Garden of Dragons (Dark Gardens Series Book 3)

by Meara Platt

  “Look,” she said, drawing in a breath. “There’s a carriage coming up the drive.”

  He lifted the tawny-furred kitten off her shoulder while she reached for the one licking at her earlobe. “Time for you moppets to go,” she said, but the kitten’s paw caught in her hair and pulled down several carefully coiffed strands. “Oh, what a time for this to happen.”

  Her hasty attempt to repair the damage only made matters worse. Saron watched curiously as more golden-red strands spilled over Anabelle’s shoulders, and knew it was only a matter of time before the entire glorious mass fell down her back.

  Surrendering to the inevitable, Anabelle slipped the remaining pins from her hair and quickly tucked the wayward curls behind her ears. “Now your aunt will think me a hoyden. Despite appearances, I had meant to make a respectable impression.”

  “She’ll like you as you are, a little Valkyrie with flame-tinged hair, and these fierce creatures,” he teased, gazing at Goliath and his siblings now playing on the top step, “are obviously the powerful steeds who draw your chariot.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Good heavens! Can this be Anabelle?”

  Anabelle smiled at the pleasant-looking older woman who had popped her egret-plumed head out the window, knocking the silver plumes askew in her excitement. The sprightly matron shoved open the carriage door and sprang to the ground the instant her footman lowered the steps.

  Her silver feathers still bobbing frantically, she tore a path toward Saron, managing a brief greeting before shunting him aside. Anabelle was suddenly swallowed in her ebullient embrace. “Yes, yes! You must be Anabelle. My dear, I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

  Anabelle laughed. “You are most welcome here, Lady Penelope.”

  She had expected a prune-faced dowager and was delighted by the cheerful woman with cheeks as pink as English roses and a strength of character to match her own.

  “Let me have a look at you, child. Why, you’re even prettier than Saron described.”

  Anabelle turned to him with an arch of her eyebrow.

  He merely shrugged.

  “Yes, I can see we’ll become fast friends,” his aunt said, once more clutching Anabelle to her ample bosom. “And you’ll need friends. Dealing with my nephew will not be easy. But never you mind, I’m here to help you.”

  She thought she heard Saron choke.

  Oh, this is too, too precious.

  A gleam crept into Anabelle’s eyes. Blood relation or no, his aunt took no pains to hide her alliance. She glanced at Saron, imagining he already regretted the decision to bring his aunt to Harleigh, but found him gazing back at her with a look of amused exasperation. The frightening demonic red she’d noticed earlier in his eyes was now gone and replaced by the ensorcelling shade of silvery blue.

  His gaze hardened moments later when a stunning, dark-haired woman stepped down from Penelope’s carriage. Dressed in a gown of aquamarine silk to match the dazzling color of her eyes, this woman was undoubtedly one of the favorites of the ton, an Incomparable in her ingenue days, and clearly a person of consequence.

  Who is she? Anabelle wondered.

  Saron stepped forward to greet her politely, though Anabelle sensed he seemed reluctant. The woman was clearly delighted to see him.

  “Welcome,” Anabelle started, but her voice trailed off as the woman pierced her with a gaze that was icier than the white diamonds at her throat. Whoever wore such finery when traveling by coach? It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do. No doubt she’d donned them this morning to impress Saron.

  Or intimidate me.

  Clearly, this raven-haired beauty was not her ally.

  “What brings you here, Caroline?” Saron asked, showing no pleasure in seeing her.

  Penelope cleared her throat. “We ran into Lady Caroline and her husband in town.” She placed particular emphasis on Caroline’s marital status as though Saron needed the reminder.

  “Lady Caroline Romney is the wife of Lord Harold Romney, third Earl of Uxley,” Penelope explained while making the introductions. “Caroline, this is Lady Anabelle Harleigh, daughter of the late Earl of Cleve.”

  “Delighted,” the proud woman said, her manner displaying quite the opposite sentiment. She regarded Anabelle as though she was the hired help and not the lady of the manor.

  Anabelle suddenly regretted donning the simple black gown. Oh, and her hair was undone and in knots from whipping about in the wind. “A pleasure,” Anabelle said with more politeness than the undeserving woman had shown her.

  “Where’s Harry?” Saron asked with a frown.

  Caroline glided to him, locking her arm in his. “Darling, I’m sure I don’t know. Possibly somewhere between here and Kendal. We were on our way to Carlisle when our carriage broke down. Fortunately, Penelope happened along to rescue me from the beastly journey. Harry was a crushing bore and did nothing but talk politics with his daughter the entire trip. She’s traveling with us, you know.”

  “I expect they’ll be along shortly,” Penelope added, “as soon as the farrier repairs the broken wheel. Melford remained behind to help.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me, darling?” Caroline asked, tossing him a practiced pout. “After all we’ve meant to each other?”

  And still mean to each other, Anabelle imagined, struggling to retain her composure. No wonder he’d refused her marriage proposal. Why would he want her when he could have someone as exquisite and refined as Lady Caroline? The woman took no pains to hide her indiscreet feelings for Saron.

  Anabelle looked to her kittens, who were now quietly settled and sunning themselves on the steps while watching the new arrivals. She glanced at Goliath and could have sworn he’d cast her a look that said, “We don’t like her.”

  I don’t like Lady Caroline either. She had the charm of a snake and the warmth of an icicle, but such was the manner of many among elegant Society. That’s why Anabelle had never desired to return to that empty life. She preferred to complete an honest day’s work, something few among the aristocracy cared about. But darling? How would Saron react if she called him that? In a moonlit garden, in a soft and dreamy voice?

  Caroline’s laughter brought her back to her senses. “Lady Anabelle, I would never have guessed you are the creature who has all of London in an uproar. Gossip is rampant about your unfortunate situation. The odds are against you, of course. But I wagered on you, hoping you’d somehow win back your charming estate and bring this devil to his knees.” She sighed. “I ought to have known you’d be no match for the invincible Duke of Draloch.”

  “Who? Oh, you mean your darling.”

  “Anabelle, behave yourself,” Saron warned.

  She thought she was showing remarkable restraint.

  Penelope coughed. “Shall we move indoors?”

  “An excellent idea,” Caroline said, taking an even more possessive hold of Saron’s arm and fussing unnecessarily when she noticed his limp.

  “It’s nothing,” he said with a trace of annoyance, apparently unwilling to reveal the true circumstances even to Caroline.

  Anabelle suspected the proud lady’s affection was not reciprocated by Saron. Though relieved by the thought, she couldn’t understand why she should care. She had no claim to him, no pretensions of seducing him, and certainly had no intention of falling in love with him even though she had asked him to marry her.

  Love? She wasn’t even certain she liked him.

  Well, she more than liked him. But she would not allow her feelings to deepen into something more.

  Penelope drew Anabelle aside, holding her back a few steps to make certain they were out of earshot. “Lady Caroline is an old friend of my nephew’s.”

  “So I gathered,” she said dryly, unable to stem her annoyance. She should have felt nothing but indifference, but her heart still hurt. She wasn’t jealous, for Saron truly did not appear pleased to see his former…mistress? She was merely confused and out of her depth
when it came to this dangerous man who reminded her of the dragon on his ducal crest.

  “There was a strong attachment once, but it has long since been severed,” Penelope said in a whisper.

  “I don’t believe Lady Caroline realizes it.”

  “Yes, in her heart she does, but old habits are sometimes hard to break. I wouldn’t worry about her.”

  “I don’t intend to. I have more important concerns. Regaining my estate, and…” She paused, for she was unsure how much to confide in his aunt so soon after their first meeting.

  “What is it, my dear?”

  There was something very warm and approachable about Saron’s aunt, though Anabelle understood the woman loved Saron and would only aid in her cause to the extent it did not harm him. Still, she hesitated only a moment before continuing. “I’ve learned so little about your nephew and he is so tight-lipped. Perhaps, if I knew more, we could end this quarrel over Harleigh without either of us getting hurt.”

  Penelope nodded sympathetically. “He does tend to close himself off.”

  “Rather an understatement,” Anabelle said with a wry laugh. “He’s as tightly closed up as a clam and no amount of prying, coaxing, or pounding will get him to open up.”

  “Though you’ve tried. You say you’ve learned a little about him. Exactly what has he told you so far?”

  “I know all about his leg wound.”

  Penelope seemed surprised. “I didn’t think he’d tell you about Lord Bloodaxe so soon.”

  “Bloodaxe,” she repeated softly. “Is he the villain who injured your nephew? Did he also put those scars on his back?”

  “How did you learn of those?” she asked, noticeably flustered.

  “I saw them, though he tried to hide them from me. But I was curious and waited until he’d fallen asleep to enter his room for a closer look. You see, the doctor had given your nephew a sleeping draught to ease his pain, so I knew he wouldn’t waken.” She shook her head and sighed raggedly. “What I saw broke my heart.”

  “Why, Anabelle,” Penelope said, with an affectionate squeeze of her hand, “I do believe your eyes are misting.”

  Anabelle hastily wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, surprised by her reaction. “How silly of me.”

  “How wonderful of you,” his aunt insisted quietly. “We shall have a long tete-a-tete once Caroline and her family are gone. They only intend to stay the night. Now, I have a request to make of you.”

  “Certainly, if it is in my power.”

  “I’d like you to call me Aunt Penelope or simply, Penelope. Since you are now my nephew’s ward, I suppose that makes you my niece or some such relation. At any rate, I wish us to be friends.”

  Anabelle smiled sincerely. “I’d like that, too. I’m very glad you’re here, Penelope.”

  “So am I, dear girl.”

  They entered the parlor and settled on the sofa, she and Penelope still deep in conversation. “Now, tell me what you have been up to this past month. I understand my nephew left you in charge while he was away.”

  Anabelle proceeded to tell her about the spring plantings, the newborn lambs, kittens, and even the birth of little Saron. There was something about Penelope’s open manner that made confiding in her quite natural. She felt as though she’d known the delightful woman for years. She made no mention of the incident with the dead lamb, but would later once their guests had departed.

  “What are you two chatting about?” Caroline asked when Saron left her side to summon Robert and Mr. Dullingham.

  Anabelle, realizing his intent, decided to stop him, and then changed her mind. Caroline’s reaction to her maelstrom of a brother would be quite entertaining.

  A second carriage rattled up the drive just as Robert and Mr. Dullingham joined them for tea. Saron excused himself to greet the new arrivals and bring them into the parlor. He introduced Anabelle to Caroline’s husband and shy stepdaughter, then to his solicitor, Sir John Melford.

  Anabelle had expected Saron’s solicitor to be a dour, old bulldog, but the gentleman with thinning gray hair, keenly intelligent gray eyes, and a most kindly smile, surprised her. Though not very tall, he was nevertheless quite distinguished. He spoke softly, with great thought, a trait she sorely lacked, and obviously commanded Saron’s respect.

  Lord Harry Romney also seemed a very pleasant sort. He had a bit of a paunch, but otherwise, appeared quite fit for a man his age. He’d obviously been handsome in his younger days. His daughter, Olivia, resembled her father except for his paunch. She had fine blonde hair and pretty blue eyes marred only by a pronounced squint. As introductions were made, Olivia fished into her reticule and withdrew her spectacles.

  Caroline frowned. “Must you wear those?”

  “Yes,” Olivia said quite matter-of-factly, “I’m afraid I must.”

  Anabelle was surprised by the frostiness of the exchange and felt some sympathy for the girl. Dealing with a stepmother as haughty as Caroline could not be easy. Apparently, Lord Romney felt the same, for he edged closer to his daughter as though to protect her.

  Marry in haste, repent at leisure, Anabelle recalled the adage which seemed appropriate. What had he seen in Caroline to possess him to marry her? She chided herself for her stupidity. The woman was among the most beautiful in England, able to bend any man to her will.

  Perhaps even Saron at one time.

  “I had hoped you’d wear the new pair I bought you,” Caroline murmured so softly, Anabelle didn’t think anyone else heard. She sounded quite hurt, but that seemed out of character. Curious, Anabelle turned to her and saw a deep sorrow in her splendid aquamarine eyes.

  Oh, this isn’t fair. She wanted to detest Caroline, but how could she while feeling sad for her?

  John Melford cleared his throat. “Tell me, young man,” he said to Robert, “are you enjoying your studies?”

  “Not at all, sir,” he said so earnestly, everyone chuckled except poor Mr. Dullingham, who fidgeted uncomfortably with his collar.

  “Perhaps you deserve a short vacation from your studies,” Saron said.

  Robert’s eyes lit up as brightly as fireworks. “Indeed, I do! May I start today?”

  Anabelle pinned her brother with a glare. “No. We’ll discuss it later.”

  She was determined to put a stop to the conversation before Saron convinced her brother that a trip to London was just the thing. Oh, she understood his purpose, his diabolical intent to enlist the boy in his scheme to place her on the marriage mart. Neither she nor Robert would leave Harleigh unless she decided it was safe to do so.

  “But Anabelle,” her brother whined.

  “Not now.” She quickly turned to Saron’s solicitor and engaged him in conversation. “Do you have children, Sir John?”

  “I have eight little devils of my own,” he said with obvious affection and proceeded to amuse the party with tales of his children’s misadventures. Harry Romney related a few about his own misspent youth.

  Saron, of course, remained as tightly closed as ever.

  Nevertheless, the afternoon passed quickly and more pleasantly than Anabelle had expected, particularly after the tense start. She turned to her brother as the party disbanded, their guests obviously tired from their travels and desiring to rest before the evening meal. “I’m proud of you, Robert. You conducted yourself admirably.”

  She ruffled his hair before dismissing him into Mr. Dullingham’s care. Though Robert was not enamored of his studies, Anabelle knew that he was fond of his tutor and had learned far more from him than from any other she had engaged.

  She hoped Saron understood that her brother’s dislike of studying had everything to do with his boisterous nature and little to do with the tutor. Despite some missteps, Mr. Dullingham had done an excellent job and brought him along quite nicely.

  “Mr. Dullingham, I’d like a word with you,” Saron said less than a heartbeat later. “Join me in the study as soon as you’ve settled your young charge.”

  “No!” Anab
elle shot to her feet. “That is, I’d like a word with you first. A matter of some urgency, Your Grace.”

  Saron regarded her curiously, then shrugged. “Very well. Our discussion will wait until this evening, Mr. Dullingham.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” He bowed and made his exit.

  Anabelle breathed a sigh of relief. She now had time to convince Saron to retain the gentle tutor, an impossibility if he’d already discharged him, which he had no moral right to do, though as her brother’s guardian, he had the legal right. Still, she didn’t want him meddling in family affairs.

  She excused herself a moment to settle Penelope and the Romneys in their respective quarters, then ran downstairs before Saron changed his mind about their little talk. In addition to concern for Dullingham, she’d also been troubled by his earlier comment about giving her brother time off from his studies. A vacation, indeed! The little imp had an abundance of energy and imagination that would be applied to mischief if he were left with too much time on his hands.

  She paused at the study door and was about to knock, then saw it was slightly ajar.

  “Quite right, Your Grace. The sooner we are acquainted, the sooner the boy and I can be on our way,” she overheard Sir John say just as she entered. “Oh, Lady Anabelle. I did not hear you come in.”

  Anabelle’s heart shot into her throat. She closed the door and slowly marched to Saron’s side, clenching her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “What’s this about a journey?”

  Saron looked not at all pleased. “We’ll discuss it later, Anabelle.”

  “I wish to speak of it now. Sir John mentioned a boy. My brother? And with whom is he leaving? Just when were you planning to tell me this?”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “At the proper time.”

  “The proper time? And when would that be? After you’d stolen Robert away from me?”

  “Calm yourself, Anabelle. Sit down.”

  His arrogance only heightened her anger. “How dare you keep your plans from me. He’s my only brother, all I have left in the world. Must you take everything from me?”