Unmasked Heart_A Regency Romance_Challenge of the Soul

by Vanessa Riley

  Blue paper. The candlelight bounced down its weave. "Seren, did you get this from the duke's writing desk?"

  "No, it's Mr. Stelford's."

  Gaia's heart sank. "Mr. Stelford's?" She took the paper from Seren. Arranging the ink and quill atop the trunk, she scrawled notes informing the Hallows and the Telfairs their intentions to stay the night at Ontredale. Gaia was amazed she could spell her name, given the racing of her pulse. Folding the paper, she tore the excess off her note to her stepmother and put it in her pocket. "Can you give these to the groom, and come right back?"

  Seren shrugged her shoulders, but took the letters. "If Mr. Stelford is not too attentive."

  As soon as her friend turned for the stairs, Gaia closed the door and headed for the trunk. She smoothed her hand on the old roughed wood and unlocked the black iron hasp.

  The hinge went easily. She rummaged past the linens and toys to the opening in the seam along the lining. Not breathing, she yanked out one of the letters. Holding it to the light, she examined the page, the weave, weight and coloring. An exact match to the piece of stationery she pulled from her pocket.

  Air gushed out of her mouth like liquid in a toppled flask. The words of love scribbled on the love letter weren't from William.

  Could it be a coincidence? The man who stole Elizabeth's affections and Mr. Stelford possessed the same stationery. She pried open another letter. This one had a mark at the closing. S.

  She rubbed her forehead. Mr. Stelford, William's dear friend, was Elizabeth's lover. The realization stung Gaia's insides almost as badly as when her cousin Millicent sashayed into Chevron Manor, announcing her engagement to Elliot.

  No. This hurt more. Poor William would be devastated by his friend's treachery.

  A knock at the door made her jump in the air, almost tripping over the trunk.

  "I can't open the door. It's stuck." Seren was on the other side.

  "I'll open it," Gaia hoped her voice sounded steady. She stuffed the love letters and the cut of stationery into her pocket then closed up the trunk, before some other skeleton flew out.

  Blowing out a long, frustrated breath, she slunk to the door, yanked, and spun the knob until it opened.

  Seren floated inside. "The grooms have been sent. Is everything well?"

  "I'm just a little nervous, given all that's happened."

  With a fold of her arms, Seren came closer. "Are you sure?"

  She wasn't. William was her every thought. How would he react if he learned of his friend's betrayal from the blackmailer? Gaia had to do something. "Is Mr. Stelford still in the drawing room?"

  Seren's cheeks glowed as her sunny smile bloomed. "Yes, with Mrs. Wingate. She was quizzing him over the events. Poor man."

  Gaia went over the threshold, but paused with her palms on the frame. "Wait here 'til I return."

  "Oh, no. You can't have them all." Seren's laughter followed Gaia down the twisting stairs.

  Gaia didn't want them all. She just wanted to protect William. She pushed open the drawing room's doors.

  Mr. Stelford stood near the mantle. His dark tailcoat contrasted with the whitish marble of the mantle. "Miss Gaia, is the mad house enough for you?"

  He poured himself another drink.

  Mrs. Wingate shook her head as she walked past to the threshold. "Thank you for being here, ma'am. Keep bringing calm to Ontredale." A short smile blossomed on her face as she closed the doors.

  "Well, the future duchess is already at work," Mr. Stelford's words slurred.

  The old housekeeper looked aghast. "You are engaged to the duke?"

  Every doubt in her head about herself shook her fingers, but she stuffed her hands behind her back. "Yes; it is very recent."

  "The Telfair girl and St. Landon's son." She shook her head and marched from the room. The door seemed almost to slam shut.

  Gaia marched to the couch, almost to the very part of the yellow rug where she'd found William. Her pulse raced. God must give her the freedom to speak her mind almost as much as He needed to erase the pain of nearly losing William.

  She swallowed. "I hope you don't mix up your tinctures. One sick man in the house is enough."

  "To be sure." He downed his glass.

  Shoving her hand into her pocket, she fingered the paper and strengthened her resolve to aid William. "I noticed you drink a lot."

  His dark green eyes narrowed. He put the glass on the sideboard's edge. "It's quite impolitic to discuss a man's habits. Besides, the man you should be assessing is the one called Cheshire."

  "I know people are given to drink when they are mired in guilt."

  "Well, I'm very ashamed of these people, wasting good liquor." He pivoted, placing his back to her. His onyx coat sagged on his rounding shoulders.

  "I'm sorry for you." She came to his side, pulled the notes from her pocket, and waved them like a sword cutting the tense air. "It seems the Duchess of Cheshire's death hurt more than the duke and Lady Mary."

  He put a hand to his face and wiped his brow, ruffling his deep brown hair. "Well, you are a shrewd one. Shan't mistake your youth for stupidity."

  With a grunt, he folded his arms. "So what is it that you want me to do to keep this secret from the light of day?"

  She handed him the notes. "I want nothing. You can burn these now, but someone else knows the truth. I think it would be better if Cheshire hears it from you."

  He took them from her. As he murmured words from the page, something washed over him, weighing down his voice, wetting his green eyes. "You want me to tell him of my deceit?"

  "Yes, sir, I do."

  As if he were as thirsty as a camel, he dumped an ocean of amber liquid into his glass. He guzzled his beverage, as if his tongue burned. "Oh, you are too kind."

  Unafraid, she took the glass from him and set it down on the sideboard. "You'll never forgive yourself if you can't admit the truth."

  Gaia knew in that moment that she too had to tell the truth. William would know her secret before the week's end, and if he chose to end their relationship, she would release him. She may not have been born in dignity, but she had it. And it would not allow her to keep another lie.

  Mr. Stelford rubbed his neck, as if he could wrench it from his shoulders. "She was my childhood love. Our hearts were meant to be, before her father arranged their marriage."

  Gaia couldn't understand. The feelings she had for Elliot were nothing compared to this man's anguish, or the duke's. "The news must come from you."

  The glow of the hearth illuminated shadows on Mr. Stelford's cheeks. "There is nothing worthy in these bones to warrant forgiveness. He won't forgive me. He doesn't have it in him."

  "It doesn't matter if the duke does or doesn't; I know you won't forgive yourself until you confess. Drink won't absolve you."

  Stelford balled his fists, and then collapsed against the side of the mantle. "How can I? I lost the woman I loved and stabbed my best friend in the back to get another moment with Lizzy."

  Strangling to get the words out, Gaia forced her voice to be steady. "There is something worthy in everyone, or God wouldn't have sacrificed His son for us. Tell the duke and start the path to heal."

  "Maybe it's best that you tell him. That should gain you a few more points. Not that you need any, Miss Telfair. He already worships your footfalls."

  She wiped at her eyes. "I care deeply for him, and I just don't want him hurt anymore. For the love I know you have for him, tell him the truth."

  Mary started to cry again.

  She walked to the door. No pleasure rested within her. Mr. Stelford might be as stubborn as William. "Just consider my words."

  Sleep had barely taken a hold of William when Mary's scream pierced the darkness of his chamber. Between his stomach and the unsettled nature of his current affairs—a daft cousin, Elizabeth's scandals, a tenuous engagement to Gaia—he hadn't rested much.

  Sliding out of his bed, he fumbled for a match on his bed table. A few blind stabs produced a sulphur
-dipped stick. He lit a candle then threw on his robe. What happened to his reinforcements? Perhaps Gaia went to sleep. Poor girl; she wasn't used to Mary's night terrors.

  He walked down the long hall even as the cries lessened. That was odd. The child usually didn't stop until he picked her up. Maybe Gaia was awake. His lips curled up, picturing Gaia holding his Mary, mothering his girl.

  Dawn's early light filtered through the great window, guiding his feet down the long hall to his daughter's chamber. Anyone who could make it through this night at Ontredale was made of resilient stock. Gaia must belong here. She had to be the missing piece of his life.

  He cared for her; so much more when he thought his last sight on this earth was her sweet face. Maybe they'd moved to a space where he could just say all that he felt, and not fear rejection. She already saw through his jokes. Except for Deborah's treachery, she knew the worst. Couldn't both admit to growing feelings?

  Arriving at Mary's threshold, he twisted the knob, but the door wouldn't open. His pulse pounded as he thought of his little girl trapped and alone in the room.

  Placing the candle on the show table nearest her door, he took a deep breath, lowered his shoulder, and rammed the door. It shook in the frame but didn't open. The fouled belladonna must've tamped his strength.

  "All is fine." The voice sounded muffled, like a hand covering someone's mouth.

  His heart raced, and he rammed the door again. The paneled wood tore from its hinges, but did not fall. He pushed and propped it to the side. "I'm coming."

  He stalked in. Mary's head pointed in the rocker's direction. A humming Gaia sat there, waving at him to leave.

  "What is going on?"

  Almost leaping, Gaia sprang from the chair and she charged him. She clapped a hand to his mouth and shoved at him, as if to make him leave the room. The woman would have better luck forcing a wall to move than to keep him from his daughter.

  She reached up to his ear and whispered, "Mary is learning to soothe herself. You must leave now."

  Torn between the visceral response of his heart when Gaia touched him and his anger, William eased her wrist away then bent over the crib.

  His little teary-eyed child reached for him, and his ire heated again. "I would never expect you to be heartless and let a baby cry."

  "Mary's not a baby. She has to learn to use words, not sobs."

  He spun the child and held her tight. "She's my baby."

  "She's a little girl." Gaia reached for his arm, but every muscle tightened, and he wrenched away.

  Gaia moved in front of him. "The child needs to be given the instruction to develop. You must trust me."

  Mary cooed at him as her chubby arms gripped his neck.

  "Elizabeth! Your instruction made her eyes red. Is this how you treat your stepdaughter?"

  Her face paled. "What?"

  "All will be well, Mary. Papa's here."

  Gaia backed away. "I am not your late wife. I would never hurt any child. Mary needs to soothe herself, or she will grow up nervous. William, you should know I wouldn't do anything to wrong this sweet girl."

  He didn't answer, and plopped down in the rocking chair.

  Gaia's breathing hitched as her bosom shuddered. She seemed to be full warrior, without the prayerful part. "I would never be cruel to Mary. Why would I, when we are the same, born under a cloud of adultery?"

  What was she talking about? He squinted at Gaia even as the coldness of her statements about Mr. Telfair flooded into remembrance. "We'll talk when I get Mary settled."

  "At least this child was born of love, not the opposite." Gaia pivoted to the threshold. She lifted her head and trudged out of the chamber.

  Gaia was born under a cloud, too? If she wasn't Mr. Telfair's, whose daughter was she? And how did Mr. Telfair forgive the adultery?

  Or did he?

  William's heart dropped. The pain his Gaia must bear, and he'd just accused her of harming Mary.

  He wanted to go after Gaia, but Mary hadn't settled. Yes, that would be the excuse he would use, not the guilt weighing down his feet.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A Father's Love

  AUNT'S CARRIAGE RUMBLED away from Ontredale. Seren had left before dark, so it was just Gaia, Mrs. Monlin, and the lies.

  The older woman shook. Her face pinched almost like Mr. Telfair's when he was really annoyed. "Tell me what happened. I heard shouting and wood breaking."

  Refusing to answer, she turned from the woman's ashy countenance to the greenery of the woods.

  Aunt pounded the seat. "Gaia, are you still engaged? Did you fowl things up?"

  "I am to blame, Aunt?" Heated anger coursed through her. "No, all the lies I've ever been told. Those are to blame."

  Aunt's mouth opened then closed. She wrung her hands.

  "Keep your lies. Bury them again with my mother. Or with the mysterious black who stole her virtue. I don't care anymore."

  Gaia spied the path to her favorite spot on the earth. She leapt up, pressed on the door, and jumped out of the moving vehicle.

  Tumble, tumble, bump. She rolled to a stop. Her new gown had dirt caked on the pleats from the fall, but what did it matter? The frock was William's. Gaia had nothing, not even the illusion of hope.

  She peered up and saw the carriage stop. Aunt would never traipse through the mud to follow, so Gaia marched through the bushes and didn't quit until she was hugging her oak.

  Her chest still stung at William's accusations. The coldness in his sea-blue eyes; they might as well have been the pond that stayed frozen at the Hallows' three years ago, the year with no summer.

  At least she saw William's true nature: irritable, judgmental. Surely he was just like his father, the harsh vicar, not the affable man William pretended to be.

  "Arrgh!" she cried out her frustration, releasing it and all her breath. How could she be mad at a man protecting his daughter? Maybe it was envy making water gush from her eyes. No one would ever fight for her like that. No one.

  She tried to swipe at her tears, and mud painted her cheek. She looked at the cold blackness of the raw earth, but saw herself, stained by birth, never to be washed clean.

  "God, why was I born? If I am to hurt this much, what was Your point?"

  "The point was to heal my dearest friend's heart."

  "Aunt Tabby?"

  "Your mother had lost twin babies before you. That is why there is a gap between you and Julia. She was sad for so long. My brother told her it was her fault, but men know nothing when it comes to these things."

  The stillborn twins? How could Mother be blamed, when death in childbirth was so common? Gaia spun to look her aunt in the eye.

  The woman fidgeted with her gloves, but her voice remained low and steady. "A man, a student from Africa, came to our village, Mr. Tialnago. He was here studying England to gain a way to help his people. He was the nephew of the king of the Xhosa tribe."

  Aunt swiveled and looked around, as if there were a place to sit. There was nothing there but God's floor. "I've never seen a stronger attraction, and they were so different."

  "Nephew of a king? But your brother said he forced her."

  Shaking her head from side to side, Aunt strengthened her voice. "She loved Tialnago, and he her. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong, but couldn't let him be. I tried to dissuade her. Delilah and I were like you and Miss Hallow, always getting or keeping the other from straying, but not this time. She withdrew into herself. Only Tialnago could reach her."

  "Did they want to run away together? What were their intentions?"

  With a shrug, Aunt backed up and put her weight against the trunk. "I don't know. She became so secretive. Then, they were discovered by my brother. I've never seen Henry so angry. He wanted both to pay, but he didn't want the family slighted. Then Tialnago did the bravest thing."

  The drop in Aunt's tone was like ice, and pelleted them. Gaia turned and grasped the lady's elbow. "What did he do? Don't stop. Let the truth reign."

&
nbsp; Eyes wide, as if the event were reoccurring, Aunt Tabby continued, "Tialnago said he had coerced and confused her with his pipe music. He took the blame for the affair to protect your mother and you."

  Gaia pulled away, hugging herself to prepare for the worst. "What happened to him? Did Mr. Telfair kill him?"

  "It was his right to avenge Delilah's honor, but he didn't want the blood on his hands. He did worse. He shipped Tialnago into slavery."

  With a heart pounding hard, she dropped to her knees. "How could that be? Tialnago was a free man. And don't slaves have rights in England?"

  "Laws and wronged men's motives don't mesh. Henry wanted him gone and to pay most cruelly."

  "How? Does he even know slavers?"

  "Someone helped, but I don't know who. The scandal never came to light."

  Aunt trudged in front of her and plucked leaves from Gaia's matted hair. "Know this. It was wrong what your mother and Tialnago did, but you are not a child of rape." She fingered and lifted Gaia's chin. "There is royalty in your blood."

  An image of a woman brushing these frizzy locks flashed. Her mother was beautiful, but her lips formed a permanent frown. Now Gaia understood, and her heart shattered again.

  "More love created you than any of your siblings. Tialnago loved you and your mother enough to take the full blame. He let his name be tarred. He sacrificed himself so that you might live."

  Face in hands, Gaia wept. Her salted tears baptized her face with the truth. Her true father sacrificed his freedom to protect her. He wasn't evil, as Mr. Telfair had implied. Gaia wasn't evil either.

  "Forgive my brother. He was very dark, shamed, more than anything, but he wouldn't take you from your mother, knowing how she grieved the loss of her twin boys. And when you came out so light, not looking black at all, I convinced him of the scheme to circulate Spanish roots. And when you became instrumental in saving Timothy, even he saw you had a purpose, a reason for you being a Telfair."

  "My father became a slave for me. God, am I worthy of this sacrifice?" She dipped and picked up a stick to write her true father's name in the ground. Her fingers shook. Instead, she drew a cross. Her blood father sacrificed for her, but her Lord had already done so on Calvary. That, alone, made her worthy.