The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Sixteen

T

he next week settled into a routine of sorts for Lorelei. Keeping Cecilia and Irene busy was a full-time occupation. Ginny would be horrified to learn that her very proper girls were pulling weeds in the garden, but Lorelei had to do something to entertain two young and energetic beings. Of course, Irene was all that was dignified. But at the end of day, the girls laughed during a thorough cleaning from head to toe.

Lorelei settled back with her needlepoint. Her sitting room was cozy with a blazing fire roaring in the grate. Irene sat in the chair across from Lorelei, and Cecilia lay on her stomach on the floor, flipping through a large book filled with flowers. Lorelei managed to convince Corinne to join them, and she was ensconced on the settee, staring blankly out the window at a cold slashing rain.

Cecilia’s thumb popped from her mouth. “Might Mrs. Wells bring in the babe?”

Irene glanced up. “Oh, yes. Mightn’t she?”

Corinne’s gaze had moved from the window. All three stared, waiting on Lorelei to answer while thousands of birds in her stomach seem to have decided to fly south suddenly. She didn’t know what to say. The words “of course” should be easy enough to say, but they stuck in her throat, and perspiration formed at her nape. Lorelei glanced quickly about, panic creeping over her skin in chilled bumps. Where was Bethie?

A soft knock sounded, and Mrs. Wells leaned her head in. She held the child in one large, sturdy arm. “I was passing by, my lady, and I couldn’t help overhearing. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

Of course.But the words never made it past her lips. Both Irene and Cecilia jumped up, rushing to the wet nurse, Irene demanding to hold the child. Lorelei felt as if the walls were crashing in. Before she could object, Irene had settled beside Corinne, and Mrs. Wells was placing the newborn in her tiny arms.

“No.” The only word that managed to burst through. Black teased Lorelei’s vision… if Irene dropped him.

“Don’t worry so, Lady Kimpton,” Irene calmly informed her. “I took care of my sister when she was a baby, and I was only four at the time.”

Worried? She was terrified.

“What is his name, Miss Corinne?” Cecilia’s sweet voice pierced Lorelei’s chaotic thoughts.

Corinne never looked away from the raging storm battering the windows. “Call him whatever you wish, it makes no difference to me.” Her melancholy was heartbreaking. She was growing steadily worse by day.

Lorelei studied Corinne for a long moment, desperate to find a way to reach her. She was as beautiful as Brandon had portrayed her. “Bethie says you are recuperating nicely,” she said gently.

That captured her attention, and she turned to Lorelei, her eyes glaring hatred. “I wish to speak to my sister, but you made her stay at that cottage because s-she’s a—” She glanced at the younger girls. “Because she’s a tart.”

Lorelei stilled, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, how lovely.” Cecilia jumped up. “Our mama is a tart too.”

Corinne gaped.

Irene’s eyes widened.

A giggle escaped Miss Elvins.

Peg snorted.

Lorelei glanced at Cecilia, shocked, then shook her head and looked back at Corinne. “Nonsense. She means her mother is… is…” Lorelei grappled to maintain a handle on the situation before things spiraled out of control. As if that hadn’t already happened.

“She means her mother is not sickly sweet, like too much sugar.” Thorne spoke from the door. Amusement wreathed his gaze, although his tone was grave.

Cecilia huffed. “A-course that’s what I meant.”

Lorelei quickly gathered her bearings. “My lord, perhaps you would not mind escorting the young women to luncheon? I need a moment with Miss Hollerfield.” She shifted her attention to the wet nurse. “Pray take the infant to the nursery, Mrs. Wells.”

Mrs. Wells acceded, murmuring softly to her charge as they left the room.

Thorne bowed at the waist. Cecilia snatched up his hand with an eagerness that pained Lorelei. He would make a wonderful father. “It would be my pleasure. Ladies?” He held out his arm, which Irene took shyly. They departed with Cecilia’s excited chatter fading down the hall.

Lorelei sent a pointed gaze to Peg and Miss Elvins. They stood and rushed after the others. She turned to Corinne. Her bottom lip protruded like a petulant child’s. A child who’d birthed Lorelei’s brother’s baby. Lorelei went to the settee and positioned herself beside Corinne. Took her hand. “Miss Hollerfield, Corinne. I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding.” Lorelei blinked back tears, determined to help lay Rowena’s death to rest. Corinne had a duty to her child, and only the truth would help her find her way.

Corinne shook her head. It began slowly, and she made an effort to scoot away, but she was too wrought with grief. “No,” she whispered. “Rowena?”

“I’m sorry, dear. She fell and hit her head.” Lorelei dropped her head. It wasn’t the complete truth. But did the girl need to hear that her mother had been murdered? “She didn’t survive. Her injury was fatal.”

“She’s dead?”

Lorelei looked into her pale features. “I couldn’t possibly leave you there. I would not have left your mother there either. I truly wish to help.” Heartbreak gripped Lorelei’s chest, and tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Lorelei pulled Corinne into her embrace and held her as the girl’s body was racked with silent sobs.

It seemed an interminable time before Corinne’s cries subsided. When she finally pulled away, she whispered, “What is to become of me? Of my baby?”

“My husband and I shall look after you. We have plenty of room, and the resources to assist you in every way possible.” To Lorelei’s relief, Corinne did not seem inclined to argue with her on this point.

She sniffed and glanced about. “You called her my mother.”

Lorelei pulled a handkerchief from the drawer of a table and pushed it into Corinne’s hand. “Yes, she confessed her relationship to you when you were quite ill.”

“But…” Corinne blew her nose, shook her head, and spoke into the cloth. “She’s not my mother. She is my sister.”

Lorelei paused. What did it matter? “It’s of no consequence. We must see to the care of you and your baby.”

A stubborn light flashed in the girl’s eyes. “She is my sister, I tell you. I don’t know why she would tell you she was my mother.” She heaved in a deep breath. “How… how did she fall?”

The question caught Lorelei off guard.

“The truth, my lady. My sister was afraid. Of what or whom, I can’t imagine,” Corinne said, her gaze direct and unwavering.

Lorelei did not relish this conversation. But she was encouraged to see Corinne’s persona resemble that picture her brother had captured. “Someone broke into the cottage. I think she fought most valiantly, and”—Lorelei took a shallow breath and squeezed the girl’s fragile hand—“her head hit the wall.” She ended on a whisper.

“Where is she? Has she been buried yet?”

“Yes. In the churchyard. Shall I take you to her?”

Corinne struggled with the information. A tear slid down her cheek before she nodded sharply. “I would be most grateful, Lady Kimpton. Might we go today?”

“If you feel you are up to the challenge, I shall be happy to accompany you.”

“Thank you.” A charged silence filled the chamber. “Nathaniel.”

“What?”

“My baby. His name is Brandon Nathaniel.” Corinne raised her chin, as if preparing to fight for the basic right to call her child by Lorelei's brother’s name.

Lorelei blinked quickly and swallowed past a lump in her throat, pleased beyond words. Nathaniel might be all she had left of her brother in the event he was never found. “Yes. Yes, Brandon Nathaniel is a lovely name.”

Thorne escorted the young ladies from his wife’s sitting room, cognizant of Cecilia’s tightly clinging hand. Once Miss Elvins excused herself to her own chamber, Cecilia’s grip loosened, and she skipped beside him until they reached the dining room.

“Will you make us go back to Papa?” she asked.

Irene’s hand trembled on his other arm as he considered how to answer. He detoured from the dining room, instead walking the girls to his study. He sat in a large chair and lifted Cecilia onto his lap. Irene sat on the footstool. “Don’t you miss your mama?”

“A-course,” Cecilia said. “But she’s dead.”

Such a gruesome statement. And disturbing from one so young. He glanced at Irene. Not a word passed her lips, but the same question pierced him from her steady gaze. “What did you see when you saw her last?”

“Blood. Her hair was messy,” Cecilia said. Her thumb disappeared into her mouth.

“You said she spoke to you?”

Irene nodded. “Yes, she wished us to pretend to sleep.”

“Did Lord Brockway say anything in the carriage to you on your way to the Kimpton townhouse?”

“He told us not to worry. He said he would take care of Mama.” Irene dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap.

“Then we must cling to those words. Lord Brockway will inform me of any developments. And I shall inform you.” He spoke sternly. “Am I clear?”

Cecilia leaned her head on his shoulder and pulled her thumb from her mouth. “I do wish to see Mama again.”

“And until we hear differently, I insist we think in a positive manner.”

Irene’s bottom lip trembled. It was the hope in her eyes that let him breathe again.

“Thorne?” Lorelei stood at the door, beckoning him. “Might we have a word?”

“Of course.” He stood and set Cecilia in his place. With a formal bow that had Cecilia giggling, he said, “Ladies, with your permission, I leave you in Peg’s care.”

Irene’s lips twitched, and the band manacling his chest loosened. “You may, my lord,” she said. He dropped a kiss upon each of their heads and stepped into the hall.

“Now. How can I be of service, my dear?”

“Corinne wishes to visit Miss Hollerfield’s grave. Liza is helping her dress.”

“Today? Do you think she is up to such a task?” Thorne frowned. “Of course, I shall accompany you.” He put out a hand to stay her argument. “We still don’t know who attacked Rowena. You will not leave here without Andrews and me. Quince shall remain at the house while we are gone.”

She inclined her head. “If you insist. In any event, I believe this is a step in the right direction.”

Lorelei studied her husband. His fierce gaze was fastened on the passing landscape through the window, his brows drawn, analyzing some inward puzzle. That inward puzzle was most likely his pondering the identity of the villain who’d killed Miss Hollerfield and attacked Miss Elvins. It was certainly the mystery most occupying her mind.

His broad hand rested on his knee, a hand that knew exactly how to touch her. He turned to her just then and grinned. Her cheeks flamed, as if he’d read her lascivious thoughts.

His gaze shifted to their companion. “How are you holding up, Miss Hollerfield?”

“Well, my lord.” Corinne’s quiet words, barely above a whisper, had Lorelei doubting the claim. She covered Corinne’s hand with hers.

Ten minutes later, the carriage perched on the lane before the small church. Arched windows pointing toward heaven never failed to soothe Lorelei. Never had she relished the feeling more than in this moment.

Talmadge, the vicar, was a tall, hunched, scraggly man. He rushed out to greet them. Thorne descended the carriage, and Lorelei started forward. Corinne stayed her with a hand. “Lady Kimpton.”

Lorelei sat back against the seat. “Yes?”

“This means so much to me, I-I can scarcely find the words. Would it be so horrific to request to visit Rowena a-alone?”

Lorelei studied her. She appeared on the verge of collapse, but her gathering the courage to ask for something so personal touched Lorelei. She leaned out the window. “Give us just a moment, gentlemen.” The door was pushed closed.

Tears shimmered in Corinne’s eyes. Lorelei could not deny her. “Would you consider letting the vicar stand nearby? I fear for your health. You haven’t allowed time to build your strength.”

“Yes. Yes, thank you, Lady Kimpton. It’s most appropriate for the vicar to assist me. I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, and after all you’ve done.”

“Not at all, dear. This is a horrendous time for you. I’m just glad we are able to assist you in some way.”

“I suppose Rowena mentioned that Lord Harlowe is my baby’s father?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Lorelei said. “But Lord Kimpton was under that impression.”

Corinne’s gaze fell to her lap. “I see.” She raised her head. “I suppose that’s why you are being so nice to me.”

“I’ll admit I am thrilled to have such a beautiful and perfect nephew. But I would like to believe I would have helped regardless your situation, Miss Hollerfield.”

A tinge of pink flooded Corinne’s face. The sight was not unbecoming. “Thank you, Lady Kimpton. I shall do my best to avoid embarrassing you or… or Brandon.”

Lorelei smiled. “That is the least of my concerns.” She squeezed the girl’s hands. “We shall speak more of Brandon at a later time. Now, I suggest we attempt to move past this current chapter.” Lorelei tapped on the carriage door.

Thorne assisted Corinne, then Lorelei, down the steps. “Vicar, Miss Hollerfield would be most appreciative of your showing her to her sister’s final resting place.”

Talmadge stepped forward and offered Corinne his arm. Thorne started after them, and Lorelei quickly grabbed hold of him. “She wishes privacy, my lord. Perhaps we might discuss your suspicions about who is responsible for Miss Hollerfield’s death.”

He scowled. “I have no suspects. I just wish I did.”

The ride back to Kimpton was somber. Thorne had not lied to Lorelei. He was stymied as to who would have wished Rowena harm.

“What is that you are holding, Miss Hollerfield?” Lorelei asked.

Thorne looked out over the rolling hills, now a rich green after all the rain, vaguely listening to the quiet conversation going on about him.

“The vicar gave it to me. He said it was clenched in Rowena’s hand.” She let out a sigh. “It’s a coin of some sort.”

Thorne snapped his head around. “Let me see that,” he demanded. He snatched it from Miss Hollerfield, ignoring the women’s horrified gasps.

“Thorne! That was most rude—”

Flashes of a cruel, sneering mouth seared his brain; narrowed suspicious eyes, staring out from the Tower gate; images of the practiced toss, caught in midair. Everything fell into place in perfect, terrifying precision.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

“Ready the household for London, Lorelei. We leave tomorrow.”

“But, Thorne, Miss Hollerfield isn’t quite up to—”

The alternative was worse if Maudsley was still about. “Tomorrow, Lorelei.”