“Oui, monsieur.”
“When the doctor arrives, I’ll speak to him myself. There is nothing more to be done until then. Keep Sir Geoffrey as comfortable as you can.”
Chartier bowed with an air of derision, but Donal cared nothing for the man’s opinion of him as long as the valet obeyed his instructions. He picked up his bag and left the suite, preparing himself to face a worried Cordelia.
Much to his relief, she still had not returned. Presently he heard voices at the foot of the stairs, Cordelia’s and one belonging to an unfamiliar male, and he guessed that the doctor had finally come. He waited in the gallery until the physician reached the top of the stairs and, finding the man alone, introduced himself. The doctor, one Phillip Brown, listened without interrupting as Donal recounted his observations and repeated his request that nothing be said to the patient’s daughter.
“I quite agree,” Dr. Brown said, prodding at the nosepiece of his spectacles. “There is no need to upset the ladies.” He glanced toward Sir Geoffrey’s door and sighed. “I am only a country doctor, but I have seen such cases before…both overreliance upon opiates and the condition known as absinthism. The only cure is time and complete separation from the offending substances.”
“As I suspected, Doctor,” Donal said. “I hope that I may be of some use in assuring the latter.”
“As you are a friend of the family, and obviously understand the situation better than I, I will leave you to do as your judgment dictates.” He smiled. “I believe the world of medicine may have lost a worthy practitioner when you chose to treat animals instead of people, Dr. Fleming.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brown.” Donal escorted Brown to Sir Geoffrey’s suite and returned to the staircase. The path was clear, and so he hurried outside, desperately in need of a safe place to vent his rage.
Tod appeared as soon as Donal had rounded the corner of the house and found a quiet space in the shadow of a rose arbor.
Donal tossed down his bag. “I should kill him,” he said.
“The Yellow-Hair?” Tod asked. He swooped beneath the arbor and hung one-handed from a vine-covered arch. “Aye, my lord. Kill him.”
Tod’s bloodthirstiness effectively dampened Donal’s own. He sucked in a deep breath. “Murder is no solution,” he said. “But Inglesham must be dealt with, and soon. The man won’t give up…not until he’s had the fear of God put into him.”
“Fear of Fane,” Tod said. “Fear of the Forest Lord’s son.”
Donal was in no mood to smile. “My father was ruthless enough in his time,” he said, “but I was born in this world, and my powers have never been great.” He raised his fists. “If I have to use these two hands—”
“Make Yellow-Hair suffer,” Tod urged. “Punish, and then go.”
“Go,” Donal whispered. He looked up at the house, remembering how much like a cage it had seemed when he had first arrived at Edgecott. It was still a cage, but now it held a new prisoner: his heart. And no matter what he did to Inglesham, no matter how many lies he told himself about freedom and the manifold dangers of love, he would not escape without forcing Cordelia to pay the price of his cowardice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FOR A MOMENT—as long as it might take for a dragonfly to beat its wings—Tod thought he had won. In that glorious instant he was certain that Donal had recognized the futility of his mortal scruples and accepted that he had no future here, prey to the constant and ruthless demands of human emotion. He had seen the truth at last. He and Ivy and Tod would leave this place, Tod would convince Donal to enter Tir-na-Nog and Queen Titania would lift Tod’s curse.
All this Tod envisioned, like a glorious dream, and then his hopes withered beneath Donal’s wretched and disconsolate gaze.
There would be no victory, now or ever.
With a silent cry of rage Tod burst upward, ignoring the cruel scrape of thorns on his skin as he fled the rose bower and the treachery of his lord. He fixed his thoughts on the one who could restore his joy and flew up to her bedchamber window, which stood open to the late morning breeze.
She lay on the great, soft bed, her dark hair loose upon the pillows. Tod perched on the window ledge and was about to enter when he saw that Ivy was not alone.
“I am sorry that I have spent so little time with you these past few days,” the Hardcastle said from her chair at the foot of the bed. “I did not wish to neglect you, my dear, but circumstances…have been most trying of late. I hope you can understand.”
Ivy sat up against the pillows, and though Tod could not see her face he knew that she had been weeping.
“I know about the dog fight,” she said, her voice husky with uncertainty. “Why didn’t you tell me, Cordelia?”
Donal’s lady gazed down at her hands. “I told no one, Ivy, and that was foolish of me. I should not have gone alone.”
“Are the dogs all right?”
A smile transformed the Hardcastle’s features, making her appear almost beautiful. “Most are recovering nicely. We lost one…but Donal tells me that his passing was painless.”
“Oh.” Ivy dropped her head, the silky veil of her hair falling across her face. “What about your father?”
The lady’s smile faltered. “He is very ill. At the present time he remains unconscious, but the doctor has every hope of his recovery.”
“I’m sorry.” Ivy twisted her coverlet between her fingers. “I said nasty things about Sir Geoffrey. I wished that he…he…”
“Nonsense.” The lady rose from her chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “You must never believe that your wishes had anything to do with it. We all have unpleasant thoughts about others, but that does not make them come true.”
“Sometimes,” Ivy said, “not even our greatest wishes come true.”
The Hardcastle leaned forward and took Ivy’s hands. “What have you wished for, Ivy? Only tell me, and I will do my best to help.”
Ivy looked away. “You’ve given me so much already.”
“But I fear I have not made you happy.” The lady touched Ivy’s cheek. “Nothing means more to me, my dear, than making a good home for you, and that we should become the best of friends. If only you would confide in me….” She stopped and seemed to withdraw, both physically and emotionally. “I am sorry for disturbing your rest. Perhaps we can have tea when the house is not so much at sixes and sevens.”
She started for the door, but Ivy called after her. “Did you mean it when you said…I could confide in you?”
The lady turned back, her eyes bright with hope. “Of course.” She resumed her seat. “What is it, Ivy?”
Tod pushed his head halfway in the open window, keeping himself invisible while he studied Ivy’s face. The girl was obviously weighing an important subject, and Tod sensed that it was not unrelated to her tears. Her mouth set in a determined line.
“Is it true,” she began slowly, “is it true that you and Donal spent the night alone in his cottage?”
It was obvious from the Hardcastle’s reaction that she had not been prepared for the question. She half rose, skirts rustling, and then sank back again. Her features smoothed into an expressionless mask.
“Where did you hear such a thing, Ivy?” she asked.
“Is it true?”
The lady gazed toward the window, though her eyes saw nothing. “I was with Donal in the kennels, helping him to care for the dogs. Afterward—” She sat up straighter, shoulders thrown back as if she were about to confront a deadly enemy in pitched battle. “Yes, Ivy. I was with Donal.”
Ivy sank into her pillows like a hunted animal seeking its nest. “Please,” she said. “Go away.”
“Ivy…” The lady held out her hand and lowered it again. Tod saw that it was shaking. “What occurred between Donal and me was private. It was not meant to hurt you in any way. I—”
“You have told me to be ‘good,’” Ivy said, the words edged with scorn. “You said I was too wild, that I had to think of my reputation as a lady. But yo
u don’t care about your reputation, do you?”
The Hardcastle rose, brittle as a mullein stalk in winter. “I am a widow,” she said, “and an independent heiress in my own right. While some would castigate me for my actions, they would certainly judge an unmarried girl far more harshly for the same behavior. That is simply the reality of our world.”
“Then your world is mad.”
“It may not seem fair, but—”
“You can do whatever you like, and all your rules don’t mean anything.”
“You’re wrong, Ivy. They are important. I…” She swallowed audibly. “I made a mistake, because I was distraught over what had happened that night. Donal was a perfect gentleman. It was entirely my fault.”
Ivy gathered a fat pillow to her chest and wrapped her arms around it tightly. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all,” she accused. “And Donal…” She buried her face in the white cloth. “Oh, go away. Go away!”
The lady stood there a few moments longer and then turned, moving with a heavy tread. The door closed with a click. Tod slipped into the room.
Ivy was weeping again, her sobs muffled by the pillow. Tod alighted on the table beside the bed and patted at her tangled hair.
“Do not weep, a chuisle. You are not alone.”
Ivy raised her head, sniffed, and met his gaze with redrimmed eyes. “Tod,” she said. “Where have you been?”
He ducked his head guiltily. “Tod heard the Hardcastle’s speech,” he said, eager to mend her misery. “Is this why you mourn?”
Ivy tossed the pillow aside and laughed. “I mourn for all that can never be.” She scraped her hair away from her damp face. “I don’t belong here, Tod. That becomes more and more clear to me every day.”
Tod’s heart leaped with happiness. “Because of what the Hardcastle told you?” he asked.
“Oh, how can you possibly understand?” She faced him, her legs crossed under the thin gown that clung so enticingly to her body. “If it were only that….”
Only that. Tod clenched his fists. He hated Donal for causing Ivy such pain, and yet he rejoiced in knowing the girl had begun to accept that he could not love her. Donal’s mortal woman had done Tod an unexpected good turn by telling Ivy the truth of her mating.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Ivy sighed. “It is all so useless. I have tried to fit in. Cordelia would never believe it, but I have tried. And I know she’s done so much for me, given me so many beautiful things…”
“Has she not been cruel?” Tod whispered close to her ear. “Has she not wrapped you up in heavy clothing that ties you to the earth, and bound you with laws even she does not keep?”
Ivy’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes. She thinks she needs me, because of her sister. But I only upset her. And Donal…” She bit her lip. “I can’t be good the way they want me to be. I want to go where I please and do what I please, not follow their silly rules. Sometimes I get so angry, and I think that no one in the world should stop me from getting what I want.”
“Aye,” Tod said. “You should have what you want, a ghrá mo chroí.”
“But I don’t know what that is. I only know…I want to go away, to a place where I can’t disappoint anyone, where there are no rules to be broken.”
Tod leaned as near as he dared. “What if Tod could find such a sanctuary,” he said, “where his lady need never be unhappy again?”
Ivy closed her eyes. “I would bless you forever, my friend.”
Only friends now, a chroí. But when we are in the Land of the Young, together…
A thrill of awareness raced through Tod’s blood, drawing him back to the window. A carriage drawn by a pair of silver-white horses was rolling up the drive. Lounging amid the velvet luxury of its squabs was an exceedingly beautiful woman, so lovely and perfect of feature that even a mortal might guess that she was more than human.
Ivy joined Tod at the window. She caught her breath.
“I wonder who she is?”
Tod shivered. There was no reason in the world why Ivy should recognize the woman. Only Tod knew why she had come to Edgecott, and what he hoped to gain from serving her.
He had been forced to choose, and he had chosen. The lines were drawn. There would be no turning back.
CORDELIA WOKE in confusion, her mind awash with fading dreams of sensual pleasure and unbearable sorrow.
She sat up on the bed, pushing loose hair from her face. The angle of the sun through the window told her that she could not have slept more than a few minutes, but she knew she should never have allowed herself to rest while her father’s condition remained so uncertain.
With a soft groan she hobbled to the washstand and bathed her face, conscious of little aches and twinges in parts of her body she seldom had reason to notice. Even this morning’s turmoil, and the upsetting conversation with Ivy, could not erase the memory of what she and Donal had shared. Already she wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he lingered near the house to see how she fared.
She forced her thoughts into more suitable channels and dragged a brush through her hair, haphazardly pinning it up without regard for her appearance. She put on a plain dress whose severe and restrictive lines served as a reminder of who and what she was. Ignoring her first impulse, she went to Sir Geoffrey’s rooms, where Dr. Brown had settled in a comfortable chair to watch over his patient. He assured her that no more could be done until her father awakened, and that he had all he required for the time being.
Reminded by the rumbling in her stomach that she had not eaten in many hours, Cordelia took the servant’s staircase down to the kitchens in hope of finding bread and cold meat to stave off her hunger. She nearly collided with Sir Geoffrey’s valet at the bottom of the stairs.
“Pardon,” he murmured, slinking away toward the door that led to the kitchen gardens. His furtive bearing immediately drew her attention, and she saw that he was attempting to hide a large valise behind his body.
“Chartier,” she said sharply. “Why are you carrying your bags? Are you leaving us?”
He stopped, his thin frame hunched like that of a child caught in an act of mischief. “I, er…madame, it is not what you—”
Cordelia advanced on him, fists clenched. “Perhaps it has escaped your attention that your master is extremely ill?”
Chartier threw down his bag and folded his arms across his chest, cold fury distorting his pointed features.
“Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, “I have had enough of this house and the fools who dwell in it, and I will tell you why. For months I have endured Sir Geoffrey’s abuse and kept his secrets because the viscount paid me well for my silence. But I also have my pride, madame, and when a mere animal doctor presumes to threaten me, even a man in my position must reach the limits of his patience.”
“Who threatened you?” Cordelia demanded. “Why should you provoke the viscount’s anger?” She took another step toward him. “What have you done, Chartier?”
He laughed. “Ah, madame, I pity you. So much goes on in this house that you know nothing of. Your tyrant of a father was no more than a puppet in Lord Inglesham’s hands, and yet you trusted the vicomte, did you not?” He shook his head in mock pity. “And as for monsieur le docteur…he is so desirous of protecting you, as a good lover should be, and still he deceives you.”
The blood drained from Cordelia’s face. “Either speak clearly, Chartier, or I shall see that you never hold another position in England.”
The valet made a rude gesture. “I care that for your little island. But I will tell you everything, madame, and then you may see how well you have managed the affairs of your house.”
He spoke then, with precision and obvious satisfaction, explaining how Inglesham had rapidly worked his way into Sir Geoffrey’s favor after the baronet’s return from the tropics; how he had plumbed Sir Geoffrey’s weaknesses by plying him with opium to ease his discontent and absinthe to stimulate his senses, knowing full well that Mrs. Hardcastle would strenuously disapprove. Soo
n Sir Geoffrey cared for nothing but his illicit pleasures, and they began to take their toll on his precarious health and already volatile disposition.
Once Sir Geoffrey was dependent upon the substances and demanded ever-higher doses, Inglesham warned him that he could not guarantee a continuous supply unless he won Cordelia’s hand…and her fortune. The baronet increased his pressure on his daughter to marry the man of his choice, regardless of her personal wishes.
“So you see, madame,” Chartier said, “Le vicomte was also aware of your weaknesses, and of your desire to appease your father. He was certain that you must eventually surrender to Sir Geoffrey’s commands, since he had no difficulty in making you believe that you would retain control of your fortune after you were wed. Was he not, after all, an old and trusted friend?” He snickered. “Sir Geoffrey surely knew that Inglesham would never keep his word to you, since le vicomte borrowed from your father often enough to feed his own vice of gambling.”
Cordelia ground her teeth together, biting off the instinctive protest that rose to her lips. She knew in her heart of hearts that Chartier wasn’t lying. Sir Geoffrey’s reliance upon the alcohol and opium explained much about his increasingly erratic behavior, and his wild insistence that she marry Inglesham immediately.
But how could she have been so thoroughly deluded in her judgment of Inglesham? How could he have changed so much from the boy she had known for so many years? Yes, he had always been somewhat self-indulgent—fond of fine clothing and horses, accustomed to getting his way—but to use an old friend so callously, to deliberately make him ill in order to acquire his daughter’s money…
“It is sad, n’est-ce pas, to discover that one has been a fool?” Chartier said.
Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. But Cordelia had discovered that long ago, when others had paid for her folly.
“What has Dr. Fleming to do with this?” she asked, her voice remarkably steady.
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