Baleful Godmother Historical Romance Series Volume One

by Emily Larkin

  “You’re not a coward or a traitor,” Letty told him firmly.

  The shock vanished. Reid’s face tightened. He averted his head and climbed to his feet.

  * * *

  The big gray was still on the far side of the stream. Reid looked across at the animal, and then down at the water. A muscle tightened convulsively in his jaw.

  He can’t bring himself to step into the water.

  “You’re not riding him,” Letty said brusquely. “Look at him! He wants nothing more than to throw you again. One of the grooms can fetch him.”

  Reid glanced at her.

  “The folly’s two minutes away. Lucas and Tom are there. You can take one of their horses.”

  Reid took Lucas’s mount because Tom stopped painting and rode back with them. “Took a toss, did you?” Tom said cheerfully. “Lord, but you’re wet, the pair of you! You’ll borrow my clothes, of course, Major. We’re almost of a height.”

  Letty caught Tom’s elbow in the stableyard. “He needs something hot to drink,” she hissed in his ear. “And some brandy.”

  When she next saw Reid, he was in the green and gold salon, eating macaroons and wearing a coat that was half an inch too long in the sleeve. He looked as gaunt and weary as ever, but his hair was dry and the gray tone gone from his skin. Letty sat alongside him on the sofa, and cast Tom a grateful glance.

  Reid didn’t stay long. He ate one more macaroon and took his leave, promising to return Tom’s clothes tomorrow.

  “How are you getting to Marlborough?” Letty asked. “Not that gray!”

  “Lucas’s curricle,” Tom said. “One of the grooms will bring it back.”

  He went out to see Reid off, and returned two minutes later.

  “How do you think he is?” Letty asked.

  “He’s perfectly well. Stop fussing, Tish. It’d take more than a toss to upset a man like Reid!”

  * * *

  Letty stayed awake for a long time that night, thinking about what had happened at the stream, remembering the despair she’d seen in Reid’s eyes. She thought back to her first meeting with him. I need to make things right, he’d said.

  She had assumed he was on a personal crusade for revenge, but it seemed to her now that she’d been wrong. Reid’s quest was more than vengeance; he sought expiation as well.

  But was expiation possible? Reid couldn’t undo what had happened. He couldn’t take back what he’d told the French.

  Letty pondered that question for several hours, and came to an unsettling conclusion. Expiation was possible.

  The penalty for cowardice was discharge—and Reid had resigned his commission.

  The penalty for treason was death—and Reid had told her he’d be dead by the end of the year.

  He’d refused to tell her what he was dying of, but she thought she knew.

  Icarus Reid intended to kill himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  November 18th, 1808

  Whiteoaks, Wiltshire

  In the morning, her nighttime fears seemed faintly foolish. Letty’s certainty became doubt. By the time she’d eaten her breakfast, she’d convinced herself that her imagination had been overactive. Reid was no more going to kill himself than he was going to grow wings and fly to the moon. His bleakness yesterday, the despair she’d glimpsed in his eyes, were entirely natural—given what had happened to him at Vimeiro—but he had too much strength of character to commit suicide. Reid was a soldier. If he was backed into a corner, he’d fight his way out; he wouldn’t turn his face to the wall and die.

  Accordingly, when Sir Henry Wright asked to speak with her privately, Letty was able to give him her full attention.

  Sir Henry didn’t make the mistake of trying to propose in the windswept, leafless garden. Nor did he make the mistake of trying to present his offer as anything other than what it was: a marriage of convenience.

  “You know my circumstances, I think,” he said bluntly, when they were seated across from one another in the cool privacy of the library.

  “Yes,” Letty said. Wright’s father had left him saddled with massive debts.

  “I can’t offer you anything—except a baronetcy.” He made a throwaway gesture with one hand, as if to indicate how worthless that title was. “The manor’s well enough, but nothing compared to Whiteoaks.”

  “What are your feelings for me?”

  “I think we could be friends,” Sir Henry said, and meant it.

  Letty nodded. So do I. “If we were to marry, would you be faithful to me?”

  Sir Henry flushed faintly. He glanced away from her, and then back. He met her eyes squarely. “No. But I’d never give you cause for embarrassment.”

  Letty nodded again. She looked at his forthright face and steady brown eyes. I like this man. “If I was looking for a marriage of convenience, I’d accept your offer. But I’m not. I’m very sorry, Sir Henry.”

  He shook his head. “It’s what I expected. A one-sided bargain, after all. I can see what’s in it for me—but not what’s in it for you.” He smiled ruefully. “To tell the truth, I’m almost relieved. Marrying for money is not . . .” An expression of distaste crossed his face. “Not something I ever envisaged myself doing.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Sir Henry looked down at his hands. “What I want to do . . .”

  “What?”

  He looked up and met her eyes again. “What I want to do is sell everything, right down to the last teaspoon. Get rid of the whole mess.”

  Letty listened to the bell-like tone of his words. He meant it. “Would that cover the debts?”

  “Just.”

  “And your family?”

  Sir Henry shrugged. “My sisters are both married. They’d be sorry to see the manor go, but they have their own homes.”

  “And you? What would you do?”

  Sir Henry smiled faintly. “Take the king’s shilling.”

  “The king’s shilling? You can’t enlist, Sir Henry!”

  He looked almost amused. “Any man can enlist.”

  Letty stared at him. “Do you want to be a soldier?”

  “Begged m’ father for a commission when I came down from Oxford, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Nothing he can do about it now.” Sir Henry grinned, as if he found this amusing.

  “Yes, but an enlisted man!”

  The grin faded. Sir Henry shrugged again. He didn’t tell her that commissions cost money; she knew that.

  “A cavalry regiment?”

  Sir Henry shook his head. “The Ninety-fifth Rifles.”

  Letty lifted her eyebrows. “You have thought about this.”

  “A lot.” Sir Henry pushed to his feet. He held out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Miss Trentham.”

  Letty stood and clasped his hand—and didn’t release it. “I don’t wish to marry you, Sir Henry, but I do wish to buy you a commission. I hope you’ll accept it.”

  Sir Henry opened his mouth, and then closed it. He blinked, swallowed, spoke: “Miss Trentham, you can’t—”

  “Yes. I can.”

  Sir Henry looked at her for a long moment. “Why?” he said, finally.

  “Because I like you. You tell the truth. You are exactly the sort of man who makes a good officer. I shall write to my man of business today and set it in motion.”

  “Miss Trentham . . .”

  Letty kissed his cheek, part farewell, part blessing. “Enjoy your soldiering, Sir Henry.”

  “Thank you,” he said, looking almost dazed. “I . . . Thank you!”

  * * *

  Letty composed a letter to her man of business, not merely about Sir Henry’s commission—95th Rifles, she wrote, and underlined it—but also about securing a place for Eliza at the lying-in hospital next month. I know it’s too early, but she has no relatives and I wish for her to be somewhere safe and comfortable. That done, she ate a light luncheon, changed into her second-best riding habit—her favorite was still damp from yesterday’s drenching—and sat
in the blue parlor awaiting Reid’s arrival. The window seat had a good view of the carriage sweep. At five after two, she saw him trot past on a chestnut horse.

  Letty caught up her gloves and riding crop and hurried out to the stableyard. Reid was just dismounting.

  “Mr. Reid! Good afternoon.”

  He gave her a nod. “Miss Trentham.”

  “Would you like to go for a ride? I’m just heading out myself.”

  Reid seemed to hesitate. “Alone?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Letty said, trying to decipher his expression. Did he not want to go riding with her? “Lucas and Tom are already over at the folly, Almeria’s taken the girls to Marlborough to look at fabric, and Sir Henry left not an hour ago. I should be glad of your company.”

  Again, that infinitesimal hesitation. “Of course I’ll accompany you,” Reid said politely.

  Letty turned to one of the grooms. “The bay mare, please. The one with the white socks.”

  The groom hurried off.

  A saddlebag was strapped behind the chestnut’s saddle. Reid unfastened it and handed it to a groom. “Please have this taken up to Lieutenant Matlock’s room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The bay mare was brought from the stables and led to the mounting block. Letty climbed into the saddle.

  Reid swung up on the chestnut again. The horse was a good hand shorter at the withers than the gray had been.

  “Is that horse up to your weight?” Letty asked.

  “Barely. I’ll take care not to use him too hard.”

  They trotted from the stableyard. Letty was aware of an awkwardness between them, a constraint in Reid’s manner. She didn’t need to wonder why. It was because of what had happened at the stream yesterday. Because of what he’d told her.

  She studied Reid’s profile. It seemed to her that he held himself more tautly than usual. Whether his tension was due to shame that she knew his secret or fear that she’d reveal it, she couldn’t guess.

  “I shan’t tell anyone,” Letty said. “You have my word.”

  Reid glanced at her. He gave a short nod, but didn’t speak.

  They rode silently, at a trot. Reid’s horse had a placid, knock-kneed gait. The sky was overcast, the wind damp, the woods dank and gloomy. Dead leaves squelched beneath the horses’ hooves. The trees stood like great, gray skeletons. The bleakness of the day pervaded Letty’s mood. Her thoughts swung back to her nighttime fears. “Mr. Reid,” she said abruptly. “You don’t intend to kill yourself, do you?”

  Reid’s head swung round. She saw his astonishment—and then he blinked, and his face became expressionless. He didn’t answer her. He looked away again.

  Letty’s stomach contracted. “You do, don’t you?”

  “Shall we canter?”

  Letty leaned over and caught his arm. “Mr. Reid, tell me! Are you planning to kill yourself?”

  Reid shook her hand off. “That is absolutely none of your business, Miss Trentham.”

  The evasion was an answer in itself. Letty stared at him, aghast. “But why?”

  Reid didn’t reply. He nudged the chestnut into a canter.

  Letty followed. She felt almost stupid with shock. Horror grew in her chest; horror, and fear, and a terrible sense of urgency. Thoughts swarmed in her head, as frantic and disordered as bees chased from their hive. Reid was going to kill himself?

  It was several minutes before Letty was able to think coherently. Don’t panic, she told herself sternly. Find words he’ll listen to.

  Reid chose the path up to the downs. They cantered slowly, not pushing the horses. Letty fastened her gaze on Reid’s back and cudgeled her brain, turning over arguments, examining them, discarding them. By the time Reid dropped to a trot, she thought she’d found the words she needed. She came abreast of him. “There’s a good viewpoint ahead. You can see Whiteoaks.”

  Reid made no reply, but he let her take the lead.

  At the viewpoint, Letty halted. Reid came up alongside her. They gazed down on Whiteoaks—the black river, the dark woods, the ruined castle on its rocky prominence. “We should ride back past the folly. You’ll want to take your leave of Tom.”

  Reid nodded.

  Letty fixed her gaze on his face. “They did the same to that Portuguese officer, didn’t they? Drowned him over and over.”

  Reid glanced at her—his eyes meeting hers briefly—and then away. After a moment, he nodded.

  “What was his name?”

  For several seconds, she thought Reid wouldn’t answer, and then he said, “Pereira.”

  “Was he a good soldier?”

  “Yes.”

  Letty took a breath. Listen to me, Icarus Reid. “If Pereira had told the French what they wanted to know—and if he’d survived—would you have wished to see him hanged as a traitor? Or would you have thought that he’d already suffered past human endurance? That he’d already died several times, and that perhaps what he deserved most was forgiveness?”

  Reid’s face tightened. He turned his head even further from her. All she could see was the hard right angle of his jaw.

  Letty bit the tip of her tongue against further arguments. Let him think it over. She nudged her horse into a trot.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Letty held the bay at a slow pace. She wanted Reid to concentrate on what she’d said, not on his horse. At the folly, she dismounted. Lucas and Tom’s horses were standing hipshot and half-asleep.

  She glanced at Reid. He was looking particularly grim. What was he thinking behind that shuttered expression?

  “You never saw the secret passage, did you? It starts down here.” Letty crossed to one of the crumbling stone buttresses. “See? This is actually a door.” She leaned her weight against a block of stone. It pivoted, exposing a steep, narrow staircase. She looked back at Reid. “Come on. We don’t need a lamp.”

  For a moment it seemed that Reid would refuse, and then his mouth tightened and he crossed to the doorway, ducked his head, and entered. His glance as he passed was like a slap. Dislike glittered in his eyes.

  Letty found herself frozen, unable to follow him, almost unable to breathe. He hates me.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks and inhaled a shaky breath.

  Above, Reid’s boots scuffed on the stone steps.

  Letty lowered her hands and blinked fiercely. She was not going to cry. She swung the door shut and set off up the staircase. It was almost as steep as a ladder. Daylight shone in from artistically placed gaps and—as they climbed higher—arrow slits.

  These steps were steeper than those outside. It was exactly thirty-nine steps to the courtyard, and another twenty-one to the tower. Reid climbed all the way to the top, and halted. “How does this open?” There was no curiosity in his voice, no interest; just curtness.

  “Press that stone there.”

  The door swung open with a faint, gritty whisper.

  Letty followed Reid out into the roofless tower. The crumbling walls soared high, pierced by arrow slits and little arched windows. Pigeons had nested on some of the sills. The floor was speckled with bird lime.

  Reid crossed to the farthest windows and stared out towards the downs. Letty looked at the set of his shoulders, the set of his head, and turned away from him. She walked to one of the arrow slits above the courtyard and pressed her hands to her cheeks again. Foolish tears welled in her eyes. She blinked, and blinked again.

  Lucas and Tom were visible below, Tom at his easel, Lucas in the gothic archway, feet apart, legs braced, shoulders back, an old rapier in his hand. He looked ready to spring into battle.

  Letty blinked again, and sniffed. She was not going to cry.

  Tom laid down his paintbrush. He walked over and took Lucas’s chin in his hand, tilted his head slightly—and kissed him.

  Letty’s breath choked in her throat. Tom’s kissing Lucas?

  She looked away, blinked several times—and looked back.

  Lucas had dropped the sword. He was returning To
m’s kiss with fervor.

  Letty had to remember to breathe, to swallow. Her heart was beating fast with shock, with disbelief. It’s not true, she told herself. It can’t be.

  She turned away from the arrow slit, her mind almost blank with panic. Reid mustn’t see this. No one must see it.

  She crossed to where Reid stood, staring out at the downs, and tried to find her voice. “That’s where we just were. See?” She pointed. “And over there, that single oak, they call that the gallows tree—not that anyone’s ever been hanged there, but it looks like a gallows—and up on that hill are two standing stones. There are lots of standing stones in Wiltshire! There’s a huge ring near Avebury, dozens of stones. And Stonehenge, of course. You’ve heard of Stonehenge?” She was babbling, the words spilling from her mouth. How long would Lucas and Tom kiss? “Can you see the two standing stones on the hill? If you look hard, you might be able to make them out.”

  She left Reid at the window and hurried across to the arrow slit again. Please let them have stopped kissing.

  Her plea was answered. Lucas and Tom were no longer kissing. Instead, Tom knelt in front of Lucas as if he was praying. What’s he doing?

  Realization dawned. Tom’s kissing him down there.

  Letty stared, transfixed with horror.

  Lucas tipped his head back. His eyes were closed, his lips half-parted, his hands buried in Tom’s hair.

  So that’s what bliss looks like.

  Letty swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back at Reid. He was turning away from the window. She hurried across to him, feeling breathless with panic. “Let’s go back down to the horses.”

  Reid put up his eyebrows. “But—”

  “Tom’s busy painting. We don’t want to disturb him.”

  “But—”

  “We don’t want to disturb him!”

  Reid’s eyebrows arrowed together in sharp suspicion. He stepped past her.

  Letty grabbed his wrist. “No.”

  Reid flexed his wrist and broke her hold. He crossed to the arrow slit in three swift strides and looked down—and froze.