“I think we’re all ready,” she told him. “I’ll act as conductor. Brother mine, you must speak softly at first, and you may get louder each time you speak, but you have only four chances to make Cousin Beth hear you. I’ll stand in the foyer and let her know that you’re about to speak.”
“Sounds simple enough,” he said.
Adele shouted in the direction of the library doors. “Cousin Beth, are you ready?”
The duchess called in return, her voice sounding very far away. “Ready!”
“Go!” Della exclaimed.
Paul wished now that he’d used a less intimate phrase, but there was no altering it, so he whispered, “I love you, Princess.”
Della called to Beth. “Did you hear it?”
“I’m afraid not!” the duchess called in return.
Paul sighed, knowing Delia Wychwright would inevitably overhear. Why should that bother him? He had no interest in the impetuous ingénue, but neither did he wish to hurt her. “I love you, Princess,” he said again, a trifle louder.
“Cousin Beth, did you hear it this time?”
“I may have,” the duchess answered. “I’m not sure. Might I hear it once more?”
Inside the library, Elizabeth held the tin can to her right ear. The second attempt had brought a mysterious buzzing through the line, and she thought she could discern Paul’s distinctive voice telling her that he loved her. Surely, he’d not use such personal words in mixed company.
She wondered which would bother her more—hearing him speak the words before their guests, or realising she’d been wrong, and that he’d not said them at all.
“Cousin Beth, it’s the third try now!” Della called.
The line buzzed again, and Elizabeth heard the words more clearly. “I love you, Princess,” the earl told her. She felt tears slide down her face, and she was about to let Adele know that she’d heard the words, but before she could speak, the line buzzed once more; this time the voice much louder. “Does he love you, Princess? Then, why do you lie to him? Poor faithful Aubrey! Like a lapdog without his mistress!”
Beth dropped the can, and it hit the uncarpeted portion of the mahogany floorboards, denting the side. From the hallway, Adele noticed the line fall, so she dashed back to the drawing room and told her brother, “I think she’s moved. Don’t speak yet.”
The eleven-year-old followed the line through the long corridor and found that it dipped beneath the closed library doors. Opening one door, Adele found the room dark. Not even the fire was lit; a strange thing, for it had been burning brightly only an hour earlier.
The duchess lay upon the hardwood, her eyes shut. Della bent down and touched her face. “Cousin Beth? Did you faint again?”
Elizabeth did not respond. Her skin felt like ice. “Paul! Uncle James! Hurry!”
The earl reached the room first and knelt beside her, wishing he’d never admitted his feelings. “Beth, are you all right?” he asked, touching her hand. “What happened to the fire and all the lights?” he asked as he lifted her to a sitting position. “Beth, open your eyes.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and the lids slowly parted. “What happened?” she asked. “Did I faint again?”
“Yes,” he told her. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, and the earl eased the duchess onto her feet.
Delia Wychwright had reached the open doorway. “Did she guess it?” the interloper asked, seemingly unmoved by her hostess’s condition.
Elizabeth managed a slight smile, determined not to reveal her fears. “I think so,” she said, leaning into the earl’s strong embrace. “I love you, too, Lord Aubrey.”
He held her close, relieved that she seemed unharmed. “It’s an old phrase, I know, darling, but one I shall never stop saying,” he whispered. “Come now. You and I shall resign from competition and allow the younger generation to continue whilst you rest.”
Cordelia watched carefully, noting with dismay that the earl’s affections for the duchess showed no hint of diminishing. If anything, they seemed to have intensified. “If only Lord Haimsbury were here,” she said aloud. “I expect that he’d be very good at this game.”
“Do forgive me, everyone,” Elizabeth said as Paul helped her to the settee. “I should have eaten more at supper. Paul, would you ring and ask Miles to bring me a pot of tea?”
“I’ll do it,” Adele offered, returning to the foyer to find a footman.
The duke knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. “Maybe this gathering wasn’t such a good idea, Princess. Why don’t you let your old grandpa take you upstairs? Your fiancé would insist you retire, if you’re too weary to keep on your feet.”
“A cup of tea will revive me, Grandfather. I’d like to stay.”
The duke kissed her cheek. He assumed that the child she now carried might be causing the physical weakness, but he also recognised worry in his granddaughter’s eyes. “Charles will be fine, Beth. He’s probably enjoying a long talk with our Mr. Baxter. You know how much those two enjoy each other’s company. I imagine you’re right about supper. You scarcely ate a bite. If you don’t find any of the finger sandwiches appetising, I could see if Mrs. Smith might make you a cup of cocoa. You used to love that as a girl.”
She brightened at the suggestion. “Yes, I think that might be better than tea.”
Delia had decided to use a different tack with regards to catching the handsome earl’s eye, so she turned to Galton in an effort to evoke jealousy. “Shall we go next, Sir Thomas?”
The earl’s first lieutenant for circle matters bowed, extending his hand. “I’d be honoured, Lady Cordelia. Shall I speak, or do you prefer to do so?”
“I think I shall also take the line into the library and see what secret message you might wish to convey to me, dear Sir Thomas. Remember now, that it is called Lover’s Line for a reason.”
Galton actually blushed. “I shall endeavour to comply,” he said haltingly.
Baron Wychwright huffed in irritation, turning a page in his newspaper. “Delia, do show a bit of common sense. Not everyone here knows what a jester you are. Forgive my daughter, Sir Thomas. She assumes everyone understands her perverse sense of humour.”
The baroness said nothing, for she’d instructed her daughter to pursue the earl aggressively—no matter what it might take. A marriage with the influential Stuart clan could only enhance their family’s position in society, particularly now that the earl’s cousin was marrying the duchess. As Lady Aubrey, Cordelia would usher their family into high-peerage circles, a mere stepping stone away from the queen, herself!
“I hope I’ve not embarrassed you, Sir Thomas. Twas not my intent,” Cordelia whispered, feigning shyness. “I can be rather too forward at times. A fault of my generation, I suppose.”
Galton bowed gallantly. “I find it refreshing,” he told her, as he scribbled a message across a bit of paper and handed it to the tailor. “I shall do my best to help us win.”
The baron’s daughter giggled and then left the room, taking her end of the ‘telephone’ into the library. Acting once more as conductor, Adele made sure the doors closed. “I think we’re ready, Sir Thomas.”
Galton took a deep breath and then whispered softly, “Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men,” he quoted, glancing at the earl, who instantly recognised the line, for they often quoted it at circle meetings.
Aubrey smiled. “Act II, scene iii.”
“As we all know,” Galton replied. “Too much, you think?”
Risling laughed, and the duke also joined in the merriment, winking at Kepelheim. “Do forgive us, Baron,” Drummond said to Wychwright. “Tis a line that’s meaningful to our family.”
“Act II, scene iii of what?” the plump baroness asked, reaching for a plum-filled petit fours just as a footman entered bearing two silver servers, one of tea and another of cocoa.<
br />
“Romeo and Juliet,” Aubrey answered. “Thank you, Lester. Which is cocoa?”
“The smaller one, sir. Cook thought the others might appreciate tea as well. Shall I pour?”
Beth nodded. “Please.”
“I’ll do it, Lester,” Aubrey insisted. “You pour for the others. Baroness, do not mistake our intent,” he continued as he added the warm chocolate to a red and yellow teacup. “We gentlemen do not imagine ourselves in any way superior to the fairer sex. Rather we consider ourselves your lifelong servants,” he finished, his eyes fixed upon the duchess. “Lifelong.”
He intended to return the silver pot to the tray, but as Beth took the cup, Paul appeared to lose his balance and fell against Beth’s arm, spilling the pot’s contents across the settee and causing her to drop the cup, sending cocoa flying into her lap and onto the thick carpet.
As a consequence, the entire room stood at once, becoming a whirl of commotion, causing the terrier to bark furiously. Strangely, its attentions were focused not on the scene near the settee, but rather on the open doorway. As the humans in the room huddled near the duchess, Samson raced into the foyer, chasing an unseen adversary to the front door, barking and biting at the air.
“Oh, Beth, I am sorry!” Aubrey exclaimed, righting himself and using a serviette to clean chocolate from her skirt. “I’ve ruined your beautiful dress.”
The footman calmly intervened, taking the pot from the earl’s hand and offering a small towel, which he’d brought on the tray. Kepelheim removed several soaked newspapers left in the vicinity, whilst Victoria and Maisie lifted Elizabeth to her feet. “You should change at once,” the elder Stuart told her niece. “Alicia will want to soak your dress in cold water right away. Chocolate leaves such stains.”
Samson returned at this point, apparently satisfied that he’d accomplished his task and scampered over to the carpet, greedily licking up the sweet drink.
“That isn’t yours!” Victoria scolded the dog. “You’ll need another bath. First mud, now cocoa! Paul, do stop cleaning and take Beth upstairs, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course. You’re right. I am sorry, Beth. Really. It’s all my fault. I’ll replace your gown with a new one.”
“It’s fine, Paul,” she said, her eyes on the dog to keep from stepping on him. “I could change and then return, if you think that’s all right.”
“I think Charles would want you to rest, dear. Come with me,” he said, putting an arm ‘round her shoulders. “It seems you and I are far too weary for company. A night’s rest will soon set us both to rights.”
“Very well,” she sighed. “Goodnight, everyone. I hope you’ll continue to play. Victoria, it might be best to move everyone to the yellow drawing room. I apologise for causing such a mess.”
“Nonsense,” the earl objected. “Twas I who fell; not you, Princess. Goodnight, all. Thomas, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Easy now,” he whispered sweetly to Beth. “Shall I carry you?”
“No, I can walk,” the duchess insisted. “Did you see him?” she asked, glancing back towards the front door.
“See whom?”
“The man, who... Oh, never mind. No one.”
“You’re already half asleep. Here now. Arms ‘round my neck,” he told her, lifting her into his arms. “You’re far too weary to climb.”
Delia Wychwright emerged into the foyer just in time to see the couple disappear into the recesses of the west wing corridor. I wonder how much Lord Haimsbury knows about his cousins’ behaviour, she thought to herself. Perhaps, someone should tell him.
High overhead, perched upon the slate-roofed cupola of Haimsbury stables, a being materialised into a realm the fallen often referred to as ‘sen-sen’. No sooner had he appeared than a second emerged through the aether, his form fiery; and he struck the first creature with a bolt of flame, nearly causing him to fall.
“Fool!” the second one shouted. “How often must I warn you, Rasha? Your abilities may grant you powers in the human world, but they have addled what few wits you once had!”
The hybrid prince steadied himself by grasping the copper weathervane. “It was only a small joke,” he argued, rubbing his jaw. “The earl is overconfident and proud. I thought to humble him a little.”
“Liar!” Anatole Romanov exclaimed angrily, his eyes twin flames. “The only reason you live is because I was able to intervene. Had the duchess consumed that beverage, her child would be at risk.”
“Really? I know nothing of that, Uncle. I thought only to help her sleep. Her dreams keep her awake at night. Is not rest important to the nourishment of the child?”
Samael grew large, overshadowing the hybrid as a man overshadows an ant. “The duchess and her child are not to be touched! Never! This is your final warning, Rasha. You may have avoided punishment in Milan, but my patience is at an end. Neither di Specchio’s pleas nor Raziel’s wings can shelter you from my arrows, Razarit. They bear bitter poison, and no alteration to your human cells is enough to save you from their bite! I allow you to live for one reason only: because you are useful. For now. If you ever enter that house again, I shall strip your hybrid flesh from your bones and dip your skinless carcass in boiling oil!”
An imp who served Anatole appeared near the cupola—his wings tucked, head bowed in subservience. “You called, Lord Samael?” he asked.
“Yes, Bí-za-za, I did. Escort this fool of a hybrid back to his home in the human realm. And when you have accomplished that task, return to me. I’ve another assignment for you.” He then addressed Razarit. “Think yourself a prince, do you? I keep watch upon you. Never forget that. I know all about your works with that young maid.”
“What works are those?”
“Silence! Remember, that you live only at my pleasure. The Trumper girl is vulnerable and weak, but she is still a daughter of Eve.”
“Which means she has free will,” the human dared to argue. “Tempting her is permitted; as you know quite well. Your pretense at honour shows cracks, Uncle.”
“Do not call me that! Raziel may claim you as son, but he does so only to appeal to your pride. Nothing more. Once your usefulness to my brother’s plan is done, he will toss you into the destroying winds like so much chaff.”
Razarit paused, considering this revelation. “No. You are wrong.”
“Time will prove me right. Now go!”
The imp touched Rasha, and the two popped out of sight. Samael slowly grew smaller, until at last his form resumed that of Anatole Romanov. Deciding that the duchess remained in danger, he emerged into the human realm, concealing himself in the guise of a barn owl and flew to a tree near her bedchamber window.
He remained there for many hours, watching.
Inside the house, Paul Stuart helped his cousin into the bedchamber and set her upon the sofa, which had been returned to the fireplace. “Tory’s right about that dress, Beth. I’ll ring for Alicia, so she can place it in cold water.”
“Stay with me, won’t you?” she begged, stepping into the connected bath. “You needn’t ring for Alicia yet. I can manage, as it buttons in the front. It won’t take me more than a minute to change. I’d like to talk, if you don’t mind.”
“If it allows me respite from Lady Cordelia’s persistent flirtation, then I’m more than happy to hide up here for the next week! But you are all right, I hope?”
Don’t tell Paul about the child. She could almost hear her fiancé’s warning, echoing in her mind like a persistent refrain.
“Yes, I’m well enough.”
“Beth, are you sure you’re not ill?” he called to her.
She unfastened the pearl buttons of her silk waistcoat and draped it across the porcelain tub. The bath had one small window, circular and placed high, and she could see the moon, shining beyond the branches of a graceful elm tree, and upon one of the slender twigs sat a large owl. The dark eyes
looked like jet beads against the snow-white feathers.
Snow, she thought, the visions Anatole had shown her playing in her mind. The owl’s head tilted to one side, and the terrifying images faded, as if removed from her consciousness and stored inside a mental photograph album—waiting to be opened.
Paul’s voice continued; the earl completely unaware of the night creature’s actions. “I’ve seen you faint half a dozen times this past week, Beth, and you hardly eat anything at all lately.” He stood and moved to the closed door, placing his hand on the polished wood. “Beth, it isn’t my intent to order you about, but Tory said you had a dizzy spell in the stables today, and that afterward you slept for several hours. Perhaps, I should send for Price. He’s at Reggie’s home still, I think. In fact, it might be wise to have them both come by. I’m sure Charles would want you seen by a physician. He’s just as worried as I am. I can see it in his eyes each time you have a spell.”
Elizabeth had removed the high-collared blouse and velvet skirt, along with her undergarments, and laid all upon the tub. She gazed at herself in the cheval mirror, picturing the unborn child she carried and wondering how the truth would affect her relationship with the earl.
Charles, I have to tell him the truth. I owe it to him.
“Beth?” Aubrey called again. “Speak to me, darling. Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “I’m nearly finished.”
Five minutes more passed, and she joined him in the bedchamber, wearing a satin night dress, topped by a blue velvet dressing gown trimmed in ivory lace. “Sorry to take so long,” she said as she sat beside him.
“You said you wanted to talk,” he whispered, taking her hand. “What about?”
“About last month—whilst we were in Scotland,” she began. “Do you remember the night you told me that Della is your daughter?”
“What has this to do with your fainting spells?” he asked, puzzled by the apparent shift in topic. “You’re intentionally ignoring my question.”
The Blood Is the Life Page 18