by Claudy Conn
“Sit, m’dear…drink yer coffee while it is nice and hot,” Millie encouraged.
Ness got back into bed and did, in fact, sip her coffee, and as she buttered her scone, she looked up at Millie and asked, “You said you wanted a word? What is it, Millie?”
“Well, perhaps it can wait. Did ye have something special planned for today that the weather is interfering with?”
“Something special? No, but I did want to visit with someone,” Ness said vaguely.
“Well then, can ye not go in the coach?” Millie offered.
Ness smiled. “I know you never have understood my preference for riding.”
“Miserable beasts always wanting to go this way when you want to go that way, or taking off when ye least expect it.” Millie shook her head.
Ness laughed and then went quiet. Would it look odd if she arrived by coach at the Widdons’ home? It might arouse a stir. The Echworths might hear of it…wonder about it. No. She would not be calling on Bess Widdons today. Drat it all!
“Millie…do tell me, is something troubling you? What did you want to talk about?”
“Oh, as to that, ye seem…troubled as of late and yer mother asked me to watch over ye.”
“You have naught to worry about, my dearest Millie,” Ness reassured her.
“Right then.” She stopped at the door and nodded. “Ye’ll find I’ve laid out yer pretty pink muslin, m’lady, and a pitcher of hot water. Ring if ye need me then.”
“That I will, Millie, thank you.” Ness watched the door close at Millie’s back and pulled a face as she turned to stare at the rain hitting the window pane. “Fiend seize this weather,” she said out loud, and sank back against her pillows.
The day had been spent restlessly until the sky cleared just after high tea. She thought of gathering Shadow and riding to the viscount.
But that wouldn’t serve. She had nothing new to tell him and she didn’t want to be seen. That could lead into giving away his hiding place.
Thus, she managed to pass the remaining hours before readying herself for the short drive to Montlaine with her brother and cousin.
She arrived to find the Echworths unsuitably festive. After all, she thought, they should be in some sort of mourning for the viscount?
Conversation during dinner proved to be a trial for Ness. These people had only one thing in mind—becoming wealthy and finding their way into the haut ton.
She tried to dive into the insipid conversation Sheila and her mother dominated dinner with but it proved almost useless. Both Echworth women seemed to be obsessed with gossiping about members of the beau monde, and those members were good friends of hers. Ness found herself taking exception as politely as she was able. She could feel her temper rise to the fore.
Thus, it was, she found herself concentrating on the brass leaves which ornately wound their way through pear-shaped crystal droplets hanging overhead. Candles set in wild profusion between those droplets gave off an almost mystical haze and she wished she could vanish in their glow.
As it happened, she rather liked Montlaine Castle. It was a beautiful home, full with history and tradition. The Echworths seemed out of place there. She found each one mean-spirited at bottom.
A glass of Madeira had been placed in Ness’s hand and she meandered off with it towards the chamber’s dominating feature, its full-length portrait of the viscount astride Midnight.
Silently, slightly, only very slightly did she lift her glass to the painting and take a sip. In retrospect, a mistake, perhaps.
All at once, Orson was right up against her back and bending to whisper in her ear. She felt a shiver of repulsion and a twinge of nerves as he said, “No doubt you think him worthy of your toast?”
She did not acknowledge this as she turned away from the painting and took a step away from him, thought better of her silence and returned, “Do you not?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “He was certainly a good soldier, or so I am told. He managed quite a command under him, but the recent past explains that.”
“Does it?”
“Why yes. My cousin was ever after excitement. The war gave him that. Once home, he had to find a new means to fill his needs.”
She stared at Orson, wanting to slap his face. Why she felt such heat and a need to defend the viscount, she did not know, but knew it was wrong to deface someone who was not available to defend themselves. She turned her attention back to the painting, knowing full well Orson was irritated by this.
“And even after I just told you what he really was, you are still fascinated by his portrait?” Orson nearly spat the words.
“Does that so bother you?” she taunted.
“Very much. He seems, even in death, to capture the interest of a beautiful woman…and in this case, the only woman I would have look at me.”
“You are very bold,” Ness said at once. She did not believe he was interested in more than her inheritance.
“As bold as his portrait?” He moved in closer again.
She laughed. “You would not be comfortable in such a stance. You would never ride a horse like the one in the portrait. Admit it, sir!”
He allowed this with a nod. “In truth, I would not, but if that is what it would take to fix your interest…”
She moved away before he could finish and her gaze came to rest on the sandy-haired gentleman with the pleasant countenance. He had been introduced as Mr. Edward Parks. She liked him at once and it was his conversation during dinner that had made the evening bearable.
She found his situation intriguing. By his own admission, he was not only friend to the ‘late’ viscount, but solicitor and confidante. Yet here he was, giving every indication that he was enamored with Sheila Echworth. That in itself would not have intrigued Ness. It was the fact that Ness was nearly certain his heart wasn’t in it. He seemed to be insincere in his attentions. She did not take him for a libertine, so what then?
“Your sister is looking well,” Ness said, taking the subject away from herself. She eyed the young woman who filled out a gold gown quite well. Sheila’s ginger locks were piled high around her pretty face and she was in high spirits.
“Sheila? Hmm. Why not, with three eligible bachelors to preen for?” He chuckled and managed to catch hold of Ness’s hand. “But you are trying to change the subject. I am not a fool, you know, and you would do well to remember that.”
“Ah, nor, sir, am I,” Ness said, and flashed him a look that made him put a hand to his heart.
“You have no idea, do you? Those flint filled blues of yours just slayed me. I am your servant and if you want, also your fool,” Orson said gallantly.
Ness frowned. She was worried, for in that moment, she thought Orson might be, in fact, taken with her. She couldn’t have that—wouldn’t have that. She did not like Orson, but she would not knowingly lead any man on.
She hadn’t really flirted with him, and was sure she had done quite the opposite, and yet he persisted. “I have no notion what you are talking about. I cannot imagine any woman wanting a man to enact the fool for her. Never alter who you are just to please some female, unless, of course, you make those changes in yourself to please yourself.”
“Then you will be delighted to know that I have never attempted to alter my character for a woman, though none have been as beautiful as you. In fact, dear, dear Vanessa, you may find this difficult to believe, but I am not generally in the petticoat line.”
“Are you not?” Ness shook her head. She gave him a straightforward look. “I see you as a heartbreaker.”
He stiffened. “Do you? I assure you I am not. I leave that to my brother, Duncan. Alas, sad to say the women are only interested in my taste for clothing, my knack with flower arranging, and my superior knowledge of decorating a drawing room. It has been said of me that I care more for the cut of my coat than the cut of…er…a lady’s leg.”
Ness burst out laughing, then with a hand to her neck, said, “Oh dear, do forgive me. I will say th
at you have succeeded in surprising me. With your bright, flirtatious eyes and your devilish smile, I did think you a rogue with the ladies.”
He inclined his head. “Shall I thank you? Would you prefer it if I were a rake? Would that make me more desirable to you? It has been my experience that women are forever allowing themselves to be taken in by such scoundrels.”
“Ah, scoundrels are such a challenge to our many powers, you see,” Ness teased, hoping to keep the conversation vague and light.
“I am still waiting for an answer to my question, Vanessa, or did you think I had forgotten?”
“I am sorry, what question was that?”
“Would I be a target for your arrow if I were more like my brother, Duncan?”
“How shall I answer that? Duncan, you say, is a charmer—a rogue? Well, we shall just have to wait and see, for I have not yet met him. Tell me, Orson, does he lord it over you?”
“No. Duncan and I are closer than you can imagine. He was a good brother to me when we were growing up. He often shared what was his with me.”
“And, of course, he will share all that is his with you now? Even his inheritance?” She put up a brow and hoped she sounded casual.
Orson inclined his head. “I trust that he will. I have no need to concern myself about that.”
“Yet he inherits the title,” she threw in as bait, watching his eyes for a sign of envy.
She received an enigmatic smile. “Duncan will make better use of the title than I. He has the gift of leadership I have never known. There, too,” he gave her a broad smile, “he is a ladies’ man, and the ladies do love a title.”
Ness could find nothing in his eyes, his tone, or his facial expression to belie his words. Evidently, Orson was not jealous of his brother. What did that tell her? Did it mean Orson was innocent of framing the viscount? No. At least, not alone. Could Duncan have convinced his brother to aid him in the scheme? She would just have to keep digging. “Ah, and I was forgetting your cousin, Mary? Have you located her whereabouts yet?”
“Ah, Mary,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Her whereabouts has been plaguing us quite a bit lately.”
“Indeed,” said Edward Parks, who had meandered over and joined their conversation.
Ness turned her attention to the sandy-haired, pleasant looking man with the clear hazel gaze. She wasn’t sure she liked him. After all, here he was, doing the Echworths up brown when he had said he had been a friend to the late viscount. Something was off about him.
Yet, at the same time, she was drawn to him, uncertain she had his full measure. What was it about Edward Parks?
“I should think, as the late viscount’s solicitor, you would know where the child might have gone,” Ness put in lightly. Did he know? Had the viscount entrusted him with this piece of information?
She was taken aback by the quick sharp look he cast her. He said, and she heard the reserve in his voice, “Alas, all discreet inquiries have turned up naught. Perhaps you could hazard a guess, my lady?”
She put a hand to her chest and feigned astonishment. “I? But, sir, I did not even know the Montlaine family. How would I know?”
“True, but you passed similar childhoods, I should imagine. Mary was doted upon first by her parents and then by her brother. She was willful, adventurous, and as rumor has it, if you will excuse me, much as you are.”
Indeed, Ness thought. She was right to hold Edward Parks in some suspicion. Just what was he after with such talk? She put up a brow. “Do you always put so much credence to rumors? You don’t know that I am adventurous, sir.”
“I beg your pardon if I have offended my lady.” Edward inclined his head and Ness saw the smile curve his lips.
She laughed lightly. “Don’t be foolish. I merely point out that it isn’t fair to judge someone you have only just met because of the gossip you have heard. However, I must admit to a certain willfulness in my character, and yes, I enjoy a lark much more than I am told is seemly. Still, I could not hazard a guess to where the child might have gone. You see, I have never had to flee for my life.” This last she said pointedly.
It left the impact she had intended. Edward Parks seemed to straighten and his eyes narrowed as he considered her.
Orson, apparently wanting to draw Ness’s attention back to himself, touched her elbow and said, “Granted, then. Let us suppose Mary was so frightened by the villagers, and then later so downcast by her brother’s demise, she sought refuge with someone she trusted. I think it is high time that we were notified, don’t you?”
“No,” Ness said easily. “It is obvious to me that Mary did not believe her brother guilty of the crime he was accused of. Therefore, Mary is in hiding from the real killer. That is what is obvious to me. Is it not to you?”
“Unless, of course, Mary has gone out of the county and is using some pretext to keep her benefactors from writing to you,” Parks offered Orson.
Sheila moved in her chair and made an impatient gesture. “Nonsense, Edward. We all know that Mary is at Penrod. Let us not pretend, after all.”
Rick’s face clouded over as he and his sister exchanged glances. He said lightly, “But Lady Penrod has told you emphatically that Mary is not at Penrod.”
Sheila rounded on him as she got to her feet. Her gold silk rustled about her provocative figure. “I am surprised at you, Richard. The hour was late the night Mary left Montlaine. There is only one place Mary could have traveled to in the dark of night. She went to Penrod. We are not fooled.”
“If she did,” Ness offered quietly, “Lady Penrod was not present and she must have left because we arrived shortly thereafter, and Mary is not in residence.”
“Sooner or later, her ladyship will confess the whole,” Sheila said.
“I see,” Randy stuck in. “You are thinking this because you must be very concerned about the child.”
“Concerned?” Sheila said unwisely. “We can’t move on the inheritance until that dratted child returns to Montlaine.”
“Inheritance?” Randall of Southvale’s face displayed some shock. “I should think your first concern would be for your cousin’s safety. From all I have heard, she and her brother were accosted by a mob, and no one here lifted a finger to help them.”
Ness smiled to herself and she and her brother again exchanged a glance. Finally, Randy was beginning to see the petty Sheila.
Sheila’s mother stepped in and said that they were all very distressed by Mary’s disappearance and then tried to change the subject, but her daughter was incensed by Randy’s remark.
“Randall! You put me all out of patience. Of course, our first interest is for my cousin’s well-being, which can best be attended to once she is returned to us. A thing I should think you and Richard could help us with.”
“Help?” Randall was surprised. “How?”
“By persuading Lady Penrod to tell us where she has Mary hidden,” Sheila said, putting a finger on Randall’s knuckles.
Ness thought her cousin looked as though he was about to suffer an apoplexy and this was confirmed when he said, “Upon my soul. You want me to accuse her ladyship of lying? She is our hostess!”
“Sheila forgets herself,” Mrs. Echworth stuck in.
Sheila went white and sat down with her arms folded. Randy and Rick looked at one another. Orson frowned at his mother and then at his sister.
Ness watched all this and tried very hard not to laugh. She then met Edward Parks’ eye. However, at that moment, Orson began talking about an upcoming boxing match and the gentlemen were distracted into a mildly enthusiastic discussion.
She turned once more to the viscount’s portrait and the Naughty Lady Ness released a long sigh. She still had nothing more to report to him.
Chapter Seventeen
The viscount paced as the evening dragged on. Reading had been impossible as his mind wandered. Sketching proved to be an irritation, as the only thing he could draw was an image of Ness. He threw his sketches across the cave and took to pac
ing.
His every nerve seemed alive with anticipation, then later with frustration. He had been looking forward to receiving a visit from the Lady Vanessa. It was nearly ten o’clock. She was not coming.
Why? He had been certain she would.
Why did he so wish she would come?
He told himself because she was entertaining company, a way to pass the time, because he was bored, because and because…he damned well wanted to see her again.
She had given him hope. She had seemed to care and that had lifted his spirits, but it was more, so much more than that.
He checked his timepiece and discovered the hour was close onto midnight. He had an appointment with his man, Epps, in the Montlaine tunnel, and she wasn’t coming. He was sure of that now.
Going from the cave dwelling to the underground tunnel that led to his home was tricky business. He would, as usual, have to leave his steed behind and take the moors on foot. He didn’t mind the walk, no more than fifteen minutes, but it left him exposed with no easy flight.
He made his way outside and pulled his cloak over his body and held it in place. His black wool cap was pulled low over his forehead. If anyone were about, they would be at a distance, and to anyone in the distance, he was just a lone, dark figure.
It was rolling rough terrain, splattered with heather and thistle and not much else, aside from a few gnarled trees scattered about. He continued to hug the coastline, a coastline that was inaccessible from his cave due to the jutting divide that stretched into the deep ocean.
Finally, he had Montlaine in view.
He hurriedly scrambled down a rocky hill, leaving Montlaine Castle well in view over his right shoulder, and farther down the high grassy slope to the pebbly beach he had often explored as a boy.
He knew he had to move swiftly, which brought Montlaine closer and still closer into view.
Stopping by a large damp boulder, he waited for a moment. He found and undid the small tie holding the dried brush in place near a large boulder and set it aside. A track of sorts that led beneath the boulder was displayed.
