by Gayle Buck
Verity looked at them. She wondered that the question could even be put forward. They had abducted her. Surely that could be said to be outside the realm of the conventional. “Bizarre is the word that comes to mind.”
“Yes, it is as I thought,” said Bastion, sighing. “Lady Rathbone has no doubt confided in you how deep runs her fear and hatred of us. We, who are her ladyship’s closest kin, have always been treated like pariahs. But we do not altogether blame Lady Rathbone for her prejudice. She was infected by our brother’s intolerance. Vincent viewed expressions of familial affection with unreasoning suspicion.”
“What has this to do with me?” asked Verity.
“You are affianced to my cousin George,” said Philip savagely. “That is reason enough!”
Verity glanced around at all of their faces, but could discover nothing in their expressions that was illuminating. A puzzled crease formed between her brows. “I do not understand. What has my becoming affianced to Lord Rathbone have to do with a long-standing feud between all of you and Lady Rathbone?”
“Either you are remarkably dense, Miss Worth, or you have been kept totally in the dark,” murmured Harold.
“Miss Worth is neither,” snapped Bastion. “She is merely fishing.”
“Get on with it, Bastion,” growled Forde., “This was your idiotic notion. I told you it was a waste of time. The gel is set to wed that bastard. To my mind, that settles the matter. She needs to be disposed of.”
Verity felt something freeze within her. She stared at the old man hunched in the wheeled chair. He stared back with an implacability in his eyes that made her shudder. She turned her wide-eyed gaze to Bastion Sandidge. “Surely your brother speaks out of turn, sir.”
Bastion Sandidge smiled slightly. He shrugged. “You must forgive my brother’s impatience. Forde and I were confident of stepping into a wealthy inheritance with the demise of our eldest brother. Our expectations were quite unfairly cut up with the birth of the present viscount. Lord Rathbone’s subsequent progress through life roused our hopes once again. He was always such a wild, reckless young fellow, you understand. But he has survived after all. Now he means to set up his nursery. Surely you can appreciate our dilemma. We don’t know quite what to do with you.”
Verity’s mouth had gone dry. She was convinced that she was dealing with madmen. “I would prefer to be let go free, sir.”
Bastion laughed gently. “My dear, that is not possible now that we have you in our hands. No, it is as my brother has stated. You must be disposed of in some fashion. I had thought perhaps to pawn you off on Philip or my nephew. What say you, Harold?”
Harold Sandidge lazily looked Verity up and down. “She is well enough, I suppose, but a bit on the tall side for my taste. I have no desire to take a wife, in any event. It would not suit me to change my way of living.”
Bastion shrugged. “I should not like to foist a wife on you. And you, Philip? Do you also dislike the notion of taking Miss Worth to wife?”
Philip looked from his father to Verity. There was a very strange expression on his face.
Bastion showed his teeth. “No, my son, you need not give voice to your feelings. You lack the boldness to tame a reluctant bride.” He swung his glance back around on Verity. “‘Tis a pity that neither I nor my brother are free to offer ourselves, Miss Worth.”
“On the contrary. I am most thankful for it,” said Verity quietly. She looked at him curiously. “You seem to believe that I would have nothing at all to say in the matter.”
“Believe me, you would not have the least say,” said Bastion. “There are means that will bring even the most reluctant young lady to the altar.”
Verity decided that she did not want to delve into that. Instead, she tried to pursue a course of logic. “I should like to point out that even if I were wed into your family, that would not answer. Lord Rathbone could simply get himself another bride. You cannot very well hope to dispose of all the women of England,” she said.
“She’s right,” said Philip quickly. “You must see that.”
Forde growled something deep in his throat. He rapped the cane on the floor. “Bastion.”
“Pray do not be a nodcock, Philip,” said Bastion wearily.
Under his contemptuous glance, his son flushed. Bastion returned his attention to Verity, once again smiling. “While it is quite true that we cannot precisely dissuade every lady from wedding our nephew, we have the means to prevent you from doing so. And to us, at the moment, that is of primary importance.”
“But why should I be so important?” asked Verity, raising her hands in a slight gesture of bewilderment.
Bastion sighed. “Miss Worth, surely you must have realized by now. We have a vast acquaintance. We have had all the details of the scandal that arose out of the recent house party held by the Pettiforths. We know that Lord Rathbone made you the object of his gallantries. In light of the inordinately early date of the wedding, we have reasoned that Lord Rathbone seduced you and you have discovered that you are to be delivered of his heir.”
“Can’t let that happen,” growled Forde.
Bastion spread his hands. “So there you have it, Miss Worth.”
Verity’s lips had parted with astonishment. Bemused, she shook her head. “My dear sirs, you operate under a gross misapprehension. I assure you that I was not seduced by Lord Rathbone. That may have been his ultimate intention, but it did not happen.”
Forde guffawed, while Bastion merely regarded her with an expression of disappointment. The latter said pityingly, “Do you really think that we will believe that. Miss Worth?”
“Nevertheless, it is the truth.”
“Bastion, I am done with waiting. You have enlightened the gel. Now let’s do what needs to be done,” said Forde.
“You were always so impetuous, brother,” said Bastion.“However, you are undoubtedly in the right. Miss Worth now perfectly understands our motives and the necessity of her removal. It only remains to devise a proper ending. Since neither of our respective sons is willing to sacrifice themselves, I suppose that we have no alternative but to sacrifice Miss Worth.”
Harold Sandidge’s head came up, his eyes narrowing on his uncle’s face.
Bastion bowed slightly to the young woman who now stared at him, suddenly whitefaced. “Forgive me, Miss Worth. It is a pity, of course, but necessary.”
“Enough, damn you!” Philip struck the mantel with his fist. He turned to face his kinsmen, his expression tight. “I won’t hear another word! I fell in with this thing with the utmost reluctance, and then only at your word that Miss Worth was to be held only so long as to give George a disgust of her. You assured me that she would not be unduly harmed. Now you speak of murder! Well, I won’t listen to any more of it. Do you understand me? You do what you must, but leave me out of the plot. It sickens me!”
Philip slammed out of the drawing room. In short order, his furious shout for his horse and whip could be heard ringing through the house.
* * *
Chapter 27
The ensuing silence was broken. “Dear me! It appears that we have lost one of our number,” said Harold quietly.
“He’ll come back stone-drunk,” predicted Forde. He stared at his brother from under lowered brows. “He has always lacked fortitude, Bastion.”
Bastion stood, frowning. “Philip was always too much like his mother. I had once thought it possible to beat it out of him, but I failed.”
“Will he betray us, I wonder?” asked Harold lightly.
Bastion stiffened. His cold black eyes raked his foppish nephew with dislike and contempt. “Philip fears me too much to set himself against me. He will be back, insensible and useless, but his loyalty to me still unquestioned. I may depend upon Philip’s loyalty. It is ingrained in him. I suspect, however, that you will be loyal only as long as the purse remains open.”
“I am such an avaristic soul,” agreed Harold, sighing.
“Puppy!” growled Forde, “I will be glad when this business is done and I may send you back to France. You make me ill with your foppish ways and your die-away airs. Pah!”
“I cannot think why you did not strangle me in the cradle,” said Harold amiably. His was a smiling expression, though it was noticeable that his drooping lids did not quite disguise the glittering dislike in his eyes.
Forde Bastion’s withered hands worked on the head of his cane. “I wish I had. I wish that fall in the quarry had taken you. You could never hold a candle to your twin. I wish it had been you that had perished in that hole instead.”
“But it was not. I am here and he is in hell. I am your only heir. I am the only son that you shall ever be able to call upon this side of perdition.” Harold was no longer smiling. His eyes and face were as hard as his father’s. “And you have called upon me, dear father.”
“So he has. You are quite right, Harold. My brother should be grateful for your expression of filial duty,” said Bastion. His words did not seem to find favor with either combatant, for his nephew merely lowered his gaze to survey the toe of his boot while Forde hunched his shoulders.
Bastion shook his head. Lifting his hands, he smiled at Verity. “Forgive us, Miss Worth. For a moment, we quite forgot that you were present. All families have these little squabbles, but they are quickly overlooked in the press of more important matters.” He paused, then said with deliberation, “The question of your fate, for instance.”
“You must disregard my lack of enthusiasm for the proposed solution,” said Verity with heavy irony. Her hands were clasped tightly in the folds of her skirt. Fear beat heavily in her veins. She knew that her life meant very little to these men, but it was of the greatest importance to her.
How strange it was that little less than a week ago she had felt that her existence had become in some respects intolerable. Now her one fervent desire was to exchange her present situation for her former state. Those things that had appeared to be so insurmountable now seemed peculiarly unimportant.
“What shall it be, then? Poison, garroting or shooting?” inquired Harold indifferently.
Forde scowled. “Fool! We would have the constables sniffing all over the countryside if her body turned up with signs of violence.”
“Quite true, brother. We must be more subtle, more careful, than that. We must give it more thought,” said Bastion.
Harold yawned and languidly rose to his feet. “Well, I shall leave it to you to decide. I don’t intend to tease myself with it any more this evening. Do you not serve dinner in this house? We scarcely recommend ourselves as civilized beings to Miss Worth if we let her perish from hunger.”
“Oh, surely one way is as good as the next,” snapped Verity. The horror of it all had skewed in her mind. She scarcely realized what she said. It did not matter. Her fate was in the grip of madmen.
The three gentlemen stared at her, held by shocked astonishment.
Then Harold gave a shout of unaffected laughter. For that instant the attitude of studied indolence dropped away, as did the mask of indifference. His eyes danced. “That was very good. I could come to like you very well, Miss Worth.”
“It’s a pity that we shall not be given the opportunity to explore the possibility,” said Verity, emboldened.
The shutter came down once more over Harold’s countenance. He smiled slowly. “Yes,” he agreed, “but at least I shall have the pleasure of your stimulating wit at dinner. Will you accept my escort, ma’am?”
“Since I have been granted the dubious honor of staying in this house, I shall accept,” said Verity, putting her fingers on his extended elbow.
Harold walked with her to the door, remarking, “I doubt that we shall find much more than slivers of mutton or some meat pies on the sideboard. It is so tedious that the household was banished just at this time. I do dislike being inconvenienced.”
A snarled insult was hurled after them. “Damned puppy!”
* * * *
For Verity, it was a singularly macabre affair. She sat at the dining table with only two companions, Bastion Sandidge and his nephew, Harold, since Forde had opted to take dinner in solitary splendor in his rooms. Candlelight played over the silver settings and the expensive snowy linens; glimmerings of light touched fire from crystal wineglasses. By contrast, the offerings from the sideboard were much as Harold had predicted. A cold collation of meats, pies and cheeses; a weak barley soup; and vegetables indifferently cooked and ill-seasoned. There was only one servant in attendance—the burly footman who had let her out of the locked garret.
Verity refused nearly everything, her appetite nonexistent. She merely picked at the stringy beans and slivers of roast and mutton that Harold had insisted that she be served. The poor repast was accompanied by polite conversation between the Sandidges, punctuated several times by the younger man’s oblique complaints of the fare.
“You do not eat, Miss Worth. I do not find it incomprehensible,” said Harold, eyeing with distaste the remains of his own choices.
“You know that your mother and sisters and most of the staff were sent off,” said Bastion, finally showing his growing irritation.
Harold sighed. His fingers played with the stem of his wineglass. “Yes, how inconvenient it has all been. I shall be glad to make an end of my stay here. My father’s house has never produced warm feelings in me.”
“You may leave the instant that everything has been arranged. Pray believe that I shall not throw any obstacle in your way,” said Bastion, showing his teeth.
“You see what a close-knit affectionate family we are, Miss Worth,” said Harold, mocking his uncle by raising his glass in salute. With the flick of an elegant wrist, he tossed back the wine.
“Yes, most definitely. I do believe that if left to yourselves, you would soon tear one another’s throats out,” said Verity quietly.
“How very astute of you, Miss Worth. It is only the shared antipathy for my cousin, Lord Rathbone, and his esteemed dame that has kept my father and my uncle from turning on one another long years past,” said Harold. He had poured another glass of wine and now raised it to his lips.
“You are in your cups, Harold,” said Bastion contemptuously.
“Perhaps I am. I am not usually so reflective. A pity that my father did not join us. His presence would undoubtedly have stymied any such tendency,” said Harold.
Verity was thankful that the eldest Sandidge had chosen to retire to his rooms. Of them all, Forde Sandidge appeared to be the most inclined to do away with her with the least amount of time spared.
The thought of what was planned for her made her feel suddenly, overwhelmingly, claustrophobic. Verity started to rise from her chair. A heavy hand descended upon her shoulder, forcing her back into her chair. She looked up, her anger underlaid by fear. The burly footman stared back at her imperturbably.
Verity swung about to face Bastion Sandidge, her gray eyes resembling a sea storm. “Am I not to be allowed to retire into the drawing room while you gentlemen partake of your wine?” she asked witheringly.
“The man is perhaps overzealous in the interpretation of his duties. In this instance it is for the best. The house is virtually empty. I would not wish you to wander off and become lost, Miss Worth,” said Bastion, smiling. “However, if you would prefer to retire to your room—”
“Thank you, but no,” said Verity shortly. “I shall remain where I at least have the illusion of freedom.”
A loud disturbance sounded outside the dining room. Quick, hard steps sounded on the parquet floor, then the door was thrust open. Philip stood swaying in the doorway. His eyes blinked, seeming to focus slowly. He let go of the door and walked into the room. “My family sitting at meat. I shall join you, if I may.” He made a careful bow. “And you, Miss Worth.”
“You’re drunk, dear fellow,” observed Harold.
Bastion’s lips thinned, and his narrowed eyes glittered. With fury he snap
ped, “You’re a fool, Philip!”
Philip had dropped into a chair beside Verity. He laughed. The aroma of spirits was strong. Slurring his words, he said, “So you have always told me, sir. But I am not such a fool as you think me. I have decided to take me a wife.”
Under cover of the table his hand had found Verity’s and squeezed her fingers. She stared at him, wide-eyed, wondering.
“I do believe that you have shocked Miss Worth, cousin,” murmured Harold.
Philip’s gaze swung around to meet Verity’s. Though he wore a particularly loose grin, she was startled by the expression in his eyes. It was lucid, and one of warning. Her heart gave a great leap, yet still she did not dare to hope.
Philip leaned back in his chair. He passed a hand across his eyes. “Yes, I mean to take a wife.”
Seated opposite, Harold chuckled softly. “Have you, indeed, cousin? But what has brought about this surprising turn?”
“Don’t like the notion of murder.” Philip hiccoughed and politely apologized before he continued. “But I do like Miss Worth. It came to me plain as day. I’ll marry you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sandidge. I believe that under the circumstances that I should like to accept your offer,” said Verity.
“It is settled, then!” Philip stretched an arm across the table to reach for the bottle of brandy. “Let us drink a toast to it.”
“I believe you have had enough.” grated Bastion, removing the bottle beyond his son’s fumbling grasp.
Philip shrugged, a sullen expression settling over his face.“Shouldn’t have come back so soon. Shouldn’t have come back at all.”
“Ah, but then you could not have announced to us your intent to wed,” said Harold, half-rising, and pushing another bottle across the table toward his cousin. “Drink up, my dear Philip. It is not every evening that a man makes such a momentous decision.”
Philip grinned crookedly and laid hold of the bottle. Ignoring his father’s explosive oath, he clumsily poured out a measure of wine, slopping a little onto the table linen as he did so. He held up the full wineglass. “To—to my bride!” He threw back his head and downed the brandy.