“Do you mean medically, or in general?”
“In general.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Well, Colonel Vaughan arrived at the abbey.”
“Yes.” The doctor’s frown deepened. “I mean besides that.”
Why the grave look? Surely the doctor didn’t think there was anything sinister about Colonel Vaughan. The colonel had been with her when she’d discovered the door standing open—in fact, she knew the lock had been forced only because he’d pointed it out.
Then again, the wait outside while he’d checked the house had seemed surprisingly long...
She shook her head. “No. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Just the same, I do hope you’ll be careful.” The doctor reached out and pressed her hand—a gesture so at odds with his usual professional demeanor, it left Lina momentarily speechless. “A good deal depends on that baby you’re carrying, Lady Radbourne—not just for you, but also for Miss Douglass, to say nothing of the tenants and servants here.”
And for Colonel Vaughan. “I’ll be careful.”
The doctor gave her a heartening smile before rising to retrieve his medical bag. Lina saw him out, trying not to read too much into the episode.
Even so, for hours afterward she couldn’t help wondering about the pennyroyal tea, and whether Colonel Vaughan really might mean her harm.
* * *
Win looked over the breakfast table at Freddie. “After what happened to the dower house door yesterday, I thought I’d leave Julia in Mrs. Phelps’s care and walk over to check on Lady Radbourne and her sister. Care to come along?”
“Not really.”
Sometimes Win wished Freddie were a bit less honest. Or a bit more sociable. Or both. “I think you should come just the same. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
“It was implied in my troubling to ask.”
Freddie’s brow wrinkled. “How? Doesn’t asking me mean you wish to hear my answer, rather than supply your own?”
He had a point. “I thought you might like to meet Miss Douglass. She’s about your age.” When Freddie failed to show any sign of interest, Win added, “Her Christian name is Cassandra. Don’t you have a pigeon with that name?”
Freddie perked up. “Yes, mated with Agamemnon. Two of my broad tail shakers. Beautiful birds.”
“Miss Douglass is a beauty too. A slender blonde with blue eyes.”
“My Cassandra is white with a fine full breast—”
“I’d advise you not to compare your Cassandra to Miss Douglass on every score,” Win broke in, “at least not within Miss Douglass’s hearing. Ladies tend to take that sort of thing amiss.”
“Ah, so that’s what ‘comparisons are odious’ means. I had no idea it was unique to ladies.”
“Not unique to them, but...just refrain from doing it.”
Shaving that morning, Win had decided it didn’t much matter what he thought of Lady Radbourne, since he was leaving in a week. Months from now, either the countess’s baby would disinherit him and he’d remain at Hamble Grange, endeavoring to pay off the mortgage there, or she’d give birth to a girl, in which case he’d return to find her resenting him for stepping into her husband’s shoes.
Yet he’d taken extra care with the way he dressed that morning, and not half an hour after breakfast, he was bowing to the ladies in the dower house drawing room, Freddie at his side. “May I present my brother, Mr. Frederick Vaughan? Freddie, this is Lady Radbourne and her sister, Miss Douglass.”
Freddie executed a bow—a surprisingly smooth and courtly one. He had elegant manners when he made the effort. “How do you do, Lady Radbourne?” He tendered a second bow to her sister. “How do you do, Miss Douglass?”
Once again, the countess looked decidedly unlike a femme fatale. She was dressed in the unbroken black of mourning, with a black net fichu filling in the low neckline of her long-sleeved gown. The sober hue only emphasized the milk-whiteness of her flawless skin and the vivid green of her eyes. She wore her shining chestnut hair swept up in a Psyche knot, though a few wayward curls had managed to escape.
She acknowledged Freddie with a slight inclination of her head. “Mr. Vaughan.”
Win ran his eyes over her from head to toe. Was it his imagination, or was there a certain wariness in her posture, a wariness he hadn’t observed the day before? She seemed...reserved? Uneasy? Win hoped she wasn’t embarrassed about her fainting spell the day before.
She glanced in his direction, and he quickly directed a smile at her sister so she wouldn’t suspect he’d been staring.
Freddie, too, was smiling at Miss Douglass. “Win tells me your Christian name is Cassandra. I have a pigeon with that name.”
At the flash of confusion that crossed her face, Win hastened to explain. “My brother raises racing pigeons.”
“Yes,” Freddie said, “but my Cassandra isn’t a racer, she’s a dropper.”
Miss Douglass gave him a look of polite inquiry. “A dropper?”
“A docile pigeon that doesn’t fly well, to encourage my racers to return to the loft. At present I have four droppers, all broad tail shakers—Cassandra, Agamemnon, Galatea and Pygmalion.”
“Ah.” Miss Douglass wore a faintly bemused expression.
“You would like them. They’re beautiful white birds with a full breast and a fine spreading tail reminiscent of a turkey cock’s. Both the hen and the cock alike can erect the tail, though the cocks’ tails tend to be slightly larger.”
Miss Douglass turned faintly pink, and Win resisted the urge to give his brother an elbow in the ribs. Freddie was bright enough, and not at all bad looking. Why couldn’t he, just once, carry on a normal conversation? Why did it always have to be pigeons—and not just pigeons, but whatever indelicate detail about them popped into his head? He’d spoken all of four or five sentences to the girl, and already she could tell he was peculiar. It vexed Win, because while Freddie frequently drew interested looks from young ladies, few troubled to talk to him long enough to appreciate his many sterling qualities—his kind heart, for instance, and his unflagging loyalty. “Perhaps we might discuss something else for the present, Freddie.”
“If you like.”
“I came to assure myself that the workman I sent repaired the front door to your satisfaction,” Win said to both ladies. “And of course so that my brother could make your acquaintance.” He added in a low voice to Miss Douglass, “I hope you’ll excuse Freddie’s manners. He can be a bit eccentric on occasion.”
She gave Win a bright smile. “Oh, no, there’s nothing to excuse. I find his manners charming.”
She seemed in a perpetually sunny mood, despite the faint purplish circles under her eyes. She was so slender Win suspected he could span her waist with his hands. Then again, he might say the same for her sister, who certainly showed no sign yet of her condition.
Lady Radbourne resumed her place on the sofa. “Do sit down, please, gentlemen. The door is once again in good repair, as you no doubt observed when you arrived.”
Win took the chair she’d indicated, balancing his hat on his knee. Gad, but she was pretty. With a will of their own, Win’s eyes slid from her proud, lovely face to the neckline of her gown, where the pale curves of her breasts, high and firm, showed through the sheer silk net of her black fichu. A brief but undeniable stir of lust ran through him.
Now that was admirable of him, lusting after Lady Radbourne when she was expecting another man’s baby. Then again, Harriet had been at her most alluring when she’d been carrying his child, her body even more womanly than usual. Unless he was much mistaken, she’d wanted him more then too. He’d never been so surprised in his life as the night four or five months before Julia was born when he’d awakened to find Harriet
straddling him in bed, slick with need, literally begging him to take her. He still grew aroused, sometimes, just thinking about it...
Which was why he shouldn’t be thinking about it, not now, sitting here with a widow and her maiden sister, no matter how lovely the widow or how colorful the gossip about her. “How are you feeling this morning, Lady Radbourne? When I last saw you, you were a trifle under the weather.”
It was a polite enough question—personal, perhaps, but certainly friendly—yet she looked even more wary than before. “I’m quite well, thank you. As you suggested, I made sure to eat a few biscuits before getting out of bed this morning. And I ate breakfast too.” She gave him an oddly measuring look. “Tea and toast.”
Win wondered at the reason for the look. Puzzled, he replied, “I’m glad to hear it. Sometimes a simple meal can work wonders. I know it often made the difference between gloom and good cheer when I was in Spain.”
Miss Douglass had joined her sister on the sofa, but at this she inclined his way with bright-eyed interest. “So you were in the war. For how long?”
“Eight years in the Light Division, from 1806 to 1814.”
“And you escaped without a scratch...”
“I wouldn’t say that. I took a jab from a French bayonet at Nivelle, and I’ve a fine scar to show for it. But I was more fortunate than most.”
“I can’t think why you call it a fine scar,” Freddie broke in. “It’s not an interesting shape, or even particularly colorful.” Directing an amiable smile in the general direction of both ladies, he touched a finger to his chest. “It’s here, just above his right nipple.”
Win groaned inwardly. “Freddie, they don’t care where—”
“We enjoyed meeting your little girl yesterday, Colonel Vaughan,” Miss Douglass said with admirable aplomb. “She’s very prettily behaved. Would it be indelicate of me to ask how long you’ve been a widower?”
“Two years.” It sounded like only a short time, yet felt like ages. But then, Win sometimes felt he’d lived an entire lifetime in the ten years since he’d reached his majority. He’d fought on the Peninsula, sat by his father’s deathbed, married and seen his marriage crumble, followed Harriet’s coffin to the churchyard, and was now facing the looming mortgage on Hamble Grange. Just raising Julia seemed likely to turn him gray. He fell asleep at night thinking Harriet would have done a better job with her.
Beside him, Freddie was giving Miss Douglass a puzzled look. “Why do you call him Colonel Vaughan?”
Win tensed. He’d forgotten to warn his brother about that detail. “You know very well I was in the army, Freddie. We were just speaking of it.”
“Yes, but no one calls you ‘Colonel.’”
“Some people do.” Win did his best to sound offhand, though he wanted to kick himself. That would teach him to put on airs. Now he must look like a pompous ass. Thank you, Freddie.
Across from him, the countess heaved a tension-laden sigh.
Keen to abandon the topic of his military rank, Win asked, “Are you certain you’re well, ma’am? You’re very quiet.”
“You must excuse my sister,” Miss Douglass said before Lady Radbourne could reply. “I suffered an attack of my lung complaint last night and she was up with me most of the night, waiting for Dr. Strickland.”
So the doctor had been here, had he? A vague and unexpected stir of jealousy ran through Win. If, as Mr. Channing believed, Strickland really was the father of Lady Radbourne’s baby, Miss Douglass’s condition certainly made a convenient excuse for his late-night calls.
“I trust the attack wasn’t serious,” Win said, a trifle stiffly.
“Serious enough,” Lady Radbourne said. “But if I seem out of sorts this morning, it has nothing to do with Cassandra. You see, I was nearly poisoned yesterday.”
Win blinked. He must have heard her wrong. “Poisoned?”
“Lina,” Miss Douglass said in the same instant, her brow puckering in consternation, “do you really think it’s wise to mention the tea when Dr. Strickland thinks—”
“Either Colonel Vaughan had nothing to do with the incident and will no doubt share our wish to identify the guilty party,” Lady Radbourne said, sitting with her back very straight, “or he’s responsible, in which case he already knows about it and mentioning it can make no difference.”
Win didn’t like the sound of guilty party, especially in conjunction with Lady Radbourne’s earlier use of the word poisoned. “What exactly happened here?”
She met his gaze, a spark of challenge in her green eyes. “Someone—someone who was in this house yesterday—substituted an herb called pennyroyal for the tea in our caddy. For any woman in a delicate condition, drinking pennyroyal tea can bring on miscarriage.”
Win was torn between horror and outrage—and, for the moment at least, outrage won. “And you think I had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know what to think, but you must admit my baby is the only obstacle standing between you and an earldom.”
“Yes, but—but—” Win was so shocked and so offended he could do little better than splutter.
“Win’s never poisoned anyone, at least not that I’m aware,” Freddie said in the same tone of unruffled amiability he’d used when greeting the ladies.
Despite Win’s indignation, Lady Radbourne refused to retreat. “You did have sufficient opportunity. You were in the house yesterday, searching the interior while my sister and I waited outside.”
“Yes, to help you.” He could scarcely believe she was serious. “I entered the house for your sake, to assure it was safe.”
Miss Douglass rushed to smooth matters over. “What he says is true, Lina. And the colonel was with you when you discovered the door had been forced open.”
“I’m taking that into consideration. I’ll admit it’s to Colonel Vaughan’s credit.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Win said, his sense of affront building. Now he could see what Mr. Channing meant about the countess being as bold as brass. She was accusing him of trying to poison her, right to his face and without the slightest hint of compunction.
“I’m not accusing you,” Lady Radbourne said as if she could read his mind, “merely pointing out that you’re not only new to the neighborhood, but you also stand to gain a great deal if I should miscarry. It’s only natural for your presence here to arouse suspicion, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“No, Lady Radbourne, I do not agree.” Unable to maintain his temper another second, Win lurched to his feet. “I’m not accustomed to having my intentions questioned. I came here yesterday to offer my condolences on your loss, I searched this house in the interests of your safety, I sent a workman here to repair your damaged front door, and I’ve returned this morning to inspect the repairs and ask after your health. If you imagine any of that makes me somehow a threat to you, then I can only bid you a good day.” Fuming, he gave the stiffest and most perfunctory of bows, then turned to go, hat in hand.
“Colonel, there’s no need—”
He kept going despite her protest. He had already exited the drawing room and was almost to the front door, anger clouding his vision, before he realized Freddie wasn’t with him.
He spun on his heel and stalked back to the drawing room to find his brother still sitting across from the ladies, still smiling amiably, prepared to continue chatting with them. “Come along, Freddie,” he said from the doorway.
Freddie looked his way, squinting in evident perplexity. “But you said on the walk over here that you wished to stay at least a quarter of an hour.”
What a way to spoil an exit. “My plans have changed.”
Freddie rose to his feet, heaving a sigh that made it clear he found the capriciousness of Win’s decision-making a sore trial. “A great pleasure, ladies,” he said with his usual rote courtesy, ex
ecuting another surprisingly elegant bow.
Win ushered his brother toward the exit, jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe the way he’d been insulted, accused, when he’d done everything he could to be neighborly—when he’d even found himself attracted to Lady Radbourne. Did she really imagine he was so diabolical and so cowardly as to turn poisoner? Did she see him as some sort of Lucrezia Borgia in breeches?
“Well, I’d say that went quite well, wouldn’t you?” Freddie said cheerily as Win opened the front door, every word loud enough that Win was certain both ladies must have heard.
* * *
Cassie’s incredulous stare seemed to bore right through Lina. “What on earth made you bring up the subject of that tea to Colonel Vaughan? You know very well Sarah couldn’t say whether she brought our usual tea home from Malton or not.”
It was true enough. Sarah had been suitably shocked, just as Cassie had been, when Lina had told her about the pennyroyal tea. She’d also admitted in wide-eyed horror that she’d purchased tea leaves only the day before, leaving open the possibility she’d made a dreadful mistake. She’d actually broken down in tears, offering sniffling apologies, and she’d appeared anxious and shaky ever since.
But Lina couldn’t believe any shopkeeper would sell pennyroyal as if it were normal tea, and even if she could, she’d still have to question the colonel’s motives.
“It’s not as if I was trying to offend him,” she said. On the contrary, it had taken all her courage to stand her ground. She might have seemed cool and collected on the outside, but on the inside, she’d been quaking.
“You might not have been trying, but you certainly succeeded.”
“I never imagined he’d go storming out the way he did. But you must admit, up until that moment he was being excessively obliging. It makes one wonder what he was really after.”
“You mean it makes you wonder.” Cassie was rarely angry with anyone, and never with Lina. She was too good-natured, and she’d always looked up to her sister. Still, the expression on Cassie’s face at that moment bore an uncomfortable resemblance to anger. “Do you really mistrust him because he was being obliging? Did it never occur to you he might be behaving that way because he admires one of us, or perhaps because he hopes his brother might?”
An Heir of Uncertainty Page 6
