by Karen Ranney
Shouldn’t she have been there? Shouldn’t her voice have been the first he heard? He pushed aside his thoughts for the very real need to exit the gondola before it slipped from its precarious perch.
“Your Ladyship?” Elspeth said, patting her arm.
Veronica blinked. “Yes?”
“Do you not want to go to Lord Fairfax?”
“Of course,” she said, calmly, each of the words enunciated perfectly and clearly. No, God, she could not do this. She could not see him hurt. She could not bear it.
She picked up her skirts. How perceptive she’d been that morning to request Elspeth lace her loosely. She could breathe easily.
Give me strength, God.
Once before, she’d been alone when everyone around her stared at her, wondering if she’d dissolve into tears. Once before, she’d stood in dry-eyed silence, watching as her world crumbled in front of her.
Everyone was there. Everyone at Doncaster Hall had already moved toward the trees. All she had to do was reach out her hand, and they would part silently, urging her onward, creating a corridor to reach Montgomery. She remained where she was, at the fringe of the crowd, marshaling her courage where she had none.
How could she do this?
Suddenly, the crowd cheered. Veronica heard the sound, but it didn’t mean anything. The wind meant nothing. Her heart meant nothing. The alarmed squawking of the birds meant less than nothing.
Montgomery might be dead.
She took a few steps closer, halted on the path, closed her eyes, and again prayed for strength.
“Lady Fairfax?” Mrs. Brody’s voice.
She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Brody standing in front of her. The housekeeper’s coronet of braids had slipped and was askew, her face flushed and sweating. In her arms she held the basket containing all her unguents and bandages, scissors and potions.
“Are you all right, Lady Fairfax?”
She nodded. She thought she said something, but the words simply didn’t matter at the moment. Mrs. Brody moved ahead, the crowd parting for her as if she were a force of nature.
Veronica focused on Ralston. The majordomo stood at the base of a venerable oak in his shirtsleeves, head bowed as if he were praying. Then he looked up, as if to solicit God’s help from the sky itself.
She felt as if she might faint. Her heart was choking in her throat, and a heaviness slithered through her stomach. Elspeth was at her side, evidently refusing to leave her.
“Hurry with the ladder!” Ralston yelled, a command accompanied by a bright smile.
She abruptly halted in the middle of the path, enraged at his humor.
A boot fell from one of the trees. Then a second boot joined the first.
She pressed both hands against her chest as she looked skyward. The envelope had fully collapsed, sagging among the treetops and blocking out the afternoon light. The gondola was hanging in a space between two mature oaks, almost like a child’s swing.
Speechless, she watched as Montgomery climbed out of the gondola, grabbed one thick branch with both arms, and began to descend the tree.
“Praise be,” Elspeth said from beside her.
Relief began to heat the ball of ice in Veronica’s stomach.
The crowd greeted Montgomery like a hero. Tom clapped him on the back. Ralston did the same, then surreptitiously wiped his eyes. Most of the maids fell behind Mrs. Brody, even Millicent, adding their words of relief.
He was one of them, their laird, their Lord Fairfax.
Montgomery glanced in her direction, made his way through the grove of trees, accepting the words of those who pressed close.
He reached her, stood in front of her, bits of leaves still clinging to his hair. She wanted to reach forward and brush them loose, but she’d lost the power to move.
They stood looking at each other, only an arm’s length separating them. The distance might as well have been miles.
The breeze blew around them, tousled his hair, and swept one leaf off his shoulder. The crowd around them grew silent, no doubt interested in their conversation.
Or their lack of it.
He didn’t say anything, but neither did she. Moments ticked by like sluggish snails. The sun beat down on her head since she’d dispensed with a bonnet. She smoothed her hair back from her forehead, looked away, then back at him.
“Where were you?”
“Where was I?”
“Yes, madam, where were you?”
She hadn’t raced toward him; she hadn’t rushed into his arms. She hadn’t laughed with delight at his safety. She hadn’t screamed his name. Instead, she’d stood on the fringes of the crowd, calm and unaffected.
She had nothing to say, no explanation to offer him even as he waited.
Abruptly and insanely, he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wipe that half smile off her face, bring misery into her eyes. He wanted her to feel the depth of betrayal he felt at this moment.
“Should I apologize for surviving?”
She blinked at him. Just that and no other reaction. As if she were so cold that the heat of his anger could not melt her.
She was hot enough in passion. Was that the only way to reach her? Had he been a fool to think that she might have cared for him?
He was an idiot to have felt so vulnerable around her, to have confided in her. He was an idiot to think that passion could lead to something greater, something more.
They were no better than rutting animals. He’d be her stag, her stallion, her boar, taking her when he wanted. But he’d be nothing else. Not companion or confidant or love.
He glanced at Elspeth, an unspoken request. The maid nodded and slipped away.
“Very well, Veronica. We’ll use each other and fuck each other. But I’ll be damned if I ever tell you another secret, and I sure as hell won’t ever trust you again.”
Veronica took a step back, her fingers resting at the base of her throat. He wasn’t going to let her escape. He stepped forward, leaning close so only she could hear his words.
“I could almost believe that you had something to do with my crash. Do you want to remain in Scotland so much you’d make yourself a widow?”
“You think I had something to do with your accident?” she asked.
“Was it an accident?” he asked, his voice cold. “You were in the old distillery last night. What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I told you that.”
“Did you touch anything?”
She shook her head.
He studied her for a few moments, wishing she’d say something, hoping she’d offer up a word, an explanation, an excuse. When she remained silent, he turned and walked away, motioning for several of the men to follow him.
She had the time to comfort a maid, but she’d no time for him.
Rage had rolled off him with such force that she felt it physically. He wasn’t angry at his airship, or the trees, or whatever had caused his crash. Instead, he’d focused all his rage on her, as if she were responsible for what had happened to him. As if he wanted her to be responsible.
When had he ever trusted her?
She felt oddly heavy, as if she weighed twice what she had that morning. Her movements were slower, as if she’d also aged since then.
She tried to take a deep breath, but it felt as if her chest were constricted or the air too thick to draw into her lungs.
Her hand rested at her throat, fingers playing with the cameo she’d pinned there this morning. She knew the face carved on the surface by touch. Could imagine even the cameo turning to stare at him incredulously.
She felt a tear spill over and trail down her cheek, but she didn’t move to brush it away. Instead, she turned and began to walk back to Doncaster Hall, Elspeth falling into place beside her. The distance back to the house seemed immeasurable, the path littered with broken glass.
Every inhabitant of Doncaster Hall looked at her with shock in their eyes. Everyone but Elspeth, who didn’t s
peak, merely glared at them.
Veronica’s hands tightened into fists. She released them with some effort, straightening her fingers. Take a deep breath. Wipe away your tears. Go home.
Doncaster Hall was suddenly not home. She had no home. Not one anchor existed. No bulwark. No lodestone. She was as alone as she’d ever been.
She wanted to be gone from there so desperately, she began to think of all the people in the world who might take her in, offer her sanctuary.
She had no place to go.
Norma had a more hopeful future, for all she was expecting a child out of wedlock. She might be shunned by her relatives, cast aside by her friends, and made the subject of a moral lesson in Kirk. In a few years, people would forgive or forget. She’d have her child and a future substantially brighter than Veronica’s.
How could Montgomery think she would harm him?
The crowd that had been so effusive in their relief fell silent as she moved through them. Elspeth was the only one who accompanied her. Elspeth, who would be, she suspected, loyal despite any circumstance.
“Tell me about the Tullochs,” she said.
Elspeth glanced over at her, a look of concern still on her face. “What would you like to know, Your Ladyship?”
“You’re certain your grandmother would know the origins of the mirror?”
“If it’s the same, Lady Fairfax. It doesn’t look like it did when I was a child, but the diamonds might be new.”
“How far away is Kilmarin?”
“By train? A half day, perhaps.” Elspeth looked at her curiously. “Have you a mind to go there, Your Ladyship?”
“Yes,” she said, glancing back toward the grove of trees. “We’ll leave this afternoon.”
“We will?”
She turned to look at her maid, forcing a smile she didn’t feel to her face. “Didn’t you say you had family nearby?”
Elspeth’s look of confusion turned to joy. “There would be time to visit with my family?”
She nodded.
Elspeth looked as if she might begin dancing.
At least someone was happy.
Chapter 27
A cool whispery breeze bid them farewell from Doncaster Hall, fluttering the leaves as if the trees were waving goodbye. The soot-colored sky heralded an approaching storm. The perfect Highland morning had disappeared. In its place were rolling gray clouds and the scent of rain in the air.
The brisk breeze from the open window blessedly dried the hint of tears in her eyes.
Veronica closed the window, heard it snap shut with a click. She would have liked to draw down the shade as well, but that would necessitate an explanation to Elspeth.
She was much too close to weeping, and once she started, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stop.
Sitting back against the padded leather, she took off her bonnet and placed it on the seat opposite her. At the moment, she cared less for fashion than she did comfort.
Some conversation was called for, and she scanned her mind for a list of acceptable topics. Her aunt would say servants were to be ignored, treated as the furniture, to be used but given no thought. One did not converse with one’s servants, especially during public outings. However, it occurred to her that the same woman who’d helped her on with her stockings could be spoken to when the chore was done.
Besides, she was no longer going to use Aunt Lilly as an example of propriety.
“How long have you been married, Elspeth?”
“Almost a year now, Your Ladyship.”
The girl did not chatter. She answered a question but never volunteered any additional information. Nor did she ask any questions in return. Such traits no doubt made her a perfect servant but a terrible conversationalist.
“Where were you married?” she asked.
“In Perth, Your Ladyship.” Elspeth tilted her head to the side and regarded her with some curiosity. “Why do you ask, Your Ladyship?”
Should she confess to a need for conversation? If she were talking, even of mundane things, even of someone else’s business, she wouldn’t be thinking of Montgomery.
He’d thought her capable of harming him.
With some difficulty, she pushed that thought away.
“I’m simply curious,” she said. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
Elspeth shook her head. “You haven’t, Your Ladyship. It’s just that no one’s ever asked before.”
Veronica gripped the material of her skirt. She released her hands, smoothed the fabric, and forced herself to remain placid on the surface.
“Are you happy, Elspeth?”
No, that was not a question she should be asking. She knew that without Aunt Lilly’s coaching. Elspeth turned in the seat to face Veronica. Her eyes sparkled, and the dimples in her cheeks deepened by her smile.
“Oh, Your Ladyship, yes. My Robbie is . . .” Her voice halted mid-sentence as her face flushed. “Yes, Your Ladyship, I’m happy.”
Envy bit through Veronica like a hungry snake.
No, this was not an acceptable topic of conversation at all.
“It looks as if we shall get some inclement weather,” she said, glancing up at the boiling clouds. There, the weather was always an acceptable topic.
Elspeth nodded but didn’t comment. For an instant, they’d been simply two women. But the roles were firmly back in place.
She laid her head back against the leather. The carriage wasn’t the same one they’d used on their journey to Doncaster Hall all those weeks ago. The interior of this one smelled musty, as if the carriage had been in storage and not often used. However, it was immaculate. Not a touch of dust was visible on any of the surfaces and the pale blue cushions looked as if they’d been brushed recently. Did a coachman do such duties? Or did a maid? How odd she didn’t know. If she truly cared, that would be a topic of conversation she might broach to Elspeth. Elspeth would know.
She’d chosen well that first day. Elspeth had been a blessing. Millicent would have colored the days gray with her grim attitude. She’d have complained from dawn onward about some slight or problem.
How like Millicent she was becoming. Right at the moment, she could only see the darkness in her life. The approaching storm mirrored her mood so perfectly, it was as if God Himself had sent it to her to complement these hours.
She had a right to be dour. Her husband had just accused her of trying to kill him.
No, she didn’t love Montgomery Fairfax. She didn’t much like her husband right at the moment.
Veronica had just stood there, toward the back of the crowd, her face frozen in a calm, expressionless mask. She hadn’t looked as if she’d given a damn that he’d nearly been killed.
Montgomery stared down at the burner, now arrayed in pieces on his worktable. Twice, he’d tried to start it, and twice, the flame sputtered and died.
She’d stood there instead of rushing to his side. She hadn’t asked if he was all right. She hadn’t expressed any fear. She’d hadn’t said a damn word. Not one.
Nor had she denied his accusation.
It could have been an accident. She could have done something and not realized it. She could have been too fearful to admit it.
No, fearful was not a word he’d use to describe Veronica MacLeod Fairfax.
With the help of most of the men at Doncaster Hall, he’d managed to get the gondola out of the trees. The envelope would take a little longer, since the silk had been shredded and hung in tatters from the branches.
He’d stared up through the broken oaks, realizing how fortunate he’d been that his ancestors had planted that particular grove. Without the trees to break his fall, he probably would have died.
Would Veronica have cared?
Again, he examined every part of the burner. There had to be a reason it had failed. He didn’t believe in accidents, especially since he’d checked everything at least a dozen times himself.
He stood, flattening his hands on the wood surface of the worktable
and frowning down at the reassembled pieces of the burner.
Only one thing left to be tested.
He opened his book of notes, selected a blank page toward the back, and tore it free. Grabbing the paper, he strode to the corner of the distillery where the blue-and-white barrel of paraffin oil was stored. After taking off the lid, he dipped the paper into the oil, holding it over the barrel for a moment. Once it stopped dripping, he took the paper back to his worktable.
After allowing the oil to evaporate completely, he walked to the doorway, holding the page up to the sunlight. He brushed his fingers across the paper, dislodging the tiny flecks of green and what looked to be dirt.
Someone had contaminated the paraffin oil.
Not an accident, then, since the barrel was kept securely fastened at all times.
Someone wanted him dead.
Was it Veronica?
From the beginning, she’d eased him with passion, seduced him with her surrender. He slept, deep, besotted sleep next to her, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek cradled against her hair.
Did he really believe she wanted him dead?
He’d said the words rashly, in anger. That morning, her calm acceptance of his fate had disturbed him. Worse, he’d felt betrayed. No, something deeper than that, an emotion he didn’t want to face at the moment.
She hadn’t seemed concerned. Yet she’d been as stoic when viewing the ruin of her home.
He walked back to his worktable, balling up the paper.
The women of his acquaintance had been strong and resolute, but saw nothing wrong with a man witnessing their tears. He’d suspected, more than once, they’d used tears the way a man might use a sword.
Veronica didn’t.
Nor did she share herself easily. Yet she wanted all his secrets.
If he’d divulged his past to her, would she have done the same with him? Were they destined to forever misunderstand one another except in their bed?
He could recall the exact moment he’d seen her, standing on the edge of the crowd, her face pale, Elspeth standing beside her. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t rushed to him. She hadn’t expressed any joy he’d survived.
Hell, yes, he’d tried to hurt her, a just payment for what she’d done to him.