Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  “Thank God you have found her,” Olivia said, hugging Hannah hard. Hannah, Garrick, and Lionel had just entered the great hall, having come in out of the pounding rain.

  “She was seeking refuge in the stables,” Garrick said, acutely aware of Lionel standing beside them. He had had the sense to wear a huge, hooded cloak and was now shaking the water from it. “From the rain.” He smiled at Olivia and her daughter.

  Olivia, to her credit, did not demand to know why Hannah had left the house in the first place in such inclement weather. And if Lionel understood his innuendo, he gave no indication of it. He also smiled.

  “Let’s get you changed into dry clothes,” Olivia said, smiling briefly at both men.

  “I think I shall also change,” Garrick said, as every inch of him was dripping wet. “Lionel, I am afraid we have no staff here at the manor. But I did bring a supply of goods with me. Everything is in the kitchen. Care to start a fire and roast some meat?”

  Lionel raised both brows. “I have a better idea. Why not hire a maid or two to tend us while we are here? I am hardly a servant, Garrick, to prepare us meals.”

  Garrick smiled, eyeing him and folding both arms. “I did not know you were planning on staying,” he said.

  “Well, I think I should, all things considered.” Lionel smiled at him, too.

  “And just what considerations are you speaking of?” Garrick inquired as Olivia led Hannah to the stone stairs.

  “Well, unfortunately, if I found you here, I do believe Arlen will, too. I am your brother. I do not think I should abandon you now.” Lionel’s gaze shifted to Olivia and Hannah, both ascending the stairwell. His point was clear: trouble was on its way.

  Olivia faltered, then turned to look back at them. Her gaze, filled with consternation, met Garrick’s before she and Hannah disappeared quickly upstairs.

  “How brotherly you have become,” Garrick said, unable to keep the mockery from his tone.

  Lionel shrugged. “I will go find us a serving wench,” he said, and left the house.

  Garrick moved to stare out a dirty stained-glass window after him. What was he up to? Garrick would not put it past him to go to the village in order to send a messenger to Arlen himself, alerting him to Olivia’s whereabouts. Lionel led his mount from the stable. Garrick did not have to see any more. He cursed, turning away and hurrying up the stairs.

  Olivia appeared on the threshold of Hannah’s room as he approached, closing the door behind her. As she did, Garrick glimpsed the fire she had stoked in the hearth and Hannah standing in front of it, brushing her long, wet black hair. The setter lay at her feet.

  “What has happened?” she asked without preamble, her gaze filled with worry.

  “I trust Lionel as much as I might a Gypsy horse peddler,” Garrick said grimly.

  “I agree with you,” Olivia said.

  “Hannah is afraid of him. She told me that he is Lionel,” Garrick said bluntly. “She also told me she had seen a ghost. I do not know what to think.”

  Olivia studied him. “I just spoke with her. She is very distraught. Garrick, did I tell you that, as I grew up, my gift became less predictable? My mind and my feelings can interfere with my ability to see and understand the truth. Perhaps that is what is happening to Hannah now.”

  Garrick put his arm around her. “If he is my brother, then he has changed. Olivia, we were so very close once.”

  Olivia slipped her arms around him. “People do change, Garrick. Maybe Hannah is wrong. I can tell you this much. I do not like him, either, and more important, I do not trust him. Something is wrong.” She frowned. “And that includes his appearing here the day after us. He followed us from Ashburnham.”

  “Yes. I am in complete agreement with you.” Garrick released her to rub his temples. He did not add the obvious, that Lionel now knew definitively about their liaison. As such a witness, he poised a definite threat to them. “You know, at times he will say something that seems so incredibly genuine to me. He probably is Lionel, dear God.”

  Olivia shrugged. “Whoever he is, he has much to gain—your father’s title and fortune and power. Truthfully, it would not be hard to learn all about you and your family. A servant—or several—could so easily be bribed.”

  Garrick agreed. Then he pulled her farther away from the door. “Olivia, we must make plans,” he whispered. “Arlen may be in pursuit of us as we speak.”

  She paled. “This is happening too quickly. We haven’t had any time to think!”

  “You must leave the country.”

  She stared. “So you have decided, after all, to let Hannah and myself go?”

  “No.” His tone was hard. “But I want the two of you safely gone before Arlen arrives, and I will join you shortly.” Suddenly he felt certain that Lionel had gone into the village to betray them all. Time was running out. Had a clock been staring him in the face, it could not have been more clear. “I want you away from here, immediately.”

  “You will stay to unmask Lionel’s impostor,” Olivia said tersely.

  “Yes,” he said, seized with an iron determination. “You and Hannah will leave today. I will hire you a coach. I will finish this with Lionel, and meet you in Calais.”

  Tears glimmered in Olivia’s eyes. “I am afraid. Terrified. What are we going to do, run away from Arlen for the rest of our lives? He will never leave us in peace, Garrick, I am certain of it.” Suddenly she cried out, staggering backward, flinging a hand up to cover her eyes.

  “What is it?” he cried, alarmed, reaching for her and steadying her. “Jesus! What have you seen?”

  She turned terrified silver eyes upon him. “Oh, God. This is the second time—it was so strong. Hannah in this place—this terrible ptace—a place filled with mad people!”

  His skin crawled. His stomach turned over. He pulled her into his embrace. “Do not even think of such a thing!” he said in her ear, very firmly.

  She stared at him, gripping his shoulders, her eyes wide. “And what if Arlen finds us first? Hannah and I will hardly be unremarkable—a woman traveling alone with a blind child—” Her voice broke. “God. What if I never see you again?” Fear filled her silver eyes, making them huge.

  “Do not say such a thing!” he shouted, furious that she would even have such a thought—or was it a premonition? He was sick with his own fear, for it had struck him that he might not be able to unmask Lionel without Hannah’s or Olivia’s help.

  She seemed to understand his thoughts. “Hannah saw a ghost today. She refused to speak about it. I do not know why. But someone wishes to contact us. How can we go? You need us here!” Olivia cried.

  “No. I will unearth the truth without your help,” he said firmly.

  Olivia held his eyes, hers fearful and filled with doubt, finally, hesitantly, nodding. Suddenly Hannah screamed, startling them both.

  “Mama!” Hannah shouted from inside her bedroom. “Mama!” Her cry was filled with alarm and fear.

  Garrick moved first, jerking open her door so hard that the handle almost came off in his hand, Olivia on his heels. Hannah stood beside the bureau, motionless, unblinking, perhaps not even breathing, her hairbrush on the floor where she had evidently dropped it. Treve was whining, shoving his cool nose in her clenched hand, as distressed as a dog could be.

  Olivia rushed to her, her face devoid of color. “What is it, darling? What have you seen?” she asked, panic in her own tone.

  Hannah came out of her odd, trancelike state. “He is here,” she said huskily.

  Garrick glanced wildly around, almost expecting to see his brother materializing from the corners of the room as a ghost.

  “Who, darling?” Olivia asked, low. “Lionel? Lord Caedmon’s dead brother?”

  “No.” Hannah wet her lips. “Father. Father is here. Outside.” And she hugged her mother, beginning to tremble and cry.

  Olivia turned wide eyes upon Garrick, who rushed to the window. There he froze.

  Two vehicles were parked in fron
t of the manor, and the largest town coach bore the Ashburn coat of arms. A moment later he watched Arlen alight from the coach, adjusting his crimson frock coat. The rain had tapered off to a mere drizzle.

  Garrick whirled. “Stay here. Do not leave this room,” he commanded. His heart beat with thunderous force.

  “Oh, my God!” Olivia clutched Hannah against her skirts. “He has found us!”

  “I will not let him in,” Garrick said, rushing from the room. He slammed their door closed, but he was thinking about two things—he did not have a weapon, and neither did he have a staff to enforce his will. Arlen had come with an entire retinue, and for all Garrick knew, his entourage included the authorities. He, Garrick, was one man. He could hardly prevent Arlen from seizing his own wife and child.

  He pounded down the stairs and through the hall, flinging open the front door. He froze at the sight of the tableau that greeted him.

  Elizabeth stood beside Arlen, adjusting her gloves, as resplendently dressed in a brilliant yellow gown as if she were taking a promenade on Oxford Street, and as radiantly beautiful. Another well-dressed gentleman was with her, a slim man whom Garrick neither knew nor recognized. And Lionel was speaking with Arlen. Lionel.

  For one brief moment, Garrick looked at the man who claimed to be his brother and wondered if Lionel would back him up in the ensuing confrontation. Then everyone saw him. All conversation ceased as four heads turned in his direction simultaneously.

  Elizabeth actually smiled at him, as if smugly pleased.

  But Arlen was not smiling. He strode forward, his face a bitter, restrained mask of fury, ripping off his gloves. And he flung one glove in Garrick’s face.

  “I will meet you at dawn, by the ruined keep,” he spat, his eyes blazing. He nodded over his shoulder at the slim gentleman standing sternly behind him. “Lord Manion is my second.”

  Garrick shook himself out of his shock. He had expected Arlen to demand that he hand over his wife and child—he had not expected to be challenged to a duel. How he would love to kill Arlen. Garrick smiled. But even as he smiled with a very real pleasure induced by the thought of killing Olivia’s abusive husband, he knew that in all likelihood he would be the one to die. Arlen was an expert swordsman, while he had not fenced in years. “At dawn, then,” Garrick said coldly. He realized that he was beginning to sweat.

  Lionel came to stand beside them. “Come, my friends, surely the two of you can settle your differences more civilly?”

  Elizabeth sailed forward. “A duel is very civil, my lord.” She smiled at them all. “Besides, do you not think the current scandal calls for a duel? It hardly calls for a bow, an apology, and the doffing of a cap.”

  Lionel shrugged.

  “And who shall be your second, Lord Caedmon?” Elizabeth asked Garrick quite sweetly. Laughter tinged her tone.

  Garrick met her gaze, well aware that she was enjoying herself—undoubtedly envisioning her brother running him through, as she had wanted Arlen to do for eleven long years. He did not answer, because Lionel said, “I shall second my brother.”

  “Christ.” Garrick looked at Lionel, whom he trusted even less than he trusted Arlen.

  “Do you have a choice?” Lionel asked, his blue gaze holding his.

  “Perhaps you should ask him if he has the courage to actually meet me at dawn,” Arlen said with a harsh laugh. He glanced up at the manor, above Garrick’s head. Garrick turned in time to see Olivia’s face disappearing from the window. He grimaced.

  Arlen turned abruptly. “Come, Elizabeth. Manion.” The trio returned to the town coach, a footman closing the door after they had all clambered in. Garrick did not move, nor did Lionel, as the coach rolled away, followed by the other vehicle, which, Garrick saw, contained two burly manservants. He suspected it was intended for use by Olivia and Hannah. The servants were probably to be her prison guards.

  He felt ill.

  Elizabeth smiled at them from the carriage window and wiggled her gloved fingers.

  Restraining his temper, Garrick glanced at Lionel and saw him smile at her. He knew he was flushed. “God damn it,” he said.

  Lionel patted his arm. Garrick was too distraught to shove him off. His so-called brother said, “So tell me, when was the last time you fenced, and are you any better at it than when we were boys?”

  Garrick, about to stomp into the house and pour himself a stiff drink, wheeled back around. “I haven’t fenced in at least ten years, and undoubtedly I am far worse with a rapier now than I was as a boy.”

  Lionel nodded. “I suppose some prayers are in order, then.”

  He had had it. “Your prayers I can do without.” He stormed into the house.

  Olivia leapt to her feet from the four-poster bed, where she sat with her arm around Hannah, tears in her eyes, her face a ghostly shade of white. “I heard! Arlen fences with a master four times a week! You cannot do this!”

  “Did you pack?” he demanded. His head throbbed. He must face Arlen, of course. But was there a way to survive the encounter?

  “Pack?” Her tone was incredulous, as if he had just asked her to stand on the top of her head.

  He was jolted out of his thoughts by her tone. “I am driving you to Fowey myself.”

  Olivia ran forward; Hannah remained on the bed, listening wide-eyed and intently to their every word. “I am not going anywhere! He will kill you!”

  “I can manage a rapier very well,” Garrick lied.

  “Oh, so you practiced such a sport on Barbados? Don’t lie to me now, Garrick De Vere!” Olivia shouted.

  He caught her wrist. “Olivia, calm-yourself. You have Hannah to think of now.”

  She crumpled against him as he held her wrist. “If we leave, you must leave with us. I won’t leave you here, for him to murder,” she sobbed.

  He shook her once. “I am not a coward. If Arlen kills me, so be it.” He did not know where this sudden sense of honor had come from. “But I do intend to protect you from him, and that means you leave Cornwall this instant.”

  She wrenched her arm free of his grip. “No!” It was a scream. “I am not leaving. Not unless you come with us!”

  He stared in disbelief. “Why can’t you understand? I cannot run away with my tail between my legs, not now, not like this—not from him.”

  She blinked at him through her tears. “Now is not the time for sudden pride, damn it!”

  “What the hell does that mean?” But he knew.

  “It means you ran away ten years ago, and have been running ever since—but now you choose to stand and fight? And what will I do when you are buried in the cold, wet ground?”

  He seized her hand as she turned away, whipping her back around. Her words hurt as much as any future thrust of Arlen’s blade, but then, the truth could so easily be brutal. He could not dwell on it now. “Tell me what you see.” His skin was crawling. “Do you see my death?”

  “I don’t see anything,” she gasped. “I can’t see anything now. I am in a state of terror. I love you so! I cannot bear to see you die—and all because of me.”

  He thought she spoke the truth about not having seen his death. He pulled her into his embrace, held her hard against his heart, which beat furiously. “Please try to understand. Please try to cooperate. I may die. But you can be free. You and Hannah. Let me take you to Fowey.” He closed his eyes, aware of the timeless fact that her body, held like this against his, did far more than fit perfectly. It felt absolutely right. “But you will not wait for me in Calais. It is far too obvious.”

  “No,” she whispered against his chest. “No, Garrick, I cannot leave you, not like this.” She began to cry again.

  He felt tears trickling down his own face, because he thought it likely that he would die at dawn tomorrow. He could not outduel Arlen. And he did not need Olivia to tell him what he had known from the start, that Arlen wanted to kill him. Arlen had wanted to kill him eleven years ago. Nothing had changed since then. If anything, the passions had only intensified.


  “I love you, too,” he whispered against her hair. “But if I die, I do not want you to remain a prisoner for the rest of your life. Let me free you, Olivia. Let me free you and Hannah.”

  She continued to cry, shaking her head, murmuring that she could not go. He stroked her hair and her back, finally realizing that Hannah also cried but silently, on the bed. Immediately he brought Olivia there, reaching with one arm for the child. “Hannah,” he said, “everything will be all right.” He released Olivia to wipe his own eyes with his knuckles.

  Olivia broke away from him to hug her daughter. “Don’t cry,” she said urgently. “Don’t cry. Tell me what you see.”

  Hannah nodded, wiping her eyes. “Blood, Mama. So much blood.” Her tone quavered and was terribly high.

  “What else do you see?” Olivia demanded, on her knees, gripping her daughter’s hands.

  Hannah faced her sightlessly, her expression strained and intense.

  “Hannah! Please!”

  When the blind child did not speak, Garrick said grimly, “Maybe we do not want to know the future, Olivia.”

  Olivia looked at him in panic, but he saw the sheer will in her eyes. “Hannah!”

  “Mama—” Hannah burst into tears. “I cannot see. Only blood. I am sorry. I am too afraid, just like you.” She wept.

  “Oh, God,” Olivia whispered. “What am I doing?” She crushed her daughter to her breasts, rocking her. “What have I done?”

  But Garrick was asking himself the same question, turning away from them both.

  Dawn. It was cold and wet and angry, a sharp wind gusting, a mist in the air. The keep was shrouded by fog, as were the two Ashburn vehicles. Garrick and Lionel drove the carriage that Garrick had brought to Cornwall with Olivia, and they sat on the front seat side by side. Garrick halted the mares, braking the vehicle. As he did so, he watched the door to the town coach opening, Arlen, Lord Manion, and Elizabeth stepping out. The ground was muddy, and even from this short distance he could hear it squishing beneath their feet.