Turning from the sight, she hurried over to the dressing table and sank onto the stool. There wasn’t much she could do about her wrinkled gown, but she ought to at least see to her hair, especially with a full day of travel ahead.
As she wrangled out snarls, she studied her face in the mirror. Her eyes were too big. Her nose, overly long and dotted with freckles. Her lips were too full and remembered far too well the feel of Will’s mouth fitted against them. The hairbrush slipped from her grasp, and she caught it before it hit the carpet. No, not again. She’d spent the entire night trying to forget that kiss.
And failed.
She cast the brush onto the table and poked pins into her hair, grazing her scalp. Had Will spoken the same words of love to Elizabeth? Had Elizabeth been as naive as she to wish they were true?
No more. She shoved up from the table and retrieved her coat, tucking the second-chance coin into the pocket. It was too early to trouble Miss Whymsy’s door, but perhaps by the time she finished talking with the stable hand, the older lady would be stirring.
The corridors were yet dim, and she tread as quickly as she dared without bumping into a side table or tripping down the stairway. She paused in the foyer, debating if she ought to use the front door. But no, better to use the back servants’ entrance, for that’s what she really was despite her pretending otherwise.
Outside, cold air violated the hem of her skirts and climbed up her legs. It wasn’t far from the house to the stables, but by the time she ducked inside to the smell of hay and horses, she wished she had thought to grab her muffler.
The same young man she’d seen earlier turned from a workbench at her entrance and dipped his head. “Can I be of service to ye, ma’am?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you could bring around the carriage and drive my traveling companion and me to Bishop’s Stortford. We shall be catching the morning train to London.”
“Aye, ma’am. I’ll bring it ’round within the hour.”
“Thank you.” Clutching her coat tighter at the neck, she headed back out into the nip of the winter morning. Hopefully Miss Whymsy was up, though it was a shameful task to have to ask her friend to leave so soon after convincing her to come in the first place. In the four days they’d been here, the woman had seemed to enjoy herself, especially when Uncle Barlow was in the room.
Halfway across the courtyard, she paused, wishing to brand into her memory the elegance of the white-stone estate. Would she ever have another chance to Christmas in the country? It had been lovely—while it lasted. Sighing, she swept her gaze from the snow-crusted windowsills of the ground level, up to the first floor, then paused on the nearest window on the second. The drapes were pulled back and a face stared out, framed with white, tufted hair.
She gasped. Why was Uncle Barlow frowning at her? Had Alice already gone to him with her suspicions? Her shoulders slumped as she imagined his disappointment. Good thing she’d arranged for transport, for surely Will’s uncle would be asking her to leave within the hour.
With a half-hearted wave at the face in the window, she continued toward the house—but he kept staring at a point beyond her. Had he never really been looking at her to begin with? She turned, then squinted for a better look.
On the side of the road leading into town, two dark shapes stood in conversation near a horse swishing its tail. One man wore glasses—easy enough to identify as Percy. The other was a rotund fellow, nearly twice the breadth of Percy, and wearing a ridiculously tall hat. Did he think that made him appear any less roly-poly than the great ball of black wool that he was? An odd time for a conversation and an even odder place in which to conduct their business.
But it was no business of hers. Not anymore. She ducked her head into the cold breeze and pressed on toward the house. It was time to rouse Miss Whymsy—and leave all this behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
If our affections be tried, our affections are our consolation and comfort; and memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better.
Nicholas Nickleby
Will descended the stairs two at a time. Was he too late? Was Mina already now on her way back to London?
His foot landed crooked on a step, and he grabbed for the balustrade. Falling headlong would slow his pursuit—but not end it. If he had to run through the snow all the way to the Golden Egg, he would explain the full truth to Mina. He owed her that. He owed himself that. And most importantly, he owed it to God.
Both his feet landed on the foyer floor, and the sound of swishing skirts turned him. With one hand yet on the railing, he memorized Mina’s graceful shape—for she’d likely never want to see him again after this. “Thank God you’re still here,” he spoke more to the heavens than to her.
“Not for long.” She stopped at the foot of the stairs and lifted her chin. “Goodbye, Will.”
Her words were cold. Final. Like nails being hammered into a coffin.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, gently yet firmly. “Mina, listen, just for a moment, and then you may be on your way.”
She stared at his fingers on her sleeve. “There can be nothing more to say. You will not talk me out of leaving.”
“I don’t intend to. I simply want to explain about Elizabeth. That’s all. I swear it.”
Pulling from his touch, she met his gaze, her blue eyes a sword, seeking to cleave away any more lies. “You don’t owe me an explanation. It is your uncle you should be talking to.”
“I know. And I will.” He plowed his fingers through his hair, the movement as wild as the beat of his heart. “But a word with you first, please.”
With a sigh, she leaned her back against the stair rail, resignation bending her brow. “What is it you have to say?”
He widened his stance, for speaking the past aloud was sure to knock him sideways. Just thinking of it put him off-balance. “Though I hate to admit it, in my younger years, I lived solely for wine, women, and making merry. It was then I met Elizabeth Hill, at a house party, for much to my shame, I was the life of the party.”
His head drooped, and he studied his shoes. Memories twisted his gut. Too much drink. Too many indiscretions. Unknowingly, he’d lived the same debauched life as his father before him.
“You don’t have to tell me this,” Mina murmured.
“No, I…” He jerked his face back to hers. If he didn’t get this out now, he never would. “Even then Uncle was gracious, urging me to stop the ribald lifestyle and settle down. I thought taking a wife who enjoyed a good time as much as I might be a way to pacify him while continuing to live unbridled; for you see, Elizabeth loved her social life as much as I did mine. She was agreeable to my proposal, and I even fancied myself in love with her.”
Mina’s jaw clenched, the fine lines of her throat hardening to steel. “The very words you spoke to me last night.”
He drew a deep breath, willing the truth he’d known all along to finally pass his lips. “No. It’s not the same at all. You have taught me that there’s a great deal of difference between self-love and self-sacrificing love. You didn’t have to come here. You didn’t have to help me try to save Uncle Barlow, yet you did so, willingly. Elizabeth never would have done such a thing unless she had something to gain for herself.”
Mina bit her lip, her teeth worrying the flesh, almost in time to the corridor clock ticking away.
And Will prayed, pleading for truth to win, for past sins to be forgotten. For Mina to give him a second chance.
Stepping away from her post at the railing, she paced a small figure on the rug, and a quick slice of fear cut through him from head to toe. Did she mean to run off now? To turn her back to him as Elizabeth had?
But she stopped, inches from him, her face unreadable. “What happened to her? To Elizabeth, for you said she was to be your bride, not that she was your bride.”
It wasn’t much, but the barest flicker in Mina’s eyes birthed a hope in him. Maybe—perhaps—she actually would hear him
out and come to believe his feelings for her were true. Oh, God, make it so.
“Elizabeth broke off the engagement,” he began, “for she’d worked her way into the graces of an earl. I don’t blame her—now, that is. I did then. That was a black period. An angry one.”
Ghosts of the past curled about him like thick smoke, and he tugged at his collar. “My bitterness drove me to worse sins, chief amongst them gaming. Were it not for Uncle Barlow, I’d still be wallowing in debtor’s prison.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Uncle Barlow paid all that I owed—and more. He arranged for me to be taken on as a law clerk. God knows I didn’t deserve that kind of mercy, and I couldn’t understand why he did such a thing. Yet for his sake, I tried to live in a more respectable manner. Shortly thereafter, Fitz invited me to a church service, and then I knew. Funny, is it not, that one doesn’t know how bad one really is until trying hard to be good.”
Pausing, he revisited that holy day. The sacred union. The wonder of it even now was enough to pump warmth through his veins. A small smile twitched his lips. “Uncle’s extravagant act of compassion paled in comparison to the grace God offered me that day. I’ve never been the same. Oh, how that must sound coming from my mouth. For you know better than most that I am not a saint.”
Small, white fingers appeared on his sleeve, and she pressed hope into his arm with a little squeeze. “Thank you for telling me.”
A lump clogged his throat and he fought to clear it. “I’ve been such a fool. I should have left Uncle’s well-being to God instead of taking it on myself.” Collecting her hand in his, he dropped to one knee and tipped up his face. “I don’t deserve it, but will you forgive me, Mina, for pulling you into this deceitful plan of mine?”
Slowly, she nodded. “Of course, but I am still leaving.”
“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you—”
“A very pretty time to propose now.” Footsteps thudded on the floor as Percy rounded the other side of the stairs and stopped in front of them. A smile spread across his face like gangrene, sick and deadly.
Will shot to his feet, but before he could utter a word of defense, Percy continued, “I wonder what Uncle will say when he discovers your deceit?”
He threw out his hands. It was either that or throttle the man. “I am not propos—”
“What is this?” Uncle Barlow’s voice shook from above, and they all pivoted to see him descending the stairs.
“These two are a fraud, Uncle Barlow.” With a fierce sweep of his hand, Percy aimed his finger at him and Mina, casting them both into destruction. “William and Mina are not married.”
Uncle Barlow’s footsteps fell heavy on the stairs, and he looked down upon them as God himself. “I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart.
Master Humphrey’s Clocka
Uncle Barlow’s revelation echoed from wall to wall, hanging a pall in the air, thick as cream, and smothering the breath from Mina’s lungs. He knew? She didn’t dare look at Will. The devastation on his face would surely match hers, and it was hard enough to maintain her own composure without having to witness his.
Uncle Barlow descended the last stair, his feet landing on the foyer’s tiled floor like a crack of thunder. He stood there for a moment, saying nothing, staring at each one in turn, the disappointment in his eyes nearly driving her to her knees.
“I would have a word with all of you. In my study.” He turned and strode off, his steps echoing in the stunned silence left behind.
Percy flashed them a wicked smile, then immediately fell into step behind Uncle Barlow. And no wonder he was so eager, for he renewed his tirade slandering her and Will, devoting them to ruin as they trailed him. Percy’s words were awful—because they were true. Oh, that she’d never gone along with this scheme to begin with. Her step faltered, and Will reached for her hand.
They entered a wood-paneled room with books lining two of the walls. Directly behind a desk at center, Uncle Barlow sat as judge and jury. Will led her to stand in front of the desk, with him as a buffer between her and Percy. But that left nothing between her and the snarling head of a skinned tiger, lying inches from her feet. The flattened carcass made for a fine rug except for its head, which had been left intact. The fangs gleamed ivory and sharp at the pointed ends, and at the roots nearest the lips, darkened to a brownish, dried-blood colour. How much flesh had those teeth torn into?
“I demand you cast these two sinners out into the cold.” Percy’s voice snarled, and she jerked her gaze away from the dead danger to the one very much alive. “William has besmirched the Barlow name by taking a woman who’s not legally his wife.”
“I have not!” Will splayed his fingers, dropping her hand and daring a step closer to his Uncle’s desk. “Mina’s virtue is—and never has been—violated. She is innocent, and I take full blame for the deceit in which I convinced her to partake.”
Percy tipped his chin to a pert angle. “One cannot believe the words of a deceiver.”
Will spun toward him, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle stood out like a rod on his neck. “Nor can one believe the tales of a schemer.”
“Enough!” Uncle Barlow’s voice bellowed sharp and black, absorbing all light and air and objections.
Caught between the fangs of the tiger and the three man-beasts roaring in a fury, Mina edged back a step.
Uncle Barlow swung his gaze to Percy. “I also know of your devious plans, Percival. I have had my suspicions all along. Your clandestine meeting this morning with Mr. Greaves merely confirmed them. Very sloppy of you to meet in view of the house.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! There was nothing clandestine about it.”
From this angle, slightly behind Percy and off to the side a bit, the morning light leaching in through the windows outlined his frame—and it shook slightly.
So did Percy’s voice. “Fallon Greaves and I go way back. I was merely passing on the prospect of having him join in my investment venture. Nothing more.”
Uncle Barlow leaned aside and opened a top drawer, and as he rifled through papers, Will leaned aside as well, whispering for her alone, “Mr. Greaves is the administrator of the Bishop’s Stortford Asylum.”
“You mean—?”
Her whisper was cut off by the sharp slap of a document landing on the desktop and the stab of Uncle Barlow’s finger skewering it in place. “Are you speaking of this venture, Percy?”
In two long strides, Percy snatched the paper from off the desk. The parchment quivered in his grasp as his gaze swept over it. “Where did you get this?”
“Do you really think me senile?” Uncle Barlow leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “That night at dinner, when you shoved document after document in my face, I took the liberty of memorizing several names. I contacted them, which led me to other names, and eventually on to a devolving list of men who are none too pleased with you at the moment. Apparently you’ve pledged more investment dollars than you’ve paid. In short, you are in debt to some very powerful men.”
For once, Percy said nothing, though his mouth opened and closed several times like a landed halibut.
“Uncle Barlow,” Will broke the awful silence. “My intent was to protect you from Percy’s schemes. Please allow me to explain.”
The older man shot up his hand, shoving William’s words right back at him. “No explanation needed. I have known since you arrived that you were not married. But there is one thing I do not know.” Will’s uncle turned his grey gaze to her. “Tell me, Miss Scott, what is it you hoped to gain by going along with my misguided nephew and this ridiculous farce? What did he promise you?”
Her corset cut into her ribs. Breathing was out of the question. It would be better to stare at the tiger’s fangs than to stand in the glare of such righteous damnation. But she couldn’t look away fro
m the furious disappointment glowering out from Uncle Barlow’s soul—for she deserved it.
“Nothing, sir.” The words squeaked out impossibly small, and she tried again. “I stood to gain nothing at all, save for the chance to hopefully prevent you from being forced into an existence no one should have to suffer. There is nothing but death in an asylum, and I know of what I speak, for my mother suffered such a fate. After discovering Percy’s true intent, I couldn’t let that happen to you. Yet I confess Will and I went about it the wrong way. It was wrong of me to have deceived you, and for that I am woefully sorry. I can do nothing but beg for your forgiveness.”
Tears burned her eyes, for something precious had been lost. Not since her grandfather had she shared so thoroughly her love of literature—not even with Miss Whymsy. Would that Uncle Barlow were in possession of the second-chance coin instead of her.
On the other side of Will, Percy started clapping, the sharp ring of his hands echoing from wall to wall. “Stunning performance, Miss Scott. Where did you say you picked this one up, Will—on Drury Lane, was it?”
“Leave off!” Will moved so fast, air whooshed against her cheek. He grabbed Percy up by the lapels, twisting the fabric until wheezes garbled in Percy’s throat. “You are finished disparaging Mina.”
Uncle Barlow shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Let go of your cousin, William. Violence solves nothing.”
Will let go—but not without a little shove. “Leave Mina out of this, Cousin.” Then he turned to his uncle. “I take complete responsibility for having persuaded Mina to act as my wife. It was wrong. I was wrong. Do not blame her.”
Will’s defense wrapped around her as warm as an embrace.
Percy tugged at the hems of his sleeves, straightening each one. “On the contrary, the woman is every bit as deceitful as my cousin—on par with Will’s mother…for she is alive. Alive and well and living in France. No doubt packing her bags even this minute in hopes of setting up house here.” He spread his arms.
A Tale of Two Hearts Page 14
