October Revenge

by Farmer, Merry

  As soon as he let the thought into his mind, his hand slipped and the razor bit into his cheek. A sense of dread filled him. Women whom he liked rarely met a good end. He could see the future now. He would give Angelica everything she wanted and marry her, and she would never forgive him for it.

  Angelica fought her nerves as Mark turned and marched out of the room. With him by her side, it felt easier to face Lord Helm and the threat he could present. Without him, she was back to pretending she was stronger than she was.

  “I suppose he does need to tidy up,” Lady Lavinia said.

  The fact that Lady Lavinia spoke first gave Angelica courage and hinted that Lord Helm was neither domineering nor cruel. She swallowed her fear and turned to the countess with a smile. “My entire visit thus far has been unexpected, to say the least,” she said.

  “Mark wasn’t particularly open in his letter to me.” Lady Lavinia glanced to her frowning husband, then back to Angelica. “Come have a seat and tell me how you ended up here.”

  Angelica was only too happy to oblige. It was much easier to face the bizarre situation sitting down, especially when Lady Lavinia offered her a cup of tea. Angelica poured for them all, seeing as Lady Lavinia had a baby in her arms.

  “I am here because of the dictates of my adopted grandfather’s will, my lady,” Angelica explained, handing Lady Lavinia a cup.

  “Yes, that is the sum total of what Mark’s hasty letter said.” Lady Lavinia lay her sleeping baby on the sofa by her side, then turned to take the cup.

  “Your adopted grandfather is Gatwick’s Great-Uncle Miles?” Lord Helm asked, still frowning.

  “Is he not your great-uncle as well?” Angelica asked.

  Lord Helm shook his head. “Gatwick inherited his land and title through his mother’s family. Lord Miles Gatwick was his mother’s father’s brother. He passed the title of Earl of Gatwick on to Mark when he left England for America.” He paused before adding, “Mark’s surname is Pearson, as is mine and as was our fathers’, but he is referred to as Gatwick, due to his title, as I am now referred to as Helm.”

  “I see,” Angelica said, her head swimming. British titles and names and how one received them was a tangle of confusion to her. “I didn’t think it was possible for a man to inherit a title through a female line.

  “It is with a bit of jiggery-pokery,” Lord Helm explained. “Most British titles are created with letters of patent that specifies the title holder’s ‘heirs-male of the body’ as successors. A very few ancient titles, such as the Gatwick title, come from letters of patent that specify ‘heirs of the body’ in general as successors, which means the title can flow through a female line if there is no other male successor. Technically, Lord Miles Gatwick should not have been able to renounce his title when he moved to New Orleans, but the old bast—” He cleared his throat. “The old trickster was bound and determined to pass the title to Mark. He committed a small act of treason of a financial and business nature that caused him to forfeit the title, which then passed to Mark, who was the next closest heir of the body.” He paused before adding, “I believe there was also a large sum of money that changed hands at the time of the title’s passage.” He paused again. “Either that or the title was declared extinct and then granted anew to Mark, thanks to that sum of money. The details are sketchy, but there was an explanation for it all.”

  Angelica’s mouth dropped open, her head spinning. “How confusing.”

  “It is,” Lavinia agreed with a laugh. “Which is why we try not to think about it.”

  Angelica sat there in bewilderment for a few more moments before shaking her head, closing her mouth, and continuing. “Grandpa Miles left me nothing in his will.” Lavinia’s expression pinched with surprise and sympathy. “That is, nothing unless I marry Lord Gatwick,” she went on.

  “His will demanded you leave your life in New Orleans behind to come all the way here and marry Mark?” Lavinia blinked.

  Lord Helm merely narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

  Angelica shrugged. “Without the means to support myself, I wouldn’t have much of a life in New Orleans either way. So here I am, come to England to petition my intended to fulfill the terms of the will.”

  “And what has Mark said?” Lavinia asked on. “Is he amenable to the idea of marriage?” She studied Angelica with a new light in her eyes, as if she were contemplating the implications of the match as well.

  “I haven’t been able to tell,” Angelica answered, compelled to answer Lavinia with as much openness and honesty as she was showing. She raised her teacup to take a sip, then tilted her head to the side. “Lord Gatwick is exceedingly difficult to read. But I must confess, from what little I’ve seen so far, I believe he needs a wife of some sort, even if he decides it isn’t me.”

  “I agree,” Lavinia said with a level of emotion that surprised Angelica. “Especially after everything he went through this spring.”

  Angelica’s eyes popped wide. She set her teacup down so that she wouldn’t be in danger of dropping it as a wave of excitement hit her. At last, she felt as though she would have answers to the questions that were plaguing her. “What did he go through this spring?” she asked, attempting not to sound overeager.

  Lavinia leaned closer, setting her teacup down as well. Excitement glittered in her eyes. “It was the talk of the season,” she began. “For weeks, the newspapers and gossip about town was of nothing else.”

  Lord Helm settled back in his chair with a deep scowl, glancing to the doorway as if Mark would appear at any moment and be offended by their conversation. That didn’t stop Lavinia from rushing on.

  “There was a trial, you see,” she explained. “In the House of Lords. Mark’s friend—though I’m not certain I would call him a friend at that—Lord Theodore Shayles, was charged with several counts, including operating a brothel and abusing women.”

  Angelica’s chest squeezed so tight she couldn’t breathe for a moment. The kitten murderer. He had to be. And he was a man who was also cruel to women? A deep chill of foreboding slithered down her spine, dredging up memories of her own that she’d fought to keep at bay.

  “Lord Shayles was found guilty,” Lavinia went on. “Many people say it was because of Mark.”

  “In part,” Lord Helm said. Angelica guessed from the man’s posture that he didn’t have the same kind of regard for Mark that Lavinia obviously had. In fact, if she’d been a betting woman, she might assume Lord Helm didn’t like Mark at all.

  “I suppose the story goes back farther than that, though,” Lavinia went on, her posture loosening. She seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment. Angelica waited patiently until she went on with, “Mark has been friends with Shayles for decades, though I don’t know how.”

  “They’re both bloody bast—” Lord Helm swallowed his words a second time, squirming in his seat. “My wife has a sunnier view of my cousin than I do,” he told Angelica in a tight voice.

  Lavinia made an impatient sound. “Armand and his friends don’t like Mark,” she said, far more open than Angelica would have expected in a woman she’d just met. She liked Lavinia immensely for her candor. “They think that just because he has been by Shayles’s side for so long he is just as evil. But I know he’s not,” she added with vigor.

  “He doesn’t strike me as evil at all,” Angelica agreed. “Though there is something about him that feels—” She stopped, searching for the word, remembering Mark’s burst of emotion at the river the day before. “He seems to me like a man who has a great weight on his shoulders.”

  “I’ve always thought so as well,” Lavinia said, smiling at Angelica as though she were a kindred spirit.

  Lord Helm looked as though he were only barely tolerating his wife’s opinion. Angelica admired him for not interrupting or flat-out telling Lavinia she was wrong, though.

  “It’s true,” Lavinia went on. “For decades, Mark has been at Shayles’s right hand. And make no mistake, Shayles is terrible. At the trial, he was f
ound guilty of operating a brothel and sentenced to prison for six months.”

  “Is that all?” Angelica snapped, instantly angry.

  “That was my thought as well.” Lavinia matched her frustrated tone. She shook her head. “Honestly, if he had been tried by a court of women, the verdict would have been much different. Shayles would have been convicted of murder.”

  “Is he a murderer?” Angelica’s eyes went wide.

  Lavinia glanced nervously to Lord Helm.

  “Yes, he is,” Lord Helm answered in dark tones.

  “But he wasn’t convicted?” Angelica asked.

  “Not for that, which was infuriating.” Lavinia shook her head. “My friends and I were all livid. We still are.” She paused, then said in a lighter tone, “I do hope you get a chance to meet my friends. Marigold in particular would adore you.”

  Angelica broke into a sudden smile at the unexpected compliment. It didn’t last, though. She felt like a dog with a bone now that she was learning more about Mark. Everything Lavinia had said so far fit all too well with the story Mark had told of his acquaintance drowning Styx’s family. She needed to know more.

  “Why do you suppose Mark continued his association with a man like Lord Shayles?” she asked.

  Lord Helm shifted silently in his chair, his expression as dark as a thundercloud, looking as though he wanted an answer to that question as well.

  “No one knows,” Lavinia answered. “But I am certain there is a very good reason for the association. A reason none of us knows.” She sent her husband a scolding look. Angelica had the feeling they’d argued over Mark before and that Lavinia always took Mark’s side. That raised the countess’s estimation even higher in Angelica’s eyes.

  “Mark told me yesterday that he has no friends,” Angelica said.

  Lavinia reacted as though she’d told her about the kittens. “But he does have friends,” she insisted. “I am his friend. I thought he considered me as such.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Angelica reached out to touch Lavinia’s arm. “And I assured him that I am his friend as well.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.” Lavinia smiled and took Angelica’s hand for a moment. “I’ve been saying all along that if Mark had the benefit of the right kind of friends, he could pull himself out of whatever sort of morass he’s fallen into.”

  “Do you think he’s so very bad off?” Angelica asked.

  Lavinia shrugged. “He hasn’t left Blackmoor Close since returning here at the end of the trial. At least, as far as I know.” She lowered her head, stealing a quick glance at her husband. “People in town don’t speak as highly of him as I’d like.”

  “Lavinia,” Lord Helm said in a long-suffering voice. “We’ve been through this before.”

  A rush of protectiveness filled Angelica. “Do you not think men deserve a second chance, Lord Helm?” she asked, knowing full well she displayed too much indignation for a conversation with an earl. Then again, once she married Mark, she would be a countess.

  Lord Helm squirmed, pinned in his chair by the indignant glances of two women. “If Mark is the saint you two obviously think he is, why did he wait so long to turn on Shayles?”

  Angelica and Lavinia both opened their mouths to reply, but they were cut off by a throat being cleared in the doorway. All three of them turned to find Mark standing there, looking as clean and polished as if he’d had a full night’s rest, a luxurious bath, and been dressed by a valet. A rush of embarrassment flooded Angelica. Judging by how pink her cheeks went, Lavinia felt it as well. Lord Helm sat straighter, but his expression dropped to a frown.

  “My solicitor has reviewed Great-Uncle Miles’s will,” Mark announced, stepping farther into the room, the pages of a letter in his hand. “It is legitimate and he has verified it.”

  A deep hush filled the room. Angelica’s skin prickled with expectation. Mark acknowledged the will, but would he help her abide by it?

  He walked slowly toward her, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Did you know about the section referring to Blackmoor Close?” he asked.

  Angelica shifted to face him, blinking. “I remember reading something about Blackmoor when I scanned through the parts of the will that didn’t pertain to me.”

  “You didn’t read those sections thoroughly?” he asked, his eyes boring into her.

  Angelica suddenly wished she’d gone over the entire will with a fine-toothed comb instead of focusing on the section that destroyed her future. She should have demanded more of Grandpa Miles’s lawyers.

  Before she could say as much, her memory stirred and she gulped. “Oh dear,” she said, clapping a hand to her chest. “I didn’t even think about that part. I only wanted to journey over here as fast as possible to approach you because the little money I had was running out.”

  “What is it?” Lavinia asked in a whisper. “Is something the matter?”

  All eyes turned to Mark once more. He stood perfectly still, unnaturally still. Angelica was certain she could see the wheels in his mind turning, though.

  “Nothing is the matter,” he answered after so long a pause that Angelica released the breath she’d been holding as he spoke. “My solicitor was thoughtful enough to obtain a special license along with investigating the will. I’m certain we can make arrangements with Rev. Ballard to marry us within a few days.”

  Angelica’s heart raced to the point of making her dizzy. He was going to go through with it. Not only that, he hadn’t told his cousins about the clause of the will that must have felt like bribery to him—that he would lose Blackmoor Close if he didn’t marry her. Heat flooded Angelica’s face with both shame and relief. Did he think she had lied to him by failing to mention the fate of Blackmoor Close? Or perhaps she had done herself a favor by not dangling that unseemly bit of the will over his head like bait to catch him as a husband. Perhaps her own single-minded focus on taking care of herself had worked in her favor. Either way, she was so grateful she wanted to laugh and cry at once.

  “You’re going to marry this woman?” Lord Helm said, sitting straighter in alarm. “This woman who showed up on your doorstep unannounced? A woman you know nothing about?”

  Mark glanced from Lord Helm to Angelica. His gaze rested on her for a moment, and though color flooded his face, Angelica had no idea what he was thinking.

  At last, he turned back to Lord Helm and said, “Yes.”

  Chapter 6

  She was screaming, reaching for him, begging him to make the others stop, incriminating him with her fear. Mark thrashed and struggled, but the more he tried, the harder it was for him to move. Her screams reached a fevered pitch as Shayles’s laughter rang in his ears, louder and louder. But Mark couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out, couldn’t stop the horror that unfolded in front of him. All he could do was watch, sweating, panting, struggling against the bonds that held him.

  “Think of it this way, Gatwick,” Shayles’s laughing voice said. “Your place with us is secure now.”

  Mark awoke with a gasp, jerking in an attempt to sit bolt-upright. He was tangled in a mass of sweaty sheets and didn’t get far. He writhed within them for a moment before realizing the dream was over, almost twenty-five years had passed, and he was safe in his own bed.

  He managed to free himself from his sheets and sit up at last, panting heavily. He ran both hands through his damp hair, then rubbed his face, wanting desperately to exist in the present moment and not the past. As if he could ever do that. But as his breathing steadied and he noticed the light of morning streaming through the gaps in the curtains, a whole different sort of dread spilled over him that left him shaking.

  It was his wedding day, the day he couldn’t avoid. Which wasn’t to say he’d tried to avoid it. A week had passed since Walton had sent him the letter stating Great-Uncle Miles’s will was legitimate and that he would have to marry Angelica. A week in which he’d made dispassionate plans, focusing on details, while Lavinia kept Angelica busy. A week in which he’d first attemp
ted to bolster his courage to face everything that marriage meant, then switched tactics and sought out reasons he could convince Angelica to have a marriage in name only.

  He moved slowly, shoving aside his wadded bedsheets and climbing out of bed. His feet hit the floor, and he reminded himself that the world was solid around him, the present was all that mattered, and that Shayles was locked away in Newgate Prison. And as for the woman….

  He rubbed a heavy, shaking hand over his face and walked to his washstand to splash cold water on his face. He needed to have water-closets installed in Blackmoor. The kitchen had been updated a few years ago to include running water after repeated pleas from Mrs. Dees and Baxter, but Mark had lagged in updating the rest of the house. Angelica would surely want….

  His thoughts faded into vague, unsettling fear as he rubbed a towel over his face, then moved to flop into the chair near the fireplace. The maid must have lit the fire while he was wrestling with his dreams. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d caught him in a nightmare. She wouldn’t be the only one to know how troubled his sleep was after today. Perhaps he could convince Angelica to keep the guest room she currently occupied.

  The idea was ridiculous. At the very least, she should have the room across the hall from him. She would be his wife, after all.

  His wife. The notion filled him with anxiety. For decades, he’d managed to keep women at a distance, out of respect, guilt, and protectiveness. Suddenly, one had slipped through his defenses and planted herself squarely in the middle of his life. He shook his head, letting out an ironic half-laugh.