by Karen Ranney
The carriage stopped in front of the house, and her uncle frowned at her. She nodded in response to the unspoken rebuke and waited until Algernon and Adam preceded her before leaving.
She took the stairs quickly, grateful her aunt was nowhere about. That reckoning could, she hoped, wait until later that morning.
Veronica closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it, palms flat against the cool wood.
She walked to the middle of the room, twirled in a circle with her arms spread wide, a dance of utter, complete joy. Twice, three times, four, she spun before collapsing on top of the bed, eyes closed, a smile curving her lips.
Veronica Moira MacLeod murmured a fervent prayer of thanksgiving. Even the worst kind of husband would be better than being a poor relation.
Her greatest wish had been granted.
She’d been saved.
“Were you intimate with him?”
She froze.
Slowly, she sat up to see Amanda standing in the doorway.
“You did what you set out to do, Amanda.”
She disliked Amanda intensely, and when they were alone, dropped all pretense of amiability. Over the last two years, she’d tried to like the girl or to at least find some common ground. From the beginning, she’d felt only antipathy from her cousin. Amanda had a quality about her no one else noticed, a certain type of cruelty that repelled her so much she attempted to avoid the girl.
Of all her female cousins, Amanda was perhaps the prettiest, with reddish blond hair and green eyes as sharp as chips of ice. Her features were lovely, and although she was shorter than Veronica, her figure was more fulsome. Amanda was, no doubt, the epitome of female beauty and as far from her cousin in looks and temperament as two people could be.
Since she’d come to live with her relatives, Amanda had made her miserable. Everyone else thought Amanda kind, generous, and genuinely concerned for the welfare of her older Scots cousin. She and Amanda knew the emotions were only pretense.
“It was you who informed Uncle Bertrand, wasn’t it?”
“Would you have me lie for you, cousin?” Amanda said. “Especially since I was worried about you. Why ever would you leave the house at night?”
“You could have asked me rather than inform your father,” she said.
“It’s Father’s duty to see to you, Veronica, since you’ve no one else.”
A fact Amanda brought up each day. God forbid she be allowed to forget, even for a moment, that she was an orphan.
Before that morning, Veronica had been doomed to be shunted off to a corner, to be a shadow for the rest of her life, unobtrusive, barely noticed, a figure about whom people commented in passing. “Oh, her? That’s Veronica. Pay her no heed. She has no one but us, poor thing.”
Instead, her foolishness had been rewarded, not with punishment, but a husband.
Amanda entered the room and closed the door, sitting on the bench below the window.
“You didn’t say. Were you intimate with him?”
“Don’t I pay you enough to leave me alone, Amanda?”
Amanda only laughed gaily.
“Sometimes, cousin, I think you and I are the only ones who understand each other completely. I need not put on airs around you, and you are free to be yourself with me.”
She didn’t respond. Silence was safer around Amanda than answering every barb.
Amanda turned and smiled at her, such a beatific smile she might have been fooled by it if she hadn’t looked in Amanda’s eyes.
Her cousin pointed one foot and studied the tip of her shoe. “I’ve spent all my allowance,” Amanda said. “Every bit of it.”
“You should be more careful with your money,” Veronica said.
“I believe you’re right, cousin, and if I should get my hands on any more money between now and when my allowance is paid next month, you can be certain that I would be very much on your side. You might not be punished severely, after all. Father does listen to me, you know.”
She knew that only too well.
“You were very foolish, Veronica,” her cousin said, sitting beside her with a cat’s smile on her face.
She closed her eyes, feeling the sensations that always overcame her when she used her Gift. A warm wave came first, then the essence of emotion from the other person.
What she felt from Amanda wasn’t one emotion but a group of them, mixed to form something that appeared translucent like uncooked fish. It was as if her cousin had not yet decided which way to nudge her spirit, toward goodness or evil. At the moment, Amanda was a little amused, a little excited, a thread of anger woven though her emotions.
She opened her eyes, turning to look at her cousin.
“Why do you dislike me so, Amanda?”
In those next seconds, she watched as Amanda’s face changed. The amusement disappeared first, to be replaced by a watchful expression, one she’d rarely seen on her cousin’s face.
“What do you mean?”
“From the very beginning, you’ve disliked me. Why?”
The expression hardened on Amanda’s face as she glanced around the room. She was no longer so pretty.
“I would’ve had this room but for you. It’s larger than the others, and sunnier. But, no, Veronica must be given the best room.”
“For a room?” she asked, incredulous. “You’ve disliked me because of a room? Why didn’t you say? I would have gladly changed rooms with you.”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “No one would have allowed it. Everyone did everything for poor little Veronica, poor orphaned little Veronica.”
Did they? She hadn’t noticed.
“I would have more money in my allowance but for you.”
She felt the first touch of humor since Amanda had entered the room. “Surely you cannot blame me for your profligate ways, cousin.”
“I always had enough money before you came. Now, Father has to plan for you, too.”
Amanda stood, walked to the door. “I know you’re upset,” she said sweetly. “I’ll give you a few hours to think about it. Father was very upset with you. I can make life easier for you.”
Veronica smiled. “I won’t need your help,” she said. “You see, I’m to be married.”
She stood and went to the door.
“And yes, I was gloriously intimate, Amanda. For the entire night. Hours and hours of scandalous, unbridled, shocking, intimate passion.”
Smiling, she closed the door in Amanda’s face.
She’d waited two years to do that.
Chapter 5
Montgomery stared at the sheaf of papers his solicitor handed him.
“All of that?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Lordship. Now that your claim has been recognized by the House of Lords, there are many documents you need to sign.”
“And when I do, you can go home, is that it, Edmund?”
His solicitor, Edmund Kerr, only smiled faintly.
The man was near his own age, neither a boy nor close to doddering. A good thing, too, since he’d expended some effort to find Montgomery in America. The last two months had been spent navigating through the complex legal maneuvers necessary to have him recognized as the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. A thankless duty, all in all.
“Do I pay you enough?” Montgomery asked. Since money was no longer an object, perhaps Edmund deserved an increase in his salary.
He studied the man surreptitiously. Edmund reminded him of his brother James. James had worn a full beard as well. Edmund’s shoulders were a little stooped, however, like those of an older man. The man’s gaze was often fixed on objects, like the corner of his desk, or his fingers rather than looking a man in the eyes.
The one word he would use to describe Edmund Kerr was average. His height was average, the tone of his voice neither deep nor high-pitched. His appearance was neither noticeable nor memory-invoking.
“I thank you for your concern, Your Lordship. I’m very well compensated by the estate.”
“What is that, Your Lordship?”
“Being Your Lordshipped to death.”
Another faint smile. The man retreated into expressions when words would have done just as well.
His housekeeper, Mrs. Gardiner, was the opposite, being as voluble as Edmund was deferentially silent.
She was responsible for the room in which he spent most of his time. The room was decorated in what he imagined was Gentleman’s Library motif. Because of Mrs. Gardiner, he’d settled into London with less trouble than he’d imagined. Mrs. Gardiner, and to some extent, Edmund, had furnished the house and installed other creature comforts in his new home.
When the housekeeper had unveiled her efforts to set his library to rights, she’d patted her hands together like a child excited at the idea of a candy, reminding him of Aunt Penny. Aunt Penny, before she’d learned of both her husband’s and son’s deaths at Antietam. From that day until her death a scant two years later, she’d worn a sweet and somewhat vacant-looking expression. Everyone had understood that Penelope had simply gone away, and only the shell of the woman remained.
A richly patterned carpet in shades of emerald and ivory covered the mahogany floorboards. Thick velvet draperies of a color reminding him of the forests around Gleneagle hung on either side of the two floor-to-ceiling windows. Bookcases lined the wall to his right, while to his left was a large fireplace, its white marble mantel heavily carved with fruits and trailing vines.
Mounted above it were four paintings of English countryside pursuits. Braces of hares were slung over the shoulders of aristocratic hunters while pursuing hounds dodged the steps of prancing horses. Country houses with smoke curling from their chimneys lured the visitor to stand and study the scene.
Opposite the desk where he sat, below the windows, was a long credenza. When he’d first seen the room, a stuffed owl sat there, entombed in a glass case. He’d removed it when Mrs. Gardiner wasn’t looking and claimed he’d accidentally broken the dome. When she’d assured him it would not be difficult to procure a replacement, he’d convinced her it wasn’t necessary.
Evidently, the penchant for all things stuffed was an English trait.
For all its show of wealth, the room revealed nothing about him. He’d only had one small valise when he’d arrived in London. The sum of what was left of his life, it contained a change of clothing, a letter from President Lincoln thanking him for his service to his country, notes Montgomery had made about his navigation system, a pistol, and two silver brushes, the last physical items to tie him to his home, his past, and his boyhood.
He could not hold a daguerreotype in his hand to fuse the image of a loved one in his mind. He couldn’t touch an object his father had collected or his grandfather had prized. Anything he carried was tucked away in his heart, memories of Alisdair and James and Caroline, laughter he recalled at odd moments, love, affection, a feeling of belonging that never tarnished regardless of the passage of time.
The longer he was away from home, the farther away those times seemed. The separation pulled at him, but it was more than physical distance. Even if he returned to Virginia, walked the earth of Gleneagle within the month, he’d feel the same discordance in his mind, the same yawning cavity of grief.
Nothing would ever be the same.
Montgomery pushed aside memory in favor of a more pressing topic.
“I visited the Society of the Mercaii last night,” he said.
“Indeed, Your Lordship,” Edmund said. “How did you find it?”
He smiled, the expression not fueled by humor. “Interesting. I’m due to be married.”
Edmund stared at him.
“Married, Your Lordship?”
He sat back in his chair and watched as Edmund paled. He’d had much the same reaction to the idea.
“The Society might be interested in the occult, Edmund, but last night they were attempting to indoctrinate, if that’s what you want to call it, an unwilling young woman when I intervened.”
Edmund sank into a chair in front of his desk. “They were recommended to me as a group that studied oddities, bizarre events, and such.”
“The only oddity I saw was the leader of the society attempting to rape a young woman. One thing led to another, and now I’m about to be married.”
Edmund stood, walked to the far wall, and perused the titles on the bookshelves. Montgomery had not picked a single volume himself. Mrs. Gardiner, again, no doubt selecting what she considered to interest a peer of Scotland. Or perhaps she’d simply ordered the books by the pound.
The bookshelves contained a variety of books on gardening and husbandry, sheep, cattle, and the occasional novel. He’d been intrigued to find a book by Jules Verne and had set it aside to read when he had a chance.
Edmund, however, was ensuring he didn’t have any free time.
“It’s imperative you travel to Doncaster Hall, Your Lordship,” Edmund said now, turning from his study of the bookshelf, his equilibrium evidently restored. “Will you have time before the wedding?”
“No,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “In fact, I require your assistance in obtaining a special license. I’ve been assured that, despite the fact I’m an American, there will be no difficulty.”
Edmund nodded. “Would I know the young woman?”
Montgomery met the other man’s eyes. “She’s the Earl of Conley’s niece,” he said. “Is he familiar to you?”
Edmund closed his eyes, then opened them, as if he’d had a file of faces and names behind his lids. “Three daughters,” he said. “Two sons. An estate in Hampshire, quite a prosperous one, and a reputation for being a bully in the House of Lords.”
“He knew who I was,” Montgomery said.
“He would, Your Lordship, being on the committee that approved your petition.”
“Your memory’s quite impressive.”
“I spend some time in London, Your Lordship.”
Montgomery nodded, then concentrated on the stack of papers he still had to sign.
“There are many decisions you need to make, Your Lordship.”
Carefully, he put the pen back in its holder, sat back, and folded his arms.
“Is that going to go on forever?”
At Edmund’s look of confusion, he smiled.
“The Your Lordship business. We’ve known each other for three months, Edmund. We traveled from America together. You know everything there is to know about my life. Can we not dispense with the title?”
“If I’ve given offense, Your Lordship, then I apologize deeply.” Edmund bowed, another gesture almost as irritating as the constant spouting of his title. “I believe in giving respect where it’s due, Your Lordship. You’re the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster, and I have a duty to treat you accordingly.”
Montgomery knew all about duty. Duty was a word that made him do something he didn’t want to do. Duty was the hook at the bottom of his conscience dragging him from place to place. Duty gave him courage, a kind of fearlessness that, when viewed in retrospect, was insane.
He was damned tired of duty. Duty, however, had evidently not yet tired of him.
Montgomery nodded, pulling the stack of papers toward him. He reread a clause on one contract written in a type of English that hadn’t been spoken in two centuries.
If Edmund hadn’t been annoying him so much, Montgomery would have asked him for a quick version of what he was reading, but he stubbornly refused to, stumbling through the passages himself until he realized it was an attainder.
“Doncaster Hall is entailed to my son or daughter,” he said, glancing over at Edmund.
“In Scotland, women are not necessarily prevented from inheriting.”
“Nor are they in America.”
“You’ll find there are many similarities between America and Scotland, Your Lordship,” Edmund said. “It is, after all, the mother country of the Fairfax family.”
“My
grandfather still had the brogue,” he said. “I remember wishing I could speak like him.”
He made a neat stack of the papers and handed them to Edmund, who took them and placed them in his leather valise.
“Will you be ordering more supplies today, Your Lordship?”
Montgomery had spent the last month ordering bolts of silk, leather ropes, and securing the efforts of a few dozen craftsmen. Edmund, however, had not once asked why Montgomery needed a basket woven in an oval shape, and ten feet long. Nor had he ever questioned why Montgomery had met with a metalworker, spending a few hours in earnest discussions with the man over the design of a fan.
Edmund, evidently, had no adventure in his soul.
What truly surprised Montgomery was that he still did.
“I’ve only a few more things to see to, but I can do that in the next few days.”
“Shall I make arrangements to travel to Scotland, then?”
“Why don’t you go on without me? You don’t live far from there, do you? Wouldn’t you rather return home than forever harangue me?”
Edmund smiled, an expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Montgomery had noticed over the past few weeks that, while Edmund might appear friendly, the solicitor possessed a reserve, a distance that he put down to being British.
“I have served the estate for some time, Your Lordship. I live there for many months in the year.”
Montgomery remained silent, waiting.
“I would prefer to remain in London, Your Lordship, should you have any wish for me. It would not be unnatural for me to witness your nuptials.”
“Suit yourself.”
Bowing yet again, his solicitor gathered the signed documents, his leather folio, and left the room.
Montgomery stood and walked to the window. From there, he could see the street, and watched as Edmund got into his carriage.
He felt a great deal like Edmund’s charge, as if the solicitor had been given responsibility for him. Perhaps, after the events of the night before, he needed some type of escort. His behavior, while understandable, hadn’t been restrained.