The Bridegroom and the Baby

by Marcy Stewart

  Her eyes glassing with tears, she turned and went to take her baby. “Lucan would hate you for this,” she whispered spitefully from the far end of the room.

  “Alice,” murmured Rosemary in censuring tones.

  Ethan walked to the door. “I regret you feel that way.” With his hand resting on the door latch, he added, “I won’t say anything to your father or George; I leave that to you. But I will of necessity tell the Murrows. I know you can rely on their discretion, as you can on mine.” He moved as if to leave, then hesitated. “I wish I could offer monetary assistance, but I’m comforted by knowing you have sufficient means. Don’t leave Brillham, Alice. I do want to be part of Dorrie’s life and will help you in any way I can—as a brother would, I mean.”

  “Go,” she said seethingly.

  He went.

  Chapter 17

  It did not take more than one minute of traveling through the gloomy soup of this long, long night for Madeleine to hope she would never find it necessary to do so again. Riding, yes; traveling after dark, perhaps; being without shelter in the rain, maybe; but all three? Never. Seated sidesaddle atop Legacy, she could scarcely see past the horse’s head, but she tried, her back wrenching as she twisted to peer into the dimness at either side of the lane that ran past the viscount’s estate.

  She feared she would be of little help in finding Ethan, but she was determined not to be a hindrance to Scott. Unfortunately, from the manner in which the steward forged ahead, then drew back to match the pace she’d set for Legacy, then pulled into the lead again, she believed that was exactly what she was: a hindrance. Well, if he thought riding a horse nearly twice one’s height, sideways and on a slippery saddle, in a soggy gown and cape through utter blackness was easy, he should try it.

  “If I’m slowing you, please go ahead,” she snapped at him.

  “Pardon?” he called through the drone of rain and brought his horse closer to hers. When she repeated her words, he replied, “My apologies, Miss Murrow; I’m allowing my concern to overtake good sense. A walking pace is best for us to make a more thorough search.”

  “I despair of finding him in this,” she admitted, forgiving him.

  “As do I.”

  She glanced at his profile, wishing he had spoken more positively. He possessed none of Ethan’s brash optimism, but perhaps that came from having to depend on the generosity of others who were not one’s family. In spite of her anxiety for the viscount, she felt curiosity stirring about Scott.

  For an uneasy space, she recalled her fears that the steward might have caused Ethan’s accident. But if Scott did such a thing, would he be so eager to search for him now, so concerned for his safety?

  Perhaps he intended to divert her suspicions. He had neglected to notice the viscount’s leaving Westhall this evening, after all. Would someone truly loyal make that sort of mistake?

  But no one could be watchful every moment, she argued to herself, studying Scott again. Only the best of actors could project what she saw in him now: tightly reined tension, determination, even dread. If she were not already afraid for Ethan, a look at Scott’s demeanor alone would throw her into terror.

  A hedgehog chose that instant to scuttle across the road. Legacy balked, stamping, tossing her mane and whinnying. Madeleine spoke sharply, and the horse snorted, but settled back to a walk.

  “Nicely done, Miss Murrow,” Scott commented.

  She thanked him and begged he use her given name henceforth. They were no longer strangers, she said, not after sharing this drenching midnight ride.

  Her words appeared to please him. Noticing she had fallen into silence again, he said, “I didn’t mean to sound defeated a moment ago. I believe the most likely conclusion is that Ethan will arrive home before we do and have the house in turmoil searching for you. He’ll find I’m gone as well, and either he or your father will be waiting for me with the dueling pistols—probably both.”

  Knowing he meant to brighten her spirits, she forced a smile. “When I tell them I gave you no choice but to take me, you will receive only their sympathy.” Impulsively, she added, “Papa thinks you waste yourself at Westhall. Whether or not that is the case, I’m glad you’re here.” A brief pause stretched before she offered tentatively, hoping it was true, “Ethan could not wish for a better friend.”

  Rather than seeming flattered, Scott set his jaw grimly. “Oh, he could wish for better, Miss—Madeleine. I owe him much, just as I owed his brother; and I’ve not always been the kind of friend I should have.” His lips clamped together for a moment, and she imagined him holding something back; but when he spoke, it was only to say, “I can never repay what the Ambrose family has done for me.”

  “I’m aware his mother practically raised you, but surely you’ve given more than you’ve received. No one expects you to remain indebted forever.”

  “You’re wrong, Madeleine, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. There are some debts that require a lifetime to repay.”

  This puzzled her greatly, and she stared at him, flicking Legacy’s reins now and then, willing Scott to say more. Abruptly, the gentleman pointed out a small building on their right. “There’s Cotter’s Cottage,” he added brightly. “Have you heard the legend?”

  Changing the subject, she thought, twisting her mouth a little; but she decided to humor him and shook her head. With visible relief, he began to relate the tale of a disappearing farmer. It was a long story, and he told it well as they clopped down the muddy lane. Despite herself, she became intrigued and asked questions long after the cottage had vanished in the distance behind them.

  * * *

  It had been a long walk to discovery, Ethan thought, and was bound to be a longer one back. Striding through the puddles and boggy mess of the track leading away from Alice and her secrets and treachery, his mind churned with anger, disillusionment, and a sharp, steadily growing conviction that he did not understand anyone. Perhaps Madeleine, too, hid a dark side that she’d keep concealed until they were securely leg-shackled.

  The thought sickened him with guilt. He could not imagine her hiding anything from him; she was far too straightforward and honest. And who was he to cast judgments, anyway? No paragon of virtue, he.

  Nevertheless, Alice had hurt him deeply. He doubted he could ever look at her again without thinking of this night.

  He turned up his collar and hunched his shoulders against the driving rain. Reaching the lane, he angled left and proceeded a little faster, the pavement being less muddy than the trail leading to the laborers’ cottages. His leg burned as if branded with a poker, but it was best not to think of that.

  After some moments had passed, distance—or perhaps the cooling effect of the incessant water pounding on his head—eased his wrath to a degree. He began to wonder what Alice would do now. Surely she wouldn’t take Dorrie away; he’d miss the child if she did. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to the Reddings and talk to Alice privately, when they both were calmer. He recalled her mentioning that she and Rosemary didn’t plan to act for a few days, and he hoped his arrival wouldn’t press them to do something desperate. Surely Alice needed time to make arrangements, gather her inheritance, and pack her clothes. She was too vain of her appearance to leave her expensive garments behind.

  Through the drumming of the rain, he detected a more urgent noise behind. A man was approaching on horseback, riding at a canter; rather too quickly for the conditions of the road, he thought, but felt relief anyway. Perhaps he’d be willing to share his horse for a mile or two, given the pitiful conditions. Ethan stepped farther into the lane and held up one hand peremptorily. The rider, rather than slowing, increased his speed. Disbelieving of his rudeness, the viscount squinted, struggling to recognize the source of such inconsideration. He could not discern the rider’s visage through the darkness, but he paced backward as he suddenly realized the stranger was headed directly for him; and, incredibly, he appeared to be raising a cane to strike. Outraged, Ethan leaped for safety, but too late; the
blow exploded blinding pain across the side of his skull and shoulder.

  Momentum rolled him to the edge of the road and into the ditch, where he lay motionless, facedown, his world spinning, blazing with agony. He tried to raise his head, to bring his arms and legs into motion, but the effort nauseated him and sent him into a brief period of darkness. When he returned to consciousness, he heard with horror the return of hoofbeats and forced himself to lean to his side, to look up and see the madman who could do this to him. His eyes failed to focus, and he saw only shapes; the heaving sides of the horse, the booted legs of the rider as he dismounted and stood over him. He was moving closer, bending over him, and again Ethan ordered his limbs to move, realizing that here stood greater danger than he’d known in his life, but his body would not respond.

  When his assailant seized him roughly and pulled him from the ditch, Ethan clenched his teeth to prevent himself crying out. Inexplicably, the man propped him against his horse—perhaps to rest, for he was breathing hard— and the viscount feigned a slump, then launched his fist at the monster’s jaw, making contact. The other grunted in surprise and anger, then lashed several blows at Ethan’s face that folded his knees. He had only a remote, fiery awareness of being heaved across the saddle before his awareness edged into total darkness.

  * * *

  “Madeleine?”

  Scott’s voice vibrated with concern, and she meant to reassure him when she was able. Just now, she found it hard to speak.

  They had arrived at the village of Brillham, but it was not this which troubled her. Even in this flood it was easy to recognize the shops she and her parents had visited on one of the first days of their sojourn at Westhall. Under the proper conditions—sunshine and daylight, primarily—the village might be called picturesque.

  No, there could be nothing frightening in this haphazard collection of business establishments. Rather, the source of her disquiet was a steadily growing conviction that something was terribly, horribly wrong. She tried to laugh it off, to tell herself that Scott’s story about the farmer and his cottage had put her nerves on edge, but it was not working.

  She had never been given to premonitions and the like. She knew of a lady in Kent who had made herself a laughingstock by constantly forecasting gloom for everyone, and Madeleine had thought her very foolish. Nevertheless, she could not deny the strength of her own foreboding now.

  “We should have found Ethan by now,” she said, finally. “He was on foot.”

  “Don’t be worried that we haven’t discovered him yet. I didn’t expect to be successful this soon because he could have turned off the main road a dozen times between Westhall and here. Do you wish to return home?”

  She looked at him, not liking how eager he sounded. “I don’t want to give up too quickly.”

  “He may have returned and be searching for us. If not, I could enlist the groom and the stable boy to help. Maybe Burns. We could cover more ground in that way.”

  And rid yourself of me, she thought dismally. Not a man alive, it seemed to her, no matter how gentlemanly they might act, wanted a woman along when they did things like this—even though there was not a whit of danger in them. Oh, they might mumble authoritatively about all the things that could happen on their excursions: highwaymen, horses going lame, tree limbs crashing down on heads, floods, fire, famine—she was growing angrier by the second—when in truth, no one was ever safe, not even sitting in their own parlors sewing. She had heard of one old lady who pricked her finger with a needle while embroidering altar cloths for church, contracted an infection, and died.

  “Let’s return, yes,” she said heatedly, “but if Ethan isn’t there, I’m going to continue searching with you—I don’t care what you say!”

  “Fine,” Scott said, his eyes widening humorously. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I would laugh, Madeleine thought as she reined Legacy around, if I didn’t feel so much like weeping.

  * * *

  Someone was dragging him. Ethan forced open his eyes and saw a lacy network of trees overhead. Memory returned, and with it, excruciating pain. His assailant had wound his arms across his chest and was pulling him through a wood. Startled, he recognized the landscape as his own; they were moving through the small stand of trees banking the river, a tributary of the Bristol Avon, which marked the northwest boundary of his estate. Through the gloom he saw the villain’s horse reined to a tree, steadily growing farther away. Whoever this madman was, he had brought him here on horseback and was now pulling him toward the river. A sudden, deadly conviction seized him concerning his assailant’s intentions.

  Ethan’s head lolled backward. They were clear of the forest now. The rain had stopped. A soft wind was scattering the clouds into long wisps, and he could see the moon above him, almost perfectly round, coldly beautiful, and very far away. Beneath his boots he felt the drag of vegetation soften to the moist earth of the riverbank. Making an agonized effort, he pushed at the hands imprisoning him and was dropped to the ground, jarringly, for his attempt. While he fought the return of darkness and struggled to breathe, a boot settled firmly on his chest.

  “We can do this in as civilized a manner as possible,” said a pleasant voice, “or I can kick you into cooperation; your decision, Lord Ambrose.”

  Ethan lifted his gaze incredulously. “MacAllister?”

  The tutor gave a short bow. “The same. I’m pleased you’re alert enough to recognize me. It will make the next few moments more meaningful. I should think it would be frustrating for you to die without knowing the reason.”

  “What—why— “

  MacAllister smiled coldly. “Why am I doing this? I can understand your confusion. A man of your social position never considers those beneath him—and I use the term you would use, because I do not consider myself beneath anyone—to have ambitions and desires of his own.”

  Encourage him to speak, Lucan whispered in his ear. The longer he raves, the better the chances to recover your strength.

  Ethan shivered. Was that truly his brother’s voice he’d heard, or had his injuries made him delusional? Either way, it didn’t matter; Lucan was with him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “No, I suppose you don’t.” MacAllister lifted his boot from Ethan’s chest and went to stand at his feet, looking tall as a tree from the viscount’s position. “I’ve sat in the same room with you on many occasions and listened to your thoughts on agriculture and females and horseflesh. I’ve heard you talk about your social life—dinners and picnics and balls and croquet. Never once did you ask my opinion on anything though, did you? No, you were too proud to even acknowledge my presence. Even though I have the advantage of greater age and wisdom, and my education puts yours to shame, you could not lower yourself to treat me as an equal.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Ethan rasped, his ribs sparking fire into each breath. “You want to kill me because I’ve hurt your feelings?”

  MacAllister laughed. “No, not precisely.” He sobered. “I’m not an imbecile. England’s social system did not begin with you. But I intend to move through the ranks in the only way possible for such a one as myself, who was unlucky in birth. I plan to marry Alice Redding, and you are standing in my way.”

  “Marry Alice?” Under different circumstances, he would have been highly amused. “She’ll never have you.” Too late, it occurred to him he might be ill-advised to ridicule a madman’s fondest wish. Quickly, he added, “Your jealousy is misplaced. I have no interest in Alice and intend to wed Madeleine.”

  Face darkening with disbelief, MacAllister said, “You’re only saying that to obtain my mercy. I watched you tonight with Alice at the cottage. I saw you embrace her. I witnessed that she had won you over at last—not that anyone could resist her long.”

  So that explained the noise he’d heard. The tutor had followed Alice to the hut, doubtless arriving before Ethan had. He must have hidden his beast in the thicke
t. He could not have known the viscount was following her as well; MacAllister’s actions smacked of the habit of long practice. This sign of obsession gave Ethan no comfort.

  “You misread the situation. We were saying goodbye.”

  MacAllister appeared to consider this for a moment, flaring Ethan’s hopes. “Even if you speak the truth, it doesn’t matter,” he said, and the viscount closed his eyes briefly as this last chance faded. “As long as you’re alive, she won’t consider me. I thought when your brother died, she’d turn to me, especially once I realized she carried his child. But it appears she’s been enraptured with both of you for years. Once you’re gone, though, who else will be willing to give her child a name? She’s ruined in Society’s eyes, but never in mine.”

  “You know about Dorrie?” Ethan asked dully, seizing on the last part of the tutor’s conversation while he mulled over the rest. Something MacAllister had said nagged at the edges of his consciousness.

  “I’ve known for months. Could I keep such close watch over her and not know? Although no one else did, including you. That alone should prove how devoted I am to her.”

  Beneath Ethan, the damp earth seeped coldness through his bones. Overhead, the wind had blown all but a few cloud strands from the sky, and the stars were exposed in their brilliance. The treetops framing the back of MacAllister’s head whispered secrets companionably in the breeze.

  A beautiful night to die, Lucan, he told his twin.

  You are not going to die, Lucan answered him firmly.

  I’m tired, Lucan. So tired.

  Think of Madeleine. Do you recall how her sister died? Can you leave her to mourn this double loss?

  No, he groaned. He could not.

  Play for time.

  Ethan forced himself to speak: “Was Alice aware that you knew about her pregnancy?”

  “I could not presume to tell her, although I’ve tried to make myself available and useful. She didn’t take me into her confidence, and I blame myself for that; I should have been more assertive. I’m willing to admit I’ve hurt my case by such misjudgments. Imagine my distress when she brought her baby to you. I thought all had ended! But you didn’t react the way she hoped, and now I have another opportunity to gain the love of the woman I adore more than life.”