“That’s horrible. What happened?”
“My master”—he nodded toward the duke—“he went to see both men after it happened. Odd thing was that they both left England only three days later. Left their families here and picked up and left. Never heard of them again. I heard him tell her grace, his mother, that he’d rather have shot both of them and left the bastards in a ditch to bleed to death, but he knew he couldn’t get away with it. So his grace just made sure they lost everything that was important to them. Ah, there’s sweet old Biscuit.”
Good God, to have your father killed so stupidly. She wondered what she would have done. She looked up to see a lovely, gentle old black mare, all flowing mane and black and white withers, swaybacked, sweet-eyed, blowing softly.
The thought of those two horses side by side, one of them snorting and rearing, the other plodding and swishing her tail, made Evangeline laugh. “Oh, no, McComber, not dear Biscuit. That would be a travesty. Have you another horse with perhaps enough spirit and heart to keep pace with Emperor?”
The duke, who’d just been nearly knocked into a bush by his exuberant stallion, called out, “McComber, get her Dorcas. We’ll test her mettle.” Dorcas proved to be a velvety bay mare whose brown eyes held wickedness. She was much smaller than Emperor, but she had strong legs, a deep chest, and a proud head. Evangeline drew a deep breath. It was possible she was being a bit impetuous. She hadn’t ridden since she and her father had returned to France. She looked up briefly at the clear summer sky, so blue it could have been August. She felt a trickle of perspiration at the small of her back. She gave a brief prayer and sent it winging upward. If her prayer wasn’t answered, well then, it was a beautiful day to take a toss. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about breaking her arm on a slick of ice.
The duke strolled over, Emperor walking behind him, his reins loose, chewing on an apple slice from McComber. The duke cupped his hands and tossed her into the saddle. Dorcas wasn’t seventeen hands, but she was high enough off the ground for Evangeline to think again that it had been a very long time indeed since she’d ridden. She stared down at the gravel drive that was surely an inordinate distance away. Even before, she hadn’t been a horsewoman of extraordinary ability. This should prove interesting. She just hoped it wouldn’t also prove a broken neck. Evangeline held Dorcas’s reins firmly, knowing that Dorcas would lay her low if she gave her the smallest chance.
Pansy was a Shetland pony, all shaggy and gold, and Edmund would outgrow him in a year. At least Edmund wasn’t trying to shoot him. The duke led the small cavalcade down the lime-bordered drive toward the homewood that lay to the north of the castle. He skirted the forest and headed east, paralleling the coast, and pointed out the various tenant farms as they passed the neat patchwork fenced fields.
“Papa, let’s go down to the beach. I want to show cousin Eve my boat. Eve, do you want to see my boat? Say you do, please?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Please, your grace.” She was thinking that she had to become very familiar with the cove and all the terrain between there and the castle. She didn’t know when Houchard would have someone come to her, but she knew it would be soon. Thinking of Houchard, of her father, she jerked on Dorcas’s reins. The mare snorted and snapped up her head. She reared, then slammed back down to the hard ground, nearly knocking Evangeline’s teeth loose in her head. It took her a few moments to bring her horse back under control.
“Evangeline, pay attention!”
“Just a wayward thought, your grace,” she said, leaning over to pat Dorcas’s neck.
If she remembered the directions Houchard had given her, the cave was in this cove, at the southern end, just before the out-jutting finger of land. “Let’s go, Edmund,” she call
ed out and wheeled Dorcas around to face the cliff.
The incline to the beach was slight because it cut back and forth across the cliff, easing very slowly downward, the path well trodden and very wide. The path appeared to be ancient. She wondered if some long-ago druid had walked down this way to the beach below. Evangeline turned in her saddle and looked back at the castle, judging its distance. It was a half mile, no more. The terrain wasn’t hazardous. She wouldn’t kill herself getting back and forth in any case.
Chesleigh’s private stretch of beach was, Evangeline knew, blessed with a curved inlet surrounded by scrubby bushes and trees and hundred-foot, steep cliffs. It was indeed a very private spot, Evangeline soon saw, well hidden from the path above.
Traitors needed to be hidden, she thought, and wanted, quite simply, to fold up into herself and die. But she couldn’t yield to conscience. If she did, it would mean her father’s life. No one, nothing was more important than her father. And Houchard knew it.
Before Evangeline had a chance to swing off Dorcas’s back, the duke clasped her waist and lifted her down. He didn’t release her immediately, just stood there, staring down at her, his hands still at her waist, tightening just a bit, his fingers splaying to cover more of her, and then he said, “You’re a big girl. I will enjoy waltzing with you. I won’t get a crick in my neck.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re a big boy,” she said.
He threw back his head and laughed, sending gulls careening into the sky overhead.
“Papa, what did Eve say to make you laugh? Can I shoot some of the gulls? There are dozens of them. Just a few won’t matter, will it?”
“Shoot away, Edmund. You have more than enough bullets. As for your cousin Eve’s humor, she put me in my place. Come along, Eve, let’s show you Edmund’s boat.”
A half dozen gray-and-white bellied sandpipers scurried across the coarse beach sand as fast as they could run, as the duke and Evangeline walked toward a small sloop anchored at the end of a long wooden dock. Then Edmund ran in front of them, dashing onto the narrow dock. He was waving his gun in the air, shouting like a pirate after booty.
“Edmund, be careful,” the duke shouted. He said to her, “The boy has no fear. He fell out of a tree six months ago right into a briar bush and came away laughing. It’s natural, I suppose,” he added, more to himself than to her. He turned to see that Evangeline had paused and was staring back at the cove and the surrounding steep cliffs. She appeared to be completely absorbed. He lightly touched his hand to her arm. “It’s beautiful, is it not?”
No, she wanted to yell at him, it was terrifying, and she had no choice, no choice at all. He had welcomed her to his home, given his son into her care, provided her clothing, and she would betray him.
Evangeline looked down at the sand clumping on her boots. She wanted to howl. But she couldn’t. She’d also been too obvious, studying her surroundings as if it were an assignment, which it was. She said quickly, “Yes, certainly. Smell the air, it’s so very invigorating. I love the sound of the waves. They’re endless, those sounds. We could all be gone, and still the sound would be there; it wouldn’t matter that there was no one to hear it.” “Are you perhaps a changeling?” “I don’t believe so. My father always said that I was the picture of my mother when she was young. Now I’m more the picture of him.”
“You misunderstand me. Your uncle and your cousin Marissa, both hated the sea. Marissa would never walk down here, said the salt air was too cold, and gave her gooseflesh. The noise from the waves made her head ache. As for the nasty salt spray, it made her hair stiffen into tight little screws.”
“Actually, your grace, my uncle was afraid of the sea, for he nearly drowned when he was a boy. Perhaps he passed his fear on to Marissa. I wonder, though. Why did she consent to live here? It’s not as if you don’t have other houses.”
It was impertinent, she knew, but it had come out of her mouth. She waited. He didn’t change expression, just shaded his eyes with his hands to look at Edmund rocking himself in his small sloop.
“My father and mother believed it was romantic here at Chesleigh, just perfect for two young people newly wed. They returned to London, leaving us here.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “This romance my father spoke of, I never imagined such a lunatic thing possible. Two people cooing at each other, whispering nonsense, looking into each other’s eyes, spending hour upon hour in bed.” He laughed again, and this time it was even deeper, uglier. “Well, the last certainly, but that has nothing to do with the finer emotions. After marriage to your cousin, I can still not imagine such a thing. The only time your cousin ever whispered to me was when she told me she never wanted me to touch her again.” He sighed, slicing his fingers through his thick hair. “Forgive me. Leave be, Evangeline. Marissa was very young. She shouldn’t have died. She would have loved her son. She would be living in London.” “I was told only that she died in an accident.” “Yes,” he said. “Ah, you really want to know, don’t you? Very well. Marissa was terrified she would die in childbirth. She didn’t, but her terror only grew. When she became pregnant again, she went to this woman in Portsmouth to rid herself of the child. Her life bled away. She was dead before she was even back to the castle. A damnable waste. I didn’t know until I found and read her journal after her death that she was so very afraid. I wouldn’t have ever touched her again, had I but known.” “I’m sorry,” Evangeline said. “Yes, I know.” He strode away from her to the dock, where Edmund was preparing to unloop the sloop’s rope from the ring on the dock.
He called out, “Edmund, if you fall into the water and I have to come in after you, I’ll turn you over to Bunyon. He’ll pin your ears back, my boy, if my Hessians get soaked with salt water.”