Seductive Lies

by Colleen Connally

  She spat at him, flailing her hands, hitting him. She seemed a woman possessed, crying out in the fiercest of screams.

  “What the devil!” Arthur wrestled with his wife. “Mrs. McKenna!”

  Mrs. McKenna wasn’t a small woman, rather a large woman, strong and stout. She opened a drawer and grasped hold of a bottle. Arthur looked strangely at the woman. Before he had time to protest, she had the bottle at his wife’s mouth. Instantly, Sophia ceased her struggle. Instead, she gripped tightly the bottle and drank down its contents.

  “Good Lord, woman. I hope that is not what I think!” Arthur fell back, losing balance. He caught himself against the chair. Bounding forward, he grabbed the bottle. Looking at it in disgust, he growled, “I thought I made myself clear, Mrs. McKenna. She was to have no more of this! Who gave it to you?”

  The woman didn’t answer, but looked behind Arthur. Arthur turned to face Sophia’s father, His Grace, the Duke of Torridge. He stood at the door’s threshold.

  “She needed to be calmed. I gave Mrs. McKenna permission.”

  “She is my wife, Your Grace. I gave strict orders that this… that this stuff not be in my home. Doctor Bingham gave specific instruction…”

  “I know what Doctor Bingham said. I happen to disagree. Sophia has suffered greatly.”

  Arthur felt his throat tighten. Hot anger pulsed through his blood. Restraining his ire, he uttered, “It does no good to discuss this matter here. Sophia doesn’t need to be upset any more than she is already.”

  Arthur’s irritation grew watching Bessie ease in Sophia’s room. His dislike of the woman ignited with her familiarity with his wife and the way she directed Mrs. McKenna. Moreover, Bessie dismissed Lady Torridge. To his chagrin, Sophia seemed to calm with Bessie’s appearance.

  He sighed heavily and withdrew downstairs to his study.

  A hastily built fire took the chill out of the night’s air, but did little to lift Arthur’s mood. He sat comfortably in a chair across from the duke. He swirled his drink in his hand and took a sip.

  “I thought we had already come to an understanding, Your Grace.”

  “I believe there is more we need to discuss.” The duke paused, as if giving the matter consideration. His mouth stretched in a thin-lipped line. “We can agree that we don’t want more of a scandal.”

  Arthur breathed in deeply, calming himself. “It has been bad enough. I have taken responsibility for my actions. If you are expecting me to apologize once more, you are sadly mistaken.

  “I have recognized Sophia is an innocent victim of the travesty my grandfather and you created. Despite my feelings, she is my wife.”

  The duke nodded. His lips tightened with his own aggravation. “The deception, as you call it, is what I want to address. I know you believe that it was your grandfather and me who decided the course that was taken.”

  “I know well my grandfather felt titles marry titles. The blueblood line would continue. I also understand well enough that my grandfather hated Major Burke because he blamed him for his best friend, your brother’s, death. I’m certain my grandfather thought he was doing best for the Hammett name.”

  “There is more that you need to know and understand. It wasn’t your grandfather. I came to your grandfather. I am the one who set in motion the treachery, as you call it.”

  “You? I thought…”

  “I know what you thought. The blame lies with me. My nephew informed me of the condition in which you found Miss Burke. That was not my intention. I wished her no harm…”

  “No harm? She could have died! Bloody hell! She…”

  The duke gestured for Arthur to quiet. “Please, Arthur, allow me to continue. I’m confessing to you because I’m worried about my daughter. She is the reason that I went to your grandfather.”

  Arthur sat a little straighter, attempting to contain his impatience. “Sophia? You have me confused.”

  Looking grim, the duke nodded. “I will tell you in short order.” He sighed. “It is not a secret your grandfather and I hoped for the union between the two of you since you were small. Sophia… Sophia, too, set her cap towards you. She has loved you for a long time. When your engagement was announced, Sophia was quite distraught.

  “I confess my only child has been spoilt. It is not often she has been denied what she has desired. She desired you. When the news came of your misfortune, the misperception was quickly cleared up. I was there when your grandfather received the good news, as was Sophia.

  “She pressed me to interfere. She had come up with a wild scheme of keeping up the façade that you had died and used it to her advantage…”

  Arthur listened to the whole of the story in awe. It was diabolical; never had he suspected the lengths Sophia went to ensure their marriage. Nor had he imagined Sophia capable of such deceit, but he began to better understand what had happened… moreover, why it had happened.

  It explained Sophia’s connection to Bessie… Bessie, too, had coerced a groom to marry her. Although, if the duke was to be believed, he had no knowledge that Harriet’s family had embezzled her inheritance.

  For the duke, he wanted to expel the demons that gnawed at his daughter’s soul. He feared guilt and remorse tortured Sophia.

  “Arthur, she believes God is punishing her. Losing the baby has sent her over the edge. Please, have patience with her. Pulling her off the laudanum totally will kill her.”

  Concern oozed from the duke. Arthur found he had no sympathy for the man, but his daughter was another story. Something bothered her… tortured her. Perhaps it was his conscience, too, that gnawed at him.

  If he hadn’t been the jealous sort… if he had trusted Harriet… he would have sought her out after his return. No, he wasn’t blameless… and he well understood loving someone you couldn’t have.

  No matter Sophia’s actions, he had married her. They both mourned the loss of their son. She was desperately ill. He would not turn his back on her.

  Chapter Seven

  Yorkshire—1810

  Harriet panicked. She had let go of her daughter’s hand only a moment and the little one was gone. She had briefly stopped to talk with Mrs. Holt. Walking to the green, relief flooded her when she spotted her daughter. She smiled.

  Victoria ran around the maypole, leaping upward on her little legs and trying to grasp one of the colored ribbons fluttering in the breeze with the other children of Danbe Dale. The normal calm of the village green had transformed to enjoy the first of May’s welcome of spring. It seemed the whole of the village and the community had turned out for the festivities.

  In the warmth of the sunlight and cloudless blue sky, the turbulence of the years before seemed a distant memory. Carlisle had been true to his word. He had created a new life for her and her child far away from London, Beebe Manor… and Arthur. She had left all behind, never to look back.

  Harriet thought back to the day she had left with Carlisle, not knowing what was before her. For a short time, she had stayed in an inn outside of Manchester until Carlisle had made all the arrangements necessary for her new identity.

  Four years had passed since Carlisle had bought her to Danbe Dale under the guise of Mrs. Nigel Whitmore, widow of a lieutenant killed during the ongoing war against Napoleon. She had found a quiet existence here in Danbe Dale, a village in a remote part of Yorkshire with the aunt of her departed husband.

  “You will find Mrs. Eleanor Stuart a lovely woman. I know her personally. To be honest, she was a dear friend of both my mother and my godmother. Her husband passed many years ago. Childless, she lives alone in a large manor home and is in need of income to help in the upkeep.

  “As I told you, your inheritance was lost, but I found that your grandmother left a small fund. I have arranged that the fund be diverted to you. Your uncle understood the magnitude of my request. Although not all you have lost, it will allow you to live independently with your child. I have taken care of the arrangements in the exchange so you will not be found. It will allow yo
u the independence you desire and also to live in the manner you are accustomed.”

  It was not perfect. The hurt from the loss of Arthur still lived in her heart. She would never be able to forget him, not looking into the eyes of his child every morn. The epitome of her father, the golden haired child’s eyes glistened with mischief, life, and fun, much as her father must have been as a child himself.

  Yet as much as she missed Arthur, she had never regretted her decision. The moment Victoria lay in her arms, the whole of her being lived for her daughter. She never had imagined the feeling her daughter evoked within her.

  The respectability she desired for her child hinged on the deception of being a widow. Carlisle arranged that also. Mrs. Stuart’s nephew died from injuries sustained in the war. The timing worked to Harriet’s advantage and she became the widow of Lieutenant Nigel Whitmore.

  Mrs. Stuart lived on a small estate of twenty acres including a lovely lake. Bagden Manor became home to Harriet and her child. The house itself was overly large. If Harriet wanted, she would not have to interact with the elderly woman, but she found Aunt Eleanor most welcoming. The lady asked no questions of her past, but took to her as if she were indeed family. Perhaps in a way, they were. Neither had anyone else. They had only each other and Victoria.

  Harriet found acceptance in her new life. When she arrived, she had been shy and withdrawn. It was to be expected, having only thus lost her husband. A normal reaction. One that Harriet did not have to feign, for she had indeed lost the love of her life. Over time, Harriet was thrust into the activities of the village. She hadn’t a choice. She discovered that Aunt Eleanor was the heart of the community.

  “Mrs. Whitmore,” a familiar voice called from behind her. Harriet turned to find Mrs. Gleeson, the vicar’s wife. A pleasant woman with a smile plastered upon her face seemed quite pleased to see her. “Your young one seems to be enjoying herself. Such a lovely child. Always so joyful.”

  “She has been a delight,” Harriet said, turning back around. She watched her daughter’s blonde curls bounce around while she played with the other children, giggling and laughing. “We are fortunate to have such glorious weather for the festival.”

  “It seems to grow larger every year,” Mrs. Gleeson agreed. “The festival serves well for the donations at the church. Why, Vicar Gleeson says it will be a great year!”

  “He well deserves the reward for all his hard work.”

  “You are too kind,” Mrs. Gleeson said. Her face brightened with the compliment to her husband. She drew in a deep breath. “Such a glorious day! I love the beginning of spring. It holds such promise. Life springs anew, flowers bloom, trees burst forth with life. It gives us hope.”

  Harriet smiled her agreement. How long ago did it seem to her there was no hope. She had lost the life she had known. Everything she thought defined her was no more. Then slowly the clouds lifted. She found life carried on with or without her. She began to live again. Though looking at her child, Harriet would have to acknowledge Victoria was the ray of sunlight in her world.

  Carlisle had kept his promise and given her a life she would not have had otherwise. A life she could accept. Carlisle came once or twice a year to visit. He was there when Victoria was born and seemed greatly relieved that both Harriet and Victoria came through the ordeal. Victoria knew him as Uncle James and her uncle spoiled the little one greatly.

  Carlisle never mentioned Arthur or his cousin. She never asked. She couldn’t allow Arthur to intrude upon her life in any form. Arthur was not part of Danbe Dale and the life she lived now.

  Soaking up the warmth of the sun, Harriet glanced up to see Aunt Eleanor walking toward Victoria. Victoria screeched and ran up to the elderly lady. Taking her hand in hers, Victoria led Aunt Eleanor to the center of the green. Aunt Eleanor clapped her hands in playful delight as Victoria and her friends attempted to wrap the free ribbons around her aunt.

  “I know well the pain you suffered losing your husband so, but it seems that God works in mysterious ways. You have been heaven-sent to Mrs. Stuart.” Mrs. Gleeson reached over and patted Harriet’s hands.

  “It is I who has been fortunate, Mrs. Gleeson. I could never repay Aunt Eleanor’s kindness. To be truthful, I wasn’t so certain at the time whether this was the best course of action, but you are correct. I have become quite content,” Harriet said. Glancing to the side, she found they had company. A distinguished looking gentleman walked gingerly up to their side. Bowing his head with a tip of his hat, he acknowledged the ladies.

  “Good day, Mrs. Gleeson… Mrs. Whitmore.”

  “Mr. Padgett,” Mrs. Gleeson said. “It is good to see you. I thought you in London.”

  “It was a short trip only,” he responded. “I could not say I was disappointed to be back in time to enjoy the festivities. I came down with Theodore and his children, but they all seem to have disappeared into the activities, although Joel had me promise to participate in the sack race. I only hope I don’t humiliate myself in the process.”

  “I’m sure you will not,” Harriet assured him. “I will personally stand and cheer you on, if you like. I’m certain Victoria will be thoroughly disappointed if Joel does not win.”

  Mr. Padgett laughed in response. “Thankfully it is not until later this afternoon. Have you had time to enjoy all the booths, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  “I’m afraid I have not. I gave Miss Blake the day off to enjoy the festivities.” She glanced at Victoria. “I don’t think my daughter wants to leave at the present.”

  “Oh, I’m quite capable of watching the child,” Mrs. Gleeson quickly offered. “Go. I’m certain Mrs. Stuart and I can well entertain Victoria.”

  Harriet was quite certain Mrs. Gleeson had no issue in doing so. She had been quite blatant in her attempts to match make. Accepting Mr. Padgett’s arm, she said simply, “Thank you.”

  Mr. Benjamin Padgett seemed quite pleased. Harriet found she was herself. Over the last year, a friendship had formed. Not love. Harriet doubted she would ever love again, but she felt comfortable. More importantly, content.

  A little more than a year ago, Benjamin Padgett escaped the dredges of London after his wife’s death. His cousin, Theodore Nunes, invited him to visit him in Danbe Dale. He had not left, settling on the connecting estate to Bagden Manor.

  Not a tall man, he stood only a few inches taller than Harriet, but he had a distinguished look with his gray-streaked hair. A kind face but lines etched in his face betrayed the thirty-eight years he had lived. He was a gentle man who loved his late wife. A common factor they shared… losing one they loved.

  “You look quite lovely this morning, Mrs. Whitmore, if I’m allowed to express my opinion without embarrassing you. The color in your face. The sparkle in your eyes. You have the look of one who is quite enjoying herself. Can I hope that my appearance might have a little to do with your mood?”

  She gently squeezed his arm. “You may, Mr. Padgett. I will confess I’m caught up in the excitement of the day. I have no worries. My child is enjoying herself in the midst of all the other children. Aunt Eleanor is in good health after the scare this last winter and you have returned sooner than I expected. How was London?”

  “Busy and bustling. I could not wait to return home. Happily, I was able to settle my business quickly. I did not hesitate to depart, although my sister, bless her soul, wanted me to stay longer.”

  He paused at one of the tables under the shade of an old oak tree. “Would you like refreshment? I have it on good authority from my cook that she has entered her fruit pie, which I can attest is the best in these parts.”

  “Tea would be most wonderful.”

  Harriet sat across from Mr. Padgett, enjoying her tea and stealing a taste of his pie. He laughed.

  “I say, I saw a fortune teller’s booth across the green. I hear it is a true gypsy with quite the ability to foresee the future,” he suggested after his last bite. “Would you like to go and get your fortune told?”

  “No,”
Harriet said abruptly… too abruptly.

  “Of course, it is nonsense. I thought only it would be fun.”

  “I suppose…” she stuttered, not knowing what to say. How silly it would sound to say that she had been cursed by a gypsy. It seemed a lifetime ago. Since her arrival at Bagden Manor, she hadn’t a vision.

  Mr. Padgett rose and extended his hand to her. She hadn’t a choice. Swallowing her protest, she accepted with a hesitant smile. In his state of exuberance, he seemed not to notice her reluctance.

  Waiting in line, Harriet exchanged pleasantries with her neighbors and friends in the bright sunshine. Harriet even forgot her hesitation. She felt silly for her distress when it was her turn in the booth. Her anxiety lifted on the sight—she had never seen the woman. She sat in front of an old gypsy and a clear crystal ball.

  “Come, my dear, look into my crystal ball,” the gypsy urged. “Tell me what you see.”

  Harriet tentatively looked over. She saw nothing.

  “You need to come closer, my child,” the old woman said. Reaching across the table, she took Harriet’s hand and placed it upon the crystal ball. It happened.

  Harriet looked up but could not speak. Suddenly, she was alone. The whole of the day had changed. The bright sky dissipated, overcome by a darkening haze. No more was the common green crowded with merriment.

  The sky grayed as a harsh wind blew over barren land. Then Harriet saw a beautiful woman standing in the midst of the desolate field. It was her… Vadoma, the gypsy who had gifted her years ago. She was dressed as Harriet had seen before, in a white blouse and multi-colored layered skirt. Her long, dark hair flowed in the wind.

  Vadoma stared at Harriet. Gradually, a smile emerged on her face. “It is time. You have fought against my gift for so long. Ah, you still don’t understand.”

  Harriet shook her head, confused, so terribly confused.

  “Listen true to my words. The shadow lies in wait. Behind the lies and betrayal, there are secrets. You need to discover the truth. If ever you want the peace you seek...the truth...Henrietta Burke. Danger and death surround you....I have given you the power. Trust it.