by Julia London
“I should think there is only reprehension,” Judith said, oblivious to the debate raging between her guests. “And to answer your question, Ellen, no, I could not see my way into thinking it the right thing to do, most assuredly not.”
“But suppose it was something simple—a flower. A bouquet of flowers picked from your neighbor’s prized garden—without his knowledge, of course—and given to someone’s particular favorite? Surely that is innocent enough to avoid your complete censure.” She sat back, folded her arms across her middle, and cocked a triumphant brow for Liam’s benefit.
Judith seemed terribly confused, but finally shook her head. “No, I should think even something as small and insignificant as that would be insupportable. Don’t you agree, dear?” she asked hopefully of Richard.
“Of course, darling. If one is inclined to take something that doesn’t belong to one, be it a single rose or a precious jewel, it is still quite criminal and therefore wholly insupportable. Port, Captain Lockhart?”
“Aye, thank ye,” Liam said, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I canna argue with yer reasoned thinking, milord,” he said as Filbert poured the port for him. “But I believe there are certain circumstances, perhaps quite rare, that the taking of something without permission is warranted.”
“Indeed? When would that be, sir?”
“If, for example, something belonged to ye by right and was taken by a close acquaintance, and the acquaintance wouldna return it—”
“Ridiculous,” Ellie muttered.
“I should think in that circumstance one might consider thievery a legitimate course of action.”
“A legitimate course of action? Do not the courts exist for that very thing, Captain Lockhart? To resolve disputes among differing parties, even cousins?” Ellie asked, straightening in her chair.
“Aye, indeed they do, Miss Farnsworth,” Liam conceded with a deferential dip of his head to conceal his smirk. “If one could rely on the English courts to function properly…and if one could rely on his acquaintances to leave things where they be.”
Lord Peasedown laughed at that, lifted his port glass to Liam’s in mock salute. “Hear, hear, Captain Lockhart.”
“Oh yes, hear, hear, what brilliance, sir,” Ellie said with another roll of her eyes.
“Spoken like a true scholar of the British judiciary indeed!” Peasedown continued. “I’ve quite a few opinions of it myself, actually. Perhaps you might indulge me and join me on a shoot tomorrow—we could discuss it further without boring the ladies.”
He received a smile from Judith and a withering look from Ellie for his thoughtfulness.
“I’ve one more day ere I return to Scotland,” Liam said thoughtfully, stealing a glimpse of Ellie, who was, naturally, glaring heatedly at him. “Aye, a splendid suggestion. That would be grand, milord.”
Ellie lifted her napkin and made a noise that sounded something like a snort.
“Then you must come for supper again on the morrow, Captain Lockhart!” Lady Peasedown exclaimed. “This has been such jolly fun, hasn’t it? By my word, we’ll keep you quite entertained until your departure. Won’t we, Ellen?”
Ellie gave her such a look that Liam all but choked on his port.
But Lady Peasedown seemed quite oblivious to it; she put her linen aside and stood, smoothing her gown. “Ellen, dear, I think it is time we retired to the drawing room and let the gentlemen have their smoke, shall we?”
“Please,” she said coldly. Her gaze skimmed over Liam, but he swore he saw the dangerous little gleam in her eye as the footman came around behind her, pulling out her chair. She rose, like a mist on the lake, as beautiful in a snit as she was in normal countenance, and walked on, preceding her hostess, sailing out of the dining room without a good evening, good day, or a lusty go to hell.
Lady Peasedown, still oblivious, paused to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Don’t be long,” she said sweetly, then flashed a warm smile at Liam.
Poor Lady Peasedown, Liam thought as he returned her gracious smile, all her good intentions at making a match were as good as gone to hell in a handbasket.
Later, in the main salon, the evening became unbearably interminable. Ellen began to fear that Liam would never leave, and that Judith, in a burst of enthusiastic matchmaking, would convince him to stay and inhabit the suite of rooms directly next to hers for the rest of their natural lives, and the four of them might possibly live happily ever after.
But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was—alarmingly so—that her heart had skipped a beat at the first sight of him, had twirled a bit with his sardonic smile, and her spirit had soared through that drawing room with longing and the intense need to be held. How very ironic that she should still want to seek comfort in his arms and feel his strength surround her after what she had done. How very deplorable that she would never know his touch again.
Except, perhaps, to feel his hands around her neck squeezing the very life from her, which is exactly the way he was looking at her now.
No matter how much she longed for him, had longed for him, the cold hard truth was that he did not long for anything but to strangle the life from her. She could see as much in the hard glint of his eyes. It was painful to see, for deep affection had once shone in those beautiful green eyes, affection that had been thoroughly eliminated thanks to her betrayal. She hated herself for it.
Add that to the guilt she carried, and she was made quite miserable. Guilt, guilt, guilt that consumed her. She had never thought herself capable of harming another person, certainly not by betraying one, and certainly not after she had been so cruelly betrayed many years ago. She sorely regretted and despised the discovery that she was, apparently, that sort of person indeed, and worse, now that she had come this far—now that she had tasted freedom beyond her father’s reach, had even reveled in it—she was the sort of person who was unwilling to give up her one hope for everlasting freedom, no matter how wrongly achieved it was. Yes, she was the sort of person who was rigidly unwilling to send Natalie back to their little patch of hell, and would hang on to this freedom with everything in her power. Which meant, unfortunately, that she must protect that god-awful beastie with her very life.
The least he could do, she thought morosely, was stop staring at her. Every time she looked up from the fretting of what to do, she caught him staring at her, studying her, that awful smile of contempt on his face. And she hated the look in his eyes, hated that she couldn’t quite read what it was, that she didn’t fully understand it as she had just days ago. It made her positively demented in her anger—she wondered what he would have done had he been in her shoes? Undoubtedly ask politely, may I have the beastie, please? Honestly, what moral high ground! And now he had come and ruined everything! It infuriated her, almost as much as her own bloody irrational thoughts about it. Was she insane? Quite possibly! And to hell with her, but she didn’t give a bloody damn!
When Liam at last stood and bade them all a good night, and Richard insisted he take the curricle so that he might return promptly at eleven o’clock for their little shoot, Ellen could scarcely stand still, so anxious was she to rush upstairs and assure herself that he had not, by some miracle or magic trick, snatched the beastie back.
They all accompanied him to the front entry, walking languidly down the long corridor, Judith smiling at her, Liam eyeing her carefully, and Richard still talking about a particular dog he intended to bring along tomorrow, as if anyone could possibly care. They stood as Filbert handed Liam his hat, gloves, and regimental coat (still missing the button he had given to Natalie, which the poor girl carried, closely guarded, in her little reticule).
He casually shrugged into the coat, then donned his gloves, shook Richard’s hand—Looking quite forward to our shoot, I am, bowed over Judith’s hand—I couldna possibly be more charmed, Lady Peasedown, ye’ve made me feel so welcome, ye have— then turning to Ellen as Judith and Richard beamed like proud parents.
He held out his hand; Elle
n reluctantly put her hand in his gloved one. His fingers closed around her hand, squeezing it painfully, so painfully that she could feel it buckling her knees. Somehow she managed to keep standing, keep smiling. Albeit a very thin smile.
“Ye canna imagine how happy it leaves me to make yer acquaintance again, Miss Farnsworth. As I said, heaven’s angels have taken a particular fancy to me.”
“I should not go so far as that,” she retorted coolly, and tried not to wince at the pressure on her hand.
“Aye, no doubt ye’re quite right, for if heaven’s angels truly fancied me, they’d no’ have let ye escape in the first place, eh?”
“Ooh,” Judith sighed.
“Perhaps it is the case then, sir, that heaven’s angels fancy me,” she said, returning his smirk and ignoring Judith’s gasp. “Good night, then.”
Liam chuckled, let go of her hand. “Good night, Miss Farnsworth. I anxiously await our next meeting.”
Ellen stepped back beyond his reach and nodded demurely, wishing he would leave, just…leave. Leave her alone, leave her with her memories. That was the only way she knew how to live, wasn’t it? Alone, with nothing but memories?
“Good night, and ’til the morrow,” he said to them all, and as Filbert drew the massive doors open, Ellen peeked up through her lashes, watched him walk out into the night, and pushed down the little voice inside her that cried out for him to come back.
She took her leave of Judith and Richard immediately, citing a slight headache, to which Judith flashed her a knowing smile. “You get some rest, dearest, and we’ll chat it all up on the morrow, shall we?” she said with a sly wink.
God save her. “Good night,” she said, and quickly made her way upstairs to her dressing room, where she fell down on her knees, crawled under several gowns Judith had hung in the dressing room for her use, moved aside the hatboxes and pulled out the small portmanteau where she had put the beastie, wrapped tightly in Liam’s plaid. She withdrew it, could tell by the weight of it that Liam had not somehow managed to steal it back, but she unwrapped it nevertheless.
It was still there, just as hideously ugly as it was the first time she had laid eyes on it. Ellen rocked back on her heels with a sigh of relief and stared down at the ugly little thing. What to do? There was no hope of keeping Liam from searching for it. If there was a way to gain entry to her suite, he would find it, if he hadn’t already. And he wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers again. She first thought to hide it someplace new, someplace he couldn’t find in this massive house. But then she feared a servant would find it, or Judith and Richard. Even their children. There was Natalie’s room—but if she found this thing, it would scare her half to death. No, better to leave it here. At least she could keep an eye on it.
The ugly thing winked up at her with its awful ruby eyes. Part of her wished he’d just go on and find it—Ho, there! A silly, ridiculous idea popped into her head. Let him find it. She thought about that, then laughed at her own foolishness. No, no, he’d never…but wouldn’t he? Honestly, this was an idea that just might work. And really, what else could she do, given the circumstance?
Ellen pushed herself to her feet, returned to the main room of her suite, and found the pair of shears Judith and her chambermaid had left when altering several hand-me-down gowns for her (they are frightfully too small for me, Ellen). In the dressing room again, she grabbed a corner of Liam’s kilt. Holding her breath, she made the first snip of the luxurious wool fabric. She could almost feel him out there somewhere, almost hear his roar of protest, and she quickly cut the plaid in half, releasing her breath when she had done it.
Ellen worked well into the night, even stealing out into the gardens on the east side of the house through an unused servant’s entrance. When she had finished, she was certain it would never work. But she hid the beastie away nonetheless. And then she stepped into Natalie’s room to have a look at her daughter.
In sleep, her young face was free of the lines of worry that Ellen so often noticed on her now. She tucked the coverlet more securely around Natalie, then quietly returned to her room and her bed, where she fell into a hard, fitful sleep, one peppered with dreams of Liam. Liam finding her, his eyes full of rage. Liam running from her, his eyes full of loathing…Liam.
She awoke before dawn, her head hurting from lack of sleep, and her sight blurred from the scars her dreams had left behind. After dressing, she checked one last time to make sure everything was in order. There was no longer any question—she had to leave Peasedown, and as soon as possible. How foolish she had been to have ever let down her guard. Now she would pay for her inattention and complacency.
Worse, there was no time to debate where she would go. So she decided she and Natalie would go to France. Richard had talked at length about it just two evenings past. He had said something she found quite interesting—that in the aftermath of war there was quite a lot of social and political reconstruction going on, and new faces, men and women alike, were gaining a foothold in popular politics and society. It had occurred to Ellen that a country recovering from war might be the very place for her and Natalie. They could, along with everyone else, start their lives over. Fresh. Anew.
When Natalie awoke, Ellen was sitting on the edge of her bed, gazing down at her with a soft smile.
“Mother?” she asked, yawning.
“Good morning, darling. I was waiting for you to wake.” She leaned over, kissed Natalie’s brow, then stood. “Let’s get you dressed.” Ellen walked to the small closet in Natalie’s room, opened the door to remove the one frock she had not already packed away in anticipation of their escape.
“I had a funny dream last night,” Natalie said, splashing water in the basin behind Ellen.
“Did you?”
“I dreamed that Captain Lockhart came and rescued us.”
Ellen’s blood ran cold. She turned slowly, glared at her daughter at the basin. “Is this another of your fantasies, Natalie?” she demanded. “If it is, it is hardly amusing.”
Natalie turned a wide-eyed look of surprise to her. “No! Truly, I dreamed it!”
Ellen crossed the room in four strides and grabbed Natalie’s upper arm. “Is that all there was to the dream? Did he say anything more?”
“N-no—”
“Where were you in this dream?”
“Here!” she cried, wincing at the force of Ellen’s grip. “I only dreamed it! He’s not come to my room—” The child gasped, slapped a hand over her mouth.
“What did you say?” Ellen demanded.
Natalie did not answer—she looked positively mortified. Dear God. Ellen’s breath was coming fast and hard, and she swallowed, trying to see past Natalie’s eyes, down into her very heart. Was it possible? “Have you seen him?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tears began to stream down Natalie’s face; she nodded uncertainly.
Ellen’s heart sank. “What did he say?” she asked, trying desperately to remain calm.
“That he wanted to surprise you!”
“Is that all? Nothing more?”
“Just that we’d be rescued—”
“God in heaven, Natalie, this is not Laria!” Ellen cried with frustration.
“I didn’t say that it was!” Natalie wailed, frightened now.
Ellen quickly grabbed her, held her close, and took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s just that sometimes I don’t know what is fantasy and what is real to you. Come on then, let’s get you dressed,” she said, and turned away so that Natalie could not see how truly distraught she was.
Twenty-five
Judith was so pleased with Richard for having brought Captain Lockhart home that she showed her great appreciation for his thoughtfulness and matchmaking attempts by reviving their marital relations.
Which in turn meant that, in spite of the following day being a very dreary and wet one, Lord Peasedown was smiling brightly and walking with a spring in his step
not witnessed by the house staff in several weeks. Although he was somewhat surprised to find Captain Lockhart already in the small drawing room off the back terrace, he assumed Filbert had shown him in, and left it at that happy thought, unwilling to think of anything but the image of a naked Judith perched pleasingly on his groin.
What he did not know was that Filbert had not let the captain in. It was a smiling parlor maid who, having seen the rough-hewn gentleman with the intriguing scar the day before in the company of her employers, had assumed it perfectly all right to show him through the house when he arrived that morning looking terribly confused about the various entrances and speaking with such a delightful accent. This much she had confessed (with pinkened cheeks and sparkling brown eyes) to Liam as she led him about the ground floor of the mansion.
The guided tour was appreciated, but it was not exactly necessary, since Liam had roamed the house in the early morning hours (his skills at espionage quite intact, thank you) in an effort to determine the exact location of Ellen’s suite of rooms. He knew the general area, of course, having hidden himself in the woods around the Peasedown mansion after leaving the drive the night before. From there he saw the light flooding the suite of rooms just above the ground floor shortly after his departure. He knew instinctively that it was her light, brought on by her nervous little scamper to check on that goddamned beastie.
But to make doubly sure of it, he had crept back into the house through a window he had noticed unlatched in the main drawing room. From the main drawing room, he had crept up the grand, curving staircase, past what he was certain was the master suite (judging by the sounds of lovemaking he heard coming from within), and down to the opposite end of the hall.
Unfortunately, his mission to exact his revenge was interrupted by the unexpected sound of a child’s whimper. Standing there in the hall deciding just which door to try first, he had heard the child’s sound, had known immediately who it was, and had crept to the door, pressed his ear against it, listening carefully. The instant he determined Natalie was crying, some strange and preternatural paternal instinct kicked him right in the arse; he had carelessly walked into the room without fear of discovery, only to stand there in shock, for he had not known that it was possible to sob so hard in one’s sleep. When she opened her eyes and saw him hovering over her, so distraught was he by her unconscious sadness that he had not known what to do other than to promise her that he would indeed rescue her and her mother from this evil castle.
