Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

  “I collect you are speaking of Mr. William Hood, Miss Arabella.”

  She put aside her tea and went to the pier table to begin arranging the flowers, her mouth pinched. “If he hadn’t chosen to leave, we would have celebrated our first wedding anniversary today.”

  I sighed. Of course that was preying on her mind. It had been much the same last year, to the point Aunt Cecily had taken her to Bath in hopes the waters might cure her melancholy.

  She had become more cheerful when a number of young men came to their lodging in Laura Place to pay morning calls, and a couple had even written me for permission to call upon me, but Aunt Cecily had written as well, begging me not to force Arabella into a loveless marriage, which was what they would prove to be.

  Those gentlemen soon would have realized there was another in their marriage bed, and in spite of my irritation with Arabella, I could not condemn her to such.

  “Yes, well….” Mr. Stephenson cleared his throat. “First of all, I must assure you the Hood brothers were three of the most honorable, steadfast young men it was ever my privilege to know.”

  “‘Were’? ‘Was’? George?” Aunt Cecily’s voice was contained, but the way she twisted her fingers belied that. “Have you news of my boys?”

  “I do, and it’s some very difficult news.”

  “No!” Arabella turned pale, and she ran to Aunt Cecily, brushing against the vase in her haste. For a moment it wobbled, but then it steadied. The flowers, however, scattered onto the floor.

  Arabella ignored them completely. She fell to her knees beside Aunt Cecily and clutched her hand so tightly Aunt Cecily flinched from the pain.

  I crossed to the pier table, stooped to gather up the gaily-colored blooms, which seemed inappropriate now, given Mr. Stephenson’s bleak demeanor, and stuffed them into the vase.

  “I’m afraid yes. You see, I knew how badly you missed the Hoods’ presence, and how unfair Sir Eustace’s accusation against them was, and so I managed to track them from Fayerweather to the shipping office of the Prime Star Line to the ship on which they booked passage. I also learned the Peregrine Falcon’s disembarkation point was Hoboken. I asked an old colleague to send out inquiries regarding their whereabouts.” He seated himself on the settee beside Aunt Cecily and freed her hand from the death grip Arabella had on it. “Renny—”

  “Henry Renishaw, George? Oh, he knows my boys?”

  “That’s right, you knew Renny from the year of your come out. I’d forgot. We were such hey-go-mad scamps, weren’t we, Cecily?” His voice quavered for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Using my authority, Renny hired a private investigator, who eventually traced them to the Texas Territory.”

  “Texas? But what could draw them there?”

  “To find their fortunes, perhaps.”

  “I would have given them whatever they wanted!”

  Mr. Stephenson patted her hand absently. He knew as well as I that with the best will in the world, she had nothing to give them.

  “Unrest was brewing between the Texians and the Mexican government; rich lands could be had for the taking. They fell in with a band of American adventurers—”

  “Why? They are English, for God’s sake!” The depth of Aunt Cecily’s distress was obvious.

  “There were others… Scots, Irish, Germans. There was word there would be a battle.”

  And of course Robert would be determined to be in the thick of it, taking along his brothers, not that John or William would object.

  “There was a siege, and for thirteen days they withstood constant bombardment by the Mexicans, but then….”

  Tears slowly began trickling down Aunt Cecily’s cheeks.

  Mr. Stephenson drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently dried her cheeks. “You must understand, they were heroes.” Once again he cleared his throat. “There is no simple way to say this. I’m so sorry, Cecily. Robin is dead. John is dead.”

  “They are gone!” Aunt Cecily’s voice was broken. “My dear, gallant boys all are gone!” She raised a hand to her mouth, biting her knuckle to stifle her sobs.

  So Robert did indeed get his final, desperate battle.

  And of a certainty John had been at his side. He would have had it no other way. I felt a burning at the back of my eyes, and I removed my spectacles to press my thumb and forefinger into my eyes. How foolish was I, to mourn a man who’d never cared a jot for me? “And William?” Arabella demanded shrilly.

  Mr. Stephenson shook his head. “All I can tell you is that William was sent with a message to the American commander.” He frowned. “I can’t recall the man’s name.”

  “Oh, what matter that?” Arabella covered her eyes and wept bitterly. “William! Oh, William!”

  “What happened, George?” Aunt Cecily had herself under control once more. Living with Sir Eustace all those years would have much to do with that, I imagined.

  “When William’s exhortations were dismissed as a distraught young man’s concern for his brothers, he cursed them, traded a jewel he had for a fresh horse, and vanished in the direction of San Antonio. He never reached the old Spanish mission.”

  “What… what did you say he traded for the horse?” Oddly, Aunt Cecily’s voice had risen an octave.

  “This jewel.” From his pocket, he removed a ruby the size of a lady’s fist.

  My breath caught in my throat. “The Flame!”

  “How did you…?” Aunt Cecily looked as if she beheld some phantasmagorical creature.

  “Bother that wretched stone!” Arabella cried. “What of William?”

  “He is missing and presumed dead, I fear, although he wasn’t listed amongst the dead at the Alamo. That’s what the natives call the benighted place.” Mr. Stephenson shook his head, looking far older than I could ever remember. “I still cannot believe the Hoods would do something so dastardly—”

  “No!” Aunt Cecily’s refusal to accept what was before her eyes wasn’t surprising. The Hoods, and Robert especially, had always been her favorites.

  “I’m afraid this does not lie,” he said.

  “That stone….” Her face had gone stark white. “That stone is paste!”

  “What!”

  I seized the jewel and held it toward the light. “But the flame is there!”

  “The man who crafted it was a master.” She shrugged.

  “When did you learn of this, Aunt Cecily? How did you learn of this?” I demanded. Which Laytham had sold our talisman? I tried to think, but they’d all had such foul luck….

  “It was my doing. Twelve years ago, I… I found someone who was willing to not only pay £10,000 for it, but who was able to have a duplicate created.”

  “So in the end, Robert stole a worthless piece of red glass. Unless….” As little as I thought of him, he’d never struck me as disloyal, and I knew he loved Aunt Cecily a great deal. “Could he have known the Flame was counterfeit?”

  “No. Your uncle, no one knew the difference.”

  “A very fine craftsman indeed. But why did you do it, Aunt?” A thought occurred to me. “The farms! Neither Mr. Kirkby nor I could fathom how they could be in such good condition. You did it for our people!” I stared at her in awe, for while I would have done as much, I would have perforce waited until Sir Eustace had gone to his just reward.

  She flushed and looked away.

  “They’re all dead because of you!” Arabella had been sobbing silently, but now her accusation rang through the room, her eyes glittering wildly.

  “What!”

  “You took the Flame of Diabul; I know you did!” Her voice rose in mounting hysteria. “And probably slipped it into William’s pocket while he was unaware! You always hated the brothers!”

  “No, I….” I had loved John as much as he would allow.

  “It’s true! It’s true! Anyone with an eye could see that!”

  “Oh, my dear child—”

  “Miss Arabella, you’re overwrought!”

  “Why wasn�
��t it you?” She ignored Aunt Cecily and Mr. Stephenson, and rushed toward me, her sudden move startling us all. “Why are you alive while William is dead?”

  Her nails slashed across my face, scoring my cheek.

  I could feel the blood well up sluggishly and begin to drip down my cheek to my chin.

  Her fingers curled like talons, she raised her hand to claw at me again.

  “You will not, Arabella!” I seized her wrists in a grip I knew had to be painful, but couldn’t find it in me to care, and she gave a gasp.

  “No, Uncle Eustace!”

  “I. Am. Not. My—”

  “Unhand her, sirrah!” Mr. Stephenson took a step toward me.

  I turned my head to glare at him; his hands were clenched in fists, the desire to strike me etched in every line of his body, and I braced myself. Instead, he came to an abrupt halt.

  There was a dead weight on my hands; Arabella had fallen in a faint. “Bloody hell!” I released her in disgust, tempted to pour the vase of water over the wretched chit’s head.

  “Sir, I’ll thank you to remember there are ladies present!”

  Aunt Cecily rushed to Arabella’s side, sinking to her knees and taking the girl into her arms. “Oh, my dear child,” she murmured brokenly. “Did you not hear a word I said? It was I! I had to do something once I’d learned Sir Eustace had used up all my boys’ inheritance!”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You… you used the Laytham talisman for….” Outsiders? I dropped down into a chair and pulled out a handkerchief to mop at the blood on my face. I’d lost opportunities to mingle with my peers, had turned Sir Eustace’s ire to me in order to spare her, and she’d….

  “You must understand, Ashton. You would have Fayerweather and Laytham Hall. But my boys—they would have nothing!”

  “But the Flame was not yours to give away or sell!”

  “I’m afraid he’s correct in that, m’dear.” It seemed as if Mr. Stephenson might well choke on those words.

  Aunt Cecily disregarded us both. She continued to rock Arabella. “I couldn’t permit my friend’s sons to be cast into penury because I was married to an improvident monster! Sir Eustace used up my dowry before we’d returned from our bride trip. Ashton, your inheritance hardly lasted beyond your first year here. What my boys brought… it wasn’t much, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. I had no choice! Surely you must see that!” The expression on my face must have told her otherwise. “I… er… I did use some of the money toward the farms.”

  Because she’d felt guilty?

  “And I did offer to give you… but you refused….”

  “I thought it was your dower, and how could I take that from you?” Oh, dear God, £10,000! “Is there anything left?”

  “Perhaps £1000.” She saw my expression and blanched and shrank away. “Eustace, please!”

  “I am not—” I knew if I was compared to Sir Eustace one more time, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. “Pray excuse me.” Fury in my every step, I stalked out of the house.

  A phaeton was whisking its way up the curving drive, but I was in no fit mood to see neighbors. Colling would have to turn away anyone paying morning calls. That was what butlers were for—denying the family when the household was in disarray.

  I made my way toward the stable, where I’d always found solace.

  How could they mistake me for Sir Eustace? Granted, there was a passing physical resemblance—all Laythams had the slashing black eyebrows no matter the color of their hair, and of course, there was the mark we bore on our forearms—but I was no more like Sir Eustace than I was like… like Robert Hood!

  In the stable yard, Dickon was leading a saddled mount in a tight circle, trying to keep the big mare from dancing out of her skin.

  The horse wasn’t one of ours. She was tossing her head in irritation. Her ears were laid back, and she tested the groom’s control of her, trying to get the bit between her teeth so she could bolt free.

  The very thing! A mount who wasn’t accustomed to me!

  It wasn’t well done of me, but I tore the reins from Dickon’s hands and flung myself into the saddle.

  I should put on a pair of riding boots, but that would entail returning to the manor house, and I wasn’t about to do that.

  I barely had time to get my feet into the stirrups before the restive animal gathered herself and leaped forward in a tremendous bound that saw her at an extended gallop that covered the cobblestoned stable yard within two strides.

  “Sir Ashton!”

  “Wait!”

  I heard the cries, but I ignored them. The mare was one of the fastest I’d ever ridden, and wind whipped tears from my eyes.

  And then I realized my anger had simply masked my grief; I was weeping—for the loss of someone I had once thought I’d loved, but more for the love I now had to accept that my family would never have for me.

  Why had I ever thought anyone could love me?

  Geo… oh, he was fond enough of me, but fondness wasn’t love. And I was being a maudlin fool. I brushed impatiently at the tears with my forearm.

  I could hear the clatter of hoofs behind, but they meant nothing to me. I let the mare have her head, and our pursuers were left to watch our heels.

  White-paneled fences sprang up before us. Stiles and hedges, all a blur, did their best to slow us down. With hands and voice and heels I urged her on, not caring we might be facing some nasty spills.

  The mare began to tire, and that was the only thing that saved the small figure that darted out from the hedge. I yanked on the reins, throwing off my mount’s stride. She reared back, overbalancing herself, and we both went down.

  “Sir Ash! Oh, Sir Ash! Pray don’t be dead!”

  “Young Burt?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m… I’m so sorry!”

  I blinked, trying to clear my vision, then cried out as the mare struggled to regain her footing and her weight rolled onto my leg.

  “Sir Ash. Sir Ash!” The boy stroked fingers over my face, and tears fell to my cheek.

  “’M all… all right, Burt.” Beneath my ear I could feel the vibrations of approaching horses, but by the time they arrived, I was unconscious.

  MY BODY throbbed and my head ached like the very devil. Well, this was what I got for letting my temper run away with me. I opened my eyes. There was meager sunlight coming through the curtains, but it was enough to stab into my eyeballs, oversetting my delicate stomach.

  With a moan I rolled toward the edge of the bed. Long fingers caught my head, and a basin was placed beneath it before I could cast up my accounts all over the bare feet that were beside my bed.

  “Deuce take it!” I muttered. I’d always loathed vomiting, and I kept my eyes closed in hopes my stomach would settle.

  “As you say, Ashton.”

  “Geo? Thought you were in the Americas.”

  “I’m home.” His voice was shaky; there was also amusement in it as he poured out the contents of the basin—no doubt into the chamber pot, but I had no desire to open my eyes to see if that was correct.

  And then, in spite of myself, I had to open my eyes. It had been almost five months since I’d seen him last.

  “Geo?” All I saw of my lover was a blur.

  “Yes?” He slid my spectacles over my nose, and I blinked to bring him into focus.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m home,” he repeated. Gentle hands pressed me back against the pillows and tenderly brushed the hair off my forehead.

  “When did you…?” The sight of him distracted me from what I was going to say, so rarely had I seen him in shirtsleeves.

  I observed him more closely. The lines at the corners of his eyes seemed to have deepened. His hair stood in uneven spikes, he was unshaven, and dark bruises ringed his eyes. “Good lord, Geo! You look dreadful!”

  “Not half as dreadful as you do, lamb!” His mouth curved in a rueful grin. “What have they done to you?” He fingered the scratches that Arabella
had gouged into my cheek.

  “They… the Hoods are gone. John. Robert. No one knows where William is, so he might as well be dead. Needless to say, Arabella feels the fault is mine.”

  “And that was why you took a strange mount and nearly rode yourself into the ground?”

  “The mare!” How could I have forgotten her? “How is she? She took a spill….” I frowned, trying to remember the events that had led up to it.

  “The mare is none the worse for wear, according to Ruston.”

  “I don’t know what possessed me to take her. She’s truly taken no hurt? She came down rather hard.”

  “Didn’t I say as much? Ruston also says her owner was so impressed by the mare’s performance that he’s going to have her trained for polo rather than put her up for sale to some unsuspecting fool, as he’d intended.”

  “Polo?”

  “It’s a game played with cane sticks and balls made from bamboo roots.”

  “Bamboo roots?”

  “It’s quite a popular game in India.”

  The fall must have rattled my wits. “Why would Colonel Whittemore care to train his mare for that? Is he leaving the country?” But no, there was the matter of the chestnut he’d purchased in hopes of winning Miss Petre.

  Geo looked confused.

  “What I mean to say is I thought Colonel Whittemore was her owner.”

  “No, it’s the Colonel’s nephew. I understand he’s a military man himself.”

  “Ned? Is he back in Surrey?”

  Geo frowned. “How do you know Ned Moore?”

  “We… er… met last year.”

  “Oh?” Geo’s voice was colder than a mid-winter night. Was he jealous? He’d never… but his tone….

  I hugged that possibility to myself. It might prove to be utter nonsense, but for a time I could warm myself with the hope. “Apparently Moore wanted Ruston to evaluate the animal before his regiment sailed for India.”

  “He’s leaving England? How does the Colonel feel about that?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “The boy has been feeling wretched.”