by Liz Tyner
Chapter Nineteen
That night, Melina had slept lightly. When she woke in the early hours, the stillness of the house seeped into her skin. She slipped from her bed and crept to see if she could find Warrington.
At the doorway to the sitting room, she stopped and saw candles lit on each side of the room, but only one candle glowed in each branch. Warrington sat where the light from the window would have flowed over his shoulder had it been day. Instead, shadows danced over his face.
His eyes were shut and his head sagged to the side. She supposed he and Broomer had swallowed enough ale to drown themselves. His fingers were clasped together and one leg was sprawled out, the other bent at the knee. He still wore his frock coat.
‘Melina.’ He spoke without opening his eyes. ‘Don’t stare so.’
He moved only slightly, upright, but not as relaxed. When he looked at her, he took in her body. She could feel his eyes as she watched his face. The instant his eyes lowered to her breasts, she felt the heat ignite in her. His gaze slid to her waist, and lower, leaving a fiery heat trail that moved inward.
‘Again, Aphrodite has risen from the sea.’ His voice unfurled. ‘Arisen from the shells and stands before me. A vision. Her hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes reaching into the soul of everyone she sees.’
‘You’re foxed.’
He shook his head, but his eyes remained on her, apart from his words. ‘Yes and no. If I am drunk, then you must blame yourself. Because it’s your appearance that has addled my senses.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes. There is not enough drink to wash my memories from me. I tried it once and it could not be done in three days. I would have had to swallow enough to destroy my whole mind and I didn’t want that.’
She didn’t speak. He kept her there without a word, only the presence of his being holding her captive.
She turned to leave, reassured he was at his home, safe.
‘Stay, Melina. You truly do owe me that much if for no other reason than I helped you escape from this Stephanos you detest. But I cannot stand the notion of a man touching you.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘I do not want anyone you do not desire touching you. Even myself.’
‘You need to be alone.’ The wind outside picked up, reminding her of the night’s gloom. But perhaps the true darkness was in his eyes.
He breathed deeply, moving back in his chair, sitting straight and clasping his fingers in his lap. ‘I should have drank myself to sleep tonight and prayed to dream of shipwrecks.’
‘There’s still time.’
‘Sweet Melina.’ He laughed. ‘You so guard your speech.’
‘Perhaps.’
He softened his voice. ‘I hope not.’ He turned his face back to the dark window. His gaze took her in. ‘If you were to think of poison, my dear Melina, or wish my death, I would be indeed fortunate to get a second chance. You determined to set sail on a ship of strangers and did. You would not run if the deed were not accomplished. You would try a different route.’
Melina felt a chill at her toes that crept up, but she hid her shiver. ‘I have never even seen poison.’
‘You have yet to marry.’ He brushed his hand across his knee, picking at the doeskin. ‘My wife killed my son’s grandfather. My wife— How do I tell my brothers that our father is not here because my wife didn’t want him around any more?’
‘I have met Ben. If Cassandra’s ways were so obvious—if it could be suspected that she would do such a thing—you know he would have told you. Did you suspect, before you became ill, she might try to murder your father?’
‘Do not ask such a question.’ His eyes, dark, locked on hers. ‘I know you are trying to make a point, but to even suggest I could have imagined such a thing and allowed it to happen is intolerable. And along with my father’s death on my conscience, I have her spawn with Ludgate to keep.’
‘He said he would care for her.’
‘I may not think much of the child, but I do not trust him to find a home for her.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘You’ve never even seen her.’
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s a little girl. An orphan, in a sense. My father left me to starve and has no wish to see me. She shouldn’t suffer because of something she had no control over.’
‘Happens all the time. Though I’ll pay her way.’
Melina spoke softly. ‘Then let me take her back to Melos. She should have a family. I will treat her as a daughter.’
Warrington shook his head. ‘My problem. My responsibility. I will see to it. Broomer can locate a couple willing to raise her as their own. I will examine his choices. You already have sisters to concern you.’
‘You would send a servant for such a duty?’
‘I would send the best person for the task. And that is Broomer. He knows what goes on in the world outside the peerage because he doesn’t always have work inside the house and finds his way among the streets. When he talks, people think he is a simpleton and they don’t notice how much he listens. I didn’t at first. I’ve already told him that the little girl might need someone else to care for her and he knows of a place where she might find a home. When she and Jacob arrive here, she can meet her new family.’
‘She does have a name.’
‘Yes. She was named for her father. Thank you for reminding me. But I had not forgotten.’
‘Perhaps you should forget. Remembering only serves one purpose—to cause you discomfort.’
He shut his eyes. When he opened them, he turned his head from her. ‘That is one thing I will change. I will make the people who take her agree to give her a new name. Something they choose. Perhaps it will give them closeness to her.’ He pushed himself up. ‘This isn’t her fault. I want the past behind me, and even if she doesn’t know it, so does she. She deserves a chance to begin anew.’
He opened a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of ink and paper. ‘I’m sending Whitegate’s butler a note. I never took my father’s room after he passed. Cass and I had living quarters of our own, smaller but comfortable. Now I want my things moved to my father’s chambers. While Jacob is here, the changes can be made. I’ll return with him.’
Melina wanted to touch him, but didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to caress his jaw, feeling the skin, or slap him to try to shake him from his feelings.
‘You’re not accepting and forgetting, you’re just pushing the reminder where you cannot see her,’ she said. ‘You still have the rage.’
‘I do have the anger.’ He dipped the pen in ink and wrote as he spoke. ‘I just found out for certain that my wife killed my father. For nothing. No true reason. The only person she really had reason to kill was me. But I know she didn’t like my father. Didn’t like his wife and didn’t like his controlling so much of our lives.’ He dipped the pen again and continued writing.
Melina turned her back, feeling like a goddess. One who had come to earth only to discover that men were mortals and could not accept a peaceful world when they had opportunity.
‘It is only what is inside you keeping the pain alive for you.’ She did not face him, but her voice was loud enough that he could easily understand her words.
‘A person who has never been burned cannot know what it is like to have the experience of fire consuming the skin and the way it lingers. The deeper the burn, the longer it takes to heal and to forget the pain.’
‘You plan to live the rest of your life alone?’ she asked, feeling each word jar into her heart. And she would live the rest of her life with the memory of him remaining in her mind and she’d wonder if he’d ever put the betrayal behind him. She doubted he could. If she thought he would, she might proceed differently. Because she would never forget the Earl of Warrington. And she didn’t even know his given name.
‘I think it best.’ He didn’t look up from his writing.
She stared at the bent head and didn’t believe he was unaware of her. But she was being dismissed. Ju
st like the child he thrust from him.
The wind pushed against the house. But it wasted its time. The house was Warrington’s. Immovable. Closed tight. And very dark.
Warrington’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed, but he listened. The noise wasn’t only the wind, but someone at the door.
Warrington stood. ‘Sounds like someone trying to break inside.’ Grabbing a lamp, he hastened to the stairs.
Broomer had a flintlock at his side, but he’d opened the door to Ludgate. The frail man stood at the threshold. He looked to the top of the stairs. ‘I must speak with you privately.’
Warrington waved an arm, sending Broomer on his way, and gave a nod to Ludgate. They moved back into the sitting room. Ludgate followed and stood just inside the door. Melina saw scratch marks across his jaw. He clasped something hidden in his hand and he paced in place, the crutch tapping along beside his leg.
Ludgate collapsed on to the sofa and pulled the crutch to him, resting his forehead on the wrapped top of the wood. His eyes were closed. ‘I am so sorry, Warrington. So sorry. I had no idea.’
‘I am making sure Willa is cared for.’ Warrington’s voice cut the air. ‘You do not have to concern yourself with her ever again. In fact, you will not be allowed to.’
‘I am not talking of that.’ His head moved when he spoke. The sound of Ludgate’s breathing drowned the sound of the wind outside.
‘I saw…’ He paused, finding words, holding a bottle. ‘Daphne was too quiet when we returned home. Daphne is…no different than Cassandra in her own way. When I first heard of your back being hurt, I wondered. But Cass was no longer alive. That left only Daphne. I thought she might try to kill me, but never you. And I had never suspected the illness in your house anything but a fever until tonight. I only suspected Daphne of wanting me dead. Nothing else.’
He raised his eyes. ‘Arsenic poisoning can look like cholera. Daphne had a bottle of the poison. I rarely live in the house, but tonight I did not leave. When she stirred in the night, I listened. I pried a bottle of arsenic from her fingers. Meant for me and I knew it. She said…’ He paused. ‘She’d decided since you weren’t going to kill me, she’d have to do so. Especially after I told her I would send her to the country because I believed she knew of Cassandra poisoning your father and did nothing to prevent it or to discourage her.’
Ludgate gulped out the words. ‘She killed Cassandra. When Daphne returned home Cassandra died shortly after. And when I confronted Daphne tonight, she told me. She said they called the powder their guarantee of a happy marriage.’
‘But why didn’t Daphne kill Cass before Willa’s birth?’
‘She didn’t expect… They were together every day and she didn’t believe at first that the child was mine. I assured her it could not be possible. She didn’t think her sister or I could betray her so. When Cassandra left, the baby came too early. Daphne knew the child couldn’t have been yours and it had to have been conceived earlier. She knew the dates. And the girl’s name was a slap. But Cassandra wouldn’t see her. When Daphne received the letter from her sister telling of the chance of another child, Daph visited without telling Cassandra first. She said she had emptied a bottle of the Fowler’s Solution medicinal she found at your house and put the poison in it, then told the lady’s maid to be sure that Cassandra was given Fowler’s Solution as it would ease her discomfort. I didn’t know the truth until now, but I suspected. I’ve hardly stayed in the same house with Daphne since the little girl was born because she made my life a nightmare. I didn’t suspect she wanted you to kill me, and when you didn’t, she went for what she called the marriage powder. Till death do us part, she said. She claims it is why the vows are written such.’
‘Will you tell the magistrate?’
Ludgate shook his head. ‘No. I am the only one who heard her words. She can easily lie that she said nothing. That I did it. The footmen and butler have her contained now. She’s still raging—at me—for the betrayal. I don’t want her hanged. I will see she is confined to Bedlam. It is only my word and hers, and I do not want this to become known. I told the servants she has lost her senses and it is the truth.’ Ludgate spoke quietly. ‘The little girl should not have the spectre of this following her. The truth is bad enough, and what if it is embellished even more? Do whatever you want with the child and send an accounting to my man of affairs. The funds will be paid. I don’t care.’
He left, then stopped and looked back. ‘But I would place the little one in a home where she can never find out about her true birth, one with a lot of spiritual guidance. She will need it.’
Chapter Twenty
Warrington had stood at the window an hour, waiting for the carriage, watching the place the town coach would first become visible, before he saw Dane, riding Chesapeake. The carriage was next.
Warrington strode to the front entrance, stepping outside as the vehicle stopped.
‘Father,’ Jacob squealed, opening the town-coach door. A woman’s arm reached for him, but missed, and the child scampered out.
‘Careful,’ Warrington shouted. Jacob dashed to the doorway and threw himself against his father’s legs.
‘You’re back,’ Jacob shouted. ‘I knew you were back. I knew that’s why Uncle Dane said we must come to London.’
Warrington could see the same family traits of his brothers in Jacob’s long-limbed stance. He had the jaw that could jut into the same stubborn pose.
‘Yes,’ Warrington said. ‘Did you behave for Uncle?’
He nodded his head. ‘We fished. We rode. We did everything.’ He stretched the last word out, making it take longer to speak than all the other words he’d said.
Warrington knelt to one knee in front of his son. ‘I brought you black rocks from an island we visited, and some shells I’m sure you’ve not seen before, and a hat made by a wise old woman who said the boy who wore it would grow tall and strong.’
‘I’m tall and strong now.’ He flexed his arm and made a muscle. ‘Uncle says I can carry a sword soon—then we’ll fight.’
‘Oh, I look forward to that.’ Warrington grabbed his son by the shoulders and gave him a quick pull against him. Jacob somehow always smelled like porridge. He let him go, thankful his brother couldn’t see his eyes.
‘Can I have a real sword?’ his son asked.
‘Soon.’ He stood and deep inside himself he was pleased Jacob wasn’t old enough yet to heft the weapon. Jacob stayed at his father’s side.
Whatever else Cassandra had done wrong, she’d done one thing right and given him Jacob. Although he was sure that if she’d known how the future would turn out, she’d never have let Jacob be born. If only for spite.
Dane had dismounted and given the reins to the coachman. Then he helped the nursemaid from the carriage. The servant brought out the little girl. The older woman almost stumbled over her skirts as she moved down the steps, but Dane steadied her.
Dane’s boots clicked on the walkway as he strode to greet his elder brother. He and Dane could not be any closer in age or likeness unless they were twins. But Dane made his own light and danced through shadows. He just preferred to keep his nose in a book, or a ledger, or a garden.
No one ever mentioned the slight—very thin—scar running from in front of the ear to the base of his cheek, but Dane would complain of it itching. An occurrence that only happened around females who could offer sympathy.
Dane stopped at his brother’s side, reaching out to shove Warrington’s shoulder. ‘When you were late, I was sure you and Ben had a fight and had fallen overboard. I was going to send out a search for you next year, or the year after. Whenever I started missing you and had run through your funds.’
‘I had a wonderful time. Would have stayed longer, but knew you’d have my house tumbling down if I didn’t return—and I missed Jacob.’ Warrington strode around Dane, leading his son into the house.
Broomer walked out from the servants’ quarters, giving a huge bow to Dane. Dane handed his hat to
the manservant.
Broomer gave another bow and took the hat, holding it in both hands as he left the hall.
Dane’s easy smile of welcome stayed on his face. Then he saw Melina at the top of the stairs, stilled and immediately his gaze darted back to his brother, questioning.
Warrington made sure his face showed nothing. He introduced Melina. ‘She’ll be taking care of the children when the nursery maid needs help.’ Warrington looked at his brother, giving him a brief nod. They moved together up the stairs, Dane at the end of the group.
Warrington saw Melina’s smile when she saw the little girl.
‘You must be tired from the journey,’ Melina said to the nursery maid. ‘Let me take the little angel.’
With a stoic face, the maid handed the girl into Melina’s waiting arms.
‘I’ll help you get them settled,’ Melina said, leading the older woman into the room Melina had prepared for the children.
Dane watched, unspeaking and unmoving.
Warrington kept his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, keeping his son near, and led Dane in the direction of the sitting room.
Once they reached the larger chamber, Warrington smiled at his brother. ‘Hope you do not mind finding somewhere else to stay. The children and the nursery maid will need rooms. The governess is in the other room.’
Dane’s brows rose. ‘Not at all. Not at all. I’m sure I can find someone who cares about me who’ll give me a pillow and scraps from their table.’
‘Aunt Adelphinia is always asking for you to spend more time with her,’ Warrington said.
Dane turned to him, face solemn. ‘Exactly what I was thinking. I so love playing whist with her and her friends. It brightens my evenings.’ He grinned. ‘But truly, War, you would not believe the tales those genteel ladies tell. They delight in shocking me.’
‘You’re easy to shock.’
Dane shrugged. ‘True. And did you have all the adventures you dreamed of on the journey? You were gone longer than expected.’
