The Lost Soul of Lord Badewyn (Order of the M.U.S.E. Book 3)

by Mia Marlowe

  “A dead babe was found with your body.”

  The ghost took on a sickly grayish yellow hue. “No. It is not possible. I would know if he were dead. Here in this realm, we all see where other souls go. If he were dead, I would have rejoiced to see his little spirit soar upward. There is no chance of him going elsewhere.” Shafts of light began to shoot from her undulating form. She was clearly agitated. “Henry certainly would not be stuck here with me, betwixt and between, unable to go back, unable to move on.”

  “Be at peace, spirit,” Glenys said quietly from her perch on the spinning stool. “There may be work yet for the living, but your labors have ceased. Rest you, now.”

  The churning in the apparition slowed and finally stopped. She merely glowed, now bright, now pale, in a slow rhythm that reminded Meg of labored breathing.

  “Edward, you must find our son.” Mercedes’ voice came out as a whisper. “He lives. I swear it.”

  “I will.” His voice was a husky shell of its usual melodious timbre. “I will devote myself to the task, heart and soul.”

  “Then I am content,” The ghost glowed white again and her features were more plain to see. “One more thing remains to me, Edward. It is love. I did not show you the love you deserved in life, but it burns in me now like a flame.” As if to prove her point, she flared a fiery red hue before settling back to a melancholy blue tint. “Though love survives death, it is not complete without forgiveness.”

  “Are you asking me to forgive you?”

  “I have nothing to offer in exchange, so I must ask. I can do nothing to earn it. I am too poor to pay for I have nothing but my faulty memories and regret. Your forgiveness must be a gift.” Lifelike color flooded the apparition and Mercedes appeared as she did in the portrait—a vibrant, beautiful young woman. “I am a fool. I was weak, despicable, blind—”

  “Stop.” The duke held up a forbidding hand. “I will allow no one to speak ill of you, little heart. Not even you.”

  “Do you have it in you to pardon me, Edward?

  “Be at peace, love. You are forgiven,” he whispered. “I’m to blame for being such a high-handed excuse for a husband.”

  “You were never that. Not really. Your rules, silly as some of them were, were motivated by love. I see that now. If there is aught to forgive, I do it gladly with a full heart.” She began to drift upward.

  “Don’t go.”

  “I am compelled to leave. Something is drawing me toward…” When she continued, her voice was different. It was the sound of a soul in ecstasy. “My chains are loosed. Mercy—both the giving and the receiving of it—has freed me from earth. Oh, Edward, I see it.”

  “What, my dear one? What do you see?”

  “Lux perpetua.”

  “What is lux perpetua?” Meg whispered to Samuel, but before he could answer Mercedes went on.

  “Light. Only light. Everywhere. Moving in and around everyone and everything. Light one can drink in and be warmed and filled thereby. Light that binds us together in love.” She stopped her upward progress to look back down at him. “Oh, Edward, it’s so beautiful. I wish you could see.”

  “I see it shining through your eyes,” the duke said.

  “But you won’t understand until you see it through yours and that will be many years hence to you. It will be but the blink of an eye to me.” She began floating toward the thatched ceiling again. “Farewell, husband, until we meet in that place where we shall know as we are fully known. Remember, I love—”

  And then Mercedes winked out, snatched from this world to the next without being able to finish her thought. But Meg sensed the love from that unknown place, reaching out to enfold them all like a warm soft blanket.

  I used to think the stars were cloaked in mystery, distant and unknowable. Now I am persuaded they are open books compared to the human heart. For good or ill, a person will surprise you every time.

  ~ from the journal of Samuel Templeton, Lord Badewyn

  Chapter Eighteen

  In stunned silence, Camden sank into the empty chair in Glenys’ cottage, drained by his encounter with Mercedes’ shade. Never in a thousand lifetimes would he have suspected she’d been unfaithful to him. Even after hearing her direct confession, he could scarce believe it.

  And with a common painter, no less…

  Surprisingly enough, though he was wounded by her affair, he didn’t wallow in assigning all the blame to Mercedes. Instead, he was mindful of his own failings and humbled by them. His dead wife’s admission had brought him to his knees, figuratively speaking, but only false pride would allow him moral outrage. There had been no innocent party in his marriage. Camden might have been more sinned against than sinning, but he’d failed Mercedes in many ways. He realized that now.

  Yet she had forgiven him. And he’d forgiven her.

  A fresh place in his soul, shivering and new, welled up with hope. Perhaps now he could move ahead with his life, unchained by the past.

  In the years since she’d been gone, he’d altered matters in his mind. Gone was any recollection of their fiery arguments and his thundering ultimatums, wiped clean from his memory so he could pretend all had been sweetness and light between them. In his grief, he’d canonized Mercedes. She’d become his saint, his ideal woman, a paragon no one else could hope to surpass. Being confronted with her essence again had shattered that illusion once and for all.

  She’d been no more perfect than he was. In the eyes of the world, he was a powerful peer and wealthy noble. As the Duke of Camden, he could do no wrong. However, in his own freshly opened eyes, he was just another poor soul, no better and no worse than the next man, trying to muddle through life as best he could.

  It surprised him that he could view matters so dispassionately, since the idyllic world he’d carefully constructed about his marriage had just been pulled down about his ears. He felt so detached from the past, it was almost as if his life with Mercedes had happened to someone else. But then one immutable fact from his conversation with his wife rushed back into him.

  “My son is alive,” he whispered.

  “It certainly sounded that way to me, Your Grace.” Glenys stood and wiped her sweaty brow with the hem of her apron. Though to all appearances, she’d been sitting quietly on the stool next to the spinning wheel the whole time, clearly acting as a medium was harder psychic work than Glenys made it seem. “And a very much alive son at that.”

  “Then why was a dead child found with Mercedes’ body?” Camden asked.

  “Babes die in Cheapside all the time,” Miss Anthony spoke up softly. “It would be no trouble to find a dead child to leave in a live one’s place.”

  “At the time, how old was your son, Your Grace?” Lord Badewyn asked.

  “A couple of weeks. No more.”

  “All babies look alike at that age,” Vesta said.

  “Except to their mothers,” Glenys corrected. At that moment, her own red-haired son burst back into the cottage bearing a toad in each hand and talking a blue streak about the piglet he planned to collect from Goodwife Argall on the morrow. His excited voice was an ice pick to Camden’s brain.

  He could well believe the dead didn’t warm to the boy. The rowdy child was just as off-putting to the living.

  Camden removed his wallet from inside his waistcoat and gave Glenys every coin and banknote he was carrying. Fortunately, his station allowed him to travel on credit. Merchants and innkeepers alike took one look at his magnificent wardrobe and the elegant coach and four in which he traveled and advanced him any sum he required on the strength of his signet ring pressed into a blob of wax.

  Somehow, he didn’t think Glenys would be impressed with a promise of payment. Besides, if he truly did have a living son, he owed the Witch of Gryffydd far more than he could repay.

  The duke’s party walked in subdued silence back to the inn and marched in eerie unison up the stairs to Samuel and Meg’s chamber.

  “We can decide what needs doing now without fear
of listening ears,” Samuel told His Grace as Meg and Miss LaMotte settled themselves on the foot of the bed. He offered Camden the lone chair in the room and His Grace took it gratefully.

  Samuel needn’t have worried about their plans being overheard. Everyone seemed consumed by their own thoughts and sat in stillness. There was nothing for even the most determined eavesdropper to hear other than quiet breathing and the occasional rustle of silk from Miss LaMotte.

  Finally, Camden spoke. “First, I thank you, my friends, for bearing me company. The séance was a far more emotional ordeal than I expected it to be. No one need know about the content of the session but we four. I trust your discretion in this matter and appreciate it beyond words.”

  Samuel and Meg exchanged a glance. They were forced to trust in Camden and Miss LaMotte’s discretion, too, to help keep Meg safe from Grigori. Everyone had secrets, it seemed, private hurts that would break your heart if only you knew them. Even someone as elevated as His Grace.

  “There’s something about your wife’s story I don’t understand,” Miss LaMotte said, swinging a dainty foot off the edge of the bed. “Why steal a child from his dead mother? What would someone do with a child like that?”

  “Sell it, most like,” Meg suggested. “Or perhaps they’d recently lost their own babe and took His Grace’s son as a substitute. It’s true he’d be an extra mouth to feed for a while, but sooner than you can imagine, the child would be put to work to help support the family. Simple ways for simple folk.”

  “Then you believe my heir might be living in squalor with child thieves? This is intolerable.” The duke started to rise to his feet, but Samuel stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

  “Rest yourself, Camden. You’ve had a shock,” Samuel said. To his surprise, the duke sank back down. “At the time your wife died, did anyone try to contact you to claim they had your son and ask for a ransom?”

  “I wish they had. I’d have paid anything. But it’s unlikely anyone who found Henry would have been aware that he was my son. Mercedes had borrowed a plain gown from one of the maids so she could travel across town unremarked. It was some time before anyone realized the body they found was that of my duchess because of it.” The duke tugged down his waistcoat out of force of habit. There was nothing awry about his ensemble. “Fortunately, a week after she disappeared, I had told the Bow Street Runners to notify me if any female or infant remains had been discovered. Thieves might have stolen my son, and the silver locket at Mercedes’s throat, but they didn’t think to search my wife’s body well enough to remove the little gold cross she always wore under her chemise. It’s how she was identified.”

  Silence descended on the party once again.

  “It’s a pity she didn’t recall more about her death.” Samuel wondered if that meant the actual moment of dying wasn’t as bad as everyone feared. Perhaps the anxiety of not knowing what waits on the other side was worse than getting there.

  “It is a shame, but at least we have some fresh information to go on. Well, then. Tomorrow, we shall return to London,” Camden said rising with purpose. “I plan to discover the whereabouts of that painter and learn for myself if he is responsible for Her Grace’s death.”

  They’d all heard the ghost’s confession, but Camden was quick to give Mercedes her honorific as if nothing had happened. The duke was an even better man than Samuel took him for. A better man than Samuel was. He didn’t know if he could be so forgiving over a lover’s unfaithfulness. Meg was his. He wasn’t willing to share her with anyone.

  Which was why he had to keep her hidden from his father.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, but that plan won’t do,” Meg said haltingly. She was still clearly in awe of her mentor, but at least she had the courage to speak her mind to him. Samuel admired her pluck.

  “Why not?” Camden asked.

  “If that fellow Alberto did have a hand in doing away with Her Grace, he’s not likely to confess it to you, is he? We need to find out did anyone else see something. And whether or not he was involved in Her Grace’s death, maybe Alberto knows what became of your son. If someone of your station were to burst in and start accusing him, he’d never tell you what you want to know.”

  “But you think you can winkle it out of him?” Vesta asked.

  “I could try.” She glanced at Samuel. “With help, of course.”

  “But Grigori will be looking for you in London,” Samuel said.

  “He might be looking for me at Camden House, but I’ll warrant he won’t expect us to be faring in Cheapside. We’ll blend in and live rough. It will pose no difficulty,” Meg said. “I’ve done it before.”

  The duke shook his head. “I can’t have you endangering yourself on my account. Not with Samuel’s father seeking you for his nefarious reasons.”

  “Don’t fret yourself, your Grace. Trust me. This is something I can do for you. Finding is my gift, remember,” Meg said. “It’ll be ever so much easier than trying to be a lady.”

  Miss LaMotte chuckled. “I expect that’s true.”

  “Meg, ordinarily Finding would be the best course of action, but in this case, I don’t think you should use your special ability,” Samuel said, choosing his words with care. He didn’t want to upset her about it again, but Grigori had been able to see her spectral form clearly in the great hall when Samuel couldn’t. “Finding puts you in the realm of the spirit where I can’t follow and protect you. During that time, you might be visible to Grigori should he be near his scrying basin.”

  “I concur,” the duke said.

  “Well, then, someone needs to keep your father from that basin, Lord Badewyn,” Vesta said. “Camden, I think you and I should continue on to Faencaern Castle. If his lordship’s father is in residence there, we can keep an eye on him and discover his plans.”

  “Grigori is old beyond reckoning and far too wise for human trickery,” Samuel cautioned. “You can’t think to match wits with a Fallen One.”

  “Who said anything about matching wits with him? Any being who gives up heaven for the sake of a woman is susceptible to being charmed by one.” Vesta batted her long lashes coquettishly. “Perhaps I can keep this Grigori fellow distracted while you two travel to London and find Camden’s son.”

  “I can’t allow that, Vesta,” Camden said. “It’s too risky for you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Vesta said. “Besides, you have no say in the matter. You are not my husband. And even if you were, I’ve never been inclined to obedience.”

  “I’m beginning to think no woman is,” the duke grumbled.

  “It’s settled then,” Vesta rose and glided across the small chamber. “Camden and I will push on to the castle on the morrow and Miss Anthony and Lord Badewyn will hie themselves to London by the quickest means possible, while we create a diversion for his lordship’s father.”

  “Still, a fallen angel is not a being to be trifled with,” His Grace said. “If Miss LaMotte will not allow me to protect her, at least you should accede to my wishes, Miss Anthony. I am concerned for your safety should Grigori discover your whereabouts.”

  “You’ve naught to fear on that count, Your Grace. Grigori won’t follow us to Cheapside,” Meg said, grinning gamely. “There are some places in London where the devil himself won’t go.”

  Once they were back in their own chamber, Camden started to remove his jacket. Vesta skittered across the room to help him.

  “What a sweet gesture, my dear.”

  Vesta’s laugh was a tinkling music he loved to hear. “Don’t be fooled. I’m not inclined to domesticity. Never think this is a permanent arrangement. I’ll be happy to give your valet’s job back to him once we reach civilization again. Poor boy. Considering how rustic our accommodations are, I can only shudder at what his bed in the stable must be like.” She gave herself a little shake.

  “The lad is fine. Probably having the greatest adventure of his life,” Camden said. “The fact that our present situation frees him from hi
s duties to me while affording you a chance to show your domestic side is icing on the cake. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Besides, it just so happens that I’m well acquainted with the best way to undress a gentleman.” Ever the coquette, she cast a sly look at him while her talented fingers began working his cravat free. “But you, of all men, should know there’s nothing remotely domestic about me.”

  “We could fix that.”

  She cocked a brow at him. “How?”

  “You could marry me.” As marriage proposals went, that one was worthy of a green lad. A duke should do better. The idea had been rolling around in the back of his mind for months, but he hadn’t felt free to give it voice until he’d squared things with Mercedes. He still had unanswered questions about the past, but he was ready to turn his back on them in favor of the future. “The offer is genuine,” he added when she didn’t respond right away.

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. You haven’t even wanted to be my lover these last few years.” Vesta gave him her back, hands on her hips, a silent invitation to help her out of her gown by undoing the row of seed pearls that followed the line of her spine.

  “That’s not true. I’ve been restraining myself because one shouldn’t always have what one desires.” Camden finished with the buttons and slid the gown off her shoulders. Then he bent down to her and kissed the tender skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “I’ve wanted you for years.”

  “Then you have a singularly odd way of showing it.” Her voice husky with longing, Vesta shivered and leaned back into him. He loved the way she gave herself over to each moment, as if this one slice of time might be all they’d ever have together and she was intent on wringing every drop of joy from it.

  “I wasn’t able to let go of the past before,” Camden said.

  “And now you can?”

  Mercedes had moved on to a different plane. She would always be his first love, but now he saw her with opened eyes. He’d tried to bury his heart with his dead wife, but no more. He had some living to catch up on and Vesta was just the one to help him do it.