Authors: Karen Ranney
When had he ever trusted her?
She felt oddly heavy, as if she weighed twice what she had that morning. Her movements were slower, as if she’d also aged since then.
She tried to take a deep breath, but it felt as if her chest were constricted or the air too thick to draw into her lungs.
Her hand rested at her throat, fingers playing with the cameo she’d pinned there this morning. She knew the face carved on the surface by touch. Could imagine even the cameo turning to stare at him incredulously.
She felt a tear spill over and trail down her cheek, but she didn’t move to brush it away. Instead, she turned and began to walk back to Doncaster Hall, Elspeth falling into place beside her. The distance back to the house seemed immeasurable, the path littered with broken glass.
Every inhabitant of Doncaster Hall looked at her with shock in their eyes. Everyone but Elspeth, who didn’t speak, merely glared at them.
Veronica’s hands tightened into fists. She released them with some effort, straightening her fingers. Take a deep breath. Wipe away your tears. Go home.
Doncaster Hall was suddenly not home. She had no home. Not one anchor existed. No bulwark. No lodestone. She was as alone as she’d ever been.
She wanted to be gone from there so desperately, she began to think of all the people in the world who might take her in, offer her sanctuary.
She had no place to go.
Norma had a more hopeful future, for all she was expecting a child out of wedlock. She might be shunned by her relatives, cast aside by her friends, and made the subject of a moral lesson in Kirk. In a few years, people would forgive or forget. She’d have her child and a future substantially brighter than Veronica’s.
How could Montgomery think she would harm him?
The crowd that had been so effusive in their relief fell silent as she moved through them. Elspeth was the only one who accompanied her. Elspeth, who would be, she suspected, loyal despite any circumstance.
“Tell me about the Tullochs,” she said.
Elspeth glanced over at her, a look of concern still on her face. “What would you like to know, Your Ladyship?”
“You’re certain your grandmother would know the origins of the mirror?”
“If it’s the same, Lady Fairfax. It doesn’t look like it did when I was a child, but the diamonds might be new.”
“How far away is Kilmarin?”
“By train? A half day, perhaps.” Elspeth looked at her curiously. “Have you a mind to go there, Your Ladyship?”
“Yes,” she said, glancing back toward the grove of trees. “We’ll leave this afternoon.”
“We will?”
She turned to look at her maid, forcing a smile she didn’t feel to her face. “Didn’t you say you had family nearby?”
Elspeth’s look of confusion turned to joy. “There would be time to visit with my family?”
She nodded.
Elspeth looked as if she might begin dancing.
At least someone was happy.
A
cool whispery breeze bid them farewell from Doncaster Hall, fluttering the leaves as if the trees were waving goodbye. The soot-colored sky heralded an approaching storm. The perfect Highland morning had disappeared. In its place were rolling gray clouds and the scent of rain in the air.
The brisk breeze from the open window blessedly dried the hint of tears in her eyes.
Veronica closed the window, heard it snap shut with a click. She would have liked to draw down the shade as well, but that would necessitate an explanation to Elspeth.
She was much too close to weeping, and once she started, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stop.
Sitting back against the padded leather, she took off her bonnet and placed it on the seat opposite her. At the moment, she cared less for fashion than she did comfort.
Some conversation was called for, and she scanned her mind for a list of acceptable topics. Her aunt would say servants were to be ignored, treated as the furniture, to be used but given no thought. One did not converse with one’s servants, especially during public outings. However, it occurred to her that the same woman who’d helped her on with her stockings could be spoken to when the chore was done.
Besides, she was no longer going to use Aunt Lilly as an example of propriety.
“How long have you been married, Elspeth?”
“Almost a year now, Your Ladyship.”
The girl did not chatter. She answered a question but never volunteered any additional information. Nor did she ask any questions in return. Such traits no doubt made her a perfect servant but a terrible conversationalist.
“Where were you married?” she asked.
“In Perth, Your Ladyship.” Elspeth tilted her head to the side and regarded her with some curiosity. “Why do you ask, Your Ladyship?”
Should she confess to a need for conversation? If she were talking, even of mundane things, even of someone else’s business, she wouldn’t be thinking of Montgomery.
He’d thought her capable of harming him.
With some difficulty, she pushed that thought away.
“I’m simply curious,” she said. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
Elspeth shook her head. “You haven’t, Your Ladyship. It’s just that no one’s ever asked before.”
Veronica gripped the material of her skirt. She released her hands, smoothed the fabric, and forced herself to remain placid on the surface.
“Are you happy, Elspeth?”
No, that was not a question she should be asking. She knew that without Aunt Lilly’s coaching. Elspeth turned in the seat to face Veronica. Her eyes sparkled, and the dimples in her cheeks deepened by her smile.
“Oh, Your Ladyship, yes. My Robbie is . . .” Her voice halted mid-sentence as her face flushed. “Yes, Your Ladyship, I’m happy.”
Envy bit through Veronica like a hungry snake.
No, this was not an acceptable topic of conversation at all.
“It looks as if we shall get some inclement weather,” she said, glancing up at the boiling clouds. There, the weather was always an acceptable topic.
Elspeth nodded but didn’t comment. For an instant, they’d been simply two women. But the roles were firmly back in place.
She laid her head back against the leather. The carriage wasn’t the same one they’d used on their journey to Doncaster Hall all those weeks ago. The interior of this one smelled musty, as if the carriage had been in storage and not often used. However, it was immaculate. Not a touch of dust was visible on any of the surfaces and the pale blue cushions looked as if they’d been brushed recently. Did a coachman do such duties? Or did a maid? How odd she didn’t know. If she truly cared, that would be a topic of conversation she might broach to Elspeth. Elspeth would know.
She’d chosen well that first day. Elspeth had been a blessing. Millicent would have colored the days gray with her grim attitude. She’d have complained from dawn onward about some slight or problem.
How like Millicent she was becoming. Right at the moment, she could only see the darkness in her life. The approaching storm mirrored her mood so perfectly, it was as if God Himself had sent it to her to complement these hours.
She had a right to be dour. Her husband had just accused her of trying to kill him.
No, she didn’t love Montgomery Fairfax. She didn’t much like her husband right at the moment.
V
eronica had just stood there, toward the back of the crowd, her face frozen in a calm, expressionless mask. She hadn’t looked as if she’d given a damn that he’d nearly been killed.
Montgomery stared down at the burner, now arrayed in pieces on his worktable. Twice, he’d tried to start it, and twice, the flame sputtered and died.
She’d stood there instead of rushing to his side. She hadn’t asked if he was all right. She hadn’t expressed any fear. She’d hadn’t said a damn word. Not one.
Nor had she denied his accusation.
It could have been an accident. She could have done something and not realized it. She could have been too fearful to admit it.
No,
fearful
was not a word he’d use to describe Veronica MacLeod Fairfax.
With the help of most of the men at Doncaster Hall, he’d managed to get the gondola out of the trees. The envelope would take a little longer, since the silk had been shredded and hung in tatters from the branches.
He’d stared up through the broken oaks, realizing how fortunate he’d been that his ancestors had planted that particular grove. Without the trees to break his fall, he probably would have died.
Would Veronica have cared?
Again, he examined every part of the burner. There had to be a reason it had failed. He didn’t believe in accidents, especially since he’d checked everything at least a dozen times himself.
He stood, flattening his hands on the wood surface of the worktable and frowning down at the reassembled pieces of the burner.
Only one thing left to be tested.
He opened his book of notes, selected a blank page toward the back, and tore it free. Grabbing the paper, he strode to the corner of the distillery where the blue-and-white barrel of paraffin oil was stored. After taking off the lid, he dipped the paper into the oil, holding it over the barrel for a moment. Once it stopped dripping, he took the paper back to his worktable.
After allowing the oil to evaporate completely, he walked to the doorway, holding the page up to the sunlight. He brushed his fingers across the paper, dislodging the tiny flecks of green and what looked to be dirt.
Someone had contaminated the paraffin oil.
Not an accident, then, since the barrel was kept securely fastened at all times.
Someone wanted him dead.
Was it Veronica?
From the beginning, she’d eased him with passion, seduced him with her surrender. He slept, deep, besotted sleep next to her, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek cradled against her hair.
Did he really believe she wanted him dead?
He’d said the words rashly, in anger. That morning, her calm acceptance of his fate had disturbed him. Worse, he’d felt betrayed. No, something deeper than that, an emotion he didn’t want to face at the moment.
She hadn’t seemed concerned. Yet she’d been as stoic when viewing the ruin of her home.
He walked back to his worktable, balling up the paper.
The women of his acquaintance had been strong and resolute, but saw nothing wrong with a man witnessing their tears. He’d suspected, more than once, they’d used tears the way a man might use a sword.
Veronica didn’t.
Nor did she share herself easily. Yet she wanted all his secrets.
If he’d divulged his past to her, would she have done the same with him? Were they destined to forever misunderstand one another except in their bed?
He could recall the exact moment he’d seen her, standing on the edge of the crowd, her face pale, Elspeth standing beside her. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t rushed to him. She hadn’t expressed any joy he’d survived.
Hell, yes, he’d tried to hurt her, a just payment for what she’d done to him.
Ralston stepped into the distillery, looking apologetic. The man had been at his side most of the day, called away when three wagons had arrived earlier.
“The newly loomed carpet is here, sir. Mrs. Brody needs to know if they should remove the furniture from the Long Sitting Room today?”
The only expertise he had, besides his airships, was growing tobacco. The Lords Fairfax had not cultivated any arable land for decades. Instead, they farmed endless, undulating masses of sheep. He didn’t know a damn thing about sheep, and now he was expected to know about carpets?
“Is my wife not prepared to answer some of these questions?” he asked. “Especially questions to do with the house itself?”
Ralston looked discomfited by the question. “I would be more than happy to appeal to Her Ladyship, Your Lordship,” Ralston said. “However, she is not here. She left a few hours ago.”
He turned and faced the older man. “What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea, Your Lordship,” Ralston said.
Whenever Ralston was embarrassed, or uncomfortable, he repeated Montgomery’s title excessively, a trait Montgomery had noticed over the past several weeks.
“Begging your pardon, Your Lordship.”
He turned. The smith stood there, pulling off his cap. He was young, tall, with well-developed arm and shoulder muscles, a sparse beard, and wildly bushy sideburns. Montgomery had him working on rebuilding part of the burner damaged in the accident.
“They’ve gone to Kilmarin, Your Lordship,” the man said. “Elspeth and Her Ladyship, that is. Her Ladyship promised Elspeth she’d have a chance to see her family.”
Ralston stepped forward, and whispered, “Elspeth’s husband, Your Lordship.”
“Where the hell is Kilmarin, and why would my wife be going there?”
Ralston answered before Elspeth’s husband could. “I know where it is, Your Lordship,” he said. “South, near Perth.”
Montgomery addressed the young man. “Do you know why they’ve gone?”
The man twisted his cap between his hands. “Elspeth didn’t say, sir, but then she wouldn’t. Loyal as the day is long, she is. All I know is they’re taking the train in Inverness.”
“How long ago did they leave?” he asked.
“A few hours ago now, Your Lordship.”
“Did she tell you when they’re returning?”
“Elspeth didn’t know, sir.”
Anger was not an unfamiliar emotion. The rage sweeping through him, however, surprised him with its intensity and suddenness. For some unknown reason, she’d taken her maid, his carriage, and left him.
Perhaps she’d tried to kill him after all. What reason would she have, otherwise, for leaving so peremptorily?
Guilt? He’d accused her of wanting him dead, and instead of remaining there, she went haring off to Perth.
She wasn’t going to leave him that easily.
He slapped his hands down on the worktable, annoyed at Veronica, at himself, at the entire situation.
His airship was damaged, perhaps beyond repair. He had the original balloon, but he’d cannibalized parts from it. He’d damn well have to follow her in a carriage.
He motioned to Elspeth’s husband.
“Come with me,” he said, striding toward the door.
Damn it, if Veronica wanted him dead, she’d just have to tell him to his face.
L
ess than a quarter hour later, Montgomery was in the stable, his inquiry whether another carriage was available being met with an incredulous look from the stablemaster.
“We’ve three carriages, Your Lordship. The fourth is being refurbished, but the upholstery is nearly done.”
“I only need one,” he said, giving instructions to the coachman before he and Robbie entered the carriage.
Neither of them had packed a valise. They wouldn’t be gone that long.
The sky was a bluish gray, the air thick with rain. Even the trees were a dull green, the river a flat pewter color. How much of the scenery was his mood and how much was the weather?
Doncaster Hall’s bricks turned a persimmon color in the rain, the house distinct against the backdrop of a gray sky. In Virginia, he would have welcomed a storm. The rain would have been a blessing for the crops.
Raindrops hung pendulous from the frame of the window, then streaked the glass, obscuring his view of the house. He wasn’t at Gleneagle but Doncaster Hall. Not Virginia, but Scotland.
“I’m a smith, Your Lordship,” Robbie said, from the other side of the carriage. He still looked terrified. “I don’t understand why you want me to come with you.”
Montgomery turned his head and regarded the man. “Have you always worked at Doncaster Hall?”
“Only in the last two years, sir. I was apprenticed to Old Darby, but he took sick with the gout and had to lie about most of the day.” Robbie bit his lip so hard it turned white, then evidently gathered his courage. “Are you angry with Elspeth, sir? She’s a good girl and loyal, too.”
“I’m sure she is, Robbie.”
A moment later, he took pity on the man. “I’ve a mind to fetch my wife. Since yours is with mine, it was natural to invite you along.”
Robbie nodded, but the gesture didn’t appear relieved. “Yes, Your Lordship.”
“I’m an American, Robbie. I was an American long before I was a lord. Every man is as good as another in America.”
“We’ve our share of pride in Scotland, sir.”
“Good, then you won’t object to calling me Montgomery.”
Robbie looked at him in shock. “I’ll not be calling you that, sir. It wouldn’t be respectful.”
“While I would take it as an insult to be forever called Your Lordship. I’m tired of it, Robbie.”
He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
“Is it that Her Ladyship didn’t ask permission, sir?”
He opened his eyes and regarded the smith.
“Is that why we’re going after them, sir?”
Damned if he knew how to answer Robbie.
He didn’t like the feeling he was getting, the one crawling up his spine and chilling his skin. Shame wasn’t an easy acquaintance, and never more than at that moment, when accompanied by a perfect recall of everything he’d said to Veronica.