“So, it’s true then? Master Ian has taken you to wife?”
“Yes.” Vangie sent a hesitant glance to Jasper.
“My lady, Mrs. Tanssen is Somersfield’s most cordial housekeeper.” A hint of sarcasm shaded Jasper’s words. He duly ignored the glower the intimidating woman sent him.
Her lips pursed, Mrs. Tanssen considered her new mistress. “Well, what to do? One cannot evict her ladyship without notice from the room she’s occupied for over twenty years, though you certainly have the right to claim the chamber.”
“His lordship wants her moved to the dower house tomorrow,” Jasper offered helpfully.
“Yes, but there’s tonight to consider.” The housekeeper tapped her chin with her forefinger.
Vangie ventured a hesitant response, “Mrs. Tanssen, is it?”
Piercing hazel-green eyes met hers, accompanied by a curt nod.
She nearly danced a jig. She’d recalled a name correctly the first time. “I’m content to leave the arrangements as they are. Please, use your discretion, and place me in whatever chamber you deem most appropriate. Lord Warrick already suggested a temporary chamber for me, and he may have other preferences he’s yet to make known.”
A flicker of approval entered the housekeeper’s eyes. She angled her head, though Vangie wasn’t certain if the movement indicated her concurrence or irritation that she’d voiced an opinion. “I’ll prepare a chamber for you at once, my lady.” With that, the formidable woman departed the room, hauling the reluctant butler with her. She claimed she required his assistance in directing the footman.
Vangie sincerely doubted the capable Mrs. Tanssen needed anyone’s assistance with anything—ever.
No sooner had Vangie finished the thought than Ian entered the drawing room. Silent panther feet. She was fast becoming accustomed to them—to him.
“Vangie, I must be off at once.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet. He was leaving her here. Amongst strangers.
“Charlotte has eloped,” he said grimly. “She’s underage, and I must try to stop them. I know little of Trevor Monroe, other than he’s the nephew of our neighbors, the Landthrops.”
What a caring brother. “Of course you must go. I shall be fine.”
She would be. Jasper liked her. That was a good start.
“I may be gone for a fortnight or more.” Ian shoved one hand into a glove. “Gretna Green is several days’ ride from here, and they may not travel directly there.”
Two or more weeks? Dismay wrenched her, though she hid it from him. She knew no one in this vicinity—in this house—for that matter. She’d yet to meet all the servants, and her new mother-in-law had made her antagonistic feelings regarding Vangie abundantly clear.
Nevertheless, she attempted a brave smile. “It will provide me an opportunity to become acquainted with the staff and to learn how to manage an estate of this magnitude.”
“I wanted to introduce you to Somersfield myself, but Charlotte is impetuous and not altogether logical. Even when at her best.” Ian paused in pulling on his second glove. “I’d never forgive myself if she marries Monroe on a whim, making a mistake she’ll live to regret for the rest of her life.” Brusqueness tempered each clipped word.
Awkward silence greeted his vehement declaration. How did one respond to that? Marriage… A mistake one lived to regret for the rest of one’s life? Was he speaking of his sister or himself?
“Ian, I thought you’d left already. Do you care nothing for your sister?” The Dowager Viscountess Warrick’s grating voice disturbed her musings. She glared at Vangie, making no attempt to hide her dislike. “Dear Charlotte’s the only family you have left.”
“I’m just going.” He stepped nearer to Vangie.
The obstinate woman refused to leave, allowing her a moment’s privacy with her husband. The dowager stood impatiently tapping her toe, her vexation tangible.
Ian cast a shuttered glance in his stepmother’s direction. His baritone voice hushed, he said, “If you have need of anything, you’ve only to ask Jasper or Tanny—Mrs. Tanssen.”
“Yes, I shall.” Vangie roved her gaze over his face, memorizing each angle and plane. She wanted to trace the almost healed scratch on his jaw, but he’d donned the cold, unemotional façade once more. Perhaps worry about his sister had brought about the change. She daren’t contemplate on what else may have caused his sudden coolness. “You’ll be careful?”
The encounter with the bandits last night continued to plague her.
“Always.”
Searching his eyes, Vangie whispered a Romani blessing. “Zhan le Devlesa tai sastimasa. Go with God and in good health.”
Ian half bowed. “Thank you.” He strode toward the door and stopped before his stepmother standing in the door frame. “See that my viscountess is treated as she deserves. And please, do make the arrangements we discussed at once.”
An unspoken message passed between them before the dowager turned her hooded gaze to Vangie.
What arrangements, and why was his stepmother looking at her like that? Like a cat that had a canary? The dowager’s wintery eyes sent the hairs rising along Vangie’s skin. She wrapped her arms protectively about herself and shivered. Faith and good Lord. That woman’s eyes could freeze hell’s scorching flames with one glance.
The dowager answered smoothly, “Of course, Ian.” She drifted into the room, trailing a finger across a table. Her compliant gaze met his once more. “Rest assured, your wife will be treated with the respect and consideration a woman of her station deserves.”
Jasper entered. “Pericles is saddled and waiting, sir.”
“Thank you, Jasper.” Ian gave Vangie one last, lingering look then passed through the doorway. He met Mrs. Tanssen just outside. Pausing, he spoke to her quietly.
She darted a fierce glower at the dowager before answering him.
Vangie couldn’t hear the exchange, nor could his stepmother if her annoyed scowl was any indication. When she again glanced in his direction, he was gone. The ache his leaving caused took her by surprise. She’d known him barely a week. How could she be so affected by him or his absence?
With a sigh, Mrs. Tanssen’s prickly mask descended once more. All brisk business, she marched into the drawing room. “Lady Warrick—”
Vangie and Lucinda both turned to her.
Oh, dear. This was discomfiting. The dowager wasn’t ready to relinquish the position of Viscountess Warrick.
Mrs. Tannsen pulled her rigid spine straighter and looked directly at Vangie. “My lady, your chamber is readied.”
“Put her in the south tower.”
At the crash of a teacup shattering, Vangie’s gaze flew to Jasper. He remained stooped over the service, slack-jawed, gawking at the Dowager Viscountess Warrick in utter disbelief.
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Tanssen croaked, her eyes dinner plate wide.
A shiver stole over her. Something was too smoky by far. Was there something wrong with the south tower?
“You heard me. Lock her in the south tower.” Though softly spoken, the dowager’s tone was jubilant.
Lock me in the tower? Vangie mentally shook her head. She’d heard wrong. Surely she must have. Lucinda couldn’t mean to imprison her.
Jasper drew himself up, indignation written across his noble face. “Madam, you overstep your bounds.”
“Do I?” she mocked. “Who’s here to say otherwise? You heard Warrick yourself. Did he not ask me to make the arrangements we’d discussed at once?”
Ian told her to lock me in the tower?
Confident of her position and authority, her mien smug, she arched an eyebrow expectantly.
Jasper straightened, outrage emanating from every pore.
With an arrogant angle of her graying head, she said, “Just what do you think he was referring to?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” he said, his flared nostrils a sign of his contempt. He adjusted his waistcoat, leveling her a lethal glare. “But I
doubt it had anything to do with relegating his bride to the tower as a prisoner.”
Vangie felt the glimmer of hope she’d foolishly nourished, sputter and die.
“She’s the lady of the manor now, not you.” Mrs. Tanssen turned down her mouth into a mutinous frown. “I shan’t do it.” She folded her arms, challenging the dowager.
“Won’t you?” The Dowager Viscountess Warrick inspected the black lace on her sleeve and shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine. You’re terminated then.” She raised her gloating gaze, an unpleasant smile distorting her thin lips.
Mrs. Tanssen exhaled sharply. “I’ve been in residence at Somersfield far longer than you, my lady.” She pointed at the dowager. “You don’t have the authority to dismiss me without a character. Only Lord Warrick can give me my congé.”
“Mrs. Tanssen is correct, and I answer to Lord Warrick, and only his lordship as well,” Jasper said, a challenge in his eyes too.
“Shall I send for the magistrate? I’m sure he’d be willing to escort two trespassers from the premises.” Her eyes frigid, yet eerily hollow, the dowager’s attention vacillated between the majordomo and housekeeper.
Vangie’s stomach roiled at the vengeance in the Lucinda’s eyes. “I’ll go,” she said, with a great deal more calm composure than felt.
Everyone’s attention whipped to her.
She almost smiled at the disappointed expression that flashed across the dowager viscountess’ face. Likely, she’d hadn’t expected her to acquiesce easily. In fact, she suspected Lucinda had hoped she would have to be hauled, bound and gagged, to the tower.
With poise Vangie was far from feeling, she started for the drawing room’s doors. She paused after a few steps, sweeping Mrs. Tannsen and Jasper with her gaze. “I’ll not have you lose your positions or permit your forcible removal on my account.”
She was quite sure the dowager didn’t have the authority to dismiss the housekeeper or butler, but she could have them barred from the premises until Ian returned. “It’s only for a fortnight,” she stoically reminded them. Meeting the dowager’s wintry eyes, she angled her chin. “When Ian returns, things will be put aright.”
Though, if the dowager spoke the truth, how she would overcome this latest wounding to her soul, she knew not. Turning her back on her mother-in-law, Vangie closed her eyes, fighting the urge to burst into tears. She willed herself to be strong.
Please God, let her be lying.
A lying tongue lasts only a moment, tikna, but truthful lips endure forever.
Again, Puri Daj’s wise words brought a degree of solace to her. The prospect of at least two weeks locked within a chamber caused her no small amount of trepidation. Uncle Percival had locked her in her room for two days once. The inactivity and boredom had been nearly intolerable.
She looked over her shoulder, scrutinizing her ladyship, trying to gauge the truthfulness of her words. Did she expect her to bolt from the premises without so much as a glance behind her? Did she think to frighten her off by threatening weeks of confinement?
A spark of defiance flickered in her core then surged forth. She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. She’d not cower and beg. Nor would she flee. She would hear the words from Ian’s mouth before she passed judgment, though the scales didn’t weigh in his favor at present.
Mrs. Tannsen came alongside her and slipped an arm through the curve of Vangie’s elbow. Her voice low, she murmured, “We’ve been brought to point non plus, my lady. We’ve no other recourse but to do her bidding.” With the merest movement of her head, Mrs. Tanssen indicated the dowager. “She can have us removed, though Master Ian would promptly reinstate us upon his return.”
In two weeks.
“We need to be here, though.” She gave Vangie’s arm a small, reassuring squeeze. “It’s the best way to protect you.”
Jasper moved to her other side. “We cannot shield you from her if we’re banned from the premises.”
“Stop your twattling, and remove the chit from my sight, or I shall dismiss you.”
The butler turned and bestowed a withering glare on the crow in black. He started to speak, but Vangie gripped his arm.
Shaking her head, she said beneath her breath, “Please, don’t anger her further. I need you.” She turned her gaze on Mrs. Tannsen. “Both of you.” Even as she spoke the words, Vangie realized they were true. Her mother-in-law wasn’t just being spiteful. She was evil and, Vangie feared, dangerous if crossed.
And what of Ian? She earnestly wanted to believe he’d not subject her to such humiliation. But whatever was the dowager referring to when she’d mentioned the arrangements he insisted upon? She grudgingly acknowledged she’d already seen her husband’s darker side.
“Oh, and Mrs. Tanssen?” Lucinda said silkily.
The housekeeper turned hostile eyes to the dowager.
“Do bring me the tower key upon securing our guest.” A gloating smile on her lips, her ladyship finished with sarcastic triumph.
“Dicked in the nob witch.” Jasper’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth
Wordlessly, Mrs. Tanssen turned on her heel, her mouth firmed into a grim line of indignation. The trio swept from the room.
Once out of earshot Vangie asked, “Would she really have sent for the magistrate?”
Jasper’s gaze meshed with Mrs. Tanssen’s. The housekeeper looked over her shoulder and taking Vangie by the elbow, hustled her first down one corridor and then another. Jasper puffed along beside them.
Finally slowing her pace, and with a hasty glance over her shoulder, Mrs. Tannsen answered Vangie’s question. “Undoubtedly, my lady.”
“Sir Doyle, he’s the magistrate, is deep into the dowager’s pockets.” Jasper swung his head this way and that, as if afraid of being overheard.
Vangie glanced at the portraits in their ornate frames balanced on the wall. She could only imagine what Ian’s ancestors had seen and heard over the decades.
“Gossip has it, not that Mrs. Tanssen or I ever indulge in such prattle…” Jasper peered around a corner and beckoned the women to follow. “Sir Doyle was her, ah…” His face grew bright red.
“Amour. Before she married the previous Lord Warrick,” Mrs. Tannsen finished for him. She nodded knowingly. “And their current association is somewhat less than proper.”
“A great deal less,” Jasper agreed, still claret-colored about his ears.
Mrs. Tannsen, clicked her tongue. “I fear they’re a dangerous pair.”
It took over a week for Ian to track his sister to Gretna Green, only to find the giddy twosome had never been there. Charlotte and Monroe had sent decoys in their places. Ten days later—after inquiring at every parish, village, township, and hamlet on the way—he finally caught up with the newlyweds. Merry as grigs, they were ensconced in a quaint inn in Edinburgh.
He cursed himself for a fool. He should’ve known his sister would send him on a false trail. Edinburgh was just across the border from Northumberland. It was only logical Charlotte and Monroe would fly there, not Gretna Green. She’d made a May game of him, yet she was miffed with him for thinking she was genuinely interested in Pickering.
“Really, Ian, Lord Pickering is such a clod-pate. You, of all people, should’ve found it unfathomable I would have any interest in that buffle-headed coxcomb.” She formed her mouth into a moue. “For pity’s sake, he has more hair than wit, and that’s saying something since he’s bald.” Frowning, she declared puckishly, “I’m offended, truly I am. That you’d think I’d make a cake of myself over the likes of stinky Pickering—” She huffed and folded her arms. “Well, it’s beyond the pale.”
Infuriated and incredulous, Ian clenched his hands and clamped his teeth to keep from telling her what a spoiled, inconsiderate, scheming chit she was. By God, the gammon she’d pitched him and her mother. And they’d believed her. Lips pinched tight, he remained obstinately silent, lost in his own recriminations.
I am an idiot.
After harrumphin
g a bit more, she dimpled and clasped her new husband’s hand. “I’m so very happy. I simply cannot stay annoyed with you, dear brother, and I suppose I do owe you an apology.”
“Indeed, you do. And not only me, but Miss Caruthers.” He narrowed his eyes and made no attempt to keep the anger from his voice. “You intentionally tarnished her good name, all as part of a hoax? I never would’ve thought you capable of such calculated cruelty.”
He’d always hoped she’d be more honorable and kinder than her mother.
Charlotte blinked at him, opening and closing her mouth like a gasping trout. Finally, she sputtered, “I was but play acting.”
Recalling her most convincing histrionics and her hourly flood of tears, Ian said dryly, “Even your mother believed you enamored with the earl.”
Looking taken aback, a shadow flitted across Charlotte’s features. Casting an adoring glance at her husband, she conceded Ian’s point. “Well, yes, but it was necessary lest Mother suspect my true affections lay elsewhere. And she was acting so odd of late.”
Ian allowed there was some substance to that; a great deal of substance, truth to tell.
“She was always talking to herself, wandering about the woods in the wee hours, gathering all sorts of weeds and such.” Two neat rows wrinkled her usually smooth brow. “Ian, she really was most peculiar, especially after Papa’s and Geoff’s deaths. It…frightened me.”
“It was still wrong, Charlotte. You could’ve spoken to me.” He was her guardian after all.
“After Papa and Geoff died, I couldn’t bear to lose Trevor too.” Charlotte’s doe-like brown eyes filled with tears. She snuffled into her handkerchief. “I simply couldn’t.”
“Why did you drag Miss Caruthers into your Cheltenham tragedy?” Genuinely curiosity promoted Ian to ask. Why had she involved Vangie in her theatrics?
“Well, as to that, brother dearest, one has only to meet Miss Caruthers to know she’s not any of those horrid things Mother and I alluded to.” Now it was Ian’s turn to gape as Charlotte rattled on. “You’re so perceptive. I knew I could rely on you to fudge out the truth regarding her moral character straightaway.” Angling her head, Charlotte studied him. “You didn’t seriously attempt to ruin the sweet girl, did you?” For the first time, she appeared truly chagrined, concerned for someone other than herself.
The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1) Page 17
