Silent Revenge

by Laura Landon

  Melinda nodded. “It must be so. The earl is bankrupt, and James says that without a miracle, he’ll lose everything. The creditors will have control of all Northcote properties by the end of the month.”

  Jessica looked again at the empty doorway. She let her gaze focus on the darkness beyond the patio door and the shadowed figure that had walked through its portals. “I pity the unfortunate female forced to become the sacrifice. It doesn’t seem the most pleasant of futures,” Jessica said.

  Although she couldn’t explain it, Jessica sensed a connection to this stranger. Like two threads woven through a piece of fabric. Each thread separate, yet both necessary in order to make the pattern complete.

  Perhaps it was because society thought of both of them as oddities.

  Jessica looked back to the top of the stairway. Lady Drummond stood at the entrance in all her regal splendor, wearing the dress Jessica had waited all evening to see.

  Her heart pounded in her breast, excitement rushing through her veins. The gown was stunning, beautiful, absolutely divine. The most magnificent creation she had ever designed. She couldn’t wait for society’s reaction to it.

  She looked around the room, anticipating the smiles of admiration, the exclamations of wonder. But not one person looked toward the entrance. All in attendance stared at the terrace doorway, at the spot where the stranger had been swallowed by the darkness.

  Her heart fell. No one gave Lady Drummond or her gown a second glance. No one even noticed she was there.

  Simon Warland tried to relax the muscles that bunched across his shoulders. Bloody hell. Coming back had been harder than he’d anticipated. He took a healthy swallow of Stratmore’s excellent liquor and stared out into the darkness. The sound of footsteps approaching caused his muscles to knot. He didn’t relax until the stranger spoke.

  “Without a doubt, Simon, when you make an entrance, it’s one society will talk about for weeks.”

  His longtime friend, James Wallace, the Duke of Collingsworth, crossed the lantern-lit patio and stopped beside him.

  “How could I think of missing tonight’s ball? It’s always one of the most coveted events of the year.” Simon fought the hollow pain in his gut and swirled the amber liquid in the crystal snifter. Perhaps downing the whole amount would help. He lifted the glass, but James’s words brought the glass to a halt halfway to his mouth.

  “You just missed her. Rosalind left not even ten minutes ago.”

  Simon clenched his fingers around the fragile crystal and squeezed. “How unfortunate. And I so looked forward to seeing my stepmother.” Releasing a controlled sigh, he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a swallow.

  “I’ll admit I was surprised to see you, Simon, but not nearly as shocked as the Duchess of Stratmore. I’m afraid she’s still crumpled on the floor at her husband’s feet.”

  Simon tried to smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, James. I wasn’t sure until the last moment whether or not I’d be able to attend. An invitation was not exactly waiting for me when I arrived.”

  “Do I dare ask how you acquired one?” His Grace asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the carved railing.

  “I have my solicitor to thank for tonight’s pleasure. He knows a man who knows a man who…” Simon laughed. “You get the idea.” He lifted his head and breathed deeply. “I hope it didn’t tax his bank account overmuch. I’m afraid with my limited funds I will never be able to pay him back.”

  Simon lifted the glass and took another long swallow. It lit a fire all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He welcomed the feeling.

  “Whatever the cost, it was well worth the fits and vapors you caused. I haven’t seen such a commotion for years. Too bad Rosalind wasn’t here to see it.”

  “Yes. Too bad.” Simon took another long swallow. “I had hoped to shock them all at once.”

  Collingsworth threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Well, if that was your goal, you accomplished it well enough. Did you see Baron Woolsley? To hold himself up, the pompous old fool groped a statue of the goddess Venus in a most improper place. The poor red-faced baroness couldn’t release his grip. And I thought they were going to have to carry the Earl of Carlysle out on a board. Luckily, the countess is twice his size and she managed to keep him on his feet.”

  Simon was tempted to smile, but that wasn’t what he remembered. He remembered the shocked looks of abhorrence and embarrassment. The disbelief, and tainted looks of repulsion.

  “They’re convinced I killed him. I saw it on their faces.” Simon’s words hung in the air like a heavy yoke across his shoulders.

  “You know London’s elite,” his friend said, his voice flat, his tone factual. “The more impossible the story, the more embellishment it receives.” Collingsworth paused. “Why did you come back, Simon?”

  Simon took a deep breath and digested the question he knew was utmost on James’s mind. The same question he’d asked himself a thousand times over.

  Simon shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps just to see Ravenscroft one more time. To ride through the gate and climb the steps and walk through the rooms. To relive the memories and let the earth sift through my fingers before it’s lost to me forever. To say good-bye.”

  “There is nothing you can do?”

  Simon’s chest tightened painfully, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “The creditors sent me notice just before I left India. The estate is bankrupt.”

  “Perhaps if you had returned sooner?”

  Simon hesitated. “That was not possible.” He lifted the glass to his mouth and let the potent liquor warm the ice water that ran through his veins. “Do you think my father killed himself?”

  James shook his head. “I don’t know. His body was found at the bottom of the cliff the morning after you left. It’s possible he’d had too much to drink and lost his balance.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  The duke shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ll never know. There were no witnesses, except for your stepmother. She claims not to have seen anything.”

  For a long time, Simon said nothing. He only breathed in the cool night air and let the warm liquor seep to every part of his body. “It’s funny,” Simon finally said, abandoning the empty snifter to drag his hands through his hair. “There was nothing I could do to stop him from wasting my inheritance while he was alive and nothing I can do to save it now that he’s dead.”

  He closed his eyes and let the air fill his chest. Maybe it hadn’t been wise to come back. To see the home that had been in the Northcote family since the reign of King Edward VI, knowing it would be lost to him forever.

  “Let me help. I could—”

  “Don’t, James.”

  “But the money is yours. Your father was unbelievably drunk that night, making astronomical wagers. I thought it best if he lost the money to me. I was going to give it back when he sobered. But they found his body that next morning at the bottom of the cliff.”

  Simon stared out into the darkness.

  “Simon. The money is yours.”

  “I’ll not take blood money. If he did kill himself, it was because he’d sobered enough to realize what he’d done.”

  “Then let me help you. A loan. I’m as rich as Croesus. I would never even miss it.”

  “No, James. I’m not desperate enough to accept charity, even from you.”

  “It isn’t charity. Consider it a loan.”

  “Enough!”

  There was a slight pause, and then James turned and stood with firm determination. “There is another way.”

  “No.” Simon held out his hand.

  “Hear me out, and consider what I’m saying before you reject my suggestion.” He paused. “You could take a wife.”

  “A wife.” Simon’s laugh was bitter. “I will never offer my name to another woman again. Even if I did, what woman would accept the offer of a man the ton thinks murdered his own father?”
/>   “Surely—”

  Simon set his jaw. “No.”

  “But what of an heir?”

  Simon lifted the corners of his lips into a sardonic smile. “An heir to what? By the end of the month I will no longer have anything to leave a son. And even if there were someone who wanted my name, what father would consider Simon Warland, the disgraced, bankrupt Earl of Nothing, a suitable husband for his daughter?”

  “Not everyone would turn you down, Simon. There are many eligible—”

  “No!” Simon turned away from his friend and clasped his hands behind his back. “I would rather watch my home be placed on the auction block than take a wife to save it.”

  “That may well happen.”

  “Let it! You will see me beg on the streets, James, before I will prostrate myself before a woman ever again.”

  An uncomfortable silence breached the darkness before Simon finally turned back to his friend. “Forgive me, James. I suffered from a momentary bout of self-pity. I promise it will not happen again.”

  The Duke of Collingsworth leaned back against the railing. “Have you been to Ravenscroft?”

  “No. I intend to go tomorrow. It’s been three long years, so I’m not sure what I’ll find. Perhaps there’s something left that hasn’t been pawned or sold off to pay their debts.”

  “Your father…” James cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Your father is buried in the family graveyard at Ravenscroft.”

  Simon swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Did anyone come to bid him farewell? Any of his old friends?”

  James paused. “A few. And a handful of servants staying there to close the house.”

  “And you.”

  “Yes, me.”

  “Thank you.” Simon looked at his empty glass, wishing there were more. Thankful there was not. He’d spent enough days in a blind stupor both before and after his father’s death. He would need a clear head to get through the rest of the night. Tomorrow he could drink to forget.

  “Come,” James said, turning toward the ballroom. “I’ll introduce you to my wife. We’ll have another drink, then take our leave to let the wagging tongues of society devour the rest of your shattered reputation.”

  “Did you marry that pretty young innocent you were considering when…” Simon paused. “Before?”

  “Yes,” James finished, smoothing the uncomfortable gap. “Melinda Everston. Now Melinda Wallace, Duchess of Collingsworth.”

  “And are you happy, James?”

  “Yes, Simon. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Collingsworth clapped Simon on the shoulder and squeezed tight. “I wish you could meet someone half as wonderful as my Mel. You would see.”

  “Then lead me to this love of your life, friend, while I still have the stomach to face the curious onlookers.”

  “I must warn you. Melinda will probably have you tamed before I finish your introduction. Your entrance left even the strong trembling at the knees, but she will do her utmost to soften you and prove to all that you are harmless.”

  “I was that intimidating?”

  “The Duchess of Stratmore’s palm leaves trembled.” Simon smiled. “Good. I do not care in the least what society thinks of me. Fear is as good an emotion as any.”

  Chapter 2

  Jessica woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep. She couldn’t forget how Lady Drummond had looked standing at the top of the stairs of the Stratmore ballroom, ready to make her entrance. All eyes should have been fixed on her. Each and every one of society’s elite, frozen in statuesque stillness as they stared in open adoration at the magnificent gown Jessica had created.

  But they weren’t.

  Instead, their attention was still focused on the Earl of Northcote’s surprise appearance. Jessica, however, couldn’t forget the expression on the Earl of Northcote’s face. An expression that mirrored a tortured soul. Was she the only one who saw it?

  The tall, imposing stranger loomed before them with anger blazing from eyes that had bored into her with unrelenting intensity. Lady Drummond in her beautiful gown was nothing more than an intruding illusion.

  Damn him!

  She threw the covers back and bounded from the bed. With a moan of frustration, she stomped to the washbasin in the corner of the room, then scrubbed her skin with rose-scented bathwater. When the cool water hit her warm flesh, she came alert with a startling revelation.

  She would create Lady Drummond another fabulous design, equally as stunning. Only this time when she wore it, he would not be there to steal everyone’s admiration.

  Without looking, Jessica grabbed a dress from the clothes chest and slipped it over her head. It didn’t matter which gown she wore, because there were only four day dresses from which to choose, besides the two better dresses she kept for the balls she chose to attend.

  She wore only plain, simple gowns. She wanted to draw no attention to herself, nor did she want her clothes to reveal that she was the mysterious designer everyone clamored to have create a gown for them.

  She pulled her long chestnut hair back into the same severe chignon she wore whether day or evening, then smoothed the starched lace collar to perfection. She took her first step toward the door but stopped when Martha, her childhood nurse and personal maid, walked into the room.

  “Oh, I’m glad you’re up, mistress. Mr. Cambden is downstairs in the morning room to see you.”

  “Ira is here?” Jessica frowned. “Oh dear. I hope he hasn’t come for the design I promised to create for his wife’s birthday. It isn’t done yet. I haven’t found the right shade of satin edging. Madame Lamont promised to send over more samples. Did Ira say he’d come for the design?”

  “He didn’t say, miss.”

  Jessica checked her appearance one last time, then turned toward the door. “Would you have Mrs. Goodson ready a tray of hot tea and some of Mrs. Graves’s biscuits?”

  “Right away, miss.”

  Jessica raced from the room, skipping down the stairs as if she were still an eighteen-year-old. It was always like this when Ira came to visit. He’d been her father’s longtime friend and solicitor, and since her father’s death ten years ago, he was as near to any family as she had left. Aside from Melinda and James, Ira was one of the few people she’d allowed to get close enough to her to become a friend—to know her secret.

  “Good morning, Ira.” Jessica swept into the morning room with a bright smile on her face.

  Ira turned from the window to face her. Behind him, a heavy drizzle fell from an ominous-looking sky, coloring the room in a dreary gray. Jessica fought the urge to rush over to him and wrap her arms around his portly body as she often did. Something about his expression stopped her.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, her smile wavering. “I don’t have Esther’s design done yet. Is that why you’ve come?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t come for Esther’s design.”

  Deep worry lines etched the dear man’s forehead, and the fear she saw in his eyes caused her heart to stir in her breast. For the first time, Jessica noticed the death grip with which he was clutching a brown leather folder to his chest.

  With a sigh, he placed the folder on the table and opened his arms. Jessica stepped into his warm embrace. “Something is wrong, isn’t it, Ira?” she said when she’d stepped away from him.

  Ira kept hold of her hand and wrapped his soft, cushiony fingers around hers. He brought her hand to his chest and cradled it there. “Yes, something is wrong. Perhaps you should sit down, Jessica.”

  A feeling of wariness stole its way through her body, and she sat in the chair while she waited for him to give a reason for the troubled look on his face.

  “What is it, Ira? Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”

  The friend who’d been like a father to her since she was fifteen looked down on her and shook his head. Another apprehensive shudder stole through her.

  “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Jessica,” Ira said
, dabbing at the perspiration on his forehead, “but…” He paused. “Oh, Jessica. I have just learned that your stepbrother, Baron Tanhill, isn’t dead.”

  Jessica’s breath caught and she clutched the arms of the chair to steady herself. She couldn’t breathe. This could not be happening. “What?”

  “Lord Tanhill isn’t dead. He is on his way back to England.”

  Jessica felt the blood rush from her head. “No. That can’t be.”

  “It is, Jessica. He’s alive. A friend of mine just returned from India and saw him there. I made sure it was true before I came to you.”

  Jessica shook her head. “He’s dead. We were told he was. He drowned when his ship went down ten years ago.”

  “That is what he wanted everyone to believe, but it wasn’t true.”

  Jessica rose to her feet and stood on trembling legs. Her skin turned cold and clammy while her jagged breathing came out harsh and labored. “I don’t believe it. Why would he want everyone to think he had died? What purpose would it serve?”

  “Lord Tanhill owed some very dangerous people an incredible amount of money. His death created a convenient escape from his debts.”

  “Then why would he risk coming back now?”

  The look on Ira’s face became even darker. “He’s coming back for your inheritance.”

  Jessica laughed. “My inheritance? I have no inheritance.”

  “Please, Jessica, sit down.” Ira led her to the sofa, then picked up the folder from the table and sat down in a chair in front of her. She leaned forward so she would not miss one word he spoke.

  “I didn’t think anyone knew besides myself,” he said, hugging the folder. “I was certain I could take the secret with me to my grave. But it’s too late. Somehow he found out.”

  “What did he find out, Ira?”

  He sighed and took out an official-looking document. “This is your father’s will. It states that your town house and everything in it is to go to your stepmother, the late Baroness Tanhill, and consequently to her son, Lord Tanhill, as her surviving heir.”