Chapter Eighteen
Ewan had been left alone with his thoughts for slightly more than an hour when his study door opened and Matthew and Baldwin joined him. He was sitting in front of the fire when they came in, and looked up with a slight shake of his head as he reached for the notepad on the table beside him.
“You waited longer than I thought you would,” he wrote.
Matthew read the note out loud as Baldwin got the two of them drinks. He laughed. “Well, that would be my mother’s doing. She thought you needed some time to think before we invaded your office.”
Ewan nodded slowly, taking the notebook back. He wrote, “And she didn’t join you for that invasion?”
“No,” Baldwin said as he flopped himself across from Ewan with a sigh. “I think she assumed we might want to call you an ass, or worse, and she didn’t wish for us to have to watch our language in front of her.”
Ewan turned his face and stared once more into the flames as he waited for the berating to begin. Instead, Baldwin leaned forward, elbows draped over his knees. He touched Ewan’s arm and force him to look at him.
“You love her,” he said softly.
Ewan nodded. There was no denying it. He didn’t even want to anymore.
Matthew’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m happy you admit it. But do you intend to push her away?”
Ewan scribbled, “No! That is the thing about it. I actually have no intention of turning her away. Not this time.”
Sheffield sagged a little in his chair, relief over his features. “Thank God. I really wasn’t looking forward to calling you out at dawn for breaking my sister’s heart. Then why the argument in the foyer? Why hole up here in your study for an hour, sulking?”
Ewan glared at him, though he could hardly deny the charge. “Seeing my brothers and my mother brought back strong memories,” he admitted. “It’s hard not to carry that on my back.”
Both his friends softened considerably and Ewan was pleased that it was Baldwin who spoke first. “I cannot imagine. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten how awful that lot can be. Seeing it today, I wanted to put my fist through someone’s face.”
“What Charlotte asked me when we were arguing in the foyer was why her love wasn’t more powerful than my father’s hate.” Ewan hesitated and wrote a bit more. “That hurt me. But it hurt because I recognized it’s true. I’ve spent my life allowing his words and his actions to dictate all my own. I’ve spent the last hour here thinking about what I’ve avoided or thrown away because of him. And what I intend to do about it now.”
“And what do you intend to do?” Matthew asked.
He sighed. “I intend to…” He hesitated again as he tried to find the right phrasing. “…to live. Out in the open. I’ve hidden a long time.”
Matthew nodded. “I know a bit about hiding.”
Ewan reached out and squeezed his cousin’s arm. No one knew loss and grief more than Matthew. Ewan had seen him through many a dark night after the loss of his fiancée. Death was so very permanent in what it stole.
But what Ewan faced didn’t have to be. He’d lost Charlotte once, but fate had brought her back. To throw away his chance a second time was…well, it made him the very fool his father had accused him of being.
“I meant to ask Charlotte to marry me when we returned from our visit with the tenants today, thinking that I would bring her into my world. That we could live here where we’d be protected. But now I realize that what I must do is allow her to draw me to her life. To the world I’ve avoided so long.” Ewan wrote slowly, keeping an eye on Baldwin as he did so. “And if you will consent, Baldwin, I still intend to do so.”
Matthew read the note out loud and Baldwin began to smile. “I long ago learned that my sister is capable of making her own decisions without even thinking of me. But if it is my consent you need, you know you have it. From the bottom of my heart. Marry my sister.”
“I’m afraid that may be a very bad idea.”
The men all jumped to their feet to find the door to the study had been opened and the Duchess of Donburrow now stood in the entryway. Smith edged his way past her. The butler looked pinched and irritated even as he tried to maintain some decorum.
“I’m so sorry, Your Graces, I could not stop her,” he panted.
Ewan waved off Smith’s apology. His heart throbbed as he moved toward his mother and then wrote, “What are you doing here? How dare you make judgments on what I should and shouldn’t do? You divorced yourself from my life long ago.”
She winced as she read the words and then glanced back up at him. Normally she was utterly cold when she looked at him. Now there was emotion in her eyes.
Fear.
It felt like fingers closing around Ewan’s heart as he saw that fear and searched for a cause.
“I realize I have no place here,” she said softly. “But I had to return. You see, you are in danger, more danger than you know, if you intend to marry Lady Portsmith. Or anyone, for that matter.”
Ewan glanced back in question at his friends, and they joined him to stand before her. Matthew cocked his head. “Just what do you mean by that?”
She flinched. “There was no coincidence that we showed up on your doorstep today, Ewan. Your brothers and I didn’t come simply because we were at a nearby estate. That just made the coming easier.”
“Explain yourself, madam,” Baldwin snapped. “You’re talking in riddles.”
Ewan nodded, as confused and annoyed as his friends. He was just happy they were saying exactly what he was thinking.
“I will. I’ll try, at any rate.” She hesitated, almost as if she were struggling with what to say. Then she sighed. “Since the matter of the title was resolved three years ago, Josiah has been…plotting.”
“Plotting?” Baldwin repeated with a shake of his head. “Why would Josiah plot?”
She shivered. “His father taught him hate. He taught him vengeance. He taught him entitlement. The last duke’s violent and cruel behavior didn’t just stop because you were removed from our home, Ewan. The man found a way to punish us all for various offenses.”
Ewan blinked. He’d heard rumors and hints of his father’s bad behavior toward the “good” sons. He knew there was abuse. But he hadn’t really pictured what that would mean. How his brothers would be as changed and damaged by it as he had been. He’d come to see them all as a unit of terror, not as individuals.
“You say he is plotting,” Matthew said evenly. “What exactly is Josiah determined to do?”
She swallowed hard. “Josiah’s worst impulses are driven now, fueled by drink and lament and a yearning for what he feels was taken from him.”
“And what does he want?” Ewan wrote, his frustration that she was dancing about the topic reflected in Matthew and Baldwin’s faces.
She turned away briefly. “Your—your demise,” she whispered. “He has murdered you in his head a dozen times. I’ve heard him talk about it.”
Matthew staggered back. “Josiah wants to kill Ewan?”
“The title would pass to him then,” the duchess said with a nod. “All would be resolved as he felt it should have been years ago.”
“You knew this and you said nothing until now?” Baldwin all but roared. “What kind of mother are you?”
Her cheeks flamed. “I heard him talk about it, plan it with his brother, but I never thought he was serious. It was idle words, that’s all. Just idle and impotent rage.” She pushed past them into the room. “Until yesterday. He’s had spies in your midst, Ewan. For years they have reported your movements.”
“Spies?” Smith interrupted, jolting forward. “From this house?”
She shook her head. “No, Smith, you did a good job pushing out any servants who might have been loyal to my husband’s ideals. He has other sources. That doesn’t matter right now. One of those sources wrote to Josiah, saying that Lady Portsmith was visiting.”
Ewan jolted as Charlotte’s name was brought into what sounded like a very dangerous and deadly story.
His mother kept talking. “He told your brother that you and Charlotte had been alone together on the estate for several days. And later when he saw you together, this person suspected a connection between you that went deeper than a mere friendship. The very notion that it could be true drove Josiah wild.”
“What does that mean?” Ewan scribbled.
“He destroyed his rooms, he beat his valet, his rage was…” She cringed. “It was horrifying, darker even than your father’s worst days. It became clear that his plans to do you harm were no longer just fantasies in his mind.”
“But why would Charlotte and any relationship Ewan might have with her drive Josiah this way?” Matthew asked.
“Heirs,” she whispered. “If Ewan were to marry and produce an heir, then that would become the line of the title. It would veer away from Josiah forever.”
Ewan staggered and took a long step away from his mother. As if distancing himself could make this horrible thing she was saying go away.
“So his plans, which were up until that point only vague, had to sharpen to a point before it was too late.” His hands shook as he wrote those words.
She nodded. “Yes. He insisted we all make the journey here, holiday or no. He had to see for himself, and if he felt the rumor was true, decide what to do about it.”
“That’s what he meant when he said he’d seen enough earlier today,” Baldwin mused. “He saw the connection between you and Charlotte with his own eyes. He felt it confirmed what he’d been told.”
“All the way back to town, he railed about what he was going to do. How he would destroy your world.” The duchess covered her face with her hands. “Destroy you. I know I have not been a mother to you, Ewan. I had no idea how to be. But the idea that he would strike you dead…” She drew her fingers away and stared at him. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”
He turned away, pacing to the window. The full truth of her words washed over him, and his stomach turned. So this is where they’d come to. What his father’s hate had born and bred into men he should have called brothers. Now at least one of them wanted him dead.
“He’ll come for me, then,” he wrote, handing the notebook to Matthew to read out to the Duchess of Donburrow.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know. I assume so. He went off to that horrid Mr. Griffin as soon as he left me at the inn, with Roger trailing along behind him.”
“Mr. Griffin?” Smith interrupted from the door. “The—the shopkeep in the village?”
The duchess pursed her lips in his direction, like she was annoyed he had interrupted her little tale. “Yes,” she said, her tone snippy and short. “Griffin is Josiah’s spy.”
To Ewan’s surprise, the color left Smith’s face and he staggered, reaching out to support himself on the doorjamb.
“What is it?” Matthew asked, moving toward the butler. “Why does that mean something to you?”
Smith swallowed. “Your Grace, Lady Portsmith and her mother departed for town almost an hour ago. She had—she had an item to pick up, she said. From Mr. Griffin’s shop.”
Charlotte stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother to come down beside her. With a smile, she looked around the village of Donburrow. Her mother had been right that getting off the estate was the right decision. A little distance made her more certain than ever in what she planned to do for Ewan tonight. What she planned to say.
She just needed the silver notebook to start her journey.
“Griffin’s Emporium,” her mother read with a shake of her head. “Gracious, he does think highly of himself.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He is the most dreadful man,” she whispered as they linked arms and headed toward the shop. “You have no idea, Mama. Ewan told me things that had I known, I never would have bought a single thing from the man.”
They entered the shop together, causing the little bell on the door to jangle in announcing their arrival. Charlotte looked around, surprised that the shop was empty. Of course, it was the holiday.
“He does have some nice things, though,” her mother said, parting from her side and moving to look at a bonnet behind the window display.
As she did so, Griffin appeared from the back of the shop. When he approached, Charlotte noted that he seemed very pale. And as he looked at her, she found that the very confident and smarmy expression he had shown her the previous day seemed gone. He appeared anxious as he moved to the counter.
“Lady Portsmith,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve come for your item, I assume.”
She nodded. “I have, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry it could not be delivered as we originally discussed.”
He shifted his weight. “Er, yes. I am sorry about that, myself. My normal boy refused to work on the holiday, and some things came up that could not be foreseen.”
“Well, it matters not,” she said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I didn’t mind the ride to town and my mother wished to peruse your merchandise.”
Griffin jerked his gaze in the duchess’s direction and paled even more. “Oh, I did not realize you came with another person. Of course you are welcome here, my lady.”
“Your Grace,” Charlotte corrected, taking a high and mighty tone she very rarely employed. No one deserved it more than this snake. “My mother is the Duchess of Sheffield.”
Griffin seemed to sway on his feet ever so slightly and he muttered something beneath his breath, but then he steadied himself. “You are most welcome, Your Grace,” he called out.
Her mother waved a hand in acknowledgment from across the store and Charlotte cleared her throat. “Now, about my item?”
He glanced again at Charlotte’s mother, then said, “It is in the back. Will you come with me to inspect it?”
Charlotte wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Come in the back?” she repeated.
She didn’t think she’d gone into the back of a store before, not unless it was a dressmaker’s and she was to be measured there rather than in the comfort of her own home.
He nodded. “My engraving tools are there, you see. If you want to add anything beyond what you requested, it will be easier to do it there.”
She shrugged. “I suppose that makes sense. Mama, I am going to accompany Mr. Griffin to the back. I shouldn’t be but a moment.”
Her mother smiled up at her. “Very well, my dear. Take your time, I’m enjoying Mr. Griffin’s selection of books.”
Mr. Griffin tossed the duchess a tight smile and then motioned Charlotte toward the back of his store. She followed him through a small room in the back and down a dark, dusty hallway. She hesitated a fraction, for this entire endeavor seemed very…odd.
“Just a bit farther,” he said, smiling at her like he could read her anxiety. “Through this door.”
He motioned to a door on the far end of the hallway. She followed him as he opened it and led her into a small room. It was obviously a storeroom of some kind, dark and dingy, not the kind of place where it seemed one would do intricate engraving.
“What is this about?” Charlotte asked, edging back toward the door.
Mr. Griffin didn’t answer, but smiled at her nervously. Her heart leapt and she swung around to exit the room, but found the two of them were not alone. Standing at the door behind her, closing it and locking her in, was Josiah, Ewan’s brother. And he had an expression on his face that was exactly the same hate and animus she had seen him point toward Ewan. Now it was hers, and it was terrifying.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, hating how her voice cracked.
He ignored her and glared at Griffin. “Why is it just her? Where the hell is my brother?”
Griffin shrugged. “I assumed they would come together when I sent the message you asked for earlier. But it’s just her…and her mother.”
“Mama!” Charlotte screamed, rushing for the door.
Josiah rolled his eyes and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her backward into the room as he clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, but he was big—not as big as Ewan, but far bigger and stronger than she was.
“Shut your mouth,” he growled. “We’re far enough back in the shop that your mother isn’t going to hear you. So shut up.”
She glared at him over the hand over her mouth and he glared right back.
“This is a pickle, my lord,” Mr. Griffin said, worrying his hands. “What about the duchess?”
“This is all going to be complicated,” Josiah agreed. “I don’t need a dead duchess on my hands with everything else. But how to get rid of her?”
Charlotte began to struggle as his words sank in. Dead. Complicated. He was going to hurt her. He wanted to hurt Ewan.
And if she wasn’t careful, her mother too.
“I said stop!” Josiah growled, grabbing her hair and yanking until her head angled back painfully. “Or I’ll snap you in half right now.”
She stopped struggling as she stared up into his twisted, ugly countenance. She had no idea how he’d become this way. She didn’t want to know. She just wanted to live.
She took a few long breaths and said against his fingers, “I won’t shout.”
He glared at her as he lowered his hand. “You’d better not.”
“You don’t have to…hurt my mother,” she whispered, trying not to cry. She thought a man like this might like those tears. They might make him even more wild and driven to take what he wanted.
“Don’t make me,” Josiah said, his grip tightening on her arm painfully. “Now let me think.”
She swallowed and looked at Mr. Griffin. She knew there were daggers in her eyes. He saw them too, and shifted. “Is there a back entrance, you craven bastard?”
He flinched at her slur and Josiah actually laughed. “You have fire. No wonder the idiot likes you.”
“Yes,” Griffin said, turning his face. “Just on the right in the hallway is an entrance where I take deliveries.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to Josiah. “We could leave through there. You don’t want to do anything in the shop at any rate, do you?”
“No!” Griffin said. “Please don’t.”
Josiah worried his lip. “Fine. I’ll go around and have my carriage brought to the back entrance.”
He shoved Charlotte into a chair with enough force that her teeth clanged together, and then reached into his pocket and retrieved a pistol. She watched, horrified, as he turned it over to Griffin.
“Point it at her head,” he instructed. “And if she tries to run, put a bullet in it.”
Griffin took the weapon, his hands shaking, and leveled it on Charlotte as Josiah rushed out of the room. When they were alone, Charlotte focused entirely on Griffin.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly.
He shifted and she winced, for he was shaking so hard she feared he would shoot her accidentally. “When he’s duke…he’s made promises,” he said.
“Do you really think he’s going to be duke?” she asked, shooting a glance at the door as she wondered at how much time they had left. “He’s driven by revenge and greed, Mr. Griffin. He’s wild and has no good plan.”
Griffin seemed to consider that. “But I’m already in it, my lady.”
“He might kill me,” she said. “And it will all come out. You can be a villain in the piece and fall with this man. Or you could be a hero. It’s not too late to help.”
He stared at the door for a beat, two beats, and she held her breath.
“How?” he said softly, and her heart leapt as she began to offer him a way out.