by Cheryl Holt
He chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine she’d take to it.”
“And she’s so much older than you. How many years is it? Twenty?”
“Only sixteen.”
“Only!” She inhaled a deep breath, struggling for calm as she peered over at him. “You’ll never wed. You’re too independent, but if you ever decided to proceed, wouldn’t you like to have a bride who loved you?”
“Perhaps.”
“How could Barbara Middleton be that person?”
“She’s just lonely—like all the rest of them. I make her feel better about herself. It’s what I do. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it? There are so many things wrong with it that I can’t tabulate them all.”
“Nothing bad will happen. Trust me.”
She’d known him a long, long time. When he said the words trust me, they were headed for catastrophe.
“Don’t wreck this for me,” she begged.
“I won’t.”
“Please. I’m happy here, and I don’t want to leave.”
He grinned his impudent grin, the one that made female hearts flutter whenever they saw it, and he tossed an arm over her shoulder.
“You worry too much, Clarinda.” He spoke in the coaxing tone that always had her worrying. “Everything will be fine. I’ve got it all under control.”
“If that’s what you believe, then I’ll brace myself, for calamity is about to mow me down like a runaway carriage.”
BARBARA Strolled the grounds, pretending no destination, but in reality, she was working her way toward Violet Howard. The snotty imp was adept at scurrying away, but for once, Barbara wouldn’t let her.
Violet acted as if Barbara was invisible, but what addlebrained Violet didn’t understand was that Barbara was back to stay.
If John had resolved to marry, she intended he would wed someone Barbara liked, someone who would like Barbara in return. Was Violet Howard the best choice to be his bride? Though she’d never conversed with the ghastly child, Barbara was sure the answer was a resounding no.
John would have selected Violet for inane motives—property, dowry, ancestry—but Barbara didn’t think any of those aspects were vital. As her own situation had proven, there were other, more imperative issues: compatibility, respect, and common interests, to name a few. She was enough of a romantic to add love into the mix.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if John married a girl he loved?
Silly, immature Violet Howard would be an appalling wife, and Barbara had to convince John of his potential mistake.
Through the crowd, Violet was approaching, and Barbara hid behind a tree until Violet had passed. Then she stepped out and took Violet’s arm—as if they were bosom companions.
“Hello, Violet. You don’t mind if I call you Violet, do you? After all, you’re about to be my daughter-in-law. It’s only natural that we be on intimate terms.”
Violet’s eyes widened with dismay, and she tried to yank away, but Barbara simply gripped her arm more tightly. Her spine rigid, Violet walked on, staring straight ahead.
“What do you want, Mrs. . . . Lady . . . ah ...”
“You may call me Lady Penworth. Or you may call me Barbara. Either will suffice.”
“What do you want?” Violet snapped, ignoring both appellations.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“You’ve been very rude to me, and I’m tired of it.”
“There’s no reason to be courteous to the likes of you.”
“Isn’t there? If you insist on being a shrew, how will we get on in the coming years?”
“A shrew! How dare you!”
“How else would you describe your conduct? From the moment you arrived in Scotland, you’ve been uncivil and vulgar. Unfortunately for you, I won’t pretend that you’ve behaved any differently.”
Violet’s pert nose was thrust in the air. “My father is a very important man.”
“Your father is a womanizing boor.”
Outraged, Violet gasped, “I will not listen to you denigrating him.”
“Too late. I already have.”
“I’ve written to him, to inform him that you’re here.”
“I’m shaking in my boots.”
“He’ll be very upset.” Mention of the duke had had no effect on Barbara, so Violet threateningly repeated, “Very upset!”
“Enough about your idiot of a father. I couldn’t care less about him. I’m curious about this: If you remain so disagreeable, how will your marriage to John ever occur?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you considered how easily I can sabotage your betrothal? If I decide to view you as an adversary, the wedding might never be held.”
Barbara stopped and pulled Violet around so they were looking at each other. Barbara was taller and older and more sophisticated. In every way, she loomed over Violet.
Having survived three decades of intrigue in the palaces of Europe, Barbara had thrived by knowing who her friends were, but knowing who her enemies were, too. If pathetic Violet Howard was anxious to clash, Barbara would oblige her, but Violet would be eaten alive.
“I don’t have to worry about you,” Violet boldly declared.
“You don’t?”
“No. I’ve spoken with John.”
“Have you? About what?”
“He’s kicking you out.”
“Is he? As a favor to you?”
“Yes.”
Barbara laughed. “If you want to play with the master, you should learn the rules before the game starts.”
“What rules? What are you talking about?”
“You’re an awful liar. John never said any such thing.” Barbara dropped Violet’s arm and moved away. “Last chance, Violet. What is it to be: friends or enemies?”
“I don’t wish to be either. You’re nothing to me.”
“Is that what you imagine? That you can fight me and win? Fine, then. Let’s battle. My first foray will be to tell John a terrible rumor about you. It will be a bald-faced lie, but I’ll tell it anyway.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. What should it be? How about that you’re in love with Edward? I’ll claim I heard your maid gossiping, and you’d rather have Edward as your husband.”
“What?”
Violet was gravely alarmed, and Barbara snorted with disgust.
Barbara had occasionally seen Violet huddled with frivolous, disreputable Edward, but she hadn’t speculated over it. Had their tête-à-têtes actually been illicit flirtations?
“Or maybe,” Barbara jeered, “I’ll pen an anonymous letter to your precious father. I’ll report that you’ve disgraced yourself with the earl’s brother, that the whole estate has watched the scandal transpire.”
“But . . . but . . . that wouldn’t be true.”
“Who cares? I’ll say it just to spite you. What sort of trouble would it cause?”
Violet gaped with revulsion, then began to tremble from head to toe. “You horrid, horrid witch!” she hurled, and she spun and ran.
Barbara walked on, pondering the encounter. She wanted John to be happy, and she was positive he wasn’t. Violet Howard would never make him happy. He needed someone who was more mature and stronger of character, who could appreciate his dreary history and cherish him regardless of his failings.
Where could she find such a suitable bride?
She ambled along, not realizing how far she’d strayed from the castle. She was on a quiet, deserted path, when a familiar male voice brought her to a halt.
“I don’t accept your resignation,” John haughtily intoned.
“You don’t own me,” a woman answered, “and you can’t force me to remain.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know.”
Barbara peeked through a nearby hedge to see him sequestered in a secluded copse of trees with Miss Lambert. As Barbara spied on them, he stunned her
by grabbing and shaking Miss Lambert. “You will not quit! I will not allow it!”
“It’s not up to you!”
“Isn’t it? If that’s what you suppose, then you don’t comprehend the power I can wield.”
Miss Lambert wrenched away, and she was quaking with fury. “You’re a bully, and I hate you,” she seethed.
“Well, at the moment, I can’t say I like you any better.”
“Just . . . just . . . leave me alone. Oh, please, just leave me alone!”
Miss Lambert raced off, and John shouted at her.
“Lily, get back here. At once!”
Miss Lambert, intrepid scamp that she was, kept on as if Barbara’s exalted son hadn’t uttered a single word. John dawdled, looking aggrieved and at a loss.
People never defied him. They never disobeyed or argued. Because of his rank and station, it simply never occurred to others that such brazen behavior would be tolerated. Yet Miss Lambert felt perfectly comfortable with flouting him.
Ultimately, he stomped after her, and Barbara was agog. Would he chase her into the castle? Would he proceed straight to her room, unconcerned about the indiscretion? Would he dare?
She remembered the odd night when she’d caught Miss Lambert locked in a downstairs parlor with him. It was obvious she’d been debauched, but Barbara had assumed John seduced her as a lark, as a one-time venture into lust that wouldn’t have been repeated.
Had Barbara been wrong? Had she misjudged the episode? Was there more to the relationship than she’d recognized?
Barbara knew passion when she saw it, knew love when she saw it. Why would a couple quarrel as John and Miss Lambert had unless a deep and abiding affection was present?
“Miss Lambert,” she mused. “Who would have guessed?”
She grinned and hurried to locate Phillip.
Chapter 14
LILY walked across the park, struggling to look inconspicuous. The second vial of Spinster’s Cure was clutched in her hand.
Despite the fact that she didn’t believe the potion contained any magical power, she was going to drink it anyway. There were hundreds of guests roaming the castle grounds, and among the large crowd, she’d noted many bachelors. One in particular had caught her eye.
Captain Bramwell was visiting, which Lily considered an omen. Had fate brought him to Lily so she could try again?
Mr. Dudley insisted it was futile to ingest another dose, that she had altered her destiny and couldn’t repair the damage, but she had to do something.
She’d recklessly surrendered her virginity to Lord Penworth, but she hadn’t understood that the act was so intimate. It had left her in a maudlin state, her emotions scraped raw as if she’d been flayed alive.
Her feelings for him had manifested in a dangerous way. She loved him, but she absolutely couldn’t. Nor could she expect any reciprocal affection. She had to buck up, had to get a grip on herself and figure out how to proceed.
Without question, she had to escape him, but where was she to go? And how was she to accomplish it?
She was in a foreign country, with very little money, and no friends except for Mr. Dudley. She could attempt to quit her job, but the earl wouldn’t let her. Her other option was to sneak away, but she truly thought that he would chase after her and drag her back. He was fixated to the point of obsession, yet he was engaged to Violet Howard. He would never break his betrothal, and Lily had to accept the reality of her situation.
Penworth might fancy her, but it was in the abstract manner of all aristocrats who dallied with their servants. Lily had spent the night with him, but she couldn’t continue with the precarious, fruitless liaison. There was no benefit to be gleaned. Only detriment.
She had to divert Penworth’s attention—and fast! Marriage would be a foil to his interest, with a husband serving the role of vital buffer to keep him at bay.
Through the woods, she heard a horse approaching, and as it neared, she could see Bramwell in the saddle. She had a clear view of him, as clear as she’d had that evening on his ship when Penworth had wrecked her opportunity.
She stared and stared, imprinting his image into her head, then she tipped the vial to her lips and swallowed.
As the liquid flooded down her throat, she smirked, thinking she’d proved Mr. Dudley wrong. Fate could be mistakenly shifted in one direction, then shifted back in the other. But as she pondered the notion, she was suddenly wrenched away.
“There you are,” Penworth said. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”
“Ah!” she shrieked, her gaze ripped from Bramwell to settle on Penworth. Again!
She peered up into his handsome face, and strange as it sounded, time seemed to grind to a halt. The forest, the sky, the breeze, the birds in the trees all disappeared. There was John Middleton and no one—and nothing—else.
Providence unfurled a vision that only she could see: the children they would have, the places they would reside, the minor tragedies and major triumphs that would buffet their existence.
The stirring portrait depicted the future she’d always wanted, and it was hovering within her grasp. She could reach out and seize it—if she dared. Violet Howard didn’t matter. Lily’s humble antecedents didn’t matter. John’s station in the world didn’t matter. It was ordained that they be united for all eternity.
Then Bramwell crashed through the foliage on his horse, shattering her dreamy reverie as cleanly as if he’d shot a gun through it.
“What is it, Penworth?” he asked, riding up. “A woman called out. She seemed to be in distress.”
“It’s Miss Lambert overreacting again,” Penworth explained.
From his high perch, Bramwell glared down his snooty nose, gaping at the vial in Lily’s hand.
“Still drinking, Miss Lambert?” he chastised.
“No, I’m not, Captain Bramwell, though if I was, I hardly suppose it would be any of your business.”
“She’s awfully flighty,” Bramwell said to Penworth, “even for a female.”
“She grows on you,” Penworth claimed.
“It’s the middle of the day. I know you’re loyal to your employees, but perhaps you should reconsider. If such a drunkard worked for me, I wouldn’t let her within a hundred yards of my fiancée.”
He trotted off, as Lily grumbled, “Pompous ass.”
Penworth chuckled. “My goodness, Miss Lambert! Such language.”
He was still gripping her arm, and she jerked away and started toward the castle, but after taking a mere two steps, he grabbed her and yanked her back to him.
“We have a moment alone,” he pointed out. “Don’t run off.”
“I’d rather be by myself.”
“Why?”
“You’ve spoiled everything,” she complained. “Just like before!”
“What have I spoiled?” he demanded. “What are you doing out here?”
The trials of the past few weeks pressed in on her, her frantic emotions simmering below the surface.
What if she was pregnant? What then?
She would be a pariah. Decent people would shun her. She’d never find another job. She’d be tossed out on the streets; she’d starve.
Had it been worth it—to throw it all away just for him?
The overwhelming answer was no.
He’d copulated with her, then gone on his merry way. He hadn’t forsworn Lady Violet, hadn’t cancelled his wedding. He was blithely walking down the road to matrimony, and the fact that he hadn’t cried off from his betrothal was the most striking evidence of how foolish Lily had been.
“If you must know,” she snapped, “I was drinking a love potion.”
“A . . . love potion?” He laughed and laughed, deeming it the silliest comment ever, and as his mirth waned, he asked, “Why would you need a love potion?”
“To make someone fall in love with me. Why would you suppose?”
He frowned, then grinned. “You were hoping it would be Aiden Bramwell? Oh, that is too rich for wor
ds.”
Another bout of hysterical laughter seemed likely, and she cut him off, unable to abide his hilarity. “Why couldn’t he love me?”
“He never would.”
It was a cruel remark, but he didn’t notice. He wouldn’t. She was a servant. An employee. An underling. Any insult was of no consequence.
“How about you?” she fumed. “Could you ever love me?”
“What?”
“You heard me: Could you ever love me?”
“No.” At her sharp intake of breath, he hastily added, “It’s nothing to do with you personally.”
“Of course not.”
“I could never love anyone. It’s not in my nature.”
He took the vial from her, and he held it up toward the sunlight, seeing that it was empty. “Is this the same nonsense you had on Bramwell’s ship?” he inquired. “You told me it was a cure for seasickness.”
“I lied.”
“You expect me to believe it’s a . . . a . . . magic potion?”
“I don’t care what you believe.” She retrieved the vial and stuck it in her pocket.
“Where did you get it?”
“From Mr. Dudley.”
“My new neighbor?”
“Yes. He uses the fake name Philippe Dubois. He’s a charlatan who travels around the countryside, convincing women that he can change their lives, but he can’t.”
Her tone was so solemn, her expression so gloomy, that he was taken aback. “What is wrong with you?” he queried.
“I’m fine.”
“If it’s about yesterday, and your accompanying Violet during her—”
“This isn’t about Lady Violet!” she stridently insisted.
“What is it, then?”
“You and I had marital relations, but it was meaningless to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Will you marry me now? Is that your plan? For if it is, I must have missed your proposal.”
“Marry . . . you?” He shook his head. “I never could, Lily. I thought you understood.”
“I understand all right.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat, being absurdly close to tears. “What will happen to me?”
“Why would anything happen? We’ll continue on just as we have been.”