Seductive Lies

by Colleen Connally

  Drifting back into reality, he slid from her. He whispered, “This is how we are meant to be. You and I. We are meant to love one another—forever. Is that not what you told me?”

  “Forever,” she agreed.

  “Come here.”

  She complied and he gathered her in his arms. She lay in silence, realizing Arthur had quieted her concerns in the most inventive manner. She would accept his diversion at the moment, for he was correct. All that mattered was him. He was all she ever wanted. The world could wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  The carriage rolled down the main lane of Lesworth, a small village a short distance from London. Harriet sat across from Arthur. Nervousness gripped her. She was going home. At least that was what Arthur called it… their home.

  The weather had cooperated with her first glimpse. A glorious day. The sunlight showcased the greenery of an early fall day to its fullest. The village seemed pleasant enough from the brief look she managed from her seat. A little more than half a mile along, the carriage turned onto a private lane.

  The lane wound around a rocky stream. The coach crossed over a small wooden bridge before it stopped in front of a quaint stone house. She smiled at the sight before her.

  Lovely. The house was exquisitely lovely. Birds sung in the side woods while the sound of cascading water indicated the stream carried through the back lawn. Crossing under a lattice entrance, the fragrance of roses delighted her senses. A beautiful perennial garden graced the landscape.

  Arthur led Harriet up to the door. A portly man opened it and bowed his head to Arthur while the thin older lady beside him curtsied.

  “Welcome, m’lord. Smithson is my name,” the butler said in introduction. “Mrs. Cummings, the housekeeper. And,” he nodded his head to a younger woman who dipped into a deep curtsy, “Sadie. Mr. Blymouth expressed your desire to have a lady’s maid present. Your valet will be here presently.”

  “Thank you,” Arthur said, smiling down at Harriet, watching her expression. “I believe we are quite eager to see the house.”

  Mrs. Cummings curtsied again and began to walk forward. Harriet took in each room. The home seemed cozy, perfect for the two of them: a sitting room, a small library beside an elegant dining room. Immediately, she smelled the aroma of fresh bread.

  “Mrs. Wakesfield is the cook, ma’am. I can call her out for an introduction now, if you like,” Mrs. Cummings said.

  “It is fine,” Harriet replied. “From the smell of it, it seems we are in for a treat.”

  Mrs. Cummings nodded. From the slight uplift of her tone, Harriet suspected she pleased her housekeeper with her response. Mrs. Cummings seemed a woman who took pride in her work. Of course, the hiring of a capable cook reflected well on her.

  Harriet stole a glance at Arthur, who winked at her. Joy inundated her. She wondered how he had such an effect on her with a simple gesture, but he did. He reached over and took her hand in his.

  Pausing at the staircase, Arthur said, “Do not worry, Mrs. Cummings. I believe we can find the bedrooms. You will send our trunks up.”

  “Yes, m’lord. I will have tea prepared also.”

  Harriet walked up the stairs, side by side with Arthur. He walked straightway to the room at the end of the hall. He opened the door and gestured her for her to enter.

  The room was richly decorated, a rather large room with lovely, carved furniture. The walls were covered in a pale yellow. Velvet drapes of the same color hung over the windows. In the far corner, a huge four-post bed.

  “Do you like?”

  Harriet turned around to face Arthur. “It’s beautiful.”

  Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her. “It’s yours.”

  “Mine?” she questioned. “Don’t you mean ours?”

  He hesitated and then gave her that smile that tended to melt her heart. “I meant only it’s yours to do what you will. Redecorate if you wish. Hire more staff.”

  “Do you think we will be here that long? Not that I wish to return back to Beebe Manor, but at one point it will be necessary.”

  “My love, I’m not taking you back to Ayercombe Manor, Beebe Manor, or Devon in the near future. I thought I explained I have much to do. I don’t want you to worry about a thing other than making a home for us.”

  Before she had a chance to protest, he reached into the side pocket of his waistcoat. A smile came to Arthur’s face as he reached for Harriet’s hand. Slipping a ring on her finger, he said, “Thought it was about time to return this to its rightful place.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes as she looked down at the ring. “Oh, Arthur!”

  “I know all this won’t make up for all you have endured, but I swear to you, Harriet, until my dying breath, I will…”

  Arthur’s words faded into a mist…

  A lady emerged through the fog. Crying, sobbing. Harriet could not see her face. She sat next to an empty bassinet with her head in her hand. Crying. So sad… so, so sad…

  “Harriet. Harriet.”

  Shaking her head, Harriet turned to the voice. She gave Arthur a tentative smile. “I’m touched… truly touched.”

  “Come.” Arthur guided her back to the bed and had her sit next to him. “I want you to know that I will never forgive Carlisle for his treatment of you. I realized it was he who took the ring from you. He was supposed to look after you.”

  The remembrance of her interactions with Arthur’s friend surged forth. “He expressed his desire to do so along with his hesitations, but why he would have taken my ring in that manner, I haven’t an answer.”

  She looked up at Arthur. It was in his eyes. “You do. You know the reason. Don’t keep it from me.”

  “It is nothing. Complete nonsense,” he said in a hesitant voice. “Rumors. Lies. He gave credence to whispers. He knew better than to listen to superstitious people.”

  “Tell me.” She stared at him blank-faced and shocked, for she thought well she had hidden her gift. Her throat tightened. “He thought me odd.”

  He clasped her hand between his and pressed his lips against her fingers. “I never believed a word…”

  She withdrew her hand and turned from him with tear-filled eyes. Her stomach knotted. How foolish to believe she could run from who she was.

  “Don’t turn from me, Harriet. I know you… you’re the kindest, warm-hearted soul…”

  Harriet shook her head. “What if Carlisle wasn’t wrong?” She turned back to Arthur. Searching his eyes, she asked, “What if I am different?”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Arthur, I didn’t say wrong. I said different.” She swallowed deeply. “I am, you know, different. Please, don’t look at me in that manner. You must have heard the stories.” She blinked back her tears. It was not the time for hysterics.

  He said nothing for a moment, but his eyes said he would rather avoid the subject. He cleared his throat.

  “You were raised as I was in the midst of tales and legends of ghosts where it was held much as a religion. Many believe in ghosts and ghouls. You are right; I did hear stories, but you do not strike me as being whimsical. Did we not meet up at Dartmouth Hall at times? You were not scared to do so. Would not such a place as that hold many lost souls?”

  “Do not jest with me, Arthur,” she admonished him. “I am serious. I do not want to hide from you who I am.”

  “Then tell me, my darling.” He captured her in an embrace. “Tell me all.”

  “You will not hate me?”

  “I could never hate you. I love you,” he reassured her. “Come. I promise I will not interrupt, but listen to all you say.”

  Her heart rose to her throat. However would she be able to put it into words? She grasped his hand and held it tightly while she told the story of Vadoma and the gift.

  “At first, the visions were of small things, more like a loved one sent a message. It seems to happen only when I touch an object, but it wasn’t until Mrs. Whitney’s si
ster that my grandfather became concerned.” She shrugged slightly and lowered her gaze away from his.

  “Mrs. Whitney is our housekeeper. About a year after the gypsy’s gift, Mrs. Whitney received a letter concerning her younger sister from Plymouth. Mrs. Whitney can’t read. I always read her letters for her. She handed me the letter. Immediately, I saw a vision. I told her readily.

  “I told her that her sister had passed away and that she needed to go posthaste. Her sister’s children needed her. Grandfather let her use the carriage. Without stopping, she was there within a day.

  “When she arrived at the farm, Mrs. Whitney found her sister dead, lying in her bed. Her sister had bled to death, miscarrying. Her sister’s husband was away visiting his sick mother. It was fortunate that Mrs. Whitney came when she did. The children were just babes: one was less than a year and the other, three. They couldn’t have survived on their own.”

  “It was understandable, Harriet, to tell your housekeeper to go to her sick sister in a hurry. You did a good deed.”

  Harriet shook her head. “You don’t understand. I didn’t open the letter. Aunt Constance was furious when she discovered Grandfather had used the carriage for Mrs. Whitney. She wanted to read the letter.”

  Harriet paused, remembering the moment her aunt opened the letter and read it. Never would she forget the fury or her aunt’s hand slapping hard against her cheek. Pressing her lips together tightly, she forced back the memory. She looked up into Arthur’s eyes.

  “The letter held only pleasantries about the children, her husband’s concern with his mother… there was no mention of being unwell. No one knew she was ill. It happened suddenly. Mrs. Whitney said it was a blessing… my aunt deemed it from the devil. It was the talk of the manor for weeks… a vision heralded as coming from across the barrier of life and death. Grandfather worried about me. He made me promise to keep my visions to myself.”

  Arthur leaned down and kissed her lips softly. “I believe it is nothing more than the empathy you feel for others. You must have picked up Mrs. Whitney’s concern about her sister living on the farm.”

  Harriet raised her eyebrows slightly and tilted her head to the side in a questioning manner. “Then tell me how I know about Captain Waverly. Do not tell me I’m mistaken. I know that he intended to send me across to the continent.”

  “Hush, my darling. I told you it is over. That villain will never come near you again.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  “Don’t fend me off, Arthur. I know he had done so before. If you hadn’t come when you did, I do not know what I would have done. I was becoming desperate. I was trapped and didn’t know how to escape. No one would help me. They all seemed scared of Captain Waverly.

  “If not for my visions, I do not believe you would have found me there. Mrs. Waverly was a demanding woman. Despite it, I made myself indispensable to her. She became dependent upon me. She refused to let him have me. It caused him less trouble to give in to her, at least for a while.

  “I had seen it in a vision that Captain Waverly was a smuggler. He planned to pawn me off… he had done so with another girl who stayed in the same bedroom as I. He used the ruse that his wife needed a companion to lure her to their home. After a few months, she simply disappeared.” Harriet’s voice faltered, thinking of the visions. She did not tell Arthur she believed the girl had died or she would never have had her vision. But the vision served as a warning to Harriet, saving her from the same fate. “I saw what Captain Waverly would never have made known to his wife, and I took advantage of it. Mrs. Waverly insisted I be by her side, but I know the pressure was on him to get rid of me.”

  “Harriet! You shouldn’t think of such things. It is over…”

  Harriet could see that he was deeply moved, but she didn’t relent. “I’m not a child, Arthur. Please do not treat me as one. I may not know what you are keeping from me, but I know that someone wished me ill. Was it your grandfather? Was it my uncle? Do not keep it from me.”

  “No. No, I don’t believe it was anyone’s intent to do you harm—only keep you from me. From what I have been able to decipher, it seems that Mrs. Waverly misled your aunt. Deceived your aunt into believing you had caught a fever and had died.”

  Disbelieving the words he uttered, she looked at him, dumbfounded. “Everyone believes I’ve died… Clarissa… Bessie?”

  “No. Only your aunt and uncle, so they would not look for you. They told no one else their fears according to my man because they were afraid of the ramifications of the acknowledgement. But ease your fears, for Captain Waverly is being dealt with as we speak. He will do no more harm.” He halted briefly. Catching her chin with his hand, he tenderly held her face up to his. “It is what I have been trying to tell you. Everything is so complicated. I will settle all the affairs. That I promise you, but truly at this moment in time… I only care that you are back in my arms. I care nothing for visions, only that you are safe. That you are mine.”

  Arthur drew Harriet’s trembling body into his arms and rocked her. For so long, she had held her fears within her. She felt an inexpressible relief with Arthur’s presence, a soothing conviction of his protection… of his love.

  She clung to him and his words. He talked of the life they would have… of being together forever. Nothing… nothing would come between them. He loved her, wanting nothing more than to erase those horrible memories.

  She surrendered to his will. She, too, wanted to forget. Lying in his arms, she accepted all he promised and the new life they had begun.

  * * * *

  Harriet pruned back the dead petals. Once more, lovely white blooms covered the rose arbor. Harriet exhaled deeply. Every morning, she expended her energy out in the gardens. It passed the time. She hadn’t much else.

  The prison she had been placed within Marsaport had been replaced with another. True, never had Harriet been so pampered…or safe, but it had been more than four months since Arthur rescued her.

  Arthur treated her as a queen. He had given her much more than she would ever need—gowns, jewels, and a magnificent horse. When he was beside her, she needed nothing else. They rode, played chess, read, and made love. It was only when he was gone that loneliness crept into her soul.

  Not that he was often gone. Most times it was for no longer than a day, two at the most. Only she had no one else, only the servants for company. Arthur cautioned Harriet of interacting with the community.

  “I do not mean to be harsh, my love, but in our current situation, many will take our arrangement the wrong way. I have no desire for you to be scorned. I promise I will make it all up to you. Let me settle our affairs. Then I will bring you into London on my arm.”

  She needed not to be reminded. She had strolled down to the village on one of Arthur’s absences… the looks… the ladies walking across the street to avoid her. Not one neighbor had come to call. She needed not be told what they thought of her.

  She wondered how long did it take to settle their affairs. It seemed so simple to Harriet. She was over one and twenty. She should have control over her inheritance, but Arthur steadfastly refused to let her see her solicitor, insisting she need not concern herself with such issues.

  For that matter, he discouraged her from writing to Clarissa or Bessie. Her aunt and uncle, Harriet well understood the need, but Clarissa and Bessie? She missed her childhood companions.

  Harriet pushed her doubts back. Arthur loved her. Of that, she had little doubt. She reached down instinctively to her stomach. Only now, time was of the essence. She was with child.

  She made up her mind she would tell him upon his return. She didn’t know why she hesitated. There would be no more justifications for postponing their marriage. Nothing would come over the child.

  “Miss Harriet, you have a caller.”

  Surprised, Harriet turned around to face Smithson, wondering who on earth would call. No one had done so since her arrival. Placing her basket down, she asked, “Did they give a name?”

&
nbsp; Smithson answered and handed her his card. “It is a gentleman, the Honorable James Carlisle.”

  Blood pounded in Harriet’s head. Her first thought was flight, but Carlisle must have suspected such a reaction. He gave her no choice other than to give him an audience. He simply disregarded proper protocol and walked out behind Smithson.

  Intimidating as their last meeting, Harriet recognized he had changed little. He strolled toward her. Harriet thought of bolting, but it would serve little purpose. The arrogant cad would in all probability simply run her down.

  “Please, Mr. Carlisle,” she scolded him. “There is no need to behave in such a manner.” She turned to Smithson, who seemed ready to pounce upon the man. “Please, ask Mrs. Cummings to prepare refreshment for the sitting room.”

  “If you are certain, Miss Harriet. Lord Daneford would not like…”

  “It is fine, Smithson. Mr. Carlisle is a friend of Lord Daneford,” Harriet assured the butler.

  Harriet slowly untied her bonnet and placed it on the table in the entrance way alongside her gloves and apron. Straightening her skirt out, she thought herself presentable in a simple blue dress. She followed Carlisle into the sitting room.

  “I assume you are wondering why I am here,” he said. “If I remember correctly, you are quite a straightforward woman, so I will be brief and not mince my words.”

  Maintaining a cool composure, she did not hesitate to throw down a gauntlet. “Neither will I mince my words, Mr. Carlisle. You are not welcome.”

  “I did not expect to be, Miss Burke. Though, I appreciate your frankness. Please sit. As I said, I will be brief.”

  Carlisle gestured to the settee. With profound irritation, Harriet accepted. He did not sit. She suddenly felt as though she lost an advantage in the scrimmage that was destined to follow.

  “I will admit a certain curiosity on your appearance after your behavior towards me at our last meeting. Blatantly lying to me, stealing my ring…”

  He met her gaze with a dark and menacing glare. “I had my reasons, Miss Burke. As you deduced, Arthur and I have had a difference of opinion on the situation. But I never meant you harm. If my actions caused you to suffer, I offer my sincere apologies.”