Tegan proffered a wise smile. “Follow me.” She turned to the left, and we followed, single file, as the gorge abruptly narrowed still further.
“Stop muttering,” Matty whispered in my ear. “That girl knows what she’s doing.”
Which was more than I could say for myself.
We had not gone fifty feet before I realized there was nothing but mountain above us on either side. We had left the castle environs behind, and with it all possibility of being attacked from above. No one could pour down boiling oil or shoot arrows at those on foot below. Rather clever, the Maddox ancestor who devised this method of escape. At close to a hundred yards along the narrow passage, a pull on my leg muscles told me we were climbing, though the rise was so slight, I could not see it. Another hundred yards and the cliffs on either side were visibly lower, though they still towered several stories above our heads. And then, suddenly, we were out, pushing our way through bushes that had been allowed to overgrow the mouth of the gorge, to find ourselves on the upper side of a green bowl of meadowland dotted with grazing sheep. As peaceful and bucolic a scene as any escapees from the castle could wish for.
“Marvelous!” Matty declared. “Thank you, Jocelyn dear. A delightful treat, though I must admit I had my doubts.”
Yes, indeed. After the past week, this is what I needed. A diversion from duty, from care. A washing-clean in the brisk mountain air, absolution for my sins. I looked around the rim of the bowl and spotted some convenient rocks not far away. “Shall we sit and rest?” I said.
As we enjoyed the light of the weak November sun, Matty brought up the subject that was never far from our minds. “Tegan,” she asked, “when January came, do you think Gwendolyn would have given up her power without a fight?”
“Ah no, miss. Everyone knows she’s been trying to get rid of Mrs. Jocelyn ever since she came.”
My head jerked up, my mouth agape. “Are you saying Gwendolyn is behind the attacks on me? The carriage accident, stranding Hugh and me . . .” Oh dear God. Hugh! I drew in a sharp breath. “You cannot be implying that she had anything to do with Lord Dawnay’s death?”
“All I know is the whispers below stairs, ma’am. Everyone believes she wishes you ill.” Tegan shrugged. “As for Lord Dawnay, only a few question the tale of his falling in while fishing.”
The tale Gwendolyn had manufactured to keep her son from a charge of murder.
Dear God, the servants thought he did it?
The day lost its spark, turning dark and chill.
“And Gruffydd . . .”
I fought my way back from the depths. “Yes, Tegan?”
“Well . . .” She hesitated, clearly reluctant to continue the topic, even if she had brought it up. “Everyone says . . . well, missus, they say Gruffydd would do anything for Mrs. Gwendolyn. We’re all surprised he’s knuckled under so easy.”
Gruffydd and Gwendolyn. In the shock of all that had happened since Rhian Pugh hinted at a secret liaison, it had been all too easy to dismiss such an outrageous speculation as impossible. But now . . .
Gruffydd and Gwendolyn? Maddoxes both. Oh, dear God, it just might be true.
Chapter Twenty-three
I could scarcely ask Rhys if his mother and Gruffydd were lovers, even if we were on speaking terms, and at the moment it seemed we were not. Therefore, after I had put off my dirt from our morning’s expedition and changed into a more suitable gown, I made my way to Lady Aurelia’s sitting room, where to my surprise my question was received with no more than a rueful smile. “My dear child,” she said, “we are all human, though some, I must admit, are more lusty than others. Do not begrudge others a bit of happiness.”
I don’t begrudge anyone,” I declared a trifle indignantly. “It’s just that . . .” Reluctant to voice my thought, I allowed my voice to trail into silence.
“Love is for the young?” Lady Aurelia suggested gently, giving me a look that reduced me to no more than six.
“I–I’m so sorry,” I sputtered. “I am being juvenile again, am I not?”
“Merely following human instincts, my dear. Young people are inevitably shocked to discover their elders can feel passion. I suspect most prefer to believe they were the product of immaculate conception.”
“My lady!” My husband’s grandmother regarded me steadily from blue eyes brimming with amusement, and finally a giggle escaped me. And then another and another. “Oh dear,” I murmured when I had settled enough to speak, “Am I truly so young and foolish?”
“Indeed not,” Lady Aurelia declared, sobering on the instant. “No one expects you to have the wisdom of four score any more than I would wish on you the vicissitudes of old age that come with it. I am proud of what you have accomplished this week. You have shown your mettle, and you have triumphed.”
“But Rhys is angry with me!” My anguished wail came out of nowhere, surprising us both.
“Oh, my dear.” Lady Aurelia held out her hand, and I, sadly in need of human contact, seized it. “He is angry with himself for allowing the situation to drag on as it did. For not nipping it in the bud when he first brought you to Glyn Eirian.”
Tears erupted, streaking down my face. “Do you truly think so?”
“I do.” She paused, considering. “Perhaps it is time for you to continue your bravery.” Instead of finishing her thought, Lady Aurelia raised her delicate white brows and waited for me to interpret her remark.
“I must go to him?” I ventured.
“Only pride will suffer if he rejects you. And, believe me, child,” she added with a sympathy that warmed my heart, “I think that possibility highly unlikely.”
Considerably buoyed by this advice, I spent the remainder of the day with more spring in my step. My hope for a reconciliation with Rhys soared when he joined us for dinner that night, the first time since I had assumed command of the household—even though I had made a point of serving his favorite foods each night. Conversation was more lively as well, with Lady Aurelia, Matty, and I not forced to carry the burden by ourselves. Sadly, Gwendolyn had maintained her silence over the last few evening meals, shushing any attempt by Liliwen to join the conversation with a glare that should have singed her to the quick. Dilys, of course, emulated her cousin, and poor Emily Farnsworth seemed so intimidated by the tense atmosphere at table that she seldom raised her head. And since Gruffydd rarely spoke to anyone but Rhys, he too had been silent.
Tonight however, Rhys’s presence seemed to have added the necessary spark to Liliwen’s high spirits. Long pent-up conversation poured from her mouth, animation lit her face. Once again guilt assailed me. Liliwen had seemed so much her mother’s shadow, perhaps even a tool, that I had not been able to accept Lady Aurelia’s assertion that Liliwen also suffered from the tensions that had sent the household into chaos. Perhaps if I reached out to her . . .
Most likely she would slap me down, mocking my efforts as a weakness of the spineless English. Nonetheless, now that I was settling into my new role, I must look to my obligation to calm the disquiet among the residents of Glyn Eirian.
Settle yourself first, hissed my ever-annoying inner voice.
Swallowing a sigh, I rose, leading everyone into the drawing room for our nightly entertainment, I swallowed a sigh. How could I attempt to make peace with, and between, the others when my husband and I were estranged?
Not after tonight, I promised myself and shoved my inner voice’s caution into a far niche of my brain.
Eilys and Trystan, evidently also inspired by Rhys’s return to the family routine, performed at length, and with great passion. A quick glance at Daffyd showed that he was as entranced as the rest of us. Gruffydd as well. A good omen, I hoped. The household was settling back to normal. By the time Eilys and Trystan represented Glyn Eirian at the Eisteddfod, we would have become one entity, proudly cheering them on.
Naive young fool that I was, I actually believed that.
Rhys had spent so many hours away from the house this week that it should n
ot have surprised me that he shut himself in his office long after everyone else went up to bed. Did he not know I was waiting for him? I paced my bedchamber, flopped on the bed, pummeled the pillows, paced again. I gazed out the window, seeing nothing but the black of night. As black as my mood. When I could stand it no longer, I tiptoed through our dressing rooms and cracked the door of his bedchamber. Nothing. The curtains of his bed were open, revealing a coverlet in pristine condition.
Oh dear God, surely he wasn’t going to sleep elsewhere.
Won the castle, lost the husband, my inner voice taunted.
Be quiet! Deny it all I would, I was well aware I was perilously close to doing exactly that.
My fight for independence crumbled. Thoroughly humbled, I settled onto the floor like a faithful dog waiting for its master’s return. Yes, I had some difficulty believing Lady Aurelia meant for me to grovel on the carpet, but here I was and here I would stay. At least until all hope was lost that Rhys would return.
It seemed forever but was likely no more than twenty minutes when I heard the outer door open. Scrambling to my knees, I peeked through the crack. Rhys. Alone.
Should I enter now? Wait until he was in bed? Go back to my room and start over so I would not reveal I had been literally lying in wait, sprawled on his dressing room floor?
Coward! Just do it!
Pins and needles attacked my legs as I tried to stand, nearly tumbling me back to the floor. Clutching the edge of the door for support, I hauled myself to my feet, where I leaned against the jamb, willing my legs back to life. Rhys had put off his jacket and vest and was reaching for his cravat when he saw me. For a moment his hands froze before he ripped the knot apart and tossed the cravat onto the floor. “Jocelyn.” I took slight encouragement from a tone that was merely bland instead of cold as a mountain spring.
Naturally, all the words I had so carefully prepared went sailing out of my head. Instead, I asked the question that lurked behind the conciliatory words left unspoken. “Is it common for the newly married to suffer so many ups and downs?”
“I would not know. I have never been married before.”
Not helpful. Tears threatened. “Shall I go?”
“No!” His answer was forceful enough to give me heart. He is angry with himself for allowing the situation to drag on as it did. I could only hope Lady Aurelia was right.
Since I seemed to have lost any and all words that would help the situation, I crossed to Rhys’s enormous bed, feeling the chill of the room, as well as the possibly imagined chill of his steady gaze as I slipped out of the comforting warmth of my heavy satin robe. I swiftly inserted myself beneath the covers, from where I watched with unabashed interest as he stripped off the rest of his clothing at a pace I did not find pleasing. Almost . . . well, almost with reluctance.
It was a very big bed, and when he blew out the candle and I felt the bed sag with his weight, he was still what seemed a mile away. How dare he be standoffish when I had practically crawled to him on my hands and knees? As I reached for the covers to throw them back and make my thoroughly humiliated escape, a hand clamped down on my arm, strong enough to bruise. “I must have been out of mind when I offered for you,” Rhys intoned. “I had no idea.”
I wrenched at my arm, even more determined to flee. What a terrible idea this had been. Lady Aurelia, how could you suggest something so incredibly stupid?
My husband thrust my arm down, pinning my other to the bed as well. Looming over me, he gritted out, “I should have known how my mother would react.” His shoulders slumped, though the fingers holding my arms did not loosen. “I did know,” he admitted. “And I fully intended to defy her. Why else insist on an English bride? I knew the Maddox line was going astray, that fresh blood was needed, but . . .” As if just now aware he was hurting me, Rhys groaned, and rolled off me. “Forgive me, Jocelyn, I should have done more to support you. I should not have tried to compromise, I realize that now, but I thought to spare you a battle with my mother. Instead, I seem to have made matters worse.”
Not what I expected. He actually sounded sincere. Had I not sat for what seemed like hours on the floor waiting for this moment? Accept the apology. Move forward.
Would any woman not have succumbed at that point? I suppose I would have forgiven him anything. I rolled over, pillowing my head on his naked chest, my hand sliding down to caress his thigh, drifting ever closer to the part of him that had already sprung to life.
I did not return to my bedchamber until it was time to be up and dressed the next morning. And then only after exchanging a long and lingering kiss with my husband to cap a second, early morning reaffirmation of passion.
For two whole days I was enveloped in a glow of happiness. Rhys loved me. Admittedly, he had not said so, but he gave every indication of it, and that would have to be enough. I held the keys to Glyn Eirian, the household seemed to have weathered the change without further incident, and the confidences Matty and I exchanged were far brighter than during the dark days following her arrival. But after dinner on the second day, we walked into the drawing room to find Trystan pacing the floor, looking worried. “Eilys is not here,” he said, speaking directly to Gwendolyn. “And no one can find her.”
“Carys?” Rhys demanded, his voice tense.
“Safely In her bed, with her nurse in attendance. Neither has seen Eilys since mid-afternoon.”
Obviously relieved that his daughter was all right, Rhys immediately turned his attention to the problem of Eilys. “Where was she last seen?”
“She told Nurse she was going for a short walk,” Trystan said. “She enjoys the view from the battlements.”
“Do you think she left the castle?”
“I doubt it. Not so late in the day.”
“Call the guards, Daffyd,” Rhys ordered. “Gruffydd, we’ll need torches.” And then the men were gone, leaving us more fearful than we might have been about a missing person before the recent incidents that had plagued us.
The wait was much shorter than I anticipated. In less than half an hour, Rhys reentered the drawing room, his expression making it clear that his news was not good. “Eilys was found at the foot of the battlement,” he told us. He did not have to add that she was dead. That we could read in his face.
Oddly, quiet Emily Farnsworth found her voice first. “But surely she would never . . .” Her hesitant, whispery words trailed into silence.
“She would never leave Carys alone.” I was more than a little surprised to discover those words were mine.
“You are correct, child,” Lady Aurelia agreed. “Eilys was devoted to that child. No matter how upset her emotions might have become, I cannot believe she threw herself off.”
“Agreed.” Gwendolyn’s voice rose loud and clear for the first time since the household’s upheaval. “We are once again facing a situation where my son needs a well-knit tale to save him.”
What? Rhys would never . . .
Aghast, we all stared at Gwendolyn.
“Fools! Do you not see someone is trying to implicate Rhys? Bring him down?”
No-o. That could not be the reason for all this. Surely not. Rhys was the hope of the valley. Who would possibly wish him ill?
“We must agree here and now that she stumbled and fell,” Gwendolyn declared.
“We will agree to nothing,” Rhys said, “until we have had more time to examine the situation.”
“But—”
“Carys!” I cried, horror sweeping through me as I realized someone must tell the poor child her mother was gone.
“She is asleep,” Rhys said, clearly relieved to have the painful task delayed. “Time enough in the morning.”
“We must all agree—” Gwendolyn, back to her insistence on protecting her son.
“Enough!” Rhys swept his hand through the air in a gesture so emphatic even Gwendolyn was silenced. “I suggest you all return to your rooms, while I join the men in recovering Eilys’s body.”
Meek as lambs, we all
rose and ascended to our bedchambers. Not a word was spoken. I did, however, know my duty. It yawned before me, a stunning surprise I could never have anticipated. I had just become a mother.
Chapter Twenty-four
The next morning, after using copious amounts of tea to wash down a few bites of bread and jam, I climbed the stairs to the nursery floor. Surely someone had told Carys the tragic news by now, sparing me that burden. Both Rhys and Gwendolyn had broken their fast before me, yet I could not be certain they had imparted the dreadful news.
My good intentions faltered as I knocked on the nursery door. Except for that fateful day in the tapestry room, Carys had been kept away from me. Had the attitude of the adults around her turned me into a villain? Did she think of me as the wicked witch who had destroyed her happy home? It seemed entirely possible, yet I had to be here. Had to try.
Carys’s nurse took one look at me and remained fixed in the doorway, barring my entry into the nursery. And how could I blame her for her hostility? If she was as devoted to her charge as most nurses, she could only see me as an interloper, the woman who had destroyed the possibility of Eilys ever becoming mistress of Glyn Eirian. The woman whose existence shifted Carys from daughter of the master of the house to forever a bastard.
I could allow none of that to matter now. Within was a small motherless child, and I must do what I could. “Does she know?” Somehow the words left my lips even as my stomach churned.
Nurse’s stiff stance suddenly dissolved into grief. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Rhys left us but a short time ago.”
Of course he had. Though not a word to me. “And Mrs. Gwendolyn?”
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