But how could he? He was enjoying watching her. She was like a caged animal. Eager for blood but unable to get it. “Mother,” he began, leaning toward her and lowering his voice, “the only reason I tolerate you is because of Opal. I dare say that’s the only reason Warren even sends us the money, despite what Father’s will says. The truth is, Opal is the only redeeming quality you and I have. You may not like hearing this, but Warren’s right about us.”
“You should have stopped when I told you to.” His mother grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and then stormed out of the room without bothering to look back at him.
He watched her, the smirk on his face leaving. His mother was dangerous. Far too dangerous. There was no telling what she’d do to him or Opal.
Well, he only had a couple options at this point. He could take Opal to London, thereby protecting her, but she wasn’t old enough to enter a Season. It’d be best if word didn’t get out in London that she wasn’t in full control of her mental faculties until after marriage. So keeping her here was in everyone’s best interest.
But did he dare leave Opal alone with his mother, even with servants nearby to keep an eye on things? And he couldn’t bear the thought of staying at this place all the time to make sure everything was all right. He had things he wanted to do in London. Being here was like living in a prison. Sooner or later, it would only suffocate him. That was, if his mother didn’t arrange for his early demise.
He drummed his fingers on the table. There was only one good, solid way of dealing with his mother. He was going to have to kill her. As unseemly as the task was, he couldn’t let her take out her frustrations on him or Opal. It was time to get rid of her. And he was going to make it look like an accident.
***
Warren rubbed the back of his neck, which was sore from sitting in the carriage. It was well into the afternoon, but progress seemed to be going unusually slow. He shouldn’t have stopped to rest last night. He should have pressed on. If he had, he’d be at the estate by now. At the time, stopping had seemed like the best option. The horses, the driver, and the footman were all revived from it, even with the little sleep they’d had.
Warren had been unable to sleep, so he’d gone to their rooms to see if they were awake at dawn, and though they hadn’t been, they’d insisted they would be down at the stables and ready to leave within the half hour.
Surely, Byron had stopped, too. He couldn’t be foolish enough to go all the way to the estate from London without one night at an inn. Some small amount of wisdom had to have prevailed.
Warren hoped. And prayed.
But something in his gut kept warning him to get to the estate as soon as possible. Given how fast the horses could move while pulling a carriage, progress was slow. Each minute that passed on his pocket watch seemed to go slower than the last.
By the time the watch read five, he knocked on the roof of the carriage to get the driver’s attention. The carriage came to a stop, and the footman opened the door.
“Yes, my lord?” the footman asked.
“If I take one of the horses and ride ahead, will you still be able to make it to Jamison?” Warren wondered.
The footman’s eyebrows furrowed, but he answered, “There are enough horses to make up for the loss of one.”
Good. Warren scooted over to the door. “I’ll take one and go on ahead.”
“We have no saddle, my lord.”
“I don’t need one. The reins will be enough.”
“But it’ll be dark in a few hours. Even on horseback, you won’t get there before sunset.”
“I know, but I can’t sit here and do nothing. I have to get there sooner than we can make it in the carriage.”
The footman looked as if he was ready to argue but then offered a nod. “We’ll get a horse for you, my lord.”
Warren jumped out of the carriage then waited for the driver and footman to get a horse ready.
“Won’t you take any food?” the driver asked, noting Warren carried nothing on him.
“I’m not hungry. Besides, I’ll get there tonight. I can eat then.” If I’m up to it. Warren wasn’t sure if the adrenaline pumping through his body would allow him to relax enough to eat anything. “I just want to get there. If you need to rest tonight, take this money for an inn.” He gave him the portion they would need to get through the rest of the journey to Jamison.
The gentlemen nodded and finished getting the horse ready. Warren released his breath and got ready for a long and tiring ride ahead of him. Before long, he was on the horse and moving forward, this time at a much faster pace than the carriage could manage.
***
Something was wrong. Iris couldn’t put her finger on it, but the atmosphere in the manor had changed since that morning. Though no one had come to the bedchamber through the entire day, she sensed a restlessness in the air. The only thing that seemed normal—if it could even be termed normal—was when she looked out the window and saw a maid taking Opal for a walk. Opal had giggled and made up a singsong rhyme about the flowers. At one point, she collected a group of them and filled her arms with them. She then flung them into the air and giggled even more.
Iris spent most of the day pacing the room. She’d already tried to get past the lock by trying to break the doorknob, but it was secure. She wasn’t going anywhere. Around noon, she had checked how far she’d have to fall from the window to make it to the ground. In the end, she decided the risk was too great. Not only was it possible she could be with child, but she’d undoubtedly break a bone. In either case, jumping out wasn’t an option.
So she paced. And paced. And paced some more. Things were quiet here. She couldn’t hear any of the usual sounds that should be in a home. There were no footsteps as people went up and down the hall outside. There were no conversations, either.
She knew she was tucked away in the west wing of the manor, but she had no idea she was so far removed from everyone that she was practically invisible. Was it possible that she might die here? If Warren didn’t care enough to come, would anyone even remember she was trapped in this room?
Around six, the key turned in the lock, and Iris faced the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t know if it was the restless feeling in the air or having been isolated for so long that made her jumpy, but she was definitely on edge.
Byron came in with a tray full of delicious food. He set it on the table and motioned to it. “I’ll return for the tray in a half hour. You don’t have much time to eat, so I suggest you do it now.”
She glanced at the tray, her stomach urging her to eat the fish, vegetables, and pie.
“You shouldn’t be stuck here much longer,” Byron told her. “Warren should be here soon. I expect you’ll be on your way back to London by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
That was only if Warren came. She kept her mouth shut. Why give more voice to her doubts than she already had?
“Either way,” Byron continued on his way to the door, “you’ll need your energy. I can’t guarantee another meal before your departure.” He left the room and locked the door.
Steadying her breath, she went over to the table and ate, the growing feeling of dread welling up inside her with each bite she took. Because there was no denying the fact that each minute that passed brought them all closer to something bad, and she suspected there was no escaping it.
Chapter Twenty
“Why are you here?” Opal asked as Byron tucked the blanket around her.
“I know your lady’s maid usually sees you to bed,” Byron said, “but I wanted to do it tonight. It’s not often I get to see my little sister.” He smiled and patted her arms. “Tomorrow, I’m going to tell you about the different ball gowns you’ll get to wear when you have your first Season.”
As he expected, her eyes lit up, taking on that childlike quality that he’d become familiar with ever since her accident. “Will I look like a princess?”
“A princess? No, you won’t look like a princes
s.” He waited until her countenance fell before he added, “You’ll look like a queen.”
The spark came back to her eyes, and she giggled. “Then shall I find a king?”
“If not a king, then a duke, earl, viscount, or baron. Remember, we must find someone with a title and lots of money. Money is what will give you beautiful gowns and lots of other pretty things.”
“Like dolls?” She sat up in bed, her eyes wide. “Can I have dolls?”
“Of course, you can.” He urged her to lie back down. “You can have anything you want as long as you do exactly as I say. We need to make the gentleman think you’re normal like other ladies. Once you marry, he can find out the truth. But not before then. So it’s important you act like a big girl.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of her head then bent down to pick up the slippers she’d left by the bed.
“One day I’ll go to a ball,” Opal sang, “and it’ll be fun for all. I’ll wear a gown so pretty. All the gentlemen will be looking at me.”
“Opal,” Byron said as he rose to his feet, the slippers behind his back. He waited for her to look over at him then added, “Remember what I said about the singing.”
Her lower lip jutted out. “You don’t like it.”
“If you’re going to secure a husband, you can’t go around singing like a little girl. You need to be a big girl. You should learn to restrain yourself while you’re here. That way, you won’t slip when you’re in London.”
“I can’t ever sing again?”
“Yes, you can. Only do it when you’re alone. Let no one, not even the servants, hear. All right?”
“But it’s hard. Music is always in my head.”
Yes, and that worried him. She could only control her childlike impulses in short bursts, and that might prove a problem when it came time for social events. “I know it’s hard, but it’s very important you keep the music to yourself. The more you practice this technique, the easier it’ll become. I promise.”
“What if I forget?”
“I’ll be there to chaperone, so you won’t be alone when you’re in public. I’ll give you a secret signal if you start to act inappropriately.”
Once more, her eyes twinkled, and she giggled. “A secret? Just between us?”
“Yes. Just between us.”
“How exciting! I’ve never had a secret before.”
“Well, you will when we’re in London.” One the husband-to-be wouldn’t discover until it was too late. But there was no need to worry her over trivial facts. “Have a good night’s sleep, Opal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She let out a squeal of delight then rolled onto her side so that her back was facing him. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and giggled again, probably imagining all the pretty dresses she’d wear. One thing Opal loved even more than dolls were dresses, and he’d make sure to reward her with dresses for acting like a lady suitable for marriage.
He quietly left the room then went down the hall. His mother would still be downstairs, reading a book or giving the servants their orders for the next day. That gave him the perfect opportunity to go through with his plan.
Making sure no one was around, he set Opal’s slippers on two different steps near the top of the staircase. If his mother missed one, she just might slip on another. And, if fortune did not prevail, he could give her a little push down the steps in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep.
Once he was done setting down the slippers, he went to the drawing room. The sun had long since settled for the evening, but he was sure Warren would be arriving before midnight. At the moment, however, there was no sign of a carriage or a lone rider on a horse.
Byron glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past nine. The wait would be over soon. Then Iris could return to London, and he’d have sufficient money in his possession to use at his discretion. And better yet, his mother wouldn’t be a threat.
“I thought you would be in the den this time of night,” came that familiar voice of disdain.
He turned his gaze to his mother as she entered the room. “How ironic you should come at the very moment when I was thinking of you.”
“All pleasant thoughts, of course.” She rolled her eyes and settled in one of the chairs.
“As a matter of fact, I was having pleasant thoughts.” Just thinking of her dead so she could no longer control him was very pleasant indeed. “Shall I have the butler bring you some tea before you go to bed?”
She eyed him warily. “As long as it’s the butler who brings it instead of you, that will be fine.”
His eyebrows rose. “Afraid I’ll poison you the same way you poisoned Father’s first wife?”
She scowled at him then glanced at the open doors.
“No need to worry, Mother,” he said as he pulled the cord. “There was no one nearby to overhear me.”
“You’re too sure of yourself, and that’s not a good thing. It’s making you reckless.”
“Sometimes one has to be reckless.” He sat across from her and crossed his legs. In a lower voice, he added, “How else will the dirty little deeds get done?”
“You tire me when you’re here. I much prefer having you in London.”
“The feeling is mutual, Mother. Fortunately for both of us, Warren should be here tonight. Or,” he amended, “by tomorrow morning.”
“Knowing him, it’ll be tomorrow afternoon. He won’t push the horses and driver as hard as you did.”
“Time was of the essence, Mother. I had to get here before anyone caught me. Without Iris, we have no bargaining power.”
This, thankfully, shut his mother up.
The butler came in with the tea and poured them each a cup. After he left, his mother pulled out a small bottle of laudanum from her pocket and put some into her tea.
“Doesn’t it strike you as sad that you rely on an opiate to be able to sleep at night?” Byron asked, not bothering to drink any of the tea.
She glowered at him as she stirred her tea. “One might wonder why you need so many ladies. Why isn’t one body as good as another? All of them are built the same way.”
“Breasts look different, Mother. Some are small, and some are big. The nipples also vary in sizes and colors. And would you like me to explain how some are tighter down there than others while thrusting toward a climax? The tighter, the more exquisite the journey.”
She nearly gagged on her tea. “I’m your mother. I won’t tolerate that kind of talk when I’m in the room.”
He only smiled at her, hoping the way he grinned at her unsettled her more than his words had.
She gulped down the rest of the tea and put the cup on the tray. “You are a disappointment.”
“I love you, too, Mother,” he replied, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
She gave him one last scowl before she stormed out of the room.
Good. He straightened up in his chair and listened to her footsteps as she went down the hall. She turned and went to the stairs. He gripped the arms of the chair and held his breath. This was it. Either his plan was going to work or it wasn’t.
He couldn’t hear her footsteps on the staircase, but he knew how many steps there were. Closing his eyes, he counted each one in his head, imagining each foot as it led her toward Opal’s slippers.
Please, let this work. He took a deep breath and released it. Make that harpy’s foot land right on the slipper.
She should be close now. Just one or two steps away from…
A scream cut through the silence, followed by a series of tumbles down the stairs. He bolted to his feet and ran down the hall. The butler came up to her right before he did.
“My lady,” the butler said as he knelt beside her. “My lady?”
Byron stood back and inspected her. Her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, and though her eyes were open, she didn’t appear to be looking at anything. He breathed a sigh of relief. The plan had worked. Now she wouldn’t be
a threat.
The butler checked her breathing and then her pulse. After a moment, he glanced over at Byron. “I’m sorry, Mr. Beaufort, but she’s dead.”
Making an effort to look appropriately grieved, Byron offered a solemn nod. “I was afraid of that when I realized she wasn’t moving.”
The footman and a maid came running toward them. “What is it?” the footman asked. “Is someone hurt?”
Before the butler could answer, Byron said, “Unfortunately. My mother fell down the stairs.”
The butler rose to his feet. “I came here first. Mr. Beaufort rushed out of the drawing room shortly afterwards.”
“You think she tripped on the hem of her dress?” the maid asked, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I tried to be careful when I made the gown.”
Byron’s eyes widened in interest. That possibility for causing his mother’s death would work as well as the slippers, but he saw no reason to let the maid needlessly suffer guilt. He turned his gaze to the stairs. One of Opal’s slippers had fallen halfway down the staircase. The other one remained securely in place where he’d put it.
“I think I spotted the thing responsible for my mother’s fall.” Byron climbed the steps until he came to the slipper that had done the trick. Lifting it, he paused, swallowed, and then turned to them. “It wasn’t the hem on Mother’s dress. It was the slipper.” He went back down the stairs and lowered his voice. “This belongs to Opal.”
The maid gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
“Opal couldn’t have left her slipper on the stairs,” the butler said.
“Well, she could,” the maid replied, her voice wavering. “But she wouldn’t have realized the danger she was putting anyone in by doing so. The poor thing is too much like a child.”
“That’s what I meant,” the butler amended. “She couldn’t have left it on purpose.”
“You’re right,” Byron was quick to agree. “She must have taken them off and put them on the steps to put on later. You know how she likes to go barefoot.”
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