Madeleine clutched the wall for support. For a moment, she didn’t believe her own ears. She didn’t want to.
“Don’t joke about such awful things!” she cried and flinched at another bark of thunder that arrived almost simultaneously with a fork of lightning across the sky. “Why would you say that to me?”
“Oh, family honesty and all that. Not that the old saying about blood being thicker than water means a damned thing… Usher isn’t a poor man. I thought I could control his fortune through you. I’m sure I could have milked you a bit, but Usher is savvier than I gave him credit for. He knew damned well what I was up to. He gave me an allowance, no more and no less.
“And then it came to me that you and I don’t have the same blood. Oh yes, we share parents, God rest their souls, but if I am cut, you don’t bleed.” He smiled. “And vice versa. Of course, Usher nearly ruined my plans by running off, but fortunately, he came back and it’s now even easier. I think he dragged you up here, killed you as he killed his brother, and then vanished into the night.”
The shock of what he was saying must have been too unreal to sink in. Somehow, she could thrust it to the back of her mind, some instinct she hadn’t known she possessed fighting for survival. One more minute, two more minutes, as many as she could achieve.
“You want people to believe he did all this without anyone in the house noticing?” she said with doubt.
“Oh, he has ways of getting around the house so that no one sees him. I know, because he’s almost taken me by surprise several times.”
She frowned. “Was that you? Did you entice me up to the roof with all those weird noises?”
“I wanted to see how far you would go. And, I admit, to begin to upset your smug balance. You were very sensitive to atmospheres as a child—or so Mama always said. I confess I played on that.” He took a step nearer, so that she stood between him and the gap in the crenelated wall. He held a pistol pointing at her now, too. Oddly, it made no real difference to her fear. She would either die this night or she would not. He had only one shot after all.
“And Roderick,” she said, keeping him talking while she tried to measure her chances of fleeing safely around to the door to the stairs. “Did you frighten him, too?”
“Not so easy. Even with his wounds to head and heart, he remains too much a soldier. I fed him his own laudanum, and considerably more beside. He’d already been addicted when he was given it for his wounds, so it was much easier to set him off again. I dropped it in his wine when I could, in his brandy, his coffee, tea, wherever. Always in larger doses. He must have got more from somewhere. He’s a wreck.”
“And you shut him in the crypt?” The utter, deliberate cruelty of that took her breath away. This was her brother? Dear God, they had grown in different paths indeed…
“I always meant to. While he wasn’t thinking straight. When I overheard the farmer telling you and Graham he’d seen him outside the village, I wasn’t sure whether to entice him with more opium or with you. But, good as gold, he followed the open crypt door. I only had to make one threat to you, without you even being there, and he came charging to your rescue.”
Daniel laughed. “It was beautiful in its way. But I’m bored now and want this over with. Be a good girl and jump down into the loch. You have a chance of survival that way.”
She didn’t. They both knew the water wasn’t deep enough. Another fork of lightning flashed across her vision, across a shadow. Hope of help? Or imagination?
“No,” she said loudly over the crashing thunder. The rain was pelting down now. “I won’t make it easy for you!”
He stepped back and took aim. “Then I’ll just shoot you. Goodbye, Mad—”
She began to bolt, her last, faint hope of survival now, but his finger was already squeezing the trigger. Something crashed into her, knocking her to the ground as the shot rang out.
Lightning flashed across the sky. She gazed up into her husband’s beloved face. For an instant, the world stood still. An instant of pure happiness before they both died.
And then, with the thunder came another shot, and someone else hit the floor beside her. Daniel. His eyes wide open, surprised and quite dead.
“Sorry, sir,” came Graham’s calm voice. “Think I killed him.”
It took a while to stop shaking, to be dry, and to understand. To soothe the servants, the older Ushers, and Sonya. There would be scandal, of course, but enough witnesses ensured the truth would be told. A truth it would take Madeleine a long time to deal with.
But at last they were alone, in his bedchamber. Rain still battered against the glass roof, though at least the thunder and lightning seemed to have moved away to the south.
“How did you get out of the crypt?” she asked.
“A passage had always been built into it to avoid accidents. All the burial chambers are joined to it. It leads to the church. Only the family know of it. I doubt even the minister does, and your brother certainly didn’t. That’s why I let him lock me in. I knew I could get out.”
“It must have been so hard for you,” she whispered.
“I had a few difficult moments,” he confessed. He held her gaze. “But I thought of you, and they passed.”
She swallowed. “Then you love me still?”
He started toward her, then stopped. “Of course, I do. More than my life, or anyone else’s. And yet I hurt you. I know I did. My mind was…clouded, confused by the drug. I knew something was wrong, that I had an enemy. In my heart, I knew it wasn’t you, but my head…” He thumped his forehead. “Can you forgive me?” he asked abruptly.
“Oh, of course I do!” She closed the space between them and took his hand. “Look.” She led him over to the easels by the window, and one after the other, she pulled off the covers.
“Jesus.” He stared at them, dragging his hand through his hair, then down over his jaw. “I was trying to paint you, and it kept going wrong, so I started another, and then went back to the first… Sometimes, I saw them like that and thought it was the dreams. Sometimes I saw them without the…blemishes, but they were there all the time.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I think it’s because I was so afraid for you. I was afraid my enemy would hurt you, that the house would.”
His lips twisted. “The funny thing is, I think now the house was warning me. Pay attention, imbecile, you’re being poisoned and doing nothing about it.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said in wonder. “Just tonight. I suppose it’s fanciful.”
“I suppose it is. The house is only stone. It’s the people within who create the mood.” He turned the paintings’ faces to the window and covered them all, before placing his hands on her shoulders. “Could you live here now? Would you like to, or shall we go somewhere else entirely?”
She thought about it. “I don’t want to leave her. It’s our home. And Roderick…” She took one of his hands and placed it on her abdomen. “Your house is far from dead. Our child should be born here.”
Expressions flitted across his face so fast she couldn’t read them all. There was shame as he remembered what he’d said to her, and wonder and fear and love.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he whispered.
“You are Roderick Usher. I think we must deserve each other.” She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her sweetly. Strength and happiness flowed into her, healing and powerful. From this moment, she knew their future and their children’s would rise.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Imperial Season Series
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Rebel
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
The Wicked Gypsy
The Wicked Wife
W
icked Christmas (A Novella)
The Wicked Waif
The Wicked Heir
Unmarriageable Series
The Deserted Heart
The Sinister Heart
The Vulgar Heart
Beth
Maggi Andersen
Chapter One
Spring, Harrow Court, London, 1825
Beth Harrismith entered the breakfast room her mind full of what awaited her that evening. She greeted her sister, Jenny, the Duchess of Harrow with a quick smile, eager to divert her thoughts. “That’s a divine lace cap,” she observed taking a seat beside her at the table. She reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup.
Jenny patted her cap covering her dark brown hair. “I’m pleased you approve. I thought you might accuse me of dressing like a dowager.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Beth’s lips curled slightly as she observed her sister. “What does Andrew think?”
Jenny looked down at the toast she was buttering. “Oh, he likes it well enough.”
“That bow under your chin?”
Jenny grinned as she reached for the jam. “Oh stop, Beth. Aunt Augusta is coming for a visit next week. This is how she will expect a married lady of my years to dress.” A reluctant smile teased her lips. “Andrew doesn’t approve either. He has already pulled it off once this morning.”
Beth chuckled. No one would take her sister for a dowager. Now twenty-eight, she’d changed little since she’d married Andrew. And no dowager would look quite so happy. Beth loved living with Jenny and Andrew. Although the city did not hold the same delights for her as it did for them. But the long windows overlooked the pretty spring flowering borders, and the sky above was clear although not quite the azure blue one found in the countryside. It was going to be a fine, wonderful day.
“I believe I shall have eggs.” Beth rose to inspect the heated dishes on the sideboard. On raising the lids the room filled with mouth-watering aromas. “Mm. Bacon.” She picked up a plate and spooned a pile of eggs onto it and added a rasher of bacon.
“I don’t know why you never put on a pound,” Jenny said crossly a hand on her stomach over her apricot sarsnet morning gown. “I’ve struggled with my weight since George was born.”
“Not there, my love. But most fetchingly placed I must say,” Andrew said from the door.
The footman, Barker, coughed and busied himself with the duke’s coffee.
A flush spread over Jenny’s cheekbones. “Andrew, you are incorrigible.”
Beth discreetly looked down at her cup. Andrew, Duke of Harrow could be guaranteed to speak his mind. One was never sure what he might declare. But one thing was clear, he adored her sister and had done ever since Jenny had first come to Castlebridge, Andrew’s ancestral home in Oxfordshire, as governess to his children, William, and Barbara, five years ago.
“Please forgive my riding clothes,” he said smiling at them both as he took his seat at the table. “The park was surprisingly busy this morning. I met Jackson Brenton…”
Beth returned to think of the evening awaiting her as Andrew discussed a friend of his with Jenny.
The footman placed his coffee before him. “Your usual breakfast, Your Grace?”
“Thank you, Barker.” Andrew sipped some coffee. “Are you enjoying your Season, Beth?”
“I am. My come-out ball was splendid.” It wasn’t entirely true. She strained to make the best of it, but being the center of attention to so many men kept her on edge. Was she pretty enough? Poised enough? She did love her new apparel, however. “I have a lovely gown to wear this evening. It is white satin embellished with pearls and has a pink satin border and roses embroidered above the hem.”
Andrew picked up the newspaper. “Mm? Good, good.”
“You can guarantee to lose his interest if you speak of women’s apparel,” Jenny said. “Hats especially.”
Beth giggled.
Andrew rattled the paper and when Barker placed his breakfast before him, requested more coffee.
“I should imagine Countess Wallington’s cotillion ball this evening will be enjoyable,” Jenny said. “She always invites unusual guests. I believe she strives to shock.”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “And often succeeds.”
“I confess to being a little nervous,” Beth admitted at last. “But you and Andrew are very supportive.”
“I wouldn’t miss it! Nor would Andrew.”
Andrew sliced into the bacon on his plate, his paper resting beside him. “I look forward to it.”
“You don’t mean a word of it, Andrew,” Jenny said cheerfully. She sighed. “We both miss the baby, the children, and Castlebridge. It’s always hard to leave them in the care of nanny and their governess.”
“They are both extremely capable, my love.” Andrew patted her hand.
The butler entered the room carrying a silver tray on which lay a letter and opener. “This has just arrived for you, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Forrester.” Andrew slit it open. He held the single sheet in his hands and read it quickly, deep furrows gathering on his forehead. He looked up. “Jenny, my love, we must return to Oxfordshire. Apparently, William has taken a tumble from one of the horses.”
Beth swallowed a mouthful of buttery egg in alarm. She put down her knife and fork.
Jenny’s chair banged back, as she climbed to her feet. “Is he badly hurt?”
“Hit his head and lost consciousness for a while. But the doctor says here that he’s confident it is merely a bump on the head and severe bruising. Don’t worry, sweetheart. It doesn’t sound at all serious. I’m sure he will be back to health and ready to return to Eton when the school term begins.”
“Oh, I pray that is so. Bumps on the head should not be taken lightly.” Jenny stood with her hands gripping the back of her chair.
“The doctor seems confident it’s not serious, Jenny.” Beth rose to comfort her. Her usually stalwart sister seemed to worry more since their son, George was born.
Jenny clutched her hands together. “As soon as our backs are turned! William had to be watched around the stables when I first came to Castlebridge as his governess,” she explained to Beth, who having lived with them since they married, was already familiar with those fraught times. “He was only nine then and I must say at fourteen, he is still a worry when it comes to horses.”
“William’s a good rider, Jenny,” Andrew said calmly.
“Yes, your son and heir is a bit of a daredevil, like all the Harrow’s.” She glanced disapprovingly at him. “He has probably taken Lightning over a high jump. I’ll go and see to the packing.” She paused halfway to the door to look back at Beth. “You cannot cry off this evening. It will be a dreadful snub. I must find a suitable chaperone for you.” She tapped her cheek. “Now let me see.”
“Surely I shan’t be missed.” Beth grasped at the opportunity to return to the country. “I’ll come home with you. There will be other balls.”
“Nonsense. You must go,” her sister said.
Beth sighed. “Very well.” When Jenny took that tone there was no arguing with her.
“Mrs. Grayshott and her daughter, Phillida are to attend,” Jenny mused. “A kind woman, I’m sure she will be eager to oblige.”
“Phillida won’t present well beside Beth,” Andrew observed.
Beth’s cheeks grew hot at his praise. “Oh, surely not.”
“Yes, that is true,” Jenny agreed. “And Mrs. Grayshott is a terrible chatter-box. But it is only for one evening.”
“I’ll take my coffee in the study, Barker. I have some urgent matters to attend to before we leave.” Andrew paused at the door and glanced at Beth. “You’ll be all right?”
“Of course. You mustn’t give a thought to me. As you say it is only for one evening,” she said, accepting that she must attend the ball. “I only pray that William recovers quickly.”
“I’ll ensure that Mrs. Grayshott’s carriage will bring you back here after the ball. You sha
n’t be able to receive any morning calls from gentlemen, I’m afraid,” Jenny said. “It shall be a dreadful bore. But only for a day or two. I must send letters of apology and a note around to Mrs. Grayshott immediately.” She opened the door and was gone.
Beth poured herself another cup of tea. She suddenly felt very alone, as the evening loomed ahead, never quite knowing what to say to these sophisticated people. They were so different to those she’d known while growing up in Yorkshire.
Two hours later, she waited beside Forrester in the entrance hall to say farewell to Jenny and Andrew. On the gravel drive outside, the coach awaited, the heads of four restless grays held by the groom.
Dressed in a pelisse of deep rose velvet trimmed with sable, a sable hat on her head, Jenny hurried down the stairs pulling on her gloves. “A note has come from Mrs. Grayshott confirming her carriage will call for you this evening at nine o’clock.” Reaching the marble floor, she kissed Beth’s cheek scenting the air with attar of roses. “I know you will behave with perfect decorum, dearest. You are one of the few members of this large family whom I can rely upon to do so.”
“My nephew George certainly never does,” Beth said with a grin recalling how the little boy giggled and pointed at a visitor’s hat lavishly adorned with fruit and feathers. He’d been removed swiftly in disgrace but remained undaunted. He was unimpressed with the elegant manners of the haute ton, which made Beth laugh. Although his manners would improve, she suspected as the second son and the third child, he would forge his own path and always be a bit headstrong.
“He is to be excused because he is so young,” Jenny said with a frown. She and Andrew’s rambunctious three-year-old son could do no wrong in her eyes.
“I wonder if we will still excuse him when he is fourteen like William?” Andrew asked mildly.
Jenny shook her head at him. “I doubt you will ever punish him severely, Andrew. You will be as tolerant as you are with William.”
At her mention of William’s name, Jenny’s concerned glance met Andrew’s. “I do hope he is all right. We must hurry, my love.”
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 36
