by Sherry Lewis
“Which is why I’ve come to you,” Victoria explained. “Zacharias is not immune to your charms, Patricia. Surely, you must know that.”
Patricia’s lips curved into a pleased smile. She lowered her gaze becomingly. “I do believe he is fond of me.”
“If I may speak honestly. . . ” Victoria lifted her brows and waited for Patricia’s nod. “You would be a far more appropriate wife for him, and better as a mother for Andrew and Mordechai. I believe you would take the proper interest in their upbringing and raise them as they should be raised—with an eye tuned toward their future.”
Patricia nodded slowly. “They are delightful children, of course, and I do understand how important it is for children to receive the proper upbringing and attend the appropriate schools. But I have no say as long as Zacharias remains married to Agatha.”
“That is precisely what we must change. That marriage is an unfortunate circumstance. One I will not tolerate any longer. Zacharias’s one weakness is the softness of his heart, and Agatha is playing on that weakness.”
“Most unfortunate.” Patricia resumed her seat and retrieved her cup and saucer from the table.
“Most inappropriate,” Victoria corrected archly. “There is one way I believe I can convince Zacharias to take action. He must be made to realize that Agatha has lost her mind.”
Patricia’s cup rattled softly against the saucer. She stilled it quickly and set it aside again. “Surely, he is not trying to deny that. The evidence is irrefutable.”
“He does deny it. Worse, he is under the impression that she has undergone some change that has rendered her sane.”
Two bright spots of color sprang into Patricia’s cheeks. “And has she changed?”
“She is behaving differently.” Just thinking about the way Agatha had spoken to her the previous afternoon made Victoria’s blood boil. “But I do not believe she has truly changed at all. Perhaps she is dismayed over Zacharias’s growing attachment to you and seeks to come between you.”
Patricia tilted her head to one side. “But does he grow more attached to me? At times, it seems he is growing further removed.”
“Never doubt his affection,” Victoria snapped, then tempered her voice and repeated it more gently. “Never doubt it.” If he didn’t love her now, he soon would. Victoria would make certain of that.
Patricia glanced at her hands. “You said you needed something from me. What would you have me do?”
“Zacharias must be made to realize that Agatha is a danger, not only to himself but to the children. He must be made to see that the only way to protect the children is to set her aside, once and for all.”
“But she has refused to even acknowledge them these past five years,” Patricia pointed out. “Do you really think she would hurt them now?”
“I think it entirely possible. Even probable. The circumstances surrounding their birth—”
Patricia looked away quickly. “Yes, of course.” She sighed softly and took a bracing sip of tea.
Victoria smiled to herself. She’d made her point. She wouldn’t belabor that point unless it became necessary. “You are surprised that I would speak of it.”
“Yes.”
“I shan’t do so again. There is no need. As long as we understand one another—”
“Perfectly.”
Victoria sighed with satisfaction and lifted her teacup. “As for your marriage to Zacharias, don’t worry about appearances. Everyone knows that Agatha is insane and how deeply you mourned the loss of your dear husband.”
Patricia’s fingers trembled slightly. “I was fond of Steven.”
“Of course you were. Your period of seclusion after his death gave ample evidence of your devotion. But you are a young and remarkably beautiful woman. And no one will dare to question whether your marriage to Zacharias is appropriate. I will see to that personally.”
Patricia lifted her eyes slightly. “Then I shall do whatever I can to see that he realizes the truth about Agatha.”
“Wonderful.” Victoria set aside her cup and stood. “We shall not discuss this again. I am not anxious for anyone to think we are . . . ” She cast about for the right word, then sent Patricia a thin smile. “. . . that we are in collusion—especially not Zacharias.”
“I won’t give him reason to wonder.”
“If I had any doubt of that, my dear, I never would have come to you.” Completely satisfied, Victoria swept toward the door. “Your presence at Zacharias’s side in two days will not go unnoticed. And you will further cement your position as the future mistress of Winterhill by calling on us often in the days following. Together, we will right this wrong. I promise you, I will let nothing stand in your way.”
SEVEN
Stealing a glance over his shoulder to make certain no one was watching, Zacharias slipped out of the ballroom, took refuge behind a trellis of climbing roses, and let out a sigh of relief. He’d been cooped up inside with guests all evening, smiling, laughing, dancing, and playing the perfect host. He’d made his mother happy, and had done his best to treat Patricia with the deference she deserved as his hostess. But even surrounded by friends, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of Agatha.
When he’d watched Patricia receiving his guests, he’d imagined Agatha in her rightful place at his side. While he’d swept Patricia across the dance floor, he’d pictured his wife’s hand is his, her face upturned and slightly flushed. Her image had grown so persistent, a dull ache started behind his eyes and now felt like an iron band around his head.
He needed a few minutes of solitude before he had to go back inside to face the music. Crickets sang in the night air, soothing him slightly. He tilted his head and studied the starlit sky, the three-quarter moon, the soft clouds gliding above the trees. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath full of scents from the garden—roses, wisteria, night-scented stock, clematis. But when Agatha’s image floated into his head, strolling through the gardens and smiling softly, he opened his eyes again and blinked it away.
At that moment, the sound of approaching footsteps drove him further into the shadows, and when he recognized his mother’s voice, he congratulated himself on his decision. Until tonight, his mother had been circumspect about her hopes for his future with Patricia, but this evening Zacharias had caught her in several careless mistakes. He had no wish to tempt fate by putting himself in front of her.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the evening,” he heard her say as the footsteps drew closer. “But I must confess that I had little to do with the preparations. Our dear Patricia really deserves the credit.”
Zacharias barely restrained a laugh. His mother had never let anyone else handle anything important, and he very much doubted she ever would.
Now, she let out a wistful sigh. “She’s such a dear. Like a daughter to me already.”
Zacharias glowered at the back of the trellis and vowed to discuss her slips of the tongue over breakfast.
Her companion spoke for the first time, and Zacharias recognized the voice of Annabelle Lamott, his mother’s friend. “I’m sure you look forward to the time when Patricia’s presence here is not a temporary arrangement.”
“I do, indeed.”
“Do you think it will be soon?”
“I believe so.” His mother’s voice cut out when she turned away, then rose again. “. . . that fiasco will soon be over. Much as it pains me to say it, Agatha simply isn’t well.”
Zacharias’s pulse slowed ominously.
“It’s such an unfortunate situation,” Annabelle said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Do you often hear from her?”
“Never.” Victoria’s voice drifted away and back again. “. . . not surprising considering her upbringing.”
Annabelle sniffed with disapproval. “You’re right, of course. Her mother simply was not the kind of woman one would have expected Jacob Carruthers to marry.” The two women moved away together and Zacharias lost the remainder of their conversation.
Agatha’s mother had been a lovely woman, far more kind and gracious than his own mother could ever hope to be. A slow-burning fury built in his chest at his mother’s blatant attempts to manipulate his future. He waited, seething, until he was certain the two women had returned to the ballroom, then started to leave his hiding place.
But a movement in the distance, behind a sprawling pyracantha, caught his attention. He ignored it at first, assuming some of his guests had wandered out into the gardens for privacy, but when the figure moved again—quickly, furtively, darting behind a Japanese yew, running to hide behind a stand of juniper, he had second thoughts.
Intrigued, he held his place in the shadows and watched. Even in the moonlight, he could tell it was a woman. But who? One of the servants? Jada, perhaps, sneaking out through the gardens to meet a lover after the twins went to sleep.
Zacharias supposed he didn’t mind that, as long as the twins were safely abed. Smiling slightly, he peered over the balcony to see what she intended to do next. A cloud drifted away from the moon and soft light spilled into the garden illuminating everything in its path.
The woman ducked behind the juniper again, but not before Zacharias got a better look. And what he saw wiped the smile from his face and rooted him to the spot.
Agatha?
Surely, he was mistaken. He pulled back sharply, rubbed his eyes, and leaned forward again convinced that this time he’d see Jada or another of the servants. He moved slowly, carefully, chiding himself for letting his imagination get the best of him. Agatha had been behaving oddly the past few days, but even so, she wouldn’t risk running into anyone from the society she’d shunned.
Would she?
He held onto the cool iron railing and waited while a couple strolled past the bush where his furtive wife hid. When they disappeared again, she poked her head out again. This time, he saw her so clearly even he could no longer believe he’d made a mistake.
While he watched, utterly dumbfounded, Agatha craned to see inside the parlor, glanced anxiously around to make sure she hadn’t been discovered and moved a little closer as if the sights and sounds of the gathering enticed her.
Zacharias went numb all over. If he’d still harbored doubts about the changes in her, this dispelled them all. And when she closed her eyes and began to sway in time to the music of the string quartet, he staggered backward into the rose trellis.
Agatha’s eyes flew open and her gaze flashed to the balcony. Zacharias held his breath, half hoping she couldn’t see him, half hoping she could. He had no idea whether he should reveal himself to her or remain hidden. But since he hadn’t the foggiest idea what he’d say to her, he opted for the latter.
Quickly, like a frightened deer, she backed out of sight and a moment later, he saw her making her way back across the garden again. Zacharias stayed rooted to his spot and watched her, wondering what she’d hoped to accomplish by sneaking over here in the middle of his evening’s entertainment.
In the next breath, he realized there was only one way to find out. Determined to catch her, he slipped out from behind the trellis and started toward the gardens. But before he could step off the terrace onto the lawn, a hand grabbed his arm from behind.
He whirled to offer his excuse for not stopping, and found himself looking into Patricia’s distressed eyes.
She forced a tremulous smile. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’ve been busy with guests.” The lie came easily. Perhaps too easily. “And now I must see to something quite urgent, so if you’ll excuse me—”
Patricia slid her hand around his arm and tightened her grip. “There’s no need for you to see to any details, Zacharias. You have a houseful of servants who can see to everything our guests need.”
Our guests? She didn’t seem to notice the slip, but Zacharias certainly did. And it sent a cold shiver of apprehension through him. He darted a glance over his shoulder, but if Agatha was still out there, she’d hidden herself completely.
“Come.” Patricia’s voice was too close to his ear, her breasts brushed against him provocatively. “I believe you owe me the next waltz. How would it look if you were in the gardens instead of on the dance floor with me?”
He wanted to tell her he didn’t give a damn for appearances. That he wanted to talk to his wife and find out what was going on inside her mind. That he could offer Patricia no hope for the future. But tonight with guests spilling out of every door, filling every room, watching every move he made, was not the time to deal with either problem.
Forcing a smile, he turned toward the ballroom doors. He gritted his teeth and steeled himself to endure the rest of the evening. But he didn’t relish the idea of dancing with one woman while another occupied his mind his thoughts.
Growing more dismayed by the minute, Shelby stood in front of the dressing table while Meg pulled dress after dress after ugly, dowdy dress from a trunk on the floor. Sunlight splashed into the room, a light breeze kept the temperature balmy, and Shelby loved every moment she could spend not wearing her corset. But the inventory of the clothes in Agatha’s wardrobe made her feel worse by the minute.
“These gowns are no better than the ones I wear every day,” she said with a scowl at the dark blue bombazine with high neck and sleeves that Meg held aloft. “Don’t I own anything colorful?”
“Colorful, Madame?”
“Something other than navy blue, brown, or gray. Every gown I’ve seen will make me look old and frumpy.” How could she hope to win Zacharias’s affection if she looked like someone’s grandmother?
Meg’s face puckered with confusion. “Frumpy?”
“Dowdy. Drab. Stodgy.” Sighing heavily, Shelby sat at the dressing table and studied Agatha’s dark hair and eyes and her clear, pale complexion in the mirror. “Definitely a winter complexion. I think I’d look nice in royal blue, or red, or a deep forest green. Don’t I own anything like that?”
“No, Madame.”
“Nothing pastel? Lavender, or peach, or baby blue?”
Meg lowered the gown and shook her head. “No. You prefer more sedate colors.”
“Well, not anymore.” Standing, Shelby adjusted the ties of her wrapper more securely. “I’ve changed. And these styles. . . ” She ran her fingers along the collar of one of the gowns heaped on the bed. “Is everything I own high-necked and long-sleeved?”
Meg sent her a sidelong glance. “I’m afraid so, Madame.”
“I like looking like an old lady?”
Meg’s lips twitched an instant before she ducked her head. “You do not approve of women who reveal too many of their charms, Madame.”
“Apparently, not.” Shelby gave the collar another twitch. “But there’s a difference between revealing too many of your charms and dressing like a nun. Tell me how I go about ordering some new dresses.”
Meg gathered an armful of linen, bombazine, broadcloth and satin from the bed. “I can have Colin drive me in to town. There are several fine seamstresses with broad selections of fabric. If you’ll tell me which colors you would prefer, I’ll make the purchases for you.”
“Oh, but—” Shelby dropped to the foot of the bed and crossed her legs. “What if I want to choose for myself?”
Meg glanced back at her, obviously surprised by the question. “I always purchase the fabric you desire, Madame.”
“And I suppose you also make all my clothes.”
“Yes, Madame. I have for several years.”
“In addition to everything else you have to do?” Shelby shook her head slowly, amazed by the ever-growing list of demands Agatha made of Meg and Colin.
Meg’s expression remained carefully schooled, revealing nothing. “It is as you wish, Madame.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Shelby kicked one foot slowly. “So, I overwork you because I don’t want to see anyone? Am I really so selfish?”
Meg
turned away quickly to hide her sudden smile. “Colin and I are happy to do as you wish, Madame.”
Happy? Shelby doubted that. The only sounds of happiness she’d heard in the past week had come from the kitchen when Meg and Colin thought she’d retired for the night. And much as she longed to join them, she’d never interrupted the few minutes they had each evening to relax.
“You and Colin are wonderful,” she admitted aloud, which earned another surprised glance from Meg. “But I think I’d like to go in to town, myself.”
Meg dropped the bundle of gowns she held, then bent to retrieve them. “Perhaps you should wait, Madame. . . Until you’re fully recovered and feeling yourself again.”
She looked so flustered, Shelby’s heart went out to her. “Perhaps,” she said slowly. “And perhaps not. Tell me, Meg, why are you so anxious to keep me here?”
“Anxious?” Meg flushed a deep red as she scooped the last of the gowns from the floor. “Do I seem anxious?”
“Very. What do the people in town think of me?”
Meg stood quickly and turned toward the wardrobe. “They think nothing, Madame. They wouldn’t dare.”
Laughing, Shelby stood again and began gathering an armful of gowns. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that. People always think, and I’m quite sure they talk as well.”
“Perhaps they do, Madame, but not when Colin and I can hear.”
Shelby grimaced at a particularly ugly brown Irish poplin. “Only because they’re afraid you’ll tell me what they say. Am I really so formidable?”
“You are highly respected, Madame.”
“Highly suspect is more like it. They think I’m crazy, don’t they?”
Meg’s lips thinned. “I don’t know what they think, Madame.”
Shelby handed Meg the gowns and bent to gather more. “Don’t worry, Meg. I’m not going to get angry. But how can I fix anything if I don’t know exactly what’s wrong?”
Meg’s gaze flew to hers again. “What is it you wish to fix, Madame?”