by Ruth Owen
“I wouldn’t think of it, Grandmother. I intend to ask her only one more question, one I’m sure she’ll have no problem with whatsoever—if she is indeed Prudence Winthrope.” He glanced at the woman, giving her a smile every inch as deceitfully innocent as the one she’d so recently given him. “I’m sure Miss Winthrope would have no objection to it. In fact, I’m sure she’ll look forward to reacquainting herself with her old friend Ginger.”
* * *
Sabrina stared into the hearth fire of her bedchamber. It was a pleasant room, with chintz curtains the color of sunshine and a four-poster with a coverlet embroidered with sunflowers and butterflies. The fire was equally pleasant—a bright, cheery blaze that was a far cry from the niggardly brazier in her stepmother’s house. It was the cozy kind of room she’d dreamed about during the years she’d spent in her drafty garret. A place she could call home…except that this particular home belonged to Prudence Winthrope, not to her. And she’d best remember it, or she might end up on a hangman’s scaffold.
“Where do ya want this, miss?”
Rina looked up. A laborer in a rough coat and wide-brimmed felt hat stood in her doorway, holding her valise. She waved him toward the foot of her bed, then returned to her bleak thoughts. Everything had been going fine until he’d shown up. Trevelyan had roared into the room with a voice like thunder and an anger as hot as lightning. He wasn’t particularly tall—the doctor had topped him by a good half foot. Nevertheless, the room seemed to shrink when he entered.
Quinn had called him the Black Earl, but only now did she realize how well the name fit. The man had a black heart—she’d seen it in his dark, merciless glance. She might expect some measure of sympathy from the dowager, but from the earl, never. Trevelyan’s eyes were as gray and forbidding as the rock cliffs Ravenshold was built on. Cliffs that were, according to Mrs. Cherry, haunted by the spirit of the earl’s murdered wife.
Once again the laborer’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Will there be anything else you’re wantin’, Miss Murphy?”
Rina shook her head. “No, that will be—” she stopped, realizing what the man had said. She leapt from her chair and faced the man…saw a pair of bright, mischievous eyes peeping out from beneath the hat.
“Quinn! What are you doing here?”
“That old fossil of a butler couldn’t lift his own shoe. I hired on to do the fetchin’ and carryin’, and to tend to the stables. And to keep an eye out for you, Miss Winthrope.” He swept the hat from his head in an exaggerated gesture of homage. “You’ve foxed ‘em good and proper, lass. Your da would be proud.”
The mention of her father brought a smile to her lips, but it vanished almost instantly. “But I haven’t foxed them, Quinn. At least, not Lord Trevelyan. He knows I’m not Prudence.”
“What he knows and what he can prove are different as pounds and pence,” Quinn assured her. He glanced around the room. “Like as not they wouldn’t have set you up in such swell digs if they didn’t believe you. You’re on your way, my lass. If the Black Earl had a card to play against you he’d have used it.”
“He already has.” She rubbed her arms, as if all the warmth had suddenly left the room. “Prudence had a favorite toy named Ginger. Apparently she left it behind when she and her mother returned to Italy. After Prudence died, the countess locked the toy away as a sort of remembrance. But now the earl intends me to go to the nursery, and pick out Ginger from the rest of the…”
she stopped as she realized Quinn was no longer listening to her. His eyes had taken on a faraway look. “There was a toy,” he mused, his voice so soft that she wondered if he was speaking to himself or to her. “I remember her crying for it the night I tucked her in. Said it were her protector, and that the monsters cou’na get her if she held it close. Said…” He shook his head. “That’s what the bloke who sold me the locket said, leastways. Told me there were a toy, but didn’t say what. Still, how hard can it be? Just look for something a little girl would fall asleep with—”
“That could be anything.” Sabrina walked over and sat heavily on the valise, and cradled her head in her hands. “Quinn, I know you’ve put your hopes in me, but there’s a good chance I might not be able to pull this off—”
“Fiddlesticks! Your da was the best confidence artist I’ve ever seen, and you’re his daughter to the nines. I knowed that the minute I laid eyes on you.”
“I’m scared, Quinn—scared of what the earl will do to me if he finds out the truth. He’s cruel and utterly without compassion. And there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my wits scatter.”
“You keep those wits about you, missy,” Quinn warned, his eyes sharp with concern. “That man’s dangerous in ways you can’t imagine. All his blood are. No, you concentrate on being Prudence. Then, in a couple of weeks we’ll have the Dutchman’s Necklace, and you can forget all about this evil place and its Black Earl.”
There was a knock on the door, followed by Merriman’s bored voice. “Miss, I’ve been sent to collect you.”
Sabrina panicked. “Quinn, what do I—?” She turned just in time to see Quinn’s lithe form slip through the dressing room door. Once again she was on her own.
“Coming, Merriman.” Squaring her shoulders she went to the door, and followed the laconic butler down the hallway. She thought about Quinn’s last words to her, that Trevelyan was dangerous to her in ways she couldn’t imagine. She didn’t fully understand what he’d meant, but it hardly mattered. The ways she could imagine were dangerous enough. If she didn’t convince him she was Prudence, she’d hang for sure. But if she did…well, then she’d have enough money to make a new start in another country, where no one had ever heard of Albert Tremaine or Sabrina Murphy.
It was a gamble, but one worth taking, even if it meant enduring the cold, soulless stare of the Black Earl of Trevelyan. He could curse and bluster all he wanted, but he could do nothing to her as long as she was able to pick out Prudence’s old toy.
As Quinn had said, how difficult could that be?
Far more difficult than she’d imagined.
The nursery was a whimsical room, with cream walls painted with rainbows, flowers, and charmingly rendered nursery rhyme characters. The curtains had been pulled back from a bank of windows, letting in the late afternoon sun that had followed the recent thunderstorm. The room was filled with sunshine, fresh air, and the soothing rumble of the distant sea.
The room was also filled with toys.
Sabrina glanced around, her panic rising. There were hobbyhorses, stuffed animals, miniature soldiers, tea sets, picture books, buttons, bows, Christmas crackers, and porcelain dolls as far as the eye could see. For a moment she prayed that she’d accidentally wandered into a toy shop instead of a nursery. That faint hope was shattered by a familiar baritone voice.
“Your old toy is here, Cousin. Why the hesitation?”
Sabrina spunned around. Behind her sat the dowager, her hand still perched on her silver-topped cane. Amy and an anxious looking Mr. Cherry stood behind her. But it was the earl who captured Rina’s attention. He had changed from his mud-spattered travel clothes into a royal blue superfine coat that molded to his powerful shoulders like a second skin. His black pants and polished boots were of the first quality, and his snow white cravat was simply tied and fixed with a diamond pin, its austerity adding to the authority of his figure rather than detracting from it. Clearly the Earl of Trevelyan had no need for the corsets, sawdust shoulder pads, and other figure-enhancing flummery she’d seen used by the foppish London gentry. He was solid muscle from head to toe, and the sight of him made her heart beat in a peculiarly erratic fashion. It’s only nerves. I’m just anxious about finding the toy.
“Well, Miss Winthrope?”
The confidence in his voice renewed her courage; if he expected her to be intimidated by a neatly tied stock and a pair of boots he was sadly mistaken. “It has been a long time, my lord. Surely even you have trouble recalling your past sometimes.
”
A heartbeat passed before he answered. “No. I recall every moment of my past.”
His deep-set eyes were as hard and forbidding as before, but for an instant she sensed a haunting sadness behind the remoteness. She’d experienced the emotion too many times herself to mistake it in others, and the thought that she had anything in common with the Black Earl made her heart hammer so hard she feared it would crack a rib.
The countess’s voice ended the moment. “For heaven’s sake, Edward, give the girl a chance. It has been a long time.” She turned to Sabrina, her eyes full of encouragement and hope. “Take your time, my dear. We have been waiting years. We can wait a little longer.”
Sabrina smiled at the dowager’s kindness. She took a steadying breath and started to walk around the room, studying the assembled toys. Some, like the hobbyhorses and dollhouses, she discounted immediately, along with the books and miniature soldiers—no little girl would snuggle with any of them in bed. She also passed by the stuffed animals assembled on the window seat for they were all sun-faded—and had therefore not been stored away in the dark for thirteen years.
One by one she mentally checked off the toys, weighing the odds of each one being Prudence’s favorite against what she knew of the little girl. Quinn’s words came back to her. I remember her crying for it the night I tucked her in. Said it were her protector…
Sabrina looked at the dolls, all lined in neat rows along the cabinet shelves. They were pretty and perfect, with bright smiles painted on their porcelain faces. But none of them looked like a protector. Instinctively her hand covered the locket she wore beneath her dress, the one that contained Prudence’s portrait. She always felt reassured when she held it, as if somehow it brought her closer to the long-dead child. In a strange way she could almost feel Prudence beside her, guiding her decision. She took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a doll. I recall distinctively Ginger was not a doll.”
A sharp gasp told Rina she was correct. She turned to see the dowager smiling broadly, and Amy’s lips wavering in a slight but unmistakable grin. Mr. Cherry mopped his brow, looking relieved. “I vow, this is far more exhilarating than I anticipated. I believe we should all adjourn for a moment to catch our breaths—”
“No!” Trevelyan’s voice roared through the room. “We are not interested in what Ginger isn’t, Miss Winthrope. Or whatever your name is.”
The dowager’s cane rapped the floor. “Edward! You will not speak to your cousin in that tone.”
“She is not my cousin. Not until she chooses Ginger.” He turned back to Rina, his tone low and lethal as he continued. “My grandmother is old and sick. She cannot bear another disappointment. The last pretender nearly cost her her life.”
Rina fired back, her voice just as lethal. ”I am not the pretender, sir. You pretend to care for your grandmother, but all you truly care about is your own pride and position.”
“Why, you—!” Furious, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, apparently intending to frighten her.
Edward’s hand burned through her like living fire, searing her skin from the inside out. Feelings collided inside her with the force of billiard balls. She felt hot yet cold, weak yet strong, frightened yet brilliantly alive. She desperately wanted him to let go of her. Just as desperately she wanted him to go on holding her forever.
He let go. Still reeling from his touch, Rina lifted her gaze to his—and met eyes as frigid as a winter night. He looked at her as a parlor maid might glance at an errant dust mite. Troublesome. Insignificant. Dirty. Whatever she’d felt had been entirely one-sided.
The fire in her blood changed to a blush of shame. She turned away, more determined than ever to succeed in her deception.
She scanned the room, and saw that there were only two toys left. They were both propped in a wooden cradle beside the fireplace. One was a stuffed lion, gold as the sun with a thick mane of ginger-colored yarn. The other was a bedraggled stuffed bear, who was missing his left eye and several patches of his mud brown pelt. Both were the right size for a little girl to cuddle in her bed, but common sense and the telltale color of its mane pointed to the lion as a sure bet. Still, she didn’t reach out. If she chose incorrectly, Trevelyan would have hand her over to the authorities, who would inevitably link her with Albert’s death. This decision would affect the rest of her life—not to mention the length of her life.
Help me, Prudence. Help me to make the right choice. In her mind’s eye she saw the figure of a little girl running through the corridors of Ravenshold, clutching a stuffed toy against her chest. Whether the picture was a true vision or wishful thinking Rina couldn’t say, but she saw the animal in the girl’s arms—an animal that was constantly squeezed, scrunched, and loved so hard that pieces of its fur had been worn away. Opening her eyes, she reached out with absolute certainty and picked the tattered bear. As she lifted it into the sunlight, she saw that its one good eye was the color of ginger.
A loud sob shattered the silence. Sabrina turned around, and saw the dowager with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Forgive me. Until this moment I didn’t fully know…I didn’t entirely believe…oh, my dear!”
She opened her arms. Rina fell into them, letting the old woman believe she was her Prudence—and letting herself believe that she had a loving grandmother and a family she belonged to. Wiping away tears of her own, Rina accepted Amy’s surprised acknowledgment, and Mr. Cherry’s hearty and long-winded congratulations. And out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Black Earl standing in the middle of the nursery, watching the scene in front of him with dismay and fury. A hundred Gingers would not have been enough to prove to Lord Trevelyan that she was his long-lost cousin.
Prudence’s toy wasn’t the only thing she’d found this afternoon. She’d also gained an enemy.
Chapter Six
Morning.
Groaning, Sabrina screwed her eyes shut and pulled the quilt over her face. She hated mornings. There was always the wash to do and the bread to bake, and she didn’t doubt that Tilly had left her a stack of unwashed dishes from the night before. Mornings meant the beginning of a day where she worked from sunup to sundown without a moment to catch her breath. And she had been having the most marvelous dream…She burrowed down deeper into the covers, and tried to ignore the sunshine, the songbirds, and the smell of salt air that came wafting through her open window—
Salt air?
Rina’s eyes snapped open. She lifted the edge of the covers, and peeked out into a bright, sunshine-filled room that was nothing like her garret. It hadn’t been a dream at all—she was no longer Sabrina Murphy, the overworked stepdaughter of Widow Murphy. As of yesterday, she was the Honorable Miss Prudence Winthrope, cousin to the wealthy and powerful Trevelyans of Ravenshold. Purring like a contented cat, she stretched with the slow, luxurious indulgence of the idle rich. She’d convinced everyone that she was the long-lost heiress, and the fact that she’d also succeeded in annoying the disagreeable Lord Trevelyan only added to her triumph.
Grinning, she pushed back the covers—and saw two pairs of eyes staring at her from the foot of her bed.
David turned to his sister and said in a loud whisper, “We woke her up!”
“No,” Rina said hastily. She pushed herself to a sitting position. “You didn’t wake me. I was just getting up, and I appreciate the company.”
The children didn’t look entirely convinced, but they didn’t run away, either. Sabrina very much wanted them to stay. In all the excitement yesterday, she’d formed only a fleeting impression of the red-haired girl and her tow-headed brother. Now, in full light of the morning, she took the opportunity to study the earl’s children.
Lady Sarah wore a long-sleeved white frock tied at the waist with a spring green ribbon. She was all knees and elbows, with a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but she had her grandmother’s cheekbones and slender build, and Rina had no doubt that one day she’d be a great beauty. The young viscount was shorter and more squarely built,
much like his father, but there was a sweetness to his smile that had definitely not been inherited from Trevelyan. All at once Rina found herself wondering about the children’s mother, who had passed away under such questionable circumstances. Those thoughts ended abruptly, however, with Sarah’s next words.
“My father says you are a liar.”
Sabrina had challenged her stepmother too many times not to recognize the child’s attempt at adult bravado. Sarah was clearly a fighter who did not give her trust easily, but Rina suspected that once given it was a gift worth having. Rina folded her hands on the covers in front of her, and returned the girl’s challenge with the respect it deserved. “You’re correct. I am a liar. After all, I lied to Mrs. Poldhu about not seeing you hiding behind the suit of armor.”
“But that was a good lie,” David blurted out as he tugged on his sister’s sleeve, “We’re glad she lied, aren’t we, Saree? Otherwise Cook would’a got Pen and chopped him into little—”
“Quiet, Davey.”