More likely I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Foolish creature! Building nightmares from the remark of a five-year-old. It must be something in the gloom of Falconfell that turned a head of sound common sense into a diabolical machine conjuring monsters out of the mist.
And yet the very air we breathed seemed tense with secrets, with an eerie menacing mystery, undeterred by brilliant splashes of spring flowers. Even the stream crashing down the mountainside and racing through the valley offered more danger than picturesque beauty. When I arrived at Falconfell, I had been willing to embrace any household that included Thayne Hammersley. Now . . . suspicion licked at the edges of my good sense, and fear lurked around every corner.
Idiot! I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself for allowing my mind to stray so far from reality.
Wearily, I slipped out of the room and made my way to bed. This was a day I did not care to repeat. Hopefully, the devils dancing on my shoulder would find better places to roost, come morning.
Sleep did not come easily, and the first scream had me sitting upright in bed. It was followed by more screams, screams loud enough to penetrate Falconfell’s solid oak doors. A roar of rage. Shouts. Slamming doors. Not pausing to find my slippers, I threw my robe around me and ran, barefoot, for the stairs. Flickering candles illuminating a bevy of nightcaps and faces avid with curiosity brought me to a halt just outside Thayne’s study. “What’s happening?” I whispered to Avery. He shrugged and motioned me forward. Fraser, spying me over the tops of several heads, which included the dowager, Maud, Mrs. Maxwell, and a footman, beckoned me inside the room.
I gulped. My stomach heaved. If I’d ever had an urge to commit murder, the time was now. Only I wasn’t sure who should come first, Thayne or Justine. The lord of the manor stood behind his desk, one side of his coat hanging off his shoulder, his cravat decidedly askew. The expression on his face was ominous. Justine stood to one side of the desk, not three feet from him, her gown ripped open to reveal her stays and a goodly portion of her breasts. Her hair was past disheveled, a rat’s nest of blonde tossed every which way. Only at the sight of me did her jaw snap close, her last scream ending on a hiccup.
Ignoring her, I turned to Thayne. “Explain,” I said.
I could see his struggle, the war waging between the gentleman and the truth, for I was quite certain what had happened here. If Justine were Thayne’s mistress, she had no need to scream.
“Very well,” I said, turning to Justine. “You explain.”
Her blue eyes blazed with triumph, even as her usually lovely face remained blotchy from manufacturing all that noise. “He attacked me,” she declared. “I merely wanted to ask a question, and he attacked me,” she added, her voice rising.
“You wished to ask a question at midnight?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she muttered, “and knew Thayne often stays late in his study.”
“And you thought it appropriate to accost him here?”
“You do.”
I smiled, and some of her bravado faded. “I do not meet him here at midnight, and I always have an invitation. Did you?”
Having no answer to that, Justine clung to her purpose. “He attacked me. He must marry me.”
I opened my eyes at her. “You wish to marry a man who attacked you?”
Desperate, her brain finally woke to the precariousness of her situation. “Who are you to question me?” she demanded. “You’re just the nursery governess.”
“No!” Thayne spoke at last. “Serena is my affianced wife, and she has every right to question you, Miss Raibourne. Tonight you instigated your last bit of trouble at Falconfell. Your nonsense will be tolerated no longer. I give you two days to pack your things and be gone. I have acquired a special license, and you may have the joy of witnessing my wedding to Serena before you go.”
I thought of the letter to Cressy still lying on my writing desk. I thought of all the comforts of life in a more salubrious clime.
I thought of Maud and life forever as a spinster. I thought of Violet.
I thought of the man Thayne Hammersley once had been. Could he ever be that man again?
“Fraser,” I said briskly, “would you be good enough to escort Miss Raibourne to her room? “Mrs. Maxwell,” I added, “I am sure Fraser would appreciate your company. And if you would good enough to lock Miss Raibourne’s door until morning, when I am certain she will have recovered her good sense.”
“The rest of you”—I allowed my gaze to roam over the remaining crowd, which had grown considerably in the last few minutes—“please return to your rooms. The crisis, which never existed in the first place, is over. Good night.”
Justine sniffed loudly as she walked by, pinioned between Fraser and Mrs. Maxwell. I was quite certain Fraser was pleased, but the housekeeper’s face remained inscrutable. For all I knew, she was thinking, two mistresses down, one to go.
Or perhaps Thayne had manufactured the whole scene, just so I would marry him.
Ah no, Justine would never go along with such a ruse. She wanted him for herself.
I could still call for a carriage and be gone at first light. Undoubtedly, the sensible solution.
But I seemed to have been put on this earth to serve. And so I would. As yet another bride of Falconfell.
Chapter Thirteen
Any female with the least sensibility would have tossed and turned the remainder of the night, or perhaps sat straight up in bed, wringing her hands and staring into the darkness. I, however, found my tumultuous thoughts eased by an odd sense of relief. It was done, the decision made. Justine vanquished, marriage imminent.
Yes, I would have preferred the decision be mine, that I not be trapped into the role of mistress of Falconfell. But had I not already recognized I was not wholly satisfied with a life of service, that I wanted the something more all woman longed for? A life’s companion, a home of my own. Children.
And now, no matter how odd the circumstances, I would have it. And, most glorious of all, I would have it with the man I had secretly loved for eleven long years.
My nagging inner voice promptly reminded me that the Thayne Hammersley who had just buried his wife, the Thayne Hammersley who had banished Justine, was not the charming young gentleman I had known in London. And likely never would be that man again.
I slammed the door on my inner voice and snuggled farther under the covers. I would bring light and happiness to Falconfell, I knew it.
I slept.
The sun should have been shining on my wedding day. Instead, I woke to mizzling rain and dark, roiling clouds that obscured the tops of the mountains behind the house. Ah well, perhaps I needed a reminder my wedding was not a joyous occasion but merely a necessity. Mine would be a marriage of convenience. Thayne’s convenience, for which I, in return, received title, wealth, and security. It was the way of the world, a price women had been paying for thousands of years, and I would not fault it. If my marriage was to be more than that, it was up to me to make it so.
Bess tapped softly on the door and entered the room. “Ah, miss, you’re already up. And a good thing it is, for Lord Hammersley tells me the vicar is a stickler for following the rules. The marriage must be this morning.”
I stared. “But there is no vicar at Falconfell.”
“Seems he was sent for last night. My lord says he should be here by eleven.”
I clutched the window ledge for support when my legs threatened to give way. Perhaps I had a few female sensibilities after all. “I have nothing, absolutely nothing to wear,” I murmured.
“Now, miss, there must be something . . .” Bess headed for my dressing room and began an intense scrutiny of my gowns. Slowly, I followed, knowing perfectly well what I would see. An array of drab colors, two dyed black for mourning, three modest gowns for evening, which I had not worn in a house of mourning. And . . .
“Here’s the gown made for Lady Laytham’s garden party, miss.” Bess held up a gown of cream gauze, sprigged with tiny pin
k roses. “Or here’s the one you favor for church.” Bess reached for a rose silk, unadorned except for ruching at the hem and a white velvet ribbon that tied beneath my breasts.
Ah, but of course I had fine garments. I was not a penniless dependent, I only felt like one at times. I was Serena Emilia Farnborough, a woman of ample means, who owned at least two gowns suitable for a wedding.
I was also surprised to discover I was more of a coward than I’d thought. Doubts assailed me. Inane excuses. Perhaps it was all a hum. Hammersley had been forced to offer for me to protect himself from Justine. But now that Justine was banished, he no longer had need of me.
The vicar could not come.
The vicar had refused to marry a widower so soon after his wife’s death.
The mizzle had become a downpour. The stream had become a torrent, washing out the bridge.
Thayne never meant to marry me. I’d dreamed the whole thing.
Nonetheless, I finally allowed Bess to dress my hair and help me into my chemise and stays.
A rap at the door. My heart leapt into my mouth. What little I’d eaten threatened to come back up. Bess opened the door a few inches. Fraser’s voice was clear. “His lordship bade me tell Miss Farnborough it is time to dress for the wedding. The vicar has arrived, and the family awaits her in the drawing room.”
Twenty minutes later, I descended the staircase in the rose silk, to find Avery waiting, an elaborate bouquet of spring flowers, raindrops still clinging, in his hand. “Miss Maud picked these for you,” he said with a smile, handing them over. “And I am to play Papa,” he added, offering his arm.
I was so grateful I almost hugged him. I wasn’t going to have to walk into that room alone.
And then we were there. For a moment I saw only Thayne, standing tall, strong, and grim at the far end of the vast room. My heart caught. It would have been so much easier if only he’d looked the slightest bit welcoming. My gaze broadened. Ross stood shoulder to shoulder with Thayne, looking almost as funereal as his cousin. Next to them, a man of middle years in clerical garb, clearly the vicar. As Avery and I continued to pause in the doorway, I scanned the rest of the room. Everyone, literally everyone, was here. The dowager with Violet at her side, Maud and Justine, all seated in a single row of chairs directly in front of the vicar. Standing near the rear wall, Mrs. Maxwell, Cook, Nanny Roberts, and what seemed like every servant right down to the Sally, the scullery maid. Even Rab, the giant gamekeeper, was present.
“Serena?” Avery questioned.
I nodded. Avery started forward, taking me with him. Tears misted my vision. This wasn’t happening. I was likely going to arrive in front of the vicar and everyone would burst out laughing. Serena Farnborough, my lord? An old maid with pretensions. A figure of fun. What a grand joke it is. How droll!
Only Avery’s measured pace kept me moving forward.
And then we were saying the words every girl has memorized by the time she’s fourteen. The ancient promises so many repeat without heed to what they are saying. Or with no intention of keeping those vows.
I paid heed to every word. And would keep the vows, as promised, until death did us part.
A frisson of warning rippled up my spine. Would that moment come for me far sooner than expected?
The vicar had just pronounced us man and wife when Justine began to scream. Thayne gripped my arm hard as we both turned to find her prostrate, pounding her fists into the carpet, her cries reverberating off the drawing room walls.
“She drank the composer, just as you ordered. I swear she did!” Miss Maud, no longer the inscrutable wise woman, pushed herself back in her chair, as if to get as far away from the hysterical Justine as possible.
“Clearly the effects wore off,” Thayne snapped. “Fraser, see to it!”
Two stalwart footmen sprang forward. As they bent down to pick her up, one on each side, her screams of anguish turned to howls of rage. Willy-nilly, Justine was borne away, her cries echoing down the staircase, until blessed silence reigned after her bedchamber door slammed shut behind her.
I drew a deep breath and looked ’round the drawing room, where not a soul had moved. Not so much as a whisper could be heard. Violet, I saw with some surprise, was in the dowager’s lap, her face buried against Lady Hammersley’s less-than-ample bosom. Avery, now standing next to Rab Guthrie, appeared as speechless as the rest of us. The servants were hastily readjusting their faces from gaping to the bland neutrality expected of household staff. I did not turn my head to look at Thayne and Ross, who were standing next to me, along with the vicar. I had no doubt all three had already assumed the veil of imperturbability required of English gentleman.
“I believe we have a wedding breakfast.” Thayne’s words broke the trance. In moments, nods from Fraser and Mrs. Maxwell had emptied the room of every member of the staff except Nanny Roberts. “Mrs. Roberts, if you would take Violet to the nursery, I believe she is due some special treat to celebrate this day.”
To my surprise, Thayne bent down and scooped Violet out of the dowager’s lap. “Do you like the sound of that, poppet? Mrs. Roberts will ask Cook for a few of the treats prepared for the wedding breakfast.” Violet, clearly astonished at having captured her father’s attention, managed an infinitesimal nod. “Good.” Thayne set her on the floor, guiding her small hand to Nanny Roberts’s.
I watched them exit with almost as much relief as I’d felt when Justine was carried away. Between her father’s hasty marriage and Justine’s hysterics, Violet could have been forgiven an outburst of tears. Yet she seemed to have weathered the storm better than I, for I freely admit to being shaken to my core. Bad enough to be involved in such a precipitate ceremony, but somehow, much against my common sense, I found Justine’s screams an omen, a sign of ill luck. As Thayne apologized to the vicar and took my arm to lead the parade into the dining room, I struggled to recall any words Justine might have spoken between screams. No! had been prominent. A death threat or two. Something about promises, and after all she’d done . . .
I stared down the length of the elegantly set table, glowing with fine china, elaborately cut crystal, and shining silver, and it all swam together in a jumble, interspersed with rainbow bits and pieces from the grand flower arrangement in the center. I was now Lady Hammersley. This was my wedding breakfast, and it seemed likely someone—Justine, Maud, Mrs. Maxwell, my husband?—had murdered my predecessor.
Justine would soon be gone. Perhaps the danger would be over.
With dogged determination, I applied myself to the many courses set before me. I ate little. I told myself it wasn’t stress but merely the fact Falconfell desperately needed a new cook. Several times I looked up to find Thayne staring at me from the far end of the table, his most enigmatic face firmly in place. The last time, as I cut the first piece of wedding cake, my hands shook, for his look had changed. Perhaps Falconfell had turned me fanciful, but I thought I saw the Wolf gazing at Red Riding Hood.
There would, of course, be no wedding journey, so after Ross and Avery offered subdued toasts suitable to the occasion, I led the ladies into the drawing room, where at last we dared speak of what was foremost in our minds. I waved away Maud’s renewed apologies for misjudging the amount of valerian, and possibly laudanum, necessary to keep Justine quiet, and we settled down to dissecting the young woman’s character. Something I should not have enjoyed so thoroughly, but interrupting my wedding was outside of enough! There were limits to my charity. And, besides, Justine might be a thorough-going villain. A speculation I carefully kept to myself, as her behavior at the wedding was quite enough to invite censure without a wild accusation of murder.
I eventually excused myself, climbing all the way to the nursery to allow Violet a close view of my gown and wedding bouquet. Fortunately, she seemed quite happy with her special treats and my visit, although a good deal of her chatter centered around her papa actually picking her up and speaking to her. Clearly, more than a change of cook was needed at Falconfell, thoug
h I prided myself that my few words to Thayne about Violet had instigated the sensitivity he had shown to her needs that morning.
We had to send for a vase large enough to accommodate my wedding bouquet, but when it was arranged on a table near the window, the spring flowers added a bright touch to the nursery. I made a mental note to acquire brighter fabrics for the room’s tablecloths and draperies.
“Are you my new mama?” Violet asked, as I bent down to kiss her goodbye.
I drew a deep breath while my brain balked at coming up with the right words. “Ah . . . no one can ever take the place of your real mother,” I managed at last. “But I would very much like to try to be your new mama. You may call me Miss—” I broke off as the enormity of the change in my life hit me as hard as a blow to the stomach. “You may call me Lady Serena, if you wish, Violet. And when you are ready, I would be very happy to have you call me Mama.”
She gazed at me with solemn eyes as I gave her a hug. “My mama didn’t like me,” she said. Nanny and I protested in chorus, though Nanny didn’t sound very convincing. “She told the ladies she nearly died when I was born and she was never going to have another baby.”
Rocked back on my heels, I glanced at Nanny. “’Tis true, miss—my lady. ’Twas on one of our visits to London. I was in the room and heard her myself.”
I turned back to Violet, taking her by the shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. “Having a baby is always painful, Violet. I have been present at the birth of several babies, and that much is true. But just because your mother didn’t want another baby doesn’t mean she didn’t want you. You are a lovely little girl, and I’m sure your mother loved you very much.”
“She said I was an accident.”
I heard a choking sound from Nanny. I was also beginning to feel slightly less animosity toward Justine. If she was guilty of killing her cousin, that is.
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