Chapter Four
Everett snatched up the paper and quickly read the missive. Damn, not again. “Have my horse saddled. I’ll leave from the stables as usual.”
As the fellow raced ahead to do his bidding, Everett glanced up at the windows and checked for observers. Now was not the time for the Quartermanes to discover his secret. Relieved to see no one watching him, he dashed into the surrounding woods and, once beneath the dark canopy he sighed and slowed to a walk.
After Miranda’s return, Emily had gone to Bath for a time. He had not lied to his friends about that, but he’d soon had a letter from her that she was ill, and then she’d arrived unannounced at his London residence.
He’d been horrified by the swift change in her health. He’d feared for her, despite the horrible things she’d done.
When she’d come to him in London, he’d brought her into his home and invited the best doctors to treat her. After being in her company every day for a week, he’d realized that Emily could not let go of her ambitions, and had become utterly unhinged over losing Taverham. Since Taverham and his family were in London, he had swiftly decided to remove Emily to the countryside to recover.
However, Emily could not be made to understand what she’d done in the past was wrong—and what she intended for the future was evil.
She was terribly ill, but she was also obsessed— sobbing over her unrequited love for Lord Taverham and vowing to make everyone involved in keeping them apart pay.
When Taverham and his family had unexpectedly returned a few days ago, he’d been forced to lock Emily away at a small cottage on his estate for the safety of everyone living at Twilit Hill.
Yet that was only part of the problem with Emily.
Only he, a pair of respected physicians, and a number of trusted staff were aware that Emily was dying.
He hurried into the stable and mounted a hastily saddled gelding. “I’ll be back at dawn,” he advised the stable master. “Say nothing of my whereabouts to my guests again.”
“You can trust us to keep your secret safe, my lord. Do be careful tonight.”
“There is a little moon, so I will find my way easily enough,” he promised the man.
He wheeled the horse about and set his heels to its flanks. Riding in the dark across fields and winding lanes could be dangerous if he wasn’t careful, but he would be on his own lands the whole distance. He’d made the trip to visit Emily many times by day and a few times by night already.
He kicked the horse to a fast trot as soon as he was beyond the woods and in open fields.
Emily had taken a bad turn again, and there was nothing he could do but wait and hope she might recover her health quickly this time.
He found the cottage without a problem and, given the gentle light glowing above the garden walls, knew everyone inside was awake despite the late hour. He drew to a halt at the garden gate and dismounted his weary horse. The head gardener who tended the grounds rushed out to greet him with a quiet welcome, taking his horse away immediately to be cooled down and housed in the nearby stall till needed again.
He approached the cottage gate quietly, listening for the screams and tantrums that had become part and parcel of past visits. Instead, the place was deathly quiet.
Stomach churning at the unnerving silence, he took out his key and let himself into the walled courtyard of the cottage, and made sure to lock the garden gate behind him.
Emily was waiting on a stool just outside the front door. Her face shone with perspiration, but her manner was devoid of all hysteria.
“Thank heavens you’ve finally come,” she croaked as she rose to her feet unsteadily. “I feared you had forgotten me.”
He hurried forward and brought his sister into his arms. He held her tightly, turning his face away in case she coughed over him. He’d been warned of the risk he placed himself in every time he called on her. “Of course I would come. You are my sister.”
She sniffed his shoulder and then sneezed. “You were with her.”
Her was always a reference to Miranda, Marchioness of Taverham, but he deliberately chose not to answer the accusation. Mention of Miranda tended to make his sister a little crazed, but the scent on his clothes could not be hers. It might be his betrothed’s scent she detected, or perhaps it was wholly in her twisting imagination. Emily complained of a great many wrongs done to her lately.
“I came as soon as I could,” he promised.
He had not told Emily that he was getting married, so he would not have to argue with her about his choice of bride. Emily had ambitions for him too, ones he disagreed with. She believed he was destined for a duke’s daughter or some such nonsense. Money and prestige were all that mattered to Emily now, as it had been for their late parents. Emily wanted him to influence members of the ton, and making an advantageous match had always been her goal for him.
“What are you doing outside in the cold? Let me take you inside, where there’s some light and we can have tea.”
He took Emily’s arm and urged her into the neat little six-room cottage on the far edge of his estate. The parlor was well lit and always warmest, so he turned her into that room. The two nursemaids hired to care for Emily startled at seeing them. They must have removed their face masks while Emily was outside and they rushed to retie them on.
He took his sister to a fireside chair, and chose the one opposite so a tea set could be placed on the table between them. Emily’s hands shook as she poured.
“When will Kit come home,” Emily asked suddenly.
“I’ve no idea.” Everett pretended to drink his laudanum-laced sweet tea and said nothing of her fading strength. Instead, he talked of the weather and changes on the estate beyond Emily’s walled garden, careful to avoid the topic that had led to her confinement.
“Lady Taverham is never away from Twilit Hill at this time of year,” Emily remarked, studying him over the rim of her teacup.
The dowager Marchioness of Taverham and Emily had been as close as mother and daughter for years before Miranda’s return. They’d not spoken since the revelation of her cowardly attack Taverham’s son and heir. The dowager was furious and had readily agreed to keep a distance from Rose Cottage. The old and the very young were the most susceptible to disease.
“She is staying in London this year,” he lied, sipping only a little. It was enough to fool Emily into drinking more until her cup was empty.
He chose to read to Emily, and after a few pages her head began to droop. He set the book aside, yawned widely, but was thankful he’d drunk very little of the laudanum-laced brew. Emily should sleep very peacefully now.
Her simple bedchamber wasn’t far, so he picked her up, noting how light she’d become in recent weeks, and with the maid’s assistance, tucked her into her bed. Then, on seeing her eyes flutter, he opened up the book again and continued reading until she was still again.
The nurses were waiting to speak to him in the next room when he stepped out of Emily’s bedchamber. He took in their weary expressions with a heavy heart. “What happened this time?”
“The fever came upon her quick and she began to cough uncontrollably.” One wrung her hands. “My lady became quite distressed and angry with us.”
He nodded. These particular servants had been with the family for a long time, and he was grateful for their presence.
“You are doing me a great service putting up with all of that.” He frowned to see their bare faces again. “I trust you are careful, and always wear the masks the physician provided you with when you are near my sister?”
“We try, my lord. But she hates when we do, and screams at us worse than ever in her fevered state.”
“No matter what she says, keep wearing them.” It was the only way to protect them. He waved them away. “It’s been a long night for you both. I’ll stay for a while and wake you before dawn. Go get some rest,” he suggested before he returned to sit at the doorway to his sister’s room for the remains of the evening, fighting the pull of the laudanum he’d consumed.