The Heiress Effect (32 page)

“Tell your sister,” Freddy said, even more
cuttingly, “that if she cannot speak to me civilly—as I required
when I opened the door—that she’s no longer welcome here.”

“Very well! Don’t stop me.” Free strode to
the door. Her grand exit from the room was only partially foiled by
the intricate locks—she fumbled with them—but she still slammed the
door behind her once she’d worked them open.

Oliver stood.

“You’d better go after her,” Freddy said. Her
eyes darted to the locks, now hanging uselessly. She didn’t say a
word, but her breathing accelerated. “You don’t know—what’s out
there.” She swallowed. “It’s dark. She really shouldn’t be
alone.”

“She’ll be all right for a few moments.”
Oliver went to the door and redid the locks. “She won’t go outside.
She really does have more sense than that.”

All the ire went out of Freddy, but none of
the unease. She slumped in a seat. That, in and of itself, tugged
at Oliver. He sat down again, reached across the table, and took
her hand. “Freddy,” he said, “if it’s making you so miserable, why
do you keep fighting with her? I know she loves you. All you would
have to say was that you miss her, that you love her, and you could
end all of this.”

Freddy stared straight ahead. “I know,” she
whispered.

“Why do you persist?”

“Because she’s right.”

Oliver jumped. In all his life, he’d never
heard Freddy utter those words about anyone other than herself—or,
on rare occasion, people who agreed with her.

“She’s right,” Freddy whispered. “She’s
right. I’m trapped in here.” Her eyes glittered. “I’m too terrified
to go out, and yet here I’m stuck. Without anyone at all, with
nothing to do. I don’t even know who I am some days.”

“Oh, Freddy.”

“I opened the door yesterday,” Freddy said.
“I put one toe out before I had such palpitations of the heart that
I had to stop.”

Oliver put an arm around his aunt. “I’m so
sorry. Why can’t you tell her that, though? She’d understand, if
you’d just tell her that you’re
trying.”

“What, and admit that she’s right?” Freddy
snapped. “Not likely. I know exactly how I’m going to end this. One
day, I’m going to open my door. I’m going to walk down the stairs,
just like I’ve always been doing it. I’m going to open the front
door…” Her voice paused; her hands were shaking. “And I’m going for
a walk in the park.” She gave a nod. “And
then
I’m going to
write to her and tell her that she’s
wrong
. That I can go
outside, that I
did,
and that I’ll take no more of her
impertinence.”

“Freddy.”

She sighed. “Very well.
You
tell her
I’m trying,” Freddy said, and then before Oliver could promise that
he would, a mulish look crossed her face. “No,” she said. “Don’t
tell her. I want it to be a surprise. I want it
all
to be a
surprise. I’ll show her. I’ll show her
everything.”

He patted her hand. “I’m sure you will. Would
it help if I came over to assist you?”

“You’re a sweet boy, Oliver. Don’t have much
of your mother in you at all.”

Oliver stilled. “You think so?”

“Of course I think so,” Freddy replied. Her
gaze abstracted. “Some people, when they’re hurt…they remember the
challenge. They grab hold of the fire once, and when they’re
burned, they make plans, trying to figure out how to hold live
coals. That’s your mother. But some of us remember the pain.” She
reached out and patted Oliver’s hand. “You’re like that. You
remember the pain, and you flinch. When you were young, I thought
you were like your mother—a regular coal-grabber. But no. Now I see
more clearly.” She smiled sadly. “You’re like me.”

He let out his breath and looked at his aunt.
She probably intended that as a compliment. But the flesh under her
eyes had darkened. Her skin hung loosely on a too-thin frame. He’d
never known what she feared, what had made her this way. His mother
said that Freddy had never offered an explanation. Maybe, at this
point, she didn’t even remember it.

“I can come over more often,” he
repeated.

“No.” She shook her head. “Our monthly visits
will do, dear. Other people just make me nervous. Even you.” Her
chin went up. “But don’t worry about me. In another week…or so…I’ll
be in that park. Just you wait.”

He looked at her. Her jaw was set in place,
firm and yet quivering. Her eyes flashed with defiance.

“One day,” she said, “one day, I will walk
out that door and march around that park. One day soon.”

“I love you, Freddy,” Oliver said, and then,
because he knew it was true, he added, “Free loves you, too. You
know she does.”

“I know.” Freddy paused, bit her lip. “And
she’s out there all by herself.” Her hands shook. “You’d better go
after her, Oliver.”

Some hundred miles to the north of London in
Nottingham.

“She wasn’t here.”

The little grove Jane was in shielded her
from view. At the sound of that too-familiar voice, she rested her
head against the trunk of the tree. Better that than banging her
head against the rough bark in frustration. Not that she cared
about the damage to her forehead, but the noise might draw
attention, and that was the last thing she needed.

That last few months had been…difficult.
Annabel Lewis had warned her of this—that her aunt and Lord Dorling
had seemed a little too friendly when Jane wasn’t about. She hadn’t
wanted to believe it, but…

Jane looked up. The leaves on the trees were
no longer young; they waved in the morning breeze, rustling. And
her aunt, Mrs. Lily Shefton, harrumphed in the clearing behind
her.

It was still early—an odd time to be out, in
fact, but her aunt had insisted that this morning would do nicely
for a walk in this woodsy park on the outskirts of Nottingham. They
had come here, and her aunt had promptly absconded, leaving Jane
alone.

She had been trying to throw Jane together
with Dorling. Jane rolled her eyes. Whatever did she imagine would
happen?

“You’d think,” her aunt was saying from the
clearing, “that a little thing like a woman’s affection would be a
simple thing to capture. I’ve given you every opportunity, Dorling,
and you haven’t yet managed to pull the thing off. What is wrong
with you?”

“It’s not me. It’s your blee—your
recalcitrant niece.”

Jane couldn’t see Dorling’s expression, but
she could imagine it. The Honorable George Dorling thought a great
deal of himself. He’d importuned Annabel before Jane had arrived
and had presented a wealthier target. He had the usual rumors
attached to him—a baron’s second son, sent down from London for
raking and gambling.

“Well, hurry it up,” her aunt advised. “This
whole thing makes me feel dirty as it is. I told my brother I’d see
her married, and so I shall. If you can’t help, I’ll find someone
who can.”

“Yes, yes,” Dorling said lazily. “Do have a
little patience. It’s a delicate matter courting your niece. Is it
any surprise that she thinks I’m after her money? She has so much
of it to recommend her, and so little of anything else.”

Jane’s mouth curled in a reluctant smile.

Dorling wanted her money. Her aunt wanted her
gone. It was hardly a surprise that they’d formed an alliance. It
wouldn’t do any good, of course—Jane had no intention of marrying
anyone—but at least it gave her aunt a purpose. She was thankful
for small favors.

“This is unacceptable,” her aunt said,
cutting through Jane’s amusement. “My brother has everything in
readiness. He can’t act until you take care of the girl.”

Jane’s breath caught. Whatever could she
mean, her uncle had everything in readiness? That Jane needed to be
taken care of?

“I will,” Dorling said, “just as soon—”

“There is no time,” her aunt scolded. “He’s
more and more worried about her sister. She’s been acting
oddly.”

Unhappy
was the word Jane would have
used. Emily wasn’t allowed out, and her uncle exercised more care
now in making sure she did not slip away. It was small wonder that
her sister wasn’t her normal self.

But Aunt Lily wasn’t finished. “If the
doctors corroborate his fears, he’ll have her sent to the
Northampton Lunatic Asylum by June. It’ll be the best thing for
her, poor girl. You
need
to act now.”

Jane couldn’t help herself. She gasped
aloud—and then, when she realized what she’d done, she clapped her
hands over her mouth. Sent to an
asylum?
Emily was angry,
not mad.

And yet the last time Jane had visited, Emily
had mentioned doctors who had come only to ask her questions. Odd
questions. They’d shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it. But if
Titus were thinking of lunacy, those physicians had been examining
her mind, not her body.

It was a warm, sunny day, but Jane suddenly
felt cold all over. If Titus had Emily declared mentally unfit… It
would be awful.

She’d made a mistake. She’d simply accepted
the legalities of the situation. She should have absconded with her
sister months ago, and never mind the fact that it would have been
a crime.

The chill that traveled through her had
nothing to do with the weather.

“Don’t worry,” Dorling said. “Once she’s
mine, she won’t have any way to kick up a fuss.”

The cold that had worked its way into Jane’s
fingers seemed numbing. She had thought that her aunt only wanted
her married off. But the truth was far worse than that. Now she
could see the plan. If Jane married, she would no longer control
her fortune. All those threats she’d made to Titus were worth
nothing if she could not act. They meant to make her helpless, to
strip her of all support. She would be alone.

“We could end this tonight,” Dorling said,
“after the assembly, if you’d just let me into her room like we
talked about before.”

Jane had been cold before. She was ice now.
She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to believe her ears.

“And I told you,” her aunt snapped with some
asperity, “I refuse to feel dirtier about this than I must. It’s a
filthy business as it is. I won’t countenance rape, not for any
purpose.” There was a pause. “Besides, I doubt she cares for her
reputation that much.”

Jane clutched the trunk of the tree and
silently thanked her aunt. She was rude and awful, yes, and she was
conspiring against her. But for that, Jane could have kissed
her.

“I won’t need that,” Dorling said. “I can be
very persuasive. Trust me on this.”

No. Don’t trust him with anything.
But
Jane didn’t get a vote.

“I…well…” There was a long silence.

No,
Jane wanted to scream. Don’t
hesitate, not on that front either.

“I’d need your promise,” her aunt said
slowly. “Your promise that you’ll persuade only.”

Jane couldn’t bear to listen to the details.
She didn’t want to know what they would plan. Slowly, as quietly as
she could, she backed away from the clearing.

Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves,
made her imagine enemies coming for her. By the time she reached
the city streets, her hands were shaking.

She had to get out of this place, had to go
find her sister. Damn Titus’s guardianship—she should never have
respected it. He couldn’t put Emily away if Jane made off with her
first.

They could be on a ship by…

No. If she disappeared without explanation,
her uncle would have a telegram on his desk before Jane could
arrive in Cambridge. He would never let Emily out of his sight.

Sometimes, it felt impossible to get ahead.
She’d come to know Oliver Marshall and he’d left. She’d made
friends with Genevieve and Geraldine, but she’d been sent away and
they’d gone on to London. Now she was just beginning to make
friends with a few ladies here, but she was being ripped away from
them… And Emily, the one person she’d believed she could count on,
was in danger.

Companionship was an illusion, one that could
be snatched away at any moment. She’d been fooling herself. She
stopped in the street, her hands shaking.

She was alone, all alone.

No.
The thought came to her on a
whisper of warmth.
You aren’t.

That thought brought back a rush of memory—of
Oliver’s hands, his eyes. Of the heat of his mouth. She’d tried—and
failed—not to think of him in the months that had passed. It
wouldn’t do any good, she’d told herself. She would never see him
again. Thinking of him was a weakness.

So why, now, did thoughts of him make her
feel strong?

For one glorious moment, her heart skipped a
beat. The cold extremities of her fingers tingled with new life.
You’re not alone.

It wasn’t rational thought that brought her
down the street to her bank. It was a warm well of certainty. She
wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to be. She smiled at the clerk, who
knew her well. When she wrote out the amount she wanted withdrawn,
his eyes widened. But he didn’t argue. He simply counted the
bills.