“A reporter in Wick interviewed young Morag and sold the news to London. I’m afraid it’s not altogether good news. We can talk about it after you’ve read the article.”
“Yes,” Virginia said absently. “Thank you.” She wandered to the dining room and sat re-reading the first line of the article over and over again.
A woman claiming to be The Viscountess Langley was among five women rescued from a ship off the coast of Northern Scotland.
A woman claiming to be…claiming to be… What did that mean?
The women were kidnapped by an Irishman named Sean O’Malley whose lurid intentions we cannot report herein. Lord Langley, however, calls the story a fabrication. His Lordship’s wife, nee Whitebridge, was killed instantly when trampled by a carriage in Piccadilly this last March. “I saw her broken body with my own eyes,” His Lordship said. “I buried my beloved wife only months ago. This impostor disturbs my mourning and dishonors her memory.”
The article went on, but Virginia couldn’t read the rest. What was she to make of this? She had known it was only a matter of time before Langley discovered her whereabouts, but she never imagined he would deny the fact when he did. He believed Virginia was dead, that he had buried his wife. He believed she—the woman in Scotland—was a fraud.
Lucy appeared at the dining room door holding her letter, her face ashen. “Ginny, Papa says Lady Langley is dead. He says you’re a pretender.”
Virginia slid the newspaper across the table toward Lucy. “Apparently, Lord Langley agrees,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. “I remember now. I received a blow to the head and must have become confused. I’m not a viscountess.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lucy said. She pulled the newspaper toward her and read.
“The viscountess is dead,” Virginia said, her head clearing and her thoughts sharpening. “Don’t you see, Lucy? If everyone believes Lady Langley is dead, I’m safe.”
“No. I don’t see. You aren’t making sense, darling.” Lucy’s delicate dark eyebrows drew together. She placed a hand on Virginia’s shoulder. “You’re Virginia Whitebridge. You’re married to Langley. I know you and you know me.”
Virginia rose and faced her friend. She needed Lucy to be her ally now more than ever. “If I was Lady Langley, I would have to return to Bromley Hall. I would have to face my loathsome husband,” she said in measured speech. “I would be placed in danger again, as I still don’t know who is responsible for my kidnapping.” Lucy narrowed her eyes in confusion, but Virginia continued. “A penniless widow from London, a woman named, say, Virginia White, could return without notice, without fanfare. An insignificant person would be a threat to no one and therefore, she would be in no danger.” Virginia smiled, certain she’d made her point.
“You plan to return to London disguised as a widow named Virginia White?”
Pacing the dining room, Virginia continued to formulate her plan convincing herself as much as Lucy as she spoke. “My solicitors know me. They can verify my identity and yet maintain discretion. I can, I think, accomplish what I need to do covertly. They can sue Langley for my trust money with the promise to keep the fact that I am alive a secret.”
“But what you are proposing sounds risky. It sounds like blackmail.”
Virginia raised a hand. “No. It’s perfect. I’ll stay with my aunt in my father’s home, just as I planned. When my trust money is recovered, I can begin building the home. I can live there and help Mrs. Pennyweather care for the children. And then I’ll…”
“What?”
Virginia lifted her head from her thoughts and smiled at Lucy. “I’ll be free.”
Lucy tilted her head to one side. “Are you sure?”
…
Alex and Magnus stood outside his cottage in the gray midmorning sun. He shook his head like a dog, sure he hadn’t heard Alex properly. He must still have water in his ears from washing. “What did you say?”
“She’s no’ a viscountess.” Alex folded his arms across his chest and shrugged, a gesture Magnus recognized. His cousin only folded his arms when he was in doubt or suspicious. Alex was rarely in doubt about anything.
“Who says she’s no’ a viscountess?” he asked.
“Her husband, Lord Langley.” Alex shifted his weight, and his gaze flicked to the heavens briefly. “He says he buried his wife in March and that our Virginia is a fraud.” Alex produced a newspaper he had rolled up and stuffed in the back of his trousers and handed it to Magnus.
Virginia’s name in print caught his attention immediately. “Bloody frigging hell.” Magnus shot a look at Alex. “But Lucy said she knew her from before. From London.”
Alex sighed and placed his hands on his hips. He let his chin fall to his chest and spoke to the ground. “Aye. She did. She does. Our Virginia is the real viscountess. Langley buried the wrong woman.”
“How is that possible? How did he not ken his own wife?”
Alex bit the inside of his mouth and shrugged.
“What? What have you not told me?”
“Lucy says Lady Langley has some daft plan to return to London under an assumed identity so that no one will take note of her.”
“Why would she want to pretend to be someone else?”
“She thinks Langley had something to do with her kidnapping. She believes she’ll be safer if her husband continues to believe her dead.”
Rage cleared his temporary fog of confusion. This is what she hadn’t told him. She suspected her husband of kidnapping, and if she suspected her husband, it must be because he was worthy of suspicion. He whirled on his heel and marched to the stable.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get the truth from her.” Magnus called over his shoulder. “She’s a bloody viscountess. She cannae go slinking back to London pretending to be someone she’s not.”
Magnus rode to Balforss as fast as his old friend would carry him. He would have it out with Virginia. She would tell him the truth. He would hear her say it—my husband had me kidnapped—all the permission he needed to kill the bastard.
When he reached the house, Auntie Flora straightened from weeding her front garden. “Lucy’s showing her the hives,” she said before he even asked. “But calm yourself before you see her, Magnus. She’s upset as it is.”
“I’m calm.” He wasn’t. He’d not be able to check his anger until he got to the bottom of Virginia and Lucy’s nonsense.
He strode across the yard, slapping the newspaper against his thigh as he went. Auntie Flora’s bee field is where she kept her coiled hemp hives. They dotted a meadow thick with clover, coneflower, and yarrow. It was close to midday. The honey bees would be at their busiest. He hoped to bloody hell he wouldn’t get stung by one of the beasties, but if he did, he doubted he’d feel it.
He saw them bent over a skep and called to them. “Lucy! Viscountess!”
Their heads popped up at once. They were wearing the netted hat and gloves Flora called her bee armor. The two women were of a height. Another person might not be able to tell which was Lucy and which was Virginia, but he knew. He’d recognize that slender figure from a mile away just by the way she stood—straight, head held high, shoulders back. How could she be anything but nobility?
“I’ll speak with the viscountess alone.” He breathed through his nose to disguise his anger. It wasn’t working.
Lucy stood in front of Virginia protectively. “She’s not a viscountess, Magnus. From now on, she’s Virginia White, a widow from London.”
“Then I’ll speak to the one who is not a viscountess. Alone.”
“You will not. Virginia is an unmarried woman. I won’t—”
“Leave us!”
Virginia stepped forward and touched Lucy’s arm. “It’s all right. Mr. Magnus is a gentleman.”
A low rumble escaped his throat.
“He sounds more like an animal than a gentleman to me.” Lucy pointed to a group of hives several yards away and warned, “I�
�ll be right over there if you need me.”
He let his temper cool while he waited for Lucy to get out of earshot. He pointed to Virginia’s netted hat. “Take that off so I can see your face.”
She made no move.
He used a softer voice. “Please.”
Virginia swept the netting aside, but didn’t lift her eyes from the ground.
He held out the rolled-up newspaper. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Langley claims I’m an impostor, that the viscountess died in March.”
“And you plan to let this stand?”
She flashed him a challenging glare. “Why not? It’s an ideal solution to my predicament. I will ask Langley for the return of my trust. In exchange, I’ll promise that Lady Langley will never return to Bromley Hall. I will present myself as Mrs. White and no scandal will ever touch him.”
“Mrs. White. A widow from London,” he mocked. “And you’d toss away your title with no’ a care?”
“I don’t need my title. I need my money.”
“Oh, aye. The money you need so badly, you’ll toss that away, as well.” His voice carried a sarcastic edge to it.
Virginia’s chest heaved with anger. “I’m not tossing my money away.”
“What’s the real reason you choose to hide yourself, lass?”
“I just told you—”
“Nae. You told me a half-cracked truth.”
“If you know so much then—”
“I want to hear it from you.” She pressed her lips together tightly and looked down again. Infuriating woman. “Look at me.” When her lashes lifted, he asked. “Why do you need to hide yourself?”
“I—I’d rather not talk about it.” She glanced off to her left.
Magnus leaned his face closer. “Why? Because you’d rather not tell me another lie?”
“No—”
“Look at me, Virginia. Why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying.” She was weakening. He could hear it in her voice.
“I dinnae care for deceivers, lass. Laird John willnae tolerate a liar in his house. Tell me the truth right now.”
“I can’t. Don’t make me.” Virginia’s voice started to crumble along with her body.
He caught her in his arms and she stiffened, pushing a fist into the divot still raw from their first encounter, but he refused to release her until she told him the truth.
“Tell me, lass. Tell me what frightens you. I can fix it.”
She shook her head.
Lucy called, “Magnus. Stop. Let her go!”
He gritted his teeth. He’d shake the truth out of her if he had to. “Tell me.”
“Langley. He tried to kill me, and he’ll try it again. I know it.” Virginia went limp in his arms as if everything holding her together had been stripped away.
Regretting his rough treatment, he gathered her closer, softening his embrace. The silly hat fell from her head, and he buried his face in her hair.
“I’m sorry, lass. Forgive me. I didnae mean to upset you so.”
Auntie Flora met them in the kitchen and waited with Magnus while Lucy took the distraught Virginia above stairs to rest.
“Where’s Uncle John?” he asked.
“In his library.” She cast an accusing look at him.
He blinked an apology to his aunt, then wove his way through the dining room, strode across the entry hall, and knocked on the library door.
“Come.”
He gave his uncle a brief account of Virginia’s predicament.
“I’ve suspected something was amiss with the lass since the first day,” John said. “Why would a woman of title prefer to linger here rather than return to a grand house in England? And her latest notion about disguising herself, did she tell you why?”
“She believes it was her husband who ordered her abducted and that she would be safer returning as someone not so…prominent.”
“Why does she suspect her husband?”
“Lucy said she recognized the voices of her kidnappers as her husband’s men. I ken there’s more, but she’s unwilling to say.”
Magnus waited for his uncle’s response. He was a smart and just man. He would know what to do, but Laird John just stood at the window, staring into the afternoon. Unable to wait any longer, Magnus said, “Sir?”
“Aye. Ian and his crew will be ready to set sail for London in two weeks. He’ll see Lady Langley home safe.”
“Nae. The duty falls to me. She is my responsibility. Though I’m loath to return her to that viper pit, I will disavow her of her foolish plan to disguise herself and see her fortune restored.” Magnus moved to leave the office, but Laird John commanded him to remain.
“First off, nephew, dinnae be so hasty to dismiss Lady Langley’s idea. You may think you know the lass, you may think you ken what’s best, but you’re no’ giving her the credit she’s due.”
“But—”
“Sit!”
Magnus grumbled his assent and lowered himself into one of the chairs by the hearth.
“Are you ready to listen to me, nephew?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Fine, then. As I was saying, the lass is well aware that she remains in danger until her abductors are revealed and held to account. You must trust that she kens best how to maneuver within and without her circle. If she believes she should remain hidden, she’s probably right. We can help by assuring she stays out of reach of those that may harm her until she is ready to resume her title. Beyond that…” Laird John shook his head as if that was all that was to be done.
Magnus bolted to his feet. “Fine. I’ll go along with the ruse if I must, but she is a bloody viscountess. I will make certain that bastard husband of hers—”
“That’s the other thing,” Laird John said, his voice flat and commanding. “You willnae be going.”
“She is under my protection!” He caught his breath and stepped back. He’d never raised his voice to his uncle. He couldn’t remember anyone raising his voice to the man.
The expression on his uncle’s face did not change. “I am sorry, Magnus, but your feelings for the lass are out of control. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes. If I let you go, your passion would get the better of you. You’d do something rash and end up hanged. You may not go.”
“But.” Magnus swallowed hard. The words were there, in his mouth. He’d never said them before, and never imagined he ever would. “But I love her.”
“Then I am sorry for you, son.”
…
Last to come down for breakfast, Virginia paused at the dining room entry, uncertain of her reception. The truth was out. The whole ugly truth and everyone knew. How could she hold her head up when everyone knew she was married to a monster?
The murmurs of quiet conversation ceased abruptly and heads turned her way. Flora smiled from across the room, and Laird John turned in his chair. “Good morning, lass. Come in and sit down.”
Lucy and Alex were at the table, as well. Lucy passed her a plate of toasted bread and sweet rolls. Alex pushed the jam in her direction. She dutifully spread some jam on a slice of bread, but she couldn’t eat. Her stomach was in knots.
Flora cleared her throat and gave Laird John a pointed look.
He set down his fork. “Ah. Yes. Flora and I were discussing your situation last night.”
“I’m sorry, Laird John. I should have told you everything from the start.”
“No need, lass. Just listen for now.”
She folded her hands on her lap and willed her heart to quiet.
“I see three problems here.” Laird John put his elbows on the table and ticked off a digit as he enumerated them. “Lucy hasnae seen her da in three years, her da hasnae met his only granddaughter, and you havenae seen England in months.” He leaned back in his chair. “My son Ian can remedy all three issues.”
She looked from Laird John to Lucy to Alex and back to Laird John, uncertain what he meant by “remedy.”
&nb
sp; “Ian’s taking us to London,” Lucy blurted. “Aboard the newly christened Gael Forss. Isn’t that exciting?”
Renaming that horrid ship didn’t change the fact that it had been her prison for three months. She shuddered at the thought of descending into the bowels of the boat again. Her last memory of the Tigress was a blurred vision of a blood-soaked deck strewn with death. She turned to Laird John for confirmation.
“Lucy is correct. Ian and Peter have a shipment of salt herring headed for Chatham. While Alex, Lucy, and Jemima visit Maidstone Hall, Ian will see you safely to…wherever you would like to go.”
“I see,” she said, trying hard to be grateful. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I ken you wish to remain anonymous for reasons that are your own. Ian will see to it. But if you would like to return to Bromley Hall, let me assure you, if you have any difficulty, if anyone is disagreeable or…” Laird John’s mood took a sudden dark turn. “If anyone insists you are an impostor, then my old friend, Lucy’s father, His Grace the Duke of Chatham, will be on hand to see the matter settled.” The laird’s demeanor softened. “Do you understand, a nighean?”
“And Magnus? Will he be going as well?”
“Magnus is needed here. Gael Forss will set sail from Thurso in two weeks.”
But he’d promised. He’d said he was going to bring her home safely. She bit back her protest. Laird John picked up his fork and began eating. The topic was closed for discussion.
Magnus wasn’t going to be with her. Though she knew staying at Balforss was impossible, she hadn’t imagined a future without Magnus. Lately, when she pictured the home for foundlings she would build, Magnus was always at her side protecting her. That was stupid, of course. She would have to do everything on her own.
Alex squinted at her. “You’ve never met my brother, Ian, have you?”
“No. I don’t think he’s been home since that night. I remember Peter, though. He’s the boy who freed us from our cell. Caya told me all about him.”
“Ian and Peter have had their hands full these past weeks.” Alex seemed to sense her discomfort. “Dinnae fash yourself. Ian has made so many changes to the ship, you willnae recognize her.”
If Alex and Ian thought a coat of paint and a new name would erase her memory of the Tigress, the unhinged captain, and the loathsome things the sailors had done to entertain themselves, they were wrong. The smell of those men would linger, the groan and snap of the rigging would fray her nerves, and the sickening roll of the waves would turn her insides. Worst of all, if her disguise didn’t work, if Langley didn’t accept her proposal—money in exchange for her remaining hidden—her future would be no different from the one O’Malley had in mind: a lifetime bound to a monster. The same hell, but with better furnishings.
Forgetting the Scot Page 14
