Cheryl Holt (39 page)

Where was Penelope? What was she up to?

During the morning’s nuptial preparations, Margaret had been busy, so she couldn’t be bothered with Penelope. What with berating the sloppy servants, and battling
Olivia to ensure she attended, Margaret, herself, had entered the matrimonial salon almost fifteen minutes late. Penny hadn’t been present, and by then, Margaret couldn’t search for her.

She peeked inside her bedchamber, hoping to espy Penny, but she wasn’t there, and Margaret’s temper flared. Within the hour, she wanted to vacate the premises, and she wasn’t about to waste a second hunting for her recalcitrant, wayward daughter.

A maid strolled by, and Margaret ordered her to pack their bags, then she strode to Penny’s room. Just as she reached it, a door opened farther down. In dismay, she saw Vicar Summers and his wife exiting a bedchamber, and she could barely smother a groan. They were the very last people Margaret wanted to encounter.

Mrs. Summers was sickly, and the housekeeper had arranged for a room where she could rest if she was fatigued, and it galled Margaret that Edward would allow such fraternization.

What was the world coming to when such ordinary folk shared space with their betters?

“Countess!” the vicar called, waving. “Oh, Countess!”

Margaret yearned to pretend she hadn’t seen him, but there was no way she could. “Yes, Vicar Summers, what is it?”

“Have you spoken with the earl? What’s to be done?”

“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him.”

The couple approached until they were next to her.

“Quite the peculiar ceremony, eh?” The vicar was eager to dawdle and gossip, but Margaret would have bitten off her tongue before uttering a word.

“Yes, quite,” she said glacially. “I’m in a hurry. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly, Countess. Pardon us.”

Desperate for privacy, Margaret turned the knob on the door and, with more force than was warranted, shoved at it, and it flew back.

Margaret blinked and blinked. Though her perception was unimpeded, she couldn’t process the spectacle before her.

Penny and Mr. Blaine? Naked? Together? Just before noon?

“Sweet Jesu!” the vicar exclaimed. “Stand aside, Mrs. Summers! Shield your eyes!” He jostled his wife away from the threshold, sparing her the gruesome sight.

Empty liquor bottles were strewn about, and a pungent smoke was in the air that created a haze and gave the area an illusory ambiance. Penny was on the bed, the blankets tangled around her legs, while Mr. Blaine loafed with his shirt wadded up to conceal his privy parts.

There could be no dispute as to what they’d been doing. From their guilty looks, it wasn’t their initial tryst, either.

A terrible ringing began to clang through her head. Her vision clouded with a strange reddish hue.

This was where Penny had been? This was whom she’d chosen?

A dangerous, shrill madness tore through her, and suddenly, she couldn’t predict what might happen.

“Mr. Blaine!” the vicar barked. “What have you done?”

“I can explain,” the hapless nude oaf contended.

“I don’t suppose any
explanation
is necessary,” the vicar countered. “The situation speaks loudly for itself.”

“Mother,” Penny chimed in, sitting up straighter and pushing her hair over her shoulder, exposing her breasts, her nipples. “Guess what? Mr. Blaine and I are to be married.”

“The sooner the better, I’d say,” the vicar agreed.

“No, no, really,” Blaine attempted to interject, “not marriage. We hadn’t contemplated mar—”

“Mr. Blaine!” the vicar scolded. “Don’t make the debacle any worse than it already is.”

The roar in Margaret’s head grew deafening, so excruciating that it felt as if her skull might split in two. She started to scream and scream and scream, a high, piercing wail that had people covering their ears, and servants and guests rushing in to discern the cause.

Rabid, delirious, she sped across to the fireplace, seized an iron poker, and ran to Freddy Blaine. She let loose, attacking him with the ample strength of her fury, beating him about the face and genitalia, until he was a bloody, crumpled heap on the floor.

It took the stablemaster, along with three burly footmen, to pull her off and wrestle her to the ground.

Rebecca snuggled into the bed that had been provided to her. The mattress was stuffed, plush, and she sank down, the softness surrounding her. The sheets were clean and smooth, and they smelled so fresh. She couldn’t stop sniffing them.

Someone had found her a nightgown. It was a little large, but the fabric was white, and very silky, with pink flowers stitched along the neckline and cuffs, and a matching pink ribbon in the front that tied in a pretty bow. She couldn’t ever remember touching a garment so precious, and she’d been surprised that they’d permitted her to wear it.

She’d had a bath! In a tub, with hot water and rose-scented soap! Winnie had helped her, had even scrubbed her hair, then they’d lounged by the fire, with Winnie
brushing out the snarled strands and talking in that dear, gentle way she had.

Rebecca hadn’t worked up the courage to refer to Winnie as
Mother
. The notion was too intimidating, a beloved symbol that could be snatched away. She couldn’t embrace the concept of a parent, for she couldn’t bear the possibility that her mother might somehow be lost to her.

Too much had been given, too much promised, in too limited a period. She was wary of trust, frightened to hope. Winnie was splendid, composed and refined, and everything that Rebecca had fantasized her mother might be like. So she would be cautious, brave, but prepared for any eventuality.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she lay, gazing up at the canopy, the four posts at the corners. It was the type of bed a princess might sleep in, and below the blankets, she pinched herself, welcoming the pain, needing to affirm that she wasn’t dreaming. She was worried that, at any moment, she would awaken to find that none of it was real.

Beside her, Helen lay, quiet and motionless as usual, though Rebecca could sense the rapid flow of thoughts cascading through her mind. Many images and ideas flitted by, but they were so disorganized and fleeting that Rebecca couldn’t decipher them.

Helen was confused, as appalled by their adventures as Rebecca was herself, but now that she was with Olivia once again, she was calming and beginning to feel safe.

Rebecca didn’t know if she felt
safe
, yet. It would take constant reassurance and convincing, but she was anxious to believe.

Winnie and Olivia had tucked them in, had chattered about plans that needed to be made. The two women
had been short on specifics, but had vowed—over and over—that all would be well in the end.

Rebecca didn’t understand what had occurred, though her unexpected appearance had wreaked upheaval for many. Olivia’s wedding to the earl had been postponed. Winnie’s cousin, Margaret, had gone mad, plunged into a state of insanity that had everyone in a dither.

There were so many secrets swirling about, that she couldn’t keep track of them. Servants were clucking their tongues and repeating astonishing tales, house-guests were packing and departing with odd haste.

She’d given up trying to figure it out. She merely wanted tranquillity to prevail, so that the adults could move beyond the bizarre day and achieve some peace. Then maybe they would have the opportunity to decide if they were glad she’d arrived.

Her belly was full, her body relaxed, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t scared. She shut her eyes, and offered up a prayer, imploring that the earl let them stay at the estate. That they be allowed to remain forever.

She rolled to her side, and Helen did, too, so that they were facing each other. Under the covers, they clasped hands.

“I like it here,” she said, but Helen didn’t respond. She simply stared, absorbing Rebecca’s every word. “Everyone is very kind. My mother is pretty and nice, and she seems to want me. This is a good place for us. I’m sure of it.”

The tears that had threatened started to fall, and on witnessing them, Helen frowned, perplexed by what they meant.

“I was so afraid,” Rebecca confessed. “When we had to leave the orphanage, I didn’t know what would become of us, or how I would care for you.”

The recent trauma overwhelmed her, and she cried in earnest, so many tears dripping down that she had to use the sheet to wipe them away.

She could picture that busy street corner, how the crowd had parted, and she’d turned to see her mother and Phillip walking toward her.

Miracles did happen. Dreams did come true.

Squeezing Helen’s fingers, she gulped down the swell of emotion that made it difficult to speak or breathe. She now had the chance to be a normal girl, who could grow up to be a fine young lady, who had a family that loved her, that would cherish and treasure her.

It was what she’d always craved, more than she’d ever conceived she would have, and her wonderful, terrifying future dangled before her. She was determined to reach for it, to hold it close and make it her own.

“My mother has arranged for me to have some new dresses,” she whispered. “The seamstress is visiting tomorrow, to measure me. I can pick any colors I want.” The prospect was so delicious, and she was so fearful it would never result, that she voiced the desire aloud, hoping that by doing so, she could force it to transpire. “Master Phillip says he intends to buy me a horse, and teach me to ride.” She smiled. “And . . . he’s going to get you a pony!”

Helen smiled, too.

Winnie stood by the window, staring out at the darkened lawn of the estate. A cool evening breeze rustled the curtains, and she relished how it swept across her heated skin.

From the moment in London, when Phillip had passed her the folder that detailed Rebecca’s whereabouts, she’d been feverish. Naught could calm the tumultuous beating of her heart, or the frantic swirling of her thoughts. The incidents of the trying day here at Salisbury certainly hadn’t extinguished the fire burning within. She was weary, distraught, and still furious.

When she recalled the duplicity Margaret had practiced, and Rebecca’s lost childhood, she felt ill.

She’d always fancied herself a rather smart individual, so how had she been so stupid? Why had she been so ready to believe Margaret’s stories about Rebecca?

Had she wanted to know the truth? Or was she a coward? Out of fear and shame, had she abandoned Rebecca to her fate?

The questions were eating at her.

A sound emanated from the adjoining room. The door between the chambers was open, and Helen and Rebecca snuggled together in the big bed. She went to check on them, as she’d been doing incessantly since she’d tucked them in.

They were nestled under the covers, looking like two little angels, and though they were fine, Winnie fussed
with the blankets, adjusting and tugging on them so that she would have an excuse to linger.

Not surprisingly, Rebecca was wide awake and following Winnie’s every move.

“Are you having trouble sleeping, darling?” Winnie asked.

“Yes.”

“So am I.” Winnie rounded the bed and eased onto the mattress. “There’s been too much excitement. I can’t relax.”

“It’s very nice here. Almost like a fairy tale.”

Winnie smiled. Weeks earlier, when she’d first arrived, she’d pictured it much the same. “Yes, it is.”

“Do you think the earl will let us stay?”

“I don’t know, Rebecca, but don’t fret over it.” Smoothing the hair off Rebecca’s brow, she loved that she had the chance to perform such a simple, maternal chore. “If we don’t remain here, we’ll find somewhere just as wonderful. I promise you.”

She couldn’t fathom how she’d make good on her vow, but she was resolved to bring it to fruition. From this juncture onward, Rebecca would have security, a roof over her head, food in her belly.

“We won’t have to live with your cousin Margaret, will we?”

“No,” she answered. She had no doubt about that particular. Regardless of where they ended up, it wouldn’t be with Margaret and Penelope.

“I’m glad,” Rebecca said. “Helen is afraid of her.”

“Really?” Winnie glanced over at Helen, fascinated anew by the pair’s ability to communicate. Helen’s brain was a mystery, and Winnie couldn’t deduce how it worked. If the girl could talk, what tales she might impart! “Did she say why?”

“When they were alone, the countess would whisper
terrible things, about how wicked Helen was, about how the countess could make her disappear. And Penelope used to pinch and hit her, very hard. Once, she pushed Helen down the stairs.”

“She told you all this?”

“Yes,” Rebecca replied, as though her discussions with the mute lass were normal.

Winnie fumed. How much abuse had Helen suffered, of which Winnie and Olivia had been unaware? What secret torments had Margaret and Penelope inflicted on Helen, without others being cognizant of their tortures?

In a way, Winnie was delighted by how events had transpired. If Margaret hadn’t initiated the shenanigans that had led to her downfall, they might never have unearthed the depths to which she was willing to descend. Helen would have endured a lifetime of anguish and wretchedness of which she was unable to speak.

Ooh, how Winnie yearned to wrap her fingers around Margaret’s pitiful neck! If only Edward hadn’t intervened and prevented her from physically venting her wrath!

She and Margaret had the same blood running through their veins, and she wished she could slit an artery and let the amount that linked them flow out onto the ground.

Sighing, she was outraged and amazed by how circumstances had evolved.

There would be a wedding in the house, the next day in fact, but it wasn’t Edward’s and Olivia’s. Penelope was marrying Freddy Blaine. Winnie had never met a more loathsome, disreputable individual, yet Penny was thrilled. Penny hadn’t grasped the error in judgment she’d made, though she’d figure it out soon enough.

With Mr. Blaine as her husband, Winnie couldn’t imagine what would become of Penelope. By all accounts, Mr. Blaine survived through the charity of his older
brother, and had no income. He didn’t own his residence, pay his servants, or his bills. Rumor had it that his family had banished him from London, due to a heinous scandal. Plus, he wasn’t too keen on the notion of marrying Penny, and he’d been trying to insist that a dreadful mistake had been made, though no one would listen to him.