by Diana Ballew
Voices over his head jerked him to his current surroundings. Edward strained to hear, but all he could make out was Lady Kimpton’s emotional rambling.
“Harlowe.” The name floated into the night sky.
A rumble started in Edward’s chest. He clamped his lips together tightly lest he burst out in laughter. Thank you, Rowena dear. You’ve no idea how you simplified my life.
Edward narrowed his eyes up at the open window again. A panicked Lady Kimpton was calling out Rowena’s name.
She was dead. Kimpton’s voice softened then dissolved altogether.
Another daughter. Yet this one might serve his purpose. There was much to do, and his newest young lover might be just the one to help. Crouching low, he made his way back to his horse.
Thorne assessed his wife’s pale countenance. She looked at him with such anguish, he longed to cradle her in his arms, to shield her from life’s harsh realities. But he hadn’t that luxury.
Thorne took the now empty tumbler from her slightly steadier fingers and set it aside. He looked into those blue eyes, as haunted and dark as the evening sky. “Lorelei, about this Miss Hollerfield ... er ... Corinne Hollerfield.”
She lowered her lashes. The flickering candle flame reflected unspilled tears. “I know her child is not yours.” Color tinged her cheeks. “I’m appalled at my behavior in having leapt to such an outlandish falsehood.”
“You thought—” Thorne raked a hand through is hair, flummoxed. “You knew Rowena was pregnant, or rather, thought she was? With my child?”
Her head snapped up, and anger flared through the shimmer in her eyes. “What was I supposed to think after Lady Dankworth’s tea? You were seen speaking to her in the middle of a public thoroughfare. Not to mention, your own words 'She means nothing to me.' Dear God, Thorne. Coupled with that missive she sent demanding your presence. What other conclusion was I to come to? I’d just learned you’d sent Brandon off, possibly to his death.”
He clamped his jaw shut, determined to hide his annoyance. The audacity in reading his private correspondence; then believing the worst of him regarding her useless—well, maybe not so useless—brother.
The crimson in her cheeks deepened. Yes, she followed his exact train of thought. He cleared his throat. “About your brother—” he started.
She opened her mouth to stave him, but he held up his palm.
“If I may?”
That delectable mouth snapped closed, compressing those plump lips. The sight distracted him momentarily.
With a deep breath he shook his head and fought his way to the matter at hand. “Your brother—” He waved a hand out indicating the floor above. “—there is strong reason to believe that the child may belong to your brother.”
Lorelei shook her head. “But I distinctly remember Miss Hollerfield saying—” She stopped.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed on his lovely, well-informed wife. “What is it you remember Miss Hollerfield saying, my love?”
“T-that, t-that ... ” Her stammered words faltered.
He straightened. He could browbeat the truth out of her later. “Never mind,” he said. He took her hands into his and pulled her to her feet. “Lorelei.” Alarm swept her expression and he hastened to reassure her. “Did you hear what I said?”
She lowered herself back onto the chair.
“There’s reason to believe Miss Hollerfield’s child was sired by Harlowe.”
Her brows drew together. She regarded him as if he’d just dispensed orders they were to vacate the country for Russia.
She shook her head. “Did you just say—”
“Pardon, my lord.” Thorne jerked his head. A nondescript maid stood in the doorway, eyes wide and somewhat terror stricken. “T-the m-magistrate is here.”
“Of course he is,” he muttered under his breath. With a forefinger he lifted Lorelei’s chin, meeting her eyes. “I must tend to the matter of Miss Hollerfield.”
Her exquisite face, still much too pale, nodded mutely. He brushed his lips against hers. “I’ll return as quickly as possible.”
Shock rendered Lorelei immobile as Thorne’s words jumbled and reassembled in her head. A rush of air deflated her body, leaving her light-headed. Brandon, a father! He’d never said a word. Why? A stab of pain pierced her insides. He hadn’t trusted her. Her own brother. A brother she’d raised from a young child to adulthood.
Lorelei rubbed her hands vigorously over her arms. No fire blazed in the grate. Just a single candle burned in the candelabrum, throwing a dancing shadow on the wall. When had she last seen him? Two, maybe three weeks ago, when he brought her the Judas painting? There was nowhere else to hang it besides her chamber. Thorne had never expressed any fondness for Brandon. He would have drawn the line at having that particular work in the public rooms. It was another brilliant work of craft with another dire subject. What else had her brother failed to share?
Snippets of conversations with Thorne flitted through her head. Every time her husband had opened his mouth to speak of Brandon, she’d cut him to the quick. She winced. There’d been no word from Brandon since she’d learned of his transport, and that was most unlike him. He was a prolific artist, driven by his compulsion to create. Yet she hadn’t received a single letter since learning he was gone.
His last words penetrated her confusion. “Lorelei, you don’t mind, do you? Holding onto some of my paintings?”
It was a strange request, since he’d been sending them to her for safekeeping for years. “If you keep working as hard as you are, my husband will need to purchase another property just to house them,” she’d said dryly. “Of course I don’t mind, Brand, but really, couldn’t you try painting more desirable subjects? I mean, a, er ... woman hugging a loved one just before boarding the ship to Dover, making eyes over his shoulder at her lover—” She stopped, embarrassed at the direction she’d taken the conversation.
Her brother’s handsome face creased into a mischievous grin. “Surely Kimpton appreciates my sense of humor.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” she said with an indignant huff.
He laughed and dropped a kiss on her brow. “Thank you, darling.”
She let out a sigh. “As it is, I do happen to love the one showcasing the young girl in love.”
“Yes, I’m somewhat partial to that one, myself.” He’d spoken softly, tenderly. “Au revoir, I must go. I shall see you in a day or two.” He slipped out the door. Little had she realized those words to one another might be their last.
I’m somewhat partial to that one, myself. Her stunned thoughts wrenched her back to the present, her hands stilled on her arms. Miss Hollerfield? Could it be? Dear lord. She dashed from the barren library and raced up the stairs.
“Agnes,” Lorelei called out sharply.
“Yes, my lady?”
She looked out over the landing. The maid appeared, drying her hands on a towel. “Inform Andrews to prepare the cart. We shall transport everyone to the main house as soon as possible.”
Thorne wanted to shake the man and rush back to Lorelei.
“And ye say ye found her crumpled on the floor like so?” To the magistrate’s credit, his coat was brushed clean and his cravat simply knotted. His large square head overtook his neck, and his mustache was sorely in need of a trim, rendering his lips invisible when he spoke. He stood, hands clasped at his lower back, studying the small pool of blood on the floor just beneath another of Harlowe’s gruesome works. This one depicted the gate to the Tower.
The painting screamed something, but Thorne had yet to piece it together. Like the others, it contained a large circular scythe that served as a latch for the gate. A blinding sun poured through the slats but for a small area where—Thorne frowned and stepped closer. Eyes. Familiar eyes, but from where? They weren’t Harlowe’s. They peered from the bars, looking out towards freedom, not in towards imprisonment.
“—no one heard or saw a thing? Strange,” the magistrate mumbled. “Very strange.”
&nb
sp; Thorne forced his attention back to the man. “What will you do with her?” he asked, tipping his head in Rowena’s direction.
His gaze followed Thorne’s to the settee. “Find the next of kin, I s’pose. Someone’s got to pay the expenses. Dying costs money. A shame that. She looked a lovely piece.”
“Send the bill to me,” Thorne said gruffly. “What about her body?”
“Since yer the one payin’, then, s’posin’ it’s up to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can have her put on ice, or I can take her to the church ... or—”
Thorne cut him off. “—the church will suffice.”
The man cleared his throat, and Thorne clearly read his thoughts. Ye uppercrusts are all the same, and yer wife just down the road. “Will do, my lord. I’ll have the vicar get in touch regarding the burial arrangements.”
Thorne froze. Burial arrangements. “Of course. Have the vicar stop by the main house tomorrow.”
“Hadn’t heard of any unusual activity on Kimpton. Have ye?”
“No.” Just Maudsley’s unpleasant visit. Thorne glanced to the open window and strolled over. Darkness had settled and cool air poured in. Odd that. He ran his fingers over the framework. There, he’d found it. Near the latch was evidence of someone’s hasty exit in the form of splintered wood. “Has there been any in the village?”
“No more than the usual. The over-exuberant drunkard, the missin’ dog, and such.”
Another forty-five minutes passed before the magistrate finally made his way out, promising a quick return to remove Rowena. Thorne would prefer that no one witnessed that scenario. Perhaps he should relocate her to a room near the servant’s entrance.
He started for the library where he’d left Lorelei, dodging the same maid who’d announced the magistrate. He glanced into the room, but the candle was gone, leaving it in complete darkness.
He turned to the maid, now tripping up the staircase. “Where is Lady Kimpton?”
She paused halfway up. “Overseeing the packing, my lord.”
“Packing!” Of course she was. No doubt Miss Hollerfield would reside in one of the nicer chambers at Kimpton Hall.
“Aye, sir. She’s readying Miss Hollerfield for transport now.” The girl stood there, wide-eyed, obviously waiting for him to yea or nay the action.
“Where might I find Lady Kimpton—” He stopped, irritated that he couldn’t call the girl by name. He didn’t know it.
“I’m Agnes, my lord. And she’s upstairs with Bethie, seeing to Miss Hollerfield’s comfort.”
“Carry on, Agnes. I’ll find her.” It didn’t take long. Lorelei rounded the corner just as Agnes hurried away. Her perfect hair didn’t look so perfect, as loose tendrils escaped their confines. She was delectable. He caught her by the arms before she could rush by. “Lorelei, do you really think it’s wise to move her?”
Lorelei glanced quickly about. “Keep your voice down,” she commanded. “We cannot possibly leave her here. Not in her current condition. Most especially so now that her mother is ... is—”
Thorne pulled her into his arms, touched his lips to her forehead. “Never mind, love. I see your point. How much longer do you need?” Nothing but disaster lay ahead if the magistrate arrived to remove Rowena’s body and the rest of the household were departing at the same time.
“We’ll take what is necessary for now. Andrews and Agnes can return for the remainder tomorrow.” The look she bestowed on him was so grateful, he would have carted the entire house on his own shoulders if need be. “What of Miss Hollerfield’s—”
“I’ll take care of Rowena. The magistrate is due to return any moment. Just keep everyone up here until I return.”
Lorelei backed away out his embrace. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She moved to the open door of a nearby lighted chamber, but turned to him before entering. “Thank you, Thorne,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Edward lit a lantern he’d retrieved from the cottage stables. He found Sarah several feet from where he’d left her, her red locks hardly discernible in the depths of the woods. If she hadn’t been crying, he might not have located her at all. The gods were smiling on him. Ah, well. Such was his fate.
He lifted the light. “Hello, my dear.” Leaves rustled at her attempt to scramble away. He chuckled.
She tried to stand but her balance was precarious. She put her hand out for the tree, but it was out of reach, and she tumbled forward. He caught her by the arm.
Her trembling lips made him smile. “Surprisingly, I find myself in need of your assistance,” he whispered against her mouth. He hoisted her over his shoulder and took his horse by the reins.
A little later, keeping his ears open, Edward deposited her near the gates and made his way back to where he’d hidden his horse just inside the trees. His timing was close as Kimpton’s steward was making his way up the drive. Grinning, Edward plunged his hand in his pocket to finger his lucky coin.
It was gone.
Chapter 15
Worry surged through Lorelei. Corinne Hollerfield had been moved to the main house and put to bed, but her face was gray with pain.
“Rowena?” she whispered.
Startled, Lorelei met Bethie’s eyes. Lorelei lowered herself into the chair next to the bed and took Miss Hollerfield’s hand. “I’m Lady Kimpton, Miss Hollerfield—Corinne.”
Her eyes fluttered, then opened. “Lady Kimpton? Brandon’s sister?”
Lorelei swallowed and nodded, as her voice refused to operate.
Confusion marred the girl’s brow. “I had a baby. Where is my baby?”
Lorelei forced the air to expel from her lungs. “You did. Do! You have a fine baby boy.”
“Where is he? Where’s my baby?” Panic edged through her soft voice. “Where’s Brandon? Where’s my—”
Lorelei patted her hand. “Bethie is fetching him for you as we speak.” She darted a sharp telling glance to Bethie. Bethie gave a sharp nod and rushed from the room. “Don’t worry, he is in good hands.”
“I want to see him. Now.” Her pitch was breathy. “Now.” Her pitch rose with each syllable.
“Please, please don’t fret, Miss Hollerfield.” Lorelei squeezed her hand. “He shall be here soon.”
Corinne's eyes drifted close and a tear squeezed past. “Where is Rowena? She would never leave me.” Miss Hollerfield’s eyes opened again, their bleakness terrifying. “Oh, God. You’ve turned her out, haven’t you? Because she is ... she is—
“No! No, I would never,” Lorelei whispered. But would she have? If she hadn’t learned Corinne’s baby belonged to Brandon? A large lump constricted Lorelei’s throat. And now, how was she to break the news about Corinne's mother? What could she say? Dear God, how? “She ... she chose to stay behind, dear. A-at the cottage.” Surely God would not punish her for the small white lie.
Mrs. Wells appeared in the door, holding the child, with Bethie right on their heels. Lorelei trembled with relief. She stood quickly, directing the wet nurse into the chair.
“I-I wish to h-hold him,” Miss Hollerfield said faintly.
“Bethie, hurry. Miss Hollerfield needs our assistance in sitting up.” Lorelei moved to one side, waiting for Bethie to reach the other. Together, they each took hold, and with Bethie’s arm about the girl’s shoulders, they gently raised her up.
Mrs. Wells came forward, pulled the coverlet from the small, red wrinkled face, and placed him in Miss Hollerfield’s weak hold, supporting her arm with a broad one of her own.
Now that he’d received nourishment, the baby had fallen into a peaceful slumber, oblivious to his surroundings. He was so tiny Lorelei took a step back, but somehow couldn’t tear her eyes from him, studying him from several feet away.
Could it be true? Was Brandon his father? He looked just like Brandon did at that age. Or perhaps that was hopeful thinking?
Miss Hollerfield mumbled incoherent nothings. She was much too weak to hold the infant without assistance, but Mrs.
Wells seemed cognizant of the fact and kept her support firmly in place. “Your papa will be most proud,” Corinne whispered.
Lorelei’s gaze took in her weary features. Rowena Hollerfield, Corinne’s mother? The thoughts roiled through her head. It was clear why Rowena had hidden the fact she’d had a daughter. As a courtesan, the woman had to appear at her most advantageous. Men were not known for their ability to seek a woman’s inner depths.
They went for beauty. In every class of life. From the upper classes on down.
Lorelei should know. Hadn’t Thorne chosen her for that very virtue? In her class, women avoided the sun for fear of freckling. Calluses were gauche. A woman must eat like a bird, speak politely, listen attentively. The list was endless.
“She’s gone.”
The words seeped into Lorelei in a slow waking nightmare. “What? No! She’s only sleep—”
Mrs. Well’s leaped forward to catch the child from Corinne’s slackened hold. Her head slumped to one side.
Bethie darted forward, ran her hands over the girl as Lorelei stood to the side paralyzed. “She’s only sleepin’, milady.”
Lorelei gasped, and her knees buckled. She stumbled to the chair next to the bed and sank down.
She glanced at Bethie, her dear, dear general. A general who appeared set to topple with the slightest breeze. “Bethie,” Lorelei said.
“Take yerself to bed, milady. Agnes and me, we can look after Miss Hollerfield.”
Lorelei shook her head. No words could choke past her lips.
“No. I’ll wait here.”
“Mrs. Wells is staying in the sittin’ room. Ye’ll just be underfoot, if ye stay.”
Lorelei feared Bethie was right. Lorelei was useless as a nurse. “Go, milady.”
Still, Lorelei shook her head. “I’ll stay. Go to bed, Bethie. A slight breeze could knock to your feet.”
With a sharp nod towards Miss Hollerfield, Bethie commanded, “See if you can get some laudanum down her,” before stalking from the chamber.