“Until now? You have me confused.”
He laughed. “You have not been formally introduced into Society. Time is fast approaching for the Season to begin. I have come to invite you to visit my family at my uncle’s estate, Pleasant Green, outside of Southampton. Lord Daneford asked if perhaps you could meet my cousin, Sophia. She should be a great help to you. I believe you will like her. She is of the same age. You are nineteen, are you not?”
“Yes,” she answered. She had not expected such an invitation. As much as she had been sheltered at Beebe Manor, she understood the whispered connection of Lady Sophia Carlisle to the future Lord Daneford. She could not contain her surprise. “The Duke of Torridge’s home?”
He was perceptive and seemed to have read her confusion. “Arthur and I have been friends since childhood. I gave him my word that I would look after your welfare.”
“You want me to trust you, Mr. Carlisle. Pray forgive me, but I do not trust many and especially ones I do not know or blame my father for a crime he did not commit.”
“Ah, forthright once more. Then I will reward you for your bluntness,” he said in a strong, steady voice that resonated through her. “You are quite right in your assessment that I think little of Arthur’s engagement to the daughter of the man who killed my uncle.”
She wanted nothing more than to ride back to her home. She was in no mood to listen to a reproach of her father or mother. She heard enough from her aunt. Choosing not to wait for her companions and face the wrath of her aunt, she reined back her horse only to be refrained from a departure. Carlisle had leaned down and gripped tightly to the bridle.
Her eyes flamed at his insolence. “How dare you! Let go,” she demanded, jerking back on the reins.
Instead of releasing her, he eyed her with an intensity that sent a shudder through her. “I see well Arthur’s attraction to you. You are quite beautiful when your emotions rage,” he said. The words did little to ease her temper, nor did Harriet believe they were meant to. He continued, “I gave my word to Arthur, and I am a man of my word. So it seems we need to come to an understanding.”
“I believe I understand you clearly.”
“So you do. Know then that the invitation to my uncle’s is quite sincere. I believe you will find my cousin most gracious and kind. You have much in common.”
The insinuation in his voice was not lost upon her—they both loved the same man. She said nothing but glared at him for his insolent behavior toward her. No gentleman would treat a lady in this fashion. It left her with the conclusion he did not think her a lady.
“It will please Arthur for you to make the connection to my family,” he pressed. “You are to be his bride, so you can rest assured, you will be made welcome. I have talked to Lord Daneford. He, too, feels the invitation will suit you well. You can travel to London with Sophia. It will do well for your introduction into Society—which will please Arthur.”
“I appreciate your kind offer,” Harriet said, determined to control the raging temper boiling within her. “You must have known that I, too, have strong emotions concerning my father. I do not believe that your uncle was an innocent victim. It is my understanding the duel was fair. You would not have given my father a second thought if it had been him who had been killed. And may I remind you that it was my father who was injured by Meriwether Carlisle’s action. So you will understand my reluctance at the invitation and while I do so appreciate…”
“Miss Burke, do not make a rash decision. Take your time. I do not leave until the end of next week.” Carlisle reached over and took her hand. Bringing it up to his face, he swept his lips against her fingers. Even through her glove, she felt the stones of her ring burn.
Suddenly, she was no more upon her horse, but in a vision.
Through the haze, she made out a dark, gloomy chamber. Heavy draperies had been pulled across the windows, allowing no hint of the time of the day. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, suffocating, encompassing with the feel of a mausoleum.
Crying and weeping echoed in the death chamber. From where, she did not know; her attention had been drawn to the figure lying deathly still on the bed before her. Through these eyes, she felt small, insignificant, alone, afraid, and overwhelmingly sad. She edged up slowly to the side of the bed.
She saw him, the dying man. Barely recognizable, but it was he…the one she had seen before in her vision…Meriwether Carlisle. Red patches covered his exposed skin and swollen face. Drenched in sweat, he muttered incoherently, “Georgiana. Georgiana…”
As suddenly as it appeared, the vision dissipated. Shaken, she glanced up at Carlisle. Behind him, riders rounded the bend.
“It seems the others have caught up with us, Miss Burke. I hope you will give thought to my invitation.”
Harriet looked down at her hand and back up at Carlisle, whose attention seemed to be upon the riders. She shook her head and regained her composure. Glad he did not pick up her uneasiness, she drew in a deep breath and said, “I will give it consideration.”
“It is all I ask,” he responded, looking back at her with a smile that said he thought he had won.
She said nothing more.
* * * *
Late into the night, the stairs creaked as someone climbed them and fumbled loudly down the hall corridor. A loud burp echoed in the stillness, followed by a loud crash and a cry.
“Damn sakes!”
Reginald, in his drunkenness, must have returned home. Harriet listened to the drunken idiot fumble with the handle of his door. Then she heard the door open and close. The house was quiet again.
Harriet pulled the covers higher against her. Weariness swept through her, but sleep had not come. Long before Reginald stumbled upstairs, her mind raced from one thought to another.
Mr. James Carlisle, in his frank manner, did little to conceal his animosity toward her. Clearly, the man held her father’s action against her. It was not fair for Arthur to expect her to go to Pleasant Green and endure the animosity of the Carlisles. Though there was truth in Carlisle’s words.
Arthur expected her to be his wife and being his wife meant enduring the proprieties of one day becoming the Viscountess Daneford. She hadn’t a choice. She had to try to become that lady for Arthur. Moreover, if the Duke of Torridge offered his home to her, it would be a slight not to accept. Only, she didn’t trust the reason for the offer.
Troubled, Harriet turned over toward the dying fire. Pulling her hand from the warmth of the covers, she stared down at her ring. Even in the dimming light, a sparkling aurora encircled the rich stones. What secrets did it hold, she questioned, for now she had no doubt the ring beckoned her.
Over the years, she had learned to ignore the call when it came. Visions came and went. Never, though, had she felt a pull upon her as she did now. That gypsy woman, Vadoma, had called it a gift. A gift?
Etched into her memory was that moment when she was eleven. In front of the entire village, Vadoma grasped Harriet’s shoulders and spoke words in a language Harriet didn’t understand, concluding the rambling in English. “May you see beyond the barrier between the worlds for those seeking peace and may peace find you.”
Her grandfather raged with ire, “How dare you curse my granddaughter! If not for Harriet, your brother would now be in custody, heading for prison.”
Vadoma released Harriet and smiled. Never had Harriet met such a striking woman, beautiful in an exotic way. Her large eyes changed color with her mood, going from a shining green to dark brown, and seemed to be able to see into one’s soul. Her dark beauty was accented by a flowing multi-colored skirt and white blouse, with her dark hair pulled back with a headscarf. Vadoma turned from Harriet and directed her attention toward her grandfather.
“It is not an amria I have uttered, Sir Burke. I have blessed the chavi. Athinganoi looms over her.”
“Nonsense words!” Her grandfather shouted. “I want you gone—the whole lot of you off my property by the morning!”
Her grandfather grasped hold of Harriet’s hand and dragged her to the carriage. “You are forbidden to ride until those people are gone. Do you understand? They are thieves, hoodlums, vagabonds. The whole lot of them. They will take advantage of your compassion.”
Harriet nodded, glancing back over her shoulder at the gypsies. She wanted to ask what they had done wrong. Had it not been Reginald who had caused the commotion, not the gypsies, especially not Durriken? Durriken had come to her defense when he thought she was endangered.
She had not been. She had only shouted at Reginald for shooting the pheasants she was feeding. It had been her usual habit when she stopped on her ride in the clearing to feed the birds. She had not known her cousin had followed her, not until he began to shoot into the flock, killing four.
“Stop it! Stop!” she cried. Rushing toward him, she shoved him hard. “It’s…it’s murder.”
He grabbed her arm with one arm and slung her down on the ground. “They are my birds. I can do what I want.”
“They are not. They are grandfather’s!”
He laughed. “You idiot! One day all this will be mine. I can do what I want.”
At that moment, a young man rushed out of the woods toward Reginald. Harriet didn’t remember much what ensued after that point. Newman, the gamekeeper, interrupted the fight, but not before Reginald lay sprawled on the ground.
Footmen and Uncle Walter appeared and held the gypsy for the authorities. Harriet tried desperately to explain what had happened, but not until her grandfather returned home did anyone listen to her tale. At first, even her grandfather did nothing to remedy the injustice.
“It is of little matter,” her grandfather said. “Why was he there in the woods? I would wager it was to steal my game…”
“But Grandfather,” Harriet pleaded. “The man thought I was in trouble. Reginald shot his gun. I was there fighting with Reginald….if it was as you think, then it was even braver to come to defend me. He should not be arrested for coming to my aid. I cannot live with the thought.”
Her grandfather wasn’t happy, but he relented…above the opposition of her uncle.
“An embarrassment to the family,” her uncle declared. “For Heaven’s sake, Father! It’s a gypsy! You are going down to disavow Reginald’s statement for a gypsy!”
“Reginald needs to learn gentlemen do not lie. It could have easily been handled if he had not invented a story.”
Her grandfather was far from happy with the whole of the situation, but his conscience had not allowed anything other than the truth to be told. Harriet wondered whether her grandfather had regretted his decision.
Without question, her grandfather loved her deeply, but even he could not deny that strange happenings began to occur around her after that day… strange, unexplained happenings. Then after the incident with Mrs. Whitney, their housekeeper, he had warned her to keep her visions to herself.
“I know you too well not to know you speak what you believe is the truth. You cannot go around telling others you see things that aren’t there. People will think you possessed. That damn gypsy cursed you! I knew it well. I blame myself. But,” her grandfather said. His tone well conveyed his worry and concern about her. “Harriet, listen closely to me. You have to keep your visions to yourself. Whatever is happening, no good can come from telling others what you see.”
Harriet took his warning to heart, though questions overwhelmed her. Her only solace came from Mrs. Whitney.
“Your grandfather has forbidden any to talk about what happened. I only wanted you to know you have nothing to fear from me. I also know what you said and I know it held truth in it.”
“Do you think me mad?” Harriet asked.
“No, my child. I believe this…this ability was given to you for a purpose. What purpose…I don’t know. It will be yours to discover. Though, I would listen to your grandfather. People fear what they don’t understand.”
Harriet had not needed to be reminded. The looks and whispers from that incident never faded. She understood well the need to keep her visions to herself. She had never told Arthur. There had not been a need…until now.
The ring he had given her wasn’t what it seemed. Arthur told her it had been his mother’s, but how did Arthur’s mother have a ring connected to Meriwether Carlisle?
* * * *
The morning dawned. Harriet found her spirits lifted with the sun. The dark thoughts of the night were momentarily forgotten. She had a full day ahead of her with the alterations needed for her London gowns. She needed the diversion. Otherwise, she would lament she had not heard from Arthur in a few weeks.
She had been warned such would be her life while Arthur served in His Majesty’s Navy. Communication was slow at best. Ships rarely docked and the rendezvous with the ships scheduled as needed. Harriet had played down Arthur’s warning that it might be up to two years before his return to English soil. Two years! However would she survive!
She slipped out of bed and readied herself. Her aunt had promised to have her a lady's maid by the time she departed for London. Until then, Harriet dressed herself as had been her habit.
Harriet exited her room and walked toward her grandmother’s chamber. Since her grandfather passed away, her grandmother rarely left her room. The elderly lady’s mind rambled with incoherent thoughts. It began before her grandfather’s death, but seemed to have only worsened. At times, she didn’t recognize Harriet.
Her grandmother had been the only mother she had ever known. She had been much different back when Harriet was younger…vivacious, energetic, and so animated when she talked and she loved to talk. Harriet’s fondest memories growing up were of sitting and listening to her grandmother talk…for hours on end.
Harriet loved to hear stories of her father and took them all to heart. Without question, her father had been her grandmother’s favorite son. Handsome, valiant, brave, Major Henry Burke had been a highly decorated officer. He had done his family proud…until the scandal.
Her grandmother was Harriet’s protector, hiding her from her aunt’s wrath when needed…which was more often than Harriet would care to admit.
“Harriet,” her grandmother would say. “You are going to have to learn not to irritate your aunt so. But while you are here, why don’t you sit down and I’ll call for some tea. It will do you well to learn how to pour.”
That was how it was. Her grandmother would never openly talk badly about her daughter-in-law, but subtle things…things that Harriet well understood even at a young age…told Harriet that her grandmother cared little about the woman.
Harriet didn’t know why she irritated her aunt so…well…perhaps she did. Did not her aunt continually harp upon the fact her parents tarnished the Burkes’ good name. The nerve!
Harriet pondered her aunt’s reaction to the sequence of unfortunate events that unfolded after her marriage. How disillusioned her aunt must have been with the scandal and taint to the Burkes’ name. A stain that could not be erased as she so often told Harriet.
Harriet could only imagine her aunt’s reaction, not for the tragedy that encompassed the affair, but for the loss of status in the eyes of the ton. Her aunt’s hopes dashed so quickly…she had been married less than a year when the events played out.
To overcome so many obstacles in her life and finally marry gentry, the former Miss Constance Palfrey had to have been disheartened. Not that Harriet considered her uncle a catch, but she supposed that in the eyes of the world around her, Walter Burke would be deemed a favorable match.
At the time, her uncle was a young widower with three young children, having lost his first wife after the birth of Bessie. The future squire of Beebe Manor needed a wife worthy of his position. The former Constance Palfrey came from a respectable family, a descendant of the infamous Elizabeth Woodville, Queen of England on her mother’s side.
Miss Constance Palfrey’s life had not been carefree. At an early age, her father, Captain Silas Palfrey, deserted his family for his
mistress and moved to Nova Scotia to begin a whaling station.
Left to fend for her family, Constance’s mother used her connections to set up a prominent girls’ school. When she had come of age, Constance became headmistress. Long considered on the shelf, Constance was introduced to Harriet’s uncle while he was on holiday in Bath. He wed her shortly afterwards and brought his bride back to Beebe Manor.
Not prone to emotions, her aunt was a rather tall woman. Painfully thin with no figure to speak of, she had an elongated face with deep receding dark eyes that would never allow her aunt to be considered a beauty. Harsh and prim in her manner, her large hands had more than once backhanded Harriet when Harriet spoke her mind. The sting taught Harriet not to counter her aunt’s remarks, but did little to contain Harriet’s spirit.
Despite her aunt’s enmity towards her, Harriet was greatly indulged by her grandparents. Harriet gave no thought of being ignored by her aunt and uncle until her grandfather’s death. Then everything changed.
The estate suffered under her uncle’s guidance. Whereas her grandfather connected to the land and the people, her uncle seemed incompetent in the affairs of running an estate. It did not take long for Beebe Manor to fall into a state of disrepair. Beebe Manor’s crumbling walls did little to discourage the financial demands placed upon the estate.
Her aunt’s finery had not suffered, nor had her cousins’, Clarissa and Bessie. Her aunt seemed obsessed with her daughters making a great match, one deemed worthy of their station in life. Harriet hadn’t been included in this obsession.
Harriet could not remember the last time she herself had a new gown before her engagement. After her grandfather’s death, she had taken the gowns no longer worn by her cousin, Bessie, who, despite being only a year older than Harriet, was of the same stature, and the gowns needed little alterations.
The disdain of her aunt towards Harriet had not carried over to her cousins. Moreover, Harriet enjoyed their company. Poor Clarissa could no more please her mother than Harriet herself. The poor thing had suffered through three Seasons without a hint of an offer. Then to the dismay of her aunt, Bessie’s debut this last Season produced no acceptable results. Not that either cousin was distasteful to look upon, but neither were great beauties and without a fortune, it left little chance of an acceptable match in the eyes of Aunt Constance.
Seductive Lies Page 3