“For a usurping rogue, that Duke has some nous about him,” her father remarked. “I would be grateful to him, if I didn’t hate everything he stands for.”
Alicia rolled her eyes. “He is not so bad as the others.”
“A woman would say that,” her father muttered. “No doubt you think he’s handsome, too?”
“I did not say that.”
He frowned in disapproval. “You didn’t have to. Don’t you forget what him and his family stole from us, do you hear?”
“I won’t, Da, and I haven’t.”
“Good. Let it stay that way.” Her father sank back into the armchair and closed his eyes.
They shot open a moment later, as a loud bang at the door startled Alicia almost out of her skin. She got up to answer it, wondering who it could be, calling at such an hour. She could not deny it—part of her hoped it might be Jacob, come to speak to her about everything she had told him.
Instead, as she opened the door wide, she saw a cluster of individuals. Most of them were familiar to her—village folk whom she had often seen conversing with her father, about matters concerning the Ribbonmen. Two faces she had not expected to see, however, were those of Mistress Marigold and Meghan. They stared back at her, apparently just as surprised.
“Who is it?” her father called from his chair.
“Men from the village, and… two women,” she replied. She did not want to reveal that those two women had come from the manor, for fear of her father’s reaction. At present, she did not know why they were there, but there was only one way to find out.
“We need to speak to your Da,” the first man said, shoving right past her into the cottage. The others followed his lead, bringing Mistress Marigold and Meghan with them.
“Cormac? What’s going on?” Her father arched a wary eyebrow as he looked to the two women. “Who are these folks?”
Cormac settled the women down on any available seat, taking great care with them. “They’re working for the Master and need a place to hide until it’s safe for them to go back to the manor.”
The Master? Alicia pressed back against the wall, making herself as small as possible so they would not pay attention to her.
“I didn’t receive no letter telling me about this,” her father protested.
The man named Cormac shrugged. “There wasn’t time. I got called upon to get them to safety, and I didn’t ask questions.”
“Did you meet the Master?” Her father gawped.
“No, he wasn’t there when I picked these ladies up,” Cormac replied. “But I know who he is. Meghan here told me. She’s a little upset with him, it seems.”
“Well, who is he?” her father pressed.
Alicia held her breath.
“You’ll not believe it.” Cormac smirked.
Her father sighed in frustration. “Who is it?”
“Is it all right to say this in front of your lass?” Cormac shot a glance back at her.
Her father nodded effusively. “Of course it is. She’s one of us, ain’t she? She’s been at the manor, working for us all this time. Anything you can say to me, you can say to her.” He directed a pointed look at her, as though there were words dancing on the tip of his tongue that he could not, and would not, say.
So, I am not a betrayer anymore? She could not fathom the change in her father’s behavior. Was it the coughing fit? Was it his guilt? Or was it something more? Did her father want her to hear, so she might discover evidence that could stop the Ribbonmen from enacting tomorrow’s attack? Maybe, after all this time, her father had finally learned that violence and bitterness would not solve the predicament of the Irish.
“Well then… it’s Lord Owen.” Cormac grinned. “Can you believe it? He’s the one what’s been giving us all that money and them weapons, and he’s going to let us into the house tomorrow night so we can have our justice against the English. Turns out, he really is an Irishman at heart.”
Alicia’s stomach plummeted. Lord Owen is in charge of the Ribbonmen?
“Then who shot Elias?” Her father leant forward in his chair. “I thought the target was Lord Owen?”
Cormac shook his head. “The target was the Duke. Come on, man, use your head. Why would anyone target a fella like Lord Owen?”
“As for who shot him, I am afraid that was me.” Mistress Marigold looked up sheepishly. “I was instructed to shoot the Duke, but I missed. I am sorry for it.”
“You shot him?” Alicia’s father barked.
“It was an unfortunate accident,” Mistress Marigold replied defensively. “I wouldn’t have missed if your daughter hadn’t caused a ruckus with Lord Owen and Meghan here, meaning I had to work much quicker than anticipated. I suppose she didn’t know there was a plot afoot, but I had to fire swiftly and get out of there before anyone else saw me. The Duke might have looked up at any moment, or Alicia might have spotted me and cried bloody murder, not knowing my reason for being there at the window.”
Alicia could hardly breathe. Mistress Marigold and Meghan had been on the side of the Ribbonmen, all this time, and she had not known. They had been aware that Lord Owen was the one leading the entire thing.
Jacob… A sudden terror jolted into her chest. If Lord Owen was the leader of the Ribbonmen and had tried to have his brother taken out by Mistress Marigold, then Jacob was in more danger than he realized.
The door still stood open, and the gathered crowd were deep in conversation, discussing the events that had brought Meghan and Mistress Marigold here. Even the two ladies had barely given Alicia a second glance, for they likely thought that she was still in cahoots with the Ribbonmen, too. Why else would she have been here, with her father?
Taking a nervous breath, she edged along the wall and slipped out before anyone could see her. She did not know how much time she had, but she was determined to get a head-start, if the assembly of Ribbonmen suspected she was up to something.
Running a short way up the road, she stopped. “Tom?”
He appeared from the darkness, as silent as a predator. “Miss Price.”
“We need to ride to the manor and we need to go now!” she whispered.
“Why?”
“I will explain on the way. Please, we must go this instant. I don’t know how much longer we have,” she begged.
Tom nodded and whistled faintly for his horse. As it approached, Tom helped Alicia up into the saddle before getting up behind her. A moment later, he dug in his heels and the horse set off at a rapid pace, pounding along the road.
“His Grace is in danger,” she said, as they rode. “Lord Owen is the one leading the Ribbonmen, and he is the one who ordered someone to shoot His Grace. They missed, but their intention was to kill him.”
Tom growled in anger. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. I have just heard it, direct from the person who attempted to kill His Grace. If His Grace is in that house, with his brother, then he is in dire trouble.”
“Then hold tight. This may be a rather uncomfortable ride.” Tom snapped the reins, the horse racing faster.
The wind whipped harshly at her face, but she was grateful for it, for it hid the tears that slid down her cheeks. Even if she could not love Jacob as she might have liked to, or have any hope of being loved in return, she could not bear the thought of anything bad happening to him.
What made it worse was the knowledge that Lord Owen could be wandering as he pleased, at that very moment, with the intention of finishing the job that Mistress Marigold could not. Alicia would not have thought it possible for a brother to kill their own blood, but he had already tried that, indirectly. And that meant Lord Owen was capable of just about anything.
Hold on, Jacob… we’re coming.
Chapter 39
Jacob stormed back into the house, using the walk to try and calm his sensibilities. If he was going to assert himself, he needed to appear rational. If he revealed the depth of his anger, he knew he might lose the higher ground in any ensuing argu
ment with his brother.
For a manor house that was usually so busy, with hardly anyone seeming to sleep, there was not a soul about as he made his way through the gloomy corridors. He was grateful for that. He could not have borne another patronizing comment or a slight against his position.
My position… Owen had thrown that into turmoil, as well as everything else. Jacob did not know what lengths his brother might go to, in order to take his place. Would he really stoop so low as to bring their mother’s reputation into disarray? It would be a scandal that she would never recover from, and as cold as Owen behaved toward Jacob, he could not believe that his brother could lash out at their mother. Owen loved his mother.
Jacob had not given himself much chance to dwell on his true heritage, but he thought on it now, as he continued on through the labyrinth of the house. All his life, he had thought himself to be the heir to the Woodworth dynasty. To find out that he was not… it left him with the sensation of being lost at sea, and helplessly treading water.
Father protected me… can I even call him ‘Father’ anymore? Jacob bit his lip to stop his emotions from spilling over. He had to admire the former Duke for that—for not casting he and his mother out, as he might have done. True, he had acted despicably in tricking Mr. Price out of his home, but perhaps he would not have done so if his wife had not urged him. It sounded as though the Duke had resisted it for a time. There had to be some merit in that.
Nevertheless, from a personal perspective, Jacob felt a glimmer of warmth toward the man he had called ‘Father.’ He had not known the old Duke too well, having been away from home since childhood. They had not shared a close bond, but they had always exchanged letters which held a great deal of fondness. There had never been any indication, within those letters, that Jacob was anyone other than who he thought he was.
His gut twisted with remorse, for he wished he might have been here to say farewell to his father. Even if that man had not been his father by blood, he had certainly proven his worth as a father by making sure he was given every opportunity in life, and not taking away his inheritance, simply because he was not born of his blood. He could have done so, at any moment.
Maybe he could not confirm the suspicion in his mind, at least not enough to cast Mother and I out. Perhaps he only discovered the truth when it was too late—after Owen had already been born. Either way, the old Duke had chosen to keep Jacob and his mother as part of the family. And perhaps, that said more to the old Duke’s credit than anything a true father could have offered.
He already felt less rage by the time he reached the open hall where his study lay. He did not think his brother would still be there, but a small sound prompted him to pause. A quiet snuffling, coming from within his study, drifting out through the partially open door.
Curious, Jacob went to the door and pushed it wide. His mother sat where he had left her, holding her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as she wept. It could not have been for show, as there was nobody else here to have heard her or seen her. This was simply a raw display of a broken woman, whose secrets had all been torn out and thrown into the cold light of day.
“Mother?” he said softly. He may have been angry with her, for keeping that sort of secret from him, but he could not stand the sight of her in such misery.
The Duchess turned slowly, before hurrying to wipe her eyes. “Jacob… I thought you might have gone from this place. I-I did not know if you would come back.”
“I am made of sterner resolve than you would think,” he replied. “If I were to flee this house, what would it gain? It would not change anything. It would only show that I was a coward, and I am no such thing.”
“I do not think you are cowardly.” Her mother sniffed, dabbing a handkerchief to her nose. “You have fought in wars, my darling. How could you ever be cowardly? I am the coward. I should have said something sooner, but I did not know how to.”
Jacob went to his mother and put his hands on her shoulders. “Owen should not have revealed the truth like that. It was not his place, but I do not think you have anything to fear. He will not ruin your reputation out of pride, or whatever emotion has incited his fury.”
“You do not know that,” his mother murmured.
“He loves you, as I love you. That means something to him. And, as I said to him, if he attempted to reveal the truth, it would be his word against ours.”
His mother blinked up at him. “Ours?”
“You must be silent on the matter once more, though I do not like to ask it of you. There is no proof to validate what he has said, is there?”
His mother shook her head. “No.”
“Then, as long as neither of us say a word of it, we will be well. Owen may not like that I am here to stay, but I am not about to let him chase me from your side, or this estate,” Jacob said firmly. “I did not realize how direly my arrival here had affected him, but he must learn that he cannot seize power, simply because he desires it. That is not the way the world works. I learnt that aboard the ships; there is always a hierarchy, even if we do not care for the captain in charge.”
“You are not cross with me?” His mother dabbed her lips, though it did not stop them from trembling.
He smiled wryly. “I am still rather cross, but there is no use in bearing grudges. It will not alter my heritage, nor the events that have brought us all here.”
“You must understand, I was not unfaithful to your father… the Duke, I mean.” Her lip trembled all the more, her eyes swimming with tears.
“What do you mean?”
“I was out walking alone, upon our first visit to see my husband’s sister here. It was a number of years before she gave birth to her twins, and I had yet to have children, though I had longed for them.” Her breath hitched in a hiccup. “I should not have walked alone, given the political climate, but the Duke and I had quarreled, and I did not want to be within the house. I sought fresh air, and there are a number of pleasant walks hereabout.”
Jacob stepped around to her side and crouched low, looking up into his mother’s dejected face. “Go on…” he urged.
“I was a mile or so away from the house when I noticed a group of young men a short distance from where I wandered. Naturally, I turned around to return to the manor, but the young men had already seen me. I did not get far before two of them caught up to me,” she continued, her voice shaking. “They harassed me for a time, but I remained quiet and stayed my course…” she trailed off, a sob gripping her.
“Mother? What happened?”
She winced as though in pain. “It is too awful to say.”
“Did they attack you?”
She nodded weakly. “One held me down… the other… I cannot say it. I will not. Owen does not know that part of the tale, but the Duke did. It is why he did not turn me out of his home and call me a jezebel. It is why he vowed to love you as though you were his own, though it is also why he sent you away. He could not… he could not look at you without remembering what had happened to me.”
I am the product of an assault… It made him sick with disgust. He took his mother’s hand in his and held it tight, for himself and for her. Now, he had a better understanding of why she had never breathed a word of it. If Owen had known of this, Jacob knew his brother would not have been so quick to reveal the truth or been so cold in revealing it.
For his own part, it appalled him to the core, to think that half of his being belonged to a wretched devil who had hurt his mother. The fact that she could look upon him without hatred spoke of her character. She had never treated him as though she blamed him or resented him. At times, she had even been overly affectionate. Was that to make up for the manner in which he had been brought into this world? He did not know, but he felt gratitude that his mother had been able to look past his origins and love him regardless.
“I cannot comprehend one thing,” Jacob murmured. “Well, I cannot comprehend many things—firstly, how any man could hurt a woman so despica
bly. But, I have to ask—why would you have Father purchase this place, after such an atrocity had happened here?”
His mother slumped in grief. “It was not only for my husband’s sister’s sake, I confess.” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “I wanted to find them. I wanted to find the man who held me down and the man who dishonored me, and I wanted to punish them. I wanted to take this house and have it under English rule, to punish the Irish who had done this to me.”
“Did you ever find them?” Jacob gulped down the lump in his throat.
“No… I never did. They may have been transients, or some such individuals. I looked for them, and had your father look for them, but they seemed to have vanished.”
“Is that why you hate Ireland so much?” Jacob squeezed her hand, to let her know he was here for her.
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