The valet left and Ian wandered into his dressing room and the steaming copper tub. Sinking down into the water, it immediately swept away the chill and he let his head fall back against the lip of the tub.
From his chamber beyond, he heard a sound. “Dammit, Champton, I told you I was fine!”
There was no answer. Despite the warmth of the water, gooseflesh raised on his skin. A prickling awareness of not being alone, of being observed, settled over him. As much as he feared it, he glanced over his shoulder. No one. The room was empty. Yet the overwhelming sensation of another presence continued.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
Again silence, but he smelled it. Even over his own sandalwood soap, it was unmistakable. The scent was unique. One that he’d had blended by a perfumer in London just for Annabel. Roses, honeysuckle and just the faintest hint of lavender. But he could smell it. In fact, it overwhelmed him. It was almost as if she stood in that very room.
He started to rise from the tub, but the first strains of music halted his progress. Instantly, he fell back. The disjointed, tinny sounds of the music box—one that had been broken into a hundred pieces when Annabel had hurled it at his head—drifted to him from the connecting chamber, the room that had been his wife’s. The room where he’d been denied entry even years before her death.
“Leave me be,” his whispered. “I did not cause your death!”
But neither did you prevent it.
Those whispered words were not the product of a ghost. They were put forth by the guilt that clawed at his insides daily. If he’d demanded she leave the beach with him that day, if he’d just held his tongue and not taken the bait to argue so bitterly with her, Annabel would have returned home with him and would still be alive. He’d failed her. He’d failed her and, as with all things during their marriage, she would have her pound of flesh.
Hyacinth had been left with strict instructions to rest. But truthfully, aside from a few bruises and muscles sore from unusual activity, she felt fine. And after being cooped up in a carriage with Lady Arabella for days on end, the last thing she wanted was to lay abed and stare at four walls, no matter how beautifully appointed they were.
Perhaps it was a direct result of her having been poor and having to work to earn her keep for so very long, but idleness was not something Hyacinth easily tolerated. A book, she thought. Perhaps if she could find the library and get a book to while away the hours, taking it easy would not be so terrible.
Getting up from her bed, she went to the wardrobe where a helpful and sweet-tempered maid had unpacked her belongings earlier. Choosing stays she could lace herself into easily and a simple day dress with a bib front, she dressed quickly enough, ignoring the twinges from her shoulders and the slight ache of her head. The megrims she’d suffered during their leanest years, when she’d spent hours working on mending and sewing deep into the night, were a thing of the past. The stress of it, coupled with the strain to her poor eyes, which had been relieved by the spectacles, had likely been the cause. Still, a bit of a headache lurked around the edges as a result of striking her head on the rock. She’d likely be black and blue from the beating she’d taken from the door while clinging to the coach. Her hair was braided, again courtesy of the maid, and she simply left it as such. Draping a shawl about her shoulder and stuffing her feet into a pair of kid slippers, she exited her room.
It didn’t escape Hyacinth’s notice that she was sneaking about rather like a housebreaker. As she headed down the corridor, she paused. It wasn’t noise for, indeed, the house was as silent as it could be. But there was an unmistakable sense that she was not alone. Peering over her shoulder, Hyacinth let out a startled gasp.
At the end of the long corridor, standing in a beam of weak sunlight with dust was the figure of a woman with long, auburn hair. She wore a gown as fine as gossamer that seemed to float around her. But due to her own limited vision, Hyacinth could not make out the woman’s face, only the form of her.
Reaching into the pocket of her gown, her hand came away empty. Hyacinth looked down, unable to believe that the spectacles she’d just been thinking so gratefully of were still in her chamber. She’d left them behind like some addlepated twit. At a distinct disadvantage, Hyacinth determined that she would not allow her manners to fail her. She turned fully to face the woman, to introduce herself, but as she did so, the woman was gone completely. The space where she’d stood was utterly empty and Hyacinth was once more completely alone in the corridor.
A shiver coursed through her. Had she imagined it? She must have, Hyacinth reasoned. She had struck her head that morning, after all. Perhaps, getting out of bed had been a poor choice, after all. Still, disturbed by the vision whether a true apparition or a figment her own mind, Hyacinth was reluctant to go back to her chamber alone. At least below stairs, the servants would be moving about. There would be footmen and maids going to and fro to see to their duties.
Turning back, Hyacinth made her way to the top of the stairs and, once more, glanced back at the spot where the woman had stood. Still empty, devoid of everything. Another shiver, and she placed her hand on the banister, eager to be away.
As she neared the bottom stair, she followed the sound of voices and found Lady Arabella and Lady Dumbarton in a small sitting room.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” she said. “But I fear I am a terrible patient.”
Lady Dumbarton smiled warmly. “Nonsense, my dear! You are welcome anywhere in this house. Are you certain you feel well enough to be up and about?”
Recalling the apparition which was either ghostly or a figment of her own fevered mind, Hyacinth knew she’d rather be up and about in the company of others than in her bed alone. “Quite well,” she said.
“Some tea, dear?” Lady Arabella asked.
“That would be lovely.” As Hyacinth seated herself on a small chair covered with delicate needlework, she was beset by one burning question. Why were there three cups when only the two of them were present? “Were you expecting someone else?”
Lady Dumbarton’s smile tightened. “I had invited Mrs. Lee to join us, but she declined.”
“Is there another lady in residence?” Hyacinth asked, excited at the prospect. Perhaps, that had been who she saw upstairs.
“Yes, Miss Collier,” Lady Dumbarton replied as she poured the tea. “Mrs. Lee is mother to Ian’s, forgive me, to Lord Dumbarton’s, late wife. She and her son have remained here with us following… well, the tragedy.”
She’d trailed off at the end, indicating that she did not wish to say more. Vowing to herself that she would get the truth of it from Lady Arabella later, Hyacinth had to wonder at why the elderly woman had wanted to come visit her cousin and why she’d done nothing to indicate it was a household that was troubled before they had arrived.
Hyacinth accepted the cup of tea and had just taken her first sip when the door opened and another woman entered. Dressed from head to toe in black bombazine, her hair pulled back severely and an expression on her face so dour that Hyacinth could not help but find her unpleasant, the woman paused just inside the doorway.
“Has my invitation to tea been rescinded then?” the woman asked, sweeping her hand toward the tray now devoid of cups.
Lady Dumbarton’s smile was utterly false but fixed in place. “You had declined our invitation, Vera. But naturally, we are delighted you have changed your mind. I shall ring for another cup.”
The woman’s expression, if possible, turned even more sour. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed until they turned down at the corners like that of a petulant child. “Do not bother. I will not be staying long. I only came to receive an introduction to the young woman whom I had been told was too gravely injured to leave her bed.”
Lady Arabella started to speak but Lady Dumbarton put a staying hand over her cousin’s hand and spoke instead, “Mrs. Vera Lee, I am quite pleased to introduce you to Miss Hyacinth Collier. She is a family connection by marriage.”
&n
bsp; “Miss?” Mrs. Lee queried. “You are a bit long in the tooth to be yet unmarried, are you not?”
As that observation was rather painfully blunt, Hyacinth decided to reply in kind. “I am quite a confirmed spinster, ma’am, and happy with the state.”
Mrs. Lee smiled but it was a bitter look to be sure. “Then you’ve come to a most excellent household, Miss Collier. For there are no single men here to threaten your unwed status… except for my William, of course. But he is devoted to the care of his mother and will never leave me. And Lord Dumbarton, as we all know, is still legally wed.”
“Then why the mourning?” Lady Arabella asked. “If you are so convinced that Annabel still lives, why are you dressed like a crow?”
The other woman lifted her chin and sniffed at the insult. “I mourn because my daughter is not at my side… because her fate is, as yet, unknown,” Mrs. Lee stated emphatically. “And until her remains are discovered or Lord Dumbarton confesses to her murder, I shall not wear anything but black. I bid you good day, Miss Collier. Lady Arabella, Lady Dumbarton.”
With that, Mrs. Lee turned on her heel and stalked toward the door. When she reached it, she turned back and pinned Hyacinth with her sharp gaze. “You’d do well to leave this place, girl. Confirmed spinster or not, young women tend to meet a bitter end in the company of his lordship.”
“Respectfully, Madam,” Hyacinth said coolly, “his lordship has been all that is polite and even heroic on my behalf. I will not speak, nor will I believe, so ill of him. I am sorry for your grief that makes you see such wickedness where it does not exist.”
Mrs. Lee’s lips tightened into a cold imitation of a smile. “It’s too late for you then. Watch and see! You’ll meet the same dark fate!”
With that, the woman stormed out in a swish of black skirts, the door banging so heavily behind her that a porcelain shepherdess fell from the table.
“Dear heavens! That woman!” Lady Arabella said. “How do you abide her presence here, Phyllida?”
Lady Phyllida was retrieving the shepherdess from the rug and inspecting it for damage. As she replaced it, she uttered a heavy sigh. “Because I have no other choice. She will not leave on her own and my son will not toss her out… no matter how wretched she is. My apologies for her unpleasantness, Miss Collier.”
Hyacinth said nothing for a long moment. She’d defended the man to Mrs. Lee because it had seemed the right thing to do after his earlier rescue of her. But that didn’t mean she was without skepticism. “So her daughter was married to Lord Dumbarton? And now her daughter is missing?”
“Her daughter is dead,” Lady Dumbarton replied. The words were not cruel but were quite matter of fact. “Annabel was a beautiful but very troubled soul. The particulars are not known except that she and Ian had walked on the beach and argued. He returned home and left her there. She was in full view of any number of witnesses out on their boats and on the cliffs above. A storm blew up, everyone fled to seek shelter, and she was never seen again.”
Hyacinth thought of the woman upstairs, the young and willowy figure draped in flowing white with auburn hair. “You said she was beautiful. What did she look like?”
“She was lovely, dear, in ways that I cannot even begin to describe. It was rather like needlework so fine and so delicate until you look underneath and see that everything is tangled and snarled,” Lady Phyllida said, her expression troubled. Abruptly, a forced and overly bright smile took its place. “But let’s speak no more of her. I’d much rather stay focused on the present and how lovely it is to see you up and about. I feared your accident would sour your visit with us terribly!”
“I’m quite all right,” Hyacinth insisted.
“And we are very glad of it. Aren’t we, Arabella?”
“Indeed, Phyllida! Indeed, we are,” Lady Arabella agreed. With a rather cagey look in her eyes, she continued, “And now you’ll be able to join us for dinner. Won’t you, my dear?”
Oh, they were scheming creatures, Hyacinth thought. But she was well and truly caught. She smiled tightly. “Certainly, I can.”
Chapter Five
The drawing room was utterly silent, despite the fact that it housed most of the occupants of the house, aside from the servants at any rate. Standing at the window, his back to the room, Ian supposed that silence was better than having everyone shouting at one another. From the moment he had brought Annabel home to Dubhmara, it had been an endless stream of arguments and screaming matches. She’d detested the isolation of it all and had longed to return to London and the social whirl.
Ignoring Vera’s icy glare and William’s resentful one, Ian’s gaze traveled over them and to the pair of women sitting huddled together on the settee before the fire. “What sort of schemes are you hatching?” he asked of his mother and Lady Arabella.
“No schemes, no plots,” his cousin replied with a beatific smile. “We are simply reminiscing about your grandmother. Did you know she was a bit wild, Ian? She once danced with the gypsies, you know.”
Mrs. Lee harrumphed loudly, as if such a fact surprised her not at all.
“I did not know that,” Ian answered. “And how did her reputation fare afterward?”
“Oh, quite well, actually. She was a favorite at court, naturally. Beautiful as she was, she could be nothing less. Some even suggested she was a spy! Though I think it unlikely,” Arabella continued. “Many thought her remarkably clever, but the simple truth is, she was incapable of considering consequences. Reckless through and through.”
He didn’t respond. While Lady Arabella had been speaking, the door had opened and Miss Collier had entered. He had not thought to see her for dinner, assuming she would need more time to recover from her ordeal. Yet she stood there with her hair pulled up in a confection of soft curls with more still trailing over her neck. The golden color was enhanced by the firelight and the pale lavender of her gown brought out the unusual color of her eyes. Even wet, bedraggled and covered in mud, he’d thought her lovely. Now, he could see he had been quite wrong. Hyacinth Collier was beautiful.
“Miss Collier, how kind you are to grace us with your presence,” Mrs. Lee said, the words laden with sarcasm. “I suppose when one is a confirmed spinster, as you put it, making a good impression with punctuality hardly seems important.”
Ian tensed at her sly insult. “Have we all been struck deaf, then, that we did not hear the clanging of the dinner gong?”
Mrs. Lee bristled and turned her ire in his direction. He was fine with that, of course. He was deserving of it. Miss Collier was not.
“It is customary as a guest in a house to spend time with the family and residents… rather than simply appear at meal times like a beggar in the streets. You are familiar with being a beggar in the streets, are you not, Miss Collier? I was in London prior to coming to Dubhmara in the wake of my daughter’s disappearance. I’m quite well aware of your less than illustrious beginnings. Though, I daresay, it didn’t impede your sister one little bit, did it? She snapped up a lord for herself quite easily. But then, she’s the beauty of the family, isn’t she? And you are just the plain, ape-leading elder!”
For the first time since the vile woman had descended on his home, Ian took a stand. He was responsible for her pain to a degree, but that did not give her permission or authority to insult a guest. “It’s clear to me, Madam, that you are in a state and unable to bear company tonight. I will have a tray sent to your rooms… and one for William, if he chooses to join you.”
“You are banishing me from dining with guests?” she asked, blinking in incredulity.
“I am banishing you from haranguing guests out of your general disregard for me,” he answered.
“Disregard?” she said, and rose to her feet. “It is not disregard I feel for you. I loathe you, Lord Dumbarton, and all that you stand for. The fact that you stand before me drawing breath while my daughter, my beautiful Annabel, is gone forever… disregard, indeed. There are no words to fully quantify my hatred of you!”<
br />
“Then you will be spared my company, and so long as Lady Arabella and Miss Collier are guests in this home, you will behave yourself toward them or take all of your meals in your chamber. Good evening, Mrs. Lee.”
The room had grown so quiet that the sound of a pin dropping would have been like a clap of thunder. Standing in the doorway, uncomfortably aware that her arrival had triggered some sort of bloodless but no less chilling standoff between Lord Dumbarton and his mother-in-law, Hyacinth wanted nothing more than to crawl back to her room and hide. But in so doing, she would only draw more attention to herself. Instead, she remained there, rooted to the spot. Then the dinner gong rang.
So intent had everyone been on the milieu before them that Lady Phyllida let out a startled cry. After she collected herself, she gave a brittle, sharp laugh. “Oh, heavens! It startled me. Shall we go in?”
From a chair before the fire, William—indolent and sullen—rose. “I’ll be joining my mother for dinner in her sitting room. Be kind enough to have a tray for two sent up. Unless you mean to starve us into vacating before we get the truth about my sister?”
With that parting shot, he sauntered from the room in his mother’s wake, just as unpleasant and bitter as the woman who had birthed him.
Hyacinth felt Lord Dumbarton’s gaze on her and she turned to him, struck not for the first time by how handsome he was. The weight of his stare was unbearable, as was the intensity of it. It was that which prompted her to step back. But there was more to it than that. He could well be a murderer.
He saved you. Hyacinth shook her head, as if that would make the voice go away. He had saved her. But the world, as she well knew, was not black and white. Good people were capable of evil things and the most evil of persons was also capable of heroics. Saving one woman didn’t mean he was not responsible for the death of another, especially one with whom he had a contentious relationship and was forever bound.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 47
