He Said Yes Page 26

  She wouldn't beg to be believed, or rant and rave and cry the way she had done on Bond Street. It had gained her noth­ing then, and she refused to be brought down by panic now. Whatever happened, she needed to have her wits about her.

  "Very well, if you insist on being uncooperative, you leave me little choice," Winnifred told her. "If the watch is not found, or returned to the house by noon tomorrow, I will inform my mother of my suspicions and let her handle the matter."

  Evelyn watched as Marshall's sister left the cottage. Fear choked her as she walked to the window and looked out at the night-darkened beach. The memories of that day on Bond Street came flooding back. The unbelieving faces as she'd cried out her innocence, Winmfred's among them, the awful stench of the jail wagon, the cold walls of the detention house, the feeling of utter helplessness. The only good thing had been the marquis. He had believed her, helped her, saved her.

  But her knight in shining armor was in London.

  Evelyn paced the floor of the cottage, doing her best to rationalize her decision to leave Bedford Hall as soon as possible. Stopping midway of the room, she studied the seashell on the mantel. She took it down and held it to her ear, but instead of the sea, Evelyn heard the fading sound of her dreams. Dreams she'd been foolish to believe could come true.

  Turning on her heels, she went into the bedroom and began to pack. The mail wagon would be by early in the morning. She knew the driver, having made his acquain­tance when she'd posted the invitations that had brought a swamp of guests to Marshall's family home. He was a friendly sort, and Evelyn was sure he'd give her a ride into the village. From there she could take a coach to . . . It didn't matter.

  She should leave a note for Marshall, but she was afraid that whoever searched the cottage would find it. If she gave the letter to Druggs, she'd have to argue with the man about leaving, and she didn't want any more confrontations. He would try to convince her to stay until the marquis returned, but stay for what?

  She'd be nothing but trouble for Marshall now. He'd be forced to explain why he'd brought her to Bedford Hall. Where in the world had he gotten the idea that a shop girl ac­cused of stealing a brooch could help his stepmother? It was ludicrous. Unbelievable. So unbelievable that people would jump to the right conclusion, and then there'd be more trouble.

  The best thing to do was to leave. To put Bedford Hall and everything behind her. The more Evelyn thought about it, the more she was convinced that she had little choice but to flee as quickly as possible. It slashed at her pride, cutting into the very fiber of her being. She wasn't a coward but the thought of history repeating itself made her shiver with fear. If Lady Waltham had her arrested there'd be no bribe to keep her safe. Even if Marshall could keep her out of jail, he couldn't erase the truth his sister was going to announce. No one could change the past.

  No matter what happened she'd never be able to gain Winnifred's friendship or respect. Marshall cared for his family. She couldn't stay and be the instrument that drove a wedge between him and people he did love.

  As Evelyn tucked the seashell into her valise, she knew she should never have come to Bedford Hall. Her presence had been a deception from the very beginning. Lady Waltham would view her friendship as a mask, a disgusting disguise worn to cover up the sordid details of her affair with the marquis. God only knew what everyone else would think.

  She would find a small village where she could open a shop. She would resurrect her old dream and in time, make a new life for herself. The marquis would continue with his former one. It wasn't as if he loved her. She'd spent days and nights waiting for him to admit his feelings, yet he'd said nothing. He had held her in his arms, been inside her body, but no amount of intimacy had drawn the words from him.

  Little by little the realization soaked in. Evelyn turned to stare into the mirror, and for the first time she realized that she had indeed been living a dream. Marshall didn't want a wife. His actions attested to the fact that he was content being a bachelor. She'd been a fool to allow the glint of love to blind her to the rightful reality of the situation, but she had hoped. . .

  There was no reason to stay and prolong things. It was better to face the facts than forestall the inevitable. She had meant to leave at summer's end. Winnifred's accusation was simply speeding her departure.

  * * *

  It was just as well that Marshall had won the regatta, for the moment he returned to Bedford Hall his life became a shambles. Thinking of Evelyn and the private celebration he had planned for that very evening, he strolled into the house to find Druggs waiting.

  "What the devil are you talking about? Gone!" Marshall shouted. "Gone where?"

  They were in the study. Druggs had taken the precaution of shutting the door, anticipating his employer's reaction. "I can't say, my lord. She didn't come to breakfast two morn­ings past. When I went to the cottage to inquire if she might be feeling ill, I found it empty. All of her personal belong­ings are gone. I found no note, no explanation."

  "There has to be a reason. She wouldn't vanish unless something was wrong," Marshall said, staggered by the fact that Evelyn had up and walked out of his life. He stared at Druggs, then walked to the liquor cabinet and poured him­self a drink. He took a quick swig of brandy, then refilled the glass. "Something happened."

  "I have searched my mind for a motive, my lord, but to no avail. We attended the opening of the regatta, as you re­quested. Miss Dennsworth seemed to enjoy herself. I dare­say, she had a splendid time in the village, although I couldn't persuade her to buy more than a seashell. We re­turned to the estate, and I saw her safely to the cottage door."

  "And she said nothing, did nothing, that made you think she was unhappy. That she was planning to vacate the premises the moment your back was turned."

  "Nothing, my lord."

  "What about my stepmother?"

  "Lady Waltham is as curious as anyone," Druggs in­formed him. "She had me make inquiries, but so far I've been unable to discover anything that would offer an expla­nation of Miss Dennsworth's actions."

  "How did she leave? Have you asked in the village? If she took a coach, someone is sure to remember. She isn't the kind of woman who fades into the background."

  "People have been coming and going in mass numbers for the last week," Druggs said. "The regatta always fills the inns to overflowing. The coaches are packed to capacity, tickets bought and sold in a flourish of impatience."

  "Damnation!"

  The word didn't come close to describing how Marshall felt. He walked to the window of his study, keeping his back to Druggs, as he searched his mind for a plausible reason. Evelyn wasn't impulsive or spiteful. He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the last time they had been together. He'd made love to her with a ferocity that had shocked even him. And she'd been willing, more than willing, to melt in his arms. He had sailed to London and back with her in his thoughts every inch of the way.

  He turned to Druggs, thinking to issue an order for a Bow Street runner to be employed, but a knock interrupted him. "Who is it?"

  "Winnifred" his sister replied.

  Marshall glanced toward the door. He wasn't in the mood to be hugged and kissed and congratulated on his victory. Not now.

  "Please, Marshall. I have to talk to you."

  "We'll resume this conversation as soon as I've spoken to my sister," Marshall told Druggs, keeping his voice calm de­spite the panic that clutched at his chest. What if Evelyn hadn't taken a coach. What if she'd purchased a ticket on one of the packet boats and crossed the Channel? The odds of finding her weren't worth considering.

  Marshall watched as his secretary held open the door so his sister and Lord Lansdowne could enter. The look on Winnie's face told him something was terribly wrong. Lansdowne looked just as serious.

  "Marshall," Winnie said his name as she came to stand in front of him. "I'm so glad you're home."

  He managed a smile, hugging her close as he looked to Lansdowne for an explanation. Something had
his sister upset. Marshall hoped it wasn't second thoughts of the en­gagement he'd been asked to formally announce upon his re­turn from London. He had his own love life to straighten out.

  "I'm so very glad that you won the race," Winnie said, looking up at him with eyes that threatened to begin raining tears. "Mother is so very proud of you."

  "You must tell him," Lansdowne said, taking a step for­ward.

  "Tell me what?"

  Winnie stepped from his arms and moved to stand beside Lansdowne. Marshall noticed that the earl took hold of her hand. He continued holding it while Winnie found the courage to speak.

  "I'm afraid that I've made a terrible mistake," his sister began, her voice shaky from the stress of the confession. "I'm the reason Miss Dennsworth is no longer in residence."

  "What did you do?" Marshall couldn't keep the anger from his voice.

  Lansdowne released Winnie's hand so he could slide his arm around her waist and bring her closer. "Don't be angry with her for telling me, Waltham. I saw that she was dis­tressed and insisted that she confide in me. We've been wait­ing for you to return."

  "I'm here," Marshall said, controlling his temper but only by a thread. "Now, tell me what this is all about."

  "The duke's watch," Winnie said.

  Marshall held up his hand to stay her. "I need another drink."

  He poured two, one for himself and one for his future brother-in-law. Handing off the second glass, Marshall walked to his desk and sat down. "Now, tell me what the duke's watch has to do with Miss Dennsworth's sudden de­parture. I will have a judicious explanation, Winnie."

  "I accused her of stealing it."

  Marshall came to his feet so fast his chair almost toppled over. "You what!"

  Winnie burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I should have waited for you to come home. Carlow found the watch, but it was too late. She was already gone."

  Marshall fought through his sister's sobbing words, try­ing to make sense of the bedlam that had broken loose the moment he'd arrived home. "My God" he said sinking back into his chair. He thought of what Evelyn had gone through in London, the shame of being openly labeled a thief, the embarrassment of the trial. No wonder she'd gone missing. The thought of going to jail again must have terrified her. But this time, it had been his sister making the accusations. His sister!

  Lansdowne comforted Winnie, giving her his handkerchief, before turning to Marshall. "Perhaps it would be better if I explained. Winnie can't talk about it without crying. She re­ally is sorry that she jumped to the wrong conclusion."

  Not as sorry as her brother.

  "The duke's pocket watch came up missing the morning of the regatta. He mentioned it at breakfast, but you had al­ready left for the village. Lady Waltham put the servants to searching, but nothing was found." Lansdowne paused to put a comforting hand on Winnifred's shoulder. "Having witnessed the unpleasant event in London, your sister natu­rally concluded that Miss Dennsworth might have had a hand in the disappearance. Granted it wasn't the right con­clusion, but one can hardly fault her for having reached it."

  Marshall looked at his sister. "Winnie."

  She wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Marshall. I went to the cottage to apologize, to ask her to forgive my impetuous ac­cusation, but she was already gone."

  "Who else did you tell?" he asked, praying the entire household hadn't labeled Evelyn a thief.

  "Only Nathan. I mean Lord Lansdowne."

  "It's all right, Winnie," the earl said, giving her a soothing smile. "It's perfectly acceptable for engaged people to call each other by their given names. Don't worry, love. We shall locate Miss Dennsworth. Then you may offer your apology, either in person or by letter. Hopefully, she will be gracious enough to accept it, and both your minds can be eased."

  "An apology will be given," Marshall said briskly. "Assum­ing Miss Dennsworth can be found, of course." He stared at his sister. "It's a good thing you have Lansdowne to cham­pion you, Winnie. I'm sorely tempted to take a birch switch to your backside."

  "That won't be necessary," Lansdowne told him. "I've al­ready scolded her for not coming to me with her suspicions before confronting Miss Dennsworth. I gave her a stern lec­ture on the subject. She will listen to her brother until it is time to listen to her husband."

  "I certainly hope so," Marshall replied, his mind bom­barded with all the things he would have to set straight be­fore he could return Evelyn to Bedford Hall.

  "I think your sister could use a walk in the garden," Lansdowne said, helping Winnie to stand. "If I can be of any assistance in locating Miss Dennsworth, I am at your dis­posal."

  "Thank you," Marshall said. "I will have Druggs make some inquiries. A wrong was done. It needs to be set right."

  Winnie looked absolutely pitiful. "What shall we tell Mother? She's very upset that Miss Dennsworth left without saying anything. She fears that some harm has befallen her. I wanted to explain, to accept the blame, but I couldn't think of any way to make her understand without telling her the very thing you asked me not to."

  "I'll think of something to placate Constance's worries," Marshall said having no idea what at the moment. He was only just beginning to grasp the severity of the situation. Lansdowne was right. It hadn't been all that unnatural for Winnie to jump to the wrong conclusion. All she knew of Evelyn was what she had witnessed that day on Bond Street. And he'd added to his sister's confusion by insisting that she keep the information to herself. The blame was his. If he hadn't brought Evelyn to the country, none of this would have happened.

  "Can you forgive me?" Winnie asked.

  Marshall walked around the desk and opened his arms. Winnie stepped into them.

  "You're forgiven," he said hoping Evelyn would be as gracious when the time came for Winnie and himself to ask the same thing of her.

  Winnie dabbed at her eyes with a lace hankie before meeting his gaze. "You like Miss Dennsworth, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Am I wrong to think that you hold an affection for her?"

  Marshall took a moment to think about his answer. "No, Winnie, you aren't wrong. I like Miss Dennsworth very much."

  "Then, I'm doubly sorry that I made such a disaster of things," his sister said. After a quick kiss on the cheek, she left the library on Lansdowne's arm.

  Outside the cottage, the noise of the ongoing party to cel­ebrate the regatta victory and Winnie's engagement was a muffled drum that joined the sounds of the sea and the wind. Marshall sat in a chair, facing the cold hearth, his elegant black jacket discarded his cravat hanging loosely about his neck. He lifted a bottle of whiskey to his mouth and took a drink. He hadn't invited Granby to join him this time. There was no sharing tonight's misery. It was his and his alone.

  In a few weeks the hunting season would begin; after that he would return to London and take up his seat in the House of Lords. His life would continue as it had before Evelyn had stepped into it, trapping him with her soft blue eyes.

  An ache tightened his chest, so acute it was painful. He rubbed his hand over it, thinking all the while what Evelyn must be feeling at this very moment—betrayed frightened lonely. She was a sensitive, passionate woman. Whatever she felt, it was with her whole heart.

  Something had happened to him when he'd met her. Something was happening to him now. Now that she was gone. He took another drink, telling himself that he couldn't blame her for running away. She'd been frightened. What woman wouldn't be. The prospect of jail was enough to frighten anyone. But why hadn't she left a note, or at least spoken to Druggs. The man was dedicated to her. Hell, everyone was dedicated to her. He'd had to fabricate a story to convince Constance that she hadn't abandoned their friendship, that as soon as her sick friend recovered she'd call on the family again. There had been a note, but the wind had blown it under the table, and Druggs hadn't found it in time to prevent everyone from worrying. It had been an out-and-out lie, but Marshall didn't regret it. The falsehood had calmed Constance's worries, and bought him some ti
me.

  He would find Evelyn and bring her back. Winnie would apologize, and he would—

  What? Confess that her leaving had taken the spark out of his life. That he'd come to the cottage tonight to get drunk, to bathe his memories in whiskey. What would he say when he found her? If he found her. There were thousands of dress shops in England hundreds of villages where she could go, where she could call herself by any name and blend into the populace without raising an eyebrow.

  "Granby said he saw you walking toward the beach."

  Marshall turned around to find the Duke of Morland standing in the doorway. "Is that whiskey?"

  "Irish," Marshall said. "The best brew to drown one's sor­rows."

  Taking the bottle from Marshall's hand, the duke lifted it to his own mouth. After taking a drink, he sat down, keeping the bottle with him. "The Irish do have a way with spirits. If they ever put the same fire in their politics, we English will find ourselves in trouble."

  Marshall said nothing. He wanted to be alone, but what good manners the whiskey hadn't washed away prevented him from insulting the duke.

  "Care to tell me what has the celebrated winner of the Harwick Regatta drowning his sorrows?"

  "No."

  "Very well," the duke said, stretching out his legs and making himself comfortable. It wasn't a good sign.

  The minutes stretched on. Marshall stared at the empty fireplace, his thoughts centered on the rag rug that covered the floor. He'd made love to Evelyn on that rug. The firelight had danced over her naked body as she'd looked at him, her arms open wide, her eyes alive with passion. He'd taken her, taken everything she had offered him, spilling his seed deep inside her before lying exhausted in her arms. Sated. Satisfied.

  Is that why she had left? Was she carrying his child?

  The thought sent a shiver of joy and fear through him, the two emotions so tightly bound together Marshall couldn't separate them.