“It doesn’t,” Oliver said firmly. “Although the only way to prove it is to marry her and not die.”
“There’s a risk there,” Dumleavy said.
“But well worth it.”
Dumleavy swirled the whisky in his glass. “If you survive.”
“There is that.” Oliver thought for a moment. “Tell me this, Dumleavy—”
“You can start calling me Father if you’d like.” Dumleavy grinned.
“I think not.” Oliver took a long swallow of the whisky.
“Or Malcolm if you prefer.”
“I think I shall check on Kathleen. Oliver, you need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold and poor Kathleen thinks it’s her fault.” Mother looked from one man to the next. “I am counting on the both of you to come up with a solution to this mess.” She favored Malcolm with an affectionate glance. “I should feel quite bad if I was blissfully happy when those I love are miserable.”
“Then I shall endeavor to make certain you remain happy.” Malcolm grabbed her hand as she passed by and drew it to his lips. Mother cast him a private sort of smile, entirely too private and distinctly intimate, and took her leave.
Oliver cleared his throat. “About you and my mother—”
“None of your business, lad.”
“I’m not a lad.”
“Then you should know better.” Dumleavy sipped his drink.
Oliver started to reply and instead took a long drink. “Tell me more about the curse.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Not much more to tell. Five hundred years ago, two warring families tried to end the bloodshed by marriage. When it didn’t happen, both sides were cursed.”
“So, anyone from my family and anyone from your family could have married at any time during the past five centuries and ended this?”
Malcolm nodded. “Probably.”
“How would we know?”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “How would we know what?”
“When the curse is ended?”
“Oh.” Malcolm sipped his whisky. “There’s a sign.”
“What is it?”
“You won’t like it,” Malcolm warned.
“There’s very little about this that I do like. Go on.”
“Very well.” The Scotsman tossed back the rest of his drink. “It’s lost in the mists of time.” He grimaced. “I can see where that’s a problem.”
“Not at all.” Oliver got to his feet, collected the whisky decanter and returned. Malcolm held out his glass and Oliver obligingly refilled it. “My mother said you and she found references to the curse in the papers in the attic. Did you look through all the papers?”
“No, there are trunks full of them, some extremely old. We only managed to look through a handful, we were…distracted.” Malcolm grinned. “Your mother can be a most distracting woman.”
Oliver winced. “I didn’t need to know that.” He downed the rest of his whisky. “Then there could be reference to this sign somewhere in those papers.”
“It’s possible I suppose.”
“If we can find that, unless the sign is something of a celestial nature.” Oliver thought for a moment. “We can make certain the sign appears.”
Malcolm studied him. “Go on.”
“Then we can convince Kate the curse is broken. Convince her that she was wrong, that love doesn’t enter into it. That her willingness alone to marry me was enough to break the curse. Or better yet, that her willingness to give up love to save my life was the required sacrifice.”
“It might just work.” Malcolm sipped his drink, his brow furrowed in thought. “And if we don’t find this sign?”
“If we don’t,” Oliver leaned closer to the other man, “then we’re free to come up with any sign we wish. I’ll tell Hollinger not to hurry those repairs. That should give us a good three days.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about tricking my niece.”
“Indeed I am.”
“I think it’s a grand idea.” Malcolm chuckled. “I couldn’t have come up with a better plan myself.”
“Thank you.” Oliver stood. “To the attic then?”
Malcolm nodded and got to his feet. “Let me ask you one question, lad.” He hesitated then blew a long breath. “What if you’re wrong and she’s right? By my guess, that would give you no more than a year before the curse killed you.”
“Malcolm, I meant what I said.” Oliver met the other man’s gaze directly. “I would rather live a year with her than a hundred without her.”
For a long moment the men’s gazes locked, then finally Malcolm nodded. “You’re a good man. I confess I didn’t expect that. Not that you’ve asked for my permission to marry my niece but you have it. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you.”
“To the attic then.” Malcolm grabbed the whisky decanter and headed toward the door.
“To the attic,” Oliver said and followed after him.
It was indeed a good plan, maybe even a great plan. And hopefully it was a plan that would work.
Chapter 21
Kathleen couldn’t recall the last time, if ever, she had been this weepy or felt this fragile. She was not a fragile sort of female. Indeed, she had always prided herself on her strength and her sensibility. That she had come to this—this frail, puffy-eyed, creature hiding in her rooms, a virtual shadow of her true character—was almost as upsetting as everything else.
She sat curled up on the chaise in her sitting room, absently shifting the four shillings Oliver had given her in her hand, their weight oddly comforting, and gazed out the window. It was another dreary day, as befit her mood, and once again rain threatened. In the distance, she could see men working on the bridge. They didn’t seem to be making much progress but from here it was difficult to determine. Kathleen did wish they’d hurry. The sooner she and Malcolm could leave the better. She hadn’t taken a step outside her rooms since she’d left Oliver in the parlor yesterday, she didn’t dare, but she wasn’t sure how long she could remain in her self-imposed prison before she went stark raving mad.
But what choice did she have? She couldn’t see him, not ever again. Leaving him was already hard enough. If she saw Oliver again, listened to his laughter, felt the press of his lips against hers she might well weaken and that would not do. If she believed in the curse—and God help her she did—then she had no choice. She loved Oliver with a passion she had never expected, never dreamed she’d know again. Damn Hannah anyway. If Kathleen hadn’t lost her memory she would have guarded against losing her heart.
Or perhaps, if this was a match five hundred years in the making, she would have lost it anyway. It was so blasted unfair. She’d been willing to marry a man she didn’t know, a man she didn’t love, and an Englishman at that to end the curse and save both their families. Now, she had to sacrifice her family’s future as well as her own happiness to ensure the safety of the man she had foolishly fallen in love with.
In many ways, refusing to marry Oliver was selfish of her. She had been devastated when Kenneth had died, but she’d been young and strong with, at that time, no knowledge of the curse. No idea that his death was due to something ancient and unforgiving and irrevocable. Even in the midst of her sorrow then, she’d known there was an entire lifetime ahead of her. But to lose Oliver as she had lost her first husband would be a heartbreak she would never recover from. Better to lose him now and know he was safe and well and living his life.
As for her life, she heaved a heavy sigh, she would go on as she always had. She would live in Dumleavy Castle with her grandmother and Malcolm and Hannah until one by one, they passed on. And then she would be truly alone. There would not be another man in her life nor would there ever be children. She would grow old, finding her only solace in the study of ancient Rome as she herself became ancient and forgotten.
And what of Oliver? Regardless of whether or not he truly believed in the curse, there would always be a doubt in t
he back of his mind and he was not the type of man to risk a woman’s life. He too would end his days alone.
Last night had been especially difficult as tonight no doubt would be and every night she remained under Oliver’s roof. Every time the floor boards in the corridor had creaked she had feared or hoped it would be Oliver. Come to try to change her mind or say goodbye or make love to her one last time.
A knock sounded at her door and she got to her feet. It was probably luncheon although she hadn’t touched her breakfast. She slipped the coins into her pocket, crossed the room, and pulled open the door.
“Good day, Kathleen,” Lady Norcroft said with a pleasant smile and entered, followed by a maid with a tray. “Ellen, put that on the table and take the breakfast dishes.” She cast Kathleen a chastising look. “You must eat, my dear. It won’t do anyone any good if you waste away to nothing.”
“I’m really not hungry but thank you.”
“No.” Lady Norcroft sighed. “I suppose you’re not.” She waited until the maid had cleared the dishes and left the room, closing the door behind her. “Now then, my dear, we need to talk.”
“Again?” Kathleen mustered a weak smile. Oliver’s mother had come to her room shortly after she’d left everyone in the parlor yesterday. The older woman had held her and let her cry, much as her own mother might have done, until Kathleen had thought she had no more tears left. “I wish to apologize for yesterday. I am not the type of person to weep uncontrollably.”
“My dear child, yesterday seemed to call for nothing less than uncontrollable weeping. Today, however, is a new day. Do you feel at all better?” Lady Norcroft eyed her critically. “Although I must say you look dreadful.”
Kathleen laughed in spite of herself. “Thank you, I feel dreadful.”
“Heartbreak will do that to you. Now.” She waved at the table. “I do not intend to leave until you eat something.”
Kathleen glanced at the offering. There was a platter of cold meats and cheeses, a small bowl of fruit, a basket of breads and a plate of sweets. “That’s rather a lot.”
“I didn’t know what might tempt your appetite.” Lady Norcroft shrugged in a helpless manner.
“It looks wonderful.” Kathleen seated herself at the table and Lady Norcroft joined her. Kathleen selected a fruit tart and took a bite. It was as wonderful as it looked. Perhaps she was hungry after all. She ate in silence for a few minutes then sat back and studied Lady Norcroft. “If you have come to change my mind, you should know I have no intention of doing so.”
“Of course you don’t,” Lady Norcroft said firmly. “You’re not the type of woman to frivolously change her mind because you’re not the type of woman to make it up frivolously in the first place.”
“No,” Kathleen said absently, surveying the scones. Were they are good as the tarts? “I’m not.”
“However, I believe I owe you an apology of sorts as well.”
“Do you?” Kathleen slathered clotted cream and strawberry jam on a scone. Good Lord, she was famished. She hadn’t really eaten since yesterday. “Whatever for?” She took a large bite and savored the sweet, rich flavor. “These are very good.”
“Cook does an excellent job. As I was saying—”
“You should try one.” She took another bite.
“I have, dear, they are indeed very good. Now then—”
“Oh no,” Kathleen said between bites. “Good does not do them justice. They are so much better than—”
“Kathleen,” Lady Norcroft snapped. “I am trying to offer my apologies.”
“Yes of course.” Kathleen took another scone and gestured with it. “Go on.”
“I fear I expected too much of you.”
“Wha—” Kathleen mumbled then swallowed. “What?”
“You are not behaving at all like the type of person I thought you were. I had thought that you were a woman of strength and intelligence.” Lady Norcroft shrugged. “I see now that I was simply hoping you were.”
Kathleen stared. “Leaving Oliver takes every once of strength I have. It is the hardest thing I have ever had to do and probably the most intelligent.”
“Of course it is, my dear.”
“It’s not something I want to do.”
“No, that’s obvious.”
“I see no other choice.”
“Nor does anyone.” Lady Norcroft paused. “Still, one would think a strong, intelligent woman would not give up so easily. Without a fight.”
“I did not give up easily.” Indignation sounded in her voice. But had she?
“Without exhausting all the possibilities.”
“There are no possibilities.”
“Without trying to find some sort of solution short of running away.”
Kathleen’s voice rose. “I am not running away. I am saving Oliver’s life.”
“And I can’t fault you for that, he is my son and I would certainly hate to see him felled by a curse he doesn’t believe in.” Lady Norcroft paused. “Or any curse for that matter.”
“There is no answer.” Kathleen shook her head. “No solution.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Lady Norcroft met Kathleen’s gaze directly. “Without a doubt?”
“Yes.” Was she?
“It seems to me if the details of something like this are lost in the mists of time then the mists of time are where one needs to look for an answer.” Lady Norcroft rose, walked to the door, and opened it.
Kathleen stared. “I have no idea what that means.”
Lady Norcroft waved a footman carrying a large trunk into the room. “Set it there if you please.” The footman set the trunk down then took his leave. “What it means, Kathleen, is that the fight is far from over. If that’s what you wish.”
Kathleen nodded at the trunk. “What is that?”
“That is a trunk filled with the mists of time. Or some of them anyway.”
“You have me at a disadvantage, Lady Norcroft. Once again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kathleen was almost afraid to hear the older woman’s explanation.
“This trunk is one of several in the attic.” Lady Norcroft unlatched the trunk and flipped open the lid. “And there you have it, the mists of time.”
Kathleen peered into the trunk. It was filled with papers bundled and bound with twine, letters tied with ribbons, ledgers and what appeared to be journals and diaries. “Is this where you and Malcolm found references to the curse?”
“No, we found that in another trunk. There are a good half dozen or more in the attic. Unfortunately, my husband’s family, while very good at record keeping, was quite bad at keeping those records in order. Malcolm and I found papers from as recently as forty years ago together with documents from hundreds of years past. We only managed to get through a portion of one trunk before we were…distracted.” She glanced at Kathleen. “Your uncle can be a most distracting man.”
“So I’ve heard,” Kathleen murmured. “You think there might be information about the curse in here?”
“I have no idea.” Lady Norcroft shrugged. “But it’s certainly worth a look. Oliver and Malcolm seem to think so. Something about a sign they said. They’ve been in the attic searching through the trunks since yesterday.”
“Have they?”
“Oliver has no intention of giving up. He loves you, my dear.”
Kathleen stared at the trunk. “What if there’s nothing there?”
“Then there are more trunks in the attic.”
“What if—”
“Goodness, Kathleen.” Lady Norcroft huffed impatiently. “It’s better than doing nothing at all isn’t it?”
“I can’t—”
“Sometimes, Kathleen, all we have is hope.” Lady Norcroft’s voice softened. “What do you truly want, dear?”
What did she want? Children, a future, living a long and happy life with the man she loved. She met Lady Norcroft’s gaze. “Oliver.”
“Is he worth fighting for?”
&nbs
p; Kathleen stared at the older woman. She was right, of course. Kathleen wasn’t behaving at all like herself. She had indeed always been willing to fight for what she wanted. And she had never, ever given up on something she had truly wanted to accomplish, be it scholarly pursuits or archery. She squared her shoulders. “Most definitely.”
“Then I suggest you begin.” Lady Norcroft turned toward the door. “I have a wedding to prepare for.”
Kathleen grimaced. “Lady Norcroft, don’t you think that’s a bit premature?”
“Oh, I’m not talking about your wedding, dear.” Lady Norcroft smiled. “And you may call me Aunt Edwina if you wish.”
Kathleen drew her brows together in confusion. “Aunt—” She gasped with realization. “You and Malcolm?”
Aunt Edwina beamed. “I’ll be returning with him to Scotland. I never thought I would be a bride again, you know. I thought perhaps I might still have the occasional adventure with a gentleman, but—”
Kathleen bit back a grin. “Aunt Edwina!”
“Your uncle and I are extremely well suited.” She smiled in a decidedly wicked manner, opened the door then looked back. “And do remember, child, there is only one reason to stop fighting.” She met Kathleen’s gaze directly. “Victory.” With that she left the room, snapping the door closed behind her.
Kathleen eyed the trunk for a long moment. She wasn’t used to feeling sorry for herself nor was she used to giving up. It was probably pointless. There was, no doubt, nothing of significance there at all. Still, for the first time since she’d realized Oliver remained at risk, something that might indeed have been hope flickered within her.
Very well then. She’d always considered herself something of a scholar and this might well be the most important scholarly pursuit of her life. She selected a packet of letters from the trunk, grabbed the plate of scones as she passed by the table and moved to a ladies’ desk that was going to be entirely too small for her purposes. Still, it would have to do. She might need more scones as well.
Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing) Page 24
