Page 77 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
She stared into his face. “Was it so bad, then?”
He nodded but paused as Charlotte came back. He knew what he had to say to them, and he knew they were not going to like it. “Come and sit.” He gestured toward the bench and beckoned his sister, as well, after Charlotte took her seat. She refused, though, and sank down into the grass before the bench.
With a sigh, Whiddon sat beside his wife. “I feel like I’ve awakened into the middle of a play on Drury Lane.”
“Well, I feel as if I’ve become a heroine in a Gothic novel,” Elizabeth countered. She frowned. “I need to know the truth. Was it so awful, living with Father?”
“Living under this thumb, you should say.” He nodded. “You are safer and happier in Hertfordshire, believe me.”
“Well, that is just it. Your long absence hurt and William’s death broke my heart. But they were not all that made me concoct this scheme.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “After the funeral was over and the guests departed, Father wrote then, to summon me home.” She cast a look at Charlotte. “He didn’t want me about all of those years, didn’t want to let me mourn my brother, but now he wants to evaluate my education and make sure I am prepared for my debut, next year.”
“No,” Whiddon said flatly.
“I could see how it upset and unnerved my aunt, but she wouldn’t confide in me.” She tossed him an exasperated look. “No one tells me anything! I had to come up with a way to find out for myself.”
“It was extremely foolhardy of you to do it this way.” Whiddon softened his tone. “But I am forced to admit, it was very brave of you.” He sighed. “We can’t let Father dictate the terms of your debut.” A chill ran down his spine, thinking of the sort of match his father would deem appropriate. His requirements would have nothing to do with Elizabeth and everything to do with his own stature—and pocketbook. “Aunt Emily can supervise your come out.”
“Father wrote to her, too. He doesn’t think she has enough social consequence.”
“It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t,” Charlotte said easily. “Your brother is married to me now, and I have useful social contacts, or I will by the time you are ready for a debut. I can supervise. With your aunt’s help, of course.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Whiddon said with relief. Here she was again, supporting him. And this time, it didn’t come with a jolt of panic. He wished he could pull her close. He wished he could settle the remainder of his alarm so easily. Sighing, he pointed a finger at his sister. “We have plenty to worry about before we worry about your debut. We’ve got to get you—and all of the rest of us—through this mess unscathed.” He leaned forward. “But right now, I wish to know how you came to know about Hurley and the jewels.”
She ducked her head. “I didn’t know about the refugees and the jewels until today—when I listened at the door.”
“God’s teeth,” he muttered.
“But I did suspect Hurley.” She fixed him with an earnest gaze. “I think he killed William. Or, arranged his death, rather.”
Whiddon covered his eyes for a moment. “Start from the beginning,” he ordered.
Elizabeth grimaced. “Well, I didn’t come straight to London when I left Hertfordshire. I went to Broadscombe first.”
He straightened. “In that get up?”
She nodded.
“Hell and damnation. It’s a miracle you weren’t found out.” He could not bear to think what might have followed.
“Well, I wasn’t,” she said indignantly. “And you didn’t see through my disguise, either.”
To his everlasting shame, she was right. He reached for calm. “Why go to the village?”
“To discover the truth. I wanted to hear what the villagers thought of Father. And I heard something at home that made me want to know more about William’s death.”
“What did you hear?” Charlotte asked gently.
“My aunt and uncle were talking together one evening. He had heard gossip about William’s death even so far away as our own county. People said that William and Father were fighting terribly, nearly every minute since he got sent home.” She pressed her lips together. “Aunt Emily said no one could blame William for his fury, having lost his leg to a smuggler, and she said . . . she said she wouldn’t be surprised to find that Father had him killed.”
Whiddon reached down and gripped her shoulder.
She gathered herself and continued. “People in Broadscombe had plenty to say about Father, and they still gossip about William’s death. That’s how I heard that the day that William died, it wasn’t Father, but Hurley he fought with. They had a loud and public confrontation in the village. I heard about it from several different people.”
“Hurley the younger?” Charlotte asked. “But wouldn’t he have been here, in London?”
“No. Father didn’t send him here until after William’s funeral.” Whiddon lifted a shoulder. “But there would have been nothing unusual about the two of them arguing. They fought every time they came within several feet of each other.”
“Yes, I heard that too.” Elizabeth nodded. “But this time, it nearly came to blows.”
