by Olivia Drake
“I’ve been wondering who might have left the diary,” she said. “Who has Emily’s things? There’s nothing of hers left in my bedroom.”
“She never used that room.”
“Never?” Juliet said, surprised.
“She didn’t feel comfortable in such a grand setting. She wanted a smaller room down the hall, and I saw no reason to deny the request.”
An odd arrangement for husband and wife. Yet by Kent’s own admission, they’d been more friends than lovers. “Perhaps we should look in Emily’s room, then. We might find a clue to whoever put the journal on my bed.”
“I may have a quicker method for getting to the bottom of this,” he said. “Come with me, please.”
He strode to the door and flung it open, then waited for her to precede him. As they walked down the hall, she stole a glance at him. He might have been the man she’d first met, enigmatic and aloof, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. She wondered if the days ahead would follow this dismal pattern of polite reserve. What would they talk about until the mystery was solved?
She imagined endless dinners with civil conversation about crops and household matters. Endless nights without a loving husband to share her innermost dreams and desires. The prospect dragged on her spirits. For the hundredth time, she mulled over the idea of returning to London. Her mother would surely welcome her with open arms, but Papa...
She’d eloped with his enemy. She’d caused his humiliation before the queen. Recalling his callous dismissal of Emily’s unborn child, Juliet couldn’t imagine him accepting a grandchild with Deverell blood.
The thought sparked a blaze of fierce protectiveness. Her baby would not suffer from this nonsensical feud. Two generations had already been ensnared in the trap of hatred. For the next generation, she intended to see the threat of danger vanquished, the hostility ended. Soon she would have the money to leave here, to establish a comfortable home somewhere for her child. Why did the thought make her feel so empty?
She suddenly realized Kent was leading the way up the winding stairs of the north tower. “You think Chantal left the diary?”
He cast an oblique glance at her. “It’s one possibility.”
They reached the small landing outside Chantal’s apartment. The muffled sound of an upraised female voice penetrated the oak door. Kent hesitated only an instant; then he rapped hard.
The door opened. Ravi stood with a hand on the knob, his dusky features taut. He bowed, and when he raised his turbaned head, his irritated expression had smoothed into blank deference. “Sahib. Were you looking for me?”
Kent shook his head. “We’re here to visit Chantal.”
“Come in,” she called. “Ravi, do invite my guests inside.”
He stepped silently away to allow them entrance. Juliet followed her husband into the bazaar-like decor of the sitting room. Despite the sunshine flowing through the narrow windows, the crimson wall hangings created the impression of a cave, mysterious and secluded.
Garbed in a loosely gathered gown of garnet-hued cotton, Chantal sat in a tall cane chair, the dark wood framing her blond hair. Rose stood near the mantelpiece. Her lower lip jutted sullenly and her arms were crossed over her lace fichu. Juliet had the impression that they were interrupting an argument.
“If you’d like,” she said to Chantal, “we could return at a more convenient time.”
Their hostess swept her arm in a grand gesture of cordiality that made her silver bracelets clink. “Of course not. Please, do sit down.”
As she and Kent settled into chairs, Juliet subjected Chantal to a surreptitious scrutiny. A buffalo horn necklace drew attention to her splendid bosom. Despite the age lines furrowing her alabaster complexion, she was still a handsome woman, exotic and queenly. Her beauty had an untamed quality, unlike the disciplined elegance of Juliet’s mother.
Papa had had a love affair with Chantal; the notion was both painful and jarring. Juliet couldn’t imagine her staid and proper father having such a mistress. Yet this woman had shared a past with him, a hidden past that excluded his legitimate family, a secret past that included a bastard daughter, Juliet’s half sister. Like a bone-deep laceration, the knowledge of his betrayal throbbed within her.
Ravi came forward, his robe rustling faintly. “If you will excuse me, I will return to my duties.”
Kent gave a distracted nod.
As the door closed, Chantal waved at a small bundle on a bamboo side table. “Ravi was kind enough to deliver a batch of the Calcutta newspapers. They came in today’s post. News of India always brings back memories of a happier time.”
Rose let out a disgruntled huff. “Indeed, Mama. A time when you were content with Father’s love. Now you think nothing of betraying his memory by consorting with that... that dark-skinned servant—”
“That’s quite enough, young miss.” Chantal slashed a hand downward. “Ravi is a dear friend. I’ll not hear you malign him.”
Rose scowled. Uneasy at witnessing the private quarrel, Juliet said quickly, “I haven’t seen you since the dinner party, Rose. Writing your play must be keeping you busy.”
The girl’s fractious expression eased. “Yes, I’ve had to do a good deal of research into the family chronicles.”
His gaze keen, Kent leaned toward his half sister. “You wouldn’t happen to have come across Emily’s diary, would you?”
The color faded from her cheeks and she twisted her fichu into a knot. “Emily’s—? What do you mean?”
“I suspect you know perfectly well what I mean.”
Staring at the floor, Rose said nothing.
Shock stung Juliet. Rose had left the diary?
“What’s all this about?” Chantal asked.
“Someone left the journal in Juliet’s room yesterday,” he said. “The pages contained a description of Emily’s father.”
Chantal went pale; her bosom rose and fell. Clenching the arms of the chair, she gazed first at Juliet, then Rose. “Why... what a wicked, malicious act. What induced you to do such a dreadful thing?”
Rose hung her head. “I never meant any harm,” she said stiffly. “I merely thought it was unfair that you’ve both kept such a secret from Juliet. She deserves to know of her sister.”
“Half sister,” Kent corrected. “And if you felt so strongly on the matter, you ought to have discussed it with me.”
“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t think.”
Her voice sounded subdued, but her face remained tilted down, and the rich mass of sable hair half concealed her expression. They were the same age, Juliet reflected suddenly. Yet Rose, with her schoolgirl hairstyle, seemed much younger, almost childlike. When she lifted her head, tears misted her brown eyes.
“I suppose I was considering only myself,” she added. “Even though we’re not related, Juliet and I shared a sibling. That makes us almost sisters, doesn’t it?”
Struggling between sympathy and suspicion, Juliet studied the girl. Had she really meant no harm? Rose was such a fey creature, impetuous and emotional. She might well have responded to impulse in leaving the diary. Her actions could have been spurred by the need for a sister to ease her loneliness.
Compassion crowded Juliet’s throat. What was it like to lose a beloved older sister to tragedy? She ached to solve the mystery, not only to protect herself, but also to avenge Emily. The diary had sparked a loyalty to the sibling she had never known.
“Next time,” Kent told Rose, “I trust you’ll think before you act. You ought not to have interfered.”
Her lower lip quivered. “You always scold. Father never treated me so harshly.”
She put a hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. Hair swinging, she darted out and slammed the door.
His breath came out in a hiss. Gripping the chair arms, he started to rise.
“Let her go,” Chantal said, gracefully lifting a hand.
“Perhaps I was too hard on her—”
“You said nothing that shouldn’t have been said
. That willful girl! Sometimes she reminds me of...” Her eyes went unfocused, as if she were pondering a distant problem; then she fluttered her fingers. “Ah, well, never mind. The truth is out and there’s no retracting it.”
At Chantal’s unperturbed manner, Juliet felt a stirring of resentment. “Don’t you mind me knowing that you were my father’s mistress?”
“Our association ended a long time ago. How comfortable would you have felt here had I been candid?” Turning to Kent, she said, “Would you like a brandy?”
“Thank you.”
He looked moody, withdrawn into his thoughts. As Chantal glided to a cabinet inlaid with mother-of-pearl, Juliet wondered if she was the only one who seethed with hurt and bitterness. Of course, the truth came as no surprise to them. She was the only one who’d been kept in the dark.
Chantal handed the glass to Kent. “Would you care for any refreshment, Juliet? A sherry, perhaps? Or I could brew a pot of tea—I have Darjeeling.”
“No, thank you,” she said coldly. “I should like to talk about my father.”
The older woman arranged herself in the tall chair and smoothed her garnet skirt. “As you wish.”
“This must relate to the feud,” Juliet said. “First you had an affair with Papa, and then with his archrival. That can’t be a coincidence.”
Kent frowned. “Perhaps Chantal finds that topic too painful to discuss.”
“It’s all right,” she said, flicking her wrist in dramatic compliance. “I believe I told you, Juliet, that I was once a celebrated actress. It was at the height of my career that I met your father. He was, of course, not married at the time.”
Juliet recalled the first time they’d talked here in the tower. Feeling suddenly ill, she put a hand to her mouth. “I remember now,” she whispered. “You played the lead in Romeo and Juliet. He named me for you.”
Chantal shrugged. “It would seem so. Yet his feelings for me weren’t strong enough to offer marriage.” Her lips twisted into a bitter line. “He had a plan for his life that didn’t involve an actress with questionable bloodlines.”
The hostile tone startled Juliet. Had Chantal hated Emmett enough to punish him by killing his daughter? She would have to be a madwoman...
“But Papa came from a poor background, too.”
“Perhaps that’s why he craved respectability. When I learned of his betrothal to your mother, I walked out on him, even though I knew I was to bear his child. He offered to buy me a house, to give me a generous allowance.” Chantal frowned at her elegant hands. “But I was young and foolish and hurt, so I refused him. After Emily was born, I left her with an aunt and fled to India, to escape the intolerable memories.”
“And you met William Deverell there.”
She nodded. “I’d already encountered him in London. You see, he tried to court me, too.” Casting a glance at Kent’s reserved expression, she added, “But I feared his interest stemmed from the rivalry. It wasn’t until later that we fell in love.”
Juliet regarded Chantal with suspicion. There had to be more that she wasn’t telling. “How could you love two men who were so very different?”
“Different?” Tossing back her blond head, she uttered a brusque laugh. “William and Emmett were more alike than you can imagine. Both stubborn, both proud, both intriguing. It was a challenge to find the gentleness beneath the arrogant exterior. Kent, don’t you agree?”
Sipping his brandy, he gave Juliet an intent look. “I wouldn’t know about Emmett, but Father did have a kindhearted side. He had a sensitivity that he seldom showed anyone outside the family. You can see it in his drawings.”
The image so jarred with Juliet’s view of William that she sprang to her feet. “Sensitive! A man who would sell Emily’s pony, even her locket... out of spite?”
“William never touched a penny of that money,” Chantal said. “He gave it all to me, to purchase Emily’s clothing and to provide for her future.”
“How generous,” Juliet mocked. “William denied her his love and forbade her to seek the love of her natural father. For heaven’s sake, Chantal, he made my sister’s life miserable.”
“Emmett is as much to blame—”
“Papa wanted to take care of her,” Juliet said hotly. “He wanted her to keep his gifts. He would never have abandoned his own daughter. Emily herself wrote that he said so.”
Chantal arched a fine brow. “So you would excuse Emmett, but not William? The situation was Emmett’s fault in the first place—he denied both Emily and me the honor of his name.”
An angry retort seared Juliet’s throat. Abruptly she caught herself. Why was she defending Papa? He wasn’t the gentleman she’d grown up to admire and love. He’d hidden a mistress and a sister from her. He’d denied poor Emily the right to a father’s love and protection. And all the while, she herself had enjoyed luxury and contentment. She had had everything while Emily had suffered Papa’s neglect.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, dropping into the chair, “Papa isn’t as perfect as I used to believe. He renounced me easily enough.”
Kent set his glass down sharply. “You can’t know that for certain. I’m sure he’d welcome you back for a visit.”
“You’re leaving?” Chantal asked, her keen eyes on Juliet.
“No. At least not for a while.”
She looked at Kent; his lips were taut, his gaze grim.
“There’s something else you should know,” Chantal said. “I received a letter from Emmett the other day.”
Juliet swiveled to stare at her. “What on earth did he say?”
“He asked me to watch out for you, to let him know the instant you’re unhappy here at Radcliffe.” Her lips quirked with biting humor. “So you see, even Emmett can care in his own stiff-necked way.”
Juliet’s mind plunged from high hope to deep anger. He’d taken the time to write to his former mistress, but not to her. “If he loved me, then he would have come after me.”
“Emmett has far too much pride,” Chantal said with a brusque sweep of her arm. “He’d want the world to think he’d washed his hands of you. Coming here would be tantamount to admitting he approved of his daughter marrying a Deverell.”
“This ridiculous feud,” Juliet burst out. “When will it ever cease?”
“When old men fail to pass on their disputes to the next generation,” Chantal said dryly.
“Yet some good came of the past,” Kent said. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Chantal, but I must say I’m glad that Emmett married Dorothea.”
Because of you, his eyes added to Juliet. The tenderness on his face trembled inside her heart. She took a steadying breath. If emotion kept clouding her logic, she’d never decipher the truth.
She looked at Chantal. “I wanted to ask you about something puzzling in Emily’s diary—”
“Rose should never have given you that diary. She should have brought it to me.”
“I’m glad I had the chance to read my sister’s thoughts. On the day of her death, she mentioned that she’d devised a plan to defy Kent. Did she tell you what the plan might have been?”
Chantal cocked her regal head. “No. I’ve no idea.”
“Did you speak to her after Papa left?”
“Only briefly. She said she wanted to be alone, to think, so she returned to her bedroom in the family quarters. Emily was never one to distress others with her private suffering. I should have...”
“You should have what?” Kent said.
She shrugged. “I should have gone after her, talked to her.”
Juliet had the strange impression that wasn’t what Chantal had intended to say. “So you didn’t see her again?”
“No.” Her composure suddenly crumpled and she looked old, her mouth sagging. “But, oh, how many times since then have I regretted respecting her wishes! I knew she was despondent—I should have insisted upon comforting her. Perhaps I could have stopped her from taking her own life.”
Tears glistened in her blue eyes.
Sympathy tugged at Juliet, but she forced herself to remember that Chantal was an actress, capable of staging a superb performance to throw off suspicion. But was she capable of killing her own daughter?
Kent got up to touch the woman’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to upset you, but the diary has reawakened distressing memories. Juliet’s accident has finally made me realize there may be some truth to the curse.” He paused, looking keenly at Chantal. “I’ve been thinking of selling Dreamspinner.”
Startled, Juliet stared. His gaze remained fixed on Chantal.
She sprang up and paced toward a window. Her grieving expression became tight-lipped resentment. “That abominable necklace! But are you sure, Kent? You’ll be breaking your vow to William.”
“I’d sooner do so than risk another tragedy.”
She nodded sagely. “A wise decision. We must keep disaster from striking this family again.”
A pensive quality underlay her voice. Sunlight silhouetted her majestic figure and cast her expression into half shadow. Yet Juliet sensed with shuddering certainty that she herself was the focus of that speculative regard.
Did Chantal realize a murderer lurked somewhere in the castle?
Or was she herself the one?
Chapter 21
Which one? Prowling his bedroom, Kent let his thoughts travel the dark road of suspicion. As always, the journey proved both frustrating and painful. Everyone here had cause to dislike Emmett Carleton. But in which person had animosity degenerated into a twisted excuse for murder?
He thought about the interview they’d left an hour earlier. Chantal had delivered no surprises. And he’d been right about Rose leaving the diary. In her usual childish way, she hadn’t considered the consequences; she’d wanted only to let Juliet know they’d shared a sister. Rose was so sheltered, she’d never learned how to make friends. Guilt niggled at him. Since their father’s death and then Emily’s, loneliness had shadowed his sister. When all this was over, Kent vowed, he’d spend more time with her. Perhaps if he took her to London for the Season, she could find a husband.
His mind veered back to the mystery. Hidden emotions seethed inside so many people here. He had the nagging sense that he was missing something. A vital clue. Something to do with the feud?