He was a tall man, and his shoulders said he’d once been strong. The bones of his face were familiar, even if the colouring was not—all that raw chocolate darkness must have come from Lord Cotereigh’s mother. This man, surely his father, had eyes that were watery and grey.
“What a day for ghosts,” the man—the Earl of Arnon—said, as though such things amused him. “I thought you were her, for a moment. She had a room like this.” He gestured to the wall, the decanter sloshing. “This willow pattern, very similar, very pretty. Used to sit and write her letters, and I’d come in with my boots all dirty from the garden and smelling like horses, but she didn’t really mind, no matter what she said. Or I don’t think so. It was a very long time ago and one’s mind…one’s mind plays tricks. Terrible things, minds. Memories.”
Madelaine dipped her head, making a slight curtsy. It was mainly to give herself time to think, to hide her shock. This was the earl? This was Lord Cotereigh’s father?
All she’d known was that he was a man of retiring habits, especially so since his first wife’s death. He kept himself to himself, they said. She hadn’t even known he was in town.
The first night came back to her, when Lord Cotereigh brought the boy here. The doctor had rushed in, not seeing her in the corner, and he’d been surprised, hadn’t he, not to find the earl?
Lord Cotereigh’s father was sick. The bottle in his hand both cause and symptom.
He would not want me to know… He would hate that I know this…
“My lord,” she said, keeping her voice as natural as she could, “forgive the intrusion. I am looking for a boy, have you seen him? Dark haired, about nine years of age?”
The man laughed and kept on laughing, unease prickling up Madelaine’s neck. He sipped his drink, still chuckling. “You’re chasing ghosts, too, my dear; they’re everywhere today, aren’t they? Sebby running around… He passed me on the stairs, you know, such commotion in the house, servants flapping… And Tait’s usually more discreet than that, doesn’t normally bruise the boy’s face, but he was black and blue…”
The earl’s face suddenly darkened, his hand white on the bottle. “Why I ever let them step foot in my house… Devils, both of them, skinning us alive; the boy don’t deserve that, though he makes no complaint of it to me, never complains does Seb, never asks, never speaks… He’s all shadow and smoke, and he has her eyes, and he hates me with them…oh…” The man moaned, and sank to his knees, bringing both hands to his face, still holding the bottle.
“Sir… You are not well. I will fetch someone to help you.”
“Help me!” He laughed, sharp and wretched. “He’s all I have of her, and I couldn’t keep him safe! She looks down too, and she judges… There’s no help for me, only hell.”
Madelaine jumped as the door opened hurriedly behind her. Lord Cotereigh stepped in, pale, his face wooden. An older man was with him, dressed like a valet or senior servant.
“Daniels…”
It was the only command he spoke, but the servant nodded and hurried forward, going to the earl and helping him to his feet.
He murmured in his ear, reassuring as a mother helping a sleepwalking child. It spoke of long practice. They left the room.
Madelaine looked at Lord Cotereigh—Sebby, Seb, the boy…
He kept his shoulder to her; couldn’t look at her; she saw the rise and fall of the breath he took.
“My father is…unwell. I apologise for any distress.”
She took a step closer, his back a black monolith, the taut line of his shoulders at her eyeline. He flinched at her touch and walked out of reach.
“The boy is not yet found. I must return to the search.”
“Sir…my lord…”
He walked abruptly away from the hand she raised again to his shoulder. He went to the door.
“Are we…are we not to talk of this?”
“No, Mrs Ardingly, we are not.”
Seventeen
“Lord Cotereigh.”
Her voice stopped him. His hand was on the door handle. Damn the woman. Why couldn’t she give up on lost causes?
“If you pride yourself on your charity, Mrs Ardingly, you’ll let me be.”
Of course she didn’t. Again she came up behind him and lay a hand on his back, on his shoulder blade. She couldn’t know it, but the warmth of her palm settled right over that silver scar.
