A Lady Unrivaled

by Roseanna M. White

  Rushworth stood stock-still. Staring at him, hard and cold and calm, a million silent thoughts ticking away behind his eyes. An inhale, an exhale, a blink. Then a low, “It doesn’t matter. Your time is up—you’ve lost your chance. She’s too good for the likes of you.”

  “Indeed.” And look at that—something on which Brook, Cayton, and Rushworth all agreed.

  His door slammed behind his uninvited guest, all Cayton’s feigned energy extinguishing with the draft. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the carved wood of his wardrobe. It bit. He didn’t move. Lord God . . . help us.

  Rushworth’s angry footsteps faded away. Down the stairs. Down more stairs, toward the servants’ quarters. Looking for his valet, perhaps, or checking on his sister, who wouldn’t be budged from Felicity’s side.

  The room where Tabby was with Addie.

  Cayton let out a breath. He had to get his daughter out of this house. He’d send her to his mother, but she and Aunt Caro could be heading home any time. He needed a different way. A way to keep everyone safe. And the only way to achieve that one way was to admit what he’d been denying.

  Ella. He had to rely on Ella, trust Ella. Love Ella. Because if it worked, if everyone stayed safe, lived through this, she wouldn’t let him off the hook when it was all said and done.

  And . . . he didn’t want her to. He had to protect her from himself, yes—but maybe he’d had it all wrong. Maybe the only way to make sure he didn’t hurt her was to stay by her side. To guarantee that when she ached, he ached with her. To know that if her smiles faded, he could cajole them back.

  What were those words he had read the other day at Ralin, with Stafford? From the fifth chapter of Romans—words that had brought Ella surging to his thoughts, to his heart. “And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.”

  Hope. If it could take a physical form, it would have brilliant red hair and laughing cider eyes. And it would bid him believe that God loved him this much, enough to entrust him with the gift of her heart. That the Spirit could overcome his failings, could check him before he destroyed that fragile hope.

  Or no, it wasn’t fragile at all. It was linked to the very love of God. That made it the strongest thing in the world.

  For the first time in his memory, light suffused his spirit, and he sank down onto his bed with the sure knowledge that this was right. That he could be what the Lord called him to be, with His help. That he could love, and accept love in return. He could be more than a good father. He could be a good husband.

  He knew what he had to do.

  Twenty-Five

  Foul moods didn’t suit her, but Ella couldn’t escape this one’s fangs. She hadn’t ventured out of her room since the argument in the library yesterday. She had wanted to—had wanted to go outside and let the rain wash it all away. She’d wanted to wander to the wood and pray. She’d wanted to get lost . . . and maybe to find her hope in the wilds.

  But she kept hearing Brook in her head, chiding her for venturing out alone, unarmed. She kept seeing Cayton’s irritated face when he’d found her on that first rainy walk.

  She kept seeing Stella, madness in her eyes.

  Ella pulled her knees up and leaned her head against the window, looking out at the weak sunshine trying to chase away the night’s clouds. What if she was wrong? What if Cayton didn’t love her, and she’d made a fool of herself yesterday? What if he really did intend to just let her walk away? What if his kiss had been nothing but pretense and a bit of physical attraction?

  What if he wasn’t the man God intended for her?

  The thought made her heart twist and groan. So many things she’d been wrong about in her life, but it might just destroy her if this was one of them. If he didn’t love her as she did him. . . .

  She closed her eyes against the gaining sunlight and felt the cold of the glass pane against her forehead more than the meager touch of warmth on the rest of her face. Maybe she should just go home. Let this past month’s memories fade into nothing. Let someone else deal with the diamond business, since no one wanted to include her anyway. Admit that she was always wrong about everything that counted.

  God? She wanted to pray, but she couldn’t find any words. Just a silent cry deep inside. A begging. A plea to know, to be sure, one way or another.

  The sunlight shifted, painting colors through her eyelids. Transforming them into shapes. She saw autumn leaves in reds and golds and oranges. Falling, gliding through the sky like dancers upon an invisible stage. Rolling hills, the dusky green of cool weather, behind them. A man, smiling, dressed in his best. Dark hair, green eyes.

  Her heart sighed.

  A girl. Dark hair, blue eyes. Addie, but a bit older than Addie. Standing steadily. No, walking. Running. Chasing a butterfly, pure rapture on her face.

  And a woman. She wore white, a perfect match to the lone cloud drifting through the sky. A veil in her auburn hair. A smile on her face.

  Contentment.

  A dream, that was all. The hope she’d clung to, put to pictures.

  Ridiculous, unattainable pictures.

  A light tap sounded, bidding her raise her head, even as the door opened with the silence of the staff. Ella looked over, saw a maid she didn’t recognize, and failed to summon the energy for a smile.

  The girl dipped a quick curtsy and kept her gaze on the floor. “Excuse me, milady. The duchess sent me to inquire if you’d join her on a ride. She said she’d await you at the stables.”

  A ride? Ella glanced out at the muddy landscape, which would have deterred most people from such exercise. Not Brook, of course . . . but was she really feeling up to it? And didn’t Stafford do his best to dissuade her from such things while she was with child? What if she just wanted to argue more? It didn’t sit right.

  But perhaps it was a peace offering. She pushed aside the disquiet and forced herself to her feet. “Very well. Tell her I’ll be down as soon as I ring for my maid to assist me into my habit.”

  The girl flushed. “I could help you, milady. . . . That is, if you’d allow it. I’m only a housemaid at the moment, but I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

  Ella’s lips tugged up a bit. The girl seemed nervous—at speaking so to her? Perhaps it was experience she could use for advancement, small as it would be. “All right. If you could just help me with my buttons.”

  It would have been quicker to ring for the borrowed lady’s maid. The girl’s fingers shook so badly it took a solid two minutes to manage all the buttons down Ella’s back. But she gave her another smile and then slipped out of the day dress, into her riding habit.

  She had no reason to feel such dread in the pit of her stomach as she considered walking down the stairs. No reason to narrow her eyes at the young maid’s retreating back as they both stepped into the hall and the girl scurried away. No reason to want to slam back into her room and let Brook take her ride by herself.

  A year ago she would have obeyed the feeling, reasonable or not. But what did such reactions ever get her but the chiding of her friends and family? “Silly Ella,” they’d all say, “letting her emotions rule her like a child.”

  Her fingers curled into her palm. Very well then—she’d trust reason above her own judgment. She’d face her stubborn friend. She’d listen to whatever words she wanted to say. She’d reasonably, logically decide which of those words to take to heart and which to dismiss.

  Determination fueled her quick steps along the hall, down the stairs, toward the door. But then her feet came to a halt when voices reached her from the drawing room. Quite a few voices. All talking over each other. All familiar. But not all where they ought to be. Wondering if she’d somehow stepped through the looking glass, she walked in a daze to the drawing room door.

  “Ella-bell!” Arms came around her and lifted her off her feet, her brother’s laugh filling her ears. “Late riser today?”

  “Brice.” Brice? She shook her head
, but the vision didn’t change. It was still his brown eyes, his dimpled grin, his voice prattling on about train rides. She pulled away. “What are you doing here? I’d have thought Rowena—”

  “Wouldna let him come on his own?” Her sister-in-law stepped away from Brook and Stafford, who’d been blocking the view of her, with open arms. “Ye ken me well.”

  Ella hugged her too, though she couldn’t draw all that close, given the enormity of Rowena’s stomach. She had most assuredly stumbled into Wonderland. “What are you . . . ? You’re due any day! You’ve been having pains, he said. You shouldn’t be traveling.”

  Brice grunted. “Thank you. Had she listened to that . . .”

  Rowena sent her silver eyes heavenward. “Aye, and ye would have been so much happier had I stayed home, had the bairn, and ye missed it. We’re together. As we should be.”

  “You . . .” Ella pressed a hand to her temple and thought to glance at Brook. Who, beneath the obvious concern for Rowena and the hint of green at it being morning, looked rather smug. Ella’s spine snapped straight. “What are either of you doing here?”

  Brice smiled and slung his hands in his pockets, as if she were silly enough to fall for his charm. “Can’t a man come to see his sister and friends?”

  “When his wife is due to have a baby any minute? No.” Ella spun on Brook. “You called him. You called my brother to force me home, when you knew—” Words failed her, so she settled for an exasperated growl and stomped closer to her interfering hostess. “I can’t believe you!”

  “What I can’t believe”—Brice put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back again—“is that my sister would make such a nuisance of herself that her hostess had to ask someone to remove her from her home. Really, Ella.”

  “Oh, shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you—” Brice’s hand was too heavy, wouldn’t let her move. She pointed at Brook instead. “How can you speak of independence as you do and then sic my brother on me?”

  Brook crossed her arms over her chest. “Ella, I love you too much to see you hurt. You’re going home. You’re leaving the diamonds here. We’ll take care of it.”

  “Diamonds.” Brice hissed out a breath and let go her shoulder. “Ella . . . you brought the earrings with you?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Well of course I brought the earrings with me. Though to be sure, I wouldn’t have had anyone ever bothered to tell me what they really were!”

  “And now the Rushworths are here. And they know she has them,” Brook added.

  Rowena drew in a sharp breath. Assuming it of shock or concern, Ella turned on her, fully prepared to assure her she had it in hand.

  But Rowena was staring at nothing, a hand on her abdomen. After a bare moment, though, she seemed to realize the conversation had ground to a halt and waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Dinna mind me.”

  Brice was checking his watch. “Half an hour. It was forty minutes last time. They’re closer.”

  “And it was twenty the time before that. It’s nothing.”

  “I told you that you shouldn’t have come.” Brice brushed past Ella to put an arm around his wife. “You need to sit. Better yet, go and lie down for a while. They ease up when you do. You can rest while Ella packs, and then we’ll be back on the train. Home again soon enough.”

  Ella pressed her fingers to her temples. “I am not going home!”

  “Here.” Brook hurried toward the sofa and arranged a few decorative pillows. “Rest here for now, Rowena. I can’t believe you came. I couldn’t be budged from the house when my time was near.”

  “They are false contractions, the doctor said. And if they become real . . . I willna have this bairn alone.” She sank onto the couch, but it was more discomfort than pain on her face.

  “Of course not. We’re in this together, darling.” Brice sat beside her, her hand in his. “Ella, go and pack. Now.”

  “No.” They weren’t listening, of course. They never listened. If they had, she wouldn’t be here with someone else’s red diamonds, with criminals paying her court, with a sister-in-law who traveled all this way when she shouldn’t have, so that she could stay by the side of a brother who oughtn’t to have ever left home.

  Ella didn’t know whether to cry or shout.

  Brook handed Rowena another pillow. “You might have to drag her out. Cayton’s involved, and she thinks she’s in love with him.”

  Shout. She definitely wanted to shout. Except that she’d no more than parted her lips before Brice spun on his seat, eyes wide. “What? Ella hasn’t even met Cayton.”

  Perhaps she would try her hand at throwing things too. “Right. Because I’m all the time falling in love with people I’ve never met.”

  Her brother’s eyes locked with hers. “You are, rather. Every single romantic story has you sighing over the hero, and—”

  “Stop it, all of you!” She had a feeling it wasn’t her volume that silenced them all so much as the sob that rose with it. She swallowed it down. “I know the difference between a romantic story and love, you idiot. I’m not going home. I’m sorry you came all this way, when . . . and she’s . . . I’m sorry. But I’m not.”

  Brook stepped her way.

  She backed up. “And you just stay out of it!” She spun on her heel and dashed from the house, ran all the way to the stables. A groom was just bringing out the horses—Star, the one she’d been riding since Whitby left with Tempesta, and another she didn’t recognize. Perhaps Brook had actually listened to Stafford and wouldn’t ride Oscuro while with child.

  Well, she wasn’t going to ride with Brook anyway. “The duchess isn’t coming.”

  The groom opened his mouth, something that mixed alarm with confusion in his eyes, but it snapped away quickly, replaced by a smile. “Shall I accompany you, milady?”

  No. She felt the word resonate inside. Her own stubborn desire for time alone, no doubt. Well, she wouldn’t be foolish. She wouldn’t, no matter how much she wanted to just gallop off into the wood and see where the horse led her. It would just give her family and friends more fuel, another reason to force her into their way. She bit back the refusals clamoring and nodded.

  The groom helped her mount, mounted himself on the second horse, and took off into the lead while Ella was still positioning her skirts. “This way, milady. I know just the spot to show you.”

  Her spirit strained for the wood, the trees, where the weak sunshine would be painting greens through the leaves and the branches would whisper solace to her.

  He headed the opposite direction, toward the rolling hills that led to the road, the village. But perhaps there was some little oasis of peace that way she hadn’t discovered yet.

  They trotted for a few minutes parallel to the drive, and the ride did nothing to soothe her. She needed solitude. Trees. Perhaps the river. This was wrong, all wrong. Then he led her into a copse of trees. It was pretty enough, but not enough. She could hear a cart driving by on the main road, and even the rumble of an engine.

  “This way.” The groom sent her a tight smile and motioned to the right.

  The engine sound grew louder. Ella reined her mount to a halt, resistance making her stomach tight. “I don’t care to head toward the road. I would prefer—”

  “We don’t much care what you’d prefer.”

  Before she could do more than part her lips, rough hands grabbed her and jerked her down from the horse. Before she could draw in air to scream, fingers clamped over her mouth.

  A click. A cold circle pressed to her temple. She turned her eyes just a bit and saw that, yes, it was a pistol pressed to her head. Images of Stella, gun in hand, flashed before her eyes.

  She may be sick.

  The groom turned his horse around, but he made no shout. His bearing held no panic. “My money?”

  Dread sank in her stomach. Of course. Brook hadn’t been dressed to ride—the second horse had never been for her. It had all been a ploy, a plot. Get Ella outside, tell her
the duchess was too sick after all, offer to take her instead. They wouldn’t have expected her to even run into anyone in the house. And the groom obviously had no intentions of telling anyone where she was. He’d say she took off on her own, and everyone would assume she was out on one of her larks. It would be hours—hours before they came looking for her.

  Crunching leaves signaled a new arrival, and Rushworth soon appeared through the trees. “Did you cut the phone lines too?”

  The groom nodded.

  Rushworth tossed a little pouch at him. “There you are, then. Split it with your girl and leave the area, as we discussed.”

  His girl. The maid.

  The man holding her chuckled. “Nice little spitfire you got there, by the way. I greatly enjoyed convincing her to help.”

  Fury blazed up in the groom’s eyes, but he banked it, pocketed the pouch, grabbed Star’s reins, and dug his heels into the horse’s flank without another word.

  Father God . . . Lord above . . . God in heaven. Help me.

  The arms holding her relaxed, moved. But the gun didn’t leave her temple, just traced a path to between her eyebrows as the man moved in front of her. A face appeared behind the gun, showcasing a wave of brown hair and a smile that would have been handsome had he not been baring so many teeth at her. “In the car with you now, love. Hurry up.” He leaned closer, close enough that she could see something in his eyes that was more animal than human. “Or don’t. Put up a fight. It won’t please Rush, but it would sure please me.”

  Even in her madness, Stella had never looked like that. Ella couldn’t stop the shiver, even though it made him laugh.

  Rushworth took another step toward them. “Dorsey, do stop terrifying the poor girl. My apologies, Lady Ella. I hate having to unleash him on you, but he is . . . very effective.”

  Unleash the monster. Ella had assumed Catherine meant a monster within her brother. It had never once occurred to her that he kept one as a pet. Knowing she was shaking and unable to stop it, she met Rushworth’s gaze. “Why are you doing this?”