Authors: The Other Groom
Lisa Bingham (12 page)
“Yes,” John agreed. “It was awful.” His eyes darkened with remembered sadness. She frowned, wondering why, at times like this, she felt as if she’d met this man before.
Impossible.
For some time, there was only the sound of the horses’ hooves and the squeak and rattle of the carriage. Bit by bit, the space between buildings increased. Soon verdant farmland and green, rolling hills surrounded them on either side.
“It shouldn’t be much farther,” John said at one point.
Leaning forward, she continued to track their progress, her pulse growing quicker.
What would she find at the end of her journey?
Excitement caused her limbs to tremble as she realized that she’d already received far more than she could have ever dreamed possible.
She could only hope that her friend Phoebe’s new life had proved to be all she’d expected, as well.
For an instant, Louisa felt a twinge of guilt. She really had been beastly to Neil Ballard. She’d abandoned him to a lifetime with a stranger, all without his knowledge.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all. What could possibly be wrong when my life here is about to begin?”
As if on cue, the carriage slowed and turned onto a lane flanked on either side with large brick posts supporting an iron gate. The gate had been propped open in anticipation of their arrival.
“We’re here,” Louisa breathed.
Large trees grew on either side of the lane, plunging them into dappled shadows as the horses trotted down the winding track. Louisa inched forward in her seat, both hands resting on the windowsill. When the carriage topped the rise to disclose a castlelike manor house waiting in the valley below, her body tensed in disbelief.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that her husband-to-be would prove to be this wealthy. The home before her rivaled many of the grandest she’d witnessed in England.
Immediately she was humbled by the inheritance she had received from Charles and the opportunity she had to live in a place such as this.
With that thought came the realization that she had only one way to pay her debt of gratitude, and that was to take care of Evie as if the child were her own. From this moment on, she would care for Evie’s vast fortune and landholdings with infinite care. Louisa must never let it be said that she’d somehow failed in her responsibilities, no matter what personal sacrifices such a commitment might cost her.
The weight of that promise rested heavily on her shoulders. Suddenly she understood why Charles had felt it necessary to change his will so quickly after the proxy marriage. He must have been a man who prepared for every contingency in building his vast empire, and he wouldn’t dream of leaving his daughter’s future to chance.
The facade of the castle grew larger and larger as they descended the drive and pulled to a stop in front of the massive front staircase. Louisa didn’t wait for John to help her. Instead, she opened the door to the carriage and stepped down upon a drive made of crushed pink shells.
As the other vehicles appeared on the hill behind her, she stared up, up, to the tips of the mock battlements. From this closer vantage point, she could see that the house was in need of a feminine hand. The flower beds were unruly and the windows were covered in grime.
A sense of importance caused her shoulders to straighten. The house was in need of a woman’s touch.
Her touch.
The second carriage pulled to a stop behind them and Grover Pritchard climbed out. Smiling encouragingly at Louisa, he said, “You are finally home, Mrs. Winslow.”
Bitsy jumped from the carriage and began to race around them in circles.
Louisa couldn’t help but smile in return. “It feels good to stand on solid ground and know I won’t have to leave again anytime soon.”
“Perhaps your health will improve now that you aren’t living the transient life.”
She tipped her head. “My health?”
Mr. Pritchard’s mouth worked soundlessly and his cheeks lost their color.
“Mr. Smith mentioned that you…hadn’t been feeling well.”
Louisa glared at John, who merely ignored her as he wrestled with her wriggling lapdog.
“I can assure you, Mr. Smith, that my…ill health has been nothing more than a bout of sadness.”
Mr. Pritchard beamed at her. “I’m so pleased to hear you say that. The next few days will be challenging enough for you, I’m sure.”
She nodded, at a loss for any other response. She dreaded the ceremonies to come—the laying in and the funeral. But she also comforted herself with the fact that she was done traveling for a while, and if need be, her “grief” would give her ample excuse to be alone.
The door to the manor opened and Louisa turned, eager to meet the staff who had arrived to greet her. But rather than servants, she was met with the stony glare of a tall, grim-faced man and a smaller woman with eyes the color of melted toffee.
“Mrs. Winslow, may I present your husband’s family? They live here for most of the year, as well.”
Family? Charles had family?
Louisa was suddenly at a loss. In all her meetings with Mr. Pritchard, he had never once said that Charles had any living relations other than Evie—nor had he mentioned that these relatives would be occupying the manor.
“This is Boyd.”
Boyd appeared to be in his forties. He had angular features deeply creased and weathered from ample time in the sun. Nevertheless it was his icy gaze that caused Louisa’s throat to tighten with nerves.
He didn’t like her—that much was evident.
The woman, on the other hand, smiled warmly in Louisa’s direction. Small and petite, she reminded Louisa of a sparrow—quite ordinary, but charming and inexplicably reassuring.
“This is Beatrice,” the lawyer said.
“I’m sorry,” Louisa apologized. “I didn’t hear how you were related to Charles.”
Pritchard’s eyes widened in shock. “Boyd and Beatrice are Charles’s younger siblings.”
Brother? Sister?
Louisa’s confusion increased. There had been no mention of a brother or sister in Charles’s will. She would have remembered.
So why had Charles left her a fortune and ignored his own siblings?
Moreover, why had Evie been entrusted to Louisa’s care rather than that of an aunt or uncle?
S
ilence settled over the little group gathered around the manor steps. An awkward, uncomfortable silence. Even Bitsy had the good grace to shrink back in John’s arms and make herself as invisible as possible.
Summoning what she hoped was a gracious smile, Louisa lifted her hand and took a step forward. “I’m so please to meet you… Boyd.”
The man’s expression didn’t soften an iota. If anything, his gaze became even harder and his lips pressed into a narrow line. He made no attempt to meet her halfway or to take her hand, and Louisa felt a betraying heat seep into her cheeks.
“So this is the latest money-grubbing ne’er-do-well that our brother has brought home,” he growled.
Louisa froze, stunned by the dislike and disapproval that dripped from the man’s tone.
“You must be proud of yourself. You’ve been the only wife to outlast the old coot—and inherit a chunk of the family wealth to boot, I’m sure.”
“Boyd, please.” Beatrice rushed forward to place a hand on her brother’s arm. “You’re being rude.”
“Rude? How can a woman such as this deserve anything less? She’s nothing more than a—”
“Boyd!”
Boyd stood with his hands clenched, then abruptly turned. “I’ve got work to do.”
His boots thumped hollowly as he strode away, slamming the heavy front door behind him.
For several long moments there was no other sound, only the faint cooing of a dove—a mournful sound that merely underscored the gloomy atmosphere that had settled over the assembled group.
Beatrice wrung her hands together. “Please, I know that my brother’s actions have been unforgivable, but try to excuse him. Charles’s death has left so many extra burdens on his shoulders that…” Her words petered off as she realized Boyd’s actions had been beyond polite explanation.
Forcing a smile to her lips, Beatrice lifted her skirts and quickly descended the steps. “I am so pleased to meet you, Louisa. It is Louisa, isn’t it?”
Louisa nodded, still numb from Boyd’s hostile reception.
But if Boyd’s reaction to Louisa’s arrival had been venomous, his sister’s was delighted.
“I’m so sorry that we weren’t able to make preparations for a more proper welcome. We only just received the news of Charles’s death and his marriage in a telegram that arrived yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Louisa echoed, horrified.
When she turned to question Mr. Pritchard, Beatrice quickly explained, “We’ve been away, you see. Boyd has been in Chicago on business, and I’ve been tending to an elderly aunt, who has also recently passed. If we’d known that Charles was ill…”
Beatrice’s voice caught, but after dabbing her eyes, she fixed a beaming smile on her lips. “You must be exhausted. Traveling always makes me so tired, even if only a short distance. Come, let’s go into the house.”
She looped her arms through Louisa’s, drawing her forward. “With our own late arrival, the house is in turmoil, but I have managed to set up a room for you in the east turret—one of the prettiest, in my opinion. It’s a bit stuffy after being closed up for so long, but I opened the windows early this morning, so it should be fairly comfortable by now.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely.”
With one last glance over her shoulder, Louisa allowed herself to be pulled into the house—and from there into her new life.
As he watched Louisa disappear into the dark interior of the castle, Neil felt a twinge of foreboding.
Even knowing what he did about the inheritance that Charles had left his wife, Neil hadn’t anticipated that the man’s wealth could be so encompassing as to include a home this large and this luxurious. By stepping within its doors, Louisa was entering a new life, a privileged future…
But damn it, she wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
A slow anger built within him as Neil realized his mistake. He should have found a way to keep Louisa in New York—or to make her admit the truth about her charade. By bringing her to Winslow’s home, he had allowed her to step deeper into temptation.
And what person would willingly give up such luxurious trappings for a humble home in Oregon?
Damn, damn, damn. What could he do to change her mind?
I’ll do whatever it takes,
he vowed to himself.
Turning to the solicitor, Neil asked, “Mr. Pritchard, does this place have a staff of any kind?” He would need to take extra precautions for safety in a house this size.
“If Boyd and Beatrice have been out of town, I doubt that more than a skeleton staff has been in residence.”
“I want to interview all of them before the day is over.”
“Very well.” If Grover resented being ordered about by a hired man, he gave no sign. Perhaps the shooting at the station had served some purpose, after all.
Mid-Atlantic
Ritchie reluctantly approached the man who stood at the deck railing staring out at the vast, limitless horizon.
Pausing a few feet away, Ritchie waited until Horace Haversham acknowledged his presence.
“The captain says the steam sloop is making good progress. We should dock in Boston within the next ten days.”
“And my brother?”
“His is a sailing vessel. He’ll arrive at least a week behind us.”
“Good.”
Haversham gazed out at the horizon. “I swore that I would never go to sea again.” He gestured to the water around them. “If anything, this should prove the depth of my anguish for the past twenty years. I had no idea how far my brother would go to reach his own ends. When I was asked to further our business interests in Hong Kong, he hired most of the crew. Little did I know that he’d arranged for pirates and renegades to make up most of the crew. We’d hardly navigated around the Cape of Good Horn when they attacked me and a few loyal sailors. We barely managed to escape with a lifeboat and our lives before they took over the ship and set sail for regions unknown.”
His eyes closed as if the memories swamped him.
“A-at least you had the lifeboat.”
“Yes, at first glance it would seem to be a blessing, wouldn’t it?” His eyes seemed to burn. “I soon learned there were worse fates than dying.”
Ritchie felt a cold finger trace his spine.
“There were four of us on the lifeboat. Four weeks later, when the boat ground ashore, I was the only survivor.”
Four weeks?
Ritchie wondered how anyone could have survived so long.
“My brother will pay,” Haversham growled. “He will pay for the indignities I was forced to endure as I fought to survive.”
Indignities?
Ritchie swallowed hard against the tightness gripping his throat. Surely, Haversham didn’t mean…cannibalism? It wouldn’t be the first time that Ritchie had heard of such a desperate plight occurring. Yet he’d never known anyone who would…who
could…
Ritchie took a deep, calming breath, realizing anew the danger he was in. If this man had been forced to a point of eating human flesh, there was probably nothing he wouldn’t do to get his retribution.
Dearest Diary, Nearly a day has passed. Even now, as I sit in front of the turret window and peer out at the weed-infested yard beyond, I find my new surroundings hard to believe. Life at the Winslow estate is definitely not what I’d anticipated upon first seeing my new home.
When I’d gazed up at the castle from my perch in the carriage, I imagined that I’d just stepped into the realms of a fairy tale.
It took only a night in the house to help me realize the truth—and it is far from the fantasy that I had envisioned.
As Beatrice ushered me inside, the woman explained that the house truly was hundreds of years old. Charles had bought the structure for a pittance from an impoverished viscount in France. He’d then dismantled the structure and had it rebuilt in the Massachusetts countryside.
Unfortunately, the process had been done with only a few concessions to modernization. Therefore, the castle is cold, drafty and dark—
Louisa took a deep breath.
—and musty, too.
For the first time, I am inclined to believe that it might have been better for Evie to have spent so much time at boarding school. A place such as this could not be healthy for a child, and judging by what Beatrice has told me, the house is often empty, with Charles and Boyd away on business and Beatrice visiting family.
Changes will have to be made, that fact is evident. If I am determined to have Evie live at home—and I am—then the castle must be brought up to snuff. I will have to talk to Mr. Pritchard right away.
Then there is the matter of Mr. Smith.
Blast it all, can’t the man leave me alone? Even now, after we are installed in the safety of the Winslow estates, he dogs my every move. He has already surveyed the castle, the estate, and interviewed the staff—a point that galls me no end, since that should have been my first duty.
My only victory came when I flatly refused to let him sleep in a room adjoining my own. Yet, after fretting most of the night over Boyd’s treatment of me, I’d grown sick with nerves. When I left to visit the water closet down the hall, I found John Smith sitting in a chair outside my door.
Even now, I can feel myself blush. It’s disturbing that John knows so much about me. He must think I’m a foolish, vapid woman prone to fits of swooning and vapors, with a disposition so nervous that I should be under a doctor’s care.
Grimacing, Louisa forced herself to breathe deeply to ease the flip-flopping of her stomach.
In the past, I’ve been able to control my emotions easily enough. But the voyage to America was a continual bout of seasickness for me. The nervousness I’ve felt since then has not allowed my constitution to return to rights.
But now my new life has started. Today, I will make the last of the funeral arrangements and retrieve Evie from the boarding school. Then, at long last, I can begin to ease into a familiar routine. One that should serve me well as Mrs. Charles Winslow III.
When Louisa emerged from her bedroom, Neil rose from the chair where he’d spent most of the night.
“Good morning, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Can’t you find a room to sleep in?”
Neil resisted the urge to grin. “I don’t think that would be the best idea, do you? How can I guard you if I can’t even hear your cries for help?”
She offered him a pained sigh, then brushed past him without another word.
Following her, Neil studied her with narrowed eyes. Only hours earlier, she had been pale, shaky and obviously ill, yet now…
She looked the picture of health.
A niggling suspicion pushed into his head, but he forced it aside. No. It wasn’t possible. This woman was so startled by his embraces, so innocent in her responses that she couldn’t possibly be suffering from…
Morning sickness?
The recurring thought had the ability to blacken his mood. If it were true, it would explain a good deal about Louisa’s actions—her haste to marry after so many years of writing to Neil, her willingness to trade marrying an old acquaintance for marrying a stranger.
Her quick response to his embrace.
No.
He couldn’t believe it of her.
He didn’t want to believe it of her.
The idea of another man touching her so intimately caused his jaw to clench. Surely the woman he’d written to for years would not have given herself away so freely. Nor would she have passed off another man’s child as Neil’s.
But how could he really know that? Years of sporadic correspondence could not make him an expert in judging her character. For all he knew, Louisa could be a wanton creature who routinely fell in and out of love. Her own passionate response to Neil’s embraces could give credence to such behavior, as could her willingness to exchange the predictable life she would have had in Oregon for one of luxury in Boston.
No. Although he had no evidence to the contrary, Neil sensed an innocence about her.
But if she were pregnant, then that innocence had been compromised.
By choice or by force?
His scowl deepened. What desperate measures might have made Louisa lower her guard? He knew there had been some trouble with her last position. The husband or son had caused a scandal, and Louisa had been blamed.
What if there had been more to the situation than mere gossip and conjecture? What if the man had truly compromised Louisa’s virtue?
What if she had been a willing participant?
A slow anger began to simmer deep in his belly. One way or another, Neil would get to the bottom of it all. If he discovered his suspicions were true, he would wash his hands of the woman and be done with the situation once and for all.
And if not…
He wasn’t sure what he would do.
Breakfast was a charming affair, with Beatrice playing hostess. Beatrice and Mr. Pritchard kept a running conversation going, giving Louisa a history of the house, some information on each servant and points of interest nearby.
Again, Beatrice apologized profusely about her brother’s behavior—especially when Boyd’s only appearance was to walk into the breakfast room, see the group assembled at the table, then turn on his heel and shout for the cook to take his breakfast to his study.
But the meal was delicious—hot bread, bacon, eggs, fresh fruits and thick mush drenched with cream and honey. Juices, coffee and tea were offered as accompaniments, but Louisa chose the rich steaming chocolate—a special recipe that Beatrice had brought back with her from a recent trip to New Orleans.
After Mr. Pritchard excused himself to speak with Boyd, the conversation became more personal. Beatrice soon discovered Louisa’s love for romantic literature—a passion she shared. When Louisa confessed that she was trying to write a novel of her own, Beatrice invited her to join her each morning for a cup of cocoa so that they could discuss her ideas. The morning’s “gentilities” proved to be a balm to Louisa’s spirit, and the women vowed to make the event a daily ritual.
As she followed Beatrice on a tour through the house, Louisa’s mood lightened. Until now, she hadn’t realized how she had longed for a friend in her new home.
