She bumped the table at her back, rocking the bottles so they clattered together. "I don't know what you mean."
"I understand there are necessary legal steps that must be taken before committing someone like Lord Malham to St. Mary's. Papers must be drawn up, a court date set."
Her mouth opened in a soft gasp.
Stopping at the end of the table, I glanced down at the open book, then back at her. "Are you ill?" I asked.
"Yes." She pressed trembling fingers to her head. "Actually I am. My head is splitting again and I thought ..." Slamming the book closed, she smiled. "I suppose I'll have to wait until Trevor returns. You won't say anything about my being here, will you? He's very particular about people coming in when he's not present."
"No," I said. "I won't tell him."
"Good. Well, then, shall we have dinner?" Sweeping by me, she left the room. I followed at a considerable distance.
We were surprised to find that Trevor had already returned. He stood with Nick in the foyer, his face chafed with cold and his brown hair wind tossed and slightly damp. Throwing open his arms, he embraced Nick with a great hug, then slapped him on the back.
"By God, Nick, you look wonderful. Are you feeling well?"
"Very well," my lord responded. "You're home early."
"I completed my business a day ahead of schedule."
Adrienne, holding her brown skirts slightly in her hands, glided gracefully toward her brothers. She offered Trevor a small kiss on each cheek before responding to his last comment. "I was under the impression that you were going to York on holiday, Trevor. What sort of business were you about?"
"Investments. But we'll talk on that later. I—" His eves widened with pleasure as he finally spotted me. "There you are, hiding in the shadows like a little mouse, Miss Rushdon. Come here and tell me hullo."
I did so, hesitantly. When I was close enough to (OIK h, he grabbed my arms and turned them over, examining the scratches that were now no more than (Inn white lines on my skin. "Healed well, I see. They'll leave no scars. What a shame if they had permanently marred such beautiful skin."
Feeling myself blush, I stepped away and returned Ins smile with some effort. I sensed that his journey to York had more to do with arrangements to commit Nicholas to St. Mary's than it did with investments.
In that moment, the door behind Trevor burst open and several servants filed in carrying parcels.
"What's this?" Adrienne asked. I detected a little girl's enthusiasm as she perused the gifts.
"When have I ever traveled to York or London without returning with gifts? Shall we all go to the Great Hall where it's more comfortable?"
Excusing myself I turned for the door when Trevor spoke up again. "Miss Rushdon, you'll join us, of course."
"No, sir."
"But I have something here for you."
I stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "For me, sir?" I looked briefly toward Nick. He looked at his brother, one brow lifted in curiosity. Then he looked at me.
"Nick asked me to pick up something for you, Ariel." Trevor spun on his heel to Reginald and extracted a great bundle wrapped in tissue paper and ribbons. Dropping it into my arms, he winked and said, "Come along to the drawing room and out of this frigid foyer. I want to see your face when you open it." He grabbed my arm and moved me toward the hallway. Glancing back over my shoulder, I met my lord's eyes in question. He looked quickly away and pressed his fingers to his temple.
Adrienne was atwitter as we entered the room. She babbled good-naturedly with Trevor, wanting to know all the gossip: "Is it true that Virginia Briggs is consorting with someone in Parliament? Is the price of tea really going up?"
"Virginia Briggs has consorted with every eligible and ineligible man in Parliament, my dear, and with little doubt the cost of tea is going up again. The East India Company is robbing us blind."
"Why, those dastardly Chinese! Whatever will we do? The price is exorbitant already."
"There is rumor—and rumor is all it is at this stage— that China is considering closing its doors to foreign trade sometime in the future. I ran into Lord Melbrook outside the Ministry and he tells me the British Corn-mil tee is considering a plan for growing tea in India."
"India!" Adrienne sat back in her chair.
"I think there may be worthwhile investment opportunities there," Trevor pointed out. He looked toward Nick; who was frowning still and rubbing his brow. "What do you think, my lord? If push comes to shove with China, perhaps we might dabble in the tea business ourselves. I understand Earl Grey—"
"What is in the package?" Nick asked, cutting Trevor off.
They all looked at me, and the bundle in my lap.
Trevor, who had been poised casually by the fire, his elbow propped against the marble mantle, stared at Nicholas in something like shock. Crossing the room, he placed a gentle hand on Nick's shoulder and said softly, "You asked me to get it for her. Don't you recall?"
Nick's refusal to respond was a response in itself. Sitting forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, In pointed one unsteady finger at the package, looked into my eyes, and said through his teeth, "Open it."
I began doing so, slowly. In truth, my mind was not on the gift in my lap but on my lord's eyes, more distressed than they had been in days. Finally the tissue laid open. I stared down at the folds of exquisite green satin that made up the finest gown I had ever seen.
"Don't you recall, Nick?" came Trevor's voice. You mentioned to me you were tired of that drab dress she was always wearing, and that you wanted to paint her wearing something bright and beautiful. You asked me to visit Madame d'Eliza Varden, knowing she would be able to come up with something on short notice. Truth is, I would have been home yesterday, but the gown took longer than Madame anticipated. Of course we had to estimate your measurements, Ariel, but I think you'll be pleased. Why don't you go and try it on. I'm certain Nick is as eager to see how it fits as I am."
I looked at the dress again, knowing now how Adrienne felt when gifted with the wedding lace. My heart raced with despair. Nick had forgotten that he'd requested the garment, and with that lapse I was reminded that his illness had not miraculously cured itself. For that I loathed the dress. Yet I wanted to press it to my breast because he had gifted it to me for no more motive than love.
Unsteadily I left my chair, spilling paper around my feet. My own mind tumbled in a state of confusion, not knowing how or if I should accept such an extravagant gift. Finally, Nicholas sat back in his chair and said quietly, "Of course. I remember now. Certainly you should go and try on the dress, Ariel, as a favor to me."
I returned his smile, then left the room in gratitude. For the time being, I would be allowed to calm my fractured nerves before facing my lord again.
I entered the foyer and found Brabbs standing just inside the door, speaking with Reginald. I walked directly to him and took his arm, dismissing the butler with a smile.
Reggie bowed slightly to Brabbs and said, "HI tell Mr. Trevor you're here."
"Give me ten minutes with Brabbs alone, please," I told him.
As he nodded and walked away, I turned to my friend. "You're just the man I want to see. I've news, Brabbs."
His eyes fell on the dress in my arms. "What's this?" he asked.
"A dress." I pulled him toward the nearest doorway, ushered him into the room, and closed the door behind us.
His eyes were still on my bundle. "So, it's come to that, has it?"
"To what?" I scowled and placed the dress across .1 chair.
"What did you have to do for that, Maggie? I never thought it of you. I never thought you would sell yourself for…"
"How dare you even insinuate such a thing," I interrupted. "The dress is a gift and only a gift. Besides, what should it matter to you?"
"It matters," he said. "He's the last person in this world I care to see you with, lass."
"I cannot believe this! Are you telling me that you truly believe the rumors as well?
Do you truly believe him insane?"
"Insanity is a well enough ploy to hide behind, Maggie. Grand crimes are committed in the name of insanity."
"Are you telling me that you believe he killed his wife and has completely fabricated the story of his illness?"
He caught my shoulders and spoke in a quieter voice. "Maggie-mine, if it's only the lad you want, take him and get out. I'll help you if I must, but I can't stand seeing you throw your life away on such as he! You'll end up hurt, lass, or worse."
"Nay, he would never hurt me."
"How can you say that? He broke your heart by marrying Jane. Then when he tired of her he killed her. Maggie, get out while you can, before it's too late!"
I shoved him away. "I can see you're no friend to me, Brabbs. If you were you wouldn't be saying these things about the man I love and am about to marry”
"Marry! Merciful God, Maggie, what are you saying? You're not about to marry the murdering scoundrel."
"I am," I responded, with a lift of my chin. "And he didn't murder anyone. I'll never believe it."
He turned away, shaking his head. "I've heard love makes you blind to reality but I didn't realize it robbed you completely of common sense." He faced me again. "Even if he were as righteous as a pope, Maggie, you still got no place in this house. They're different people, lass. They're a different class. You'll never fit in. He'll resent you soon enough and then where will you be. Down at the cemetery no doubt, buried by Jane."
Snatching up my dress, he shook it at me and said, "Is a bit of fluff like this worth your life, girl? Is it worth the humiliation you'll feel when his friends turn up their nose at you? You're nowt but a peasant, Maggie, and that's all you'll ever be. Get your pretty head out of the clouds and face reality."
I calmly took my dress from his hand, though my heart was beating furiously. Smoothing the crumpled skirt against me, I said with restrained emotion, "I brought you in here to ask a favor. I am to be married to the man I love Tuesday next in Burnsall, and I am in need of a witness."
He caught my chin in his hand and tipped up my face. "I'll witness the marriage, Maggie, but I won't be happy about it. I'll be prayin' until the moment you finish your vows that something happens to stop it."
I left him staring after me as I quit the room. Lifting my skirts, I fled up the stairs into the same cold and darkness that I had once abhorred. No longer. The brittle coldness soothed the hot anger flushing my cheeks. The darkness hid the scalding tears of anger and frustration streaming from my eyes. I ran down the corridor to my room, and once there slammed the door behind me.
At my feet lay the remnants of my wedding dress. I fell to my knees and brushed my hand over the velvet, cursing openly as Brabbs's accusations burned through my mind. Was I the only person in the world fool enough to believe Nicholas Wyndham innocent of insanity and murder?
Stumbling to my feet, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, then, gently laying my gift on the bed, I promptly removed the worn gray garment I was wearing and kicked it aside. Carefully, I stepped into the emerald satin, struggled for some time to fasten each intricate button up the back of the bodice, and when finished, closed my eyes briefly before finding the courage to look again at my reflection.
Oh! was it really Maggie? Was this stranger I beheld truly the same wasted and plain waif who moments before had looked little better than some ragamuffin wandering the streets of London? Were those eyes really the same? How green they were now, perfectly matching the dress. How they shone!
My hair looked startlingly black about my pale face. Spinning, I grabbed up a length of green ribbon, pulled my hair over one shoulder, and with my fingers began twisting it and the ribbon into a braid. Bending closer to the mirror, I blinked, unable to believe the sight of my own reflection. I turned slightly to the right, then to the left, smoothed my hands down the bodice of the dress, lightly touched the modest, embroidered décolletage and trailed my fingers down the close-fitting starves that came to the wrists.
I dropped to my knees, and with a trembling hand, picked up the scissors laying to one side of my wedding dress. Then I lifted the abhorrent dress I had worn during my nightmare internment at Oaks and slashed it to pieces.
Chapter 14
I prayed the next five days for fair weather. Tuesday dawned clear, but soon a fog formed so close to earth I could barely see the treetops outside my window. Pressing my forehead against the icy glass pane, I listened to the distant baying of the hounds while Contemplating my future as Lady Malham.
The servants, with the exception of Matilda, had ;t I ready changed toward me. Now they hushed as I walked into a room. They eyed me speculatively, (heir lifted brows and pursed lips evidence of the disapproval they felt over my relationship with the Wyndhams. When they learned of the fabrics Nicholas had bestowed on me, Polly conveniently let it slip that they had belonged to Jane, that they had been stored since her death in a room in the old wing. She'd made a point of shivering on my behalf and saying aloud, " 'Tis bad luck t' wear anythin' be-longin' t' the dead, y' know. Y'll end up sufferin* the same fate, I vow/'
Recalling those words, I turned from the window and stared at my wedding dress. I thought, perhaps Brabbs is right. Perhaps I am a fool for believing in Wyndham's innocence, in his sanity. But there was no way to prove either unless I had some sort of control over his circumstances. And that is what I dreaded most. If I was wrong there might well be a new Lady Malham in Malham Cemetery very soon.
I arrived at Brabb's house at just after eight. "I don't understand why you just didn't ride to Burn-sail with him," he said.
Ignoring the barbed tone of his voice, I asked, "What do you think of my wedding dress?"
"It's green. It aught to have been white, but considering the circumstances . . ."
"Watch your tongue, Brabbs. You are talking to the future Lady Malham." He bristled at that.
I continued. "Nicholas and I decided that our leaving together would only raise suspicions. The help is whispering already, you know, and I'm quite certain Adrienne and Trevor believe we've become close." " 'Close?' Is that what it's being called now?" I turned away. "I don't know why you hate him so. I don't recall your feeling this way toward him before." "That was before he took a virgin and ruined her." "You were the one who sent me to Oaks, Brabbs, not Nicholas."
"It was your uncle who sent you," he responded hotly. "There was nowt I could do about it."
I listened as he shuffled and banged about the room like a child in the throes of a tantrum. "Brabbs," I said, "calm down and think. Your reason for continuing to hate Nicholas is absurd. Had I truly died in childbirth your anger would be justifiable. But as you can see I'm still alive and—"
"Not for long," he snapped. Grabbing up his cloak, he swung it around his shoulders.
"I will never believe Nicholas is mad!" My patience at an end, I glared at him in frustration. "As a physician, surely you can understand his basic problem. His initial loss of memory was brought on by some kind of physical or emotional hysteria. It is the brain's way of shutting out any stress that could further injure it."
"Bloody hell," he groaned. "There you go again telling me my business."
Hurrying across the room to the shelves of medical texts lining the wall, I drew one out and slammed it onto his desk. "See for yourself. It is there in black and white for any layman to read."
He shook his head. "I regret the day I ever taught you to read, Maggie."
"Don't change the subject," I said, thumping the book with my fist. Hunching his shoulders, he buttoned his cloak. His gray brows drew down in a frown, and I knew I had him. "Think, Brabbs. Nicholas is not totally without his memory. He knows who he is. He knows his family, his history. What he cannot recall are those stress moments: the night his wife died, and Maggie. The brain could be blocking recall of both because they bring about a certain trauma. And such « condition can cause abrupt hallucinatory images that become momentary visual impressions. This all could be partial cause for hi
s confusion."
He squinted one eye at me and said, "Could be? Partial? Is some common sense in that pretty head telling you that that might not be the case? Are you telling me that there might be other reasons for his apparent illness?"
I walked again toward the fire and ventured softly, "I or a moment let's forget Nicholas completely. You me called out to see a patient who is suffering head pain, rigors. His family tells you he has become explosive on occasion, violent, moody, sleeping more than usual. He's suffering nightmares, hallucinations; what would be your prognosis?" He turned away. "Brabbs!" I beseeched him.
"Are you going to marry the bastard or not?" He called out. "If you are we'd best go. It's goin' to snow."
The small church, its gray stone walls barely discernible in the fog, perched on the hillside overlooking the village of Burnsall. As Brabbs's buggy rattled over the drive I caught a glimpse of the chapel's towering crucifix jutting through the dreary mist. Occasionally a flash of leaded glass winked from an arched window overlooking the village.
After stopping outside the weathered rock wall surrounding the church, Brabbs hurried around the buggy and helped me to the ground. I could hardly make out his troubled features through the fog as he said, "There's still time, you know. We can turn round and go back to Malham if that's what you want." "It's not," I responded.
He shoved open the wicket for me. Its rusty hinges creaked, exaggerating the quiet solitude of the sacred grounds surrounding us. He held my arm as we made our way down the cobblestone walk. I noted the gray, leaning headstones in the nearby cemetery, obscured mostly by mist. Several sheep grazed among the grave mounds, nibbling dead grass from beneath the snow. I could hear the tinkling bell about one's neck as it pranced somewhere in the distance.
The front doors of the chapel were slightly ajar. We entered. How quiet. How still. Then a movement near the front of the church caught my eye. And another, and yet another. The clergyman moved toward me, his white surplice ghostly over his black cassock, his loose full sleeves billowing as he opened his arms.
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