by Addison Cain
Gregory did not push, bent on comforting the woman who was scared, tired, and in pain. “Tomorrow I will finish this.”
Nodding, Arabella sniffed. “And then?”
“We marry.” His smile was genuine, his touch careful as he wiped her tears.
In that quiet moment it felt as if the world did not extend beyond the two of them. Payne’s deep breaths were their music, the snores of Hugh, soft as a breeze.
Gregory noticed before she, the man stiffening and pricking his ear toward the window. It started softly, growing in the wind—a cacophony of shrieks. Fire!
The smell of smoke came next.
Taking his lapels, Arabella demanded, “What have you done?”
An instant grip on her arm shackled the baroness when she thought to rush to the window. Gregory still as stone, whispered, “This was not I.”
He was listening for something, watching the stable door as if anticipating combat. The house was in a panic, the whine of windows forced open, the shattering of glass. It all happened so quickly, and then they saw the cause.
Flames were seen licking out the casements on Stonewall Grove’s second floor. Windows thrown open to release the smoke, encouraged the fire, men and women in their nightclothes streaming out into the yard.
Arabella’s immediate thoughts were only of her family. If an ember were to land on the stable’s roof, the structure would ignite in moments. Glancing to where Payne convalesced, darting a gaze back to Hugh’s waking form, she sought out a view of one more and found her missing. “Where is Mary?”
Ignoring Gregory’s iron arm around her middle, Arabella called, “Hugh, where has Mary gone?”
Blinking, hay falling from his hair, Hugh shrugged. “I do not know, my lady.”
Heart in her throat, Arabella rounded on the man determined to pin her to his side. “Gregory? She is in the house.”
“You cannot go in there!”
A wink of light flashed off her hidden weapon, Arabella raising it to him with a shaking hand. “Mary needs me. Please, do not make me hurt you.”
Silver saw pressed to his throat, the teeth biting, Gregory’s black eyes were full of a different kind of pain. “Arabella... listen to me. In the melee one of them might grab you. Screams would go unnoticed. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Tears fell free, Arabella pleading, “I do not know how she did it, I do not know why. All I know is that Mary must have gone into the house... I have to find her.”
Wrapping his spare hand around the silver serrated edge, Gregory pushed the blade from his throat. “No.”
Hugh launched himself across the stable, flying upon Gregory with manic kicks and bites.
In an effort to save the boy from a blow, Arabella set loose the saw. Wrapping her arms around Hugh’s heaving shoulders, she hushed him, demanded he stop. “He means me no harm, Hugh.”
Panting, the boy went still. There were tears on his red cheeks, the back of his hand working to wipe them away. “Your ladyship. Mr. Harrow is a bad man.”
Scoffing over them, Gregory narrowed his eyes and threatened certain death. “You would fight me for this woman?”
“Aye.”
Turning the saw, extending the hilt toward the child Mr. Harrow asked, “If you had this saw, would you use it on any man who thought to touch her?”
She held the boy to her breast. “Stop it, Gregory.”
“I would!” Hugh snatched the weapon, holding it out as if to cut the man who’d given it.
Black eyes left the boy, pouring over Arabella’s face. There was a question in his eyes, one for himself, not for her. “Promise me you will not leave this place, and I will find your Mary.”
Chapter 21
E vening fog mixed with acrid smoke, the air a blur as fire ate away Stonewall Grove’s North Wing. Edmund Jenkins, his servants, male guests, all able bodied men raced with buckets brimming with water. Chaos reigned, every shift in the wind hinting at new destruction.
Arabella kept to her word, holding vigil in the stable, Hugh fast to her side and Payne safe at her back. More and more people streamed in and out of the house, but Gregory had not emerged.
William Dalton had.
He was bare of his coat, his shirt untucked and his breeches loose. Their eyes met across the yard.
Arabella took the silver saw straight from Hugh’s hand. “Gather the women, Hugh. Have them come to the stable for shelter.”
“Mr. Harrow said—”
Without breaking her gaze from the enemy, she hissed. “Do as I say. Do it now before Dalton thinks to enter here and cause us harm.”
The Baron of Iliffe took a step in her direction, adrenalin stealing her breath, but Hugh had obeyed and was already shouting at the top of his lungs for all ladies to come to safety. To have followed, Dalton would have been caught up in the stream of women and made to look like the coward he was. Instead he retreated to a place Arabella could not see, but she was certain he was not running buckets like the others and kept her eye sharp in the smoke for where the villain might lurk.
The stable grew crowded, the Jenkins’s female guests loud in their fright. All around her women wrung their hands, shivering from various stages of undress as they huddled near the only lit lantern. Their presence was Arabella’s shield, and should the worst happen, their labors might save them all.
Mrs. Jenkins, her daughters, family friends and neighbors, could not be allowed to carry on.
Stern, Arabella rounded on them. “We must be vigilant of stray embers. Save your weeping for after the fire is extinguished.”
Lizzy was the first to obey, though she looked terrified. “What do we do?”
“Dear Lizzy, grab those blankets and dunk them in the trough. Cover as much dry hay as you are able.” Arabella gestured for Mrs. Jenkins to take the stool near Payne. “And you. You sit here. There is cleaner air blowing from the back window to clear your lungs.”
The old woman was inconsolable, and Arabella suspected it had less to do with the fire and more to do with the reason Lilly was drawn and silent as a ghost. Something had been seen when the initial alarm arose... something regarding William Dalton and one spoiled miss. Gregory’s plan had come to fruition, more spectacularly than he had intended it to.
“Lilly,” she called to the girl quietly. William had left a love mark on the girl’s neck, insurance, no doubt, to secure her fortune should he wish. Arabella pretended not to see, just as she pretended not to notice Lilly’s hair hung as loose as her own, or that her nightgown lacked a robe and had been laced up improperly in haste. Whispering at her ear, Arabella warned, “There is blood on your gown. Save a blanket to wrap about your body.”
As if Mrs. Jenkins had heard the low spoken words, she began to sob all the louder. At the blubbered word ruined, Arabella snapped. “Stop this at once!”
The old woman, shocked that someone would dare speak to her with such venom, quieted.
Leaning down so they were eye to eye, the baroness said, “Your son is in that house, as are your friends and neighbors, all of them fighting to save Stonewall Grove... turn your thoughts and prayers to them.”
Scanning the women, seeing who was being useful and who was in a faint, Arabella dared to ask. “What happened?”
Lizzy’s lip shook, the girl telling the tale even as she wrung out wet blankets. “I don’t know. The fire started in the men’s hall. Edmund came running to warn us... I thought it some joke at first, my lady.” She began to weep and tremble, fighting to say, “Until he said they found him burnt in his bed...”
Arabella already knew in her heart. “Who?”
It was hardly a whisper. “Sir Statham... his candle must have been too close to the bed curtains. The poor man.”
And that was it... the last of her dead husband’s cronies had been removed from this world by something as simple as a small flame and if her suspicions were correct, a mute maid who was trying to keep them all safe.
Arabella had to know if the girl ha
d been seen. “Was there any sign of my Mary inside? I sent her to bed... and did not see her rush out with the other servants.”
Taking her friend’s hand, Lizzy murmured, “Not that I know of, my lady.”
A man had hung for the death of the Marquise of Glauster. A ship had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, all aboard dead so Baron Witte might meet his end. And now a family Arabella had adored would be forever marked... their home ruined so Sir Statham might burn. But, there would be time to dwell on her part in this later. Now was the time to see her family and theirs through.
Mrs. Jenkins was in too much of a fit, raving out prayers with those who could not find the strength to stand. Lilly’s pride was diminished, the girl clutching her blanket about shaking shoulders. Only Lizzy had the sense to act, but she needed guidance; she needed the baroness’s strength. “The blankets have been laid about as you directed. What do we do now?”
Arabella did not know, the best she could come up with was, “The horses.”
Confused, Lizzy repeated, “The horses?”
“Yes.” Breathless, she shook her head. “They must be calmed before they hurt themselves. Talk gently to them, stop their fretting. If the stable catches fire, we must see that they are set free to run before we flee.”
As if God had heard Mrs. Jenkins frantic prayers, the sound of soft rain began to hit the roof. It was a short lived reprieve. The groaning shriek of breaking wood surpassed the shouts of running men escaping the house, and with a mighty hail of ashes the roof over the north wing collapsed.
Within the stable several women rushed the windows, many more running out into the yard in search of husbands or brothers.
Arabella was amongst them, crying out for her own missing companions in the rain.
And then she saw him. Her Gregory came flying out the portico with a girl grasped tight in his arms.
Racing over gravel and mud, her skirts caught up over her arm, she flew to them. Mary singed and shaking, Gregory’s eyes as fiery as the devil’s.
Light rain turned into a deluge, the baroness doing all she could to help manage the girl’s weight until under the stable’s eaves.
There was a roar, strong hands pinning her to the wall. “You gave me your word you would remain in the stable!”
Blind to his wrath, Arabella searched his face, his shoulders, searching his form for injury. “Are you wounded? Were you burned?”
Curt, he answered, “No.”
“You saved my Mary...” Wild, she threw her arms around him, peppering his face with kisses while all three sank down in the mud. “The roof caved in! I was afraid for you.”
Sodden with runoff, caught up in Arabella’s frantic embrace, Gregory held her tight, no care for who might see. Lips at her ear, he whispered, “I found her in Dalton’s room.”
Breathless, Arabella clung too hard. “Lizzy claimed her brother found Statham burned in his bed.”
Mary had a strangle hold on Arabella’s hand, the girl coughing in earnest. When the maid could manage breath, she croaked. “I held him down.”
It was the first and last time Arabella would ever hear that bird-like voice. Mouth agape, the baroness was struck speechless, so Gregory answered for her, “Well done, Mary.”
The little hand gripping tightly to her was scalded. Arabella, seeing Mary’s blisters, the scorch marks on her dress, tried to gather the girl up. “We must get her inside the stable. The physician’s bag is in there... these wounds need to be tended. She needs medicine.”
Gregory cut in, halting the woman before she might scamper off. “What of Dalton? Have you seen him?”
“He was in the yard when it began. I had Hugh call the women to the stable so he would stay away. I don’t know where he is now.”
“The coward is hiding, no doubt.” Gregory sneered, placing Mary against Arabella’s breast. “I shall find him and end him now. No soul will know how it happened.”
Desperate, her hand shot out to grasp his forearm. “No. Not now. Maybe not ever. He is powerless without his friends... penniless. After this I cannot bear anymore on my conscience. Please, stay with me instead.”
Cocking a brow, Gregory asked, “You want him to live?”
Did she? After all these years, all the fear, maybe death was not the fate Dalton deserved. “It is the end of the Iliffe Barony I desire. William Dalton is nothing without it... lower than that farmer you ruined.”
Chapter 22
T he morning light was trapped by gloom, by smoke stained air and rolling mist. Segments of the North Wing still smoldered, but the greater portion of Stonewall Grove stood strong. The Jenkins clan was not completely ruined.
Sir Statham’s corpse had been eaten up by the fire, nothing but bones and ash on the wind. And he would not be remembered fondly by the family who blamed his carelessness with a candle for their immediate misfortune. The Jenkins would say nothing, but their bitterness was clear.
Nor would William Dalton be considered friend. Between his dalliance with Lilly, and the fact he had been found dozing with the sheep in the barn while the real men fought the fire, he was loathed.
Those neighbors that might take their leave had absconded once the sun was up, the smoking wreckage of a terrifying evening left behind. Carriages full, buggies overburdened, off they went, trickling away to lick their wounds and tell their tales. Not a single soul offered the Baron of Iliffe passage in their carriage, and until Mr. Harrow decided to leave, there was no escaping from William’s newfound infamy.
Arabella had watched the disgust on neighbor’s faces, and wondered if William even recognized that this tale would follow him forever. He would be closed out of clubs, turned away by many prominent fixtures in the ton—for a cad might have been forgiven, but a milksop never would be.
He was a coward, through and through, she could see it clearly now. When he had attacked her years ago, she had been defenseless. Now she was not so weak or so afraid. Gregory had made her strong.
All she felt for Dalton was disgust and pity. He had ruined himself long before Mr. Harrow dabbled in his affairs. What was the point in killing him?
Yet, he sat in the morning room as if a king at court, cocky and snide.
Arabella held her tongue when he asked how her servant faired, keeping conversation between herself and sweet Lizzy. And yes, Lizzy was at her side. There were too many extenuating problems for Mrs. Jenkins or Edmund to rebuke the youngest. Their major concern beyond the great damage to their house, and the death of a noble under their roof, was Lilly’s flagging reputation.
What could be done to save it?
No one knew better than Arabella what life that girl would be trapped in now, for William Dalton would not marry into a family whose fortune had burned up in one night. Not unless he was forced to... but what end would be worse for Lilly: the titled wife of a pauper who would not love her, or the quiet existence of a fallen woman with no prospects and few friends?
In the corner nearest Arabella, Gregory and Edmund were deep in low spoken conversation, the exhausted blond nodding as if lectured by his father.
All this before tea might be served.
Out of the blue, Gregory broke the awkward silence amongst the exhausted room. “We have come to an accord. All will be well for you, Jenkins family. Dry your eyes, lovely ladies. Be joyous with me today.”
It was William Dalton who demanded with a frown, “And just what is there to be joyous about?”
“Ahhhh.” Turning to face the man, prowling forward to tower over the baron, Gregory purred, “What is there indeed? I have promised Edmund Jenkins the funds he will need to restore this house, and due to my excellent mood, offered very generous terms. Stonewall Grove will be a grand manor again soon enough.”
“You did?” Lilly, eyes shining with admiration looked to the man. “Sir.”
“Yes, Miss Jenkins.” Gregory smiled, predatory and misleading. “I would hate to see my lady saddened by this sorry affair, and I want her to walk down the aisle light o
f heart.”
Mrs. Jenkins pressed a hand to her heart—the woman’s expression one of desperation, of hope that Gregory would proclaim his love and save her family from another kind of ruin.
Stepping to the center of the room, like a hawker selling goods, Gregory led them on. “I wish to be married, yet from our first meeting I knew turning her head would be a herculean task. After all, what do I have to offer a lady of honor and virtue so far above my lowly station?”
Dalton dared to scoff outright, tittering behind his hands.
Lilly colored, but kept her attention fixed on the man with eyes only for her.
Smiling down at angelic Lilly, Gregory declared, “Without encouragement and the true friendship of Miss Lilly Jenkins I would never have dared believe.”
“Yes?” Lilly sighed, her eyes wide and full of longing. “Yes, Mr. Harrow.”
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for your hand in our joy.” When Lilly’s smile grew sublime, when she straightened her shoulders to appear the princess, Harrow turned away. He went straight to the dry mouthed baroness, catching up Arabella’s fingers and bringing them to his lips. “Lady Iliffe has agreed to be my bride and this morning we shall marry.”
“What?” It was not Lilly who snarled, for she was too busy gasping into her hands and calling for her mama to right things. It was William Dalton.
The smile remained but Gregory’s eyes took on an evil hue. “You are in shock from the loss of your dear friends, Sir Statham, may he rest in peace, Baron Witte, and the Marquise of Glauster. God rest their souls. Careful of your health, Lord Iliffe.”
Baron Iliffe swallowed, his skin turning an extreme shade of red. “You would have that whore?”
“Come now, William.” Gregory ran his fingers over Arabella’s cheek, ignoring the way she had flinched at that word. “Her future was your greatest concern, and now her future belongs to me. You should be pleased.”
Eyes pleading, Arabella called a stop to his game. “Enough, my love.”
Lilly, her lip shaking, could not wrap her head around such news. “But the banns have not been read...”
