The Mistress of Trevelyan (28 page)

My throat tightened with emotion so heavy I thought I'd choke. "How could you?" I whispered. "How could you do this to your brother?"

Stephen lifted his gaze to mine. I knew at that moment that I looked into the tortured eyes of a man living in hell. "I do not know. But she is dead because of it. Because of me."

"How?"

"She haunts me from the grave, you know. Just as she said she would." His words broke on a sob of pain.

I ran from him, from the bright sunny room so full of darkness, my sniffles increasing tenfold as tears fought their way to my eyes. Stephen didn't stop me from leaving. I don't think he was capable of stopping anything, even his cries.

Katherine exited her room just as I dashed by, but I didn't greet her. I was too upset. Francesca's murderer lived within Trevelyan Manor's walls. I was sure of it. But who?

I have nothing but dishonor to offer a woman.
Benedict's tortured words from last night loomed like a funeral pyre over my spirit. For I realized why I was so burdened with the tragic past, why I nearly swooned from his kiss, why I couldn't bring myself this morning to promise never to ask for his touch.

I loved him.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

By the time I reached my room, I'd slowed my pace to a brisk walk, but my thoughts continued to race. How could I have been so impractical to fall in love with Benedict, a man I could never hope to have? A man whom others believed capable of murder, but I couldn't?

Stephen had said Francesca died because of him, but he hadn't actually said he'd killed her. But then why would Francesca haunt him if he hadn't?

Why did Benedict have nothing but dishonor to give? When it came to him, my heart was a jumble of agonizing knots. I was so blind with the emotions swirling inside me that I didn't even see Constance until she called to me.

"Ann. I was just at your door, looking for you."

I stopped abruptly. "Is there something you needed, Constance?"

"Company. I am having Dobbs set up tea in the garden and thought you would like to join me."

A chat over tea was the last thing I wanted at the moment, but it seemed rude not to accept her offer. After their morning riding lesson, the boys were resting under Maria's care, so I didn't need to worry about them. But I had planned to work on their lessons this afternoon, my usual routine for Sunday afternoon. After speaking to Stephen and my looming meeting with Benedict this evening, though, I seriously doubted I'd be able to comprehend a thing.

And shamefully, having Dobbs see me enjoying the fruits of his labor had an irresistible appeal. "That would be lovely. Give me a moment to freshen up, and I will be right with you."

Unexpectedly, Constance followed me to my room, giving me no choice but to invite her in. In quick order, I went to the washstand and bathed my face, feeling as if I was a bit more flushed than usual, an understandable condition considering my agitated state.

In the mirror I saw Constance wander over to the bed curtains and run her hand across the cloudy blue silk. "She slept here often, you know.  My sister. Though this wasn't her room, she loved the color blue. I think she came here to dream, like a child who has a favorite spot to pretend the world was nothing but sunshine and rainbows."

A chill racked my spine. Francesca slept here? Dreamed here? Spent time here? Benedict had assigned me his wife's favorite room? Had insisted upon me using it despite my protests?

I shivered again. And what about last night's passionate encounter upon the blue bed? Was I a substitute for a wife who left him mired in scandal?

"I did not know she came here," I whispered.

Constance turned and smiled firmly. "Of course you wouldn't. It was silly of me to even say anything. I just could not help but remember."

"Your sister sounds as if she liked to smile a lot"

Constance shrugged. "To her, happiness was like stars in the heavens. She would gaze and gaze. She would dream and dream. But in the end they were never hers. I do not think happiness ever belongs to any of us here on earth. Are you ready for tea?"

My mind reeled. I blinked twice, then tried to focus on Constance.  She didn’t sound at all like the woman whose sole focus in life was fashion.  Nor did she act as if she’d said anything the least bit upsetting.   She'd already moved to the doorway, waiting for me.

"Yes,” I said, “tea would be good."  But in my mind I was thinking I needed a good dose of Benedict's brandy.

Dobbs waited in the garden. Chairs, small tables, and a silver tea service graced the ground next to the angelic fountain. Dobbs's expression drooped when he saw me with Constance.

Glad that I'd ruffled his cocky feathers, I pasted a smile on my face and took the chair he was forced to ready for me. After seating Constance, he inquired if anything else would be needed. He clearly addressed Constance, even going as far to angle his back to me. I noted that only cream and sugar accompanied the tea and biscuits.

I was not about to let him ignore me, or my own needs. "Yes, Mr. Dobbs. My throat is a tad scratchy this afternoon. Would you mind bringing me some lemon and honey to have with my tea?"

He turned my way with his long nose lifted high enough to be a bird's perch. I immediately imagined Puck sitting on it with his prickly claws digging in.

"Honey and lemon?" Dobbs's mouth puckered with disapproval. "Will there be anything else?"

"Some jam, please."

"Jam?"

"Strawberry if possible."

"Anything else?" he asked, his voice rising with annoyance.

I blinked innocently at him. "An extra napkin would be quite nice."

He opened his mouth as if he were about to ask again, but then gritted his teeth and turned on his heel. As soon as he stalked inside the house, I was surprised to hear Constance giggle.

"You are not easily daunted" she said, humor lighting her dark eyes. "We have more in common than I thought"

"I think if a woman does not stand her ground, especially in the West, she will end up like a tumbleweed being blown across the desert."

"True, but the results can sometimes be detrimental. Many who stand their own ground are buried beneath it."

I nodded, realizing there were probably more pine boxes in the ground than tumbleweeds on the desert. It was not a reassuring thought

Sunshine, spread about in warm fingers of light, cast a golden glow throughout the garden. Roses, bursting spots of red, pink, and yellow, crowned the bellflowers and phlox. The day was as serenely bright as it had been this morning when I'd laughed with Benedict, Justin, and Robert during the riding lessons. Only instead of warm, I felt chilled.

Dobbs returned with honey, lemon, a worn napkin, and blackberry jam, then left without a word. I preferred Cook Thomas's blackberry jam, and outwitting him was sweet indeed.

Constance poured the tea, and I added a healthy dose of lemon and honey to mine, hoping to soothe myself. But the turmoil within me seemed to repel any warmth and refuse any comfort as it held my mind captive to images of Stephen, Francesca, and Benedict caught up in a tragic and deadly play. The play ended in Francesca's murder just before the curtain closed, leaving Benedict holding a smoking gun. Yet I couldn't believe that to be true.

"Speaking of standing ground to one's detriment, Stephen and I encountered the governor's sister, Mrs. Harriet Hampton, this morning. She wore an appallingly antiquated bloomer outfit and was handing out notices of a meeting for the Women's Equal Suffrage Society. The woman has no sense whatsoever."

I took another sip of my tea before commenting. Her opinion surprised me. Though my mother and I had had little opportunity to publicly discuss the unfairness of women's place in society, we'd read every article that we could find on the subject. She'd been disappointed that the suffrage movement had made no difference in her life. Twenty-five years ago, accounts of the Women's Rights Convention had promised so much more, but very little victory followed. "You do not believe women should be given equal consideration?"

Constance shook her head. Her teacup rattled, and she set it down, then folded her hands with deliberate slowness. "Experience has taught me that real power lies in not letting a man know what you want. Then he can never stand in your way. I do not waste my time with dreams of the impossible, which is exactly what women's rights in a man's world are. I thought you too smart to believe in fables."

"I believe in truth."

"What is a fable but an unobtainable truth?" She paused, smiled sadly, then picked up her tea. "Francesca believed in truth and love."

Learning about Francesca was more important than philosophical differences. I seized the opportunity. "Tell me about your sister. Perhaps I could help Justin and Robert more if I knew what she was like."

Constance set down her tea, picked a biscuit, and spread a bit of jam on it, her expression sad. "What was Francesca like? A delicate flower too fragile for this world. I loved her. Growing up she was always ill, and I always tried to help her, make her happy. But she was sad."

"Stephen said her favorite game to play with Justin was 'making sunshine.' That sounds like a woman who loved to smile."

"Stephen's a man, and men only see what they want to in a woman, whether it is true or not, no? Now, you must tell me what you know about steamships."

"You mean steamboats?" I questioned, thinking Constance had more than just a leisurely chat over tea in mind before she asked me. The conversational change was too abrupt, or her grief over losing her sister was still too painful.

"Ah, yes, steamboats. I am so used to speaking of vessels as ships, forgive me. This morning Stephen took me for a ride on one in the bay, and I find that I was quite taken with the experience. I say to myself, Constance, these steamboats Benedict is investing in may be a good thing."

I explained what I knew of how pressure from steam forced parts of an engine to move, which in turn propelled the inner workings of boats and trains. Constance shook her head and waved her arm.

"You misunderstand me. I have no interest in such things. I would like to know more about the usage of the steamships."

I shrugged. "Steamboats have been essential to travel and the shipping of goods along rivers for years. I know here in the bay, they ferry cargo and passengers from ships to docks all along the bay. More than that, I cannot tell you. Why don't you ask Stephen or Benedict?"

She waved her hand with annoyance. "Stephen will tell me anything, whether he truly knows the answer or not, just to make me happy. And Benedict is worse. He does not think I should ever concern myself with business and will not tell me anything at all. I used to be able to count on Alan, then he..."

Her voice trailed off, and I waited for her to continue. I recalled their encounter in Holloway Park, and once again I wondered what they had fought about. "You mean Mr. Henderson?" I prompted.

"Yes. An infuriating man at times. He seemed to be quite taken with you, once he accepted your role as a governess. He is not one to put a tremendous amount of importance on class. You would do well to encourage his interest."

I nearly dropped my teacup and had to set it quickly down. "I beg your pardon?"

Constance settled a firm expression on her face, her gaze piercing. "Though from different stations in life, we are both women without a man in a man's world, Ann. A very difficult position to be in, no? I merely mentioned that should you wish to improve your lot in life by marrying... well, he is a good man. I believe Alan is due to visit again soon."

I stared at her a moment, completely unsettled. "I am surprised to hear you say such a thing, considering the apparent intimacy of the argument you had with Mr. Henderson in Holloway Park." I lifted a questioning brow.

"We merely settled an old argument." She set her cup on the table and stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from her skirt. "My, I have no idea where the time went, but I am afraid I must go now. I will see you at dinner shortly. Thank you for joining me." She nodded a smile and turned to leave.

The argument hadn't looked old or settled to me. I stood, feeling as if I had to say something. Her suggestion that I'd form any kind of an alliance just to improve my station in life disturbed me greatly. Never would I do such a thing. She had to know that. But I saw Dobbs coming our way, and I had to let the subject drop until later. Nodding curtly in Dobbs's direction, I decided to go rest in my room a short while before dressing for dinner and meeting Benedict in his study.

For the first time in my entire life, except for the morning I'd first gone to the stables, I was late, and not by mere minutes. I was over a quarter of an hour late. I'd fallen asleep while resting on the settee and had awoken just minutes ago. My cheeks were hot from embarrassment and my mind fuzzy with sleep. Indeed, I likened myself to a cart behind a runaway horse that would upend and crash at any moment.

And I knew that moment would be in Benedict's study. This time I was determined to own up to my behavior and to assure him no such lapses would occur again.

I marched right to his study and knocked firmly. He opened the door. "Mr. Trevelyan. It is of utmost importance that I speak to you immediately about a matter. Last night when you—"

"Miss Lovell," Benedict's voice boomed over mine. "You are late for our appointment, but it is just as well." He motioned to the room behind him. "Stephen and Alan needed to consult with me on a matter, and we were just finishing."

"Oh," I gasped, blinking at the shadowy images standing in Benedict's study. I am not sure if my eyes had trouble adjusting to the dimmer light, or if shock over almost revealing what happened last night had me unsettled.

Mr. Henderson came my way. "Miss Lovell. It is so lovely to see you again." He took my hand in his. His greeting of me seemed so much different than when I'd first met him. Before he'd made me feel as if I didn't belong at the Trevelyan family dinner, but now he didn't seem to shun me at all.