Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

H is cloak was gone.

Joshua could not believe it, but the garment had vanished as surely as if it had never been. He became vexed as he sought it. Reed had no notion of what had happened to it, and had not taken it for mending or cleaning. It was not within his wardrobe or even in the trunk of garments from London.

The thief who had invaded his home repeatedly had changed tactics, in a most incomprehensible way.

Who would steal a cloak?

It was a very good cloak, but hardly worth taking the risk of such an intrusion.

Because of the hunt, Joshua was late leaving for the folly. He had no doubt that Miss Emerson would be there, awaiting him. She would never have resisted the temptation of such an assignation, especially now that she had guessed the truth of his ruse. He would ride there, apologize to her for the deception, and ensure that all was clear between them.

He hoped for a kiss or another sign of encouragement.

He had not yet decided whether to ask for her hand again before or after Lady Haynesdale's ball. If the night was fine, Miss Emerson might find favor in a moonlight proposal.

He wore his usual coat and hat, tugging on his gloves as he strode toward the stables. Specter was saddled and waiting. Joshua halfway thought the stallion was disappointed that he had ridden Zephyr on his night ventures, for on this day, the horse was even more responsive than was his custom. He barely needed any encouragement to canter from the yard, then was urged to a gallop with ease.

The stallion was not the only one impatient to reach the folly.

Tuesday dawned sunny and clear, a day filled with promise to Helena's view. She would go to the folly, as planned, and meet her champion—the viscount. Her ankle was sufficiently recovered, but she wore her sturdy boots, just to be sure. She would be sensible . She took Mischief with her, thinking the run would be good for the pup.

Mischief raced ahead of her across the meadow. Once on the path through the forest, Helena called the dog closer, not wanting to lose her. The pavilion's roof gleamed in the sunlight and, even better, a man leaned against it, arms folded across his chest.

Waiting.

Helena stopped on the path, fighting her sense that something was amiss. The man wore the familiar cloak and his hood was raised. She did not like that she could not see his face. Where was his horse? Why did she feel imperiled?

"Good morning," she said, as if naught was amiss between them. She did not move forward, though.

He inclined his head but did not speak, moving away from the wall with a fluid grace that seemed almost predatory. "Have you come to surrender to me?" he asked gruffly and Helena was astonished that he should be so forthright.

"I hoped to speak with you, to be sure," she said, her wariness growing.

He laughed and it was a harsh sound. "We can talk later." He stepped toward her quickly. "I would ask for a kiss first." He reached for her arm in a sudden gesture. Helena retreated a step, and Mischief growled.

The dog placed herself between them. Her ears were back and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She bristled as she growled at the man.

But Mischief liked Lord Addersley.

Who stood before Helena? She thought of the men at the ruins, and her own suspicion that Lord Addersley's brother might yet be alive.

"I will share no kiss with a man who hides his face," she said, speaking as if she were more confident than she was.

"You will share with me what you have offered freely to others," he snarled and lunged toward her. Mischief jumped and snapped at him, prompting him to swear and recoil. He kicked at the dog and Helena cried out, but Mischief evaded his boot. The dog leapt after him, snarling and he retreated so quickly that his hood fell back.

He was not Lord Addersley, though there was a strong resemblance between them. He had a cleft in his chin and the same coloring. He was of a height and breadth with the viscount, but seemed much rougher and less fastidiously groomed. More, he seemed to be worn or even ravaged by some ordeal. He was lean, if not gaunt, and the wild fury in his eyes made Helena shiver. She knew instinctively that he was unpredictable and untrustworthy.

And she was alone, save for Mischief.

"Call off your dog!" he shouted and pulled a knife from his belt. "Or I will kill it!" He might have been a madman, given the wildness in his eyes, and she did not doubt he would fulfill his threat.

"Come, Mischief, come!" she cried and the dog came to her, still growling. Helena did not delay but pivoted to run from the pavilion and the glade, calling the dog. Mischief raced beside her, needing little encouragement to leave the man behind.

There were no pursuing footsteps. Relief flooded through Helena and she looked back from the shelter of the forest. She could not see the man at all. The pavilion appeared to be abandoned, the glade as peaceful as before, but still, she did not trust him. Her heart was racing and Mischief was fast by her side. The dog's ears were up and her posture alert.

They hastened together along the path.

How could he have known that she had offered kisses to Lord Addersley? He must have been watching them, on one night or the other. Helena shivered.

But how had he obtained Lord Addersley's cloak?

At the edge of the forest, Helena turned toward Addersley Manor instead of Bramble Cottage, determined to share what she had learned with the viscount.

To her relief, a large horse was galloping toward her, the viscount himself in the saddle.

Her champion arrived!

To Joshua's surprise, Miss Emerson was running down the road toward him, Mischief at her heels. Her bonnet had slipped askew and she ran with complete disregard for her skirts. It was clear she was in some distress, though he could not imagine the cause. He reined in the horse and swung from the saddle in time to catch her in his embrace.

"He was there!" she said against his chest, but Joshua could make no sense of her claim.

"Who? I expected you to be at the folly."

"I was, but he was there before me." She spoke in spurts, panting as she caught her breath. "Waiting, with his hood drawn up. But something was wrong, I knew it immediately." She lifted her face, her gaze burning. "He vowed he would hurt Mischief when she growled at him. He had a knife!"

Joshua took her shoulders in his hands and held her gaze. "Who?"

"I cannot be certain but I think he must be your brother. He favors you." She stretched a gloved fingertip to the cleft in his chin as Joshua's heart sank. "But looks less reliable." She shivered. "Indeed, there is a desperation about him that is most frightening."

Gerald. Alive!

It defied belief, but who else could the man be?

Joshua looked toward the grove of trees, but of course, there was no sign of her attacker. That man, whether he was Gerald or not, would be hidden by the foliage if he lingered by the folly.

"Are you disappointed that he lives?" Miss Emerson asked softly.

Joshua was startled by the question. "I am not certain that he does, as yet, but if he does, of course I am not disappointed. He is my brother, and I have mourned his loss."

She smiled, pleased with his reply.

Joshua shook his head. "But I cannot understand his choice. To hide in the forest makes no sense. Why not write to me or to my father? Why not come to Addersley Manor? For that reason alone, I doubt that he is Gerald. My brother must know that he would be welcomed at his own home."

Miss Emerson wrinkled her nose. "Does he?" she asked to Joshua's surprise. "Your father sent him away, remember." She leaned closer. "Perhaps he did write to your father but was rebuffed."

Joshua stared at her in shock. He could not countenance that. His father had been so devastated by the loss of Gerald. He would have welcomed the return of his son on any terms.

He was struck then by a sudden thought. Had Mrs. Lewis welcomed Gerald?

That might explain the child she expected. If Gerald had returned to Nottingham before Christmas…all suddenly made a treacherous sense.

Joshua felt that details changed with undue haste. He was aware that Miss Emerson awaited his decision. "What did this man say to you?"

Her lips tightened. "That he would have from me what I gave willingly to others. He must have seen us…together." Her words gave Joshua a chill and she shivered again. "He must have been watching ." Her view of that was clear, and it was a perspective Joshua shared.

"Did you see where he went?"

She shook her head. "I ran, and when I looked back, he had vanished."

"Did he have a horse?"

Miss Emerson considered this for a moment before she shook her head again. "I do not think so. I did not see or hear one."

Joshua looked again toward the folly, hidden behind the trees. The man, whether it was Gerald or not, could not have gone far on foot. He could not pursue him and leave Miss Emerson undefended, especially given that she had been threatened. Praise be that he had ridden Specter on this day.

"Can you ride, Miss Emerson?"

"Of course. Nicholas taught me years ago, but I did wear breeches for the lessons." She rolled her eyes. "Much to Aunt's disapproval." She smiled at him. "I can ride with assurance, sir."

"Excellent." Joshua fitted his hands around her waist and lifted her to the saddle. "You must return to the safety of Bramble Cottage," he instructed, relieved when she nodded understanding. Specter exhaled mightily but held his ground. Mischief had the sense to refrain from barking as she circled the horse, striving to reach her mistress. "And you will not leave the cottage alone until this is resolved."

"I will not," she promised to his relief.

She must have been frightened.

And that was all the encouragement Joshua needed to slap Specter's rump, encouraging the horse to run, and step back. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that ladies could not be safe when men fought each other.

He would have said anything to ensure Miss Emerson's departure, but was relieved it had not been necessary. Perhaps her reputation for having little sense was undeserved.

He straightened his cravat and began to march along the path toward the folly. In moments, he would know whether Gerald lived or not. In his heart, he hoped it was Gerald.

No matter what his brother had done since last they had met.

Helena looked back at the viscount, noting how he strode with purpose toward the forest and the folly. He looked so bold and confident, precisely as she had imagined him that first day, charging into peril with no regard for his own safety. He would do what was right and vanquish the villain single-handedly, showing a valor that few other men possessed…

Her heart stopped cold. If the desperate villain with the knife was Gerald, the risk to the viscount might be greater than he realized.

And if Gerald dispatched his older brother, he would become viscount.

Had this been his plan? Had he set a trap for Lord Addersley? Had she unwittingly aided his plan? Helena could not bear the prospect. She turned the horse and urged him to a canter in pursuit of Lord Addersley. She had to warn him!

She cursed her skirts even as they made good progress, for her perch was more precarious than she might prefer. In breeches, she could have galloped the horse and reached the viscount more quickly. He had already vanished into the forest on the shadowed path, and she leaned over the horse's neck as she touched her heel to his side. She hung on as the horse approached a gallop, then Lord Addersley came into view.

He spun to face her, but his expression was not relieved.

No, it was thunderous. Never had his emotions been so clearly displayed, but Helena could not admire the change.

"Miss Emerson!" he said, his tone moderate but the words bitten off with precision. He raised a hand and the horse slowed in obedience, even as he marched toward her. His eyes were flashing with fury and his lips drawn to a thin line as he seized the reins. "I sent you home," he reminded her.

"I had to warn you, sir…"

"You were obliged to do no such thing, Miss Emerson. You gave me your promise that you would return to Bramble Cottage and remain there in safety, and you did as much not five minutes ago."

"I did, but…"

"There is no negotiation in this matter, Miss Emerson. Turn the horse. Now."

Helena turned the horse as instructed. "I simply wanted to ensure that you understood the danger," she began again.

"Either I confront a desperate villain alone, or I meet my brother again," the viscount said crisply. "I am well aware of the nuances of peril in either situation, while you, Miss Emerson, persist in showing a decided lack of good sense."

"He might kill you!"

"The possibility, while less than desirable, is not out of the question."

He knew. He knew the danger before himself, and he proceeded anyway. Helena stared at him, in awe of his bravery. He was just as she had imagined him that first day, a man who could not be halted from doing what he believed to be right. Her admiration of him was nigh overwhelming.

"I do not think you should be alone," she dared to say, wanting to witness his triumph.

"And there our perspectives diverge," he replied and his voice hardened yet more. "Again. Truly, Miss Emerson, I can only be relieved that you showed the foresight to refuse me, for you were right." Helena gasped but he continued. "We are not remotely suited to each other. I could never pledge myself to a woman so utterly determined to proceed foolishly in every situation."

"Oh!" Helena was astonished by his severity and by his censure.

His expression was relentless, though, his gaze dark and angry. He lifted one hand and pointed toward Bramble Cottage, an imperative she had been persuaded to follow. "Go home, Miss Emerson. Immediately."

Helena lifted her chin. "If you are left dead at the folly, I shall find another way to fetch my slippers."

"I am most relieved to hear as much," he said, averting his face before she could be certain whether she had heard a thread of amusement in his tone.

He granted her another solemn look, one that hinted at a disdain for her that nigh broke Helena's heart in two. She whistled to the dog as she turned away, then urged the horse to a canter. She never looked back, though she felt the weight of the viscount's gaze upon her.

He probably did not trust her to do as she had said she would.

He probably did not believe she would keep her promise.

She would prove him wrong, though Helena was not in the least bit certain that he would even know.

The viscount no longer admired her. He no longer believed they were suited—and he changed his thinking in the precise moment that Helena realized the magnitude of her error in refusing him.

She was a fool, to be sure, though she did not know the cure for that malady.

Joshua would have said anything to see Miss Emerson out of danger.

He would have insulted her even more brutally, if need be, to ensure that she had no chance of being injured in whatever battle he entered. He watched until she was out of view, not entirely trusting her to follow his bidding.

It had been a tragedy to lose Miss Havilland. To see Miss Emerson injured as a result of his deeds, or worse, was a possibility that sickened Joshua. He would never recover from his guilt over such an error—and that was independent of who the lady in question chose to wed.

He might have been a forlorn suitor in a romantic tale, one with no hope of gaining the admiration of the lady in question but destined to serve her willingly for all his days and nights.

Perhaps he was the fool.

When the sound of Specter's hoofbeats had faded, he pivoted and continued into the forest. Sufficient time had passed that the villain could be safely away, even on foot, but Joshua saw him as soon as the clearing came into view. He stood, leaning against the folly, the insouciance in his stance so very familiar. He wore Joshua's cloak, cast over one shoulder and the hood back. Joshua studied him as he approached, his footsteps as unwavering as the other man's gaze. Gerald. It was Gerald. His hair was longer; his features were more haggard; there was a bitterness in his smile and a hardness in his eyes that Joshua did not recall. He was more wiry than he had been and dirtier than once he would have preferred. His garments were worn and his boots were dull.

Joshua stopped when half a dozen steps remained between them. "It is you," he said, hearing his own relief.

"And you are not surprised," Gerald replied. "How did you guess?"

"I did not."

"Ah, did she do the guessing?"

"She saw the resemblance between us, yes." Joshua shook his head. Something was amiss. He could feel the animosity coming from his younger brother but could not explain it. "We had a letter that you were killed at Waterloo."

Gerald lifted his hands and stepped closer. "And yet, here I am."

"Why did you not write? Father and I would have been glad of such happy tidings."

Gerald's eyes narrowed. "Are you so certain of that?"

"Of course!" Even as he said the words, Joshua wondered.

"Are you truly so trusting, Joshua? Did you believe everything he told you?" Gerald began to stroll around Joshua, menace in every step. "Do you not think I tired of hearing how you were the favored one, how you were the better to assume the title, how relieved Father was that I had not been born first?"

"The praise I heard was all for you, your skill at dancing, your charm and easy manner."

Gerald laughed. "Perhaps he secretly despised both of us."

"I do not think so."

"Perhaps he blamed Mother for only bearing two sons, both so very unsuitable."

"Gerald! You cannot speak thus of the dead…"

"And how did he speak of me?" Gerald asked abruptly. His eyes were bright, his very manner unpredictable, and Joshua realized the peril of his situation. He had trusted that his brother would not do him injury, but in this moment, he was not so certain.

"He did not," Joshua had to admit.

"Never?"

"Never. He told me only that he had bought your commission and that you were gone." Joshua held his brother's gaze. "I never knew why you were dispatched, and still I do not. We never had the opportunity to say farewell, and I regretted that."

Gerald scoffed at that. "After what happened with Charlotte? I cannot believe even you to be so bloodless as that, Joshua."

"She died by her own error," Joshua said carefully.

"She died because she loved me. She died because I courted her and I won her heart, because I wanted her for myself. No one would arrange such a match for me, the younger son, and I wanted what you were given so readily."

"You should have told me that you loved Miss Havilland."

"But I did not. She was yours, so I took her and made her mine. It was that simple."

"Gerald!"

His brother pointed toward Bramble Cottage. "Just as that one is yours, so I will take her and make her mine."

"Miss Emerson has declined my proposal."

"But you want her, and she wants you. I'm not going to let there be a happy ending for you, Joshua."

"You will not threaten Miss Emerson in my presence."

"Threaten her? I will take her, Joshua. I will have her beneath me, and I will claim her maidenhead, whether she is willing or nay, and I?—"

Gerald never finished his threat, for Joshua decked him. Surprise was on his side, and Gerald fell backward, blood spurting from his nose. He looked from the blood on his hand to Joshua, his astonishment clear.

"I advised you to refrain from threatening Miss Emerson," Joshua said. He might have turned his back on the brother he once had known, but he saw the flash of anger in this man's eyes and retreated a step instead. Gerald flung himself at Joshua, and Joshua saw the flash of the knife.

A little too late he understood why Mrs. Lewis had been so convinced that she would be a viscountess, and Francis would inherit the title: Gerald meant to kill Joshua.

They grappled together, fighting as they had as boys, but the stakes were higher and the struggle was fierce. This time, Joshua fought for his life.

He had always won when they fought, and he hoped his good fortune held.

The viscount did not come.

Helena sat outside with Mischief, waiting for his appearance, her agitation rising with every passing hour. It was evening when Hoskins came for the horse, though he spoke only briefly to Nixon and brought no tidings from Addersley Manor.

Helena could not contain her anxiety. She paced so that Aunt sent her to bed for the sake of silence. She was restless in her room, so concerned that Mischief watched her avidly. She knew she would never sleep without knowing whatever had happened in the forest, but there was no way to discover the truth.

Did the viscount truly believe they were so ill suited? Helena had believed him in the moment, but as the hours passed, she wondered if he had simply wanted to ensure that she left him alone. Had he been protecting her, as he had done before? Or had he truly been dismissing her forever?

She hated the uncertainty of that as much as her ignorance of his fate.

The hair prickled on the back of her neck after midnight and she knew something would happen. She heard the hoofbeats and her heart lunged to her throat. Her candle was still lit—despite many admonitions to extinguish it—and she went to the window, fearful of what she might see.

A lone rider appeared, his silhouette as familiar as the horse and his cloak. He lifted a hand, beckoning to her, but something was amiss. Helena stared at him, unable to name what detail ensured that she was filled with dread, but she would not answer his summons.

She doused the candle with a deliberate gesture, plunging the room into darkness. He stared toward the cottage for long moments, then gave the horse his heels and raced toward the ruins of the old keep.

He was not the viscount. Helena was certain of it.

What had happened at the folly?

More importantly, what had happened to the viscount?

Joshua ached.

His eye was blackened and his ribs were bruised. Gerald had the worse end of the pummeling, and had fled after his knife had been seized by Joshua and cast into the pond. Joshua had retrieved it after his brother's flight and knew he should not have been surprised that it was a weapon from his father's collection in the library.

He walked home, feeling every rising bruise, and sent Hoskins to retrieve Specter from Bramble Cottage. He did not specifically forbid the sharing of any tidings, but simply did not think of sending word of his survival until the ostler was gone.

The knife made him realize that Gerald might be the thief taking items from Addersley Manor. His brother would be aware which items were of value and also the ones whose disappearance was less likely to be noticed. His thefts could be executed quickly and effectively.

And Gerald knew ways into the house. He had always been able to lift the latch on the library doors from the outside, a trick that Joshua had never mastered. A consultation with the horrified Fairfax had ensured that all would be secured that night.

Joshua retired early, partaking only of a hearty broth and a hot bath. He would hope that the duke might have arrived on the morrow so he could consult with that man about Gerald.

He had bidden Hoskins to ensure with a quiet word that the man employed at Bramble Cottage secured that house. He did not retire until Reed brought him word of Hoskins' safe return.

Knowing that Miss Emerson was safe – for the moment – was all he needed to be able to sleep.

Helena heard the pony cart arrive at Bramble Cottage early the next morning, and hurried to finish dressing and hasten downstairs. She could only guess that it was a delivery from town, and hoped there might be news of the viscount.

She found Aunt at breakfast, the door to the kitchen more ajar than was typical and Aunt herself in the seat closest to the door. It was not her customary place, and she waved Helena to silence as soon as she entered the room. Helena slipped into a place at the table and poured herself a cup of tea, glad that the voices carried readily from the kitchen.

Nixon was speaking to someone, a woman who Helena did not know. Evidently she and Nixon were familiar acquaintances.

" Butcher and his wife ," Aunt mouthed and Helena nodded.

She had to guess that the wife had accompanied her husband on his deliveries because of the tidings that might be shared. She was soon proven right.

"A blackened eye, I tell you, and bruises all over himself, as what I hear," confided the butcher's wife. "They say his valet had to carry him to bed and that he may never be the same again. Such a fight it must have been!"

Surely she could not mean Lord Addersley? Helena's heart rose to her throat at these tidings.

"But the viscount yet lives?" Nixon asked.

"He does." The butcher's wife might have been disappointed.

"One must wonder at the state of his opponent," Nixon said.

"Indeed! They say he confronted the thief who has been stealing from Addersley Manor."

"Oh, a desperate villain!"

Had Gerald been stealing from the house? Helena wished she could ask the viscount for more detail. And who had appeared in the fields the night before? The horse and cloak, she was certain, had been the same. According to this tale, the viscount had been too injured to ride out. How would Gerald have gotten the horse?

He might be a thief through and through.

"And one yet at large," the butcher's wife said. "You should see your doors locked at night."

"We will. The ostler from Addersley Manor brought us a warning, but with less detail."

"These are sorry times. Roger says there will be a duel yet, on the green of Addersley village."

"A duel!" Mrs. Nixon breathed in horror.

"People forget what a dissolute life the viscount lived in London a decade ago, but I remember well enough. The old viscount was most unhappy with his sons, though more disappointed in his heir. He expected better of the boy than gambling, dueling and whoring."

"Indeed. Any father would."

"And even in this matter, I say the viscount should have shown greater care for his responsibilities. Why would he confront a villain alone, let alone so far from the house and any assistance? There is the rash choice of a foolhardy man and matters might have ended even more poorly. With the old viscount dead and buried, and his lordship's younger brother dead at Waterloo, there is no one to assume the title."

"He should have married by now," Nixon said. "There should be children already."

"Indeed. He neglects his duties." The butcher's wife's voice dropped low. "I heard he offered for your mistress's niece but she declined him."

Helena's cheeks burned.

"That she did," Nixon acknowledged. "I learned of it upon my arrival. Though I might have found fault with that choice mere days ago, these tidings convince me that the girl was fortunate in her decision."

"I should say as much, for only now do we hear the tale of the viscount's mistress."

Mistress ! Helena gripped the handle of her tea cup, certain it could not be true.

"Mistress!" Nixon echoed in horror.

" Mistress? " Aunt mouthed in outrage, glared at Helena as if the fault were hers, then leaned closer to the open door.

"Mistress. There can be no mistake." The butcher's wife continued in a scandalized whisper, one that was still easy to hear from the other room. "Her name is Mrs. Lewis," she said with the satisfaction of one with a juicy tale to share. "She lives in Haynesdale Hollow with her brother and son."

"Son?" Nixon asked.

"Son," the butcher's wife affirmed. "A boy of nine summers who is the very image of the viscount at that age, by all accounts—and worse, the viscount purchased an annuity for Mrs. Lewis just this past week. I had it from she who cleans Mr. Newson's house on Mondays, so it is true. Was there ever a more sure sign of guilt?"

Helena could not even look at Aunt, so great was her dismay.

"An annuity does indicate an…interest in that lady's fortunes."

"More than that," the butcher's wife said. "He pledged to pay for an apprenticeship for the boy, and this against the advice of Mr. Newson. He is open-handed, to be sure."

"To take responsibility for both mother and boy does indicate he had a part in the boy's conception."

The butcher's wife laughed. "A part? Goodness, Mildred, Mrs. Lewis is with child again. The alliance continues to this very day. Evidently the second child's conception has tempted him to acknowledge the truth."

Aunt turned to Helena in dismay. Helena straightened with fury. How dare the viscount propose to her when he already had a mistress and a son—and perhaps another son to arrive soon? How dare he so deceive her?

How dare he be so much like Mr. Melbourne, a man concerned only with his own advantage—and one who had managed to fool her all the same.

"I hear that Mrs. Lewis is telling all that she will be a viscountess soon, and that her son has no need of an apprenticeship for he will be viscount himself."

"No!"

"Yes!"

He would marry his mistress? Helena was appalled.

It was true that those who eavesdropped seldom heard anything to their advantage.

She rose from the table and left the room, Mischief at her heels, unable to believe she had so misjudged Lord Addersley.

It was an unfortunate moment to realize how securely that man had captured her admiration.

Perhaps his declaration of her unsuitability the day before had been the truth of his estimation.

Perhaps he would not even keep their appointment on this day.

Perhaps it was for the best if Helena forgot Viscount Addersley completely. She threw the ball for Mischief, unable to summon any interest in the duke's pending return even so.

Why did men have to be so very vexing?