“Mrs. Mossant? You must not dally. There’s little time to dress.” Eve didn’t recognize the nervous voice pulling her from sleep. “I’ve hot tea and something for you to eat. Mr. Mossant has requested you join him in the study in one hour.”
The words barely penetrated this fog she couldn’t seem to escape. Mr. Mossant? But Jean Luc was dead.
When had this cloying fog dropped on her? Eve tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. So dry.
Hands pulled her to sit up and began tugging at her gown. A woman’s hands. A maid. Not Lucy. Where was Lucy? “Come this way, Missus.” The hands assisted her off the bed so that Eve stood swaying unsteadily.
Her old suite. The one she’d occupied years ago. When she’d lived with Jean Luc.
Jean Luc. That’s when the fog lowered around her. She’d been staring at his lifeless corpse contemplating the tragedy of his life. Darius had entered behind her. He’d told her she’d gone pale.
She couldn’t remember anything after that. She must have fainted.
And now she could hardly open her eyes. She’d never been one of those squeamish women. Why had she fallen apart then?
And why could she not rouse herself now?
Tea. All she needed was some tea.
Eve fought to open her eyes and took the cup from the unfamiliar maid.
“Where is Lucy?”
“Lucy, ma’am? I wouldn’t know who Lucy is. You’ll have to ask Mr. Mossant.” The maid helped Eve to the bench in front of the vanity and began brushing out her hair. The calming strokes of a brush never failed to soothe her. Eve took another sip and closed her eyes again.
She’d dreamed of Niles. That he’d come to her. Held her and called her his ‘love.’ Oh, the fog was falling again. Had she fallen asleep sitting here?
“Eve, my love. You look ravishing.” A strong arm assisted her to her feet.
Weights seemed to hold her eyelids closed. She wanted to see but hadn’t the strength to fight. Where had Jean Luc come from? This man she now leaned upon wasn’t Niles.
Niles was taller. Stronger.
Safer.
By her will alone, she barely was able to crack open one eye.
She could make out a few forms, but they were shrouded in the black fog.
“Thank you,” she managed, and then gave into the arms holding her up. All she wanted to do was sleep.
Worry plagued Niles as he made his way to the study for the reading of the will the next morning. A disquieting thought had struck him in the middle of the night.
Where had Lucy gone? Why hadn’t Eve’s maid been with her?
Had she taken ill again, herself? She hadn’t been well enough to travel initially. Or had she simply been occupied elsewhere?
He’d spent what remained of the night studying the numbers and transactions in the documents provided by Mosssant. Nothing surprising in the accounts. What had interested Niles was the page that had been torn out at the end.
He’d used a piece of charcoal to lift the indentions from the blank page beneath it.
A number had been written boldly and underlined twice. It was the precise amount of Eve’s winnings. And Eve’s winnings amounted to only three hundred pounds more than the negative number at the end of the ledger.
Regardless of whether the dead Mossant or the live one had written it, one thing was becoming very clear to Niles. The owner of Pebble’s Gate believed the answer to all his troubles lay in Eve Mossant.
The door to the study had been propped open, and the room was already mostly occupied. A few servants, including Mr. Forrester, had taken the chairs set back from the desk. Mossant and a woman draped in black, sat behind it.
Eve? Surely it wasn’t.
Only it was. He knew that posture. The lovely tilt of her head, but shrouded in black?
“Ah, Mr. Waverly, thank you for coming. We’ve been waiting for you.” The doors closed shut behind him, and Mr. Mercer Priebus, Jean Luc Mossant’s personal solicitor, gestured for Niles to take a seat.
Niles glanced at the clock. He’d been told the reading would be at ten in the morning. It was only now nine forty-five.
Mossant sat with a smug look on his face. Of course, he’d told Niles the wrong time.
Eve hadn’t so much as angled her head in his direction. Closer now, he could make out her profile, the outline of her lips, and her downcast eyes hidden behind the dark veil.
“Most of this is a mere formality. I’m sorry if any of you have traveled far with hopeful expectations.” Mr. Priebus donned a pair of spectacles and continued squashing the few servants’ hopes. “Although the deceased made mention of stipends for, ahem, Mr. Reginald Forrester, Mrs. Maude Cooley, Mr. Donald Smith, and a Mr. John Blaycock, the estate’s funds have been absorbed by debts incurred by…” And he went on to list a litany of vendors, some reputable and some not so much.
“Mr. Darius Mossant, as the next male in the deceased’s line of kin inherits the Pebble’s Gate estate and all debt and incomes incurred and generated.”
“Mrs. Mossant.” The solicitor addressed Eve. “As the deceased’s widow, you are welcome to reside at Pebble’s Gate at Mr. Darius Mossant’s discretion. In the event he decides to evict, a dowager house on the north side of the property shall be opened up and made available.”
Niles knew of Eve’s plan to reside in London. He looked to her for some response — any response at all. What had happened to the woman he’d known the past year? The woman he’d left here yesterday morning?
“I’d like a word with my client.” Niles rose and crossed the room to stand before her. “Mrs. Mossant?” He held out his hand.
“She has no further need of your services, Waverly. Isn’t that right, my darling?” Mossant placed one arm around her shoulders. Eve seemed to nod, almost as though moving under water.
Niles dropped to his haunches, taking her hands in his. What in the hell was going on?
“Mrs. Mossant, Eve.” He didn’t give a God damn at this point what anyone thought. “You haven’t any intentions of staying on at Pebble’s Gate, do you?” He willed her to raise her chin and tear off the black veil.
“But of course, she’s staying on. We’re to be married by special license this afternoon.”
Oh, hell no.
But why was Eve not making her own denial?
“Is this true?” Niles rubbed her cold hands between his.
“You’ll remove your hands from my fiancée.”
Again, Eve made no protest.
She might as well have slapped him. Could this be what she wanted?
“What have you done to her?” Niles demanded as burly arms grabbed him from behind. The other servants were already shuffling toward the door, and Mr. Priebus was gathering his papers together.
Darius Mossant clucked his tongue obnoxiously. “Such a shame. She told me everything. How you’d fallen in love with her, taken advantage of her weakened state. I expect all of her personal accounts transferred to me without delay. As her husband, I assure you that Mrs. Mossant shall no longer require your services.”
Niles didn’t care that the arms clasped around him were crushing his ribs which had not even begun to heal. He threw all his weight forward and managed to make contact with Mossant’s chin.
“Get him out of here!” The blighter’s hand flew up just in time to catch the tooth that had broken free. The arms around Niles grasped tighter, dragging him out the door.
He was no match for two hefty laborers.
In less than two minutes, they tossed him unceremoniously onto the gravel drive.
Niles stared up at the wispy clouds set against a blindingly blue sky.
He closed his eyes in an attempt to gather his strength. He was getting too old for this sort of thing.
“Mr. Waverly? What on earth are you doing on the ground?” A familiar voice drew him back to reality.
“Been out drinking, old man?”
Eve’s eldest daughter and her husband, the Earl of Carlisle, were both bent over, peering down at him.
Niles had no idea where they’d come from but was happy enough at their timely arrival.
It was all the encouragement he needed to push himself off the ground. And he only groaned a little as he found his feet.
“My Lady.” He nodded. “Lord Carlisle. I’ve reason to believe Mrs. Mossant is in danger.” He brushed the gravel from his backside and undertook to explain his suspicions.
“He says mother’s agreed to marry him? But that’s outrageous!” Lady Carlisle made a move toward the manor, but her husband grasped hold of her arm.
“Rhododendron.” The earl halted her charge. “If your mother is in danger, I’ll not have you bursting inside. We need the magistrate.”
The young woman, who looked so much like her mother, was shaking her head in denial. “But Mama would never agree to marry. Not unless she was in love, and I’ve met Cousin Darius. Believe me, she is not in love with him. Why on earth is she going along with this?”
“She’s been drugged.” It was all beginning to make sense to Niles now. “It’s the only explanation.”
Lady Carlisle wrung her hands together.
“Rhoda.” Carlisle turned to his wife. “Fetch Coachman John from the stables and have him take you to find the magistrate.”
“Excellent. Meanwhile, Carlisle, you and I can stop the wedding.”
Niles had an idea.
The countess nodded. “Be careful, Justin, and you too Mr. Waverly. Don’t let her marry him!” She then took off at breakneck speed toward the stables while Niles shared his plan with Lord Carlisle.
“Remember that ship that went down last month? Well…”