Vangie could see black and white swans swimming leisurely across the blue-green surface. A listing footbridge hugged the east side of the pond. It joined a meandering path to a glorious wisteria covered arbor. Everything was overgrown and neglected, but the underlying beauty of Somersfield’s grounds was undeniable.
A smaller stone cottage, barely visible through the trees, was nestled in a glen on the other side of the pond. She presumed it was the dower house.
Somewhere beyond her view, lay the Romani camp. She hadn’t remembered the note Milosh handed her in Brunswick until her eighth day of imprisonment. Retrieving her reticule, Vangie had dumped the contents on the table. Unfolding the note, she recognized her grandmother’s familiar writing. They were encamped in a meadow under a maple grove near the Ouseburn River.
Oh, how she missed Grandmother.
A week ago Jasper had brazenly dared to seek a few moments with Vangie. Puri Daj had come to call at Somersfield after visiting the Caruthers and learning Vangie was now Lady Warrick.
The dowager had refused to receive Puri Daj, going as far as to instruct him to forbid her access to Somersfield lands. The dowager had even threatened Grandmother with arrest for trespassing if she dared to attempt to contact her again.
Jasper, bless his heart, had attempted to reassure Vangie. “I promised Madam Caruthers I would personally see to your well-being, as much as I am able to.”
He withdrew an apple and a scone from inside his coat. Standing a mite taller he’d said, “I would consider it an honor to carry missives between the two of you.”
Vangie sighed, closing her weary eyes. They were gritty from lack of sleep. How she wished to explore Somersfield’s lovely acreage and to visit her Romani relatives. Grandmother was anxiously waiting, and Besnik, a dear Romani friend, was covertly watching the estate, lest Vangie attempt to communicate with her Roma vitsa, her kin.
Engrossed in her worrisome thoughts, she didn’t hear the door open.
Chapter 22
Ian descended the stairs feeling unusually optimistic. It was not yet half-past seven, but he’d a small, if somewhat unrealistic hope, Vangie might have risen early herself.
No sooner had he settled into his customary chair, teacup at his lips, than his stepmother strutted into the sun-streaked breakfast room. Her steps faltered, and the self-satisfied look dropped off her face.
Damn and blast. Why was she still here? It wasn’t bloody- well likely she just popped over for breakfast.
From beneath hooded eyes, he scrutinized her. What had his father seen in her? Blunt. Father would do most anything for money. But lie with that? No wonder his father was perpetually in his cups, though how he got his pizzle stiff when he was foxed and laying atop that squeeze crab was beyond Ian’s ken.
“I wasn’t aware you had returned, Ian.”
An obvious understatement if ever there was one. Cocking a brow, he said, “I arrived late last night, or rather, early this morning. No doubt you were abed.”
Helping herself to several hot cross buns and tea from the sideboard, Lucinda made her way to the table.
She avoided his eyes, making a show of buttering a roll, then adding the precise amount of sugar to her tea.
“Lucinda, I presume your presence indicates you didn’t do as I requested and move into the dower house?”
He made no effort to conceal his displeasure.
In the act of stuffing a large piece of warm bun into her mouth, she gulped it down, then took a hurried sip of tea. From the expression on her face, she’d burnt her mouth. He was positive she’d have spewed the mouthful onto the table if it wasn’t for his presence. Instead, she swallowed, her face pinched with pain. Composing herself, she heaved dramatic sigh as if greatly put upon.
He tapped the side of his mouth. “You—”
Meeting his eyes, she scowled, pursed her lips, and blew a large breath out her nostrils. “It was most impractical. . .”
Looking pointedly at her chin, Ian tried again, “Lucinda, there’s. . .”
“Ian, you asked me a question. Do let me speak!”
“You’ve a dab of butter about to. . .”
The blob rolled over her chin, then plopped onto her chest.
“Hell and damn,” she grumbled, wiping at the oily stain. “Now look what you’ve done. It’s ruined.”
She tossed her napkin on the table and slumped in her chair. Folding her arms across her bosom, she shot daggers at him with her eyes.
Ian ignored her, long accustomed to her blaming others, usually him, for everything. “You were saying?”
“Yes, well, it was most impractical for me to remove myself with the disruptions that half-breed gypsy was causing while you were absent.”
She drummed the fingers of her right hand on her bent arm. “I needed to remain here to maintain some degree of order.”
Ian glowered at her. “You dare to call my wife a half-breed gypsy to my face?”
Incipient anger crackled beneath the surface of his calm composure. “You go too far, Lucinda!”
She paled beneath her sallow complexion.
“Her name is Evangeline Warrick, Lucinda, the Viscountess Warrick.”
He stabbed her with his gaze while stressing each word, “You had best never call her anything else again.”
Jasper plowed into the dining room, his movements so uncharacteristically hasty, he skidded three feet across the floor before coming to an unsteady stop.
Ian quirked a brow in askance. Whatever was the man about? Jasper never moved faster than a rigidly measured gait.
A long wisp of hair flopped over his high forehead and dangled atop his nose. He calmly shoved the strands back atop his head, then smoothed them from one side of his balding head to the other.
Ah, that explains that.
For years Ian had wondered about the odd, waxy strand across the butler’s nearly bald pate.
“My bride has been troublesome, Jasper?”
“Really, Ian,” Lucinda objected, her thin face registering her annoyance. “Surely you’re aware how those below stairs are given to tittle-tattle.”
With an air of patronizing superiority, she tilted her head and attempted to look down her pointed nose at the majordomo. The affect was comical, and Ian fought to control the grin tugging at his lips. She looked rather like one of his hounds.
Nose in the air, Lucinda sniffed haughtily, “One simply cannot rely on candor from the likes of them.”
With great dignity, Jasper lifted his chin and cast a contemptuous glance at the woman. “Indeed, Lord Warrick. My lady’s imprisonment in the south. . .”
“That’s outside of enough. You may go,” Lucinda hissed, bolting upright in her chair.
“Her imprisonment in the south tower these three weeks past, has been severely troublesome to be sure,” the butler finished in a rush.
Ian froze, his fork half-raised to his mouth. He better have heard wrong. With deadly calm he asked, “What did you say?”
“Her ladyship has been locked in the south turret with barely enough food to survive on. No fire, no candles, no comforts whatsoever; except those which Mrs. Tanssen, Ailsa, and I have smuggled to her whenever she,” Jasper sent Lucinda another fleeting look, this one indisputably defiant, “wasn’t watching.”
Ian fisted his hands under the table. The urge to wrap them around his stepmother’s neck and strangle the life from her was overwhelming. He’d never felt such hatred toward another human.
At Jasper’s triumphant revelation, her face paled with shock. She swiftly masked her astonishment and attempted a light-hearted laugh. The smile faded from her lips when Ian, shoved to his feet, regarding her with unmitigated fury.
She speared Jasper with a deadly glower. Had it been a sword, Ian had no doubt the butler would have been skewered.
“You dared defy me?” she demanded, her face twisted with hatred.
Jasper met her glare straight on, regarding her with such open revulsion, she might have been dun
g on his shoe. He pointedly turned his back to her and faced Ian.
“My wife is locked in the tower?” Each carefully enunciated word dripped with rancor.
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Come, Ian, surely you’re not going to listen to a hireling.”
Waving her hand dismissively at Jasper, Lucinda tittered again. The sound emerged half-strangled, and her skin assumed a grayish pallor which couldn’t be attributed to her black dress.
Ian glowered at her, too furious to speak.
She changed tactics. “That uncivilized gypsy was causing all manner of problems.”
Her black-eyed gaze darted between him and Jasper. “I . . . I had to do something to keep the household in order.”
“She lies, sir.”
Ian curled his lips in derision. “I’ve no doubt she does.”
She shot Jasper another deadly glare. “I was afraid. That uncivilized chit, she . . . threatened me.”
Lucinda raised a hand to her throat, and contrived to appear frightened.
“Not bloody-well likely.” My God. What must Vangie be thinking? How could she trust him after this?
“What else was I to do?” whined the dowager.
“What else? Are you addled?” Ian banged his fist on the table rattling the china and silverware.
“Nothing, and I do mean nothing, justifies you imprisoning my wife!”
Fire blazed in his blood and cold fury in his mind.
“You have no idea how close I am to doing you harm, Lucinda. You’ve gone too far. I should have charges brought against you,” he gritted between clenched teeth.
She gasped and clutched at her throat with her spindly fingers. “You . . . you wouldn’t.”
Satisfaction surged through Ian. Good, now she’s truly frightened. “The only thing preventing me from doing so is my affection for Charlotte. However, since she saw fit to deceive you in order to run off and marry Monroe, I doubt she’ll fret overly much about you.”
He turned to Jasper. “Have the dowager’s possessions and person moved to the dower house within the hour.”
“It will be my pleasure, my lord,” said Jasper, a satisfied smile on his face. “Am I to assume her ladyship is no longer welcome in the manor?”
“You are.”
“Excellent, my lord.”
Marching to the room’s entrance, Ian halted beside the butler. Laying a hand on the butler’s shoulder he said, “Thank you.”
Jasper replied with a slight, regal nod of his head.
Lucinda jumped to her feet, rapidly shoving her chair backward. It tottered before toppling to the floor with a loud bang. “Wait, Ian. What of Charlotte? She’s wed?”
At the double French windows, Ian paused, half-turning to glance over his shoulder. Lucinda’s gaze faltered, sinking to her plate. She toyed absently with a piece of bun lying there.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sideboard. The harsh features of the man reflected were nothing compared to the endless ire in his devilish eyes. He looked like a man possessed.
He was. Half-crazed with worry and wrath.
His gaze swooped to Lucinda. “Charlotte is happily married and enjoying a holiday at the shore. You’d do well to bless the union, for she has made her choice and it’s irrevocable.”
Lucinda’s gasp was muffled by him bellowing for the housekeeper. “Tanny, I need you at once. Tanny!”
Where was she? Tanny was far more than his housekeeper. She’d taken him under her wing and nurtured him when his mother died. Ian had never ceased calling her Tanny, his childhood name for her, and to this day, she called him Master Ian.
Tanny bustled into the corridor, eyes widening at the unmistakable sound of china breaking in the dining room. “Whatever is she up to now?”
“Never mind her.” Ian strode purposefully across the foyer.
Tanny scurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’ve a key?”
“Yes. I have the master key.” She cast a glance toward the dining room, wincing as another ill-fated piece of china shattered. “Though she doesn’t know it.”
He made for the tower, the housekeeper hastening up the stairs beside him. Breathless from his pace, she fumbled with the chatelaine at her waist. Ian paused one foot on the step above. Tanny was likely to tumble down the staircase if he didn’t give her a moment to remove the key and catch her breath.
He glanced at her. “How is she?”
Tanny shook her head as she finally freed the skeleton key.
“I honestly don’t know. As well as can be expected, I suppose. We’ve been sneaking food and other items to her as we’ve been able. The dowager has an eagle eye, and she threatened to dismiss Jasper and me if we didn’t comply with her demands.”
They reached the top of the staircase. Turning right, they rushed the length of the portrait gallery paralleling the west wing. “Naturally, we refused to do her bidding, to lock Lady Warrick in the tower.”
Ian sent Tanny a sidelong look but didn’t slow his pace. “How came she to be in the tower then?”
Puffing along beside him, Tanny said, “The dowager vowed she’d have the magistrate remove us, forcibly if need be, for trespassing.”
Sir Doyle, damn frig pig. Ian should have guessed he’d be involved somehow.
He and Tanny turned a corner, before heading down an extended carpeted corridor ending at another flight of stairs. Scrambling to keep up, her breath coming in harsh little huffs, she continued, “That poor dear went voluntarily so Jasper and I wouldn’t be forced from the manor. It was plain to us, the best way to protect her ladyship was to remain here.”
“A wise decision, and one I’m most grateful for.” He wasn’t the least surprised Vangie had willingly made the sacrifice to protect Jasper and Tanny. His gut knotted tighter.
“Ailsa helped too,” Mrs. Tannsen said. “She has gumption, she does. More than once that pigeon diverted the dowager, taking a vicious slapping as a consequence, so Jasper or I wouldn’t get caught returning from the tower.”
At the bottom of the stairs Ian held out his hand. “I’ll go from here.”
Tanny placed the key in his palm. He closed his hand around the cool metal and had already ascended the first step when she placed her hand on his forearm.
“Master Ian—”
He stopped, peering into her worried eyes.
“Your stepmother implied you told her to put your bride in the tower. Lady Warrick has reason to believe it was your order that placed her there. We’ve tried to convince her otherwise, but she simply changes the subject.”
The fury he previously held in check spewed forth. “Hell and damnation!”
Hands fisted, through clenched teeth he said, “Get my stepmother out of this house. Use force if need be. I want that malevolent crone gone by the time I bring my wife below stairs.”
“If I may be so bold, nothing would delight me more. For over two-score years the dowager has wreaked unhappiness and havoc within these walls.”
Her color high, Tanny fairly spat the words. “It is an honor to rid this mansion of that heartless woman.”
With that pronouncement, his usually refined and impeccably behaved housekeeper hoisted her skirts and dashed down the corridor.
Ian climbed the last few stairs to the tower. Each one groaned and grumbled as if in pain, protesting his presence. The heartache in his chest mounted with each successive step.
Reaching the turret’s vaulted door, he closed his eyes. He was afraid. Afraid to open the door. Afraid of what he would find on the other side.
Afraid of Vangie hating him.
Inserting the key, he quietly turned the lock. Holding his breath, he shoved the heavy door. He was surprised when it silently swung open, given it was not maintained and rarely used.
Vangie sat in a dilapidated chair, her head resting against the torn fabric, her eyes closed. A new wave of fear assailed him. She looked unwell—thinner than he remembered, and
pale, the dark line of her lashes a startling contrast against her ashen cheeks.
Ian crossed to her on soundless feet, then knelt beside the chair. He didn’t want to startle her.
“Sweeting,” he whispered, gently touching her cheek.
Her eyelids slowly crept open. She stared at him, her lovely eyes, unfocused and sad. Dark blue-violet shadows beneath them made her eyes appear huge in her wan face. A tremulous smile played round the edges of her mouth.
“Ian?” She reached to touch his face. “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”
Ian turned his head into her hand, kissing the palm. “I’m real.”
He saw her drowsiness flee as reality rudely rushed in. Vangie dropped her hand and jerked away from him, retreating against the chair. Her pupils shrank to fine points, accusation simmering in her eyes.
“Did you. . .?”
Ian hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Vangie, I give you my word. I—did—not, nor would I ever, instruct Lucinda to lock you in here. She’s a bitter, vengeful woman, though I never thought her capable of this kind of maliciousness.”
“But the arrangements. . .?”
He took her cold hand in his. The veins stood out, vivid blue ribbons, against the thin skin. “Her moving to the dower house was the only arrangement we spoke about.”
For the first time, Ian surveyed the chamber, which to his knowledge, had been vacant for at least thirty years. The squalor staggered him. Disbelief and anger registered simultaneously. Vangie had lived here the past three weeks? He’d promised she’d not go without again.
He’d failed her.
His gaze grazed to her fine-boned face. Wariness lingered in her eyes. Angling to his feet, he extended his hand. “Come, let’s be away from here.”
She placed her hand in his, and let him draw her upright. She swayed before he put a steadying arm round her shoulders.
A movement outside caught the corner of his eye. Excellent He smiled in satisfaction. There along the footpath, making their way to the dower house, trudged Lucinda and numerous servants, each encumbered with parcels and baggage. One of the footmen was pushing a hand-cart piled high with possessions.
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