Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
She laughed. “That’s one of the advantages of being the elder, even if it’s only by a year. The younger thinks you are so much wiser, he will let you get away with anything.”
“I didn’t always let you get away with things. Do you remember the time you gave me that blancmange you had made yourself?”
She nodded. “It was my first attempt, and I was so proud of it. And you! You went into convulsions, or so I thought, and I went screaming for Cook. I thought you were dying.”
“That’s what I wanted you to think.”
“Boys are so hateful!”
“I know.”
There was no awkwardness now, but a sense of intimacy, as though the years between had made little difference. Gradually, their smiles dimmed, but the residue of warmth remained.
His voice was husky. “I didn’t know or think how much you must have suffered when I went away to school. I made friends there, but there was no one at Belvidere for you.”
“It was inevitable. And it wasn’t so bad.”
His brows rose and she replied, “It could have been worse. I had a governess, don’t you remember her? Miss Hare. She made a great impression on me. If it were not for her, I would not have managed to escape Father’s clutches.”
“I don’t think I recall her. Well, I wouldn’t, would I? I was hardly ever home once I went away to school. And in the holidays, I’d go home with friends before I’d go to that pile of marble Father worships. I’m sorry, Deb. I wasn’t thinking of you. And she was there, our stepmother, insinuating that we would come to a bad end, just like our mother. I wanted to choke the life out of her, and was afraid that one day I would not be able to restrain myself.”
“She disliked us both,” said Deborah, “but you especially because you were the son and heir. What do you hear of them?”
“As little as I can possibly manage. Surely that does not surprise you?” He allowed a moment to pass, then said gently, “I swear I did not betray you, Deb. I went to that inn in Windsor, as you asked in your note. I would have done anything to help you. God knows how Father found out. I went crazy when I saw the militia drag you away.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“What?”
“I was dressed as a boy. I don’t know who the girl was, but it wasn’t me. And I wasn’t going to ask for your help. I only wanted to say goodbye.”
An interval passed as he absorbed her words. “I see. I was told you had escaped, but no one explained how it had come about. And you went away thinking I had set a trap for you?”
Deborah swallowed, but met his eyes. “I should have known better, I suppose. But what could I think? You
were only a boy of fifteen. I thought Father must have put you up to it.”
His lips twisted in the sneer that had been so evident at Richmond. “Father has no influence over me. He never did, and as soon as I could manage it, I followed your example. When I turned sixteen, I ran away from school and enlisted. For the past eight years, I have been a soldier, Deb.”
“So I heard.”
“What have you heard?”
She searched his eyes. “That you know how to fight and command men, but you are a thorn in the flesh of your superiors. They say you left India under a cloud.”
“Who says?”
“The gentlemen who tried to provoke you into a duel at Richmond, you know, when I ran away from you.”
He swirled the ruby-red wine in his glass, looked up at her and grinned. “That’s about the sum of it. I disobeyed orders, and if I had to do it over, I’d do it again. My commanding officer was a dolt, one of those self-important bores who think they know everything. He’d never seen active service. Oh yes, that happens all too frequently. Men buy their commissions and think they are experts on warfare. When he ordered me to take my company of light horse against enemy guns, I affected deafness. Unfortunately, the man had influence in high places. He should have been court-martialed. I was made the scapegoat and given a posting to Dublin. Damn boring place, Ireland. No fighting worth mentioning.”
She surveyed him silently as she sipped her wine. There was so much anger in him, so much bitterness that she no longer doubted the stories she had heard about him. She could well believe that he was wild and ungovernable. He was suddenly without a target to fight, so he fought the world. And though he would never admit to it, he was still fighting their father.
“What?” he asked, watching her expression.
“Did you really think I was dead?”
“What else could I think? It was easy for you to find
me, if you wanted to. I wasn’t in hiding. But you never wrote, never left any messages with my friends. Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?”
She moved back a little from the fire before answering him. “For the most part, I’ve been with Miss Hare, the governess I told you about. When she left Father’s employ, she opened a school in Bath. She’s been wonderful to me, Stephen. She never doubted my innocence. Later, that is, for the last four years, I’ve been Quentin’s governess. And here I am.”
“And it never occurred to you to send word to me, if only to let me know that you were alive?” He answered his own question. “You thought I would tell Father. Shame on you, Deb!”
She managed a smile. “You have yet to tell me what you hear of Father and his wife. Our sister must be nearly sixteen by now. What is she like?”
“I know very little except that Elizabeth takes after our father in looks. The word is they are hoping for a brilliant season leading to a brilliant match for her.”
“At least,” said Deborah, “Elizabeth is safe from Father’s schemes.”
“Why do you say that?”
Her eyes searched his face. “She’s not an heiress, is she?”
“No, of course not. It was our mother who had all the money, not Father. Father merely lined his pockets at our expense. As far as I can judge, he squandered those moneys on his picture gallery and collections. When he dies, I suppose those will pass to Elizabeth.”
She shivered, and held out her hands to the blaze. “I’m glad Elizabeth has no money of her own. Then she will never have to go through what I went through.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “What did you go through?”
She shook her head.
He took her hand and gripped it tightly. “I want to hear what happened, Deb. I know what Father said happened, and I know what everyone else says, but I’ve never believed any of it. You could never commit murder. Tell me what happened.”
For a long time the only sound in the room was the hiss of the burning coals. When he touched her arm, she shivered and raised her eyes to his. “Do you know the man I killed?”
He nodded. “Albert Hollander, our stepmother’s cousin. Father said you were engaged to be married. You changed your mind. There was a quarrel, and you attacked him, and deliberately pushed him to his death from the top of the circular staircase.”
“That’s partly true. What Father didn’t tell you was that he was forcing me into this marriage. When I refused to go through with it, he beat me and locked me in my room, then he sent Albert to me. Albert was supposed to ravish me, you see, on the assumption that I would docilely accept my fate. He tried to, but I fought back. I ran from him, and he trapped me at the top of the circular staircase. Yes, I went for him. Yes, I pushed him. He fell against the rail. It gave way and he fell to his death, so I suppose that makes me guilty of murder.”
Rage darkened his face. “That is not murder! And what kind of man would attack an innocent sixteen-year-old girl? I know Father hated us both, but what could he possibly hope to gain by forcing you into a marriage you did not want?”
“If you had known Albert you would understand. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was also a simpleton, and I mean that quite literally. He couldn’t count beyond ten. He could neither read nor write. I believe it happens sometimes to a child when a woman has a difficult birth. I didn’t find this out till it was almost too late.” As she spoke, her voice began to thicken. “Father did not want me to find out until after Albert and I were married.”
He was frowning. “I still don’t understand what he hoped to gain by marrying you to a simpleton. That makes no sense at all.”
She smiled bitterly. “Stephen, what happens to a woman’s property when she marries?”
“Her husband controls it.”
“And if she marries a simpleton, who do you think controls her property then?”
“I presume the simpleton, or whoever takes care of his affairs.” He made a grimace of disgust. “That would be Father, of course.”
She made no answer, none was necessary, and he went on. “Then he’d finally be able to get his hands on your fortune which you inherited when Mother died.” After a moment of horrified comprehension, he said quickly, “There must be some way around this. If I could find a way to force Father to retract—”
“Now you are being stupid. Of course Father will retract, just so long as I marry the man of his choice—another Albert. He doesn’t want to see me hang. He wants my fortune. He as much as told me so.”
“Then marry someone of your own choice. That should spike Father’s guns.”
“In that event, I think Father would set the law on me. He’s vicious. You know he is. Besides, why should I exchange one tyrant for another? I don’t wish to marry.”
“What? Never, Deb?” He was smiling.
“You can ask that when you know the kind of life our mother led?”
“Not all men are like Father.”
“It’s a gamble I’m not willing to take. And anyway, who would be willing to take a gamble on me, an accused murderess?”
“There’s a way out of this maze, and I intend to find it.”
“No! Leave it alone! I’m in enough trouble as it is. You must have heard about Lord Barrington’s murder. If all this comes out, who do you think will become the prime suspect? Please, Stephen, let sleeping dogs lie.”
“But-I thought Lord Barrington was murdered by a thief who broke into his house. Meg told me so.”
She wasn’t up to telling him the whole story behind Lord Barrington’s murder. She was tired and out of sorts, and longing for her bed. “That’s only a theory,” she said. “Stephen, promise me you will do nothing without my consent?”
He gave in reluctantly. “You have my word on it. But we’ll find a way out of this, I promise you.”
The conversation drifted then, as each recounted what had happened to them in the intervening years. When the clock chimed the hour, Deborah rose reluctantly. There was still so much to say, so much to learn, but it would have to wait until another time.
She made the return journey to Channings riding pillion on her brother’s stallion. When he let her down in the lane that led to the gatehouse, she drooped with weariness.
“Do you know,” he said, “we hardly spoke of Mother.”
She blinked up at him and reached for his hand. “You look so much like her.”
“Do I?” His voice was hoarse. “When I try to recall her face, I can’t seem to do it. There is no portrait of her. Nothing. It’s as though she never existed.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not as long as you and I have breath in our bodies. We shall always remember her. Besides, I do have something that once belonged to her. Her locket. Don’t you remember it? She gave it to me on that last Christmas before … before she went away. Her portrait is inside it.”
“May I see it?”
“I don’t have it here. I gave it to a friend, Miss Hare, to keep for me. When I reclaim it, I’ll bring it to you.” “When will that be?”
She shook her head. When Quentin was safe; when she was safe; when, when, when.
“It’s all right, Deb. It’s all right. I understand.”
She went on tiptoe and caught his lapel, drawing his head down. His arm went around her shoulders, bringing her closer, and they clung to each other as they had never done, not even when they were children.
She broke away with a laugh. “Now go!” she said, pointing in the direction of the village. “I’ll come to you when I can.”
She watched his progress, cloak billowing around her, and her hands stuffed in the pockets of her white rabbit-skin muff. When horse and rider had disappeared into the gloom, she slipped through a gap in the hedge and tiptoed around the gatehouse so as not to disturb
the sleeping porters. The main house was in darkness, except for the lanterns burning at the front doors. She stepped off the grass verge on to the gravel drive and breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a squeal when a voice, as smooth and venomous as distilled hemlock, hailed her.
“Very affecting,” said Gray. “So Meg was right. You and Leathe are lovers.”
He loomed above her, astride his great roan, and the play of light and shadow on his features gave him the appearance of some ghostly warrior knight. She wasn’t given a chance to respond to his taunts. His hand shot out, and she was plucked off her feet and hauled across his saddle. The rabbit-skin muff went tumbling to the ground. She tried to wrest herself from his grasp, but one arm crushed her to him, and she soon gave up the attempt.
“You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he said harshly. “When you became my mother’s guest, you came under my protection. I warned you what would happen if you tried to defy me.”
She cried out when the horse leapt forward. Though she was deathly afraid, beneath the fear, her own anger began to simmer. He was doing it again, using his superior strength to force her to his will.
He did not make for the house, as she anticipated. They vaulted a hedge, and rode at breakneck speed. The moon, the stars, hedgerows, and formless shadows flashed by her in terrifying confusion, making her head swim. She closed her eyes, pressed herself into the curve of his body, and clutched at the arm he had wrapped
around her to steady her. When she felt the horse slow, she opened her eyes. There was only a moment to register the outline of the house before he jumped down and reached for her. A slap on the roan’s flank sent it trotting toward the stable block.
“This must be Sommerfield,” she said. “Why have you brought me here?”
His fingers bit into the flesh of one arm, and he hauled her unceremoniously up the front steps. When she stumbled, he lifted her by the arm and dragged her into the house. “My mother is tenderhearted,” he said. “I’ll not have her upset by your screams when I give you the thrashing you have brought upon yourself.”