Lisa Bingham

by The Other Groom

  Should he ask her bluntly?

  As he pondered such a course of action, Neil realized that knowing the truth was only half the problem. The larger dilemma lay in his response once he had the knowledge he sought.

  Rather than acting, Neil did nothing. Despite their correspondence, he really knew nothing about her other than that he’d claimed her as his own—and therein lay his greatest weakness.

  In his mind, their engagement had been as binding as marriage. When he’d discovered that she’d donned a new identity, he’d refused to believe that any woman would scorn him in favor of a stranger. But after spending time with Louisa, after experiencing her beauty and passion, he was learning just what a prize he had lost. For the first time, he was forced to acknowledge that his emotions involved love, not just passion. He wanted to spend his life with her.

  But he was also honest enough to know that he wanted her on his terms. He didn’t want “Charles’s widow.” He wanted Phoebe Gray, the innocent Scottish lass who had befriended him as a child and written to him for years.

  He couldn’t seem to reconcile his earlier dreams with the reality that confronted him now. If Phoebe’s innocence had already been compromised, would he be willing to play father to a child who was not his own? Would he be able to live with a woman who had originally agreed to marry him only to provide her baby with an unwitting father? A woman who had been willing to trade a life with him for a fortune from a stranger?

  Despite his reservations, Neil found himself growing even more protective of Louisa…and yet, protective of what? There still had been no threats made against her, no signs of attempted violence.

  As the days continued to unwind without incident, Neil grew puzzled. He knew that his time as her bodyguard was limited unless he could prove that his concerns were justified—especially if she enlisted the aid of Mr. Pritchard. Neil sensed that she had already considered such a move since she’d grown particularly agitated when a note to the lawyer’s offices had been returned with an explanation that Pritchard was away on business for a week.

  One week. Neil had so little time to resolve his situation, one way or another.

  With each day that passed, he grew increasingly restless. He supposed that he should be pleased that his concern for Louisa’s safety was unnecessary. And yet his instincts continued to warn him that disaster was about to strike.

  Needing something to keep his mind occupied, Neil decided to investigate the sudden death of Louisa’s husband. Yet even in that respect he found nothing suspicious, despite the whisperings of his spirit. Instead, what he uncovered was more information about the character of the man Louisa would have married.

  Neil often wondered if Louisa knew how close she’d come to disaster. From more than one source, Neil had learned that Charles was a brilliant businessman. But Charles Winslow was also an ornery, cantankerous despot. He’d been a stingy, mean old man who had thoughtlessly shipped his daughter to an asylum soon after her mother’s death so that she would be “out of sight.” No wonder Evie was distraught at the mere sight of the castle.

  Dearest Diary, The days have melted into one another as I’ve become accustomed to my new life and responsibilities.

  If I’d thought that being Charles Winslow’s bride would lead to a life of leisure, I would have been sadly mistaken. From dawn to dusk, I am responsible for a myriad of tasks. I have taken charge of the household budget for the castle as well as a fleet of servants who have returned to service to bring things to rights.

  From the first, I insisted that the castle be given a thorough scrubbing. As each room is cleaned, the furnishings are inventoried and slated for repair, refurbishment or refuse. Any elements of disrepair or need for improvement are then noted in the housekeeper’s ledger so that I can review the list each evening.

  As the servants tackle the castle, Beatrice and I have seen to the garden house, turning it into a home for Evie. There are lessons for the girl—which, as of yet, focus more on rest and rejuvenation than academics.

  Yet with all of the demands on my attention, I continue to be drawn more and more to the mysterious man who serves as my bodyguard. Although I have tried my best to remain unaffected, I cannot deny that I am growing fond of him. Too fond.

  In an effort to slow the tender emotions burgeoning within me, I have compiled the lists gathered by the housekeeper and dedicated my energies toward refurbishing the castle. I have conferred with Mr. Pritchard, who has approved the expenditure and helped me interview a host of artisans and craftsmen to complete the restoration as well as a thorough modernization….

  “How is she today?”

  Louisa started. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Beatrice had come up behind her. Slipping her diary into her pocket, Louisa rose from where she’d been resting in the porch swing.

  Folding her arms, she regarded Evie as she sat beneath the trees in the distance. Knowing that the girl would eventually need to return to the castle and leave the cramped confines of the garden house, Louisa had begun to spend a small portion of time each day near the larger house.

  At first, Evie had reacted with open hysteria at being so near the castle. But as the bond of friendship between Louisa and her had strengthened, she’d gradually accepted the fact that she would spend part of her day here.

  “She’s had a…difficult day.”

  Louisa’s comment was an understatement. The afternoon spent shopping had proved to be the exception to Evie’s usual behavior. More and more, she tended to vacillate between being fractious—or even violent—and passive and completely unaware of her surroundings.

  Beatrice touched Louisa’s shoulder. “You mustn’t blame yourself. She’s been to the finest physicians possible. She simply…isn’t well.”

  “There must be something we can do. No one should have to live like this.”

  “Her tonic is a godsend.”

  But Louisa wasn’t completely sure of that. From what she’d seen, the tonic did little to help matters. It merely drugged her enough to make her more manageable.

  “I’d like to take her to someone else.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “There is no one else. She’s been from Boston to New York. Charles tried everything.” Her eyes shimmered with tears as she watched the girl aimlessly pace back and forth among the trees, mumbling to herself and casting fearful glances at the castle. “Her mother was the same way, poor thing.”

  “What was she like?”

  Beatrice wrapped her arms around her waist as if suddenly chilled. “Frightening.”

  Louisa was shocked by the way her features hardened. “In what way?”

  Flushing, Beatrice hastened to explain. “Virginia was a beautiful woman, truly. She was so young when Charles brought her home—all wide-eyed innocence and golden curls.” Beatrice stopped, choosing her words carefully. “I was gone a good deal of the time, but when I returned after Evie had been born, there was a change. She was overly protective of the child, to the point of locking them both in the nursery and refusing to let anyone in. Day by day, things grew worse until…”

  Evie’s aunt shuddered, biting her lip. “She used to scream and scream. Charles had to take the baby away from her, but that merely made her more frantic. Then one day…” A sob burst from her lips and she shook her head, clearly too upset to continue. “I see the same thing happening to Evie.”

  Louisa shook her head, refusing to believe that anything so horrible could ever happen to the girl.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want to return her to Hildon Hall?”

  “No!” Louisa was horrified that Beatrice could even suggest such a thing. “I’ll arrange for an army of doctors and nurses to come here before I’ll ever take her back.”

  Intent on escaping Beatrice and her abhorrent suggestion, Louisa turned, planning to rush down the stone stairs that led to the garden, but she found her way blocked by Boyd.

  Sure that the man had overheard the conversation, Louisa waited for him to make a cutti
ng remark. But he simply stared at her with dark, hooded eyes before stepping aside to let her pass.

  Rushing through the weedy garden to the orchard beyond, Louisa took Evie’s hand, urging her to return to the garden house with her.

  Louisa would never allow Evie to be taken back to the asylum.

  Never.

  From that moment on, the rest of the day seemed to go from bad to worse. Evie grew more unsettled by the minute. Her emotions began to seesaw wildly. One moment she was weeping hysterically, the next she laughed and talked to herself in a feverish manner that frightened Louisa. Even Bitsy ran beneath one of the beds and refused to come out.

  Alarmed, Louisa finally sent for Evie’s doctor, but as the man emerged from the bedroom, he shook his head. “I’ve given her a sedative to help her sleep through the night.”

  More drugs. In Louisa’s opinion, the last thing Evie needed was something to cloud her mind even more, but she held her tongue.

  Her gaze bounced helplessly to John. He stood at the far end of the hallway, his large frame nearly filling the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Is there nothing else that we can do?” she asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “Evie has always been a delicate, nervous child.” He made a tsking noise with his tongue. “I’m afraid that she has required special care since birth—and the demands she makes will only grow, I’m sure.” He settled his hat on his head and donned his cloak. “I’ve left a stronger tonic on the bedside table. Administer it every three hours without fail. Other than that…” He regarded Louisa gravely. “May I be frank with you, Mrs. Winslow?”

  “By all means.”

  “The child will never recover. Never. In my opinion, the best recourse would be to return her to the asylum, where professionals can manage her.”

  “Manage her?” Louisa stiffened. “Do you call locking a growing child in the attic ‘managing’ her?”

  The doctor sighed. “I would not expect a woman of your delicate breeding to react to the situation with anything other than a soft heart, Mrs. Winslow. But the fact of the matter is that caring for the insane is neither pleasant nor easy.”

  “Evie is not insane.”

  The doctor eyed her pityingly. “It is only a matter of time, Mrs. Winslow.”

  Louisa drew herself up to her full height. “I refuse to believe your doomsday predictions.”

  “One day you will be forced to believe them. Even you must admit that her condition has deteriorated visibly since her return from Hildon Hall. I must agree with your sister-in-law in begging you to consider Evie’s stay here a short holiday.”

  Incensed, Louisa gestured to John. “Thank you for your time, Doctor, as well as your…personal opinion. Mr. Smith will see you to the door.”

  The doctor was not so obtuse as to misunderstand that he’d been given his marching orders. Bowing slightly, he gathered his things and strode down the corridor.

  It wasn’t until she’d heard the click of the door closing that Louisa lost her temper. “How dare that man say such vile things!” she hissed aloud as she stormed into the sitting room.

  “He is a physician,” John stated.

  “Is he? Is he really? So far, I don’t like the kind of medicine that he’s peddling, thank you very much. I have always believed that doctors were humanitarians. But what kind of humanitarian would condemn a child to the kind of life she would have in Hildon Hall? He’s offered her nothing, nothing at all.”

  “There is the tonic.”

  Louisa hissed in disapproval. “Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder about the harm such a powerful medicine could have over time. I don’t even know what is contained in the brew! The doctor insisted the ingredients were a secret concoction that had not yet been patented, so he refused to give me any details at all.”

  John was watching her carefully. “So what do you want to do?”

  Biting her lip, Louisa came to a stop in front of the window. Rather than seeing the blackness outside, she saw her reflection, and behind her, that of John.

  “I want to take her to another doctor.”

  “According to Beatrice, Evie has seen every specialist.”

  Louisa’s throat grew thick with tears as logic wrestled with instinct within her.

  “I don’t care,” she finally said, her voice gruff with emotion. “I refuse to accept the fact that nothing can be done. I—I won’t have Evie sent back to…to that place….”

  In an instant, John was turning her toward him, his arms folding her against his chest as she wept openly. “Shh, shh, we’ll find someone.”

  She gazed up at him through her tears. “We?”

  “Yes, we.” John’s thumb gently wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You aren’t the only one who is upset by the thought of sending her back to that place.”

  For long moments, Louisa could only stare at him, basking in the warmth she saw in his eyes. She found it amazing that, of all the people who should care about Evie’s future, the person to give her the most support was someone outside of Evie’s family.

  “Why would you help me?”

  His expression grew so still, so intent, that she trembled. “Don’t you know?”

  She shook her head.

  His eyes narrowed, his gaze focusing on her lips. Softly, gently, he traced his thumb over the fullness.

  “I’ve grown quite fond of you, Louisa Haversham Winslow.”

  It took every ounce of strength for her to keep from melting into his arms then and there. He cared for her—moreover, he’d been willing to voice his feelings, something she never would have expected of the great John Smith.

  In that moment, the last of her defenses tumbled and she was left open and vulnerable. When had John ceased to be her adversary? When had he become her closest ally, her…

  Her what? Their relationship had grown much too personal for employer and employee. How should she describe it?

  Louisa instantly shied away from calling him a beau; the term was far too childish. And yet to refer to him as a lover was not quite true.

  Even if she wanted to become his lover.

  The thought shocked Louisa to her very core. Her hands clutched fistfuls of his shirt and she stood in indecision, wondering if she should push him away or bring him closer.

  How could she have allowed this to happen? How could she have let her feelings for John grow so…personal? For they were personal. In fact, if she dared to probe her emotions, she knew she would have to admit that she was more than slightly in love with her bodyguard. She had grown so attuned to his vitality and power that she had begun to rely on him with much the same intensity that a flower needed rain.

  Resting her head on his chest, she closed her eyes, listening to the beating of his heart.

  What was she going to do? It would be the height of impropriety for her to suddenly marry her bodyguard.

  Louisa’s eyes squeezed shut in horror at the reaction her highbrow neighbors might have at the news. Even after a suitable period of mourning had passed, she would cause plenty of scandal by marrying an employee….

  But wasn’t she presuming far too much? Louisa stiffened, pushing away from John. There had been no mention of marriage, no mention of love, merely a growing fondness. True, they had exchanged fervent kisses and stolen embraces, but she had no guarantees that John was in love with her.

  When she looked up, she discovered that he was watching her closely. Embarrassed, she prayed that he had not been able to read her thoughts. If he had…

  “I do care for you, Louisa. More than you will ever know.”

  Before she could respond, he bent down, his lips softly caressing hers. But when she would have lifted on tiptoe to deepen the embrace, he stepped back, his hands circling her wrists and drawing them away from his neck.

  “No,” he murmured softly.

  “But—”

  “If I kiss you, Louisa, I won’t stop.” He waited for his pronouncement to sink in before continuing. “When we make love, it will
be for all of the right reasons, not because you are worried or sad or lonely. It will be because you want it as much as I do.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, knowing that he was right. There was still enough of the Puritan in her to make her balk at lovemaking without commitment.

  Silence filled the room around them, a sticky, uncomfortable silence fraught with might-have-beens. Then, when Louisa was sure she could not bear it any longer, John nodded in her direction and said, “I’ll be on the porch if you need me.”

  Within seconds, she was left alone with her whirling thoughts. Yet, through it all—her worry over Evie, her distrust of the doctor, her weariness and her inner angst—one thought stood out.

  He loves me.

  John Smith loves me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day Neil stood in the shadow of a tree, watching as Louisa directed an army of gardeners in how best to plot out the formal rose garden at the rear of the house.

  “What have you discovered?”

  “Nothin’ you’ll be wantin’ t’hear.” Tucker shook his head. “Matter of fact, it wasn’t difficult fer Parker t’get the information. Seems folks are more than willin’ to gossip about Charles Winslow and his poor unfortunate brides.”

  Neil felt a prickling of warning slither up his spine. When Albert Parker had joined them, Neil had sent him nosing around the community to gather information.

  “Go on.”

  “Seems the first Mrs. Winslow died in childbirth.”

  “Sad, but hardly unusual.”

  “Ahh, but it gets better.” Tucker nodded his head in Evie’s direction. “The girl’s mother managed to live nearly three years after marrying Winslow. Then she went mad and committed suicide.”

  Neil winced. “So the…condition Evie suffers afflicted her mother as well?”

  “So it ‘ppears. Accordin’ to reports, the woman was fragile from the start, but as time went on, she became overly emotional. She would scream about how her joints ached. She would tear her hair out in fistfuls and scratch at her skin until it bled. One day she couldn’t take the torment any longer and she leaped from the roof of the castle. Some say that Evie witnessed the suicide and she’s never been right since.”