The Earl's Wallflower Bride

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  “Yes, that’s true,” the maid replied. “I have to remind her to wear something on her feet when we go outside for her walks.”

  Which was why Byron knew the lie would be easy for them to believe. Opal had often complained her slippers made her feet feel too small, so she had a habit of going barefoot around the manor. No one would question her taking them off while on the stairs.

  “We shouldn’t let her know her mother fell on her slipper,” the maid said. “She didn’t understand what she was doing.”

  “She’s right,” the butler told Byron. “Ever since the accident, Opal hasn’t been herself.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to burden her with the guilt of knowing the truth,” the maid added.

  Byron glanced at the butler and footman who seemed to be in agreement on the matter, which made everything much easier for him than he’d thought it’d be. “I wouldn’t dream of telling Opal about this,” he assured them. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He paused. “Perhaps, we can tell her that Mother tripped and fell. It had nothing to do with the long hem on her gown,” he was quick to tell the maid. “It just happened. She tripped and no one knows why.”

  “Yes,” the butler replied. “It was a terrible accident.”

  “And it was an accident,” the footman said. “Opal wasn’t trying to harm her mother.”

  “No, she wasn’t,” the maid agreed. “The dear girl wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Byron said. “I’ll take this back to her bedchamber where it belongs. Then she won’t suspect anything.”

  The three glanced at one another, and they all nodded in one accord. “We won’t say anything about this to anyone else,” the butler replied on their behalf.

  “Good. Thank you,” Byron replied.

  While the butler and footman picked up his mother, Byron hurried up the steps. He grabbed the second slipper on the way and hastened to Opal’s bedchamber. Once at her closed door, he stopped and listened to make sure she wasn’t awake. Sometimes, she’d jump out of bed and shuffle around, trying on clothes or dancing to the music in her head. Sometimes she’d be singing.

  But on this particular evening, all was quiet. Good. This was going much better than he’d planned. To be sure, though, he opened the door, careful not to make a sound, and saw Opal was still in bed, her back turned to him. He tiptoed into the room and set the slippers in the exact spot he’d found them before. Afterwards, he softly made his way back out and shut the door quietly behind him.

  ***

  Opal waited until the door clicked shut before she turned onto her back so she could see the door. In the past, no one had come into her bedchamber after she was tucked into bed unless she was making some noise in here. Add this unusual occurrence to the strained dinner, and it all led to bad things.

  During dinner, her brother and her mother had given some effort into having a conversation, but they kept glancing at each other as if they expected the other one to lift the knife next to their plate and throw it in their direction.

  She thought she was safe, but there was no way she could know for sure. Byron had caught her with the key to Warren’s old bedchamber, and though she had played the fool, she didn’t know if he bought the act. Up to now, she’d been careful about not revealing the truth to anyone, not even the servants.

  But tonight things were different. There’d been the underlying animosity between her brother and her mother. Then she’d heard someone fall down the stairs, and someone came into her bedchamber shortly after that. Whoever came into her bedchamber left without harming her. She inspected the room to see what the person had taken or left so she could have an idea of why they’d been there, but nothing about the room seemed different.

  Something was going on. She had no idea what it was, but it wasn’t good. Maybe Warren would come tonight. Byron seemed to think he’d make it here before midnight. She had to plead with Warren to take her to London. It’d been six years since she last saw him, but she had always felt safe around him. The only complaint Byron ever made about him was that he was too morally superior to everyone else. If that was the worst thing Warren was, she could handle it much more than the lunacy in this place.

  She remained in the bed, just in case either her mother or Byron came back. She doubted a servant would sneak into her room. It had to be Byron or her mother. And whatever the reason was for one of them coming in, she doubted it was to her benefit. Releasing her breath, she closed her eyes, counting every second as it passed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Byron chuckled to himself as he poured himself the brandy in the den. He couldn’t believe how easy it’d been to get rid of his mother. Had he known it was going to go so well, he might have gotten rid of her a long time ago.

  Oh well. There was little to be done about it now. At least the deed was done, and he wouldn’t have to worry about what reckless move his mother would make. She had probably planned to kill him. So really, getting her out of the way meant saving himself, and when it came to self-defense, murder was perfectly justified. In fact, it would be careless to let his mother live.

  He took a long swallow of his brandy then returned to the drawing room. A glance at the clock showed him it was a quarter to ten. Good. Warren should be here soon, and he could get down to business without his mother meddling her way into the conversation.

  She really should have respected her place in society. A lady, after all, should be seen and not heard. Things like money were best left to the gentlemen. Opal, even in her childlike mind, understood this. Had his mother been content to let him take full control of things, he wouldn’t have had to get rid of her. So really, it was her own fault he had to kill her. Yes. Murdering her was perfectly justified once a person took time to carefully examine all the facts.

  Why didn’t you just send your mother off to a cottage where she’d stay out of your way?

  He shoved aside the pesky voice in his conscience. Exiling her would never have worked. She would have come back. She was much too demanding and outspoken for her own good. She had to die. It was best for everyone. Besides, didn’t he owe it to Warren’s mother to avenge her death?

  He drank the rest of his brandy and turned his attention to the landscape, lit only by the moonlight. At least there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky. It’d make Warren’s journey here that much easier, which, in turn, made his own task easier as well. But as of this moment, Warren wasn’t anywhere in sight. No carriage. No sole rider on a horse. Nothing.

  Tapping the edge of his glass, he let out a long sigh and looked, once more, at the clock. Only two minutes had passed. Well, there was nothing he could do at this point but wait. He put the glass on the table and lounged back in a chair. He could read to take his mind off the passage of time, he supposed, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Not when the image of his mother’s twisted body kept appearing in his mind.

  He shifted and tried not to give into the memory. It only made him uncomfortable. Her eyes had still been open, and now that he thought about it, there had been an accusatory look in them, as if she knew as she fell down those stairs that he’d been the one to leave those slippers on the steps.

  She couldn’t possibly have known it. No. Not for certain. But she could have guessed.

  He closed his eyes and focused on a better image instead. Warren was a good distraction. Yes, he would soon be here, and when he was, Byron would have the upper hand. He didn’t have the key on him. He’d done that on purpose.

  Warren might try to fight him for it, and though Warren wasn’t the strongest gentleman in all of London, he could hold his own in a brawl if he needed to. So the safest bet had been to hide the key in his bedchamber. That way if Warren did assault him, he wouldn’t find the key anywhere on him. And when he realized that, he would be under Byron’s control. For once, Byron would be the one to dictate how things were going to play out, and if Warren wanted Iris back, he’d have to abide by his rules.

  Someone pi
cked up the glass on the table next to Byron, and Byron jerked in the chair, his eyes flying open.

  The butler offered an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr. Beaufort, especially given the tragedy of your mother’s death. I only wanted to take your glass so it can be washed.”

  “Oh, yes,” Byron replied. “You may take it.”

  “Your mother’s body is safely out of the way. We thought it best if Opal doesn’t see it until we get the body presented. The sight, as it is now, might scare her.”

  “Yes, it would scare her.” So many things frightened Opal. On some days, the poor girl trembled at her own shadow, which was yet another reason Byron had waited until Opal was in bed before going through with his plan. He cleared his throat. “That was good thinking on your part. But Lord Steinbeck might still arrive tonight, so I’ll still need you to tend to his needs, just in case.”

  “Of course, Mr. Beaufort.”

  After the butler left with the glass, Byron went back to the window. Still no sign of Warren. He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even ten yet. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. This was becoming an abnormally long evening. Swallowing, he pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. The waiting was starting to get to him.

  He returned to the chair and took a deep breath, thinking it would help relax him, but it didn’t. If anything, each second that ticked on the clock made things worse. His skin was starting to feel clammy, and he found himself swallowing more frequently. In addition to that, he noted the quickening of his heartbeat and that he was breathing faster. Surely, this couldn’t all be because he was expecting Warren. Yes, so much depended on this night, but this shouldn’t be cause for such alarm.

  You killed your mother, fool. Did you really think you could do that and it wouldn’t bother you? Even if you hated her, she was still your mother.

  Byron stood up and went to the window. Still no sign of Warren. He slammed his fist on the windowsill, and that was when a sharp pain pierced his chest.

  He put his hand over his heart and gasped. His mother. That mean-spirited lady had done it. She’d actually done it. She’d poisoned his brandy when he wasn’t in the den. He’d thought he’d gotten to her first, but she’d done her own plotting before she retired for the night. He should have known better than to drink that brandy. He should have realized they were going to end up in a duel tonight.

  Curse you, Mother. He fell to his knees, struggling to breathe despite the intensifying pain. He rubbed his chest, but it did no good. The pain was only getting worse, and he’d be just as dead as her in a few moments. Leave it to his mother to pick a poison that’d inflict the greatest amount of agony as possible. Curse you, Mother!

  He gritted his teeth and tried to call for help, but the words wouldn’t come. He was quickly fading away. The world around him grew dimmer, and he could barely make out the sound of his own groaning. This was it. He was to pay the price for not doing exactly what his mother wanted. She’d done it to everyone else. Why wouldn’t she do it to him, too?

  Curse you, Mother. I would kill you again if given the chance.

  Then everything around him went dark, and he tumbled forward onto the floor, dead before he could feel the impact.

  ***

  Iris was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall in front of her in the dark room when she became aware of someone turning the key in the door lock. Gasping, she jumped up. Since she’d been confined to this room, no one had dared to come in here once the sun set. Did it mean…could it mean…had Warren actually come for her?

  The spark of hope slipped away as soon as she saw Opal. Opal entered the room, closed the door behind her, and hurried over to Iris. In the moonlight, Iris could see an unfamiliar panic in Opal’s eyes.

  “There’s a lot of commotion downstairs,” Opal whispered, glancing at the closed door as if she expected someone to find her in a place where she didn’t belong. Looking back at Iris, she said, “Please, you need to help me. It’s not safe here. Something bad is going to happen.” Then after a moment, she added, “If it hasn’t already. We have to get out of here.”

  Iris studied the girl, surprised by the clarity in her words. “Is it possible you’re imagining things?” she asked, not sure if she could believe Opal. The girl had seemed sane at times and irrational at others. Maybe this was one of those fluctuations in her intelligence.

  “No, I don’t imagine things,” Opal said. “I know you think I don’t understand everything that happens around me, but I do. It’s a long story. Too long to explain when my brother can come in here at any moment. I’ve been lying about my mental condition. It’s not safe here. Mother is angry all the time, and Byron uses anyone he can. It’s best if they don’t know the truth. You understand?”

  Even without knowing all the details, Iris sensed the girl’s fear and given what little she did know, she suspected Opal had a right to be frightened. “All right. Yes. I understand. I’ll keep your secret.”

  “Thank you. I also need something else from you. Will you plead on my behalf when Warren comes? Please ask him to take me to London when you leave. I don’t know if I can wait until I have a Season to get out of here.”

  “I’m not even sure Warren will come.”

  “Sure, he will. I was there when Byron told Mother about you. Byron said it was obvious Warren’s in love with you. He said you’re exactly the kind of lady Warren’s always been looking for. So, if Byron says Warren’s coming for you, then he is.”

  Iris didn’t know how else to get it through to the girl that she could be wrong—that Byron could be wrong. But at the moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of here.

  “Maybe we can get out of here without Warren,” Iris told her. “Maybe we can leave right now.” When Opal bit her lower lip, she quickly assured her, “I’ll speak up on your behalf when we see Warren.” Whenever that was. “You’ll be having a Season in a couple years, so really, it won’t be long before you secure a husband. But we have to get out of here in order to do that.”

  “But what if Warren does come? He’ll be worried if you’re not here.”

  Iris was ready to groan in frustration then she came up with a counterargument and smiled. “We can meet him on the way. There’s only one path that will take us out of here and toward London. If he’s on his way, he’ll be on it, and we’ll see each other then.”

  Opal thought over Iris’ words for a moment then nodded. “You’re right. And if we do that, then he won’t have to talk to Byron or Mother at all. He’d be relieved to know that.”

  Not that Warren was likely to talk to them anyway, but why bring that up? Opal was agreeing to help her escape, and that was more than she thought she’d accomplish tonight.

  Opal hurried back to the door and cracked it open.

  Curious, Iris came up behind her and listened for any evidence of the commotion Opal had mentioned, but it seemed quiet.

  Opal stuck her head out in the hallway and glanced in both directions before she slipped out of the room. Turning back to Iris, she waved for her to follow.

  Iris hesitated. What if Opal really was mentally unstable? What if she’d told her she faked a lack of intelligence because she was playing a game with her? But then, this was the first time Iris was able to leave the room, and if she could leave the room, maybe she could get out of this place and go back to London.

  She didn’t need a carriage. She could take a horse and get out of here. But she needed some form of protection along the way. With a quick glance around the room, she spotted a letter opener on the desk next to the quill and inkwell.

  After she grabbed it, she hid it in her pocket and followed Opal down the hall, being quiet as they made their way to the stairs. The closer they got to the steps, the easier it was to hear a series of anxious whispers coming from the drawing room. So Opal had been right. Something was going on down there.

  She stopped Opal and whispered, “If everyone is in the drawing room, can they see us if we
go out the front door?”

  Opal shook her head. “The drawing room is too far down the hall.”

  Well, then all the panic going on in the drawing room might be the distraction they needed. The two hurried down the stairs, tiptoeing the entire way.

  Iris thought she heard someone in the drawing whisper something about Byron and poison, but she paid it no mind. She had to get out of here. Whatever was going on didn’t concern her.

  They made it to the entryway, and just as Opal reached for the doorknob, it turned and someone threw the door open. Opal let out a shriek and jumped back, bumping into Iris as she did so. Iris quickly regained her balance. She took a moment to see who had opened the door, fully expecting it to be Byron who had come to stop them.

  Instead, however, it was Warren. He looked as if he hadn’t slept or changed clothes in days. And he looked angry. He had his mouth open as if he was ready to yell, but then his gaze went to her and his expression softened.

  “Iris,” he said, rushing over to her and taking her in his arms.

  This time, he whispered her name and buried his face in the nape of her neck. He held onto her, his tight embrace telling her much more than words ever could. And in that moment, she knew he loved her. Really loved her.

  Tears in her eyes, she returned his embrace. Truly, she’d never been happier to see anyone in her entire life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You couldn’t have come at a better time, my lord,” the butler told Warren, visibly shaking from the evening’s events. “First your stepmother, and now your half-brother. We don’t know what to make of it.”

  The footman, a couple maids, the cook, and the gardener had all gathered into the drawing room. Byron was lying on the couch, his skin already taking on the pale color of death. Warren had his arm around Iris’ waist, and Opal stood to the side of the room, taking everything in at a distance.