Efficiently, Anne placed the tray on the table underneath the windows. Ian’s aunt bustled to it, her full moiré silk skirts rustling in the silence. “Now, my dears, this summer the black currants were particularly sweet. I have known no better thing myself.” She spoke easily as she filled a plate with a single scone, jam, and butter. “The village children made quite the penny picking them, though I do think they ate a vast deal more than they brought to our cook, Mrs. Anderson.”
Eva fidgeted on the seat, sensing some sort of coup. And yet she couldn’t run. She was hypnotized by the dowager countess.
And Falstaff’s remarkably heavy head kept her feet pinned to the floor. Was this, too, some magic of Aunt Elizabeth’s?
Ian seemed fixed, too, for he continued to stand quietly, his body far less tense than Eva could recall in the last days.
Lady Elizabeth poured out a cup of steaming tea. “And I do think a bit of black currant is the only way to taste a bit of summer in our drab winter.”
As soon as the teacup was made, she picked up the saucer and the plate with its single prepared scone, then slowly made her way to Eva. “Now, you must taste it, for I and all the children who labored so happily this summer will be greatly offended if you don’t.”
Eva ground her teeth as her fingers dug into the chair arms. The woman was a witch. A white witch. But a witch no less, with her calming presence and enchanting words. Eva had no hunger in her. She still didn’t, not even after the days crossing the country in Ian’s coach, away from laudanum. But she knew without a shade of doubt that her hand was going to lift and take the offering.
The traitorous appendage did.
It was ridiculous. She could have sworn Ian gasped. Eva ignored him and Elizabeth smiled easily as if it weren’t some triumph.
Slowly, certain she would hate the pastry, Eva took it in her free hand. She grasped the scone covered in butter and jam. The sweet scent of sugar and currant wafted toward her and her mouth filled with saliva. The rich scent was divine. It was the first time she could recall a desire for food in God only knew how long.
Half with fear and half with anticipation, she bit into the scone. The flavor of summer sun and warm, loving kitchens burst in her mouth, and her eyes closed with pleasure.
“There, now,” Elizabeth urged. “Is that not nice?”
Eva nodded slowly, chewing pointedly, savoring every morsel. Even as she swallowed, she knew she didn’t want another bite. Falstaff peered up at her, snuffling the air, no doubt hopeful some errant crumb might tumble toward him. An irrepressible smile pulled at her lips. She was tempted to toss him the rest of the scone, and only just managed to prevent herself from doing something so scandalous. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth slipped the plate away, took the remaining piece of scone, and as if she had read Eva’s very thoughts, dropped the morsel.
Falstaff gobbled it up quickly, delighted sounds rumbling from his throat.
Eva couldn’t help the laughter that spilled past her lips and barely noticed Elizabeth hand her a steaming teacup and saucer.
Elizabeth folded her hands together. “Now, this is the best Earl Grey, the perfect remedy for such a dreary day.”
Eva could have sworn Elizabeth had said dreary life, but she knew better.
“Good, now, dear. All shall be right with the world.”
As Eva leaned toward the fragrant steam, grinning down at the masticating hound, she could almost believe her.
Chapter 18
“This is pure foolishness, Ian.”
Ian stared down into the flames of the fire as if he might find the elusive answer to this mess somewhere in the crackling tongues. Ian’s hands itched. He could have sworn Hamilton’s blood slowly trickled down his palms. His friend’s shocked eyes flashed before him. Shocked and betrayed. But why hadn’t Hamilton listened? Why hadn’t he returned home to London when he’d still had the chance? If only Hamilton had ceased being such a monster, Ian’s hands wouldn’t be stained with blood.
And Eva would never have faced the madhouse.
He picked up the poker and stabbed it fiercely into the coals, jabbing the recollection from his mind. Embers burst up into the air and wafted up to the chimney. “It is necessary, what I have done.”
His aunt stood half the long gallery away, her presence as strong as it had ever been. It mattered not that he could not see her clearly. He could envision her in the cool blue room, dimmed by the fading light of the day, her back straight, her hands folded, and her chin slightly lifted up.
She was strong. A paragon. Without her, who would have run Blythely? Who would have overseen the running of the estate while he had chased Hamilton halfway across the world in a ridiculous attempt to change his friend?
And now he would have to run Blythely. He’d been raised for it, yet the prospect daunted him.
“Necessary?” A sharp sound of derision filled the room, right up to the pristine white plasterwork upon the high ceiling. “Oh, Ian.”
The rustle of her skirts fluttered as she lowered herself into a chair. “Face me, if you please.”
Slowly, he placed the poker back on its brass hook. Even though she had been as a second mother to him, he refused to feel as if he were a boy brought to task. He already felt the slight fear that he had made a mistake somewhere along the road. That he would not be able to fulfill his aunt’s expectations, let alone Eva’s. Anger at his own feelings brimmed in his heart, turning him toward Elizabeth. “Did you know?”
She folded her slender hands in her lap. “Know what exactly? That Eva was in need of doctors?” She did not waver with guilt under his accusatory glare. “My dear, Thomas made it very clear that she was unwell. And in truth—”
“You did know, then?” Damnation, how could she have let this happen? How could any of them?
“We all knew,” she said sharply. Even as her voice cut through the dusky light, her face softened with grief. “It couldn’t be hidden. For God’s sake the boy died in the village just off the Carin estate.”
“And did you all think her mad?” he challenged.
For the first time he could recall, his aunt’s shoulders bent slightly. “None of us knew what to think. I was not with her at the time. I should have gone to her.” She remained silent for a moment, then continued: “To hold her hand, but I did not. And I am sorry for it. But you must understand, Thomas made it very clear that the physicians gave strict orders for her rest.”
“I see.” Damn, but it was a tangle. He needed to understand how all this had come to take place, but no one seemed to have the answers he sought. “And what did you say, then, to her imprisonment halfway across England in a house not meant for dogs? Did you know what to think then?”
That shook the grief out of her eyes, replacing it with a razor’s edge. “I beg your pardon?”
“Locked up.” He drew the words out slowly, emphasizing the harsh consonants. As he took decisive steps toward his aunt, the lush carpet muffled his advance.
His debt toward her was great, but he wouldn’t make this easy for his beloved aunt, oblivious in her own protected world. Not when Eva had suffered so much. “Chained, drugged, and, I daresay, beaten regularly.” He plowed a hand through his already wild hair, on the verge of saying “broken,” but he could not bring himself to utter the word aloud.
Disbelief pulled at her features. “No, she was sent to a sanitarium on the Continent.” Aunt Elizabeth’s delicate hands unfolded and she gestured into the air, searching for words. “Austria, I believe.”
Ian snorted. “Who told you this? Thomas?”
“Yes. So you see, you must be mistaken.” Her own belief in her declaration blazed upon her regal face. “Can you trust what Eva says? She’s been through so—”
Feeling half mad himself, he cut the little distance between them in fast strides. Without thinking, he took his aunt’s shoulders in his hands and lifted her to her feet, compelled to make Eva’s position understood. “I saw it,” he spat out, his breat
h shaking her curled hair. “Do you understand that? I saw that hell they call an asylum. The place Thomas condemned her to.”
Her gaze searched over his face. “W-what?”
Ian released her arms but left only a few inches of space between them. “When I arrived at that excuse for Satan’s playground and demanded to see her, the matron offered me a private audience with her.” His own torment at Eva’s abuse poured out of him, breaking his voice. “They arranged a bed. As if I might come and visit and take her. As if coming and fucking the wards were perfectly normal.”
Aunt Elizabeth shook her head with confusion; then her visage twisted with revulsion. “I cannot hear—”
“You will, madam. You will hear every damn word of it.” He let out a low groan, the grief in him eating at his heart. “When I saw her, she was so drugged she didn’t even recognize me.”
“Ian . . .” Elizabeth swallowed, her eyes closing and her lashes pressing to her paper white cheeks. A tear slipped down, and then another.
That tear forced him to realize how harsh he was being with his aunt. So he softened his voice. “Open your eyes. You’ve been blind long enough. We all have.”
Instead of sobbing or shrieking, as another woman might have done, his aunt swiftly wiped the tear away and lifted her eyes determinedly back to his. “Well, that would explain it.”
Ian straightened. Had his aunt listened to anything he had said? “Explain what exactly?”
She sighed, then let out a sad sound. “The laudanum, Ian.”
He glanced to the clear window. It was his turn to avoid her probing eyes. The night had descended and it was quite a surprise that the servants hadn’t come to light the candles. The wild terrain had turned to black shadows. Rather like his life. But there was no way he was about to pronounce Eva’s problem to his aunt. They had to keep it secret. For if the world knew of her addiction they might indeed consider her a candidate for an asylum. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t prevaricate,” she said quietly. “You’ve been brutally honest so far. Let us not revert to polite discourse. She is suffering withdrawal from laudanum.”
Instantly, he jerked his gaze from the window back to his aunt. He knew the signs of addiction. He had seen it often enough among the soldiers, many of whom who had had their flesh ripped apart as no man should. “How are you aware of this?”
His aunt shrugged, then turned slightly away from him, the light of the fire bathing her face in a yellow glow. “I simply am.”
“As you said, Aunt. No polite discourse.”
Her shoulders twitched slightly, the thoughts in her head causing her some measure of distress. She squared those shoulders, facing her demons. “Your mother’s death was more than I could bear. Though she was my sister only by marriage and not by blood, she’d become as my other self.” Her hands stroked down her skirt before they came up to press at her temples. “I was desperately unhappy after she and my brother-in-law passed. Almost inconsolable. The viscount, your uncle, was often certain I might do myself a mischief, I was so stricken. The doctors came with their miracle cure, their method to soothe my nerves. They gave me laudanum. It became my dearest friend. And my prison. And it is the reason you were Lord Carin’s ward and not your uncle’s. They would not have you grow up in a house with a woman ravaged by opiates. You had suffered so much already.”
Her voice grew flat. “I almost disappeared from this world, a doll who moved about but focused on nothing, lost in a sea of forgetting. When your uncle died, I had to fight with every last strength I had not to return to that cursed bottle. But I did not. I wished to be able to aid you in familiarizing yourself with the duties of your title, but you disappeared.”
Guilt, an emotion he was all too familiar with, raised its ugly head. He had left Elizabeth alone to face his responsibilities while he’d thrown himself into the lives of the Carins. That would have to change. Now he would lift the burden from her. He sneaked a glance at the woman who’d always seemed stronger than one of the pillars of St. Paul’s.
He had always wondered why Lord Carin had taken him in, but he had assumed it was some legal matter a child could not understand, and so he’d never pursued it. He hesitated, wishing to go to his aunt, to take her in his arms and tell her he understood. That it mattered not. But he knew she wasn’t finished with her tale. So he waited.
She glanced back at him, the usual mischief that brightened her eyes vanished to a harsh reality. “So, you see, I know the effects. I, too, have wasted away to nothing, possessed by need. Breaking myself of that need was the hardest thing I have ever done . . . And there are still days, even after having resisted in my mourning, when I think to myself how easy it would be to take my medicine and never feel sorrow or grief again.”
Hope suddenly took root within him. He would lift the weight from his aunt’s shoulders, and she? She would have knowledge of how to recover from Eva’s state in ways that he could only imagine. He could barely speak, he felt such relief. “You can help her?”
The nod was curt, almost pained. “There’s no laudanum in the medicine cupboards. I don’t tempt myself and so she won’t be tempted.” She probed him with a demanding glance. “Does Thomas know what you’ve done?”
They stood in awkward silence, surrounded by the history of their family hanging upon the walls.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thoughtful line, her glare probing. “Ian?”
“I did not inform him of my intent,” Ian admitted. “When I met with him, he was unwilling to discuss releasing Eva into my care. He acted most strangely. Delighted to have the title, of course, though he tried to hide it.”
“He always was a strange boy, never recovering from his mother’s death, envious of Hamilton’s position as the eldest son. And envious of you, too, I think, your uncle’s only heir.”
Too true. Thomas had watched Ian, Eva, and Hamilton’s play with a sort of incessant envy . . . yet he’d been unwilling to involve himself in their games, as if afraid any sort of friendship would endanger the little peace he had.
At present, Thomas was not the immediate worry. The woman at his employ, as well as her puppets, commanded that dubious honor. “It is worse,” he confessed.
“How?” Her hands splayed over her gown, the diamond ring winking in the firelight. “How could it possibly be worse than your taking her without Thomas’s approval?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, wishing that he could as easily rub away the long sense of fatigue that had been weighing his muscles since his return to England.
“Perhaps a glass of brandy is in order?” his aunt suggested, her gaze watchful and assessing.
Though the world was crashing around him, his aunt’s pragmatism was welcome. “Yes.”
Wordlessly, Ian crossed to the table laden with Waterford bottles of amber liquid. He’d brought danger to his aunt and the castle. But he didn’t regret it. Not when Eva’s survival was in the balance.
This was his home and, as such, it was now Eva’s.
He poured out two liberal glasses. Palming the snifters, he remarked, “This will not begin to mitigate the displeasure I feel.”
“But it cannot hurt,” she parried, a faint smile urging him as she took the offered glass. “I remember when Eva was a little girl . . .” Her voice trailed off, as did the smile. “So beautiful. So full of life. In fact, I would have sworn she could have outdone either of you boys.”
The fury dimmed inside him ever so slightly and he placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “I abducted her.”
His aunt’s eyes widened. She tensed beneath his touch, then lifted her glass and downed half the contents. She echoed him: “Abducted?”
“I pretended to be Thomas. I paid the woman who runs that prison. And I took her.” He let his hand trail down her shoulder; then, too tired to keep upright, Ian collapsed into one of the delicate French sofas embroidered in gold and blue that his mother had so cherished. Dropping his head back, he looked up at the pale ceiling p
ainted with the goddesses Aphrodite and Artemis. “Given the events of the last few days, I’m certain she has deduced that I was not Thomas.”
Aunt Elizabeth crossed to the sofa and lowered herself down beside him. The hem of her full skirts brushed his boots. “Then we must assume Thomas will know soon?”
“Without doubt word has been dispatched.” He lifted the crystal glass to his lips and took a drink of the full-bodied liquor. Swallowing carefully, he savored the feel of it sliding down his throat. “And Eva’s friend, a girl named Mary, killed one of the keepers the night we left. Eva could be implicated if Thomas or Mrs. Palmer wished it, but I doubt they will. Not when the chance of their own nefarious behavior could be forced to public scrutiny under a murder trial.”
“Good God.” She gasped. She stared blankly until her voice shuddered out, “And Eva lived at the asylum for over a year?”
Ian merely raised a brow in acknowledgment.
Elizabeth’s fingers whitened as her hand tightened around her glass. “How could Thomas do such a thing?”
“He claimed she had gone mad, that she tried to drown herself in the lake.”
“At the time, I didn’t wish to accept Thomas’s assertion. But given what had happened to her, I believed that it would be possible.” Aunt Elizabeth reached up and clasped Ian’s hand, seizing it like an avenging angel. And then, with the fire of said seraphim, she said, “She’s lost such a great deal.”
Ian didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. At last he asked softly, “What exactly did Thomas say?”
“About the sanitarium?”
Ian nodded.
“Everyone who is anyone believes her to be taking the waters in some private spa.” She leaned forward, her lips pursing with disgust. “Though secretly, Ian, I think all society believes her to be mad. Thomas has whispered it about that she is not entirely well, that she is now in his guardianship.”
Ian ground his teeth together. Eva had been the toast of London, the greatest beauty and the most sought after. Now, if they all thought her mad, she would be a pariah or, worse, a spectacle meant for entertaining gossip. “We must do something about that.”
The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance)) Page 15