Chance the Winds of Fortune (20 page)

“Well, I just wish I didn't have to play the clown in this play,” James said, his newly discovered manly pride woefully affected by the ridiculousness of the role he'd been assigned.

“You think you are upset,” Francis stated with a grimace. “He has me playing that fat knight Sir Toby Belch!” Francis puffed out his cheeks and tried to create a double chin as he quoted his carefully memorized lines: “‘Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.' Or, a couple of my finer moments. ‘Fire and brimstone!,' ‘Bolts and shackles!,' and ‘Why, how now my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?'” Francis laughed. “Mr. Ormsbee has even gotten me wearing a pillow for padding!”

“I wish we didn't have to rehearse this morning,” Robin said, his eyes straying to the sunshine pouring through the window. “This is the first sunny day we've had in a week. It's not fair that Rhea gets to go out riding and I can't. Why isn't she rehearsing too?” he demanded, not liking the idea of his sister going off without him.

“Because this morning we are being fitted for our costumes,” Francis explained. “Rhea's already been fitted for hers.”

“I think it's wonderful!” Anna said dreamily, missing the disgusted glances that were shot her way by cousins and brothers alike. “Do you think Mother will be feeling well enough to watch us, Papa?” she asked worriedly.

“She is fine, dear,” Terence Fletcher reassured his daughter. “She had a rather restless night and is sleeping a little later this morning, that is all. She'll be up and around by noon.”

The duchess stared down at her hands, feeling troubled as she speculated about her sister's failure to appear this morning. Sabrina was worried, and she knew Lucien was aware of her uneasiness, but what could she have told him? What could she possibly have said except that Mary was having strange visions that made little, if indeed any, sense at all? Finally Sabrina glanced up, knowing she would find a puzzled, yet tender, look in Lucien's eyes if she chose to meet them. She knew he couldn't completely understand what she was going through while she waited, worrying about the inevitable happening. It had been such a long summer and now fall was upon them. Yet nothing had happened. But she knew it would. It was just a matter of time—and that was something both she and Mary knew. And nothing could change that.

* * *

Lady Mary Fletcher rolled about restlessly on her bed, the silken sheets sliding off her as she turned on her side. Her long red hair cascaded around her shoulders in wild abandon as she jerked her head from side to side as if fighting off an invisible attacker.

Small drops of perspiration beaded her brow and ran down her temples as she shivered with some inner turmoil. It was the sound of her own scream that woke her. She raised a shaking hand to her cheek in an oddly protective manner when she stared with deeply shadowed eyes into the mirror and saw her tormented face reflected there.

“Oh, dear God,” Mary whispered brokenly, feeling nearly out of her mind with fear of the unknown.

She lay back down against the plumped-up pillows, her breathing shallow as she tried to compose herself. But the fleeting images of her dream kept intruding into her thoughts, causing her breath to quicken again as she remembered. I am so cold, she thought, pulling the quilted coverlet around her shoulders. She could feel death all about her.

“An old, old man…” Mary murmured dazedly. “Water…water…so deep…deep and dark… I can't swim!” she cried out, tears flooding her eyes. “Blood from so many…so many lives that have touched… Then there is blue…so many shades of blue…blue eyes…a blue ocean…a blue sky…a blue riding habit… So many shades…” she muttered, drifting off into an uneasy and fitful doze.

* * *

Caroline Winters stared at her reflection in the mirror. The blue riding habit fitted a bit snugly; in truth, it was painfully tight, but wear it she would, she vowed, struggling to catch her breath.

“Ye're goin' to be ripping out the seams any second now, Miss Caroline,” her maid told her, shaking her capped head in disapproval.

“'Tis a perfect fit,” Caroline contradicted her, unwilling to admit that Lady Rhea Claire Dominick had a far slimmer figure than she did. “Fits like a glove, 'tis the way a riding habit should.”

“A glove a couple o' sizes too small, if ye asks me,” the maid grumbled out of earshot of her mistress, who, when she was in a tantrum, wasn't above throwing a hairbrush across the room in her direction. The well-trained maid eyed her young mistress thoughtfully, a grim tightness to her mouth as she took in the blue riding habit “borrowed” from the young Lady Rhea Claire. The maid would have bet a year's wages that her ladyship knew nothing about it, for the truth of the matter was that Miss Caroline had light fingers. It was strange, how other people's thing always managed to turn up in Miss Caroline's possession. And yet, never once had her mistress got into trouble for her pilfering. She always seemed to have some excuse or explanation when she sweet-talked her way out of responsibility for the act. But this time, the maid thought with an inner smile of satisfaction, Miss Caroline may have gone too far and gotten in over her head.

“Are you sure you heard the footman say that Rhea Claire was planning to go riding this morning?” Caroline asked her maid as she adjusted one of the too-short sleeves of Rhea Claire's riding habit.

“Aye, heard him say so meself. She's planning on going out right after breakfast,” the maid told her again. “And, while I was listening, so was Lord Rendale's valet. He rushed off right after hearing it. Most likely to tell his master, seein' how he's sweet on her,” the maid said with a deliberate smirk.

Caroline spun around, the position of the feather in her hat forgotten for the moment as she glared at her maid. “Lud! What rubbish you do talk, woman. Now get me my gloves,” she ordered, her face flushing red with irritation. “I don't want to miss my ride with
Lady
Rhea Claire,” she stated with a purposeful tilt to her slightly pugnacious jaw. Then, giving her blue-clad figure one last glance in the mirror, she stalked from the room, mischief on her mind.

* * *

“Here she is, Lady Rhea Claire.” Butterick was personally presenting Rhea's mount for her inspection. “Just as pretty and perky as a fine morning like this demands.”

“Wonderful,” Rhea said, patting Skylark on the neck as she slipped her a piece of apple.

“Now, Lady Rhea Claire,” reproved Butterick, half seriously, “ye don't want to be spoilin' the little darlin'. I've strict meals planned for her and—” Butterick was then interrupted by an imperious summoning by none other than the Earl of Rendale demanding his horse. Close on his heels was Miss Caroline Winters, her long feather bobbing up and down as she hurried to keep up.

Rhea sighed. “I won't need Bobby to accompany me now. I shall have plenty of company. Hello, Wesley, Caroline,” Rhea greeted them, a welcoming smile on her face that successfully hid her disappointment, for her quiet ride was now best forgotten.

Butterick gritted his teeth as he walked forward to assist his lordship, for even though the Earl of Rendale could sit a horse as well as anybody Butterick had seen, he still didn't care for the man. And the little miss, well… As far as he was concerned, she could bide her time behind the tea table, for never had he met a female with so little feeling for horses. It was almost criminal to him to put her on the back of one of His Grace's fine horses.

“I heard you were going for a ride, Lady Rhea Claire,” the Earl of Rendale greeted Rhea, a broad grin spreading across his face. “So, as I had planned on a ride today, I thought, if you didn't mind, that I would accompany you. Where are you headed?” he asked politely. “The far side of the lake, perhaps? The Temple of the Sun is still quite lovely even with winter coming on.”

“Actually I'm bound for Stone House-on-the-Hill. I'm paying a visit to six pups,” Rhea informed him with a mocking look. “Are you quite sure you still wish to accompany me? 'Tis a fair distance off.”

The Earl of Rendale hid his disappointment well as he nodded. “Of course, Lady Rhea Claire. Wherever you go, I go,” he said lightly, but it sounded almost like a statement of intent.

“Well, I'm coming too,” Caroline contributed, drawing Rhea's attention from Wesley. The earl's attention, however, was now centered on his horse as he gave strict instructions for its saddling.

“Since you are here, naturally, I wouldn't think of not—” Rhea's words faded away as she became aware of Caroline's riding habit. So that was what had happened to her missing riding habit, she realized, anger flashing briefly in her violet eyes as she took in the other girl's appearance.

She said nothing for the moment, but the flash of anger, brief though it was, was enough to warn Caroline Winters that she may have presumed far too much this time. Taking an unconscious defensive step backward, she stood awkwardly before Rhea, waiting in a nervous silence for whatever might befall her.

“It isn't too tight, is it?” Rhea inquired softly. Then, with a look of disgust on her face, she turned away from the embarrassed girl and climbed onto Skylark's back, the rest of her angry words silenced. It would not have served any purpose to lose her temper with the girl, for she was to be pitied not ridiculed. It would have been easy for Rhea to ridicule her—too easy, in fact, for it to have been fair. And Rhea's silent disapproval was far harder for Caroline to bear than if Rhea had angrily confronted her. She felt far more insulted and chagrined by the other's polite contempt than she would have by a public humiliation.

“Let's be off, then,” Rhea said, waving farewell to Butterick, who stood between the opened doors of the stable and watched the three riders disappear among the trees lining the drive.

The crisp autumn air smelled sweetly of rain and wood smoke, and it kissed her hot cheeks with a cooling balm. Rhea could feel her anger toward Caroline evaporating as she sent Skylark galloping along the narrow lane, the wild hedges and brambles creeping close as they left the carefully maintained lands of Camareigh. As they rounded the blind man's bend in the lane, they saw a carriage moving slowly along the road in front of them, and Rhea was suddenly reminded of the day before when she and Francis and their cousins had nearly been run down by another carriage on this stretch of lane.

They slowed their pace to accommodate the slower-moving coach, but even as they fell into a trot behind it, it came suddenly to a standstill, halting at a slight angle across the narrow lane and effectively blocking it.

“What the devil?” the Earl of Rendale said loudly as he pulled up sharply on his reins, his horse pawing the air nervously. “Damned foolish thing to do!” he complained, glaring up at the coachman. But as he opened his mouth, ready to give a scathing setdown to the impudent fellow, the earl's attention was distracted by two startling events that happened almost simultaneously. The door of the carriage was flung open and two men jumped out. And Caroline screamed with fear as she fell from her horse's back, unable to keep her seat as her mount shied away from the carriage.

The Earl of Rendale didn't know quite what to expect, but certainly not the pistol he found pointed at his chest by some surly-looking individual in a soiled, red velvet coat that had seen better days. But the earl was no fool, nor a coward, and he sensed danger here. With hardly a second's thought, he reached inside his own immaculate coat for his pistol, which he always carried with him when traveling, for the roads were rife with footpads, highwaymen, and other malcontents up to no good, and a gentleman needed to be armed if he wanted to protect himself. The familiar feel of the butt of the pistol gave him an added surge of confidence as his hand closed around it. He began to pull it from his coat pocket, intending to wing the blackguard. Then his intention was to pull his sword on the other swine lurking behind, but the Earl of Rendale never had that pleasure.

Before he could even draw his pistol, the loud report of another pistol sounded across the still countryside. An expression of disbelief appeared on the earl's face, no greater than that which crossed Rhea Claire's as she glanced up from the fallen Caroline to see the earl tumble from his saddle. He landed with a dull thud in the mud at his horse's hoofs.

“Damn!” muttered the man who'd fired the pistol as he stared down at his mud-splashed stockings and breeches, for the earl was a big man and had landed in the mud with quite a splash.

But with hardly a pause the man continued across the road, making his way purposefully toward the two young women, his expression grim as he contemplated them.

Rhea stood up on shaking legs and stumbled across the unconscious Caroline, standing protectively between her and the approaching man. Her eyes widened with terror as she watched Wesley's murderer coming closer. While she stood dumbfounded by what was happening, the man drew a small bottle from his coat, then a handkerchief, and as he took another step, soaked the cloth with the contents.

There was nothing she could do for Caroline or Wesley now, Rhea realized. Their only hope was if she could get away and bring back help. Before the man could anticipate what she was going to do, Rhea had jumped over Caroline's prostrate form and fled. But her progress was hampered by her long, heavy skirts, as well as the slippery mud in which she had to find a footing. A hand grabbed her from behind and spun her around, her booted feet sliding off balance. Her scream died as the handkerchief was pressed with suffocating intent over her nose and mouth, the nauseating odor sending a wave of blackness to engulf her.

Teddie Waltham picked up the unconscious girl with little effort. She was so light. She was also a beauty, he thought with an instant's regret, staring down at her golden hair and sweetly innocent face. As he carried her back toward the coach, he thought about how easy it had all gone, although he hadn't cared for the shooting of the gent. That bothered him—for he must have been somebody of importance to be in the company of a duke's daughter. Well, it was done, and there was nothing he could do to bring the gent back to life again. No, sir, he hadn't counted on the girl having with her a gent well able to take care of himself—but then her ladyship was full of surprises, wasn't she, he thought, with a curse on his lips for that fine lady. Had it all planned, did she? Nothing could go wrong, she'd said. Well…