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Nicola knew that Penelope and her grandmother believed that it was Richard who was responsible for the fates of both the children. When the children had been brought to London by Lady Chilton’s friend, she had turned them over to the Countess’s companion, a woman named Willa, because the Countess was prostrate with grief, believing her son’s entire family dead—and all this right on the heels of her own husband’s recent death. But Willa had confessed on her deathbed that she had given the children to Richard. She had been enamored of Richard and knew that the little boy John was the rightful heir to the title and estate of the late Earl, and that Richard had inherited only because Chilton and his son were both believed to be dead. Richard had then hidden the children away, sending the boy no one knew where, though Willa said that he had died not long after, and giving the little girl to one of his henchmen to get rid of. The man had put her into an orphanage.
“No! Oh, how awful! You mean, all these years, she didn’t know who she was?”
Nicola nodded. “This all came out a few months ago when the baby, the one taken to the United States, came here to visit and the Countess met her. It so happens that she looks exactly like her mother, and the Countess knew she must be a relation. Eventually it emerged that she was Alexandra, the youngest of Chilton’s children. After they were reunited, they set out to find Marianne.”
“How exciting! This is like a novel.”
“Yes. It even had a romance. Alexandra fell in love with Lord Thorpe, and they were married. The Bow Street Runner they hired finally tracked down Marianne—at Bucky’s party.”
“Was that when that awful man was killed? Richard told me about that, how the man was threatening one of the guests with a gun and Richard had to save her by shooting him?”
“Yes,” Nicola replied dryly. “He was threatening Marianne. The man who was killed had…had something to do with Marianne’s being placed in the orphanage.”
“The villain! Well, I am glad Richard shot him. It—it sounded so awful. I was very glad Richard had already sent me home earlier in the carriage.”
“It was awful,” Nicola agreed shortly, biting back the words she longed to say—that she suspected that it had been Richard’s own neck he was trying to save, not Marianne’s. “But even then, none of us knew, you see, why he had tried to kill Marianne. It seemed utterly senseless. Then the Bow Street Runner arrived the next day and revealed who Marianne was.”
“My!” Deborah’s eyes widened in wonderment. “How could Richard not have told me! Men are so silly sometimes. They think the dullest things are fascinating and then forget to even mention really exciting things.”
“The Dowager Countess has been happier than I have seen her in years,” Nicola went on. “She and Alexandra are ecstatic at being reunited with Marianne, and of course it was a dream come true for Marianne, finding her real family after all these years.”
“I should think so. What a wonderful story! And to end with a double wedding…” Deborah released a sigh of happiness. “I can hardly wait until they come to the Dower House and I can meet them. I—I see so few people here.”
“You should get out more,” Nicola urged. “You should come to London with Richard instead of staying here, rusticating.”
Deborah looked at her, her face falling into a look of sadness, and Nicola thought that she was about to say something, but at that moment a male voice came from behind them. “That is what I keep telling her. Perhaps she will listen more to a sister than to a husband.”
The two women turned around to see the Earl strolling along the dirt path toward them, smiling. He was followed by another man, a stocky, plainly dressed individual whose face looked as though it had never been visited by a smile.
“Richard!” Deborah smiled. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Hello, Richard,” Nicola greeted him coolly. She could never see him without thinking of Gil’s death, and though he had said it was an accident, she held him responsible. Now that she had learned from Penelope about the wicked things he had done, she was even more certain that he was a man driven by evil.
“I came out here to introduce my new employee to you. Ladies, this is the Bow Street Runner I told you I had hired. His name is George Stone. Mr. Stone, my wife, Lady Exmoor, and her sister, Miss Falcourt.”
“Milady. Miss.” Stone’s smile seemed carved out of granite, and he offered them a stiff little bow. He was not a tall man, but he was powerfully built, with a thick chest and arms that made his jacket fit him poorly.
“Mr. Stone wants to speak with you about the incident last night, Nicola,” Richard added. “He needs all the information you can give him to help capture this blackguard.”
“I am afraid I cannot tell him very much,” Nicola replied blandly. Little as she liked the highwayman, she had no good feeling about Mr. Stone, either, and she liked the Earl least of all. She found that she was not much inclined to aid Mr. Stone in finding the man who was tweaking Richard’s nose.
“You saw him, miss,” Stone said stolidly. “Surely you can tell me something about him.”
Nicola turned her most aristocratic gaze on the man, raising her eyebrows slightly as if amazed to find that someone such as he had dared to address her. “It was dark,” she said dismissively. “And he wore a mask. I cannot imagine what I could tell you about him.”
“What size man was he?”
“He was on a horse, Mr. Stone. How could I tell his height?”
“The coachman says he dismounted, miss, that he was standing in front of you part of the time. He says as how you slapped the man, miss.”
“Indeed, I did. I have no stomach for impertinence,” Nicola snapped, casting the man a significant look.
“I’m sure not, miss, but what I’m saying is, you must have gotten some idea of how tall he was then.”
Nicola sighed. “I suppose he was average height. Average build.”
“The groom says he was a large man, miss.”
“I presume he would seem so to the groom,” Nicola replied. “Jamie is a rather small man.” Her eyes flickered significantly to the top of the Runner’s head, indicating without saying anything that she found Mr. Stone rather lacking in inches, also.
“Yes, miss, I noticed.” Stone’s face turned even more expressionless, if that was possible. “Were there any distinguishing marks on the man? Anything about his clothing or his manner or his walk?”
“He spoke like a gentleman,” Nicola offered, knowing that this fact was already well-known. “As for his manner, his walk—I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Stone, but I was in fear for my life at the time, and I am afraid I did not notice many details.”
“Yes, miss. Thank you.” Stone sketched a rough bow toward Nicola, then turned to Richard, saying, “I shall look into the matter further, sir.”
Richard watched the man walk away, then turned toward Nicola. Raising his brows, he said lightly, “You seemed a trifle obstructive, dear sister-in-law.”
“Obstructive? Don’t be absurd, Exmoor. I don’t like Mr. Stone. I found him impertinent. But I told him all I know. The highwayman was dressed all in dark clothes, as were his men. They wore masks, and their horses were dark-colored, with no marks. They seemed to have put a great deal of effort into making themselves as unidentifiable as possible. Besides, as I said, I was in fear for my life.”
“You, my dear Nicola? I don’t believe you have ever been in fear of anything.”
“What nonsense. Of course I have. Just ask your wife. She will tell you I have an absolute abhorrence of rats.” She paused, then added, “Especially the two-legged variety.”
Her gaze remained steadily on Richard’s face. He allowed a thin smile to touch his lips. “Of course. Well, ladies, shall we go inside? I believe it is almost time for luncheon. Perhaps afterward we can have a pleasant visit. I am rather free for the day.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicola said quickly. She had no desire to be stuck in her brother-in-law’s company all afternoon. “I have already made plans to go down to the village.”
“Visiting the peasants again?” Richard asked sardonically. “Don’t you find such nobility of soul rather wearing?”
“It is not nobility of soul. I enjoy the local people. They welcomed me when we moved here, and I shall never forget how kind they were to me.”
“What else would they be? You were Buckminster’s cousin.”
“I don’t mean they were polite and afraid to offend me, Richard. I am talking about real warmth and liking. That cannot be forced or caused by fear.”
“I must confess, I find your affinity for the lower classes rather odd. But I do trust that you will partake of luncheon with us before you set out.”
“Of course.” Nicola bared her teeth in a smile.
Richard returned one that was equally false. “Splendid.” He pivoted toward his wife, offering her his arm. “Come, my dear. Let us go in.”
Deborah rose and took his arm, and they started toward the house. Nicola, with a sigh, fell into step after them. She had known it would be difficult to live in the same house with Richard—she had acceded to her sister’s wishes only because Deborah seemed so desperate—but she was realizing that it was going to be even more difficult than she had thought.
She made it through the noon meal by talking little and smiling frequently, doing her best to tune out Richard’s conversation and face. Afterward, she went upstairs and got her kit of remedies, a bag that contained the salves and tonics for which she was most frequently asked. A few weeks ago, when she had been at Buckminster for her cousin’s party, she had been besieged by requests for healing remedies when she visited Bucky’s tenants and the villagers. Since Granny Rose had died, they had suffered without her wisdom and care, and they had turned to Nicola as her student to help them out. She had made certain to bring all her supplies with her this time, anticipating their requests.
With her kit strapped onto the back of her horse, and after firmly refusing the accompaniment of one of the grooms, Nicola left Tidings, taking the back trail through the fields. It was a little more difficult riding, but it cut at least a mile from the journey, and Nicola had always been at home on a horse. Of course, in London she had to be content with a morning’s ride along Rotten Row, but when in the country, as now, she loved to ride.
She breathed deeply, pulling in the fresh air, so different from the City, and felt the tensions of dealing with Richard ease from her shoulders and back. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the following months with Richard. Every time she saw him, she felt as if a serpent had crossed her path. Yet she could hardly leave. Deborah had been so pathetically eager for Nicola to come stay with her, and Nicola had seen this morning how much better Deborah felt with her here. She could not desert her sister in her hour of need. She wished that she could take Deborah back to London with her, but that was clearly impossible, even if Exmoor would have allowed it. Given Deborah’s condition and her past history of miscarriage, a jolting two-day journey would be the worst thing for her.
But such worries gradually melted away as she trotted through the countryside, taking the occasional low stone wall with ease. By the time her mount approached a fence, she and the horse had grown accustomed to each other, and they soared over it. Exhilarated, Nicola emerged onto a lane lined with trees and dappled with winter sunshine. She paused, looking up the lane toward the right. If she went left, she would reach the village sooner. To the right lay the road to the top of Lydford Gorge, where Lady Falls poured down in a torrent. If she went to Lady Falls, she could then take a different path to the village. It would add perhaps an hour to her ride, but she would still have ample time to visit. Of course, there was no reason to go there….
Nicola turned to the right, urging her horse back to a trot. She had to see Lady Falls again. She realized now that it had been in the back of her mind when she had decided to visit the village; after her thoughts the evening before, she knew she could not rest until she had seen the Falls again.
She hardly noticed the countryside now as she rode; the bold upthrusts of rocky tors might have been the green grass of Hyde Park for all the attention she paid to them. All her concentration was on the place to which she was riding.
After a time, she came to the narrow River Lyd and followed it to the spot where it tumbled suddenly down into Lydford Gorge. Her pace slowed, and her heart began to pound. She had not been here since the day after Gil’s death, so many years ago. She dreaded seeing it again. A few weeks ago, at Bucky’s house party, she had accompanied the rest of the group on a picnic to Lydford Gorge below, and even that, looking up at the Falls from the gorge, had filled her with an almost unbearable sorrow. This, she knew, would be worse—to stand at the top of the Falls, in that spot so filled with beautiful and painful memories—yet she had to do it. She could not rest until she had.
She heard the roar of water, faint at first, then growing louder. At last, ahead of her, she saw the idyllic spot where she and Gil had often met during those magical few weeks of love—the tumble of rocks and the greenery growing rampant at the edge of the water, the delicate mist rising from the Falls, creating a dancing rainbow of colors in the air.
Nicola pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading it the last few yards. Finally, close to the edge, the mist from the tumbling spray caressing her face, she stopped and looked around, her heart swelling with emotion.
It was here that she and Gil had often met after the dance at Tidings. They had sat beneath the shade of the trees a few yards from the Falls, and they had talked and kissed, making plans for their future. They would go to America, they said, when Nicola reached eighteen and could marry as she chose. There, Gil had heard, people did not care about one’s birth and a man could make his way on his own merits. He had given her a ring, a heavy, simple man’s ring that was, he said, the only inheritance he had. His mother had given it to him before she died, saying it was his father’s, but she would not tell him more than that. It was their betrothal ring, and Nicola wore it on a chain, hidden beneath her dress.
Nicola closed her eyes, yearning sweeping through her. She remembered sitting on the ground, leaning back against Gil’s chest, his arms wrapped around her from behind, enfolding her with love, and the memory was so real it was a fresh stab of pain.
“Oh, Gil!” The words tore from her in a sob, drowned by the rush of water.
She had never felt so alive as she had in his arms. His kisses had been like fire, and his caresses had awakened sensations in her that she had never dreamed existed. They had lain beneath the tree, kissing and stroking each other, exploring their eager, youthful passion until they were almost frenzied with desire, yet always Gil had pulled back finally. He refused to dishonor her, he said; no matter how difficult it was, they would wait until she was his bride.
Nicola had wanted to continue, arguing with him that she did not care, teasing him with her mouth and body. That last day, she remembered, she had unbuttoned her bodice and pulled the sides apart, glorying in the heavy-lidded, greedy way Gil stared at her, his breath rasping in his throat.
“Don’t you want me?” she had whispered.
“Sweet heaven, girl, you’re killing me” had been his husky answer, and he had reached out and cupped one breast, his thumb brushing her nipple and making it harden eagerly. “Don’t you know I want ye more than life itself?”
His dark eyes were lit with an inner flame. He moved his hand across her chest, pausing to touch the ring that lay nestled between her breasts. “To see you…to see my ring there, warmed by your flesh—knowing that ye are mine and I’m yours…”
“Then take me,” Nicola had said boldly, covering his hand with hers, her eyes glowing up at him. “Make love to me. I want to feel you, to know—”
“No! I won’t be plantin’ my seed in ye and ye not bearin’ my name. It’s what happened to my mother, and I will not put that shame on ye. Or on my child.”
He had bent and lightly touched his lips to her pink nipple. “Now cover up, girl, before ye drive me to distraction.”
“And if I won’t?” Nicola had asked saucily, leaning back on her elbows, her eyes filled with challenge.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to make ye, won’t I?” He had reached for her.
At that moment a roar had split the air, sounding even over the rush of the water, and Nicola and Gil had whirled around to see the Earl of Exmoor standing only a few feet away from them, his face thunderous.
Gil scrambled to his feet, but Richard reached him before he was completely upright and swung his fist, connectedly solidly with Gil’s jaw and sending him tumbling backward. He turned toward Nicola, and his eyes dropped down to her open bodice, and he stopped as if struck. “What is that? A ring?”
“Yes. Gil gave it to me,” Nicola told him, rising and pulling the sides of her bodice together to hide her breasts. “I am going to marry him.”
“Marry? Marry a groom?” Before she realized what he was doing, Richard reached out and grabbed the ring, snapping the thin chain that held it. He held the ring up, looking at it for a long moment, then murmured, “I’ll be damned….”
“Give that back!” Nicola cried. “That’s mine! How dare you interfere?”
With a great roar of rage, Richard hurled the ring toward the Falls. “You’ll never marry him!”
Nicola shrieked and ran after the ring, stopping helplessly at the edge. Behind her, Gil got up and rushed at Richard, crashing into him, and the two men fell to the ground. Nicola stared down at the tumbling water, spilling down the side of the cliff to crash into the gorge below and rush onward. Gil’s ring was gone. She could never hope to find it again. She whirled, angry words on her lips, then stopped at the sight of the two men locked in a silent, furious struggle.
She’d seen two men fight before. Once, when she was young, two of the grooms had squared off in the yard, and one of them had knocked the other down before Nicola’s governess hustled her back inside. But that angry exchange scarcely resembled this intense battle. The two men rolled across the ground, punching and grappling, silent except for an occasional grunt or atavistic growl.
“Stop it! Gil! Exmoor!” Nicola realized that she might as well have been speaking to herself for all the good it did.
The men inched perilously close to the edge of the Falls, so close that the mist from the spewing water enveloped them. Nicola started toward them, shouting of the danger. At that instant, the edge of the cliff beside the Falls began to crumble. Nicola froze, a shriek tearing out of her lungs, watching in horror as the men’s feet were suddenly dangling in air. Realizing what was happening, Gil and Exmoor crawled toward safety. But the ground gave way beneath Gil’s legs, the rocks and earth flowing from beneath him almost like a river, and he slid backward, his hands scrabbling for purchase.
“Gil!”
Richard, who had reached stable ground, turned around as Gil slid slowly over the lip of the cliff, the spray from the Falls beside him rising around him like a cloud. Richard crawled over to the edge and peered over it.
“Hold on, I’ll help you!” he shouted, reaching one arm over the side.
Nicola prayed frantically as she watched. The muscles in the earl’s back bunched, and she could see his shoulder move. Then there was a brief cry, and Richard went limp, his arm still dangling over the side.
Nicola’s stomach fell to her feet, and she sat down hard, her knees suddenly too watery to support her. She could not speak. Slowly Richard edged back from the cliff and rose to his feet, turning around.
“I am sorry,” he told her. “He couldn’t hold on. I tried, but he slipped out of my grasp. He is gone.”
CHAPTER FOUR
NICOLA TURNED AWAY FROM THE FALLS, her eyes blinded with tears. The memory of that day ten years ago was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. She could still remember the sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sat there, staring numbly at the cliff’s edge. Shock and disbelief had swamped her. Her heart was already stricken with grief, but her mind could not yet grasp the facts. Gil couldn’t be dead!
Then a new thought had entered her mind, and she had jumped to her feet, shaky but filled with hope. “Maybe he didn’t die! Maybe he’s down at the bottom of the gorge—hurt!”
“Impossible. He could not have survived the fall. You know the rocks around there.”
“But there is water, too! He could have fallen into the water.”
“No. You must not go down there. It would be too horrible a sight.”
But she had ignored Richard, running to her horse and clambering onto it to ride down and around to the entrance of the gorge. Once she reached the mouth of the gorge, she rode back up its length to Lady Falls. It was the only way to get to the area below them; the walls of the gorge were too precipitate beside the Falls. But it took an inordinately long time, and by the time she reached the spot below the cliff where Gil had fallen, it was late afternoon, and the high walls of the gorge cast deep shadows all around the pool where the waterfall emptied.
There was no body on the rocks or ground, though she and Richard, who had insisted on accompanying her, had searched all over, clambering over rocks. Nor could she see Gil’s body in the pool, dug deep by years of erosion.
“Nicola…let me take you home. This is fruitless. Surely you can see that. His body is either at the bottom of the pool or it was swept downriver. In either case, the boy is long since dead. If the fall didn’t kill him, he surely drowned. Please…”
“He’s not dead!” she had shrieked. “He’s not! I know it! I would feel it if he were. He’s alive! He fell into the water and must have been swept down the river, but he could still be alive. He just got out farther downriver.”
They rode back through the gorge at a much slower pace than they had taken coming in, searching the narrow river and its banks for sign of a man. There was no sign of him. It was almost dark by the time they reached the mouth of the gorge, and Nicola had allowed Richard to escort her home. “I am sorry,” he had said as he helped her down from her horse at Buckminster. “I was angry, yes, but you must know that I never meant him to die.”
Nicola had nodded numbly.
“I tried to save him. You saw that. But our hands were wet, and we couldn’t hold on. He slipped out of my grasp.” When Nicola said nothing, he went on. “I will send for the magistrate and tell him what happened. Don’t worry. I will make sure that your reputation isn’t harmed by it. We cannot let anyone know that you were out there with a groom.”
“I don’t care about my reputation!” Nicola had snapped. “And he’s not dead! I know it.”
