One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  He was riding directly into the face of the storm. Many leagues distant, the North Sea was churning water into an icy froth that smashed wave after wave against the East Anglia coast. Farther inland, the storm surge lent its powerful winds to driving the snow at the ground with such fury that Ferrin’s vision was limited to the tip of Newton’s nose.

  The conditions caused Ferrin to wonder how Mrs. Caldwell’s retainers would respond to her absence. So much depended on what they determined was her best judgment. Did they believe she was safely in the village because she would not risk making the return journey? Or were they aware of some reason that would compel her to set out for the Sharpe house regardless of what danger the weather presented? Did they comprehend that their mistress had a decidedly tenacious disposition that presented a danger to herself when not challenged by reason?

  Ferrin’s slight smile held no humor. Even when challenged by reason, he recalled, Mrs. Caldwell was likely to stay her course. This understanding kept him alert to the possibility that he would come upon someone who had set out from the Sharpe house. If Mrs. Caldwell’s retainers were not inspired to rely on her good judgment, Ferrin believed they were probably inspired by loyalty. For better or worse, it seemed to him that she was a woman who could stir that emotion. In that manner, also, she was not so different from Boudicca.

  Although the distance to the Sharpe house was only a few miles, the time it required to travel was not much improved for all that Ferrin was on horseback. When he finally arrived at his destination, it was without any chance encounters along the way. His heavy coat, even with its capes and deep collar, was not adequate for preventing the bitterly cold wind from slipping inside and climbing up his back. There was a frosting of ice in his hair and eyelashes and a frozen grimace on his face.

  Ferrin sheltered Newton on the lee side of the house, then returned to the entrance and knocked loudly on the door with a gloved fist. He did not have to announce his presence with a second round of pounding; the door opened almost immediately.

  The woman on the other side put him in mind of Mrs. Lowell. She had the same chin: gently rounded but thrust forward like a doorknob. The ruffled cap she wore emphasized ears that, if not precisely set at right angles to her head, could only be politely referred to as prominent. Her nose tilted upward, and her eyes were widely set. She was small of stature but held herself in a broad stance, arms akimbo, shoulders back, and feet planted so firmly they were taking root.

  “I have come from the Pembroke cottage,” Ferrin said. “I have news about Mrs. Caldwell.”

  “Oh!” Her hands moved from her hips to her mouth as she covered the open O it had become. “Of course. Come in. Come in.” She stepped to one side and extended her hand to accept the hat he was removing from his head.

  Ferrin did not hand her the hat. He merely snapped it once against his side to remove a clump of snow and ice from the brim. He set the lantern he was carrying on the floor beside the door. “I cannot stay. You are the housekeeper?”

  “Yes. Forgive me. It has been such a night. I am Mrs. Henley.”

  “I am Mr. Wellsley. I have engaged lodging at the Pembroke cottage.” He could not say whether this news in any way surprised her.

  “It is good that you have come. Will you not let me take your coat? Please, at least warm yourself by the fire in the drawing room. We have been in such a state wondering after the mistress.”

  Ferrin did allow himself to be moved. “I am here only long enough to deliver my news. Mrs. Caldwell is quite safe. She is at the cottage and will remain there until it is safe to travel. Perhaps on the morrow. She was most particular that no one was sent—” He stopped. A man on crutches hobbled forward, having appeared suddenly in one of the doorways off to the side.

  “Oh, Mr. Henley. Come. This is Mr. Wellsley, the new lodger at Pembroke cottage. He has arrived with good news about the mistress.”

  “Is that right?”

  Ferrin observed that Mr. Henley leaned heavily on the crutches, but his progress was steady. Muscles in the man’s shoulders and arms bunched with the effort. His left foot dragged on the parquet floor, while his right leg seemed to do most of the hard work. Ferrin nodded politely as the man drew himself up stiffly beside his wife.

  “We’ve been anxious for some good news,” Mr. Henley said. “There was talk of searching for her.”

  “She feared just such an end,” Ferrin told him. “I was just telling your wife that Mrs. Caldwell was most particularly concerned that others might put themselves at risk on her behalf.”

  Mr. Henley nodded. “Aye, that was my concern also. My wife and I owe a debt to the mistress that can never be repaid, but we had to trust that she would not set out from the village in these conditions. Mr. Kins and Miss Webb—they came with Mrs. Caldwell from London—were inclined to think otherwise.”

  “They were right. She did set out and was caught unprepared. However, she arrived at the cottage and is now being looked after by the most agreeable couple who own it.” Ferrin’s attention swiveled to Mrs. Henley. “I cannot persuade myself that you are not some relation to Mrs. Lowell. Are you also from Penwyckham?”

  “Emily is my cousin.”

  “Mrs. Lowell did not mention that you were here at the Sharpe house.”

  “I doubt that she knows yet. The change in our circumstances happened very quickly. She would have learned of it only upon going to the village. Mr. Lowell might know, but he is not—” She paused, searching for the right description.

  Ferrin offered it to her. “Forthcoming?”

  “Precisely. I never met a man more taciturn than Mr. Lowell.”

  Ferrin thought that Mr. Henley looked as if he’d like to offer an observation about Mrs. Lowell’s loquaciousness, but the man wisely held his tongue. He was not entirely steady on his feet, and his wife had the look of one who could blow a wind strong enough to knock him over. “What can I report to Mrs. Caldwell?” Ferrin asked. “All is satisfactory with the household? Is there any assistance I can lend before I take myself off?”

  “You can tell her that all is well and that we were heartily glad to hear that she is safe. Has she need of anything?”

  Ferrin realized it was a question he should have put to Mrs. Caldwell before he left. “If you will be so kind as to pack a valise, I think she would like to have a change of clothes. Boots, also. A nightgown would not be amiss.”

  Mrs. Henley nodded. “I will have it done right away. But you must wait by the fire and warm yourself. Mr. Henley, show Mr. Wellsley to the drawing room.” She hurried in the direction of the stairs, leaving her husband to manage the responsibilities of hospitality.

  “The drawing room’s this way,” he said, pivoting carefully on his sticks. “The fire’s been laid in here in preparation of the mistress’s return.”

  Ferrin followed, studying Henley’s halting progress. The crutches the man was using were not helping him support his weight. They steadied him but did little to assist him move forward. Watching how Henley used the sticks, Ferrin was struck by a way of improving them.

  Once they arrived in the drawing room, Ferrin went directly to the fireplace. He removed his gloves and held out his hands to warm them. In moments he was also removing his coat and hat. He laid the coat carefully over a sofa and balanced the hat and gloves on top.

  Henley stood just inside the doorway. “How else can I serve you, sir? Something hot to drink or something that will warm you from the inside out?”

  “Nothing,” Ferrin said. “I imagine your wife will have the valise packed very soon, and I will be on my way. If the wind and snow have not covered my tracks, my return trip will take half as much time.”

  “How did you manage it, sir, if you don’t mind me inquiring? I had a devil of a time convincing Mr. Kins that it was madness to leave the house, yet here you are, looking none the worse for it.”

  “A compass.” He searched one of the interior pockets of his greatcoat and held it out for inspection. Henley hobbled fo
rward and examined the object in Ferrin’s open palm.

  “Never thought I’d see the use of such a thing here. Clever of you to think of it, sir. Do you always keep it with you?”

  “No. You’ll understand that it is not much use in a London card room, but in the country I have often found it helpful.”

  “There’s a shop that sells such things in London?”

  “There is, along with the finest chronometers, sextons, and telescopes. But this particular compass, I made myself.”

  “Made it?” Henley regarded the compass even more closely. “It’s a fine piece of workmanship, sir.”

  “Thank you. Would you like to hold it?”

  Henley immediately refused, shaking his head quite firmly. “Oh, no, sir. These ham hands of mine might crush the thing.”

  “It has taken more abuse than that this night, Mr. Henley, and it is as large as a gentleman’s timepiece.” Ferrin pushed his hand forward. “I insist.”

  Still reluctant but unable to refuse Ferrin or his own curiosity, Henley carefully took the compass and let it rest in the center of his own palm. The needle jiggled slightly, then was still. “I thought it would be pointing north,” he said, puzzled.

  “It is. You have to turn the compass to reflect that direction.”

  Henley did that, marveling that the needle did not move. “I see. And you made this yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have an interest in scientific things, then.”

  “I like to tinker,” Ferrin said modestly. “I am of the opinion that most things can be improved upon.”

  “My wife would say that I am one of those things.”

  Ferrin chuckled. “I imagine that there are many wives who share that view of their husbands.”

  Henley returned the compass. “I’ll poke at the fire, sir. You might as well be warm as possible before you set off again.”

  Ferrin watched Henley advance on the fireplace, making the best use he could of his crutches. “I hope you will not consider this remark misplaced, Henley, but I believe your sticks are something I can improve upon.”

  Henley drew himself upright, bracing himself with the crutches as if he were coming to attention. “I manage, sir,” he said. “These do fine for me.”

  It had not been Ferrin’s intention to prick the man’s pride, but neither was he used to having to choose his words so carefully. He was the Earl of Ferrin, after all. It was his experience that people were glad of his attention; many sought out his favor. The fact that he had introduced himself as Mr. Wellsley did not explain the whole of Henley’s stiff-necked response. Wellsley was a gentleman through and through and did not deserve to have his offer spurned out of hand.

  Ferrin realized he was offended, not only for himself, but on behalf of Wellsley as well. Before he had an opportunity to determine when he had become so high in the instep, the unmistakable cry of a young child from somewhere beyond the drawing room caught his attention. His brows lifted, and he regarded Mr. Henley with an inquiring expression.

  “The little one’s been distressed since the mistress left,” Henley explained. “No one’s been able to tease her out of it.” He cocked his head to one side and listened to the sound of two distinctly different sets of footsteps pattering and pounding down the stairs. “I do not think I mistake the matter, sir, but she’s escaped the nursery and the nanny.”

  Ferrin turned on his heel just as a little girl skidded to a halt in the open doorway. Coming to such an abrupt full stop, she teetered on unsteady feet. Wisps of bright, red-gold hair fluttered around her head, and her mouth opened in a perfect O of surprise. Ferrin thought her expression mirrored something of his own shock, and seconds later, when surprise gave way to tears, he realized it was true.

  Christopher Andrew Hollings, the Honorable Earl of Ferrin, felt very much like indulging in a tantrum of his own.

  Chapter Six

  Mrs. Lowell roused herself from napping at the fireside when Ferrin returned. She hurried to the door and relieved him of his outerwear and the valise he’d carried with him from the Sharpe house. Before he had shaken off all the snow, she presented him with a cup of tea liberally laced with whisky. Mr. Lowell nodded once in passing as he left to care for Newton.

  Ferrin glanced at the empty space in front of the fire. The blankets were all folded and piled on one of the chairs. “She is abed?” he asked.

  The housekeeper nodded. “Sleeping soundly. There was a protest about taking your room after you were gone, but we solved it by giving Mrs. Caldwell ours. You shall have yours, of course, and Mr. Lowell and I will sleep here. Do not think it is a hardship. There’s a good feather tick in the linen closet that will do fine for us. Sometimes in the heat of the summer we have stayed down here and found it much to our liking.”

  “Very well done, Mrs. Lowell.” Ferrin crossed the room to the fireplace and stood at the edge of the apron. He sipped his tea. “I was astonished to see your near-twin at the Sharpe house.”

  “Harriet.” Mrs. Lowell smiled. “I didn’t know she was there until Mrs. Caldwell remarked on my resemblance to her own housekeeper. I was certainly glad to learn of it. She and Mr. Henley have had their share of troubles since he took a spill from the countess’s roof. I urged Harriet to write Lady Rivendale and explain their reduced circumstances, but Mr. Henley would not hear of it, and she would not gainsay him. It was difficult to persuade him to accept the goodwill of his neighbors while he convalesced. He is a charitable man, though he will accept none of it for himself. Mr. Lowell and I did what we could, but the Sharpe house needed more attention than we could properly provide. This small property is enough to manage when one must meet the exacting standards of our best lodgers.”

  “Indeed.” Ferrin felt that some comment was in order, but the single word was all he could muster. He was appreciating that Mrs. Lowell could rattle on at length with very little in the way of provocation. He massaged the back of his neck, which was still cramped with cold.

  “Shall I fetch a hot compress?”

  “Pardon? Oh, no. It is nothing.” He let his hand fall away. “I cannot recall a more bitter wind.” As if to punctuate this observation, the cottage windows rattled and the chimney whistled loudly with the force of the swirling air currents. He finished his tea and set the cup and saucer on the mantel. “I think I am for my own bed, Mrs. Lowell.”

  “As you wish, sir. You must be worn to the bone by your journey. It was very good of you to make the trip. Mrs. Caldwell was most appreciative.”

  Ferrin doubted that was true, but he did not say so. If Mrs. Lowell wished to make him think their guest was grateful, he would not argue. He suspected that she was thanking him in her own fashion for not insisting that her husband take to the road. “Goodnight,” he said, nodding curtly in Mrs. Lowell’s direction.

  At the top of the stairs, Ferrin paused outside the bedchamber where Mrs. Caldwell slept. He was tempted to enter, shake her awake, and demand to know what sort of woman she called herself. Harlot. Whore. Courtesan. Mother. Her behavior was outside his comprehension. He had considered there might be a husband, a lover, a fiancé that she meant to cuckold. He had thought a brother, cousin, or father might call him out. Never once had it occurred to him that there was a child.

  The identity of the little girl at the Sharpe house was never a question in his mind. Except for the blue-gray eyes, she did not resemble her mother in any particular manner. The hair was too pale and too fine; the mouth did not have the same generous line. The eyes, as he thought about it, were more blue than gray and the face altogether too round. Yet Ferrin knew she was undeniably Mrs. Caldwell’s daughter. It was not in the shape of the face, but in the obstinate set of the features and the tilt of the head that he recognized the mother.

  She was introduced to him as Anna. He had only to say her name and she stopped crying. Curiosity overwhelmed caution and she had stepped forward when he hunkered down to make her acquaintance eye to eye. She flirted with him shamelessly, b
ut he appreciated that it was the way of little girls even if he had no liking for the same deportment in their mothers.

  Ferrin stood at the bedchamber door a moment longer, then moved on. In his own room, he prepared for bed. The decision to travel without the services of his valet, or any other servant, had been predicated on Wellsley’s caution that any lodging he found in or around Penwyckham would not accommodate his usual entourage.

  In truth, the cottage was more spacious than he had allowed himself to hope. In addition to the kitchen and drawing room, there was a substantially large study and an open area with a long table for dining. According to Mrs. Lowell, before the lodge was parceled out and sold to Mathias Pembroke, it was used to entertain guests who came for the hunt on Sharpe property. The paucity of bedchambers suggested very few were invited to stay.

  It was only after Ferrin secured the place for himself that he understood Wellsley had never visited Penwyckham and was getting a little of his own back. How the scapegrace must be enjoying himself in London, Ferrin thought, knowing that he would have to manage without anyone to help him in or out of his frock coat. Ferrin decided he would allow Wellsley to suppose it was a good trick. In point of fact, Ferrin had little regard for the way he was turned out and would not miss the attentions of his valet. That he gave the matter of his attire as much thought as he did had everything to do with sustaining his carefully cultivated reputation.

  Mrs. Lowell had already turned down the bed. The sheets were warm when Ferrin slid between them. He lay on his back for a time, contemplating the ceiling, then turned on his side and contemplated the fire. As fatigued as he was from his journey through the snow, he was unused to falling asleep without reading. This change in his routine was infinitely more troublesome than managing without his valet.

  It was not as irksome, however, as Mrs. Caldwell’s presence in the bedchamber next to his. His resolve to leave her alone sorely tested, Ferrin reached for the slim scientific journal he’d been reading the night before. It wasn’t there.