Page 32 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 32

Eammon

T wo days had passed since their dreadful argument. Eammon sat on the floor by his desk, opening yet another trunk. He sifted through the papers inside, his jaw set as he breathed through his nose.

“You look as though you might explode if someone were to light a match near you,” Thomas remarked, but there was no humor in his tone. He meant it—this much was certain.

“We've gone through almost every single box, and this book of confidences is nowhere to be found. Where can it be?”

“Are you sure it was supposed to be in this lot?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, I am. These are the contents from Lord Pembroke's office. I’ve already searched through all the books. They were delivered from Lady Pembroke's townhouse in London yesterday. There was nothing in any of them, either.”

Thomas stepped back with a low groan. He had helped Eammon look through countless books over the past two days—along with assorted pieces of paper and letters. They’d even removed frames from paintings to check behind them in hopes of finding the elusive book of confidences. But there was nothing.

“What if it’s something Charity found?” Thomas suggested. “You mentioned she was at her mother’s home, going through everything.”

“She set aside a pile for herself. Her sister Eleanor showed it to me. I looked through all of those books as well. There was nothing. She only took two books with her, and they’re upstairs in her chamber— Pride and Prejudice and Goody Two-Shoes . I checked them too; there's nothing there.”

Thomas stood, his knees popping as he did. He made his way to the window, groaning and stretching his shoulders back. Eammon instinctively did the same, hoping the anxiety trapped between his shoulder blades would dissipate, but it did not.

“Perhaps if you spoke to her about it, she might have an idea,” Thomas suggested.

Eammon shook his head. “I think not. Besides, I cannot. She’s left.”

“Left?” Thomas spun around, surprise written across his face. “What do you mean she has left?”

Eammon shrugged and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “We had an argument two days ago. In the morning, her maid delivered a letter from her, saying she felt disrespected. Since I always tell her to do as she pleases, she decided to visit her cousin’s estate in Hartford. I’ve already spoken to Lady Millie’s mother, and it’s true. They set off together to Hartford two days ago. I do not know when she will return.”

“And this does not bother you?” Thomas asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Of course it bothers me. How can I protect her when I do not know where she is? I mean, I know her location, but I cannot reach her there. I can't just go to her if I sense something amiss. I cannot do anything. But at the same time, this is what she has chosen.”

“What do you plan to do?” Thomas pressed.

“I cannot say,” Eammon replied.

“Can’t or won’t?” Thomas challenged.

“Can’t. I do not know what to do. I cannot even focus on Charity right now. I know she’s with her cousin; she’ll be safe enough. But we must find this book. I have all of Lord Pembroke’s belongings here, and yet, I am empty handed. Should I go to Pembroke House and search for myself? But what if the stewards misplaced something or didn’t send it on purpose? I must search the house—go through every book still there, every painting, everything.”

“But is it not occupied?” Thomas asked. “I would imagine the current Lord Pembroke wouldn’t take kindly to you simply showing up at his home and inviting yourself to rummage through his belongings.”

“He does not live there. Charity told me he has another estate where he resides most of the time and plans to let the Pembroke space. Goodness,” Eammon groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “What if he found it? What if the new Lord Pembroke discovered the book and kept it?”

“No, I think not.” Thomas shook his head. “Pembroke would never have been so foolish as to leave behind such a valuable book. It makes no sense that his will would stipulate that his daughter must be married immediately to receive her inheritance. That inheritance is quite valuable. But there is another possibility. How does your mother even know of this book's existence?”

Eammon considered this. “She did not say. She only mentioned that I must marry Charity so that I could ensure nobody else would claim it. But she never explained how she knew it existed.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Well, what if that book doesn’t exist? What if Lord Pembroke only assisted your father that once? What if he only has the documentation that pertains to your father and your situation? Has your mother even seen the book? If she has, what does it look like?”

“I’m uncertain,” Eammon admitted, realizing he had never asked his mother those questions.

* * *

Eammon's mother smiled when he arrived, kissing him on each cheek, as was their custom. “I was not expecting you here. How are you, my dear boy? I hear Charity's inheritance has finally arrived. Have you found the book?”

“No,” Eammon replied, walking past his mother into the drawing room. “Is Marjorie here?”

“No, she has gone to visit your sister. But what troubles you? You look?—”

“What troubles me, mother? I have searched each and every item delivered, and I cannot find it. It isn’t there.”

His mother sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. She wore one of the gowns from her younger days, reminiscent of the fashion during the Regency of King George. The lemon-yellow dress with a silver sash complemented her hair beautifully. If she had smiled, she would have been a striking beauty, but instead, concern weighed heavily on her features.

“Have you asked Charity? She may know something.”

“I do not believe she is even aware the book exists. She understands I married her to protect her, but she does not comprehend that my primary motivation was to shield my own interests.”

“You have never told her?” his mother said, her voice rising slightly. “But why not?”

Eammon was taken aback by her incredulity. “Mother, how could I? How could I confess that I married her to conceal my shameful secret?”

“It is not a shameful secret,” his mother replied, her voice firm. “It is a necessary one. In any case, you have been married for weeks now. You ought to have told her. The poor girl must be so confused.”

“Confused? Yes, I now understand what you mean.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Your Aunt Hannah visited a few days ago and mentioned that when she attended Louisa's ball, she spoke with your wife. Hannah told me that Charity believed she knew my secret, but it turned out that she only knew the version we shared with everyone. Hannah could not discern whether Charity was merely trying to protect my family.”

“I understand,” his mother said, looking thoughtful. “You must speak to her. You must confess your truth and ask for her help. Perhaps she?—”

“Mother,” Eammon said, exasperated, “why must my parents burden me with such a secret? If I talk to her now, she will despise me. And besides, I cannot speak with her, for she is not here.”

“She has left you?” his mother gasped.

“She has not left me, exactly,” he stammered. “She has left for some peace and quiet, but it’s because of my behavior.”

“You have been unkind to her,” his mother said, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, I have,” Eammon admitted. “You see, we were beginning to bond. I took her and her horse, Ambrose, with me and Hector to the village, and she gave the children rides. We truly connected. Then it came to light that Lord Markham is still trying to prove our marriage a sham. I cursed her with every dreadful story I could think of. So, we resolved to attend Aunt Louise's ball together to prove our union is genuine.”

“Of course, that was the only logical course,” his mother said.

“But as we made our way to the ball, my doubts grew ever larger. I knew I had to tell her the truth, but I feared she would leave me, that she would hate me, that everything we had built would crumble. Because I do?—”

“You care for her,” his mother said softly. “You care for her immensely.”

“I do,” he confessed. “But I was so uncertain of what to do. When I introduced her to my aunts and uncles, they were all so kind. They welcomed her into the family, and I could not shake the feeling that everything was built on lies. I could not let that happen. So I tried to maintain my distance from her.”

“To protect her?” his mother asked sharply, crossing her arms in her lap. “Or protect yourself and your heart?”

“I suppose both,” Eammon admitted. “I care for her so deeply that the thought of losing her pains me. Though I have only known her for weeks, I feel such an attachment—so at ease when with her. But the lies troubled me.”

He buried his head in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration. “At the ball, I attempted to steer clear of her, even though she was right; we were there to show everyone how happy we were. But I could not keep my distance. When I returned, I found her conversing with Lord Barron, Markham's cousin. I was consumed with jealousy. Seeing her with him ignited a protective urge in me. So I interrupted, drew her into my arms, and danced with her myself. I felt compelled to kiss her. It was everything I had dreamed of.”

“As a first kiss ought to be,” his mother asked, a twinkle in her eye.

Eammon raised his eyebrows. “Mother, I am nearly thirty years old. I have kissed other ladies before.”

She swallowed hard and looked out the window, as if she wished to avoid the topic.

“I meant for her,” she said gently. “If that is how you felt, she likely felt it too.”

“You ought to find her and speak with her. But tell me, why did you say she left? You still have not explained.”

“I attempted to keep my distance after the kiss, fearing that my feelings for her would interfere with what I must do. I must find the book. I’ve—” He hesitated, not wanting to admit he intended to destroy the book, uncertain how his mother might react. “She mentioned that she had divested some items from her father's estate to her mother's home. I grew angry because I doubted whether the book was among them. Our quarrel ensued. She left for her cousin's estate early the following morning. I wrote to her cousins in London to confirm, and they told me she had departed for Hartford.”

“Goodness gracious! You must go to her. You must talk to her. Is that why you’ve come to me? For advice?”

“No, mother. I came to see if you have ever actually seen the book. Does it truly exist? I am starting to doubt whether it is real or if Lord Pembroke’s only secret was the one he kept for my father.”

His mother shook her head. “No, my dear. The book exists. I have never seen it myself, but your father has. Years ago, after Lord Pembroke helped him secure your rightful seat as duke, Pembroke requested help from your father regarding a troublesome lord. Your father managed to obtain information that silenced the man. While there, your father glimpsed Pembroke placing evidence into a large leather binder. Pembroke allowed him to see inside, as they were close friends. But he forbade your father from ever speaking of it. Naturally, he told me; we shared everything.”

Eammon's lips formed a grim line. “So there is a book—or something associated with it. I simply do not know where it is. It was not amongst the items from his study nor in the library books. The only things I know Charity took were small volumes too minor to conceal anything within them.”

“Have you checked the paintings? Perhaps he hid everything. It is entirely possible.”

“Thomas and I searched everything—every last thing,” Eammon insisted. “We looked inside every box and examined each painting. I assure you, Mother, we did.”

“I wonder if he hid it elsewhere,” his mother proposed. “Your father had certain secret places, as did Pembroke. I dare say if anyone knows of a hiding place, it will be his beloved daughter. You must go to Hartford and speak to her. Confess your truth and ask for her assistance. I am certain she would provide it. And while you are at it, reveal how you feel.”

Eammon was not a man accustomed to allowing others to dictate his actions, but this time he recognized that his mother spoke wise counsel. He departed, kissing her cheek, determined to embark on his journey to Hartford without delay.