“Why?” William sneered at him. “Because it won’t give you the chance to spy on me, like you’ve been doing since you darkened the castle’s doorstep?”
Everyone at the table dropped what they were doing to look up, suddenly tense.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” William went on. “That’s obviously what my dear uncle brought you here for.” He snorted and busied himself slicing the sausages on his plate. “As if you think I’m stupid.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Malcolm said, far grimmer than Peter would have preferred.
“No?” William speared a piece of sausage and bit it off his fork. He chewed for a few seconds, pointing his fork at Malcolm. “I know what those two have been up to.” He glanced between Peter and Mariah. “Do you really think I’m foolish enough not to see the writing on the wall?”
The table remained silent. Peter exchanged a puzzled glance with Malcolm, then frowned at William. “I’ve always been willing to give you a chance to improve yourself,” he said, wondering if it would be wiser to keep his mouth shut.
William let out an exasperated sigh. “In no time at all, I will be thoroughly replaced. What else am I to do but endear myself to you, dear uncle, so that I might remain in your good graces?” He glanced up the table to Mariah.
Mariah’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink, and she stared at her plate. But it was the way William sent a challenging look to his friend Poole that had Peter’s mind buzzing. As if William were trying to make the point that he might still stay in favor, not to him or to Mariah, but to his friends.
Friends indeed. If Peter’s guess was right, Poole and Robinson were William’s creditors. The whole thing made sense now. He turned to Malcolm, wondering if his friend had put the pieces together.
“All right,” Malcolm said with a shift in his posture that told Peter yes, he had figured it out. “We’ll play sardines, then.”
Peter blinked. “We will?”
Malcolm glanced to him, warning in his eyes. “We’ll do what young Victoria here wants and play sardines. It should be fun.”
It would be a disaster. Everyone in the house party scattering across the grounds, hiding from each other?
Unless Malcolm used it as a way to get to the bottom of the mysteries that were mounting up like William’s debts.
“I’ll tell Snyder to prepare for a game this afternoon,” Peter said, unable to believe he was going along with the plan.
“Huzzah,” Victoria said, clapping again. She finished by clasping her hands in front of her and gazing longingly at William. Poole and Robinson also exchanged victorious glances.
Peter clenched his jaw and hoped that Malcolm knew what he was doing. But when he caught the suddenly expectant look in Mariah’s eyes, his attitude changed. Perhaps he could find the chance to speak to Mariah alone at last while everyone was out searching the castle for the sardines.
“Keep the guests outside,” Malcolm murmured to Peter as they left the breakfast room later.
“I thought you had something up your sleeve,” Peter said with a grim smile.
“If you can clear the house, I should be able to get an idea of what Poole and Robinson are here for,” Malcolm confirmed. “At the very least, I can sniff out your traitorous servant.”
Peter arched a brow at him. “You make it sound like some sort of gothic novel.”
“I’m trying to prevent the gothic part.” Malcolm thumped him on the back before marching out into the hall to have a word with Snyder.
Peter had half a mind to speak to Snyder himself, but before he could join Malcolm, Mariah stepped out of the breakfast room. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw him. Peter’s heart turned a cartwheel in his chest. He started toward her.
“My lady.”
It was his turn to be brought up short when Ginny dashed across the front hall. She saw him, then stopped with an, “Oh!”
Mariah glanced anxiously between him and her maid. “Is something the matter?”
Peter couldn’t tell whether she was asking Ginny or him.
“It’s your closet, my lady,” Ginny started slowly, glancing to Peter to see if she had permission to continue.
Peter nodded to her as Mariah asked, “What about my closet?” with a frown.
“I’ve discovered some…damage to a few of your dresses, my lady.”
Mariah blinked. “Damage? What kind of damage?”
Peter was equally confused, but figured it was of a delicate nature when Ginny sent a furtive look his way before saying, “I think you should come see for yourself.”
Mariah let out a breath and dropped her shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind,” she told him. “I…I was hoping to speak with you.”
A quick grin pulled at Peter’s lips. “I was hoping to speak to you.”
Her brow lifted slightly with hope and regret. She glanced to Ginny, then back to him. “We’ll talk later.”
With that, she walked off, Ginny at her side. Peter watched the two of them mount the stairs, and rubbed a hand over his face. He should be used to his plans being thwarted by now. With a shrug, he turned to seek out Albert, his one last hope for friendly conversation that morning.
As it happened, Peter didn’t have a chance to be alone with Mariah again before the game of sardines began after lunch.
“This is how we play,” Victoria instructed them all, a child teaching adults. “I’ll start the game by finding a place in the garden to hide.”
Peter was relieved that he didn’t have to step in and declare the house off-limits. Victoria had come up with that all on her own.
“I will have ten minutes to find a suitable hiding place,” Victoria went on. “After that time has passed, Davy here, who has so kindly offered to assist us—” She gestured to the footman, who looked more than a little put out. “—will give each of you a different door to exit the castle through.”
“We’re leaving through different doors?” Mariah asked, glancing to Peter.
“Yes, silly,” Victoria laughed. “That way there will be no cheating. You can’t look for me in groups, you know. Everyone must fend for themselves.”
“I see,” Mariah said, frowning.
Peter was equally disappointed. So much for whisking her off so they could chat. He attempted to step over to her side to whisper a rendezvous point, but Victoria caught him and said, “No cheating. Davy, make sure the players don’t whisper to each other while I’m hiding.”
“Yes, miss,” Davy said, looking bored.
“All right, then. Here I go.”
With a giggle and a swish of her skirts, Victoria dashed out to the garden through the French doors. As soon as she left, Peter continued toward Mariah.
“Ah-ah, Uncle.” William stopped him. “You heard what Victoria said. No cheating. And that includes giving your wife clues about the best hiding places in the garden.”
Peter blew out an exasperated breath. “I simply wanted to tell her—”
“No.” William crossed his arms.
Peter turned and marched over to the unlit fireplace, sending Mariah a look of exasperation. He was beginning to think she’d been right and that he shouldn’t have invited so many people to the house. Malcolm’s plan to bring the mysteries hanging over them to an end had better work, and William had better be serious about knowing he didn’t have enough time to trick him into giving up half the estate. At least Mariah seemed content to wait.
Ten minutes passed, then Davy began leading the guests out of the parlor one by one. William was allowed to slip out through the same exit Victoria had taken, which didn’t seem entirely fair. But Peter was beyond the point of caring. He was escorted to the rarely-used ballroom on the far side of the house and turned loose in an old hedge maze that Nick had been working on recovering. Where Mariah would be let out of the house was anyone’s guess, so Peter began a long, irritated walk to the first stretch of flat, open land he could think of.
It happened that
along the way he passed a small, pretty garden, surrounded on three sides by a wall—a garden he hadn’t visited for years. He slowed his steps, a wave of guilt overcoming him. In the center of the garden was a slender slab of rose-colored marble that bore the words “Anne Barkley deVere, loving wife. September 12, 1832 – March 5, 1874.”
Peter let out a long breath, shook his head, then changed directions. He walked slowly until he stood at the foot of Anne’s tomb. The overwhelming sense of failure that the memory of Anne brought him pushed down on his shoulders, no matter how lovely the memorial garden he’d had made for her was. He should have been able to give her what she wanted, or else he should have helped her to find something besides a baby to make her life complete. All she’d wanted was something to care for, something of herself to leave behind in the world. She’d been denied that, and he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a weary sigh. “I should have been a better man for you. I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”
He pressed his mouth shut, fighting the overwhelming grief that welled up inside him. He looked up at the sky, blinking away twenty wasted years.
“Give me the chance to do better this time,” he pleaded…not sure with whom. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but I can do better. And Mariah….” He swallowed, lowering his gaze to Anne’s grave once more. “I’m sorry, Anne, but I feel a connection with her that we never had. She has such strength in her. If I hadn’t made such a mess of things, our life together would have started out so much better than this.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
Peter sucked in a breath and whipped around to find Mariah standing at the entrance to the garden, her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a sober look as she stepped into the garden, meeting and holding his gaze.
“None of this is your fault, Peter. And I know—” She rolled her eyes to the side, cheeks going pink. “I know that I have been too hard on you. William is the problem, not you, but I haven’t been in my right mind since arriving at Starcross.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, more serious than he intended to be. He glanced at Anne’s tomb, then moved to meet Mariah. “You are more in your right mind than anyone here.”
“No, I’m not,” she said with one brow arched and a twitch of her lips. Instead of explaining her answer, she approached Anne’s tombstone, glancing solemnly down at it. “Why do you think you failed her?”
“I don’t think it, I know it.” He stood by Mariah’s side, staring at the grave. “All Anne ever wanted was a child.”
“But she miscarried over and over instead,” Mariah said. She put a hand on his arm. Glancing up at him. “It seems to me as though you did everything right and the failing, if there is such a thing, was God’s will.”
Peter shook his head, pulling away and pacing around the tomb. He didn’t deserve Mariah’s touch. “It was more than that. We were told by multiple doctors that a healthy pregnancy would be unlikely, and that for Anne’s sake, we should stop trying.”
He reached the far end of the slab of marble and risked a glance at Mariah. She watched him with a compassion in her eyes that tied his stomach in knots.
“Barkley accuses me of killing Anne at every opportunity, and he’s not far off the mark.” He couldn’t bear to look at Mariah as he confessed, so he studied the cold letters of Anne’s name instead. “I knew it was hopeless, but I couldn’t say no to her when she came to my bed.”
“You cared for her,” Mariah said. “It’s only natural when a husband cares for his wife to want to be with her.”
“But I didn’t love her. Not like I should have.”
Mariah shook her head in confusion. “There are many kinds of love. It sounds to me like you did love her in your own way.”
“But I should have been able to resist her.” He raised his voice in spite of himself looking up at her. “To keep her safe, to save her life. I should have been able to keep her out of my bed.” He lowered his head again. “But I suppose on some level I truly am the kind of man who puts my own pleasure ahead of others’ wellbeing.”
Mariah was silent, and when he peeked up at her, she wore a look as though something suddenly made sense to her. “You don’t sound as though you took pleasure in any of it.”
Prickles like a jolt of electricity raced down Peter’s spine. “No,” he breathed out. “I didn’t. With Anne—” He swallowed, his mouth going dry and his pulse kicking up with anxiety. And yet, he felt as though he could say these things to Mariah without the risk that she would judge or laugh at him. “It wasn’t an equal exchange. She took what she wanted from me without mercy, and her purpose had nothing to do with me. It was all about getting with child.”
“She hurt you,” Mariah said, as soft as a summer breeze.
“No.” He denied it as fast as he could, but his heart knew otherwise.
“You need to be loved, Peter.” Mariah started around the tomb, her eyes never leaving him. “That was one of the first things I noticed about you. It was the reason I knew I should marry you.”
He watched her approach with wary confusion. “It was?”
She nodded, reaching for his hands when she came close. “I’m sorry I lost sight of what I knew from the moment we had our first conversation.”
His confusion doubled, but so did the ache in his chest and the longing to take her into his arms. “I must seem pitiful to you.”
“No.” She shook her head, squeezing his hands. “You seem like a man who has tried very hard to be a good husband for a very long time. You seem like a man who takes responsibility for other people’s shortcomings, even when they are not your fault.” He tried to deny it, but she went on before he could find his voice. “You seem like a man who has worked thanklessly to keep the people close to him from harm. It’s not just Anne, it’s William too.”
Peter let out a wry huff and shook his head. “I was a fool to think I could guide him to be a better person.”
“You were an optimist,” she corrected him. “But William is his own man. You didn’t make him who he is. Just as I expect Anne was determined to destroy herself no matter how hard you tried to save her.”
His breath caught in his chest, and he stared at Mariah with a frown.
“Did you ever stop to think that Anne knew she would never have a child? That she knew further attempts would kill her?”
“I—” A burst of wind swirled through the trees around them. It felt as icy as December, not the pleasant June breeze that had been there only a moment before.
“You say that many doctors told you what would happen if the two of you continued to try for a child. Surely Anne listened to them. Perhaps she would rather have died trying than live without what she longed for. And if that was her aim, then nothing you could have done would have stopped her.”
Peter began to shake as Mariah’s words burrowed into him. Could Anne really have known what she was doing? And if he had shut her out of his bed, would she have found some other way to kill herself? He wasn’t sure if the prospect was comforting or horrifying. But for the first time, a tiny part of him considered just how powerless he had been in the situation, and with that came a dizzying sense of freedom.
It was short-lived, though.
“I haven’t been able to keep you safe from William’s machinations,” he said.
A wry grin tweaked the corner of her lips. “No, you haven’t. But William’s machinations will come to an end soon.”
“I don’t want to underestimate my nephew’s desperation,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “If he feels he’s cornered, he’ll still do whatever it takes to claim his place as my heir.”
“He can try,” Mariah went on, a mischievous light glittering in her eyes, “but he’ll have some fierce competition.”
“Competition never deterred William. He’ll drive the two of us to insanity in his efforts to keep us from conceiving. He’s already proven how low he’ll stoop to set us at odds wit
h each other.”
“He can try whatever he wants,” she said, her grin inexplicably triumphant. “But he’s already too late.”
“Don’t tell that to William. He’ll never give up, even if—”
He stopped. The whole world seemed to stop. Mariah smiled brighter, even as a tidal wave of emotions slammed into Peter. His chest squeezed so hard that he couldn’t breathe.
At last, he managed to ask in a hoarse voice, “Are you?”
Mariah nodded, her eyes shining with what he could only hope were happy tears. “At least, I think so. It’s still quite early, but when I told you I wasn’t in my right mind and that I haven’t felt like myself since arriving at Starcross, I was serious. I haven’t felt like myself because it’s extremely likely that I am two people at the moment.”
“Mariah,” he breathed out her name as though it were a prayer, then swept her into his arms.
The whole world seemed to blossom into a safe and beautiful haven as he hugged her close. It couldn’t possibly be true. It was too wonderful. And so soon. But there was something in the glow that radiated from her, something in the sensation that expanded quickly through him, telling him that all was right with the world, that made it undeniable.
“This is wonderful,” he said, unable to catch his breath as he loosened his hold on her. “But we have to be careful. So careful. Perhaps you should stay in bed.”
“For nine months?” she laughed.
“I’ll send the guests away. I’ll be with you every moment of every day. I’ll have Ginny stay with you whenever I can’t be there.”
“You can’t send William away,” Mariah said, her arms around his waist like she would never let go.
“Then we’ll go away,” he said. “Today. Right now. We’ll pack our things and leave. We should have left as soon as we returned home to find William here. We’ll go to the continent, to your parent’s house, to—”
“No.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But it isn’t safe here. Not with William—”
“This is my home now, Peter,” she said, half laughing, half scolding him. “This is where our child, our children, will be born. This is where they will grow up. I won’t let William chase me out of my own home, and now I understand why you have held your ground this whole time.”
December Heart Page 22