the alley east,' she told her postilion. 'I can’t abide the congestion of carriages on the west side of the Park at this time of day.'
The driver did as he was told, and Charlotte settled back against the chaise’s seat with a sigh.
What a perfectly horrid day.
Up ahead, she saw that the carriage that had been blocking the enclosure’s gate had moved on. Miss Whitmore and her companion must have already passed through, she mused. Only a pair of gentlemen with—was it that horrid dog? She watched them as they passed through the gate as well.
Charlotte’s spine stiffened. She leaned out of the chaise, her eyes straining as she stared at the men.
It can’t be.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, her breathing becoming uncomfortably tight.
'Max?'
The chaise passed by as the men disappeared into trees inside the enclosure.
'It can’t be,' she breathed aloud.
Maximilian Emery...is alive?
Chapter 5
'I beg your pardon,' Max called to the two ladies ahead of him on the footpath.
The north-west enclosure was widely acknowledged to be the loveliest part of Hyde Park, and it pleased him to have this meeting with Miss Whitmore occur here. Whatever unpleasantness she had experienced prior to this moment, at least now they were surrounded with pastoral scenes, the shade of trees mitigating the increasingly hot temperature of the afternoon.
‘My lady!’ he said.
Miss Whitmore turned in response to his call, and the colour drained from her face.
'Emilia,' he heard her companion say. 'Emilia, what is the matter?'
With Roberts a few steps behind, Max closed the distance between them, giving the companion a nod. 'It’s quite alright,' he said. 'The lady’s reaction to seeing me is to be expected.'
All of them regarded each other in a moment of awkward silence. Miss Whitmore stared at him, her dark eyes large as saucers. The companion stood near her, obviously protective. Roberts came to a halt beside Max, stroking his moustache as he was wont to do when anxious. Then Max mustered his good manners.
'Miss Whitmore, may I introduce you to my friend, Lieutenant Thomas Roberts?'
The lady recovered herself as well, and said, 'Delighted, Lieutenant Roberts. And this is my companion, Miss Bromley. Miss Bromley, this is the Honour—'
Max held up a palm. 'Please, call me Mr. Milton.'
Miss Whitmore blinked prettily.
‘I shall endeavour to explain, if you would be so kind as to take a turn through the enclosure with me, Miss Whitmore,’ Max said.
Miss Whitmore cocked her face to the side, glancing from Max to Miss Bromley. At last she said, ‘Of course, Mr. Milton. Erm, Miss Bromley, allow me to introduce you to, erm...Mr. Milton.’
The introductions settled, Max took Miss Whitmore’s arm and began to walk again. He was faintly aware that her companion had fallen into step behind him with Roberts, and was making friends with the dog.
'Then is it...? Is it really you?' Miss Whitmore murmured, visibly confused.
With a deep breath, Max said in a quiet voice, 'Yes, Miss Whitmore. It is I, Maximilian Emery, the Earl of Ceastre. I do apologise for the shock.'
'How—how can this be?'
Max sighed, unwilling to reveal the entire sordid tale, but knowing he would have to give some explanation. 'The story is...complicated. To be brief, I was—well. Three years ago I was the victim of a blackmailer.'
Emilia gasped.
‘A person made false accusations against me. It is the reason I left for the continent, as I was very much distressed by the incident,’ he explained.
‘But you were reported to have died,’ she said, laying the situation out in the plainest of terms.
'I did become ill,' he said. 'Very ill, whilst in Portugal. Typhus.'
'Heaven forfend,' Emilia said, pressing her hands together under her chin in a show of fear.
'I met my friend there, the lieutenant, who walks with your companion behind us. He was volunteering at the hospital where I received treatment. I told him my story, and together we came up with the idea to give it out that I had died, until such a time as I was fully recovered and ready to confront my accusers.'
'You’ve been unwell all this time?'
'Indeed. I very nearly did perish, in fact. The illness weakened me so it has taken years to regain my strength. But now, as you can see, I am quite hale again.'
'How terrible,' Emilia murmured. Then she gave him an alarmed look. ‘That is to say—I did not mean that your recovery is terrible—’
‘No, indeed, I understand your meaning,’ Max said with a smile.
Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks, Max noted with a sense of relief. He hated to think he had upset her, especially after seeing her earlier already in a state of anxiety.
Thinking of that brought back his concerns about her reputation, however. There was no polite way of inquiring about her activities before she arrived at the Park, but Max couldn’t resist probing.
'I think I saw you, earlier. On Piccadilly?' he said.
Emilia’s cheeks reddened noticeably, which both satisfied and irritated him. Whatever she had been up to, ‘twas something of which she felt ashamed. Hell and damnation.
'How astonishing,' the lady said. 'I haven’t been to Piccadilly in weeks.'
And now she was lying. Max was discomfited indeed.
But the issue at hand has nothing to do with Miss Whitmore’s illicit activities, he reminded himself. He was there to ask her not to tell anyone about his return from the dead. His mission was difficult enough without rumours to add complications. How he was going to go about investigating Ceastre itself he had yet to fathom—
She might be able to help.
If she was, in fact, engaged in some sort of subterfuge of her own, might it not follow that she would be skilled in doing so on his behalf?
Max cast his eyes out over the lovely scenery of the park, unseeing, as new excitement bubbled up within him at the idea.
Who would suspect a lady such as her of acting on his behalf?
Of anything untoward at all?
Miss Whitmore might truly make the perfect agent for what he required.
But would she agree to help him?
He had to find out.
'Miss Whitmore,' he said, and he noticed her startle. They had been walking silently after his question about seeing her. ‘Twas evident her distress had not abated.
She schooled her expression quickly, however, which he now witnessed with a sense of satisfaction, rather than unease. Whatever else might be true about Miss Whitmore’s ability to deceive, it would prove an asset if she accepted the mission on which he wished to send her.
'I have need of your discretion,' he said to her. 'I have returned to England in the hopes of finding proof of the blackmail I endured, as well as of my innocence. I will not attempt to reclaim my name and title until I have it.'
Emilia nodded. 'So you wish to avoid it getting out that you’ve come back from the dead.'
'Quite.'
Max felt reluctant to ask for the next favour, but he pushed himself. She was the best chance he had found so far.
'Furthermore, I have rather an important favour to ask of you,' he said.
The lady’s black eyebrows arched as she regarded him, making her dark eyes seem even larger than they already were. For an instant he felt as though he might fall into their depths and be lost.
Clearing his suddenly dry throat, he pressed on. 'Tis my conviction that my enemy is a member of the staff at Ceastre,' he said.
'Oh,' she responded with surprise.
'As you can imagine, it is out of the question for me to try to investigate the house myself,' he said. 'And Roberts has no knowledge of the place. But you...'
