by Julia Donner
Panic clutched her chest. “Allison, does he know about Vernam?”
“No, and as promised, I haven’t told him, and I’m not entirely sure if Loverton knows. He would only say that he has the impression that you had suffered a critical disappointment. When Cameron insisted on an explanation, Loverton made it clear that even if he knew, he would never break a confidence. He said that you and he had been friends before becoming engaged to one another. If he would not break a vow to a friend, he would most emphatically not divulge a privacy regarding a spouse.”
“Oh,” was all she could muster.
Her shoulders sagged as she blinked away the sting of tears. The impulse for a long, wearying weep overwhelmed constant anxiety. Allison’s comforting palm covered the hand she’d unconsciously fisted into the coverlet. The connection usually eased whatever hurt plagued, but the consolation was blocked due to dithering as to when and where to confess the ugly truths of her past behavior. Preparations for the upcoming wedding increased the pressure. How could she long for something so dearly and yet not look forward to the day?
“Agnes, dear, I believe that he will be a remarkable husband. Even if he were not, you would have the support of a trustworthy friend. There is much comfort to find in that. He talked about the most exciting things he hopes to give you in future.”
“Did he?”
“There is a great deal yet to do in America to settle his affairs. He believes that you wouldn’t wish to accompany him to tedious meetings with business associates and thought you might like to visit an artist colony in Pennsylvania. That is where most of his holdings lie. And he has many friends in politics. Some have interesting wives, educated and talented women. He hopes that you will take your paints and accept commissions. Oh, Aggie, he is overflowing with ideas sure to please you.”
Agnes leaned sideways to prop her cheek on Allison’s shoulder. “I don’t deserve him.”
“Nonsense. If you asked Cameron, he’d say that no one is good enough. Now stick your courage to its sticking place, and no sniveling and no more worrying. You do too much of that. Perhaps a walk with the dogs would do you good. You say that always sets you to rights.”
Agnes jumped up from the bed. “The dogs! I let them out this morning and forgot to fetch them back. May I have a shawl?”
Allison riffled through a jumble on the bed. “Here. Take this. It’s merino. There’s a bit of a chill in the air. Perhaps we’ll have sunshine later today.”
Agnes kissed Allison’s cheek before rushing out. She trudged the paths through the copse and searched meadows, whistling and calling. Concern moved directly into chastisement. This was what comes when one is too self-involved.
A stable lad came running as she came out of the copse behind the barn. “Miss Agnes!”
“Yes, Jopp, what is the matter, and have you seen my brother’s dogs?”
“That’s just it. Miss Smith said to fetch you. That foreigner has’em.”
“Anyone new to the neighborhood is considered a foreigner. You’ll have to be more precise.”
“That up-nosed one what comes to visit Mrs. Bradford.”
Relief that the dogs had been found was replaced by apprehension. “Do you mean Lord Vernam?”
“That’s the one. Regular toff, he is. Has no right putting’em in that cage what’s in the market square.”
Jopp had more to say but Agnes was already moving. She ran into the stable and to her mare’s stall. After a welcoming whicker, her luminous brown eyes watched, calm and curious. Agnes lifted a bridle from the peg next to the stall door. She warmed the bit in her palm as she opened the gate.
Jopp called, “Miss Agnes, don’t you want me to tack her up for you?”
“No time for that.”
She trotted the mare out to the mounting block and swiftly got onto her back, not caring that her ankles and the lower half of her stockings were exposed. She grabbed a handful of mane in one hand, reins in the other, and sent the horse up the road at a lope, then cut across country toward the village.
Chapter 20
Heart pounding, Agnes galloped into the village. She reined in at the market square when she noticed a clump of people by the posting inn. Cleo’s distressed barking overwhelmed the shouts of the villagers.
Agnes handed the reins to the nearest person and squeezed through the crowd. Shock stopped the breath in her throat. She stood, frozen in disbelief, unable to move from the horror of what was happening inside the circle of shouting villagers.
Trapped inside a cage, Cleo shrieked and growled. Antony trembled on the cobblestones outside its wooden slats. Vernam alternately kicked and whipped Antony about the head with a riding crop to force him toward the cage door. The poor animal cowered, yelping in pain and confusion. He’d never known mistreatment and didn’t understand that the raised voices weren’t directed at him but calling out in his defense. Vernam issued orders through clenched teeth, while kicking the deerhound’s ribs to force him closer to the cage. Antony whined and cried, too terrorized to move. Cursing, Vernam continued to thrash the dog until he dropped the crop to withdraw a short sword. He stabbed the point into Antony’s hip.
A thin, near silent scream was all Agnes could manage. Then something within snapped. Fury spewed up and out of her soul, blinding and vibrant. Maternal passion snatched up the riding crop. She slashed Vernam across the face before she knew what she was doing, swept along by emotions too fierce to contain.
Vernam clapped a hand over the bright stripe on his cheek. “You bitch! How dare you!”
When Vernam raised a hand to strike her, Antony leaped up from his cower, teeth bared. He’d take a beating but wouldn’t allow her to be harmed. Hackles up, he lunged and sank his fangs into Vernam’s thigh. Built for bringing down a fully-grown deer, a man’s leg presented no problem. Vernam screamed as dog’s jaws clamped into muscle and bone, pinning his prey to the ground as he’d been bred to do. Watchers stood in stunned silence, unwilling or unable to interfere.
Anger she’d suppressed for so long needed more satisfaction. She allowed the torture of Anthony’s grinding jaws for a moment longer than necessary then stepped forward to clench a handful of Antony’s ruff.
“Release! There’s a good boy.”
The dog instantly obeyed and went with her when she stepped back and away from Vernam’s reach. He sat up and wrapped both hands around the ragged wound above his knee. Blood oozed through his fingers. His leg jerked in spasms. She viewed his agony with an alien, wild joy that made her want to rejoice in victory, while deeply unsettled by its unnaturalness to her nature.
Ashen-faced, Vernam shouted, “I’ll see your vicious dogs destroyed!”
Calmer now and in cold control, Agnes spoke to the gaping onlookers. “Someone find Lord Vernam’s manservant. And release Cleo from that cage.”
Freed, the deerhound sprang out and directly at Vernam. He flung up an arm when she stood over him, fangs bared and snapping at his face. Agnes had never seen Cleo behave so aggressively, but then she hadn’t known that she herself possessed such violence. Drool dripped from Cleo’s jaws, her eyes thinned to slits. Agnes understood. The dog didn’t see Vernam as human, only an abuser of her mate, a despicable creature that threatened loved ones, a thing meant for killing.
Agnes spoke softly but with firmness. “Cleo, come. To me, girl. There’s a good girl.”
Stiff-legged and issuing threatening noises, Cleo edged around Vernam. She gave Antony’s muzzle some rapid licks of comfort before taking her place on Agnes’s other side. She sat, but made grumbling sounds as she watched Vernam.
Agnes sank her fingers into the dogs’ ruffs, clutching firmly to their necks. She pressed their heads against her legs to hold them still, to not act on their quivering, primal need to savage their torturer.
Her upper lip twitched with revulsion as she looked down on the man who had deceived and ruined her. “You are a coward, Lord Vernam.”
“Shut up, slut.” Villagers gasped at the insul
t. They shuffled back as Vernam threatened, “When my valet gets here, I’m having him load my pistols and shoot your hounds!”
“I think not, my lord. They are not my dogs. They belong to my brother. Your disgraceful behavior will be reported to him. How he disposes of you is not my concern, and we do not suffer your sort here.”
“Damned if I care.” With a grunt of pain, he clamped his fingers tighter around the seeping wound. “If this doesn’t kill me, I’m going to very much enjoy the shooting of those dogs.”
Agnes stiffened when behind her a deep voice rumbled, “I very much doubt that.”
Both dogs glanced up when Max came to stand near her, but they quickly returned their attention to Vernam. It took firm focus to make sure her voice sounded normal. She didn’t want to set off Max or the dogs. Cleo kept staring at the wound she’d made and drooling, which was worrying.
Her tone sounded steady enough when she greeted him. “Good afternoon, Loverton. I take it someone went up to the Grange?”
He didn’t touch her but somehow she knew he struggled to suppress a public display of comfort. “The blacksmith sent his son on his pony. I was about to drive over to the Rushton’s. Fortunate, that. Seeing what’s going on here I’m sorry that I didn’t bring my pistols. That lout on the ground wants putting down.”
“See here, Loverton,” Vernam sputtered, “that woman’s dogs attacked me.”
“I believe the hounds belong to Sir Cameron, and Miss Bradford is not to be addressed in that vulgar manner. Make that mistake again and I might decide to let Cleo take a bite out of your other leg.”
Vernam opened his mouth to retort but shut it when Max picked up the discarded short sword. “Or I could have the matter settled immediately by sawing off your ugly head.”
Cleo gave her vote with a yip, and Max grinned down at her. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and Vernam took notice. He began to scoot backward to distance himself from the dogs, leaving behind a smear of blood on the stones. The villagers had retreated from the unpleasant scene to hover on the square’s periphery.
When Vernam’s manservant came running from the inn, Max tossed the sword far from Vernam’s reach and touched Agnes’s arm. “Allow me to escort you back to Oakland.”
With a whispered command for them to stay, she released the dogs, pulled free the crop she’d tucked under an arm, and dropped it on the cobblestones. The dab of blood on it was upsetting, shaming now that she’d calmed. She’d struck him so violently that his lip bled. Weariness pulled at her body and spirit now that the distressing incident had ended. She nodded a reply to Max’s escort but stooped to investigate the puncture wound in Antony’s hip.
“He’s injured. Should he ride in the carriage?”
The soothing strength of his presence brushed her back when Max peered over her shoulder. “He’s a sturdy fellow. It takes more than that to stop a hound his size. He’ll lick it well when they get back to their kennel.”
She stood. “They’re never kenneled. They sleep in the kitchen or by Cameron’s bed. For my brother’s sake, not Vernam’s, I hope he’s gone before Cameron hears of this. He’ll be very displeased when this incident is reported to him. And it will be.”
Concern for Antony and unwillingness to imagine what her brother might do to Vernam kept her preoccupied as she was assisted into the curricle. As she settled on the seat, she remembered her horse.
“Loverton, I rode here in a rush. My horse, I have no idea where they’ve put her.”
He said to the groom holding the horse’s heads, “Find Miss Bradford’s mount and ride it to Oakland Hall. I’ll wait for you there.”
The light carriage sank a bit on one side when Loverton climbed up. He didn’t look that heavy, but he had a solidity to his character and body that made him always appear heavier, larger in every way. The fact that he drove without gloves distracted her for a moment. And no hat, which meant he’d left the Grange in a rush.
As they moved out at a trot, she kept an eye out for the hounds loping along beside the wheels where they could keep her in sight.
“Loverton, I’m worried about Cleo.”
“Why? I didn’t see any injury to her.”
“It’s the way she acted. It’s one thing to behave in the manner an animal is trained or bred, but she’s never had a mean way about her. What if this incident somehow scars her, changes her?”
He didn’t answer right away and she allowed him to think. There was much to think about. There was her own alarming behavior to take into account. She’d forgotten that she’d been a belligerent child wont to outbursts until trained to hide her violence of feeling beneath strict manners and ladylike demeanor. Today, she’d had to restrain herself from doing more than slashing Vernam’s face. She’d wanted to smash him, slice him to death. The ferocity of her protective response had startled her to the core, as if another being lived inside her and was finally provoked beyond its bearing to react.
Loverton’s answer to her question about Cleo chased off new worries. “I believe Cleo is not as mild-natured as you think. You are beloved by her. That is quite evident, and I suspect that she’s never experienced any sort of mistreatment within your household.”
“No. Never.”
“Keep in mind that you’ve never given her reason to behave as she did today, but that shouldn’t mean she has no inclination to act protectively. Such as yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Agnes, is that even though you are kindness itself, you will react as most females would when a loved one is put in harm’s way. The most dangerous instinctive reaction in nature is maternal protectiveness.”
“Oh! I never thought of that. Why should you think I possess this trait?”
His glance glowed with fond amusement. “Most women do. But the evidence was the bright red streak on Vernam’s face from your riding crop.”
“It wasn’t mine. I never use one.”
“Which confirms my earlier point. You are kind-hearted, Agnes, but like them, you will protect your own.” When she bit her lip, he added, “Be content, Agnes Look at them. Cameron’s dogs are happy. Running free and heading home. They will forget this incident and so should you.”
But those who witnessed the incident would not.
She forced stiff lips into a smile and kept her attention on the dogs. Hopefully, Max hadn’t heard Vernam’s insults, which she would keep to herself, but they rang in her memory. Most of the village had heard her branded with that vile epithet. A word like slut was never used without reason. The connotation would be dissected and embellished.
“I made a spectacle of myself, riding into town without a saddle, striking a man.”
Max shifted the reins into one hand so he could use his free one to capture hers. She had them clasped on her knees. His all-encompassing warmth soothed the chill that had numbed her fingers. Her embarrassing response to Vernam’s brutality was so unlike anything she’d ever done before. It brought to the surface a long-denied rage. Perhaps she wasn’t as weak-hearted as she’d always supposed.
“Do not worry so, Agnes. The dogs are fine and you are unhurt. Let us set our minds to finding a way to stop Cameron from hacking that idiot into fish bait. Not the best preamble to our wedding day.”
Chapter 21
The morning of the ceremony arrived too quickly, the days preceding it filled with the flurry of preparations. As planned, the ritual was kept brief and sparsely attended. The wedding breakfast to follow at the Grange was an affair of much grander scale and scope. The rooms at Oakland were not of sufficient size to hold the neighborhood and county.
Max had visited Oakland once after the incident in the market square. He asked to speak privately with Cameron. She suspected it was to finalize the marriage contract and settlement and ask that any dealings with Vernam wait until after the nuptials.
Village gossip traveled to Oakland with deliveries, bringing the news that Vernam had left the inn, still in possession of his leg, whi
ch the innkeeper said had become badly inflamed. The embellishments she feared had Vernam without both legs and soon to die. She underwent a few minutes of guilt when she realized that she would feel no remorse if Cleo’s bite did prove fatal.
Then the memory flashed of the horror of poor Antony being gouged. All feelings of sympathy faded as quickly as they had risen. As Max had assured her, Antony scarcely noticed the puncture wound but did whine in his sleep and never strayed far from Cleo.
After speaking with Cameron, Max visited with her mother and renewed his acquaintance with Allison. He ended the call by asking if Agnes would care to go for a walk. No one commented on the fact that the morning mist had become a drizzle.
Cheeks burning with a blush, Agnes donned a cloak with a hood. Max secured his hat to his head and they started off toward the path to the copse. As soon as the trees blocked them from sight of the house, he had her in his arms. This time, she shoved the hat from his head and sank her fingers in his hair, gasping when his eager hands searched inside her cloak.
The barks of coursing hounds interrupted them, ending a heated interlude swiftly moving to an anticipation of the vows. Dog noses separated them, nudging their legs, yipping frenzied greetings. Cameron had sent his hounds to intrude before things got out of hand. Max grinned and scratched their heads and ears. When they returned to the house, neither her mother, Cameron or Allison made comment of their flushed faces, but their exchange of meaningful gazes agreed that they’d suspected what was going on in the woods.
She had no memory of being dressed. The wedding ceremony was a blur, the sunlight a shock when they emerged from the church. Rain that had started before dawn ended during the vows.
Due to the weather, a closed carriage had been festooned with ribbons and flowers. Max flung coins out the windows as they slowly made their way to the Grange. Cheering and waving people lined the road, slogging through the mud to the wedding breakfast feast. She hadn’t been to the Grange in the last week and wondered if the staff had taken up the carpets in the foyer. Marble was easier to clean than the lovely carpets made in far off Egypt. She mentioned it to Max and he laughed, took off his hat, and kissed her until the interior of the carriage became a dizzying whirl.