by Fanny Walsh
***
Before she knew it, it was time for her weekly tea with her uncle. Mary groaned to herself. She was thrilled as always to see her uncle, but she knew well that he would be expecting an answer to his most recent offer for her to marry one of her cousins.
Mary had not given it much thought, despite having promised her uncle once more before returning home that she would consider it. However, she did not need to think about it more.
She was no more attracted to either of her cousins now than she had been when her uncle first made the suggestion. She knew that she would have to refuse, and that it might disappoint her uncle.
But she had been wrong about her uncle shunning her when she turned to him after Duncan’s betrayal, had she not? Was it possible that he would be kind and understanding, if a little disheartened if she rejected his latest offer?
Mary believed that it was possible. Her uncle did love her, after all, and her happiness mattered as much to him as her best interest. Surely, he would not be angry with her for declining his offer, as long as he knew that she would be happy.
Mary decided that she would tell him a polite but definitive no when he came that day. Relieved at having made her decision, and with renewed confidence that all would be well, she descended the stairs with a smile to oversee the preparations for his arrival.
Her uncle arrived a couple of hours later. Mary was not surprised to see him enter alone. Her cousins accompanied her uncle to their weekly visits only occasionally, often because they had business affairs to which they must attend.
Although Mary was still confident in her decision, she was relieved that she would not need to deliver the news in front of her cousins. She loved them both, and she did not want them to feel hurt or dejected by her refusal.
“Good evening, my dear,” her uncle said warmly, embracing her.
“Good evening, Uncle,” Mary said. She relished the comfort that her uncle’s embrace gave her.
She led her uncle to the drawing room, where the servants were just placing a fresh tray of tea and cakes. Mary thanked them kindly and then dismissed them. She helped herself to one of the cakes, but she noticed that her uncle did not do the same, nor did he pick up his cup to pour his tea.
Mary found that strange, but she assumed that he would do so momentarily. She was wrong, however. Kent Hillington intended to get right down to business.
“I trust that you have considered my offer?” he said.
His voice was calm and nonchalant, but Mary saw something in her uncle’s eyes that she had never seen before, nor could she identify it. She thought that maybe the offer had weighed as much on him as it had her. She smiled and touched her uncle’s hand.
“I have, Uncle,” she said. “And it means so much to me that you were kind enough to make me such an offer.”
“Then it is settled,” her uncle said with boisterous enthusiasm.
Mary’s eyes widened, and she spoke quickly.
“And I want you to know that, while I adore both John and Samuel, neither of them appeals to me romantically. When I do marry, I want it to be for love, not for convenience or practicality.”
Kent’s smile faded instantly, and his eyes grew cold.
“But Mary, true love is something that comes with time,” he said, his voice low but bearing a new edge that Mary had never before heard.
“Love is not something that one can determine within mere weeks of knowing someone. And both of your cousins are in a fair way to loving you in the manner of which you speak.”
“But I cannot love them in that way,” Mary said, her earlier confidence waning.
Kent pulled his hand away from Mary forcefully and pounded his fist on the table.
“That is enough of this nonsense,” he growled. “You will marry one of my sons.”
Mary frowned, her blood heating.
“You cannot order me to marry, nor tell me whom to wed,” she said.
“I just did,” her uncle said. “And you will obey me, dear girl, or else.”
Mary’s anger escalated.
“It is my life, and I am a grown woman. I will not obey you,” she said, indignant.
Mary gasped in shock as her uncle seized her upper arm, gripping it tightly. Her anger dissolved into confusion as she stared into her uncle’s face.
There was no trace of warmth or paternal affection there anymore. In its place was cold, seething malice, the likes of which Mary could not fathom. Fear snaked its way through Mary’s stomach.
“You ungrateful brat,” her uncle spat, his face inches from hers. Mary began trembling.
“What has come over you?” she asked, her voice as shaky as her limbs.
“Your father’s title should belong to either my sons or to me,” Kent continued.
Mary was stunned. She could not imagine that her own uncle could be after her title, after he had claimed so fiercely to be trying to protect her from men who were.
“Now, you refuse to marry them, once again denying us our rightful positions,” he said, his face turning a bright shade of red.
Once again? Mary thought, confused.
“And because you yet live, I am denied the titles that should belong to a man in this family.”
Mary listened to her uncle speak, not believing what she heard. How could her uncle feel that way after being so supportive and loving?
Nothing made sense to Mary. Her mind was racing. She continued listening, paralyzed and dumbfounded, unable to speak a word.
“You are nothing but a clueless weakling,” he continued. “You have made a mockery of your father’s name and title.” Some of Mary’s senses returned to her, and her anger sparked again.
“I am not a clueless weakling, nor have I made a mockery of my title,” she said, clenching her teeth.
She found the determination to try to break free from her uncle’s grasp, but he held on tighter. His grip was beginning to hurt, and Mary feared that he might break her shoulder if she continued struggling.
Mary ceased her attempts, but she kept her gaze on his, determined to stand up for herself.
“The business has done quite well for itself while in my hands, and the fortune grows every day,” she said. “I believe that is the opposite of clueless, Uncle.” She injected venom in the last word, hoping to show him that she would not be intimidated.
Kent, however, was also neither intimidated nor deterred. He raised the hand not gripping Mary’s arm as if he meant to strike her.
Again, Mary fell into a dumfounded silence. Not only was her uncle speaking to her in such a fashion, but he also seemed to be capable of becoming physically violent with her. Her heart broke for a second time at the realization.
For a moment, she considered changing her mind about marrying her cousin, if only to get her uncle to release her.
But something inside Mary told her that it was too late for that. Even if it was not, Mary knew that he would be still more enraged when she broke the engagement. And now, more than ever, she was determined to never marry so that someone the likes of her obviously hateful uncle could get his hands on her family’s fortune.
“It is not my fault that the fortune and titles remained within my father’s immediate family,” Mary said flatly. She knew that trying to reason with her uncle was futile, but she felt that she must try.
“It is your fault, you foolish girl,” he said. “You could not have the good grace to die in that fire with the rest of your retched family and leave that fortune to those of us who need it.”
At first, Mary did not comprehend what her uncle had said. He had told her after the fire how lucky she was and how grateful he was that she had survived. He had even been the one to help her leg heal. What did he mean that she should have died with them?
A jolt of horror seized Mary as the realization hit her, so strong that she thought she might faint. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to will herself not to react.
The emotion was so strong that she could not even feel
her uncle’s vice grip on her arm anymore. However, she also knew in some part of her mind that was not frozen with terror that she must get away, and quickly.
She then knew who it was that was responsible for the fire, as well as the subsequent attacks on her life. It was her own uncle.
Chapter 30
Duncan staggered away from Theodore, puzzle pieces beginning to fall into place in his mind. For a moment, Duncan forgot that his cousin was standing there, regarding him with caution and wariness.
It made sense that Kent Hillington would want Mary dead. Since she had not died alongside her family in the first fire, the family’s fortune and titles went to her, not to Kent. And since Mary had been planning to marry him instead of one of Kent’s sons, that meant that he would have never gotten his hands on any of it.
Duncan cursed aloud, furious with himself for not seeing it sooner. Kent made a grand display of pretending to love his niece, especially whenever other people were present.
Duncan felt as if he should have seen right through it all. He knew he must stop Kent, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.
“You do not think that Hillington would do something so heinous as to try to kill his own niece, do you?” Theodore asked, all traces of hostility gone from his voice.
Duncan shook his head.
“No. I know that he would,” he said. He put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. Theodore flinched briefly but did not try to remove himself from Duncan’s grasp.
“Please, forgive me, Theodore. I was wrong to accuse you of something so terrible,” Duncan said, his head held low in shame.
Theodore looked at Duncan and gave him a small smile.
“I suppose I would have come to the same conclusion if I were you,” he said. “After all, I am not the most trustworthy man, what with my love for cards and drink.”
“You are trustworthy when it matters most,” Duncan said. “I should never have thought so terribly of you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Theodore said. Then, he frowned.
“Do you know where Mary is now?” Theodore asked.
Duncan looked at his cousin thoughtfully.
“I do not know for sure,” he admitted. “She has not answered any of my letters, and I have not seen her for several days.”
Theodore’s face grew grim.
“Do you think that Hillington would try to harm her in her own home, with all her staff to witness?” Theodore asked.
Duncan’s heart stopped. From what he now understood about Kent Hillington, he knew that witnesses would hardly trouble him. If any of the servants tried to stop him or threatened to go to the authorities, he would simply burn down Mary’s house when he was done with her, with the entire staff inside.
He realized with fresh horror that Mary was in grave danger. Worst of all, he knew that she still believed that Theodore was the culprit, and would let her uncle into her home willingly, effectively, and unwittingly, sentencing herself to death.
“I must go,” Duncan said, trying to regain control of his thoughts. He must get to Mary before her uncle did.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Theodore asked.
Duncan was grateful for his cousin’s kindness, especially after he had behaved like such a beast. However, he shook his head.
“If Hillington would kill his own niece, he would kill you without a second thought,” he said. He hesitated for a moment.
“There might be something you could do for me, however,” Duncan said as he began walking through the alley and back to the front of the establishment.
“Anything, cousin,” Theodore said, following him.
“Go to the authorities. Tell them about Kent Hillington; about what he has done and how he plans to kill Mary,” he said. He pulled the tear-stained letter out of his pocket, now grateful that he had forgotten to take it out of his pocket.
“This is her address. Give this to them and tell them to make haste. If her uncle is there now, she does not have much time.”
Duncan wished he had something more to give as evidence, and he silently hoped that his relation to Duncan would make the authorities take Theodore seriously. He considered going to the authorities himself just to be sure, but he knew that time was running out.
Theodore nodded.
“Right away,” he said, taking the letter, and departing at once.
With that, Duncan sped away from The Rose, and toward Mary’s country home.
As the scenery blurred past, Duncan cursed himself repeatedly. He could not remember a time when he felt this helpless in his life.
He had promised to protect Mary, but all this time he had been trying to protect her from the wrong person. The real threat had been in plain sight all the time.
Worst of all, the one who wanted her dead was the person she trusted most. Duncan had been too blind to see it, so sure that it was Theodore, and his mistake may cost Mary her life. If it had not already. He had never considered that anyone else could be responsible.
His guilt for suspecting Theodore returned, and he vowed that, if he succeeded in saving Mary, Duncan would forgive Theodore’s debt. Mary’s life was worth more than all the money in the world, and Theodore would be at least in part responsible for saving her.
If Duncan arrived in time.
Duncan prayed that he was not too late; that Mary had not allowed her uncle into the house. His stomach twisted as he realized how unlikely it was that Mary would turn away her uncle if he did drop by to visit.
He wished he could travel faster, because he knew that every moment was critical. If he arrived too late, and Kent had harmed Mary…
Duncan had to force the contents of his stomach to stay down, and sweat poured down into his eyes. The very idea that he could be too late made him physically ill, and instilled a chilling terror within him.
He was not far from her home now, and he refused to stop to give in to the nausea he felt. He clenched his teeth together and pushed forward.
When at last he arrived, he was out of breath and his vision was blurred. He was grateful to see that his arrival had not brought any of the staff outside. Without a moment’s hesitation, Duncan burst through the door of Mary’s house.
His loud, rude entrance roused the butler and a couple of maids. They rushed to him.
“Sir, Lady Linden does not wish to see you,” the butler said. The maids moved to flank the butler, seeking to block Duncan’s path further into the house.
“Mary is in danger. I must see her,” he said, struggling to push past.
Without touching Duncan, the butler planted his feet firmly on the ground and raised his hands. For his advanced age, the butler was strong, and Duncan found it impossible to push his way past.
“You do not understand. She could be killed,” Duncan insisted, pleading with the staff.
The maids looked at one another, their resolve faltering. The butler, however, would not be moved.
“The lady gave specific instructions that you were not to be permitted to speak with her,” the butler said.
“Once I have spoken with her, if she wishes, I will vanish, and she will never see or hear from me again. But this is urgent,” Duncan said. He tried to look past the servant barricade to see if he could see Mary, but to no avail.
Before the butler could speak again, they heard a shrill, ear-piercing scream coming from the floor above. Everyone turned their attention to the upper floor, giving Duncan his opportunity.
He bowled over the butler and the maids and bolted up the stairs.
Chapter 31
Mary looked horrified at her uncle. Even now, as he stalked toward her menacingly after cornering her in her bedroom, she could not bring herself to believe that this was happening.
As he edged Mary toward her open window, more horrific thoughts came to Mary’s mind. She knew that she had to try to stall him until she had the opportunity to escape.
“It was you who pushed me off the balcony,” she said.
Her
uncle laughed.
“Of course, it was, my dear,” he boasted. “And not one soul will ever believe it. Everyone still thinks that you tried to take your own life.”
“And the carriage accident? That was also you?” she asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping that his prideful gloating would give her the distraction she desperately needed to get away.
“I hired a professional to rent the carriage from the driver,” he said. The pride he had for his demented cleverness turned Mary’s stomach. “The driver protested at first, but he was paid well enough that he finally conceded.”
