Gail Eastwood

by An Unlikely Hero

  She looked at him. He was still waiting, his sea-colored eyes roaming her face as if he would read her thoughts flowing across it. She could not deny the attraction she felt to him. Even if she closed her eyes, she would still see the handsome angles of his long face, the silver highlights in his pale hair, those remarkable eyes behind their spectacles.

  Was she wrong to refuse his help? Was she putting her own needs ahead of Vivian’s by doing so? In a week and a half he would be gone, she and Vivian would each be betrothed, and life would move on. Gould she not barricade her heart for that little while? Was she not strong enough to resist him? If she confessed the reason for her deceptions to him, he would have less reason to watch her or approach her. He could investigate other people instead. If she confided Vivian’s secret and the blackmail attempt, she need never divulge the rest of the truth, if she had not revealed it already in her kiss. Would he be horrified by what she told him? Was telling him what Vivian would want?

  Someday you’ll have to trust someone, Vivian had said—Vivian, who had suffered more and had even more to risk than Venetia did. She closed her eyes.

  “My sister is an epileptic.”

  There! She had told him. She tossed her head and looked away. Then, fearfully, she looked back, for she had to know his reaction.

  His eyes were on hers. He was not smiling, but slowly he reached out for her hand and took it. He brushed it with his lips and then enclosed it between his own hands as if it were something precious and infinitely fragile.

  “By God,” he said softly, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath, “that is a heavy burden indeed. It explains much.”

  “You are not appalled?”

  “I am surprised. She seems so perfectly normal.”

  “She is perfectly normal,” Venetia answered vehemently. “She just happens to have occasional seizures. There is no harm to her or to anyone else, no matter what you may think you know or have heard. The problem is having to hide it because people do not understand, and not being able to predict when or how often the seizures occur.”

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come, let us walk a bit. You can tell me about it, and we can make certain we are not overheard.”

  They headed away from the walled garden entrance, following the walkway down to the end and turning onto a gravel path. Cranford steered them into open parts of the gardens where they could see that there was no one nearby. Venetia was grateful for this small sign of his understanding and sensitivity. She began to talk, unburdening herself more freely than she had ever done.

  “Vivi was not born this way. Six years ago we were in a terrible accident. Vivian, my mother, and I were in our carriage, driving home from a visit to some friends. Father and Nicholas were riding behind us. We left much later than we had intended, and the road was very dark. Something happened—we hit a deep rut, or a wheel came off—I never knew, really. Our carriage overturned. It was terrifying! The horses were screaming, we were screaming, everything was falling around us, the cushions, the doors, big splinters of broken wood, but then suddenly I didn’t hear my mother or Vivian anymore. That frightened me more than anything.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering. How many times that scene had been repeated in her nightmares! She felt Cranford’s hand cover her own at his elbow, and realized suddenly that she was trembling. She swallowed, trying to clear the tightness in her throat.

  “I crawled out of the wreckage and saw my father cradling my mother against him. She was dead. I thought then that Vivian was, too. I don’t remember how we got home, or anything else at all about that night.

  “All I remember of the next few days is the doctor coming and going, over and over again. Vivian was alive, but she had a head injury, and no one knew how it might affect her, or if she would die. A thousand times I wished I could trade places with her then—too late! Too late. I promised God I would take care of her if he would only let her live.”

  Cranford had stopped, and now he took her into his arms. Tears were streaming down her face, and she could not stop them. “When she recovered, we thought everything would be fine. But my father could not get over the loss of our mother. And then Vivian’s seizures started. He would not—and still will not—accept them. He makes up any excuse—that she has delicate nerves, or that she is just overtired—anything to escape the truth. To have him react that way was bewildering, as if he had abandoned us when we needed him most. He refuses to accept that there is something besides death that he cannot control. Epilepsy is not allowed to exist in his world, in his family.

  “Then there is Aunt Alice.” Venetia laughed bitterly. “She knows very well that my sister has fits. She believes that Vivian can control them and simply refuses—oh, it is so illogical! Sometimes I just want to shake her. She thinks Vivian does it to get our sympathy and attention, a way of dealing with the loss of our mother. Aunt Alice lives in fear that someone will find out about it.”

  “And what of Nicholas?”

  “He knows, of course. He tried to help, but as you must know, he is not here that much of the time. I think he often feels at a loss to know what to do—he is caught between Father and us.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” His handkerchief was out again, but this time he kept it and very gently dried her tears himself. “You must feel very much alone at times.”

  The comment was so perceptive and so unexpected, she left off staring at his waistcoat and looked up at him.

  “You have tried to shoulder the burden all yourself.” His handsome face was full of sympathy and concern. Who could not fall in love with such a man?

  She stepped back from him and turned away, shaking her head as much to clear the thought as to deny his words. “Vivian has the greatest burden, having to live her life so carefully, always in doubt, always wondering when the next attack will come, never knowing for certain. She has to tolerate Father’s denial and Aunt Alice’s insensitivity, and the looks of the servants. Some of them are afraid of her, I know. The seizures are frightening, and she is always mortified afterward, as if she were at fault! It should have been my burden. I must do everything I can to help her.”

  “Do most of your servants know?”

  “Yes, most do. They are well paid, and there are not many positions like theirs in this area. A few would not stay when we first learned of the epilepsy, because they were afraid. But we have managed well enough in the years since then, until now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, this party. This insistence that Vivian and I should both marry. Our father’s decision that he will wait no longer.”

  She had moved away as she talked, and now in just two easy, long strides, he made up the distance. With a gentle hand on her shoulder, he turned her to face him again.

  “The tests, the schemes, the capriciousness for which you have become infamous—they have all been because of your sister’s affliction?”

  She nodded, closing her eyes again. It was easier to talk if she did not face him. “They have all been because of my father, who will not see the danger in marriage for Vivian. It matters so much who she marries! She would be so much safer if she just stayed with me or with Nicholas.”

  She opened her eyes and looked out past him, at the tree-fringed hills and the sky beyond Rivington. “Her husband will have absolute power over her. The wrong man could destroy her, even if he did not abuse her or commit her to a house for the insane. Yet, if we could find the right man, if such a man exists, she could have a chance for a life of happiness, even with the epilepsy. I would sacrifice anything to make that happen.”

  “Even your own future?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “And just what would this paragon have to be like? Just in case I should happen across one,” he said.

  She turned her gaze back to him and found him smiling. “He would have to
be patient, and kind, and understanding . . .” He would have to be like you, she thought with dawning amazement. She felt as if a thunderbolt had struck her, but of course he did not notice.

  “Willing to live with a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Are those qualities indeed so difficult to find?”

  “They seem to be. We have been looking for two years.”

  She smiled. But now we have found you! Why had she not thought of him before now? Because you were too busy falling in love with him yourself, said the voice in her head. Because he was only Nicholas’s friend, or maybe the blackmailer, or witless and boring—whatever other image you tried to put in the way. She had only tried to protect herself; she knew she would never have been allowed to marry him. But perhaps there was a chance for Vivian. There might just be a way.

  “I had always hoped that we would be successful,” she said, realizing that he expected some further comment. “But now my father forces us to choose from among the guests that he has gathered here. And there is also another who wishes to force our hands.”

  He looked surprised. “Your aunt?”

  She sighed. “She will be well pleased to see us married off, but it is not she. Someone among the guests knows our secret, and has threatened to expose us.”

  She was astonished to see how quickly his expression changed. Color flooded into his cheeks and his brows drew down in anger. His eyes darkened. Suddenly he looked very much like a dangerous man.

  “That is blackmail!”

  She nodded and began to walk again. He fell into step beside her.

  “To what end?”

  “To force me into marriage with him.” A small stone had trespassed on the gravel path and she gave it a vicious kick. Cranford was curiously silent. Finally she said, “I must confess that for some time I thought it might be you.”

  “Me?” He was clearly dumbfounded. She found that reassuring.

  “I could not conceive that anyone else had a motive.”

  “What was mine supposed to be?”

  She glanced sideways at him. “Oh dear. This is awkward. Why did I have to mention it?”

  He grasped her elbow and brought her to a stop. “Half a confession will not serve. Finish it.”

  Her elbow was burning from his gentle touch. This would never do—she must go through with the rest of this, so there would be no more glances, no more touches between them.

  “All right. I learned from Nicholas that you were in need of funds, to build back your estates. He—he said that your uncle had swindled you a few years ago.”

  “That’s true,” he said, and then he laughed. Laughed! She thought most men would have been angry. “And when did you decide that I might not be the blackmailer?”

  “When I realized that money might not be the only motive, and I could see that you were genuinely puzzled by what was happening here.” She could not admit that it had only been this morning.

  “So, have you other suspects now?”

  “Well, perhaps one.”

  “What does Nicholas say about all this? Did he know you suspected me? What is he doing to help?”

  “He does not know.”

  ***

  To that point the conversation had made Gilbey feel as if all his emotions had been set off inside him like rockets in a box, bouncing and ricocheting in a dozen directions. But at that particular moment, the uppermost one was definitely anger.

  “He-does-not-know? Anything? Do you mean to tell me that neither you nor Vivian has told him about this blackmail attempt?” He snatched his hand away from Venetia’s arm, for he realized that he had an overwhelming urge to shake her.

  Making an effort to calm his voice, he said, “Please tell me if I understand this correctly. You have been trying to protect your sister’s secret, find her a husband, find yourself a husband, please your father, entertain these guests, and secretly thwart a blackmailer, all without any help?”

  In the meekest of voices she said, “And unmask a bad poet.”

  Gilbey threw up his arms to dispel the explosion inside him. “Who do you think you are, Boadicea?” he roared. In the heat of the moment he could not think of a better example. “Even she had the help of her troops!”

  Truly, he had not meant to yell. Venetia stirred all kinds of passions in him that were best left alone. It only proved to him what he had already known—that a marriage based on love would be a disaster for the likes of him. Parting from her at the end of this visit was inevitable, and he knew it was for the best. He thought he could survive the pain if he knew she was betrothed to a decent man. The blackmailer had to be stopped.

  He took a deep breath. “Need I remind you that, despite her victories, Boadicea lost to the Romans in the end?”

  Venetia raised her head defiantly. “She took poison.” Her eyes told him that she would have done the same.

  “Venetia.” He tried to speak gently. “I’m sorry, I know I must still say Lady Venetia. If you would let me help you and let Nicholas, you might not have to lose this war. You might find us useful allies.”

  “Nicholas is so impulsive. You see how angry you just became? What do you suppose his reaction will be like when he learns of this? He is our brother. What is to stop him from roaring off like a charging bull, exposing the secret to everyone anyway by the time he gets done?”

  “I know how to handle Nicholas. I’ll stop him from roaring off. Will you trust me?”

  Opening her hand, she held out to him the small fragment of wisteria blossom she must have kept in it the whole time. Slowly she nodded. “It seems I have already begun.”

  ***

  At dinner the guests were divided and seated at three different tables, as they had been on one of the previous evenings. This time all the younger guests were seated together, and the conversation was lively. Gilbey had no chance to speak to Nicholas until the ladies withdrew after the meal, and even then he could only say he wished a few private moments with him. As the guests reassembled for cards in the blue drawing room, the two friends ducked into an anteroom and Gilbey quickly sketched out what had happened.

  “It is more than essential that you stay cool about this, Nicholas,” he counseled. “The situation is delicate and calls for subtle handling. We do not want to alert the blackmailer to our efforts any more than we wish to see your sisters’ secret exposed.”

  Nicholas was understandably upset. He paced restlessly and repeatedly struck his palm with his fist. “Who could it be? My aunt and my father handpicked these guests. I’ll kill the blackguard, whoever he is! How dare he come under our roof with such intentions?”

  “Get a grip on yourself, man. Do you want someone to overhear? Look, what we need to do is have a war council, the four of us.” Gilbey knew that if he could get Nicholas focused upon some specific steps to take, he would calm down.

  “All right, all right.” Nicholas stopped and pushed the hair back from his forehead. After a moment’s thought he said, “We will take my sisters for a drive tomorrow morning. It is the only way I can think of to ensure utter privacy.”

  ***

  Venetia lay awake part of the night thinking out her plan to put Vivian and Cranford together. She had had no opportunity to speak privately with her sister until they had retired to their rooms for the night. In their dressing room she had finally recounted her conversation with the viscount in the garden. But her thoughts she could not share. Now she stared up at the blue velvet hangings of her carved four-poster bed, their tasseled shapes comfortingly familiar in the darkness.

  Five things were necessary for her plan’s success, as far as she could see. First, Vivian must want Cranford for her husband. That seemed to Venetia to be the easiest part. Vivian liked the viscount and had noticed how handsome he was from the first mom
ent she had seen him. If Venetia had come to care for him so deeply, certainly it should not be difficult for her twin to arrive at similar feelings if she were given enough opportunities to be with him.

  Second, Cranford must be willing to marry Vivian. That should not be too difficult, either. Unless she had completely misjudged him, he was not exactly indifferent to her, and Vivian was her twin, after all. He had not been disgusted or horrified at the revelation of Vivian’s epilepsy, and he certainly had the patience, kindness, and understanding that they had hoped for so long to find. Surely a quiet, scholarly man such as he would not mind the limited social participation that Vivian would need to observe. What man in his position would turn down the chance to marry into a family as powerful and wealthy as the St. Aldwyns? A fraction of Vivian’s dowry would undoubtedly restore all of his estates and triple them. Plus, Nicholas was his best friend; surely their brother would lend his support to the match.

  A bigger obstacle would be obtaining their father’s approval. Determined to present two perfect daughters to the world, the duke fully expected both of the twins to make excellent matches. How could she get him to see the truth? Cranford was indeed an excellent match for Vivian—they were perfect for each other. His lack of funds should not matter, and what other objections could there be? Lord Newcroft was only a viscount, and her father had deemed him eligible enough. Undoubtedly it was because Lord Newcroft was rich enough to loan money to Prinny himself.

  The solution was twofold: her father would have to be convinced that the family would not be diminished by a connection to Lord Cranford, and Venetia would have to make the most brilliant match possible to compensate. That meant, of course, the Duke of Thornborough for her, or at the very least one of the three available marquesses. Old as he was, the Duke of Thornborough obviously still thought he could father an heir, and Venetia hoped so. A child would give her life meaning after the old duke passed on.

  She nearly choked on a sudden thought: could the duke be the blackmailer? How ironic that would be. With his high opinion of himself, might he still fear that his matrimonial chances were poor because of his age? Now that she had realized money need not be the only motive behind such desperation, the other possible motives seemed limitless. It was more essential now than ever that the blackmailer be discovered, for her choice of mate mattered now much more than before. She had believed that if they failed to stop him, she would go through with marrying the villain to protect her sister. But if he was not among the prime candidates that possibility now became unthinkable.