by Sandra Heath
Only Anna was at home, and received her in the drawing room, hurrying warmly over to take her hands. “How are you this morning, Verity?” she asked.
“To be truthful, I’m not quite sure.”
Anna looked at her. “Why? Has something happened?”
“What do you know about Nicholas and Amabel Sichester?” Verity asked quietly.
Anna let go of her hands. “Who told you?”
“So you knew all about it, and yet said nothing to me? Oh, Anna, how could you!” Close to tears, Verity turned away.
“Nicholas swore there was no truth in any of it.”
“Amabel has had his child!” Verity cried.
Anna stared at her and then sat down on a sofa and patted the seat beside her. “I—I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t a great deal.”
Verity joined her reluctantly, and Anna began. “Nicholas and Amabel were very much the thing last year, in fact Oliver and I daily expected an announcement, but then suddenly it was all over. Nicholas gave no explanation at all and never mentioned her name, then Lady Sichester hurried Amabel off to Geneva, and the next thing we knew, your uncle had taken their house during their absence. Inevitably there were whispers, for daughters have been hastily whisked to Switzerland before in order to avoid scandal, but no one knew anything for certain where Amabel was concerned.
“When Oliver and I heard some of the whispers, Oliver asked Nicholas to his face if there was any truth in it all, but he denied being in the wrong over anything, and certainly denied being the father of any child Amabel may or may not be expecting. Oliver believed him, and, in the end, so did I. No, that’s not strictly true, because I still nursed doubts, but that was all they were—doubts.”
Anna glanced away a little guiltily, recalling similar, still unexpressed doubts concerning Nicholas’ dealings with the admiral’s widow. But now wasn’t the moment to mention them, not when Verity already had so much to cope with. Anna pursed her lips a little. Damn you, Nicholas Montacute, she thought.
Verity considered what Anna had said and then nodded. “I believe you, Anna, and I’m sorry I came here thinking the worst of you.”
“You had every right to think the worst.” Anna drew a long breath. “I confess I wish now that I had said something to you about Amabel, but I really couldn’t finally believe that Nicholas would be so monstrous as to desert a woman who expected his child. I’d come to think of him as something of a lothario, but not truly heartless.”
“Well, it seems that heartless is precisely what he is,” Verity replied. “If I could turn the clock back, I would. Maybe my spinster life at Wychavon was dull, but at least it was happy. Still, I’m not the one I should be feeling sorry for, when it’s poor Amabel who’s been treated really cruelly.”
“Well, maybe ...” was the measured reply.
Verity looked inquiringly at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve never liked Amabel. She looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but there’s something about her that I simply cannot take to.”
“I don’t know her well, but I always found her charming.”
Anna smiled. “Some say Lucretia Borgia was too, so charm hardly signifies, does it?” She put a hand over Verity’s. “Try to be brave. Last night at the Clarendon you began your new life, so please continue to put Nicholas behind you. London is your oyster, you know, and somewhere in its streets and squares there lives another handsome gentleman who’ll steal your heart.”
Verity gave an ironic half smile. “Anna, if there’s one lesson I’ve learned, it’s never to trust a handsome gentleman.”
* * *
As Verity and Anna sat together in Park Lane, in Wychavon the doctor had called again to see Joshua, whose condition hadn’t improved since the night. The old man’s face was gray, his eyes were dull, and he lay weakly in the bed, his body exhausted from the unremitting waves of nausea. More laudanum had been advised, and then the doctor had driven away again, watched by Judith.
The witch smiled. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon Verity would be sent for.
Chapter Twenty-seven
But September ended, and the weeks passed. October drifted mellowly toward November, and the countryside was ablaze with vivid autumn colors, but Judith still waited in vain for Verity’s return.
Like Davey Cutler before him, Joshua continued to slowly sink, but while the whole village waited daily to hear of his sad demise, his niece remained inexplicably in London. Judith was both puzzled and anxious. Halloween was approaching, and she wished to dispose of Verity on that all-important night. Surely word had been sent south by now? If so, why hadn’t anything happened?
The truth was that even though he was so ill, Joshua was determined not to repair the rift with Verity. He extracted a promise from Martha and the other servants that no communication would be made, and there the matter seemed to rest. But in the end his wishes were flouted, although not by anyone at Windsor House. It was Nicholas who was destined to apprise Verity of her uncle’s piteous condition, and it happened because of a chance meeting on the Ludlow road, when he was returning to the castle after a morning ride.
It was a crisp day, and leaves lay thick on the ground. There had been a frost overnight, and the scent of woodsmoke hung sweetly in the air. The valley was a glory of crimson and gold beneath a sharp blue sky, and about half a mile away the castle battlements looked almost white in the sun. The horse’s breath billowed in silvery clouds, and its hooves drummed satisfyingly on the hard ground as he rode toward the gates into the park.
He was still under Judith’s spell, but outwardly no longer seemed so trancelike as he had at first. He was far from being his own man, though, and had given Verity very little thought for the past weeks, except to wonder if his lawyers had obeyed his instructions about contacting her regarding a divorce. He felt no remorse, not even a moment’s sorrow over the anguish such a cold legal communication was bound to cause her. She had simply ceased to matter to him, it was Judith who filled his life now. Only Judith.
The doctor’s tilbury drove toward him from the direction of the village, and he reined in as he recognized it. Dr. Rogers happened to glance out and see him too, and lowered the glass to instruct his coachman to stop.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the doctor said.
Nicholas doffed his top hat. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”
“I trust I find you in excellent health?”
“You do.”
“You’re fortunate not to be in the same sad state as your fellow magistrate,” the doctor said then, measuring his words with care because he had heard all the wild rumors connecting Lord Montacute’s name with those of both Verity Windsor and Judith Villiers.
Nicholas was puzzled. “My fellow magistrate? Are you referring to Joshua Windsor?”
“I am indeed. I fear he’s beginning to lose the battle.”
Nicholas looked blankly at him. “Battle?”
“Surely you know how very ill he is? I wish I could hold out hope for him, but since he’s failed to respond to my every effort, there seems nothing more I can do, although it has to be said that when the Cutler boy suffered the same debilitating symptoms, I gave up hope with him too, but suddenly he began to recover.”
Nicholas was shocked. “I—I’d heard the old man was unwell, but had no idea he was as ill as that!”
“It’s very sad, especially as he will not countenance sending for his niece. They were so very close, but now it seems they have fallen out beyond redemption.”
The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, for he didn’t like mentioning Verity, but the situation at Windsor House was now causing him such grave concern that he had to say something. It wasn’t right that the new Lady Montacute—if that was indeed what Verity Windsor had become—should remain in London when her uncle lay at death’s door here in Shropshire. If no one beneath Joshua’s own roof would do anything about it, perhaps Nicholas would.
Nicholas shifted a little in the saddle. “
Are you telling me no word has been sent to London?” he inquired in surprise.
“That’s correct, my lord. Mr. Windsor is most obstinately set on the matter, and none of his servants will go against his wishes.”
“I see.” Nicholas lowered his eyes for a moment, a little taken aback that Joshua’s loathing for him should extend to such a degree. Then he looked at the doctor again. “You clearly feel a message should be dispatched.”
“Yes, I do.”
Nicholas nodded. “Then I will do it, for no matter what you may have heard, I am not entirely without honor. My wife will be speedily informed of her uncle’s condition.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Sir.” Nicholas doffed his hat again, then urged his horse through the castle gates.
The doctor gazed after him for a moment before instructing his coachman to drive on.
As the road became clear again there was a rustle of dry leaves at the verge, then a hare sprang out of hiding and leapt away toward the village.
* * *
On reaching the castle, Nicholas gave instructions for a messenger to stand by to ride to London, then he adjourned to the solar to write to Verity without delay. A log fire crackled in the vast stone hearth as he sat at the table where his portable escritoire was still open after being used earlier, but as he picked up the last sheet of paper, he saw the black pearl pin Verity had given him. It had lain there since he had tossed it there after returning from Almack’s.
Slowly he took it out and turned it between his fingers. A strange forgotten warmth tingled through him, and the present faded as his thoughts returned to the wedding night. Verity was beneath him on the bed, her body quivering with awakened pleasure as his lovemaking swept them both toward climax.
Nothing could compare with the emotions he had felt then, and nothing he had felt since returning to Wychavon had come even close.
This last thought shocked him, for he couldn’t believe he had ever put Judith in second place to the wife he had rejected. He quickly dropped the pin back into the escritoire, but still gazed at it as all manner of memories continued to surge to the fore. Veils seemed to be lifting away from his eyes, and with each one he saw a little more clearly. Verity suddenly ceased to be an unwanted figure on the edge of his memory, but was sharp and clear before him, as if he could reach out and touch her.
A keen pang of conscience plunged confusingly through him, and he rose swiftly from the table again. He had deserted Verity to come to Judith, but it had been the right thing to do. It had! Judith was the woman he really loved.
He closed his eyes. Why had thoughts of Verity begun to plague him like this? And why did he suddenly wish he hadn’t instructed his lawyers concerning divorce? He ran his fingers through his hair and went to pour himself a glass of cognac, even though it was still well before noon.
Judith watched him from the shadows at the far end of the room. She wore a simple marigold velvet gown, and her hair was twisted up almost nonchalantly on top of her head. Her hazel eyes—so green to him—had become sharp and suspicious as she watched the expressions on his face after he had picked up the pin, which she could tell brought back pleasant memories that did her cause no good. So she remained where she was, watching, and gauging.
Nicholas sipped the drink. A little of the truth had begun to shine like a beacon through his darkness. Things were not as they should be. He was caught in a web, and the spider was the beautiful flame-haired woman whose wishes he could not deny. His thoughts broke off as the butler tapped at the door and came in.
“My lord, the messenger is ready to leave for London.”
The letter to Verity! “Wait while I write it,” Nicholas said, resuming his seat at the table. The quill flew over the paper, then it was sanded, sealed, and handed to the waiting servant. “See it’s delivered posthaste to Grosvenor Square. The rider will be well rewarded on his return.”
“My lord.” The butler bowed and hurried away.
As the door closed behind him, Judith suddenly spoke. “I’m here again, Nicholas.”
He started from his seat, and for a split second she was sure she saw revulsion written large in his eyes, but then it had gone. She moved to the escritoire and held up the pin. “What is this to you?” she asked, holding his gaze.
“Just a pin,” he replied, suddenly determined not to discuss anything about Verity with her.
“Just a pin?”
“Yes.”
She tossed it aside and came closer to him. “Is something wrong, Nicholas?”
“No.”
She searched his face. Contrary to what he said, she knew something was very wrong. The change in him was almost tangible, yet how could he have changed at all now that she had the seal? She reached up to touch his cheek, knowing that physical contact was certain to affect him.
The brush of her fingers seared his skin, and he began to draw swiftly away, but as she continued to touch him, he felt her spell encircling him again. The power of the seal resumed precedence over his feelings for Verity, and Judith’s bewitching bonds slid relentlessly around him once more.
The witch smiled and took his glass. “Allow me to pour you another,” she murmured, going to the decanter. When he couldn’t see, she took a vial of golden liquid from her pocket, and emptied it into his drink. It was made from the druid’s moss, and she had brought it with her now because after hearing him promise the doctor he would write to Verity, she intended to prepare him for his role in that lady’s demise. She wished she knew what had caused the fleeting change in him, but it was over now, and she was satisfied he was under her complete control again.
Still smiling, she took the glass back to him. “Drink,” she urged softly.
He obeyed, and thought it tasted a little odd, but if Judith wished him to drink it, he would. He didn’t feel anything as he froze into complete immobility, standing like a statue. His eyes were sightless, but he heard everything the witch said.
“Listen to me, Nicholas. Soon it will be Halloween, by which time Verity is sure to have returned to Wychavon to be with her uncle. I want you to go to Windsor House after dark on that day. She is bound not to attend the celebrations on the green because the old man is ill, so you’re certain to be able to see her. When you do, you’ll know you adore her with all your heart, and the last thing you will wish to do is proceed with a divorce. You’ll be anxious to regain her trust, and when you have, you’ll convince her that you wish to seek a reconciliation.
“You will tell her you believe I am a witch who has cast a spell over you, and that to be free of me, you need her help. She is to be persuaded to meet you in the oak grove at midnight, and she must give her word not to tell anyone. You will then leave Windsor House, and the moment you do, you’ll forget everything you thought, said, and did while beneath its roof. You will not meet Verity in the grove, I will, and I will see that soon we will be free to be together always.”
He gave no sign that he had understood anything, but she knew he had, and that he would do as she instructed. She touched his cheek again. “Wake now, for it is done,” she said softly, moving behind him.
He turned, but there was no one there.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Verity was destined to be out on the day Nicholas’s message about her uncle arrived, although as she sat at the breakfast table, the last thing she felt like was leaving the house. Her face was pale and wan, a situation that wasn’t improved by the lavender shade of her woolen gown, and she was beset by a general feeling of malaise that had rendered her quite low for over a week now.
There had been an overnight frost, and everything in the garden still glistened icily, but the sun was already up, and she knew it would be another glorious October day. This had been one of the most beautiful falls she could recall, but she could take very little pleasure in its loveliness. She wished she were back at Wychavon, still plain Verity Windsor, still Uncle Joshua’s beloved niece....
Her wandering thoughts were bro
ught back to the present as a footman brought her a letter that had come for her from Nicholas’s lawyers. The contents were very brief. Nicholas intended to seek an early end to their marriage. She fought back tears, for no matter how much she told herself she wished she were still Miss Windsor, what she really wished was that Nicholas would return to her. Now she knew that that would never be so.
The footman returned. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mrs. Henderson has called.”
Verity composed herself. “Please show her in.”
“My lady.”
Anna wore a bottle green riding habit and top hat, and her smile and manner were brisk as she came to the table. “You, madam, are coming for a ride in the park. The roses have quite gone out of your cheeks, and I intend to put them back.”
“I—I’d rather not, Anna...” Verity began.
But Anna held up a hand. “You have no choice in the matter. I’ve instructed your servants to have a horse saddled for you, and all you have to do is toddle up to change.”
Verity had learned by now that it did no good to argue with Anna, so she got up from the table. “I’ll be as quick as possible.”
As she went out, Anna’s glance fell on the letter. She moved closer and read the curt lines, then her eyes darkened. Nicholas Montacute went from sin to sin. How could he be so beastly to Verity? The poor girl had done nothing to warrant this loathsome treatment, yet he behaved as if she had committed every wifely crime under the sun.
When Verity reappeared in her royal blue riding habit, Anna smiled. “You were in that on the day you nearly fell beneath our carriage.”
“At least I feel entitled to wear it,” Verity murmured.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Amabel Sichester was kind enough to select my London wardrobe.”
“You shouldn’t feel awkward, Verity, for you aren’t at fault.” Anna hesitated. “I’m afraid I’ve been impertinent enough to read your letter.”
“Well, it will hardly be a secret once things are in motion,” Verity replied quietly.