by Sandra Heath
Her steps echoed in the shadowy nave as she hurried down the aisle toward the altar, just as Martha had done all those weeks before when she had brought the seal here to hide. Sadie took the seal from beneath the cross, then she glanced toward the lectern, where the great leather-bound Bible was still open at the Reverend Crawshaw’s last text—”For the wages of sin is death....”
She clutched the seal to her heart. Was she sinning now by helping the witch? Or was it right to do all she could to save Davey? Her anguished eyes moved to the cross. She whispered a prayer and then backed away from the altar. She felt as if all the carved faces of angels on the church corbels were gazing accusingly at her, and suddenly it became too much and she gathered her skirts to run outside to where Judith waited.
The witch smiled. “Give me the seal,” she breathed, holding out an eager hand.
But Sadie still clutched it close. “First promise me that you’ll save Davey.”
“You have my word.”
“Can I trust that word?”
Judith smiled. “That is for you to find out,” she said coolly.
Sadie knew there was still no choice. She simply couldn’t risk Davey’s life. Slowly she held the seal out, and Judith’s rapacious fingers closed over it like claws. For a moment the witch’s hazel eyes burned green, and sparks of the same color danced from the seal, but then all was dark again.
Sadie backed fearfully away, but Judith gripped her wrist. “One word of any of this, and it will be the worst for the boy. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Sadie whispered.
“I refer particularly to your sister. She above all is not to know.”
“I—I won’t say anything,” Sadie promised.
“Go then.”
Without waiting for anything more, Sadie hurried away, stumbling a little as she reached the cottage gate. She didn’t look back as she went up through the garden and then inside.
Judith remained by the lychgate. She glanced down at the seal, conscious of the power harnessed deep within it. To transfer that power from Verity to herself, she had to seek Hecate’s aid. Without further ado, she hurried away along the Ludlow road toward the grove.
* * *
Verity knew nothing of the calamity to come as she and Nicholas danced a waltz at Almack’s. His arm was about her waist, and his fingers twined lovingly with her as they circled the crowded floor. They gazed into each other’s eyes, oblivious to everything else.
* * *
A few minutes later, Judith danced too, moving anticlockwise around the circle in the grove. The night air was chill, and the mist swirled eerily as Hecate’s terrible face appeared on the granite of the Lady. The seal lay on the grass at the foot of the stone, and the candles swayed, their green light looming and retreating in the draft of the witch’s shadowless dance.
The water had become still in the millrace, not a ripple marred the surface of the pool, and the invisible hounds bayed as Judith performed the ancient ritual. The ointment on her skin began to affect her. She drifted weightless again, her senses swimming from the potent blend of hemlock, nightshade, aconite, and opium, but her voice was clear and strong as she begged the goddess’s favor.
“Hecate, restore to me the power I sought before, make the seal my strength, so that I may make Nicholas Montacute return to Wychavon again. Make him forget Verity Windsor, make him grant me everything I ask, make me all that matters to him in this world...”
Green lights winked and flashed in the seal, illuminating the tiger’s eye quartz, and the faster Judith flew around the Lady, the more the lights darted. Other words fell from the witch’s lips, dark words from the beginning of time, and the seal began to glow brilliantly, its green radiance so powerful that it lit the whole grove.
Suddenly Judith became still, her breath escaping on a triumphant sigh as the sparks from the quartz began to form into the shape of a man. The witch gazed at the glittering apparition. “Thou art fully mine now, Nicholas, no one stands in my way. Come to me ...”
She embraced the phantasm, and it bent its shimmering lips to hers.
* * *
At Almack’s, the waltz had given way to a ländler, and Verity and Nicholas held each other’s arms as they danced. But suddenly Nicholas came to an abrupt halt. Slowly he let go of her.
Startled, she looked anxiously at him. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
He stared into her eyes, and saw their green loveliness turn to the shade of lilac he remembered from the past. Suddenly she was just Joshua Windsor’s niece again, and of no interest to him whatsoever, whereas Judith ...
“Nicholas?” She became a little concerned, for some of the other dancers were glancing curiously at them.
Still he didn’t respond.
“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, putting a worried hand on his sleeve.
He snatched his arm away. “Don’t touch me, madam,” he breathed.
“Nicholas?”
“I don’t profess to understand why I’ve been such a fool these past few months but you may rest assured that I’ve come to my senses now.” His tone was clipped.
“I—I don’t understand ...” Confused tears sprang to her eyes. What was the matter? Why did he refer to her by her maiden name?
“There is little to understand, madam. I don’t wish to have anything more to do with you.”
Stricken, she stared at him.
More and more people had begun to notice them as they stood in the center of the floor, and Anna and Oliver made their way swiftly over to usher them both to the side of the room. The ländler continued, but most eyes were upon the little scene beneath the orchestra apse.
Oliver touched Nicholas’s sleeve. “What is it, Nick?”
“Nothing a good stiff drink won’t cure,” Nicholas replied coldly, gazing at Verity as if he despised her.
Anna was bothered. “What’s happened? For heaven’s sake, one simply doesn’t cause a stir at Almack’s.” She glanced around and snapped open her fan to waft it busily to and fro.
Nicholas looked at Verity again. “I swear I will undo all the damage, madam, and will be free of you as soon as possible.” With that he turned on his heel and walked away.
Verity would have hurried tearfully after him, but Anna made her stay. “Have a care, for everyone’s watching.”
“But I must go to him!”
“To what purpose? Verity, he’s clearly in a fury with you right now, so it’s best left until he’s calmed down a little.
Oliver nodded. “Anna’s right, Verity.” He paused. “Do you want to tell us what happened? Maybe we can help...”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Eh? But—”
“It’s the truth, Oliver. One moment we were dancing and loving, the next he’d come to a standstill and was the way you saw him!” Tears wended their way down Verity’s cheeks, and she tried to use her fan to hide them, but to no avail.
Anna and Oliver exchanged glances and then guided her gently from the ballroom. Behind them, the ländler came to an end amid a rustle of whispers.
Anna linked Verity’s arm as they went down the staircase. “It must be a silly misunderstanding,” she said reassuringly. “All will be well in the end, I’m sure.”
“Oh, Anna, he was so cold and distant. Like a stranger...” Verity’s steps faltered as she saw Nicholas’s town carriage drawing away from the door.
Anna and Oliver saw too, and Oliver drew his wife aside. “Take Verity back to our house. I’ll go to Grosvenor Square and see what this is all about.”
Anna nodded. “Make him see sense, whatever you do, for what he’s just done is quite unforgivable.” She hurried back to Verity, and soon the two women were ensconced in Oliver’s town carriage on their way to the Henderson residence in Park Lane.
Verity was so bewildered she didn’t know what to say or do. She huddled on the red leather seat, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, while tears poured helplessly down her cheek
s. In the space of a heartbeat, her wonderful dream had become a nightmare.
* * *
Oliver hailed a hackney coach to take him to Grosvenor Square, where he arrived in time to see Nicholas’s carriage driving around to the mews lane. Alighting from the coach, he hastened to the door.
The butler admitted him. “Why, Mr. Henderson ...”
“Good evening, Charles. Where is Lord Montacute?”
“In the library, sir. Shall I—?”
“Don’t bother to announce me.” Pushing his tricorn and gloves into the man’s hands, Oliver hurried up the staircase.
Nicholas had already poured himself a large glass of cognac and was removing the black pearl pin from his neckcloth as Oliver entered unannounced. He turned to face the newcomer. “What brings you here?” he asked lightly.
Oliver’s brow darkened. “Don’t play games, Nick, you know perfectly well what’s brought me.”
Nicholas dropped the pin into the portable escritoire on the table and then sipped his drink.
Oliver stepped closer. “What’s the matter, Nick? Why are you behaving like this?”
“Like St. Paul on the way to Damascus, I’ve suddenly seen the light,” Nicholas murmured, swirling his glass and sniffing the bouquet.
“I trust you mean to explain?”
“Is it really any of your business, Oliver?”
Oliver met his eyes. “I’m making it my business. How could you treat Verity so appallingly? And at Almack’s, of all places!”
“I can’t help it if Almack’s is where my eyes were opened.”
“Opened to what?”
“The fact that due to a rush of blood to the head—and other parts of my person—I’ve married a woman I cannot abide, whereas...” Nicholas broke off as Judith’s beautiful face seemed to hover before him.
“Whereas what?” Oliver demanded.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Damn it, it matters very much!” Oliver cried. “And what do you mean you ‘cannot abide’ Verity? That’s rubbish, and you know it!”
“Verity Windsor is an encumbrance of which I intend to free myself with all possible haste.”
“How can you possibly speak like that about her? You and she have been gazing besottedly into each other’s eyes for—”
“For far too long,” Nicholas interrupted coolly.
“Are you in your cups?” Oliver asked then, unable to think of any other explanation.
“Never more sober in my life.”
“Then I think you shabby,” Oliver replied shortly.
Nicholas didn’t reply.
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Now? I’m returning to Wychavon. Alone.” Nicholas glanced away, for suddenly he found himself unable to think of anyone but Judith Villiers. Beautiful, sensual Judith, whom he had rejected so foolishly in favor of Verity. Oh, Judith, Judith ...
Oliver’s temper snapped. “Damn it, Nick, you can’t just leave Verity like this!”
“I can do whatever I damned well please, and right now it pleases me to be rid of my unwanted wife. Is that clear enough for you?”
Oliver stepped back. “I don’t think I know you at all,” he breathed, then turned on his heel to stride from the house.
Nicholas finished his cognac and then rang for the butler. “I intend to leave for Wychavon tonight, Charles.”
“My lord?” The man was startled.
“Have my traveling carriage prepared as quickly as possible. Lady Montacute will be remaining here.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Joshua at last arrived at Windsor House the morning after the Almack’s ball, and the sudden sight of his travel-stained carriage at the gate caused an uproar among the servants.
Martha hurried out to greet him. His sudden return alone, together with the many letters that had now arrived for him from Verity, bothered the nurse considerably. Something was clearly very wrong. “Where is Miss Verity, sir? She’s sent you a number of letters, and—”
He interrupted coldly. “My niece is never to be mentioned again in my presence, is that clear?”
Martha was shaken. “S-Sir?”
“Verity has chosen to become Lady Montacute, and so I wash my hands of her,” he said, and then walked into the house.
Martha stared after him. Verity had married Nicholas? The wisewoman’s gaze flew instinctively to the manor house. What would the witch’s reaction be now there was another Lady Montacute to stand in her way? Verity was in the utmost danger, at least, she would be if it weren’t for the snakestone. Martha smoothed her shaking hands against her skirts, praying that Verity and Nicholas stayed in London. Without the seal, there was little Judith could do to either of them, and while it was secure in the church, it was safe from the witch’s reach.
With a sigh, the nurse went back into the house, not realizing that it was already too late, and only hours earlier her own sister had placed the seal in the sorceress’s hands ...
* * *
Joshua had gone into the library and closed the door quietly behind him. The air smelled of beeswax because one of the maids had just polished the furniture. He sat at his desk, where a large pile of letters awaited his attention, including those from Verity, which had been set aside on their own. He gazed at them for a long moment and then snatched them up to throw them unread into the wastepaper basket.
Then he leaned back wearily. Beyond the ticking of the clock he could hear the servants scurrying around to prepare the house for his unexpected return, and through the sunlit window he could see the gardens behind the house.
Autumn flowers were in bloom now, chrysanthemums, dahlias, Michaelmas daisies, and late roses. The leaves had turned more this far north, and some had already begun to fall. Winter approached, he thought bleakly, and this time it would be very bitter indeed.
There were tears in his eyes as at last he sat forward to take a sheet of writing paper. Then he dipped a quill in the ink and began to write. The nib scratched savagely over the paper, for the letter was to Nicholas.
* * *
Judith had watched Joshua’s return, and she gazed in puzzlement out of the manor house window as the empty carriage was taken around to the rear of the house. Why had Verity stayed in London?
The witch’s fingers drummed thoughtfully on the sill, then she turned to pick up the seal, which lay on the table beside the commodious bed she had shared so briefly with the hapless admiral. The quartz scintillated with green lights as her fingers enclosed it, and she smiled. What did it matter why Verity hadn’t returned with her uncle? The only thing of consequence was Nicholas, and he must already be on his way north again because she had willed him to.
“You’ll soon be in my arms, my lord of Montacute,” she whispered, raising the seal to her lips. The green lights danced, and Hecate’s power surged through her.
* * *
Many miles away in a carriage traveling swiftly toward Shropshire, Nicholas’ eyes opened suddenly. He had been dozing after traveling through the night, and for a moment he felt a little disoriented. Then he remembered, and glanced out at the passing countryside. His feelings hadn’t changed. Verity meant nothing to him now, and the only face he saw reflected in the carriage glass was Judith’s.
A smile touched his lips. What a fool he had been to choose the magistrate’s dull daughter when a woman as fascinating as the admiral’s widow was there for the taking. Well, mistakes could be corrected, and as soon as he reached Ladywood he would put matters right. He knew who he wanted, and it certainly wasn’t Verity Windsor!
* * *
As her new husband drove out of her life, Verity was seated sadly on the window seat in Anna and Oliver’s deserted drawing room. She was reflected in the painted mirror above the white marble fireplace, and the gilded wood of the crimson velvet furniture shone in the golden light of the September morning.
The scene outside was busy. There was a great deal of traffic bowling to and
fro along Park Lane, and in Hyde Park the parade of fashion was as vain and colorful as ever beneath the changing trees.
She had borrowed one of Anna’s gowns, a blue-and-white gingham with a wide blue ribbon around the high waistline, and her hair was pinned up loosely on top of her head. Her eyes were red from crying, and she twisted a handkerchief in her hands as she tried to understand what had happened.
Her thoughts kept returning to that moment during the ländler when her world had disintegrated. From gazing adoringly into her eyes, Nicholas had suddenly become an ice-cold stranger. If anyone had told her such a thing could happen, she wouldn’t believe it. But it had happened to her....
The door opened behind her, and Anna came in, looking very graceful in a fawn muslin gown sprigged with little brown leaves. Her eyes were concerned as she came to put a gentle hand on Verity’s shoulder.
“How are you now, my dear?”
“Numb.”
“I’m so very sorry it’s come to this, Verity.”
“So am I.”
Anna sat with her. “I still can’t believe Nicholas has behaved so unspeakably.”
Verity twisted the handkerchief still more. “I—I keep asking myself if it was something I said or did, but I can’t think of anything that might have made him change so much.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself for his odiousness,” Anna said firmly.
Verity was silent for a moment and then gave a rueful smile. “If I was the center of scandal before, I’m sure to be doubly so this morning, am I not?” she murmured, glancing out at the riders in the park, and wondering how many of them had heard of the shocking way Lord Montacute had walked out on his bride in front of everyone at Almack’s last night.
Anna drew a long breath. “Society adores gossip, but never dwells long upon one thing because there’s always another to take its place.”
“A nine-days’ wonder,” Verity said quietly, remembering what Nicholas had said.
“Exactly.” Anna hesitated a little awkwardly, and then spoke again. “I made Oliver go to Grosvenor Square this morning, but I’m afraid Nicholas really did leave for Shropshire last night, just as he said he would. However, at least it seems he left the house at your disposal.”