Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (63 page)

~ ~ ~

The good, long cry was denied her. When she entered her bedroom she found a brown-haired woman brushing her hair by the dressing table. A sheer white lace nightrail barely covered the woman’s bosomy figure, and with her hair hanging past her waist, she looked ready to go to bed, though it was barely past four in the afternoon.

“Well, can’t a person have any privacy?” the woman cried, and stood upon seeing Bethlyn. She held the brush at an angle, almost as if she intended to hurl it.

“Who are you?” Bethlyn asked, taking in the open wardrobe, which contained expensive and elaborately beaded gowns.

“I could ask the same question of you,” the woman retorted, her gaze settling on Bethlyn’s pregnant form. “But from the looks of you I doubt you’re here for the entertainment. No gentleman would want to bed a pregnant woman, but then again, some of them are most peculiar.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Bethlyn grew exasperated. “Who are you?”

“My name is Grace.”

“Well, Grace, what are you doing in my room?”

“Your room? This is my room. Has been for a long time. You better speak to Perkins about accommodations. Maybe he can put you in with one of the other girls, but I don’t share my room with anybody.”

What was this woman jabbering about? Who in God’s name was Perkins and what other women did she mean? None of this made any sense to Bethlyn, but she’d been through hell the last few months and she wasn’t about to let this woman take over her room — the last remnant of her life.

Standing very near to Grace, she made her face quite bland, her voice frosty when she spoke to the woman as if she were a common servant. And for all Bethlyn knew, she might have been one who’d gotten uppity ways during Thomas’s absence. “I am Bethlyn Bris — Eversley,” she corrected, and very nearly choked on the name. “My father was the Earl of Dunsmoor and this is my room. I demand that you collect your personal items and leave, otherwise, I shall have you bodily removed.”

Grace stood quite still, almost as if she were in shock. “Are — you — married to Thomas Eversley?” At Bethlyn’s quick nod, Grace paled. “Thomas got married and you’re having his baby.” It was more of a statement than a question, and the true situation of Grace and Thomas clicked in Bethlyn’s brain. Grace, evidently, was Thomas’s mistress.

“I don’t want to cause you distress,” Bethlyn managed to say gently, seeing that conflicting emotions whirled within Grace’s eyes but not correcting her about the child’s sire.

“Would you mind leaving me alone while I dress and gather my things together?” Grace burst out. “I-I have much to do.”

“Of course,” Bethlyn mumbled, and gladly left the room to enter the large, drafty hallway. She felt sorry for Grace, knowing that the woman loved Thomas, but realizing that Thomas didn’t love her.

She wandered down the corridors, familiarizing herself with the house again. Woodsley was still beautiful, but something wasn’t right here. The portraits of her illustrious ancestors still hung on the walls, and the house was still spotless as far as she could tell. What was it that caused her unease?

She began to realize what it was when she passed a bedroom with door ajar and heard fluty female laughter coming from inside. Quietly peering into the room, she saw three very pretty young women, lounging around in skimpy attire on the bed and a chaise longue. They were talking among themselves about Lord Barrett and the Duke of Ellingsworth, both men whom Bethlyn remembered. It seemed the conversation was centered on the gentlemen’s prowess in bed. Bethlyn found their conversation, plus the fact that these women were there at all, almost as stunning as the transformation of the bedroom furnishings.

Remembering the simplicity of style and the muted colors of the room, she found the garish bed and accompanying furniture, as well as the thick red velvet and gold-fringed drapes, to be mind-boggling. What was going on here? she asked herself, and quietly moved down the passageway. If she didn’t know better she’d swear Woodsley had become a house of ill repute.

“I’m going to find Thomas,” she mumbled in determination under her breath. “I want some explanations.”

~ ~ ~

The explanations weren’t forthcoming until she sat near Thomas in the state dining room that evening. A great oval wine cistern of silver gilt rested on one of the gilt side tables, and was near to overbrimming with ruby red wine. Bethlyn wondered who was going to drink such a large amount as she nibbled at the portions on her plate. A man named Bartholomew Perkins dined with them, and from the sketchy introductions Bethlyn assumed he was somehow connected with Briston Shipping and appeared to be so at home that Bethlyn felt like an intruder.

Thomas ate with gusto, and it wasn’t until the servants had quietly cleared the table and he sat smoking a cheroot after Perkins had departed that she finally asked the question which had been burning a hole in her tongue for the last two hours.

“Who are those women upstairs?”

“Friends of mine,” Thomas answered blandly and sipped his wine.

“Why are they here, Thomas? I demand an explanation. Woodsley is my home, and I don’t like it resembling a … a, “ She couldn’t say the words.

“Tsk, tsk, You really should do something about that stammer, my dear.”

“As if they’re here for foul purposes!” she blurted out. Thomas laughed, his amusement turning his face red. He angered her to such an extent that Bethlyn threw down her napkin on the table and rose quickly to her feet.

“That is what’s happened here, isn’t it! My God, you’ve turned Woodsley, my home, into a brothel. Well, I won’t stand for it, I won’t. Get those harlots out of here. Now!”

Barely moving a muscle, Thomas grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. “Woodsley belongs to me just as you do. Don’t get high-handed with me. Remember you’ve been reprieved from my attentions until you’ve recovered from your brat’s birth. But rile me and I just might decide to overlook your delicate condition. Perhaps you’d like to join in the festivities tonight.”

Fear of that very thing caused Bethlyn to blanch.

Finally, seeing the fright on her face, Thomas released her.

“You’re a disgusting, evil man,” she said softly before leaving the dining room.

“I know,” he countered, not hiding a smirk. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~ ~ ~

From her window in her room Bethlyn watched as the first of the elaborate carriages began arriving one night, days later. Torches on the front of the house illuminated the silk and satin clothes worn by the gentlemen who left the vehicles to enter the house. She couldn’t help but to shake her head in disbelief. Many of these men she recognized, knowing they were all of the peerage and extremely wealthy — wealthy enough to openly partake in debauchery, and Thomas preyed on their vices, no doubt making a grand profit. Didn’t he ever tire of his lust for money? He had so much that he couldn’t possibly want for more.

A discreet and gentle tap on the door drew her attention away from the events transpiring downstairs. At her summons to enter, Tessie silently slipped into the room.

“My lady, I wish I could have warned you,” Tessie apologized after a few moments of conversation. “Woodsley is the home of the devil now.”

“Is Thomas more of a devil than my father was, Tessie?”

“Oh, yes, my lady. The earl had his faults. He was a cold, proud man who couldn’t unburden himself of his pain. He truly loved you, miss. I just know he did. But he wasn’t like Eversley or that lackey, Perkins.”

Bethlyn smiled sadly at Tessie, not able to believe her father loved her. “Was he very ill at the end?”

“Your father, you mean. I suppose he was. Mr. Eversley had just a few servants looking after him. They saw to his personal cleanliness and his food, but His Grace never left his room after Mr. Eversley moved in. Mighty strange it was, too.”

“Why, Tessie?”

Tessie cocked her head, deep in thought. “Well, His Grace seemed to be in fine form for a while, then all of a sudden he grew weak and feeble. This was shortly after Eversley came to live here. I never did like that man ordering His Grace’s servants around. But what was I to do? I needed the work, my lady.”

“I understand.” Bethlyn placed an arm around Tessie’s shoulders. “What happened after Eversley arrived?”

Tessie bit down on her lower lip. “Everything changed. His Grace stayed in his room while Eversley ruled the roost. Then one day the earl took bad and died. Eversley ordered the state bedroom shut up and locked. No one’s been in the room since the day His Grace died.”

“Not even Eversley?”

Shaking her head, Tessie said, “No. It was almost like he feared to go in there. That wing of the house is always locked.”

“I see;” Bethlyn mumbled, but shot Tessie a sly smile. “Would you happen to have a key to the wing and my father’s room?”

Tessie grinned and took two keys out of her ample pocket and handed them to Bethlyn. “His Grace always liked to have extra keys, just in case they might be needed one day. But you be careful going there at night like this. Mr. Eversley and his guests and the fancy tarts will be busy with their sick goings-on, but, my lady, please take no chances.”

“I won’t,” Bethlyn assured her. The desire to see her father’s room again and somehow feel a closeness to him which they lacked in life, squeezed her heart like an iron fist.

~ ~ ~

The candle glowed eerily upon the walls as Bethlyn climbed the stairs to the third floor and her father’s suite of rooms. Opening the locked door which guarded the wing, she smelled a musty odor and saw that the usually spotless carpets were threadbare and dirty. Apparently Thomas had forbidden the servants to clean this section much less enter it. She thought it a bit odd that for a man with Thomas’s greed, a man who longed to own everything the earl had possessed, didn’t choose to sleep in the state bedroom or use any of the other rooms.

Walking down the long hallway, Bethlyn bypassed her mother’s room and the large upstairs parlor where, as a child, Bethlyn had sat in her mother’s lap on those occasions when the earl was away. Vague patches of nursery rhymes and songs filtered in and out of Bethlyn’s memory suddenly, and she smiled to recall her mother’s melodious voice. When her mother held her tightly against her breasts and sang to her or read to her, her mother never stuttered as she was wont to do in her husband’s presence.

Soon she stopped at her father’s door, her hand shaking when she placed the key in the lock and turned the gilded knob. As a child she’d been in her father’s room only twice, and both of those times he’d been absent. But upon entering, she realized nothing had changed except the large state bed had been stripped bare of covers. The gold and red hangings surrounding it resembled staunch sentinels with nothing to guard. The dressing table which used to hold her father’s personal grooming items was empty, as was the adjoining dressing room.

Moving closer into the tomblike depths, she placed the candle on the night table beside the bed and quietly waited for emotions to wash over her, to purge her of the past. She forced herself to remember that this was where her father had spent his last hours. Yet she felt nothing, not love or hatred. To her mind, this room was as cold and empty as her father’s feelings for her. She’d come here, foolishly hoping to find a part of him that she could cherish, something of the warmth he’d always expressed for Jessica. Instead, she felt none of the torment she’d suffered these last months over Ian’s death, or any of the deep and abiding love she’d preserve in her heart for her husband until the day she died.

Then again, why should she feel anything for her father, a man who had despised her so much that he bequeathed all he possessed to a malevolent person like Thomas Eversley?

Sighing her defeat, which she knew was a rather odd way to feel since her father had always disappointed her during his life, she began to pick up the candle. The flickering light drew attention to and emphasized a white object on the floor between the massive bed’s headboard and one of the hangings. .

Bending down, her fingers curled around a piece of parchment. In the dim candlelight Bethlyn read the scrawly and nearly illegible handwriting, vaguely aware when her blood began to race and pound through her head at a sudden truth which hit her like the force of a gale wind at Hallsands.

Her father had loved her!

This letter was proof of that. He must have suspected Thomas was poisoning him, and she knew that his suspicions were correct. Tessie had told her that the earl had been on the mend until Thomas arrived. Why else would a highly intelligent man sign away all of his fortune to a manipulative solicitor if not for his weakened physical state? It was obvious Thomas had preyed upon Nathanial Talbot like a leech.

But for all the horror and shock and sadness which suddenly overshadowed Bethlyn, an immense joy filled her. Her father’s last physical effort was spent in trying to warn her, a clear indication that he had loved her, or at the very most, he had felt some fondness for her.

Tears sparkled in her eyes as she folded the letter into fourths and placed it in the bodice of her gown, next to her heart for safekeeping, not only because she would send Thomas Eversley to the hangman with such damning information, but because her father had cared about her.