“What did you speak about?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.
“Things.”
Exasperated, he lifted his arms and let them fall, startling a snipe into flight that had landed nearby. “What things?”
“Why do you care?” she barked.
He grew very still, his gravity unfeigned, and she stepped back a pace as if afraid. “This may surprise you, but all of my brother’s activities interest me. He means—meant everything to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. After a moment, she rubbed her shoulders and shifted her glance to the sea. “Yes. All right.” She puffed her lips, pulling air in and out, whistling softly. “We talked about death.”
“Death!” This was so far from what he expected that the word was torn from him.
“Things die. Rats die different from rabbits. Their screams are different. People die different, too. I go with my father sometimes to see dying people. Some fight. Some go peaceful, like death is their friend.”
Ethan could scarcely hide his distaste. What was wrong with this woman?
“When you spoke about these things, what did Lucan say?”
“He said I shouldn’t think about it too much. He told me not to catch butterflies anymore, saying they had feelings. I know they don’t because they never scream, but I didn’t tell him that. His eyes would go sad when I said those kinds of things, so I learned not to.”
His stomach rolled. “You must have felt very safe with him.” She gave a single nod, and he went on, feeling as if the very question was a betrayal of his twin’s integrity, “Did he ever”—the thought seemed so repugnant to him he almost shivered—"kiss you?”
Flat eyes skewered him coldly. “Had he touched me, I would have killed him.”
He believed her. A sudden flash of the rope across the pathway skittered through his mind; but he’d known from childhood that she never rode horseback, and surely someone would have seen the Abbott gig crossing his land. Moreover, it had taken a man’s strength to tie those knots. And though she resented him for being alive when his brother was not, was that reason enough to kill him—even for her, demented woman that she was?
Shakily, he asked, “Have you never had a beau, Miss Abbott? Never wanted to be married?”
“No. Never!”
He tried to disguise his astonishment. If she spoke truth, she was the first woman he’d known to hold that opinion. Such vehemence seemed unnatural. A sudden, horrendous thought struck him. If she had been taken by force, terror of men could be at the root of her feelings; even more so if a violent act had resulted in pregnancy.
But why in hades would she deliver her child to him? There was no logic in it; therefore, she must not be Dorrie’s mother. I’m sorry, Lucan, he told his brother. It was wrong of me to suspect you, even for a moment.
Leah had been watching him closely, and now she said in forbidding tones, “You’re not thinking of making an offer for me, are you?”
“What? No! I mean ... no. My heart is engaged elsewhere, I’m afraid; not that such a prospect lacks appeal—”
“Because my mother would like it if you did.”
“You surprise me,” he said, beginning to retrace his steps along the promontory as quickly as politeness allowed. She followed, and he increased his strides, hoping she wouldn’t notice he failed to offer his arm. He didn’t want to offend her; she might cut his throat while he slept. “By that I mean, most mothers disapprove of me.”
“She’s a silly cow.”
“Hah—hah! Well, I’m sure you don’t mean that.”
“I do. My father’s not as bad, but he’s like a boy. He knows nothing and acts like he knows all. I’ve found that to be true of every man except Lucan. I don’t want to marry.”
Thank God! “Yes, well, I’m sure you know best.” Would she never stop yapping? Was this how it went with the quiet ones, once the floodgates were opened? He didn’t know how Lucan had stood it.
“I belong to me,” Leah continued. “Men expect you to do things you don’t want to do.”
“Yes, we’re beasts; every one of us.” He had almost reached Madeleine and Antonia; he could not be happier had they been the Holy Grail.
“Men don’t want to know about important things like death.”
“I would not dream of arguing the point, Miss Abbott.” He covered the few remaining steps to Madeleine without a trace of a limp and with a gladness far out of proportion for their short separation. “Well, and who are these beautiful sea nymphs sunning on a rock?”
As he spoke, the vicar’s daughter veered and headed off alone. Madeleine, her face glowing with beauty, goodness, and light—or so thought Ethan, who devoured her features thirstily—watched Leah’s departure with a puzzled air. “Where’s she going, I wonder?”
“To pull the wings off flies, I shouldn’t doubt,” Ethan answered, much to the Murrow women’s surprise.
“Food’s ready!” screamed Betsy at that moment, irritating the viscount. Long ago, Lucan had told her to use a particular silver bell for the purpose of bringing everyone together at picnics, but she could never remember to bring it. Nevertheless, he offered an arm to each lady, and they ambled toward the table.
Not until after the meal did Ethan have a few moments alone with Madeleine. Dorrie had begun to, fuss, continuing even after Betsy changed her napkin. The viscount feared it might be because she was hungry; although he knew the wet nurse had fed her moments before they departed, and they had brought sugar water for the infant to suckle. Madeleine disagreed, declaring that she sounded tired to her. As the servants put away the picnic supplies and the others wandered in various directions to view the sea, she sat upon Mrs. Abbott’s blanket and sang to Dorrie while rocking her in her arms. Ethan joined her, leaning on one elbow and stretching out his game leg, which had begun to itch where the stitches were healing.
Madeleine had a tuneful, breathy voice that pleased his ear, and he smiled lazily as he watched her. She tried not to look at him but at the baby, and the glances that flickered his way alternated between resentment and mischief. Finally, Dorrie fell asleep, and Madeleine carefully placed her in the basket and draped one of the blankets halfway across the handle to guard her from the sun.
“How fortunate your children will be,” he said, plucking a long stalk of grass from the ground and beginning to trace it along her bare arm.
A playful look entered her eyes as she moved out of reach. “Thank you, but I don’t believe singing a baby to sleep one time is proof of anything.”
“At least it proves you don’t dwell in the valley of the shadow of death.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, bewildered.
“Someday perhaps I’ll tell you. Suffice it to say, spending a few moments with Leah Abbott has made me appreciate you even more. And you were correct about her. She can’t be Dorrie’s mother.”
An innocent look swept across her face. “I’m sorry— what did you say? A bug of some sort was buzzing past my ear.”
“I said, you were correct about—oh, you vixen, you only wanted me to admit I was wrong.”
“There’s nothing a woman likes better than to know her gentleman possesses humility.”
“Is that so?” He stared at her through his lashes, and she met his eyes without flinching. His pulse began to race. “So I’m your gentleman, am I?” he asked softly.
She glanced away, suddenly appearing shy. She looked so adorable, he wanted to pull her on the blanket beside him and cover her face with kisses. Had her parents not been sitting on a rock a hundred feet from them, he might have done so.
“Do you have any further ideas?” she asked, startling him into thinking she had read his mind.
“You mean about finding the baby’s mother.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, “Yes, I think so. With the elimination of Miss Abbott, I’m left with only one contender, and I’ve thought of a way to force her hand, I hope.”
“Ethan, it occurs to me we should widen our list of suspects, for if Dorrie
’s mother turns out not to be Mrs. McDaniel, what shall we do?”
“That’s the beauty of my plan, Madeleine.” He sat straight, growing more excited as his idea unfolded. “You see, my cousin is returning.” Eagerly, he waited for her reaction.
“Your ... mythical cousin.”
“Yes. When word is spread abroad that she’s returning to take her baby home on ... let us say ... the day after tomorrow, the mother will be forced to act.”
She regarded him for a moment. “Dorrie’s mother will know there’s no cousin, and she’ll think you mean to get rid of the child.”
“Precisely!” He felt unaccountably let down when she failed to become as enthused as he. “You don’t think it will work. Why?”
“No, it’s not that. Perhaps your scheme will prove successful. But if it doesn’t ...” Her dark eyes probed his. “If no one claims the baby before your cousin is due to appear, what will you tell my father then?”
He had thought of that contingency. Growing very somber, he said, “I’m afraid in that case, a tragedy will have occurred. Nothing could prevent Connie from fetching her infant except death.” He wondered briefly if talking to Miss Abbott had made him bloodthirsty; the plan hadn’t occurred to him until after their conversation. “It will be a broken wheel on her carriage, I think. In that manner, both she and James can die together. Perfection!”
Madeleine shook her head. “Too perfect. Papa won’t believe a word.”
Ethan’s eyes became glassy as he considered this. After a few seconds, he heaved a sigh. The scheme would work, that was all. It simply must.
Chapter 14
Breakfast on Sundays at Westhall was served later than on other days, in part to allow the servants a half hour’s extra sleep, but chiefly to meet the convenience of the viscount and any guests he might have, most of whom needed additional time to dress for chapel before arriving downstairs. At the appointed time, Madeleine, experiencing very mixed feelings, descended the stairs in her white muslin trimmed in blue ribbon. She could not wait to see how Ethan’s proposed solution played itself out, but she quaked inwardly as she tried to imagine what they would do if his plot didn’t produce results.
Entering the dining room, she discovered she was the first to arrive. Hunger could not wait, however, and she moved to the sideboard and proceeded to raise one silver lid after the other without finding food within a single platter. This perplexing dilemma resolved itself when Betsy pushed through the door dividing the butler’s pantry and dining room holding aloft a tray.
“Morning!” Betsy said, bobbing, giving Madeleine no time to answer before she added, “I reckon you thought we’d run out of food. Well, not yet. Not for you folks, anyway. Here’s the kippers and sausages.” As the maid spoke, she filled the trays. “Eggs is up next, and I’ll bring you some toast directly.”
Moving her head from left to right conspiratorially, she walked very closely to Madeleine and whispered, “What do you think about what milord’s up to, eh? He told me all last night and made me promise to keep my trap shut, except to you, o’course, because we’re the only ones what know there’s truly no cousin. Well, and Mr. Brandt, naturally; maybe he spilled all to him.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I don’t think milord told His Highness the butler, for he seldom troubles to include that one in anything, so the least said in his direction, the better.”
Madeleine recalled now that the maid had stood beside Ethan when he brought the babe downstairs that first morning. Of course, Betsy had known about the mystery from the very beginning, and Madeleine’s first qualms settled. The servant had kept the secret thus far; surely she would continue.
“Where is Mr. Burns?” Madeleine asked, lowering her voice to match the maid’s. “I didn’t see him in the hall.”
“On Sundays he gets a half day off, unlike the rest of us more deserving slaves.”
The young lady was spared the necessity of making an answer by the arrival of her parents. “Thank you, Betsy,” she said loudly and with such enthusiasm that her father cocked an eyebrow. “The kippers look delicious.”
Antonia waited until the maid exited before saying, “But, Madeleine, you don’t like kippers.”
“I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Mr. Brandt walked in at that instant, and she greeted him effusively, happy to be off the subject of fish. Was there a secretive spark in the young man’s eye? His glance lingered fractionally on hers, and she was certain the viscount had told him. He would have had to, she supposed.
Thomas pulled out a chair for Antonia, but the rest of them stood, waiting. No one wanted to begin serving his or her plate, since the buffet was not yet complete.
“How are you faring, Scott?” Thomas asked, his hand resting on the back of his wife’s chair. “We don’t see much of you.”
“This is a busy time of year for the estate. The crops must be managed, and the need for repairs is constant. I’ve also been consulting with an agricultural specialist who has some promising ideas for us to implement.”
Madeleine studied him covertly. She had learned very little about Mr. Brandt during her sojourn here, but he impressed her as a mild-tempered man who seemed highly organized. His appearance today, as on all days, was impeccable; not a hair or thread dared fall out of place. He wore shades of brown that contrasted strikingly with his ivory shirt, and he looked quite attractive.
“The viscount doesn’t help you much with management, does he?” Thomas continued.
Brandt leaned his weight against the sideboard and crinkled his eyes thoughtfully. “He’s more involved than you might imagine, particularly since Lucan’s death. Don’t judge him by what you’ve seen during your visit. Naturally, when he has guests, they become his priority.”
“Yes, of course.” Thomas waved a hand as if to say how little that mattered. “You know, Scott, I find myself wondering why a young gentleman like yourself buries himself so far in the country. From all I’ve observed, yours seems to be thankless work—or underappreciated at the very least. A man of your abilities could make much of himself in the city.”
Madeleine stared hard at her father. He was not normally so inquisitive, and she suspected his purpose was to lead Brandt to say something negative about Ethan.
Scott did not rise to the bait, a thing which made him grow worthier in her eyes. “I’ve lived at Westhall most of my life, Mr. Murrow,” he said. “My loyalties lie here. There’s great satisfaction in keeping the work of more than a century alive and ongoing.”
Her father shrugged his disbelief. “If you say you’re satisfied, who am I to debate it?”
He wanted to, though, Madeleine saw. Although she itched to scold her sire for prying, she had to admit Scott Brandt truly did not seem happy here. She’d been so absorbed with Ethan, she hadn’t reflected upon the steward’s frequent absences, his polite but detached conversation, the somber looks broken only occasionally with dutiful smiles. Now she recalled his actions in force and wondered if they had significance for Ethan’s safety. In the light of his near-tragedy, she dared not ignore any warning signs. If Mr. Brandt resented Ethan, would he try to kill him? But wouldn’t Ethan’s death mean the end of this position, which he claimed to enjoy so much?
None of it made any sense. Her arrival at Westhall had been very like entering a confusing land where nothing was as it seemed. She would hardly be surprised to find people walking backwards next or gliding on ceilings.
Except for the danger to Ethan, she loved the confusion and the mystery that had been part and parcel of her brief sojourn here. Although her emotions rose and fell daily like a spring tide, she had not felt so alive since Bettina’s death. No. She had never felt so alive. And the reason for that was the striking young lord entering the dining room, his hair tousled from the wind, his cravat slightly disarrayed beneath a blue jacket that echoed the brilliance of his eyes.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, and slid his palms together as if to calm his excitement. “I�
��ve been spreading the word at the stables to prepare for my cousin’s return tomorrow.”
“And not a minute too soon,” Betsy said as she burst through the door carrying the remaining items of food. “The way some people talk—my, my, my. Now they’ll have to shut their traps, eh?”
“Your cousin is returning?” Thomas asked, disbelief throbbing in his voice.
Antonia, too, appeared surprised. “But I thought ...”
“That Connie and James had run off?” Ethan finished. “I did, too, but this morning I received a note by special messenger. James’s mother died, sad to say, and they’ve been too grief-stricken to communicate. There were all the details of the burial and estate to be seen to as well, but tomorrow morning they’re finally coming for their daughter.”
Antonia, sending Madeleine such a look of relief that the young lady glanced away guiltily, said, “We’ll miss Dorrie awfully, but it’s best she’s with her parents.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Thomas grumbled beneath his breath.
Madeleine despaired of her father’s skepticism as she and the others filled their plates and sat to eat, but the viscount’s glowing enthusiasm gradually infected her, even if there was an aspect of desperation in it.
By the time they arrived at chapel, even Reverend Abbott’s terrifying sermon could not deflate her.
As the vicar rumbled on—truly, she hadn’t dreamed he could speak with so great an authority and fire! He seemed rather meek in person—her gaze roamed the simple, whitewashed structure with its long, slitted windows, dusty stone floor, and hard oak benches arranged in a U-shape around the pulpit. The building was filled with parishioners, and none of them looked shocked at his graphic listing of Job’s troubles. From here she could plainly see Leah Abbott, and the young woman appeared so avidly absorbed in her father’s sermon—she looked to be enjoying it, actually—that Madeleine averted her gaze. She suffered gamely through the loss of Job’s children and property, but when the vicar reached the part about boils covering the poor man from head to foot, she shut off her mind.
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 17