Again curiosity urged she read what was written. There was no harm in knowing, was there? It wasn’t as if she would act on whatever the message contained. Her curiosity wrestled better sense into submission and she unfolded the most recent letter; the foolscap was well worn as if it had been read and reread several times. Her eyes had hardly scanned the signature line when Livie’s voice was heard speaking loudly to Aunt Kate on the stair.
Abashed at what she had been about to do, Wilhelmina returned the letters to the chest before spinning to welcome Livie as she entered with a smile.
“Whimsy, what a wonderful surprise. We were outside for tea. The weather is better than pleasant.” Livie sat on the end of the mattress and sighed. “But the stairs have taken their toll and I am feeling weary right now.”
Fisting her hands to stop their trembling, Wilhelmina offered Livie a tentative smile and replied, “Yes, the sky hasn’t a cloud this morning, but I’ll let you rest.” She bustled past the bed, hardly nodding to Aunt Kate approaching in the hallway before closing the door of her bedchamber to lean back against the panel, her heart pounding as her brain considered new questions. Who the devil was this Randolph person? And why had he written so many letters to Livie?
Chapter Eighteen
Valerian arrived at Kirby Park anxious to set repairs into motion. He’d forwarded funds as soon as he’d decided his course of action and knew with confidence Turner and Cook would be working to accomplish the tasks needed until he arrived to control the situation. His reasons for insisting Jasper accompany him were twofold. On the most rudimentary level, he’d need another set of strong shoulders to move furniture and tackle the endless list of tasks required to make the front rooms and foyer presentable. With a more purposeful intent, he no longer trusted Jasper to avoid trouble unless under his watchful eye.
Complicating matters, Lord Rigby, not having gotten his desired outcome, hadn’t paid the full amount promised. The old earl had brushed him off with a significantly smaller share and Valerian had no choice but to accept it and continue on his way. That being what it was he’d dedicated the majority of the funds to household upkeep, directing Turner of the necessities through messenger. He stood now, pleased to discover a portion of his objectives had already been accomplished.
He noted the repaired slate steps and entered into a polished and respectable hall. No one would mistake Kirby Park for a resplendent example of aristocratic wealth, but at the moment, Val aimed for a mere semblance of respectability. The glass window panes had been cleaned and the brass buffed. The fragrance of fresh beeswax lingered in the air and the marbles had been polished. It posed a solid introduction to improvement.
Undoubtedly, Wilhelmina would learn the lows to which the earldom had sunk, but his purpose was not to impress her with opulent furnishings. When she arrived, he hoped to explain his actions.
On his deathbed, his father had pleaded his promise to restore Kirby Park and trusted him to oversee Jasper and repair their standard of living, yet the true impetus lay within Valerian’s heart. His father was a strong man, yet his future had been broken with the death of his wife, in much the same way Valerian grieved for his mother. Life afterward became a sweeping decline into distraction and entertainment, his father never wishing to face the aching loss.
In kind, the earldom, estate and St. David reputation, deteriorated. Out of respect for his mother, regard for her death, and his commitment to personal integrity, he would restore their home.
He possessed thirty years and a newfound desire to start living again. Kirby Park was his soul’s refuge and the place where he would build his future. It was not so hard to imagine a lovely wife and handful of sprites at her side. In his mind’s eye he pictured the unexpected vision with pristine clarity; long silky hair, slightly disheveled, heart-shaped face upturned, and spectacular sable-brown eyes glistening with a bit of sharp retort notwithstanding. If he inhaled deeply, he could conjure lemon and gardenia, as fresh as the beginning of a new life. Well suited in all respects and exactly right.
Wilhelmina would arrive.
He would confess.
She would understand.
He rehearsed the orderly scenario in his brain and a seed of hope took root in his heart.
But none of that could happen until the brass was polished and the rugs beaten. Once Jasper arrived, he’d move the larger furniture, the chore beyond Turner’s capabilities. A plethora of other tasks could be undertaken in the meantime. One portion of the roof still needed new shingles. He’d speak to Cook concerning her brother’s progress with all repairs.
Valerian left the drawing room whistling and aimed for the kitchen, his mood much improved.
Despite not having broken Livie’s trust and read the letters Wilhelmina had taken from the chest, the matter festered throughout the afternoon. With thought and consideration, Whimsy decided to face the subject directly. She’d already made one difficult decision this morning and feeling confident that problem was solved; she dedicated herself to Livie’s dilemma. Hopefully her sister would confide in her. If not, if Livie insisted on concealing the meaning behind the letters, Wilhelmina worried she would never be able to resist investigating, the matter far too curious for any level of comfortability.
She found her sister in a chair near her bedchamber window, her smile bright and energetic even though her nurse had massaged her legs and applied the ointment treatment only an hour prior. Usually Livie stayed in bed and rested for a time afterward. More evidence of the benefit from the frequency and technique Dr. Morris prescribed. Wilhelmina’s actions of late were fortified by this result.
“How lovely that you are up and about. I’m so proud and pleased by your progress, Livie.” Wilhelmina sat on a corner of the mattress, close enough to catch every nuance of her sister’s expressions. “I wanted to show you something quite special.” She extended her wrist and angled her arm so Livie could see the charm bracelet.
“You reclaimed Mother’s bracelet? I don’t understand.” Livie’s bespectacled face transformed to an expression of pure curiosity. “What have you been up to?”
“Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Aunt Kate noticed I wasn’t wearing it and once I told her I’d brought it to The Serendipity Shop, she insisted I return. After Lady Rigby’s payment, I intended to recover it anyway.” She scooted off the end of the bed and moved closer, twisting the bracelet as she approached. “And the shopkeeper added a charm to the missing space. It looks as though it belongs there. The scrolled silverwork is an identical match.”
“Do you think it could be the charm that once belonged on the loop? It seems so unlikely, yet it does appear indistinguishable from the others.” Livie tapped her fingertip against the pearl. “We’ll need to think of a little story to accompany this charm too, no matter there’s no way for us to solve the mystery.”
“Speaking of mysteries,” Wilhelmina turned and paced a small square near her sister’s chair. “I’ve been wondering about that packet of letters you objected to me reading.” She paused in concern her sister might interrupt, but Livie continued to view her as if nothing of interest was being said. “We’ve always maintained the closest relationship and I honestly don’t understand how you could receive so many letters without me knowing, or you not mentioning the contents. Won’t you please share? I’m worried for you.”
“Oh, Whimsy, there’s no reason for concern, and I’m sorry if the subject disturbs you. The letters don’t matter anymore; although they do help me remember a simpler time, when days were a bit kinder. Similar to your commonplace book, I suppose. A link to the life we once had.” Livie adjusted her spectacles and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s best if you forgot you ever saw them. They have nothing to do with you and that’s the only reason I never told you about them.”
Wilhelmina’s brows shot high at her sister’s determined nonchalance. “That’s hardly true. What affects you is important to me.” A sneaking suspicion that she would gain nothing with her perspec
tive effort took hold. “I want you to be happy in every sense.”
“Well.” Livie’s eyes dropped to her legs before she continued her reply. “I don’t know about that, but I am hopeful with Dr. Morris’ treatments that I can once again stand strong. I still dream of dancing.”
“Of course you will dance.” Wilhelmina’s objection was softened by her gentled tone. “I only wondered who sent you so many letters.” Her voice trailed off as if in invitation for her sister to surrender the information, but none was forthcoming. Instead, a flicker of anger lit Livie’s eyes.
“I know you’re my older sister and you care for me, but I am not a child and you need to stop treating me as one.” She inhaled sharply and flashed a look of hurt and disappointment in Wilhelmina’s direction. “Someday you will be married, gone, and I must be ready for independence. I can hardly prepare with you fluttering around me at every turn. Who I care to write to or think about is my business. I rather doubt you’ve shared every detail from your sojourn into society. I can tell when we talk you’re concealing things.”
Wilhelmina opened her mouth to respond, but Livie was not finished.
“My future holds more than a bed or wheelchair. I’m working hard at recovering my strength. I know I can do it. Until that day, I will not share my secrets because it’s that one purpose that drives me to overcome the pain and continue. It’s not wrong for me to have something just for me. A goal and emotion to drive my determination. I’ve promised someone special my very first waltz and I don’t intend to break my word.”
Surprised at her sister’s sharp admonishment, Whimsy stepped back and settled on the edge of the mattress, digesting her sister’s outburst. She’d been right to worry. Livie had her heart invested in a gentleman, some Randolph person, who more than likely had lost interest once they’d rushed off to London with no forwarding address. Good heavens, this was more complicated than ever she’d imagined. She couldn’t bear to see Livie disappointed or hurt any more than she’d already endured, her hopes tied up tight in a dream that would never be realized.
“I understand.” Whimsy muttered her response, but it wasn’t true. What was the best way to proceed? She wanted desperately for Livie to recover fully and resume life the way it was meant to be lived. “I’ve never forgiven myself for that evening. Nothing would please me more than for you to dance the night away on two strong legs, free of pain or impairment.” Tears pricked the back of her lids but she would not allow them to fall lest Livie think her motivated by pity. “I worry about you.”
“I will be fine. I think it’s time you concentrated on your own future instead of mine. You deserve to be happy. You cannot allow one choice to punish you for the rest of your life. It was an unfortunate mistake, unintentional and heartbreaking, but a mistake all the same. You didn’t kill mother and father. You didn’t cause my injuries. It was an accident.” Livie’s tone had calmed, her words spoken with sincere emotion.
It was the most they’d said of that evening in a very long time and the intensity of their emotions weighed heavily in the room. A cloud passed over the sun chasing shadows across the window and Wilhelmina glanced to the street, her mind resolute that she’d make changes in her life; changes that would grant her a chance for happiness instead of regret.
With no more to say, she offered her sister a parting smile and returned to her bedchamber where she collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes in resignation. She wouldn’t think of that night; the accident still a piercing barb in her heart. With effort she forced her sister’s words away, her eyes clenched tight.
Valerian’s handsome face came to mind and she inhaled with resolution. Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly. He’d seemed so anxious in The Serendipity Shop, as if he’d anticipated her rejection and yet, his eyes had flooded with warmth when she’d mentioned she’d consider his invitation. Why would he want her to visit? She had no ready answer. He’d made his views of romantic relationships more than clear, yet his kiss spoke an entirely different language.
His kisses…she shook her head with fanciful chagrin. She couldn’t find the words to describe Valerian’s kisses because whenever she thought of them and relived the possessive delight of his strong arms around her, his hot mouth pressed to hers, all coherencies evaporated in the heat of the memory. Had things progressed differently, she could well lose her heart to Valerian St. David. Dash − her tongue savored the syllable. Whimsy and Dash. He made her feel things. New things. Curious things. She wanted to discover and experience them all. She smiled at the absurdity and then pressed her fingers over her mouth to muffle a bark of unexpected laughter.
But the next breath brought a sobering intrusion to her foolery. Dismissing her giddiness in a wide swath of perplexity, she considered the note she’d sent Lady Worsley earlier. Had she made the right decision?
Her emotions at odds with her brain, her heart thumped a panicked beat. What had she done? Again tears formed, but Wilhelmina blinked them away. She was stronger than her tears. Somehow she would sort through her emotions and determine how to proceed.
Valerian watched the sunrise through his bedchamber window, the new dawn bringing with it a strong surge of anticipation. He’d hardly slept the night despite he was exhausted from the physical labor of moving furniture, beating rugs and rearranging the fixtures within the drawing room, parlor and salon. His blood hummed with the possibility that like the dust motes he’d cleaned from every corner, all misery could be wiped away with one smile from Wilhelmina.
A note had arrived late yesterday, the brief message unsigned. Expect a visitor tomorrow. At least she’d kept her word unlike Jasper who’d never showed. Yet Valerian didn’t spare his brother another thought, washing and dressing with haste, his list of necessary tasks still longer than his arm.
He worked diligently through the morning into early afternoon, only stopping when necessary. All the while, on some immeasurable level, hope and sense warred for control resulting in a paradoxical stranglehold that accomplished little aside from tempting his heart to join the argument. Could he consider a future with Wilhelmina’s sweet kiss and acerbic wit? Dare he imagine her in his arms? In his bed? Or would the lady dismiss him as a lost cause, drowning in debt and poor decision?
By the time afternoon tea time passed, expectation threatened a serious megrim only vanquished by the approach of a carriage up the long stone drive. He watched from an upstairs window as he’d gone above to change clothes. The rented hackney rolled to a stop near the front walk and the driver hopped down to extend the steps.
Valerian’s pulse kicked to a ridiculous rhythm. What was wrong with him? He’d never lost his composure in such fashion. It could only be the current situation, tenuous and unknown, that caused his heartbeat to pound, his palms to sweat. He focused on the carriage door, waiting for the show of a slipper, Wilhelmina’s dainty ankle, but in a rush of uncalculated indecision, he made for the door instead, determined to be in the foyer before Wilhelmina climbed the slate steps and entered Kirby Park.
Taking the last stair, he dismissed Turner with a curt nod as the butler approached the front hall. He would greet Wilhelmina and they would dine on rustic fare and explicit explanation until she forgave his foolishness and promised her friendship…or at the least, a sweet harmony of sorts. After all, it was the most he could hope for, no matter he wished for much more.
His hand slid on the knob. In his rush, he’d forgotten his gloves. But nervous apprehension was abandoned, overridden by optimistic pleasure as he swung open the mahogany panel, his smile replaced by the bracing shock of finding Caroline at his door.
Gone went his vision of a harmonious future.
Enter his ugly past.
Chapter Nineteen
“What are you doing here?” His surly disappointment stained each word.
She met his gaze with unaffected aplomb. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He hadn’t seen her in years and although he’d heard scraps of information, she appear
ed much the same for whatever hardship she might have endured. Time had been kind despite she left amidst scandal, a trail of rumors in her wake, his pride and affection casualties of her selfish choices.
“I’d rather not.” He remained motionless, his hand on the knob, his heart clenched with displeasure. Or was that regret shooting arrows at his past foolishness?
“Don’t be childish.”
He reluctantly deferred, although intelligence told him to close the door and deny her entrance. Her arrival could only prove problematic.
When he made no move to assist her, she placed her gloves and pelisse on the console table beside a vase filled with Queen Anne’s lace. He’d chosen the flowers for their delightful appearance, intricate and beautiful, a wildflower with royal presence. They reminded him of Whimsy. And they grew in a field behind the kitchen. He couldn’t afford hothouse flowers although Wilhelmina deserved extravagance.
“Childish? I don’t recall lessons on betrayal, manipulation and infidelity as a lad. You practiced every shade of deception until the pièce de résistance, a rutting display in Lord Gavinford’s study.”
“I suppose it was too much to expect a civil conversation without dredging up the past.” She threw him some semblance of a pout before she scanned the hall, her eyes narrowed as she advanced further into the house.
Old memories roiled through him. There was a time when Caroline was at home here. Now she appeared out of place and in his eyes, unwanted. He followed her lead, on guard and perturbed with her unanticipated arrival.
“I didn’t foresee all this emotion, Dash. I thought the humbling reality of poverty’s threat would have vanquished your irritability. But I’ve come with a reasonable solution, if you can set aside your precious pride and listen.” This time, her words held a flippant note that matched her expression. “From the looks of this place, I’ve arrived just in time.”
Defying the Earl Page 18