Lady Fallows' Secrets

Chapter 1

Clandestine Tryst

Easter Monday, 1875

Grantham, England

Although dawn had long since broken, the hour was still early enough to find most Grantham residents in bed. Ashley Pepper streaked down the road on his horse, whose high spirits that morning seemed to channel the onset of spring. If truth be told, the change of season had warmed Ash’s blood as well…unless the anticipation of seeing Euphemia Exeter was to blame.

He urged his mount to soar over a small ditch and gallop across a field, where the gently waving grass formed a soft, green carpet underneath his horse’s hooves. At the far end of the field was a concealing circle of hawthorn trees, which Ash had dubbed a fairy ring. After he rode into the center of the clearing, his horse pawed the ground and snorted.

I know, Raleigh, I know. Ash leaned forward to stroke the horse’s neck. I’m impatient to see her, too.

As he waited, he fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket, tugged on the hem of his brocade waistcoat, and arranged the gold fob of his pocket watch so it would hang just so. He’d slipped from the house from under Sybil’s nose, fortunately, or his elder sister would have teased him about why he was wearing his smartest clothes to go riding. He would have teased her in return, of course, and said he was secretly meeting a gaggle of Grantham’s most eligible girls. In truth, he was meeting only one.

At last, Ash spotted the approach of a snowy mare, whose rider made joy surge through his veins. When Euphemia joined him in the clearing, her beaming smile illuminated his world brighter than the sunlight. Her glossy flaxen locks were swept up under her fetching hat, and her bottle-green riding habit showed her exceptional figure to its best advantage.

Why if it isn’t Miss Exeter, the loveliest lady in Grantham.

She gave a little gasp. If I’m not mistaken, it’s Mr. Ashley Pepper, the illustrious poet. Welcome to Bishop’s End.

How fortuitous that I happened to be riding this way, otherwise I might have missed you. He ended his statement with a wink.

Miss me? She gave him a sidelong glance. I should hope you miss me. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since we saw each other last.

An eternity. I nearly melted with longing in church yesterday…even though we were on opposite sides of the aisle.

She pretended to be shocked. Merciful heavens, you should have had your thoughts focused on more spiritual matters.

If eternal love and devotion aren’t spiritual, I don’t know what is.

Ash dismounted, tied his horse’s reins to a nearby branch, and reached up his hands toward Euphemia. When she slid off her horse and into his arms, he marveled that such an exquisite creature could find anything exceptional in him. For the next few minutes, neither of them bothered with anything so mundane as words.

At last, she stepped back. Will you write me while I’m in London?

He frowned. You know I would, but your uncle won’t let you have my letters.

True. She pouted. You could always put your sister’s name in the return address.

That sort of deception is beneath me.

Come now, Ash. She raised up on tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips. Four months is far too long without some sort of communication.

He nestled her in his embrace. With another few kisses, I just might be persuaded.

Euphemia sighed. I haven’t time for too many more kisses, I’m afraid. Uncle Quincy already looked at me askance when I insisted on riding this morning. I promised to be home in a half hour.

I see no reason for you to go to London at all. Tell him you’ve already promised to marry me.

I can’t give away our secret — not yet at least. She caressed Ash’s cheek with a dainty, gloved hand. I must go through the motions of one last Season to convince him I tried and failed to marry an aristocrat. Come the fifteenth of November, however, I will be free of his guardianship.

On your birthday, then, I intend to announce our betrothal. I would much prefer to woo you openly than to schedule clandestine trysts.

She kissed him. Clandestine trysts have their charm.

I suppose so. He growled playfully as he brought her hand to his lips. When do you leave Grantham?

This afternoon, if I can finish my last fitting before ten o’clock.

I imagine you’ll look magical in your gowns. He retrieved a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, upon which was written a poem. In fact, you inspired ‘Fairy Queen Euphemia.’

Her hazel eyes darted back and forth across the page as she read the words inscribed thereon. Afterward, she gazed up at him with admiration. Oh, Ash, this is splendid. You have so much talent.

You’re my muse. After he kissed her one last, lingering time, Ash laced his fingers together and bent down so she could step into the improvised stirrup. Up you go, my fairy queen.

Thank you, my gallant knight.

After boosting Euphemia into her sidesaddle, Ash mounted Raleigh. I shall spend the summer writing poetry for you, Miss Exeter. He smiled. I hope you have a little fun while you’re gone, and I want to hear all about your adventures when you.… He trailed off when he heard the thunderous approach of horse’s hooves.

Euphemia’s expression reflected panic. It’s Uncle Quincy! If you gallop through the trees, you can get away before he catches you!

He lifted his chin. I shan’t scurry off like some sort of thief, and you wouldn’t respect me if I did.

But —

Quincy Exeter arrived in a cloud of fury and flying soil, glaring at Ash as if he were a marauding pirate caught in the act of ravishment. "What are you doing here on my property, Mr. Pepper, and how dare you speak to my niece without my permission?"

A line formed between Euphemia’s eyebrows. "It’s my property, Uncle Quincy, and Mr. Pepper is here at my invitation."

Exeter’s nostrils flared as he regarded his niece. You and Bishop’s End are both under my guardianship, as you’re well aware. Therefore, all invitations must be approved by me.

Although the man’s ire was formidable, Ash refused to be intimidated. I would be happy to visit you later today, sir, to ask permission to court Euphemia.

We’ll hash things out right now and save ourselves the trouble. Exeter glanced at his niece. While you return home, Mr. Pepper and I are going to have a little talk. When she hesitated, he scowled. "Now."

Ash forced a smile to his lips as he nodded at her. Go on. It will be all right.

Euphemia’s lovely face was etched with worry as she rode from the clearing. As soon as she was gone, Exeter pulled a pistol from his pocket.

Ash’s throat convulsed, but he kept his gaze level and his voice calm. That’s not necessary, sir. I’m sure we can settle this like gentlemen.

Mr. Pepper, you may be a gentleman, but you’re not on Euphemia’s level. Surely you don’t imagine I’d let a penniless fortune hunter insinuate his way into the Exeter family?

I’m not penniless, sir. Furthermore, I’m a published author, and my regard for Euphemia is genuine.

Be that as it may, you’re not to set foot on Bishop’s End or attempt to communicate with my niece ever again.

Ash took a deep breath and made one final attempt to appeal to Exeter’s sense of fairness. Sir, I respect you and your niece very much, and I don’t intend to interfere with Euphemia’s Season. My only wish is to be allowed to —

You’re wasting your time and insulting my intelligence, Mr. Pepper. Exeter regarded Ash with obvious contempt. If you come anywhere near Euphemia again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. He pointed the muzzle of his weapon toward the ground at Raleigh’s hooves. Now get off my property.

He discharged his pistol, sending a bullet harmlessly into the soft, mossy soil. The loud report, however, caused Raleigh to rear up on his hind legs in a panic. Ash felt himself thrown from the saddle, helpless to do anything more than brace for impact.

Sybil’s emotions were raw as she paced outside Ash’s bedroom, waiting for the local surgeon to finish his examination. Her father, Harold Pepper, sat on a bench nearby, with his face in his hands. Every so often, a cry of pain would emanate from behind the bedroom door, causing the older man to seemingly contract into himself. As for Sybil, tears rolled down her face, unchecked and unheeded. Absolutely everything paled in comparison to her brother’s well-being.

Mr. Pepper raised his head. Thank heavens Mr. Exeter happened to see Ash crumpled on the ground, or he might still be suffering out there. His voice rasped with emotion.

Yes, the circumstances were fortuitous. I’ll send him a note of thanks as soon as I can.

At length, the bedroom door opened, and the surgeon emerged with his leather medical bag. Sybil could see her father’s hands shaking as he stood to receive his son’s prognosis.

How is he, Dr. Fitton?

The doctor shook his head. Not well, I’m afraid. I’m worried Ash’s spine might be crushed. He’s profoundly numb from the waist down.

A whimper escaped Mr. Pepper’s throat and Sybil reached out to steady herself against the wall.

But Ash is only twenty-three. She realized as the words left her lips the statement was irrelevant, but she couldn’t help herself. He must be in terrible pain.

I’ve given him a heavy dose of laudanum, and he’s as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. The surgeon paused. I’m going to summon a specialist from London for a second opinion. Perhaps he might offer you more guidance.

Mr. Pepper rushed into Ash’s room, while Dr. Fitton gave instructions to Sybil about how best to care for her brother. Although she desperately wanted to see Ash, she forced herself to listen carefully to the information the surgeon wished to impart.

When he was finished, Sybil escorted him to the door. Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Fitton.

I only wish I could give you better news. I’m off to send a telegram to Dr. Moss in London, asking him to come tomorrow or the next day.

Another agonized wail echoed down the hallway and Sybil cringed.

The surgeon frowned. I don’t want to give you false hope, but the fact that Ash is feeling pain might be a good sign. He shook his head. We’ll see.

After Dr. Fitton left, Sybil slumped onto the wooden floor of the entryway. She’d taken care of Ash since their mother had died over ten years ago and couldn’t conceive of a world in which he wasn’t completely happy and hale. Desperate for more help than any physician could offer, she folded her hands together, closed her eyes, and bowed her head for a long moment in prayer.

With a deep breath, she got to her feet, threw back her shoulders, and tried to compose herself. What her family needed most of all now was strength and optimism, and she vowed to provide both for as long as she could.

Mayfair, London

Euphemia missed Ash with such ferocity she took little pleasure in her social schedule. Although she knew her uncle would never allow her to write to him, she’d sent letters to his sister every week, poking fun at whatever bombastic baronet, fatuous viscount, or querulous marquess had been unfortunate enough to earn her censure. She hoped Sybil would let her brother read her missives, thereby allaying his fears regarding other suitors. For some reason, Miss Pepper had not answered any of her letters, but Euphemia would not be dissuaded.

In her present letter, she mentioned the ladies’ tea she’d just attended, at which poetry was read. To her delight, one of Ash’s recently published poems had been featured in the program. The hostess and her guests had reacted with avid interest when Euphemia mentioned her passing acquaintance with the author. In closing, she suggested that Ash have a poetry reading in town before the end of the Season, saying the event would likely be well attended.

She rang for her maid and gave her the letter. Post this right away for me.

Nell curtsied. Yes, Miss Exeter.

When Euphemia was alone, she took a moment to imagine how wonderful it would be if Ash came to London. Uncle Quincy could not prevent her from seeing him — not if he were a featured guest at a soirée or a literary event. His work was so well-received, from what she’d witnessed, he might even be able to work his way into society — not that he cared about such things. Neither did she, if truth be told. Such matters were of more interest to her uncle.

Nell appeared in the doorway of Euphemia’s bedroom, not two minutes after she left.

Begging your pardon, Miss Exeter, but your uncle has requested your presence in his study. The young woman gulped. Immediately.

Euphemia frowned. Thank you, Nell. I’ll join him directly.

As she descended the staircase, she wondered if the Randolphs’ ball that night had been canceled, or perhaps she’d been extended an invitation to Court? Whatever the reason, her uncle’s summons had clearly unsettled the maid. Why did his manner always have to be so gruff?

She entered the study, where Uncle Quincy was gazing at a portrait of her parents over the fireplace. His expression seemed sad, and she felt a rare tug of sympathy for the man. In her own grief at losing her parents at sea three years ago, she sometimes forgot he’d also suffered the loss of his elder brother and sister-in-law.

He turned to give her a smile. I take my guardianship responsibilities very seriously, you know. Zeke and Amanda always spoke of you marrying well, and I mean to make that happen.

I understand you have my best interests at heart, Uncle Quincy, but perhaps your definition of marrying well and mine are different.

In this circumstance, my definition and that of your parents are one and the same. His smile slipped. Zeke entrusted me with your future, and I mean to make him proud.

Her sympathy evaporated when she noticed the envelope in his hand — the wax seal of which had been broken.

What are you doing with my letter? I asked Nell to put it in the post!

I instructed the staff to give all your correspondence to me. He lifted a bundle of letters from one of the drawers and tossed it onto the desk. You may have these letters back if you like. It’s rather a shame Miss Pepper will never read them since they were terribly entertaining.

Her lips parted in shock and betrayal. None of those letters were directed to Ash. You’ve no right to invade my privacy!

As your guardian, I may do whatever I believe is in your best interest. Furthermore, although I commend you for your restraint as far as Mr. Pepper is concerned, the entire Pepper family is beneath your notice. I forbid you from speaking with any of them in the future.

This is outrageous, sir. How can you treat me as if I were a wayward child?

Wayward might be an apt description, but I shan’t let you ruin your life because of a few childish impulses. In fact, I have some good news. Gerald Reeves, Viscount Fallows, has made you an offer of marriage.

Her fury at her uncle’s officiousness was supplanted for the moment by apprehension. Lord Fallows had spoken with her a few times that Season, but she’d never discerned any particular regard on his part. Most certainly she had no regard for him, so why would he make her an offer?

No. She shuddered as she pictured the man. Lord Fallows is ill-favored and likely ill-tempered as well. The match is simply impossible.

For some reason her uncle didn’t seem to share her disdain. Not at all. In fact, I’ve accepted his offer on your behalf.

She felt the impact of his reply all the way to the soles of her embroidered peau de soie slippers. Uncle Quincy, have you lost your senses? I’m sure a different girl would discern many admirable qualities in Lord Fallows, but I find him repulsive!

What does that matter? You must marry a man with a title, and the viscount needs your wealth. Seems an equitable arrangement.

But I don’t care for him at all!

He made a sound of frustration. You’ve been unpardonably rude to every other aristocrat in London and are in the midst of your third Season with no fiancé in sight. Since Lord Fallows is willing to overlook your cold nature, he is perfect.

He’s a perfect toad. As soon as she spoke, she regretted her incivility. The viscount was not attractive, perhaps, but it was beneath her to poke fun at his appearance. I didn’t mean to be cruel about his looks just now, but I could never consider accepting his proposal.

I’m sure he is a perfect toad, but the decision has been made. He cocked his head. If you are still harboring romantic notions about Mr. Ashley Pepper, you’re a fool. He had a rather nasty spill from his horse, you see, and may not walk again.

What? Euphemia recoiled. When? You cannot be telling me the truth!

If you don’t believe me, believe his sister. A London specialist, Dr. Moss, has examined the young man and pronounced his injury to be profound. He gave her a letter. Read it for yourself.

Her hands were trembling as she picked up the missive. Why would Miss Pepper write to you?

The incident occurred at Bishop’s End, for one thing.

As Euphemia read the elegant script, she was obliged to sink down into the nearest chair. Afterward, she gave her uncle a bewildered stare.

Miss Pepper thanks you for your assistance. She shook her head. The accident happened the day we left Grantham and you never said a word to me about it?

He shrugged. I saw no need to upset you. When I discovered what had happened to the young man, I sent our driver over with a cart to help.

Realization dawned. Wait a moment…I heard a pistol shot that morning, when I was riding back to the stables. Her stare became accusing. You told me you were shooting at an adder!

So I was, but Mr. Pepper’s horse took fright. If I hadn’t rendered him assistance, the lad would likely have perished. He sighed. Of course, his demise might have been for the best. I doubt if he can father children, given the extent of his injuries.

Blood rushed to Euphemia’s cheeks. His demise wouldn’t have been for the best, as you put it, and your speculation is needlessly vulgar.

His voice softened. Don’t you care at all about the young man’s feelings? As long as you are unmarried, the poor fellow will torture himself with thoughts of what might have been. If you had any sense of decency, you would accept Lord Fallows’ proposal and put unfortunate Mr. Pepper out of his misery.

Overcome with emotion, Euphemia turned her face away. The thought of Ash suffering and in pain brought tears to her eyes and made her feel more helpless than she could ever have imagined. If only she could be by his side, to reassure him she would always love him despite his injuries. Unfortunately, her uncle would never permit her to leave London. In fact, the more she fought Uncle Quincy, the tighter his iron grip would grow, and the likelihood she would ever see Ash again would diminish accordingly. She would have to play along with the idiotic engagement until her uncle’s vigilance relaxed.

Euphemia glanced up to discover her uncle watching her.

You have a point, sad to say. She hoped her sigh was heavy without seeming overwrought. I’ll marry Lord Fallows, but I must be allowed to pick the date of the wedding. I’ve always wanted to have a Christmas ceremony.

He smirked. I don’t care when you wed, so long as it’s at least a fortnight before your birthday in November. The sooner, the better, actually, since a viscount can certainly procure a special license.

Her temper flared as she realized her uncle’s intention all along was to marry her off before his guardianship ended.

In that case, a wedding on All Hallows Eve will be appropriate. Euphemia drew herself up to her full height. The bride will wear black.

She snatched the bundle of letters from the desk and strode from the room.

Chapter 2

Plea of a Lady

Ash had been awake since the grandfather clock in the hall chimed five times. As he stared at the ceiling, he wished he could get out of his four-poster bed, open the curtains, and let in the morning sun. The simple activities he’d taken for granted all his life had become far more meaningful now that he could no longer do them with ease. Whenever he allowed himself to dwell overlong on the things he might never be able to do again, however, he became bitter. Therefore, he only permitted feelings of self-pity, loathing, and anger to overwhelm him each day from the time he woke until breakfast. After that, he tried to pour his agony out onto paper, until his fingers were cramped and stained with ink.

Exactly at seven o’clock, his sister sailed into his room with a bed tray and a beaming smile. Good morning!

Ash quickly dried the moisture on his face with the sleeves of his nightshirt and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Good morning, Sybil. Why don’t you let Mary bring my breakfast?

Because greeting you in the morning is the best part of the day, naturally. She rested the tray on his bureau before drawing back his curtains and throwing his windows open. How are you feeling?

I have Rip Van Winkle toes.

She laughed as she arranged his pillows behind his back, allowing him to sit up more readily. What on earth are Rip Van Winkle toes?

My toes feel as if they’ve been asleep for years and are only now waking up.

It’s been a mere six weeks since your accident, and Dr. Moss said the return of sensation might feel strange.

Six weeks, four days, but I’m not really keeping track.

She chuckled. As uncomfortable as your toes may be, I’m grateful you can feel them at all.

Yes. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

She retrieved the breakfast tray and put it across his lap. Underneath the coverlet, his formerly muscular legs were growing somewhat spindly from lack of use. Before his accident, he hadn’t realized how much pride he’d taken in his athletic physique. Now, he was grateful Euphemia wasn’t around to watch him deteriorate.

As he reached for a piece of toast, Sybil snatched a piece of bacon from his plate.

Hey!

Mary gave you four pieces, and I only had two. Fair is fair. She nibbled on the crispy bacon. Our housekeeper has always liked you best.

He chuckled. I have a way of charming the ladies. His smile slipped. "Had a way, I mean."

Sybil finished her bacon and wiped her fingers on his linen napkin. You’re still charming, Ash.

The corners of his mouth quirked up a trifle. Perhaps on paper.

She sank down into the wheeled mahogany invalid chair next to his bed. The expensive appliance, which had come all the way from London, possessed a lovely cane back and graceful lines. Ash hated it.

I sent a letter to Mr. Exeter several weeks ago, thanking him for his help after your accident, but I haven’t received a reply yet. Sybil ran her fingertips across the green velvet covering the seat cushion. We don’t know Miss Exeter particularly well, but considering her uncle’s heroism, it would have been kind of her to send her condolences.

Mention of Exeter’s supposed heroism, coupled with an unwitting aspersion on Euphemia’s manners, was nearly Ash’s undoing.

It’s not her fault. I daresay Miss Exeter’s uncle told her nothing of my injuries because he considers them insignificant.

Perhaps he did at first. In my letter, however, I apprised him the gravity of your injuries. He can be in no doubt of your situation now.

"I believe I meant to say Mr. Exeter considers me insignificant."

Her eyebrows rose. Oh? She paused. Well, perhaps you are right. I confess, his demeanor has always struck me as arrogant. No doubt Miss Exeter is the same way, especially now that she is to —

Not at all. She’s quite different, I’m sure.

Sybil looked at him askance. You may be blinded by her prettiness, Ash.

Just as you may be prejudiced against her for it!

More heat crept into his voice than he’d intended, and he could see the hurt flash across his sister’s features.

He sighed. Forgive me, Sybil. I suppose I’m rather cross this morning.

Her expression changed instantly to one of concern. Are you in pain? She rose. I can give you a drop or two of laudanum.

Thank you, but no. I’d like to get some writing done today and I must have a clear head.

She nodded. All right, then, I’ll leave you to your breakfast. Papa will be in to help you dress in twenty minutes or so.

His sister’s demeanor was downcast, and Ash wished he hadn’t spoken out of turn. Shooting pains were traveling up and down his legs, but he ought not unleash his tongue as a result.

Sybil, please wait a moment. His lips tightened. You’ve been so kind since I fell, and I think you deserve to know the truth regarding my accident.

The truth? She peered at him. Whatever can you mean?

As he related what had unfolded that day between him, Euphemia, and her uncle, Sybil’s expression shifted from astonishment to fury.

Mr. Exeter hurt you on purpose? What a despicable, evil cretin!

To be completely fair, he probably meant to warn me off.

Raleigh’s reaction was perfectly predictable, and so was your injury. Furthermore, Mr. Exeter lied and said he came across your crumpled form afterward. She paced. He deserves to be publicly set down and humiliated by every decent member of good society. Surely, we have legal recourse, and I mean to consult an attorney as soon as may be.

You’ll do nothing of the sort. Any legal action I take against Exeter will damage Euphemia in society, particularly when the details of our personal relationship become public.

But he cannot be allowed to get away with this!

He already has.

Sybil’s hands formed fists in her lap. And to think I actually thanked Mr. Exeter for his assistance! Oh, how he must have laughed when he read my letter. She gave Ash an apologetic glance. I shouldn’t have assumed Miss Exeter was anything like her uncle. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions upon her character.

I know you didn’t, but trust me when I say she’s the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. I’d planned to propose once she was free of her uncle’s guardianship.

To his puzzlement, Sybil’s eyes widened, and she gasped. Oh!

What’s wrong?

Her expression reflected anguish. I-I started to tell you before about an announcement I read in the paper this morning. She gulped. Miss Exeter is engaged to be married to Gerald Reeves, Viscount Fallows.

The appalling announcement seemed to resonate like a death knell.

Ash stared straight ahead, unseeing. Would you mind awfully taking this food away? And I think I’ll have that laudanum now.

Sybil’s face crumpled as she reached for the tray. Of course, Ash.

She hastened from the room,