The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twenty-One

I

rene stood before Lorelei, rocking Nathan with a graceful sway of her body, back and forth, to and fro. “Lady Kimpton, I believe you are frightened of him.” Her scrutiny and her words sent a frisson of ice through Lorelei’s veins. The attempt to swallow was harbored by an unspeakable fear. She glanced around. Peg, Sarah, and Corinne were as still as statues. Even Cecilia stood unmoving, her thumb poised before her mouth. The rush started in Lorelei’s ears and progressed up, swarming her vision with bright then dark light. Bethie. Where was Bethie?

“Don’t worry, Lady Kimpton. I’ll stand right here and make sure you don’t drop him.” To her absolute horror, Irene moved forward and set the infant right in Lorelei’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was a staccato of pants.

Irene adjusted Nathan, making certain his head was cradled in the crook of one arm. She draped the other across the baby. “Hold him like this,” she said. She stood back to survey her work. “See? He is quite sturdy for a baby.”

The door crashed back, and Bethie was suddenly standing there, her face tight and strained.

“Look, Miss Bethie. Lady Kimpton is holding Nathan.” Irene’s statement jarred Lorelei. She looked down. Big blue eyes blinked up at her.

“Keep your arm under his head, my lady.”

Lorelei dared not move. He was too fragile. If she held him wrong, he could… he could die.

“Yer doin’ fine, my lady.” Bethie’s whisper was a prayer of hope. Lorelei’s eyes jerked to her. The older woman nodded slowly, encouragingly.

“He likes you, Lady Kimpton.” Irene’s smile beamed with pride.

Her gaze fell to the bundle in her arms. What did one say to such a tiny being?

Cecilia peered over the arm of the chair, looking at him. “I think he’s sleepy,” she said.

“How can you tell?” Lorelei was bemused.

“His blinks are slow. I blink slow when I’m sleepy too. Sometimes I count them.”

“Really?” She thought Cecilia might be duping her. She glanced at Irene.

Irene giggled. “She knows because I told her that’s how I could tell she was sleepy.”

Her laugh caught Lorelei off guard, and tears burned. For the first time Lorelei could recall, she sounded so innocent, so sweet. Lorelei blinked.

“Are you sleepy too, Lady Kimpton?” Cecilia asked.

A quick crack of laughter burst from her, and she shook her head. There was a tap at the morning room door, and Peg peered in. “Lady Dankworth to see you, my lady.”

“Oh my.” Visitors. Lorelei hadn’t had visitors in so long, she’d quite forgotten how to receive them. “Thank you, Peg. Send in Mrs. Wells. And ring for tea.”

“Who is she?” Cecilia asked.

“A very interesting society lady,” Lorelei told her.

“Oh.” As if that answered all.

“Why don’t you assist Mrs. Wells in the nursery, darling?”

“I’ll take Nathan, Lady Kimpton,” Irene said. “Oh look, he’s fallen asleep.”

Lorelei remained quite still while Irene took the baby in her small yet capable hands. Lorelei carefully rose on trembling legs.

“Ye did fine, my lady,” Bethie spoke gently. “Just fine.” Color was edging back into Bethie’s face. She seemed as surprised as Lorelei.

At the door, Lorelei paused, looking back at her vacated chair. “Yes. I-I did, didn’t I?” Outside the parlor, she drew in several deep breaths. Her pulse evened out. She pinched her cheeks, and with one last strong pull of oxygen, she forged her way through the door, put her practiced smile firmly in place.

Lady Dankworth sat with her frothy pink skirts spread out, a basket at her feet emitting suspicious noises.

“Lady Dankworth, how lovely to see you. I see Mr. and Mrs. Wriggles saw fit to accompany you.”

“I hope I haven’t caught you at an inconvenience, Lady Kimpton. It’s been so long, I wished to pay my respects.”

“Ah, yes. My husband and I spent a week in the country.”

“How lovely, dear. I was reminded last evening that I hadn’t seen you since…”

“Since I fainted in your drawing room after too much brandy?” Lorelei said wryly.

“Well, yes,” Lady Dankworth agreed bluntly.

Peg tapped at the door and rolled in the tea cart. “Thank you, Peg, I’ll pour.” Lorelei proceeded to do just that and handed Lady Dankworth a cup. “Now, what of last evening reminded you of me?”

“Well, it occurred to me that Lady Maudsley was too ill to accompany you to my tea, and, well, no one’s seen her since.” She lowered her voice. “I sent a note inquiring after her ill health but have yet to receive a response.”

Lorelei managed to keep her expression relaxed. “Perhaps she and Lord Maudsley were out of town as well.”

“I thought that very thing, you know. Until I looked up and saw Maudsley laughing with that idiot, George Welton, at the Gristons’ dinner.”

Lorelei coughed into her hand. “Idiot?”

“The boy is spreading it about that he’s to be married.”

“He’s of an age, isn’t he? What’s so strange about that?” Though Lorelei had no argument regarding the “idiot” remark.

“No. No, of course not. It’s just that the rumor is he’s marrying Maudsley’s daughter.” The shock in her tone would have been laughable if the thought had not been so horrifying. “The gel can’t be more than five.”

Spots swarmed Lorelei’s vision. “She’s nine.”

“Exactly. Much too young.” Lady Dankworth flung out a hand. “And there was Lord Maudsley, cornering Mauve Pendleton, Lady Alymer—”

“Er, yes, I get the picture.”

“Before the scoundrel could reach for her again, a young man jumped right out from behind one of those strategically placed potted plants. Heavens, I don’t know why that dowager countess places those ridiculous fake trees about. I told her they attract nothing but reprobates.” Lady Dankworth leaned in. “Personally, I think she welcomes the notoriety they wrought.” She sat back again. “Imagine my surprise when Maeve was saved from one rogue only to be accosted by another. Lord Brockway.”

Lorelei straightened. “Lord Brockway was there?”

“Swept the gel away from Maudsley right into supper.”

Smoothing a hand over her thistle-colored muslin, Lorelei fought to hide her fury. “Is that so? I’m sorry I missed it,” she murmured. She reached for the teapot to refill her cup, but instead she pulled back, quickly curling her trembling fingers in her lap.

Lady Dankworth’s brows drew together in one long line above her eyes. “I’d always believed that man half in love with Virginia Maudsley, but I declare, I’ve seen him at more parties in this one week than I have in the whole of his two years since returning from the Continent. Chatting and flirting away with a different chit at every single one.” She held out her cup. “More tea, dear, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Lorelei slowly took her cup. “A different woman every night, you say?” She poured, mindful she didn’t spill the contents in her lap. She handed Lady Dankworth her tea. “Any one person in particular?”

“No. No. Young, old, eligible, ineligible. He spreads himself about, that man.”

“And Maudsley, he was there? Has he been about every evening as well?”

Lady Dankworth seemed surprised at the question. Or perhaps, more accurately, surprised at the answer Lorelei’s question provoked. “No,” she said softly. “Last night was the first I’d seen of the man since the night of the Martindales’ masquerade.”

Was it possible Lord Brockway was covering for Ginny? A disappearance from the social events of the season coinciding with her friend’s would send talk rampant, and in a much different vein.

A chill snaked up her spine. And where had Lord Maudsley been this past week?

The drawing room drapes were drawn back, letting in overcast skies from the late afternoon. The fire in the hearth, however, warded off the chill. Cecilia lay on her tummy, chin propped in her palms held up by her elbows; she slowly turned the pages of another large tome of botanicals.

Irene, of course, sat ladylike in a chair near the hearth, thumbing through a book of something Lorelei hadn’t selected. Sarah, too, held a book, but she stared into the fire.

“Lady Kimpton?” Corinne spoke softly, leaving Lorelei to wonder if Corinne would ever relax in her company.

“Yes, Miss Hollerfield?”

Corinne lifted a guilty gaze. “I-I…”

Lorelei smiled, doing her utmost to set her at ease. “Please, Corinne. I’d hoped by this time, and after all we’ve endured, that you could ask me anything.”

A blush tinged her cheeks. “Of course, Lady Kimpton.” She took a deep breath as if preparing for a walk off the plank on a pirate’s ship into the frigid depths of the Atlantic. “It’s just that, well, I’d like to send a note to my sister’s household informing them of her…” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“Of course, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it myself. They deserve to know.”

Corinne nodded.

“What happened to your sister, Miss Hollerfield? Is she dead?” Cecilia’s blunt questions hung in the air.

Corinne’s effort to hold back tears was valiant but unsuccessful; they spilled over at her sharp nod.

“It was very recent, Cecilia. Miss Hollerfield has not had much time to deal with her grief,” Lorelei said gently.

“Oh.” Cecilia’s attention turned back on her open book.

“My mother may be dead too,” Irene said.

Lorelei shot her a sharp glance. Yes, her expression was quite serious. “Irene, we discussed—” She stopped at the sudden stillness that had come over the room. All eyes were upon Irene. Even Sarah’s brooding gaze, drawn away from the fire, burned with curiosity.

Irene seemed oblivious. Her eyes were trained on her book, flipping the pages in slow, methodical increments. “She could have died by now.” Her solemn tone broke Lorelei’s heart.

“Irene. Please,” she snapped. Please, what? Lorelei was at a loss. How was she to shake Irene from her expectations of doom? The girl’s exposure to violence was something Lorelei had no experience with. She snatched up her embroidery. “We shall talk again later.”

Sarah’s gaze snapped to Lady Kimpton, startled by her severe tone. She would have wagered her last pence that Satan’s little angel would never draw someone’s ire. And certainly not Lady Kimpton’s.

Her stomach fluttered in fear. Blasted rain. How was she to sneak away to meet Lord Maudsley’s demands? She’d never been frightened of him before. But he’d slammed her against a tree. He’d almost killed her. She was so confused. His voice had remained congenial. Did he hate her? Love her? No. He was a vicious, vicious man.

She closed her eyes against the memory of her last visit to the park. The memory refused to be quelled. She on her knees, tears streaming down her face, his hand trapping her head while he’d shoved his… his thing down her throat. She swallowed back bile, shifting her gaze back to the fire, quickly blinking. If anyone learned what he’d forced her to do, she’d be turned out on the streets, she would.

“Miss Elvins, are you quite all right?”

Lady Kimpton’s kindness turned her stomach. “I… I’m not feeling quite myself today, my lady.”

“You’re free to retire to your chamber, dear. I’ll have a tray sent up.” She smiled, and Sarah truly thought she would vomit right there on the drawing room carpet.

“Yes. Yes, I think I will, my lady.” Sarah stood, offered a short curtsy, and somehow restrained herself from an out-and-out run from the room. She rushed into the hall and up the stairs to her chambers. She jerked the chamber pot from beneath the bed and cast up her accounts with the force of a violent hurricane.

She swallowed her tears. Nothing could come of them anyway. What good did crying do one besides? She rinsed her mouth then went to the window and cracked it. The damp air cooled her hot face. Once Peg brought her tray, it would be safe to steal away for a time.

The knock sounded. “Enter.”

It was Peg. “Here is the tray Lady Kimpton said to bring you.” Her insolent tone cut Sarah to the bone, but Sarah steeled her resolve. The servants made no secret of their feelings, treating her as if she were the resident leper. Only around Lady Kimpton did they bother to mask their contempt with civility.

Resentment burned deep in her chest. She lifted her chin, doing her best imitation of Lord Maudsley. “That will be all, Peg.”

The door shut soundly. Sarah rushed to the bed and threw back the covers. She pounded the pillows into shape and hastily rearranged the bedsheets around the mock body.

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah slowed her steps. He hadn’t seen her yet. She modulated her breaths to stave off the panic clawing her throat. Another man stood with his back to her. Edward caught sight of her and smiled. Her stomach lurched in another bout of roiling waves. The man beside him moved into the trees. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his eyes.

“Ah, there you are, my dear. I’ve been waiting”—he flipped out his pocket watch—“as usual.” His smile never shifted, never warmed. How had she ever believed he cared? An urge to run screaming tingled against her scalp. “You have news for me?”

“Y-yes.” She glanced to the trees, wet her dry lips.

“I’m waiting,” Edward said softly.

Her eyes jerked back to him. “Irene told Lady Kimpton that her mother is out of danger.” Her words came out weak.

His chest swelled out, and his hands clenched into tight fists.

She shrank away.

He grabbed her hair. “Is that all?” he growled.

Her eyes burned. “She said Lord Brockway would keep them informed. Please, my lord, is t-that all, my l-lord?” she whispered.

His grip tightened in her hair. “Not quite.” His benign tone sent apprehension coiling through her.

His eyes searched the landscape over her head. His lips curled almost like a taunt. He pulled a small brown bottle from his pocket. She began to shake as the horrifying images built in her mind.

She tried to back away, but his hold in her hair gave a painful jerk. “I-I won’t poison anyone,” she whimpered.

He cracked a laugh. The sound was absorbed by the rain, and there was no one about to hear except the man in the shadows. And he could have been a statue for all the sound he made. “This is only a sleep potion.” His wandering gaze fell on her then, and there was nothing humorous in his cold eyes. “I recommend a tea party, in the garden. Girls love a tea party, do they not?” He held the bottle by the top, swinging it back and forth. “All that is required of you is to pour it in the tea.” He gave a sharp pull on her hair. “Mind you add loads of sugar to disguise the bitterness.”

Tea party.She was to devise a tea party? At Lady Kimpton’s home?

“Once the guests pass out, you will bring the baby to my man. He’ll be waiting for you outside the garden gate.”

No. Again, she tried shaking her head.

“All of the difficult work has already been worked out, my dear.” He pierced her with a harsh squint. “You will take the child to the man at the back gate. Do you understand? Once you hand him over, you’ll be given fifteen pounds in gold pieces.”

Fifteen pounds. She couldn’t fathom that kind of money. She could disappear forever. She swallowed. “You’re certain they won’t die?”

Irritation flickered across his face, she thought. Yet a smile curved his lips left her unsure of what she’d seen. He leaned over her, his breath suffocating. “Think of it, Sarah. You’ll be free.” He lowered his mouth to hers, stopping just short. “Think of it. Fifteen pounds, all your very own.” His hand loosened from her head abruptly, sliding down her arm. He took her hand and pressed the bottle into it, curling her fingers around it. “Now be a good girl and do as I ask.” His breath feathered her lips. “I don’t require anything else of you today, my dear. Run along, and I shall see you soon.” His arms dropped to his sides.

She gripped the brown bottle so tightly her hand ached. She took a step back, then another, and another. All the while, he watched her with that half smile tipping his lips. Sarah backed up, unable and unwilling to look away until she reached the path. She spun and ran as if the hounds were after her. She never looked back.