Rules of Attraction

by Christina Dodd

  Dougald had heard the shouting and come out to see what the commotion was about. He had considered the incident nothing more than a bit of horseplay to ease the tension of nonstop labor. But obviously Mrs. Trenchard took the matter more seriously. “I hope you took them to task,” he said, without indicating his amusement. “I would hate to have one of the men fall and break his leg.”

  “More than that, my lord, he could have broken one of the carvings.” Dolefully, she shook her head. “Done in the fourteenth century, most of them, some of the finest carvings in this district.”

  “I will speak to them myself.”

  “At least I take comfort those rough men are not tearing up the chapel, too.”

  Every morning after devotions, he had seen Mrs. Trenchard alone in the chapel, dusting and polishing the pews and the altar. Her religious sensibilities were obviously of the highest, and he assured her, “When the men start working in there, I will personally supervise their efforts.”

  She started in surprise. “But my lord, I thought ye weren’t going to change the chapel.”

  “Change? No. The venerable atmosphere should be preserved. But clean and repair, certainly.”

  “Of course.” Rocking back on her heels, she said, “So ye do intend to restore the chapel.”

  “Your piety does you credit.” He awkwardly patted her arm. “I would not neglect what has long been the heart of the castle.”

  “How soon?”

  He considered his schedule. “I don’t have time before the Queen’s visit to oversee the repairs, but I promise to do it as soon as possible. This is no hastily thought-out transformation. I have long known what I wished to do with Raeburn Castle. My focus was simply elsewhere.” On capturing and subduing Hannah. “Now all must be done, and quickly. I assure you no other incidents with the workmen will dare occur again, nor accidents of the type that Miss Setterington suffered.”

  Mrs. Trenchard wrung her hands. “I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

  “No one will be hurt. Do not distress yourself further.”

  She hesitated, wanting to say more.

  He lifted his eyebrows. He’d heard one opinion from her. One was more than enough.

  She must have read it in his face, for she bobbed a curtsy. “I’ll sit with Miss Setterington, then.”

  “Do that. If she needs anything, you are to give it to her. We want her well by the time Queen Victoria arrives, for it is in honor of their friendship that Her Majesty graces us with a visit.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Trenchard turned back toward Hannah’s bedchamber. “You’re right, as always, my lord.”

  Finding a seat, he pulled on his shoes and buttoned them. Not long ago Dougald would have believed Mrs. Trenchard. For more years than he could remember, he had thought himself always right. But Hannah and her confidence and her laughter and her—dare he say it?—her intelligence made him doubt himself. A dreadful thing for a man of his age and with his responsibilities to doubt himself in any way. He didn’t like it. If not for Hannah he would not now be faltering. If not for Hannah, he would be happy.

  But even he had to admit that was a lie. He hadn’t been happy for more years than he could count. Since she had left him and people starting calling him a murderer. Although he couldn’t remember being happy before, either. Determined, stubborn, cockily sure of himself, but not happy.

  What did he want?

  He knew the answer. He wanted Hannah to adore him with all her heart, just as she had done in the days before their wedding.

  Nevertheless, nothing was going to take her from him before he had decided her fate. Yes, when he found the man responsible for her accident, he would punish him, and no one would dare fail again.

  He proceeded down the stairs, through the great hall and the chapel to his office. Charles would have rounded up the carpenters responsible for the accident, and if he knew Charles, the men would be waiting in his office and quaking in their shoes.

  But Charles was not in the anteroom, and the office was empty. Dougald frowned, then heard the approaching sound of men’s voices.

  “I’m tellin’ ye, I don’t want t’ talk t’ His Lordship. Frightens me into conniptions, he does.”

  Using his most soothing tone, Charles said, “Oui, I know, but he will wish to hear what you have to say.”

  “I don’t want t’ tell him.”

  “I promise he will not be angry at you, Fred.”

  “I seen him glare. That’s enough t’ kill a man—an’ it’s not like he hasn’t done that, too.”

  For the first time in a great many years, rage roared through Dougald. He was, he discovered, tired of being unjustly accused of murder. Hannah’s murder, the murder of the other lords of Raeburn…he had never killed anyone. Never laid hands on another soul in violence except during a fair fight. Yet he had taken the punishment, and damn it, he was tired of being ostracized.

  The workman’s voice turned to a whine. “Don’t ye see, man? ’Twas probably His Lordship who done this.”

  Ostrasized, and by a man Dougald had rescued from the depths of poverty, brought to Raeburn Castle, and provided with honest work. He didn’t expect gratitude, but a little loyalty wouldn’t go amiss. Stepping to the door, he used a tone like a whiplash. “I probably did what?”

  Charles and the head carpenter stood just inside the chapel, and Fred paled. “My lord.” He pulled his cap off his head. “I didn’t mean…Mr. Charles here thought ye’d not be in yet…that is…”

  “Did what?” Dougald repeated.

  Charles gave Fred a push. “Go! We can’t talk about this here.”

  Dougald stepped away from the door to give Fred some room, but he didn’t feel compassionate enough to walk behind his desk. Instead he paced back and forth across the study until Fred had stepped in and Charles had closed the door. Then Dougald rounded on Fred. “What is it you think I did?”

  Fred stood twisting his cap, clearly incapable of speech.

  “The carpenters have not been working on the landing, my lord,” Charles informed Dougald.

  Dougald’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve been working on the stairs.”

  “Only the stairs. They had not yet done anything to the landing.”

  Dougald understood immediately, and his rage chilled. “Yet Hannah fell through the floor there.” He paced away, then back. “Could it have been rotting boards?”

  The carpenter worked up his nerve. “It could have been. But it wasn’t.”

  “What was it?” Dougald asked in a soft, vehement voice.

  “Someone sawed a couple of the boards here an’ there. Weakened them. My lord, I swear t’ ye—’tweren’t like that last night. We were going t’ start work on it this morning, an’ me an’ Rubin looked it over good before we left.”

  Someone had deliberately hurt Dougald’s wife. Someone who knew she always went up to the aunts’ workroom first thing in the morning.

  But they didn’t even know she was his wife. “Why the hell would someone do this?” Dougald demanded.

  He didn’t really expect an answer, but Charles opened the door and allowed Fred to escape, then closed it behind him. “My lord, you and Madame have been indiscreet in your…connubial visits.”

  Dougald swung on Charles. “How did you know that we—”

  “I come to dress you. She is slipping out of your room. The next day I come again to dress you. You are slipping out of her room. I hide at the end of the corridor to discourage any servants from seeing, but…my lord, those are the secrets which cannot be kept. There is gossip. I have heard it. The servants speculate as to why you are less forbidding. They see the tension between you and Madame. The glances. Her blushes. They speculate correctly.”

  “Damn.” Dougald didn’t want to hear that he had been the reason for the threat to Hannah’s life.

  “Yes, my lord.” Charles said soberly, “I don’t believe anyone could imagine that Madame is your wife, but I think they might believe matrimony is in the offing. If, as
you suggest, it was Sir Onslow who tried to kill you so he could inherit your title—”

  “You said you didn’t believe it was Seaton. The detectives have seen no sign that he is guilty.”

  “That means only that they have not yet caught him. Me, I didn’t believe he had the wit or the malice.” Charles’s jowls seemed to sag ever longer. “But he does have the motive, and I have seen him, my lord. He skulks about the corridors. He hides things under his greatcoat. I even caught him exiting the east wing.”

  “Could you find where he had been?”

  “Nothing had been disturbed in your bedchamber, and at the time I thought him harmless.”

  “I’m not convinced he isn’t. He isn’t even at Raeburn Castle most of the time. He’s out frolicking while we work.”

  “An agent working for Sir Onslow, then. That would absolve Sir Onslow of guilt when murder is declared and charges are brought.” Charles’s jowls drooped almost to his collar. “There is another incident which I found curious but did not call to your attention.”

  Dougald turned on him. “Yes?”

  “One day while Madame was waiting on you outside your office, she wandered into the chapel. When I came in, she was on the floor. She said she hit her head.” Charles looked sheepish. “At first, I did not believe her.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t believe her?”

  “There was nothing to hit her head on.” Charles lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “And she’s a jeune fille. Jeune filles are given to their little exaggerations, their little dramas.”

  With grinding exasperation, Dougald asked, “Charles, is there anything about women you like?”

  “Oui, there is one thing I like very much. But they do not have to speak for that.”

  Perhaps, Dougald admitted to himself, Hannah had her reasons for detesting Charles. “But she had hit her head?”

  “I found a heavy piece of trim nearby, broken off from somewhere. We speculated it had fallen from the rafters, but if it had, it had fallen long ago, for the broken wood was not clean, but dark with dust and smoke.”

  Dougald stalked to Charles and stared down at him. “What did Hannah say about that?”

  “The blow stunned Madame and she did not notice. I asked one of the workmen where it had come from. He said it matched the trim on the rafters.” Charles pointed up with his forefinger. “On the rafters in the great hall.”

  “So it was thrown.”

  Charles lifted a shoulder. “Oui, I suspect.”

  Anger swept like a chill across Dougald. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “You didn’t wish to hear me say another word about Madame. Not a word.”

  Charles delivered his answer with scarcely a hint of triumph, a feat Dougald gave him credit for, for Dougald well remembered that day in his office and the mandate he had given Charles. “Very well, Charles. I deserved that.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Charles took a quick breath. “But that is the reason I urged that care be taken in the restorations. I feared another accident.”

  “Thank you.” But Dougald could never forget Charles’s part in driving Hannah away the first time.

  “Still I wonder why you do it.”

  “Do you wonder? Don’t you see?” Charles’s accent strengthened as he grew excited. “It is my dearest wish that you and Madame reunite. I have done everything in my power to make it so.”

  “Why?” Dougald asked flatly.

  “She must come and be your true wife. You are unhappy while she is alive and elsewhere, but you will not consider a divorce.” Charles looked down his long nose at Dougald. “Or if she will not return to you, she must die so you may be free.”

  Ah. Now they got to the root of the matter. “I would rather not face another murder charge.”

  “No! My lord, I did not mean that you should kill her. This accusation of murder already sets you beyond the realm of polite society. You cannot wed another, better young maiden if her father believes you will slay her.” Charles smiled with obviously false cheer. “So it must be reconciliation.”

  “Live with me as my wife or I will kill you? There’s a proposal every woman wants to hear.”

  “But you don’t have to kill her, my lord. Someone is willing to do it for you.”

  Charles’s blunt reminder sent Dougald to his seat. He sank down and tried once more to face the depths of this disaster. “So Hannah is in danger because of me?”

  “A son born of you and Madame will eliminate Sir Onslow’s chances of inheritance. Somehow it must be Sir Onslow.”

  Dougald could face danger. He felt nothing but contempt for the coward who had made an assault on his life. But to try to kill Hannah…No. No. “Is Seaton in the house now?”

  “No, my lord, he is gone for the day to Conniff Manor.”

  “When he returns, I wish to speak with him.”

  “May I be there, my lord?”

  Dougald exchanged a grim smile with his valet. “Indeed, I depend on your presence. Seaton does not currently fear me.”

  “This indifference on his part can change.”

  “Yes. I think it must. But until I speak to him, make him confess, we have to watch over Hannah.”

  “My lord, I have been watching every chance I get. But it’s not possible. She flits here and there, up and down stairs. She speaks to everyone, she is everyone’s friend.” From Charles’s sneer, it was clear he didn’t approve. “There are workmen here, strangers. Any of them could have been hired to harm her. Or it could be someone we know—one of the servants, Mrs. Trenchard, Alfred—”

  “You.”

  “Me?” Charles’s impressive nostrils flared, and in the sarcastic tone at which the French excelled, he said, “Of course, it could be me. But if I wished to kill her, I have passed up many a chance.”

  Maybe not to kill her, Dougald thought. Maybe just to send her away—again. He looked at Charles, at the drooping face, the bulbous nose, the scanty hairs on his head. After that last time when Charles had worked so hard to get rid of Hannah—how could Dougald ever completely trust him again?

  As if Charles read his mind, Charles said, “You must send her away, my lord.”

  “She won’t go.” And Dougald didn’t trust her enough to tell her why she must. Not only would she not leave—her affection for the aunts, her duty to the Queen, even, perhaps, her passion for him would keep her here—but also the Hannah who had come into this house was different than the youthful Hannah. She decided on a course of action and performed that action with sense and determination. If she decided she could help Dougald find the culprit, she would insist on doing so. And when Dougald thought about Hannah bravely confronting that little jackass Seaton with his hidden degeneracy…well, she wouldn’t do it, because Dougald wouldn’t tell her.

  In an exasperated tone, Charles said, “I cannot watch over her and you, and you know who I will favor if I am driven to make a choice.”

  Yes, Dougald knew, and nothing he could say would change Charles’s loyalty to him.

  “You can make her go.” Palms on the desk, Charles leaned forward and stared with grave sincerity at Dougald. “You know how.”

  “Yes.” Until Dougald had positively identified the guilty party, and dealt with him, he did have to send her away. With grim intent, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a packet of letters tied in a faded, pink ribbon. “But it’s going to wreak hell with our reconciliation.”

  21

  The aunts stood around Hannah’s bed and stared at her with a curiosity that bordered on suspicion.

  “Explain again, dear, how you came to trip on the stairs going up to the workroom,” Aunt Isabel said. “I couldn’t hear you the first time. You mumble something dreadful.”

  Hannah hadn’t mumbled; in fact, she had mastered the art of speaking slowly and loudly so Aunt Isabel could hear her. But she could hardly challenge the older lady’s truthfulness, so she said, “I was carrying a new box of yarns up the stairs and
I tripped on my skirt.”

  “Um-hum.” Aunt Ethel nodded.

  “Such a big box,” Aunt Spring said.

  “Why didn’t you have a footman carry it up for you?” Aunt Isabel asked.

  “The footmen were all so busy with the construction and the cleaning, I hated to take one away from his duties. I know better now.” Hannah tucked her striped, faded, flannel dressing gown tighter about her and gestured toward the chair. “I wasn’t expecting guests, but please, won’t somebody sit down?”

  “No, dear, we’re more comfortable standing,” Miss Minnie said.

  Miss Minnie meant they were more able to peer intimidatingly at her while they stood. The swelling in Hannah’s ankle was less painful than this interrogation.

  Sitting up straighter against the pillows, Hannah attempted to turn the conversation. “Thank you for the flowers, Aunt Ethel.” The cut-glass vase rested on the bed table, and Hannah touched the delicate petals of a pink rose. “They’re beautiful.”

  Aunt Ethel beamed, easily won over by the praise for her blossoms. “I’ll bring you more tomorrow.” Aunt Spring nudged her and recalled her to her duty. “Oh! Yes.” Aunt Ethel fixed a frown on Hannah. “You were telling us about your fall.”

  “There’s nothing else to tell.” Hannah attempted a free and easy shrug. “How are the plans proceeding for the reception?”

  Aunt Isabel patted her newly dyed, very black hair. “Lord and Lady McCarn sent their gracious assent, as did the Dempsters. Sir Stokes and Lady Gwen won’t miss it, and—”

  Miss Minnie interrupted, “It would be faster to say that everyone has accepted.”

  “Everyone?” Hannah thought of her grandparents and clasped her hands. She was going to meet them at last. The swelling in her foot was diminishing. She thought she would easily be able to wear shoes by the Queen’s reception. For that she was grateful; she wanted to look perfect when she met the Burroughses.

  Aunt Isabel snapped to attention. “Yes, it would be faster to say that, and of course we will be prepared with food and drink suitable for a Queen. If only you were well, Miss Setterington.”