Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (41 page)

“And leave you again so soon?” Everett stepped to the table and dished a baked apple onto a plate. “No, I don’t care for that idea.”

Mrs. Camborne and her son desperately needed to mend their relationship and this was the perfect opportunity to throw them together, alone. “Frederick and I will be fine. And Lew is here. It should not take more than a week.”

“You’re welcome to come with us, Bettina,” the older woman said. “Along with Frederick, of course.”

“Will we see any pirate ships?” The boy hopped up, crumbs and purple jam on his lips.

“I need you here with me.” Bettina grasped his hand and pulled him back into his chair. Then she rose and turned to the adults. “I do not care to travel right now, but I will be all right. Please you two go. I insist.”

Everett beckoned her close. “I don’t like leaving you alone with Hollis on the loose. He might be after the boy,” he whispered.

“I am alone when you are in London. I doubt he will come out here. We cannot let him dictate our every move,” she whispered back. “Please go,” she said aloud. “It will mean so much to your mother.”

“Brow-beating me in your usual inexorable style. I’ll make certain that Lew is
… attentive, and keeps an eye on the place. And both of you.” Everett kissed Bettina on the lips in a bold show of affection.

“I will be here, as well, sir.” Mr. Slate had slipped into the room like a wraith with no one noticing. “I’m not in my dotage quite yet.” The lights from the candles made his scalp glisten through his thinning gray hair.

“Of course, my good man.” Everett still looked uneasy. “We’ll hurry back as soon as possible.”

Bettina smiled to see Mrs. Camborne’s face light up. She did hate for Everett to go, but hoped to bring a severed family back together, since incapable to do anything about her own.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rain lashed the kitchen windows. The wind twisted and moaned around them. Oleba mopped up the water seeping in under the door. Bettina shoved a towel down to keep more water out. The sun had set hours before. The storm raging in from the sea had lasted all day.

“I hope Everett and his mother are not out in this flaw. This will delay them.” Bettina dried her hands on her skirt. Six days had passed, and she surmised they would be on their way home in the hired post-chaise. Oleba blew out the kitchen candles. Bettina took the wick cutter and trimmed the wicks. “You go on to bed, please. I will finish up.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep, Mrs. Camborne. I don’t care for storms.” Oleba waited, then walked with her into the dining room. “You’re right though, this is a terribly drafty place.”

The bell jangled at the front door, startling both women. “What insane fool is out at this hour in such weather?” Bettina grasped her maid’s hand. She thought of Hollis and her haste in sending Everett off. But even Hollis wouldn’t be arrogant enough to announce his arrival.

“A pity that Mr. Lew had to leave.” Oleba’s dark eyes widened.

“It could not be helped.” Bettina had given her blessing that Everett’s coachman could return home that morning after Lew heard of his father’s death in Liskeard. She glanced toward the servant’s quarters “Where is Mr. Slate? I suspect our old butler has become hard of hearing.”

The bell rang again. Bettina, her maid following, walked down and cautiously opened the door.

The hall wall sconces flickered light over a tall broad-shouldered man in a long coat. The rain cascaded off the roof, splashing streams of water to the ground on either side of him.

“Many pardons to intrude so late, dear lady.” He removed his hat and bowed, revealing dark hair graying at the temples and a handsome, square-jawed face. “I was told you might have a room to let for the night?”

“I am sorry, sir, you are mistaken. The inn down the hill lets rooms. Good evening.” Bettina clenched her shawl around her, about to shut the door.

“Indeed, but they are full. They directed me here, on the chance that you had a room to spare for just one night. Until the storm passes.” His rich, educated voice matched his attire.

“Sir, we are not equipped for guests. Nothing is in order in any of the extra rooms. They have been closed for years. If you continue down the road to Port Isaac, you may find lodging there.” She gripped the door edge. Maddie should never have sent him here.

“Most regrettable, as my horse has picked up a pebble. I don’t think he can go much farther without rest. I can pay you well for the trouble, I assure you.”

Bettina felt trapped. She didn’t want to be cruel and turn this man away in such inclement weather, but the thought of an outsider spending the night unsettled her. At least he appeared to be a gentleman.

“Very well, for only the one night. You can put your horse in the stable out back and come in through the kitchen door.” She closed the front door with a thud.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mrs. Camborne,” Oleba said in her soft voice.

“What else could I do? Dory must have sent him up. Maddie would never do that when she knows Everett is gone. I will tell him he must stay in the stable. You go upstairs and check on Frederick, please.” Bettina strode to the kitchen, removed the soggy towel and waited for the stranger’s knock.

“I do appreciate this.” The man entered in a whoosh of chill air. He tracked wet footprints over to the dying fire to hang up his cloak. It dripped a pool of water on the hearth. “I understand the Cambornes live here. May I know who it is I am inconveniencing?”

“I am Bettina Camborne. Mrs. Everett Camborne. What is your name, sir?” She hoped she smoothed the irritation from her voice. “And why are you out in this storm?”

“Business. I promise I won’t be a nuisance, dear lady.” His broad grin displayed a full set of large, white teeth, though it struck her as insincere. He smelled of pomade.

“There is a decent room in the stable. It is small but dry. You may take a candle.” She pulled one out of a drawer and held it to the one in the candleholder, but he turned and stayed before the fire. “Sir? The stable has blankets.”

“I'm forever in your debt, Mrs. Camborne.” He looked at her again, his gaze now sharp and assessing. “But isn’t your real name Lisbette de Jonquiere? Homere Jonquiere’s daughter.”

Bettina’s stomach lurched. She jerked back a step. The candle flame wavered. “What do you mean? You still have not told me who you are.”

“Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Bernard Little.” He inclined his head. “At your service.”

“Armand’s elusive friend, mais non?” She couldn’t believe it. Her hand tightened on the candleholder. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“To speak with you, of course.” Now his grin looked predatory.

“Why did you not introduce yourself at the door?”

“Sorry for the ruse. I wanted to make certain you’d let me in. I just want a calm conversation with you.” He rubbed his large hands together. “You wouldn’t have a brandy around, for a guest, would you?”

“Sit here, at the table.” Gesturing with the candle, she hid her anger and sought her own clarification of Armand’s duplicity. She needed a moment to think. She wasn’t alone, Slate was nearby. Yet he was a frail old man.

Little sat slowly. Bettina blew out the extra candle, kept an eye on him, opened a cupboard and grabbed a decanter of brandy. She poured one glass and took the chair across from him at the table. “Tell me what this is about. My husband will be home very soon.”

He took a sip of brandy. “Not a bad vintage.” Little leaned back in the creaking chair. “Your husband shouldn’t leave you unprotected like this. I saw the other man leave.”

“You were spying? Explain to me your business here.” She gripped the edge of her chair, trying to keep her words firm. “You must already know that Armand Siffre sent me to you in Bath. But you were not there. I do not understand everything behind his actions.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you, dear lady.” He sat forward, elbows on the table. “It is fascinating. My counterparts in France had a large amount of money gathered to supply the dissatisfied with weapons, horses and such. More funds from abroad were transported, smuggled if you will, through your father, the Comte de Jonquiere’s, antique enterprise. A dabbling nobleman, his lack of business acumen allowed our people to prevail for a time
—that’s why he was chosen.”

“My father was chosen? Did he know what they were doing?” She gaped at Little, disbelieving his words.

“Eventually Jonquiere did discover the operation. He confronted some of the people involved, several of his own clerks, and threatened them with exposure to the royalists.” Little opened his hands, palms upward. “They were left no choice but to … dispose of him.”

“What does that mean, dispose of him?” The room seemed to swim around her. “You are not saying they murdered him?” A fist of anger balled in her stomach. “It is a lie!” But even as she said it, she feared it was the truth. Her mother must have lied about the heart attack.

“Do try to contain yourself. Do you want to disturb the entire house?” Little half-rose from the chair, his handsome features twisted into a leer. “Though I’ve noticed you have few inhabitants in this pretentious pile.”

“
C’est odieux
.” Her father’s kind voice and sweet smile seeped into her thoughts. She shook her head to chase the images away. “Why would anyone do that? He was a good man.”

“Where were we
…? After his death, we realized Jonquiere had absconded with our funds. The money was never found. Soon after, you and your mother fled to the country, and eventually you were taken to the coast by your majordomo.”

“I know about Armand’s work for you.” Tears burned behind her eyes. She sniffed and regretted that rash disclosure. “He insisted to take me there. He tricked me and my mother.”

“He convinced even us it was better that way, to first separate you from your mother.” Little snorted. “Armand had just begun to work for our side, and the rights for the people, but he was a doddering old fool. Madame Hilaire was supposed to watch you both for us. But when we demanded he bring you back to Paris, he defied us and put you on that ship to England.”

“He
… he sent me to you, with a package of blank papers.” Bettina tried to steady her breathing. She pressed her hands to both sides of her head.

“Armand used that package to convince you to go, as if you had a true purpose. He had small hope you would make it as far as Bath. And if you did, then he fulfilled his obligation to us. If you didn’t, perhaps you’d be out of harm’s way and he hadn’t really betrayed your family. He left it up to fate. He even gave you my old address to confuse matters.”

“I still do not understand what this has to do with me.” Armand had deliberately put her in danger by sending her to this man. She scooted back her chair, needing movement to jar her fractious emotions. “Why am I so important?”

“Sit still.” He thumped his elbow on the table. “While you and your mother lived in Poissy—many months later, rot it all—a letter was found hidden in a desk taken from your father’s office. It was for you, but he’d never gotten the chance to finish it. He wrote of something he gave you days before
… unspecified, but of course the letter was incomplete.”

“A letter? I never knew of any letter.” Her voice was shrill. She wanted to scream.

“Jonquiere said if anything should happen to him, this item would help to take care of you. Perhaps he gave you a key to unlock the receptacle of our stolen money.” Little squinted one eye. “That’s when we contacted Armand to return you to Paris, and he fooled us by putting you on the ship.” Her unwelcome guest stood and walked closer until he loomed over her.

Bettina stiffened and glared up at him. “Do not stand so close. What are your intentions, Monsieur?” Her mouth dry, she almost screamed for help, but who would come? “My father gave me no key. Was not that Gaspar person working with you? He never mentioned a key.”

“Gaspar? He told us where you were, then the oaf disappeared. More than likely he was drunk, careless, and dumped in gaol. But he did speak with you, eh?”

Bettina knew Gaspar was dumped somewhere, but it wasn’t behind bars. She hunched forward to still her trembling body. “Yes, he
… he told me it had something to do with my father’s business. But he never mentioned a letter … a key. What else was in this letter?”

“Never mind. Why didn’t Gaspar bring you to Bath, as ordered?” Little twitched his jaw, his mouth tight, with just a trace of that theatrical smile. “A drunken louse, but a brilliant tracker. Where did Gaspar go after he talked with you?”

“I … do not know where Gaspar went.” She swiped her tears on her dress sleeve and wanted no more questions about the missing tracker.

“We sent another to find him, but there wasn’t a trace. He tried to locate you as well, but the only French girl in the area never left that inn down the hill, except in the company of others. Then she, I assume you, was gone.” Little paced toward the fire then came back. “So I decided to clean up this matter myself.”

“What does France’s revolution have to do with you, an Englishman?” She spewed the words in anger at having to listen to his horrid tale about her loving father.

“Many of us here are interested in the developments across the water. I happen to be the founder of the Bath Society of Friends of the People, a pro-revolutionary group. It appears we Englishmen are better organized than you French.” Little chuckled. “Your bourgeoisie, and the radical nobles that wanted to tear down their own privileges to be citizen-aristocrats, thought they could handle the mob, incite them to bring about events for their own benefit by destroying the monarchy and most of the aristocracy.” He slapped his hand on the table. “But things went awry from the start.”