Echoes in Stone (21 page)

Nothing would be resolved sitting in the now cold water. She exited the tub, then dressed. She brushed her hair before the fire to dry it, fuming once again at the lack of a mirror. What nonsense. Mrs. Penrose had said there might still be some in the guest wing. If she found one, she could get a footman to move it to her room. Today of all days, she wanted to see the ways in which Dash’s lovemaking had changed her.

THE SIDEBOARD IN the morning room groaned with the usual fare. To Jessa’s surprise, the housekeeper awaited her.

“Miss Palmer, the captain suggested I might check in on you this morning, to ensure you have everything you need. Is there aught I can get for you?”

Jessa glanced about the room, shrouded as usual in darkness. Her bedroom windows had revealed what promised to be a sunny day. Without asking permission, she strode to the windows, then threw back the draperies. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Penrose! Isn’t it a lovely day?” Jessa smiled at the housekeeper. It wasn’t her fault her master demanded darkened rooms. Or refused to provide the basic necessity of a mirror for his guests. Or had abandoned his lover to have breakfast alone.

His lover.

Did it show? Did she even now carry his babe? She wrapped her arm around her waist, but couldn’t prevent the small smile. Did every woman experience this same peculiar mixture of joy and fear after making love? Of course, because it was Dash Tremayne who was her lover, there was the added spice of irritation in the mix. To the devil with it. Remorse could come later. For now, she needed action to burn off the nervous energy coursing through her. Drat Dash and his delays.

Ravenous, she selected a hearty breakfast. Perhaps it was the unaccustomed activities of the previous night, or perhaps it was that she’d been too nervous to eat much dinner. She skipped the apple butter. It reminded her of Dash’s apple-flavored kisses. Her current annoyance at him wouldn’t allow her to enjoy them.

“What are your plans today, Miss Palmer?”

“A mirror, Mrs. Penrose. I’m going to find a mirror and have it moved to my room. I have no idea why there are none at least in the guest rooms, but I’m tired of dealing without one. Perhaps you could suggest where I might look?”

“Miss Palmer, have you asked his lordship about this? He’s the reason there are no mirrors. Without his permission—”

Jessa pushed back her chair and stood. “Mrs. Penrose. the captain is out for the day. The mirror will be in my bedroom. The captain will never know it’s there.” Jessa smiled at the nervous woman. As long as she was going to do something forbidden, she may as well ask for the moon. “I’d also like to explore the east tower. I know you mentioned the towers were unstable, but the night I arrived, there was a light in that tower. Surely, that one, at least, should be safe?”

“Oh no, Miss, you’re mistaken.” Mrs. Penrose’s eyes widened. “There could be no light in that tower. As I’ve mentioned, ‘tis not safe to go there. If you insist on having a mirror, the rooms on the third floor, in the east wing, are most likely to have one. But not in the tower. Shall I arrange for a footman to accompany you?”

It would be easy to get lost in this vast house. However, she needed time alone to think about the last few tumultuous weeks, most especially about last night. She’d be meeting the captain for dinner. She had to be prepared. “Thank you Mrs. Penrose, but I should do well enough on my own. If I find something suitable for my needs, I’ll return for a footman. I’ll stay to that wing, so you’ll know where to find me should you need me. I’ll return in time for luncheon.”

She’d read enough of those silly romances where the heroine wanders off, gets lost, or encounters some misfortune before languishing away, locked in a trunk or some such idiotic thing. Utter ninnies, simply too stupid to live. She wasn’t about to be one of them. Far more sensible to provide her itinerary to a responsible person and prepare for emergencies. She pocketed candles and flint, then lit a hurricane lamp to carry with her, before setting out to explore.

Dash, for all his blustering, his ill-tempered moods, was an honorable man. She’d seen him with Holly, seen how gently he treated the child. She expected he’d be the same with her. Unless, of course, it had all been an act, to convince her to leave?

After last night, was he likely to propose? It was the honorable thing to do, particularly since she might now be carrying his child. Jessa laid a protective hand on her belly in the age-old gesture of expectant mothers.

A child who looked like Dash, with black hair and silver eyes. Or maybe like her, fair and green-eyed. It wouldn’t matter. Jessa shook her head. Holly had shown no fear of him. It couldn’t have been an act. No matter what, Dash would love and protect a child of his, just as Jack Palmer had loved and tried to protect her.

Marguerite would be furious. When Lily had first married Dash, Marguerite had written long letters to Jessa at school, praising Lily’s fortuitous catch of a husband, but the tone of her letters changed over the course of the five-year marriage. Marguerite had come to hate Dash, although she wouldn’t say why. Lily as well, especially in her last letters, had been increasingly strident in her views of Dash.

Then that last strange letter had arrived, begging Jessa to come, to rescue her from Dash. The letter written when Lily had already been five months in her grave. The letter, in Lily’s handwriting, but that couldn’t have been written by Lily.

Jessa shook her head. No. Dash would not abandon her, leaving her a ruined woman. Marguerite was wrong about him. And Lily had been known for her theatrics and overreactions. Dash would stand by her. They’d find the answers. Together. Jessa headed toward the guest rooms, smiling.

THE BEDROOMS WERE about as Jessa had expected. She began with the blue one that had formerly been hers. The room had been aired. It no longer reeked of scorched feathers and smoke. She didn’t enter, but surveyed the damage from the doorway. A shudder crawled down her spine. She’d nearly died here, in the same fiery manner that Lily died.

Lily had tried to save her. Susanna had tried to kill her. There was no answer for either case. Somewhere in this house, a woman roamed, a woman who looked enough like Lily to be able to impersonate her in the perpetual gloom of Tremayne Hall. One more mystery to solve before she and Dash could be happy. And safe.

Jessa wandered the halls in the east wing, opening door after door. Each room was much like the next. Sheets shrouded the furnishings, thick with dust. The rooms contained beds and dressers, chairs and vanities, but no mirrors. In some rooms, an empty frame gave evidence that a mirror once hung there, but there was no glass in any of them. Mrs. Penrose had said Dash smashed them all. Why? Only Dash could answer that.

In a room far down the corridor, Jessa finally found what she wanted. The oval shape under the sheet could be nothing else. She pulled the cover back, showering herself with a cloud of dust. Beneath it, she found a cheval mirror, which swiveled in its frame. For the first time in weeks, her image was reflected in something more than a small hand mirror. She held her lamp higher, stunned.

The grime on her face was to be expected. The paleness of the skin under the dirt was not. The purple smudges under her eyes weren’t the result of today’s explorations, but of too many sleepless nights. Too much worry. Too much listening for the echo of Lily in the cold stones of Tremayne Hall.

Just as the too-loose fit of her dress was a result of her illness. She moved closer, turning her head to examine the image. There, on the side of her throat. A strawberry bruise, just where Dash had sucked. Her hand flashed to her throat to cover the telltale blot; a flush rose on the pale cheeks. What on earth must Mrs. Penrose have thought, seeing that mark of passion on her this morning?

Another image flickered in the dusty mirror.

She held the lamp closer, examining the hazy reflection.

A figure moved in the caliginous light behind her. Only the face was visible.

In the mirror, Jessa saw her own eyes widen. Saw her hand flatten on her chest. Felt her heart tripping under her fingertips like the wings of a hummingbird.

The figure in the mirror smiled, but the gesture gave Jessa no comfort. The malevolent intent was plain in that smirk, in the winged brow above hooded eyes.

A voice hissed from the shadows. “You are too late Jessa. Now, you are out of time.”

27.

Someone planned for Lily to die that night…

THE CROFTER’S HUT was a total loss. Dash stood beside the charred stones of the foundation, surveying the damage. One of his staff, returning to his home in Treshire last night, had spotted the flames and reported it to Winston.

Too many odd things were happening. This hut had been abandoned for some time. There was no reason for it to have caught fire. Dash shook his head, kicking at the stones.

“Probably just a passing vagrant, careless with his fire.” Dash spoke to his horse, his only companion on this sunny morning. He poked through the ashes, but, thankfully, found no body among the ruins. Time, and the elements, would clean up the mess.

He climbed on his horse, heading back to Tremayne Hall. He kept to an easy walk, but his mind galloped. And every thought was of Jessa.

Jessa, so dangerously close to death for several days. Himself, likewise taken ill. The fire in Jessa’s room. He sucked in his breath. He’d come so close to losing her that night.

Jessa in the firelight, her gold hair tumbled about her shoulders, her petticoats at her feet. Last night should never have happened, but by God, he wouldn’t be sorry for it. He needed to talk to her tonight. To explain to her why he wouldn’t marry her
.
Couldn’t.

Dash glanced up. He’d come upon the entrance to the little copse where they’d picnicked that day. He guided his horse along the trail, then dismounted. He needed the tranquility of this quiet place, if only for a little while.

The peace of the glade surrounded him. The colors of the trees reminded him of the dress Jessa had worn last night, the way it had looked, tumbled into a cool, green heap around her feet.

Just as it had on the day he’d brought Jessa here, the sun shafted through the trees, into the heart of the clearing. Dash stepped into the shaft of light, closing his eyes, lifting his face as Jessa had done that day.

“Jessa, I can’t marry you”
.
He practiced the words. “I’m no good for any woman. I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve.” He let the warmth seep into his skin, relax his shoulders. “I can’t protect you. I failed to keep my mother safe. My fiancée. I failed Lily, though God only knows, I tried. She defied protection.”

Dash lowered his head, staring at the bluebells at his feet. They were the same shade as his daughter’s eyes. He shook his head, sighing. “I’m not even sure I can keep Holly safe anymore. But by God, I’m going to try, if it kills me. I won’t let her down. I won’t fail her, as I failed so many. But Jessa, oh Jessa…”

His conscience nagged at him. Dammit. He couldn’t protect anything, not even his heart. It did as it wished in spite of him. He’d lost control of his world. One little girl and one grown woman were able to sneak under all his defenses to steal the one thing he’d truly failed to protect: his heart.

Dash’s chest tightened, his breaths uneven. He couldn’t watch over Holly if he allowed a beautiful woman to distract him. Jessa. A beautiful, very dangerous distraction.

In the shade, the grass had sprung back, leaving no indication of their idyll. Only a few crusts of soggy bread remained as evidence. Next to them, overrun by ants, were the remains of two tarts. Lying next to them were the bodies of three dead birds.

A frown creased Dash’s brow. He stepped closer. Finding a dead bird was unremarkable. Finding three dead birds, in such close proximity to the remains of the tarts, was something else.

Dash stared, remembering the taste of lemon custard on Jessa’s lips. Lemon. Not her new favorite, Gillyflower apple. He’d fed it to her himself. Then he’d eaten an apple tart. He remembered relishing the sweet spiciness, the way it reminded him of the first time he’d first kissed Jessa, in the study.