The Lady Confesses

chapter Fifteen

‘We will talk of the unsuitability of your presence in Elizabeth’s bedchamber later, Nathaniel,’ his aunt said primly as he accompanied her down the stairs some seconds later.

Nathaniel was sure they would—and that Aunt Gertrude would do most of the talking. But that could wait for now, as it was not the reason his aunt had come to fetch him.

‘So Finch says Midnight’s condition has worsened rather than improved as we had hoped?’ Nathaniel asked.

His aunt’s expression softened somewhat. ‘I am so sorry, Nathaniel.’ She placed a comforting hand upon his arm. ‘Finch seems of a mind that—he believes that your beautiful stallion is likely to die.’

And as the other man had worked amongst horses all his life, his father having been head groom here before him, Nathaniel had no doubt Finch knew what he was talking about.

It seemed incredible that Midnight had become so ill so quickly. He had seemed perfectly well when they rode out yesterday. What could he possibly have found to eat during the intervening hours that might have made him so ill?

Finch kept his stables meticulously clean and the horses expertly tended; indeed, he was so good at his job that Nathaniel had several times in the past tried to poach the head groom away from his aunt’s household! No neglect there, then. So what—?

‘I am so sorry, my lord.’ A white-faced Finch looked up at him from the hallway, one of the young grooms at his side. ‘Jim here has just informed me that Midnight died a few minutes ago…’



Despite Mrs Wilson not having spoken a reproving word to her, Elizabeth had still been left in little doubt as to the older woman’s disapproval at finding her nephew in Elizabeth’s bedchamber.

In truth, she wished that she might never have to face that dear, kind lady again, yet at the same time she knew it to be a foolish hope. Mrs Wilson was probably even now thinking of how she would tell Elizabeth she was dispensing with her services forthwith. Without reference, of course—how could she possibly give a favourable reference to a young lady she had found in private company with her nephew, dressed only in a thin robe and nightgown?

Despite her shame, she had hastily dressed and followed Nathaniel and his aunt. He had looked positively ill after Mrs Wilson had quickly explained that his stallion had taken a turn for the worse, and that his presence was required immediately in the stables.

It took only one look at the white and shocked faces of the four people now standing below in the hallway for Elizabeth to realise that the summons had come too late. Midnight must already be dead.



‘You must try to eat something, Nathaniel,’ Mrs Wilson advised gently.

‘Must I?’ Nathaniel knew that his aunt meant well, that she was only concerned for him, but still he could not bring himself to join her and the other ladies enjoying their afternoon tea, feeling too raw still from the sudden and inexplicable death of his favourite stallion.

He had owned the horse since its birth, having bred him out of one of the prime mares on his estate in Kent from a prize-winning stallion. Midnight had been a likely-looking colt and had matured into a stallion of spirit and loyalty, with the sweetest mouth of any horse Nathaniel had ever possessed.

He had spent what was left of the morning in the stables with Finch and his grooms, seeing to the disposal of Midnight’s body, before searching the stables from top to bottom in an effort to find what might have afflicted the stallion. They had found nothing of any relevance.

Nathaniel felt utterly heartsick and suddenly required his own company. ‘I believe I will leave you ladies to enjoy your tea together and return to the library.’

Elizabeth’s heart went out to him as she watched him exit his aunt’s parlour, aware of his obvious suffering; his face was pale and haggard, those dark eyes for once not filled with laughing mockery or arrogant disdain, but a profound mourning. She had offered Nathaniel her sympathy on the loss of his horse earlier today, of course, but politely, even stiltedly, aware as she was of Mrs Wilson’s avid attention to any exchange that took place between Elizabeth and her nephew.


At least the sudden death of Nathaniel’s horse had postponed that lady’s reprimands about their earlier impropriety.

‘Poor boy,’ Letitia Grant clucked her sympathy.

‘He was ever fond of his animals.’ Mrs Wilson sighed even as she cast an affectionate glance at Hector lying snug and comfortable in his basket asleep before the fire lit for that very purpose.

Elizabeth found it somewhat endearing when these two ladies referred to Nathaniel as if he were no more than a young boy, which no doubt he must seem to them. Not so Elizabeth, who would never see Nathaniel as being less than a man—a brooding and handsome man who made her heart pound loudly just thinking of the passionate heat of his kisses and caresses.

That was not all she had found to like about him, of course. She had long since realised that his air of cynical charm and studied boredom was a shield for much softer emotions. He might not have any stronger feelings for Elizabeth than the desire he had shown her on several occasions, but his affection for his aunt was genuine, he had an easy tolerance of the sometimes irritating and over-effusive Letitia and was never anything but polite to the servants and guests of his aunt.

It seemed that only she and Sir Rufus Tennant were exceptions to the latter rule…

‘Perhaps we should all think of returning to London when Nathaniel leaves tomorrow.’ Mrs Wilson obviously required no input from either Letitia or Elizabeth as she made her words a statement rather than a question.

It was so exactly what Elizabeth now wished to do herself that she had to bite her tongue in order to stop from saying so, sure that her opinion would count for nought in her now-precarious position within Mrs Wilson’s household.

Instead she stood up. ‘If you will both excuse me?’

‘Where are you going?’ Mrs Wilson asked suspiciously.

As well she might, considering it had been Elizabeth’s intention to seek out Nathaniel in the library and offer him her private condolences. Had Mrs Wilson guessed? ‘I had thought that I might take this opportunity to…rest for a while before dinner.’

‘I believe that—’ Mrs Wilson broke off whatever she had been about to say as Sewell quietly entered the parlour.

‘Sir Rufus Tennant is here to see you, madam,’ he informed his mistress evenly.

Elizabeth’s heart sank at the news as she recalled those roses sent to her earlier today. She hadn’t wanted to respond to the gesture, but surely it could not be ignored any longer when Sir Rufus was now here in person?

How much she wished that she had made her excuses earlier. Instead she was not yet excused by her employer and so was forced to remain here for at least the next few minutes.

Moreover, she wondered what the earl would say or do, in his present state of mind, if he were to realise Sir Rufus had dared to call after being categorically told not to come here until after Nathaniel had left.

‘Show him in, Sewell.’ Mrs Wilson’s impatience with the inconvenience of the visit was barely contained, although she bestowed a gracious enough smile upon her guest as he was shown into the room. ‘You must excuse the informality of my parlour, Sir Rufus.’ She acknowledged his formal bow. ‘We are all out of sorts today, I am afraid.’

‘So I have heard,’ he said. ‘This is the country, Mrs Wilson; news always travels at greater speed here than in London,’ he added as that lady raised her brows.

‘So it would seem…’ Mrs Wilson frowned her displeasure at finding the doings of her household the subject of such idle tittle-tattle.

Sir Rufus’s pale blue gaze flickered in Elizabeth’s direction as he gave another bow. ‘Ladies.’

‘Sir Rufus.’ She gave him a cool nod as Letitia simpered a greeting.

He made himself comfortable in one of the low armchairs when invited to do so. ‘Osbourne has lost one of his horses, I believe?’

There was such a lack of sympathy in his voice that Elizabeth instantly bristled with furious indignation on behalf of the earl.

An indignation Mrs Wilson shared if the angry colour that rose in her cheeks was any indication. ‘We are a family with a close affinity with our animals,’ she stated, her previous gratitude towards this man obviously forgotten in the face of his rudeness.

‘So I have noted,’ Sir Rufus replied, casting a scathing glance in the pampered Hector’s direction. The little dog immediately responded by once more growling deep in his throat.

Mrs Wilson offered no apology for her pet’s behaviour today. ‘You speak as if you do not approve, Sir Rufus?’

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I have to admit to a lack of understanding with regard to an Englishman’s—or woman’s…’ he gave his hostess a wryly acknowledging nod ‘…obvious affection for anything with four legs.’

Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as a strained silence fell over the gathering. She waited for the explosion that seemed to be about to circumvent Mrs Wilson’s usual politeness towards a guest in her home.

‘Perhaps that is because you have little in the way of affection to give anyone, Tennant, four-legged or otherwise!’ the cold voice of Nathaniel Thorne bit out contemptuously.

Elizabeth gasped as she turned towards the doorway where the earl stood, his glittering gaze fixed upon the man seated across the room.

The older man rose slowly to his feet to return that gaze disdainfully. ‘I will excuse your rudeness to me, Osbourne, on the basis that you are obviously overset by the loss of your valuable horseflesh.’

‘Midnight’s value to me did not equate into pounds, shillings and pence,’ Nathaniel ground out. ‘Nor am I so overset that I do not know exactly to whom I am speaking!’

‘Nathaniel—’

‘What are you doing here, Tennant?’ Nathaniel demanded, ignoring his aunt’s attempt to intercede between the combatants.

‘I called to see Mrs Wilson, of course.’

‘Why?’

Sir Rufus looked slightly flustered and then his normal pomposity returned. ‘I called initially to offer my condolences on the loss of your horse—’

‘Considering the content of the sympathies I overheard just now, you would have done better not to have bothered!’ Nathaniel said cuttingly. ‘And what about afterwards?’ he prompted softly.

Tennant drew his breath in noisily. ‘I do not believe I need explain myself to you, Osbourne.’

‘As the only male in this household I have to disagree.’ Nathaniel knew that there could be no argument against such a claim.

Sir Rufus once again looked less sure of himself. ‘I had thought, with Mrs Wilson’s permission, to invite Miss Thompson to come on a small walk with me.’

Nathaniel snorted. ‘It is my understanding that after yesterday Miss Thompson has no wish to go anywhere with you ever again. Is that not so, Miss Thompson?’ He turned to Elizabeth, his brows raised in arrogant query.

Elizabeth was aghast by the level of tension that now filled the room; Mrs Wilson’s eyes were wide at her nephew’s rudeness, Letitia actually open-mouthed with astonishment, Sir Rufus’s redness of face giving every appearance that he might actually leap forwards at any moment and administer a fist to Nathaniel’s chin. As for Nathaniel himself…

She had never seen him so chillingly, dangerously angry as this before, not even yesterday when he had discovered her in Sir Rufus’s arms. Indeed, he looked as if he would welcome an attack from the other man, just so that he had an excuse to retaliate. If he actually needed an excuse, of course…

Elizabeth turned to look coolly at the red-faced Sir Rufus. ‘Lord Thorne is perfectly correct in his claim, sir. I am suffering from a slight cold today.’

‘So there you have the refusal straight from Miss Thompson’s lips, Tennant,’ the earl said.

The other man’s mouth thinned with displeasure. ‘I am sorry to hear that you are feeling unwell, Elizabeth,’ he bit out. ‘Perhaps I might call upon you again tomorrow?’

‘I—’

‘That will not be possible, I am afraid, Sir Rufus,’ Mrs Wilson put in smoothly. ‘In view of my nephew’s return to health, and the sad associations here at present, I have decided that all of my London household shall return to town tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Sir Rufus spluttered in protest. ‘But—Miss Thompson, too?’

‘Well, of course Elizabeth shall come too.’ Mrs Wilson, obviously now as tired as her nephew was of Sir Rufus’s boorish company, was less than patient in her reply. ‘She is a part of my London household, after all.’

For the moment, Elizabeth added silently, knowing that situation could not continue for long after they had all returned to town. Indeed, given the circumstances, she considered it generous of Mrs Wilson to allow her to return to London with her at all; many employers in the same situation would have cast her out without thought for how she was to find the means or money to travel back to London.

Sir Rufus scowled. ‘Then perhaps I could be allowed a few moments in which I might talk alone with Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth felt her heart sink even further as the cold, contemptuous expression on Nathaniel’s face turned to a look of utter violence. ‘I—’


‘No, I am afraid Elizabeth cannot be spared even for a few moments if we are all to be in readiness to leave tomorrow,’ Mrs Wilson took it upon herself to answer the man swiftly. ‘I am sure you understand, Sir Rufus?’ The steely edge to her polite tone said that he had better.

He made no answer for several long moments, as his good sense obviously warred with his dislike of being denied that which he wanted. Thankfully good sense finally won out. ‘In that case I will take my leave of you, madam.’ He bowed awkwardly to his hostess, blatantly ignoring every other person in the room—including Elizabeth—before sweeping from the parlour. Only seconds later the front door was heard to slam with some force behind him.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the inhabitants of Mrs Wilson’s parlour, Elizabeth barely able to breathe as she waited for someone to speak, feeling unable to do so herself after what had just happened.

‘Well!’ Mrs Wilson was predictably the one to break that silence—although her next comment was not the one Elizabeth had been expecting. ‘What a perfectly obnoxious man Sir Rufus is!’ She repressed a shudder of revulsion. ‘Indeed, I always had my suspicions that as a boy he was the type to enjoy pulling the legs from spiders and wings off flies!’

‘Aunt Gertrude!’ Nathaniel’s shocked laughter was completely spontaneous as some of his tension eased.

His aunt patted the already-perfect neatness of her hair, completely unabashed at having criticised a guest in her home so roundly. ‘You did not know Rufus Tennant as a boy, Nathaniel. He was only eight or nine years old when I first came here with my darling Bastian and he was a stocky, unattractive lad even then. He was absolutely hateful in his behaviour towards that brother of his, who was so much younger than he.’

‘Giles,’ Nathaniel put in.

‘Just so,’ his aunt said. ‘He was jealous, of course, having been an only child for the first six years of his life. Of course, it cannot have helped that Giles was of such a sweet and good-natured temperament that he succeeded in charming all who came into contact with him. Or that he grew up to be such a golden-haired, attractive rogue.’

Nathaniel frowned. ‘I had always believed the two brothers were close?’

‘Publicly, yes. Here in the privacy of Gifford House? Another story completely,’ Mrs Wilson revealed. ‘And then, of course, Giles succeeded in captivating the admiration and love of the woman every man of the ton panted after.’ She gave an inelegant snort.

‘Harriet Copeland…’ Nathaniel murmured ruefully; even now, ten years after the event, he recalled that married lady’s legendary beauty. He had been considered far too young at the time to be acquainted with that lady himself, of course, but he had occasionally caught glimpses of her as she’d glittered and sparkled at society balls, a dark-haired, sea-green-eyed beauty who had captured the attention of every man who so much as looked at her.

That had been before society was shaken by the scandal of Harriet Copeland leaving her husband and young family to set up home with Giles Tennant, resulting in it turning its backs and closing its doors upon both of them.

His aunt nodded. ‘They were so very much in love with each other. But obviously the…oddness that characterises Sir Rufus’s personality must have existed inside Giles too, otherwise how else could he have behaved so abhorrently in the end?’

Elizabeth had become very still at the first mention of her mother’s name. Indeed, she could not move, barely breathed, and there was also a tightness across her chest at finally hearing that Giles Tennant had, after all, been the young lover of Elizabeth’s mother ten years previously.

‘I trust that you will forgive me for ever encouraging you to enjoy the attentions of a such a man, my dear.’ Mrs Wilson turned to gently squeeze Elizabeth’s arm in apology. ‘I had believed that the years might have improved his temperament, but you were obviously far more astute than I where his true nature was concerned!’

Elizabeth had been in the right of it in deciding she did not like the man very much, perhaps, but that astuteness counted for nought now that she knew about the past connection of Sir Rufus’s family to her mother. As she was left wondering why Sir Rufus would ever have wished to name a rose after the woman who was responsible for bringing such disgrace upon the Tennant family…

‘I—yes, of course. Would—am I really to return to London with you tomorrow, Mrs Wilson?’ She frowned, wondering what, if anything, she should do about the information she now held.

‘Yes, Aunt Gertrude, what was all that about?’ Nathaniel asked. ‘I had thought it was your intention to remain in Devon for several more weeks?’

She gave an airy wave of her hand. ‘I have not found being in the country as pleasant as I had hoped; as your health was our main reason for coming here at all in the middle of the Season, there seems little reason for any of us to remain when you are to leave tomorrow. Especially when one of our closest neighbours has proved himself to be so unpleasant,’ she added indignantly.

Those reasons were all well and good, but at the same time they totally negated Nathaniel’s own reason for leaving Hepworth Manor—namely to put a distance between himself and the temptation Elizabeth represented.

The pallor he could now see in her cheeks would seem to indicate she was as shaken by this sudden decision to return to London by her employer as Nathaniel was himself.