It took two hours to read all the correspondence and when she finally put down the most recent letter, Cristina turned to her father. "Papa, Blake writes about his plan in every letter after the baby died, but he never explains it. Do you know what it is?"
"Yes, I know," William answered rather stiffly. "That's part of the reason I invited Blake to come to New York. I didn't know what his plan was at the time, but I had the feeling it was something drastic and I hoped I could talk him out of taking any radical measures."
"Is that the only reason you wrote him?" Cristina couldn't quite meet her father's knowing gaze.
"I confess that I wanted you to see him again before you found someone else you might want to marry. I knew all about your affair with Blake from his letters and it was perfectly plain to me that he was completely in love with you. I wanted to give you a chance to explore your feelings for him. I knew you didn't love anyone else, but I was afraid that you might not love Blake as much as he loved you."
"And I thought I was sparing you by not telling you and all the time, you knew about our relationship." Cristina spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Papa, I never wanted to cause you any embarrassment. I never meant for you to find out that I planned to become the mistress of a crown prince or that I had had an affair with a married man, even if it was done in innocence. I didn't want you to think I had turned out just like Mother. I didn't want you to despise me. I couldn't stand that because I love you, Papa."
William blinked at the sudden tears that blurred his vision. "I could never despise you, Cristy, for any reason. And certainly not for loving someone with all your heart. You are my flesh and blood, Cristina, all I really care about, and I was a fool to believe your mother's lies."
"She did lie, didn't she, Papa?"
"Yes, she lied. She was jealous of my closeness to you and she wanted to destroy it. She wanted to hurt me. Did she destroy it, Cristina? Is that why you felt you couldn't tell me about your love for Blake? Do you still blame me for the things your mother did while I was away?" He searched her face intently. She had every reason to blame him. He remembered the way his daughter had looked when she reached New York. He had met her at the harbor and after taking a good look at her, he knew Lawrence had done the right thing in sending her to him. The girl at the harbor was a mere shadow of the youthful Cristina he recalled so vividly, but she was still Cristina. His Cristina. His daughter. There wasn't a doubt in his mind about that. She was tall, only two or three inches under six feet and far too thin for her height, but he could see her beauty and something else he had failed to see all those years ago. Cristina was made in his image--a softer, more feminine image than the one he viewed in his shaving mirror, but with her bright copper tresses, green eyes, and too-firm chin, there was no doubt about her paternity. William saw it all so clearly and he could have kicked himself for all the wasted time. He was deeply indebted to Lawrence for having the wisdom to send Cristina to New York so that she might experience the depth of her father's love.
Lawrence had sent a pale ghost of the girl he had known in Vienna, but William had welcomed the challenge of bringing the real Cristina back to life, knowing he would have the opportunity to surround her with love and constant care and to make amends to his daughter for failing her years before in London. He had given Cristina's body time to heal, then he had begun to heal the rest of her by keeping her too busy to dwell on her tragedy. First there were shopping trips and dress fittings, gradually followed by afternoon teas and charity work at St. Michael's Orphanage and when he finally felt she was strong enough, he had introduced her to society and filled her world with endless rounds of soirees and balls. He lavished love and attention on Cristina and she couldn't help but respond to it all after having lost so much. She had begun to pull herself together and enjoy her life in New York. And it was almost as if he had arranged for her to have another debutante season. A second chance. And Cristina came close to forgetting about the first one. Almost, but not quite. She gave a very good imitation of being completely recovered, but William knew she hadn't gotten over the death of her baby or her heartbreak over Lawrence. One never got over the death of a child or the loss of a lover by pretending it had never happened.
Cristina kept her emotions tightly controlled. She was always nice, always polite, always above reproach and always carefully restrained with the people around her. And William understood, even if Cristina did not, that her healing process would never be complete unless she faced the past and allowed herself to feel again.
He decided then to give her a chance. He had written to Lawrence and invited him to Cristina's twenty-second birthday party.
The months of love and care he had given her since she had come to live with him could never make up for the months they had lost when he abandoned her at the boarding school, but William hoped that she would learn to forgive him--that she had forgiven him, or at least stopped blaming him for the pain Patricia had inflicted. But he had been too afraid to ask. Until now....
"Do you still blame me?"
"I never blamed you, Papa," she said. "But after Nicholas--after I came to live with you, it hurt too much to think about Blake or the baby. I couldn't talk about it, so I waited for Blake to come and get me and when he didn't, I gave up hoping. I thought he had decided to live without me. I never knew, never guessed any of this." Cristina indicated the stack of letters beside her. "I never dreamed he was planning anything. Papa, couldn't you talk him out of it?" Cristina asked, hoping her father had accomplished an impossible task, yet knowing in her heart he had not.
"No," William answered slowly. "He presented me with the finished product as soon as he arrived. There wasn't anything I could do to stop him. I might as well have argued with a stone wall. He wouldn't change his mind. He's convinced this is the only way. But he isn't looking for revenge on Meredith, but protection for you. Protection for the both of you."
"I don't understand."
He smiled grimly and handed her another stack of papers. Not letters, this time, but legal documents. "You know everything else, Cristina, you might as well read these, too. I think you'll understand after you've read them."
Cristina pored over the papers, carefully studying the tiny script and the unfamiliar legal phrases. Blood rushed to her head as the meanings behind the Latin words sank into her brain and she realized exactly what the documents were.
The full implications of Blake's sacrifice cut deep into her heart and with tears welled up in her emerald eyes, she looked up at her father and whispered, "Papa, tell me this isn't what I think it is. Tell me he wasn't foolhardy enough to risk his life this way. Tell me Blake didn't do all this for me."
Did you think the lion was sleeping
because he didn't roar?
--JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER
1759-1805
*Chapter Thirty*
Two months later Cristina's words were echoed in horror by a woman an ocean away from New York City.
"You must be out of your mind, Blake. You can't have done all this for that little slut!" Meredith, countess of Lawrence, screamed at the man who was her husband. "You can't have given everything to her. Your entire fortune!"
"I did." Blake faced the loathsome creature he had married in an impetuous moment so many years ago with a smile of satisfaction on his face. It was impossible for him to believe he had ever thought he had loved Meredith Brownlee. He hadn't known what love was until Cristina Fairfax had burst into his life and turned it upside down. He thought of Cristina with her fiery spirit and her loving nature and a gush of longing flowed through him.
He scowled at Meredith, eager to get through the ugly interview and be on his way back to Cristina, and the angry, jagged, red scar on his forehead contrasted sharply with the rest of his features.
That scar was one more reminder of Meredith's treachery. Her hire
d thugs had met him at the docks as he disembarked from his ship. They had beaten him senseless and left him lying in early-morning mist. Fortunately for Blake, Nigel had arrived at the dock to welcome Blake home and found him unconscious and hurt. A broken rib had punctured a lung and the deep gash over his eye had caused a slight concussion. He was bruised and badly beaten, and he was lucky to be alive.
His recovery had taken several weeks and the court hearing scheduled for the day after his arrival in London had had to be postponed and rescheduled for five weeks later.
Blake had presented his case to the court two days previously, then packed his bags and journeyed to Willow Wood to deliver the verdict to Meredith in person.
"I think I've been generous under the circumstances," Blake sneered contemptuously. "Had I known about the little surprise waiting for me at the docks, I would have signed everything over to Cristina."
"You have signed everything over to her!" Meredith declared angrily.
"Not everything, Meredith," Blake corrected. "You have Willow Wood for as long as you live."
"But you stripped it bare," Meredith complained. "And Willow Wood is a mere pittance compared to what you've given away. You gave her everything! You had no right! No right!"
"I had every right." Blake extended his arms to indicate the area surrounding him. "Be thankful I left you Willow Wood. It was mine to do with as I pleased just like everything else. And it pleased me greatly to give it to Cristina for her twenty-second birthday."
"I won't accept it!"
"You have a choice, Meredith. The hangman's noose, Bedlam, or Willow Wood and a divorce."
Meredith's face contorted with twisted rage. "I'll see you dead for this! I'll see you both dead!"
"You do and all of this will go to William Fairfax along with orders to evict you from Willow Wood and to prosecute you for murder," Blake retaliated, resting his hands on the arms of her wheelchair, forcing her to look at him.
"I'm your wife and you can't cheat me out of all I've worked so hard to gain. It can't be legal."
"It's very legal, Meredith," Blake's voice cracked like a whip through the quiet house. "You may still share my name, but you've never been a wife to me; not since the day we were married. You were ruthless in your ambition to have everything. You cheated me and stole from me to get what? Money? Power? You had all that and you would still have it if you hadn't let your twisted hatred of me control you. You've become too greedy, Meredith, and too brutal. You were willing to murder for money and power and finally for revenge."
Meredith wheeled her chair away from Blake's reach. For the first time since she had known him, Meredith was truly afraid of him--afraid of his next move. His face was a mask of cool contempt and she sensed that he felt absolutely nothing for her, not even pity.
Meredith's eyes widened for a split second before she veiled them with her thick lashes. She moistened her dry lips with her tongue and faced him. "I may have known about the bombing, but I did not murder your child. I didn't know anything about his death."
Blake's fists clenched at his sides. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from choking the breath from her lying throat.
"I think you did," Blake told her sharply. "I know you did. And this time, I have proof."
"You have no proof," Meredith gloated. "Because there is no proof. I think you're bluffing."
"I have Oskar von Retterling."
Meredith paled.
"Retterling was arrested in Budapest last month. And I've been told that after a month in a Hungarian prison, he's willing to testify to anything. And implicate you." He backed away from her. "And then there's Jack."
"Jack loves me. He'll never betray me."
Blake shook his head. "He already has. He testified on my behalf in court. He admitted to cuckolding me on our wedding day. He admitted to committing adultery with you."
"You're lying!"
"No, I'm not. You see, Meredith, Jack loves his comforts more than he loves you."
"That's not true!" There was an edge of panic in Meredith's voice. "Jack won't leave me."
"Then where is he? How long has it been since you've seen him?" A small part of Blake wanted to feel sorry for her, but he ruthlessly forced that drop of pity aside. He couldn't let himself feel pity for her. Nicholas was dead because of her. "Jack's father-in-law has him on a very short leash. He won't be allowed to stray from home any longer. Not if he wants to keep a home."
"But he has a home with me here at Willow Wood," Meredith said. "We still have Willow Wood."
"That's true," Blake agreed. "But Jack doesn't want a bare Willow Wood any more than you do. He can't afford the upkeep on the place. And then, there are those fraud charges he's facing for helping you disappear."
"There's no law against disappearing, Blake."
"No, but there's a law against defrauding your creditors. And you and Jack and your family are all guilty of that."
"You're legally responsible for my debts," Meredith reminded him.
"Not any longer," he answered truthfully. "So you see, Meredith, you've run out of options and allies."
"And you're threatening me with a noose just to gain your freedom," Meredith said.
"I have my freedom," Blake said. "My divorce a mensa et a thoro has already been granted by a court of common law and since Parliament is in session, the House of Lords voted this morning to allow me to marry again."
"That's impossible! What about my countersuit of adultery?" Meredith was clearly surprised by the turn of events.
"What has happened to your very efficient spies?" Blake asked sarcastically. "Surely they know I freely admitted to adultery with several women from several establishments around town during the years we were married--the years before your untimely death. And all of the ladies were willing to sign discretionary statements confirming it."
"I don't care about whores from bawdy houses," Meredith fumed. "What about your adultery with Cristina Fairfax and the illegitimate child she bore you?"
A muscle beside Blake's mouth began to twitch as he struggled to keep his anger in check and failed. "There is no child. You murdered him, you bloody bitch. And by doing so, you destroyed your own evidence." Blake winced as he said those words and the pain in his voice was evident. "Miss Cristina Fairfax's name was never mentioned in connection with adultery of any kind." Blake had told the panel of judges the entire story. He told of his suspicions concerning Lady Lawrence and presented his accumulated evidence. He told them how Meredith had faked her own death and coerced her relatives into helping her and stressed the fact that Meredith had become increasingly disturbed and violent since her return from the dead. He explained that although he was concerned for her ultimate welfare, he didn't love her and could not continue his marriage to her.
The judges had proven to be remarkably sympathetic to Blake's appeal and had voted unanimously in favor of the petition as long as certain provisions were made for the care of Meredith, Lady Lawrence.
Blake had considered the provisions to be fair and a small price to pay for his freedom. He had readily agreed to make them. "I have your copy of the documents with me. The judges were extremely generous to you because of your condition. You'll be allowed to keep the title of 'countess of Lawrence' for as long as you wish." That irked him, but Blake hadn't argued the decision. "And you will receive an annual allowance of thirty thousand pounds to provide for your care. Of course, Willow Wood is yours for as long as you live and all our dealings will be handled by solicitors because, after this, I never want to see you or Willow Wood again." Blake finished his discussion of the terms of the divorce and handed Meredith a sealed envelope stuffed thick with papers. "Do you understand?"
"You've taken everything away from me. Everything. Even Jack." She looked up at Blake. "I love Jack. You've ruined everything. All my plans. All my dreams. You've taken away everything I ev
er wanted. Why should I do anything for you?" Meredith glared up at him and naked hatred gleamed in the depths of her eyes. "Do you understand, Lord Lawrence, that I will never sign any divorce documents?"
"The divorce has already been declared legal and valid whether you sign the papers or not. The papers are simply a formality." Blake walked to the door.
"If you walk out that door," Meredith promised, "I'll burn your ridiculous divorce papers."
Blake smiled then, a beautiful smile that transformed the stern mask he had worn into a handsome face. "Do whatever you want with them, Meredith. I don't care anymore." He turned his back on her and walked away, still smiling.
Meredith sat completely still for several moments after Blake's footsteps sounded on the stairs and the front door closed with a bang. She was raging inside at the injustice of his actions. How could he give everything away to a someone who wasn't even his wife? How could he trust her? Did he love Cristina Fairfax that much? Or did he simply hate Meredith? Surely Blake was bluffing--trying to frighten her into signing those papers. But he wasn't going to succeed. No one would believe a poor, beautiful cripple capable of murder. The court wouldn't believe she had killed a man and an unborn child because of an insatiable greed or the need to wound Blake--to make him feel something for her besides his damned indifference.
It wasn't plausible. Or was it? The doubt crept into Meredith's mind, unbidden. Blake had seemed completely confident. Perhaps he did have evidence. Should she risk her neck, her very life, for the sake of a divorce? Was he bluffing, or would he really go to the authorities or confine her to Bedlam? Meredith cursed aloud. She had never been plagued by doubts before. She had always done what was necessary to get what she wanted without doubting that she would succeed. She couldn't let everything she had worked for be ruined without a fight. If Blake wanted the scandal of going to the authorities and accusing his wife of murder, then he would get it. She was going to call his bluff. She wouldn't sign anything. She wouldn't take Blake's word about the legality of a divorce without her signature. She preferred to wait and see for herself.
Meredith made her decision and wheeled herself over to the huge fireplace. She smiled at the thick envelope, then flung it into the fire. The bright orange embers came to life and the yellow flames licked greedily at the edges of the envelope, curling their blue-tipped tongues around the parchment until the outside blackened and fell away into ashes, revealing the contents.
Meredith stared in stunned fascination as the yellow-orange flames turned brilliant blue and began to consume stacks of crisp new pound notes.
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