He broke the gaze, turning from her to face the others present. Hyacinth was both immensely relieved and strangely bereft of his rather intense regard.
“Shall we go into dinner, Mother? I’ll escort you and Lady Arabella if you’d like,” he offered.
“Arabella and I will escort each other. We’ve much catching up to do. Escort Miss Collier, dearest. With the others no longer joining us, Miss Collier will now take the seat to your left.”
“Of course, she will.”
Hyacinth wondered at this tone. While the words were innocuous enough, there seemed to be an accusation buried in their depths. Did he see her as an interloper as his mother-in-law did? Or was it something more personal? Had she given offense in some way? Still, when he closed the distance between them and offered her his arm, she accepted it even as a blush crept over her cheeks. She tried desperately not to be thrilled at the firmness of muscle beneath her hand or the scent of sandalwood and citrus that clung to him. Any attraction or infatuation to a man who was still wed in the eyes of the law and who, regardless of that, was so far above her own station, would only lead to disaster. And possibly a murderer, she reminded herself.
“Here you are, Miss Collier,” he said, depositing her at her assigned seat.
When Lady Dumbarton and Lady Arabella had seated themselves, she followed suit. He was the last to take his seat as etiquette demanded.
In all, despite its rather inauspicious beginning, the evening meal went well. Lady Arabella asked Hyacinth to share stories about Rowan and Lila, which she did. Even Lord Dumbarton laughed at some of them and she had the feeling that it was something he did not do often.
As the meal ended and they rose to retreat once more to the drawing room, Lady Dumbarton asked, “Tell me, Miss Collier, do you play the pianoforte?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no talent for it,” Hyacinth replied. The last thing she wanted was to draw more of his attention to her. It left her feeling vulnerable and exposed when his gaze fell upon her, and yet also strangely giddy and breathless. She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t recognize attraction. She was also not so naive that she didn’t realize it was the height of foolishness to be drawn to a man with so murky a past.
“But she’s a lovely singing voice… and you could play for us, Ian! Couldn’t you?” Lady Arabella asked.
“No. I could not. I haven’t played in years. I would not assault your hearing so. Sadly, I also have some correspondence to see to. I will bid you all good night,” he replied rather more sharply than necessary.
As he walked away, leaving them alone, Lady Dumbarton offered a nervous laugh to ease the tension. “Men are such strange and moody creatures, aren’t they? Come along, Miss Collier. We will go to the drawing room and find some way to entertain ourselves.”
Ian had retreated to his library, but the only thing he saw to was a decanter of brandy. He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke, it was in the wee hours of the morning. He couldn’t say what it was precisely that woke him, only that when he sat bolt upright in his chair, his heart was racing and a fine sheen of sweat slicked his skin. But perhaps that was the result of the dream he’d been having prior to waking—the dream of holding Miss Hyacinth Collier in front of him as he had that afternoon, nestled between his thighs with his arms around her. But they hadn’t been on horseback. They’d been in his bed, and rather than damp, muddy clothing, she’d been wearing a confection of lace that revealed far more than it concealed.
She was too young and far too innocent for the wicked fantasies that were plaguing him. He had enough on his conscience already without adding her ruination to the mix. And that was all he could offer her or any woman. Ruin. Even knowing that undeniable truth, it didn’t halt the fire in his blood or the tantalizing images of her in his mind.
Cursing, he rose from his chair and stalked toward the fireplace. His body was aching, lust blazing inside him for a girl he could not and would not ever have. Damn his mother and her meddling. Damn Arabella, as well. And damn Annabel, he thought, for dying in such a way that he would never truly be free of her.
The wind moaned outside and it sounded like the cry of a woman. Ian gripped the mantelpiece so hard his knuckles went white from it. “Leave me be,” he murmured. “Leave me be!”
But the sound resumed and, this time, it sounded like his name, as if the wind itself carried her voice to him from the beyond. The doors to the terrace blew open, the curtains billowing in and beyond them, standing yards from the house on the edge of the formal gardens, he saw her. She wore a white gown as fine as gossamer and it whipped about her, clinging to her limbs even as her hair danced on the wind like flames. She held her arms up as if beckoning him to join her.
He stepped forward, meaning to face her, to confront the demon that haunted him, the demon who wore his wife’s face. But the curtains blew up once more, wrapping about him, and by the time he’d freed himself from the heavy drapery, she was gone. There was nothing but darkness beyond and the same nagging fear that she hadn’t been there at all. He was going mad.
He needed more brandy.
Chapter Six
The morning sun was bright and the grass was still wet as Hyacinth made her way back to the house. She’d woken early and been unable to entice herself back to sleep. She hadn’t wanted to risk more disturbing dreams of darkly handsome men and ethereal women roaming the corridors. Instead, she’d taken a walk to ease the stiffness from her sore muscles and to clear her head.
The events from the night before had replayed themselves in her mind a dozen times already. The broadsided insults from Mrs. Lee, the way Lady Phyllida and Lady Arabella were constantly whispering with one another, the dark and heavy glances from Lord Dumbarton—in all, it felt rather like she was trapped in one of the gothic novels she preferred to read.
As she neared the house, she found herself face to face with the grimly disapproving visage of Mrs. Lee. The woman was standing on the terrace, hands clenched tightly in front of her.
“Surveying the lay of the land, I see,” Mrs. Lee said, her tone openly hostile.
Hyacinth forced a tight smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Lee. I thought a walk might be a nice way to begin the day. I find it does wonders for my mood. Perhaps you should try it.” She hadn’t meant to say the last, but it had slipped out. Nonetheless, she had no regrets.
The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing here? That I don’t see with my own eyes what you and those two wretched old women are doing?”
Hyacinth refrained from pointing out that Mrs. Lee herself was likely older than Lady Dumbarton. It would only further the enmity between them. “Lady Arabella and I are here to visit her cousins. I have no notion what sort of plots you imagine are being hatched—”
“You are either a very gifted liar, Miss Collier, or you are a greater fool than I had imagined,” Mrs. Lee snapped. “They brought you here to tempt him, of course. To parade another young and pretty thing before his nose, though you hardly match the beauty of my sweet Annabel. They hope to entice him with you so that he will have my daughter declared dead and free himself that he might wed and produce an heir! But now that he has been marked a murderer by most, his prospects are likely somewhat limited. The bastard daughter of a whore with only tenuous connections to society is likely the best he would ever be able to hope for!”
Hyacinth was impervious to insults about her mother and her birth. She’d heard them all so frequently they no longer even stung. A match between herself and Lord Dumbarton was preposterous for any number of reasons, her birth and parentage were only two of them. “You are mistaken.”
“Am I?” Mrs. Lee asked. “Then leave. Go to your Lady Arabella and tell her that you wish to return home at once. This is no place for you, girl. Not unless you want to wind up just where my daughter did.” With that, the woman turned on her heel and marched back into the house, the black bombazine of her skirt swishing behind her like the tail of an agitated cat.
Climbing onto the terrace, Hyacinth didn’t go inside immediately. She couldn’t dismiss the woman’s claim entirely. Lady Arabella’s sudden desire to visit relatives whom, to Hyacinth’s knowledge, she had not seen in years, and her insistence that Hyacinth should accompany her had been out of character. Was it true? Had the woman truly brought her there to offer her up as a potential match to a man who may or may not be a killer? And Lady Arabella knew of Hyacinth’s feelings regarding marriage! While she was not so distrustful of men as her sister Primrose had been, Hyacinth had seen enough of their behavior when in her mother’s care to know that being bound to one for life would likely only bring misery.
Looking up, Hyacinth stared out at the vastness of the ocean as the truth of it sank in. Lady Arabella had used her and betrayed her. Turning to go back into the house, to confront the woman, she paused at the sight of a lone figure coming up the beach in the distance. She couldn’t make out very much beyond a white gown fluttering on the wind and reddish hair billowing about her. Was it the same woman she’d seen in the corridor? It must be, for surely no two women matching that description would reside there. Who was she?
The woman vanished from view, hidden by the rocky outcroppings that made so much of the beach invisible from her present vantage point. It was just as well, Hyacinth thought. She would not be distracted. Lady Arabella had some explaining to do and she meant to beard the lioness in her den.
Hyacinth didn’t bother to change but marched toward Lady Arabella’s chambers in her simple walking costume with her hair tied back by a matching length of lavender ribbon. As she reached it, she knocked sharply upon Lady Arabella’s door but did not await an invitation. She strode in and immediately crossed to the windows where she whipped the curtains back to let the bright light of day stream in.
Lady Arabella sat up in bed with a sputtering protest. “I say—what are you—good heavens, girl! You’d not look so smug if I died right here on the spot of a fit of apoplexy!”
Hyacinth was unmoved by the woman’s exclamations. “You’ll die of no such thing. I’m fairly certain you may never die at all. You’ll outlive each and every one of us and then have no one left to complain to about all of our bad behaviors. But I’m not here to discuss my bad behavior, Lady Arabella. I’m here to discuss yours.”
The older woman donned her wrapper. “I’ve no notion of what you mean, girl. But does this have to happen before the sun is even up?”
“It’s half past nine. I assure you the sun is up and has been for some time. My reference to your bad behavior is in regards to the unfortunate activity of matchmaking. It occurred to me upon my arrival yesterday, that you brought me here thinking I might form some sort of attachment with Lord Dumbarton.”
Lady Arabella pshawed. “Why on earth would you think such a thing? The man is still legally married, after all!”
“Servants gossip, Lady Arabella, and sometimes those who are a bit naive will even gossip with guests. I know that Lady Dumbarton has been pleading with her son to petition the House of Lords to declare his missing wife dead. I also know that at the merest hint of that happening, Mrs. Lee has some sort of attack that leaves her bedridden and, per her sullen stick figure of a son, hovering on the brink of death. In short, Lady Arabella, I know that you brought me here under false pretenses in order to parade me around in front of a man who is most likely a killer, and who, even if he is not, is certainly not for me!” Her voice had risen at the end, and Hyacinth paused to draw in a deep, calming breath. “I am utterly humiliated. And it must stop. If nothing else, his lordship’s attitude toward me last night should make it abundantly clear that all your plans are all for naught.”
Lady Arabella sank down onto the settee at the end of her bed. She looked her age in that moment, frail with skin like crepe. She patted the spot beside her. “Come, sit. I didn’t do this to embarrass you, child. I love you and your siblings like you are my own flesh and blood. You all have brought so much joy to my later years… but there are joys to be had in life that passed me by, Hyacinth. I would not see them pass you by, as well.”
“You mean marriage,” Hyacinth said accusingly. “You know my opinion of the state!”
“I mean a man who loves you. There is more to life than a ring on your finger and a name written in a register,” Lady Arabella said.
It was Hyacinth’s turn to be taken off guard. “You brought me here thinking I would be his mistress? Surely you cannot be serious!”
“I brought you here hoping the two of you might have a harmless flirtation and decide that perhaps you wanted more,” Lady Arabella admitted. “Do not live your life so carefully, my girl, that you reach my age and only regret the things you did not do.”
Unnerved by the thought of it, by the temptation it stirred within her, and by the loneliness she sensed in the woman beside her, Hyacinth remained silent. Was she destined to share Arabella’s fate? To spend her entire life loving the children of relatives because she’d never have her own? After the longest time, she asked, “Did he murder his wife?”
“I do not think so. I would not have brought your here otherwise! Some swear he did not, others swear that he did. But the only person who really knows the truth is Ian. Even if he had, Hyacinth, you do not know how bitterly unhappy he was and how viciously she dogged him. He was hounded by her night and day about returning to London. He was new to managing the estate and did not know the ins and outs of it well enough to function as an absentee lord.”
“Could she have not gone without him? Many married couples live separately,” Hyacinth pointed out.
Lady Arabella shook her head. “Ian is the last of his line. He needed an heir and he needed to be certain that heir was truly his child. Annabel had already strayed once. He had his reasons for insisting she remain with him. If he did, and that is a very significant if, it would have been through a terrible and tragic accident. Please do not judge him as harshly as others have. You better than anyone, my dear, know that gossip can be cruel and unforgiving.”
Hyacinth looked away. She did. Her few forays into society had reminded her of her place very firmly. Whispers and pointing, with the word bastard and whore echoing behind her. It didn’t matter that she’d lived her whole life only working to care for her siblings and never once behaving improperly. To the world, she would only ever be an extension of her parents—the living embodiment of their sins. “I do.”
Lady Arabella sighed. “You are innocent, my dear, but you are not naive. You understand the ways of the world without ever having had the benefit of being worldly yourself. Therefore, it seems you ought to be perfect for one another… I only ask that you think about it, my dear.”
Hyacinth nodded. “I’ll consider it, but I doubt that he will. Whether he is guilty as accused or not, I very much fear that Lord Dumbarton means to punish himself for his wife’s death.”
“Then if you decide to indulge in a flirtation with him, it will be on your shoulders to sway him.”
Hyacinth gave a short nod and turned to leave. But Lady Arabella called after her. “I see the way you look at them, at your sister and Cornelius. Why did you agree to come here with me, Hyacinth?”
“I wished to get away. That is all. I thought to offer Primrose and Cornelius a bit of privacy, or as much as they may have with the children underfoot. Still, the governess will keep them busy and my sister and her husband will not feel burdened to keep me entertained.” It was a well-practiced answer. It was also a terrible lie and they both knew it.
“Are you a burden to them?” Lady Arabella demanded, seizing on to that one telling phrase.
Yes. She was. It pained her to admit it, but there was no denying the truth of it. “I certainly hope that I am not.” It was the closest thing to a truthful answer she was able to give.
“Green is not your color, girl. And you are green with envy. They do not see it because they are blind to everything but one another.”
Hyacinth looked away, unwilling to meet the olde
r woman’s searching gaze. “I am not jealous of my sister, Lady Arabella. But it is difficult for me to be a third wheel in their home. What she and Lord Ambrose have together is something that I certainly never expect to find for myself, given that I do not have the kind of beauty that my sister possesses to mitigate my lack of fortune and breeding. Perhaps I do envy my sister, but I do not begrudge her happiness.”
“Do you have feelings for Ambrose?” Lady Arabella asked gently.
Hyacinth gasped in shock. Shaking her head violently, she uttered a hot denial. She was mortified at the thought and perhaps even vaguely repulsed. “No! Of course not! Well, yes, I have feelings for him but only as a brother. I adore him. He’s been so kind to us all. But I do not have romantic feelings for him. How could you even suggest such a thing?”
Lady Arabella’s eyebrows rose upward toward her impeccably styled hair. “My dear, how could I think anything else?”
“That is not at all what I meant. I do want what my sister has, though I’ve no expectation of getting it. I wanted to have a husband who loves me as Cornelius loves her but I do not want her husband. And the older I get, the more I realize that it is lost to me because I will always be the plain sister! And I know, when I see them together, that no one will ever look at me as he looks at her and she at him.” Envy was a terrible and bitter thing. It made her feel ashamed of herself and it highlighted all the flaws in her character that she had struggled so hard to overcome. Even when they had been living in their little cottage, they had all suffered in silence with the poverty and constant worry of how to keep a roof over their heads. But there had been resentment inside her, a terrible and burgeoning anger that she had battled daily. It seemed that removing the stress of financial worries had done little to make her a better person.
“My dear, you know that Ambrose would take you to London and see you introduced into society where you could find a husband… if you truly wanted one. You are not so plain as you think! Not plain at all. But you judge yourself by your sister’s appearance and, my dear, I do not have to tell you how uncommon she is.”
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 48