“That sounds good, my lady. But first, maybe you would like to freshen up? I can get some tea going for you as the children have already eaten for the evening.”
Thanks to Ike, the original legless table in the shack now had legs, along with six wooden chairs around it. Reanna sat heavily into one of the chairs, and Jeannie immediately crawled up into her lap. Joan handed her a wet cloth, and Reanna started flecking off and dabbing at the mud on her face. In the tiny mirror Joan produced, Reanna could see she still looked a mess. But that was the least of her worries. She sipped her tea, her mind scampering for solutions.
Jeannie slipped off her lap, only to be replaced by Albert snuggling in. Reanna looked up at Joan. “I think the best option is for me to bring the children to London with me. I have a home there, my aunt’s home, which is big, and not under the marquess’s thumb. There is plenty of space, and the chances of finding suitable homes for the children are probably better there, as I cannot ask you to continue to take care of them indefinitely here.”
Joan sipped her tea, nodding her head in relief. It was obvious that she cared deeply for the children, but that the current situation was too much for her.
“But I would like you to stay in the area in case any more children show up who may have heard of us. Would that be all right with you, Joan?”
“Yes, my lady, but shall I stay here?”
“No, I cannot ask you to do that.” Reanna rubbed her forehead. “Are there any vacant houses in the area that are appropriate?”
“I believe the Miller’s place is open—widow Miller just moved in with his daughter in town.”
“Good, except for that I have no money with me.” Reanna tapped her fingernail on the table.
“No money, my lady?” Joan’s face crinkled in worry.
“No, can you believe that?” Reanna let out a half-hysterical chuckle.
She had been so angry at Killian that she had disregarded any thoughts of planning or foresight as to what would happen when she got here.
“It is an idiotic oversight on my part.” Her finger continued to tap. “When I get back to London, I will be able to send money to rent the Miller place, but until then, do you mind slipping in as a servant at Holloton? I am sure cook would love having your help in the kitchen, mostly because she likes to talk to someone she does not have to bark orders at. And I am sure the marquess takes no note who comes and goes on his staff here.”
“That will be fine for me, my lady, but what about your journey back to London with the children? How will you even get them there?”
The tapping got louder. Several silent minutes passed, and her finger stilled. Reanna picked up her tea and took a sip, not saying anything.
“What are you going to do, my lady?”
Reanna set the cup down. “The only thing I can, Joan. The marquess.” She gave Albert a quick hug and slipped him off her lap. “Please excuse me, Joan, I need some fresh air.”
Joan looked at her, frowning, as Reanna stood and turned to go outside.
Reanna pretended not to see the look, for she knew there was pity in it.
~~~
Reanna sat ramrod straight on the edge of a peach damask wingback chair in the partridge parlor, so named for the partridges carved into the upper moldings of the room. After staying the night on the floor of the shack with little bodies draped all over her, she had managed to flick off most of the mud on her riding habit, but she knew her hair was still a mess, even after re-pinning it this morning with no mirror. At least Joan had given her face the once-over for last splotches of dirt before she left the shack.
She glanced around the room. This was the room used for entertaining the most undesirable guests. Visually pleasing, it was nonetheless a cold room, and an astute visitor may feel welcome, but certainly not liked if they were in that room. Reanna recognized the silent message Killian was passing to her.
Her eyes focused on the portrait of two partridges across from her. One was dead, or in the throes of dying, the other perched over it, a heartbroken look in its eyes, that is, if a partridge could be heartbroken. Reanna guessed maybe, but it would have to be a pretty spectacular bird. If not the room, she had always admired that particular portrait. But it seemed foreign to her now. The room seemed foreign. Killian had managed to mar it for her. Mar the whole house. Mar what had become her home.
An hour later, Ruperton entered the room. He smiled at her. A smile that held no hope, but still showed he supported her in what she was to do. She had already talked to him when she first arrived about making sure Joan was taken care of until money could be sent.
“He will see you now, my lady.”
Reanna stood. “Thank you, Ruperton.” She attempted to produce a smile, but knew it didn’t truly appear.
Swallowing hard, she walked into the study, not knowing what to expect.
The first thing she saw was Killian’s mistress leaning on the desk next to him. Maybe she should have expected the witch, but humiliation flooded Reanna nevertheless. Her feet stopped, and they almost turned on their own accord to carry her out the door.
Remember the children.
She froze, planting herself firmly in the middle of the room.
Remember the children.
That one mantra had gotten her through the ride to Holloton this morning, through the front door, and through the last hour of waiting. She needed to hold onto it.
Killian stared at her, waiting. Reanna could not see what he was thinking, but then again, she realized, it turned out she never could.
“I will be taking the children back to London,” Reanna finally spat out, her voice not nearly as solid as she would have liked.
“And this concerns me how?” His voice was calm, almost pleasant.
Reanna’s guard went up. Best to get to the point. “I would like a coach and several horses to travel with, and money for lodging and food.”
A harsh laugh bellowed out of Killian as he leaned back in his chair behind the desk. The witch joined in. His laugh quickly ceased, but his mistress’s high-pitched cackle continued on, echoing in the room. He shook his head. “Why, after your display yesterday, would I give you those things? Much less, any more of my time?”
Reanna’s neck flushed in rage, but she shoved it down.
Remember the children.
Her words came out cool and detached. “I ask it not for me, but for the children. Some are too young to walk, and some, just barely. The trip cannot be made on foot with so many little ones.”
“That is all well and good, but what does the misfortune of several children have to do with your embarrassing display yesterday? Was that at all appropriate behavior for a marchioness?”
So that was it. He wanted an apology. Reanna bit her tongue at what she wanted to say.
Remember the children.
Her stomach curdled as she mustered up words. “No, it was not appropriate behavior. I apologize if I ruined your dining.”
The red-haired witch laughed. “You little wench, you have no idea that you did nothing but spur Killian on.”
Reanna’s eyes swung to his mistress, confused.
Von Houten’s lips curled into a sweet snarl, and she stood from the desk, walking around the wide mahogany to place herself directly in front of Reanna. She stood a head taller than Reanna, in another flame-red concoction that matched her hair. She leaned over Reanna, the snarl deepening.
“Quite simply, twit, Killian was a tiger after you left—you got him all rankled, and that was the best sex I have had in years. Lots of scratching. Lots of torture. For my sake, you really should come around spewing your vileness more often.”
Reanna took in a visible gasp of air as she stared at the woman’s mouth, watching the red lips curl, sneer, around every word.
“Don’t look so shocked, bitch. Or is it—” She cackled, interrupting herself. “Hilarious. You don’t have the slightest notion as to how to fuck a man properly, do you? Oh, you poor little lamb. It is a wonder he m
anaged to bed you that once.”
She looked Reanna from head to boots and shook her head in pity. “It is a shame he had to. You really do not have a lot to recommend you, do you? Not looks. Not wit. Can’t even clean yourself properly.”
She leaned even closer, staring at Reanna’s cheek. Flicking out a sharp nail, she dragged it across Reanna’s skin. She held the talon up, dirt evident under her nail. “Even now you stand there, near blubbering. A double shame he had to shackle himself to a mouse like you. You’re a failure, through and through. Couldn’t even give him a babe.”
The witch sighed, straightening. “But suddenly, I’m bored.” She looked back over her shoulder at Killian, a sudden smile on her face. “Killian, maybe she should be begging you more appropriately?”
The witch blocked Reanna’s view of Killian. There was no answer from him.
Spinning, his mistress walked around the desk and moved to sit herself on the arm rest of Killian’s chair. She leaned in, her mouth next to his ear. “Really, Killian, begging would be most appropriate.”
Reanna forced herself to look away from his mistress. She found Killian’s face through her watery eyes. He seethed, staring at her, still saying nothing.
Reanna near doubled over.
He was going to make her do it.
The depths to which this man would go. Her husband.
Stomach twisting, Reanna’s right foot came up, ready to run from the room.
She fought it. Fought every muscle that screamed at her to run.
Remember the children.
Reanna sank to her knees.
She opened her mouth but could make no sound come out. She did that twice, unsuccessfully.
So she closed her eyes and pictured the children she saw last night—that moment when she first walked in—beaten, scared, no hope.
She would not let them down.
She opened her mouth a third time, and forced sound out—cracked, painful. “Killian…”
She could not get past the one word.
The mistress cackled.
In one harsh motion, Killian shoved her, sending her flying off the chair.
Half on the floor, she caught herself on the edge of the deck, glaring at him.
Killian cut her off before her half open mouth spewed a word. “You are done, Viv. Done. I am done with you. Remove yourself from this room this instant.”
The witch froze at his words, eyes narrowing as she stared at him. It only took her a second to decide to leave the room, correcting red ringlets around her face as she stomped out.
Killian waited until the door slammed shut before his eyes came back to Reanna.
“You will not take them to London.” His abrupt words startled her. “You will take them to the Boyton House Orphanage.”
Reanna winced. Boyton was a despicable orphanage. Nearby, but despicable. No matter that she was still on her knees, she would not agree to bring the children to a house of hell. “No, Killian, I will not. It—”
“You will get a grain cart and a mule.” He cut her off, his voice harsh, but not lined with the mocking tone he had mastered. He opened his desk and rummaged about. “And ten shillings. Take it and leave.” He slapped the coins on the edge of the desk.
“But Killian…”
His eyebrows rose, challenging her. “Yes?”
She shook her head, not able to speak. Getting to her feet, she forced herself to step forward and pick the few coins up. She turned and stiffly walked out of the room, chin strained upwards as she tried to afford some semblance of dignity she knew she no longer possessed.
Reanna continued walking, head high, until she made it to the stables. The first empty stall she found, she leaned into and retched. Humiliation washed over her, waves and waves of it. She hung onto the half-door, letting spasms wreck her body.
A warm palm went gently on her shoulder. Ike. Her body still shuddering, he pressed a wet handkerchief into her hand. It took Reanna a long moment to compose herself enough to look up at him.
He handed her a cup of water. “We all think it’s been horrible what he’s done to you and the children, m’lady. I wished I could have stayed out there with the children for longer to help, but that red-haired woman has us all running ragged with her demands.”
“It is all right, Ike. I understand. I am just so grateful for the help everyone was able to give. Those children are my responsibility, and I was the one who failed them.”
“No, m’lady, you’re wrong, if I may say. Not failing. You’re doing right by those children. We all knew you would. You’re a mighty fine person, m’lady.”
“You do not have to say such things just to cheer me up, Ike.”
“I say ‘em cause I mean ‘em. We all feel that same way, matter of fact.”
“Thank you.” Reanna was truly touched by his words. Maybe the scene with Killian had been worth it.
“I got the orders from his lordship, m’lady. But I figure there be some wiggle room in the request. I got our biggest wagon, and he said mule, but we don’t got a good mule right now, so I gave you a strong horse, m’lady. One that should see you to Boyton.”
“I am going to London, Ike. I would never bring the children to Boyton.”
“London, m’lady?” He paused, nodding with a shrug. “Course, London. Aye, the horse’ll get you there as well.”
The two walked out of the stables.
“I loaded it up as much as I could with all the food that cook had available, but let me go get lots of blankets and the like that you’ll need for the journey.”
He stopped and grabbed her arm. “Are you sure about this m’lady? Maybe you could stay in that shack until he left? We would all help. Or I could sneak off and come along to London.”
Reanna almost broke at his kindness. “No, Ike, you have already done more than enough. I cannot have you losing your position. You have two babies to feed at home. Plus, I need you available to help Joan should any more children appear.”
Ike nodded. Within fifteen minutes, he had gathered blankets, supplies and more food, and then helped her into the wagon.
“God-speed, m’lady—we all be praying for you and the children.”
“Thank you again, Ike. I will send word.”
She stopped the horse halfway to the Visper’s shack.
One horse and one wagon to haul eleven children to London. She had no money for lodging, nor barely enough for food and the tolls. Damn.
How could she have let this happen?
Reanna gripped the leather straps as the tears began to fall. She let herself wallow for a moment, and then, just as quickly as the tears had started, she pulled her head up and demanded they stop.
The children needed someone strong, not someone who was going to cry at every turn. She needed to be that person.
With resolve, she clicked the horse forward.
~~~
The front door clicked closed and, hearing it, Killian leaned forward, burying his forehead in his hand.
“Really, Killian, was that necessary?” Vivienne sauntered into the room, hips swinging wide.
Her hissing voice grated the back of his neck. Killian looked up, pushing himself away from the desk. He stood and moved to the wide window, staring out at the front of the estate. “You really are a bitch beyond compare, aren’t you, Vivienne?”
“Don’t be mad at me, Southfork. That scene was damn well why you brought me along to this god-forsaken place, and you damn well know it. You wanted to get rid of her. You were the one that said it would be better for everyone if she hated you.” She stalked to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of brandy, throwing it back in one swallow. “You brought me here to do what you don’t have stomach to do.”
She spun to him. “And after your non-performance with me last night, it was clear you didn’t have it in you to do what needed to be done. I’m surprised the twit actually believed what I said, since you haven’t been able to stick your cock into me since well before you married the b
itch. So don’t you dare tell me you weren’t looking for me to do this.”
“You may go, Vivienne.”
“Killian, this is getting tedious.” Her eyes rolled. “She’s finally gone, and she’s taking those brats with her—be glad you’re rid of them.”
“Go, Vivienne.”
“I’m not done.”
Killian tore his eyes off the window and looked back at his mistress. “You are done. Remove yourself.”
“Fine.” She stomped over to the door, then paused. “I will be upstairs if you want to go for a ride or, God forbid for your weak dick, fuck.”
“You misunderstand, Viv. I am done with you. I will afford you the comfort you are accustomed to on your journey back London. But be gone by nightfall.” Killian turned his attention back to the window.
“You are a fucking waste of time, Southfork.”
The door slammed on her exit.
~~~
Two hours later, Killian found himself mostly drunk, teetering on his horse, and staring down at the hunting cottage that had housed Reanna’s orphanage. He didn’t realize his direction when he had set out, and he had let the horse decide where it wanted to go. Before he knew it, the damn horse led him here, then stopped.
He didn’t move, didn’t want to go in.
Silly that he hesitated at going into the place. He hadn’t even seen the children in the cottage. Vivienne had discovered them while out on a ride and demanded they be removed. He had assumed they were squatters and ordered it done. And that had been the end of it.
Or so he thought.
His head started to clear. The thick spring air funneled into his mind, cleansing the sludge of brandy. He didn’t want to go in, but his body was unwilling to agree with his mind, and he got off his horse, slowly approaching the tidy cottage.
Inside, neat disarray met him. Wooden toys were strewn about, as were a few chalkboards on the wide table in the middle of the room. Several colorful fabric streamers hung from the upper rafters, and Killian noticed a pile of them on the floor in a corner. Looking up, he could see a row of beds, neatly made, in the loft area in front of the bedrooms.
Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess Page 10