Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3) Page 19

  “How is that relevant?”

  “I don’t want to libel the coachman,” Prudence said slowly. “And I trust Ostringer.”

  Lord Salford and Thorington both snorted at the same time.

  “Ostringer always did right by me, even if he wouldn’t hesitate to cheat the rest of you,” Prudence said. “But if the coachman worked for Ostringer, there is a good chance that he either knows how to forge documents, or he knows someone who does. I’m not saying that Ostringer forges things, but if he were to hypothetically use forgeries, those forgeries would be too good for any of us to catch.”

  “That doesn’t mean Max has anything to do with forgeries,” Lucy said.

  “Have you asked Max?” Octavia asked, putting emphasis on the name Lucy shouldn’t have used.

  Her spine prickled. There were so many questions she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

  She didn’t want to know.

  But that was the same mistake she’d made with Chapman.

  “I’ll ask him. Are we done here?”

  Ferguson cleared his throat. “Claxton, add your piece, if you will.”

  Lucy had almost forgotten about the butler. He’d faded into the woodwork as usual. But he cleared his throat and took a step away from the wall. “Miss Lucy, begging your pardon, but I asked some of the servants to watch Mr. Vale’s servants. One of the housemaids has made it her job to befriend the coachman. He refused to accompany her to the bonfire last night.”

  “So? Perhaps housemaids aren’t his type.”

  Claxton was better trained than the aristocrats in the room, but even he couldn’t seem to stop himself from giving her a look. “It’s possible. But Miss Cressida’s lady’s maid didn’t attend either. I checked all the doors and windows this morning and found that one of the locks on the strongroom is missing.”

  She barely stopped herself from sucking in a breath. She hadn’t expected Claxton to check the strongroom already. She knew exactly why the lock was missing. But if she divulged that she and Max had been there the night before, and if Callie later remembered the location of the Briarley Bible, it would taint any proof Lucy could provide for why Max’s claim was so solid.

  She’d seen the evidence herself. But would any of these people believe it if they thought she was too invested in proving Max’s claim?

  So she responded slowly, as though she was finally giving in to the doubts they were all trying to force upon her. “I don’t like the lady’s maid either. But it’s possible that Mr. Vale knows nothing of their backgrounds. He can’t have employed them for very long. I wouldn’t think he would have had the money for it.”

  Claxton said, “That’s why I had them watched. You can’t be too careful with new servants. But there’s another problem, Miss Lucy.”

  A headache started to throb behind her eyes. His next words didn’t help matters. “We found the missing spoon,” he said. “It was in Miss Cressida’s dressing room.”

  “You searched her dressing room?” Lucy asked. “Without asking me?”

  Claxton looked uncomfortable.

  Octavia, however, looked triumphant. “I told you that you were taking too much of a risk. These people could all be criminals.”

  She said it with so much disdain that Lucy winced. “They could be,” Lucy said. “But we have no proof — or at least no proof that Max knows anything about it. And anyway, you and Rafe were breaking and entering here only a week ago. You’re not in much of a position to cast stones.”

  Lucy looked back at Claxton. “Why did you search Cressida’s room without telling me?”

  There was a long silence. Then Emma said, “I approved it.”

  Lucy’s headache took root. She didn’t want to show any reaction, but she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

  The sharp pain felt like betrayal.

  “Why would you approve it?” Lucy asked, her voice muffled by her hands still covering her face.

  “I received an anonymous note,” Emma said. “It suggested checking Cressida’s room.”

  Lucy dropped her hands into her lap, turning her full glare on Emma. “An anonymous note? Isn’t it obvious that someone else had a hand in this? What girl would steal a spoon when her brother was on the verge of inheriting Maidenstone?”

  “I admit that I liked talking to her last night. I can’t imagine that Cressida’s a thief. But she is remarkably vague about details pertaining to her childhood,” Emma said.

  “I’ve noticed that as well,” Ferguson added, steepling his fingers under his chin.

  Claxton cleared his throat. “It may not have been Miss Cressida. Her maid sleeps on a cot in her dressing room. It’s more likely that it’s her.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. The ten people arrayed against her all looked at her — except for Thorington, who checked his watch.

  He snapped it shut and looked up. “Shall we run this bounder out Maidenstone so that we can all return to our business? I told my bride I wouldn’t let her out of bed for at least a fortnight. I’m most displeased to have been interrupted.”

  Callie blushed. But she looked at Lucy with a furrowed brow. “I’ll confess I don’t know you well, but you aren’t handling this the way I would have expected. Is there a reason why you haven’t told Mr. Vale to leave already?”

  “It’s only polite to let him stay until we verify his claim,” Lucy said.

  But she knew her defense sounded hollow. Callie laughed. “You tried to convince me to leave, and I’m a Briarley who was invited to the party.”

  “And I should have been invited, but you hid my invitations from me,” Octavia interjected. “Why are you more polite to him than you are to us?”

  “Maybe because he cares about me more than you do?”

  She said it without thinking, almost spitting the words out as her temper flared and her headache overcame her better judgment. As Emma gasped and Octavia’s face paled, Lucy regretted it immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  And she was sorry — especially since her words had drawn even more attention to her connection with Max. She knew Emma and Octavia and all the rest cared about her — they wouldn’t have been trying, however clumsily, to intervene if they didn’t.

  But there was a kernel of truth in her words that she couldn’t ignore. She’d gotten far too close to Max since his arrival — closer than she’d ever intended. Sure, she’d proposed an engagement, but she had never expected how much she would come to care for him.

  Had that care — or whatever word one might use for such a heady combination of need and want — blinded her to what he really was?

  She should have asked him all of this before. But if he’d hidden anything from her, she wasn’t in a position to cast stones. She still hadn’t told him about Julia.

  Could their feelings survive the secrets they’d kept from each other?

  Perhaps some of those fears played out on her face. Octavia’s response was softer than Lucy would have expected. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when he arrived. If you have feelings for him, I’ll be the first person to support you. I only want to know that your feelings are real, not that you chose him because you felt abandoned by everyone else.”

  Lucy suspected that Octavia was making a veiled allusion to Chapman. The reminder didn’t help her headache or her mood. But she nodded as graciously as she could, hoping to end this ghastly meeting so that she could find Max. “I know my heart. I’m convinced he’s a Briarley. If it turns out that he’s hiding some dreadful secret — well, wouldn’t that prove he’s one of us?”

  She hadn’t even thought of that before this moment, but it felt like a sudden stroke of genius. Claxton in particular looked like lightning had struck him.

  “Can’t deny you’re all more than a little mad,” Rafe said, grazing his fingers over Octavia’s shoulder.

  Thorington nodded. “On that, we�
�re agreed,” he said, smirking as Callie swatted his arm. “But I, for one, find it entirely charming.”

  Ferguson looked disgruntled. “I cannot believe I must side with Rafe and Thorington on that point, but it’s true. How any Briarleys survived to the present day is a mystery.”

  Lucy blew out a breath, hoping to move the conversation forward while everyone was distracted with the idea that Max’s misdeeds might prove the truth of his inheritance. “Do any of the rest of you have anything to say? Or should we adjourn these proceedings until Ferguson’s messenger comes back with more evidence of Mr. Vale’s claim?”

  Luckily, no one else had any evidence against Max. Ferguson nodded. “We’ll reconvene when we know more. Until then, Mr. Vale can stay here — but it wouldn’t do to trust him too much. And Lucy, I hope you’ll consider which path in front of you will offer the most safety. You can stay with me and Madeleine indefinitely if you need somewhere to go. You don’t have to marry the first man to offer for you.”

  Lucy stood without answering him. It was clear that he thought her best answer was coming to live with him — and she would rather hang than do that. Besides, Ferguson didn’t know about Julia. She suspected he’d revoke his offer if he did.

  All the men rose from their chairs as she walked to the door, which Claxton held open. When she exited, he closed the door behind her. She had no doubt that the rest of them would remain, dissecting Max’s behavior, dissecting her behavior, and speculating about what could be done to keep Max from inheriting or to keep Lucy from making a mistake.

  She wanted to believe she wasn’t making a mistake. She wanted to believe that the way she felt in Max’s arms was the only truth that mattered — that everything she’d learned this morning was coincidence and happenstance.

  She wanted to hold on to the dream of her and Max, united in the face of all obstacles. She wanted that dream to come true — the one in which he was the earl and she was his countess, and Maidenstone could keep Julia safe, and someday they’d have more children to fill these halls.

  But under the weight of her family’s suspicion, the dream began to crack.

  She took a breath. She knew what she had to do.

  She just hoped she had enough courage to do it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Max and Titus took their time returning to Maidenstone Abbey. They didn’t want to arrive at the same time as Cressida and Antonia, and Atticus had ridden to Plymouth to learn which ships were leaving the port the following day, so they rode to Salcombe to see whether there was any evidence of Durrant’s presence in the neighborhood.

  A quick stop at the village pub verified there were no strangers in town. He recognized a few men from the bonfire the night before. The bleary eyes and tired faces showed that many of them had enjoyed the festivities long after the upper classes had left.

  On another night, he would have been one of them. He was still one of them. But he was also, after Lucy’s proclamation, the supposed heir to Maidenstone. When he walked into the inn, the men tipped their hats or tugged their forelocks. The innkeeper, a man named Barker, was entirely too deferential as he showed Max to the best table in the room.

  “It will all come out right in the end if you’re the new lordship,” Barker said, handing Max a small tankard of ale and a meat pie only moments after Max sat down. “Begging your pardon, of course.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Max deflected.

  Barker shook his head. “Maidenstone needs a Briarley. And Miss Lucy needs a better husband than the lot they’ve invited to stay at the abbey. Begging your pardon again.”

  The men nearest to them nodded. It rattled Max more than he would have guessed to know that the village was on his side.

  He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve the men who came to introduce themselves, scraping and bowing while taking his measure. He didn’t deserve Barker cheerfully saying that he would put Max’s bill on the abbey account.

  Max was one of them. He wasn’t one of the people still asleep in the abbey, wasting half the day. The knowledge made the pie turn to ashes in his mouth. There wasn’t enough ale to wash away the betrayal he was going to inflict.

  But he finished his meal even though it settled like rocks in the pit of his stomach. He would be on the run again soon enough. Max knew better than to waste food. Before riding back to the abbey, he gave a few coins to Barker, instructing him to buy a round of ale for the men in the room — and left another coin with instructions to send word if any strangers arrived in Salcombe that day.

  When they reached the stables at Maidenstone, Max was surprised to find Lucy standing outside. She was chatting with the head groom, but from the way her gaze followed Max as he rode up, he wondered if she was waiting for him.

  He didn’t want to see her this morning. In fact, he’d thought of taking the coward’s way out and avoiding her entirely until it was time to leave. Her face, with those gorgeous dark eyes, was already destined to haunt his dreams. He’d rather that his memories be of the night before, when he’d thought he could keep her — not of how she would look when she realized he’d betrayed her.

  She looked at him with a worried frown. The handful of days they’d known each other wasn’t enough to say that she would “never” do something, but he suspected that, in a normal circumstance, she would never wait for a man outside the stables.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked as he dismounted.

  “I should ask you the same question,” Lucy said. “You don’t usually ride this late in the morning.”

  “I went to the village to see how the townsfolk fared after last night’s revelries.”

  “And did they fare better or worse than you?” she asked.

  There were shadows in her eyes and her grin didn’t quite erase them, but her tone held the ghosts of the night before. In her voice, he heard all the teasing, all the pleasure, all the longing that her body had awakened in him. His mouth suddenly ached to kiss her — to devour her. He wanted to cup her face with his hands and hold her until all the doubts were gone. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the nearest bed — or into the gardens, where the threat of discovery would add fuel to the flames between them.

  But if he did that, knowing he was going to leave her, he would never forgive himself.

  “I’m sorry, what was the question?” he finally said.

  She laughed. Some of her shadows disappeared. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt either of us care to discuss the village at the moment.”

  Behind him, Titus snorted softly. Lucy’s gaze slid toward him. Shadows returned as she watched Titus lead the horses into the stables. “How long has your groom been in your employ?” she asked.

  “Only a few weeks,” he said. “I didn’t need a groom in London.”

  “And Cressida’s maid? Did you hire her at the same time?”

  “Not exactly the same time,” he said, unwilling to give a precise answer — unsure of what Cressida may have told her the day before. “Is there a reason you’re concerned about my servants?”

  Lucy chewed on her bottom lip in an entirely uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. Her lips made him think of other things — but he wasn’t blind to the risks. The job could still go wrong if he made a mistake. And these particular questions told him he was on the verge of one.

  Finally, she sighed. “I have so many questions, Max. And I don’t want to ask any of them.”

  She’d heard something. Something that caused her to doubt him. The look on her face was exactly the look he hadn’t wanted to see — the look of a woman who knew she was about to be betrayed, but still hoped, against all reason, that she was mistaken about what she’d learned.

  “What’s made you have questions?” he asked. “You didn’t seem to have any last night.”

  He hated himself for trying to turn it back on her — it was a low, despicable act to imply that it was her fault for doubting him.

  But Lucy was too strong to let hi
m trick her so easily. She raised an eyebrow. “If I recall, I had questions yesterday, until we were distracted. And the day before that. From the moment I met you, really. It’s beyond time that we had a frank discussion.”

  He started to sweat. The August sun beat down on his coat. His top hat didn’t do much to protect him. But it was Lucy’s gaze that he wanted to escape.

  He expected her to begin questioning him immediately. As always, she surprised him. “Will you walk with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “I thought you wanted to interrogate me.”

  “I do,” she responded. “But it’s hypocritical of me to demand answers from you when I haven’t been forthright either. I’m willing to take the first step if you’re willing to meet me halfway.”

  She stepped toward him, offering her hand. He felt like she was offering him a cup of poison — the means of his self-destruction.

  “You don’t owe me anything at all,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

  “This isn’t about owing you. It’s about trusting each other. Will you walk with me?”

  She was offering her hand, but it was so much more than that. It was partnership, not power. She wanted him to walk beside her, not kneel at her feet. She saw him as an equal. She would give him everything — if he would give her everything in return.

  No one had ever treated him as an equal. His family loved him, but he was responsible for them. Durrant had been superior to him; he would never forgive Max for leaving their gang. Every relationship he’d had in London was transactional at best — food or sex traded for money or protection, or stolen outright from those who thought they were better than him.

  The dream of this life — this better life, with her as a willing partner — was so powerful that it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

  “Don’t trust me with your secrets, Lucy,” he said, trying to warn her away. “You’ll regret it if I’m not the earl.”