Imposter Bride (32 page)

She saw the staff and the flap of black clothes.
Constable Keener. Frantic, she whirled to return to the tower, and
spied Edward’s head and shoulders as he cleared the doorway at the
top of the stairs. She backed toward the edge of the parapet,
against the cold granite stones. Behind her was a sheer drop to the
lake.

“The charade is over, Miss Vernet,” Constable Keener
panted, grinning a gaping smile as he struggled to catch his
breath. “Give up.”

“Edward!” she implored. “Don’t let him take me!”

“Why?” Edward took a pinch of snuff. “You duped me,
you little slut.”

“I’m innocent!”

“I wasted a good deal of money on you, chit, which I
see I shan’t be getting back. I can’t tell you how upset I am.”

“I shall be put to death for something I didn’t
do!”

“Says who?” he drawled. “I find it difficult to
believe anything you say.”

She glanced at the constable, back to Edward, and
then behind her. Her life had come to this. She was atop a lonely
Scottish fortress, her heart broken, accused of murder, betrayed by
the only friend she thought she had, and looking death in the face
in the guise of a ruthless officer of the law. There was nothing
left for her, even if she somehow managed to live though this
debacle.

Sophie swallowed as a chill descended upon her that
had nothing to do with the winter air. She had one way out, one way
to save herself from the horror of imprisonment and execution. She
could take death into her own hands and end her life here at the
mournful fortress of Highclyffe. It was the only choice remaining
to her.

Before the two men could rush forward to stop her.
Sophie lifted her skirts, stepped up to the nearest block of stone,
and without allowing herself to think of the moments to come, leapt
from the fortress. She caught a glimpse of the black water far
below her, and then her skirts and petticoat flew up and blinded
her. All she knew then was blackness, and a prayer that chanted
through her mind, blocking out everything else.

“Dear Jesus, save me. Sweet savior, save me...”

Though tired from his long journey, faithful Puckett
remained behind at the inn, promising to watch the highway that ran
past the tavern for the arrival of Lady Auliffe. He ordered supper
and a news sheet, and settled in for the rest of the evening.

At eight o’clock, Ramsay set out for Lady Auliffe’s
manor, a good hour’s ride from the inn. There, the captain
convinced the butler to let him languish in the parlor while he
waited for the elderly woman to arrive. He reclined upon a sofa,
trying not to succumb to the nausea induced by his raging headache,
and not allowing himself to dwell on the sweet hour he had spent in
Sophie’s arms. The vision of that shared idyll would drive him
absolutely mad.

At half-past nine, Ramsay heard the clatter of
hooves and the call of a driver as Lady Auliffe’s coach swept into
the yard. Ramsay stirred, coming fully and immediately awake at the
sound and grateful that his migraine had passed. He headed for the
front entry, pulling down his waistcoat and smoothing back his
hair, and hoping to keep his conversation with Lady Auliffe
private.

The butler opened the door and Lady Auliffe’s two
little dogs burst into the house, yapping and jumping at their
mistress’ skirts, while William followed in her wake, loaded with a
large trunk topped by two wig boxes.

“Captain Ramsay!” Lady Auliffe exclaimed, pulling
back at the sight of him, and almost causing William to bump into
her from behind.

“Good evening, madam,” he said with a short nod of
his head.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I must speak with you.”

“My God, half of London is come to Scotland!” She
waved William up the stairs and instructed the butler to fetch them
a light dinner in the drawing room.

“I must use the house of office,” she announced,
unpinning her hat, “Help yourself to whatever you wish to drink,
and I will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

The butler bowed. “This way, sir.”

Ramsay followed him down a dark hallway, paneled
entirely in oak, to a formal room done in dark green and gold. He
strolled to a cabinet beneath the portrait of a stern-looking
gentleman in a periwig, inspected the numerous offerings inside,
and poured himself two fingers of French cognac. Just as he
returned the bottle to the shelf, he saw Lady Auliffe glide into
the room. She had replaced her hat with a lace cap, and donned a
wool shawl. Her eyes appeared a little tired, but other than that,
he never would have guessed she had traveled nonstop from
London.

“Would you like something?” he asked, looking
up.

“I’ll have a brandy, too, if you please.”

She walked to the fire and stretched her arms out at
her sides. “I’m damned glad to be out of that coach, I can tell
you.”

“I’m amazed at your resilience, Lady Auliffe.” He
gave her the glass of brandy.

She raised it. “To highwaymen,” she said.

“You were robbed?”

“No, thank God. But a very handsome one stopped the
coach just beyond the border—until he found out with whom he was
dealing.”

Ramsay grinned.

She watched him as he took a sip of his brandy.

“But I admit to no small surprise to find you
waiting for me,” she remarked.

“You aren’t the only one surprised. How did you know
to come?”

“My granddaughter left a letter.”

“She did?”

“Yes.”

Before he could ask any questions about the contents
of the letter, she narrowed her eyes. “And why are you here,
captain?”

“I came on business, initially. But this afternoon,
I discovered Miss Hinds and Metcalf were here, planning to
elope.”

“A plan that must be thwarted, if they haven’t
wedded already.”

“It’s scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’d hoped to be in time to stop it.”

“I assumed you would feel that way, madam, but—”

He broke off at the sound of the door being opened.
Ramsay glanced at the doorway, where a tired-looking maid appeared
with a tray of meat, cheese, and bread. She quietly left it upon a
side table and hurried from the room, probably anxious to return to
her warm bed. Ramsay waited until she closed the door, and then
moved forward.

“And your objection to the marriage is?” he
asked.

“Metcalf is a wastrel.”

“Who you believe would ruin your granddaughter.”

“What do you think? He’s a gambler and a
womanizer.”

“But you needn’t care about that.” Ramsay let out a
long sigh, realizing that once he began this conversation, there
was no going back. This was the moment he would betray Sophie, the
moment he had been dreading for weeks. Heartsick, he reminded
himself of his goal, that of gaining Highclyffe, and forced himself
to continue. “In fact, you need not bother yourself about Miss
Hinds at all.”

“And why do you say that?” Lady Auliffe put down her
brandy and reached for a plate onto which she piled a generous
amount of food. She gave the plate to Ramsay and then fixed another
for herself.

“Because Miss Hinds is not who you think she
is.”

“Really? And what do you know of her?”

Lady Auliffe’s coolness took Ramsay aback. He had
thought his remark would have shocked her, but she seemed more
interested in a slice of cheese she’d selected than his
announcement regarding her granddaughter’s identity. And then the
realization dawned on him that she must be aware of Sophie’s true
identity.

“Cat got your tongue, young man?” she asked sharply,
and he felt himself flush. Lady Auliffe sat upon a chair and
glanced up at Ramsay, her eyes clear and direct. “I’d say you have
some explaining to do. And cease that pacing. You’re driving me to
distraction. Sit.”

Distracted himself, he obeyed her, and the terriers
plopped down at his feet, staring up at him and waiting for a
morsel of food. Hoping to discourage them, and possessing no
appetite whatsoever, he set the plate aside. And then with a sigh,
he leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees.

“It is all my doing, madam.”

“What is?”

“The ruse. But you must believe it was not my
initial intention.”

“And what was your intention?”

“Simply to convince your granddaughter not to marry
the Earl of Blethin.”

“Why?”

“I wanted him destitute. Metcalf was so ruined by
gambling debts that the only way out was to play the tables and
pray his luck would turn. As a marker, he put up a piece of
property that I wished to acquire. And he lost. I would have that
property now, were it not for the inheritance he discovered he
would to come into by marrying your granddaughter.”

“The property you speak of is Highclyffe, isn’t
it?”

Ramsay ignored her question. “To meet my objective,
I had only to convince your granddaughter to find a better
prospect—which was ultimately in her best interests anyway.”

“You met the real Katherine then?”

“Yes.”

“And what was she like?”

Ramsay glanced at the older woman. “Do you want my
honest opinion?”

“What do I look like—an old fool who can’t bear the
truth?”

Ramsay flushed again.

“Tell me what you really thought of her, Ramsay, and
don’t spare me.”

“Very well. She was sharp-tongued with me.
Headstrong. She wouldn’t listen to reason. And I saw her strike her
servant.”

“Strike her servant?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “She seemed unusually
short-tempered.”

Lady Auliffe frowned. “Just like her mother,” she
murmured to herself. And then she looked up. “Was she pretty at
least?”

“I did not actually meet her face to face.”

“Oh?”

“The only audience she gave me was while she was
dressing, behind a screen.” He thought of Sophie’s subtle good
looks, made all the more captivating by her intelligence and good
humor, and doubted her beauty would have been surpassed or even
matched by the looks of real heiress. To draw any parallel between
the two young ladies was a disservice to Sophie, but he didn’t wish
to be unkind to the elderly woman across from him.

“And the real Katherine perished in the fire,” Lady
Auliffe remarked.

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case.”

“‘
Tis the case. The innkeeper’s men
found her locket on a body discovered in the rubble and delivered
it to my house mere hours before I began my journey
here.”

“And they were certain she was wearing a
locket?”

“Apparently, she never took it off.”

He looked up and saw a shadow darken Lady Auliffe’s
eyes, but no other hint of grief passed over her features. In her
long trip north, she must have dealt with the idea that she had
lost her real granddaughter. Perhaps, because she had never met the
girl, she found the blow easier to withstand. Perhaps, because Lady
Auliffe was a strong woman—as if made of granite herself, just like
Highclyffe—she would not allow her grief to show in public. Ramsay
respected her stoicism.

Still, slightly ill at ease, he continued his story,
“I got to the inn as soon as I could after hearing it was in
flames, hoping to help Katherine. Someone jumped from her window,
scorched and wounded. I thought it was your granddaughter. The
place was like a madhouse, and she was injured, so I took her to my
townhouse and called for a physician. Not until later did I realize
my guest was not your granddaughter.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Well, the woman who had jumped from the inn claimed
to be Katherine, but I soon discovered she was the maidservant
named Sophie Vernet, who was being chased by thief-takers.”

“For that murder in Kensington.”

“Yes.”

“Lord!” Lady Auliffe reached for her brandy. “This
story grows thicker by the minute!”

“Then began the real ruse. And I am not proud of the
deception, madam.”

“But why did you do it? I’m still unclear.”

Ramsay straightened. “After I found out the woman in
my house was not an heiress but a pauper, I came up with an even
better plan. I would induce Edward Metcalf to marry her, so he
would have no chance to make good on his debt, and the property
would finally fall into my hands. It was something I had worked a
lifetime for. I could think of little else.”

“Pure revenge, young man.”

He nodded and looked down. “And poor Sophie didn’t
know any better. She was trying to survive a very difficult
situation. And I convinced myself that I was doing her a
favor—giving her a chance at a new life, with a new name. Safe from
her pursuers.”

“I see.” Lady Auliffe took a thoughtful sip of
brandy. “Curious though, that Sophie claimed
she
was the
wicked deceiver and you the poor innocent who knew nothing of her
schemes.”

Ramsay’s head shot up. “When did she tell you
that?”

“In a letter she left behind. She sounded quite
contrite.” The elderly woman returned her glass to the tray. “Yet
now that I’ve heard your tale, I’m having a difficult time deciding
whom to believe.”

“Believe what you like, ma’am, but don’t blame
Sophie. She had so few choices in the matter.”

“You protect one another with such determination,”
Lady Auliffe commented, not unkindly. “’Tis quite remarkable.”

Ramsay jumped to his feet, no longer able to sit
still. He paced to the fire, his left hand clenched around his
right wrist at the small of his back. He knew the older woman’s
gaze followed him, judging him, and likely damning him as well.

“But I ask you, Ramsay,“ Her voice followed him.
“What kind of protection are you providing her now?”

“What do you mean?” Ramsay inquired.

“Exposing her. Telling me to wash my hands of her.
Letting her marry that scoundrel.”