Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense

by DeWees, Amanda

  “My boy,” said Lord Claude, and held out his hand.

  Herron said nothing. Strain as I might, I could not read his face. But then he put out his hand and clasped his uncle’s.

  Beside me, the duchess smiled. Our eyes met, and we shared a moment of silent relief. It was a start.

  * * *

  The night before the duchess and Lord Claude left for Italy, the three of us dined at Lord Montrose and Aminta’s house, five miles away. It was pleasant to see them again and to recapture for the evening the atmosphere of former times. The absence of Herron and Charles left a sad gap in our company, but we were able to be merry in spite of this. The candlelight glowed as cheerfully as at any Ellsmere dinner, and we drank many toasts: to the absent ones and their success in their respective endeavors; to the end of the war in the Crimea; to the safe voyage of the duchess and Lord Claude.

  “And to my success in catching a fine husband this season,” added Felicity impishly, raising her glass. Finally eighteen years old, she wore her first true dinner gown, with long skirts and a décolletage, and her hair was dressed no longer in the girlish ringlets but in an elegant chignon like her aunt’s. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, but she already possessed a poise that showed she was ready to venture into the world. Aminta caught my eye and smiled.

  “Very well; why not? A toast to Felicity as she goes forth to seek her destiny. May she show as much discrimination as I did.”

  “Hear, hear,” seconded Lord Montrose, with a broad grin for his wife, and we all laughed and raised our glasses to Felicity’s future.

  At the end of the evening, when we were taking our leave, Felicity drew me aside.

  “I did not want to be tactless and ask after you in front of all the others,” she whispered. “Aminta felt it would be best if we did not mention your father tonight, and of course I agreed. But I thought—I wondered—well, even though Aunt says he was never a true father to you, and we know so many dreadful things of him now, I was afraid you might be missing him.”

  Her eyes were filled with such sincere concern that I could not resist hugging her.

  “It’s kind of you to ask, Felicity. I can’t claim to have loved him—certainly not as you do your father—but it is strange all the same to know he is dead.” I tried to ease the anxious expression on her face. “I have had some time to accustom myself to the idea, though, and I am perfectly fine.”

  Her dimples broke out at once. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it. Now, are you certain you won’t come to London for the season with us? I should so love for you to be presented with me. Think of all the parties and balls we would attend! Between the two of us, we would break every heart in the city.”

  “Perhaps I will,” I laughed, as the duchess beckoned for me to join her in the carriage. “If I weary of Ellsmere, I may appear on your doorstep one day.”

  “Do,” she urged. “I shall tell Aminta to air the second guest bedroom for you.” There was no time to say anything further, so she and Aminta waved goodbye, and until we passed the curve of the drive we could see them waving, standing against the warm lighted windows of the house.

  We had left Ellsmere a threesome, but now we were four: Miss Yates was accompanying us back to the house so that she could be my chaperon and companion while the duchess and Lord Claude were in Italy. The arrangement had been my idea, so that I could stay on at Ellsmere instead of joining one of the two sets of travelers. I knew the duchess would never let me stay there alone, and I had no wish to leave, at least until my future was more certain. Miss Yates had agreed readily.

  “Lady Montrose’s children don’t yet need me; their bonne will be sufficient for the season. And the prospect of seeing Felicity launched, I must confess, makes me nervous. I’m certain I’ll be fighting the urge to intrude every moment. She will be better off without me there to keep her under my watchful eye.”

  She was to be installed in rooms across from mine, so when there was a tap at my door later that night, after we had returned to Ellsmere and retired for the night, I assumed it would be Miss Yates. Instead I found it was the duchess.

  “I’m not disturbing you, I hope?” she inquired. “I can never sleep the night before starting a journey, and I thought you might feel like talking.”

  “Of course,” I said, and we made ourselves comfortable before the fire. She curled up gracefully on the divan, tucking her feet beneath her as if she were a schoolgirl instead of a duchess. Indeed, in her frilly dressing gown, with her hair in a braid down her back, she looked no more than sixteen. Somehow all the recent shocks had not seemed to age her; unlike her husband, she bore no signs of strain in her face. Her next words showed that even now she continued to think of others before herself.

  “Will you not be lonely here while Claude and I are away?” she asked. “I hate to think of you alone in this great house. I would feel much easier in my mind if you would come to Italy with us.”

  “I am perfectly content with my own company, and I shall have Miss Yates when I tire of solitude.”

  “But you will find it very dull,” she insisted. “With no guests, and no parties, the days will be very empty.”

  I went to my dressing table and retrieved a letter, which I handed to her. “I will have something with which to occupy myself. A few weeks ago I contacted a publisher in London and sent him some of my translations. He believes they will find a receptive audience.”

  “But how wonderful!” she exclaimed, scanning the letter. “So you will be doing more such work, I gather.”

  I nodded. “He has told me of several texts I’ve read that lack adequate translations. I plan to start work on them right away.”

  “Oh, my dear, I am so glad for you.” She leaned over to kiss my cheek, then sat back, beaming. “I see I need not have worried; you seem to have found your path, as Herron has. I am very proud of you both.”

  “You’ll miss him, won’t you?”

  She forced a smile. “Terribly. The more, since I am not certain how much I shall see him in the future. His life will take him elsewhere, I’m sure, and Claude and I may not ever return to Ellsmere.”

  “What?” I cried. “You mean, you will stay in Italy?”

  “I don’t know.” She hesitated, then continued. “There are so many unhappy memories linked to Ellsmere now that I’m not certain we could ever live here in contentment. We would be constantly reminded of so many things that we would rather forget—indeed, that we must forget, if we are to find peace.”

  “But you must have many happy memories here as well,” I protested. “This has been your home, and your family’s home, for so many years.”

  “I know, child,” she sighed. “I am not saying the decision is made. It is far from an easy one.”

  “And what of the estate?” I pressed her. “Without Herron to see to it, Lord Claude’s presence is vital. Herron depends upon him to oversee everything for him.”

  That brought pleased reminiscence to her face. “Yes, there is that. He has entrusted Ellsmere to Claude, and Claude will not lightly reject such an overture. It was splendid of Herron to make such a gesture, and Claude knows it well.” She spread her hands. “We shall see; I cannot say now what will happen.

  “But before we part,” she added in a different tone, “I have something for you. I was not entirely honest when I claimed that I came here because I could not sleep; I had another reason as well.” From the voluminous folds of her peignoir she produced a small box, which she handed to me. “I wanted to give this to you before I left. Somehow the right moment never presented itself today.”

  I gasped when I opened the box: nestled inside was an antique brooch of the Reginald coat of arms, enameled and set with jewels. Enclosing the coat of arms was a round border on which tiny diamonds spelled out the family motto. I gazed at it in wonder for a long while before I could tear my eyes away to look back at the duchess.

  “It belonged to the first Duchess of Ellsworth,” she said. “She gave it to her daughter-in
-law on her wedding day. When I was married it became mine, and now it is yours.”

  “But, ma’am, it is not for me to have. I am not the next duchess, nor ever will be—”

  “It belongs to whomever I give it to, and I want you to have it.” Softly, distinctly she added, “It is small enough thanks for saving my son’s life.”

  The room went very quiet. All I could hear was the gentle crackling of the fire. Not daring to look at her, I found myself staring at the motto that encircled the brooch. To be, rather than to seem. I thought how ill suited any of us was to wear it: all of us at some time had seemed one thing and been another.

  “You are too generous, ma’am,” I managed. “Perhaps my presence that night was lucky, but you do me too much credit.”

  “Oh, I think not,” she said evenly, and in uncertainty my eyes sought her face. She was watching me with a faint, sweet smile. “Herron came to me before he left and told me what you did. It was you who saved him, child, and I’ll not forget it. I can never thank you enough.” Leaning forward, she clasped her hands over mine, folding my fingers around the brooch. “I only wish you had trusted me enough to tell me the truth,” she said reproachfully. “What did you think I would do? Cast you out, or throw you on the mercy of the courts?” When I did not answer, her voice gentled. “Surely you know me well enough to realize I would understand that you only did what you had to do.”

  “I was afraid of what you would think of me,” I admitted. “You have always been so kind to me, but this was something you never bargained for when you took me in. I was certain you’d believe you had been deceived in me, that I was an evil woman you would not want to associate with.” Not even the knowledge that Herron and I had felt some other force helping me fight my father had entirely absolved me of this fear.

  “Evil! You!” She burst out in mirth. “Oh, my dear child, I should not laugh at you; you must have been in torment, fearing your secret would come out. But there is nothing in what happened to make me see evil in you. In fact, given the right circumstances, I think everyone is capable of killing. I know that I am.”

  “You could never murder anyone!”

  “Oh, I could; but, in any case, acting as you did—to save another life—that is not murder. You are no more capable of cold-blooded, deliberate murder than… than Claude. There is some situation in which everyone will kill, whether it is to save her own life or that of someone she loves. That does not make her a killer by nature, or mean that, having destroyed once, she will ever do so again.” Seeing that she had made her point, she went on blithely. “Now, I am made differently. I am entirely capable of committing murder, just as Hugo was.”

  “I do not believe it,” I said warmly. “You could never be so malicious.”

  “It is not a matter of malice, my dear; had I known what Hugo was about, I could most certainly have killed him. I would have, to protect Herron and Claude. I could have calmly and deliberately planned to end his life, and I would have taken the proper steps to do so.”

  Incredulous, I looked at her curled there on the divan, speaking so serenely of murder. With her spun-gold hair and frothy gown, she resembled a murderess about as much as a kitten. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, “How?”

  She put her head on one side with a thoughtful moue. “Poison would have been effective, although it has a number of drawbacks,” she mused. “Perhaps I would have sent for him to meet me in my boudoir and then, when he arrived, stabbed him with my letter opener; I would then have spread the story that he had made an indecent advance, and I had been forced to defend my honor. Or I could have suggested an archery competition and accidentally shot him. (I am an excellent archer.) I could have crept into his room at night and used a pistol on him, then hidden the silver and claimed a tramp had broken into the house.” She shrugged carelessly. “There are all sorts of ways.”

  “I see,” I said, dazed, and her trilling laugh rang out again.

  “Now I have shocked you. Don’t worry, my dear; unless Herron or Claude is ever in danger again, I don’t expect I shall have to act upon my deadly impulses. I may be capable of murder, but I would not engage in it without good cause. Now,” she commanded, leaning toward me, “tell me your fears about all of this have been set at rest.”

  “They have,” I said gratefully. “I am sorry I did not trust you, ma’am.”

  “And you will never hesitate to trust in me in the future, will you? There is nothing in your character that could ever cause me to turn against you.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I could not help asking it, even though I did not want to find fault with her kindness. “How can any of us really be certain we know what those around us are capable of?”

  She rose to her feet and shook out her gown. “Sometimes we cannot, dear, but often our hearts tell us enough. In any case, we cannot depend on absolute certainty; sometimes we must take people on faith, and trust them even if we risk being hurt.”

  She moved to the door, but I sat motionless and continued to ponder this. “It is a risk,” I said slowly. “But I suppose that if we refused to take that risk—protected ourselves by regarding everyone with suspicion and caution—we would never have a chance at happiness.” I remembered Herron as he had been, cut off from all human connections because of his fear and distrust, and knew that I had been doing the same thing since my father’s death.

  Shaking myself out of my reverie, I rose to see the duchess out. “Thank you for everything you have given me,” I said. “My home, my brooch, my peace of mind.”

  Beaming, she held out her arms to me, and we embraced. “You are most kindly welcome,” she said. “Now, don’t you think you should write to Charles and tell him to come to you?”

  “I already have,” I said, and she laughed and departed.

  * * *

  Charles returned on a golden evening in spring. I had been daydreaming over a book on the back terrace, but when I heard the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel drive I leapt to my feet and ran around to the front of the house. Charles was just alighting, and when he saw me he smiled broadly and opened his arms. I ran to them.

  “Something is different about you,” I said after a time, when he had released me long enough for me to speak. “I can’t tell just what, though. Kiss me again.”

  “Gladly,” he replied, and did so with an enthusiasm that left me breathless. When I emerged again I cried, “Your moustache is gone!”

  He grinned down at me, his eyes so brilliantly blue they seemed the color of heaven. “I thought it a fitting gesture. Leaving behind the last vestige of my life as a soldier to become a husband.”

  “Well, perhaps we should talk before you make any definite plans.” Firmly I fought down my elation, reminding myself that I must get the thing I dreaded over with before I could be secure in my happiness. The coachman and Jenkins were both watching us with interest and barely concealed amusement, as was Miss Yates from the morning room; we needed privacy. I slipped my hand into Charles’s to lead him away.

  “I wondered what had made you change your mind,” he commented, as we walked across the terrace away from our audience. “When I got your letter, I thought—I hoped—that your doubts were resolved. Is something still troubling you?”

  “No,” I said, seating myself on the wide stone balustrade and drawing him down beside me, “but it may trouble you when you learn of it.” I took a deep breath and faced him. “You may not wish to marry me once you know the truth of what happened to my father. He did not slip and fall from the roof accidentally, as you thought. I pushed him. I did it deliberately, knowing it would kill him, because it was the only way I could think to keep him from murdering Herron.”

  Then I waited.

  His eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. “That is why you sent me away? Because you feared I would discover this?” When I nodded, he said gently, “But Oriel, I knew it already.”

  “You knew?” I gasped.

  “Of course I did. I saw you. My
God, when I remember racing up to the roof and arriving just as you flung yourself at him, too late to do anything but watch as the two of you grappled at the edge of the roof… that was the worst moment of my life.” He pulled me into his arms again, and I was too amazed to resist, even had I wished to. “You seemed so horrified at yourself that I let you think I had misconstrued what I saw.”

  “Then you don’t despise me?” My voice was muffled against his chest, but he caught the words.

  “Despise you!” he retorted. “Oriel, you saved Herron’s life that night, and almost certainly your own as well. If I had gotten there first I would most likely have acted just as you did.” His voice took on a teasing note. “Even had he not been an embezzler and a would-be murderer, I could never have endured Pembroke as a father-in-law. Now, does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” I said joyfully, turning my face up to his, “much better,” and whatever else I might have said was lost as his lips met mine.

  Much, much later, when we were again disposed for conversation, we strolled to the cliffs to watch the sun set. He told me of the progress of his medical studies in Edinburgh, and I told him of all that had passed at Ellsmere since his departure—omitting a certain foolish soaking of mine.

  “By the way,” said Charles, as we looked out over the sea, stained rose and gold in the setting sun, “would you rather have a big, showy, pretentious wedding in society, with a reception for three hundred, that takes months to arrange; or would you prefer a charming, intimate, expeditious ceremony on the way to Edinburgh?”

  “Since you won’t state a preference,” I said demurely, “I’ll choose the second. You realize, though, that it will mean risking Felicity’s wrath by robbing her of the opportunity to be bridesmaid.”

  “I’m willing to chance it,” he said comfortably, his arm snug around my waist. “My life has been so placid these last few weeks that a bit of danger will add some welcome savor.”

  I could not repress a shudder as I recalled some of the “savor” we had lived through at Ellsmere. “It’s sad, but I won’t be entirely sorry to leave,” I reflected. “The duchess was right; there are a great many unhappy memories here.”