His mother’s appearance had been a surprise. He had been almost certain that she would not attend the wedding at all. She had hardly spoken to him in the past weeks, except to make arrangements for her move to the townhouse. Although her displeasure had been evident in her tone and her uncharacteristic distance from his affairs, she had not brought up the subject again.
He had thought that at least he had won her displeased silence, if not her assent. When she had appeared that morning, smiling and acting as though she had never disapproved in the first place, Jeffrey had felt such a wave of relief wash over him. Seeing that there was nothing she could do to stop the marriage, she had come around to his side after all.
Nothing could improve the day now. It was perfect.
Suddenly, a cry rang out through the house. “Jeffrey!”
It was Barbara, and the shriek seemed to pass through his very soul. He dropped the cup he’d been holding, sending it shattering across the floor, steaming tea splashing across the ancient wooden boards. He nearly slipped as he sprinted to the stairs. Barbara screamed again, her scream being met with another woman’s cry of terror. Someone was slamming against her bedroom door, trying to open it.
He bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, with Barbara’s father and brother following close behind.
“Barbara!” he yelled, reaching the door. He tried the handle, but it was locked.
Now that he was standing just in front of the door, the unmistakable scent of smoke filled his lungs.
“Unlock the door!” he yelled.
“I can’t!” she sobbed. There was a dull thud as she threw her body at the door futile. “We can’t get out! The fire, Jeffrey! The fire!”
“Break that door down, man!” the Duke shouted, horror in his voice.
Jeffrey stepped back from the door. “Stand back!” he called. The door handle stopped jiggling and he ran at the door, throwing his shoulder into it. The doorframe shuddered somewhat, but it didn’t give way.
“Again!” the Duke was frantic.
Sharp pain was shooting down Jeffrey’s arm, but he backed up and did it again, throwing all of his might behind it once more as he rammed his shoulder against the door. The door cracked, splintering away from the doorframe.
At first, he thought that the entire room was ablaze, for all the shimmering orange heat that dazzled his eyes, but it was just the bed that was on fire, the canopy curtains down to the mattress. For a split second he saw Barbara, standing in the midst of the burning room, hunching down in terror, before she leapt at him. He caught her in his arms. She felt hot to the touch.
Harry appeared behind him carrying two flower vases which he dumped out onto the bed. Jeffrey hardly noticed the fire anymore, and he left the others to put it out. By then, the entire staff of the house had gathered to the scene.
Barbara was still screaming as he carried her downstairs. She clung to him, her entire body quaking as she gave great heaving sobs. Being trapped in a burning room once was enough to give her nightmares for the rest of her life. For it to happen a second time seemed like it was too much for her psyche to bear. She wailed like an animal, causing panicked tears to spring to Jeffrey’s eyes as well as he sat her down on a couch in the quiet drawing room.
He knelt down in front of her, wiping her hair, damp with sweat, off of her face. She was still gasping and screaming and her eyes seemed glazed, as if she couldn’t see him through the fear.
“Barbara!” he cried. “Look at me, darling. You’re safe. It’s all right. Everything is all right.” He shook her shoulders gently, trying to break through the panic that seemed to be crushing her. Finally her eyes snapped to his and she seemed to be seeing him for the first time. She gulped down several large breaths.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She licked her lips and started crying again as she nodded. “My hands…”
A wave of dread made Jeffrey feel sick to his stomach as he lifted her hands and saw that they were covered with angry red welts and peeling skin. He swore bitterly and heaved her back into his arms, carrying her to the kitchen.
The kitchen was bustling with servants carrying basins of water to douse the flames, but Jeffrey ignored them, setting Barbara down on the long table and filling a bowl with cool water.
She was crying again, but the dazed look of utter panic was beginning to fade, leaving a kind of anguished exhaustion that almost broke his heart even more than the screaming.
“Put your hands in here,” he said, and she sank her damaged hands into the cool water. Her entire body was shaking like a leaf, either from pain or horror or, most likely, both. It was then that Jeffrey noticed the extensive damage to her gown. She was focused on the pain in her hands, but it appeared as though her dress had caught fire at one point and, likely, there were burns on her legs as well. He bit his lip. If she didn’t feel that pain yet, he wouldn’t bring it to her attention.
“It happened again. Why did it happen again?” she wept.
Chapter 38
“Tell me what happened, darling,” Jeffrey said as tenderly as he could, smoothing her hair and kissing her clammy forehead. “How did it start?”
“I don’t know,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “I had just finished having my hair set and Rosie was dusting my face with powder and when we looked around there was fire crawling up the bed curtain. We set about to put it out at once, throwing water from the basin onto it, but it wasn’t enough. So, we went to alert others and get water from another room, but the door was jammed. It all happened so fast, we were trying not to panic but suddenly the fire got so big when it reached the pillows and the mattress. I tried to throw clothes over the bed to smother the flames, but it merely burned my hands…” Her voice trickled away into quiet, pained crying.
Jeffrey’s heart ached. He remembered all too clearly the distinct, stinging pain of burning flesh. He never wanted her to feel the fear of growing flames ever again. He was only grateful that he had been there to save her a second time.
“Rosie! Is Rosie all right?” she asked, suddenly sitting up straight and looking around.
“She got out just behind us,” Jeffrey said. “She’s fine. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Just then, the Duke blew into the kitchen, his eyes alighting on his daughter in her singed dress and her hands dunked in cold water.
“Are you terribly hurt?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “The blaze is out now, though I’m afraid your room is rather dampened and wet now.”
“I burned my hands,” Barbara said simply, gazing down at the swelling appendages in the bowl.
“I suspect there are burns also on her ankles and legs,” Jeffrey added carefully, glancing down at the ruined skirt of her dress.
“Oh, my wedding gown!” Barbara cried.
“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” the Duke said, hugging her. “Dresses are easily replaced. Youngest daughters, not so much.”
“I think she should see a physician about these burns. They’ll need proper tending in the coming days. I must leave now.”
“Jeffrey, no!” Barbara cried, her voice jumping up an octave.
“There’s someone I must speak to,” he answered, kissing her forehead and then her lips. “I will return in no time. You stay here and do as your father and the physician prescribe.”
Her eyes were large and pleading, but Jeffrey had to go.
“I’ll be back before supper.”
“But the wedding…”
He smiled. “Will be postponed only a short while. Everything will be fine.”
Barbara blinked, but then she nodded, leaning into him as he kissed her forehead once more.
“A physician,” he said to the Duke, who nodded affirmatively before Jeffrey hurried from the kitchen.
Jeffrey went directly back to the burnt room, taking stock of the damage. His suspicions were almost too barbaric to entertain, and yet he had an awful hunch that he could not shake. He searched the room for a clue. Some
thing. Anything. The bed was soaked and black, with sooty streaks reaching up the wallpaper to a great black smear across the ceiling. Jeffrey winced as he looked at it.
The fire seemed to have started at the bedside table. A lamp stood on it, but it was still upright, not having tipped or spilled its flammable oils as he had suspected. He frowned at the lamp. Then, his eyes alighted on something familiar to him.
A pale pink scarf, draped across the corner of the bedside table. Half of what was left of it was burned, the fibers twisted and crackling.
He lifted the edge of the scarf. Was it Barbara’s? He knew he’d seen it before, but Barbara was not the type of woman to wear unnecessary accessories for the sake of fashion.
Then it struck him. His mother had been wearing this scarf. He gripped it in his hand. This was the proof he needed.
Now, where is she?
He searched the house, but his mother didn’t seem to be there. Finally, he found her in the garden, sitting in a quiet corner on a bench. She looked shaken, and when she saw him approaching, her face blanched.
“Are they all right?” she asked before he could open his mouth.
Jeffrey tossed the singed scarf on her lap. Her hands were trembling as she grabbed it.
“Your plan didn’t work, Mother. I saved her. Again. It seems it’s what I was born to do.”
The Dowager Countess started to weep. “Oh Jeffrey, I don’t know what came over me. I was so angry.”
“She could have died. And the maid too, a perfectly innocent woman who even you couldn’t find reason to hate.” An odd sense of calm came over him. It was as if his fury and betrayal and fear had become too much for his mind to process and it had just…shut off. He could hear the tree above them buzzing with bees, and the warm breeze lifted the ends of his hair.
There was a moment of absolute clarity, as he stood there and watched his mother weep.
“I should report you to the constabulary. I should have you tossed into jail with other would-be and successful murderers.” He clenched his fists. The thought of his mother crouched in a prison cell gave him no joy.
Unexpectedly, his mother nodded, her crying coming to a sudden halt. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I deserve it.”
“Did you think you would get away with such a scheme?”
“I didn’t think at all!” When she looked up at him, her face startled him. She’d never looked older. The morning sun was unforgiving to the fine lines and wrinkles of her face, and her pale eyes were ringed with red. She looked…pitiful. She looked unlike she had ever looked before, and yet, she was so unmistakably his mother. Something inside of him wavered, a sense of compassion for the woman who had loomed so large in his psyche for his whole life, who now looked so small and frightened.
Jeffrey knelt down in front of her so that he could look straight into her damp eyes.
“Mother, I am not ruined. I never was. You are seeking revenge for nothing.”
She shook her head, wiping her nose on a handkerchief that she pulled from her bodice. “You don’t understand what it was like, looking down at you in that bed. Don’t you remember how much pain you suffered?”
“Frankly, the memories are hazy now. It was so long ago. What I remember most isn’t the pain, but the way Father treated me as if nothing would change, and how you treated me as if I were better off dead.”
“Better off dead?” she whispered, a fresh tear rolling down her thin cheek. “I never thought that. I only wanted the best for you.”
“Barbara is the best for me.”
For once, she didn’t argue. She merely stared at him, as if truly seeing him for the first time in years. “I’m horrified at what I tried to do. I wasn’t thinking. If she had died I…” she shuddered. “I understand, Jeffrey, what you must do now.”
Jeffrey took several long breaths, listening to the breeze rustle the verdant leaves of the trees.
“You won’t last a day in prison,” he said finally. “You are far too spoiled. I won’t turn you in.”
“But—” she looked almost disappointed. It seemed that her horror at her own actions could only be assuaged by a fitting punishment.
“I said, I wouldn’t turn you in. Barbara shall know what you did. I will tell her everything, and it will be up to her what happens next. Perhaps she will show mercy and forgiveness where you showed none. Either way, you will not interfere in our lives any further. If Barbara spares you prison, I will keep you in the townhouse, as agreed, but any visits to the estate will be at Barbara’s invitation only.”
She swallowed, then, she nodded.
“The letter. The one Lord Brookham brought to me...” he began, remembering another suspicious thread in this tapestry of chaos.
“Faked. Had a maid write it so you wouldn’t recognize my handwriting.” His mother sniffed. “Lady Barbara’s reputation has always been spotless save for her spinsterhood. There were never any rumors. I made it up.”
He never thought he’d be overjoyed to hear his mother confess to meddling, but his heart soared.
“She loves you. I made a terrible mistake,” she continued, gazing dejectedly down at her hands.
“Go home.” He stood up and turned his back on her. He could begin to untangle this mess later, but right now he needed to return to Barbara’s side.
He found her in the sunny parlor where, not an hour ago, Jeffrey had been smoking and laughing with his soon-to-be father and brother in law. He thought that he would never forget the sound of Barbara’s shriek of terror for the rest of his days.
She was laying on the couch, propped up by pillows. A physician was there already, and he was applying a thick salve to Barbara’s burns. She did not cry out, but her lip trembled, and she was exceedingly pale. Her wedding dress had been removed and she was wrapped in a dressing gown, which laid open enough to expose her leg. He’d been right about the burns to her ankle, but those were merely reddened patches of skin, not the angry welts that covered her palms.
“This salve will soon numb the pain, and I have left a preparation with your father, should the pain become unbearable in the future,” the physician was intoning gently. “You must not apply any bandages until the skin has begun to heal at least. It is best that the burn breathes, and bandages will only fuse to the burn and it’ll be devilishly painful to change them.”
She nodded slightly, chewing her lip.
“There will be scarring,” the physician said warily, glancing up at her.
“I don’t mind about that,” she whispered. Jeffrey came up to the side of the bed and laid a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She tilted her head to the side to rest her cheek on the top of his hand.
“Thank you,” Jeffrey said to the physician as the man straightened up and collected his instruments.
“My condolences to you both,” the man said. “A terrible misfortune for a wedding day.”
With that, the man tipped his hat and was off. People gathered around Barbara; her other siblings had come from the church. Rosie, much to Jeffrey’s relief, was there as well, and though she was visibly shaken, she seemed to have escaped serious injury.
It took a while for Jeffrey to be alone with his betrothed again. Finally, her apparent exhaustion won out over the nervous sympathy of her loved ones, and the room emptied.
Jeffrey sat on the edge of the couch, his hand resting on her stomach.
“It hurts so much,” she said. Her voice was hoarse from the smoke and the screaming. “And this is nothing compared to what you suffered. How did you bear it?”
“It passes,” he assured her.
He wished he did not have to tell her about his mother. Perhaps it was better that she believed it to be a freak accident. He knew that she would be haunted by the question, though. Someone had to have jammed the lock, and the only person it could have been was the Dowager Countess. It was better to give her the truth.
He broke it to her gently, slowly, letting her absorb the information in pieces.
“I do
n’t want to send her to prison,” Barbara said quietly. “I’ve been there, to bring comfort to convicts. It’s a hellish place. I wouldn’t be able to live with the thought of her being there because of me.”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You are too good, Barbara. I thought you might think that, or else I would have turned her in myself.”
“Will I be safe, now?” she asked.
“She won’t do anything like this again. She was like a shell of herself in the garden. She is horrified at her actions.”
Barbara nodded slightly, and he watched her slender neck work as she swallowed thickly. “All right.”
A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance) Page 26
