Lina still could not speak, and the tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks.
“Are you unhappy?” Dr. Doyle asked, with concern.
Lina shook her head furiously, and the tears did fall to her cheeks. She wiped them impatiently away. “No, no!” she said, sniffing. “I’m so very...”
But she could not find the right word for what she was, so instead, she collapsed into Dr. Doyle’s waiting arms, and he kissed away her tears.
* * *
It all seemed like a fairy tale, at least momentarily.
By the afternoon, Mr. Blackstone had retreated to his study to handle his many business affairs and had promised to arrange a rapid wedding ceremony. She would be married to Mr. Blackstone, for he was the holder of the greater fortune between the two men, and they desired that she be taken care of should anything befall him. The wedding would be quaint, and essentially private, but as Mr. Blackstone had struggled with how best to convey the end of their wedding arrangements and Lina’s subsequent delivery to Mr. Laroui in a manner that would have been acceptable to society and Lina’s guardians, it had not yet been announced. Since he was a renowned eccentric, they would merely be required to announce that the wedding had taken place, and all concerned could assume that no uncomfortable questions would be asked of them.
“Besides,” Dr. Doyle had assured her with a smile, “Mr. Blackstone is in possession of such wealth that few are willing to question his choices, particularly with regard to what appears to be a conventional marriage.”
And so Lina had remained, blissfully assured of her good fortune and feeling very much in love—however strange a love it may have been—to take tea with Dr. Doyle in the conservatory.
Dr. Doyle was ever so much more of a conversationalist and interested in discussing his very many interesting adventures as a doctor. Lina was pleasantly surprised to find that he did not consider any topics inappropriate to share with a woman, and was beginning to realize that her fortune extended beyond that of mere financial security, for between the two men she had ample delights awaiting her: the intellectual stimulation of conversation with Dr. Doyle, from whom she could learn ever so much, as well as his tenderness and patience. Mr. Blackstone was a darker and more tempestuous man, but she could not deny that he inflamed in her a far more profound physical passion, and that she loved him very much precisely for his darkness and mystery. She even found herself confessing as much to Dr. Doyle, who explained to her that this shared care and love, which encompassed all of these gifts for her, was even better than a traditional marriage. She could not agree more, nor could she really believe the great fortune that had been bestowed upon her.
No sooner had she settled into this blissful state of acceptance, however, than it seemed it might all be torn away from her.
“I should be very happy, if you wish, my dear Lina, to instruct you in whatever may interest you of medicine, or biology,” Dr. Doyle was telling her. “Perhaps we could even—”
“Dr. Doyle, sir, I beg your pardon for the interruption,” a butler said, hurrying into the conservatory at that precise moment. “Mr. Blackstone has asked that I request your presence forthwith, as a Mr. Laroui has arrived unexpectedly and the matter requires your attention.”
Lina bristled, and her eyes went wide. She had forgotten about the “Laroui,” to whom she had been promised.
Dr. Doyle reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “My sweet Lina, worry not,” he told her quietly. To the butler, he barked, “Assure Mr. Blackstone that I shall meet with our guest promptly.”
He waited for the butler to leave before turning to Lina. He stroked her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand and pulled her face close to his by the chin. “Do not be worried, my sweet Lina,” he told her, before kissing her with passion. “We have agreed upon a plan to console Mr. Laroui, and whatever his reaction may be, we shall not give you up to him, at any cost. I apologize that I must interrupt this lovely afternoon with you. Please stay here, enjoy your tea, and I shall return in due time.”
Lina smiled for him, though her heart felt as though it had been flung again into the heavens. The doctor excused himself just as a maid entered the room with a sumptuous cake they had decided to share, which Dr. Doyle instructed Lina to enjoy alone.
The conservatory had a lovely view of the immense gardens, and a bookcase with several dry books in it. She enjoyed the view and entertained herself with the books as the sky darkened and the gas lamps magically lighted themselves—a trick she should very much like to learn more about. But as the minutes became hours and time seemed to move even more slowly than normal, her heart sunk with each passing second and she found herself dismal and anxious. The maids and butlers had not returned, and she supposed that she was forgotten.
She left the conservatory in search of a powder room, for she was fairly certain that she knew her way about this wing of the estate sufficiently to locate such a room and return. Once in the corridors, however, curiosity overcame Lina, and she began to open doors to peer inside the enormous and richly decorated rooms, if only for the sheer joy of seeing such interesting and beautiful things.
After a few rooms, she quite forgot herself, and her troubles. The thought flitted through her mind that she was being a bit naughty, but it was such fun and so in her nature to go on adventures, that she quite handily dismissed the thoughts. After all, she would soon be married to Mr. Blackstone and the estate would be hers, and Dr. Doyle had told her that she would be free to explore as she wished, provided that she followed all of the rules Mr. Blackstone would set forth. If she did not, he had added with a gleam in his eyes, she would of course be disciplined.
Lina did not find discipline to be a very good deterrent; she might even break rules purposely in order to receive such delightful “discipline.” For she was coming to understand herself, and what she wanted and needed, and was no longer ashamed of her own proclivities... at least not as ashamed as she was upon her arrival.
She was turned around and quite lost, and thinking of the burning spanking that she would receive with great pleasure after she was discovered. Seeing nothing she recognized, she entered a great room that appeared to be a ballroom and was marveling at the interior of richly painted frescoes and a massive chandelier in the dim light, when she heard the voices. They were muffled, and it took her some time to discover that a service hallway was behind a cleverly disguised door in the far corner of the great room.
She opened it without hesitation, for that was her nature. When she did, she heard the voices more distinctly: she recognized Mr. Blackstone’s voice, though it was inflamed by a far greater passion than she had ever heard. He seemed quite angry, which reassured her momentarily. Another voice spoke, and she could not make out what it said, and then another.
She crept down the stairs, for the voices became louder as she did, and when she reached the end of the flight of stairs in the very narrow passageway, she understood that the voices were coming from behind the door at the bottom.
She hesitated but a moment, before placed her ear against the door.
A man was speaking in a foreign tongue of great complexity, and he spoke for a long time. She guessed this was the infamous Laroui, for he was a foreigner. She could make nothing of what he said and despaired of overhearing the conversation in full. After all, it concerned her future. She lingered, and just as she was about to turn away, she very distinctly heard the voice of Dr. Doyle.
His voice grew louder as he spoke, indicating that he was nearing the door, so Lina listened as long as she felt she could, but when his voice was quite close to the door, her heart was beating so fast and she became gripped by such fear and panic that she fled as soundlessly as she possibly could, back to the ballroom, shutting the door behind her quickly and quietly. In the ballroom, which had become considerably darker, the blue light closed in upon her and her rushing blood filled her ears with a tinny ringing. For she had heard, before fleeing, Dr. Doyle very distinctly saying:
/> “Perhaps, then, we could come to an arrangement. Perhaps... we could... if we consent, allow the Moulay to take his pleasure with Miss Blanchet before our wedding, then the Moulay might see fit to forgive the debt...”
Lina closed her eyes, as if doing so would remove the echo of Dr. Doyle’s words from her mind. For a moment, she tried to believe that she had heard him incorrectly, or that the voice was not his own. But it was his voice, and she had heard him clearly, and he had hesitated as he spoke, as though he were thinking out loud.
Hot tears welled up in Lina’s eyes. She was crushed, and as they spilled to her cheeks and ran down her face, she allowed herself a moment of self-pity. She teetered in the ringing silence on the verge of utter despair. She had been so certain, so believing, so trusting—the two men had spun such an intricate web of deceit, and she wanted to believe it.
Her heart hardened suddenly.
She had been a fool to believe it.
She opened her eyes and stared into the dark ballroom. Was this to be her life forever, in a gilded cage, striving for the affection and love she had been promised, but given away to wealthy friends as a favor? They could not truly love her as they had promised if they considered doing such a thing.
A sort of panic overtook her. It was not like anything she had ever experienced before. She did not feel as though she would faint, or even as though she might lose control. Instead, her mind became sharply focused as her heart closed up, and she was several moves ahead of herself as she methodically—quickly, but methodically—walked at almost a dead run, into the corridors, her mind always on the next turn, on the way to leave a labyrinth, on the outside light, on descending the stairs, on finding hidden doors, on how to find the carriage house she had seen on her walks, on where the kitchen might be so that she could steal food.
And so, drawing upon her years of experience sneaking about the vast ruins of Green Grove, she managed to find the servant’s quarters, take from the kitchens several loaves of bread and the coat of an unfortunate maid. And then, with the same determined quickness, she stole toward the carriage house, though what she would do there, she was not entirely certain.
Chapter Eighteen
Doyle had become quite tired of translating for the implacable Moulay Laroui by the time Mongrave interrupted their meeting, which had, by that time, become at least neutral in tone, with Laroui willing to accept the settlement they had been hashing out for several hours. Doyle had not realized how much time had passed until Mongrave burst in, apologetically, bowing, and with a most serious expression upon his face.
“I beg your pardon, good sirs, Moulay,” he said gravely, “but a most urgent matter has arisen which requires the presence of Master Doyle.”
Mongrave was a seasoned butler of the most impeccable type; he would not interrupt for all but the most urgent of matters. That he did so with the regal tone he imparted was all showmanship: Doyle immediately intuited that something quite terrible had happened, and in his heart he felt it must have to do with Lina, though he could not say why.
Blackstone, who had grown quite annoyed with Laroui, seemed to sense the same. He glowered at Mongrave for a moment, as though appraising whether the time-honored traditions of Mongrave’s family might have suddenly evaporated in fecklessness, and having concluded that such behavior was impossible, he said, “Mongrave, Dr. Doyle is unfortunately quite occupied, as he is the linguist of the two of us and must remain here to interpret for the Moulay. Are you quite certain this matter requires only the attentions of Dr. Doyle, or can I not attend to it?”
For the first time in Doyle’s recollection, Mongrave was at a loss for a few moments. But he recovered quickly. “Sir, I believe such a decision should be informed by your own discretion, but I assure you that one or the other of you is required most urgently.”
Doyle glared at Blackstone as he left, but knew enough of Mongrave’s discretion and training to conclude that a scene should not be made, and the man had faithfully communicated that only one of them should attend to the matter. Naturally, Doyle concluded with his sharp mind that something must be happening which in some way involved Laroui, and he only hoped it was not something damaging to the Moulay’s mood or means of transport, for Doyle was quite anxious to rid the estate of this guest as soon as possible.
* * *
“It is Miss Blanchet, sir,” Mongrave told Blackstone as soon as the two had walked briskly to a landing far from the study, where they could not be heard. Mongrave, impassive as stone, betrayed no emotion as he spoke. “I’m afraid the stable hand was asked to saddle a horse for her and was concerned that something inappropriate might perchance be taking place, as Miss Blanchet requested that one of Moulay Laroui’s horses be prepared for her to ride.”
Blackstone furrowed his brow, finding he had nothing, immediately, to say.
“And of course, it is very dark,” Mongrave added.
Blackstone could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Doyle had conveyed to him that the afternoon had been lovely with Miss Blanchet, that she seemed very content and spoke continuously about how happy she was.
“And where is Miss Blanchet now, Mongrave?”
Mongrave, who could not hide the glimmer of a prideful smile for his own discretion and forethought, bowed slightly. “I instructed the stable hand to take his time preparing another horse for Miss Blanchet, until you or Master Doyle arrived to speak to Miss Blanchet. They are, as such, in the stable.”
Blackstone could not help himself, for he had not always been a wealthy man, and he had spent so much time as a soldier, that he occasionally forgot his position and those of other men. He tapped Mongrave lightly on the shoulder twice. “Good man,” he told him.
The butler, ever the bastion of refined behavior, did not react. Blackstone would not have known, however, for he was making his way down the stairs two at a time to see about Miss Blanchet.
* * *
She knew he had come to the stables before she even saw him. It was as if everything in the stables, from the horses to the bales of straw, sensed his imposing presence and bent to his will. A hush fell over the place.
She didn’t bother calling out to the stable hand; his treachery was now making sense to her. He had been so willing to help her, so trustful of her story. He had just needed to send someone back to the house for something, and then he had been so incompetent and slow. Of course, he had only been stalling, keeping her busy, waiting for someone to alert Mr. Blackstone.
And now, she realized with an ever-sinking heart and a coldness that was flowing through her veins like icy springtime water, she was trapped, and he was coming for her.
She waited, her hand on the magnificent horse she had chosen to steal. He was the only light-colored horse in the stable and had somehow seemed more friendly and easy to handle than all the enormous black horses that filled the other stalls.
The enormous black beasts, however, ceased their stomping and unease as the footsteps of Mr. Blackstone neared the stall where she remained, her breath caught in her throat, with her hand on the steel-colored horse. She saw his hand reach out to one of them, and the horse nuzzled his palm as he passed.
But still. Still, she reminded herself. He really was a monster, and so was his “friend” Doyle, and she was not going to be passed about to foreign men. On this matter she was resolute, no matter how hurt she was, she would not show him, and she would not bend to his will.
He was suddenly in the light of the stable, his face stern, caught in a window of light instead of the shadows as he had always presented himself to her. She jutted out her chin, furious with him, and furious with Doyle, ready to tell him to go straight to hell.
But his blue eyes, though she knew it was a trick of the light, looked tender, and it caught her off guard. The hot tears she so desperately wanted to be anger spilled from her eyes and she knew, when they did, that she was hurt. She didn’t want him to see that, so she let them spill without wiping them away. These, she told herself, wer
e tears of defiance and anger and she would not wipe them away.
The words were trapped in her chest, but she was pushing them up, forcing herself to say them.
But Mr. Blackstone spoke first.
“Lina.”
His voice was not what she had expected, even if she could not be certain of what she expected at all. It was all that he said, dripping with tenderness, and it broke her apart into a million pieces. A sob left her throat, and she could not hide her misery. She knew he would hear it, and she wanted to hide it from him, hide her foolishness for having loved and trusted him so absurdly—and for being, at this moment, so capable of retreating to that same love and trust.
But she knew what she had heard, and so her weak desire made her angry enough that she was she was able to spit:
“I will not be passed around like a whore, Mr. Blackstone, I shall have you know. And now I am leaving, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!”
Even as she said this, she was aware that it was untrue: Mr. Blackstone, whose strength she had felt so often, could easily stop her from leaving. But he could not stop her from leaving in the abstract sense. She would leave in her mind and seek a way to escape forever. She would not be a fool again.
He did not do what she expected. Through the blur of her hot tears she thought he wore an expression she had never expected to see on him: confusion. His brow was furrowed, his lips drawn in a frown, and he shook his head. “Lina, my dear, sweet Lina, whatever—?”
“Don’t! Don’t attempt to...to... assuage me with your... your... lies, and your... your... oh, just do not!”
“But Lina, please help me to understand what has overcome you!”
Lina shook her head. “I have been such a fool to believe you, and believe Dr. Doy... Doyle...” As she said his name, returning to the formal surname they had bade her to dismiss in place of their first names, a sob was caught in her throat again. Dr. Doyle had seemed even more caring than Mr. Blackstone, and it was he who had spoken of her so... carelessly.
Theirs to Train: A Victorian Menage Romance Page 18