by Jo Goodman
“When I said as much to him he nearly reached for my throat. I believe he has considered the matter as thoroughly as he wishes to.”
“What did you tell him? Will you speak to Kenna?”
Nick shut his eyes and rubbed his temples in a weary gesture. “I told him I wouldn’t interfere. Kenna has the right to make her own decisions. It’s the way she was raised. That’s when he slammed out of here. I don’t know what I’ll tell him when he returns.”
“But Kenna must be allowed to make up her own mind,” Victorine said earnestly, leaning forward in her chair. “Oh, there was a time when I thought she should marry, but she seems to be content now. She never cared about the things other young women do. Do you remember how she begged us not to put her through a London Season? She said she had no stomach for the marriage mart or marriage. Nick, I know I’ve not spoken of this to you before, but I fear Kenna is not as other women.”
“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Nick asked, lifting his lids and glaring at his stepmother with eyes as cold as blue ice.
“No, no! You must have misunderstood,” she said quickly. “I can see in your face that you have mistaken my meaning. I think she would not suit in the marriage bed. I think she would make Rhys, make any man, a cold wife. She has no understanding of passion nor the least inkling of what would be expected of her. Her husband would never be faithful. Heaven knows, it takes little enough provocation these days for men to seek out a mistress. Do Kenna a kindness and spare her certain humiliation.”
“Let me think on it, Victorine. There is much here to consider. I don’t want my sister humiliated but neither do I wish to see her dead.”
“I never thought you did,” Victorine said with dignity. “And neither do I.” She came to her feet with a certain regal air. “I love Kenna. As much as I do my own daughter, perhaps more, because Yvonne never needed me the way Kenna does. It’s important to feel needed, Nicholas.”
“Victorine.” Nick drew out her name warningly and saw by the flash of pain in her eyes that she understood. “Not now. Leave me and let me think. I will let you know later what I’ve decided.”
Victorine gave Nick a small nod of assent and left him to his own troubled thoughts.
Kenna leaned against the gallery door, catching her breath, as she heard the soft fall of Victorine’s steps along the hallway.
“Lady Kenna?”
Kenna jumped away from the door, suddenly realizing she wasn’t alone in the room. One of the young downstairs maids was running a feather duster over the gilt edges of the gallery’s paintings.
“Are you all right, Lady Kenna?” the girl asked again. “Faith, it looks as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” She groped her memory for a name to put with the dark hair and heart shaped face of the maid. “Jean is it?”
Jean smiled widely. Not many ladies would have bothered to take note of her name and address her by it. “Yes, m’lady, it’s Jean. Will you be wanting anything? A cup of tea? A tisane? Please pardon my impertinence, but you don’t look well, m’lady.”
Kenna touched her brow and felt tiny droplets of perspiration at her hairline. She must look a veritable fright to the girl. “No, really, there’s no need for anything. I’d like to be alone right now. Can you finish your work later?”
“Of course, m’lady. As you wish. It was just a bit of dusting I was doing anyway.” She saw Kenna was not paying attention to her anymore and tiptoed quietly out of the gallery.
There was a fire in the hearth and Kenna went to warm herself in front of it though she doubted she would ever feel warm again. Taking a shawl from one of the chairs she wrapped it around her shoulders and sat on the marble apron of the fireplace. There was no comfort in telling herself she shouldn’t have been listening at doors. She had listened. She had heard the entire exchange between her brother and Victorine though she wished with all her heart she had been elsewhere.
So Rhys Canning wanted to marry her, did he. He was going to—what had Victorine said?—oh yes, he was going to sacrifice himself to provide for her safety. It sounded so damn noble that Kenna wanted to heave.
And who did Victorine think was going to protect her from Rhys? He was the only one she knew who presented the least bit of danger. She groaned softly at her own thoughts. Would she never be able to make up her mind about Rhys? This morning in the summerhouse she had been persuaded to believe he was innocent. Now she was not so certain that he hadn’t proposed marriage to keep her under his thumb, a sacrifice indeed. More likely he had stumbled upon some means of self-preservation. As his wife she could hardly testify against him. It was nearly as good as having her dead.
Tears swam in her eyes, spiking her thick lashes as she thought of the other things Victorine had said. Her stepmother hadn’t meant to be cruel. Kenna knew that but found it did nothing to raise her spirits. She couldn’t help but ask herself if Victorine was right. Was she a cold woman?
She had told Rhys she could never marry because of her nightmares, but perhaps it was not entirely true. Mayhap some instinct warned her she would offer very little pleasure to her husband in the marriage bed so she held fast to her nightmares, hoping they would protect her. She could not help but wonder if Rhys had thought her cold.
He said he had left her because he could not trust himself. Was it naught but a lie to set another trap? She recalled how she had been afraid of his angry kisses, how she had pushed him away when he had tried to touch her breast. Is that what made her cold? Was she then to accept whatever advances a man made toward her? It was not the sort of thing she had ever discussed with Victorine. There was never any need…until now. Kenna’s shoulders slumped as she buried her face in her hands. She was twenty-three, a veritable spinster, and she was innocent as a babe.
Thinking of a babe reminded Kenna of the nephew she had yet to see. She sniffed, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve, and blew her nose. Yvonne would explain everything to her, she was married after all and surely three children proved her husband did not find her a cold fish. Oh, please, Kenna prayed, please let her invitation arrive in the morning.
Chapter 3
Kenna spent the rest of the evening and all of the following day in her room, pleading a headache that became more of a blinding reality as time went on, Victorine swept in and out with cold compresses and words of comfort. Nick visited her twice and Kenna was hard-pressed to convince him she was not in need of a doctor. Her personal maid kept her company with a steady stream of conversation and saw to it that Kenna ate everything on her specially prepared trays. Rhys did not enter her room at all and since no one ever mentioned marriage, Kenna felt as if she had been given a reprieve. If she hadn’t felt so awful she might have enjoyed the stay of execution.
“Was there nothing for me in the post?” Kenna asked Janet on the morning of the third day. She pushed the eggs around on her plate with a listless motion.
Janet eyed Kenna’s uneaten breakfast, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “If you can’t manage the eggs, then at least drink your cocoa. Lyin’ abed like this, you need your strength. Liable to waste away, you will.”
Kenna knew there was nothing for it but to drink the hot cocoa. Janet would go on and on until she got what she wanted. With a long-suffering sigh Kenna brought the warm mug to her lips and held back a grimace when she tasted the drink. Kenna thought it could have used a bit more sugar, but in the interest of peace in the kitchen she hesitated to tell Janet. Her maid would give Dunnelly’s thin-skinned chef a lecture and no one would eat this evening.
Janet fairly beamed with satisfaction as Kenna drank. “I believe you asked about the post. I can check with Henderson again, of course, but he didn’t give me anything for you. Oh dear, such a long face!”
Kenna gave her maid a tiny smile. “I was hoping to hear from Yvonne.”
“Ah,” Janet said knowingly. “And you’re disappointed, I’m sorry. Mayhap there will be something in the next mail.”
“P
erhaps.” But she was not hopeful. She finished the last of her drink and set the mug aside, pushing the tray toward Janet. “I really don’t want another thing.”
“Still not feeling all of one piece, are we? Shall I fetch another compress?”
Kenna laid her head back on her pillow as Janet took away the tray. What had begun as a dull throbbing in her temples had gradually become a violently sharp pain behind her eyes. The ache was so relentless that she was beginning to feel ill. “I think I’ll just sleep a while,” said Kenna. “I’m certain I’ll be better this afternoon.” She closed her eyes and slipped one hand beneath her pillow as she very gently turned on her side. “Shut the drapes, Janet. The light is bothersome.”
A frown wrinkled Janet’s brow as she looked at her mistress’s pale face. After a moment she pulled the drapes closed and soundlessly left the room.
Kenna slept until midday when she was awakened by severe cramping in her stomach. Necessity made her push herself out of bed and stagger toward the chamber pot, making it just in time to heave what little she had eaten for breakfast. Afterward she cooled her face and rinsed her mouth at the porcelain bowl on the wash stand, then stumbled back to bed. She lay on top of the comforter, too weak to crawl beneath it and too fatigued to care.
Victorine found Kenna still curled on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, when she brought lunch. “Dieu! Kenna, what is wrong?” She hurried over to the bed, setting aside a tray of broth and warm bread. She felt Kenna’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever, ma petite chou. Here, let me help you under the covers. You’re shivering.”
Kenna allowed herself to be prodded and coaxed under the comforter. “My head aches abominably,” she admitted wearily. “And I hurt everywhere.”
Nick stepped into the room, followed by Rhys. “I’m sending for the doctor,” he said. His tone clearly meant he would not be gainsaid.
“There’s no need,” Kenna protested, though she merely mouthed the sentiment out of habit.
“There’s every need.” It was Rhys who spoke with conviction as he stepped past Nick, taking in Kenna’s white complexion and the pained glaze in her eyes.
Kenna shut her eyes so she would not have to see Rhys’s thorough examination of her face. She snuggled deeper into the comforter to hide her flushed cheeks. “Go away,” she said sharply, then, to take the sting from her words, she added, “I want to expire in peace.”
“That’s not amusing,” Rhys said. He touched Nick’s shoulder. “I am going to send a servant for the doctor.” He saw the tray on Kenna’s bedside table. “I’ll take this out. She doesn’t look as if she could eat a thing.”
Kenna was grateful for the removal of the tray. The cloying odor of the chicken broth was making her stomach churn.
“She must eat something,” Victorine said, a frown playing about her mouth. “You can see for yourself that she’s as weak as a kitten.”
“I couldn’t possibly—” Kenna broke off as Rhys turned away from the stand with the tray in front of him and bumped directly into Nick who had moved closer to hear what she had to say. Rhys tried to balance the tray, then attempted to catch the bowl of broth, but his efforts came to naught. The hot, clear broth slid off the tray and splattered his shirt, his trousers, the toes of his boots, and the oriental rug. Nick had adroitly managed to miss most of the mess. Kenna hid a faint smile as Rhys swore softly but explicitly.
Victorine moved from Kenna’s side, arms akimbo, and ready to do violence. “Out! Both of you! This is no place for either of you! I care little who sends for the physician, but one of you please do so. Immediately!” When they were gone from the room she turned to Kenna. “Graceless wretches. They do manage to get underfoot. I’ll have someone clean up this mess. Are you certain you can’t eat anything?”
Kenna nodded. “I’d rather not.”
“As you wish.” She gave Kenna a kiss on her forehead and tucked her in a little better, smoothing the blankets in a loving fashion. “I’ll be here when the doctor arrives.”
Kenna was deeply asleep when Janet came to clean up the mess left by Rhys and Nick. The maid stayed at her mistress’s side and hovered in the background when Victorine showed the doctor in.
Kenna was nudged awake by Doctor Tipping’s gentle hand. She looked up into his kindly brown eyes and smiled weakly. “Hello.”
“M’lady. You have Dunnelly in an uproar. What seems to be the problem?”
Kenna related her aches and pains but Tipping reserved judgment until he had conducted a thorough examination, “I’ve seen this sort of thing before,” he said to Kenna as he repacked his bag, “But I thought you had better sense. I wouldn’t have taken you for one of the vain sillies I’ve treated in the past.”
Kenna’s brows wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Arsenic, m’lady. A pale complexion is all the rage, but taking a bit of poison to enhance it is foolhardy, and in some cases, deadly. You’ve been fortunate thus far, but I want you to cease its use.”
“But I—”
“Now. Now. I won’t listen to your objections. There’s no excuse for tempting fate. I gave the same advice to Lady Blake and she scoffed also. In the pursuit of fashionably pale youth she did what she wanted. I will say, she was a remarkably lovely corpse.” He shook his head in deep disgust. “If I could find the person who first recommended the use of arsenic for the complexion, I would cheerfully wring his, or her, neck. It’s insanity, that’s what it is.”
Kenna was simply too stunned to defend herself. She had never used arsenic in her life though she was well aware of the practice. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Victorine looking at her with sharp disapproval and across the room Janet was clucking her tongue softly.
“I will speak to your brother about this matter and I want your promise not to use the stuff again. In fact, I would like your bottle to take with me.”
“Of course she won’t use it again,” said Victorine. “Where is your bottle, Kenna? Your maid can get it.”
Before Kenna could answer Janet was handing over a small green glass bottle that she had picked up on Kenna’s dressing table. “You can see for yourself she’s used the last of it,” the maid said. “Good riddance to the stuff, I say.”
Tipping echoed Janet’s words while he briefly examined the nearly empty bottle then dropped it in his case. “Give it few days to work out of your system and you’ll be feeling quite the thing. As long as you don’t use it again. You can build some tolerance to the poison, then accidentally give yourself an overdose. No more. Is that understood?” He looked at all three women and saw them agree with varying degrees of conviction. Kenna appeared most reluctant, but Tipping was confident neither her stepmother nor her maid would let her be so foolish again.
“Good day, ladies,” he said, giving Victorine a brief bow.
“I’ll walk with you downstairs,” said Victorine.
“Why did you give the doctor that bottle?” Kenna asked Janet as soon as they were alone.
“I could see you were tired, m’lady. You don’t mind, do you? He was going on and on and it shut him up.”
Kenna rubbed her eyes and temples. “I don’t mind. But he’s going to discover sooner or later it held nothing but some bath salts.”
“By that time I’m going to discover where the arsenic came from,” Janet said with assurance. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Curious did not even begin to describe what Kenna was feeling. She was still reeling from the knowledge that someone had tried to poison her. Probably several times since she had taken to her room, she realized. The dosage was small, the effects cumulative, which is why she had been feeling steadily worse. She could not help but wonder what her state would be if she had been able to hold down her breakfast. “What will you do?” she asked slowly. The pounding in her head was almost unbearable. She should have asked the doctor for some powders.
“Do? I’m going to supervise the preparation of your meals myself
, that’s what I’m going to do. I never trusted that Frenchy cook your stepmother brought here. I always said it’s better if the staff speaks English. He stubbornly refused to learn more than a few words. No doubt he’s filled the salt cellars with rat poison. Don’t worry. I’ll set him straight.”
“Why didn’t you tell Victorine and Doctor Tipping your suspicions?” The pounding in her head lessened. Janet thought it was an accident, nothing more, and Kenna conceded she could be right. She felt as if a weight was being lifted from her chest.
Janet flushed to the roots of her hair and she could not meet her mistress’s eye. Her voice was soft, almost girlish. “I admit to a certain fondness for that temperamental fool. I thought to save his position.”
“Oh, Janet,” Kenna sighed. “But now Victorine and Nick have heard what the doctor said. They will think I’m so foolish.”
Janet had the grace to look discomfited. “I’m sorry, m’lady. Please say you’ll forgive me. I promise I’ll speak to Claude. I’ll have the kitchen searched from top to bottom, everything tested. It won’t happen again.”
Kenna felt herself softening as soon as Janet spoke of the chef as Claude. What did it matter if her family thought her vain and silly? Didn’t she owe Janet some small measure of Her trust and loyalty? Janet had taken care of Kenna since right before Lord Dunne’s death and had never asked for any favor during all that time. “Of course I forgive you, Janet. But please talk to—Claude, was it?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“I never knew. I always thought of him as Monsieur Raillier. You must speak to him before he poisons the entire house. It’s something of a miracle no one else has taken sick.”
“That it is,” Janet said hurriedly. “I’ll speak to him. You have my word upon it.” She made a deep curtsy. “Shall I bring you some tea? I’m sure the doctor would approve of something light.”
“No. Nothing. I’d like to rest now.” When she was alone her doubts returned. How was it she was the only one in the house to take ill if the poisoning was accidental? It was useless to think on it now when she couldn’t concentrate on anything save the insistent ache in her temples. Another cramp seized her and she reached for the basin Janet had seen fit to leave on her nightstand. She held on to it, clutching it to her middle, but she had nothing to give up. The dry cramping was extremely painful and when it was over Kenna was exhausted. She pushed the empty basin away, buried her face in the pillow, and prayed for sleep.