Without bloodshed.
He instructed his staff then entered the tunnels. “Let’s map this bloody maze.”
Yes, it was time to end this.
Logan intended to do precisely that.
“Victoria suggested what?” Arabella’s voice rose an octave as she stood with her hands placed firmly on her hips.
Eve frowned in the process of rearranging what would act as their sewing room as soon as Logan’s staff brought the sewing machines upstairs to the third floor and Eve’s staff delivered fabrics and other necessities from her home office in her family’s estate known as Waltham Manor. “It is the safest course of action and you know it.”
“I will not allow Victoria to endanger herself,” On this Arabella was adamant.
Luring Sybil into the bowels of Winterthorne for an ambush was precarious to say the least. Arabella would not allow anyone to become injured for her.
“Bella,” Eve crossed the room, placing her hand on Arabella’s stomach. “This is who must not get hurt. Those tunnels are dangerous and in your condition—”
“I cannot allow Victoria to do this.” Marching to the door, Arabella thanked Eve for her concern. “I must speak with Victoria at once. I will return shortly.”
As Bella sprinted down the hall, she heard Eve call to her. “It is a losing battle. Neither she nor your husband will relent.”
Regardless, Arabella would plead her case to Victoria. She could not condone placing one more person in danger for her.
Bounding through the door to the dining hall, she found Victoria seated on the floor, surrounded by fluffy skirts made of a red plaid, studying a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh, this is rubbish. Honestly, how am I to decipher this?” she muttered, tossing the page onto her lap.
“You are not endangering yourself for me,” Bella’s voice was much louder and more forceful than she intended.
“I had wondered when we would have this conversation. Care for a seat?” Victoria patted the vibrant rug beside her. “I dare say this shall be a lengthy chat.”
Bella settled beside the woman she now recognized not only as her former employer but also as her friend – the kind, generous, and unconventional Lady MacAlistair. A woman who befriended her servants and her employees. A woman without judgment. “I remember everything about our friendship. How you and I used to chat at the gazebo on your estate every Thursday. I also remember how lovely your children are. How much you love them and how much they adore you. I will not allow you to place yourself in harm’s way for me.”
“But it isn’t for you, my dear friend,” Victoria tipped her head to the side. “Well, it is in part. But there is another precious soul who makes your involvement in luring Sybil through that perilous maze impossible.”
“Sybil is my sister, therefore she is my burden,” Arabella studied her friend’s azure eyes, bright as the summer sky. “And I can protect my child.”
Victoria’s rosy countenance faded, replaced by a pale visage. Her robust gaze now filled with sorrow. “I believed the same thing once. Our daughter, Sophie, was in danger and I was with child. Tristan and I swore up and down that we would protect our children. Both of them. Then a man whom I refer to as the monster came for Sophie and shoved me out of his way.”
Bella’s heart lurched while her head began to ache. So much so, that she leaned against the wall behind her for support.
“I thought nothing of it at the time,” Victoria paused to trace the pattern of her skirts with her forefinger. “I was so concerned for our daughter who had been kidnapped and for Tristan who was setting off to rescue her.”
“Tristan found Sophie?” Though Arabella already knew the answer, she could barely hear her own ragged whisper.
Victoria’s eyes locked with hers. “Yes, and a week later I lost our child. My physician instructed me that the blow may or may not have been the cause though I will never know. What I am acutely aware of is the loss of that child who was loved by his or her mother and father … who is loved by us and missed. Terribly so. Thus, while your intentions to keep me from danger are noble, Arabella, I will not allow the same thing to happen to your child.”
“I am sorry, Victoria,” Bella reached for her friend’s hand, squeezing it in a gentle show of support.
“Many variables exist and much can go wrong,” her friend continued. “One stumble is all it might take, one fall, or one blow from your sister. You will protect your child by allowing me to lure Sybil through those catacombs. Because that little one needs you. And because, like you, I have a husband who will protect me from harm. I trust Tristan with my life. I will be fine and so will your child.”
Arabella leaned forward, embracing her friend. “Thank you, Tori.”
Patting her on the back, Victoria assured Bella, “You don’t owe me any thanks.”
“But I do,” Arabella locked eyes with her friend. “I remember all you have done for me. You believed me and showed me compassion when no one else did. You were like a sister to me, much more than my own ever was.”
Smiling, Victoria tipped her head to the side. “It is about time you remembered. I have missed you.”
Bella hugged her friend again. “I love you, my dearest friend.”
Footsteps bounded into the room from the tunnels. Both women wiped their eyes, laughing as Logan entered the room followed by Tristan and Colin.
“I take it that we have found our child’s godmother,” Logan smiled.
“Yes, we have,” Bella beamed, accepting her husband’s monogramed handkerchief and handing it to her friend. “If you will agree, that is.”
Victoria wiped her eyes, stifling a laugh. “Of course I shall agree. Look at me, crying again.”
Tristan joined her on the floor. “And you have charcoal on your cheek. I can’t take you anywhere.” He caressed his wife’s cheek with his thumb.
“How long were you standing in that tunnel?” she asked.
“Long enough,” Tristan embraced his wife. “Proprieties be damned, right?”
Burying her face in the crook of her husband’s neck, Victoria chuckled. “Proprieties be damned.”
Logan, too, sat on the floor. He studied his wife. “I love you,” Bella whispered.
Three words.
Eight letters.
They were all that was necessary to convey that Arabella would follow Logan’s instructions to the letter and that she would allow Victoria into the tunnels in her stead.
Winking at her, Logan held his wife’s hand.
Together, they sat with Tristan and Victoria.
“Would you look at this and tell me what it is?” Victoria held out the crumpled sheet of paper Bella saw her studying earlier.
Tristan shrugged his shoulders. “A cave drawing.”
“Yes, I believe it is,” Logan quipped, tilting the paper upside down, followed by every other position imaginable.
“You must speak with Arthur,” Victoria beseeched Tristan. “I cannot decipher this. Thankfully he isn’t an artist by trade or he would most likely starve.”
“How about I jot down the pathways from now on?” Tristan smoothed her hair.
Victoria smiled. “Excellent idea. As is choosing me to be your child’s godmother, by the way.” She shot a wry grin at Bella, then Logan.
“You and Colin will make excellent godparents,” Logan assured her.
“Me?” Colin asked from the doorway.
Logan raised his palms in the air. “Who else but my best mate?”
“It is official,” Tristan clapped while laughter reverberated throughout the room.
Colin shook Logan’s hand. “Thank you.”
“As if Logan would entrust anyone else,” Eve teased as she entered the spacious room.
Together the set of six sat on the floor laughing and chatting. Husbands holding their wives’ hands, drawings on paper scattered about the floor.
For a brief moment, Bella forgot about the upcoming confrontation with her sister. Until she studied the uncon
ventional group before her …
My family, she thought.
This was her family and she would do anything to protect them from her sister. No, henceforth she would refer to Sybil by her first name.
She was no longer a relation.
Logan was. As was Victoria, Colin, Eve, and Tristan. Even Fiona. Of course there were the children that her child would play with, grow up with … family.
Filled with unconventional misfits.
Nothing could make Arabella happier than to be one of them. Than to know that this was where she belonged. Hence, she would savor these moments and cut ties with Sybil forever. First in her mind, then in person. It would make the upcoming confrontation easier to process.
Because Sybil meant nothing to her.
This would not be their first confrontation. No, there had been one prior to this … when Sybil had been caught with Arabella’s employer. Bella confronted Sybil on that night.
Sybil’s words echoed in Arabella’s mind.
“You are so tedious, Arabella. How is it that we are related?” Sybil had jeered.
Arabella had steeled her shoulders and in her haughtiest voice replied, “We aren’t. Not any longer.”
As it turned out, Bella was a good judge of character. All this time, Sybil had the luxury of Arabella’s amnesia on her side.
No longer.
Bella remembered everything and would use it against Sybil.
“Logan, when will Arthur begin releasing his taunts to Sybil?” she asked.
Her husband caressed her hand. “In the next few days. Why?”
“Because ammunition is derived from my recovered memories,” Arabella’s eyes locked with his. “Arthur isn’t the only one who knows of Sybil’s depravity. I recall everything now, every weakness, every fault, every piece of self-loathing. I know what will upset Sybil, what will make her irrational, what will cause her to become unstable. I know what we can use against her.”
The room fell silent.
“It is about bloody time,” Arthur announced from the doorway.
“You speak,” Colin quipped.
Arthur leaned against the doorframe. “Only when it is important and this is vital. We must use Sybil’s own weaknesses against her. We must disarm her if we are to succeed.”
“Make no mistake, we will succeed,” Arabella assured them. “Sybil doesn’t stand a chance.”
Sybil’s hubris would be her downfall. She had bragged too much, crowed about her so-called accomplishments, about her sins. Though she thought Arabella was unconscious, Sybil had taken the risk.
In doing so, Sybil’s own words would destroy her.
Fitting, Bella thought.
Sybil Sutton was quite the actress, a woman who loved to pretend to be others, who loved to hide her true self. Given all of that, she had deprived herself of taking credit for her actions.
All those years, all of those misdeeds.
Yet, Sybil had become lazy, or was now led by a desperate need to be seen. No longer in the wings, she had finally taken credit for her actions.
Her admissions would be her undoing.
The consummate performer had said too much.
Perhaps Sybil should have stuck to the scripts she was provided?
The night of the ball arrived on an unusually balmy autumn evening. The skies were clear, illuminating the full moon, which had been part of Logan’s meticulous plan.
Yes, he had mapped out every elaborate detail, down to the light of the full moon illuminating the grand terrace, the number of sconces, and the dual orchestras playing both in the ballroom and on the terrace.
They would drown out their group’s private conversations. They would also allow Sybil to be led into the catacombs without Victoria ever saying a word. As would the loud and luminous display of fireworks around the lake at precisely the time that Arabella and Victoria would switch places.
It would be quite the spectacle.
Everyone had a part to play.
Logan studied his pocket watch as he leaned against the mantel above the glowing hearth in the small library connecting his bedchamber to his bride’s. The cozy space had become their private paradise, one in which they spent their evenings reading by the hearth. Arabella had brought her favorite books from the larger downstairs library and rearranged the shelves.
Turning towards the velvet settee, Logan admired a large stack of books Arabella had placed on the side table this morning. He skimmed the titles. A great deal of poetry and Shakespeare – light reading for his wife, Logan noted with a grin.
“I thought we could begin those tonight,” Arabella stood in the center of the room, her golden locks pinned in loose tendrils atop her head.
Logan’s breath hitched in his throat, the sight of his Bella causing his lungs to constrict.
She was spellbinding, her porcelain complexion accentuated with cheeks the soft pink of a summer rose, her heart-shaped lips upturned into a radiant smile. Swathed in a garnet and white concoction, she resembled royalty.
His Queen.
Her bodice and sleeves were a deep crimson, as were her gloves, while her skirts were made of a gauzy white fabric, resembling crisp clouds, that danced about her long legs as she walked towards him. Red and white roses accentuated her waist.
“As per your request, the gown is two shades, so I shall blend in with Victoria’s ivory gown,” Bella twirled. “Once we don our capes and hoods, no one will be able to tell the difference between us.”
“I will,” Logan stood, bridging the distance between them. “I always will.”
Arabella caressed his cheek with her gloved hand. “Aren’t I fortunate?”
Tracing her necklace with his thumb and forefinger, Logan’s hand clasped her locket, which rested just above the hollow of her ever-expanding bodice, reminding him of her pregnancy and the subtle transformations that only he had seen. Intimate and causing his adoration for her to increase ten-fold. “I am the lucky one. You have captivated me from the day we met. I am under your spell. Now and always.”
“So, you approve?” she teased, her radiant amber gaze holding his.
Logan kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, my love. You will dazzle everyone in attendance this evening.”
Clutching his lapel, Bella beseeched him. “Please reassure me that this plan will work.”
“It will,” he assured her, his baritone strong and convincing, though Logan was uncertain who he was attempting to persuade … his bride or himself.
Tonight came down to timing.
All of the moving parts to his plan, the moving gears if you will, were set to proceed like a stage production. All actions had been choreographed and practiced to precision on multiple occasions. Their group had done numerous walk-throughs complete with variations, predicting the possibilities of something going awry.
Still, much could go wrong and nothing was foolproof.
“Whatever happens tonight, I will protect you,” Logan placed his hand above his wife’s abdomen.
She would understand.
I will protect both of you.
Arabella placed her palm over his. Together they stood, motionless, for several long moments.
Studying her husband’s bold features, Bella noted that his eyes were darker tonight, the black of a raven’s coat. His pupils were almost undiscernible. He looked menacing, a force to be reckoned with.
Which he was.
Bella loved him all the more for it.
“We shall protect each other,” she countered. “We shall ensure our future, our child’s future. Together.”
Logan’s lips brushed against hers, his gentle kiss in stark contrast to his formidable appearance. This surprised her not, for she knew the man beyond the scars, beyond the menacing façade. Only Bella knew the real man, the kind, passionate, and protective man Logan truly was.
“You are extraordinary,” she said when their lips parted.
Her husband placed his forehead against hers as he checked the time
. “We must proceed downstairs to the ballroom. Do you have any questions, any concerns that you would like to address one last time?”
Arabella wrung her hands. Out of the many trepidations that plagued her, one stood out. “You surveyed everything before our guests arrived. Did you make sure Adolphus is in place?”
“I did and he is,” Logan caressed her cheek. “We shall both be watching over you tonight.”
“Be prepared for anything. My sister was humiliated with the Tattler’s reports. She will seek retribution.” Bella’s pulse quickened, pounding hard against her temples.
Arthur had reported everything Arabella had communicated to him, highlighting every transgression that Sybil had committed – at least the ones of which Bella was aware. He preyed on Sybil’s thirst for acceptance, for recognition, for success.
He had revealed much.
Perhaps too much?
“I fear we went too far to lure her here,” Arabella inhaled a deep, ragged breath. “She will want vengeance. Especially after Faustino Beniamino abandoned her, after Arthur publicly named him as her co-conspirator. Sybil lost everything when Faustino denounced her before fleeing the country.”
Logan wrapped his arms around her, enfolding his wife in his solid embrace. “I know. As we discussed, hold on to your fan and don’t hesitate to use it.”
Her fan … from the opera. With the silver file in the handle. Though Arabella had prepared for this, her chest constricted at the thought of doing bodily harm to Sybil, even in self-defense.
Silly, really, since Arabella was practical when it came to the woman she once considered to be her sister. She understood that Sybil left her no choice – it was either Arabella or Sybil.
Both would not survive this night unscathed.
Sybil had seen to that when she fabricated evidence ensuring that Bella would be blamed for Sybil’s crimes.
Sybil showed no remorse when she left her to die.
Swallowing against the lump of realization that formed in her throat, Arabella whispered. “I will do what I must. I will protect us.”
Us.
Their baby was in danger and Arabella refused to allow Sybil to hurt their child. No, she would use whatever force she must, even if it meant stabbing Sybil with that blade, to save her child.
The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 Page 23
