The Lady Confesses

chapter Seventeen

‘You must come at once, Nathaniel! At once, do you hear?’

Nathaniel frowned as he looked up from reading the correspondence he had received from Gabriel Faulkner only that afternoon, to see his pale, dishevelled and obviously distraught aunt standing in the doorway of the library, those things alone enough to tell him that something was seriously amiss; his Aunt Gertrude prided herself on being both calm and practical on all occasions.

He stood up quickly from behind the desk. ‘What has occurred?’

Tears glistened in his aunt’s eyes as her hand moved to the agitation of her rapidly rising and falling chest. ‘Hector has returned terribly injured and without Elizabeth!’

Nathaniel frowned darkly as he stepped into the centre of the book-lined room. ‘Without Elizabeth?’ he repeated.

Mrs Wilson nodded. ‘Oh, Nathaniel, I fear she may have fallen over the cliff-top! Might even now lay dead and broken upon the rocks below—’

‘You must calm yourself, Aunt,’ he cut in sharply, her hysteria only succeeding in sharpening the keen edge of his own concern. ‘Hector has returned injured, you say?’

His aunt nodded quickly. ‘He is limping badly on his right front leg and his ribs appear to be either bruised or broken.’

‘Show me.’ He crossed the room in two long strides to join his aunt as she turned to lead the way to her private parlour where Hector lay unnaturally still and quiet in his basket beside the fireplace.

The little dog looked up with soulful eyes as Nathaniel went down on his haunches beside the basket, his hands gentle on the soft rise and fall of Hector’s ribs before he inspected the injured leg.


He turned to look at his hovering Aunt Gertrude. ‘His leash was still in place when he returned?’

‘Yes.’

Nathaniel straightened. ‘I do not believe anything is broken…’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Mrs Wilson breathed her relief before her expression once again clouded with concern. ‘But what of Elizabeth? Where can she be? You must go out and look for her immediately, Nathaniel!’ She wrung her hands together in her anxiety.

He had every intention of looking for Elizabeth. Indeed, he had only delayed that search long enough to examine the little dog first, in an effort to gain any information from Hector’s appearance as to where she might be. ‘Hector does not appear to have fallen down the cliff, Aunt, otherwise I am sure he would have sustained other cuts and injuries.’

Mrs Wilson frowned. ‘But surely Elizabeth would have returned by now if she had only lost hold of his leash?’

Nathaniel, knowing it would have taken some time for Hector, with his injured leg and bruised ribs, to have made his way back to Hepworth Manor, had already reached that same conclusion. Which meant that she was either lying injured on the cliff path somewhere or had been prevented from returning by some other means.

Means in the shape of Sir Rufus Tennant, perhaps?

Nathaniel scowled, knowing he had absolutely no basis for that conclusion. Except, of course, for the other man’s almost fanatical interest in Elizabeth these past few days.

His mouth was tight at the thought of Tennant being anywhere near her. ‘You will instruct Sewell to organise a search party at once, Aunt.’

‘But where will you be?’ His aunt turned to stare as him as he walked purposefully towards the doorway.

Nathaniel looked at her with eyes that were dark and stormy. ‘I am going to pay a visit upon a neighbour before joining in the search, dear Aunt.’

Mrs Wilson’s eyes widened. ‘You do not think Tennant has something to do with this?’

‘At this moment I am trying not to think, but to act, Aunt,’ Nathaniel rasped.

Her knuckles showed white as she clutched her hands together all the tighter. ‘He has seemed rather obsessed with Elizabeth recently…’

An obsession, knowing of her intended departure on the morrow, that he might just have decided to act upon before it became too late to do so, perhaps?

Nathaniel should never have allowed Elizabeth to go walking alone. He should have insisted on accompanying her earlier. Should have—

Damn it, never mind what he should have done! The most important thing now was to find her and reassure himself, and everyone else, as to her welfare.



Elizabeth had never felt so frightened in her life as she stood in the eerie silence of Sir Rufus’s hothouse, as unnerved by his belief that she was her mother as she was by the sharp pruning knife he held distractedly in one hand.

She had not come willingly to Gifford House with him, but he had been so fired by the intensity of his emotions that it was as if she weighed nothing at all as he dragged and pulled her along beside him, knocking her bonnet askew and forcing her to remove it completely when she could no longer see where he was taking her.

It had taken barely any time at all to reach Gifford House, where any hopes of Elizabeth being able to ask for assistance from one of Sir Rufus’s servants had instantly been dashed, as he had ignored entering the house by the front door and instead circled straight round to the back of the house, where he had entered the hothouse to shut and lock the door firmly behind them.

His earlier comments about her mother were enough to have persuaded her into holding her usually wayward tongue, most especially his comments as to Harriet’s ‘squeamishness over something that had needed to be done’, so that ‘the two of them might finally be together’, as they had ‘always been meant to be’.

Elizabeth was frantically wondering exactly what Sir Rufus had done in the past in order to ensure that he and Harriet might be together…



Nathaniel had left Hepworth Manor so hastily that he had not even paused to collect his hat and gloves as he hurried to the stable to help Finch saddle a brown gelding. He rode out onto the cliffs as if the devil were at his heels, all the time keeping a lookout for Elizabeth in case she had, after all, accidentally slipped over the side of the cliff. The nearest Nathaniel came to finding any sign of her was a particular part of the dusty pathway where he could see the scuffle of tiny footprints and Hector’s paw prints intertwined with a pair of men’s boots.

Tennant’s boots?

Nathaniel had no proof of that, of course, but, considering those two pairs of footprints led in the direction of Gifford House, he turned his horse firmly in that direction, his expression grimmer than ever.



‘Please, sir—’

‘My darling Harriet, I believe we may stop all pretence now and call each other by our given names!’ Sir Rufus assured indulgently as he looked down at Elizabeth with warmly glowing eyes.

She feared he had completely lost all reason; perhaps it was safest to indulge him in his fantasy? ‘Rufus,’ she complied softly, ‘would we not both be more comfortable if we were to go into the house and talk? Over dinner, perhaps?’ Elizabeth knew she would certainly feel more reassured if there were servants within screaming distance.

He gave a puzzled frown. ‘But you always said how much you longed to see my roses…’

‘And I am very happy to have seen them now,’ she hastened to reassure with a sideways glance at the knife in his hand. ‘I—I thought only of your comfort when I suggested we might go into the house for dinner.’

His expression softened again. ‘As usual, Harriet, you are ever considerate of others.’

Elizabeth did not remember her mother very well, having been but nine years old when Harriet departed Shoreley Park for the last time, but she did have memory of her mother’s warmth, and the laughter that had always filled the house whenever she was at home; it had become more than obvious these past few minutes that it was not only Giles Tennant who had fallen in love with Harriet Copeland, but that Sir Rufus Tennant had, too.

Had her death at the hands of Giles Tennant completely unhinged him?

Or was it something else, something much darker, something so much more terrible that was responsible for Sir Rufus’s present deranged state of mind?

Elizabeth moistened dry lips, very aware that his state of mind was so mercurial that he might turn violent again at any moment, most especially if she were to challenge his belief that she was Harriet. ‘I have to admit to welcoming the idea of partaking of a light supper myself.’ She would do or say anything in order to persuade him to go into the house and away from the complete isolation of this secluded hothouse.

He chuckled softly, giving her a brief glimpse of the younger man he must once have been. He was still not an especially handsome or dashing man, as his younger brother was reputed to have been, but he’d certainly had his own homely appeal. ‘You know that I have never been able to deny you anything.’

‘Then we may go into the house and eat supper?’ Much as she tried, Elizabeth could not keep the eagerness to escape being alone with him from her tone. ‘You might show me around the rest of the house then, too,’ she added encouragingly as he frowned slightly.

‘Of course; my beloved Harriet, you must be eager to view what is to become your new home.’ Sir Rufus gave one of her hands a reassuring squeeze.

‘Very eager.’ Elizabeth resisted a shudder at the mere thought of any woman having to live with him, let alone with those glassy-eyed hunting trophies that adorned the gloomy entrance hall of Gifford House; her mother had certainly been a woman who had surrounded herself with light and laughter and beautiful things.

‘Would you not like to see the rest of the roses first?’

‘Perhaps later.’ It took every effort of will on Elizabeth’s part to slip one of her gloved hands companionably into the crook of his arm as she smiled up at him. ‘Let us go to the house for a warming drink, at least.’ She gave a delicate shiver to accompany this statement.

In truth, she felt so inwardly cold it was as if ice ran in her veins, caused by her fear of this man—and the knife he still carried—rather than the temperature of the hothouse. But it was the lengths Sir Rufus might have gone to in order to ensure that Harriet Copeland became his own that Elizabeth feared knowing more than anything else.



‘You must have some idea where Sir Rufus is!’ Nathaniel glowered at the butler who had opened the door to Gifford House in answer to the remorseless pummelling of his fist.

‘I have told you, my lord, Sir Rufus is not at home,’ the elderly man repeated patiently.

Nathaniel looked about him wildly, wondering where the other man could have gone. Where he could have taken Elizabeth. If, indeed, she was with him at all…

The butler flinched slightly as he once again became the focus of Nathaniel’s steely-eyed gaze. ‘You might perhaps try the hothouse at the back of the house? Sir Rufus is there often and—’

Nathaniel did not linger to listen to any further explanations but ran down the steps and round to the back of the house to where the hothouse glinted in the late-evening sunlight.


Only to come to an abrupt halt beneath the shade of an oak tree as he saw Elizabeth and Sir Rufus just emerging from inside the glass hothouse, giving every appearance of taking an evening stroll together. Elizabeth’s arm was linked with that of Sir Rufus’s as she smiled up at him, chatting happily as they walked towards him.

Until Nathaniel saw her eyes…

Elizabeth had the most expressive eyes he had ever beheld, a startlingly clear and beautiful sky-blue, more often than not filled with either warmth or the light of battle that was so much a part of her feisty personality.

At the moment those lovely eyes showed neither warmth nor anger, but were instead dark and unnaturally wide, and filled with such an expression of fear and apprehension that Nathaniel felt a lurching jolt in his chest.

His concern deepened as he noticed other things about her appearance that did not sit well with her outward show of charming loveliness: her straw bonnet was gone completely, her dark curls in disarray, several ringlets falling onto the creaminess of her shoulders, and dusty smears upon her pale gown and gloves. As if she might have fallen—or been pulled along against her will?

Nathaniel deliberately stepped out from beneath the sheltering oak. ‘Good evening, Tennant.’

Elizabeth’s heart began to pound loudly at the first sound of Nathaniel’s voice, her relief immense as she turned to see him standing only feet away. Until, that is, she became as aware of the tension of the man at her side; Sir Rufus’s arm had become rigid beneath the soft touch of her gloved fingers, his whole body seemingly coiled as if he might spring forwards and attack the younger man at any moment.

Under any other circumstances Elizabeth knew that Nathaniel, ten years younger and having been a soldier, was more than capable of besting the other man, but at this moment Sir Rufus was filled with a strength and purpose fuelled by insanity—and he was still carrying that pruning knife in his other hand!

All things which Nathaniel must be made aware of if he were to fully understand the danger of the situation. ‘How lovely, Rufus; Lord Thorne has come to join us for dinner.’ She ignored Nathaniel’s start of surprise in favour of turning to smile warmly up into Sir Rufus’s demented features.

For several tension-filled seconds she feared he had not even heard her, so intense was his expression of dislike as he glared his fury at Nathaniel’s intrusion into this time with his ‘beloved Harriet’.

But he finally appeared to become aware of the encouraging warmth of Elizabeth’s smile, the tension easing slightly in his arm, his expression softening as he turned to look down at her. ‘I had thought we might spend our first evening here together alone, my dear.’

Elizabeth forced herself to continue to smile up into those wild pale blue eyes. ‘We must not be selfish, Rufus. We must be prepared to share our good fortune and happiness with our friends and neighbours.’

‘Of course.’ He returned her smile approvingly. ‘You are gracious as always, my dear Harriet.’

Elizabeth did not see Nathaniel’s start of surprise this time, but she felt it in his sudden tension and saw it in the dark scowl that marred his brow when she turned to look across at him with pleading eyes. ‘I trust you are free to join us for dinner, Lord Thorne?’

Nathaniel’s initial anger at finding Elizabeth in company with Sir Rufus had first turned to puzzlement, quickly followed by utter confusion. It now turned to uneasy concern—after Tennant referred to Elizabeth as Harriet. Harriet Copeland? Giles’s lover?

Elizabeth, hoping and praying that Nathaniel would at last understand Sir Rufus’s state of derangement, instead became aware of the surprised widening of his eyes as he looked at her searchingly. As if he were seeing her for the first time…

Which perhaps he was?

Nathaniel would have been a very young man when Lady Harriet Copeland had run off with Giles Tennant, but not so young he would not have at least seen the notorious countess. Now the final piece of the puzzle had been put in place by Sir Rufus, did Nathaniel finally see Elizabeth’s physical resemblance to that lady?

The same resemblance which had, no doubt, instigated Sir Rufus Tennant’s present madness…

Elizabeth’s throat was so dry that she had difficulty swallowing before she said again, ‘Oh, please do say that you can stay for dinner, Lord Thorne.’

There was no chance Nathaniel was not totally aware of the slight edge of hysteria to Elizabeth’s urging, or of the silent pleading in those troubled blue eyes that looked at him so intently.

Or, indeed, the air of barely leashed madness that surrounded Sir Rufus Tennant!

‘Yes,’ Nathaniel answered calmly. ‘Yes, of course I would be happy to join the two of you. If Sir Rufus is sure I will not be intruding?’ He turned to look enquiringly at the older man, eyes narrowing as he took note of the slightly unfocused wildness of Tennant’s eyes, the unnatural flush to his cheeks. The knife that he held in his left hand, of which he did not even seem to be aware…

Had he used it to threaten Elizabeth with? God, this madman had mistaken Elizabeth for Harriet Copeland!

There was a surface resemblance, of course. The same dark curls. The same delicacy of features. Admittedly Lady Copeland had been much older than Elizabeth when she died, and her eyes had been green rather than blue, but the slender elegance of her figure was the same. Could Elizabeth actually be in some way related to the beautiful Countess of Westbourne?

Tennant mistaking Elizabeth for Lady Copeland was all too much of a coincidence in view of the letter Nathaniel had finally received from Gabriel Faulkner earlier today. His friend had announced his betrothal to Lady Diana Copeland—a love match, apparently, rather than the businesslike affair the other man had originally intended it should be—the eldest sister of the three. He had also written that their other best friend Dominic Vaughn was to marry Lady Diana’s younger sister, Caroline.

Both those weddings would take place as soon as they had found and returned the youngest Copeland sister, Lady Elizabeth, to her sisters’ anxiously awaiting arms.

Lady Elizabeth Copeland.

Elizabeth.

Could it possibly be the very same woman whom Nathaniel had found so irresistible this past few days? The same Elizabeth he had made love to so passionately? It was rather a large assumption for him to make, and yet the similarity between Harriet Copeland and Elizabeth was obvious, as were several other clues if one knew of them.

Elizabeth’s sudden appearance in his aunt’s London home almost three weeks ago after the two had met at the park… Gabriel had stated in his letter that Lady Elizabeth Copeland had been missing for almost four weeks now. Elizabeth’s assurance of manner during Mrs Wilson’s dinner party on Saturday and her innate elegance and refinement—all indications she had been brought up as a lady of quality rather than a subservient companion.

Nathaniel had believed Elizabeth was perhaps a young lady from an impoverished if genteel family, but they could all just as easily be attributed to the fact that she was, in fact, Lady Elizabeth Copeland, an earl’s daughter.

Tennant seemed convinced of the fact that Elizabeth’s second name, at least, was indeed Copeland!