by Holt, Cheryl
“Are you still going to murder Mr. Wallace?” Simon called to him. “Or have I managed to dissuade you?”
Henley stopped and peered at Simon over his shoulder. “I haven’t decided.”
“If you slay him, it will upset Helen.”
“This is not an issue that involves Helen at all. Why would her opinion matter to me?”
“Maybe it doesn’t, but I could never bear to hurt her. How about you?” Henley didn’t respond, and Simon suggested, “Let’s chat again once you’re back.”
“I’ll be on pins and needles until then.”
“If you’re lucky, you might discover there’s a huge surprise waiting for you at Wallace Downs.”
“You mean besides my sister marrying my mortal enemy?”
“Yes, besides that. I’m betting it will alter your view of everything. We can discuss it when you return.”
“Pastor Barnes, you’re laboring under the deluded impression that you are some sort of moral compass for me.”
“I’ve never been adept at much else. Why shouldn’t I try to ease some of your woe?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no woe.”
He kept on, and Simon let him go.
He watched Henley wander in the tall grass as the shadows lengthened, as the sky darkened. He appeared tormented and lost, and Simon nearly went in the house to fetch Helen and send her out to soothe him.
She had a fine way with a distraught person, and Henley was more distraught than anyone Simon had met in a very long while.
Apparently, he didn’t realize he had twin daughters. Why hadn’t he been told? It wasn’t the type of news that should have been concealed. When he’d been in Italy with his parents, hadn’t they been apprised that Eugenia Wallace birthed twins?
Simon found that prospect hard to believe. It was such juicy gossip. Wouldn’t Lord and Lady Middlebury have been informed? People were cruel about scandals and would gleefully share untenable rumors with a venomous relish. Who could resist writing that letter?
Last Simon had heard, the girls were at Wallace Downs, and Mr. Wallace was raising them. How would Hayden Henley deal with that shocking development? If he was disturbed now, what would his condition be after the truth was revealed?
Simon would listen and observe and be ready to counsel and advise when the lonely, troubled oaf staggered home.
* * * *
Becky came out onto the verandah and stumbled on her father who was seated at a patio table and staring out at the park. He looked contented and at ease, but then, he always looked contented and at ease.
He noticed her approaching, and he smiled and waved her over. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
“You’ve caught me drinking liquor,” he said, and he laughed. “Have I ruined myself in your eyes?”
“It would take more than liquor to change my opinion of you.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I have a bit more, will you?”
“No, I don’t mind. Why are you out here all by yourself?”
“There aren’t exactly scores of guests to chat with inside. This place feels deserted all of a sudden.”
“It is very quiet.”
“Actually, I was just talking to his grand self.”
“With Nine Lives?” She shook her head at her use of his old name. She couldn’t envision him as anyone else. “You mean Lord Henley? Or is it Lord Middlebury? What are we to call him?”
“I haven’t figured it out, but he’s out in the garden.”
Simon pointed to where she could see him in the fading light.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s walking and pondering.”
“About what?”
“About whether he should murder his sister’s fiancé tomorrow.”
“You and Helen were whispering about it, but I didn’t think you were serious.”
“He and the man have been involved in a painful feud that’s festered forever, and he’s just learned his sister is marrying the fellow. It’s like a plot in a lurid novel. Or perhaps it’s more like a philosophical question that might be posed in a university class. Where does anger lead? Where does pride come into it? How can you convince yourself to let it go?”
“Don’t sermonize, Simon. You know I don’t like it.”
“No, you never did. Even when you were little.”
She gestured to the brandy. “May I taste it?”
“How old are you? Sixteen?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose a sip would be all right. But just a sip.”
He poured a dash into the glass Henley had used. She sniffed it, then sampled it, wrinkling her nose at the strong aroma and tang.
They peered out at Henley where he was strolling in the garden.
“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” her father said. “And rich too.”
“Yes.”
“He should marry Helen.”
“I already told you I think so too. He’s so fond of her, but she doesn’t believe it could ever occur.”
“We’ll simply have to persuade her. Or persuade him so he recognizes that he can’t live without her.”
“You’re not a miracle worker.”
“Sometimes I have been,” he boasted. “It depends on the size of the miracle that’s required. It would be advantageous for us if we could bring them together. You and I would both be taken care of through matrimony. Otherwise, I can’t predict what will become of us. I’m not in much of a position to help you or support you.”
“Whose fault is that?” The snide remark slipped out before she could bite it down.
A different father, a more normal father, might have scolded her or ordered her not to be impertinent. But he wasn’t a normal father, and he’d never scolded his daughters. Not ever.
“Our situation is entirely my fault,” he blithely said. “I admit it. I could never hold on to what I had.” He pulled his gaze from Henley and focused it on her. “If I had the means to bestow any gift in the world, what would you choose?”
It was easy to answer. “I’d like to wed a rich, dashing husband.”
“Of course you would, and your response makes me feel terrible. I wish I could find that marvelous swain for you.”
She glanced out at Lord Henley, and Will had joined him. Their heads were pressed close, and Will was pointing toward the stables. They walked off, and she watched them until they vanished around the corner.
While she was watching them, her father was watching her.
“That Will Stone,” her father said, “he’s very handsome too. Is he rich?”
“He claims his father is, so I guess he will be too eventually.”
“How is his father rich? It must be from ill-gotten gains accumulated while sailing with disreputable characters.”
“Probably, but Will insists they have an elevated lineage too, so he has a relative who furnishes the grounds to be a snob.”
“Is he a snob? The son of a pirate hasn’t much reason to put on airs, despite who he lists as kin.”
“It’s what I told him.”
“Good for you.” Her father patted her knee. “Did his arrogance hurt your feelings?”
“Only for a few minutes. On Tenerife, he pretended to be sweet on me, then his father advised him that he could do much better, so he started being a pompous ass. After that, I never gave him the time of day.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I raised you to be proud. Don’t ever allow a petty boy to lower your esteem.”
“An idiot like Will Stone never could.”
In reality, she was still smarting from his denigration, and he seemed sorry. Since he’d shown up at Middlebury, he constantly tried to chat with her and act as if they were friends, but she wasn’t interested. She would never forgive him for the insults he’d hurled.
“You’re too young to wed, Becky,” her father said.
“Maybe.”
“I
’ve counseled many women who were shackled as girls, much before they were ready for the burdens a bride has to bear.”
“If I had a husband though, I’d have a home again. I’d be safe.”
Her father nodded. “You might be—if you make a good choice. But if you make a bad choice, you might be in more danger than ever. When you’re standing at the altar with your groom, you can’t be certain how he will turn out. He might be the best husband ever or he might be the worst.”
“What was Mother’s view of you?” she asked.
“She always thought I was wonderful.”
Becky scoffed. “I bet.”
Her father grinned his famous grin, the one that had females lining up to confide their personal troubles. “Your mother loved me dearly, poor wife that she was. Her fondness never wavered—no matter the sins I committed.”
“Would we have experienced all these difficulties if she were still alive?”
“Absolutely not. She was a strict angel who kept my nastiest impulses under control.”
“So Helen takes after her, and I take after you.”
“You’ve summed it up splendidly, which is why you and I will invest some effort in pushing Helen and Hayden to wed. If he would just acknowledge his affection and marry her, their union would provide enormous boons for you and me.”
“I hope so.”
“If we were to become Hayden’s in-laws, imagine the beaux you might meet in the future. Why, with how he dotes on her, she’d probably be able to persuade him to offer you a dowry. You wouldn’t have to grovel to vain oafs like Will Stone.”
“You’re a great dreamer, Simon. I like that about you, but it’s exhausting.”
“Why shouldn’t I dream? How can it hurt? What if they come true?”
“There’s one problem with your scheme. Two problems actually.”
“What are they?”
“First of all, Lord Henley has told Helen repeatedly that he would never marry her, because she’s too far beneath him. And second of all, Helen agrees that he shouldn’t pick her. He’s determined to find a princess, and she feels he deserves one.”
Simon snorted derisively. “What would Hayden do with a princess?”
“The same thing any husband would, I expect.”
“Well, in my humble opinion, he and Helen would be perfect together. He has a dire past that will always haunt him, so he will need the sort of tender care Helen is so adept at imparting.”
“How will we convince him it’s what he needs?”
“I doubt it will require much convincing. He’s riding to Wallace Downs tomorrow to visit his sister and her betrothed.”
“Her betrothed is his old enemy?”
“Yes, and he’s going to bump into two huge surprises while he’s there. It should lower his defenses. We’ll see what he thinks about Helen when he returns.”
Becky scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Hayden doesn’t know what he wants.”
“What man does?”
“He’s confused about his path, but you and I already devised the correct ending for him. It’s Helen. We’ll make sure he figures it out too—and we’ll take whatever action is necessary to bring it about.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hayden was hiding in the woods at Wallace Downs. He’d tethered his horse and was debating his next move. He’d visited the local tavern and found out that the entire neighborhood was agog over the pending nuptials.
Abigail had traveled there to work as the governess, and she’d wound up snagging the owner as her husband. Once the betrothal was announced, it had been revealed she was an earl’s daughter. People were beside themselves with excitement and claimed it was a love match.
He hadn’t heard whose children she’d been hired to teach. He figured they were Alex Wallace’s, and the prospect of Abigail raising a child for him made Hayden gnash his teeth.
After listening to all the rumors, he’d ridden out to the estate, but he hadn’t galloped up the lane, hadn’t knocked on the front door and asked to see his sister. He hadn’t burst in and shot Alex Wallace.
He’d had every intention of arriving in that violent fashion, but as he’d trotted through the quiet countryside, Simon Barnes’s words had needled him. To his disgust, he was forced to admit that the disgraced preacher was a sly devil. He’d goaded Hayden to consider numerous tricky issues.
Was he still so angry over what had happened ten years earlier that he would kill a man? Hayden had fornicated with Wallace’s wife. When he’d done it, he hadn’t known she was married, but didn’t Wallace have the right to be furious? Didn’t he have the right to demand satisfaction? If so, where did Hayden’s rage fit into any conclusion?
And what about Abigail? In light of the conditions at Middlebury, it was likely she’d had a hard decade too. If she was happy, if Wallace had rescued her from difficult circumstances, didn’t she deserve the future Wallace would provide?
Hayden wasn’t sure how to approach her. If he walked in and explained who he was, it would be a sweet reunion, but what if Wallace strutted in while they were chatting and hugging? Hayden couldn’t imagine how that scenario would unfold.
What if Hayden strolled in, determined to let bygones be bygones, but Wallace wasn’t in the mood to forgive or forget? What if Wallace took one look at him and challenged him to a second duel? After all, Hayden was still alive, so they hadn’t exactly settled things the first time.
If they bickered, it would ruin Abigail’s engagement and end her wedding. She’d blame Hayden for the debacle, and he couldn’t bear the notion of restarting their relationship on such a painful note.
“What to do, what to do?” he murmured.
Despite Robert’s vehement objection, Hayden had come alone to Wallace Downs. Now, he was fervidly wishing his friend had tagged along. He could have used his advice, although Robert’s only recommendation so far had been to murder Wallace so Hayden could rid himself of Wallace’s ghost.
He tiptoed through the trees, not having caught a glimpse of the house. Wallace’s property was huge, an indication of how rich he was. It was another strike against Hayden causing a ruckus. Who wouldn’t want his sister to marry a very wealthy man?
Shortly, he heard voices up ahead, and furtively, he neared a clearing where a gaggle of children were kicking a ball, trying to maneuver around each other. They were various ages, probably five to twelve years old and mostly boys who were attired in rough clothes and appeared to be tenants’ sons.
There was a girl in the middle of it all, and with her rosy cheeks and merry blue eyes, she was definitely not a tenant’s daughter. Thin and lithe, she was wearing a white dress, covered by a lavender pinafore, a starched petticoat swishing underneath. Her black shoes had been polished to a shine, and her golden blond hair was braided down her back.
She’d be a handful for some lucky parent. Her pretty face was smudged with dirt, her garments stained in several spots, and they would need a thorough washing when she returned to the manor.
Who was she? He guessed she’d be a Wallace cousin who’d come for the wedding, yet members of the Wallace family were generally dark-haired.
She was an aggressive competitor, and when a boy scooted past her with the ball, she tripped him and sent him flying to the ground. He jumped up, his knees scraped from the fall, and he was spitting mad.
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t look sorry.
“Bastard,” the boy shockingly hurled at her.
At his spewing the horrid term, the other children gasped.
The girl frowned. “That word—what does it mean?”
“It means that you don’t know who your father is.”
“I do too!” she furiously replied.
“No, you don’t. Your mother was a whore.”
“My mother was not a whore!” she fumed, then she asked, “What’s a whore?”
The boy snickered. A few of the
older ones snickered too while the younger ones were nervous and stricken.
“Your mother would misbehave with anybody,” the boy taunted. “It’s what my da says. She had no idea who your father was, so that makes you—and your sister—a bastard.”
The girl pulled herself up to her full height that had to be all of four-foot-four or so. She was regal, incredibly incensed, and quite magnificent. All of the boys shrunk back.
“I know who my father was,” she seethed. “I know who my sister’s father was.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do! He was Hayden Henley. He was Viscount Henley! My mother told us so a thousand times.”
“Liar.”
“I am not lying. He was Lord Henley! He was the most handsome man who ever lived. He was wonderful, like a prince in a fairytale. My mother loved him, and he loved her. Don’t you dare insult either of them!”
She marched over and punched him in the nose just as hard as she could. He tumbled to the ground and wailed with dismay. Blood dripped down his chin and soaked into his shirt.
“I don’t want to play with any of you anymore!” the girl said. “You’re mean, and you’re stupid. Get out of here! All of you!” None of them budged, and she warned, “If you don’t go away, I’ll run to the manor and fetch my sister. She can hit even harder than me. She’ll teach you what happens when you denigrate our father. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t!”
Her fist raised, she was like an ancient warrior goddess. Her legs were spread, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, which was precisely how he stood when he was about to throw a punch.
The children muttered, whispered, then they grabbed the battered boy and hurried away. In seconds, they vanished, and an eerie quiet descended.
Gradually, she sensed she wasn’t alone. She spun in a slow circle, searching the forest. Ultimately, she espied him, and she was fearless. She stomped over to him, approaching until she was so close he could have reached out and touched her.
He should have slinked off, but he was frozen in place and so astonished he couldn’t move. The world had suddenly shifted off its axis. He dropped to his knees so they were nose to nose. They scrutinized each other, their identical blue eyes scanning for details, cataloguing features.