Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (48 page)

Bouncing up the hill in the curricle, Bettina sighed with relief when Everett rode up beside them.

Inside the manor, in the library, Bettina handed him the envelope. “I hope it is not bad news. What did Mr. Trethewy say?”

“He isn’t so much interested in arresting you as he is in harassing me, especially after last night. He’s demanded an autopsy. But at least it will prove my innocence.” Everett broke the seal and opened the letter. “I promised him I’d have the marriage license to show him in the fall.” He hesitated and gave her a tender smile. “In all this chaos, I forgot to tell you I spoke with the solicitor again, hoping he could hurry it along. But he said October is as soon as he can push it through the courts.”

“October, oui? At least now I have a date, and only two more months to wait.” Bettina smiled at her unintentional rhyme. Her tense muscles eased at the thought of her happiness being so close. In mere weeks, she might be a legitimate wife. She untied the ribbon of her straw hat as he read.

“Damnation!” Everett glared down at the paper and crunched the letter’s edges. “I can’t believe this has happened.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

“What is it?” Bettina quivered and rushed to stand beside him. She peered down at the letter.

“Excuse my language.” Everett lowered the paper, frowning. Worry lines were etched deep around his eyes. “Remember when I told you about the two incidents involving my contracted shipping vessels being seized by pirates?”

“Yes. Has it happened again?” She rubbed the small of his back.

“No. But evidence points to a few of the sailors on board being in league with the pirates, providing information for a share of the take. The terrible part is the captain of one of the ships, a man I’ve trusted for years, is under suspicion.” He crumpled the letter in his fingers. “Hobart was set to travel incognito on the next voyage to smoke out the traitor, if there is one.”

“Wait a moment.” Bettina hurried to the sideboard across the hall and poured him a brandy. She carried the snifter back. “That sounds dangerous. Are the French raiding your ships?”

Everett took the glass and sipped. “The French do raid any British ships they can overtake, but these pirates are supposedly English, working out of London, for God’s sake.”

“Would it not be safer to hire someone to catch the traitor? Poor Mr. Hobart, to take this on.” In his unnerving quiet, she added, “Is there another problem stated in the letter?”

Everett set the snifter down on his desk, not meeting her eyes. “Well, darling, Hobart writes that while traveling by coach from a business meeting in Portsmouth, they were caught in a storm. The coach cracked a wheel and crashed into a ravine.” He tapped the glass rim. “Hobart broke his leg.”

“That is bad news.” She removed her hat and rustled it between her hands. “I hope Mr. Hobart is not in too much pain.” A coil of apprehension formed in her stomach. “What will you do now?”

“I've little choice in the matter.” He snatched up the glass and gulped his brandy. “This is the important West Africa shipment. Now I must go.”

Bettina sank into a wing chair and choked down the queasiness rising in her throat. “
Ma foi
, Everett. There has to be another solution. You must hire a professional of some kind.”

“It’s too late to find anyone, especially someone I could trust. Protecting our interests is vital.” He sat in the other chair and grasped her hands, his gaze full of sadness. “Hobart fancied himself an actor and looked forward to it. I’m not, but there is no other way. I will have two assistants with me as brawn. I should be back in three months.”

“But it is too risky.” She twisted at his hands. “Three months?”

“I'm sorry to have to do this. I realize it delays our marriage plans.”

“I care about your safety only. This is a nightmare.” Bettina wrapped her arms around his neck, smelling the comfort of his spicy cologne as she sniffled into his lapel.

“I have to investigate these allegations before things escalate. Our livelihood could depend upon it.” He caressed the back of her head. “I can’t believe Captain Sewell is involved in piracy. He has always been loyal.”

She pulled away and drew a shaky breath. “You will … find he still is, I am certain.” Shoulders stiffened, Bettina gathered her strength. “I do understand. But I wish you did not have to go. It is so unfair.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go either.” Everett kissed her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll be a Jewish merchant with a fake beard on this voyage, accompanied by my two clerks.” He kissed her lips. “Everything will be all right. Marriage or not, I love only you. We’ll spend our entire lives together, regardless of legalities.”

“You keep saying that, monsieur. I am suspicious of your depraved motives.” She ran her finger along his jaw. Her effort to tease provided a mere minute of distraction.

He straightened and sighed. “I’m afraid I have to travel right away.”

They left the library and walked to the kitchen in heavy silence. Oleba bathed Christian before the fire. Their son squealed and splashed water over the side of the metal hip bath.

“Oleba, leave us alone, please,” Bettina said. The maid must have seen her despair; she cast Bettina a troubled glance and departed.

Everett picked up the towel and pulled his wriggling wet son into his arms. “You take good care of your mother while I’m gone.” He rubbed the towel over the boy.

“No, Papa. Don’t go.” Christian grinned and patted his father’s face.

“We’ll be together soon.” Everett kissed his son and held him to his chest. Bettina embraced them both. The worry in Everett’s eyes didn’t give her the assurance she desperately needed. She kissed him firm on the lips as their son squealed.

* * * *

Next morning’s light slanted across the manor’s rear yard. Bettina leaned against the open door frame, Christian in her arms. Everett had left an hour earlier for Plymouth in a post-chaise.

“I do hope he’ll be back before Christmas.” Mrs. Camborne stood beside her. “I don’t care for this business at all, not at all. I can barely fathom Hollis dying here, and now this.”

“November, it should be.” Bettina nuzzled her son, dazed by the hurried events and worried sick about Everett’s peril. She watched Frederick and Oleba dip wicks into a pot of bubbling mutton fat in the yard. The meaty stench wafted around them. To save money, Bettina insisted they make their own candles, as Maddie did.

“I wish Uncle Everett had taken me.” Frederick hung the fat-coated wicks on a rack to dry and be dipped again. “This is messy. I’d like to see those pirates. Slay them with swords.”

“You think of the adventure, not the terrible danger.” Bettina’s words snapped out harsh. Her throat thickened. She turned and carried Christian back inside.

Mrs. Camborne followed and stroked her shoulder. “We’re capable of handling matters, aren’t we, dear? Come help me finish the morella cherry jelly.”

Bettina glanced around the dining hall, cold and dreary even in late August. The manor felt so much emptier with Everett gone. “You are right, we must keep busy.”

“You see how resilient Frederick is, after learning of his father’s death. Not that anyone could mourn such a man, forgive me for saying.” The older woman took Christian from her. “You look pale, dear. Maybe you need to lie down for a bit.”

“I am fine.” Bettina hoped her nausea was just upset over Everett’s venture. She didn’t tell him, in the midst of the upheaval, that she suspected she was again with child.

“You have visitors, Aunt Bettina.” Frederick strode in with three skinny blond-haired children. Dory’s siblings shuffled before her, scratching at their dirty, torn clothing.

Bettina smiled and bent down. “Welcome. Have you come to learn?”

“No, to eat,” the oldest boy said with a shy grin.

“We will do both.” Bettina turned to Everett’s mother. “Muffins and jelly, and warm water to wash, please. I must find the hornbook with the beginning lessons.”

The woman gave her an uncertain glance. “Oh … very well.”

“We must do this. There are no
charity schools in this parish, and the Sunday schools teach religion mostly.” Of course the food provided an even greater service in this instance. Bettina urged the children toward the kitchen. Her energy resurfaced, and she pushed back the worries that prickled her.

* * * *

The November damp aching through her bones, Bettina watched Dory’s little brother scrawl his name on a scrap of paper at the kitchen table. His blond hair shimmered in the firelight. He held the paper up with a grin in his less-angular face.

“So well done, young man.” Bettina patted his hand. She gave him an extra barley biscuit. He’d already wolfed down a vegetable stew. “You may be finished for the day.”

The child scampered out. Bettina stretched back in the chair and took a deep breath.

“You are so good to those children,” Mrs. Camborne said as she smeared bacon grease over the skin of the rabbit Morley had caught. He brought it to them in thanks for the reading lessons Bettina gave him. The older woman scooped turnip stuffing from a bowl and filled the rabbit’s cavity, then jabbed skewers to bind its legs. “Oh, why haven’t we heard from Everett?”

“It is barely the three months. We should soon.” Bettina clung to the assurance that she’d see Everett any day. She’d written to Mr. Hobart, but there had been no news. She trailed a finger through the crumbs the child had left on the table. The smell of raw meat turned her stomach. “Mrs. Camborne, I have to tell you something. I wanted to make certain.” She longed to be telling Everett. “I am expecting another baby.”

“Oh? How delightful. Please, I keep insisting you call me Rose.” Rose wiped her hands on her apron, stepped over and kissed Bettina’s cheek. “A surprise for when Everett returns. We must travel to Bodmin to purchase material for baby clothes. I thought you seemed lethargic in the mornings.” She wiggled her slim shoulders nearer to the fire. “I can never seem to get warm enough anymore.” The heat on her back wafted the scent of lavender around the room.

“This baby will wear the same clothes Christian wore. I do not need anything new. The price of everything is too dear.” Bettina stretched her arms over her head. She was still unmarried, and dreaded to bring another child into this precarious world. In France, men like Robespierre—in power one moment and condemned the next—were executed. Many women had also suffered the cruel blade of the guillotine.

“Of course, we must conserve money. How silly of me.” Rose flipped up a hand and returned to her food preparation.

Bettina picked up the shirt she was sewing for a New Year present—tiny stitches that kept her mind from dwelling on ships and pirates. “I hope this will fit Everett. He may have lost weight so long away from your cooking.” The needle trembled in her fingers.

* * * *

The baby kicked inside her. Bettina caressed her abdomen. Christmas was a week away, and Everett still wasn’t there to share it with her. “Your father will be here soon, little one. Both my little ones.” She snuggled on the settee by the bedchamber fire and put Christian’s hand on
her belly to feel the movement. His eyes widened and he laughed. She and Rose spent most evenings sewing stuffed animal toys for him to open on New Year. Rose knitted Frederick a cap and scarf.

“Next year you will have a little brother or sister. Your Papa will be proud, oui?” Bettina sagged against the brocade cushion, feeling sluggish. Her fretting over Everett and the advancing pregnancy gave her little sleep at night.

“When’s Papa coming home?” the child asked for the hundredth time.

“Any moment,
mon petit
.” She framed his face and kissed between his eyes. “I wonder if your grandmother has supper prepared. I should go down and help her.”

There was a light knock on the door. “Come in,” Bettina said.

Oleba entered. “There’s a Mr. Hobart here to see you, Mrs. Camborne.”

“Mr. Hobart? So late? Perhaps he has news of Everett. But he could have written.” Bettina lumbered to her feet and led Christian to the maid. Swishing her sack dress around her, she hurried down the stairs. Her pulse increased under the loose fitting dress that no longer hid her condition.

“What a surprise, Mr. Hobart,” she said, approaching the man standing in the front hall. “I cannot remember you coming out to Cornwall. Did you receive my recent letter asking about Everett’s progress?”

“Yes, I did.” Hobart smiled, but the lines creasing his mouth and forehead disturbed her. “Is there somewhere we can talk
… privately?” He leaned on a cane, his eyes furtive.

Bettina searched his face. She did not like anything she saw, but the man was probably exhausted from travel. “Certainly, here in the parlor.” She twisted the doorknob and opened the door with a jerk. “Would you care for any refreshment?”

“No, no, thank you.” Hobart sat with difficulty, favoring his injured leg. He grimaced and squeezed the tip of his cane. His long jaw drooped. “I won’t mince words, Mrs. Camborne. The news I have is … yet there aren’t words sufficient to describe it.”