by Jane Goodger
“I shall do that, then,” Lilian said, smiling at the way the little girl was ordering her about.
“You shall address the lady as my lady or Lady Lilian,” Lord Granton said. “And you may call me sir, my lord, or Lord Granton. Do you think you can remember that?”
“No, sir,” Mabel said.
Lord Granton narrowed his eyes, but Lilian saw a small smile on his lips before he turned to leave.
“Good day, ladies,” he called, as he walked out the door.
After he’d gone, Lilian’s curiosity only grew. The girl, as sweet as she was, clearly had not been properly cared for. Her dress, so clearly a hand-me-down, was faded from hundreds of washings, and her hair had a chopped look to it, as if in the recent past someone had hacked it off with little care. “Who is Laura?” Lilian asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t, for the little thing burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.
“I don’t want to live here,” she cried plaintively. “I want Laura. I want to go home.”
Feeling terribly helpless, Lilian was tempted to call Lord Granton back, but it seemed that was unnecessary, for the man returned, carrying a ribbon in his hand. As soon as he saw Mabel was crying, he hesitated, looking as if he were about to flee the room.
Lilian pulled Mabel to her, looking helplessly over her head to where Lord Granton stood, frowning. “I know it’s frightening to be away from everyone and in a new house,” Lilian said, trying to soothe the little thing but not knowing how. “Look, Lord Granton has brought you a pretty ribbon for your hair.”
“I don’t want a ribbon,” she cried. “I want Laura.”
“Who is this Laura person?” Granton said, as if he could somehow magically conjure her here.
“My sister,” Mabel said, sounding terribly sad.
“She has no sister,” Granton said, and Lilian immediately and frantically shook her head.
It was too late, of course, because following Granton’s pronouncement, Mabel cried even harder, prompting his lordship to pull out a handkerchief and hand it to Lilian.
“She needs a glass of water,” he said, obviously wanting to do something to stop the girl’s tears. He walked over to the nightstand and poured a glass, then held it out for Lilian to take. She had little faith that a glass of water would stop the tears, and so was surprised when Mabel pulled back and took the glass, her crying for the moment interrupted.
“Did Laura take care of you?” Lilian asked.
Mabel nodded.
“You shall have Lord Granton to take care of you now,” Lilian said. Mabel turned, giving his lordship a dubious look.
“Do you know how to play Squeak Piggy Squeak?” she asked, her voice thick from crying.
“Indeed I do,” Granton said solemnly. “My brothers and sister played it often when they were young.”
“You did not?” Lilian asked.
“My father forbade it.”
He said it simply enough, and Lilian sensed no underlying hurt. But how could it not hurt as a child to see your siblings playing when you could not? Her own life had been filled with all sorts of games, for their mother, before she’d fallen ill, had been a lively wonderful parent who had found joy in nearly everything, particularly in preparing Lilian for her one and only season. Because it had given her mother such happiness, Lilian had never complained until the duke turned his sights toward her little sister.
“Do you know how to play Hide the Button?”
Mabel was directing all her questions to his lordship, so Lilian remained silent, watching the interplay between the pair with interest. She still had no idea of their relationship, though clearly there was one, as Mabel had been introduced as a Dunford.
“I do not.”
“I can show you. It’s an easy game and you don’t even have to have a button, though it’s better if you do. You can hide anything. Shall I tell you how it’s done?”
“If you insist.” Granton’s eyes met Lilian’s, and she felt her cheeks flush—why, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the unusual shade of his light brown eyes, the way he seemed to study her, as if trying to read her thoughts. He was handsome, in a fierce, masculine way that made her uncomfortable, and she’d be glad when she could leave, even though she hadn’t a clear idea where she was going. Just that fleeting thought had her stomach churning. What was she going to do?
She forced herself to listen to the simple rules of the game as she braided the little girl’s hair. “The ribbon, if you please,” she said, holding her hand out. She took the ribbon from his large hand, thinking he had the hands of a working man, broad and strong. Capable. His Grace’s hands had been soft, almost delicate, an incongruous feature on a man who had been so large. Lilian forced thoughts of the dead duke out of her mind, for every time she thought of him, she would see him in his bed, his face spattered grotesquely with blood. After tying the ribbon with hands that slightly shook, she pronounced Mabel beautiful.
“I’ve never worn a ribbon,” Mabel said, pulling her braid over her shoulder and touching the bit of cloth reverently.
Lilian wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard a sound very much like a growl emanating from his lordship.
“My lady, may I have a private conversation with you? The child may stay here. Perhaps take a nap.”
“I’m not at all tired.”
“Lie down and see what happens,” he said, and Lilian hid another smile. He might feign lack of interest in the girl, but he had taken the time to fetch a ribbon for her hair and had the patience to listen to a little girl list the rules of Find the Button, rules Lilian had a feeling she had been making up on the spot.
Granton walked from the room, and Lilian, her legs still a bit wobbly, pulled on the robe and followed him, trying not to notice the scent that was suddenly wrapped around her, a combination of cigar and some other pleasant smell that instantly reminded her of her childhood. Perhaps her father had worn a similar cologne; she couldn’t be certain, for he had died when she was about the same age as Mabel and all his belongings remained at their former estate, now taken over by her cousin.
She found Granton standing not far from the bedroom door, and when he saw her, he moved further down the hall, down a small set of stairs, and into a study that smelled very much like the robe she wore. The walls were lined with high bookshelves, filled with tomes of all sizes, a collection that must have taken generations to accumulate. A large, ornately carved desk, with huge eagle’s talons wrapped around smooth spheres, dominated the small room, which held only a leather sofa and a wing-backed chair of the same dark and well-worn leather. Heavy velvet curtains were pulled closed against the sun, though a sharp shard of light dissected the thick carpet beneath her feet.
Granton moved behind his desk and waited for her to sit before taking his place, his hands folding loosely on the smooth, well-polished mahogany. “The girl is my wife’s daughter,” he said without preamble. “Until today, I had no idea of her existence. Indeed, I have no idea who does know of the girl’s existence other than the awful woman who brought her here today. I don’t know what to do with her. I thought perhaps, given you are a woman, you could be of some assistance in the matter.”
“I?”
“Yes. I thought you could recommend a school, perhaps.”
“School, sir? She seems awfully young. I believe most schools do not accept children under the age of seven.”
“Certainly they have schools that take younger children.”
“Unwanted children, you mean.” Lilian could not help herself. She couldn’t imagine little Mabel living in a cold school, with no one to tuck her in or read her a story at night. She was practically a baby.
“Of course she is unwanted,” Granton said brutally. “When I say she is my wife’s child, does it escape you, my lady, how such a child could have been conceived without my knowledge?”
Lilian blushed. She hadn’t actually thought it through, not wanting to dwell on the idea of conception and all that meant. And,
of course, it would have been painful for him to discover the full extent of his wife’s betrayal. But no matter how the child had come into the world, she was here and a darling little thing, and Lilian felt the need to defend her. “It is not the child’s fault.”
“And sending her off to school is not a punishment,” he said, with no small amount of exasperation. “Does this household look to be a good place for a child? If she was in a school, she would have other children to play with. Here, she will be entirely alone. I certainly am not equipped to deal with a small child.” He took a breath as if to calm himself. “I apologize. This has nothing to do with you, other than I thought, as a woman, you might have advice.”
Lilian relented. After all, she did not know this man, and in a few short days, she would leave, never to see Mabel again—a thought that produced a sharp twinge in her chest. One of her largest weaknesses was that she could become instantly attached to things and people. She couldn’t simply pet a kitten. As soon as she touched it, felt its soft fur, it claimed a piece of her heart. She’d once found a pretty rock on a walk along a lake, picking it up, liking the smooth, cool surface. She held it for a short while and was about to throw it into the lake, but couldn’t. She had become attached. So she’d tucked that rock into her pocket, ridiculously thinking the rock would be somehow offended if she were to toss it away without a thought. She knew a rock didn’t have feelings; she wasn’t that batty. But she’d kept the darned thing anyway. It currently sat on a shelf in her room back at Mount Carlyle, and even now the thought of it there, that a maid might throw it away, bothered her to a ridiculous degree.
If she felt that way about a rock, how would she feel about little Mabel when it came time to say good-bye?
“Perhaps you could secure a kindly nanny, one who would keep the child away from you,” Lilian suggested, keeping her tone level and her face bland, but his eyes narrowed slightly and she couldn’t stop the small blush that tinged her cheeks.
He stared at her, his unusual-colored eyes unwavering, as if determining whether she was being critical, until Lilian felt like squirming in her seat. She did not, for she was far too disciplined to allow him to see how he disconcerted her.
“You, my lady, are a mystery,” he said, apparently deciding to ignore her small jibe and change the subject entirely. “I don’t care for mysteries.” He said the words slowly, as if he was analyzing each word’s effect on her as he spoke them.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Lilian said, lying through her teeth. She knew full well what he’d meant.
“I think you do,” he replied after a long, excruciating pause. “I find you wandering the moors, without funds, half starved, with nothing except a torn dress and battered slippers. A mystery, indeed.”
“I believe I told you I had a falling-out with my sister,” Lilian said, trying to maintain her calm.
“And left in so much haste you didn’t take a valise? Or funds?”
“I had some funds, which I used for a train. I’m afraid it wasn’t enough to get me to Scotland and my uncle.”
“Strange, I thought you said you were visiting a family friend,” he murmured, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth.
“We called him uncle even though he was not a relation,” she answered.
“If you have no funds, how do you expect to travel the rest of the way?”
“I need only have my bank wire me money, I assure you, my lord.” That was a blatant lie, for it would still be three years before she could access the kinds of funds that would allow her to live on her own. In any case, that did not seem to satisfy him, for his dark brows drew together as he considered her words. Lilian wondered if he already knew of her troubles and was simply being cruel, then immediately dismissed that thought. Granton struck her as a man who would have called the local magistrate immediately if he knew he was harboring a suspected murderer.
“I wonder why you haven’t already done that?” he asked.
Because I don’t have any money, and even if I did, contacting a bank would give away my location and I would surely be arrested for the murder of the Duke of Weston. She almost wished she could say that aloud, for the weight of all she carried was beginning to wear her down.
“As I said, I left in haste and was quite upset at the time. Not thinking clearly.” He surely would think her a complete dolt or a liar. “I thought I would wire my uncle,” she said, thinking quickly. The man would not be happy to hear from her, that was for certain. He hadn’t seen her in years, not since her mother’s funeral, and no doubt hadn’t spared her a thought in the interval. It was a sad state of affairs, indeed, that she had nowhere else to turn.
“It would be ungentlemanly for me to express doubt in your story, so for now I will accept you on your word. Sadie will bring a seamstress from Whitby on the morrow, and then you can continue your journey to Scotland.”
On that final note, a deep depression settled over Lilian. She was not going to Scotland. It had been a foolish, and completely unrealistic notion, the frantic plan of a woman who’d had no other choice. She was quite certain that even should she wire her uncle, it was unlikely he would invite her to live with him. Her cousin, who’d taken the title when her father had died, was an onerous man, a skinflint and religious fanatic whom Lilian loathed. His mother, Lilian’s aunt, lived with him in the home Lilian had grown up in. They were a strange pair with whom Lilian had always felt uncomfortable. The thought of living with her cousin and aunt was worse than wandering the moors until she starved to death.
As Lilian made her way back to the room, a small laugh escaped her on that thought. It didn’t matter; she was fairly certain that no one would want to harbor a woman who was accused of murdering a peer. She had little doubt that eventually she would be found, that Lord Granton would learn of the murder, that he would turn her in to the authorities, and that, after a quick trial, she would be hanged for a crime she hadn’t committed.
She stopped dead in the hallway, fighting down a sob that threatened to erupt from her burning throat. She didn’t want to die, and certainly not on a hangman’s noose. She fisted her hands by her sides and swallowed heavily, pushing down the terror she felt, pushing down the panic that was growing in her chest. She was only safe until Lord Granton learned what had happened, and then she was doomed.
Chapter 5
Marcus watched Lady Lilian walk hurriedly down the hall and then stop abruptly, her entire body taut, hands fisted. Her shoulders heaved as if she was taking long, deep breaths, the kind of breaths one took to stem the tide of some great emotion. He narrowed his eyes, fighting the urge to go to her and try to offer some comfort. Clearly, she was struggling with some sort of demon. No high-born lady of her ilk would run away from a comfortable home unless something frightening had happened. She didn’t strike him as a woman who wept easily or became hysterical over nothing. After a few moments, she lifted her head and, no doubt stiffening her upper lip, continued down the hall toward his bedroom and Mabel. She stopped at the doorway, and he could see that she was smiling. It was difficult not to smile at Mabel. He’d always wanted children, which was perhaps the great irony of his wife being impregnated by another man and leaving Marcus with his by-blow. Mabel was legally his daughter, and whether he liked that fact or not, he was responsible for her. Who her true father was didn’t matter. Hell, it could have been any number of men, some of whom he’d thought were his friends.
He felt the familiar wash of humiliation he experienced whenever he thought of Eleanor’s dalliances, and closed his eyes against it. When his wife had first died, he had been tortured by the knowledge of her betrayal, and felt foolish for caring even a little that she was dead. He’d thought he wanted her dead. God, the pity he’d seen in the eyes of his brothers when he’d stood at her graveside and wept. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn.
He needed to ride. Nothing helped clear his mind better than taking his beloved gelding, Chief, and riding hell-bent on the beach, letti
ng the ice-cold water splash around him, feeling the sharp sea air cleanse him. He stalked toward his room to grab his coat, stopping suddenly at the door. He kept forgetting his room was no longer his.
She was there, sitting in his bed, reading his book, wearing his robe. And Mabel, who had protested that she wasn’t at all sleepy, lay next to her looking like a ragged little angel, fast asleep. It was wrong, all wrong, but for some reason, his immediate thought was, Yes, this is right. He liked seeing a woman in his bed, a child fast asleep, as if God were cruelly showing him what might have been had Eleanor been the sort of wife he’d thought he was marrying. But Lady Lilian was not his wife and Mabel not truly his child, and so that image mocked him for a stupid sentimental fool. Perhaps he was sentimental after all.
“Are you enjoying my book?” he asked softly, not wanting to awaken the child.
“It’s wonderfully gruesome, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling at him. “I read most of these stories when I was younger but had forgotten how much I enjoyed them.”
“My favorite of his is ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’” Marcus said, walking over to a small desk and opening a drawer. “You might like this when you’ve finished. Have you read ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’?”
Lady Lilian looked at the small orange-bound book and shook her head. “Perhaps, given that I am staying in a haunted house, I shouldn’t read such fare.” She looked at the book as if he were holding out a tempting treat. “But I can always stop reading if it’s too frightening.” She took it from him and smiled, looking impossibly adorable sitting in his bed, smothered by his large burgundy robe. She was pretty, a bit of femininity in this otherwise dark and dreary home, and it was a nice change, he supposed.
“I see Sadie has been talking to you about our ghost. No doubt the footsteps she hears are my own.”
“You wander around the attic at night, my lord?”
“No, but I have been known to frequent the tower on clear evenings. I have an interest in astronomy. My grandfather was a founding member of the Royal Astronomical Society and passed his love of the science to me. It’s one of the reasons I like it here; the stars are easier to view.” Marcus realized, with no small amount of surprise, that this was the longest conversation he’d had with another person in nearly a year, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He’d come to the conclusion upon his wife’s death that he held no interest in society, in chatting about mundane topics with mundane people. He’d been so sick of trying to pretend his life was as it should be, that he was, if not happy, at least content. He dreaded the thought of walking into a ballroom, of seeing the same faces he’d been seeing since he’d reached his majority, the endless talking and questions about how he was faring, the thought that his mother would begin matchmaking.
