by Brenda Joyce
Fear and panic clawed at her. What if she was on an irrevocable path? What if the fits continued? “Nothing is wrong,” she somehow said.
She reached his side and he took her arm but did not move. She wanted to press closer.
“You look frightened,” he said softly.
Blanche tensed. And she lied, when she was not a liar, when she would rather lose everything than lie to Sir Rex. “I am a bit nervous about the supper party.”
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Sometimes, I have the very strong feeling that you are keeping secrets.” His tone was light.
Her smile remained firmly in place with an effort. “I do not have any secrets worth keeping,” she said as lightly. But until then, there had been one secret, and now there was another one, far more significant than that of her defective nature.
“I did not mean it in a derogatory way,” he said swiftly. But his penetrating stare did not waver. “Blanche, are you in trouble?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said. “The only trouble in my life is the complicated fortune my father left me—and that is about to be placed in your hands, making my life quite carefree.”
His smile was uncertain. “I was hoping we might go to town soon. I know you will probably wish to announce our engagement, and there will be many plans to make, even for a small wedding.”
Blanche couldn’t smile now. “You hate town—and now, you wish to rush there immediately?”
He shrugged far too casually. “The countess will be overjoyed to hear our news.”
She stared at him.
“Very well.” He was grim. “I want you to see a physician there. I am worried about you.”
Had Anne told him what had happened that afternoon? More panic set in, and with it came the unfortunate images of the dying horse and the leering monster-man, reaching for her. How could a doctor help her if she did not confess everything? And how could she confess to being reduced to moments of near madness? Somehow she was going to control the memories and never go back to that day again. And she would be a good wife to Sir Rex—not a sickly burden. All she had to do was find a great strength, somewhere deep within herself.
“I am fine, Sir Rex. There is no need to rush back to town, not for the purpose you have mentioned. I am famished! I wonder if supper is about to be served?” She pulled away from him.
And from the corner of her eye, she saw his dark, searching stare.
He knows I am lying, she thought miserably. He knows something is terribly wrong. And it occurred to her that this was not the right way to start a marriage.
She knew in her heart that Sir Rex did not deserve an ill or insane wife. If push came to shove, she would leave him before they had even begun.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BLANCHE RAN into the kitchen at half past five. Her hair was done and she was donning her diamonds, but she was clad in a simple day dress, her dove-gray wool. The Farrows would arrive at half past six, and while she should be putting on her moss-green satin gown, a sense of foreboding had arisen. And once in the kitchen, she halted. The aroma of fish was overwhelming.
Dismay began. “Anne!” The maid was nowhere to be seen.
Becoming angry, Blanche hurried to the roasting pans lined up on the counter. They were filled with cod fillets and potatoes. She had specifically suggested local Cornish hens and shanks of lamb. She went to the ovens, which were warm, but nothing was inside. On the stove she found more potatoes and green beans.
She began to shake. “Anne?” Surely, surely, the maid had not dismissed her menu. She went to the pantry, but it was empty. Then she saw Anne outside—with the tall blond blacksmith. They were having a pleasant, unhurried conversation, as if a supper party, the very first at Bodenick, was not scheduled to commence in an hour. In fact, there was no doubt a flirtation was in progress.
Blanche lost her temper. As she never became irate, much less furious, she was shocked, but too angry to stop herself. She ran outside. “Anne! I wish a word with you this moment!”
Anne turned and looked at her; so did the young man. He then smiled and doffed his wool cap. Blanche nodded tersely. Anne strolled over, in no apparent rush.
“Where are the Cornish hens and the lamb?” Blanche asked swiftly.
Anne blinked. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but I told your maid no hens were available at the market, and we have no shanks in the meat house.”
Blanche began to tremble. “Meg did not say a word.”
“She must have forgotten.”
“Cod is a common fish! No one serves cod and cod alone at a supper party.”
Anne simply stared benignly.
“Is this our meal? I asked for a dinner salad of wild greens, too.”
“I’m afraid I only have beans and potatoes—and the cod.”
Blanche had never been so angry. She shook with her rage. IfAnne had not already been dismissed, she would let her go on the spot. “The meal you have prepared is unacceptable,” she said stiffly. “I wanted everything to be perfect for Sir Rex’s guests!”
“I do have a custard, just like you asked.”
Blanche tried to breathe. Vaguely, she knew she should not be so undone by the changed menu, but she was undone—completely. In fact, she felt perilously close to tears. “Are you trying to sabotage this meal?”
Anne gasped. “Why would I do that? Sir Rex has been nothing but generous with me, my lady, and so terribly kind.”
Blanche stared, certain Anne was throwing her affair with Sir Rex in her face. “Then do you wish to sabotage me?”
“I would never think to cross a great lady like you, Lady Harrington,” Anne said, and while her words felt mocking, her tone was bland.
“I think you wish to hurt me, for marrying Sir Rex!” Blanche heard herself cry. And she could barely believe she would speak in such a heated manner to anyone, much less the housemaid.
“I am happy for you both,” Anne said. “And if you wish for a meal to be served at seven, then I had better get back to the kitchen.”
Blanche stiffened as Anne simply walked away from her, leaving her standing outside the kitchen. Then she clasped her throbbing temples, for she now had a headache, one she feared. She tensed, waiting for the onslaught of another memory, but all she saw were the images she had previously been confronted with. When she realized a knife was not about to stab into her skull, and that a new memory would not sweep her into the past, she relaxed, but only slightly. Maybe, finally, she was getting better.
Last night, she had dreamed of the horse being beaten by the mob while she watched, a terrified child of six. However, it had been a dream and she had known it. She had awoken and spent the rest of the night in front of the fire, afraid to go back to sleep, afraid of another dream, one so vivid, she would think it real. As a result, she was exhausted. But twenty-four hours had passed without a new memory arising or her slipping into the past. For that, she was grateful.
She prayed it was finally over. Because yesterday she should have told Sir Rex the truth. But if the memories had finally stopped, if she was no longer being jettisoned into the past, her lie would not matter, not in the course of the long future she would share with Sir Rex.
Now, though, she did not know herself. She had become volatile instead of rational and calm. Was Anne hostile? Did she seek to thwart her—and even sabotage her first party? Or was she so unnerved and unbalanced, that her suspicions were unjustified? Blanche could not decide. She remained high up on that seesaw, but her balance was precarious, at best.
Shaken, she entered the kitchens, noting that Anne was busy at the stove, and for that she was grateful. She hurried back upstairs, trying to find the composure which had served her so well for most of her life. Her moss-green satin was laid out. At least her gown was suitable, she thought. Blanche stepped out of her gray dress, suddenly certain that the evening might not go as well as she intended.
She froze. Why would she have such a thought? She had entertained hund
reds of times, she was a practiced hostess, very skilled at conversation and putting her guests at ease. Of course the evening would go well. No one would remark on the poor choice of menu and she would make certain plenty of wine was served. There was no cause to worry, none.
Meg knocked and stepped into the chamber. As Blanche was helped into her gown, she asked, “Meg, why didn’t you tell me there were no hens at the market—and no lamb in our meat house?”
Meg looked at her. “My lady, I didn’t know.”
Blanche faced her. “Anne didn’t instruct you to tell me that the menu had to change?”
“No, she did not. In fact, I haven’t spoken to her even once today.”
Blanche simply stared.
Meg said softly, “She’s a cunning one, she is. I don’t like her and I don’t trust her, my lady.”
“Yes.” Blanche inhaled. “I think you may be right.” Then she adjusted the diamond necklace at her throat. “It doesn’t matter. We will survive tonight’s menu. If she is thinking to thwart me, so be it, she has succeeded, but it is only a matter of annoyance. Her days at Land’s End are numbered and she can’t change the fact that I am the mistress here now.”
Meg smiled in agreement. “She cannot change that you will soon be Sir Rex’s wife.”
BLANCHE THOUGHT that the evening was a success, in spite of the modest meal. The Farrows were so clearly delighted to be at Bodenick that the both of them complimented her on the repast numerous times. Doctor Linney was affable and his wife an incessant but pleasant chatterbox. Mrs. Linney kept redirecting the conversation to Sir Rex’s exalted family. She had raved about the earl and his heir, although she did not know either man personally, and was currently discussing the countess.
“And of course, everyone knows the countess is as lovely as she is generous. She is renowned for her charity. You must take after her, Sir Rex! I do wish I had met her when she was visiting! I was so disappointed we did not meet, not even in Lanhadron on the street. You will let us know when she comes again, won’t you, Sir Rex?” The plump matron asked eagerly, beaming.
Sir Rex had been polite but reserved throughout the meal, acting no differently than he did in town, when they had come face-to-face as vague family friends. Blanche saw that he was simply a reserved man, not given to frivolous chatter. And it didn’t matter, as Mrs. Linney and Mr. Farrow had kept the conversation alive. “I will do my best.”
“Oh, your best isn’t good enough—is it, Margaret? Lady Harrington, don’t you agree? Sir Rex must inform us when the countess is in residence so we can call properly. She will receive us, won’t she?”
“I am sure she will be pleased to do so,” Sir Rex said, glancing down the length of the table at Blanche. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
“The countess is a delightful lady,” Blanche told the doctor’s wife. “She has no airs, in spite of her great station, and she would never turn Sir Rex’s neighbors away. In fact, when I am in town, I will make a point of telling her to expect your call the next time she is in Cornwall.”
Mrs. Linney beamed. “You are such a dear lady, Lady Harrington. I can see why Sir Rex is so taken with you.”
Blanche started, mildly surprised, as a silence fell. Sir Rex caught her eye again, appearing amused. Paul Farrow leaped gallantly into the breach. “I am very taken with Lady Harrington, too. We have heard so much about you, my lady, but never imagined we would dine with such a gracious hostess. And you must compliment the chef!”
Sir Rex said softly, “I am very taken with Lady Harrington.”
Blanche flushed in pleasure. Mrs. Linney seemed very surprised, her husband seemed pleased, and the Farrows looked back and forth between them, not for the first time. Blanche felt certain the young couple suspected that she and Sir Rex were very fondly disposed toward one another.
Margaret Farrow said quickly, “You have not indicated how much longer you will stay in the country with us.”
“I have made no plans to return to town,” Blanche said, still smiling at Sir Rex. “I have never been to Cornwall before and I am very taken with the clime.” She wondered if they might tell their company they were engaged.
Margaret simply smiled, as it was pouring now, the rain pounding on the windows and roof.
A small silence began. Then Mrs. Linney said, “I cannot stand the clime here, if the truth be known. Except in the summertime, of course. You must return in the summer, Lady Harrington.”
Blanche and Sir Rex exchanged glances. “I intend to,” she said softly.
And he understood. “Actually, there is some news we wish to share.”
Everyone started, glancing between them. Blanche beamed as Sir Rex said, his gaze unwavering and potent on her, “Lady Harrington has agreed to become my wife. Although it is unofficial and the contracts have not been drafted, we are engaged.”
The uproar was instantaneous. Both men turned to Sir Rex to congratulate him, at once, while the ladies faced Blanche in delight.
“I thought something was going on,” Margaret cried, smiling. “Oh, this is so wonderful. We will be neighbors, at least some of the time!”
“And you may call on me at Harrington Hall,” Blanche told her as they clasped hands.
Margaret nodded happily.
“I never thought I’d see the day.” Mrs. Linney leaned close, whispering. “I thought he’d remain a bachelor until the end of his days. Oh, how fortunate Sir Rex is, to catch a sweet lady like yourself!”
“I am the fortunate one,” Blanche corrected her without rancor.
“He does have his dark humors,” Mrs. Linney warned.
“I do not care,” Blanche said, smiling.
“You have snagged a great war hero,” Paul said from across the table. “My cousin says he carried the duke of Clarewood from the battlefield on his back, with only one leg. If it weren’t for Sir Rex, Clarewood would be dead.” He beamed.
Blanche tensed and looked at Sir Rex. His gaze had lowered and she saw a flush on his high cheekbones.
And Paul Farrow instantly understood his mistake. He jerked, looking from Blanche, who could not even imagine what Sir Rex was now thinking or feeling, to his host. “Sir Rex, I am sorry! My cousin was in the 11th Light Dragoons, too, but I should not have mentioned the war.”
Sir Rex took a sip of red wine. He glanced at Paul and shrugged. “I have done my best to forget the war. It was a lifetime ago.”
“Of course you have,” Paul cried nervously and in obvious dismay. “It was a bloody awful war, but thank God, we did win, thanks to heroes like yourself.”
Blanche stood abruptly, filled with anxiety, as Sir Rex was staring into his glass as if it were a crystal ball, relaying images of his past. “Why don’t we ladies adjourn to the hall? The men can take their cigars and brandies here.”
Doctor Linney winked at her. “An excellent suggestion, as I am overdue for my brandy.”
As Margaret and Mrs. Linney rose, Blanche hurried to the head of the table. “I’ll tell Fenwick to bring the brandy in,” she said softly.
Sir Rex didn’t quite look at her. “Thank you.”
She was dismayed. Whatever demons haunted him from the war, she knew they had their talons in him now. She turned to the ladies. “I will join you in a moment.”
Blanche hurried into the kitchen where Meg was helping Anne and Fenwick was sitting at the counter with a news journal. “Anne, supper was a success. Thank you.”
Anne started.
Blanche then asked Fenwick to serve the gentlemen brandy and left the kitchens. As she passed the dining room she glanced inside, but Sir Rex seemed affable enough, as he was nodding at whatever Paul was saying. Still, he saw her instantly and as instantly, their gazes met. She was relieved he had recovered from his own memories, whatever they were. Doctor Linney saw her and gave her a reassuring wink.
Before entering the great room, she realized that the women were whispering, and instinctively, she paused. Why were they whispering? What could they possibly
wish for her not to hear?
Before arriving in the country, Blanche would have smiled firmly and interrupted them as if she were not really doing so. Now, instead, she walked closer to the door, but hovered there to eavesdrop, remaining out of sight.
“I feel so disturbed—and so sorry for her!” Mrs. Linney whispered.
“I am certain it is not true,” Margaret said firmly.
“Her mother’s sister is employed by Squire Deedy. It is true—poor Lady Harrington doesn’t have a clue that Sir Rex is having an affair with his housemaid…right under her nose! It is shameful! Shameful!” she cried.
Margaret was now silent. Blanche was in disbelief. Then Margaret said, “I will not believe it.”
Blanche pressed into the wall, aghast and dismayed. Sir Rex had warned her that there would be gossip against them—and he had been right. But she had never anticipated such malicious gossip—and the worst part was, it was true. She was trembling. And for once, she couldn’t decide what to do.
There was no way to quell the hurtful rumor. And if Mrs. Linney knew, so did most of the gentry in the parish—and maybe, everyone else, too.
Her heart sickened with dismay. She could manage this hateful gossip, but Sir Rex did not need any more whispers behind his back.
Once, she would have sailed gracefully back into the room, pretending nothing was amiss. Now, unable to smile, she strode into the great room, beyond determination. Both women turned, Mrs. Linney smiling, Margaret appearing uneasy. When they saw her, they paled. Blanche realized she must appear fierce.
“I do not appreciate gossip in my home,” Blanche said bluntly.
Mrs. Linney blanched even more.
She turned to Margaret. “It is not true.” Blanche told one of the few great lies in her life. “Sir Rex has had problems with Anne from the beginning, and she has started those rumors to get back at him, even though he has been so generous to her.” She confronted the ashen and wide-eyed matron. “Sir Rex is a gentleman and I will not have anyone saying otherwise. My future husband would never dally with a servant.”
