Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

  “Father has said that he will be more than pleased to take Mr. Hood under his wing once we are wed.” Miss Colbourne blushed prettily. “He will even have the east wing made over for us.”

  “How considerate of him,” Robert murmured. His words sounded bleak to me, but perhaps I had that wrong, simply because I remembered his burning desire as a boy to fight a desperate battle against overwhelming odds. There would not be much of a chance of that once he was wed and living under his papa-in-law’s roof.

  “You’ll stay to dine with us, will you not, Miss Colbourne?” Aunt Cecily asked.

  “That is most kind of you, Lady Laytham, but I promised Father I would return home as soon as I had paid my respects to you. I must really be on my way.”

  “Perhaps another time, then. I’ll send for your carriage.” She tugged the bellpull that would summon Colling, who was still butling after all these years. “Robert, do you escort Miss Colbourne home?”

  “Yes, Aunt Cecy.” Robert smiled into the young lady’s eyes and brought her hand to his lips. Once again she blushed.

  “Would you care to dine with Father and me, Mr. Hood?”

  “I would like nothing better, Miss Colbourne, but I fear that this evening I cannot. There is some business I need to attend to.”

  “First Mr. John Hood and now you.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “You gentlemen and your business. Something to do with Sir Eustace’s estates, no doubt?” she asked archly.

  “No, that is Mr. Laytham’s task. He is the heir, you know,” he mocked.

  As Mr. Kirkby had suggested, I’d taken to following Giffard, who oversaw the farms and crops, learning what I could from him. After all, it all would one day be mine, as Robert was so fond of reminding me.

  Before I could respond, Colling entered the blue salon. “You rang, m’lady?”

  “Ah, Colling.” Aunt Cecily was relieved the butler’s presence curtailed the possibility of a contretemps before a guest. She could never understand how I could be less than friendly with the young man of whom she herself was so fond. “Miss Colbourne is leaving. Please send round to the stables for her carriage.”

  “Very good, m’lady.” He paused by my chair. “Giffard would like a word with you, Mr. Ashton.”

  “If you will excuse me, Aunt Cecily? Miss Colbourne.” I bowed slightly, ignoring Robert, and went out to the Great Hall. “You wished to see me, Giffard?”

  “Mr. Ashton. That new strain of hay looks promising. I thought you might like to take a look at the fields we’ve planted.”

  “Yes.” As well as the usual crop of hops, Giffard had suggested the hay. If we could grow our own, it would spare the estate an expense it could ill afford. “However, as you see, I’m not dressed for riding. I will meet you at the stables presently. Would you ask Jem to saddle Blue Boy for me?”

  He nodded and left, while I went up to my chamber on the second floor to change into more suitable clothing.

  THE CLATTER on the broad, shallow steps that led to the upper floors drew my attention. “But I must needs get married, John. We need to leave this house as soon as may be. I didn’t like the way Sir Eustace was eyeing William the last time he was here,” Robert was saying as he and John descended.

  “But surely he would not….” John sounded appalled. Had he never noticed?

  I had long been in the habit of locking my bedchamber door whenever Uncle was at home, ever since he had come to me late one night. For once my wits had not failed me. I’d stuck a finger down my throat, casting up my accounts all over his slippered feet, and although he had boxed my ears until they rang, my action had succeeded in dousing his ardor.

  “Perhaps not, but I will be much happier once we are out from under his roof.”

  “We could join the army, Robin! Aunt Cecy would buy us our colors!”

  “No. Her purse is as to let as ours. Surely, you must see….” He ceased speaking when he saw me.

  “Did you have fun?” I drawled. They were dressed in evening attire, as was I, for Aunt Cecily requested it of us.

  “There was a mouse behind the divan in Robin’s room.” John smoothed his hair. “We needed to kill it.”

  “Well? Where is the puir, wee, furry body?”

  “Couldn’t do it. It was too sleekit,” Robert murmured, and when I frowned at him, he mocked, “It means glossy-coated.”

  “I am fully aware of what sleekit means,” I said stiffly.

  “Come to think of it, he rather reminded me of you, Awful.” John’s taunting words had me feeling as if he had slapped me. He had not called me that name in four years. At least, not to my face. He nudged his older brother in the ribs. “What do you think, Robin?”

  “Same kind of rodent!” Robert agreed snidely. “All it needed was a wee pair of spectacles.”

  I pretended to pluck at a bit of lint on my sleeve, concealing my hurt. “You Hoods are such wits. Well, perhaps you are half right. Mawworm,” I huffed under my breath.

  “Ah, Awful, I could just….” John’s hands reached for my neck as if he would strangle me, and I took a step toward him, tipping my head back, offering him my throat. His eyes widened and he came to an abrupt halt, swallowing uneasily.

  I had never told anyone about us, never even hinted of it, not in all the years since he had discovered that, do what he would, he could not prevent himself from coming to my bed. But he always expected me to reveal what was to him a shameful secret.

  “Er… did you want us for something, Ashton?” He flushed at his unwitting double entendre.

  “Aunt Cecily sent me to find you. She is holding supper. If you would deign to join us?”

  “Come along then, John.”

  I followed the brothers into the rose sitting room, fixed my tea, and settled into an overstuffed chair.

  Arabella sat at the piano, her pale blue gown billowing over the bench. She had grown into quite a lovely young woman, if one’s tastes ran in that direction, and obviously, William’s did. He hovered beside her, mooning over her as he stood turning the music, whilst she would smile up at him. It was an open secret in the household that they were madly in love with each other, and as soon as William had a position, they were to be wed.

  Perhaps that was another reason Robert felt the need to marry well, so that he could provide the youngest Hood with the wherewithal to achieve his heart’s desire.

  John lingered near Robert, sparing me not a glance. For how much longer could I allow this situation to continue, I brooded.

  Colling bustled in, bearing a slim, white envelope. “A letter from Town, your Ladyship.”

  Aunt Cecily glanced at the direction. “This is from Sir Eustace.”

  “Odd.” During the years of our childhood, we seldom saw Uncle Eustace, who constantly reiterated that he had no use for brats not of his own getting. He only came home to Laytham Hall when he was on a repairing lease, when he had no more money to spend on his high flyers or his more serious vice: gambling.

  He liked to gamble, did my uncle, and he would wager on anything, from the nags to mills to which raindrop would reach a windowsill first. And this fact was reflected in the condition of Fayerweather. His constant drain on it depleted its resources. The children on his estate died of diphtheria, and the elderly from the chill of winter, which seeped into their poorly repaired houses. Although, of late, things had seemed a trifle better, and from time to time I would wonder if Aunt Cecily had sold off a piece of her jewelry.

  The only thing left of any worth was the Flame of Diabul. The ruby was of such purity and depth of color that there was no match for it anywhere in the world. I had once heard Uncle Eustace proudly proclaim he had been offered £10,000 for it.

  It was the one thing that he truly loved, and he swore he never would part with it. Of course, the fact that it was part of the entail might well have something to do with that.

  “Of late he has not looked well.” I took a sip of tea. “I wonder if something has happened with him?”

  Aunt Cecily
opened the message and began perusing its contents.

  “Wishful thinking, Awful? Well, whatever it is, pray don’t start reciting the contents of the will again!” Robert teased, although there was an edge to his words—Brigade-Major Hood had left his family with barely enough to pay for his sons’ educations.

  I did not bother to glare at him. “The contents of the will”—that was amusing. I would get Fayerweather and Laytham Hall and everything that was entailed, which included farms in need of repair and no money with which to affect that repair. The Flame of Diabul would be mine. I wasn’t as enamored of that jewel as Uncle Eustace. When I inherited, I would break the entail, sell it, and use the proceeds to bring the estate up to snuff, and the legend be damned.

  Aunt Cecily’s lips tightened, and the fine lines that framed her mouth became more pronounced.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Cecy?” Arabella rose from the piano and went to her, sinking gracefully into a puddle of skirts and petticoats beside her.

  “Sir Eustace is going to be paying us a visit and wishes for his rooms to be in readiness.”

  “What?” I straightened abruptly, completely forgetting my manners. “Why? He never comes to Fayerweather this time of year!”

  She turned to face us with a smile, but she was pale, and the expression in her eyes was bleak. “It seems he is finally at point nonplus. He plans to sell the Flame of Diabul.”

  “But it’s entailed!”

  “His solicitor has managed to find a way around the entail, at least as far as the Flame is concerned.”

  “Does he not fear the legend?” Robert made a production of selecting a biscuit.

  “Apparently not.”

  “There will not be anything left!” I said softly. Hell and the devil confound my uncle!

  Even my mother’s jewels, which should have come to me, were gone, and I’d been severely beaten when I’d learned of that and had protested to him.

  “Your upkeep has cost a pretty penny, whelp.” Uncle Eustace rarely called me by name. “It was only right I have access to those monies.”

  “But Mama’s pearls….” A single, opera-length strand, black and so pretty. She wore them only on special occasions, such as when Papa took her dancing, or to the theatre, or my birthday. “Surely they could not have brought much!”

  “What they fetched is none of your affair!” The backhanded blow had taken me unawares, although it should not have. Only Aunt Cecily knew better than I his uncertain temper.

  “No,” she agreed now, her voice even softer than mine. “Nothing!” Even more pale, she rose to her feet and started to leave the room, the letter lying forgotten on the floor beside her chair.

  I retrieved it and glanced at the lines, crossed and re-crossed until it was almost impossible to decipher his crabbed writing. My lips tightened. “Aunt.” I held it out to her. There was no need for anyone to be privy to what Uncle had written.

  “Aunt Cecy,” Robert spoke at the same time, and she paused at the door, turning toward him. “Perhaps you will let us see the Flame of Diabul one last time?”

  She looked defeated, and I could understand that. Uncle’s words had not been kind. “Of course, Robin. Colling, will you come to the priest’s hole with me? And bring a candle, if you please?”

  “No need to go to that trouble, Aunt Cecy. We can all accompany you to the priest’s hole.”

  She looked uncertain for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. “Very well. That will be all, Colling. I will ring if we need anything.”

  The stately old man bowed from the waist and left the sitting room. I tucked the letter into a pocket. I would return it to Aunt Cecily before she retired for the evening.

  She took a candle from the group positioned near the door in readiness for us to retire, lit it, and led us to the hidden room that had been built in Cromwell’s time. It had since been used to store the family’s treasures, although with the advent of Sir Eustace coming into the title, the treasures had become fewer and fewer.

  Now it seemed that even the jewel that was the Laytham talisman would be gone.

  “If the Flame was mine,” Arabella mused as we entered the priest’s hole, “I would sell it and buy all the latest fashions. And see Aunt Cecy had them also.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Aunt Cecily set down the candle. Its light cast flickering shadows upon the wall, and I couldn’t prevent a shiver. Ever since Uncle Eustace had locked me in a cupboard for some transgression I’d never ascertained, I had been uncomfortable in small, enclosed spaces.

  The space seemed even smaller, crowded as it was with six adults.

  Aunt Cecily approached the small, metal-bound chest that rested on a seventeenth-century crescent console table. The chest was secured with a miniature padlock that was tarnished and pitted. She took a tiny key from the chain she wore about her neck.

  “If it was mine, Belle and I could wed,” William asserted. Arabella fluttered her lashes at him, and he smiled, slid an arm about her waist, and kissed her cheek. “What would you do with it, Robin?”

  Aunt Cecily fitted the key in the lock and turned it.

  Robert shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. “I’ve no idea.” I couldn’t help but note the tension in the way he held himself, in spite of his apparent indolence. “What of you, John?”

  “I’d buy us a home that was ours alone. Not that we aren’t grateful for all you’ve done for us, Aunt Cecy! But there, we could be together and do as we chose….” He flushed and glanced at Robert under his lashes.

  Aunt Cecily opened the chest and raised the lid.

  There was a concerted “Ahhh!”

  The Flame of Diabul lay on a bed of satin which had once been a pristine white, but which time had aged to the color of clotted cream. The ruby, reputed to be the size of the first Lady Laytham’s fist, was blood red, and the candlelight made it appear as if a flame did indeed burn within its depths.

  Abruptly, the door shut and the candle went out. We were enveloped in darkness, and I stiffened. I had never been fond of the dark, either, and for the same reason that enclosed spaces disturbed me.

  “This place always was a draughty old pile,” came Robert’s casual remark.

  My mouth dry, I snapped in irritation to conceal how ill at ease I was. “There was no draught! As you are very well aware, this room has no windows!” I hated the quiver in my voice. I felt my way to the table upon which I had last seen the candle and fumbled to strike a match, finally lighting it.

  I turned to face them to find they were all staring in dismay at the chest.

  At the empty chest—the Flame of Diabul was gone!

  And then four pairs of accusatory eyes were staring at me. “I did not take it!”

  “Why should we believe you, Awful?”

  Why, indeed? If Sir Eustace did intend to sell the ruby, there would be nothing with which to salvage the estate.

  “It could just as easily have been you, Robert!”

  “No!” John leaped to his brother’s defense.

  “No!” William was staunchly behind him.

  And Robert just grinned his lazy grin and gave a slight bow. I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

  Aunt Cecily’s lips were folded in a thin line, white with anger. “This is outrageous! Whoever has taken the Flame, it must be replaced immediately! Ashton, please step away from the table and extinguish the candle once more.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” Long seconds ticked passed. I strained my ears to hear the least noise, in an effort to distract myself from the way the darkness seemed to press in on me, but there was nothing.

  “Light the candle again, if you please.”

  There were no sighs of relief; the chest was still empty.

  “I am… I cannot express strongly enough my disappointment in whoever has chosen to play this ill-timed prank.” Silence met her remark. “Very well. The chest will remain open upon this table, and I will inform Colling that the priest’s hole is to be left accessibl
e throughout the night. If the Flame of Diabul is in its rightful place in the morning, nothing more will be said about this unhappy incident. However, if it is not—as much as it would pain me to do so—I shall have no recourse but to call in the constabulary. Come, Arabella!” The two women left the priest’s hole.

  “I… I could do with a spot of sherry.” I left the three brothers and returned to the rose sitting room to pour myself a healthy portion.

  “Awful.” John slouched in, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets. I tipped the glass back, but the wine did nothing to ease the chill I felt surrounding my heart. He had again reverted to that hated nickname. “I hate to do this… but it is necessary!” He removed his hands from his pockets and launched himself at me.

  I made no effort to protect myself, and the glass flew from my hand to smash against the fireplace as he tumbled me to the carpeted floor and straddled my hips, his hands going all over my body. For once, his proximity to my body did not cause my prick to swell.

  “Don’t forget his arse, John!” Robert offered. “I would not put it past him to try to conceal it there.”

  “Surely not, Robin! That would be too painful! Not to mention unnatural!” William sounded truly shocked. Perhaps no one had got at his arse while he’d been at Harrow.

  “We’re talking about Awful, William.”

  The youngest Hood subsided.

  A flush stained John’s cheeks, and his eyes grew hot. He reached around to finger my fundament through my inexpressibles. He would not touch me at my request, but at his brother’s….

  He became aware of my lack of arousal.

  “Tonight!” he whispered in my ear and nipped sharply at the lobe. He got off me and smoothed his hair back off his forehead. “He doesn’t have the Flame.”

  I rolled to my hands and knees and paused there a moment, so weary I could have wept. Four years. We had been doing this for four years, and he was still no closer to loving me than he had been at the beginning.

  Although I supposed I should have been thankful he hadn’t stripped my lower body naked, completing my humiliation, as I was sure had been Robert’s intention.