Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife Page 7

  ‘We will talk later, Mr Granby.’ She turned to her cousin, ‘Perhaps you would escort me to the carriage, Bernard.’

  ‘My dear cousin, it is not necessary—indeed, it is not usual—for females to attend a funeral.’ Eve stared at him and he continued gently, ‘I have no doubt you would prefer to go to your room. Shall I send your maid to you?’

  ‘No, Cousin. I will go to the church. I need to be active.’

  ‘But surely—’

  She put up a hand. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely under control. ‘I wish, Cousin, you would stop trying to order my life. I shall go on much better if I am allowed to keep busy. Please let me have my way in this.’

  ‘My dear Evelina, I am head of the family now—’

  Granby coughed. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but Mrs Wylder is part of Lord Darrington’s family now.’

  Eve felt a flicker of gratitude for Richard Granby. Bernard scowled, but as he opened his mouth to retort she forestalled him.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Granby. That is all for now. You may go.’ She reached up to her bonnet and pulled the veil down over her face. ‘Cousin, our carriage is at the door.’

  Sir Benjamin had been an important figure in Makerham and the little village church was packed with those wishing to pay their last respects. The sight of Evelina in her flowing black robes and leaning heavily on her cousin’s arm caused more than one stolid parishioner to blink away a tear. When the coffin was carried out of the church and Miss Shawcross fainted clean away, there were many that said it was a blessing she should be spared the sight of her beloved grandfather’s body being con signed to the earth.

  Martha accompanied her mistress back to the house and half-carried her up to her room, but it was not until her maid had tucked her up in her bed and departed that Eve allowed her pent-up grief to spill over. Tears burned her eyes and huge, gasping sobs racked her body as she mourned for the loss of her sheltered and her husband. She curled herself into a ball and sank her teeth into her fist to prevent herself screaming with rage and grief and pain. Sir Benjamin’s death had long been anticipated, but Nick’s loss was un bear able; she was not prepared for the agony and in some strange way she felt betrayed. He had ridden into her life and she had tumbled headlong into love with him. She had trusted him with her heart and now he was gone, as quickly as he had come. She dragged the covers over her head and allowed the tears to fall, crying for her grand father, for Nick, for herself. Finally, as exhaustion set in, she buried her face in her damp pillow, praying that the expensive feather-and-down filling would deprive her lungs of air and suffocate her.

  When Eve awoke to the grey dawn, her first conscious thought was disappointment. Disappointment that she was still alive. The silence in the house told her it was very early. She threw back the covers and crawled out of bed; there was a heaviness to her limbs that made every movement a struggle. She dragged herself over to the window and looked out. The garden was grey and colourless in the half-light. Very fitting, she thought. A house in mourning. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to make sense of her grief. She had been prepared to lose her sheltered; they had said their goodbyes and she was com forted by the thought that he was no longer suffering from pain or ill-health. She was saddened by his death, but not bereft. But Nick—Nick with his dazzling smile and laughing blue eyes. He had ridden into her sheltered world and given her a glimpse of a much more exciting one. She had known him for such a short time, but now she missed him so much it was a physical pain inside her.

  She gazed out at the horizon, where a watery sun was climbing through the clouds. Soon the house would be awake and Martha would come in with her hot chocolate. Life would go on and she was expected to do her duty. With a sigh she turned away from the window. The day stretched interminably before her. She had no idea how she would bear this misery.

  Her fairy-tale had turned to a night mare.

  ‘Ah, Cousin, here you are.’

  Evelina schooled her features as Bernard Shawcross came into the morning room. To smile at him was impossible, but she must not glower.

  ‘So I have found you alone at last.’ He laughed gently. ‘I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.’

  And with good reason, thought Eve. Aloud, she said, ‘I have been very busy. Since the funeral there have been so many visitors wishing to offer their condolences, then there are all the legal matters to attend to as well as the house hold duties to be done…’

  ‘At least with that I may assist you,’ he said, sitting down near her. ‘After all, Makerham is my home now, so I can remove that worry from your pretty shoulders.’

  She re pressed a shudder. ‘Makerham was never a worry, Cousin,’ she replied coolly.

  ‘Green tells me that you have been closeted with your lawyer this morning. Is there any news of your husband?’

  She shook her head. ‘Mr Didcot urges caution. Without a—’ she swallowed hard ‘—without a b-body he is loathe to pronounce me a widow. Both he and Granby advise me to go to Yorkshire and place myself under the protection of my husband’s family.’

  ‘Yorkshire is a wild, uncivilised country, Cousin. You would not like it.’

  She raised her brows. ‘You cannot call York and Harrogate uncivilised. Really, Bernard, you are quite Gothic at times.’

  ‘Perhaps, but you have always lived in the south, always at Makerham. We are the last of the Shawcross family, Cousin. It is only right that I should want to take care of you.’

  He reached out as he spoke and put his hand on her knee. Eve froze.

  ‘Please, Cousin. I am a married woman.’

  ‘You are a widow, my dear.’

  ‘You are very certain of that.’

  ‘I would not have you keep false hopes alive.’ The hand on her knee tightened. ‘And now that you have experienced a man’s touch—’

  She jumped up. ‘Pray stop. It is far too soon for such a conversation, Bernard! Please, excuse me!’

  She turned away but his hand shot out and caught her arm.

  ‘Think, Evelina. What do you know of Wylder’s family? You must not go north. You would be far from everything you have ever known, ever loved. Consider what I can offer you.’ He was standing behind her now, his breath hot on her neck. ‘He was a hell raiser, that husband of yours. Did you know that? Did you think you could reform him? Impossible, madam: you cannot tame a tiger, only cage him. If he was truly changed, how could he leave you so soon after your marriage?’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she pro tested. ‘I shall not listen to you!’

  ‘But you must! He tricked you, Eve. He never really loved you. Had he done so, he could not have left you. How could any man leave you?’ He pulled her back against him and murmured in her ear, ‘You love Makerham, and you need never leave it. You can stay here, run it as you have always done. We will marry, of course, as soon as that is possible, but until then, we can be…discreet.’

  Eve fought down her growing panic. His grip on her arms was like iron, biting into her flesh. She knew she could not free herself by force. She must stay calm if she was to escape. She said in a low voice, ‘Please, Cousin. This is all so, so unexpected. My thoughts are in turmoil.’

  ‘Of course. I should not have spoken yet.’ She felt his lips on the back of her neck. ‘Off you go, my dear. We will talk more of this later.’

  Eve forced herself to walk slowly out of the room, her back rigid with fear, as though there were some wild animal behind her, ready to pounce. As soon as she reached the hall she picked up her skirts and fled to her room, trying to blot out the memory of Bernard’s mouth upon her skin.

  Eve changed her gown and at the dinner hour she made her way down to the drawing room with some trepidation. She was relieved to find only the housekeeper awaiting her. ‘Mrs Harding, I must get away from Makerham.’

  ‘Away from the new master, you mean.’

  The blunt statement made Eve smile.

  ‘His intentions are—ultimately—honoura
ble.’

  Mrs Harding gave a scornful laugh. ‘Aye. He’ll have to marry you if he is to get Monkhurst.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I heard him talking to Lawyer Didcot when he came to read the will.’ The house keeper flushed slightly. ‘I needed to pick some rosemary from the bush outside the study window, so I couldn’t help but overhear, mistress. He questioned Mr Didcot very closely, he did, about who would get Monkhurst now you was married. Mr Didcot said of course he wasn’t at liberty to discuss the marriage settlement, but he could tell him that Monkhurst was secured on you and your heirs. Unless you died without issue,’ she continued, her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Then of course it would go directly to your husband. It seems Bernard was hoping it might revert to the family, but as Lawyer Didcot explained to him, it belonged to your mama’s family, the Winghams, and was never part of the entail.’

  ‘But why should he want Monkhurst? The house has been shut up for years, since Mama died, in fact.’

  Mrs Harding spread her hands. ‘Mayhap ’tis greed, Miss Eve. He wants everything.’

  ‘Well he shall not have it,’ declared Eve. ‘Any more than he shall have me!’

  Mrs Harding put up her hand. ‘Hush now, dearie, I hear his step in the hall. And you need not look so anxious, I am not about to leave you alone with that man.’

  The house keeper was as good as her word, and after an un com fort able dinner Eve made her excuses to retire to her room. There she was careful to make sure her door was locked securely. She crept into her bed and lay rigidly beneath the covers.

  It was little more than a week since she had tried to cheat sleep and stay awake each night to think about Nick Wylder, to go over their conversations, relive their moments together. Since the news of Nick’s death, when her whole being ached for the oblivion of sleep, it would not come. But at least now, following Bernard’s sudden declaration, she could spend the long, sleep less night making her plans.

  Early the next day she summoned Granby to the morning room, and when he came in she began without preamble. ‘Granby, I am leaving Makerham.’

  ‘Ah. We go to Yorkshire, ma’am?’

  ‘No. I plan to go to Monkhurst.’

  ‘Monkhurst! But, that’s impossible!’

  ‘It is very possible,’ she replied crisply. ‘The marriage settlement is quite clear; Monkhurst remains my own.’

  ‘But surely it would be better for you to be under the protection of the master’s family.’

  ‘No, why should it? My sheltered provided for me very well in his will, and Mr Didcot assures me that it will not be affected by my—my widowhood. I am dependent upon no one, Mr Granby.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. But—’

  ‘My mind is made up.’

  The valet stared at her, his usually impassive countenance betraying his consternation. ‘I pray you, mistress, reconsider. You said yourself Monkhurst has not been lived in for the past ten years! It—it could be derelict. Allow me to escort you to Yorkshire. You will be made very welcome, and—’

  ‘Now why should you be so horrified at the thought of Monkhurst?’ she asked him. ‘It is my own property, after all. I lived there with Mama and Papa for the first few years of my life. And as for being derelict, no such thing! I was used to help Grandpapa with the accounts and I know he is still paying the house keeper and her husband to look after the house. I shall feel more comfort able amongst my own people, under the present cir cum stances.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am, but surely—’

  ‘Yes?’ There was a touch of impatience in her voice now.

  The valet bowed his head. ‘I am sorry, madam, if you think I speak out of turn, but the master would want you to go to his family.’

  ‘But the master is not here.’ She was not able to keep the tremor from her voice.

  ‘No, ma’am, but—’

  ‘Enough, Mr Granby. My mind is made up. Since you returned from Hastings in the travel ling carriage I should like to use it to go to Monkhurst. You may use the baggage wagon to take Captain Wylder’s trunks on to Yorkshire. I shall ensure you have sufficient funds for the journey.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Granby tilted up his head, his chin jutting obstinately. ‘I cannot leave you, Mrs Wylder. The master would never forgive me. I mean,’ he added hastily, ‘if you are going to Monkhurst, then I should like to come with you, mistress. I could be useful to you. As a courier, perhaps, or a steward at Monkhurst.’

  ‘A steward! Do you know anything about such matters?’

  ‘I sailed with the captain for years, madam, and only became his valet when he left the sea. I know a great deal more than how to dress a gentleman, and I cannot like the idea of you and Martha travel ling so far without a man.’

  Eve regarded his solid figure. ‘I confess it would be a comfort to have a man servant with me.’

  A look of relief flashed in his eyes. He bowed. ‘Then it is settled. Mrs Wylder. I shall go and pack.’

  ‘Hurry, then, for I wish to be away from here by noon.’

  It was not to be expected that Bernard would take Eve’s decision calmly, but in the presence of Mrs Harding and the servants he could not argue too strongly and Eve was careful not to give him the opportunity to speak to her alone. By noon the carriage was packed and ready to depart.

  ‘I fear you will find the house in a dreadful state,’ Bernard warned her as he helped her into the carriage.

  ‘Perhaps, but I sent a messenger off at dawn to advise the staff there of my arrival.’

  ‘The devil you did! You planned this and never a word to me!’

  ‘Come, Bernard, do not scowl so. Let us part as friends.’

  After a slight hesitation he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘Very well. But I cannot like it.’ He kissed her fingers. ‘Remember, Evelina, you will always be welcome here at Makerham.’

  It was shortly after noon when Eve left Makerham. She dare not look back at the house that had been her home for so many years, nor at the church yard where Sir Benjamin’s remains now rested. Instead she kept her gaze fixed upon Granby, who was riding along side the carriage. It reminded her of her first sight of Nick Wylder, when he came cantering towards her on his magnificent black horse. The memory brought a lump to her throat. She could not yet believe that she would never see Nick again. Eve wondered what had become of Admiral. She must ask Mr Granby. If the animal was still at Hastings then he must be fetched, even if he had to be sold. Yes, he most definitely would have to be sold, she thought, trying to be practical. But not yet. Not until she was settled in her new life.

  The day dragged on. Even the thought of seeing Monkhurst again, a house Eve had not visited for a decade, did not have the power to excite her. Her grandfather’s loss had not been unexpected and although she grieved for him she was not overcome. It was Nick who filled her thoughts. Nick with his devastating smile and that twinkle in his blue eyes, his energy and enthusiasm for life. She remembered the night they had shared, a single night that had trans formed her from a girl into a woman. Nick had made her feel alive, he had aroused emotions in her such as she had never known—and now would never know again. Eve closed her eyes and turned her head towards the window so that Martha should not see her tears.

  Their progress had been slow through the lanes around Makerham, but once they reached Guildford the roads improved and they made good time. Eve had given instructions that they were to press on as quickly as possible, but even though their stops to change horses were brief, and Eve had alighted only once at Tenterden to partake a hurried dinner, it was nearly ten o’clock when they arrived at their destination. As the carriage pulled up at the closed gates Eve let down the window.

  ‘I can smell the sea on the breeze,’ she murmured. ‘I had for got ten how the winds carry the salt air inland.’

  ‘There’s no lights in the house,’ muttered Martha, peering out of the window towards the shadowy building, outlin
ed against the darkening sky. ‘We’re locked out.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Eve replied. ‘There is a light in the window of the Gate House. Mr Granby is even now knocking on the door.’

  A few minutes later the valet approached the carriage followed by a large, ambling figure. ‘This is Silas Brattee, Mrs Wylder, the gate keeper. He says your message never arrived.’

  ‘But I sent it express!’

  Granby shrugged. ‘I will follow that up tomorrow, madam.’

  Eve waved him aside and peered at the figure behind him. ‘You are Aggie’s husband, are you not?’ she said. ‘You will not know me, for you were at sea when I lived here as a child.’

  ‘Aye, I was, mistress. Went off to sea about the time that you was born, I’m thinking. The mistress was dead by the time I came home for good, but Sir Benjamin kept me an’ Aggie on here to look after the place.’ Silas was shifting from foot to foot as he spoke to her. ‘If we’d known you was comin’ ma’am, we’d’ve spruced up the house. As it is, the place ain’t fit…’

  ‘Well, it will have to do,’ replied Eve. ‘Unlock the gates, please.’

  ‘Mebbe the Bell would suit, or the Woolpack,’ suggested Silas hope fully.

  ‘That is only a mile or so back,’ added Granby. ‘They will have rooms for the night.’

  ‘Nonsense. I took the precaution of bringing my own linen. It will not take a moment to prepare beds for us.’

  ‘Nay, mistress,’ said Silas. ‘You’d be much more comfort able in the village, miss, believe me.’

  Eve peered through the darkness at him. ‘I am beginning to wonder if you received my message, but decided to ignore it,’ she declared. ‘Let me in now, Mr Brattee.’