“People are always taken in by beauty, never expecting it to be false, but more often than not it is, at least in nature. Like with the belladonna. Its beauty is part of what makes it so dangerous. Fragrant flowers and delicious black berries lure the unsuspecting to sample its delights. Too much, though, causes a painful death.” Mrs. Dowling shrugged as if a horribly painful death from belladonna was inconsequential.
Amelia shivered. “Then why do you grow it?”
Mrs. Dowling finished storing her gardening implements and brushed off her apron. “Because even something as dangerous as belladonna has its uses, as long as you know how to control it, with only tiny amounts.” She sprinkled a fresh covering of hay over the new plants for added warmth. “You can’t blame the poor plant, either, as it’s only natural it has some sort of protection, just like every other living thing does. It’s no different than a rose’s thorns or a skunk’s odor, I imagine.”
As Mrs. Dowling spoke about the belladonna, a seed of hope blossomed in Amelia’s breast. Jane had said she needed to break the curse, but Amelia had learned after years of trying it was an impossible task. But what if she did as Mrs. Dowling suggested and learned to control her curse in small doses, like the belladonna? In a situation where she needed to protect herself or a loved one, could she restrain her curse enough to defend those she loved most? It was an exciting idea to contemplate.
Ridding her hands of the last of the hay, Mrs. Dowling asked Amelia, “Now, what can I do for you, my lady, since I imagine it wasn’t to help me plant or to listen to me talk your ear off about my herbs?”
Tucking away the beginning of an idea, Amelia explained her needs. The two women walked back to the kitchen, and after some rapid preparations she and William were once again on their way to the stables.
Chapter 18
“What did you discover about the footprints we saw in the tree grove?” Tavis asked Wickes while he rubbed down Wickes’s tired mount.
It had been almost a week since the incident in the garden with Jane, and upon learning of it, Wickes had grown agitated, muttering to himself about how the size and the shape of the footprints were a perfect match. When Tavis pressed his friend for more information, Wickes refused to talk. Instead he saddled up his horse and raced off to London, leaving Tavis to question who had been on his grounds and how Wickes knew them.
Because despite Amelia’s assertions Jane was a spirit, both Tavis and Wickes believed Amelia’s mysterious specter was flesh and blood rather than whatever ethereal mist formed the spirits of the dead. Tavis hoped his friend’s trip to London had yielded some useful information about the two sets of footprints he’d found leading into and out of the tree grove. He was done waiting for answers, especially when his wife’s safety was concerned.
“Not much,” Wickes admitted, leaning against the stall door. “Before leaving for London, I stopped in the village and talked with some of the locals to see if any strangers had come around these parts asking questions about you or Lady Stanton.”
“And?” Tavis slammed the stall door and grabbed a pitchfork, with which he began forking up a pile of hay and throwing it into the horse’s stall.
“And nothing. Whoever was in the tree grove made sure to keep out of town to avoid suspicion. We have no way of knowing who was actually there. Hell!” He snorted, throwing his hands in the air. “It could have been two villagers playing a prank on your wife.”
“But the information was too specific, Tom. It has to be someone who knows Amelia and her curse, knows Amelia is here with me, and is familiar enough with the property to avoid detection while entering and leaving.” He leveled a hard glare at Wickes. “You and I know there’s only one person who fits that description.”
“Tavis,” Wickes warned. “We don’t have enough proof.”
“What further proof do you need?” Tavis shouted. “He lied to us about who he was and has been working with Westby all this time. And he nearly raped my wife. It has to be Meeks!”
Wickes looked ready to say something but held up his hands in defense. “Granted, Meeks seems like the obvious choice, but what would he gain by sending in an old woman to talk to your wife? From what your wife described, nothing untoward happened. If anything, this mysterious Jane person was trying to help Lady Stanton, not harm her, and if what you say is true about Meeks, then wouldn’t he have harmed her, had he the chance?”
Tavis conceded Wickes was most likely right. There was no sign of foul play, and in spite of her initial scare, Amelia seemed unaffected. From what he knew of Meeks, the man wouldn’t have stopped at scaring Amelia. No, he would have done whatever he could to finish what he started all those months ago.
“What of Harry the Horse?” Tavis insisted. “You thought you knew something of him.”
“I did, and it turns out I was right when I told you Harry the Horse died several years ago in a shipping accident.”
“Who was he, then?”
“He was a smuggler, one of the best I’ve ever seen. He started as a shipping merchant operating out of London. During the war, he became wealthy sending supplies and artillery to the British soldiers in France. For years, he was the foremost shipping merchant in all of London because he delivered his goods twice as fast as any other merchant, and at a quarter of the cost.”
“I heard of him,” Tavis added, thinking back to his years as a soldier. “He stamped his initials, HMH, on all the crates of supplies we received on the Continent. The soldiers, too, always eagerly waited for his ships to pull into port because they knew he would deliver their letters home faster than any other ship to England could do. We called him the Stallion of the Sea.”
“His speed earned him his reputation, but it was his smuggling that earned him his notoriety. What most people did not know is he also had a secret operation on the western isles of Scotland that earned him the real money, allowing him to undercharge his legitimate customers in London. Using the extensive island system off the coast, he was able to hide his stash of goods in tiny coves and inlets up and down the western shore.”
“How was he not apprehended? Someone must have seen what he was doing and grown suspicious about his activities.”
“Who would tell? You know as well as I the western coast of Scotland is populated by poor fishermen and crofters who are barely eking a living at the edge of the restless sea. They are one bad storm away from extinction.” Wickes paused for a moment, and Tavis wondered what Wickes wasn’t saying. Whatever it was passed, and he shrugged. “I don’t blame them in the least. They had to do what was necessary.”
“Aye, that’s true,” Tavis agreed, trying to imagine how hard a life that had to be. To what lengths would he go to protect what was his? Thinking of Amelia, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe, healthy, and fed. Understanding dawned, and Tavis realized what Wickes was intimating about his countrymen. “They helped him, those fishermen on the coast. They helped him conceal the smuggling.”
“We know he had a network of smugglers who moved his cargo before the royal navy could find it. He was always one step ahead of us because somehow, and we were never able to discover how, before he died, he received information whenever the royal navy was patrolling the coast.”
“Thus allowing him sufficient time to contact his ring of smugglers who moved whatever Harry was smuggling before the navy arrived.”
“Precisely.” Wickes’s mouth thinned, and Tavis imagined how his friend felt at being outsmarted by a patriot turned traitor. Wickes loved his country and was an honorable man who demanded no less from everyone else. Because of this strict code of honor, it had been difficult at times to follow his leadership during the war. As a young man, Tavis had wanted to drink and carouse with his fellow soldiers to forget about the horrors of war, but Wickes had discouraged that practice, saying sobriety and good judgment were essential to survival in a combat situation. Though he hadn’t always agreed with Wickes, Tavis respected his commanding officer and listened to him in a
ll matters.
As the war progressed and the first bloom of patriotism receded, Tavis saw the truth to Wickes’s caution. Soldiers who lacked Wickes’s discipline and ethics turned cruel and directionless. Normal acts of war transformed to barbarism as these men, burdened by terrific acts of violence, lost sight of who they were in the battle for supremacy.
Tavis owed everything to Thomas Wickes because it was his moral compass that provided order and meaning during those dark days of killing and disorder. Wickes reminded him—and all of them, in truth—what it was to be a man with dignity and honor. Because of Thomas Wickes, guilt did not consume Tavis and he was able to live with the acts he had committed during the war. Some of his compatriots, those who had not heeded the warnings, were not so lucky.
Wickes sighed and slumped against the wall, reminding Tavis his friend had ridden all night to arrive at Ballywith early this morning. He must be exhausted. “Why don’t you head up to the house now, change and get something to eat?” Tavis suggested. “We can discuss more after you’ve had a chance to rest.”
Yawning and nodding his head in agreement, Wickes slapped Tavis on the back and ambled toward the house through the gardens. Looking down the path from the stable to the main house, Tavis saw the petite figure and flaming hair of his wife, followed closely by the taller, broader frame of one of his footmen. He knew Amelia hated having an escort, but until this mess with her father was cleared up, he didn’t want her going anywhere without him or a guard.
Despite her pique at this new arrangement, she had been nothing but good-natured and content this past week. So much so he wanted to surprise her with a ride in the country and a visit to the village of Stanton to do some shopping. He knew she had been restless, cooped up in the castle and always shadowed by a footman, so he thought a treat was in order.
“Was that Mr. Wickes I saw you talking to?” Amelia queried as she entered the stables. “I have yet to meet him, Tavis,” she scolded. “He left so quickly last time that I didn’t have a chance to, and on the way back to the house this time he took a different path so I didn’t even get a good look at him.” She set her basket on a small stool and teased, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was avoiding me.”
Bending over the basket, she rifled through the contents. “I thought you might be hungry after a busy morning working with the horses, so I brought us a picnic lunch.” She held up a sturdy blanket in triumph. “Aha! I knew it was in there.”
Before she could spread it out on the floor, Tavis grabbed her hand and leaned in for a swift kiss. “How about we take a ride instead?”
****
Tavis was a god among men. At least that’s how he felt riding across his lands with his wife beside him. Amelia’s simple pleasure as they rode for hours across rolling hills and through dappled meadows made his heart swell and put his mind at ease. She was such easy company and delighted in the unfettered freedom of a day outside the castle walls.
Now they were sitting by a small stream, the horses grazing nearby and the two of them sharing their cold picnic under a flowering apple tree. It had been a perfect day, in Tavis’s mind, until she brought up traveling to London to see her parents.
“No, Amelia,” he stated, shaking a chicken leg in her direction. “Absolutely not!” He threw the bone aside and wiped his hands on his lap. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But Tavis,” she pleaded, “I need to see my parents and at least try to explain what happened.” She scooted closer to him on the blanket. “Besides, once I’m there I can speak to Father about my dowry. Those funds will go a long way to helping rebuild Ballywith.”
“I don’t want you to worry about that, lass. Besides, I have a plan for rebuilding Ballywith. We nearly picnicked in it before I swept you away for our afternoon excursion.”
Amelia scrunched her eyebrows in thought. “What? The stables?”
“One day Ballywith Stables will be synonymous with the finest horses in all of England and Scotland.”
“You’ve been working so hard, Tavis, and I know you will succeed,” she encouraged, “but I worry what will happen to Ballywith before the stables can start showing a profit.”
He felt an unexpected surge of pride hearing her concerns for their estate. It told him, in spite of his recent doubts, Ballywith was her home and where she felt she belonged; otherwise she wouldn’t care about keeping the estate afloat.
He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “Like you said, lass, I will succeed. In fact, I’ve already sold the offspring of Majesty and Hyacinth. We just need to pray that new little miracle appears within the next eighteen months.”
He didn’t say it aloud, but he was a little anxious. Horse breeding was not an exact science. There was only so much he could do without actually assisting the horses in copulation. Thinking about the rich buyer who would undoubtedly take his business elsewhere if Hyacinth didn’t breed, Tavis wondered if he needed to do just that.
“Weren’t those two of the horses my father took from you?” Amelia asked with concern. He nodded, and she frowned. “My father’s untimely prank involving them must have delayed your timeline and cost you valuable time and money.”
He did not comment. The lie he’d told about those horses and that ridiculous wager returned to taste sour in his mouth. They were approaching dangerous territory, and he needed to proceed with caution. “Aye, a bit, but I don’t want you to worry any. Hyacinth will be in foal before month’s end. I have a feeling.”
Amelia still appeared worried, but she did not press him further. “Will you breed Legacy’s Daughter?”
“Your horse?” Tavis reached for some apple tarts and smeared them with honey. “I hadn’t thought of it. You’ll want to ride her, won’t you? If she’s breeding, you won’t be able to ride her as much as you might like.”
“Well, yes, but she has impeccable lineage.” Amelia shrugged and poured herself a glass of wine. “If using her as a broodmare means the stables have a better chance at survival, then I would be willing.”
“No. Legacy’s Daughter is yours.” He popped some apple tart into his mouth and said, “Your horse’s dam, Legacy, was my horse when I was a boy.”
“What?” Amelia stopped her wine glass midway to her mouth and stared at him. “How did my father end up with her foal?”
“From what I can figure, my father must have kept Legacy and her foal for years even though he had told me they were sold. He really did hate me. Anything I loved he took from me. My brother, my home with my aunt, my horse…”
He stopped, surprised by the lack of bitterness he felt discussing his old man’s negligence and abuse. Usually he became so angry he had to hit something to lessen the sting of his father’s betrayal, yet this time he felt only pity for the old bastard and the wretched, lonely life he had lived.
It’s Amelia. She centers me and reminds me there are people who care even if my father didn’t. His eyes burned and his throat constricted in such a manner he needed to swallow several times lest he embarrass himself by doing something as unmanly as crying. Throwing down his napkin to cover his discomposure, he reached for his wine glass and drained it in one swallow before adding, “Your father obviously picked up Legacy’s Daughter when he took the other horses.”
“Legacy’s Daughter is really your horse, then,” she said, worry marring her smooth brow.
“No, she’s yours.” She started to protest, but he cut her off by leaning over and kissing her parted lips. At one time, he might have wanted to have Legacy’s Daughter for his own, but she was and always would be Amelia’s horse. Since discovering the whereabouts of Legacy, he had the fanciful idea his old horse knew he and Amelia were meant to be. Otherwise how else could he account for his horse’s foal being given to the woman he married?
“I like to think Legacy knew we were fated to be together, so she sent her daughter to you until we were ready to meet.” He shrugged self-consciously as he shredded a blade of grass he’d picked, embarrassed at
having shared such a silly idea.
Amelia grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thank you, Husband. She means even more to me now that I know where she came from.”
Satisfied, Tavis leaned back on his arms, glad to have been able to share with his wife his plans for the estate. Discussing Legacy’s Daughter with her was also a relief. He had never liked the horrible lie he’d told her about why he had stolen those horses. Even though she accepted it, he felt guilty about concealing things from her. At least this way he was able to share a part of himself without hiding everything.
Stretching his arms over his head, he debated against taking a quick nap before he began the pleasurable business of seducing his wife. He yawned as the combination of a full stomach and tiredness from a hard morning of working with the horses caught up to him, and he decided a nap wouldn’t hurt. That way he’d be refreshed and ready to make love to his wife when the mood struck.
Meanwhile, Amelia hummed a song under her breath, its soft melody soothing him into a comfortable state of relaxation. He watched her graceful movements as she packed the remains of their meal into the basket. Moving to Tavis’s side, she rested her head on his chest, and he felt her sigh.
“What is it, love?” he asked as he stroked her hair, a new favorite pastime of his.
“I’m just happy. I never dreamed I could be so content, but marriage to you has shown me how much I was missing before. I might have thought myself to be content without love, but I know I was lying to myself because this, what we have together, this is truly happiness.” She nestled more closely to his side, wrapping her slender arms around his waist.
His hand stilled, and he propped himself up to better look at his wife. “What did you say?”
She smiled a secret, womanly smile as old as Eve. After a lengthy pause in which he felt as if Amelia were gauging his mood, she tilted her head to the side in a gentle benediction. “I think you’re ready to hear it now.”
“To hear what?”
“That I love you,” she said, her expression open and sincere. “That I think I’ve waited for you my whole life, to love you, if that makes any sense.”
Little White Lies Page 17