No Regrets

by Mari Carr

  She would make amends for her past sins.

  Chapter 9

  V is for Violence

  The next morning Vee went in search of Ben. Things always looked better in the morning and today was no exception. She felt better, more like herself—whoever that was. She even felt optimistic and was anxious to share those feelings with Ben. She felt bad about the way she’d left things yesterday. She wanted to apologize for running out during their conversation and to ask if she could stay on to work with Chelsea until a proper governess was found.

  Once a true teacher was hired for the young girl, she would have to leave. It was the height of impropriety for a woman of her questionable past to be living with a nobleman and his young ward. She’d already stayed too long and could only imagine the reason Ben wasn’t being ostracized was because he hadn’t gone out into society since her arrival.

  According to Mrs. Henry, several of the local ladies had paid calls the moment they learned the Duke of Pelsham’s second son had taken up residence. One awkward visit seated on rubble with a glowering, silent giant intimidated the busybodies enough that they didn’t bother to return after Ben’s first week here. Still, the new servants knew she was staying there, so word was bound to leak out sooner or later.

  “Oh, good morning dear,” Mrs. Henry said as Vee descended the staircase.

  “Good morning. I was looking for Lord Benjamin. I need to have a quick word with him before breakfast.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible for a day or two.”

  “Oh, has he gone somewhere?” Vee was suddenly concerned her anger had driven him away.

  “No, nothing like that.” Mrs. Henry glanced at the closed door to Ben’s office.

  Vee followed her gaze. “Is he in his office? Is someone with him?”

  “No.” Mrs. Henry studied her intently as if she was trying to decide something. “Oh my, I suppose it was only a matter of time. Come with me to the dining room. You can have some toast while I explain.”

  Vee felt a niggling tightness in her stomach. She was about to get more bad news. Following Mrs. Henry’s large bustling form into the dining room, she watched as the housekeeper closed the door behind her.

  “He isn’t sick or hurt, is he?”

  “Oh, he’s not had an injury. No, that’s not it.” Mrs. Henry paused as if deciding how best to continue.

  “Mrs. Henry—”

  “But perhaps sick is the correct word.”

  “Does he have a fever, an infection? My goodness, why is he in his office? Shouldn’t he be in bed?” Panic set in at Mrs. Henry’s odd behavior and bizarre comments.

  “Oh, it’s not that kind of sickness, dear. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll pour you a nice cup of tea.”

  “Mrs. Henry, what is wrong with Lord Benjamin?”

  “I had such hopes.” Mrs. Henry wrung her hands as she walked over to the sideboard. “He hasn’t had a spell since you arrived and he’s seemed, oh dear, what word to use? Lighter, I suppose is as good as any. Maybe even happy. But—”

  “But?” Vee prompted, unable to make sense of anything the woman was saying.

  “It’s simply this, Lord Benjamin has these bad spells, dark days. He had them quite a lot when he and the little one first arrived. He goes into a black humor, disappearing into his office for a couple of days, although one did last for nearly a week.”

  “Black humor?”

  “He’s violently bad tempered. He won’t eat, doesn’t sleep, only sits by the fireplace drinking spirits. I tried to take him food once only to have him throw the tray against the wall and yell at me to get out.”

  “He yelled at you?” Vee couldn’t imagine Ben raising his voice to the same woman whose food he pretended to eat and enjoy because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “Oh, he apologized most prettily the next day. Once the spell had passed.” Mrs. Henry’s voice rose in defense of her beloved master.

  “And this happens often?” Vee was confused by what was wrong with him. Depression?

  “Oh, as I said, not at all since your arrival,” Mrs. Henry answered.

  “And before that?”

  “Weel, perhaps a day or two a week.”

  “Every week since he moved in here?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Henry nodded. “Mr. Henry and I give him a wide berth during those days as he requested after the tray-throwing incident. He simply wants to be left alone during the spell. I think he fears what harm he may do to someone when he’s in the grip of it. He’s such a kind man.”

  Mrs. Henry began wringing her hands again. “I think he was fair distraught when he realized he’d thrown the tray and yelled at me. It’s not in him to be cruel normally, but his face that day,” Mrs. Henry paused, as if remembering something truly horrible in her mind. A slight shudder passed through her body. “I don’t know any other way to say this, but when I looked at him that night, he was quite simply out of his mind. I was afraid for my life.”

  “My goodness.” Vee’s concern for Ben grew by the minute. “Certainly something must cause these spells. Set them off?”

  “No, nothing specific that I can tell. One day he is fine, the next he has locked himself in his office. Perhaps it is to be expected. After all, his great-aunt also suffered from bouts of madness. These things pass through the blood.”

  “Maybe.” Vee suspected the catalyst for this particular ‘black humor’ was their conversation in Ben’s office yesterday, coupled with Chelsea’s relapse. Swamped with guilt, she sat down at the dining room table and considered what she should do now.

  “Weel, if you aren’t interested in breakfast, my dear, I really need to be getting along with my duties.” Mrs. Henry began to tidy up the already spotless dining room. So many improvements had been made to the house since her arrival, Vee could hardly believe it was the same place.

  “That new upstairs chambermaid hasn’t gotten the knack of the bed linens yet. I’ve got to show her again.” Mrs. Henry grumbled lightly, but Vee knew the irascible old lady was already fond of the new servants and delighted to have a staff, albeit a small one, to command. Turning at the doorway, Mrs. Henry pinned her with a look. “Please do not disturb the master. I—”

  “Yes,” Vee prompted.

  “I wouldna want ye to be hurt.” With that parting advice, Mrs. Henry left the room.

  Mrs. Henry’s words crept back as she worked alone tidying up the small room the servants set up to be a schoolroom, in the event Ben was able to secure a governess. During her disturbing conversation with Mrs. Henry, Chelsea had successfully escaped the house. Vee knew from experience no amount of hunting through the woods would track the girl down. She had good hiding places.

  The sound of a horse approaching reached her. From her bird’s eye view on the third floor, she saw Frank Prescott arrive with his bag. Recalling Chelsea’s fearful response to the new groom, she watched him dismount. He was a fairly attractive man whom she guessed to be in his late thirties or early forties. His dirty blond hair and dark complexion bespoke his profession. He clearly spent most of his time outdoors. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but something about the man disturbed her and, although she didn’t know the reason for Chelsea’s unusually strong reaction toward him, Vee resolved to keep an eye on Mr. Prescott. She continued to study him until he entered the stable, and then she turned her attention back to the school room and her previous concerns about Ben.

  “I wouldna want ye to be hurt,” Mrs. Henry had said.

  Ben would never hurt her. Certainly not intentionally. And yet Mrs. Henry, who adored him, didn’t feel safe with him when he was in this so-called “black humor.”

  When Ben and Chelsea failed to appear for lunch and then again for dinner, Vee decided enough was enough. She stationed herself by the back door in the kitchen and waited for her young charge to sneak back into the house. When Chelsea appeared just before dusk, Vee was there.

  “Good evening, Chelsea.”

  The girl jum
ped at the unexpected sound of her voice.

  “I hope you had a good time today.”

  Chelsea turned toward her, then her eyes darted to the back stairway that would lead her to her bedroom and away from Vee.

  “No,” Vee replied in response to the young girl’s desperate look. “You aren’t going to bed yet. There are a few matters we need to discuss first.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her damp palms on her dress. She chided herself for being nervous in front of a seven-year-old. “Lord Benjamin has hired me to be your governess until a more suitable teacher can be found.”

  Chelsea’s face remained blank. Irritated by the events of the day, or lack thereof, Vee wanted to shake some sort of response out of the child, but she managed to continue speaking in an even, professional tone.

  “We will begin in the morning after breakfast. While you were out, I spent the day preparing a classroom and lessons. After your morning meal, you will report to me and we will begin.”

  Again the girl remained motionless, emotionless.

  She took a deep breath for patience. “Do you understand, Chelsea?”

  Bright green eyes darted longingly for the stairway again before returning to her. She detected the same fear she saw in the girl’s eyes the first day she’d come to Vee’s room after her arrival. The same fear that had faded a bit each day until Vee had forgotten about it, only to have it return with a vengeance yesterday afternoon. It broke her heart.

  “Oh, Chels.” She rose to cross the room to the small girl. Kneeling before her, she clasped Chelsea’s tiny hands in hers. The little girl’s hands were ice cold and trembling.

  “First and foremost, I’m your friend and that will never change. While I’m sure I’m not exactly governess material, I promise you, I’ll do my very best. Will you let me try to be your teacher?”

  Chelsea looked down at their clasped hands for so long, Vee gave up. It was obvious the girl was rejecting her and without her cooperation, Vee would be more successful attempting to teach Chelsea’s pony how to read and write. A small sigh escaped and she began to rise, but Chelsea stopped her, squeezing her hands tightly. Raising her bright eyes to Vee’s, Chelsea nodded awkwardly one time before letting go and racing up the back stairs to her room.

  Vee remained on her knees for several more minutes feeling as though she’d been handed the crown jewels. Chelsea would allow her to teach her and she vowed she would banish the fear in those pretty green eyes if it was the last thing she ever did.

  Rising stiffly, she took a steadying breath, then walked toward Ben’s office. One hurdle cleared and one to go. Stiffening her spine, she raised her hand and knocked.

  A muffled “go away” met her ears. She knocked again, louder. This time, a glass shattered somewhere in the room.

  “I said go away!” Ben yelled.

  Digging into her pocket, she produced the key to the office door she had lifted from an unsuspecting Mrs. Henry’s ring shortly after dinner. She would apologize tomorrow for her actions, but tonight there would be no more backward steps. From this point on, the inhabitants of Waterplace would only march forward. Chelsea would learn to trust again, Ben would overcome his depression, and Vee would take the fresh start on life she had been granted. She was determined it would be so.

  Quietly, she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The room was pitch black, except for the slight orange-red glow given off by the embers of the dying fire. The chilly room smelled strongly of liquor. From her vantage point by the door, she could only see Ben’s sprawled legs as he slouched in a large wingback chair facing the fading flames.

  “Ben?”

  When she received no response, she took two tentative steps toward him whispering his name again. She wondered if perhaps he was asleep. Or passed out given the empty decanter lying on its side by his chair. Around the table were shards of glass, probably the remains of the tumbler from which he’d been drinking.

  She continued her slow, silent trek across the room until she was standing in front of him, the small amount of heat provided by the fire lightly touching her back.

  “Ben,” she repeated softly.

  Ben raised his black gaze to her and she remembered Mrs. Henry’s description. He did appear to be, if not out of his mind, then certainly not in his right mind.

  Taking a calming breath, she struggled to speak. However, overwhelming guilt about his present condition kept her voice steady. “I wanted to apologize for running out the way I did yesterday.”

  Ben looked at her as if she were a mirage and not quite real.

  “I realize now you were trying to keep me from being hurt. Protecting me.”

  He shook himself free of his trance, his voice harsh, virtually unrecognizable. “Didn’t Mrs. Henry tell you to stay away from here?”

  Surprised by the malice lacing his tone, she took a small step backward before nodding.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I—” Fear coursed in her blood. “I was w-worried about you.”

  A harsh bark of a laugh cut the silence of the room. “Worried?”

  “Y-yes.” She glanced at the door, feeling very much like Chelsea must have only minutes earlier. Desperate for escape.

  He slowly rose from his chair. “You should be worried, but not for me.” His clothes were wrinkled and looked like he’d slept in them. His white shirt was open at the neck and, as he approached her, she was able to make out the lightest smattering of dark hair on his chest. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d tried to pull it all out. His feet were bare, except for his stockings. She worried briefly about him cutting himself on the broken glass on the floor.

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She wished she had taken Mrs. Henry’s words more closely to heart. This man towering over her was not the Ben she’d come to consider a friend. He was a cold stranger who oozed danger through every pore on his body. “I can see you aren’t in the mood for company tonight.”

  “You should be sorry. You were warned.”

  “I’ll leave.” She turned quickly for the door.

  “No. You won’t.” He roughly grabbed her shoulders preventing her from taking a single step. He lowered his face until it was only inches from hers. His dark eyes bore into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. This man was not a friend. She shivered in his grasp as she looked into the eyes of a stranger, a madman.

  “Ben,” she whispered, hoping to dispel the anger in his eyes, the violence in his face, the powerful grip of his hands.

  “You were warned, and now you must pay the penalty.”

  Before she could reply, his lips descended to hers in a painful kiss. His grip on her shoulders tightened as he held her still for his assault. She struggled to turn away, but he moved his hands to the side of her face, refusing to allow her retreat.

  His lips roughly ground into hers, his tongue pounding into her mouth, his teeth nipping her lower lip until she could taste the bitter metallic flavor of her own blood. She shoved against him with all her might, but her lacking strength was no match for his power.

  She began to fight back in earnest, pummeling his chest, as he continued to back her against the wall, his mouth relentlessly attacking hers. His hands moved to capture her head in an even more forceful grip. Roughly, he pulled the pins from her hair, the sound of each one hitting the floor like another nail being driven into her coffin as he continued his assault. She was defenseless against his might, and for the first time since she’d met Ben, she was truly terrified of him.

  Her soft whimper of alarm and violent shaking must have broken through his crazed mind as he slowly softened the kiss. His grip loosened as he brought his arms slowly around her back in an almost tender embrace. His tongue, when it touched her this time, attempted to soothe the damage he’d wrought on her lips. It was if he were trying to heal the wounds he had inflicted with his own. The power of the previous kiss was gone, replaced now by lips that gently caressed hers.

  The fear that had permeated her
body only moments earlier fled, replaced with something perilously close to raw desire. Her clenched fists on his chest opened as she slid her arms over his muscular shoulders to wrap them around his neck. Driven on by her sudden capitulation, his hands roved over her body, touching her everywhere, desperately, as if she were about to vanish from his sight forever. No part of her was safe from his frantic, tender exploration. Her back, bottom, waist, breasts, stomach were all touched with a compassion and adoration she would never have suspected given his frightening mood. Shocked by the force of her own desires, she was helpless to resist his touches, his kisses. Her own cravings replaced the fear and uncertainty.

  She wanted this.

  She wanted him.

  His hands returned to her head, soothing her scalp where he’d roughly pulled her hair, clasping her cheeks almost reverently in his large palms. The kiss turned even softer, his lips barely brushing hers in a wordless plea for forgiveness.

  He worshipped her mouth as his hands slid through her long silken tresses. She mimicked the motion with her own hands as she ran her fingers through the soft thickness of his hair, pulling him closer to her, unwilling to allow him to remove his lips from hers.

  Her contented sigh cut through the silence, breaking the spell that surrounded them. Placing his hands on her shoulders, tenderly this time, he pushed her away from him slowly. One look in his eyes revealed, not the desire she knew was glowing in hers, but unadulterated anger tinged with something else—anguish. True heart-wrenching anguish.

  She opened her mouth to speak, to comfort, but before she could utter a sound, the torment turned back to rage as he turned her toward the door, leaning down from behind to whisper one word in her ear.

  “Run.”

  Without a backward glance, she did.

  Chapter 10

  V is for Victory

  Vee and Chelsea threw themselves into their lessons the next morning with a vengeance, taking breakfast on a tray in the schoolroom. Neither of them seemed anxious to leave their safe haven and descend the stairs to whatever lay below. Chelsea, though still silent and emotionless, seemed resolved to participate in her lessons and spent several hours learning how to write her letters correctly. They had just completed all twenty-six capital letters when there was a soft tap at the door.