“Mother.” Christ…his head hurt just to talk. He closed his eyes again and waited to awaken from this new unpleasant nightmare.
“I am at least trying,” the voice said. “I have soup for you, and tea. Most of this needs to be warmed.” He opened his eyes. She was indeed beside him, not an illusion. “You have given everyone a scare, Erik. Me especially.”
“I don’t know why you are here, except you must think I am about to die. I don’t know what else would bring you to Scotland.”
“That isn’t fair to me, Erik,” she whispered, staring at the cup in her hands. “I am your mother.”
How could she have gotten to Scotland so quickly?
She couldn’t have. His gaze took in the rest of the room before coming back to rest on her. “How long have you been here?”
She set the laudanum-laced drink on the nightstand. “Since you went missing. Becca brought me here. She needs me, Erik. You must understand…a mother needs to feel needed sometimes. She needs her children around her.”
Erik pressed his fingertips against his temple. The last time she had needed him so much, he’d given her five thousand pounds. A bandage covered his head and wrapped his chest. “Where is Christine?”
“She is currently with Lady Sophia and Mr. Attenborough.”
Erik tried to remember why that should alarm him. Attenborough wasn’t due back until the end of the week.
Unless it was already the end of the week and his solicitor had received judgment back from the Commissionary Court.
Christine sat in Erik’s library stone-still and learned that her marriage to the duke of Sedgwick was not legal.
Until the moment Erik’s solicitor read the decree handed down after a preliminary examination by a magistrate in Dunfermline, Christine had not believed it to be true.
“His appeal failed,” Mr. Attenborough said. “I warned him that it would. It was a simple matter for Maxwell to have the death certificate nullified and hence render your recent wedding invalid. But considering the circumstances, the magistrate will not bring charges of bigamy.”
“Lord Sedgwick knew about this appeal when he returned from Dunfermline?” she asked.
Clearing his throat, Attenborough stole an embarrassed glance at Aunt Sophie. “Considering the seriousness of the original edict, I thought he would have told you, mum.”
“No,” she whispered.
“How long before all of this nonsense is settled and they can remarry?” Aunt Sophie asked.
“His grace will be legally free to wed in a year. We could get no magistrate to agree to conciliation even with a monetary settlement to Robert Maxwell. Lord Eyre still believes his daughter is alive.”
Aunt Sophie drew herself up. “If this Lord Eyre person is claiming his daughter is alive, he will be greatly disappointed. Surely he wants something.”
“Lord Eyre wants his granddaughter, mum. He will agree to the settlement and remove all claims if he can have his granddaughter. I believe when his grace learned of this request he said something to the effect that it would be a cold day in hell before Eyre ever saw that happen.”
Christine studied her hands in her lap, folding and then unfolding them. She hadn’t slept in a week. Only this morning, she had left Erik’s bedside, reassured by the physician his fever had broken. She reached out her hand and touched her aunt’s sleeve. “I don’t feel well…”
“Of course you don’t, dear. First, you nearly lose your husband and now you do lose your husband in the most idiotic of circumstances.” Aunt Sophie glared at Attenborough. “You are supposed to be the best solicitor in all Great Britain. Surely you could have found some legal loophole—”
“Aunt Sophie”—Christine clutched her aunt’s arm—“the matter is finished for now. Truly, I need to lie down.”
A knock sounded on the door. Boris entered the library. “Your grace,” he said to Christine. “Lord Sedgwick is awake and asking for you.”
Christine rose. “How is he, Boris? Is he well?”
“Yes, mum. The countess is still with him.”
After Becca had come to her the night Erik had been found, Christine had allowed his mother into Sedgwick Castle.
Christine still had many questions for mother and daughter, and though Christine did not trust the countess enough to leave her alone with Erik—a servant was always nearby—the woman was still Erik’s mother and had pleaded her case successfully. The questions regarding any association the countess might have with the Maxwells would have to wait. Though in light of today’s events, Christine was not even sure she held the right anymore to query his mother on the issue.
Turning her face away from the concern she glimpsed in Boris’s eyes, she knew if she faced Erik now she would likely wrap her hands around his throat.
And do what?
He’d lied to her that day in the tower, yes, and told her they were still married. But not because he’d wanted to hurt or deceive her. He’d lied because he cared for her.
“Mum…”
Christine nodded. “Please tell him…”
Aunt Sophie rose in a swish of bright blue and green taffeta. “Please tell his grace that my niece is not feeling well, if you will, Boris. She will be in to see him as soon as she is able.”
Christine leaned against the tower window and stared into the darkness. The heavy leaded glass cool against her cheek, she watched the moon chase the clouds across the sky. She could not sleep. She’d been staring outside for an hour before she realized it and, with discontent, she gathered her robe about her and returned to the workbench. The aroma of that evening’s uneaten meal still lingered in the chamber.
Bracing her elbows on the workbench, she turned up the lamp. Shadows danced on the walls and the ceiling as the flame wavered in a draft that came up through the cracks in the stone. She had made this room into a laboratory of sorts, with two workbenches near the windows. At night, the lamplight reflected off the glass and made the windows like mirrors. Tonight she would rather not be looking back at herself.
She still had not gone to Erik’s room. Boris had reassured her when she had awakened from her nap in Aunt Sophie’s room that Lord Sedgwick was doing well. But after that afternoon, Erik had not asked to see her again. She did not expect that he would. It would be beneath his station to do so.
Drawn back to her work, she’d finally returned to the tower. Alone in her laboratory, she removed the oilcloth she had placed inside a chest, then brought everything to her workbench. This was the first time she had unwrapped the cloth. Becca’s tooth fossil lay at her elbow and she set a second one beside it—the one Christine had found at the riverbank just before she had fallen and nearly killed Erik. It was a tooth as big as her hand, bigger than the one Becca had found.
Christine had told no one of the find. Two reasons kept her silent. She wasn’t sure what she had found, and she was awaiting Joseph’s arrival.
But another reason, one she refused to admit to herself until Erik’s recovery, was the realization that someone might have been on that cliff and cut the rope that day. Had she gotten too close to something someone did not want her to find? Had it been an accident? Or had someone simply wanted to kill Erik? She would never know for sure, for the rope had gone into the river where Erik had gone.
She heard Beast’s meow, just before he bumped her leg and twined around her calves. Christine smiled and picked up the cat, welcoming his purrs as tears flooded her eyes, and she quietly wept against his fur. As usual, she had no handkerchief, and Erik’s words about her lack of decorum flashed through her thoughts. She smiled against Beast’s neck, hesitating as she looked over the top of his head.
Lady Erin stood half hidden in the shadows, peering around the doorway, watching her with saucer-wide blue eyes. A purple ribbon loosely restrained her long, curly hair, but only enough to keep the length out of her face. The child’s feet were bare and, wearing only her nightdress, she looked like an escapee from the Sedgwick nursery.
Christi
ne straightened on the stool and wiped at her eyes. “Hello,” she said. “Did you bring Beast up here to see me?”
“Beast sad kitty.”
Christine had never heard the girl speak a sentence before and was surprised that her words were better formed than Christine expected.
A smile trembled on the corners of the child’s mouth. She stepped around the door and, scooting against the wall, she tucked a doll close to her chest. Then offered it to Christine. “Cwistine sad, too.”
“Cwistine?”
The girl nodded. Christine set Beast on the stool, walked over to where Erin stood, and knelt in front of her. Erin petted the doll’s hair, then offered Christine the gift. “Cwistine.”
Christine examined the worn ruffles and curls. She gently smoothed the hair. “I’ve never had a doll named after me.”
She’d never had a doll. Period.
She’d been much too old even as a child to play with dolls. Papa thought it was more important for her to read Latin and study her numbers than play with toys and dolls. Touched by the simple gift, Christine raised her gaze. “She is beautiful. Thank you.”
They remained in the shadows of the room, just outside the reach of lamplight on the workbench. What must Erin be thinking? Had anyone spoken to her, explained about her father’s accident, or allowed her to see him yet?
“Have you been to see your da today?”
Erin lowered her eyes.
“Why has no one taken you to see your papa?”
The girl’s beautiful face brightened. “Cwistine take me now.”
Lord, she was insane, Christine thought fifteen minutes later, as she and Erin crept up the servants’ stairway leading into Erik’s corridor like two criminals. How had she allowed Lady Erin to talk her into this madness?
Christine stopped and knelt in front of Erin so that she could see her mouth and better recognize the words. “Quiet.” She put a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she demonstrated, then pretended to button her lips.
Holding Christine’s hand, Erin nodded. “Shhh,” she repeated.
It was after midnight. The clock rang the hour as she and Erin entered the hall. Christine felt even more like a co-conspirator to a crime as she eased open Erik’s door and followed Erin inside, careful to make no sound lest they awaken the sleeping dragon ensconced within the velvet draperies of his bed. A low fire burned, easing the chill from the room with gentle flames.
Christine was surprised and annoyed that no one was in here watching over Erik. Did they think two days’ recuperation enough? Erin tugged on Christine’s hand, and Christine realized she had stopped.
“Shh!” the child said loudly, as if Christine had made a noise. Then she giggled, and with infinite gentleness pulled Christine toward the bed.
Erik was propped halfway up the headboard against four pillows, his dark head bandaged. He wore a nightshirt laced at his chest, and she could see the fabric beneath. The physician said Erik had also suffered bruised ribs. The doctor did not think the ribs had broken or Erik would have been coughing up blood. The fever he believed came from the injury on his leg and from exhaustion.
Yet, in truth, Christine knew Erik was lucky to be alive. During the days of his absence, when no one could find him and the weather had turned, Christine felt the entire household go into mourning. They had done everything but lower his standard and put a placard on the garden wall next to Elizabeth’s. The only person she was surprised not to see had been Robert Maxwell, ready to declare himself the new duke.
But Erik was safe and alive. The issue with their marriage would be settled in time. Strange that it worried her less than it should have. She had found something potentially huge in the ground—a discovery. So why did she continue to feel as if she might at any moment shatter into a thousand tiny pieces?
Why had the ring not yet loosened? Why wouldn’t it let her go?
The floor creaked beneath her slippered feet, and she froze. Movement in the bed stirred in the shadows. Erik turned his head.
Erin laughed. “Da!” She climbed into bed to snuggle with her father.
His arm went around his daughter. He pressed one hand against the mattress and eased himself higher against the pillows. “It is about time, imp,” he said, kissing the top of Erin’s head. “I was beginning to think you had not convinced the princess to come down from her tower.”
Christine stared at the two in disbelief. “You tricked me.”
Neither one looked the least penitent. Erin took Christine’s hand and pulled her nearer so that she was forced to sit on the mattress. Then, settling her head against her father’s shoulder, she lay comfortably between them.
“She shouldn’t even be out of bed at this hour, Erik.”
He was a terrible father for allowing a six-year-old to wander free.
“What can I say?” His hand lifted to pull her chin around. “She escaped her nursery.”
Christine’s mouth pinched, but now that she was here, she wasn’t all that angry with him. Certainly, she wasn’t with the child, who had brought Beast up to the tower and given Christine her very first doll. “That isn’t fair,” she murmured. “Using your daughter against me.”
“You have been avoiding me, my love.” His fingers reached out to twine into her unbound hair. “Desperate times strive for desperate measures.”
“Shakespeare’s Hamlet.”
“Hippocrates: Extreme remedies are appropriate for extreme diseases.”
“Am I the remedy or the disease then?”
“Both,” he said.
The tone in his voice as revealing as his words, his eyes held hers or hers held his, she no longer cared which, or that her heart should not be beating so hard or that she should at least summon some high-minded response in her own defense. She had missed him. They had a thousand things they needed to say, should say but could not without feeling hampered by her trepidations.
Erin had shut her eyes and her even breathing told Christine she was already asleep. Christine smoothed the hair from the child’s face, then finding Erik watching her, placed the back of her hand across his brow. “You still have a fever.”
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I should have told you the truth when I returned from Dunfermline,” he said.
“Yes, you should have.”
His hand wrapped around hers and he waited until she finally lifted her gaze before he spoke. “Will you trust that it will not be a year to settle this matter? It will not be a month.”
Christine looked away. How could he be so sure, so confident of everything, when she continuously found herself struggling?
“I do not want you going back to look for that cavern,” he said.
Her mind frayed by the mêlée she’d endured the past few days worrying over him, and now this conflict—the one between her heart and her honor—refused to do battle with him now.
“Are you the one who lowered the drawbridge and let my mother into this castle?” he asked, pulling her down beside him and Erin, and bringing the comforter over them all.
The child stirred as Christine set her head on the pillow and looked over Erin’s head into the eyes of the man she still considered her husband, no matter what some magistrate said to the contrary. Tomorrow, she would scandalize the servants when they walked in and saw her sleeping in this bed.
“Do not worry, Christine.” Erik’s recognition of her thoughts illuminating the darkness between them. “Boris knows you are here and will keep everyone away until you take Erin back to the nursery. For now, sleep, leannanan.”
And she did.
Chapter 19
Christine awakened just before dawn and realized she must have shut her eyes long enough for Erin to curl against her and put her arm to sleep. The fire in the hearth had died. The room was now chilled.
Erik was gone.
Christine pushed up on her elbow. Someone was in the dressing room. Easing out of bed, she shoved her feet into her slippers, wrapped her robe tighter
about her waist and padded across the room. Boris was inside, laying out a razor and soap beside a pitcher of water and a bowl.
“My apologies,” she said, keeping her voice low so she did not awaken Lady Erin.
“The master is downstairs,” Boris said. “He said for me to let you and the young lass sleep, mum.”
Christine scraped a hand in her hair. She had not slept well. Nothing between her and Erik had really been settled. “Should he be out of bed?”
“No, mum. But if he is set on doing a thing, he’ll see it done.”
“I will take Lady Erin back to her bed,” she said after a moment.
The little girl barely stirred when Christine lifted her. She stepped into the corridor and had reached the staircase when distant voices sounded from somewhere to her right. Lights shone from a room downstairs in a corridor mostly darkened with predawn shadows. Christine walked to the landing. She glimpsed movement from the room just off the entry hall, as someone passed in front of the light. Voices carried. Erik was speaking to Hampton and Hodges, two of the men who had found him near the river, but though she recognized the impatience in Erik’s tone, his words were indistinguishable. He should not be out of bed, she thought. And he expected me not to take risks with my life.
She tightened her arms around Erik’s child and turned toward the nursery, slowing as she padded through the portrait gallery and peered up at the last Sedgwick family portrait that hung on the wall, its ornate gold frame bright against the oak panel wall. It was a painting set in the gardens, with Erik and Elizabeth, who was holding their daughter in her arms and staring back at Christine with painted expressionless eyes. The portrait had been completed only weeks before her disappearance.
Aunt Sophie had examined the bones Christine had brought her. She could say with certainty the partial jaw belonged to a person of approximately nineteen to twenty-five years old. The former Lady Sedgwick, Elizabeth Maxwell Boughton, had been twenty-two when she vanished.
Up the stairs and just before she reached the nursery, Mrs. Whitman came around the corner. Still wearing her night clothes and nightcap, she nearly collided with Christine. The woman saw Erin in Christine’s arms and burst into tears. “Oh, mum,” she gasped. “Ye found the lass. I thought something terrible had happened…”
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