by Cheryl Holt
The room was so quiet that Helen could have heard a pin drop. Time seemed to have halted. The earth had stopped spinning on its axis.
Could Tristan Odell have acted so brazenly? Could he have dallied with Helen and another servant under the very same roof? Was it possible?
What did she really know about him? On the night he’d hired her, she’d been in a brothel, but he’d been in a brothel, too, and she always managed to forget that fact.
He had a lusty sexual appetite—as his conduct toward Helen had shown. Why assume she was the only woman to tickle his fancy?
Still, he was an honorable man, driven by duty and responsibility. Despite how enraged Helen was over Jane, he would have viewed himself as doing what he had to for Lord Hastings.
Could that sort of man—one who was loyal and devoted—change his stripes so rapidly? It seemed unlikely.
“She’s lying,” Helen scoffed.
“Is she?” Seymour glared at Lydia. “Lydia, how was it that you initially came to be seduced by Captain Odell?”
“I was... was...”
She couldn’t say it, and Seymour snapped, “Spit it out, you wretched girl. I haven’t got all day!”
“I was governess to his nephew. At his house in Edinburgh.”
“Your dress is lovely. Where did you get it?”
“The captain bought it for me.” Lydia was still staring at the floor. “He favors seeing me in blue.”
“You’re wearing a locket. From him, I suppose?”
“To remember him by—while he’s away.”
She pulled it from the bodice of her gown, where it had been dangling between her breasts on a gold chain. For the briefest instant, she peeked up, her eyes locking with Helen’s, and Helen saw what had to be jealousy and malice.
Lydia looked as if she hated Helen, as if she’d like to do her harm.
Was she fond of Odell? Could her story be true?
“That will be all,” Seymour said.
Lydia scowled but didn’t leave, appearing as if she was anxious to spew a few more horrid comments, and Seymour barked, “Lydia! You’re excused.”
Lydia nodded, then left without uttering whatever it was she was hoping to impart.
Helen was stunned speechless, and she yearned to pack her bags and flee immediately, but she couldn’t go till morning, when the carriage was ready.
“He brought her with him,” Seymour said, “when he came to take control of Rose and Michael. He advised me that she would live with us, as a kind of private consort”—she snorted at this—“but I had no idea how to explain such a tawdry situation. I insisted she at least make a pretense of being a housemaid, and ultimately, he agreed.”
“Is that why she’s so sullen in her duties?”
“Yes. She deems them beneath her, and why shouldn’t she? She’s enjoyed his attention for years, and you—better than anyone—understand how elevating it can be to a woman’s life.”
“I certainly do.”
Helen glanced down at her hands, trying to work it out, trying to decide what to believe. How could she discount what she’d just witnessed? How could she refuse to see what was right before her very eyes?
If Lydia was practically Odell’s common law wife, what had Helen been?
Was she merely another naïve, lonely governess who’d crossed his path? Had he viewed her as an easy mark?
It was all too much to absorb, and she rubbed her temples, wishing she could massage away the terrible questions that were roiling inside her head.
“He’s not who he seems to be, Miss Hamilton.”
“Perhaps not,” Helen equivocated.
“You imagine I’m fabricating all this?”
“Maybe.”
“You stupid fool,” Seymour seethed. “Guess where he plans to stop before he proceeds on to Scotland? He has a mistress in London. He has one in Scotland, too. He keeps them both, so he can be entertained no matter where he is.”
“And Lydia? He keeps her, too? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“How is it that you know all this? Why would you have been apprised?”
“When he showed up on our stoop, you think I wasn’t wary? Michael’s father had turned over vast properties and hundreds of thousands of pounds to a virtual stranger, so I hired a Bow Street runner to investigate him.” She opened a desk drawer and withdrew a file. “Would you like to read the report?”
The file lay there between them, like a talisman daring Helen to pick it up. She couldn’t. What if she perused it and all of Seymour’s accusations were proved true?
Helen wouldn’t be able to bear it.
“I can’t look,” she murmured.
At Helen’s cowardice, Seymour smirked.
“There’s one more thing you should also know.”
“What?”
“Before Michael left, he proposed to Miriam. She accepted.”
“No, no...”
“We’ve decided on a winter wedding, around Yuletide.”
“You’ll never persuade me that Lord Hastings agreed.”
“It wasn’t up to him. With your sister’s unfortunate disgrace, Captain Odell felt that marriage would rein in Michael’s wilder tendencies. We’re simply moving forward with what was arranged years ago.”
“You’re lying. You have to be!”
“Am I? Find her. She’s wearing his mother’s engagementring. She’d be delighted to give you a word-by-word description of her discussion with him.”
Helen was reeling.
Jane was convinced that Hastings would make everything right in the end. She’d been so confident that Helen had allowed her own spark of hope to ignite. She’d told herself that scandal could still be avoided, that the earl might urge the captain to relent.
Helen had actually invented a scenario where Odell came to her and profusely apologized, where he begged her forgiveness, and they went on as before. Only better. Only happier. Out in the open, with a future ahead of them. But—apparently—she was simply the governess he’d seduced between mistresses.
Had any woman in all of history ever been so badly used? Had any woman ever been so stupidly trusting? So blind?
What was she to do now?
The walls were closing in, and she couldn’t catch her breath. If she swooned, who could blame her? Her poor heart was beating so hard that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had burst out of her chest.
Dizzy with dismay, she staggered to her feet, needing the strength of both arms to push herself up, and she stumbled toward the door.
“You can’t stay on the fringe of our lives, Miss Hamilton,” Seymour needled from behind her. “We don’t want you there.”
“Be silent! I’ve heard enough!”
“You’ll go to our London house tomorrow to retrieve your belongings, then I never want to see any of you ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, very clear.”
Helen felt as if she was swimming through water, as if the door was at the end of a narrow tunnel and, with each step she took, it moved farther away. Finally, she reached it, and she lurched out into the hall. She sagged against the wall, tears dripping down her cheeks.
She’d just tried to keep her sisters safe. By allying herself with Odell, she’d thought she’d succeeded. How could she have been so mistaken?
Everything was ruined. Everything! And it was all her fault.
Her bedchamber was the only place where she could hide from the contemptible people who inhabited the manor. She gazed about, as if lost and trying to get her bearings.
With a huge effort, she straightened and ran for the stairs.
MAUD listened to Helen Hamilton’s unsteady strides as she hurried off.
She grinned.
Maud had merely pretended to support Odell in his ridiculous plan to rent a house for Jane Hamilton, but she had no intention of acquiescing to such preposterous behavior.
She would not h
ave Jane flitting about on the edge of Michael’s life. Nor would she accept Odell’s infatuation with Helen. Maud wanted Odell for herself, so she couldn’t risk that Hamilton might dawdle and rekindle his interest.
She had one more surprise in store for Hamilton, but it would happen in London, which was the reason Maud had offered Hamilton a coach ride to the city.
In their rural community, neighbors were nosy and observant. Events were noticed and remarked upon. But in the teeming metropolis, any tragedy could transpire. A woman could disappear and never be found. Even a thrifty fellow such as Captain Odell couldn’t locate a female who vanished without a trace.
Behind her, Lydia entered and walked over.
“How did I do, ma’am?”
“I swear, Lydia, you might have had a career on the stage.”
“We tricked her?”
“You were marvelous. She was completely fooled.”
Lydia chuckled. “Do you have my money?”
“Oh yes, and I consider it well earned.”
“Thank you.”
Maud drew out her strongbox and handed over the cash. It was an enormous amount, but when Lydia had suggested the ruse, Maud had been happy to pay the price she’d demanded.
“You’re accumulating a small fortune,” Maud mentioned.
“A girl can’t ever have enough.”
“Too true. What will you do with it?”
“I haven’t decided, but it will be something grand.”
Not if I have anything to say about it, Maud mused.
Lydia had great skills, and initially, she’d been an asset, but at her involvement in duping Hamilton, she’d become a liability—one that Maud couldn’t afford. Lydia knew too much, so she’d have to go, as Hamilton had to go. Maud would simply have to find the best method of parting with her.
Lydia wouldn’t be deceived as easily as Hamilton had been. Maud would have to be careful and bide her time, but Lydia’s employment with the Seymour family was over.
“Are you still leaving for London tomorrow?” Lydia asked.
“At first light.”
“I’m traveling with you, aren’t I? I’m riding in your carriage as your personal maid.”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“You surely did, ma’am.” Lydia curtsied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Lydia slinked out and Maud went to the sideboard and poured herself a brandy. She sipped it, congratulating herself on a fine day’s work.
MIRIAM sat at the dining table. She’d been waiting for hours for Jane Hamilton to come down, but Jane had been sequestered in her room. Sooner or later, she would have to eat, and hunger would drive her to the dining room.
Miriam was perched in a perfect position, her chin balanced on her hand to emphasize the fabulous emerald ring on her finger. Her mother had retrieved it from the safe, and when Maud had explained her scheme, Miriam had eagerly joined in.
She wasn’t exactly certain what Jane Hamilton had done to Michael, but Michael had been sent away because of it, so Jane Hamilton would pay and pay dearly.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Jane finally wobbled in. She was pale and drawn, and it was obvious she’d been crying.
Ha! She wasn’t so pretty now.
“Hello, Miss Hamilton.” Miriam grinned maliciously.
“Hello.”
Jane was very quiet, the merriment gone from her usually vibrant green eyes. She plodded to the buffet and filled a plate with food. Then she sat and picked at it.
Though she was trying to ignore Miriam, she kept peeking over. Miriam was waving her fingers, blowing on the emerald and burnishing it on the fabric of her gown.
When Hamilton didn’t comment, Miriam extended her hand, pushing the large gemstone under Hamilton’s nose.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Miriam gushed.
“Yes, lovely,” Jane muttered.
“I told Michael I didn’t need anything so extravagant—I would have been happy with a simple gold band—but he insisted on his mother’s ring. He said it was tradition.”
Hamilton froze. “What was... tradition?”
“The earls of Hastings always use the same ring when they become engaged. They’ve used it for centuries.”
“Are you saying... that you’re betrothed to Lord Hastings?”
“He proposed this morning before he departed. Since you’ve been in your bedchamber, I suppose you wouldn’t have heard the news.”
“No, no.” Hamilton started to tremble, and as she came to her feet, she was shaking her head and babbling to herself.
The false revelation had rattled her till she appeared quite mad, and after spending such a wretched summer watching Jane flirt with Michael, Miriam was thrilled to see her reduced condition.
Miriam twisted the knife, amazed that she had such a knack for duplicity and cruelty.
“Mother asked me to be courteous and invite you to the wedding, but I’m not going to. I don’t like you, and I don’t want you to attend.”
Hamilton staggered as if Miriam had struck her, then suddenly, she began to scream and scream and scream.
Calmly, Miriam rose and strolled out, and as she reached the stairs and climbed, she realized that Hamilton’s shrieks were wafting throughout the mansion.
As she passed her mother’s room, Maud peered out the door.
“What is that infernal racket?” Maud inquired.
“It’s just Jane Hamilton, learning her lesson.” Miriam pulled off the ring and gave it to her mother. “You can put this back in the safe. It’s served its purpose, and I won’t be needing it for a while.”
Chapter 20
“WHY can’t I talk to Rose?”
“Because Mrs. Seymour won’t let you.”
“I won’t leave unless I can say good-bye to her.”
Amelia sat on the bottom stair and wrapped her arms around the newel post as if she was a prisoner in chains. It would require an enormous amount of coaxing to pry her away, and from her mutinous attitude, any attempt would involve clawing and shouting.
Clarinda glanced over at Helen, who was too dazed to notice the drama occurring with her little sister on the other side of the foyer.
After a horrendous two-day coach ride to town, Helen was completely bedraggled. She looked like a war refugee, Odell’s betrayals a yoke too heavy to bear, and Clarinda was glad she’d insisted on coming along.
Evening was approaching, the waning hours making decisions imperative, but Helen was unable to make them, and Clarinda wasn’t sure what Helen wanted to do.
Maud and Miriam Seymour, together with a recalcitrant, livid Lady Rose, had traveled in a lighter, faster carriage, so Maud had been waiting for them. She’d had their bags packed and stacked by the door, planning that the Hamiltons take them and depart, the question being where they were supposed to go.
The last of Helen’s trunks were being loaded into a rented hackney out in the drive. They contained all her worldly possessions, the final few items she’d managed to salvage after her father’s death.
What must it be like to be Helen? To have been raised in a grand house in the country, to have been a member of the neighborhood gentry, but to have lost it all?
Hers was a brutal society. No one had come forward to help. Not even her blood relatives. Only Captain Odell had expended any effort, and his assistance had been a disaster.
Clarinda sat, too, and gazed at Amelia.
“Do you recall what I told you, Amelia?”
“Yes. Mrs. Seymour is angry at Helen and Jane, but I don’t see why that means I can’t say good-bye to Rose. How can that hurt anybody?”
“Mrs. Seymour is a witch.”
“Yes, she is,” Amelia fumed.
“And since she’s a witch, we should make her resemble one.”
“How?”
“We’ll slip her a potion so that warts grow on her nose.”
Amelia’s eyes widened with wicked fury. “
Have you such a thing?”
“Not with me. I left my supplies in my brother’s wagon, but I promise I’ll get even with her someday.”
“I want to accompany you when you trick her into drinking it. I want to watch her suffer.”
Footsteps sounded above them, and Clarinda stood to move out of the way. Grudgingly, Amelia stood, too.
They peered up to see Mrs. Seymour descending. She was very smug, exhibiting not a hint of embarrassment that she was tossing three destitute females out on the street, one of them being only twelve years old.
Seymour walked over to Helen and extended a small leather pouch.
“What’s in it?” Jane snidely asked. “Poison? Should we swallow it before or after we leave?”
“If I deemed you worthy of a reply,” Seymour retorted, “I would speak to you. As it is, this is my home, and you’re a disgraced harlot. I don’t have to listen to you, so shut your mouth.”
“I hate you,” Jane seethed, “and the best part of this eviction is that I never have to see you ever again. Please tell your daughter that I think she’s fat, stupid, and ugly.”
“How dare you!”
Jane stormed out onto the stoop as Seymour shrieked, “Get back here, you pathetic ingrate!”
Jane had no intention of obeying, and Helen distracted Seymour by saying, “I assume you came down for a reason. What is it?”
“I’m paying you your wages. I won’t have you running about town claiming you were cheated.”
Clarinda breathed a sigh of relief. She had brought a full purse of her own, so they’d hardly starve, but until Helen could land on her feet, every penny was vital.
Without comment, Helen snatched the pouch away and stuffed it in her reticule. She didn’t count the coins, but it would have been pointless to quibble. If Seymour hadn’t provided the amount owed, who could force her to cough it up?
“I’ll give your regrets to Captain Odell,” Seymour taunted. “I’ll inform him that you were weary of living off his charity, so you made other arrangements.”
“You do that” Helen turned to Amelia. “Come, Amelia, let’s go.”
Amelia ignored Helen and marched over to Seymour.