Page 19 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Emmeline walked through the grounds, the sound of birdsong bright and joyous in her ears. Her eye moved distractedly over the new flowerbeds the gardeners had begun digging. The space had lost much of its run-down, overgrown feel and light shone in where trees and hedges had been trimmed and the lawns had been mown. Emmeline made her way to the water garden that Lady Rilendale had shown her. She needed time to think. She had barely slept that night, her mind going over and over the kiss with Andrew in the gardens the previous morning.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said aloud in the silence. A bird sang on a branch, its bright calls incongruous with her confused, dark emotions.

Andrew’s confusing behaviour distressed her greatly. Sometimes—like when he kissed her in the garden, or on their ride together, that he was feeling more and more drawn to her as she was to him. But sometimes he withdrew into that cold, aloof persona, the one she had imagined was his whole self when they met. It happened seemingly without provocation, and she could not understand it at all.

“My lady!”

The butler’s voice interrupted her reverie. She looked up to see him hurrying across the lawn. Her first thought was that it was Lady Rilendale—despite Andrew’s positive comments about her just the previous day, Lord Epworth had seemed very downcast in the morning and Lydia had confided he was concerned for their grandmother’s health.

“What is it?” Emmeline asked, standing up at once.

“His lordship requested me to say that a coach has arrived. And a rider. Your horse is at the stables.”

“Starlight!” Emmeline let out a cry of delight and ran to the butler. “Thank you!” She beamed at him.

He went faintly pink. “I cannot take credit, my lady,” he said with a small smile.

“Thank you anyway,” Emmeline said warmly and ran towards the stables. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. The arrival of her horse, and Rebecca and Stanley, her maid and the estate gardener, was grand news and lifted her spirits considerably .

“Starlight!” she yelled, running across the grounds towards the horse. She was being led by the groom, and when she heard Emmeline’s voice, the small, white mare turned and reared, running straight for her mistress.

“Starlight!” Emmeline repeated, throwing her arms around the horse’s neck. Starlight stood with her head over Emmeline’s shoulder, whickering in greeting as Emmeline stroked her neck and hugged her and cried.

“Should I stable her, my lady?” the groom asked. Emmeline, her face still muffled in her horse’s neck, turned to reply.

“Please. And rub her down thoroughly. She looks saddle-sore and weary,” she added, gazing at her horse. She had no idea how long or with whom Starlight had made the journey, but her horse looked exhausted, her stance weary, her eyes tired.

“Of course, my lady,” the groom replied at once.

Emmeline stroked Starlight again, staring into her limpid brown eyes. Then she turned and hurried to the house, where two bewildered-looking people stood in the carriage path.

“Blimey, my lady!” Rebecca greeted her. “This place is grand.”

Emmeline beamed. “It’s grand to see you, Rebecca,” she said warmly. “And you too, Stanley,” she added, turning to the tall gardener, whose big shoulders and tall frame dwarfed Rebecca though she was not short.

“Pleased to be here, my lady,” Stanley replied shyly. Emmeline smiled.

“I’m sure Mr Pearson will help you both to settle in,” she added. She did not know exactly where the servants’ lodgings were at Rilendale.

“I will attend you directly that I’m settled, my lady,” Rebecca replied firmly. “Won’t have no foreign types doing your hair.”

Emmeline giggled. Rebecca had grown up at Ashmore in the countryside and she was suspicious of anyone from London, though she had stayed there, and in Bath, with Emmeline whenever the family was in residence there.

“I’ll be delighted to have you style my hair again, Rebecca,” she said honestly.

She was grinning with delight as she went upstairs and into the entranceway, the two new staff members waiting uncertainly for Mr Pearson on the stairs.

“Emmeline,” Andrew greeted her. Emmeline tensed. She had not expected to see him, and she drew an awkward, nervous breath, but the arrival of her beautiful horse and her friends from Ashmore had helped strengthen her .

“Andrew,” she replied briefly. “Would you care for a walk about the grounds?”

He blinked, surprised. “I would,” he replied, and Emmeline found it impossible to discern what he was thinking from his expression.

They went outdoors into the garden together.

“Your horse is well?” Andrew asked her as they walked down the path. “Mr Pearson informed me of her arrival.”

“She is very well,” Emmeline replied warmly.

“And your servants had a tolerable journey?” he asked after a few moments of quiet.

“Yes. Thank you.” Emmeline took a breath. She wanted to talk about something important.

They turned to go along a path that led up to the rose garden—the new gardeners were already at work there restoring the place—and she gathered her courage.

“Yesterday,” she began. She saw his pale grey-blue eyes widen in surprise, but she took a breath and continued. It was not her way, to be silent or keep secrets. “You kissed me.” She took a breath as he gazed at her in shock. “You kissed me, and it meant something to me. It was not just an idle dalliance. I would like to know if it is simply idle dalliance to you.”

“I... What ?” Andrew blinked in surprise.

Emmeline held his gaze. “It is not pleasant when you, one moment, show me love and affection and in the next are as chilly as winter frost. I would like to know about that.”

Andrew gaped at her, as though the very last thing he had been ready for was honesty. “I...er...” he stammered. Then his expression changed from discomfort to something she would have called fear had it been another man. “Emmeline...you cannot understand. I am cursed. I cannot risk that you love me. I cannot risk loving you. I bring death to those I love.”

“What?” Emmeline stared at him. “Andrew. You cannot believe that. That’s arrant nonsense.”

His gaze narrowed. “You think I would believe nonsense?” he demanded. “I have seen it. My parents. My grandfather. I will not let you be next. ”

Emmeline drew a breath to argue, but Andrew had already turned on his heel and was striding back towards the house. Pain and hurt stabbed into her.

He was telling the truth—she did not doubt that, not for a second. He clearly believed that he was cursed, that he would curse her were he to become close to her.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

Her first inclination was to ride. Take Starlight and ride away across the fields, spending the whole day out and about so that none of the family knew where she was. But Starlight was exhausted.

She ran blindly back to the house. As she ran up the stairs, Mr Pearson was coming down. He almost bumped into her.

“Your maid and gardener are settled, my lady,” he informed her.

“Good,” Emmeline said, feeling distracted.

“Should I inform his lordship?”

“He is not here?” Emmeline replied. She thought he had gone straight into the manor too.

“No. He has to ride to London this morning, my lady.”

“Oh.” Emmeline’s heart twisted. He could have told her that he was going to go out all day. Besides feeling hurt that he did not tell her, she also did not want to be shut in the house with the cousins. Perhaps, she decided swiftly, she could borrow one of the other horses and ride. She was just wandering down towards Lady Rilendale’s room, wondering if Starlight would object if she borrowed another horse, when she heard voices.

“...and she is a liability. We have to be careful.”

“Yes. An heir to Rilendale was the last thing we thought of.”

Emmeline rooted to the spot. She was outside the drawing-room and Lydia and Lord Epworth were in there. It was their conversation she could overhear.

“You need to move now, Ambrose,” Lydia said urgently. “While you can.”

“Yes. Before there is another heir. That could make everything much more complicated,” Lord Epworth replied.

“You’re second in line,” Lydia reminded him.

“Yes. I know,” Lord Epworth answered. “I will move fast. Andrew will get his just end. I assure you. ”

Emmeline froze. They were talking about her. Her and Andrew! They were plotting to rid themselves of him. It was too obvious. Her own pain and anger were secondary to the need to warn him of a possible murder, and she had to warn him. She took a step forward and a floorboard creaked.

“Who’s there?” Lydia’s voice demanded.

“It’s nothing, Lydia,” Ambrose said reassuringly.

“There’s someone there,” Lydia replied. “I heard a floorboard creak.”

Emmeline heard footsteps and she whirled in terror. She tried to run to the stairs, but as she did, her long dress snagged on one of the nails where the craftsmen had restored the skirting. She let out a cry of fear and snatched at the white muslin skirt, tearing it in her haste.

“Lady Rilendale!” Lydia called out as she stepped into the hall. “Why such a hurry?” her eyes narrowed. “Were you spying?”

“I... What ? No!” Emmeline protested. She was close to tears, her heart pounding in terror. Lydia raised a brow. Lord Epworth had also appeared in the doorway.

“She heard us,” Lydia insisted. “Why else is she so frightened?”

Lord Epworth stepped forward, grabbing Emmeline’s wrist.

“No!” Emmeline cried out. “Let me go!”

Lord Epworth’s hand clamped down over her mouth, shutting out her screams.

“We have to do something,” Lydia insisted. “She will tell everyone.”

Lord Epworth held Emmeline’s arm in an iron grip. She twisted her wrist, trying to break the hold the way she and Amelia had done when they played catch when they were children, but his grip was far too strong. She sobbed as he tugged her into the drawing room.

Lydia shut the door behind them.

“Don’t scream,” Ambrose warned, taking his hand from her lips. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to our dowager countess, would you?”

“What?” Emmeline whispered in horror.

“Ambrose,” Lydia warned.

Ambrose just looked at her. “You’re coming with me, Lady Rilendale,” he said with some irony in his voice when he used her title. “And if you make a shriek or so much as a whisper, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Emmeline whimpered as he grabbed her wrist and Ambrose dragged her towards the door that led from the drawing room and into the servants’ corridor .

“Walk on,” Ambrose commanded as he opened the door. “And anything funny and you’ll wish you hadn’t. You want the dowager countess to be alive and well, I reckon.”

Emmeline said nothing as he walked into the corridor behind her and shut the door. His hand descended on her shoulder, and she tried not to cry, but she was sobbing in fear. These two people had been plotting to murder Andrew! They would think nothing of murdering her too, and quite possibly the dowager countess as well. Perhaps that was what he was going to do—lead her out into the grounds and murder her, then hide her body in the lake.

“Please,” she whispered as he led her down the stairs. The stairs were drafty and dark, and she stumbled, but his hand on her wrist hauled her upright and she continued walking. “Please. Don’t kill me.”

“Keep your voice down,” he grunted.

Emmeline held her breath as they went down another flight and then down again, and then, abruptly, he gripped her shoulder.

“Stop,” he commanded.

Emmeline stopped walking and stood, rooted to the spot. It was mostly dark in the corridor, but here a window looked out onto the grounds. It was sunny outside, and Emmeline thought for a second about opening the window and screaming for help, but it would take too long and besides, Ambrose had threatened to take the life of the dowager countess if she screamed.

She heard something click and she let out a low cry, thinking that perhaps it was the hammer of a pistol being drawn back. But when she turned around, Ambrose was opening a door in the wall that she was sure had not been there before.

“In there,” he hissed. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her in the lower back, guiding her towards the opening.

“No!” Emmeline cried, but he pushed her again and she stumbled, and he grabbed the door and hauled it shut.

“That takes care of that,” Ambrose exclaimed, and the door shut.

Emmeline ran to the door, pounding on it. It was pitch dark around her, the tunnel quite narrow, and she sobbed in terror, tears of absolute horror running down her face. She was locked in, and nobody knew where she was.

She threw herself at the door, trying to break out, but it did not budge, and she sank to the floor, sobbing .

“Someone…please,” she shouted, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the unyielding door. “Please, help me.”