He gave her a spoonful of laudanum “for her nerves.” She fell asleep soon after, her heart full of gratitude. Beauty had survived, and so had the other horses. What more could she ask for? She cast only one fleeting thought as to how the stables caught fire.
Chapter 13
The next morning Jane awoke so groggy from the laudanum that seconds passed before she could engage her senses and comprehend why her lungs hurt and her throat felt so incredibly raw.
Something else happened yesterday ...
She snuggled under the covers, her heart swelling with feeling at the thought of Douglas Cartland and the delicious, utterly heavenly way he made her feel on that narrow bed in the tiny maid’s room.
Her sister came bustling in, interrupting her reverie. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Better. I guess I’m going to live,” Jane answered in a croaking voice. “The devil! I sound horrible.”
“Just awful. You should not get up today.”
Jane swung from her bed. “Right now I’m anxious to visit Beauty. I want to see with my own eyes she’s all right.”
“Then you have a busy day ahead. I’ll call Bruta. By the way, she’s mad as blazes.”
“Please don’t tell me why. I’ll find out soon enough.”
Minutes after Jane arose, Bruta, wearing her fiercest scowl, fairly exploded into the bedchamber, the black bombazine draped over her arm. “Just look!” Clenching her jaw with disapproval, she spread the damaged gown on the bed.
Jane took one look and croaked an “Uh-oh.” Her gown reeked of smoke. Holes of various sizes, caused by hot embers, dotted the fabric. Flames had destroyed a large, jagged portion of the hem. She felt a shiver of dread just looking at the remains of her mourning gown. It reminded her that last night she could have burned to death. What a close call she’d had!
It seemed Bruta’s concerns lay elsewhere. The lady’s maid glared at her with reproachful eyes. “Your best gown is ruined, m’lady, utterly beyond repair.”
Jane turned up her nose. “I am desolate. Oh, what a pity. Now find me something to wear.”
“The doctor said you are not to get up today.”
“Well, I’m up, I want to dress and I need your help.”
“You really should not, madam.”
For the barest of moments Jane thought she detected a look of concern deep in Bruta’s eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Her lady’s maid took her orders from Beatrice and didn’t care if Jane lived or died. “Just get me something to wear.”
Muttering to herself, Bruta plodded to the wardrobe and pulled out the dull black muslin, which, if anything, was more ugly than the bombazine. “You’ll have to wear this.”
“Really?” Rebellion was mounting within her. How utterly stupid to wear mourning clothes for a man she didn’t mourn. Why should she? Because society’s rules told her to? Well, she was tired of society’s ridiculous rules, tired of obeying, tired of suppressing her own desires for the sake of ... what? Everyone’s approval? The trouble was, she’d had a giddy taste of freedom. Last night she had nearly died. What if she had? What would it have mattered then whether or not she chose to wear the dull black muslin? Not one whit. Life was too precious to waste doing things she did not want to do.
Perhaps, if she continued throwing caution to the wind, she could keep on seeing Douglas, too. That thought made her want to dance a little jig across the room, but the stony gaze of her lady’s maid brought an end to that idea. Even so, her new euphoria remained. “Put that ugly thing away. Bring out the green batiste.”
Bruta’s eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped—a satisfying sight if ever there was one. “Madam, you cannot. What will people say?”
“I don’t give a fig what people say. Bring me the batiste and don’t say another word.”
Except for Amelia, both families were at the table when Jane entered the dining room for breakfast. To her surprise, everyone, even James, gave her a heroine’s welcome. After the congratulations died down, a somber atmosphere ruled the table with everyone, from James on down, discussing the shocking events of last night. Speculation ran high on how the fire started. Various theories were proposed. Beatrice wondered if Timothy might have started the fire with his pipe, but no one had ever seen him smoke. Percy speculated that lightning might have sparked the fire, yet there was none in the sky last night. No one could supply a reasonable answer, yet all agreed, thank the Lord, that a horrible tragedy had been averted.
Beatrice assumed her façade of cheerful innocence. “How are you, my dear?” she chirped to Jane. “Weren’t you supposed to stay in bed today? My, my, what a dreadful ordeal! I’m happy to see you’re all right this morning.” She eyed Jane’s green gown. “My goodness, not in mourning? Well, of course, the gown you wore must have burnt in the fire. I’m sure Bruta will see to it you soon have another one.”
Jane resisted the urge to inform her sister-in-law that she did not plan to wear mourning ever again. Now was not the time, though—not when her throat hurt so much she could hardly speak.
“How is your horse?” Beatrice inquired.
“I don’t know yet,” Jane croaked in reply. “Beauty is at Lord Rennie’s. I want to go see her as soon as possible.”
“All the horses but mine are up at Lord Rennie’s stables,” Percy said, raising an eyebrow in his lecherous way. “My horses were not in the stables last night. They were in the field, so they’re still quite close. My carriage is at your disposal, Countess.”
She returned her prettiest smile. “Why, thank you, Percy.” She would rather die a million horrible deaths than ride in a carriage with Percy. “If I need a ride, I shall certainly keep you in mind.”
Fortunately, she did not. Directly after breakfast, Lord Rennie arrived, pulling up front in his curricle. Griggs showed him into the drawing room where Jane was chatting with Millicent. When he entered, Rennie forgot to make his bow but instead rushed to take Jane’s hands in his large ones. “Are you all right, Countess?” Concern was written on his plain, honest face.
“I am fine.” Her voice cracked. “Do sit down.”
“Confound it, Countess, you sound terrible.”
“I just want to know if Beauty is all right.”
“She’s doing fine. In fact, as we speak, both Timothy and Cartland are taking care of the horses. None of them suffered a serious burn. I came to see if I could take you back up to my stables. I knew you would like to see for yourself.”
Her heart lifted. “I would be ever so grateful.”
Rennie looked toward Millicent. Although at least thirty years old, he looked like a lovesick schoolboy. “You are welcome to come along, Miss Hart.”
To Jane’s surprise, her sister nodded. “I would love to come, Lord Rennie. I, too, am concerned about the horses.”
When they climbed into Rennie’s carriage, Jane had to laugh. Whereas Rennie helped her in with the standard amount of courtesy, he handed Millicent to her seat with the utmost care, as if she were a fragile flower whose petals might blow away in the slightest breeze. No wonder he finds her attractive. After spying Jane in her green batiste, Millicent exclaimed, “If you can do it, I can!” She had rushed to her bedchamber with lightning speed and changed out of her mourning gown. “I wouldn’t have to wear it much longer anyhow.” Sister-in-laws were only required to wear black for three months. Now, dressed in a yellow sprigged muslin that complemented her fair skin and delicate features, she really did resemble a beautiful, fragile flower.
“I hope you will be kind to Rennie,” Jane whispered while Rennie, perched on the curricle’s high seat behind, drove them up the hill. “He’s positively lovelorn.”
Millicent giggled. “I shall be kind,” she whispered, “but you know how I feel. Rennie is most definitely not my knight in shining armor.”
Poor Rennie, Jane thought, and not for the first time.
Upon reaching Rennie’s stables, located above Lancaster Hall, Jane slid from the curricle and hastened to talk to Timo
thy, who stood in front of the stables attending the horses rescued from the fire. “Are they all right?”
“Right as rain.” Timothy patted a horse’s flank. “Not a one badly burned, m’lady.
“I shudder to think what would have happened to the horses had we not got them out.”
Timothy cast his gaze upward. “Through the grace of God we did get them out, and in the nick of time.”
“Have you any idea how the fire started? I suppose it was an accident.”
Anger flashed through Timothy’s eyes. “That fire was set deliberate. ’Twas no accident. I saw the man who set it, and so did Hugh.”
She was barely able to control a gasp of surprise. “It was not an accident? Then who was it? You must tell me.”
“I’ll tell you what I know, ma’am, and you can draw your own conclusions.”
“Do go on.”
“Hugh spied him first, m’lady, right after we saw the glow of the fire. He was sneakin’ up the path, away from the stables.”
“A man? You recognized him?”
“Now, I’m not positive. It was dark. But I believe it was Percy Elton who I’ve known since he was a little tyke. The whole family used to live here, you know.” He nodded his head decisively. “I’m almost positive ’twas him. We found the remains of an oil lamp in the ruins. That’s what he used to set the fire. No mistake. All he had to do was toss it onto the bales of hay piled by the door.”
Percy Elton set the blaze? Her insides went cold. Never would she have believed the fire was started deliberately. Why would he set such a fire? She had no idea, but at the moment she had best remain calm and learn all she could. “Did you see anyone else?”
“No one except Master Percy.”
“I’m at a loss for words, Timothy, but never fear, I shall look into the matter.”
“You certainly should, if you don’t mind my saying so.” An uncharacteristic look of outrage crossed the stableman’s face. “All our horses could have been killed. Whoever did such a terrible thing should be caught and punished.”
“I absolutely agree, and I shall do my best to make sure they are. Meanwhile, let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we?”
“Of course, m’lady.”
“Where is Beauty?”
“Inside. Mister Cartland is taking care of her.”
“Thank you, Timothy. Jane hastened inside, where she found Beauty in her new stall and Douglas brushing her sleek coat.
He looked up and smiled at her over the top of her horse. “Countess. I thought you would still be in bed today.”
“You were wrong,” she replied in her hoarse, cracking voice.
“You sound terrible.”
“So I’ve been told.” She ran her hand down Beauty’s nose. “She’s all right then?”
“Right as rain, as Timothy would say. There’s just the one spot near her tail where she got burnt, but I’ve put salve on it. Don’t worry, it should heal fast.”
“Thank God.” She pressed her cheek against Beauty’s nose.
Douglas asked, “Has Timothy told you how he thinks the fire started?”
“Yes, he thinks it was Percy, and I’m stunned. I don’t even want to think about it right now.”
“You had better think about it. Sure as I’m standing here, Beatrice Elton is behind the setting of that fire.”
She took a quick, sharp breath. “I find that hard to believe. Why would she do such a thing?”
Douglas threw the currying brush in the corner with more force than necessary and circled around Beauty to confront her. “How else could that fire have started? Face the truth, Jane. Beatrice wants to hurt you. I doubt she knew what to expect when she told Percy to set the stables on fire. Either she was hoping you would die in an attempt to rescue Beauty or, at the very least, she hoped the shock would cause you to lose your baby.”
She bristled. “Í am not—”
“You have not come ’round yet, so you don’t know what you are.” Douglas seized her shoulders in a move so swift she drew in her breath. “The world can be an ugly place, Countess. Don’t be an ostrich and stick your head in the ground. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“It’s ... just so hard to believe that anyone could do such a horrible thing.”
“If what Timothy says is true—and I have no reason to doubt him—your life is in more danger than ever.”
Seeing the concern in his eyes, she realized her desire to avoid the truth was not going to work and she must explain. “But it’s more of the same, Douglas. Timothy is fairly certain the man he saw set the fire was Percy Elton, but he’s not positive. So how can I prove he did it? And how can I prove Beatrice put him up to it? You know I cannot.”
He bit his lip with frustration. “Then come stay with Rennie.”
“You know I can’t do that, either, but I promise I’ll be careful.” She was becoming aware of his strong hands on her shoulders and how very close he was. She did not want to argue anymore. “Douglas, please.” She lifted her hand and ran the back of it lightly down his cheek. Immediately his expression changed from anger and frustration to surprise to ... ah, there it was, that enchanting mixture of excitement and desire.
“Ah, Countess,” he whispered in her hair. “I am mad to see you again.”
Her body ached for his touch. “I know. I, too ...”
“This evening after dinner. Come to the dower house again.”
“I will be there,” she whispered back as they heard voices and hastily broke apart. “I shouldn’t.”
“Of course you shouldn’t, but you will be there.”
When Jane stepped outside the stables, she was quickly distracted by what she saw. Rennie was showing his beloved horse, Major, to Millicent. “He is a beauty. I trained him myself. Do you ride, Miss Hart? I was just thinking ...”
Say you do, Millicent. Say you will go riding with him. Nothing in the world would give her more pleasure than to see her sister fall in love with Rennie. Moneywise, she would be set for life. Not only that, she would never find a kinder, more generous man, nor a man who could love her more than Rennie. If only she would open her eyes.
“I don’t ride. I fear my sister is the horse lover in the family.” Millicent looked toward Jane. “We should be getting back soon. I have a million things to do today.”
Ah, well. Jane put the lovely dream aside. She had learned long ago that not every wish came true.
Later that day, Amelia summoned her daughter to the dining room where she sat at the table, drinking tea. When Jane entered, Amelia was taken aback. “Why are you dressed like that? Where is your mourning gown?”
“I am not concerned about my state of dress right now,” she croaked.
To her surprise, Mama switched the subject. “I want to hear what really happened last night.” Her voice hardened. “I’ll wager Beatrice had a hand in this. How did the fire start?”
Of course, Mama wasn’t going to let it go. With a resigned sigh, Jane sank in the chair across from her. “I was coming to that. Here’s what Timothy told me ...” She went on to describe how both the stableman and his helper saw Percy Elton running from the fire. “It’s more than a little suspicious. In fact, Douglas Cartland thinks Beatrice is behind it, but I’m not sure—”
“She did it. I know she did.” Startled, Jane watched her mother leap to her feet and start an angry pacing. In the middle of the room, Mama stopped and raised clenched fists in the air. “Oh, what an evil woman!”
“We cannot prove she set the fire,” Jane responded, shocked at her mother’s near hysterical accusation. “Are you forgetting she was with us in the dining room the whole time?”
“She didn’t actually set it. Obviously she sent Percy to do her dirty work.” Mama’s eyes lit up, as if she had just had a revelation. “Was he at dinner last night? No. That’s because he was down at the stables, setting them ablaze.”
“Mama, will you please sit down?” Concerned, Jane arose, took her mother’s arm and led her back
to her chair. Except when Papa left, she had never seen her mother so upset.
“Can’t you see it?” Mama’s voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch. “You are sixteen days late, am I not right?” Jane nodded. “You have never been that late or even close before.” Jane had to nod again. “Then it is obvious to me you have conceived a child. I don’t care what you say. The events of last night could easily have caused you to lose that child. If you had, it would be all,” Mama was shouting now, “that horrible woman’s fault. She wanted to make you so upset you would miscarry, and she nearly succeeded, did she not? She is a scheming, evil woman.” Amelia emphasized her words by striking her fist on the table. Her action caused the saucer to jump and the cup to overturn, sending a small rivulet of tea running over the linen cloth. Jane grabbed a serviette and quickly mopped it up while she searched for the right words to say. How awful, seeing her mother, always in control of herself, so terribly distraught. With good reason. Hadn’t Beatrice tried to cause her to miscarry with the oil of pennyroyal?
“Mama, please calm down. You don’t have to explain further. I see what you mean. Douglas Cartland said the exact same thing. Beatrice could very well be responsible for setting the fire. But, just as with the oil of pennyroyal, how can we prove it? If I accuse her of setting the fire, she will suggest I haven’t recovered from Arthur’s death and my hysterics are perfectly natural. So what can we possibly do about it now?”
Mama shook her head but remained silent. She could give no helpful answer.
That night no one raised any questions when Jane announced she was not feeling well. She would take dinner in her room and go straight to bed thereafter. Strange how she felt no guilt at telling such a lie. At best, it was a harmless lie made necessary because her burning desire to see Douglas far overshadowed all the moral teachings she had learned as a girl. Perhaps tomorrow she would dwell upon her shortcomings. Not tonight.
The Last of Lady Lansdown Page 17