CHAPTER 19
With the sound of thunder crack outside, Emma’s eyes snapped open in the darkness. Looking around in confusion, it took another few seconds for her to realize where she was: Chatham Hall in Oxfordshire.
Rolling onto her side, she took a deep breath. She’d been on the road with Michael for over a week now and she wondered if she’d ever find justice for her parents and finally go home.
Home? A sobering thought pricked her.
She had no home. Not anymore.
While she cared very much for Kyra and her family, she could not help but feel so alone in this house. When she’d been living in Lord Tomkin’s townhouse, her solid determination was intact. She knew her purpose. But being here? All of that seemed to fade away.
Sitting up, she fumbled around in the dark on the night table. “Now where is that matchbox?” Finding it, she pulled out a single match and with one quick flick of her hand ignited the flame. She lit the candles one by one on the candelabra.
Light spilled out into the darkness of the quaint guest room. Her stomach suddenly growled. She hadn’t been in the mood to eat during dinner with Michael’s family. The ambiance in the dining room had been somber and no one was in the mood to converse either. In many ways, she was thankful for the silence. It gave her time to think and simple be there for Kyra and her family.
She looked at the pull cord next to the bed. It would be another hour or so before the servants started their day and the thought of waking the servants earlier than usual didn’t feel right to her. While looking at the ornate clock on the mantle again, another growl rumbled in her belly. Her hunger got the better of her judgment. She grabbed her nightrail and pulled her arms through the sleeves, then picked up the candelabra on the night table and opened the door to peek out.
Nothing but the sound of the rain pouring down.
Good.
She tip-toed quietly into the hallway and the wood squeaked under her bare feet. She froze, her heart pumping in her ribcage. The last thing she wanted was to be noticed at this hour and in her nightgown, no less. Lightening her steps, she treaded softly to the stairs and made her way down, her hand gliding down the polished banister.
Passing the foyer, she went down the hallway, past the morning room, and the library toward the servants’ hallway. Holding the candelabra higher, she walked toward the back of the house. Just then, she saw a door to her left. There it is. Narrow stairs spilled out into a large kitchen.
Honestly, it was like a maze down here. Just when she was about to enter the heart of the kitchen, slow heavy footsteps sounded from the dark hallway.
“Who’s there,” the woman said.
Emma frowned. No more than a few seconds later, an older plump middle-aged woman with red curls tied in a knot appeared out of the darkness.
“Miss…?” she said crinkling her nose and glaring at her.
“I am sorry. Please,” Emma said in a hushed tone. “I don’t want to wake the house.”
“Are ye lost, Miss?”
The woman looked at her most curiously. Emma understood that all too well, after all she was intruding upon her domain. “No, I’m not, actually. I know it’s quite early, but perhaps I could find something to eat, if it’s not too much trouble?”
Her frown morphed into a wide smile. “I think I just might be able to help ye with that, Miss,” she said. “I’m the cook. What would ye like me to cook up for ye, Miss?”
“I don’t want to trouble you.” Her tummy growled again. Emma touched her belly the instant it made another grumbling noise. “Anything you have on hand is fine, thank you.”
The woman perched her hands on her waist. “Well…I’ve got day ol’ bread and some sliced roast beef. I can make you a sandwich, if you don’t want to wait for a hot meal?”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Emma put the candelabra down on the center table and sat on the stool.
The woman pulled off her apron from the hook on the wall and put it on. Emma watched as the cook pulled a plate off the counter, then grabbed two pieces of bread from the corner stand and slapped it on the plate. Putting it on the rectangular pine table in the center of the kitchen, the cook proceeded to walk down the hall. She disappeared for a few minutes, then reappeared holding a tray of sliced meat.
The cook smiled and went to work while Emma watched. The woman assembled the sandwich like she could do it in her sleep and handed her the plate.
“Thank you.” Emma took the first bite, the flavors bursting in her mouth. “This is delicious.”
“Yer welcome, Miss.”
The cook gazed at Emma for a long moment, as if she had something to share. After taking another large bite of the delicious sandwich, she put it down on her plate. “What is it?” Emma asked watching the cook. “Have I made a mess of myself?” Emma wiped her mouth with her hand.
“No,” the woman said thoughtfully, smiling at her. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’, it’s just awfully good to see Mr. Whitfield back home again.”
Emma heard the emotion in the cook’s tone. “You care about his family very much.”
Cook shook her head. “I’ll be giving ye my opinion for what it’s worth. The two of you make a mighty fine pair, if ye ask me. I think ye are good for him. He needs a strong woman like yerself.”
“I see,” Emma said surprised at the woman’s frankness. This really ought to be none of her business, but somehow it didn’t matter. There was something in her eyes that was kind and Emma found it to be comforting. Besides, sitting on the stool in her nightrail, gobbling a sandwich like a starved child in the kitchen somehow unraveled the ceremony between them.
“Ye brought him home, finally after all those years.” She went to grab a jar from the counter and poured flour on the wooden counter. “After ye are married and with children, I hope ye come visit her ladyship often. She loves babies, her ladyship.” The cook smiled. “I think she would have loved more, if she weren’t so…delicate. And she’s suffered more than one person should bear in one lifetime, if ye don’t mind me sayin’.”
The cook went on as if she were speaking with a close family member. In truth, Emma found her candor refreshing. Emma took another big bite of the sandwich. “This is his home and I am sure he would have eventually come home with or without me.”
The cook shook her head with sympathy. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’, it’s never been the same since….” The cook looked away and wiped the tears with her apron.
Obviously the woman cared deeply about her employer and his family. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
“It took her ladyship nearly three months to face the world again after poor Miss Ashley passed. Her ladyship closed the door on the world…on all of us. I may be just a cook, Miss, but we all miss her below stairs.”
Ashley? “Who was she?”
“Mr. Whitfield’s sister, Miss. They were very close, the two of them.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Cook waved her hand. “Tis a long time ago, Miss.”
Emma patiently waited, hoping to shine some light on why the two brothers were so hateful toward one another. Could it have anything to do with their sister?
The cook gathered the flour with her hands, made a mound and wet it, then started working the flour into the dough. She wiped the tears with her shirt sleeve and continued her work. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, poor ladyship. I’ve been with the family for nearly four decades, starting out as a scullery maid when I was sixteen myself. I have to say in all those years, I have never seen her ladyship so broken as when she lost her child.”
Emma was beginning to see part of the puzzle. Ashley was Michael’s sister. How painful it must have been for her ladyship. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Miss Ashley?”
The woman kneading the dough smiled warmly at her. “Ye see, Miss Ashley…tsk, tsk, tsk. She was such a sweet young thing. It’s just a tragedy, a tragedy I tell ye.” The cook wiped her tears with her white apron and went on. “Mr. Whitfield was back from Cambridge to visit the family as he always done and discovered Miss Ashley had eloped.”
“Eloped?”
The cook nodded. “She was madly in love with a farmer’s son, Mr. Mallory. A handsome young man, he was.”
Emma knew Society could be quite ruthless if the rules were broken. One can be a target of ridicule, humiliation and even shunned from Polite Society. Sorrow swelled in her heart for the young girl in love, feeling the familiar heartbreak she once felt a year ago.
“He was a fine lad and despite his station, the earl agreed to allow her the choice after her coming out ball.”
Society had rigid rules for anyone born into a family of nobility. If she were honest, the rules were antiquated, but even Emma understood the price of going against social mores. It must have been quite difficult for her and her family. “How old was she?”
“Sixteen, Miss,” the cook answered.
“So she’d have had to wait two years?” That was an awfully long time for such a young woman in love.
“Little over a year, since the young Miss would have been seventeen end of February. She was not willing to wait. Neither was the young man.”
They were nearly approaching the end of February now. What an awful reminder for the family. But she still didn’t understand why Michael would be singled out for the earl’s wrath.
“Miss Ashley was…well, quite impetuous. She couldn’t wait even if her life depended on it. In fact, she sobbed her heart out in this kitchen, where yer sitting, when his lordship threatened to ship her off to the Americas. That night they found a note and she was gone.”
“To Gretna Green?”
The cook nodded. “Mr. Whitfield convinced the earl to let him go after her. But when he returned….” Tears brimmed in the cook’s eyes followed by sniff, sniff. “Instead of bringing her back home, she was buried in the parish. He never speaks of what happened at Gretna Green. Not to anyone.”
“I see,” she said, her heart aching to soothe Michael’s grief. To soothe away the pain.
The cook shook her head. “Mr. Whitfield left after the funeral. Gone fer good. The rumor has it that he quit University and left home to roam the country in grief. I think, in many ways, he blames himself,” the cook said shaking her head. “Poor Mr. Whitfield.”
Emma recalled seeing a melancholy woman in the painting when she arrived yesterday. That must have been Miss Ashley. “It’s not his doing.” But Emma understood all too well the power of guilt despite the fact that he had no reason to be blamed for it. She felt, in many ways, if she’d been with her parents, she could have somehow prevented their murder. It’s the helplessness of not being there to prevent it that is far more difficult to bear.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk…her ladyship was just heartbroken. When I heard of his arrival last week, I couldn’t have been happier for her ladyship.”
Emma heard light, quick footsteps behind her. A young maid walked in and curtsied. She looked as though she’d been in the chimney as soot smeared her cheeks.
“Shall I come back?”
“No, no,” Emma said, standing up. “Please don’t let me get in the way.”
“Get cleaned up and come back to help me with breakfast,” the cook said with hurried impatience to the young maid before waving her off. “Be quick about it.” The maid curtsied again and quickly left the kitchen.
“Thank you for the lovely food,” Emma said to the cook with a smile before she picked up the candelabra and left the kitchen. Continuing up the stairs and to the living quarters, she made her way through the halls, her mind on the conversation she just had with the cook.
As she neared the main stairs, she heard someone walking down from upstairs. She looked up and saw Lord Chatham, impeccably dressed with a thick greatcoat. Pulling her nightrail tightly around her, she awkwardly crossed her arms.
“Miss Willoughby, what has you up so early this morning?” Lord Chatham chirped as he met her at the bottom of the stairs.
Instantly, she took a step back. “My lord,” she said touching her unruly hair in a nervous gesture. “I did not realize you awoke quite so early.”
“Usually no, but this is the day I visit my tenants and see to their welfare.”
She saw his gaze lower to her bosoms again, sending a prick of discomfort to her tummy. While they may be identical twins, they were nothing alike. “I see,” she said, crossing her arms to cover her bosoms. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think—”
“Miss Willoughby….” When she turned to face him again, he continued. “May I be frank?”
She couldn’t very well refuse his lordship, could she? He was a man used to getting what he wanted and she surmised he would tell her what was on his mind whether she liked it or not.
“I’d advise you to take caution where my brother is concerned. I don’t know what he has told you as of late, but domestic life is quite a challenge for him.” The earl paused as if searching for the right word. “I fear, one day, you may find yourself in a difficult predicament.”
If he were anyone else, she would not have felt the need to sock him. No matter what had transpired between them, they were still brothers. “I am perfectly aware of what Michael is capable of,” she said quite firmly, more than she meant to. “He is a good man, no matter what you may think of him. Perhaps it is time his lordship took the opportunity to get to know him a little better while he is still here.”
“It seems my brother has pulled the wool over your eyes, too.”
“If I may be frank, my lord…,” she inquired.
“Please…,” the earl said cautiously.
“I can’t help but feel your brother has been a target of ridicule. I don’t pretend to understand, but I think Mr. Whitefield deserves a little bit of kindness from certain members of his family.”
His eyes narrowed as if to warn her, but she refused to let him intimate her. “Don’t fool yourself, Miss. While he may speak of honor and duty, he is rarely one to deliver on his promises; you can count on it, just as you can count on the sun to rise every morning.”
This situation was considerably sad. Very sad, indeed. While Lord Chatham couldn’t know Michael’s true purpose, it saddened her to see how much they were both suffering because of their pride.”What a pity,” she said, shaking her head, “you still refuse to see him for who he is because of your pride.”
“I fear my brother has fooled you, indeed.”
“Your brother, my lord, may keep silent to protect his family and to spare you from the truth, but I don’t have to.” His lordship glared at her with warning, his jaw twitching. “He is your twin, and yet you treat him with distain and malice. Do you blame him for staying away? It’s not as though you give him cause to feel welcome or share anything he may have to say.”
“Bite your tongue,” he roared. “Just because you are marrying into this family does not give you the right to interfere. You have no idea what Michael has put us through.”
“You’re right. I don’t know. But have you considered for a moment that he has suffered too? If you really cared about your family’s welfare like you say you do, you’ll put your pride aside and speak with him, to really see him for who he is and not what you condemned him to be.” Oh, blast. She’d already said too much.
Walk away. Walk away now.
“His suffering?” he snapped. “I’m the one who stayed to build a future. I’m the one who pulled this family together when he left with no consideration for his own family. I’m the one who stayed when—”
“As you should, my lord. It is your duty, is it not? Have you considered that he blames himself and he stayed away to protect your family? I may not know what has transpired here, but I know one truth even if I had my life to bet on it: Michael is a good, honorable man.”
“Honorable?” he snorted. “My God, Miss, he has poisoned you quite thoroughly.” He glared at her, thinking. “You are quite liberal with your opinions and I will not have it in my house. Is that understood?”
She nodded with a reluctant glare. “Yes, my lord. If you’ll excuse me….” The truth was his lordship had already damned his own brother. She saw no point in arguing with someone who was so blinded by anger and resentment.
“What is going on here?” Michael said, appearing at the top of the main stairs. His gaze shifted from Emma to his brother, then back to her.
She didn’t want to fuel the argument and cause more trouble between Michael and his twin. “It’s nothing.”
Michael quickly descended down the stairs and stood by her side. “What the bloody hell did you say to her?”
“Why don’t you ask your precious fiancée?” He shoved his leather gloves on and stormed out the front door.
For the first time since coming here, she was sad—truly sad.
“What did William say to you?”
She shook her head, lowering her gaze. When she lost her parents in the bloody murder, she lost everything and part of her had died with them, not knowing if the grief would ever go away. Yet he had everything she could ever want, a family and a home, but they seemed intent on hating each other because they failed to let go of the past. “I can’t pretend to understand all this…this malice between the two of you.” She paused wondering if she should bring up the subject of his sister, Ashley. If she could somehow reach out to him then shouldn’t she try? “If this is about your sister—”
“Kyra has nothing to do with this,” he said, abruptly breaking off her sentence.
“I meant…the other sister.” Michael’s jaw twitched. He seemed troubled, but suddenly it morphed into something far more dangerous as his eyes grew dark.
“You know nothing about Ashley. I suggest you leave her out of this.”
Emma chose her words carefully, too. Not because she feared she’d hurt his feelings somehow, but because in the end he would surely regret it. “You’re right, I don’t. And I’m sorry I brought it up. But I know this to be true.” She gazed into his dark, fathomless eyes, as if he was ready to go to war. “There is no room for pride when it comes to family, Michael. Fix what is broken, if not for William then do it for Kyra and her ladyship. There will come a time when you will regret your choice of not doing so when they are gone. Without family, there is nothing,” she said. “Trust me on this.” She walked away, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She was glad when he didn’t stop her, for tears threatened to burst and she didn’t want him to see her cry.
Not this time.
Not ever.