Leonard was looking at him pleadingly from the other side of the carriage. “Please, Uncle,” he said, “if there’s anything you know that might help save Mother and Miss Wilds, you’ve got to tell me.”
Phineas rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped abruptly.
I can’t. Never mind the circumstances. Lydia swore me to secrecy all those years ago.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Your mother’s secrets are not mine to tell, Leonard. You must understand that. But believe me when I tell you I have no idea why Lord Chilson has taken her.”
Leonard drew in his breath. “So I was right. Mother does have her secrets.”
Phineas said nothing.
“And this secret. It involves my betrothal to the Viscount’s daughters?”
At his uncle’s steely silence, Leonard shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is finding her. Finding Miss Wilds. Before it’s too late.”
Lydia opened her eyes. She had done the same each time she heard footsteps sounding up and down the hallways outside this dark, damp room. Each time, the footsteps had passed by the door. Kept moving. She had remained in darkness.
From where she lay on her side, she could just see the thin thread of light peeking beneath the door.
Daylight?
The windows in this cursed room had been boarded up so heavily that not even a glimpse of light could strain through. Lydia had no idea how long she had been here. Had no idea how long it had been since Lord Chilson’s footmen had appeared at Tarsington manor with pistols in their hands. Forced her to pack her things to maintain the ruse that she was on a trip to London.
She had kissed Florentina goodbye, her entire body trembling as the footmen stood behind her with their pistols hidden in their coat pockets.
The footsteps were coming closer. Slow and steady. This time, Lydia knew instinctively that they would not keep walking.
With difficulty, she pulled herself into sitting; a challenge with her wrists and ankles tightly bound. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a thing to eat or drink. The earthly smell of the room was gathering in her throat.
The door opened slowly, letting a thin slice of sunlight into the room. The imposing figure of the Viscount of Chilson stood in the doorway.
Lydia heard a sob escape her. Cursed herself for it. She didn’t want to be this pathetic coward who crumbled in the face of danger. She had faced much adversity in her past.
Surely I am stronger than this?
But there was something about the coldness in the Viscount’s eyes that terrified her to the core.
“Please,” she said. “Let me go. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve given my son to marry your daughter. Twice over. I’ve encouraged the union every step of the way.” Her voice rattled.
The Viscount smiled thinly. “You’ve done far too much, Your Grace. You’ve been in my daughter’s ear. She is beginning to ask questions.”
“Questions?” Lydia repeated. “I don’t understand.” Her thoughts began to race. Miss Deborah Wilds, she knew, had been seeking the truth about her sister’s suicide.
Does the Viscount know something about why his daughter took her own life?
Lydia’s stomach rolled. She had intended to plead with him as a fellow parent.
Please, let me go, my daughter needs me…
But now she saw the futility of such a thing. If Lord Chilson had a hand in his own child’s death, he was certainly not a parent who could be reasoned with.
What is this monster capable of?
Allowing Leonard to marry into the Viscount’s family, she saw now, had been her greatest mistake. But Lydia had believed she had no choice. Leonard’s marriage to the Viscount’s daughter, in order to keep her darkest secret intact.
Lydia had been just eighteen when she had fallen in love. He was no nobleman, just a gardener on her father’s estate. She had been young, impulsive, foolish. She had found herself with child and the gardener had disappeared in the night, desperate to escape her father’s wrath.
Under the guise of an illness, her parents had whisked her off to a convent where the child had been born; a beautiful boy with a mop of thick, dark hair.
The babe had been taken from her arms for a childless couple to raise as their own.
Giving up her child had been the hardest thing Lydia had ever had to do. But she had no choice. She knew she could not raise the boy as her own without disgracing her family.
For a time, she had considered it. Considered leaving the nobility behind and running into the unknown with her infant son. Finding some way to scratch together a life.
In the end it had been her brother, Phineas, who had convinced her otherwise.
“What kind of life will you be able to give the child on your own?” he had written in one of the many letters they had exchanged during her time at the convent.
Lydia knew her older brother was far wiser than she was. And so she had listened. Done as he had told her.
Lydia had returned to Bath and rumors had followed her ever since. Somehow, the story of her prolonged illness had not been entirely believed by the eager gossips within the nobility. She had heard the whispers. Had seen the raised eyebrows as she passed by clusters of chattering ladies.
Most of the ton had the good grace not to raise the issue, to her face at least. But every so often there would be a gentleman who’d drunk too much brandy, or some giddy debutante goaded into questioning her by her friends.
“Is it true?” they would ask, their drunken eyes shining. “That you were sent away for reasons other than an illness?”
Lydia would put on the look of horror and offense she had perfected. Would deny it vehemently.
“I can’t imagine what you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate your tone…”
The questions had stopped after she had married the Duke of Tarsington. Everyone, it seemed, knew better than to accuse a duchess of such things.
Everyone except Lord Chilson.
“You know that everyone is aware of the rumors, I’m sure,” he said, pulling her aside at a garden party one summer afternoon three years earlier. “Rumors that have the potential to damage your reputation.”
His interrogation had caught Lydia off-guard. It had been years since anyone had stalked up to her and whispered anything about rumors.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, My Lord,” she said brusquely. But she could hear the waver in her voice. And so, she knew, could Lord Chilson.
He chuckled, his gray eyes cold. “I think we both know that’s a lie, don’t we, Your Grace?” He stepped closer to her. “A child born out of wedlock,” he breathed. “A child fathered by a gentleman other than your husband. A child given up for adoption when he was just a babe.” He smiled thinly. “I can’t imagine what such a thing would do for your reputation. Or the reputations of your son and daughter.”
Lydia gritted her teeth. “What do you want?”
Lord Chilson smiled. He rubbed the smooth skin on his chin. “It seems my eldest daughter has become quite taken with a gentleman who is most unsuitable. A mere baron. And a penniless one, at that. I had far greater plans for her. She deserves a much more prestigious husband.” He looked at Lydia pointedly. “Like your son.”
She swallowed heavily. “My son has no intention of marrying yet, My Lord. He is barely twenty. He has only just completed his studies. He wishes to see something of the world before he has a family of his own.”
“Then I suggest you do your best to change his mind.” The Viscount took a step closer, his eyes boring into Lydia’s. “My family has languished in obscurity for far too long. I want greater things for the Chilson name. My daughter’s marriage to a duke will ensure that.”
Lydia drew in her breath.
I cannot let Leonard marry into such a family.
She shook her head stiffly.
The Viscount chuckled. “Perha
ps you might rethink your answer, Your Grace. After all, I’m sure you don’t want those terrible rumors to find their way back into society again.”
Lydia gritted her teeth. “There is no truth to those rumors,” she said, her words coming out thin and unconvincing.
For a moment, the Viscount said nothing. He tilted his head. “There is truth to them,” he said, his voice low. “I know there is truth to them, because I know how to find the son you gave up so many years ago.”
“What?” Lydia said. “Where is he?” The words spilled from her mouth before she had a chance to pull them back. She had always believed her son was lost to her forever. The thought of seeing him again had set her heart racing.
She saw the faint smile of triumph on Lord Chilson’s face.
“I can’t tell you that right now,” he said. “But perhaps if you do as I wish, I will tell you what you want to know.”
And so, she had done as he had requested. Handed Leonard over to be married to the Viscount’s daughter. Sacrificed one son for the sake of another.
No. Lydia knew the truth of the matter. Sacrificed one son for the sake of my own reputation…
And now here she was, trapped in this lightless hovel, the Viscount’s prisoner. Paying the price for her foolishness. Her selfishness.
Lydia looked up at the Viscount with wide, fearful eyes. “I don’t know why your daughter is asking questions,” she garbled. “I’ve said nothing to her. Not a thing. I swear it.”
“You’ve been too heavy-handed,” the Viscount spat. “Asking her to put a good word in for you with your son. She suspects there is more to her betrothal than you and I are letting on.”
Lydia’s mind flickered back to her conversation with Miss Wilds in the street that day. Perhaps she had been too heavy-handed. But it had come from a place of desperation.
In the three years since Leonard’s betrothal to Edith Wilds, Lydia had eased her conscience by telling herself she was doing this for her children. If the truth of her illegitimate child reached the ears of the ton, it would have far-reaching effects on both Leonard and Florentina. But she had never imagined it would lead her here.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The Viscount let out a heavy sigh, pulling a pistol from his pocket as he did so. Lydia heard a cry of fear escape her.
“You’re a problem,” he said. “A thorn in my side. You can’t be trusted to keep quiet.”
Lydia felt tears of terror slip down her cheeks. “Please,” she said. “Don’t kill me. I’ll never speak a word to anyone about any of this. Ever. My son will never know a thing. Nor will your daughter.”
The Viscount shook his head. “It’s too late for that. Your son and my daughter have been prying into things that don’t concern them. And they need to be punished. As do you.”
Lydia squeezed her eyes closed.
This is it. This is the day I die.
She held her breath. Waited for the pistol shot. But it never came.
The Viscount’s footsteps clicked as he paced back in front of her. Paced back toward the door. “Your disappearance will raise questions,” he said. “Far too many questions. Not like that miserable Lord Averton.” He tucked the pistol back into his pocket and pulled on the door. “You’re a problem that needs to be dealt with very carefully, Your Grace.”
Chapter 37
A pall of stillness seemed to hang over Lord Averton’s house. The birds were silent, the trees motionless. The only sound was the soft sloshing of footsteps as Leonard and Phineas made their way toward the house.
‘It was as though the place had become devoid of life…’ Miss Edith Wilds had written in her diary.
Leonard had felt it before, on the day he had searched Lord Averton’s study, and he certainly felt it now, having become aware of all the dreadful things that had taken place here.
He imagined the place on a moonlit evening; imagined the Viscount’s footmen creeping inside. Imagined the terrified figure of Edith racing after them, desperate to save the one she loved.
And for a moment, Leonard was sure he could hear the pistol shot, could hear Miss Wilds’s cries of despair.
He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. “The back door is open,” he told his uncle, pushing his way through the overgrown grass.
Phineas eyed the gaping door. “I think it unlikely the Viscount would use this place as his hideout,” he admitted. “Anyone could come strolling in and out as they pleased.”
Leonard nodded grimly. He knew his uncle was right. But he had no ideas on where else to look. And the thought of sitting at home waiting was unbearable.
He stepped inside the house. “We need to look.”
His hand wrapped around his pistol, Leonard made his way through the house, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He passed the sitting room, moved up the blood-splattered stairs, glanced into the bedchamber where he had found his mother’s embroidered handkerchief.
The manor was just as still and lifeless as Edith had described. Leonard sighed defeatedly.
Where has he taken them?
At the back of his mind, he knew there was a possibility that the Viscount was not hiding Deborah and his mother anywhere. Knew there was a possibility he had punished them in the same way he had seen fit to punish Lord Averton.
Leonard squeezed his eyes closed as a violent wall of sickness swung over him. He wrestled the thought away.
No. They are alive. They have to be. And we are going to find them.
He glanced at his uncle. “You know why Mother’s handkerchief was here, don’t you?”
Phineas glanced down. For a moment, Leonard thought he might waver in his resolve, but then he pressed a hand to his nephew’s shoulder and said, “These are things you must ask your mother, my boy.”
Leonard inhaled sharply.
I only pray I have the chance.
Lady Chilson sat on the lounge in the Earl of Terrich’s parlor, listening to the Duke and his uncle relay the tale of their fruitless search of Lord Averton’s abandoned home.
On their return, the Earl and his nephew had arrived to collect her, informing her that she was to come with them to the Terrich manor.
“You’re not safe here, My Lady,” the Duke had pressed. “Your husband could return at any time. And there’s no saying what he will do if he discovers you have read your daughter’s diary.”
Lady Chilson hadn’t had the strength to argue.
She curled her gnarled fingers around the arm of the lounge and tried to focus on what His Grace was saying. Found it close to impossible. Just leaving the chaise in her sitting room she had been planted on had been enough of a challenge. The things she had learned had made it a near insurmountable feat to even put one foot in front of the other. The Duke and Lord Terrich had practically had to carry her into the carriage, spouting promises that she would be safe with them.
Safe. Have I ever in my entire marriage been safe?
Lord Chilson’s wife had not been the easiest role to play. He had been a stern and unwavering husband who could see no other way than his own. He had raised a hand to her on more than one occasion. But nothing that couldn’t be covered with a little face powder and a bright smile.
Despite his cruel streak, Hester had never doubted his commitment to his family. Had never doubted the depth with which he had loved his daughters. Hester had always regretted the fact that she had been unable to provide the Viscount with a son and heir. But she had believed his daughters were enough. From the beginning, he had been determined to secure fine marriages for them both. She had always assumed he had done such a thing out of love.
“I only want the best for my girls,” he would say.
She had not wanted to believe the words Edith had scrawled in her diary.
Lies, she had told herself. Lies constructed by a mind addled with melancholy.
But deep inside, Hester knew Edith’s words were not lies. Instinct had told her that every heartfelt word her
daughter had written was the cold, hard truth.
Edith had been conducting an affair. And the Viscount had the gentleman killed. In his own underhand and distant way, the Viscount had killed their daughter.
Hester pressed a hand over her mouth as a sudden sob escaped her. Her tears had been falling freely since the moment she had begun to read the diary.
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