A Perfect Likeness

by Sandra Heath

  “I think she was.”

  “I don’t even begin to understand you.”

  “I can’t swear that she sent the message here, can I? Any more than she can swear I sent word to her.”

  Petra took a deep breath. “I suppose you are about to say you believe all that nonsense she’s been telling you about the letters, the exchanged miniature, the so-called attack by the lurcher, and the imaginary figure in a cloak! Dear Lord, I believe her imagination is as lively and preposterous as her father’s, for he invented the wretched pledge in the first place!”

  “The pledge was fact.”

  “Oh, come now—”

  “It was fact, Petra,” he repeated. “I discussed the matter with my father’s solicitor and he confirmed that the pledge had been made but that my father then had second thoughts and had all proof destroyed. So you see, Leon St. Charles didn’t invent anything, he was telling the truth all along. Just as I know his daughter is now.”

  “But, Sebastian, the whole story is too fabulous, it is straight from a Gothic novel!”

  “At the water party she really spoke her mind to me, and she meant every word she said. Someone has been trying to ruin the match—that much is becoming more and more obvious-—but she’s wrong to think that person is you. Whoever it is has been working very hard to stop the marriage, but I did not realize how very real it has all been until you said just now that Bryony said I had changed the plans.”

  He paused for a moment, putting down his glass. “She needed me so very much tonight, Petra, but I doubted her, and she knows that I did. When Felix confronted me and defied me to ask anyone at the ball if she had danced with him and kissed him, I said that he was certain of his ground. She heard what he said, and I knew that she did, but I would not even look at her. I ignored her, and I used you. I deliberately made it appear as if I had lied about you, and I did so to hurt her as much as I thought she had hurt me. It was a cruel thing to do, Petra, as I knew when I saw her run from the conservatory after the duel. I fought for her, I made Felix confess his lies, but I did not grant her one gentle look. Can you blame her for behaving as she did toward you afterward?”

  Petra slowly lowered her eyes. “No, I suppose I can’t,” she conceded quietly; then she looked up. “Do you think Felix is the one who has been trying to stop the match?”

  “No, I considered him but I have to cross his name off. He did nothing until I took that money from him at the card tables in town the last time we were there. He had already perceived the truth, that I was marrying her because I loved her—we are not first cousins for nothing, you know—and he decided to try to seduce her in order to have his revenge. He has not come out of this smelling of roses, but he is not the one behind all these other matters.”

  “It strikes me as the hand of a woman, Sebastian—and heaven knows, you have left enough disappointed ladies in your wake.” She got up suddenly. “I’ve just thought of something! I was right when I linked the accident with that book by Lady Anthea Fairfax!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I borrowed the book from someone, Sebastian-—from Delphine.”

  He stared at her. “It cannot be—”

  “I’ve said all along that that business with Toby Lampeter was a ruse, an attempt to make you jealous. She’s always wanted you, Sebastian, and she is Felix’s sister: she’d stop at nothing to have her own way. She was with Bryony in the woods this afternoon, and when you sent her away, I’ll warrant she crept back and overheard everything you said. That would explain the false messages tonight. She sent one to you and then probably delivered the other in person to Bryony.”

  At that moment they both heard someone hammering urgently on the front doors. Sebastian hurried through the echoing vestibule and flung open the doors, but it was not Bryony he saw standing there, it was Tom Penmarrion.

  Tom snatched off his top hat, turning it anxiously in his hands. “You must come quickly, Sir Sebastian, it’s Miss Bryony ...”

  Sebastian seized him by the lapel, almost lifting him from his feet in spite of his immense size. “If she’s come to any harm—!”

  “Sh-she’s gone to meet someone alone at the folly, sir. Her maid came to waken me in the carriage!”

  “Carriage? Explain yourself!”

  “I’ve come from the Royal Charles, Sir Sebastian. Miss Bryony is staying there tonight before going on to Falmouth in the morning. She’s going back to Ireland, sir.”

  Slowly Sebastian released him. “I was sent a message from the duke that she would be coming here.”

  “Lady Delphine said the duke had changed his mind, Sir Sebastian.”

  Delphine! Sebastian glanced past the anxious coachman at the weary horse he’d ridden at the gallop all the way from the inn. He turned to Petra. “Have someone saddle my horse immediately.”

  She nodded and hurried away. Sebastian drew Tom inside. “Rest awhile and then go back to the inn and tell Miss Bryony’s maid that I will go to the folly immediately. How long ago did she leave?”

  “I’d say about half an hour, sir, but she took the roadway, If you go round by the lake—”

  “I know.”

  Petra brought the horse around herself, and as she handed the reins to Sebastian, she put her hand on his for a moment. “I’ve been so wrong about her, and I willingly admit it. Bring her back safely, Sebastian.”

  He raised her hand fleetingly to his lips and then was mounted, turning his horse swiftly toward the lake and riding away into the mist. She could hear the hoofbeats drumming on the grass.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Everything was very still as Bryony slowly led her horse the final few yards to the folly. The mist was thick all around, although far above there was a translucent glow which told of the increasing dawn. The light was gray, and everything was without color as she tethered her horse to a furze bush at the foot of the tower.

  She glanced around then at the damp rocks and soaking grass. There was hardly a sound, with only the gentle surge of the tide at the base of the cliff to disturb the silence. Her pulse was racing and she felt very cold. It would be easy now to run away, to flee from a final confrontation.

  She listened, sensitive to every small sound, from the scuffling of some small animal among the bushes, to the distant bell of a fog-bound ship on the estuary. Then something made her glance at the steps leading down to the folly door. The brambles which had crept so thickly everywhere had been pulled away, and the way to the door was clear.

  Slowly she went down the steps, putting a hesitant hand on the heavy wood, and it moved very slightly at her touch. The door was open! Her breath caught nervously, and she glanced behind as if she would see Petra standing there, but there was only the swirling mist, obscuring everything. Something made her push on the door again, more firmly this time, and with a loud groan it swung slowly back on its rusty hinges, revealing a yawning blackness beyond.

  She stood in the entrance now. Inside it was ice cold. “Is anyone there?”

  There-there-there ... her own voice echoed back at her.

  Behind her she suddenly heard her horse shift nervously, and even as she began to move back, sensing imminent danger, someone pushed her. With a scream she pitched forward down some unseen steps into the darkness, falling heavily upon the unyielding floor. There was dust in her mouth, and her hands were grazed, and she lay there for a moment, too terrified to move.

  Then slowly she scrambled to her feet, backing away until she was pressed against the wall opposite the door. Something moved in the entrance, a shadowy figure outlined against the gray light beyond. It was a cloaked figure, its face hidden by a hood.

  Bryony’s mouth was dry and her eyes wide with fear, for she felt trapped now, and in no position to fend for herself. The figure halted, slowly raising its hands to push back the hood. Bryony’s lips parted with shock, for she saw not Petra’s red hair, but Delphine’s golden silk turban!

  “Delphine!”

  “But of course, for
who else knew you would be at the Royal Charles?” Delphine’s voice was cold, almost detached.

  “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I’ve never been your friend, I’ve despised you from the first moment I heard your name.”

  “Why? I’ve done nothing to you!”

  “You were to marry Sebastian. That was enough.”

  Bryony stared at her. “You love him?”

  “Yes. And I will have him.”

  “It was you all along? You who came into my room in Falmouth, you who changed the miniature in my reticule and—’’

  “Yes. And how easy it was to incriminate and confuse you. You did not question that I happened to be in Falmouth at that very time, you didn’t even make any effort to establish if the writing on that letter was indeed Petra’s. I was one step ahead of you all the time, Bryony St. Charles. I made it my business to find out about you, I sent someone I trusted over to Ireland, I found out about you and Mr. Anthony Carmichael, and I wrote that letter to Felix. I even managed to persuade you to dance that first night, and when everyone came in, you didn’t for one moment stop to think that I had engineered it all deliberately. I had only to look apologetic and you believed me.

  When I drew attention to the changed miniature and went so far as to read aloud the inscription, you still did not realize that I had put it there. I even managed to destroy that letter which was supposed to have been written by Petra, for I knew that if you showed it to my mother, which at that very moment seemed a little too likely, then she would know straightaway that the writing was not Petra’s. The other letters could be left—she would not know if the writing was Carmichael’s or not.”

  “You set the lurcher onto the horse, didn’t you?”

  “Not personally, I am not that much of a fool, for Sebastian or the groom could have seen me, but I paid someone very handsomely to do the job for me.”

  “Why did you go that far?”

  “I didn’t want you to be alone at Tremont with Sebastian and Petra. Petra has never been your enemy, and you might have realized it—you might even have seen a sample of her writing. She writes so very many letters. I had to stop you, and so I did. I knew my horse was treacherous, that was why I begged the favor of you. You were so very obliging.”

  “And if I’d been killed?”

  “You would at least have been out of the way. You’ve turned his head, Bryony, and you cannot be forgiven for that.”

  “Turned his head?”

  Delphine gave a mirthless laugh. “Dear God, haven’t you even realized that yet? He loves you, you fool, he’s loved you since first he saw your portrait, but he thinks you dislike him. That was why he persisted with the match in spite of everything I did, and that was why he would not ever tell you his real reason.”

  Bryony stared at her. “What do you intend to do now?” she whispered.

  “I intend to see to it that you ... disappear.” She said the last word very lightly, a cold smile on her lips. “Once I close this door, no one will know where you are.”

  Delphine began to raise her hood again. “I’ll tell them all that you decided to go on secretly to Falmouth rather than face the scandal you’d caused, and they’ll all believe me, for they know I’m your friend. And when you’re forgotten, as if you had never been, then Sebastian will turn to me. He’ll be mine, as he was always meant to be.”

  At that moment they both heard Sebastian calling. “Bryony? Bryony, are you there?”

  Delphine turned sharply, and Bryony screamed out to him. “Sebastian! I’m here, in the tower!”

  Delphine seemed stunned for a moment, and then with an alarmed gasp she turned, dashing out into the mist, which had begun to thread away now but which still swirled thickly in the movement of air caused by her flapping cloak.

  Sebastian reined in at the sound of Bryony’s voice. He stared through the mist and saw a small cloaked figure appear at the foot of the tower. It hesitated, seeming to stare across at him.

  “Bryony?” He urged his horse toward her.

  The figure turned sharply then, running away through the grayness in the direction of the cliff.

  “Bryony! Stop!” he shouted in alarm, realizing the danger she was in.

  There was a moment of silence and then a scream. He heard small stones falling but then the sound was drowned by the shrieking of the startled gulls, which rose all around. Their calls resounded deafeningly against the stone of the folly, jarring upon his ears as he stared in horror in the direction of the scream. But then, beyond the clamor of the frightened birds, he heard someone calling for help.

  “Sebastian! Help me, please! You must help me!”

  He didn’t hesitate, dismounting and running through the mist toward the cliff. He saw the place where she had fallen— the bruised mesembryanthemum flowers bore witness. But as he knelt and looked over the edge of the cliff, he gazed not into Bryony’s face but Delphine’s.

  She was clinging to a small bush, and the sheer fall stretched sickeningly away below. The mist cleared for a moment and he could see the water lapping softly around the rocks at the foot of the cliff. With his unwounded arm he reached down to her, his fingers strong about her little wrist as he pulled her up to safety. He drew her away from the edge. “Where’s Bryony?” he demanded urgently.

  She stared at him, hesitated for a moment, and then flung her arms around his neck. “Don’t talk about her, Sebastian! She’s nothing! I love you so much, you know that I do!”

  He disentangled her hands and thrust her angrily away. “I know the truth about you, Delphine, and I despise you for it! Now, where’s Bryony?”

  “I’m here.”

  He whirled about to see her, her light brown hair tumbling in profusion about her shoulders. He went to her, gathering her close in his arms and ignoring the shaft of pain which lanced through his injured arm. She was safe, no harm had come to her!

  Delphine gave a sob of despair, turning to hurry away from them. They heard the sound of her horse’s hooves vanishing into the morning as she rode back toward Polwithiel.

  Sebastian’s lips moved softly against Bryony’s hair. “It’s all right now, it’s over.”

  “I trusted her so, I thought she was my friend.”

  “I know. Petra and I realized the truth tonight.”

  She moved away guiltily. “I’ve been dreadfully wrong about Petra too. She didn’t deserve to be treated as I treated her. I know that she didn’t think me good enough for you, and maybe I’m not, but she did try to be my friend, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did, but she was wrong about you too, as she knows now.” He put his hand gently to her cheek, his thumb moving softly over her pale skin. “I wronged you too when tonight I allowed you to think I’d been lying all along. Forgive me.”

  He hesitated. “Bryony, don’t go back to Ireland, stay here with me. I once said that when the time was right I would tell you why I wanted to marry you. Well, maybe that time has come. I want you because I love you, I’ve loved you since first I saw your portrait. That is why I agreed straightaway to your father’s request, and why nothing that has happened since has diverted me from my purpose.”

  She stared at him, a great joy sweeping through her. It was true! He loved her!

  He raised her face a little. “Each time I’ve been with you I’ve loved you more, but each time too I believed you did not like me, and that was why I could not bring myself to confess the truth to you. If only you’d known how much you affected me that first night when I saw you dancing, you were so carefree and natural, so completely unspoiled by the ways of the society to which I belong and of which I have grown so very weary. When I returned from London, I was determined to tell you how I felt.

  “My aunt’s letter angered me, for I knew that it did not tell the truth about you. I was coming to Polwithiel when I saw you riding alone. I followed you and saw you rescue the little girl’s doll. I loved you so very much at that moment, Bryony, but when you saw me you were cold, indeed
you seemed to hate me. I could not say anything to you then.”

  “Oh, Sebastian,” she whispered, “I didn’t hate you, I was behaving like that out of bravado, because I loved you and thought you loved Petra.”

  He drew her into his arms. “Tell me again that you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  His lips were warm and slow over hers. The calls of the gulls seemed to melt away into nothingness, and all that mattered in the world was that they were together at last. There were no doubts or thoughts of unhappiness now, and never would be again.

  Copyright © 1985 by Sandra Heath

  Originally published by Signet (ISBN 9780451135674)

  Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.