by The Rival
She recalled the carriage leaving again, and her heart raced so hard and fast that she felt faint. Hannah had been in that carriage! What was she to do? Where was her daughter? What had Arlen said? Oh, God! Now she must think!
“Lady Ashburn.” Lionel’s concerned tone interrupted Olivia’s racing yet scattered thoughts. “You have gone white. What is amiss?”
Olivia looked at him, trying frantically now to signal him with her eyes, thinking she needed help, needed to escape, needed to find Hannah—and she must not allow her memory to elapse yet again. She must not!
“My lady?” Lionel asked with real concern.
“Just … I am weak … I cannot … recall why,” Olivia lied.
Livingstock seemed satisfied, and she walked away, going to one of the double-tiered windows to stare out. She was perhaps twenty feet from them, a stone’s short throw away.
And her back was half-turned from them. Olivia reached out with surprising speed and agility and gripped Lionel’s hand. His eyes widened. She leaned forward and whispered, “Help. Please. Tell Garrick.”
And then she dropped her hand. She had instinctively asked Lionel to send for Garrick. It was Garrick whom she needed, Garrick and no one else. But had Lionel understood? She glanced at the maid. The maid remained oblivious, for she still gazed out the window at Olivia’s colorful, blossoming gardens.
Olivia turned her gaze quickly back to Lionel. To her surprise, he was regarding her intently. Was he perplexed? Had he understood? How could she make him understand before he had to leave?
“My brother is well,” he said suddenly. “This morning he was up and about, hobbling and in some pain, but he will be himself in no time at all, or so everyone thinks.”
The duel flashed before Olivia’s eyes. She had forgotten it. Now she recalled that Garrick had been so terribly wounded that she had feared for his life. Her relief, once again, was vast. He was alive. And getting well. But she needed his help. Could he help her if he was still in recovery? Lionel had not understood her plea at all, apparently. Olivia was filled with dismay.
“Tell him … I send … my best … to call,” she finally said. If Garrick called, he would know in an instant. that something was terribly wrong.
Suddenly the maid was facing them and speaking to them quite loudly. “I am afraid that Lord Caedmon’s brother is not on the approved list,” she said firmly. “In fact, His Lordship was very definite about that, my lady.”
Olivia’s heart sank.
Suddenly the butler poked his head into the room. He smiled at Olivia. “My lady, I am so terribly pleased to see you up and about.”
Would Willowby help her escape? Olivia wondered frantically. “Thank you.”
“Miss Livingstock, you have a missive from London, from Lord Ashburn.”
“Excuse me,” Livingstock said, and she left the room, her strides brisk.
When Willowby asked if they needed refreshments, Olivia shook her head, wanting him to leave immediately. The moment she was alone with Lionel, she gripped his knee, to hell with all propriety. He started. She leaned forward, speaking low and urgently. “Hannah is in trouble. Arlen sent her … away.” Horror again seized her. She could not recall where Hannah had been sent—yet knew she had been told, knew she must remember. “Please. Tell Garrick to come.”
Lionel took her palm in his. “Surely you are exaggerating your case, my lady?” His fingers seemed to caress the skin on the top of her hand.
“No! Arlen has done something terrible,” Olivia cried, tears filling her eyes. “Please.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her bare skin, his warm, moist lips lingering there. Then he smiled at her. “Of course I will pass the message along,” he said, his gaze holding hers.
Vaguely Olivia knew he was making an advance, but she did not care. She was relieved and exhausted and ready to collapse from the trauma she had thus far endured. “Thank you.”
“My, my,” Elizabeth said from the doorway. “What a charming scene.”
And Lionel turned white, dropping Olivia’s hand as if it were on fire, jumping to his feet.
Elizabeth strolled into the room. “I decided to remain in the country for a few days,” she said, smiling at them both.
He did not have his own valet; he had always thought that no grown man should need help dressing himself, but he had never been injured like this before. His side ached constantly, and his torso remained stiff and sore. Clothing himself had been a long, frustrating, painful chore. But he was dressed, and he must see Olivia.
By now Garrick knew she was not just at Ashburnham, but that Arlen had returned to town. He was hardly relieved.
As he began walking slowly down the stairs, cursing his wound for the way it impeded his movements, making him walk like an old, infirm man, he saw Lionel below him, standing on the ground-floor landing. He smiled up at him. Garrick faltered, gripping the banister hard for balance. It flashed through his mind that he must mend and quickly. He was surrounded by enemies.
“How wonderful to see you up and about like this!” Lionel exclaimed.
Treve’s hackles were raised. The fact that his dog sensed Lionel to be the enemy pleased Garrick. “Easy, boy,” he muttered. Perspiring from the effort it took him to go down the stairs, Garrick did not answer. Nothing was going to stop him from getting in a carriage and driving over to see Olivia.
“You know,” Lionel said conversationally as Garrick finally reached the ground floor, coming face-to-face with him, the setter at his side, “I was just telling Olivia how well you were recuperating, and that you would be fully recovered in no time at all.”
His heart stopped. “When? When did you see her?”
“Yesterday at noon.” Lionel continued to smile.
So many emotions assailed him that Garrick was taken aback. Lionel had been with Olivia. He was angry, he was jealous, he was torn and eager for news. “What did she say? How is she? How is Hannah?”
Lionel lifted one brow, giving him a lofty look. “She and her daughter are very well. We strolled in her gardens and discussed the blooms.”
Garrick was afraid his surprise, mingled with newfound dismay, showed. “Surely she asked about me? Did she give you a message for me?”
“I actually volunteered the information that you were healing rather nicely, but no, she did not ask about you or convey a message for me to give to you. Perhaps the lady has had second thoughts? After all that has transpired?” Lionel’s smile remained bland, but there was amusement in his tone.
Garrick felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a mule, and for a moment all speech failed him.
“Don’t you think you should be more discreet, Garrick? I only tell you this brother to brother. Apparently the entire peerage knows about you and her living together openly at Caedmon Crag, as if you were man and wife.”
He was stunned again, but for a different reason. “We were there precisely two nights.”
Lionel shrugged. “I am not responsible for what people are saying and thinking,” he said.
A surge of fury went through Garrick, because in that moment he felt Lionel was probably directly responsible for that bit of gossip. And his confidence about Olivia’s feelings for him returned. Lionel was trying to shake him up—and had almost succeeded. “Why don’t you worry about your own indiscretions,” Garrick said tightly. “I can take care of myself.”
Lionel’s gaze slipped as he eyed him, his manner rather condescending. “Can you? You are not merely ill with that wound, you have little common sense and an infamous temper. Brother to brother, I tell you this.”
Garrick knew his smile was a snarl. “You are not my brother.”
“Do not tell me we are back to that tiresome dispute! Have you not heard? Father has publicly announced me to be his heir.”
Lionel’s airy words, uttered with smug satisfaction, struck Garrick hard, like a physical blow. It was his third well-aimed blow of the morning. He should not be stunned, dismayed, or surprise
d. He should be glad, God damn it, as this now gave him the freedom he had always sought. He could sail away and never come back.
With Olivia and her daughter.
“Let me tell you something,” Garrick said, low and hard. He shoved his nose close to Lionel’s. “You are not my brother, and I intend to prove it.”
“You are so wrong,” Lionel said, at once smug and confident.
“No.” Garrick stared, fists clenched. “If it is the last thing I do, I shall unmask you,” he said. Then he gripped the sling protecting his left arm and ripped it off, throwing it down at Lionel’s feet. “Underestimate me if you will,” he said, “but that is your mistake.”
“Garrick.”
Garrick was outside in the drive, about to climb into an open carriage with a groom’s help, the setter already eagerly ensconced there, when he heard his father’s voice. The earl was descending the front steps of the Hall, approaching him with rapid strides. Garrick stiffened, preparing for he knew not what. But both his mother’s and Lionel’s shocking revelations flashed through his mind.
The earl paused beside him, not the least bit out of breath. “I just saw your brother and he told me that you are off to Ashburnham. Have you lost your wits?”
Garrick was already riddled with tension. “First, he is not my brother—I refuse to believe it. And no, I do believe I have all of my wits, Father.”
The earl’s jaw flexed. “I am certain that he is Lionel. Do you think I have not given this a great deal of thought? Do you think I would make a public declaration if I had a single doubt?”
Garrick stepped closer to him. “Lionel could not have changed so much.”
Their gazes had locked. Stanhope shook his head. “You are still the most stubborn and contentious person I know. You think to thwart me, as you did as a boy. For we both know you care not a whit about the earldom. He, at least, cares. He, at least, is eager to honor me and do his duty.”
“If I am stubborn, then I must have come by the trait from you,” Garrick said caustically. “And you are right. I do not give a damn about the earldom. I never have. So this is why you accept him? Because he shall be your lackey?”
The earl stared at him. “I have no doubt that he is whom he says he is. And you are allowing your emotions to interfere with your judgment, as always.”
Garrick stared. He would be the first to admit that his extreme sensibilities could so easily interfere with his better judgment. But not in this case. In this case, his father was not right. “This man is a grasping, greedy, cunning fraud.”
Stanhope sighed. “When do you intend to return to Barbados?”
Garrick stiffened. “Now that you have no use for me, you are eager to see me go.”
“I did not say that.”
Garrick studied him. “I will return to Barbados only after I have proven my case,” he said harshly. “When will you call off my engagement to Miss Layton?”
“Actually, fool that he is, Sir John has broken off the engagement,” Stanhope said.
Garrick smiled. “Good,” he said. At least he was free of that mindless twit. In fact, at that moment he realized he was free to take Olivia and Hannah away. It was very tempting, especially as it was not in his best interest to unmask the impostor.
But he knew he could not rest until he had done so. And if he were wrong? The notion that this man might truly be Lionel was frightening. But if he was, if he had changed so drastically, so completely, at least justice would have been served and Garrick could walk away without being haunted by unanswered questions and lingering doubts.
“Does Lionel know the truth?” Garrick gazed right into his father’s eyes. “That we do not share the same mother? Does he know that his real mother killed herself?”
The earl paled, his eyes widening.
As it was the very first time in his life that he had ever taken his father by surprise, Garrick felt quite satisfied. He waited with suddenly infinite patience.
“So she told you.”
“Yes. Mother told me that your first wife threw herself out of the attic window, here at the Hall, killing herself when Lionel was only five months old. A month later, you married Mother. How unhappy Margaret MacDonald must have been.” Garrick watched him. “It has been a family secret all of these years. Why?”
The earl had recovered, although his expression was grim. “She should have stayed in Scotland,” he said heavily.
“So the marriage was arranged? Or were you forced to marry her because she was pregnant?”
“She was very beautiful, and I was young.” The earl no longer looked at Garrick. “Meg was wild and high-spirited and determined to get back at a young Highlander who had jilted her. I served a purpose in her life, although I did not know it at the time. Leaving Scotland is what killed her, Garrick, for it broke her heart. She hated England, and she hated me, too, I believe. She chose to die. But it was ultimately for the best. We were not suited. I can see that now, in hindsight. She should have been a brief affair.”
Garrick could hardly believe his father had been swept off his feet by a Highland lass, enough to marry her. Perhaps he did not know him as well as he thought. On the other hand, it had been so long ago, did it truly matter? “But why was it kept a secret?”
The earl stared. “The union, brief as it was, was a vast mistake. She made a fool of me. And she took her own life.” He hesitated. “I refused to annul the marriage.”
Only a very unhappy woman would kill herself, and Garrick found himself feeling sorry for a young woman long deceased whom he had never known. He decided that the earl, out of cold pride, could easily feel compelled to cover up such a sordid affair. And he thought he saw regret in his father’s eyes. “Does Lionel know the truth?”
“Yes. I told him when he was eight years old. Now, are we finished with this subject?”
“Absolutely,” Garrick said, his mind racing with new and sudden possibilities.
“You cannot go to Ashburnham,” Stanhope said.
His thoughts rudely interrupted, Garrick faced his father. “Unfortunately, Father, I ceased taking orders from you a long time ago.”
“Arlen Grey almost killed you. The entire affair—including the time you spent with the countess alone at Caedmon Crag—is being avidly discussed in every drawing room and coffeehouse in London, by damn. What do you think to accomplish now? Do you wish to further the scandal? Do you wish to die in another duel?” His father’s tone was scathing.
Garrick was rigid. “I have no death wish—as if it would matter to you.”
“Do not throw egg in Ashburn’s face another time,” the earl warned.
Garrick had to admit it, but his father was right. “I am merely worried about her,” he finally said, a part of him knowing he should never expose his feelings for Olivia to his father this way. “I wish to know that she is well.”
The earl stared at him and shook his head, his feelings clear: Garrick’s attachment to the woman was hopeless. “Send a message and a messenger. Besides, Lionel was there, and he spent some time with her. She is fine, Garrick. You will worsen the situation if you call at Ashburnham. Trust me, please. In this single instance. I know what is best.”
Garrick rubbed his temples. His instincts shouted at him to go, go, go, but his mind was competing for his attention. He did not want to enflame Arlen any more. He did not want to place Olivia in any more jeopardy. But he did have to reassure himself that she was all right.
He would send his mother. The idea was brilliant, for he trusted Eleanor completely.
As long as she stayed off the port.
“For this one single time,” he said, “I will agree with you.”
The earl stared at him in surprise. “Well, well,” he said.
BEDLAM
The room seemed very small, but only because so many women and children were crowded into it. Hannah sat frozen with her back to the rough, dirty wall. The smells around her made her want to choke and gag. Horrible odors were assailing her�
�unwashed bodies, vomit, urine, excrement. She did not move. She was afraid to move. And she did not know where to go.
The sounds were terrifying.
Hannah hugged herself, tears spilling down her cheeks, her heart beating hard and fast, desperately wishing her mother would come and take her away from this terrible place. Not far from where she sat, rocking herself rigidly, a woman who was heavy with child wailed in grief and fear. Her ceaseless wailing was so scary. But everything was. An old woman sat beside Hannah, mumbling beneath her breath. She spoke in gibberish, but Hannah could understand her every thought; she was not crazy—she was cursing the woman who had taken her husband and children away from her, causing her to be placed in this awful place.
There was weeping and moaning. The sobs and groans surrounded Hannah, filled the room. There was shouting, yelling, fighting. And a young woman, half child, half adult, rocked herself silently. Her anguish was so overwhelming for Hannah, the waves huge, tangible; and from time to time Hannah would cry, too, with her and for her, for a moment forgetting herself. The woman was heavily pregnant and grieving the death of her husband and another child. Her master had sent her to Bedlam because she was too heartbroken to work.
Mama, Mama, Hannah begged. Where are you?
There was one other child present, a little girl; and she wept and hiccuped intermittently. Hannah did not have to be told to know that she was both deaf and mute, but not blind. Hannah wanted to be her friend. She desperately needed a friend. She was so alone and so scared. But she was immobilized by the women surrounding her, by her despair, by her fear, and she did not dare crawl to her.
Tears kept trickling down Hannah’s cheeks. Mama, she thought, please come. Please please please come! I want my mother! Pleeaase!
The tears streamed now, endlessly. Hannah had never wanted her mother more. She had never been apart from her mother before. She missed her so much that it was a huge, physical, racking pain. Although she didn’t like her father, although she was afraid of him, her life had been safe and secure until now. She had not known that a place like this existed. But recently, in the past month or so, she had been having dreams, horrible dreams, of losing her mother, of strange, ugly, smelly women, of being lost and afraid. The nightmares had woken her time and again, but she had not told her mother, knowing that the dreams came from her gift.