by Cathie Dunn
“Hettie…”
Gideon turned sharply. Bartholomew Walker’s strict, cold gaze pierced him. It was impossible. He must have imagined–
“You heard it, too?” Minnie was on her feet, standing beside him, clutching his arm. “You did, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. A man whispering, Hettie.” A shiver ran down his spine. “I take it you’ve heard it before?”
“I have. Yesterday, when I was alone in the bedroom. Then again tonight. It woke me.” She stared at the portrait. “Do you think it is him?”
Gideon shook his head. A modern man, he didn’t believe in ghosts. “It has to be a trick.” He scanned the room but inside his mind, doubts began to creep in. They’d both heard it. Male. Strong. Calling his wife’s name. “It must be.”
“I agree.” Her voice quivered. She swallowed. “So, let us say she didn’t fall down the cliffs. What happened instead?” Her questioning eyes implored him.
He took her hands and led her back to the settee. Pulling her down, he sat beside her and draped the blanket around her shoulders.
“My father never spoke of my grandfather. Being raised away from him, they were never close. I always felt Father resented Rufus, my grandfather, though he’d never tell me why.”
“Was Henrietta your grandmother?”
“No. When Father was four years young, my grandmother, Annabelle, died of a fever. Hers was a marriage of convenience, something Father entered into as well, insisting on family duty. He tried to force me, too, but…that’s another story.” Gideon refilled the glass and took a draught. Minnie watched him, tense, yet relaxed, as if accepting his company. A good sign after ignoring him for four long days. “Two years after my grandmother’s death, Rufus disappeared to Paris, never to set foot on English soil again. Father only told me once, then forbade me to ever mention it again. Up to the day he died, Father tried to obliterate Rufus from the family history.”
Sympathy shone in her eyes. “How lonely your father must have been; his mother dead, his father abroad. ’Tis no wonder he grew up hating him.”
“Yes, ours wasn’t a happy home. My mother, well, she has firm views on Rufus, my illustrious ancestor, eloping with a then widowed woman.”
“They eloped?”
“I believe so. I only realized when I found their marriage license–Rufus had arranged for a special dispensation to avoid scandal–that he must have been hiding Henrietta after she’d fled from Walker, most likely at our country house in Kent.”
A gust of wind rattled the window he’d entered through, and Gideon went to secure it. A glance outside quashed any idea of a ride back soon. “Looks like a storm is brewing.” He closed the curtains, glad he had stabled his horse before breaking in.
As he sat down again, the blanket slipped off Minnie’s feet. He swallowed and reached out to adjust it again, his fingers slowly caressing the delicate skin. She shivered beneath his touch. “Min–”
“No.” Her sharp tone matched the fire in her gaze. She pulled her feet under her body, elaborately covering every bit of exposed leg. “Not again.”
“You weren’t disinclined last time, nor the time before.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “You know what I want. And I know you want it, too.”
She shifted slightly. “That may be the way of the girls in London, but not me. I’m…I’m…”
“You’re different?”
“Umm, you could say so, yes.”
“I see.” His gaze raked over her body, half wrapped in the blanket. “Absolutely.”
Minnie’s eyes drifted across the room, and she pulled the blanket tighter. “You were suggesting your grandfather and Henrietta lived together while Bartholomew was still alive?”
“No, I don’t think they dared, even though it’s likely Rufus helped her disappear. I don’t think either of them expected the public reaction, the threat of a murder trial, or even Bartholomew to kill himself.”
“He must have been distraught, thinking his wife dead.”
“Or run away.”
“You think he knew she was alive?” Her breath hitched.
Gideon wasn’t surprised she found the story unbelievable. His first thoughts had been full of doubt. Only once he’d discovered the marriage license had he realized the truth. “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”
“Ah. And the other?”
“I want to find proof of an earlier link between Rufus and Henrietta. Secret letters, notes, gifts, perhaps.”
“You wouldn’t find those in this room. It was his. If she had letters from Rufus, she’d hide them from her husband.”
Of course. Minnie’s words made sense. “Back to the beginning?”
“Perhaps not quite all the way. He–” Minnie jumped as thunder rolled above the house.
The continuing growl made Gideon uneasy; a shudder ran down his spine. He glanced around the room, then put a calming hand on Minnie’s shaking shoulder. Just who did he want to calm–her or himself?
They sat in silence, staring at the closed curtain. Gideon’s heartbeat slowed steadily, and Minnie’s breathing grew steadier beneath his hand.
“What I began to say…perhaps Bartholomew knew about Rufus. Did they ever meet?” Her voice still trembled.
“I guess. Henrietta must have met Rufus at a ball or a recital. It appears he wanted to marry her but had to wed Annabelle instead by his father’s orders. So Henrietta ended up here, unhappy.”
“Then Annabelle died.”
He nodded. “And she must have hated it here so much she ran away…”
Another roar of thunder shook the walls. “Sweet Jesus, it’s right above us.”
“We’re safe inside.” But somehow his pitiful attempt at assurance didn’t convince him. The hairs at the back of his neck rose, and he tried to shake off the pounding in his head.
A crack lashed through the house, the thunder rattling the manor walls.
“Oh, my God.”
“What?” Gideon followed her stare. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. That last whip of thunder shaking the house had shifted Bartholomew Walker’s portrait. It hung on precariously, tilted to the side. “Damn!”
He jumped up and grabbed the gilt frame to straighten it, but the portrait wouldn’t stay in place. “I have to take it down..” Gently, he pulled it away from the wall, making sure the loop attached to the nails didn’t rip chunks off the wall. He set it down, looking at it. This close up, and with little light in the room, something in the expression of the long-dead man struck him; a mean streak in the eyes, the hard line of the mouth. The face of a bully.
“Gideon,” Minnie whispered and he swirled around. Her eyes wide, she pointed at the place where the portrait had hung but moments earlier. “Look!”
Chapter Seven
Minnie’s heart pounded in her ears. She swallowed hard as she watched Gideon.
“A nook.”
A secret hiding place.
The square opening in the wall was just above his head. Gideon leaned forward on his tiptoes. “Papers.” He reached inside and pulled out a leather bound file, secured with string. Gently, he brushed off a layer of dust and placed it on the desk. With deft fingers, he untied the bow and opened it.
Minnie circled the desk and stood next to him. “What are these?” She edged closer, her arm brushing his. Her skin tingled through the thin fabric of her nightdress.
His gaze was focused on the sheets spread out in front of them. “Letters. See here.” He pulled out a small bundle of envelopes.
Minnie held her breath. Another roll of thunder cracked through the air, now further away. Instinctively, she edged nearer to Gideon, reassured by the warmth emanating from his body. “Addressed to your grandfather…”
He nodded. “Yes.” Using his fingertips, he extracted the sheet from the envelope and unfolded it, scanning the contents. “My God.”
“What?” She was close enough to feel his breath on her neck as she read the content. “Oh, poor
Hettie.”
“Well, I’m sure Bartholomew didn’t see her that way. A wife writing love letters to another man–a married man given the date here–wouldn’t endear her to her husband.” His tone cynical, yet with a flicker of admiration, he returned the letter into its envelope and picked up a small, bound notebook. “Now, what’s this?”
Minnie’s eyes widened as he opened the first page. “A diary?” The writing was identical to the letter. “It must be Hettie’s.”
“Yes. Here’s a paragraph about how much she missed Rufus and what–” He moved away from her, blocking her view. “Perhaps it’s not for unmarried ladies to see.”
“Oh, suddenly!” Minnie tutted. “Never mind the fact that the unmarried lady in question caught an intruder–you–in her house, discussed how a distant relative left her husband to join her widowed lover and now browses through papers meant to be kept secret forever.”
“There is that.” He cocked his head, smiling.
“Let me see!” She held out a hand, and he gave her the diary. Flicking through the pages, Henrietta’s writing provided a sad glimpse into her life. “Listen to this: Bartholomew did it again. With only three days to the garden party at the vicarage, I have a black eye and my wrists and arms are covered in bruises. Fortunately, nobody can see the marks on my body beneath my clothes. But my face? I hid three bottles of port this week, yet he always finds them. Dear God, what can I do?” Minnie’s voice faltered, her heart going out to the woman. What she must have suffered, Minnie couldn’t imagine.
“The bastard.” Gideon’s harsh words echoed her feelings. He glanced briefly at the portrait. “Yes, definitely a drunk and a bully, but to hit a woman?” He looked thoroughly angry, his brows knitted. When his gaze met hers, she shivered at the fury within its black depth. Gideon Drake made a dangerous enemy.
“Perhaps that’s why she wrote to Rufus. To cherish memories of happier days.” She sighed. “But little did she know her letters never reached their destination.”
He shuffled some papers again, clearly needing to do something to contain his rage. With a few words, Henrietta Walker had changed from adulteress to wronged woman. Perhaps he was as little surprised as she was now as to the reasons Hettie ran away.
“Look at this,” he said, shoving a sheet toward her. She put down the diary, determined to read it as soon as she was alone.
“What is it?” The blood drained from her face as she read the petition for divorce. “Did you see the date?”
He nodded. Leaning against the desk, he faced her. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Still finding him too close for comfort, yet unable to pull away, Minnie agreed. “So Walker knew.”
“Yes. And a fortnight later he shot himself.”
“Hettie was brave to apply for a divorce. She’d certainly have faced ridicule and ostracism. Even with your grandfather’s support.”
“No doubt, with the reasons provided here of her suffering at Walker’s hands, Hettie would have been granted a divorce. Rufus had friends in Parliament who’d likely have pushed it through swiftly and quietly.”
“Of course, our new marriage and divorce laws weren’t in place in those days, so she had to rely on Rufus’ help.”
“And his title and reputation would have suppressed all gossip, at least for a while.”
Minnie’s heart sank. “But Walker wouldn’t agree to it. Is that what happened?”
“I suppose so.” Gideon’s expression was grim, his wide mouth a thin, disapproving line. “I’m surprised he didn’t burn these.” He pointed at Hettie’s request for divorce.
“So am I. But what puzzles me…why did he kill himself? He could have easily insisted on her coming back, cleared his name, shamed your grandfather.”
“That’s what I don’t understand either. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Unless having a supposedly dead wife return alive and well would make him a laughing stock in Trekellis.”
“Of course.” It made sense. “Hettie’s supposed death made headlines all across England, but especially in remote counties like Cornwall echoes linger for a long time. Just think of the villagers still staying away from the manor.”
“So,” Gideon shifted his weight onto his other leg, subconsciously moving closer to her, “let’s assume Walker feared for his reputation. Had his drinking gotten so out of control that he shot himself by mistake? In a rage? He doesn’t look like the kind of man to wallow in self-pity.”
“Possible. Or perhaps he did love Hettie in his own way and, rather than having the scandal of divorce attached to his name, he killed himself.” She glanced at him, but quickly averted her gaze at the cynical look in his eyes.
He tilted her head gently to face him. “Perhaps you’re right. Or it may be a combination of both.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and her hand itched to touch his lips. Heat shot into her cheeks.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well done, my enticing sleuth. It appears we have solved the riddle.”
“Perhaps that’s why we heard his voice.” In gentle strokes, his fingers caressed her exposed neck, sending butterflies across her skin. Her breathing hitched as the sensations coursed through her body.
“His voice?”
“Yes.” Why did she feel stupid voicing her thoughts? “You heard it, too. Remember? The thunder, the voice whispering Hettie’s name, the portrait falling off when the house shook.”
He smirked. “So, you think Walker’s ghost wanted all this revealed?”
Minnie nodded. “Absolutely.”
“So you believe in ghosts?”
“I...” Did she?
Gideon edged closer, his free arm encircling her waist. Leaning into him, her breathing grew ragged as his teeth nipped her earlobe. “You’re full of surprises, Minerva Goodridge,” he whispered, his mouth blowing a trail of soft kisses down her neck.
“I don’t…oh.” The fire in her center burst through, her body tingling. Delicious warmth spread through her limbs, turning her bones to liquid.
He pulled her against him as her legs threatened to give way. His mouth hard on hers, she reciprocated their tongues’ game with a passion suddenly awakened within her. Not that she’d ever behaved like this with any man. But Gideon Drake wasn’t simply any man. When he hadn’t visited, she’d craved his company, his humor, his touch. Yet, she knew nothing about him. Feeling his arousal nudge her thighs, she relished his reaction to her. But was it because of her? Or because she was simply a young woman he could seduce?
Doubts began to seep through the haze, and she pushed her hands against his chest, ending the kiss. “Stop.”
His breathing ragged, he stared at her, his emotions hidden. “You’re right, though it’s damn hard to.”
Slowly, Minnie regained her own breath and extricated herself from his embrace. “Perhaps we could go through the papers later today?”
When people are in the house.
Gideon stepped back. “Yes, a good idea.”
An ache grew in her heart. She didn’t want him to go, but light was filtering through the gaps in the curtains. Soon Beth would arrive–and what would she say about finding Minnie in her nightdress in the company of Lord Drake? Word would spread like a wild fire.
His hands sifted through the loose papers. “May I take some of these?”
“Of course.” She nodded. “I’ll be reading the diary once…once I’m dressed.”
As his gaze raked over her body, the frilly nightgown revealing her curves rather than hiding, she blushed. Before she could turn away, he appeared to regain his composure and shuffled some papers into the leather binding, securing it with a tight bow. “Thank you. Perhaps you’d like to visit Eaton Hall for tea this afternoon?”
Gideon must have noticed her eyes widening, as he added, “Don’t worry, Minnie. The house is bustling with staff.” He grinned, his eyes full of promise.
Her heart bounced. “I’d be delighted. Shall we say three o’clock?”
“Three this afternoon
it is.” He lifted the bundle and tucked it under his arm. “Make sure you’ll catch up with some sleep. It’s been a long night.”
“I’m not sure I can rest after all this.” She gestured across the room. “By the way, how did you get in?”
Gideon shifted uncomfortably. “I must confess something, Minnie.”
There was more? “Yes?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I broke into the manor prior to your arrival and left a window latch open.” He pointed at the window in question.
Ah, that explained how he entered. “So you decided to return without asking me first?”
His face colored. Minnie found his discomfort amusing. The tables were turned. She crossed her arms. “Well, Gideon Drake, you’re lucky I didn’t hit you over the head with the candlestick.”
***
Hettie had lived; she had asked for a divorce. To marry Gideon’s grandfather. An earl.
As Gideon was now. Realization sank in as Minnie sat curled up on the settee in the parlor, Hettie’s diary open in her lap.
I’ve kissed an earl. “Sweet Lord, what a mess.”
Chores had prevented her from reading until after a light lunch, but now she couldn’t wait any longer to discover more about the woman she’d begun to grow fond of.
What would she do once they’d gone through all the documents, the letters, the diary? The truth would vindicate Bartholomew Walker, her great uncle, and her family honor would be restored. No longer linked to a murder that never was, the villagers of Trekellis would come to the manor again. She could finally settle and make her home here.
But what about Hettie’s reputation? What about Gideon’s grandfather’s? A family like the Drakes must have had their share of scandals. Would one more matter?
No, she had to reveal the story. Perhaps the knowledge of Walker beating his wife would soften people’s perceptions of Hettie, perhaps even forgiving her flight.
She snorted. Not very likely. Too many wives had to cope with the same fate, stuck with their husbands. Only the new laws allowed a little more freedom, although, as always, it still worked to the men’s advantage.
