A Night of Secrets (5 page)

Mary Ellen rolled her eyes. “We are quite aware.”

Sally’s mouth fell open. “Well...well did you know he’s here searching for a wife?”

“What? No!” Mary Ellen gasped. “It’s not true, I hadn’t heard.”

“It is true,” Sally cried, tilting her chin high. “At least, that’s what they’re saying in town.”

Meg gritted her teeth. “Mary Ellen, dear, mind setting the table?”

Really, she’d taught them better than to gossip. She took her lower lip between her teeth and glanced out the small window above the cutting table. Was he truly looking for a wife? If he was here in search of a spouse, he’d most certainly befriend the town hoping to find eligible women. Wonderful. Just bleedin wonderful. He’d tell the entire countryside about her lack of clothing and how inappropriate she’d been. They’d be utterly ruined! And for good this time. No talking her way out of this situation.

“Mrs. Pierceson said so,” Sally added.

Mary Ellen pulled the plates from the cabinet. “Ooh la, and if Mrs. Pierceson said so, it must be true.”

Sally settled her elbows on the table, resting her face in her hands. “Well, why else would he be here?”

“Peace and quiet?” Meg responded, stretching her fingers and willing them to cease their trembling. Blast, how long before the entire town discovered her utter humiliation?

Mary Ellen paused near the table, the plates tinkling together in her arms. “You really think he’s here to marry?”

“Don’t even contemplate it,” Meg said, pointing the knife at her sister. “You are too young to marry.”

She set the plates on the table with a clatter. “Seventeen isn’t too young, especially if he has thirty thousand pounds. Julia married at sixteen.”

“Aye, and look what happened to her,” Sally muttered.

“Sally!” Meg snapped, not wanting to think of her elder sister now, not when she’d finally started going an entire day without picturing her smiling face.

Sally flushed.

Exasperated, Meg shoved a kettle into the girl’s hands. “Go to the well and get more water.” When they started arguing, it was best to separate the girls.

Her younger sister scampered from her chair and left the house.

“Thirty thousand pounds a year.” Mary Ellen sighed and rearranged the daisies in the clay vase on the table.

“You’re too young.”

“You’re not,” Hanna piped in, those wide eyes on Meg.

Meg’s face heated.

“Yes, Meg, you’re not,” Mary Ellen said with a grin. “And as he’s seen you in your shift, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get him to agree.”

Meg shot her sister a glare. “After our meeting by the creek, I highly doubt the man would be interested in me.”
And after hearing the town gossip about our family.
Not that she was looking to marry. Of course not. She’d given up on marriage long ago.

“Meg.” The door opened and Sally stepped inside. “The rope broke and the bucket fell into the well.”

Meg tossed the potatoes into a pot that hung over a crackling fire, resisting the urge to curse. “Must I do everything? Go to the creek.”

As soon as Sally shut the door, Meg regretted her demand. Was he still there? Would Sally be in harm’s way? Or worse, would she try to pry information from the man? Twas silly worrying about Sally, the only one in danger was their new neighbor. In danger of being stalked like prey.

“Will you marry him, Meg?” Hanna asked, her voice quiet, her face more pale than normal, if that were possible.

“And who would braid Sally’s hair if I married? Who would cook your stew the way you like it? Who would clean the house?” She chopped a potato in half with a thud, her attention riveted on the window, watching Sally skip to the creek.

“Well, with thirty thousand pounds a year you could hire someone to take care of us. Or, better yet, we could dwell with you.”

Meg scoffed. “And what’s the point of marrying if you follow me to my new home?”

“Very unsporting of you, Meg,” Mary Ellen said, snapping a daisy from its stem. “You should befriend the new owner for our benefit. Imagine what kind of a husband you could find me.”

“Of course, merely thinking of yourself.”

Mary Ellen sidled up next to her and shoved the daisy into Meg’s hair, her sister’s rose scent hovering around her. “Not just me. But in a few years Sally, and then Hanna.”

“Meg doesn’t need a husband. She’s going to sell her books.” Hanna stood, her fists on her hips. “And I’m not marrying. Men are cruel.”

Meg’s heart squeezed painfully. How badly she wanted to pull the child into her arms. Lately Hanna had been acting so odd. Her emotions jumping from the sweet innocent child she was, to one full of anger and bitterness. She hoped the poor girl wasn’t becoming ill. “Not all men. Papa isn’t.”

Hanna’s shoulders fell, her anger dissipating. “Yes, but Papa isn’t a real man.”

Meg smiled. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that.”

Mary Ellen sighed. “Of course you’ll marry, Hanna. What else would you do? You won’t have Meg to take care of you forever.”

Hanna’s lower lip trembled as tears pooled in her eyes. “But I don’t want to marry.”

Meg sighed and set her knife on the table. “You don’t have to-”

The door burst open and Sally stumbled inside, gasping for air.

Meg looked to the wooden beams on the ceiling where dried rosemary hung. “What now?”

“I saw him. I saw him, I did!”

Mary Ellen rushed to their younger sister. “Who? Who’d you see?”

“
Him
. The man with thirty thousand pounds.”

Meg swiped her hands on her apron. Dear God, what inappropriate comment had Sally made to the man? “Did you happen to get his name? I don’t believe he’d appreciate us calling him ‘the man with thirty-thousand pounds.’”

“He’s so handsome.”

Meg flushed, although why, she wasn’t sure. “Ha, arrogant, you mean.”

“Is he handsome, Meg?” Mary Ellen asked.

Meg pressed her lips tightly together and shrugged. She certainly couldn’t argue with that, but she’d die a torturous death before she’d admit her attraction.

Mary Ellen grabbed Sally’s arm. “Where is he? Where’d you see him?”

“He’s down by the creek with Papa.”

“Papa?” Meg rushed to the window and jerked the curtains aside. “Sally, you know Papa isn’t allowed by the creek alone. He’ll fall in for sure, just like last time.”

Sally shrugged. “He’s not alone. The man is there, along with Beth’s husband.”

Meg let the curtain fall back into place. Wonderful, just wonderful. “Beth’s husband? Lord Brockwell is back?” Meg untied her apron and jerked it from her waist. “About time that reprobate returned. I should certainly give him a piece of my mind. Leaving poor Beth to worry like that.”

“Was he in London drinking and whoring?” Hanna asked.

“Hanna!” Meg cried out. The child, at least, had the decency to blush. Dear Lord, what would she do with her?

“Well, that’s what Mrs. Hipsher said.”

“Don’t you dare repeat such things, especially around Beth. It’s bad enough she must live with that man.”

“Well, was he?” Mary Ellen asked, her eyes sparkling with barely concealed laughter.

Sally wrapped a curl around her finger and looked at the floor. “Not exactly.”

Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it now? Is he claiming Clare and Bessie got into his garden again and we owe him ten pounds? So help me, if he is.”

Sally sighed, her face still flushed from her mad dash to the house. “Well, Beth’s husband, well, he’s...”

“Out with it, Sally,” Mary Ellen demanded. “We haven’t all day.”

“Well,” she cried, wringing her hands. “You see, Beth’s husband is dead.”

Chapter 3

Wildflowers. A crystal-clear stream. A blue sky.

Truly, a peaceful setting if one didn’t mind the body floating in the brook.

Merde
, he didn’t need this. Not now, not when he was so close to uncovering the truth. Grayson raked his hand through his hair. Why was it, even when he was so incredibly careful, death seemed to follow him?

Of course he had to purchase the one track of land that boasted superb hunting, a trout stream and a dead man. He waded ever closer until the water rose toward the tops of his high boots, threatening to spill inside and soak his socks. He hated wet socks.

He pushed that thought aside and focused on the carcass. The man was recently deceased, that much was obvious. There was no decomposition, no bloating, no offensive odor. Grayson dared to lean forward, looking for any kind of puncture wounds that might set fear into the hearts of his neighbors. No marks on his neck. But the head was set at an odd angle. Broken spine, was his bet.

It could have easily been an accident. All the same, Grayson’s nostrils flared, his senses searching for something more. Instinct said the man had been murdered. Water rushed around a pale face, dark hair undulating in the current of the stream. He could be anyone’s son. Perhaps a father? A husband? A man, at one time, now a shell of the life that once was.

Unwanted memories slipped past the boundaries of his defense. Bits and pieces he’d attempted to push back into the dark recesses of his mind. Rotting flesh, the scent of death. So much death.

“Terrible, terrible,” the old man next to him said, jerking Grayson back into the present.

That horror was over. But he’d returned home to find a new one had taken its place. He would never be able to escape what he was. Destined to the darkness and shadows.

Instead of rotting flesh, the air blossomed with the spicy scent of gingersnaps as Vicar James stuffed one small biscuit after another into his mouth. Grayson knew humans with hardened stomachs, but he hadn’t expected this nonchalance from a Vicar. The old man could at least pretend horror.

Vicar James certainly didn’t have a flare for the dramatic stage as his daughter did. Grayson dampened down his anger. Meg James reeked of innocence, of youth and vitality. But he was experienced enough to know that a pretty face could hide a wealth of evilness.

He glanced at the dead man. A body found feet downstream from where he’d first met the James family. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. If he’d been in God’s good graces, he’d swear the creator was sending him a sign, a sign that pointed directly to a seemingly innocent Vicar’s daughter. But he knew better than to believe in signs.

A sudden rustle interrupted the quiet. Instinctively, his lips lifted, his pupils dilating as the animalistic need to attack coursed through his veins. But no Russian soldiers appeared and he had to remind himself he was no longer on the Continent.

Like muses of ancient Greece, three feminine figures appeared in a variety of innocent summer shades that belied his horrid thoughts. With quick assessment, he knew all three were too old to be Collette. He forced his disappointment to remain hidden deep, his face a blank façade, even as his gaze went immediately to Meg James. Was she guilty?

Mon dieu
, he needed to see the child, to know for sure if she was Emma’s daughter. Where were they hiding her? Did they even have Collette, or had his senses been led astray once more?

“Really, Sally, you could have mentioned Beth’s husband before you mentioned…” The feminine voice trailed off and brilliant blue eyes met his. Long strands of mahogany hair had come loose and curled around a heart-shaped face. A daisy, as sweet and innocent looking as the woman before him, was tucked behind her ear. Meg...the one woman who could provide him with the answers he so desperately needed.

How he wanted to hate her. How he wanted to be sick with the sight of her. To grab her by the lace collar of that tight bodice and frighten her into answering. Instead, a strange heat swirled through his body, leaving him unsure and unsteady. And he was never, ever unsteady.

“Well,” Sally started. “You said he’d get himself killed one of these days, was only a matter of time.” The child watched him with blue eyes that matched her sisters. And they were sisters, he could smell it, a familiar scent that linked them together. Another sister with flaming red hair stood behind them, a shy smile upon her face. When they should have been focused on the body, they continued to stare at him.

“Sally, do go back to the house and sit with Hanna,” Meg whispered, her words too soft for a human to hear.

Hanna
. Grayson’s gaze narrowed and his mind spun. Another sister, or perhaps the Collette he searched for? Would it be too obvious to suggest they retire to the James cottage and discuss the dead man over tea? His hands fisted, resisting the urge. He’d come this far, he wouldn’t destroy what little hope he had left because he was anxious. He’d learned early on to keep low, create no stir. Never give any indication of what he truly was. Besides, he wouldn’t know for another two months if Hanna could possibly be his Collette.

Sally’s lower lip stuck out in a pout, showing she was still more child than woman. “Why? Papa and I have already seen the body.”