The Perfect Duke (22 page)

He stared after her. Was he making a mistake? Perhaps. But at least Cara had remained at Belcraven where he could be assured of her safety.

With a sigh, he leaned back against the cool stone of the building. It really didn’t make any difference whom he married. The only woman he had ever wanted was out of his reach forever.

Treachery can come from even the most ordinary places in your life. You must always be on guard.

Bashful / Snow White

Cara let the lace curtain drop from her trembling fingers and glanced at Esther, who was busy packing the last of Cara’s belongings. The carriage had arrived. Her stomach lurched, making her glad she hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast.

She surveyed her room for anything she might have left behind. The bedroom appeared exactly as she’d found it, aside from the sealed letter propped against the cherub-covered powder dish on the dressing table.

Making a point of avoiding that part of the room, she crossed to Esther. If she went anywhere near that dressing table, she’d change her note yet again.

It had taken all her resolve not to show her hurt and disappointment in her writing. Instead, she’d simply told Garret she knew of her heritage and asked him not visit her at the Pemberton’s. Not that he would, if what her mother had said about the families was true.

With a sigh, she realized trust was one of the greatest things that had been taken from her. She used to have faith that most people told the truth, but it seemed truth often varied according to a person’s perspective.

Esther closed the trunk, then sat on the lid, her shoulders slumped. “I wish you’d wait for His Grace. I don’t trust those Pembertons.” A contrite expression crossed her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you. It’s just that . . . Are you
sure
Lady Pemberton’s your mother?”

Cara tried to give the maid a reassuring smile, in spite of her own misgivings. “I remember her.” The memory of the woman by the trellis had always been vivid, but just because they resembled each other, did that make Lady Pemberton her mother? She squared her shoulders. Now was not the time to succumb to doubts. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

She checked the contents of her reticule, then tightened the draw cord. The only thing she could be sure of was that she had to leave. If Garret returned, she wouldn’t know what to say. It was obvious he had believed in her heritage enough to bring her here and no matter what, that meant he’d lied to her.

Esther stood. “I’ll get the footman to take this down.”

“Wait. I have something for you.” Cara crossed to the window bench and slipped a white bundle from beneath the cushion. “I know you’ve always been fond of my ‘Maid in the Tower’ nightgown, so I thought you should have it.” She held the gown up, and the soft white material fell gracefully from the dozens of tiny tucks she’d used in the bodice. A long row of loops down the front closed over boned buttons she’d sewn on every inch or so, and she’d edged the cascading sleeves in lace.

“O-h-h-h.” Esther’s wide eyes glistened. “Are you sure?” She continued to gaze at the gift with awe.

“Yes.” Joy bubbled up in Cara, the first she’d felt in twenty-four hours. At least there would be a small part of her left behind at Belcraven. “I can always make another, and if you practice, you’ll soon be able to make your own.”

“Never like this.” Esther took the present and crushed it to her breast. “Thank you.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “Oh, Miss McClure, we’re going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss everyone here as well.” Cara captured her trembling bottom lip between her teeth and turned before she broke down. She was done with crying.

Without a backward glance, she swept out of the room and down the stairs, pausing a moment to stare at the carved birds of prey at the base—strong, arrogant, controlling—so similar to the master of the house. He’d thought to decide her fate through deceit and treachery, but she was taking back her life.

A crowd had gathered by the time she arrived at the carriage emblazoned with the Pemberton crest. The rampant griffins with a single swan on a blue background
did
seem familiar.

Rachel tugged at Cara’s cloak. “Why do you have to leave?”

The girl stood next to the carriage door and Cara shifted her out of the way so the footman could hoist her final trunk onto the roof. “We’ve discussed this.” Cara plucked at one of Rachel’s curls and gave her a smile. “I’m going to visit my mother.”

“Why can’t I come with you?” The girl glanced up at the carriage driver. “I don’t think Uncle would like you to go by yourself.”

Cara bent down and gazed into the little girl’s soulful eyes. “I’ll be fine. Your parents will be home soon, and you won’t even miss me.”

Rachel threw herself at Cara and wouldn’t let go. Unable to pry her lose, she glanced over at Mrs. Shaw, who was busy dabbing at her eyes with her apron, and Timmons, who was giving her his most disapproving look. “I could use your help.”

Both the servants had spent long hours last night trying to dissuade her from this course of action. Rather than come to her rescue, Timmons patted his chin with his index finger and raised his eyebrows. “Well done, little mistress.”

“Stop encouraging her.” She gave the valet one of her best schoolmistress expressions. “This won’t change things.”

“Oh, if you must.” He moved forward and managed to restrain Rachel, who promptly buried her face in Mrs. Shaw’s ample waist and began to sob.

“I’ll write.” Cara could barely hear her shaky voice above Rachel’s outburst. She didn’t trust herself to glance at any of them again and instead, not waiting for a footman, she opened the carriage door and entered the dim, curtained interior, surprised to find two other people inside.

The horses jerked forward and she struggled to close the door, then fell back into the seat. She attempted to make out the other passengers’ identities through her tears and the sudden darkness. Had her mother decided to come after all?

Her vision cleared and her hand clasped the cool metal fastening on her traveling cloak. “What are you doing here?” Cara gazed at the opposite seat, her mouth open, her attention jumping from Mr. Russell to her benefactor, Lady Margaret.

She hadn’t seen Lady Margaret for years. And why would Mr. Russell be with her? Dread coursed through her body. “Has something happened to Papa?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your precious papa.” Her father’s friend was gazing at her in a peculiar manner, rather like a wolf that has spotted its prey. Unease crept through her, heightened by the dark, enclosed space. Something wasn’t right.

The old woman shook her head, her expression very disapproving, as though she’d just caught Cara stealing a sweet. “I’d have expected better sense from my granddaughter.”

Cara felt as if she’d missed a step and waited for her stomach to catch up with the rest of her. Her benefactor was her grandmother? “Pardon?”

Her self-proclaimed grandmother adjusted the tie on her old-fashioned bonnet. She wore black, lace gloves that Cara remembered from their brief encounters as a child. No matter the time of day, she’d refused to remove her hand covering.

“You never guessed?” The old woman “tsk’d” then laced her fingers together in her lap. “Truly a naïve child. The vicar should never have filled your head with such fancies—no room for reality.”

“Did Mother send you?”

“Your mother?” The old woman cackled, a dry rasping sound that scratched its way up Cara’s spine. “Her carriage won’t be by for hours yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You never have.” Mr. Russell’s smug voice had an edge she’d not heard before. “Poor little Cara. If only your father had agreed to your marriage.”

“Someone wanted to marry me?” Surely Papa would have told her.

“I did.” His lip curled, giving his face an evil cast that made Cara press back into the seat.

Mr. Russell had asked for her hand? None of this made any sense.

“You’re mine.” Mr. Russell’s hands closed into fists. “You’ve always been mine. But the old fool wanted to let you choose your husband, then he allowed you to go traipsing off to Belcraven.”

“Papa’s not a fool! How dare you malign a man who’s been so good to you? He was right to say no.”

“Was he? I retrieved you from Belcraven once, this time it’ll be for keeps. When I get done with you—”

The old woman placed her hand on Russell’s knee. “Now, sir, that’s not what we agreed.” She tugged at one silver curl until it escaped her hat and bobbed in front of her ear, then proceeded to do the same with the other side. Her voice had lost its harshness and became almost kind. "We must follow our plan you know.” She patted his knee and gave him a sickly, sweet smile that deepened the lines on her face. “No sense making the same mistake twice.”

“What do you mean, you retrieved me once before?” Cara’s limbs felt chilled and her fingers curled in the folds of the velvet seat.

“Did you really believe Farley had the brains to kidnap the children? I knew harming your little brats would get you back fast enough.”

“How dare you!” Cara flew at him, her nails reaching for his face. Every bit of her energy was bent on destroying the man in front of her. She managed to knock him to the side, etching a deep red gash with her nail across his left cheek.

“You bitch.” He grabbed her wrists, using unexpected wiry strength to force her back lengthwise on her seat. His putrid breath fanned her face and he used his body to press her against the cushion. “Think you’re too good for me? I watched you grow up. I gave you your life with the vicar. Addled old man didn’t even recognize me when I showed up at his church the following Sunday.”

She turned her head as blood dripped from his wound onto her temple.

“I gave him his greatest gift. I’ve waited all these years. You’re mine.”

“Enough.” The sharp edge was back in the old woman’s voice. “Get off of her.”

His weight eased up and he returned to his seat, allowing her to breathe, but every part of her body ached. She drew herself up by the strap near the door, then huddled into the corner, her body shaking. With her arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him.

He’d put her children through unspeakable things to get to her. If only she’d recognized him for what he was. Guilt and fear vied for supremacy, but fear triumphed. The expression on her old friend’s face told her what he intended.

Perhaps she should hurl herself out of the carriage. She might not live, but it would be better than the alternative.

Her grandmother caught her glance at the door. “I don’t think you want to do that, child. It would be such a messy way to die. Believe me, I’ve contemplated all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, when my father married me to Lord Pemberton, I found myself wanting to die. At first it was because the Duke of Kendal had betrayed me. Fool that I was I loved him. I’d given myself to him because we were to marry”—her voice became hard, bitter—“but he found a woman with greater power and privilege.” She smiled and the light in the old woman’s eyes brought Cara’s hand to her throat.

“My father was furious. He’d heard the tales about Lord Pemberton, but that didn’t matter. He decided marrying me off to the man would teach me a lesson. My new husband and I came to an agreement.” She removed a glove, tugging at each fingertip with her mouth, revealing a mangled and reddened hand. The fingers could no longer straighten. She held out the cupped monstrosity to Cara. “You see, he agreed to only punish my lack of perfection. Unfortunately, he never considered my hands to be lady white.”

Horror filled Cara. She felt as if she’d entered some kind of nightmare.

Her grandmother struggled to replace the glove. “I was fortunate really. He found most of my body parts pleasing.”

“My
grandfather
did that?” Cara’s voice croaked.

“It was my punishment. Don’t you see?” She acted as if she were explaining something to a child. “And he gave me my boys. I needed to be grateful.”

Her grandmother was unbalanced. Cara shrank back into the seat. At least now she knew the source of the hatred between the two families. No doubt Garret’s grandfather
had
thrown her grandmother over for a better match. Love would never have mattered to him. But the bitter, twisted woman he’d created scared her.

“My second son never understood. The Kendal’s aren’t to be trusted.” Her grandmother reached across and patted her knee. Cara wanted to feel sympathy for her, but she shivered at the woman’s touch. “I couldn’t let a Kendal have you, but what was I to do?” She smiled at Mr. Russell. “This young man came up with the solution. He’d been working for us and offered to do me this service. He’s been a great help over the years.”

Cara glared at Mr. Russell. “You’ve been working for her?”

“Of course. How else was I to afford my lifestyle? Certainly not by helping all the
poor
parishioners. Lady Pemberton has been very generous and I in turn supplied her with information concerning her granddaughter.” His brows lowered. “But now the Duke of Kendal has ruined it all.”

The old woman sighed. “I knew Kendal would never marry you. However, I
had
hoped you might return without learning of your identity, but that fool woman my son married had to meddle, now I have no choice.” Her claw like hand reached over and took Cara’s. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll never have to suffer the indignities of a man you hate.”

“What won’t be so bad?”

“I’m sure I told you. It’s the only solution.” Confusion crossed her grandmother’s face. “Everyone thinks you’re already there.”

“Where?”

“Why dead, of course. Then everything will be as it was before.” Her grandmother sat back against the cushions and smoothed her skirt, then turned to Mr. Russell. “Young man, did you bring what I asked?”

The triumphant smile on Russell’s face warned Cara that whatever he’d brought, she wasn’t going to like it. He slid a thin green bottle and a rag from his coat. With all the finesse of a footman serving wine, he twisted the cork from the bottle and doused the material. The cloying smell of Laudanum filled the air, making Cara ill.

He inched forward, like a spider descending on its helpless victim. She wedged herself into the corner, but he loomed over her. “Don’t think you’ll ever escape me.” It was a whisper, almost like that of a lover, before he pressed the wet rag over her nose.

Cara stiffened and attempted to buck him off, but his weight held her in place. She struggled to maintain consciousness, but the last thing she heard was her grandmother’s gentle voice.