by Anne Greene
She suppressed a shiver.
Englishmen. Why had God made so many of them? Of what use were they?
“Um, Hennings, I suggest you take Lord Avondale up the side staircase. It’s not seemly for the two of us to be seen together when we’re in such a state.”
Hennings’ mouth dropped as he apparently noticed that beneath Lord Avondale’s coat, her gown was torn.
“Yes, Milady.” He swung his gaze back and forth between Lord Avondale and her, looking so much like a bewildered bull that she wanted to shake the man.
“See to your duty.” She didn’t relish standing with these two men, her back to the dark, misty forest, and her bare feet on the cold step to the dark rear entrance to the castle. She didn’t trust either of them. She put a tart edge to her voice. “Immediately, Hennings.”
“Yes, Milady.” The broad-shouldered man smacked a hand against the small of Lord Avondale’s waist-coated back. The servant and the still bewildered, but compliant, lord lumbered down the cobblestones to the side entrance.
Avondale’s voice carried clearly through the darkness. “I’ve had responsibility drilled into me from birth. A boy trained to be a duke does not cry for any reason. Not when he is beaten, not for love. He does not play with children of common rank, no matter how lonely. He must excel at studies and never shirk duty. Never complain, never apologize, and must take upon himself an arranged marriage. He must only choose companions from the select. He must learn detachment and obedience rather than rebellion. It’s all so accursedly cursed.” He groaned. “Somehow I think I failed my duty just now.”
Strange, what things haunted the duke. She would never have guessed.
The mumble of male voices and footsteps grew faint as the two disappeared around the corner of a turret.
She pulled in a deep breath and shivered.
Thank you, my Father, for protecting me.
She hugged chilled arms to her chest.
Hennings wasn’t known as a gossip, but what he’d witnessed might start his tongue wagging if she didn’t take steps to prevent it. She sighed.
With the danger past, her legs were watery porridge, and she shook all over. Stiffening her knees, she pushed open the heavy, iron-bound door.
She’d carry her dagger from now on. And she’d have to tell Cailin.
14
Cailin tossed her golden mask onto the beverage table, picked up a stemmed glass of punch, gulped it, and slammed the empty glass back on the white tablecloth. She felt like screaming. Instead, hands clenched, she gazed around the lofty, tastefully decorated ballroom. Everyone else danced gaily with a partner.
Where was Avondale? How was she to hold this marriage together if he continued to disappear?
She had asked God to keep Avondale by her side through the festivities. And He had failed her. Fighting off a sense of despair, she forced herself to smile at the many nobles bowing and acknowledging her presence as they escorted their partners to the food and beverage table. Why had God denied her when she had obeyed Him and her parents with this marriage? God blessed obedience, didn’t He? If so, why had He given her such a difficult husband?
Here she stood, wearing the most fabulous gown she’d ever owned, its billowing gold hooped skirts caught halfway up with large velvet bows above scalloped lace, and her golden curls falling in ringlets almost to her waist. In the place of prominence as befitted her husband’s rank, she, amidst all the couples, stood alone.
She unfurled her fan and used its folds to hide her trembling lips. She would not cry. Tears closed her throat and pricked behind her eyes. She blinked rapidly and performed a curtsy to the Marquess and Marchioness of Tullibardine. As the couple danced beyond her hearing, they put their heads together and whispered. She cared not a fig about their gossip. She simply wanted her husband by her side. Proving his love. Showing his protection.
She wanted Avondale out of trouble, normal, and resplendent as only he could be. She wanted a kind, sensitive husband, a loving father for their child. She wanted him as attentive in public as he was in private. Was that too much to ask?
Her shoulders shook. A sob worked up through her laced bodice to the ruffles cupping her shoulders. No, this would not do. She sniffed and straightened her shoulders.
Every other person in the room looked so happy, dancing in the circle of a loved one’s arms or paired together, chatting intimately. Why not she? The headache that had threatened grew into full-blown misery. Sidestepping into the shadow of a white pillar, she massaged her temples.
Why didn’t God answer her prayer? He seemed deaf to her pleading. She believed in Him with all her heart and obeyed Him in every way she knew. She gave money to the poor beggars who showed their licenses at the castle’s kitchen. She loved her fellow men and God with all her heart.
So, why didn’t God love her back? Surely He knew that for the first time in her life, she wavered in her solid faith? Why didn’t He answer her prayers? What had she done to deserve His silence?
Aware of her many noble guests, she smoothed her expression, warmed her smile, and forced herself to remain cordial.
For what seemed hours she played the part as best she could, upholding the gaiety of the party and honoring Fiona’s debut. She set her mind to focus on Fiona’s happiness, but the lass had also disappeared. Anxiety built inside Cailin’s chest. She had to find Avondale.
Finally, she said her farewells to those guests close enough to the castle to return to their own homes.
Then she, Mums, and Aunty Moira escorted those guests who were staying overnight to their suites. At last, her duty accomplished, she hugged Mums and Aunty Moira, not wanting to share with them her anxiety, and went in search of Avondale.
She prayed the burly servant, Rafe, would prove to be an excellent bodyguard. She’d chosen the big Scot because the man had muscle and barely spoke. She didn’t want Rafe bandying her dirty linen to public view and felt certain he would not.
But perhaps Avondale had escaped Rafe’s supervision. Otherwise, Rafe certainly would have herded her wandering husband back into the ballroom to attend to his guests.
How could Avondale, so handsome and desirable, be so unreliable? When he was present, he looked the pillar of strength and stability.
She left the ballroom and stood at the front door where the final guests were taking their leave.
A young man in a shepherd’s simple costume approached.
“I say, Duchess. Your little cousin Fiona is a bit of all right. Where have you hidden the young lady? I wanted to make my adieus personally.”
She smiled with real warmth. “Ah, Lord Montrose. Fiona is around somewhere. Surely, you’re more acquainted with her movements than I.” She had a warm spot for the young Marquess.
His mums and hers were great friends, and she and Megan had grown up playing with Charles and his older siblings. She sighed. Too bad Charles hadn’t been old enough to wed her.
But he’d make a fine husband for Fiona. And from his disappointed expression at missing her, he appeared to think so as well.
She fanned her hot face at the disloyal thought of preferring to have wed someone else. At times Avondale embodied everything she’d ever dreamed of in a husband. She bit her lip. But those times proved precious few.
“Well, yes. I had my eyes on Fiona all evening. That is, until Lady Megan needed to speak to her so urgently. I’ve not seen a spot of her since. That was…” The young man pulled an elegant gold pocket watch from behind his shepherd’s pelt, “…almost an hour past.”
“Ah, well. Fiona’s quite young. She and Megan have probably gone to rest.” So, Megan had taken Fiona somewhere. What was Megan up to this time? Had she taken Fiona to nurse Brody?
Disappointment clouded the young lord’s pleasant face. “My parents insist the hour is late and we leave at once. Pray give the Lady Fiona my farewell.”
“I shall, Charles. And I’ll extend an open invitation to you and your family to visit us often. Mistress Fiona dotes on
your company.”
The young man straightened his shoulders and fairly glowed. He tripped over his feet as he bowed over her outstretched hand. “Thank you, Duchess. My family and I gladly accept your kind invitation.” His large hazel eyes gazed at her above her hand which he still pressed to his lips. Then he raised his head. “I shall come often.”
“I fear there will be a regular parade of young noblemen to our door.” She touched his pelt-covered arm. “There seems to be a new breed of catnip here that brings all the noble Toms in the countryside.”
“Catnip indeed! But Mistress Fiona did ask you to invite me specifically, did she not?” Young Charles’s face hovered between hopefulness and chagrin.
“She did.” The lie flowed easily from her tongue. Was a white lie acceptable to God? She didn’t know. But at the moment, she felt far from happy with God, anyway. The thought amazed her. Never before in her life had she been unhappy with God.
Forgive me, Father.
Nevertheless, her usual calm trust didn’t return. Would she spend her life at social events covering for her husband? Was her marriage to echo her parents’ relationship despite her best efforts? Would she and Avondale become truly distant and hateful to one another? Now that she stood likely to give him an heir, would he take a mistress and move to one of his other estates?
She tapped her foot as she waited for Charles to join the last of the departing guests, and then rushed to the servants’ part of the castle.
The kitchen where the help congregated fermented in an uproar. Glasses, filled and empty, showed the servants had celebrated and were yet frolicking. Some wore make-shift costumes. Many looked red-faced and were acting free with one another, obviously well into their cups.
When she entered, the cavernous kitchen grew quiet. The bevy of servants snapped to attention.
“I’m seeking Hennings.”
“Ah, Your Grace, Hennings was here up until…?” His brows arched, the head butler gazed at the other servants.
“Hennings left about an hour past, Milady.” The big cook dipped her cheerful face respectfully. “He seemed in a bit of a hurry, he was.”
A cold chill shot down Cailin’s backbone. Her voice quivered. “And how long did he tarry in the kitchen before he left?”
The dusting maid dropped a slight curtsy. “Your Grace, Hennings, he stayed here in the kitchen for the best part of the evening. Then Rafe rushed in and hurried him out.”
Cold certainty spread to Cailin’s chest. “Hennings remained here during the masquerade? But not Rafe?”
“Aye, Your Grace. Rafe scooted Hennings out of here like he was a bad little boy.”
All the servants stared at her. She must not show her distress. She hid her shivers beneath the billowing silk costume. She’d asked both men to watch over Avondale during the masquerade. Obviously, Hennings believed he needn’t take orders from her. The dowager paid his wages. Thank God Rafe was on the job. “Thank you, Celeste. Where are the men now?”
Celeste lifted her apron to half hide her face. “That what be so funny. Hennings, he heard the tall clock chime, and he took off like a hare chased by a dog. That scared he looked. He didn’t even need Rafe’s hand on the back of his neck.”
“I see. Thank you.” She worked to keep her shoulders from slumping and walked stiffly from the cheery kitchen. She well knew the buzz of conversation following her departure meant she hadn’t handled her search at all well. Nor had she managed to hide her dismay.
She cared little of what the servants thought, except for the need to keep them from gossip. And she’d given them fodder. She clinched her clammy hands. She must find Avondale before he hurt himself.
And what if Bloody Billy was really after him? What if the man really was a threat? What if her husband lay wounded or dead somewhere on the grounds? Once again, the castle would be without protection…and she would be without a husband. Their baby would be without a father.
She hurried back to the ballroom, but found it empty except for the musicians packing their instruments in cases. The silent room with its drooping decorations mirrored her wilting heart. Alone and used. Cold fear pulsed its way to her hands and feet, turning them into blocks of ice.
Where was Avondale? What had he done this time? Would she be able to fix the problems he’d created? Was he safe? She’d have to assign Rafe to stay by Avondale’s side day and night. She could trust the big Scot. But the man did have to sleep.
Was Avondale becoming a threat? Who knew what he would do if he had another spell? What terrible demons drove him? She must summon her courage to find out. She wrapped her arms around the precious child in her womb. Was his inheritance in jeopardy? He had a legitimate claim to the title and lands.
She feared, not only for Avondale, but for herself and for their child.
Her slippers thumped as she ascended the main staircase. Absently she touched the round golden balls that held the sequined masks looped to the banister. Since her wedding night, she’d fancied Avondale wore just such a mask.
Now she must unmask him. Discover his secrets.
Alone together, he seemed kind, sweet, and attentive to her every desire. He made her feel cherished and loved beyond what she’d ever dreamed.
But when he left the sanctuary of their bedchamber, he metamorphosed into a different man. He was not one man, but many. When in company with his courtly attendants, he grew haughty towards her. With his mother, he simply ignored her. With Papa and Brody, he seemed one of the family, though he seldom included her in the circle. While on the hunt, whether fox or boar, friends mentioned he was highly competitive.
She’d taken to spying on him when he withdrew to the library. He’d pace, book laxly held in one hand, and talk to himself. Almost as if he spoke to someone else.
That frightened her so the hair on her head stood up.
She reached the top of the staircase and paused, looking over the balcony, down the curve of the stairs, and into the enormous entry room with its stuffed stag and great, heavy paintings of her forebears. Now shadowed with low burnt candles, the place looked as haunted as she felt.
She’d never before thought such things of her home. Had Avondale brought this eerie atmosphere to her castle? Living with the duke shook her faith. She fingered the heavy diamond necklace hanging from her throat. She wouldn’t find her answers standing in the hallway. She turned, strode down the corridor to her suite of rooms, and placed her hand on the long, burnished door handle.
Since she’d been unable to find Avondale, she’d wait for him, and no longer be put aside by his wonderful lovemaking. Tonight, she’d discover what drove him.
But if he were hurt or dead, life would become empty, without texture or substance.
A light tap on her arm startled her from her thoughts. She spun to face Rafe.
The burly blacksmith-turned-guard bowed, most of his muscles hidden by the satin suit that gleamed in the candlelight. “Lady Cailin, might I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Rafe.” She caught her breath. “For such a big man, you do move quietly. I didn’t hear you approach.”
“Aye, Milady.” He moved closer. “We found the duke near the forest. Hennings took him to yer rooms. He’d had another spell. This one looked verra bad.”
“Oh, dear. I must go to him.” She turned and took a step, but Rafe’s strong hand grasped her arm.
“He hurt the Lady Fiona.”
Cailin drooped. Her body felt old and heavy. “Where is she? Is she hurt badly?”
“I think she went to her rooms. Nay, she was more scared than hurt.” His eyes glinted and his mouth looked grim.
“Did anyone see what happened?”
“Nay, Milady. She were alone when the duke grabbed her.”
Cailin gasped. “Avondale grabbed her?”
“Aye, Milady. Ye know I will do anything for ye. Anything. I serve ye with me whole self. I hold nothing back.”
She could barely hear Rafe’s words over the hammering of
her heart. She leaned towards him. “What are you suggesting?”
The candle cast dark shadows over his rugged face. “The duke is dangerous, Milady. He could hurt ye.” His gaze slid from her face to her waist. “Or yer babe.”
Would Avondale hurt her? Surely not. And yet, he had grabbed Fiona and dragged her to the woods. For what purpose? She could not fathom his motives. But, she would never allow him to hurt their child. And yet, he was so very strong.
“Perhaps the duke could meet with an accident.”
15
“Avondale.”
He looked up, his eyes heavy lidded. “Cailin, love. Where have you been?”
His gold satin trousers looked wet, dirty, and stained from the knee down. He wore no coat. His waistcoat was missing and his silk shirt hung carelessly open at the neck. The splotches of grass stain that had bled into his shirt and trousers told her he’d been outside.
Rafe spoke the truth.
“Why did you disappear from the masquerade?”
Arm on the cushion of his chair, he propped his chin in his hand. “I say, love, I’ve been right here in our bedchamber waiting for you.”
“No, Avondale, you haven’t.”
He looked like a small boy caught with his finger in the pigeon pie. His wonderful lips thinned. “But I must have been here.”
She saw no point in arguing. While she reinforced her courage, she struck flint to steel and lit the candles, stirred up a fire in the chill room, and sat stiffly in a straight chair close to where he slouched in his wingback.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Please talk to me. Tell me what is going on.”
A stubborn expression pulled at his face. But he leaned close to her, and began to lightly stroke her arm.
She moved away. Tonight she would not be distracted.