by Karen Ranney
The countess had insisted on calling her husband, “the earl,” an affectation he found almost as annoying as the English habit of treating people with titles as if they were religious icons.
“We have to leave,” he said, trying to recall some of the manners he’d possessed all his life. He feigned a smile. “We really do.”
“Of course,” she said, giving him a coy little smirk. “We shall allow you to settle in, of course,” she was saying now. “Before we visit.”
He was grateful to see his bride’s answering expression was less than enthusiastic. Perhaps she dreaded the idea of being visited by the Countess of Conley as much as he did.
The countess patted him on the arm, smiled at Veronica. “Here we thought our Anne would be the first of the girls to marry.”
Evidently, the Countess of Conley had forgotten the scandal precipitating their union.
He exchanged a quick look with Veronica, wondering at the glint of humor in her eyes. It was gone so quickly, he might have imagined it.
“We’re leaving London tomorrow,” he announced. “My business necessitates it.”
“Where are we going?” Veronica asked.
“I’m sure your husband will tell you all you need to know,” the countess said firmly. “Do not be presumptuous, Veronica.”
He frowned at the countess, then turned to his bride.
“To Scotland,” he said. “But now we must be on our way.”
The countess looked startled when he passed her. He escorted Veronica to the door, stood impassively as she said her farewells, then walked her to the carriage.
Montgomery nodded to the young man holding the door, waited until Veronica entered the carriage, and followed her, sitting with his back to the horses. She didn’t look at him, intent on staring at the house, her family clustered on the steps. Her fingers pressed against the glass; her mouth curved in a small, almost sad, smile as if she couldn’t bear to part with them.
If he’d been in her place, he’d have been singing hosannas right about then.
As the carriage slowly pulled away from the curb, her family called out their farewells. She waved, then turned away, facing him.
“Where in Scotland?” she asked softly.
“Doncaster Hall, the house I’ve inherited along with the title.”
Her look of surprise warned him. Evidently, he wasn’t supposed to speak of such things, merely pretend he’d always been the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. He wasn’t to mention money. He wasn’t to talk about an entire list of things forbidden by British rules.
“I’m from Lollybroch,” she said, in the same tone she might have admitted to being royalty.
Was he supposed to know the place?
She tilted back her chin and looked at him. No pale miss, now. She looked almost proud of her heritage. Once, he would’ve felt the same. Instead, all he felt was confusion, and a share of grief, not only for his country but for Virginia and Gleneagle.
“Are we going to live in Scotland?”
“It will do as well as any other place,” he said. He couldn’t imagine being as ill at ease in Scotland as he was in London.
She smiled.
If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her happy with the marriage instead of feeling like a pawn being moved about on a chessboard by her uncle. Or perhaps it was the prospect of returning to her homeland that pleased her.
What would Caroline have thought of Veronica? Would she have counseled patience with his new wife? Would Caroline have placed her palm on his cheek, as she often did, staring into his eyes with that intent gaze of hers, giving him comfort with her words, kindness, and the generosity of her love?
Caroline wasn’t there to give him advice. He’d have to muddle through this marriage himself.
“I don’t love you, Veronica,” he said abruptly. “This is not a love match. Or even a political marriage. You were in trouble, and I was forced to intervene. That’s all.”
Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Her fingers clenched, released, clenched again. She looked down at her gloved hands, then resolutely back at him.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” He settled back against the seat. “The truth should never offend.”
She turned her attention back to the window.
“The truth should not be used as a whip, either, Montgomery,” she said without looking at him. She took another deep breath. “How can you love me? You don’t know me. Yet you needn’t say it in such a tone. As if feeling anything for me in the future would be impossible.”
“I didn’t want a wife. I expect to deal amicably with you if I can ignore you.” At her swift look, he added, “If I’ve hurt you, forgive me. It was not my intent.”
“What did you intend, Montgomery?”
She rolled the R in his name, making the name longer, giving it a flavor of Scotland.
When he didn’t answer, didn’t know what she wanted him to say, she folded her hands together and turned to look at him again, smiling pleasantly.
“To ensure I know my place? How could I not? You and my uncle have made it perfectly clear what my place is. I’m an imposition to be removed, an impediment that walks and talks. If it weren’t for Veronica, we wouldn’t be touched by scandal. Tuck her away, marry her off, place her somewhere she can do no more harm.”
“If you hadn’t attended the Society meeting, Veronica, none of this would have happened. Why the hell did you?”
“The Society of the Mercaii was reputed to be a legitimate organization seeking to study the occult,” she said.
“The Society of the Mercaii is an organization given up to the study of hedonism and sex.”
“I didn’t know that at the time,” she snapped. “I thought I was going to be engaged in intellectual inquiry.”
“Intellectual inquiry?”
“Yes.”
She looked away, which just annoyed him further.
“In what? What did you think the Society could do?”
She remained silent for a few moments. Finally, she spoke. “I feel things,” she said. “I have a Gift.”
He folded his arms, recalling her conversation with her uncle on the steps the night he’d rescued her. “A gift?”
“I feel what other people are feeling. I can sense their emotions. I wanted to know if the Society knew of any other people like me.”
“You can sense other people’s emotions?” he asked. He wondered if she could feel his incredulity.
She frowned at him.
“A great many people mock what they don’t understand,” she said.
“You’ll find that the majority of the world mocks clairvoyance. Most of us are rational.”
“I’m not daft. I’m fey, but I’m not daft.”
“Then I needn’t bother telling you what I think,” he said. “Since you can feel it.”
“I don’t read minds,” she said.
“Tell me.”
She frowned at him again.
He smiled. Evidently, she was cross when her bluff was called.
“You’ve been grieving,” she said suddenly, her tone as flat as the look in her eyes. “Is that why you’re so angry? Because the woman you love isn’t here, and I am?”
The question was so unexpected it stole his breath.
Silence ticked between them, marked by the sounds of ordinary life. Another vehicle passed, and the horses seemed to greet each other. Inside, however, each was mute. Neither looked away, as if rooted to this place, this moment, by some tenuous connection.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally said.
She smiled slightly, the expression without humor. A simple curve of the lips that meant nothing and conveyed little. She tilted her head, studying him as if she were a curious bird.
“There is such pain coming from you, Montgomery. Even during the ceremony, I felt it. A wave of anguish that almost knocked you to your knees. Even here I can feel it. It’s as if you’re bleeding.”
&nbs
p; He folded his arms in front of his chest, staring at her impassively. If he could have simply ignored the circumstances that night at the Society, he wouldn’t be here. No, he had to rescue this woman because he’d been unable to save another.
Damn it, he had been thinking of Caroline.
Neither he nor Veronica spoke, the atmosphere in the carriage one more suitable to winter than a fine spring day.
Veronica laid her head back against the cushions, closed her eyes, effectively distancing herself from him. Or so he thought, until she started to speak.
“You love her very much, don’t you?”
He remained still, not from fascination or interest but because he knew that if he moved, it would be to silence her. He’d reach across the seat and place his hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking.
Abruptly, she opened her eyes, her face going pale.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? That’s why you’re in so much pain.”
If he could have left the carriage, he would have. Instead, he fixed a look on his bride that she evidently understood because she suddenly went mute.
Soon, they were at his house. When his driver opened the carriage door, Montgomery ignored all the rules of etiquette by leaving the carriage and striding to the front door, unknowing and uncaring how his wife was welcomed to his home.
She followed him into his library.
“I’m sorry I’m not her,” she said, continuing their conversation as if he hadn’t walked away.
He turned slowly to face her, attempting to regain his composure.
Alisdair and James would be howling with laughter to see what Fate had done. He was married to a woman dottier than Aunt Maddie.
He leaned over, reached for the bell on the corner of his desk, and rang it twice.
“Mrs. Gardiner will show you your room,” he said. “Please tell her if you need anything.”
“Am I being dismissed?” she asked.
“If I could dismiss you, Veronica, I would. However, I’m afraid that you and I are linked by law.”
“Thank you for marrying me,” she said, startling him. “Thank you for being a gentleman, and in some ways, a knight. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Montgomery. If I did, I’m sorry. I can’t help what I feel. It just comes to me.”
“You have no control over it, I suppose?”
She shook her head.
“In that, you and I are different. I have control over my life. I don’t have to suffer your company.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her.
“Feel anything you want about me. I just don’t want to hear what you feel or what you think.”
“From now until the day we die, Montgomery?”
“I’m not as privileged as you, Veronica. I do not pretend to be able to view the future.”
“I don’t see the future. I never said I did.”
He inclined his head. “That’s right, you don’t see the future. You can only read someone’s heart. You can only feel what he’s feeling.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “At the moment, you’re wishing you’d never seen me,” she added, her voice so faint he almost leaned forward to hear her. “That you’d allowed me to be raped or that you’d simply walked away.”
Then his surprising wife turned and left him staring after her.
“It was a lovely ceremony, Mother,” Amanda said, helping her mother count the silver.
“I’m afraid it was a very hole-and-corner affair, my dear. Given the circumstances, it was as well done as it could have been.” She straightened, slapped her hands together as if to rid herself of the problem of her niece, and smiled at her oldest daughter.
“You can rest assured, my dear, that when your wedding comes along, it shall be a grand and illustrious event.”
Amanda smiled. “Veronica will be pleased to live in Scotland again,” she said.
Her mother shivered. “Such a barbaric country. I find it difficult to believe that our poor dear Queen has loved it all these years.”
“I think we should plan to visit them.”
Her mother looked at her with some surprise. “You have never expressed an interest in travel before now, Amanda.”
“She is family, Mother.”
Her mother nodded, as if giving the idea of travel to Scotland some serious thought. “If it’s good enough for the Queen,” she said, “then it’s good enough for us.” She smiled. “I shall speak with your father about it. We should, if nothing else, ensure that Veronica is living well in Scotland. After all, we’re the only family she has left.”
“Except for her new husband,” Amanda said. “A very interesting man.”
“A Lord, for all that it’s a Scottish title,” the countess said.
“Even so, Montgomery is a handsome man,” Amanda said. “How very like our sly little Veronica to have escaped scandal with such a catch.”
“Had it not been for you, Amanda, we should never have known.”
The fondness of her mother’s smile was indication enough she’d pleased her parents.
Yet in telling her parents about Veronica’s shocking actions, Amanda had cut off a potential source of funds. She could become quite cross about the entire situation. Veronica had married and left the household. However, her dear cousin had married a wealthy man.
There must be some way to make that work to her advantage.
Chapter 8
Veronica was served her wedding dinner in a small dining room, the meal punctuated by a solicitous Mrs. Gardiner, who insisted upon coming back into the room every few minutes.
“Is there anything I can get for you, Lady Fairfax?” she asked again.
Since it was the third time Mrs. Gardiner asked, Veronica realized the housekeeper was not as intent on being of assistance as she was offering her sympathy.
“Everything is wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Thank you for your kindness,” she added, finding it odd to be an object of pity on her wedding night.
Mrs. Gardiner nodded, leaving the room after several backward glances. No doubt the poor woman wanted to make some explanation for Montgomery’s absence but was constrained by loyalty.
Her new husband was nowhere in sight. Nor had he sent word to her as to his whereabouts or intentions.
After the endless meal, she retreated to the room she’d been given, to be greeted by Mrs. Gardiner and a young girl pulled from kitchen duties to act as a lady’s maid.
“I truly don’t need any assistance,” she told the housekeeper. “I’ve never had my own maid, you see.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship, but you’re married, now.”
She didn’t know what part of that comment was more disturbing, the fact she had just noticed that Mrs. Gardiner had been calling her by her new title or that the housekeeper believed her life had changed.
True, marriage had altered her status from poor relation to rich wife. She was Lady Fairfax, whereas she’d been simply Miss MacLeod a day ago. Montgomery, however, didn’t believe in her Gift, which was not an appreciable change in her life. No one had except her parents.
She was as lonely as she’d been for two years.
With the maid’s help, she dressed in the present from Aunt Lilly and her cousins, a lovely peignoir of lemon-colored silk that had been in Anne’s trousseau. After the girl left, she brushed her hair until it curled around her shoulders, studying her reflection in the mirror and noting the flush on her cheeks.
Would a man consider her beautiful? Would Montgomery? Or would he even see her as she was, avoiding the wedding night as he’d avoided her for the whole of the day?
She was a bride without a bridegroom. A bride, deserted shortly after the ceremony. A bride, left in no doubt of her new husband’s antipathy for her.
One thing her marriage had brought her, however, was the freedom of her emotions. She was growing angrier by the moment.
Was she supposed to sit meekly in her room and wait for her husband? Then welcome him into her bed?
She’d perform her duty, but she wasn’t going to like it.
Or him.
Let him mourn the woman he loved.
I don’t love you.
She didn’t love him, either.
Was it too much to wish for love? Was it too foolish to wish that someone watched the door in anticipation of her arrival? Or listened to his watch to ensure that time, itself, hadn’t caused her delay? Or to have someone stand at the bottom of the steps looking up, his hand on the banister, his eyes lighting up because he’d just seen her?
Was it so terrible to want something so simple, so fragile?
Montgomery’s eyes wouldn’t light up when she entered a room because he hadn’t chosen her. Of all the women in the world, he’d not singled her out to share his life. He’d no choice in the matter.
Neither had she.
She clenched her fists, then forced herself to relax her hands. The bubble of anger wouldn’t subside. However much she told herself that resentment had no practical purpose, she felt it, nonetheless.
Was she simply to be a leaf blown by a strong wind? Always acquiescing to everyone’s plans for her? She’d been a dutiful daughter. However, it had been more difficult to be a dutiful niece, a companionable cousin. As the months passed, as one year faded into another, she’d found it more and more difficult to remain silent and agreeable.
Now, she was supposed to be a dutiful wife, submitting to her fate, silent when her husband abandoned her not an hour after their wedding.
Her marriage wasn’t going to change her life at all.
Yet in Montgomery’s enchanted mirror, she’d not been lonely. She’d had a family. She’d felt joy for that second, been surrounded by people who loved her.
How much had she really seen? Or had she imagined it all?
She could look again.
For the first time since she’d left Montgomery’s library, her spirit lightened. The mirror was somewhere in the house. Unless, of course, he’d returned it to its rightful owner. Yet Montgomery said he didn’t know to whom it belonged.
She glanced at the mantel clock. Where was he? Had Montgomery left for an evening of carousing? She should have taken advantage of Mrs. Gardiner’s solicitousness and inquired as to her husband’s whereabouts. She’d been too embarrassed, too ashamed to ask.
