by Linda Jones
Mary didn't want to stop, but she didn't have a choice. She didn't want Dalton to know what kind of woman she was, didn't want him to know that she'd done terrible things in the name of what she'd thought was love.
She didn't want him to know that she and Victor had been lovers. She wanted him to believe that she was good and pure and a real lady.
If this went any further, he'd know the truth. “We can't do this again,” she said sternly. “I don't know what you were thinking."
She slipped past him and ran in the dark to the spiral staircase, intent only on making her way safely above stairs to her chamber where she could shut out Dalton and Victor and be left alone with all her memories and regrets.
Perhaps tonight she'd dream of Dalton again; she could hope for that. It was all she could have.
"Mary!"
On the stairway, she turned to face Dalton. He stood in the foyer, candle in hand, his agonized face illuminated for her.
"You know this isn't right,” she whispered.
"I'm not...” he began, and then he stopped suddenly. “I won't always be a butler."
She should tell him, in the haughtiest voice she could summon, that he was now and would always be beneath her, that she wouldn't stoop to his level, that she could never care for a servant—but she couldn't say any of that. She wouldn't hurt Dalton for all the world. Perhaps the truth was the best medicine.
"It's not you,” she said, taking a single step down. “You're kind and strong and have a good heart. I'm not ... I'm not good enough for you."
"Don't be ridiculous,” he said with a hint of anger. “You're a sweet and beautiful lady, and I ... I've come to care for you deeply, in spite of the fact that I know it's wrong. I fought it,” he admitted. “I won't lie to you about that. I've told myself a thousand times that there's nothing for us. The life I lead isn't suitable for a lady to share."
"I've done things,” she confessed. “Terrible things that I thought were wise and later found were foolishness."
"I know."
"You don't..."
"Chadwick,” he interrupted, taking a step closer to the stairway. “In the gazebo."
"You do know.” Her heart broke a little. She didn't want him to realize what kind of woman she really was. She wanted Dalton to forever see her as a sweet and beautiful lady.
"Yes,” he whispered as he came closer, placing his foot on the bottom stair. “I saw what happened that night, I heard it all. Why do you think I haven't told you yet that I love you? I don't imagine you'll believe me, at least not yet. I plan to show you first what love really is, and then maybe I'll tell you."
"How can you even think you love me?"
"I don't know,” he admitted. “I just know that I do."
"Dalton..."
He took another step. “I want to show you that what Chadwick did to you doesn't have anything to do with love. Love is shared and dazzling and...” He stopped suddenly, and she could see the confusion on his face.
"What's wrong?” She wanted Dalton to continue, to explain to her what love was.
"Until a few weeks ago I didn't even believe in love, and now here I am talking like a bloody poet. The truth of the matter is, I wanted to kill Chadwick for the way he treated you in the gazebo, and I almost did. I was following him to his horse with every intention of breaking his evil neck when I heard you crying, and I couldn't ... I couldn't walk away."
"I don't know what I would have done without you that night.” She would forever remember his arms around her, the gentle hands wiping away her tears.
His voice was strained as he answered. “I decided then that one day I would show you the way it should be with a man and a woman."
Her heart skipped a beat. “Did you?"
"One day, when you're ready, I'll show you what love is all about. If you'll have a mere butler.” His confusion was gone and there was a hint of a smile on his face again. A smile that warmed Mary's heart and soul as she descended the steps that remained between them.
"Will you show me now?” she asked as she reached him. The candle he carried flickered, and Mary leaned over to blow it out.
In the dark, Dalton whispered. “Yes."
It had been quite late when they'd returned from the Huntlands’ dinner party, but still Penelope was up with the sun. She immediately searched her chest of drawers for a yellow sash, and went to the balcony to tie it from the railing.
The bit of information she'd heard might be worth nothing—but then again, it might be valuable to the man who called himself the Indigo Blade.
She'd thought that perhaps Maximillian would stay with her last night. He'd been attentive of late, kinder than in the first weeks of their marriage, and she hoped that perhaps something had changed. But last night when they'd arrived home, he'd gone directly to his own bedchamber, claiming exhaustion. She had to admit, he was more pale than usual, and he'd almost fallen asleep in the carriage on the way home.
She hadn't minded Maximillian dozing off as the carriage rocked, since at the time he'd had his hand in hers and he'd rested his head against her shoulder. In moments like that she could believe that her husband did care for her, after all.
There was no time to dwell on the inconsistencies of her marriage. Tonight at ten o'clock, on the garden path, she'd meet once again with the Indigo Blade, a man who fascinated her more with every passing day.
Max, wearing the black wig and long coat he'd been wearing on his last secret meeting with Penelope, waited motionlessly behind a spreading, flowering plant that stood a good four feet high. He'd been waiting a half hour, taking his position well ahead of time to wait and observe, taking precautions just in case his wife had been effectively blackmailed by Chadwick once again.
Chadwick had claimed a few minutes of Penelope's time at the Huntland house on the previous night, and anything could have been said. Whispered plans, another trap, another threat to Tyler. Max hadn't lived this long by being careless.
As the town clock struck ten, he heard her steps on the path—stealthy, cautious steps. He looked past the leaves that hid his face, to see the figure in the dark hooded cloak hurrying in his direction.
He waited until she'd passed before he stood.
"Don't turn around."
She stopped suddenly, but did as he commanded and kept her back to him.
"You're truly well?” she whispered, the concern in her voice indisputable.
"Yes."
"I was so worried about you. I thought ... for a while I thought you were dead. When Victor showed me the blood on his hands, the blood he'd wiped from the leaves where you'd stood, I was heartbroken."
Her low voice was filled with excitement and with relief. Did she truly care for a man she did not know? “As you can see, it was only a flesh wound."
"I can't see anything,” she responded, and he knew that she wanted more than anything to turn and glimpse the face of the Indigo Blade. He couldn't allow that, not yet.
"Then you'll have to take my word on it."
"I do."
There was such awe in her voice, such undeniable admiration, it turned Max's stomach. Penelope trusted this man, this Indigo Blade, with her life. She'd risked herself just to see that he was unharmed. One meeting, one note, and she was infatuated.
"Why did you signal for me? Just to see for yourself that I'm not dead?” he snapped.
"No.” She breathed softly. “But I do thank you for your note. It was a great relief to read those words of assurance."
Another woman would have turned to see the man she spoke to, in spite of his orders, but Penelope made no move. She was calm, confident, brave.
"Why are we here tonight?"
"I have news for you.” A touch of excitement entered the voice she kept low. “You might already know this, but I couldn't be sure. Victor Chadwick said something at a dinner party I attended last night. He took me aside, and said that he'd spoken to Tyler that afternoon. That means my brother's somewhere close by, doesn't it?"
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"Yes, it does. That's useful information.” He was inordinately relieved that this meeting Penelope had arranged was about Tyler, and had nothing to do with her apparent fascination with a shadow.
"That's not the only reason I asked you here."
Max all but held his breath.
"There was a mention of a shipment of artillery that's expected tomorrow."
In the dark, Max grinned. His wife was turning into a little spy. He'd heard the comment about the shipment himself, of course, and plans for interception were already drawn up.
She recited the details he himself had heard, a touch of excitement in her voice, her only movement a small wave of her hand.
As Penelope finished delivering her information, Max stepped onto the path and came up behind her. “I thank you, Mrs. Broderick."
"Penelope."
"I thank you, Penelope,” he said with a mixture of pride and agitation, reaching out to lay his gloved hand on her arm. She didn't so much as turn her head to look at that hand.
Cool air swirled around them, whipping the hem of Penelope's cloak, slashing the strands of dark hair from the wig across his face. He increased the pressure of his fingers and stepped closer to buffer Penelope from the wind.
"If I can do more,” she whispered, “even after you've rescued Tyler, I will. I can relay information such as what I heard last night, pass on messages if need be—I want very much to help."
"This is a dangerous game."
"I know."
Her arm was warm beneath his hand, and she made no move to step away. “Why would you want to continue even after the threat to your brother is past?"
He could almost feel the excitement radiating from her. “You've done something important with your life, never worrying about the danger, never shying away from what you know is right.” There was a passion in her soft voice. “I want my life to be more than dinner parties and balls and painting pretty pictures. I want my life to extend beyond these four walls."
"A rebel in the making,” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear.
"I don't know that I would call myself a rebel,” she said, hesitation creeping into her voice. “I never thought much about the concept of freedom before. As long as I was warm and happy and secure, I didn't care who was in charge."
"What changed your mind?"
"You,” she replied. “You're willing to sacrifice anything, do anything for what you believe to be right. My brother,” she added, “who's foolishly passionate about the cause. Most of all"—she paused, and Max leaned close to catch her words—"I don't want men like Victor Chadwick ruling these colonies. I always thought his greatest crime to be dullness, but I know now that he's unfeeling and unkind, and four sturdy walls are not enough to keep a man like that out forever."
"He made a grave mistake when he took your brother."
"That he did,” she said passionately.
He could so easily spin Penelope about, face her with his mistakes, and confess everything. He could beg forgiveness, declare his love and his stupidity. But he hesitated. Tyler was not yet safe, and Penelope ... He had no idea how his wife would react to such momentous news.
"Penelope, are you there?"
Max glimpsed over his shoulder to see that Mary followed the garden path, a full skirt held off the ground, her eyes wandering as she stepped cautiously and searched for her cousin.
He ducked behind the foliage before Mary came completely into view.
"There you are."
Penelope turned slowly to greet her cousin.
"What are you doing out here at this time of night?” Mary asked, censure in her voice. “I went to your room to see if you were awake, since I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe you couldn't sleep either and we could talk. We haven't done that for ages, you know."
"I know."
"You weren't in your bed, where you should have been, so I went to your balcony to see if perhaps you were there. I saw someone in the garden, and I thought maybe it was you.” She looked from side to side. “There was someone with you, wasn't there?"
"No,” Penelope said calmly. “I'm alone. I couldn't sleep, and so I thought I'd take a walk."
"It's much too chilly for you to be out here.” Mary took Penelope's arm and together they headed for the house. “Besides, I really, really need someone to talk to tonight."
Max watched the ladies walk away. Penelope glanced over her shoulder, just once, and the look on her face was forlorn and anxious at the same time.
An expression like that one was powerful enough to shake a man's very soul, and it told Max more than he wanted to know.
His lovely wife was smitten with the Indigo Blade.
As much as Penelope wanted to dismiss her cousin and return to the garden path, she knew she couldn't. And after a while, she was glad for this time with Mary.
They put their heads together as they had when they were young, whispering in the dark of dreams and of love.
Mary had not actually revealed any dark secrets, but Penelope knew something had happened to her cousin. Something wonderful. She admitted that Penelope had been right all along. You don't choose love, it chooses you, coming out of nowhere like a thunderbolt from the blue and making everything marvelous and terrible at the same time.
Penelope even shared some of her reservations about Maximillian and their marriage, and not only had a burden been lifted, she'd seen things more clearly herself.
Maximillian did love her, of that she was certain, but something had happened to change his feelings. She wanted him to love her completely again, the way he had before the wedding.
Pride had kept Penelope from taking what should rightfully be hers, and she realized that now. She wasn't yet sure how she'd go about it, but she wanted Maximillian back—the way he was before the wedding, the way he'd been on their wedding night. Reclaiming her husband would be a part of taking her life back.
She wondered only briefly if her rendezvous with the Indigo Blade had as much to do with her resolve as did her discussion with Mary.
The meeting in the garden was a secret Penelope dared not share, not even with her cousin.
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Chapter Twenty-one
After a short but surprisingly sound night's sleep, Penelope rose with so many things on her mind that she could barely think straight. Tyler's safety, her offer of an alliance with the Indigo Blade, her decision to reclaim her marriage as she reclaimed her life.
Maximillian was not cooperating in that aspect of her plans. He'd decided to spend this of all days racing one of his horses at the track north of Charles Town. He would be away from the house all day and, he'd informed her shortly after arising, would probably not be home in time for supper.
Making this the marriage she truly wanted might be more of a challenge than any endeavor she undertook to save Tyler or assist the Indigo Blade.
The day passed slowly, and but for Mary's company she would have spent the entire day alone. Helen was not feeling well, Dalton had informed her. It was only a cold, he told Penelope when she asked, but Helen had decided it best to keep to her bed for the day. Penelope had no objections. She was, and always had been, perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
She dabbled at her mural for most of the afternoon, but her mind was elsewhere and she accomplished little.
With Mary's company, she enjoyed a pleasant supper. It was nice to see Mary her old self again. Happy, talkative, sharing a smile that touched not only her lips but her eyes.
Shortly after supper they retired. A lifetime habit of rising and setting with the sun didn't die easily, and after all the excitement of the past few days, Penelope was looking forward to a good night's sleep. Perhaps when she was well rested, more satisfying resolutions to her problems would come to her.
There was no need for a fire on this mild night, and Penelope began to undress by the light of a single candle. She unfastened the hook and eye at her throat, untied the ribbon there, and slippe
d off her shoes as she sat at the dresser to take her hair down. She'd removed the pins and was brushing her hair out when she saw it—the familiar rectangle of paper with a red wax seal.
Ridiculously, her heart skipped a beat as she touched the note. News of Tyler so soon? Or something else?
She broke the seal and revealed words that told her nothing.
The grand hall. Now.
Without bothering even to step into her shoes, Penelope flew silently from her room, the candle lighting her way through the deserted passageway and down the spiral staircase.
She rarely visited the grand hall. It was a large, cold room, a place for dancing should the day ever come when she and Maximillian wished to open their home to entertain.
The doors stood open to the grand hall, and Penelope stepped through on stocking feet and placed the candle on a table near the doors. The center of the room was bare, the pine floor untouched by all but the moonlight that broke through the parted draperies. Her single candle emitted little light, and the rest of the room was shadows, blackness. There were surely a hundred places for a man to hide.
"Hello?” she called unnecessarily. If the Indigo Blade was here, he would know she had answered his command. She walked forward until she was standing in the middle of the room, drenched in moonlight and suddenly afraid.
"You came.” The whisper echoed from a far corner, and even though she knew she shouldn't, she spun to face that black recess. It took only a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. He stood there, his head down so that all she saw was shadow and a fall of dark hair, his long black coat blending into the darkness.
"Yes,” she answered.
"Turn around."
Hesitating only briefly, she did as he asked and turned her back to him. “Do you have news of Tyler?” She heard and felt him coming toward her. When he stopped directly behind her, his shoe scraped the floor, and the soft sound echoed in the hollow room.
"No.” His breath touched her neck, and a shiver rushed down her spine.
"You've decided to allow me to help you?"
There was a short hesitation before he answered, and when he placed his gloved hand on her shoulder, Penelope jumped.