Wicked

by Cheryl Holt

  He wouldn’t listen to Stanley denigrating his parents, wouldn’t allow Stanley to paint a bad picture of them. James would form his own opinion and come to his own conclusions, without Stanley insisting his parents were immoral and horrid.

  “What was my mother’s name?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Susan Talbot. She was an actress of some renown and viewed herself as being quite remarkable, but she was simply a money-grubbing doxy.”

  “Have you a portrait of her?”

  Stanley snorted with disgust. “As if I’d have permitted a portrait of that mercenary trollop in my home.”

  “And my father? How about him?”

  “We burned them when he died.”

  “I see.”

  James could just imagine how those dark days would have unfolded. Stanley had been defied by his only child, and he would never have forgiven his son, would never have set aside his pointless fury. These many years later, he was still raging.

  “What about me?” James said. “Was I really in an orphanage?”

  “Yes. I had warned Charles that we wouldn’t clear up any mess he made with that woman, and you were the biggest mess of all.”

  “Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

  “You have to know how it was back then, James.”

  “Oh, I know how it was, Stanley. You were proud and angry, and you took it out on a little boy.” James shoved himself to his feet. He went over to the liquor decanter and drank straight from the bottle. “How did I end up here?”

  “Once Edwina realized she was dying, she had a change of heart.”

  “But not you.”

  “No, but I’m glad that she forced me into it. I was surprised by you! You’re better than both your parents put together.”

  “High praise indeed.”

  They endured another fraught silence. James was so overwhelmed that he felt numb and besieged, weighted down by a burden that seemed too heavy to bear.

  He could have railed at Stanley, but Stanley looked small and defeated. Why berate him?

  “I can’t let you go to India,” Stanley said. “It’s why I cancelled the bank draft. If you were so far away, I might not ever see you again”

  “You seriously expect me to believe you were worried about that?”

  “I want you with me. I want you home. You’ve learned the truth, and now, we can have the relationship we never had before. I don’t care about your tainted bloodlines. Summerfield can be yours—I’ll change my will and make you my heir. I should have done it years ago, but pride was stopping me.”

  “Pride! You blame this on your blasted pride?”

  “I’ll meet with my attorney tomorrow. I’ll rewrite the terms so it will all be yours eventually. Just promise me you’ll stay.”

  “After what I witnessed upstairs with Rose, you assume I’d remain?”

  “We’ve quarreled often in the past, and we’ve always moved beyond it.”

  “I don’t think we will this time, Stanley. I don’t think so.”

  “I need you with me. Please. Don’t leave me here—old and alone.”

  “You’ve pushed everyone away your entire life. Maybe you deserve to be alone. Maybe this is the exact fate you’ve engineered for yourself.”

  “But I was wrong! I shouldn’t have carried on like this. Things can be better now. They can be different.”

  James stared and stared, struggling to muster some affection for the pompous, obstinate ass, but he couldn’t. He attempted to discern some resemblance in their features, some proof that they were kin and that Stanley wasn’t simply manipulating James with another deceit. Yet there was no resemblance and never had been.

  “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Stanley. Perhaps it will happen someday in the future, but it won’t be today.”

  He started out, and Stanley moaned and dropped to his knees.

  “James, I’m not well!”

  “Goodbye. We’ll talk later—if I decide I can stomach it.”

  James whirled away, and when Stanley called to him again, James kept going.

  * * * *

  Rose emerged from her dressing room, having put her clothes back on. She’d gotten ready for bed, but had been too incensed to climb under the blankets.

  She’d been pacing for hours, trying to figure out what to do.

  When Mr. Oswald had caught up with her in the village, he’d threatened her with legal action over her stealing his stupid money. He’d frightened her, so she’d reluctantly agreed to return to Summerfield with him.

  She’d been in her room, taking a nap, and she’d awakened to discover that the deranged ass had locked her in! She’d knocked and fumed and bellowed, but no one had come to her aid.

  Stanley Oswald was insane. The servants abetting him in her confinement were insane. Every single person she’d met since her arrival was insane.

  She’d retrieved the poker from the fireplace, and it was on the floor by the door. The moment a key was inserted in the lock, she would grab the poker and brace for battle. She hoped it would be Mr. Oswald, for she’d be delighted to beat him to a pulp. She was that angry.

  She marched to the dressing room again and lifted the tapestry that concealed the secret door. She pressed her ear to the wood, listening, listening. A bit earlier, she was certain she’d heard someone fall down the stairs, as if there’d been a scuffle in the stairwell, but all was silent.

  No matter what, she had to escape the madhouse before she was infected by whatever illness had sickened everyone else to the point of lunacy.

  Suddenly, booted strides pounded down the hall outside her suite. She raced to the sitting room and picked up the poker.

  The knob was spun, then rattled. Then a fist hammered on the wood, and a male voice—that definitely seemed to belong to James Talbot—called to her.

  “Rose? It’s James. Let me in.”

  For the briefest second, she seriously considered ignoring him, but better sense quickly prevailed.

  “I can’t open it!” she fiercely replied. “He’s locked me in!”

  “Who? Stanley?”

  “Yes, and he won’t let me out.”

  “Oh, that is the very limit!” There was some huffing and puffing, then he said, “I’ll have to kick it in. Stand back.”

  She stepped away, watching as the doorknob flew off, the latch smashed to pieces. James stormed through the wreckage, proceeding directly toward her as if he would sweep her into his arms and all would be instantly forgiven and forgotten. But he couldn’t miss her visible fury, the iron poker in her hand.

  He stumbled to a halt.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, just fit to be tied. The man is deranged.”

  “I agree.”

  “And I’ve had enough. Of him. Of you. Of Veronica Oswald. Of Vicar Oswald. Of Lucas Drake. Of Miss Peabody and her meddling in my life and my future. I’m leaving this asylum and don’t you dare try to stop me.”

  She tossed the poker at his feet, and it landed with a clang, as she spun away and went into the bedchamber to retrieve her portmanteau. She stomped back to the sitting room and was headed for the hall when she noticed he was stomping along with her.

  She whipped around.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I’m coming with you. We’re leaving together.”

  “We are not leaving together. In case you weren’t paying attention, I just named the people who have tormented me and abused my good nature. You were at the top of the list.”

  She kept on, when from behind her, he absurdly said, “Would you wait a minute? I need to ask you something.”

  She whipped around again. “What is it?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  The question was so absurd that it rammed into her like a hard blow. She had to rest her palm on the wall to steady herself.

  He wanted to marry her? He had the gall to propose?

  Rose was the thickest woman ever. She’d gleefully
participated as he’d flirted, seduced, then deflowered her. Though he’d vociferously claimed to have reneged on his devil’s bargain with Mr. Oswald, he’d deftly performed his role and had been remunerated for his efforts.

  The moment he’d accomplished Mr. Oswald’s goal, he’d left for London. He hadn’t even told her goodbye.

  Rose was naïve and foolish, was lonely and alone. She’d dawdled in her bed with him, had listened while he’d spewed lie after lie about how they’d live happily ever after, and the whole time he’d been catching his breath from his dalliance with Veronica a few hours earlier.

  Had any man in all of history ever behaved more egregiously? Had any man ever been more cruel and callous? Had any man ever broken a heart as painfully and completely as he’d broken hers?

  She shook her head, banged her palm on her ear as if it was plugged. “I must be hearing things. I could have sworn you just asked me to marry you.”

  “I did ask, and I’m asking again. Will you have me?”

  “Not if you were the last man on Earth.”

  She raced down the stairs and stormed out into the cold, dark night.

  * * * *

  Lucas was exiting the stables when he saw Rose approaching.

  She looked mad as a hornet. Shoulders hunched, portmanteau in hand, she hadn’t noticed him yet.

  He and James had arrived so late that Lucas had taken care of the horses so they wouldn’t have to awaken any of the stable boys. James had been too impatient to speak with Rose, so he hadn’t stayed to help. He’d hurried inside, supposedly to smooth over their difficulties, but evidently, he’d failed miserably.

  “Rose,” Lucas murmured, not wanting to scare her. Then he remembered himself and said, “Miss Ralston, it’s Lucas Drake.”

  He emerged from the shadows as she halted and glared.

  “Hello, Mr. Drake.”

  “Call me Lucas.”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Where are you going? Are you leaving? That can’t be your plan.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, I feel I must counsel against it.”

  “Well, I feel you have no right to lecture me about anything.”

  He wouldn’t bother to argue with an irate female, and he dipped his head. “I stand corrected.”

  “I begged your assistance once before, but you refused to give it. My condition is now more dire, so I ask again: Might I prevail on you?”

  “Ah…”

  “When last I saw you, you convinced me to remain at Summerfield, where you insisted I would be safe. I took your ridiculous advice, and since then, I have been locked in and held captive by Mr. Oswald.”

  “Locked in!” Lucas couldn’t believe it. Stanley had always possessed the potential to be a brute, but even for him, the conduct seemed a tad excessive.

  “Yes, Mr. Drake, locked in like a slave, and I am fleeing this madhouse. I will not tarry another second. Will you escort me so I am not forced to ride off in the dark by myself?”

  “Have you spoken to James? He went in to talk to you.”

  “I have spoken to Mr. Talbot, and he has spoken to me. Now then, will you escort me or not?”

  “Let’s slow down a bit. James wanted to—”

  “Do not mention Mr. Talbot to me!”

  “But…but…”

  “Oh, never mind. If there is a human being on this planet more worthless than you, I can’t imagine who it might be.”

  She pushed by him and huffed into the stable, as he dithered and debated.

  Should he aid her as she was demanding? Should he fetch James and let James deal with her? Should he ignore her and go inside to bed? That probably wasn’t a very honorable choice.

  Behind him, she lit a lantern, and he turned to find her struggling with a saddle, lugging it to one of the stalls.

  “You’re leaving now, Miss Ralston?”

  “Yes, Mr. Drake. I’m leaving now.”

  “To go where?”

  “Back to Miss Peabody’s school where I lived all my life, where I had friends who cared about me, where I was safe until I came to this asylum of lunatics.”

  Lucas had always been just as worthless as she’d accused him of being, but he felt awful about his previous refusal to assist her. If she trotted off and suffered a mishap, he’d never forgive himself.

  He was useless, but he liked to think he had occasional tendencies toward chivalry. It wouldn’t kill him to be kind.

  He wrenched the saddle away from her and dropped it on the ground.

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Don’t break a sweat over it.”

  “I’ll rouse the stable hands and have them saddle our horses. You wait here.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to run to the house to tell James what’s happening.”

  “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. If you’re not back by then, I’m departing without you.”

  “I’ll hurry. I promise.”

  “Do you travel with a pistol, Mr. Drake?” she asked as he started out.

  “Not usually, but I can bring one if you like. Why?”

  “Bring it then, but don’t bring James Talbot. Don’t let him come out here, for if I ever see him again, I will shoot him right between the eyes.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “There’s a horse tied out front.”

  “Could it be the new owner?”

  “I hope not.”

  Evangeline smiled over at Rose. They were in no hurry for the proprietor to appear, for then there would be no reason to linger at their beloved school.

  It was a cool, blustery day. The wind whipped at their cloaks and bonnets, angry clouds flying overhead, hinting that rain might blow in later. They’d walked to the village and were slowly strolling back, reminiscing over their years as students, then as teachers.

  It had been a good life, a satisfying life.

  Amelia had left already, having sallied forth to meet her father-in-law, which seemed odd to Rose. Why wasn’t she on her way to meet her fiancé? Rose crossed her fingers that it wouldn’t be another catastrophe orchestrated by Miss Peabody.

  Evangeline, the gardener, the cook, and a housemaid were the only ones still on the property. The servants were anxiously waiting to be offered jobs in the new household, while Evangeline was simply delaying the inevitable, staying in what she viewed as her childhood home for as long as she could manage it.

  Rose was staying, too—for as long as she could.

  She’d been back for a month, her useless, degenerate cousin escorting her as he’d promised he would. Their trip had been uneventful, and Lucas had actually proved to be a humorous and interesting traveling companion. Rose had spent the entire journey reminding herself not to like him.

  Once they’d arrived, she’d shooed him away, not wanting to introduce him to Evangeline, not wanting to have any further contact with him for it forced her to remember Summerfield and James Talbot.

  Rose was determined to move on from that horrid episode.

  She wasn’t prone to regret or remorse, didn’t like to rue her decisions or lament her choices. By behaving so foolishly with Mr. Talbot, she understood the debacle was her own fault. She knew how to conduct herself in an honorable and moral way, but she wouldn’t chastise herself over her lapses in judgment. It was a waste of energy.

  She had to focus on the future and start over. Since her return, she’d been writing letters of introduction, visiting neighbors to inquire about job possibilities, to beg for references, for help.

  So far, no leads had magically presented themselves, but she wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t.

  A particularly strong gust of wind hammered them, and Rose glanced up at the clouds. They were drifting by so fast that they made her dizzy. Ever since she’d departed Summerfield, she’d been having the strangest episodes of vertigo, and she stumbled slightly and grabbed Evangeline’s arm.

  “Are you all right?” Evangeline asked. />
  “Just a tad dizzy.”

  “That’s the third time this week you’ve told me that.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t realized it was happening so often.”

  “You’re not ill, are you?”

  “No, merely tired, but with all I’ve been through, who wouldn’t be exhausted?”

  “Too true.” They reached the front door, and as they stepped inside, Evangeline asked, “Do you suppose Miss Peabody knew that Mr. Oswald was insane?”

  “He hid it well,” Rose said. “She might not have.”

  “I would hate to think she knew he was mad and arranged the match anyway.”

  “I can only hope she didn’t. I always assumed she liked me. I couldn’t bear to admit that she’d hurt me deliberately.”

  She and Evangeline had been debating the issue, and Rose’s dreadful experience had certainly rattled Evangeline. She was packing her bags, preparing to leave to join the young vicar Miss Peabody had picked for her.

  Evangeline had a vivacious and flamboyant personality that Miss Peabody had constantly sought to tamp down. She’d felt a staid and quiet life as a country vicar’s wife would be just the ticket for reining in Evangeline’s cheerful tendencies.

  Rose reveled in Evangeline’s high spirits, and the notion of Evangeline tethered to a fussy, grumpy vicar was disturbing. Rose prayed he wasn’t fussy or grumpy, that he was handsome and fun and kind, but after Rose’s awful ordeal, they were both unnerved.

  The vestibule was empty, the servants off to parts unknown. Rose peeked into the main parlor, but there was no one in it. Whoever’s horse was tethered in the drive, the individual wasn’t waiting for Rose and Evangeline.

  They were removing their bonnets when Evangeline saw the mail laid out on the table. She riffled through it, grinning with excitement to find a letter from Amelia.

  Rose watched as she flicked open the seal and scanned the words. But her grin swiftly turned to a frown.

  “What is it?” Rose asked. “Don’t tell me she’s already having difficulty.”

  “She’s at Sidwell Manor.”

  Rose gasped. “Sidwell?”

  “Isn’t that your uncle’s estate?”

  “Yes. Who is her fiancé?”

  “Lucas Drake. That’s your cousin, isn’t it?”