“She is very good at fooling people. She fooled my father and Theresa. They thought Claudette was no more than a shy maid, one as afraid of the ill wind in France as they were. They trusted her. The day my father died, he finally saw how he had been deceived. Claudette was the ill wind blowing our way. I suspect she is still very good at fooling people.”
“Very good. She has made a very nice life for herself with the skill, but, believe me, Germaine, she will fall, and soon.”
“And have you seen this?’
Just the way Germaine asked the question told Alethea that the girl accepted her gift, and she nearly smiled. “It is one of those things I call a knowing. There is no doubt in my mind that she is rapidly tumbling down a hill to her own destruction. What I cannot know is when it will happen and how many innocents she may kill before it happens.”
“She can never truly pay enough for all the lives she has taken,” said Bayard, the angry man within the lanky boy turning his dark eyes hard. “Never.”
“No, she cannot, so one must think of how destroying her will save others,” Alethea said quietly and breathed an inner sigh of relief when he nodded and turned his attention back to his food.
A glance at the food revealed that it was sadly depleted, and Alethea was standing up to ring for more when the parlor door burst open. She watched Hartley as he stood there, his gaze fixed upon his sister’s children. He looked an odd mix of elated and nervous. Then his niece and nephew stood up and walked over to him.
“Hello, Uncle,” said Germaine. “It was good of you to find us.”
“Good of me?” Hartley shook his head. “Good of me? You are my blood, my only sister’s babes. What else could I possibly have done? Of course, I bloody looked for you. I would have torn that cursed country apart if I could have.”
Alethea was about to go to him and try to soothe him when Germaine suddenly grinned. The smile changed her solemn beauty into something breathtaking. Alethea could see how stunned Hartley was and had to cough to hide an errant laugh. She could foresee a great deal of trouble ahead for him once Germaine was dressed properly and presented to society.
“I would like a gown,” Germaine said quietly and reached out to touch one of his tightly clenched fists. “Pink with a lot of lace.”
Hartley choked and wrapped his arms around the too-slender shoulders of his niece and nephew. He pulled them close for a hug, pressing his face against their hair where their heads met against his chest. Alethea had to swallow hard to hold back the tears that choked her. When he glanced at her over their heads, she could see the gleam of tears in his eyes and ached to hold him. Instead, she smiled and, puckering her lips, sent him a kiss. To her relief, his tears retreated and he eyed her with the hungry look she had begun to recognize.
“I was just about to get some more food,” she said and moved to the bell pull. “Would you like tea or coffee, Hartley?”
The grateful look he and Bayard sent her as they eased away from each other nearly made her smile. The show of emotion, although completely understandable, had made them uncomfortable once the strength of that emotion had eased a little. Men, she thought, would be better served if they did not try so hard to be what they believed men should be.
“Coffee, if you would be so kind,” he replied.
“Bayard and I would like a cup as well,” said Germaine.
Alethea was thinking about protesting serving such a strong beverage to the siblings, but a subtle shake of Hartley’s head made her swallow the words. She gave her orders to Alfred and then returned to her seat. Germaine and Bayard sat across from her and Hartley, and Alethea waited to see who would speak first. Despite the emotional welcome just shared, they were still strangers in many ways.
“Do you truly want a pink gown with lace?” Hartley suddenly asked Germaine.
Germaine grinned. “No, Uncle, but a few gowns would be most welcome. I am so very weary of wearing a lad’s clothing. And I wish to let my hair grow again.”
The knot of tension eased inside Alethea as Hartley and the children talked of what they needed regarding clothing. It would not be easy, but the first steps to making a family with these children was now taken. They had accepted their uncle and did not blame him for the fact that they were lost in France for so long. Alfred came in, set out the new food and drink, and left with the old tray and dishes before they were done speaking of dressmakers and bootmakers. Alethea began to serve out the food and coffee.
“How did you end up at the farm?” asked Hartley.
Germaine took a sip of her coffee and then replied, “At first, we just ran. As far and as fast as we could. Then we hid and tried to think of a way to get back to the beach, to any port. We passed through large villages and towns and became very good at begging but could find no one we trusted to help us or a way to get on a ship that we could only pray was headed to England. After almost a year, we turned around and headed back.”
“The Moynes needed farmhands, and we foolishly thought that would be a good job,” said Bayard. “Instead, we saw no coin and little food. They charged us to sleep in the barn, for the clothes on our backs, and the food in our bellies. And they were very slow to replace our rags or feed us. We were told there would be others to help with the work, but those others never arrived. By the time we realized how they were playing a game with us, they owned us. We tried to walk away, and they nearly had us put in prison for trying to run from an indenture.”
“That fat fool Moyne told everyone that our parents had owed him a large debt and sold our time to them,” said Germaine even as she eyed a tiny cake, obviously fighting the temptation to eat just a little more. “He planned to keep us for ten years, although I suspect he intended to keep us far longer than that if he could. Everyone in the village kept a close watch on us, and we were locked up tight at night. I did get away once, but it did no good. There was nowhere to go, no one to find, so I went back to discover that they had beaten Bayard. I made no more attempts to get away.”
“Damn, and Leo paid them,” said Hartley.
“I told him he should just shoot the pair, but Leo said that would be too much trouble and too much noise.”
Alethea grinned. “Sounds like Cousin Leo. The note said you tried to run from the men.”
Germaine nodded. “I did not know who they were, did I? They grabbed Bayard quickly, but I thought I could slip back later and set him free. Leo told me that was a foolish idea when he found me. His man Bened had tracked me down like a hound running down a bleeding rabbit. I do not know how he did that. I have become very good at leaving no trail.”
“Yes, I suspect you have, but Bened is an exceptionally good tracker.”
It was nearly time for dinner before they left the parlor. Alethea was not sure how the siblings could even think to eat any more, but they had hurried up to their bedchambers to clean up for the meal. Hartley had rushed to his office to write a few letters concerning the return of his sister’s children and whatever other plots he had going. Left by herself at long last, Alethea wandered out into the gardens. She needed time away from all the heightened emotions, time to consider how the presence of Germaine and Bayard might affect her marriage and her husband.
She was sitting on a stone bench watching a spider weave his web between two branches of a rosebush when Germaine strode up and sat down beside her. The girl was still dressed as a lad, but the clothes were of a nicer cut and style, and clean, as was she. Her fair hair gleamed and formed a riot of curls around her face. Alethea thought she looked very young and innocent until she looked into those incredibly blue eyes. In those eyes was far more knowledge of the ugliness of the world than any young girl should have.
“Germaine, did Moyne…” Alethea began.
“He tried to touch me once, but he drank too much. He could no longer do what most men seem to want to do.” Germaine blushed. “Never gave me a dress, either, but soon even a lad’s clothes could not hide what I was. I did fear for a time that he might try to make
some money by selling my body to those who eyed me in that nasty way, but he did not do it. He never did. I am not sure why, but I doubt most sincerely that it was for any honorable reason.”
Alethea sighed and patted the girl’s clenched hands. “Men can be utter swine. But I pray that you do not now think that all men are that way.”
“No. I never did. It did make me see how hard life is for a woman not of our class or with no man to protect her. ’Tis not right. Just because a woman has no money, no husband, or no title, she is not some bawd free for the taking.”
“No, but you cannot change the whole world and its mind all by yourself. You can, however, change small pieces of it. Mayhap when you are settled in, you could look into the matter.”
“I will. Did you truly marry Hartley because you want him?”
“Of course I did. I have land, a manor, and a portion that pays my bills. I had no need for a man. I am also a child of the countryside and have no real affection for the city and society.”
“But you were not rich and you were not a marchioness.”
“And thank God for that. Rich would have meant all the fortune hunters in England would have been after me, and a marchioness? Well, I mean no offense to your family, but who would wish more work to do and more nights spent trudging from event to event, listening to gossip, complaints, and bad music? No, I saw only one true benefit to marrying Hartley, and that was Hartley himself.”
“So it was a love match.”
Alethea could not completely stop her wince. “No, not truly. Hartley did not speak of love. Howbeit, he spoke of trust, fidelity, and companionship.” She shrugged. “’Tis far more than many wives get, and I wanted him, none other. I also crave children, and one should have a husband for that, if only for the childrens’ sake.”
“Well, if I ever do something as foolish as marry a man, I will insist that he love me.”
Alethea looked at the girl and then laughed at the impish look on her face. Germaine had not lost all of her love of life. The Moynes may have treated her and Bayard as no better than slaves, but there were so many worse things that could have happened to them. Alethea thought, for the first time since she had heard Hartley’s sister’s children were coming home, that there was some hope for a future for all of them, that they may have accepted her as they had accepted Hartley. After that first confrontation, all signs pointed to it. She doubted they would ever forget what had happened to them, but the scars of their travail did not appear to run too deep.
“I was sent out here to bring you in to dinner,” Germaine said and stood up. “’Tis best if you eat and rest well tonight, for my uncle has already arranged for a dressmaker to come here on the morrow.”
There was no holding back the groan rising in her throat at that prospect. Alethea stood up, brushed off her skirts, and then tensed. A tickle of alertness raced through her, and she recognized it as the warning of danger she sometimes got. She looked all around but saw nothing. That tense alertness that came from a sense of approaching danger did not ease, however. There was something close at hand that she was supposed to see as a threat, but the evening’s shadows were hiding whatever that was.
“Germaine, get into the house now,” she ordered.
“Why? What have you seen?” Germaine stepped up next to Alethea and looked around.
“I have not seen anything yet. I but feel that it is necessary for you to get into the house right now.”
Then she saw the man. He stepped out of the shadows near the garden wall. It was the same man that had beaten her on Claudette’s command. This time he held a pistol. His smile as he raised the pistol chilled her blood. To see that this man could kill a person while smiling made it all the more frightening.
For a brief moment she thought he was going to kill her. Claudette must have heard of her marriage to Hartley by now and wanted her dead. Alethea thought of all the things she had wanted to say to Hartley and wished she had not been such a coward. She would go to her grave never having let him know that he had been loved, and that grieved her.
Then, as she braced for the punch of the bullet, knowing that she could never get out of the way in time, not if she was going to protect Germaine, she saw that he was not aiming at her. He was aiming at Germaine, who stood by her side. The girl obviously thought to help her, protect her, when it was Germaine herself who was about to die. Alethea wondered how Claudette could have gotten the news of Germaine’s survival so quickly. Had the cursed woman been down at the docks greeting each ship in case someone interesting arrived? she thought crossly as she ever so slowly moved her arm in front of Germaine. The girl’s cold blue gaze was fixed on the man, his on hers, and Alethea prayed that would give her the time to push Germaine out of harm’s way.
“You are one of Claudette’s faithful dogs, oui?” said Germaine, the sneer in her voice so thick even Alethea winced at the sound of it.
Either the girl did not see the danger she was in or her rage rose so hot in her when anything to do with Claudette was near or spoken of, she was blind to everything around her. Her words made the man’s finger tighten on the trigger of his gun, and he glared at the girl. He was a cold-blooded killer, but he obviously had his manly pride, and Germaine had just bruised it badly.
“’Tis a shame I must kill you quick,” the man said, his eyes narrowing on Germaine. “I know many ways to make you regret those words, you little bitch.”
A faint tensing of his arm and jaw warned Alethea. She shoved Germaine aside as the man fired his pistol. A heartbeat later something slammed into her shoulder so hard she stumbled back. Excruciating pain followed a moment later. Despite that, she flung herself on top of Germaine and pushed the girl onto the ground. On her hands and knees she urged the girl to crawl fast into the shelter of the many bushes and statues dotting the garden, even as she screamed as loud as she could, again and again.
“Move,” she ordered Germaine.
“You are shot!”
“I believe I noticed that. We can deal with it later. I said move!”
Germaine tried to turn toward her, but Alethea just tugged her up into a crouch and pushed her toward the house. The sound of running footsteps and men shouting told Alethea that someone was coming, but she did not look for them or look back to see if the man who had shot her was still there. The only thought fixed clearly in her pain-fogged mind was that she needed to get the girl into the shelter of the house.
They stumbled through the open garden doors. It took Alethea a moment to realize the doors were open because all the men were out in the garden trying to find out what had happened. She prayed they found the man but sincerely doubted her prayers would be answered. The time that had passed between when the man had shot her, her screams, and the men racing out of the house had been long enough for a skilled assassin to escape. Since she was not sure any of the men had seen her or Germaine, she would need to find a way to tell them she and the girl were all right.
“M’lady! What has happened to you?”
Alethea looked at Alfred, and had to blink several times to steady her vision. “Man in the garden. Shot me.” She stumbled and grabbed hold of Alfred’s arm to steady herself. “Can you tell the men Germaine and I reached the house safely? I am not sure they saw us do so.”
“I can hold her steady,” said Germaine as she wrapped her arm around Alethea’s waist and held her close to her body. “I think this is a particularly drastic way to get out of having to deal with my dressmaker,” Germaine said as she started to inch Alethea toward a settee.
“It was all I could come up with on such short notice.” Alethea smiled and then winced as Germaine jostled her wound when she tried to get a firmer grip on her.
Alfred barely reached the garden doors when the men and Bayard returned. Hartley looked at Germaine, obviously checking her for wounds. Alethea wondered what had happened to the man who had shot her. It was obvious that he had not been caught. She had heard no other shots, and the men had no prisoner with them. S
he dizzily wondered if it made her a bad person to hope that her assailant had been killed.
“I was not the one shot, Uncle,” Germaine said and nodded at Alethea.
Hartley looked at Alethea, saw her blood-soaked gown, and swore, viciously and profanely. Aldus, Gifford, Bayard, and Iago all rushed to her side. Hartley ordered Alfred to send for a doctor even as he stepped up and ripped the shoulder of her gown away to look at her wound. The bullet had gone in but had not come out, which meant it would have to be dug out. The mere thought of the agony she would suffer made him ache to find the man who had shot her and make him suffer, too.
“Oh damn,” said Iago. “We will soon have far more help then we may need or want.”
Not sure what the man meant, Hartley ignored him as he pressed his handkerchief against the wound in a vain effort to stop the bleeding. “Did you see who did this?” he asked.
“Same man who beat me.” Alethea was not surprised that her words came out as little gasps, for the way he pressed the cloth against her wound made the pain worse.
“Pierre Leon.”
“Ah, so you have a name.”
“Yes. Did he say why he shot you?”
“No. I thought Claudette had heard of our marriage. Thought this was her striking out at me.”
“It was not that?” He started to turn to get some brandy to wash the wound.
“Hartley, catch me,” Alethea whispered as blackness flowed over her.
He leapt forward as she slumped, and Germaine staggered, nearly dropping her. Everyone rushed to his side, but all of his attention was fixed upon Alethea. Blood soaked the front of her gown, her breathing was rapid and uneven, and she looked so pale, too pale. He wanted to bellow out his rage. If Alethea did not recover from this, Claudette and her allies would discover that he knew how to hunt and kill as well, if not better, than they did. He would make every one of them pay and pay dearly.
If He's Wild Page 16
