Lady Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but Thea staved her off with a raised hand. “Yes, Lord Lyon and I were friends one summer years ago, but that was then. This is now. Life for both of us is different. In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, nodding to the furnishings in the room, “no one could mistake this for a ducal residence. You need not fear a match between your brother and myself.”
“But what of the other women you would introduce to him?” Lady Margaret asked. “Please, don’t let Lyon marry.”
“I have no more control over what your brother decides to do than you do,” Thea answered. “Indeed, he is determined to marry. The man wants children.”
“It is more than that. Neal believes we can break this curse. He thought Father was going to break it, but then he fell in love with Cass Sweetling. You should have seen him. The father I knew—the resectable, sensible man—changed around her. He forgot about us, his obligations, his position in society. He gave in completely to the curse. Laughing, dancing, carrying on.”
“Perhaps he did so because Cass Sweetling made him happy,” Thea suggested.
“Perhaps she was part of the curse. Perhaps we can’t help ourselves and must succumb to it.”
“And perhaps it is all part of your imaginations,” Thea said. “Like character traits. In my family, we all said we had uncontrollable tempers. What starts off as myth becomes a belief.”
“You think I’m overreacting,” Lady Margaret said, her shoulders straightening.
“I believe you are convinced this curse exists,” Thea answered, not backing down. “I am not. Your father died of old age. He and your mother were an arranged marriage that was not happy. And after she died, he did what thousands of men have done before him and will continue to do until the end of time, he tumbled in love for a young, pretty girl. There is no curse involved.”
The bristle left Lady Margaret’s manner. “I know it isn’t logical. If I wasn’t part of this family, I probably would doubt the story of a curse as well. However, my coming here isn’t to convince you. What I want is completely in your power. Stay away from my brother.”
Back to that, were they?
Thea could almost have laughed at Lady Margaret’s order if she hadn’t been so tired. “You needn’t fear I will entrap your brother. First, I am no Delilah. I’m a widow whose only thoughts, whose every energy, goes into the needs of my children. I don’t have time for a man in my life, and even if I did, let me tell you now, after one taste of marriage, it is not for me. I prefer to raise my sons alone so that I do not have to answer to anyone.”
“You were not happy in your marriage?” Lady Margaret tilted her head in curiosity. “We all heard about you. You were the tale of what a young woman should not do—defy our parents, marry beneath us, forget our obligations.”
“I know,” Thea said wearily. “I was the morality story, and I still am. I’ve had several mothers bring their daughters to me for lectures about the dangers of a mésalliance.”
“And what do you tell them?”
Thea reached over and lightly brushed the surface of an end table before saying, “I tell them that my life could have been easier if I had been more patient and wiser.”
Lady Margaret waited for more, and when Thea didn’t speak, she said, “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“What more is there?” Thea answered. “Actually there is much more, but nothing those mothers would want me to tell their daughters.”
“Such as?” Lady Margaret prompted.
Thea shook her head. “I’m not certain you need to hear my thoughts either.”
“I believe I should.” The note of regret in Lady Margaret’s voice caught Thea’s attention. Lady Margaret noticed Thea’s change of expression and said, “Do you believe you are the only one who has loved outside her class?”
“Oh, no,” Thea responded. “I know better than that. But I caution young women to not act on their feelings. I was the foolish one. I thought the way I felt for Boyd could overcome every obstacle. What I didn’t realize is how large those obstacles were, and how he was not as strong a man as I’d thought he was.”
“So you regret your marriage?”
Thea listened for any indication her sons were close at hand. She didn’t hear a sound, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close enough to overhear anything she said. She’d been very careful not to criticize Boyd in front of them.
Of course, that didn’t mean that a perceptive lad like Jonathan didn’t reach his own conclusions. Since Boyd’s death, they rarely talked about him.
“I don’t regret my marriage because I have my sons. They are the light of my world. Of course, my marriage cost me the goodwill of my family—” She broke off, shrugged and confessed, “But we were never that close. I was the defiant one in the family, and I believe my father was secretly happy to have me off his hands. And in truth, I didn’t want to marry well, breed an heir and stay out of the way. I truly felt that Boyd and I were the matching of two souls who were meant to be together.”
“But you were not happy,” Lady Margaret surmised.
Thea lowered her voice. “In the beginning I was. We started off with hopes and dreams . . . and gained disappointments. Boyd had many weaknesses. He really wanted to be married to a duke’s daughter. My father’s following through on his threats to disinherit me was a disappointing blow to him. He believed Father had some respect for him. He didn’t realize that while my father could be open and congenial with the help, that didn’t mean he wanted one of them marrying his daughter. Then again, neither my husband nor I were perfect. That was a hard lesson for me to learn. A humbling one.”
“And once the disappointments start, they don’t stop, do they?” Lady Margaret agreed sadly.
“Why haven’t you married?” Thea asked, suddenly having her own suspicions. “You are past the age. What are you? Four and twenty?”
“Five and twenty.” Lady Margaret gave a rueful smile. “I was in love once. It was the most marvelous feeling in the world. Life made sense. I truly thought we could conquer everything.”
“And then?”
“He did not love me with the same passion.” Her gaze slid away from Thea’s. She seemed to study the pattern of the wood floor a moment before saying stiffly, “I suppose it would be more polite to say we didn’t suit.”
There was more to the story. Thea would have wagered everything she owned on it. Someone had broken Lady Margaret’s trust. He’d slipped past her guard and taken all that she’d had.
It made Thea angry. How dare that man, or any man, Boyd included, take a woman’s loving nature and betray it? Oh, there were women who deserved their comeuppance. Selfish creatures whose skins were tough and their wills unconquerable—but Lady Margaret was not of that ilk. She was like Thea, honest in her feelings, incapable of protecting them.
Thea crossed to the younger woman and put her arms around her. “You are better than him. He was not worthy of you.”
Lady Margaret’s face turned pinched and her nose red, as if she held back tears, but she stood still in Thea’s arms.
“Go ahead and cry,” Thea said. “Scream, yell curse even. The sin is his, not yours.”
“I knew better,” Lady Margaret said. “But even now, I wouldn’t change everything that happened. He made me realize some hard truths. If we’d had children, they would have carried the curse. It’s important to stop it now. To let it end here with my brothers and myself.”
Thea took a step away. “Can you do that? Set yourself apart from the world? I have my sons to live for, but you would have nothing.” And she wondered if Lady Margaret was making this sacrifice out of guilt more than conviction.
“I have my brothers.”
“Is that enough?” Thea shook her head. “Pardon me, but my siblings and I are not close. I haven’t spoken to them for seven years, so imagin
ing they were all I had in my life is a bleak proposition. It’s almost as if you are putting yourself aside in a nunnery.”
Lady Margaret moved away from Thea. “Nothing of the sort. We are family. We are all we have.”
“I remember your brother saying much the same thing during our summer of friendship.” Thea risked pushing her point. “You were raised in a cold house, one that had no affection. Of course, it caused you and your brothers to be very close. You were all you had. I wonder,” Thea continued, “what Neal would say to the request you are making of me. You choose to live a lonely life for this curse, but he doesn’t. Can you not respect that it is his choice?”
“How much is he paying you, Mrs. Martin?” Lady Margaret countered, her manner growing frigid. “I wonder if the money is worth the personal cost, not just to my brother but to his children. They will either be doomed to live without a father or to that very same cold house to which you just referred. Can you live with yourself knowing what you do about our history?”
The curse again.
Thea was worn out speaking of it. “What I know of your history is that some of your ancestors died young or in battle. Your father died at a ripe age and after he’d found happiness with a woman neither you nor your brothers thought best for him. I don’t question your belief in this curse. If you say it is true, it is. But what right have you to interfere with your brother’s life? Who are you to make his decisions?”
“I am his sister. A blood relative—”
“But you are not him,” Thea interrupted. “He is the only one who can make the choices for his life. I appreciate that you care enough for him to worry. But he isn’t worried. You must respect that.”
“And you do not know what you are playing with.” The words she threw out sounded as if they’d been torn from Lady Margaret’s heart. She looked wildly around the room as if searching for a way to convince Thea. Instead she turned on her heel and practically raced to the door. “Please, I beg of you, rethink what you are doing. I don’t feel good about this. There are signs. She came to me in a dream. She was laughing. It was a hideous sound. Evil.”
“Who is she?” Thea demanded.
“The witch,” Lady Margaret answered. She drew a great, shuddering breath. “She comes to me,” she said, dropping her voice. “I haven’t said anything to my brothers.” She paused and then repeated, “She comes to me.”
Thea’s first thought was that a madness had gripped Neal’s sister. Her passion, the abrupt change in demeanor, her anger at Thea’s refusal to do as bid were disconcerting.
Then again, Thea’s father had been this sort of person as well. Pleasant when he was pleased and absolutely vicious or whining when crossed.
But Lady Margaret didn’t act vicious. She was frightened.
“Think on it,” Lady Margaret ordered. “Your life is now involved in this as well.” She opened the door and escaped out into the evening. Thea crossed to the door and watched the other woman dash across the street to where a hired chaise and her lady’s maid waited for her.
“What was she talking about, Mother?” Jonathan said from the stairs.
Thea forced herself to smile, then shut the door and turned to her sons. “She had some concerns about Lord Lyon,” she said, giving them part of the truth.
“She was upset,” Christopher declared.
“People often are when they don’t have their way,” Thea said, coming up the stairs. She gathered her boys close to her and gave them a hug. They smelled of the soap they’d used to scrub behind their ears, as well as dirt—a sign that the only place they’d washed was behind their ears. She welcomed the opportunity to take her mind off Lady Margaret’s disturbing visit. “You boys haven’t washed your faces and necks,” she accused.
“We tried,” Jonathan said.
Thea gave him a doubtful look. “I believe you did just a bit. I think you washed here, and here.” She punctuated her words by giving each of them a wiggle of their earlobes. Both giggled and she felt her mood lighten.
“How did you know?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m your mother. I know everything about you because I love you so much.” To her surprise, tears filled her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” kindhearted Christopher asked, his expression worried. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No one hurt me,” Thea answered. “I cry because I’m happy.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m very happy.”
“I’m happy too,” Christopher assured her.
“Now let us go and give you both a proper washing,” Thea said. She started up the stairs with Christopher. Jonathan held back. She turned to him. “Come along, Jonny.”
Instead of obeying, he said with troubled eyes, “What did that woman mean about a witch?”
Thea wished he hadn’t overheard. “Eavesdropping is very bad manners.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan answered dutifully. “Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Thea quickly replied. She sat on the step in front of him so that they were eye level. “I’m in no trouble.”
“Is Lord Lyon in trouble?”
This one was trickier. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t believe he is, and, as I said to his sister, what he thinks is all that is important. As to the witch, she was having bad dreams. You’ve had bad dreams before, so you know they can be scary. But we can’t live our lives being afraid of dreams.”
Jonathan digested this a moment and then nodded his head.
“Come upstairs,” Thea instructed. “It’s time for all of us to go to bed . . . after you have rewashed your faces.”
Groans from Jonathan met her demand and she knew he had accepted her explanation.
She thought she was done with it.
But in the wee hours of the morning, Thea found herself staring at the ceiling, reliving the scene with Lady Margaret. The woman was not a fool. Her dreams frightened her.
Either there was madness in the Chattan family, or there really was something to fear.
“I don’t see anything wrong with this list, do you, my lord?” Sir James asked Neal.
Neal sat in the chair in front of his desk. He’d brought the list to Sir James for his opinion. “No,” he replied noncommittally.
“You aren’t satisfied?” Sir James hazarded.
Neal wasn’t certain what he felt. “They are all from exceptional families. I know many of their extended family members.”
“Do they not meet your criteria?”
They met them too well. “Yes.”
“Then what is not pleasing you?” Sir James sat back in his chair. “I have known you for many years, Lyon. I know when you are not happy. Do you wish me to convey your thoughts to Mrs. Martin? I will be happy to do so.”
Neal stood, suddenly feeling confined in the chair. “I told her the list was fine. It’s a start.”
“These are high-strung fillies,” Sir James said, indicating the list.
“They are more or less what I asked for,” Neal said, walking over to the window. He looked outside at the overcast day. He’d not been able to sleep the night before. Margaret had spent an hour expressing her strong objections to the endeavor.
She’d told him about her dreams.
Neal wasn’t the superstitious sort. Neither was Margaret. Perhaps that was why he was so unsettled . . . that and Harry had gotten into the laudanum again last night. Neal worried about his brother. There were times he sensed Harry might be trying to take his own life. Harry put up a carefree front, but he seemed more affected by the curse, by the uncertainty of it, than Neal was. Perhaps he drank to fill the emptiness in his life? Neal himself had overindulged many a time as a way of coping with the hopelessness that was the legacy of the curse.
Or could Harry’s weaknesses be connected to the war?
His brother was well respected, yet Neal had noticed
the military sorts kept their distance from Harry. He had few, if any, duties with the Horse Guard. His life, once full of purpose, had become aimless.
And, yes, Harry kept a bevy of women around him, but he had few male friends.
Sir James spoke, drawing Neal’s attention back to their interview. “Duruset has let me know through different channels that he is not pleased to hear you are working with his sister. I know for a fact, he does not want her in London. You’ve already made enough of an enemy going against him in the Lords last year. Be careful you don’t cross him again by wooing his sister.”
“There is nothing other than an old friendship between Mrs. Martin and myself,” Neal murmured dismissively. There couldn’t be—about that Margaret was right. In spite of the years that had passed, the bonds between him and Thea were strong.
“Aye, I’m certain that is true,” Sir James said, his voice belying his words. He tapped the list on his desk with one finger. “However, you’ve crossed Duruset more than once. Be wise. Keep your sights on the women on this list.”
“You needn’t worry,” Neal told him.
“And that is why I worry,” was the lawyer’s reply.
Chapter Seven
Bennington Abbey had once truly been an old abbey destroyed by Henry VIII and converted a century later by one of Mirabel’s late husband’s ancestor into a home. Over the centuries, the Palmer family had built more wings until it had become a huge, rambling place with a great deal of charm and the layout of a rabbit warren.
Lady Palmer was the first to greet Neal when he arrived.
“My lord, we have been waiting for you. I am Mirabel, Lady Palmer, your hostess.”
“Thank you, my lady. It is a pleasure to be here, and I appreciate your willingness to host this unusual gathering.”
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