Lisa Bingham (21 page)

Before she could completely digest the events, the door opened to admit Boyd and Evie.

Louisa stiffened at the sight of her brother-in-law, but when Evie ran toward her, throwing herself into Louisa’s arms, she held her close.

“You were so brave, Evie. So brave.”

Evie sobbed and Louisa held her tightly, rocking her to and fro until the girl quieted in her arms.

It was only then that Boyd stepped forward.

“I’d like to apologize to you, Louisa.”

She blinked in surprise. Of all the words she’d expected to leave his mouth, these weren’t the ones.

She stroked Evie’s hair, wondering how she should respond.

“I have been rude and boorish, but it has taken my sister’s death for me to realize just how much.” He looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable, but determined to continue. “Beatrice wasn’t the only one affected by our father’s callousness and Charles’s greed. I’m afraid I allowed myself to become just as bitter, just as cynical.” His brown eyes grew dark with regret. “I only hope that you can forgive me. I should have seen that you only meant to help my family.”

He held out his arms and Evie ran into his embrace. “I am also eternally indebted to you for liberating Evie from a life that was hell on earth. I swear to you that I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that she is never harmed again. It’s the least I can do after ignoring her plight for so long.”

Louisa’s eyes filled with tears. Looking beyond Boyd, she caught John’s gaze—and in an instant, she knew that she didn’t belong here. This was not her life or her identity. She was tired…tired of living a lie and tired of pretending. As much as she had grown to love Evie, Louisa knew that she could never be happy immersed in a fantasy. She wanted her life back—
her
life, not that of a stranger. And if she didn’t claim it now, she would be haunted by might-have-beens.

Especially where John was concerned.

Please, please forgive me,
she prayed silently, her gaze locked with John’s.

“I’m afraid I have my own confession to make. One that I hope you will someday understand….” She bit her lip, then said, “I am not Louisa Haversham. My name is Phoebe Gray—and you were right from the beginning, Boyd.” Her gaze skipped to him, then back to John. “You were right to call me a gold digger. On the journey to America, I was paid to serve as a hired companion to the real Louisa Haversham. We look very much alike, you see. So when each of us voiced our fears about the life we were about to lead in America, we stumbled upon an unorthodox solution, that of switching places.”

The room shuddered in silence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “I honestly did not know that Charles had any family. We were told that he was alone in the world. I only agreed to switch identities with Louisa because I was sure that Charles could provide me with a comfortable life. One without fear and want.”

Phoebe braced herself for Boyd’s response, knowing that he would be furious—and rightly so. But even as she cringed in anticipation of his tirade, he stared at her in stunned disbelief, then offered a rusty sound. A laugh.

A laugh!

Soon the room was filled with chatter and mirth. Phoebe was quickly told of all that had transpired since she’d lost consciousness. As Evie wearily curled on the bed beside her, Boyd spoke of the way the doctor had arrived at breakneck speed after being summoned by John. He’d come with the news that the tonic Evie had been given was primarily laudanum and that she should be carefully weaned from it over the space of many months to prevent serious withdrawal symptoms. Upon his arrival, however, he’d found John bleeding from a gaping wound, Evie sobbing piteously and Phoebe unconscious.

“He was able to determine soon enough that you were suffering from arsenic poisoning,” John said, squeezing her hand.

“Arsenic!”

Boyd nodded. “A search of Beatrice’s things revealed that the hot cocoa she made each morning was liberally laced with the substance. In time, you would have died in the same slow, painful manner as Evie’s mother—perhaps even going mad in the process.” He shook his head. “How could I have been so blind? Besides Charles’s wives, there were other relatives who died prematurely—all of them under Beatrice’s care.”

Phoebe shivered and John squeezed her hand. “I think we’re tiring you,” he said.

Boyd immediately rose to his feet.

“Once again, I’ve proved to be insensitive. John is right. You need your rest. There will be time enough to sort all this out later. In the meantime, I think I’ll tuck my niece into bed.”

Gently Boyd scooped the girl into his arms and carried her into the hall.

John followed them with the lamp, and for several long minutes a heavy silence filled the air.

Closing her eyes, Phoebe wondered what the next few minutes would bring. How would John react to her confession?

As he stepped back into the room, she braced herself for his recriminations. But the eyes that met hers were gentle.

Closing the door behind him, he settled on the side of the bed. Tenderly he skimmed the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. “You do look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Perhaps.” He studied her for long moments, then said, “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Phoebe Gray.”

For a moment she couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing. And then she understood. He wasn’t angry with her. If anything, he appeared…relieved.

Sobbing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close, whispering, “I’m so sorry that I deceived you.”

“Shh, shh.” For long moments he held her close, his hands rubbing her back through the thin layer of her nightdress. A rash of gooseflesh followed in their wake. “I should be asking for your forgiveness.”

Sure that he meant to apologize for his boorish behavior as her bodyguard, she was astounded by the words he spoke next.

“For you see, I’ve been living a lie myself. I’m not John Smith. My real name is Neil Ballard. And I’ve been waiting for years to meet you once again, Phoebe Gray.”

P
hoebe could scarcely believe the words she heard.

“Neil?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she sought something, anything within his features that would remind her of that scared little boy she’d known in the orphanage. But try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile the frail image she’d carried in her mind’s eye with this giant of a man. His hair was darker, his skin tanned and healthy.

But the eyes… I should have recognized him by the eyes alone.

Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands. “You must hate me for what I’ve done, for the cavalier way I’ve treated you.”

He drew her into his embrace, his body warm and comforting. “I’m as much to blame as you. I should have insisted that we have some time to get reacquainted before marrying. Barring that, I should have told you immediately who I was.”

She tipped her head back to see if he truly wasn’t angry with her. “Why didn’t you?”

His grimace was rueful. “At first out of pride. I was hurt that you could have chosen another man over me. Frankly, I wanted to make sure you were worth the bother.”

She laughed when a hint of color touched his cheeks.

“But after I saw you for the first time, I knew I would be staying—and I didn’t plan on leaving again until I’d convinced you to come with me.”

“What if Charles hadn’t died?”

“I can assure you that it was one of the best days of my life when I discovered he would never have the power to claim you.”

Her brow creased. “So that day at the station…you pushed me to the ground simply to thwart my first meeting with Charles?”

“No. I honestly thought that you were in danger.”

“But why?”

He took her hands, his long callused fingers stroking her own. “There are a few details to this story that you still don’t know.” He paused for a moment, as if waiting. “You haven’t asked me yet how I knew you were in New York.”

The truth dawned on her slowly. “Phoebe.”

“Don’t you mean Louisa?”

She touched her forehead with her fingertips. She had lived so long as Louisa Haversham, she was having difficulty remembering her true identity.

“You met…my friend then.” She stiffened slightly. “You refused to marry her?”

Neil laughed. “I did not refuse to marry her. She refused to marry me.”

“What?” Phoebe breathed.

“Your…friend, as you call her, had the audacity to fall in love with an undercover Pinkerton along the way.”

Louisa shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

He patted her hand. “I’ll let her explain everything to you. She’s here. In Boston.”

“Louisa is here? But why?”

Neil tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid that so many explanations are awaiting you, and I’m not sure that you have enough strength to deal with them yet. You need to rest first.”

“But…” Instinctively, Phoebe knew he was right, but she had to know one thing first. “Why did you think I was in danger?”

“Because several attempts had been made on Louisa’s life while she’d been pretending to be you.”

Again, the words made little sense. “Why would anyone ever want to hurt me?”

“Because you are the daughter of a great man.”

“Nonsense.”

“Did you ever know who your father was?”

She shook her head. “My mother refused to speak of him. She said the memories were far too painful. I was still so young when she passed away that I didn’t have an opportunity to press her for details.”

“Then you never knew that your father came from the titled aristocracy.”

She laughed. “That’s absurd. I couldn’t possibly…” Her words trailed away as she remembered her mother’s harsh attitude toward London’s elite. Susanna Gray had been an unhappy woman. Although she’d loved her daughter with every fiber of her being, Phoebe had sensed a tide of anger and hurt just boiling beneath her mother’s outward facade.

“Did she never tell you that you had a sister?”

“No, I…”

Vaguely, Phoebe remembered that when her mother had been ill and delirious, she had often talked of her “girls.”

Girls.

No. It wasn’t possible.

Even before Neil could continue, she whispered, “Louisa?”

She’d always thought the similarities in their build and appearance had been eerie. Was it possible?

Neil nodded. “She’s your twin.”

Phoebe shook her head, still unable to fathom how such a thing could be true. “It isn’t possible. We look similar, yes, but not…”

Neil’s smile was gentle. “Not all twins are identical.”

Like rain seeping into parched ground, Phoebe absorbed the truth. She wasn’t alone in the world. She had a sister. A twin.

Suddenly everything made perfect sense. There had been a bond between the women from the first. Phoebe had felt as if she’d known Louisa forever. From the onset, they’d shared things about themselves that Phoebe, at least, had never told another soul.

Except Neil.

Suddenly it was all too much to take in. Sobbing, she gripped his shirt while the room seemed to dip crazily.

Seeing her distress, Neil laid her down against the pillows. “Shh. We’ll talk about all of this later. Louisa will be arriving for a visit around teatime. I couldn’t put her off any longer than that. Until then, you need to sleep.”

She still gripped him tightly, afraid that if she let him go she would discover that all of this was merely a dream and she was alone again.

Neil smiled, stretching out on the bed beside her and pulling her into the warmth of his arms.

“Sleep, little one. I won’t leave you.” Smiling at her gently, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold circlet studded with rubies.

“Will you forgive me, Phoebe? Will you overlook the fact that I was so thoughtless and shallow in my treatment of you that I allowed myself to look upon you as a possession rather than the woman I loved? Will you reconsider becoming my wife and spending your life with me? Not as a servant, but as my soul mate?”

Tears filled her eyes and she held out her hand. “There is nothing on earth that I would rather be than your wife.”

“Say it.”

She regarded him in confusion.

“Say my name.”

Her smile was brilliant.

“Neil.”

As he slipped the ring on her finger, she drew his head down. Their kiss was slow, sweet and filled with the heat and reverence that only mutual love could bring. And with it came a melting of the last lonely corners of her heart.

As Neil folded her in his arms, she realized that life had a funny way of coming full circle. She had been searching her whole life for a family and a place where she felt she belonged. Little had she known that by surrendering everything she had once held so dear—her life, her identity and her future—she would discover that she’d had everything she’d ever wanted all along.

In the days that followed, both Phoebe and Evie began to recover. Of the two of them, Evie had fared the worst—which was understandable, considering the length of time that she had been drugged. Even with the gradual weaning away of the tonic, she suffered from chills and trembling one minute, bouts of anxiousness and rage the next. But through it all, her mind grew clearer, and more of her memories returned—not all of them happy recollections. Nevertheless, she was determined to make a full recovery. Never again did she want to feel the helplessness she’d experienced when stringing a complete thought together was more than she could manage.

Phoebe stayed by her through it all. Despite the truth of her identity being exposed, she had still formed a bond with Evie, and she would not abandon the girl at such a needy time.

The greatest surprise came from Boyd. When Mr. Pritchard was informed of Phoebe’s true identity, he determined that Boyd should become Evie’s guardian and the recipient of the inheritance that would have gone to Charles’s wife.

Phoebe wasn’t sure if it was self-sufficiency due to his sudden fortune or the fact that the empire he’d helped to create now fell under his sole discretion, but Boyd’s mood transformed overnight. His eyes, which had once been filled with bitterness and suspicion, were alight with joy. Even more touching, he seemed to honestly endeavor to build a relationship with his niece. Again and again he expressed his sorrow at not helping Evie sooner, and vowed to spend the rest of his life in search of recompense.

As if sensing that Phoebe would not be able to stay with her for much longer, Evie eagerly accepted her uncle’s attentions, confessing to him that after years in the asylum, she wanted to see more than the countryside surrounding Boston. When Boyd proposed a year’s tour of Europe—with proper tutors and companions to see to Evie’s education—she eagerly accepted the idea.

Phoebe supposed that she would have felt a trifle lonely if not for the arrival of Louisa. Their reunion was filled with laughter and tears—the emotions even more poignant at the realization that they were sisters. Twins.

As Phoebe gained her strength, Louisa related all that had occurred on her journey west. Phoebe was astounded to discover that she and Louisa Haversham had become the prey of an uncle she hadn’t even known existed.

When Neil urged Phoebe to be careful and remain under the protection of the men who had been stationed around the Winslow estate, she remained skeptical that anything more could happen. Gabe and his Pinkertons had already been posted at the harbor, waiting for Horace Haversham to appear. She had no doubts that her uncle would be arrested as soon as he docked. So why did she have to endure more confinement? But even as she silently protested, she kept her thoughts to herself. After all that Neil had been through in ensuring her safety, she knew she would have to humor him.

Especially since the confinement would not interrupt their plans to be married.

As they entered the stone chapel on the outskirts of town, she squeezed his hand. “I’ll be ready in just a minute,” she promised.

Neil kissed her hand before allowing Phoebe to hurry with Louisa and Chloe into a side room where Phoebe would dress for the wedding.

Since Louisa’s marriage in Oregon had been a rushed affair with little time for such niceties as a gown and flowers, she had insisted on Phoebe’s nuptials being a bit more grand. A half-dozen seamstresses had been working day and night to finish her dress—an elaborate creation of ivory silk and Chantilly lace. Tailored to Phoebe’s slight frame, the bodice was low and sleeveless, and the skirt cascaded at mid hip over a modest bustle into rows of ruched satin, silk and velvet.

As she stared at her image in the vicar’s warped mirror, Phoebe could scarcely believe the woman dressed so elegantly was herself. Never in her life had she dreamed that she would marry for love rather than convenience.

“You look beautiful,” Louisa said, offering Phoebe a small hug and a kiss on the cheek. “This really is so romantic. You’re about to marry a childhood friend, yet you fell in love with him without even knowing that he had ties to your past.”

Her sister handed her a bouquet of delicate pink blossoms. “May your life with him be as happy as my own marriage to Gabe.” Then, backing out of the door, she said, “I’ll tell them you’re ready.”

As the latch snapped shut again, Phoebe took a deep breath, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Behind her, Chloe turned away, offering her a modicum of privacy.

Was Phoebe really about to marry Neil Ballard? The man she had so carelessly offered to another woman only a few short weeks before? The fact still seemed so hard to grasp.

And yet the love she now felt for him had grown out of changes made within themselves.

“Miss Phoebe?”

“Yes, Chlo—”

In a rush, Phoebe took in a hundred details at once.

Chloe’s voice had lost its French accent.

Her face was contorted with contrition, her skin flushed and beaded with sweat.

Then, before Phoebe could comprehend what the woman meant to do, Chloe looped a thick length of ribbon around Phoebe’s neck and began to choke her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Chloe sobbed as she pulled tighter and tighter. “I don’t want to do this, but don’t you see? I have no choice. If I let you escape, Horace Haversham will hunt me down, as well. He paid me money to kill you, a great deal of money. I didn’t know that you would be so kind, that you would offer me clothes and gifts.”

Chloe’s laughter held a tinge of hysteria. “I’d already started to poison you, bit by bit, you understand. But then I caught Beatrice lacing your cocoa with the same stuff—imagine my relief. I wouldn’t have to finish what I’d begun, but Horace would never know the difference…. I truly have grown to love you, but… I’m sorry!”

Phoebe scarcely heard the words. She clawed at Chloe’s hands and her own throat in an effort to breathe. A red haze swam in front of her eyes and her head pounded.

As the strength ebbed from her body, Phoebe realized that she was about to lose everything—the man who loved her, her future happiness, her very life.

The thought offered her a spurt of strength. She flung her hand back, striking Chloe in the eye and catching her off guard. With the stricture imperceptibly loosened, she reached for the lamp on a nearby table and swung it at Chloe with all her might.

Blessed air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath through a throat that seemed to be on fire. Knowing that Chloe would have the power to overtake her if she were caught again, Phoebe stumbled toward the door, threw it open and ran into the chapel.

Time seemed to grind to a halt. In slow motion she saw Neil turn toward her, then Gabe, then Louisa. To her horror, she remembered that the vicar had forced the men to leave their weapons at the door.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Chloe in quick pursuit, this time with a knife in her hand.

Screaming, Phoebe turned to Neil for help, but to her horror, her toe caught in the hem of her gown and she fell to the ground. Within seconds, Chloe was looming over her, while Neil and Gabe were still yards away.

Without warning, a shot rang out, shattering the reverence of the church. Chloe stopped in her tracks, a bloom of red appearing on her chest.