“Nonsense!” the elder of the two cried out. “Innkeeper, refill this man’s tankard immediately!”
Tarley, the innkeeper, nodded his head. If William had ordered the drink himself, his response would have been entirely different. As the ale was going on the tab of those that could pay, Tarley was a bit more amenable to it.
When the tankard was placed before him by the sweet-faced serving girl, William smiled, but he only had eyes for the drink before him. Taking a healthy swallow of the brew, he let out a heartfelt sigh. “My thanks to you, ma’am. Your generosity has done this old soldier a world of good!”
“Yes, yes! Of course. Now tell us about the doctor… is he a handsome man?”
The question had been posed by the younger of the two, though not by more than a decade. Still, it appeared she had a heart for romance, that one.
William grinned. “Oh, now, I wouldn’t be calling another man handsome would I? But you can ask Dora there… Dora, is the doctor a handsome man?”
The serving girl smiled that dreamy smile that always seemed to accompany mentions of the doctor to any of the womenfolk in town. “He’s the most handsome man I ever seen,” she said, her voice coming out like a soft, winsome sigh. “Hair as black as night, cutting a fine, tall figure of a man, he does. And gentle… oh, ladies. I watched him care for my little brother when he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Never seen a man so tender and careful with a child in my life.”
“There you have it, ladies,” William said, unwilling to share the spotlight for too long. “Now, where was I?”
“He was wading out into the waves to go and rescue her!”
“Yes, yes,” William agreed. “I held the rope tight, not wanting to let the good doctor be washed away as he fought Poseidon himself to save her! None of us could even see the woman, just a dark shape in the water. But that sure he was that she was out there!” Knowing that the ladies had a penchant for the romantic, William embellished more than a little. “It was like he could feel her, I think… knew her presence, he did. Like it was some sort of mystical connection!”
“Soulmates,” the woman whispered, wide eyed and wondrous. “Oh, heavens. Please tell me he saved her. After all that and for her to die in his arms, I couldn’t bear it!”
“He reached her and just in time. The waves were picking up, you see. The tide was coming in and in that cove, with them rocks, it’s a dangerous place to be. But he got to her, and he hauled that piece of wreckage with her splayed on it all the way back to the beach… with us, my brother and me, tugging on that rope to keep it tight and true. And that, ladies, is when the story became even more interesting…” William raised his tankard, drinking heavily until he could tip it up and let the last drops fall from it onto his lips.
“Innkeeper,” the older woman shouted again, “keep the ale coming for this poor gentleman. Why, I cannot imagine how anyone could utter such a tale of dashing bravery and not be thoroughly parched from it!”
William grinned, tipped his dirty hat in thanks and continued on. All the while, another man sat in the darkest corner, taking in the tale for all it was worth. He had no use for stories, but information was another matter entirely. And if Lady Ramsleigh had returned, then likely the new Lord Ramsleigh would want something done about it. Timothy Cobb had never wanted to work hard, but he didn’t mind working dirty when it was called for.
Smiling to himself, he listened to William’s vivid tale, carving out the bits and pieces of truth from the wildly embellished whole. When it was done, he tossed a coin on the table and rose, heading out into the darkness. Ramsgate Hall wasn’t far and the moon was high and bright in the sky to light his way.
The short walk cleared his head, lifting the fog of the numerous tankards of ale he’d indulged in. Reaching the house, he didn’t knock at the front. While he might have resented knocking at the servant’s entrance, his greed surpassed his pride in sin. It was the housekeeper that answered, her gray hair tucked up in a cap and a heavy, wool wrapper shrouded tightly about her. As if anyone would want the wrinkled goods it concealed, he thought with a bitter laugh.
“It’s late to be calling,” she scolded.
“I have some information for his lordship that will not wait. He’ll not be happy to hear it on the lips of every gossipmonger in this town on the morrow, now will he?” he replied.
“You can wait for him in the study, then,” she said. “I’ll send a footman to fetch him!”
Too dangerous to send a maid, he thought. Lord Ramsleigh did love to pluck the most reluctant fruit. Cobb tipped his hat to the housekeeper and walked past her into the darkened hall of the mausoleum that was Ramsgate. He’d never liked the place. It pressed in on a person, heavy and dark, like the grave it was for so many. Old Lord Ramsleigh had gone through three wives in that darkened tomb. Well, two at any rate, he corrected with a chuckle.
It was a long wait, long enough for him to have seated himself comfortably and nearly dozed off in one of the wing chairs that flanked the desk. The flick of a blade at this throat woke him quickly enough. Bringing his hand up, he touched the shallow cut there, his own blood coating his fingertips.
“That wasn’t called for, now was it?” he asked calmly.
Ramsleigh stood before him, cleaning the blade with his handkerchief. Dressed only in breeches and an open shirt, the man looked more pirate than nobleman. “That depends entirely upon your reasons for disturbing me at such an hour. They’d better be good, Cobb, or you’ll get more than a shaving nick.”
“William Wells won’t shut his gob,” Cobb said. “He’s telling tales to every traveler what passes through the inn and can buy him a pint. If you want to keep the return of your aunt quiet, you’ll need to shut him up quick.”
“And I assume you’ll want the job? And to be well compensated for it?” Ramsleigh queried.
“I might. And any other jobs what might come my way from it… a man’s got to eat, after all,” Cobb replied.
“Then you’ll shut Wells up, by any means necessary… and you’ll be borrowing his methods. I can’t kill her,” Ramsleigh said. “Not outright. It’s too suspicious. But this is a small village, poor and angry for it. They are rife with superstition and that anger and those backward beliefs are the tools we will use to end her miserable life.”
“I’m all ears, your lordship,” Cobb said.
“One simple word is all that will be required to turn the lot of them against her,” Ramsleigh said. “Witch.”
Cobb shook his head. “They won’t try anyone for witchcraft, my lord. It’s no longer a crime!”
“It wasn’t a trial I was after, Cobb, but a mob. Stir them up. Rile them to the point of action and then unleash them upon her!”
“The lot of them would hang for it in the end,” Cobb said.
“Do you honestly care?” Ramsleigh shot back.
Cobb shook his head. “Not a bit, your lordship. Just need to be certain all the cards is on the table, is all.”
“So long as they are effective in eliminating the threat of Viola Grantham, I’ve no qualms about sending half the inhabitants of this village to hell. See to it, Cobb. But eliminate Wells first. Perhaps, his unfortunate demise will be attributed to the very darkness that my aunt has brought back to Blackfield with her.”
“In other words, don’t shoot him. Make it look like the devil did it.”
Ramsleigh laughed. “My dear, Mr. Cobb, the devil did do it… we are simply his agents.”
Chapter Seven
Seated in the morning room, working to repair a piece of embroidery that Lady Beatrice had mangled beyond imagining, Viola was still wracked with indecision. Her wounds had largely healed. Even the lingering headaches had vanished. The only thing preventing her from acting upon her desire to pursue the handsome doctor was her own indecisive nature.
It had been two days since their pre-dinner stroll in the garden, two days since he’d told her of his desire for her and his lack of intent to seduce her—or at
the very least, his postponement of any intent to seduce her. He’d made it quite obvious that in order for any sort of seduction to begin, she would have to offer an express desire to be seduced by him. It wasn’t that she was uncertain of her desire. But she found the idea of having to profess such a thing to anyone had left her somewhat befuddled. What precisely did one say in such a situation?
“You appear to be quite deep in thought, my dear!”
The observation had come from Lady Agatha, whom Viola was quickly realizing missed little. Whatever ill health the lady might have suffered in the past appeared to have little to no impact on her current mental acuity. “I am very sorry, Lady Agatha. I fear my conversation has been very lacking this morning.”
“Nonsense, my dear! It is not your duty as a guest to entertain me… but as your hostess, it is my duty to see to your comfort. And it does appear to me that you are troubled. If I may be so bold, I might hazard a guess that it is our dear Dr. Warner who so occupies your mind.”
Viola could feel the blush stealing over her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean,” she denied quickly and unconvincingly.
Lady Agatha laughed softly. “My dear child, and I say this with complete affection, you are a terrible liar.”
Viola dropped the embroidery onto her lap. “He is a very handsome man. And more charming than he ought to be.”
“And you are more charmed than you think you ought to be,” Lady Agatha observed sagely.
Viola could feel the blush heating her cheeks as she nodded her agreement. “You must think me terribly wicked!”
“I think you delightful, my girl, but terribly unhappy. As for any wickedness, you are a widow, my dear. That affords you a great deal of freedom. So long as you are discreet, there is no reason that you should not live your life precisely as you please,” Lady Agatha said. “I understand that my advice might be somewhat shocking, but I—well, I knew enough about your husband to imagine that the marriage was not a happy one. As such, it would not surprise me if you did not wish to marry again. That does not mean you should be devoid of companionship forever.”
Deciding to be as candid as Lady Agatha had been, Viola replied, “I confess to having had those same thoughts myself, my lady, but I am entirely ignorant of how one undertakes such a thing! I am quite uncertain how to proceed.”
“I daresay if you provide the appropriate cues, he will be more than content to take the lead on the matter.”
Viola smiled. “This is a most irregular conversation.”
“This is a most irregular household, my dear,” Lady Agatha answered evenly. “We are too far removed from society here to care what its dictates are. Instead, I choose to care only for the happiness of this house’s inhabitants.”
There was much more to it than that, Viola realized. There was a sadness about Lady Agatha, a worldliness as well. She was a woman with a past, too. Emboldened by that realization, Viola confided, “My husband was… he was not a kind man. If he possessed a shred of gentleness in his soul, I certainly never bore witness to it. I admit to having an attraction to the doctor, Lady Agatha, but I’m enjoying being attracted to him far more than I imagine I will enjoy being his lover.’
Lady Agatha put down her embroidery, placing it in her lap with care. She was quiet for a long moment, obviously considering her answer with great care. “It is unfortunate that young women are so sheltered that they have no notion what to expect before marriage. I understand that knowledge leads to temptation and temptation to ruin… but someone should have spoken with you frankly beforehand. If he was rough with you, or even cruel, that is a product of his own twisted desires and has nothing to do with what would typically take place between willing and, I daresay, eager participants. What you experienced at the brutish hands of your husband will have little or no similarity to what could take place between you and Dr. Warner.”
“Nicholas—” Viola stopped herself abruptly. It was terribly inappropriate to refer to him so familiarly. Even with the conversation they were having, it seemed to her a terrible faux pas. “Dr. Warner appears to be a very kind man. I do not think he is at all similar to my late husband either in temperament or behavior… but I am also not the hopeful girl I was before I married Percival. I am very much afraid, Lady Agatha, that the issue is not Dr. Warner at all. It’s simply me and all the doubts and fears I cannot allay.”
Lady Agatha reached over and placed her hand over Viola’s. “Nicholas was my husband’s name. Did I tell you that?” At a shake of Viola’s head, she continued. “I was, in my youth, a terrible wife—and an unfaithful one. The very inappropriate man to whom I gave my affections could well have ruined us all and possibly sent us to the gallows. I was wicked and yet my husband forgave me. He loved me, even when I had failed him so terribly. I say this to you now, Viola, to tell you that there is great deal in your Nicholas that reminds me of my own. He is not kind because he expects things in return, or because he thinks it will sway you to what he desires. He is kind because it is who he is. He will be patient with you, because that, too, is who he is. Do not let fear keep you from love, my dear, even if it is a fleeting sort of love.”
“He doesn’t love me and I don’t know if I can let myself love him.”
Lady Agatha laughed. “My dear, you say that as if you have a choice! We do not choose to love. Love chooses us!”
Viola was allowing that knowledge to sink in, basking in the reassurance and the hope that had been offered, when the butler entered. “There is a visitor, my lady,” he said, “For Lady Ramsleigh.”
“Who is it?” Lady Agatha asked.
“He will not give his name, my lady. But insists on speaking with Lady Ramsleigh immediately,” the butler replied, clearly offended by the presence of such a rude individual.
“It could only be one of two people,” Viola reasoned. She was rather proud of how calm and serene her voice sounded, at least to her own ears. Especially since she was quaking with fear inside. “It will be my nephew-by-marriage, the new Lord Ramsleigh, or it will be my father, here it his behest.”
“Show him in,” Lady Agatha commanded. When the butler was gone, she said, “If it is your father, I will leave you. If it is Lord Ramsleigh, I will not. Also, I will ring for extra footmen to be present lest he shares similar violent tendencies to his uncle.”
“Lady Agatha, his violent tendencies surpass his uncle’s,” Viola answered honestly. “If my husband was a brute, then his nephew is nothing short of a monster.”
A moment later, an older and distinguished-looking gentleman stepped into the room. His disapproving frown and cold gaze settled on Viola instantly. “I see it is true,” he said.
“Hello, Father. And yes, it is true. I am very much alive… though I strongly suspect you were well aware of that,” she answered. He had written her in Aberdeen, after all, informing her that she would never again be welcome in his home and that he and her mother had disowned her entirely. He’d spoken at length of the shame she’d brought to him, of disobedience and willfulness, selfishness, and a complete lack of care for the dishonor of her family. Meanwhile, he’d sold her to a man thrice her age who had already buried two wives under mysterious circumstances.
“You should not have returned,” he snapped. “It would have been better for all concerned had you simply stayed dead!”
“Well, I did not… nor do I have any intention of returning to Scotland and rusticating on a farm. I am the widow of Lord Ramsleigh. As such, I am entitled to the inheritance my grandfather left me… or whatever remains after my husband squandered so much of it.”
“You abandoned him! You broke the marriage contract. I daresay the current Lord Ramsleigh could take this to the courts and have every single sovereign awarded to him!”
“I did not abandon my husband… I fled his abuse in order to protect my unborn child,” she answered just as forcefully. “Randall is only Lord Ramsleigh for as long as Tristan is not here to claim the title. When he arrives, Randall will find himself
deposed and I will take over the running of Ramsgate Hall and all of the Ramsleigh holdings until such time as my son is able to see to them for himself.”
If she’d wanted to shock him, she’d certainly succeeded. His face paled considerably and his breathing took on a ragged quality. She thought he might very well be having apoplexy. Even worse, she had to admit that a part of her wanted him to. She had never loved her father, but she hadn’t hated him. Not until the truth of his involvement in the false declaration of death had been confirmed.
“Yes… I have a son. He is but a year old and was conceived before I left for Scotland—before you and my husband declared to the world that I had died so that he could save face and you could get a portion of the money my grandfather had left in trust for me,” she continued. It was purely conjecture on her part, but his motive was entirely confirmed as his gaze narrowed and his lips pulled back in an expression that could only be described as feral. “Did you think I was too stupid to understand your motives? That I wouldn’t be able to see your greed at work in all of this? Percival was all bluster and temper. He’d have searched to the ends of the earth if for no other reason than to drag me back and punish me for what I had done. It was you who convinced him to do otherwise by appealing to his greed!”
“You will not speak to me that way!” he shouted in response, his face purpling with rage.
“I had not thought to speak to you at all,” Viola answered evenly. “Your only contact with me following my leaving Ramsgate Hall was to state emphatically that I was dead to you. I find it best for all around if we leave matters in just that way. Good day, Father.”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to see that you and your bastard child get not a penny! Do you understand me?”
Viola smiled, but it was a cold expression, mirroring one that she’d seen on his face for most of her life. “Far better than I’d like to. Please do not make me ask the servants to throw you out… I’d prefer it, as would Lady Agatha, no doubt, if you’d leave of your own accord.”
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh Page 7