Hamilton looked up into the face of the man hovering over him.
“You killed my son.” The Indian’s eyes blazed with broken hate and pain. Shaking, he leaned forward and growled. “You will kill no other sons.”
This was about the sodding Sepoy? Hamilton narrowed his eyes and with as much saliva as he could muster he spat in the filthy son of a bitch’s face.
Flinching slightly, the native just stared down at him, watching, his dark eyes a void of grief.
Hamilton jerked his gaze away from the unrelenting stare. Uselessly, he struggled against the brutal hands still holding him down. Allowing his blood to flow quickly and freely. He was going to die here. On the dirty ground. At the hands of a native.
In the cold light, several feet away, Ian crouched down, his face a mask of pain and horror. “I warned you. I told you no more deaths. But you couldn’t stop.”
Hamilton’s heart slammed like a wild hammer in his chest. “You’re killing your best friend,” he hissed.
Ian remained frozen. His voice breaking, he said, “You k-killed my friend. My best friend.” Ian’s rough intake of breath was audible down the alley before he said, “He’s been dead for years.”
As the man holding him eased his grip, Hamilton felt his life sliding away, felt his body floating away. He couldn’t even draw an easing breath as he locked gazes with his childhood friend. “You son of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered. “So sorry. I tried. I tried to bring you back.”
No forgiveness, though. Ian did not ask for it. Nor would Hamilton give it. As the men stared down at him while his lifeblood leaked to the dust, Hamilton wished his father had never taken Ian in or made him promise to come to India. Hamilton wished that Ian had not been such a sycophantic do-gooder. But most of all, he wished that he, himself, had been a better man. Now there would never be the chance. So as he struggled for breath, Hamilton mouthed, “Go to hell, Ian.”
Ian nodded and his eyes glimmered with unshed emotion. “I will. So we shall see each other again.”
And there on the cold ground, in a foreign land, among the filthy people he loathed, Hamilton breathed out his last.
England
The present
Only a few, harried days later, Eva stood in the Louis XIV salon awaiting her judge. Everything had changed. The gown wrapped about her body was the most beautiful deep lavender moiré silk. It appeared silvery gray in some lights, and sparkling purple in others. The neck bore a simple swath of Irish lace and a cameo from the western shores of Italy. Only her hands and face were exposed. Her dark hair had been woven into an artful little hairpiece at the back of her neck. It almost felt like her own.
The full skirt hid any notion that she might indeed have limbs below her waist.
It was comforting how much Ian believed in her. Right now, she would have given anything to have him holding her hand, adding to her newfound courage. He was waiting in the foyer for Dr. Jenner’s arrival. Wyndham had gone to fetch the doctor and they were due any minute.
She had no idea what to think of this new ally in her pursuit of freedom. But he was a welcome burst of light into her dark world. And she knew Ian needed it, too. That faint touch of humor to a world about to crack.
Though she would have preferred Elizabeth to wait with her, Ian had been explicit in his commands. She would be ready for the doctor and not appear as if she needed someone in the room to keep her from topping herself.
A carriage rolled up to the front of the house.
Eva’s heart leapt in her chest. She forced herself to take deep breaths as she turned from the window and faced the room designed for a woman.
They had calculated this moment in every degree. Nothing would be left to chance. She would appear as a woman of duty, intelligence, and propriety, in the perfect gown, in a perfect woman’s room.
Everything beamed with lightness. In truth, she felt a bit as though she had landed in a sugar confection. The walls were painted blue silk. The furniture: delicate, white-painted wood, gilded and embroidered with roses. She’d come a good distance since that first day at Blythely Castle, when she’d been afraid to contaminate Lady Elizabeth’s salon. Today she would not hesitate to sit, even if some part of her still felt as though she didn’t quite belong.
Voices carried through the hall, hushed from the foyer. No doubt they were discussing her. Discussing what tactic the good doctor would take.
Footsteps thudded along the wood flooring on the opposite side of the door. It was time. Time to take her place in this illusion. Eva pressed her hands lightly to her skirts and stood by the delicate settee facing the door.
She was bloody well going to do this. She wasn’t mad. She may have had everything taken away from her, but insane she was not.
“Lady Carin,” a genial voice called as the door opened and a white-haired man crossed the threshold. His thick, silvery beard gleamed and he smiled kindly as he stepped toward her.
Eva swallowed and quickly matched his smile. She lifted her hand, waiting for him to take it.
He did so, bowing over it, his gray suit creasing ever so slightly. “It is a pleasure. I have heard so much about you.”
Eva did not let her smile dim as she turned regally and moved, her skirts swaying, to her seat. With great care, she lowered herself, arranging her skirts and crinoline. “Indeed, sir. I am sure my reports are most curious.” She gestured to the chair next to her. “Do sit down.”
She darted her gaze to the door. Where the devil were they? Ian, Wyndham, and Elizabeth were supposed to have been right behind the doctor. Accompanying him and supporting her.
Dr. Jenner followed her gaze, then sat, sweeping out the tails of his coat. “Pardon, my lady, but I asked that we meet alone. I felt it best if we became acquainted without the pressures of prying eyes.”
Or eyes that might tell her what to say and do.
Eva nodded, forcing a smile back to her lips. “Of course. What an honor it is to have you here.” She leaned forward, hoping for a slight teasing air. “And all to myself, the Queen’s own physician. I am a very lucky woman.”
He tsked, his blue eyes twinkling. “Now, now. You flatter me.”
Eva shook her head. “I only speak the truth.” She lifted her brows just as a lady should when about to offer something. “Might I offer you tea?”
Dr. Jenner eyed her carefully, then nodded. “Please. How kind of you to offer.”
Eva stood slowly, allowing her skirts to fall back into perfect place. She took even steps to the fireplace, her back straight, her head high. She tugged on the bellpull, closing her eyes for a moment. She could do this. And even as she said it to herself, she realized it was true. She was entirely capable of this. At last, she turned to him.
Dr. Jenner relaxed slightly in his chair. “Lady Carin, it seems foolish to pretend that I am not here to judge your soundness of mind.”
Eva blinked. This was not what was supposed to happen. Then again . . . how freeing to not have to pretend so utterly that nothing was amiss. She laughed softly. “I must confess, it is trying to dance about the subject.”
Dr. Jenner nodded. “Please, my dear, sit.”
Eva did so, this time angling her knees toward him. Nervous, though thankful they were finally about to begin.
“Now. I would like to ask you, why do you believe your brother-in-law placed you in an institution?”
Eva bit down on her lower lip. Institution? Cesspool, more like. Still, this was not one of the questions she had expected. She folded her hands together, grasping for answers that would be acceptable. Sighing, she lifted her gaze to his. “No doubt, my behavior upset him.”
“How so?” he asked gently.
“You see—” Her throat clenched. Could she actually say what she had never said? “You see—” Her voice lowered. “My husband had just been killed in India . . .” It didn’t seem possible that she was allowing these thoughts to finally take form. No one had really wished to hear her
speak the full truth of the darkness she’d felt. Not really. Not even Ian, for he had his own demons.
“A terrible loss. I am sorry for it.”
“Thank you.”
“But that is not all?” he urged her.
“No. Of course not,” she said factually. “I am sure you heard of my . . . son’s death.”
“I did. Even Her Majesty voiced her grief.”
Tears stung Eva’s eyes. “How kind. We received her note.”
“You recall it?” Dr. Jenner said, his voice slightly surprised.
“Oh, yes. So many people were so kind, but I could not help but feel—” A tear, traitorous little thing that it was, threatened to slip free, and she blinked quickly. “The tremendous loss of it.”
The door swung open and a maid, Alice, quickly scurried into the room. She carried the tray to the little table beside Eva. The girl eyed the two of them, curiosity rolling off her.
“Thank you, Alice,” Eva said clearly, yet with an authoritative air.
The girl bobbed a quick curtsy, her brown eyes wide.
“I will call if anything else is required.”
Alice snapped her gaze from Dr. Jenner to Eva, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “Yes, my lady.”
As the door shut behind the girl, Eva picked up a beautiful porcelain cup painted with blue and gold flowers and simultaneously, as a perfect hostess did, went through the motions of making a proper cup of tea. Neither of her hands shook. “How do you take your tea, Doctor?”
The words came out of her well rehearsed. They sounded bizarre to her own ears. Formulaic and precise, considering she’d just been speaking of her son. Her Adam.
“I take the good leaf as it comes, my dear.”
With ease, Eva poured out a cup. No drops or splatters, and she allowed the tea to steep before lifting the strainer. A genuine smile tilted her lips as she passed him the cup and then reached for her own.
“You know,” Dr. Jenner began, “the Queen took a particular interest in your situation. She, too, had lost her husband and has so many children of her own. She loves them so dearly that she was touched by the immensity of your tragedy.”
Eva’s fingers pressed down on the saucer. Visibly, they whitened. “Her Majesty is too gracious.”
“She is a remarkable woman and mother. She was sad to hear you had to retire for your health. As you know, Her Majesty, too, has largely retired from society, her mourning for her husband foremost in her thoughts. But I look at you and see a woman who only needs a walk in the park and a bit more cheese and meat on her plate.”
Eva laughed, unsure whether she was being granted a reprieve. “That is very good to hear.”
“And yet, I must ask you to continue.” Dr. Jenner took a sip of tea. “Can you tell me more about Adam?”
The ready smile faded from her lips. “Of course.” Eva lifted her cup and took a delicate swallow. Every word was painful and yet cathartic, as if the poison were leaching out of her under his kind gaze. “He was a beautiful boy.”
Her voice came out strong. Sure. Completely unrecognizable to her. Slowly, she placed her cup and saucer down on the small lacquered table. “Everything about him reminded me of his father. Everyone said he looked like me, but I only saw Hamilton. Even so young he was fearless. Just a baby, mind you, but he would rock forward and pull himself up onto his little legs. He’d fall, an astonished look upon his face, that he had failed at anything he tried.”
Eva bit down on her lip, tears stinging her eyes. “But unlike other babies, he didn’t cry when he fell. He would laugh. The slightest, happiest little sound. As if he were defying that invisible thing that had knocked him down. And then he’d rock forward again, ready to try for a step.”
“You loved him dearly.” It was a statement, not a question.
Eva smiled, even as unstoppable tears slipped down her cheeks. What would he think of her? “How could I not?”
Dr. Jenner whipped a handkerchief from his pocket. “Take this. It’s the least an old fellow like myself can do for making such a beautiful lady cry.”
Eva took the handkerchief. Why was he so kind? He had to know the next part of the story. “You know how Adam died?”
“You tell me about it, my dear.”
“I had only just received word that Hamilton had died. I needed to go into the village.”
“Why?”
Eva frowned. She thought back to that day, the necessity of the letter, Thomas’s censure. The driving feeling of danger. “It is all a blur, Doctor.”
“That is perfectly normal under such distressing conditions. Do continue.”
“Adam was in the curricle with me. I needed him, needed him with me since his father was lost to me. The wheel slipped off in the mud and . . .” She tried to force her mouth around the horrible moment. Pressure began to build inside her. The wildest force until, finally, she burst out: “He was flung from the vehicle. Killed. And it was my fault, do you see? If I had just—”
“My dear lady,” Dr. Jenner cut in. “You cannot take the role of God, nor can you claim power over forces of nature and inanimate objects.”
Eva gasped for air. She blinked at him. “Pardon?”
“To say you are responsible for your son’s death is tantamount to saying it is my fault when my patients die because I cannot get to them in time, or because there is simply no medicine to cure them.”
“That must be different,” she said. “Thomas told me. He told me again and again.”
Dr. Jenner stilled. “Lord Carin?”
She nodded.
“What exactly did he say?”
“That it was my fault. That Hamilton would hate me for what I had done. That I was the most evil of mothers—”
“Your brother-in-law is an insensitive lout and, frankly, the sooner you are out of his guardianship the better, I think.”
“But—” It was true, wasn’t it? It was her fault. Yet here was this wise man telling her that it was ridiculous of her to contemplate it.
“Now I must ask you a few short questions.”
What exactly was happening? It all seemed too rash, so unexpected. She lifted her chin, ready.
“What is your name?” he asked plainly.
She blinked at the simplicity of it. “Eva Carin.”
“Who were your parents?”
Clearing her throat, she answered evenly, “Martha and John.”
“What is the year?” he asked, his brows lifting with pleasant curiosity.
“Eighteen sixty-five.”
“And . . .” He took a deep sip of tea. “What city are we in?”
She laughed at the absurd question, then pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. “Do forgive me. We are in London, of course.”
He smiled gently. “They are simple questions, my dear, but important to establishing your awareness to society.” He smoothed his fingers over his thick mustache. “Who is your monarch?”
“Queen Victoria.”
Dr. Jenner beamed kindly at her. “There, now. We are done.”
“We are?” Eva gaped at him. “I don’t understand . . .”
“My dear, you are not mad. Nor likely ever were. Grief is a hideous thing. We all need time to recover, and yours was no common loss. I will sign the paper when I leave; it will be registered posthaste with Chancery and the House of Lords. By dinner you should be a free woman.”
Eva opened her mouth, then quickly closed it.
The doctor stood and bowed. “I do hope to see you again, though in a social capacity.”
At last, Eva smiled up at him. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
He nodded and headed for the door, but once he reached it, he paused and turned back. “You have not talked of either of them much, have you?”
Eva couldn’t quite grasp what he was asking, not in the awe of this moment. “Pardon?”
“You should, you know. Often. It will make the pain lessen. And one day, though it seems impossible now, you will feel only p
leasure when you speak of them.” He hesitated, his face creasing with consideration. “Forgive me. It may not be my place, but that young man out there, Lord Blake—”
“Yes?”
“He cares very deeply for you. And in my experience, such a thing is not to be passed lightly.” He nodded as if confirming his words to himself. “Consider it, my dear.”
With that, Dr. Jenner disappeared down the hall.
Eva stared at the empty doorway. Was it so apparent to everyone, the way Ian and she felt such a connection? Lady Elizabeth had intimated such a thing. Dare she give over to her feelings for Ian? Such a thing seemed dangerously close to a betrayal of Hamilton and her son’s memory.
But Dr. Jenner seemed to believe that all she need do was talk of her family, not make a martyr of herself to them. Such a task should have appeared Herculean. The last year and a half had been devoted to silence on the subject.
Still, if she allowed herself to think on it, she did feel better. Infinitely better at this moment. Though such relief might be attributed to the fact that she had just been proclaimed sane, she didn’t think it the only reason. A weight seemed to have been lifted from her shoulders.
For the first time in months, she felt very nearly free. Perhaps, just perhaps, Hamilton wouldn’t hate her. Perhaps it had not been her fault. Perhaps she could smile when speaking of her son. And most surprising of all, perhaps she could open her heart to love.
Chapter 25
“You are free.” Relief had Ian floating as he spoke. Finally. It was what they both deserved. What they had so longed for.
Eva beamed up at him, her pale face alight with happiness. “Yes. I am my own woman now.”
Own woman. Those two fatal words sucked his relief from him. It was true. She was technically independent. Free of any who would tell her what to do.
“What is it?”
“Eva, you must remember those men.”
The light faded from her face. Nodding, she slid her arms from his. “I do.”
Thank God she still needed him. He wasn’t ready to let go of her yet. To step from her life and allow her to be free of his interference. But then it was likely that she might need him for ages yet. How would she survive in society without him?
The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance)) Page 23
