Blackmoore

by Julianne Donaldson

  Two steps away, then five, and I paced the circle of the tower wall before I returned to him and said in a brusque voice, “Shall we move on to our bargain?”

  He cleared his throat. “If you want.”

  “Go ahead, then. Ask me your last secret. Your payment.”

  “Payment first again?”

  I nodded. I could not make it through another proposal right now, with the wild strings of my heart unfettered as they were. I moved toward the wall, putting my back against it, needing its support. But Henry moved with me, and stopped just a pace away from me, keeping my heart racing. He stood too close. I could grab him too easily.

  “I want to know what happened at the ball a year and a half ago. The ball at my house. The one you left early, without dancing with me. I want to know exactly what happened that night, Kate. What made you leave early. What made you run away from me when I called after you. What made you tell me and Sylvia the next day that you planned never to marry.”

  We were here, at the brink. I had not thought this bargain would bring us here. My heart fell with a sickening drop.

  Chapter 32

  A Year and a Half Before

  Maria saw me in the hall and whispered, with a look of unholy amusement, “Mama has Mr. Cooper by the arm and is looking for you.”

  I shuddered with repulsion. “I cannot dance with him. I cannot. I’m afraid of catching whatever disease he has.”

  Maria smirked. “You had better hide, then.”

  The sound of Mama’s voice drifted down the hall. Maria’s eyes grew wide, and she giggled. I shot her a dark look and hurried down the hall, looking for a way to escape or a place to hide. The door to the morning room was cracked open. I slipped into the dim room and held my breath, waiting for them to pass by. But after a long moment, the door eased itself open, and I hastened to hide. Two options presented themselves: behind the sofa or behind the drapes. I chose the drapes, pressing myself against the wall behind their thick folds. The sweet scent of peonies wafted toward me. There, in front of the window whose draperies I hid behind, stood a tall table with a vase full of my favorite flowers. They had been all over the house tonight. The Delafields must have secured every peony in the county for their decorations.

  I held perfectly still in the drapes, for I would do anything to avoid touching the diseased Mr. Cooper and smelling his fetid breath. I waited to hear Mama’s voice, but the door closed again with only the sound of footsteps. Then a creaking of the settee.

  “Oh, it feels good to sit.” I stiffened. It was Mrs. Delafield.

  “Indeed it does. My feet are not so used to dancing as they once were.” This voice was vaguely familiar. I peeked around the edge of the drapes. Henry’s aunt Agnes sat next to his mother on the sofa. I eased further into the shadows, grateful for the dim lighting. As long as I did not make a sound, they would never guess I was here. Emerging from behind the drapes now would only make me look foolish. I would wait until they left before going back to the ballroom.

  “I am glad we have this chance to talk privately,” the aunt said, “for I feel a bit concerned about you, sister, since my brother died.”

  “Oh? Concerned? About what?” Mrs. Delafield’s voice was guarded, defensive.

  “A subject of the gravest importance, I am afraid.”

  I should not be listening to this. But I could not leave without being seen. I cursed my bad luck and hoped that their conversation would not be too personal nor too long.

  “I am concerned that you are not doing your duty to protect the Delafield family name from scandal.”

  My eyes opened wide. I wondered that she would dare to say such a thing. And by the affronted, frosty tone of Mrs. Delafield’s voice, I gathered she agreed with me. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the Worthingtons here. I cannot believe you would invite them, after the scandal at Brighton—”

  “Eleanor is not here, you will notice. And the scandal has not yet been confirmed. It has not even reached this part of the country yet. Excluding them would create more gossip locally. You know how I detest gossip. Putting up with their company is a small price to pay to keep our name unconnected with theirs.”

  “Yes, but still! The Delafield name, sister!”

  Mrs. Delafield’s voice hardened. “I am very well aware of the Delafield family name and what it is worth. I was aware of it when I married your brother, and I am even more aware of it now. I have done nothing to disgrace it. In fact, with George’s match, I believe I have helped to elevate it.”

  “Yes, George’s match was well done, but there is still no title. We need a title in the family.”

  I rolled my eyes. This all went back to their distant relative receiving a title from the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. Now that they had a count in their family lineage, they were puffed up in their own opinion of their family and what they thought was their due.

  “I know we need a title in the family, and I have planned accordingly. The St.Claires have a title in their family. And Henry’s match with Miss St.Claire is secure.”

  “But that title will mean nothing if Henry falls for one of those Worthington girls instead!”

  My face burned hot.

  “There is nothing to worry about on that score,” Mrs. Delafield said, her voice dismissive and final.

  “Are you certain of that? Because from what Sylvia told me ...”

  “I am certain.” A pause, and then she asked, with a note of curiosity but no worry, “But what did Sylvia tell you?”

  “She told me that she believes Henry and her friend ... the one with the eyebrows ...”

  “Kitty.”

  “Yes, Kitty. She has grown beautiful, hasn’t she? Despite the eyebrows?”

  “Oh, yes, quite. Very striking. But do go on. What did Sylvia say?”

  “She believes they may be forming an attachment.”

  To have Sylvia and her aunt and mother talking about Henry and me! I thought of what Sylvia had seen in the clearing and burned inside with embarrassment.

  Mrs. Delafield spoke briskly. “You are worrying for nothing. If they have formed an attachment, I will sever it. Immediately. In fact, if there is even a hint that Kitty has set her sights on Henry, I will separate all three of them. I will send Henry to Blackmoore and Sylvia to live with you until I have convinced the girl that she will rue the day she ever thought of loving Henry. I have thought of all of this. I will tear them apart without hesitation and without compunction.”

  “Why allow her to associate with them at all? Why not separate them now?”

  “Because it will cause gossip! Conjecture! And that one little girl is not worth the risk. Besides, I do not mind Kitty for Sylvia’s sake. Without her friendship, Sylvia would grow even more slothful than she is naturally, and it would be difficult to arrange a good marriage for her. No, it is fine for her to be friends with them at this point—as long as it goes no further.”

  “Do you think you can really control such a thing?” Doubt tinged the older woman’s voice.

  “Of course I can.” Derision rang in her voice. “Besides, I have something Henry wants very much—something he can have only if he does what I want in this matter.”

  “What is that?”

  “Blackmoore.”

  My heart fell. A long pause. “Have you done it legally?”

  The settee creaked again. “I am no simpleton. I had the solicitor up there last summer. My father’s condition was already deteriorating, and the solicitor agreed with me that it was in the best interest of everyone involved to make any final changes at that point, before more of his memory was lost. My father was easily persuaded to sign the new will. And the best part is he does not even remember anything about it!” Mrs. Delafield laughed lightly. My stomach churned. “Now it is done, and if Henry tries to marry one of those Worthington girls, or anyone else I do not approve of, he will lose Blackmoore—the house, the estate, and the living that goes with it. It will all go to George.”

&nb
sp; I felt sick. The smell of the peonies near me was suddenly so revolting that I wanted to retch. I leaned against the wall, needing the support I found there.

  “I can see that I have underestimated you,” the aunt said.

  “Quite.” Mrs. Delafield sounded so pleased with herself, so smug. I felt I was suffocating in the folds of these drapes.

  “I have told you this in the strictest of confidences,” Mrs. Delafield said. “I have not told Henry yet. I do not want to unless it’s necessary.”

  “Of course! There is not a young man alive who takes to the idea of being kept on a short leash.”

  “True.” She paused. “I know how to spot the enemy at the gates, sister. And I know how to guard against it. You should not have doubted me.”

  “As long as you have things under control, I will be content.”

  “Believe me, I always have things under control.”

  I could not remember, later, how long I hid behind those heavy drapes, waiting for the women to leave. They talked of other things while I tried to breathe without smelling the flowers that made me want to retch. Sweat was dripping from my forehead when they finally left the room. I waited a few moments before slipping from the room, sick with shame and devastation. I saw Henry down the hall, but there were many guests all trying to escape the heat of the ballroom through the french windows. He called my name and tried to reach me, but I turned from him and fled through the crowd.

  Nobody noticed when I walked to the edge of the lawn and just kept walking. I walked home through the woods with only the full moon for company, and I shivered in the cool air. Nobody noticed when I opened the back door of our house and walked up the stairs to my room. And there, in my room, sat the model of Blackmoore. A gift. A dream. A future that I would never have, no matter how much I wanted it.

  I sat on the floor and slowly unlaced my boots, taking them off one at a time. I stood and stared at the model. I had not cried during that whole walk home. But now I was suddenly furious. I threw my boot at the model, and it sailed over the top of it. I threw the next one, harder, and it crashed through the roof, splintering the wood. I felt better for two seconds.

  And then my anger returned, hot and implacable. I threw open the door of my room and marched down the hall to Eleanor’s. I opened her door without knocking. She looked up from the stool in front of her dressing table, where she sat brushing her hair.

  “Good heavens! Whatever is the matter, Kitty?”

  She had come home one week earlier, and there had been hours of hushed conversations between her and Mama, which I had not been able to listen in on. But now I wanted the truth. I deserved the truth.

  “I want to know exactly what happened at Brighton.”

  She carefully set down the brush and smoothed her hair, pushing it back behind her shoulders before answering me.

  “I tried to secure a marriage proposal, and I failed. That is all.”

  I moved closer, leaning down to look into her eyes so that she could see exactly how furious I was.

  “How did you try? How did you fail? What precisely was the scandal?”

  She pursed her lips, regarding me for a long moment, until I wanted to scream with impatience. Finally she said, “I will tell you this only because you may want to try it for yourself some day. I stole into Lord Rule’s bedchamber one night and waited for him.”

  I staggered back a step. “No,” I whispered.

  “It did not work because his valet discovered me and alerted Lady Covington to the situation. She got rid of me before I had a chance to see Lord Rule.” She sighed and picked up her brush again. “But it is no matter. I will simply try again, with someone else.”

  I clutched the bedpost, feeling the need of something steady to keep myself upright.

  “You thought to entrap him? So that he would be forced to marry you?”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Kitty! It is not so bad. Besides, it wasn’t even my idea. It was Mama’s.”

  I could not understand her, nor did I want to. But I did want her secrets. “Speaking of Mama, why has Mrs. Delafield had such a hatred toward her these last few years?”

  Eleanor went back to brushing her thick, dark hair. “Didn’t you know? Mrs. Delafield caught Mama flirting with Mr. Delafield, and she cannot forgive her for it.”

  My stomach lurched. “She did not ... do anything more, did she? More than flirt?”

  “No. He wouldn’t have her.”

  I looked at our reflections in the mirror. We looked so similar, and yet I felt when I looked at Eleanor as if I were seeing a stranger. So I left her, feeling numb inside, and walked back to my room. As soon as my gaze caught the destroyed model of Blackmoore, the numbness left me, and I possessed only the dark, searing pain of loss. I sat at the foot of the ruin I had caused and wept with despair.

  Chapter 33

  Present Day

  Henry waited for my answer. The rooks were quiet. I could smell the hint of rain in the night air. Misery consumed me. I couldn’t answer him. I could not reveal the secrets of that night to him, no matter what the cost. I shook my head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  He leaned down, looking into my face, his grey eyes tight with some strong emotion I couldn’t name. “I need to know.”

  I bit my lip and tried to banish the smell of peonies from my mind. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He moved away from me suddenly and walked across the tower, pausing at the opposite wall before turning around. “Even if it means losing out on your trip to India?”

  My refusal to answer might cost me my trip to India. But more importantly—more importantly? Yes, I really did just think that—it might cost me what I now had with Henry—this closeness, this transparency, this companionship.

  I nodded, swallowing hard. “If it comes to that, yes. Even if it means that, I will not answer that question.”

  He walked back to me, more slowly this time, and said, “That is the only thing I want to know. Please.” His voice was rough. “Please don’t fly away to some godforsaken country and leave me wondering for the rest of my life.”

  I looked away and felt very, very small when I said, “I am sorry, Henry.”

  We stood there in silence for a long moment, until finally Henry sighed and said, “What are we going to do now?”

  “We could ... renegotiate, I suppose.” I had no hope—I deserved no leniency. But I tried anyway. “I could give you something in return for your last proposal. Something you want just as much as that secret.”

  He looked into my eyes. The light shifted, his gaze dropped, and he was suddenly looking at my mouth. “A kiss,” he said in a low voice.

  A shiver rippled over my skin. Everywhere. “You are not serious.”

  “Am I not?” His voice held a note of teasing but something else as well. A husky, tantalizing note that sent shivers through me again.

  The wind blew harder, sending another chill through me, and then suddenly, without warning, cold rain fell from the sky. It came all at once, in a sheet of icy needles that made me gasp with surprise.

  Henry grabbed my hand, and we ran together across the tower. I took hold of the lantern but dropped it in my haste, extinguishing the flame. The tower was plunged in darkness, and we were suddenly blind. Henry stopped running, and I collided with him. He caught me and pulled me close to him and said in my ear, over the sound of the pounding rain, “Stay close. Let me lead the way. I don’t want you falling through the trapdoor.”

  “All right,” I finally breathed.

  “Wait a minute while my eyes adjust,” he murmured. His arm was strong around my waist, his hand pressed against the small of my back, and I leaned into him while the rain drenched us and my heart pounded and my mind screamed at me to do something—to find a way to fix what was broken between us so that I would never have to leave him. But there was no fixing this. I knew that. So I closed my eyes and breathed in the dusky smell of rain on heather and let my h
eart break a little more.

  All too soon he moved away from me. His hand trailed down my arm until it encircled my wrist. I moved my hand to grasp his, and let him pull me forward until we stood at the edge of the trapdoor. The steps were slick with rain and we moved slowly down the steep, winding staircase.

  We paused in the tunnel for a moment, catching our breaths, and I pushed back strands of dripping wet hair. Henry said, “You’ll catch cold if we don’t hurry. Come on.” He kept my hand in his and I followed him through the dark tunnel that led under the moors. And I realized that I would follow him anywhere, if it were possible.

  I shivered, my teeth chattering, as the cold increased and my wet clothes clung to me. We exited the secret passageway carefully, with Henry looking to see if anyone was in the bird room or out in the hall before leading me out. He picked up the candle he had left burning and we hurried up the stairs to the west wing, dripping cold rain the whole way. And finally we were in the hall leading to my bedroom. Henry pulled me to a stop outside my bedroom door, his hand warm around mine. He set the candle on the windowsill where we had talked my first night there. He turned to me, his wet hair reminding me of the day he had rescued me from the river. His eyes were as dark as the storm clouds outside, and I could see his chest rise and fall with his breathing, his wet shirt clinging to his shoulders and chest and arms.

  I swallowed and stepped away from him, nervousness racing through me, spreading fire through my veins. We were not finished with our bargain. Henry must have had the same thought, because his mouth lifted in something halfway between a smirk and a smile and he said, “About that kiss ...”

  I stepped back until my back was against the wall next to my bedroom. “You were not serious,” I said, only half-believing my words. But Henry kept coming, until he stood right in front of me. He rested his hand on the wall above my head. I licked my lips, my heart racing with nervousness. I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding low and husky and not at all the mood I intended.