So Enchanting

by Connie Brockway

  “More than you can imagine, but this is hardly the place or time.”

  Her spirits collapsed in disappointment. “Of course. Did you discover anything in town about the threat to Amelie?” She struggled to find her dignity. She couldn’t. Her heart was singing too loudly. “Not the place or time” meant there was a place and time.

  “No. I saw McGowan before he left on the train, but he had nothing new to add. Then I spoke to a half dozen people, and then another half dozen”—his smile turned wry—“to appease you. No one knows anything about a letter. Most of them don’t even know Lord Collier’s title, let alone where to send correspondence, which leads me back to my original theory: Whoever sent that letter must be someone who wanted to keep Collier from whatever business he was attending on the Continent.”

  “I see.”

  And she did. Grey and Hayden would leave on the next train, at first light the day after tomorrow.

  There was nothing else to say. What had she expected? Her heart felt as though it were being ripped to shreds, and her vision blurred. She turned her head so he would not see the threatening tears as Caesar raised his voice in a long, mournful howl, echoing the despair she felt. Brutus added his plaintive cry.

  Oh, no. Not now.

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, willing herself to go numb, feel nothing, shed the emotions oiling through her. No good. Her heart contained a maelstrom of anxiety, desire, fear, and…and…

  She had to leave, get away from him now, before others arrived and gave her turmoil a voice.

  Gray looked toward the house. “Poor brutes,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She had to leave. She could feel them, vague, sympathetic spirits drawn like metal filings to a magnet.

  Grey sighed. “I hope McGowan made arrangements to have them fed.” He was filling the void with words. But the void she foresaw was too large to ever be filled.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you suppose they miss him and that’s why they are baying like that?”

  “No.”

  They are baying because they know my heart is breaking.

  Chapter 32

  Grey was missing something; he was certain of it Something important. He just couldn’t figure out what. The dogs were howling like the end-time was near. Fanny’s eyes had dilated to enormous black pools, and she was staring at him with a completely unreadable expression.

  “I have to go,” she said. She sounded flustered, unnerved.

  So was he. “Don’t,” he heard himself whisper.

  Her gaze flew to his face. She looked startled. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He wasn’t. He was feeling, always a dicey proposition, but damn, he was tired of fighting his emotions. He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t even want to try. He wanted to trust her. Trust what he felt as well as what he thought.

  “Grey. You don’t understand.”

  He laughed. “You’re right.”

  “You don’t…”

  “I don’t,” he agreed.

  “Please.”

  “Whatever you want.” For however long.

  “You are making this very difficult.”

  “Yes. I know. I’m a bastard.” He was. That she wanted to leave, ached to leave, couldn’t be more apparent. She kept twisting around, her gaze darting anxiously. “I have never learned the art of pretense.”

  They were the wrong words. Her face blanched.

  “Damn it,” he said. “Fanny. Please. You must believe me, that wasn’t a subtle gibe.”

  That brought a tremulous smile to her face. It was ridiculous how much pleasure it brought him. “It wasn’t all that subtle. But you never are.”

  “I know. But let us both agree the past is over. I am sorry I judged you without knowing you.”

  She sobered. “You don’t know everything about me.”

  He shivered, controlling the impulse to sweep her up in his arms. He’d done enough sweeping for one day. “I know enough. You must believe me.”

  A fleeting expression of bewilderment and tenderness touched her face. “I do,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Well, there’s that.”

  “I wish I could tell you—”

  Crack!

  Whatever she’d wished to say was lost in the sound of a gun report. He swung toward the sound. It had come from the direction of Quod Lamia.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Fanny said, frowning down the road.

  “Poachers?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “There are no poachers in Little Firkin. There’s no need to poach. Anyone wanting to hunt has an entire mountain range at his disposal.”

  A tingle of apprehension touched his spine. “We have to go.”

  She didn’t answer; she was already hurrying toward Quod Lamia.

  They arrived at the house ten minutes later to find a breathless Hayden in the drawing room with Amelie collapsed in his arms, shaking uncontrollably. On the floor behind them a pool of shattered glass lay beneath a broken window.

  “Someone shot at her!” Hayden exclaimed, his mouth drawn tight with shock and anger.

  “From where?” Grey demanded, going to the window and looking out. “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. I just got here,” Hayden replied. “I was coming to see how you were faring. I must have been half mile away when I heard a shot. I ran as quickly as possible and found Amelie huddled in the corner.”

  The girl began sobbing. Hayden’s arms tightened around her.

  “Thank God, thank God she wasn’t hurt.” The boy’s voice shook, and in response the girl’s cries grew ever more heartrending.

  Damn whatever coward had done this, Grey thought, frustrated. There was nothing to see out the broken window, except some more glass sparkling on the terrace below.

  “Where is Violet? Ploddy?”

  Hayden shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen either of them.”

  “No,” Fanny said, her voice oddly harsh. “No. You will not suspect either of them. I will not allow it.”

  She was breathing hard, her face as white as milk, her eyes filled with suffering. But she hadn’t moved from the doorway. She stood rigidly. “Tell us where they are, Amelie.”

  Her voice held a note of pleading. Grey understood. This was her family. She would be devastated to discover that one of them sought Amelie’s death. Amelie finally lifted her head from Hayden’s chest to look at her companion. Her eyes were huge, stricken, afraid.

  “Violet went to see Grammy Beadle, who has taken poorly with a stomach ailment. Bernard asked Ploddy to drive him and his luggage to the train platform. He’s still in Little Firkin.”

  Easy enough to check. Too easy. Grey mentally removed them from a list of suspects.

  Amelie’s words released Fanny from the tension holding her. She stepped forward, her hands outstretched toward her young charge, her eyes filling with tears. With a choked sound, Amelie left the shelter of Hayden’s arms and flung herself into Fanny’s waiting arms. She enfolded the girl tenderly, her cheek resting against the bright red hair, her eyes closed, tears seeping from their corners.

  By God, he would find whoever was responsible for this. By all that was holy, he would. To think he’d almost left them here in such imminent danger. What if he’d gone yesterday? How could he have been so horribly wrong, and who would have paid the price for his error in judgment? Amelie? Fanny?

  “Where did the shot come from?” he said.

  Hayden, his eyes on Amelie, gave a short, frustrated shake of his head. “I don’t know. Close. Near the house.”

  Grey nodded. “It would have had to be quite close if the shooter intended to hit his target,” he said.

  “Why is that?” Fanny asked quietly. Her eyes had opened, but she still stroked Amelie’s hair.

  “That was the report of a sidearm, not a rifle or musket.”

  Fanny’s hand stilled. “I see.”

  “I doubt
there are many sidearms in Little Firkin. We should be able to discover who owns one easily enough, and from there who has access to one,” Grey said.

  Amelie lifted her head from Fanny’s shoulders. “Unless someone brought one in,” she suggested softly.

  Ah. Good. Her fear was subsiding. He’d already figured that Amelie had a sharp, analytical mind. It was a relief to see her using it.

  “True. But at least it gives us a place to start.”

  “We must send for the constabulary,” Hayden said. “At once. This is no longer a matter of speculation. Amelie’s life is in danger.”

  “Oh!” At this reminder, Amelie buried her face once more in Fanny’s shoulder.

  Hayden’s handsome young face collapsed in misery, and he looked as if he were an instant away from snatching her back out of Fanny’s embrace into his own.

  “Of course,” Grey said. It was not in his nature to sit back and wait while others uncovered schemes and subterfuge. “But it might be some time before they arrive from Fort George. In the meantime, there is no reason I shouldn’t try to discover things that might aid their investigation.”

  The reality of her situation had once again set Amelie’s shoulders to shaking with fear.

  “I swear nothing will hurt you, Amelie,” Hayden said, coming closer and lifting a tentative hand toward the girl.

  “Amelie,” Fanny said softly, trying gently to disengage her. “Amelie. Lord Hayden is in agony.”

  It struck Grey as an odd thing to say, but the girl responded, allowing Fanny to unwind her arms from her neck. She clasped Amelie’s wrists, lifting her hands between them. Tenderly, she kissed Amelie’s knuckles and froze. It was only a fleeting instant, but long enough to catch Grey’s attention. Then she turned the girl toward Hayden and stepped back.

  Amelie took one look at Hayden’s anguished face and began sobbing again. Hayden tried to put his arms around her, but she shook her head, backing away and burying her face in her hands.

  Grey, whose well of unquestioning sympathy had just about been plumbed, grew aware of a frisson of impatience. He couldn’t imagine Fanny going on like this, and was frankly becoming a little bored.

  “She’s overcome,” Fanny gently told Hayden, who looked as though he’d just taken a dagger to the heart. She put a bracing arm around Amelie. “Come along, darling. You should lie down.”

  “Yes. Of course,” Hayden said. “I’ve been insensitive.”

  Amelie wailed through her fingers.

  Grey frowned, a terrible suspicion forming in his mind. No. It couldn’t be.

  Hayden blanched.

  “You should begin your investigation,” Fanny said. All her tears had dried up, leaving behind an oddly chill cast to her magnificent eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, his frown deepening. “I will.”

  Her arms still anchored firmly around the girl’s shoulders, she led her from the room.

  Grey watched her, troubled.

  Amelie had just been fired upon, the house was empty of servants, and yet Fanny hadn’t asked either Hayden or him to stay and act as a guard.

  Why was that? What reason did she have to want to be alone in the house?

  Chapter 33

  Amelie gave in to the sobs racking her. She had never been more afraid, more miserable. She clung to Fanny, but as soon as the door to the bedroom shut behind them, Fanny’s arm dropped from her shoulders and she stepped away.

  “For the love of heaven, Amelie, wash your hands,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  Amelie stared, startled. “What…? Why? What do you mean?”

  Fanny shot her a dark, impatient glare, turning the key in the lock. “You reek of powder.”

  “I’m not wearing any.”

  “Not that sort of powder. Gunpowder,” she said tightly.

  Sightlessly, Amelie sank to the edge of the bed.

  Fanny knew.

  “You’d best just pray poor Lord Hayden was so overcome with fear for you that he didn’t notice,” Fanny continued, turning back around, “or if he did, that he didn’t recognize the implication of the scent. The poor lad, he had no idea why you wouldn’t accept comfort from him.”

  Fanny knew. She knew about the gun, and she probably knew Amelie had written the letter, and…and everything.

  “Oh, Fanny. I am so sorry!” she cried, rising and stretching out her arms.

  “Hush!” Fanny said. She made no effort to come to Amelie. She stood listening at the door.

  Amelie had never seen Fanny wear such an expression. She wasn’t merely upset; she looked haunted, and her gaze held not a whit of warmth. She couldn’t have lost Fanny’s love. She…she depended on it, depended on her. She wasn’t as mature and ready to stand on her own as she’d thought. She needed Fanny.

  “Fanny, please! I had to. I was desperate!”

  The coldness in Fanny’s eyes melted beneath Amelie’s fresh onslaught of tears. With a sigh of surrender, she came to the bed and sat down beside her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

  “I knew you wouldn’t approve.” Amelie gulped. “I knew you’d stop me. You’d never condone deceit in order to accomplish an end. You…you are too honest!”

  “Stop.” A spontaneous sound of anguish escaped Fanny’s lips and she twisted away. Pain filled her face. “Oh, Amelie.”

  “I was careful,” she said. “Except for the gun, and that was only because I had to improvise. Don’t you see? He was going to leave unless I found some reason for him to stay, Fanny! You heard Lord Sheffield. He’d convinced himself the threat was against Lord Collier or his business or something equally ridiculous, and believing that, he would have told Lord Collier I was not in any danger. After that Lord Collier would never have asked me to come to London. And Hayden would forget about me!”

  “That is the reason you shot the gun today. But why did you send the letter in the first place? And how did you manage to overturn the urn? Oh, Amelie.” Fanny’s skin paled. “Grey might have been killed.”

  “I didn’t overturn the urn. The cat really did. It was an accident. I swear it. I would never risk anyone’s life like that.”

  Fanny regarded her soberly. “And the letter? Why did you send it? Why now? Why all of a sudden?”

  “Sudden?” Amelie cried, stung. “There is nothing sudden about it. We’ve been here more than six years, Fanny. A third of my entire life!” All the frustration, the injustice of her incarceration, came flooding back. “I was sentenced to exile without any say in the matter, just expected to sit here while the world races by, hoping that when I arrive in it, I’ll be able to catch up.”

  “You should have told me you felt so strongly,” Fanny said.

  “I did. I told you all the time, and your answers were always the same: ‘There’s no sense grousing about it.’ ‘We must accept those things we cannot change.’ ‘No use complaining.’” She lowered her face into her hands.

  “My dear…” The compassion Amelie had longed for Fanny to give her appeared. Having finally revealed the secrets she’d held so long, Amelie had unburdened herself. The relief was enormous.

  “I didn’t ever imagine this would go so awry,” Amelie said plaintively. “I’d written Lord Collier a half dozen times, begging him to let us go to live with him in London, but he always wrote back refusing. Oh, politely, of course.” Here she sniffed. “He travels too much with business and political concerns for it to even be feasible.

  “But I thought that if the situation were dire enough, Lord Collier would be compelled to act and summon us to London. I never imagined he’d send someone to investigate. But even that didn’t matter once”—her head dipped shyly—“once I met Lord Hayden. Oh, Fanny, I love him so much. I couldn’t bear to lose him. I can’t bear to lose him. That’s why I had to come up with some reason Lord Sheffield would stay longer.”

  Fanny shook her head. “You didn’t need to go so far. If Lord Hayden feels the same way, he’d have come back. And if he didn’t return, t
hen you were mistaking a fantasy for reality, and you are better served to learn it now, rather than later.” Her eyes were shadowed with some painful recollection.

  “Oh, he does!” Amelie averred. “He has told me he loves me.”

  “But he hasn’t asked you to marry him,” Fanny said somberly.

  “No,” Amelie said, drawing herself up. “But he must have reasons why he hasn’t yet, and he will. He loves me, Fanny. I know he does.”

  “Then you should have trusted him,” Fanny said flatly.

  Amelie twisted away, her brow pleating. Fanny was not being very sympathetic. But then, she could not imagine Fanny ever being so in love that she would do anything to protect it.

  “Perhaps I should have,” she admitted. “But Lord Sheffield decided he must leave, and he was going to take Hayden with him, and I was desperate. So I improvised. I might not have thought things out as well as I should, but the thing is done now, and you cannot tell Hayden, Fanny. Promise me.”

  “Amelie,” Fanny said, exasperated. “If I have figured out your ruse, it is only a matter of time before Sheffield does.”

  “No.” Amelie shook her head violently. “He was never close enough to smell the gunpowder on my hands. There’s no reason for him to suspect me. This will work.”

  “Amelie. It wasn’t that clever a ruse.”

  Fanny was wrong. “How do you know? Are you such an expert at ruses then?” she asked defiantly.

  Fanny held her gaze. “Yes. I am.” She did not explain this enigmatic statement further, instead sighing. “Look at the facts, Amelie, and you’ll see you’re the only one who could be responsible.

  “You’re one of the very few people who know where to send correspondence so it will reach Lord Collier directly. You weren’t in the least concerned that an attempt had been made on your life when the cat overturned the urn yesterday. You didn’t even try to dredge up a bit of a fret. You sent the servants conveniently away just before another ‘attempt’ on your life.”