by Sandra Dubay
"Sit down, dear," a second voice, eerily similar to the first, invited her. Abigail Pettigrew smiled gently at Dyanna, who sank onto the edge of a sofa opposite the sisters.
"Sit, Dyanna," Adelaide ordered sharply, "do not perch."
Obediently, Dyanna pushed herself backward on the sofa until her back touched the tapestry upholstery.
"We have some bad news for you, I'm afraid," Miss Abigail began.
Dyanna's aqua eyes flitted from one narrow, ferret-like face to the other. "Bad news?"
Adelaide pursed her lips, annoyed that her sister should try to usurp her right to tell Dyanna the reason she had been summoned. After all, she was the elder, if only by a matter of minutes. Her younger twin had no business trying to steal her thunder.
''It is your father, Dyanna," she said quickly, before Abigail could continue. "I'm afraid he is dead."
Dyanna blinked. "Dead?" she said blandly. "When?"
"Not long since," Abigail told her. "It was an unfortunate riding accident."
"I see. The funeral?" Dyanna felt a glimmer of hope. She might be released from behind those forbidding walls to attend
"Has already taken place," Adelaide informed her, dashing her hopes. "You will, of course, be provided with mourning attire."
Dyanna let her mind drift. That she felt no swelling surge of grief came as no surprise. She'd hardly known her father, could scarcely remember him. She'd still been in leading strings when her mother died. All she remembered of that time were emotionsthe feeling of black doom that descended over what had been a happy home filled with love. One of her earliest, mistiest memories was of her nurse trying, between her tears, to explain to a three-year-old child why her mama did not come to kiss her good-night. "She is an angel now," Nanna had said, but that made no sense. After all, hadn't Papa always said Mama was an angel?
Dyanna had longed to ask her father all those troubling questions, but he had shut himself away. "Maddened with grief," as the servants whispered. After that, Dyanna had caught but fleeting glimpses of him. Once, when she'd seen him from her nursery window sprawled on a bench in the garden below, she'd slipped away from her nurse and gone to him. He had frightened her with his blank stare, his pasty white face. He had seemed not to know her at first, and then he had turned from her, had bellowed for her to be taken away out of his sight.
He had gone away not long after that. Gone back to his wild ways in London, the maids gossipped, not bothering to whisper in Dyanna's presence, for they thought a three-year-old far too young to listen or comprehend. She had never seen him again.
The years that followed had been a strange mixture of happiness and melancholy. She'd grown up wild on her father's estate. Without their master's presence, the servants fell into indolence. They used the house as their own and allowed their master's daughter to grow up amongst the kitchen maids and stableboys and, later, with the children of the gypsy bands that camped on the fringes of the McBride lands, confident that they could poach as they pleased without fear of arrest.
Dyanna was twelve by the time her maternal grandfather, the Earl of Lincoln, came for her. Emerging at last from the double grief of his daughter's death and that of his wife, he had come for his granddaughter, had come to try to salvage what remained of his heritagehis last descendent, his heiress.
But instead of the cultured young lady of breeding he had expected, he found a wild little hoyden who, with her thick silvery curls cascading down her back, her simple peasant's garb, her bare feet and her sun-browned face, behaved more like a gypsy child than the daughter of two great and noble houses.
She could not read, he discovered; she could not write; she knew nothing of etiquette or music or art; she rode the horses of her father's stable astride and barebacked rather than being perched decorously on a side-saddle; and her language would make a bosun blush.
The old earl was horrified. Without waiting for his son-in-law's permission, he closed the house. Leaving only a few of his own trusted servants to keep away robbers and squatters, he took his granddaughter away with him to Blaykling Castle, the ancestral home of the Earls of Lincoln.
There Dyanna was transformed by an army of governesses, tutors, dancing masters, music teachers, and riding instructors. She was laced into corsets and hoops for the first time; she was drilled in art, in etiquette, in French and Italian. In the earl's splendid stables she learned to ride like a lady, in a proper habit, on a precarious, dainty sidesaddle.
But it was reading that was the earl's greatest gift to his granddaughter. The day she discovered the cavernous, two-story library of Blaykling Castle was the day it seemed her life began. It was there she learned about faraway lands, about history, about adventures beyond her wildest dreams. It was there she found, amongst the romantic novels her late grandmother had loved, her favorite heroineJenny Flynn.
She'd spent three years at Blaykling, three happy years, occasionally slipping away to the village that nestled in the shadow of the great castle. There she had left off her new airs and graces and frolicked with the village boys and girls as freely as she had on her father's estate.
But then her grandfather had died and Dyanna, once more, was left alone.
Her father, summoned from his mad, downward spiral in the brothels and gaming hells of London, had met with the old earl's solicitors. Without troubling to set eyes on the daughter he had not seen in twelve years, he asked if the McBride wildness was apparent in his only offspring. Assured that it was, he had consigned her to the Pettigrew Academy and then returned to London, giving her not a moment's further thought from then until the. day of his death.
"What will become of me now?" Dyanna wondered aloud.
Adelaide, interrupted in mid-discourse, glared at Dyanna. "If you had been attending rather than letting your senses run a'woolgathering as usual" She drew herself up indignantly. "As I was saying. You will come into your inheritance when you are twenty-one or on the day of your marriage, whichever comes first. Until then, you will receive an allowance and your estates will be overseen by your guardian."
"Guardian!" Dyanna cried. The leering, wicked face of her beloved Jenny's nemesis, Ebenezer Greatrakes, loomed threateningly in Dyanna's imagination. "But who is to be my guardian?"
"If you had been listening!" Angrily, Adelaide consulted her papers. "Lord DeVilleEarl DeVillehas been appointed."
"Who is he?" Dyanna demanded.
"A longtime friend of your father's, dear," Abigail told her.
"Will I be leaving this"she checked herself. "the Academy?"
The obvious eagerness in her voice irritated Adelaide beyond measure.
"You are to remain with us for the present," she snapped. "It will be for your guardian to decide."
"What is he"
"You may return to your room, Dyanna." Adelaide was maliciously glad to dismiss the girl with her questions unanswered.
"But"
"Mourning attire will be provided for you. The dressmaker in the village has your measurements and a mourning ensemble will be ordered. The bill will be sent to your guardian. Now go along, Dyanna."
Rising, Dyanna dropped the ladies a curtsy and left the room. But once outside, she pressed her ear close to the rough panels of the ancient door.
"She was not the picture of grief," Adelaide observed acidly.
"After all, sister," Abigail, ever the gentler soul, reminded her, "she hardly knew her father. They do say she grieved mightily over her grandfather, Lord Lincoln."
"Humph. In any case, I do not understand why you were so adamant that she not be told the truth of her father's death. Riding accident, indeed. He was drunk! So drunk he fell from his horse and drowned in a ditch. Incapable of saving even his own miserable life. It was not for nothing they called him Rakehell McBride! And his daughter is like him, you mark my words. The McBride wildness! Wildness, indeed. It's madness, more likedepravity!"
"Perhaps her guardian will be able to"
"Her guardian!" Adelaide screeched. "Just
in DeVille! You know what they say about the DeVilles. Wicked. Evil. Worse than the McBrides! Remember his father? The stories! They said he murdered his wife! They said he was in league with the Devil! No doubt his son is like him. He'll plunder Dyanna's inheritance and seduce her into the bargain. No doubt he will"
Adelaide's next words were lost on Dyanna, who started as a door nearby slammed shut. Lifting her skirts, she fled on tiptoe back down the cloister, back to her room which was, mercifully, deserted.
Seated on the wide stone sill of the tall lancet window, she idly followed its wooden tracery with her finger while her mind dwelt on Adelaide Pettigrew's venomous revelations.
"Wicked. Evil," she had said. A murderer.
Closing her eyes, Dyanna leaned her head back against the window frame. How could her father, even lacking in paternal feeling as he was, leave her in the clutches of such a man? A man who would rob her. Seduce her, too, if Adelaide could be believed. A monster's son. Why, the man was no better than Ebenezer Greatrakes himself!
"What will I do?" she asked herself. "He will keep me shut away here while he robs me of my inheritance. When I come of age I will be penniless. Then he will laugh at my misery and leave me to make my own way in the world. I'll be abandoned on the streets like a common"
Scowling, she shook herself out of her miserable self-pity. She was acting like a missish, mawkish little girl. She should be ashamed of herself! This was certainly not how Jenny Flynn had acted when confronted by an evil guardian who was out to fleece her of her last brass farthing!
From beneath her mattress, Dyanna pulled the treasured volume. Opening it to where the frayed and creased scarlet ribbon marker lay, she went on from where she had left off earlier:
"There was only one course of action open to me: I must escape my gaolers and make my way to London, there to confront the vile, loathsome man who had robbed me of my virtue, my innocence, and my birthright. Such wickedness as his would not go unpunished. I vowed, at that moment, to be the instrument of Ebenezer Greatrakes' destruction."
Sighing, Dyanna closed the book and laid it aside. That was it. She would do as Jenny had done. She would not simply allow the cad, DeVille, to rob her. She would not!
Saucy mouth set with determination, blue eyes glittering with excitement, Dyanna lay back on her bed in the gathering twilight and began formulating her plans for escape.
Chater Two
Curiosity forced Justin to break his journey to London and order his coachman to stop and ask directions to the Pettigrew Academy. It was as he walked along the stone cloister, the heels of his tall leather boots ringing on the worn and ancient stones, that he began to have doubts about Dyanna.
After all, he reasoned, tucking his three-cornered hat beneath his arm, the place was like some genteel prisona cleaner, less cruel version of Newgate. How could a girl possessed of any small share of the wild spirit that had driven Rakehell McBride to his untimely death allow herself to be immured in such a place? She must take after her mother, he decided, a meek, biddable, gentle creature.
But perhaps that was for the best. She would take the news that she must stay until a new guardian could be found for her all the better.
A grim-faced matron left a bevy of grey-clad 'students' and ushered him into the morning room that was Adelaide Pettigrew's inner sanctum. There he found the sisters, clad in their habitual black, awaiting him.
Though they were not identical, their twinship was apparent. The chief difference between them seemed to lie in their expressions. Adelaidethe dragoness, he immediately dubbed her in his mindglared at him as though he were the Devil Incarnate while her sister, Abigail, dimpled, her wrinkled skin flushing like a schoolgirl's, when he made her a courtly bow.
''Sit down, my Lord DeVille," Abigail said, indicating a chair nearer her own than that of her sister. "May we offer you some refreshment?"
"Nothing, my thanks, ma'am," Justin replied, flashing the younger Miss Pettigrew the gleaming smile that had melted female hearts on several continents. "I have come, as you doubtless know, on account of Miss McBride."
"You are, I believe, her guardian now," Adelaide snapped coldly, irritated as she always was to see her sister garnering the lion's share of their visitor's attention.
"For the moment," Justin acknowledged.
"Actually, I am on my way to London to meet with my solicitors. Owing to the nature of my business, it would be impossible for me to play guardian to a young girl."
Adelaide's mouth pursed mutinously. The nature of his business indeed! The man was nothing more than a pirate, whatever he liked to call himself.
Reading Adelaide's thoughts clearly in her eyes, DeVille cursed her for the sour old harridan she was. He could not help feeling a pang of sympathy for any girl unlucky enough to fall into her hands. Nonetheless, he went on:
"I feel it only fair to explain to Miss McBride my reasons for refusing her guardianship. If you would be so kind as to summon her, I will do so and then resume my journey to London."
"I am afraid, my lord, that would be impossible."
"Impossible? But why?"
Adelaide's eyes gleamed with the unmistakable relish she felt at thwarting his plans. "She is not here."
Justin glanced at Abigail and saw that the becoming flush had faded from her cheeks. Her gaze was averted, refusing to meet his.
"I don't understand," he admitted, turning his attention back to Adelaide.
"Dyanna ran away some time during the night last night. She was in her room when the matron last checked, but was missing this morning."
Justin's tawny brows drew together. "And where is the search being concentrated?"
"Search, my lord?" Adelaide asked icily.
Justin leaned forward in his chair. "Surely you have organized a search."
"Not at all."
"Good God, woman!" He thrust himself to his feet, towering over both Pettigrews. "Have you any notion of the conditions that exist out there? Highwaymen, Bedlamites, murderersAnd you sit here, blithely unconcerned, while a young girl of birth and breeding faces all that alone!"
"By her own choice, my lord," Adelaide reminded him. "And may I say I have pity for anyone into whose hands that little hoyden falls."
"You have no heart, madam," he snarled.
Adelaide rose, drawing herself up self-righteously. "And you, my lord, have no notion whatever of what it is like to try to steer these ungrateful little wretches down the path to respectability. Many of them are all but ruined by the time they come to us. Most have no desire to become honorable members of society. No, my lord! I will not take any part in a search for Dyanna McBride. Nor will I take responsibility for any calamity that may befall her because of her own foolishness and ingratitude!"
"Well, I shall find her!" Justin stormed.
"Damme if I don't And when I do, I assure you she'll not be sent back to this hell-hole!"
"You're quite correct!" Adelaide flung after him, her words nearly drowned by the echoing of his footsteps on the stone floor. "She won't come back here because we will not have her!"
Slamming the iron-bound front door behind him, Justin clapped his hat on his head and leapt into his carriage.
"She's gone," he told Bertran who looked up from a book as his master appeared. "She's run away, and the miserable old spinster who runs this gaol won't lift a finger to find her."
"Fortunate for you, milord, that you are not accepting her guardianship. You will not have the task of finding her."
Justin glared at his valet as the carriage rolled out of the courtyard. "I have to find her. Until another guardian is appointed she is my responsibility."
"As you say, milord." Bertran stifled a smile. For all that Justin DeVille affected an air of arrogant unconcern for the wishes and opinions of others, he had, throughout the ten years the two men had known each other, displayed a fatal weakness for young women in unfortunate circumstances. Bertran liked to call it his master's 'damsel in distress penchant.'
&nb
sp; "She most likely set out for London," Justin mused aloud. "Most girls would. Don't you think, Bertran?"
"Not being a girl, milord, I could not say."
"Take care, Bertran," Justin warned. "I am in no mood to be baited today." He stared thoughtfully from the window, a muscle working in his taut, clean-shaven cheek.
"It will be dark soon," he observed. "I suppose we may as well find lodgings for the night. We can ask if Dyanna's been seen. In the morning, we'll search the area before moving on toward London."
Bertran nodded his agreement and Justin ordered the coachman to stop at the first respectable-looking inn they passed.
Not so very far ahead of Justin on the London road, Dyanna trudged along. She was right to have run away, she told herself every time her feet began to ache inside her tight boots or a fly buzzed around her perspiring shoulders. What else could she do? Wait patiently at the Pettigrew Academy for her loathsome guardian to arrive? Sit by and allow herself to be robbed of her birthright and, no doubt, her virtue? There had been no other choice. She would have to get to London and seek out her father's solicitors. She would have to demand they either allow her to oversee her own inheritancethe chance of which, she knew was extremely smallor appoint as her guardian someone she trusted.
She shielded her eyes as she glanced toward the sun which was fast lowering toward the western horizon. The air was cooler now; night was coming on. It would soon be time to find a place to sleep.
Pausing, she shifted her bundle to the other arm. Of necessity, she was traveling light, bringing along only a few items of clothing, what little money she'd been allowed at school, and, of course, her treasure, her guidebookthe story of Jenny Flynn.
Lying awake the night before, waiting for her roommate to fall into a deep sleep so she could make good her escape, Dyanna had re-read the part of the book in which Jenny fled to London to confront her guardian. Her adventures with the lecherous squires who'd made their advances, the sharps who had tried to exploit her, and the highwaymanJenny Flynn's loverhandsome, dashing, a ruined cavalier taken to the King's highway, had set Dyanna's heart racing.
