Chasing the Heiress (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“It was a damn man trap.” Sam spit out the words, his face mottled red with anger. “Hidden on the path on the other side of a hill she jumps, it was set in such a way that by the time Em saw it, she would be airborne and unable to avoid it. Em's right. If her horse had landed into the trap at the speed they were riding, it would have killed them both.”

“Who do you think would do such a thing?” Colin watched Sam's and Jeffrey's faces. Aidan, who had arrived early that morning with Lady Wilmot, stood at his side.

“After Peterloo, the list has grown disturbingly long: disgruntled Levellers wanting revenge for the death of a friend or relative; criminal gangs taking advantage of the current political climate; and subversive Tories wanting to force greater constraints on the general liberty by whatever means necessary,” Aidan said. “The prime minister is already saying that he will call for more restrictive legislation in this next session, and though the Whigs will oppose it, I fear we will lose.”

“But her ladyship is uniformly liked in the county, respected for her work with the poor and for her care of her tenants.” Jeffreys shrugged, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can't imagine who would wish to harm her.”

“Aidan has a point: this might not be directed at Em specifically, just at the estate,” Colin suggested quietly. “Sam, are you sure Em was the target?”

Sam shook his head in frustration, the muscles in his neck bulging. “I don't know, but I have my suspicions, and when I find the culprit, I'll beat him to a pulp. I've stood idly by for too long.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “I'll be in the stables.”

“What does he mean?” Colin looked to Jeffreys. The butler's face was inscrutable.

“If you require me, sir, I will be with her ladyship, watching over Queen Bess.” Jeffreys turned sharply and walked away.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lucy was in the morning room, staring out of the window. She'd stayed with Em through the night, measuring out the laudanum to keep Bess alive, asleep, and out of pain. Her hope was to keep Bess asleep or at least drowsy until the wound knit enough that the dog wouldn't tear at it.

She'd only left her patient's side when Lady Wilmot had relieved her shortly after she and the duke had arrived. But she still couldn't sleep.

Hartshorn Hall had become a house of mourning. None of the servants believed Bess would survive, and most completed their work with tears wet on their cheeks. Lucy contrasted the servants' affection for Em and Bess with the hatred her aunt's servants felt for Lord Marner. When she fulfilled her obligation to her aunt, she would see what could be done to free the oldest servants—the ones most loyal to her aunt—from Marner's employ. Soon, after Colin delivered William to his relatives, she would be able to put her plan into effect. But this was not the time to talk to Colin about her troubles, not when Em's pressed heavily on his mind.

“Lucy.” Em stood at the door, the pup that Lucy had played with the first night of their visit at her feet, a line of red ribbon tied around his neck as a lead. “Jeffreys is with Bess. I wanted to thank you. But I couldn't think of anything that would convey how much. . . .” Em's voice trailed off.

“I need no thanks. Bess's recovery will be enough.”

“You said you'd never had a dog.” Em brushed back a tear. “I thought, if you would like one of Bess's pups, this one is the best of the litter.”

“I thought he was promised to Malmesbury.”

“When Malmesbury hears how you saved Bess, he won't argue. But if you want something else . . .”

“No.” Lucy knelt and held out her hands to the pup. He ran to her, his red lead trailing behind him. She picked him up and nuzzled him. “I've always wanted a dog, a companion like Bess is to you. But”—she handed the pup back to Em—“I have some promises I must keep, and I can't take him with me.”

“If you want him, he's yours. You can leave him with me, and whenever you return, he will be waiting.”

Lucy held her hands out for the pup, holding him to her chest. “Then I want him. And I already know what I'll call him. Boatswain, after Lord Byron's Newfoundland dog.”

“Why?” Em laughed. “That's an odd name for a dog.”

“I always thought I would want a dog like Byron's, one who ‘possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, and courage without ferocity.'”

“Then, Boatswain, it is.”

* * *

On the second day, Bess's leg was already beginning to knit well enough that Lucy could feel some hope. Sam and Aidan had built a hard-bottomed litter for the dog, then filled it with pillows and blankets, allowing Em to have Bess by her side at all times. And the whole group had spent the morning entertaining Em with faro.

Lucy took her opportunity as banker to watch the interplay among them all. Em and Sam spent most of their time watching Bess. Sophia and Aidan watched each other, and Colin—she had to admit—seemed to notice only her.

She pulled a card from the bank and laid it out on the green. Colin met her eyes; then, seeing that the others were focused on the display of the cards, he let his eyes caress her body. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

Sophia bet first. “Aidan has been encouraging me to open my own salon. After the troubles we faced this fall, I'm not interested in something frivolous or purely intellectual. I would like to create a salon where each woman can be useful, where we can to contribute our talents to help each other and those around us.”

“Only women?” Sam objected, waiting for his turn. “I'm pretty useful in my own way. I made Bess her litter.”

“I suppose we could admit some men.” Sophia smiled at Aidan, who met her eyes, then turned back to his cards. “Like the ancient muses, I'd like for us to inspire each other. I thought we could call it the Muses' Salon—a play on the idea of muses as inspiration and of museum, the place where we meet. As for my skills, I can draw, and I know plants, their seasons, and their medicinal properties. In that way, Lucy and I share some interests, and Lucy has—I think—already joined my endeavor. The Muses' Salon's first muse.”

“Second muse. You are the first, darling.” Aidan placed his hand over Sophia's, the heat in his glance visible to all.

“I can attest that Lucy has the gift of healing.” Colin stood up and playfully pulled at his shirt. “Anyone want to see her work?”

“NO!” Em, Lucy, and Sophia answered in unison. Colin, playing dejected, sat back down.

Lucy was grateful for Sophia's gracious compliment—it hid her response to Colin under a demure blush. “I'm not sure I would qualify as an inspiration to anyone. I simply know battlefield medicine . . . how to sew a wound, how to stop bleeding, how to ease a man's death. So, unless one of you is shot . . .”

Sophia lifted her reticule to the table and withdrew a small lady's pistol. “I've carried this with me since my child was kidnapped.”

“I suppose, then, we shouldn't cheat at cards,” Em observed wryly, placing a penny on one card to reverse her bet. “I'd like to join your salon, Sophia, but I haven't any skills, other than perhaps offering advice on breeding stock.”

“Em has at least three talents to contribute.” Colin placed his bet, then leaned back in his chair, smugly.

Lucy paid careful attention to Colin's manner, his interplay with Em. As Em had said, she could see no signs that the two were anything other than old and dear friends. Nothing about his relationship with Em seemed to be an obstacle to their continued liaison.

“First, animals trust her. That's why she rides better than any man, even when she lets Stella bully her into using a sidesaddle.”

“That's true. She can hardly go out without some lost or hungry animal coming out of the brush to greet her.” Sam tossed his bet to land expertly on the card he wanted. “And if you are in trouble and there's a horse about, Em is the one to go for help.”

“Second, she has an amazing ear for music, voices, anything tonal. Don't play tricks on her thinking you can get away with it by disguising your voice,” Colin said. “Believe me—I know.”

“And the third?” Sophia began to tally the bets.

“I'll let Em reveal that in her own time.” Colin leaned back smugly, as Em shook her head in irritation.

“Colin says you can shoot and fence, Lucy.” Em changed the subject deftly.

“I learned to protect myself, yes.” Lucy wondered what else Colin had revealed and how much.

“Could you teach us how to protect ourselves?” Sophia asked, and Em nodded her agreement.

“I would be honored,” Lucy replied quietly, touched by how easily the two women offered their fears and friendship. When Lady Wilmot first had mentioned the idea of her salon, Lucy not been certain she could participate, but realizing that Colin was in fact free, she reconsidered the possibility. The idea of friends—women friends—who would support and aid her was all too appealing.

The group played until early evening, when—Em having beaten them all roundly—they broke to dress for dinner.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The knock on Lucy's adjoining door some time later was not unexpected. She had felt the heat in Colin's gaze all afternoon.

But Colin, when she opened the door, wore the face of a soldier, not of her lover. She stepped back to allow him into her room, but he did not enter.

“The letter I have been waiting on has arrived. We leave early in the morning for a hard day's travel. I have healed sufficiently that I do not need for you to accompany us. But I have not forgotten our bargain. If you would rather remain here, I will return and take you to your destination. Of course, it might be that your path coincides with ours—if you trust me enough to confide in me.” His voice teased, but not his eyes.

“My obligations take me to London—to Mayfair and the City.”

“I didn't expect you to tell me.” He brushed the side of her face with the backs of his fingertips. “I thought perhaps you regretted our time together.”

“No.” She took his hand and kissed his palm. “The misunderstanding over your engagement set me back, but now that I understand, I would prefer to travel with you than wait.”

He kissed her deeply. “Then pack some pretty dresses. Perhaps I can show you a little of London when I take you there.”

* * *

Colin had not lied. It was a hard day's travel, made worse because he rode outside with Fletcher, leaving Lucy to manage Jennie's indisposition alone. William, at least, was an easy traveler.

After two hours, they took a short stop in Chipping Norton to change horses, then once more headed west, then south, then west again. Outside Oxford, they left the main road to travel to a deserted manor house some miles out of the way.

“We will be here for about an hour.” He handed Jennie down. “You might wish to stretch your legs. I've arranged to have a light repast set in the drawing room. We will not stop again for any length of time until we reach our destination.”

At the porch of the house, Edmund stood with another man, and Colin hurried to them, carrying William's basket and placing it inside the door. Though Edmund offered a brief wave, he did not approach her, nor did either man introduce her to their third companion.

She would have been hurt—the slight was significant—but she knew the looks of such men, focused on some mission she was not allowed to know about until it was all over. For so much of her life, she had accepted that being excluded from important plans was simply the way of things. But having seen the way that the duke included Sophia in his considerations, she had grown discontented. If she were to marry, she wanted that sort of bond. She saw glimpses of the possibility with Colin—but only glimpses.

She looked over at Colin, who was holding up a map for the others to look at, and she had to wonder exactly whom he was working for. He didn't have the demeanor of a mercenary, but many men had turned to private employment after the wars.

Colin was at her side before she realized it. “Go inside. Our next steps have been carefully orchestrated.”

The house was so silent that she was stunned to find the drawing room filled with people. Screens stood in front of each window, blocking the view outside. In one corner stood five women, dressed identically as maids. Opposite them were five men dressed as young gentlemen about town. At the table itself stood a dozen men, former soldiers by their carriage and bearing. And beside the door in a great pile were five rush baskets like William's.

But Jennie was nowhere to be seen; neither were Fletcher and Bobby.

Lucy stood alone near the baskets, waiting and watching. No one looked at her.

When the trio entered, each man went to a different group. Edmund and the third man matched the women with men, while Colin paired the former soldiers, handing one man a sheet of paper and a portion of a map. Then Colin led two of the men to the door and shook their hands in parting, Edmund and the stranger followed them out.

Over the next hour, Lucy sat on the stairs in the entry and watched. Every ten minutes, a black closed carriage with no distinguishing marks pulled up to the house's porte cochere. And each time, the man and woman, suddenly appearing very much like lovers, entered the carriage with a basket. Two of the former soldiers took their places at the front and back, with a driver and a postboy between them.

* * *

When all the carriages were gone, Colin held out his hand to help her from her seat. “We have been asked to remain here until all of the carriages make their way to their destinations. Some have longer journeys than the others. I assumed you would wish to remain with me.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

“When can I know who William is?”

“I suppose I can tell you now.” He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs. “His mother was an English Catholic heiress sent to convent school on the Continent. There, she met and fell in love with one of King George's various Habsburg cousins. When Marietta returned to England, the cousin followed, smitten, either with her or with her wealth. Perhaps both.”

“Let's pretend it was both.” Lucy curled her arm through his.

“Let's.” He chuckled against her hair. “The cousin was a strong political ally and fifth in line to rule a significant kingdom, though at the time no one expected him to ever ascend to the throne, and if he did, not for at least another twenty years. George supported the marriage, though he counseled secrecy. But as of this summer, all those who stood between Marietta's husband and the throne are now dead—as is he.”

“So, sweet William is in line to rule?” Lucy said with amazement. “I never expected the secret to be one involving the stability of nations.”

“It's exactly that. William's uncle had not known of the marriage, and since William's father's death, the uncle has believed himself the legitimate king. He has not been happy to become merely a regent. But King George was immensely fond of his cousin and has vowed that young William will live to ascend his throne. However, the king had wished not to offer his explicit protection until William was safe with him.”

“Then, the attack on your carriage was an attempt to thwart the birth of the legitimate heir.” Lucy's voice grew soft in realization.

“So much safer for the mother to never deliver.”

The quiet extended for some time between them. Colin escorted her to her room and opened the door.

She looked into the room, lit only by a single candle, the curtains drawn tight. “I suppose this portion of our agreement is concluded.”

“Yes. But not my promise to you. I will take you wherever you need to go, and I will stay with you until you send me away.”

“Then it seems we have more time together.”

And she pulled him through the door and into her arms.

* * *

In the night, Lucy had nightmares. But Colin held her to his bosom, and, as she had done for him when he was feverish, he sang to her softly. Sang until the lines on her face had softened, and she fell into a dreamless sleep. And he kept watch over her, sleeping, listening to her breath, wanting to keep her beside him.

He knew she still didn't trust him fully. Sometimes, on the road, she had looked threatened, glancing over her shoulder at the hedgerows as if great arms were going to reach out and pull her into their depths. When he asked her to confide in him, she refused, over and over. But now, with his obligation to Prinny done, he would discover her secrets.

Several hours later, he felt her awaken.

She curled into his arm and began to speak, her hand tracing circles on his chest.

“Living in England after Waterloo had seemed like a strange dream. There was no artillery fire in the distance, no night lit by flames. For months, I had trouble sleeping in the quiet of the countryside. Like tonight, I would awaken screaming.”

“I imagine our dreams are much the same. The call to arms, the waving banner, the men rushing forward, the crush of battle, being lost in the smoke of gunpowder. Enemies on every side, my men falling around me, and the noise: guns firing, the spin of bullets, the impact of the cannonballs as they hit and explode, the flying shrapnel.”

“No, for me all the noise is distant, but threatening. Where I am, the battle is already over, and the fields are covered with blood and bodies, and parts of bodies. Dead men without limbs stand in battle rank calling for me to save them. The wounded are groaning, begging me for help, for water, for death. The smell of blood is so pungent I can taste it on my tongue. The scavengers are already in the field—vultures, jackals, flies—townspeople stealing men's valuables, even the very epaulets on their uniforms. I try to find my father, and James, but there is no way left to identify which bodies are theirs.”

He drew her closer into his chest and brushed her hair with his lips.

“When I woke, my great-aunt would always be there, holding me, stroking my hair—just as you did. She would repeat to me, ‘This will pass. This will pass.' Then she would ask me to describe my dreams. She said it would take the sting out, that looking at them in the daylight would allow me to see what my mind refused to forget. It helped.”

“In my dreams, I search as well.” His voice was heavy with sorrow. “But I also dream of those I killed. Men, women, those who would have harmed my men, England. At the time, I believed I was on the side of right and justice. But the war is over, and I still have the dreams.”

She tilted her head to kiss his jaw, then his neck. Comforting kisses. She put her hand on his cheek and spoke gently.

“My aunt was right: eventually, life does go on, whether one wants it to or not. And we forgive ourselves for living when so many didn't. But you can't blame yourself for those you killed. I know it's not much comfort, but you were being a good soldier. Eventually, this will pass.”

He kissed her forehead and pressed his cheek into her hair. For a long time, he did not speak, wanting to hold on to her words, to her absolution. “When I was first back, I hated to hear lambs bleating. They sounded too much like the cries of the dying. But eventually the lambs sounded just like lambs. Then, one day I took joy at a sunrise without feeling guilty I had lived to see it; another day, I went on a horse ride and didn't wonder once how well my horse could turn or run under ambush.”

Still lying on his shoulder, she shook her head in agreement. “One day, I watched some horsemen ride off to a hunt, and I didn't find myself wondering how many would return. And eventually I awoke one morning and I found that I had not dreamed of James in a week, then in a month, and finally when I did dream of him, I didn't wake up crying.”

“He would have wanted for you to live without him. If he loved you . . .”

“He did love me, from almost the first moment we met.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Then he would have wanted you to have this as well.” And he turned her on her back, and kissed her from her lips to her toes.

* * *

Hours later, still lying in his arms, Lucy asked the questions she knew he needed to answer. “Tell me about Benjamin and Octavia.” She caressed the side of his head with long strokes.

He closed his eyes, breathed several times, then opened them. “Benjamin was my second eldest brother. Older than Aidan. He was ambushed with a group of other officers who were carrying orders to various divisions. Only two survived, but none of the bodies were returned to the regiment. Perhaps if I'd seen his body, I wouldn't have this feeling that he's alive. But if he were alive, he would have come home by now.”

“And Octavia? Who was she? A lover, fiancée, wife?”

“A devil.”

She touched his chin and turned his face to her. “And a lover.”

“Yes. Nothing about her was real, but I only learned that after I'd fallen in love with her. When I met her, I was young, and her attentions were flattering. She was vibrant and witty, and her company was much sought after. But she chose me. I fell in love with her before the end of our second dance.”

“She picked you because you were young—because she thought she could manipulate you.”

“Yes. I believe that is true.” He swallowed once, then twice. “When I discovered she was selling secrets to all parties and I informed my superior officers in Belgium, they refused to let me break it off with her. For months, my job was to take her to bed and pretend to confide in her the false information they gave me. And then when she was no longer of any use, it became my job to silence her.”

“They should have given that job to someone else.”

“She asked for me specifically, when she was under arrest in Belgium, living in the same house where she had welcomed all her lovers. I think she believed I would not harm her or that I would help her escape.”

“Or she knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to kill her and she wanted it to be someone who had genuinely loved her.”

“So the fact that I'm capable of smothering my lover doesn't give you pause.” He stared at his hands, rubbing the back of one hand with his opposite thumb.

She didn't answer. The silence grew long between them before she spoke again.

“There was a young soldier, French. His wounds were not so grave that he would not have lived if I had tended his wounds. But Englishmen were also wounded, and I was ordered to let him wait. I clasped his hand and promised I would return, that he would not die before I could take care of his wounds. He asked me to mail a letter to his fiancée if he died. But I refused, telling him to wait, that I would return.” She felt her throat close with tears, and she waited until she could speak without crying.

“He bled to death, from a wound I could have sewn up in ten minutes. He could have lived a long and happy life with the girl he loved. But I followed orders—and I wasn't even a soldier. I could have chosen not to. I could have chosen to save him. So you see: I murdered him just as if I'd put a pillow over his face.” She turned his face toward hers, laying both of her hands alongside his cheeks. “How can I judge you for the decision to follow orders? You saved other lives. Other men who will live long and happy lives with the girls they loved because of what you did. And you chose a kind way for her to die. You didn't tie her to a chair and beat a confession, or give her poison, or garrote her. No, you let her fall asleep and not awaken. You gave her more peace than she gave thousands of others.”