by Sherry Lewis
Meg nearly groaned aloud. That’s not what she had in mind.
The missus grinned up at him. “Yes. Please. I want to see absolutely everything.”
Please? Meg shook her head in wonder.
“Where would ye like to start?” Colin asked gently.
The missus gave that a moment’s thought. “Outside, I think. I want to see the gardens. I love the gardens.”
Except for an occasional foray onto the covered porch, the missus hadn’t left the house since . . . well, since before the master left—not even to stroll through the gardens. Until this morning, she’d always claimed the gardens made her sneeze.
Meg watched as Colin led the missus toward the outside door, shook her head again, and collapsed on the chair he’d vacated only moments earlier. Something had happened to the missus this morning—something Meg couldn’t understand.
Not that she didn’t like the missus better this way. Who wouldn’t? But Meg didn’t trust the change. Life had been tough enough at Summervale these past five years with only herself and Colin left to do for the missus. They didn’t need this.
When the missus became herself again, what would happen then? Lordy. Meg sighed heavily. It wouldn’t be good, she knew that for certain.
Stifling a yawn, Zacharias Logan leaned against the mantle and pretended an interest in the conversation between his mother and Patricia Starling. Their voices blended together, rising and falling with an unsteady rhythm that made his head ache.
The truth was, he’d rather be almost be anywhere but in this room at this particular moment. But his mother had insisted that he be present, and so he was. Life was infinitely easier for anyone wise enough not to buck Victoria Logan’s edicts.
The voices halted for a moment and pulled his eyes back toward the two women. His mother, thin, dark, and sharp-edged, settled her cup in its saucer and smiled—or as close to a smile as he’d ever seen on his mother’s lips. “Naturally, Patricia, you will help Zacharias receive his guests.”
Naturally.
Zacharias wondered again just why he had to be present when between them, the two women had his life well in hand. On any given day, he had only to appear on schedule and conduct himself with a dignified air.
A pleased smile curved Patricia’s lips and a gleam of triumph sparkled in her clear blue eyes. She turned a jubilant look in Zacharias’s direction, even though she spoke to his mother. “Thank you, Victoria. It would be an honor to stand beside Zacharias.”
Another twitch of his mother’s lips signaled her pleasure at the compliment. But when she looked at Zacharias, the smile evaporated like morning dew in a strong sun. “It is an unpleasant necessity that we are reduced to asking you to receive Zacharias’s guests this way again.” She let out a sigh designed, he knew, to make her seem wistful. “Perhaps before our next entertainment, Zacharias will have managed to clear up these irritating loose ends.”
He forced an unconcerned smile. “Agatha is still my wife,” he reminded them both. “And I foresee no change in the immediate future.”
Victoria worked her fan a little harder and her mouth turned down at the corners. “I am aware of the circumstances, Zacharias. But I consider your stubbornness on the subject unfortunate, to say the least.”
“And unlikely to change,” he said, “no matter how much you might like it to.” Absent Agatha’s death—and the likelihood of that happening was highly remote—Zacharias was chained to her as surely as if someone had wrapped shackles around his legs. At times he cursed the bond. At others, he blessed it.
Patricia rose in a wave of pink cotton and crossed the room to him. Tucking her arm beneath his, she tilted her chin just so and smiled up at him. “Don’t begrudge Zacharias his honor, Victoria. It is his precious honor that makes him who he is.”
Zacharias wondered if he’d actually heard the slight inflection on the word “precious” or if he’d only imagined it. Patricia was, as she always had been, willing to fill his most public and private needs. But her position in his house and at his side would never be secure as long as Agatha was alive, and he was well aware that it made her unhappy.
He often wondered if his mother accepted Patricia so willingly as a way of rubbing salt into the wound caused by his decision to marry Agatha in the first place. He loved his mother—she was his mother, after all—but he harbored no delusions about her. She’d always believed Patricia more suitable to be his wife and the mistress of his estate than Agatha. And, she’d never failed to make her displeasure felt over the choice he’d made.
Now, Victoria sent Patricia a tolerant smile. “Yes, of course. We all admire Zacharias for his honor.”
Zacharias stifled another yawn and moved away from Patricia, crossing to the sideboard for a cup of coffee casually, so as not to offend her. “Perhaps I should leave the planning of this grand event to the two of you. I only seem to be in the way.”
“I’m sure there are pressing matters that require your attention,” his mother said with false hesitation and a steely glare. “But we really must decide on the details while Patricia’s here and your input is essential.”
More pressing matters, indeed. They all knew Zacharias had nothing urgent on his agenda. He never did. Though he’d been raised to the role, being a gentleman of leisure didn’t suit him. Talk of flowers and music, the nuances of social position and seating arrangements didn’t interest him. He’d have been far happier up to his elbows in a task that mattered to someone somewhere. The trouble was, any task that appealed to him would require him to soil his hands and that would have distressed his mother to no end.
And when his mother was distressed, the entire household felt it.
Before he could frame a response, a soft cough sounded from the doorway behind him. Zacharias turned toward it eagerly and found Badgett, the man who served him as butler and valet, wearing an odd expression. Badgett stood a little under six feet and was very nearly as wide as he was tall. His silver hair had long ago receded, leaving just a ring of hair around his scalp. His long nose twitched and his round eyes narrowed as he regarded Zacharias.
For Badgett to wear any expression at all was unusual, but Zacharias didn’t let himself ponder the reasons why. He recognized the interruption as a way out of his current situation, and that’s all he cared about.
As if he could read Zacharias’s mind, Badgett bowed slightly, let his gaze travel to the women, then snapped it back to Zacharias again. “Begging your pardon, sir, but there is a person here asking to see you.”
Zacharias abandoned his cup and saucer eagerly, leaving them on the sideboard and striding toward the door.
Badgett should have moved aside to let him pass, but the man stayed where he was. “Before you go, sir, I feel I should warn you that the person is from Summervale.”
Zacharias stopped in his tracks. He heard his mother’s soft intake of breath and sensed more than saw Patricia’s quick scowl. And no wonder. In the five years since Agatha had banished him from her presence, he’d never once received word from anyone in her household.
He tried not to show his sudden apprehension. “From Summervale? Interesting. Who is it?”
Badgett darted another worried glance at Victoria. “I believe it is Mrs. Logan’s man, sir.”
“Colin?” Zacharias’s apprehension grew. Colin was usually level-headed and even-keeled. For him to come to Winterhill must mean a serious problem. He took another step toward the door. “What does he want?”
His mother’s skirts rustled as she stood behind him, and her voice cut through the room. “Surely you don’t intend to speak with him.”
Zacharias nodded back at her. “I’m afraid I must, mother. Something is obviously wrong.”
His mother’s expression didn’t alter, but he saw the soft gleam of hope spring into Patricia’s eyes. “Of course, he must speak with the man,” she said, moving quickly to his mother’s side. “Perhaps Agatha is ill.”
Apprehension turned to dread, but Zacharias forced it
aside along with irritation at his mother’s sudden, pleased smile. If Agatha was ill, so be it. He’d long ago abandoned the feelings he’d once had for her.
“Yes, of course.” Victoria waved him toward the door and started across the room as if she intended to accompany him.
“Stay with Patricia,” he said quickly. “I’ll see to Colin.” He didn’t want or need his mother’s
“helpful” presence when he spoke with Colin. To prevent her from arguing, he hurried past Badgett into the foyer and motioned for him to close the door.
The sick feeling in his stomach grew as he followed Badgett toward the kitchen where Colin had been left cooling his heels. It formed a solid knot when he took in the man’s broad, worried face and the way he twisted his cap round and round in his huge, work-worn hands.
There was definitely something wrong.
Zacharias nodded for Badgett to leave them and spoke only when the door closed behind him. “Yes, Colin. What is it?”
“I wouldn’t have come, sir, but there’s trouble at Summervale.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“It’s the missus.” Colin twisted his cap a little harder. “She’s been taken bad, sir.”
As always, thinking about Agatha brought up the bitterness, hurt, and anger he preferred to keep locked away. “Explain.”
“Meg and I . . . Well, we don’t know what happened to her, sir, but she’s acting different-like this morning.”
Zacharias ignored the flash of relief that came with the realization that she wasn’t lying dead in her sanctuary. “Mrs. Logan is free to act in whatever way she pleases, without permission from me.”
“True enough, sir.” Shadows drifted across Colin’s eyes. He twisted his cap even more frantically. “And that’s just what I said to Meg. But now I’m thinkin’ maybe there’s something to worry about.” He took a deep breath, as if he needed courage. “She thanked Meg for serving her breakfast, sir.”
Zacharias made sure the surprise didn’t show on his face. Colin was, after all, a servant. A trusted man to be sure, but still a servant. “I see.” He toyed casually with the chain on his pocket watch as he crossed to the fireplace. “Is that all?”
“No, sir.” Colin moved a step closer and lowered his voice. “She asked me to show her the gardens, sir. And the stables. Which I did, despite me own misgivings. And she laughed. Right out loud.”
Agatha laughed? Impossible.
Scowling to show his displeasure, Zacharias leveled the man with his gaze. “If you’re having a joke at my expense—”
Colin interrupted, too agitated to consider the implications. “She told me she’s having a dream, sir. She thinks she’s fast asleep.”
Zacharias didn’t care about Agatha. Make no mistake about that. But Patricia was right about the sense of duty he felt toward her. She was his wife after all, though it had been a long while since she’d been his wife in anything but name only.
“And what would you have me do about her dream?”
“That I don’t know, sir. Meg is showing her around the house even now. It’s as if she’s never seen it before.” Colin stopped twisting his cap and squared his shoulders. “Meg and I thought you should know, that’s all.”
“Well, now I know.”
Colin began twisting again. “We thought maybe you should also know that she asked to see the ballroom.” He paused and added, “And I heard her humming, sir.”
Zacharias deepened his scowl to make sure Colin understood how much that news displeased him. “Humming?”
“Yes sir.”
“You must have been mistaken.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I heard her with me own two ears. And so did Meg. That’s when Meg told me I should bring myself over here and let you know.”
There had been a time when Zacharias would have welcomed that piece of information. A time when it might have given him hope. But he’d been young and foolish then. He was older and wiser now.
Still, if Agatha was humming, walking out to the stables, and thanking the servants, something was definitely wrong. Much as he’d like to leave her to her dream, he couldn’t. Much as he’d like to leave the dealing with her to someone else, he wouldn’t.
She’d already caused enough scandal to last a lifetime. For the sake of his sons, he couldn’t allow her cause more. But that didn’t mean the thought of seeing her again pleased him.
Blast the woman.
Blast her to hell and back again.
He spent a moment adjusting his cravat as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I suppose I am obligated to see what is wrong with her.”
Colin let out a sigh, heavy with relief. “Yes, sir.”
Zacharias flicked a hand toward the doorway. “You may go, Colin. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Thank you, sir. Meg’ll be much relieved.”
No doubt, Zacharias thought bitterly. He just wished he could say the same for himself.
Shelby followed Meg along the corridor, taking in everything as she walked. The deep, rich, gleaming wood, the heavy crystal chandeliers, the portraits hanging on the walls, the thickly woven oriental rugs. She’d always known she had a vivid imagination, but this really was incredible.
Meg glanced over her shoulder, as if she wanted to be sure she was all right. “You don’t remember the yellow bedroom?”
“I didn’t even know there was a yellow bedroom,” Shelby said with a soft laugh. “But I’d love to see it. I want to see everything—even if it isn’t real.”
“It’s quite real,” Meg said firmly as she stopped outside a thick wooden door. She swept another worried glance over Shelby, then pushed open the door and stepped aside.
Shelby’s breath caught. She clasped her hands and let out a sigh. A magnificent poster bed with beige candlewicked coverlet and matching tassled canopy dominated the room. Chairs upholstered in a yellow-backed floral pattern surrounded a brightly colored woven rug. Pale yellow walls sported a green border sprigged with rose and yellow flowers. “Oh,” she said softly. “Just look at it.”
Meg followed her gaze as she took in the room. “It is a lovely room, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, it’s more than that. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Shelby broke off and laughed. “I don’t know how to describe it,” she said at last, “but it’s incredible. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to tear it down.”
Meg scowled deeply. “Tear down Summervale? Why would you want to do that, Madame?”
“I don’t want to.” Shelby said, wheeling to face her. “Evan does. But I don’t want to think about that now. Not while I’m dreaming. I can deal with that when I wake up again.”
Meg took a hesitant step toward her. “Forgive me for over-stepping my bounds, Madame, but why do you think you’re dreaming?”
“I’m here aren’t I? The house is completely furnished. I’m dressed in this ridiculously uncomfortable gown. And look at you.”
“Me?” Meg glanced at her own clothing. “What about me?”
“Well, your clothes are just so quaint. So old-fashioned. So completely authentic. You look as if you belong here.”
“I have been with your family since before you were born,” Meg said sharply. “And I came to Summervale when you did.”
Shelby didn’t want to offend anyone—even in a dream. “That’s not what I mean,” she said quickly. “I mean here and now, right this minute. Tell me, what day is it?”
“Monday, Madame.”
“No, no, no. I mean, what is the date?”
“The first of May.”
“What year?”
“Eighteen and seventy-one.”
“Eighteen seventy-one. Amazing.” Shelby laughed again and hurried across the parquet floor toward the far windows. “That means Winterhill is there, doesn’t it? Can I see it from here?”
“You want to look at it?” Meg’s frown cut deep into her face. “Are you quite certain, Madame?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The trees?” Shelby wheeled back to face her. For some reason, she’s always assumed the trees had grown there naturally, and she’d always wondered why someone didn’t thin them to make the view better from each of the houses. “You mean someone planted them there on purpose?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“But why?”
Meg took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Because you instructed us to.”
“I did?” Shelby was stunned for a moment until she realized Meg was talking about Agatha. “Why did I do that?”
“Because, Madame, you’ve made it quite clear you don’t want Winterhill visible from anywhere on the estate.”
Shelby thought about that for a moment. Yes, she knew this was a dream, but maybe her subconscious had retained something about Agatha and Zacharias, Winterhill and Summervale, something that her conscious mind had skipped over. She decided to see where her subconscious would take her. “And why have I done that?”
Meg shifted her weight and looked as if she were arguing with herself about answering.
“It’s all right, Meg.” Shelby put a hand on her arm and smiled into her eyes. “It’s only a dream.” Meg stiffened beneath her touch and looked so uncomfortable, Shelby drew her hand away again. “You can tell me,” she urged. “Why have I tried to hide Winterhill from view?”
“Because of The Unfortunate Incident, Madame.” Meg’s voice sounded soft and hesitant.
Shelby thought about pressing further, but the concern in the older woman’s eyes stopped her. Even in a dream, she didn’t want to hurt someone else. She peered out the window and smiled slowly. She could see the red-brick turrets from here, the massive gardens surrounding Winterhill and even those stretching away from Summervale. If Jon could see the houses like this, surely he’d move heaven and earth to save them. But Jon wasn’t likely to join her in her dream.