Page 36 of Dare it all for Love

“Fear not, Miss Dudley, I shall accompany you home in my carriage if you would prefer,” Jasper said, which was almost enough to make Miss Dudley swoon again. “Though, of course, Miss Hatchet must accompany us for propriety’s sake,” the man added with a twinkle in his eyes.

Realising that he was being saved from an interminable afternoon, Henry sent his oldest friend a look of deep gratitude. Miss Hatchet, who was likely afraid she’d miss out on some delicious bit of gossip, looked less than pleased but could do nothing but accept such a gracious offer. No doubt she’d enjoy telling anyone that would listen all about the earl’s splendid carriage, which would be some consolation.

In the end there was only a small party who gathered for the tour: the Comte de Villen, Evie Knight, Florence, Grace Weston, and rather to Henry’s surprise, Sterling Oak.

They began in the library, which had always been Henry’s favourite room in the house. It was the one place that got anywhere close to feeling homey, at least when the fire was lit. The furniture was ridiculously old and rather shabby, but it had a lived-in, familiar feel, which was welcome when the rest of the house was so bare and cold.

He could not help but watch Florence as he guided them around, explaining the history of the place. She seemed delighted by the library, exclaiming about the lovely view from the window and the handsome oak panelling lining the only bit of wall not smothered in books.

“Is it true one of your ancestors was involved in smuggling?” Miss Evie asked as they made their way up the grand staircase to the next floor.

Henry bit back a smile at the look of delighted interest that flashed across Florence’s face at this information.

“Not really?” she demanded eagerly.

“Yes, that’s true,” Henry admitted. “The family finances were in dire straits and one of my paternal grandfathers decided something must be done.”

“And is it true there is a secret tunnel leading from the house to a pub in the village?” Miss Evie persisted.

“No.” Henry shook his head, rather sorry to disappoint Florence, who was looking enraptured by the story. “No, there are a few hidden doors and hidey holes, as with most ancient houses, but there’s no tunnel. Believe me, as a boy I searched high and low for it too, but no one has ever found evidence to suggest it’s true. I think it’s just that it was an open secret—about the smuggling, I mean—but no one ever found any evidence to convict the old devil. It was assumed there must be a tunnel for him to get away with it so effectively and for so long, but perhaps he was just very well organised.”

“What a pity,” Evie said with a sigh. “Just imagine finding a hidden tunnel to explore.”

Henry turned back to Florence, who was frowning, her previous enjoyment no longer visible.

“Miss Knight?”

“What if you’re wrong?” she asked, staring at him with such concern Henry wanted to reach out a hand and draw her close to him.

He held onto the banister to stop himself from doing so. “Wrong?”

“About the tunnel. Think about it, Henry, about screams in the night and corn dolls on your pillow.”

“On your pillow?” Sterling repeated, staring at Henry. “You never said they’d been in your room.”

Henry shrugged. “It was just a doll, and I cannot believe there is a tunnel when so many people have searched for so long.”

Sterling stared at him, shaking his head. “It wasn’t just a doll. It was a warning. We need to find out what this is about before whoever is doing this goes too far.”

“I agree.” Florence was staring at Sterling with interest. “What do you propose to do about it, Mr Oak?”

Henry heard the challenging note in her voice and wondered at it. He realised now that it was not unusual for people, especially women, to take a dislike to Sterling. The man did not have an easy manner, or anything resembling charm, and seemed to rub people up the wrong way. It was clear Florence did not like him.

“I’ll ask about,” he said, holding Florence’s gaze. “See if I can dig up any old stories, resentments against the family.”

“Good,” Florence said with a tight smile. “I know all of Mr Stanhope’s friends will rally around to keep him safe. Whoever is doing this will not get away with it.”

“Mr Oak, would you mind giving me your arm? I think I’ve had too much sun.”

Miss Weston’s intervention was purposeful and timely, breaking the brittle atmosphere.

“Aye, you’re red as a beet,” Sterling said with his usual lack of tact. “I suppose you’ve not drunk more than a thimbleful of water? Come along. I’ll take you back downstairs and get you a drink.”

“How gallant you are, sir,” Miss Weston said, though her dry tone was lost on Sterling who offered her his arm without a word.

Henry watched him escort the young woman down the stairs.

“Miss Evie, come and see.”