Jacquie D’Alessandro - Whirlwind Affair

She'd just started down the wide staircase when she saw Fenton, on his way up. "Mrs. Brown," he said when they met halfway. "I was just on my way to deliver you a message. There is a Mrs. Morehouse here to see you. She awaits you in the drawing room."

Allie frowned. "I do not know anyone by that name."

"She lives in the village. Her husband worked in the Bradford Hall stables before his death."

"Why does she wish to see me?"

"She did not say. She only indicated that it was important she see you right away."

Puzzled and curious, Allie followed Fenton to the drawing room. Opening the door, he announced, "Mrs. Brown," then withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Allie walked into the room, offering a smile to the woman standing near the French windows. She was small and plump, with gray hair tucked beneath a dark green bonnet, which matched her pelisse. She clutched her reticule and appeared nervous.

After licking her lips, she inclined her head. "Good mornin', Mrs. Brown. My name is Sara Morehouse."

"How do you do, Mrs. Morehouse. Fenton said you wished to see me." She studied the woman's face, but felt no flash of recognition. "Have we met?"

"No, ma'am. But I need to speak to you, just the same."

"Of course," Allie agreed, totally at sea. "Would you like to sit down?"

Mrs. Morehouse nodded. After they settled themselves on the brocade settee, she said, " 'Tis about Lord Robert. You're makin' a terrible mistake."

Allie's brows shot upward. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday I received a letter from the duchess. Lovely, kind lady the duchess is, always takin' time to correspond with me, tellin' me about the family. In this letter she mentioned that Lord Robert had fallen in love and asked for your hand, but you'd refused him. Because of the crime he'd committed. Because of the fire." Mrs. Morehouse worried the strings of her reticule. "He won't tell you the truth about that night 'cause he's honorable and bound by his word. He made a promise to my husband, and he's kept it all these years to protect us, but I cannot allow it to deprive him of a wife and marriage and the family he deserves." She drew herself up and lifted her chin. "You need to know, and I am not bound by any such vow."

"Mrs. Morehouse." Allie reached out and touched the agitated woman's hand. "I appreciate this, but I assure you, it is not necessary for you to tell me anything. I accepted Lord Robert's proposal last evening. I love him deeply, and his past does not matter."

The older woman nodded slowly. "I'm glad to hear you say it, Mrs. Brown. And I'm very happy for you and Lord Robert. You sayin' that I don't need to tell you just proves I'm right to trust you with the truth. Lord Robert and the duchess both love you, and that's proof enough that you're honorable." Her voice took on a brisk edge. "I know how secrets can eat away at a soul, and I don't want any secrets between Lord Robert and his wife. He risked everything for my family. It's about time I gave him something in return. I only ask that you not tell anyone else. For the sake of my daughter and her family."

"All right."

Mrs. Morehouse's fingers tightened around her reticule, turning her knuckles white. "Mrs. Brown, Lord Robert did not start the fire in the smithy that night. My husband Nate did."

Confusion filled Allie and she frowned. "But… how is that possible? Robert told me he caused the fire. He said he was responsible, that a building was lost. That a man lost his life."

"Lord Robert took the blame for startin' that fire to save my husband and my family, but it was my Nate who struck the match and set the smithy ablaze."

Allie's head swam with questions. She managed to push one word past her suddenly dry lips. "Why?"

"Four years ago, Cyril Owens, the village blacksmith, forced himself on my daughter Hannah. Nate and I, we didn't know what was wrong with Hannah, and we were so worried about her. She was sixteen at the time, and almost overnight she changed from smilin' and laughin' into withdrawn and morose."

Pity filled Allie, and she once again laid her hand over Mrs. Morehouse's. "I'm so sorry. What a terrible ordeal for anyone to suffer."

Mrs. Morehouse nodded, and her eyes dampened with unshed tears. "Lord Robert discovered the truth one night when he overheard Cyril braggin' in a London pub. He came directly to Nate and told him, promisin' to go with Nate the next day to talk to the duke so the duke could dispense justice. But Nate… he didn't wait. He was a good man, a law-abidin' man, but after hearin' what Cyril had done to Hannah, it were like somethin' inside him snapped. He went to the smithy. He let the horses out, then doused the place with lantern oil and set it ablaze."

"Dear God," Allie whispered.

"The mornin' after the fire, Cyril went to the duke, wantin' Nate charged with arson. Wanted to see him hang. Said he saw Nate lettin' the horses go, then settin' his business on fire. So there we were, Nate bedridden, fightin' for every breath 'cause his lungs were so damaged from breathin' in the smoke, both of us expectin' him to be hauled off in chains to be deported or hung for arson. Much as we wanted to accuse Cyril of rapin' Hannah, we knew it would be her word against his, and no matter the outcome, Hannah's reputation would be ruined.

"Then next thing I know, Lord Robert came to our cottage. Told us everything was fixed, not to worry. Cyril was gone- moved to another village, somewhere in Northumberland, and that he'd been fully reimbursed for the loss of his personal items. And that the smithy would be rebuilt at no cost to us."

She fixed a stare on Allie. "Do you know how that happened, Mrs. Brown?" Before Allie could answer, she continued, "Lord Robert had gone to his brother, the duke, and told not only the duke but his entire family and Cyril and all the village that he himself had started the fire. The poor boy-I should say man-he was so guilt stricken. Told me and Nate he felt responsible-as responsible as if he'd struck the match himself. If he hadn't told Nate about Cyril hurtin' Hannah, then none of it would have happened."

Mrs. Morehouse's bottom lip trembled. "We knew it wasn't Lord Robert's fault, but there was no consolin' him or talkin' him out of it. He said if people believed Nate started the fire, our life in the village, and Hannah's future, would be ruined. He knew the talk about himself would eventually die down because of his family's influence, and not have such adverse effects on his future."

She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule, then dabbed at her eyes. "The gossip spread quickly. 'The duke's brother started the fire!' they said. 'He's an arsonist! A criminal!' Things would have gone easier on him, silenced the worst of the gossip, if he'd claimed the fire was an accident, but he didn't. His honor ran too deep to diminish what he considered his responsibility. He just said he was responsible for the fire and that was all. I don't know for certain, but I'd guess that Lord Robert's family suspected there were more to the story, but they decided to trust him.

"As for me and Nate, we were completely torn. We didn't want Lord Robert takin' the blame, but there was Hannah to consider. Her future. A girl who's been raped, whose pa is a criminal-she has no future.

"But then things got worse, because two weeks after the fire, Nate died." A tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. "Lord Robert blamed himself for his death, and no words from me would change his mind. In his mind, he was responsible for a crime bein' committed and for Nate's death. Just before Nate died, Lord Robert promised him he'd never tell about Nate's role in the fire, allowin' my Nate to go to his death in peace, knowin' his actions wouldn't ruin Hannah's future. Lord Robert, who was liable to his brother for the destruction of the smithy, saw to the financial reparations. Once the smithy was rebuilt and the villagers saw Lord Robert was as good as his word, the talk died down, folks callin' the incident a youthful indiscretion gone bad, most of them even feel in' sorry for Lord Robert as his father had died only a few months earlier. And truth be told, no one in the village was sorry to see Cyril gone. Heard he died of lung disease a couple years back, and no one here mourned his passing."