by Sandra Heath
“I’ve been thinking about that. He’s not going to say much in case we tell his wife a few things I’m sure he’d rather she didn’t know! His liaison with you, for instance.”
Kitty thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said then.
“Of course I am. Forget them, for they will apparently soon be on the way to America.” Hugh was thoughtful. “Don’t you think it a little odd that they are to stay here?”
“Why? We’re staying here,” Kitty pointed out.
“Yes, but only because I must visit Llandower. What possible reason could Fanhope have? Sportsman he may be, but tourist he isn’t, nor is his wife, nor is this place exactly en route to Bristol.”
Kitty shrugged. “I neither know, nor care what their reasons are.”
“Well, I find it most curious, if not downright odd.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, let the matter lie.” He was sometimes like a dog with a bone, and Kitty found it boring in the extreme.
Her tone got under his skin. “You’re perfect, are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What exactly did Gervase find out about you that disgusted him so?”
She flinched. “Find out? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do—it’s written all over you.”
“You’re wrong, because there is nothing to find out.” Kitty trembled within but managed to conceal it.
Hugh still didn’t believe her. Gervase had learned something, and one day he would find out what it was!
She found defense in attack. “Your Miss Willowby is more to your liking than you’ve said, isn’t she? Now you wish to find an excuse to back out of marrying me! That’s it, isn’t it? I’ll warrant you wish you’d never given me the diadem, so that you can give it to her instead!”
Sylvanus and Penelope stared, and the faun’s brow darkened. That the Lady Ariadne’s wedding crown should have fallen into Hugh’s hands was bad enough, but that such a doxy should be wearing it was too much!
Hugh tried to calm things. “You’re wrong, I’m glad you have the diadem. You’re also wrong about my feelings for Anne Willowby. Believe me, I intend to consign her beneath the Wye tomorrow night. Her body will be found somewhere downstream, and I will be exonerated because I will have gone to such visible lengths to rescue her.”
The eavesdroppers were appalled.
Hugh spoke again. “Then, when the sensation dies away, I will marry you. Kitty. I promise.” He added the last two words in the soft tone of a man hoping to wheedle his way into a woman’s bed for the night.
Kitty decided the time had come to be warm and loving again. “Oh, Hugh, I find it so exciting that you are going to do this just to have me.”
“Then let me make love to you now. Give me your hand—let me place it somewhere that will prove how ardent is my need for you.”
“Why, sir, how flatteringly rampant you are, to be sure,” Kitty murmured huskily.
In the ensuing silence Sylvanus and Penelope drew back across the passage and entered the darkened room opposite. The nymph was frightened as she looked at the faun in the darkness. “Oh, Sylvanus, do you think he really intends to—to do away with...?” She couldn’t finish.
Sylvanus remembered what Hugh had done to Gervase in the grove and nodded. “Oh, yes, he intends to do it—there’s no mistake of that. Come on, we must return to Llandower to tell Gervase! I only hope he’s managed to make Anne say she loves him, because if that has happened, it’s all over anyway.”
* * * *
But as they slipped swiftly out of the inn and began to run back along the road toward the bridge and the riverside meadows, Gervase was seated forlornly in the rotunda with his head in his hands. Tonight he’d resorted to all the wiles in his sexual repertory, but still Anne had refused to confess her heart. Never had he encountered anyone who could adhere so resolutely to the very last letter of her principles, or who could suffer such tortures of the flesh without whispering a few unguarded words. He knew only too well how passionate she was, for the fire in her nature had seared his very soul, but if she was so determined to turn her back on her true self in order to keep her word, there was nothing else any mere man could do.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Anne ran tearfully back to the house, her intention had been to avoid all chance of encountering any of the servants— who knew nothing of her sortie—by going directly upstairs, but on the landing she was dismayed to see candlelight approaching from the direction of the drawing room. A moment later, Mrs. Jenkins appeared. The housekeeper was pale and anxious, and her hand was shaking so much that the candle flame shook and shadows reeled over the landing. Anne’s first guilty thought was that the meeting on the jetty had been observed from an upper window, but it soon became apparent that something else had upset Mrs. Jenkins.
“Oh, Miss Anne, I think I’m going mad!” she said in a shaking voice, too distracted even to notice her mistress hastily wiping away tears of her own.
Anne concernedly put an arm around the woman’s plump shoulders. “Whatever is it, Mrs. Jenkins?” she asked.
“You will indeed think me mad if I tell you.”
“I’m sure you’re perfectly sane. Please tell me what is upsetting you like this,” Anne urged gently.
“It—it’s that nad.”
“Nad? Oh, you mean wooden naiad on the lamp stand?”
“That’s it, the nad. Well, twice now I’ve gone into the drawing room to tend the fire for the night, and both times the nad hasn’t been there.”
“But it was there earlier.”
Mrs. Jenkins looked warily into Anne’s eyes. “The stand’s there now. Miss Anne—it’s the nad that isn’t, and what’s more, there’s no damage to the wood, and the tray she holds has even been put on the table, for all the world as if she just upped and went.”
Anne stared at her. “That can’t possibly be,” she said after a moment
“There, I knew you’d think I was mad!” The housekeeper’s voice choked.
“No, Mrs. Jenkins, I just think there must be some mistake, a trick of the light, perhaps. Come on, we’ll go and look together.” Anne took the candle and led the way.
But Mrs. Jenkins halted nervously at the drawing room door. “I don’t know whether I want the wretched thing to be there or not. If it’s there, then I’m imaging things and should be locked away; if it’s not there, well, it will be more than passing strange, won’t it?”
Leaving the housekeeper in the passage, Anne went inside. As she drew closer to the smooth, undamaged lamp holder, she saw there was no sign of Penelope, and that the candle tray lay on the table, just as Mrs. Jenkins had said. Her eyes widened with shock as she halted right by the deserted stand. “You’d better come here, Mrs. Jenkins, for your eyes didn’t deceive you. She’s gone.”
“You’re sure?” came the wary response from the passage.
“Yes.”
Slowly, Mrs. Jenkins came in to join her, and they both stared at the lamp holder. Anne drew a long breath. “It is indeed as if she just put down her tray, then upped and went,” she murmured.
“But how. Miss Anne? It’s simply not possible for part of a carving to just disappear without leaving some sign of having been broken off. Joseph made her from one piece of walnut, not three.”
“You say it happened before?”
“Yes. It was after I’d helped clear up at my sister’s. I came in here to see if the fire was safe for the night and saw the nad was missing.” Mrs. Jenkins cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Now, as you well know, ordinarily I’m not one to partake of too much alcohol, but I have to admit that on that occasion I had taken a sip or two of elderberry wine, so that’s what I put it down to. Anyway, I thought nothing more of it because the nad was there again the following day. Now it’s gone again, and you’re here to see as well, so this time it’s not elderberry wine or imagination, is it?”
“No.”
“What shall we
do?”
“I really don’t know,” Anne confessed, for it wasn’t exactly the sort of situation to which she was accustomed. She managed a weak smile. “Maybe she’ll be back in the morning, and we can convince ourselves we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
Mrs. Jenkins smiled sheepishly as well. “Maybe.”
Anne thought for a moment. “Actually, there were other odd things that night. Mog got in a terrible state in here and knocked things over, including that little Cupid, which not even Joseph could mend. Then later there was that strange business in the kitchens, which couldn’t have been Mog because the courtyard door was open. Actually, I’d feel happier if it had been Mog the second time, for at least that would mean there wasn’t a stranger poking around in the kitchens, and possibly the rest of the house too.” Anne shivered a little, for it wasn’t a pleasant recollection that while she and Charles were in the study, someone else had clearly entered the house.
“Mr. Danby was here that night, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s pried uninvited,” Mrs. Jenkins observed darkly.
“He was with me,” Anne replied uncomfortably.
“Maybe so, but if you ask me, he’s as mysterious as the rest of this.”
“I didn’t ask you, and anyway, he’s not mysterious.” But he was, and Anne knew it. There was something undeniably odd about the way he simply appeared from nowhere. She hadn’t once heard him ride up, or even seen his horse, come to that. She drew herself up sharply. This was foolish, for he had always offered perfectly logical explanation for everything. She was simply allowing her imagination to be carried away by the present undeniably eerie situation.
Mrs. Jenkins sighed. “Well, whatever the rights and wrongs of Mr. Danby’s presence here, it’s still a fact that someone else came in that night, and Joseph is convinced they were hiding somewhere here on the premises.”
“On the premises?” Anne repeated uneasily.
“Yes. Mog isn’t the only creature behaving oddly at the moment; that mangy lurcher is too. Joseph reckons the dog has scent of someone nearby. He’s going to see if Jack can pick up any trail.” The clock on the mantelpiece began to chime the hour, and the housekeeper laughed nervously. “Dear Lord, I’m all of a pother now! Let’s go downstairs.”
“I think I’ll just go straight to bed,” Anne said quickly.
Mrs. Jenkins looked at her properly for the first time. “Are you feeling unwell, Miss Anne?”
“I have a headache. I went out for a walk in the fresh air, but it hasn’t helped.”
“Then you go to bed right now. You’ll feel as right as rain for your birthday tomorrow, and you’ll look as fresh as a daisy for the duke,” the housekeeper added with a smile.
Anne had to look away. After what had happened on the jetty tonight, she didn’t know how she was going to look her future husband in the eyes. She had betrayed both him and her conscience in Charles Danby’s arms.
Mrs. Jenkins misunderstood. “The duke is as fine a gentleman as any young woman could wish. You’re very lucky, indeed, and I know he’ll soon make you forget all about that rascally lawyer. Just you wait and see. After tomorrow night’s picnic and trip on the river, you’ll have changed your mind completely about both of them.”
* * * *
In the maze Gervase roused from his despondency as swift footsteps approached through the maze. He began to straighten uneasily, but then realized that it was only Sylvanus and Penelope returning. As the nymph and faun hurried exhaustedly into the rotunda, it was plain that they’d come from the White Boar without pause. He looked anxiously from one to the other. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Penelope sank onto the bench, and Sylvanus tried to gather his breath before speaking. “First I must know how you progressed with Anne.”
Gervase exhaled slowly and shook his head. “She’ll never confess her true feelings to me.”
The faun sighed too. “Well, that’s a pity, because we found out something dreadful tonight. To begin with, your cousin is calling himself Oadby.” He began to relate what they’d overheard.
Gervase interrupted at the mention of the so-called sister. “Kitty? Are you sure that was her name?”
“Yes.”
“Hugh hasn’t got a sister, but I certainly suspect I know who she is.” It had to be Kitty Longton, who hailed from Oadby in Leicestershire, if his memory served him well. So the scheming denizen of Drury Lane was still hot in pursuit of a fine title, and Hugh had the gall to bring her to within a few miles of Llandower! Renewed dislike and contempt sliced through Gervase, for he could never think of Kitty without recalling what she’d done to her helpless little brother. She was a fitting leman for the likes of Hugh Mowbray!
Sylvanus looked curiously at him. “Hugh seems to think you know something terrible from her past.”
“I do.” Gervase related the story of the terrible orphanage.
Sylvanus drew a long, disapproving breath. “Well, your cousin is set to make this monstrous woman his duchess.”
Gervase stared at him. “He can’t. My father’s will restricts him to marrying Anne in order to gain the title.”
“Well, he’s thought of a way around that particular obstacle.” The faun told him what Hugh intended to do.
Gervase was alarmed. “Are you quite sure that’s what you heard?”
“Sure beyond all doubt. We could hear quite plainly through the door, couldn’t we, Penelope?”
The nymph nodded. “There’s no mistake. He intends to make it seem like a terrible accident, and in order to fool Mrs. Jenkins, he will go through all the motions of trying to save Anne, but all the time he’ll be making sure she drowns. It’s horrible.”
Gervase leaned weakly back against the pillar and closed his eyes. Sweet Jesu, Anne...
Chapter Twenty-three
Kitty slept alone in the White Boar’s principal bedchamber, Hugh having returned to his own room in order to preserve the story of Mr. and Miss Oadby. The actress’s brow was clear as she dreamed of the jewels, silks, and privilege that would be hers once Hugh had disposed of Anne. She stirred slightly as the sound of an approaching carriage disturbed the silence of the country night, and she stirred a little more as the vehicle halted at the inn, but she didn’t awaken.
In the next room, however, Hugh sat up with a start. He flung the bedclothes back and got up to see what had awoken him. He was naked, and the night air was cool upon his hot skin as he looked down at the newly arrived carriage. Its lamps pierced the darkness, and the only other light came from a lantern held by the sleepy landlord as the coachman lowered the steps for the occupants to alight. Hugh saw them only from above, a gentleman in a top hat and a lady with her hood raised, but he was struck by the immense concern the lady showed regarding a padlocked chest that was lashed to the rear of the carriage. The rest of the luggage could be brought up in the morning, she declared in an affected, nasal tone, but the chest had to be taken to their room without further ado. After instructing two grooms to attend to the matter, the landlord led the new arrivals into the inn, and they passed out of sight.
Hugh was most curious as to what such a weighty and apparently important item of luggage might contain—something valuable, that was certain. The contents of the mysterious chest faded from his thoughts as he reached for a cigar from the pocket of his coat, which had been left over the back of a chair. His lucifers were there too, and a moment later a curl of smoke drifted past the window as he gazed up at the starlit sky. By this time tomorrow night, he would be free of Anne Willowby, and the future he had always coveted would be his once and for all. “Hugh Mowbray, ninth Duke of Wroxford.” He murmured the title aloud and smiled. How gratifyingly grand it sounded.
He was brought back to the present by the sound of voices in the passage as the landlord conducted the new arrivals to a nearby room. The heavier footsteps of the two grooms followed as they staggered beneath the weight of the chest. Candlelight flickered beneath the door, and the lady�
�s nasal whine was only too apparent as she complained that the accommodation was not as specifically requested, but it wasn’t until her husband added his comments that Hugh froze, for the voice belonged to Sir Thomas Fanhope! A door opened, there was a terse exchange, then the door slammed, and the irritated innkeeper stomped past once more, muttering something under his breath about damned unreasonable nobs.
Hugh was so dismayed that he forgot the cigar, but he was reminded very abruptly when some hot ash fell into the forest of hair at his loins. With an alarmed gasp he dashed the ash away, but with little burning pinpricks it scattered over a certain exceedingly tender and vital organ instead. Holding himself and stifling little yelps of pain, he stubbed the cigar on the plate next to his unfinished bread and cheese supper, then hurried to the washstand to scoop cold water over the area in question. He dabbed himself dry with a towel and examined himself as carefully as he could in the darkness. He breathed out with relief, for his masculinity didn’t seem to have suffered too greatly.
He tossed a dark look toward the door. God curse Fanhope and his miserable spouse! Why couldn’t they have kept to their original timetable? Would they still be here tomorrow night when he did away with the Willowby creature? Damn it, he wasn’t even sure if they knew of Gervase’s enforced betrothal, and if they did, would they know the lady concerned was Anne Willowby of Llandower? This was a complication he could do without! His mind raced, but then he calmed a little. No one at the White Boar knew that Oadby and the ninth Duke of Wroxford were the same person, and since the Fanhopes were en route for the other side of the Atlantic, they would most likely have departed for Bristol by the time news of the unfortunate duke’s frantic attempts to save his fiancée began to spread. Their presence in the meantime still made things awkward, though, and Kitty had to be told before morning, so that a contingency plan could be formed to explain the use of the false identities.