The Dark Lady (29 page)

Someone shouted something in foul native tongue and abruptly the attacker’s blade just skimmed Ian’s chest.

Hamilton jerked to attention, his shaky gaze desperately trying to discern who was coming out of the shadows.

Two men darted down the dark alley, and before Hamilton’s wine-soaked mind could make sense of it, hands grabbed him. He jerked against them, struggling to throw a punch, but before he could, one of the Indians seized his head and slammed it against the stone wall behind him.

The world spun hard and sparked with light.

Hamilton scrambled to get away, but there were two of them and their muscled bodies would not be gainsaid. One of his attackers slammed a palm over his mouth, rendering him silent.

Their sweaty, hulking forms surrounded him, and terror managed to penetrate his wine-muddled thoughts. He could no longer see Ian in the dark. Where was Ian? Where was he?

Someone grabbed his wrists and then he felt a white-hot cut rake his flesh and veins. Sudden clarity rammed through him. This was a death sentence. Hot, slick blood slid down over his fingers. He fought against his assailants, but the wine made him slow and as the blood poured from him he found himself growing weaker.

It was going to look like suicide. But what of Ian?

The men holding him lowered him to the dirt street, and just at that moment a beam of moonlight shone harshly down upon them, bathing an Indian man’s face in its icy light. Tears sparked his dark eyes and he lifted a small piece of fabric, a Sepoy’s rank stitched to it.

Recognition riddled Hamilton. That rank. It was the same as the boy who had killed himself. Even in his shocked state, Hamilton could see that this man had come for vengeance. “P-please—”

Hamilton looked up into the face of the man hovering over him.

“You killed my son.” The Indian’s eyes blazed with
broken hate and pain. Shaking, he leaned forward and growled. “You will kill no other sons.”

This was about the sodding Sepoy? Hamilton narrowed his eyes and with as much saliva as he could muster he spat in the filthy son of a bitch’s face.

Flinching slightly, the native just stared down at him, watching, his dark eyes a void of grief.

Hamilton jerked his gaze away from the unrelenting stare. Uselessly, he struggled against the brutal hands still holding him down. Allowing his blood to flow quickly and freely. He was going to die here. On the dirty ground. At the hands of a native.

In the cold light, several feet away, Ian crouched down, his face a mask of pain and horror. “I warned you. I told you no more deaths. But you couldn’t stop.”

Hamilton’s heart slammed like a wild hammer in his chest. “You’re killing your best friend,” he hissed.

Ian remained frozen. His voice breaking, he said, “You k-killed my friend. My best friend.” Ian’s rough intake of breath was audible down the alley before he said, “He’s been dead for years.”

As the man holding him eased his grip, Hamilton felt his life sliding away, felt his body floating away. He couldn’t even draw an easing breath as he locked gazes with his childhood friend. “You son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered. “So sorry. I tried. I tried to bring you back.”

No forgiveness, though. Ian did not ask for it. Nor would Hamilton give it. As the men stared down at him while his lifeblood leaked to the dust, Hamilton wished his father had never taken Ian in or made him promise to come to India. Hamilton wished that Ian had not been such a sycophantic do-gooder. But most of all, he wished that he, himself, had been a better man. Now there would
never be the chance. So as he struggled for breath, Hamilton mouthed, “Go to hell, Ian.”

Ian nodded and his eyes glimmered with unshed emotion. “I will. So we shall see each other again.”

And there on the cold ground, in a foreign land, among the filthy people he loathed, Hamilton breathed out his last.

England
The present

Only a few, harried days later, Eva stood in the Louis XIV salon awaiting her judge. Everything had changed. The gown wrapped about her body was the most beautiful deep lavender moiré silk. It appeared silvery gray in some lights, and sparkling purple in others. The neck bore a simple swath of Irish lace and a cameo from the western shores of Italy. Only her hands and face were exposed. Her dark hair had been woven into an artful little hairpiece at the back of her neck. It almost felt like her own.

The full skirt hid any notion that she might indeed have limbs below her waist.

It was comforting how much Ian believed in her. Right now, she would have given anything to have him holding her hand, adding to her newfound courage. He was waiting in the foyer for Dr. Jenner’s arrival. Wyndham had gone to fetch the doctor and they were due any minute.

She had no idea what to think of this new ally in her pursuit of freedom. But he was a welcome burst of light into her dark world. And she knew Ian needed it, too. That faint touch of humor to a world about to crack.

Though she would have preferred Elizabeth to wait with her, Ian had been explicit in his commands. She
would be ready for the doctor and not appear as if she needed someone in the room to keep her from topping herself.

A carriage rolled up to the front of the house.

Eva’s heart leapt in her chest. She forced herself to take deep breaths as she turned from the window and faced the room designed for a woman.

They had calculated this moment in every degree. Nothing would be left to chance. She would appear as a woman of duty, intelligence, and propriety, in the perfect gown, in a perfect woman’s room.

Everything beamed with lightness. In truth, she felt a bit as though she had landed in a sugar confection. The walls were painted blue silk. The furniture: delicate, white-painted wood, gilded and embroidered with roses. She’d come a good distance since that first day at Blythely Castle, when she’d been afraid to contaminate Lady Elizabeth’s salon. Today she would not hesitate to sit, even if some part of her still felt as though she didn’t quite belong.

Voices carried through the hall, hushed from the foyer. No doubt they were discussing her. Discussing what tactic the good doctor would take.

Footsteps thudded along the wood flooring on the opposite side of the door. It was time. Time to take her place in this illusion. Eva pressed her hands lightly to her skirts and stood by the delicate settee facing the door.

She was bloody well going to do this. She wasn’t mad. She may have had everything taken away from her, but insane she was not.

“Lady Carin,” a genial voice called as the door opened and a white-haired man crossed the threshold. His thick, silvery beard gleamed and he smiled kindly as he stepped toward her.

Eva swallowed and quickly matched his smile. She lifted her hand, waiting for him to take it.

He did so, bowing over it, his gray suit creasing ever so slightly. “It is a pleasure. I have heard so much about you.”

Eva did not let her smile dim as she turned regally and moved, her skirts swaying, to her seat. With great care, she lowered herself, arranging her skirts and crinoline. “Indeed, sir. I am sure my reports are most curious.” She gestured to the chair next to her. “Do sit down.”

She darted her gaze to the door. Where the devil were they? Ian, Wyndham, and Elizabeth were supposed to have been right behind the doctor. Accompanying him and supporting her.

Dr. Jenner followed her gaze, then sat, sweeping out the tails of his coat. “Pardon, my lady, but I asked that we meet alone. I felt it best if we became acquainted without the pressures of prying eyes.”

Or eyes that might tell her what to say and do.

Eva nodded, forcing a smile back to her lips. “Of course. What an honor it is to have you here.” She leaned forward, hoping for a slight teasing air. “And all to myself, the Queen’s own physician. I am a very lucky woman.”

He tsked, his blue eyes twinkling. “Now, now. You flatter me.”

Eva shook her head. “I only speak the truth.” She lifted her brows just as a lady should when about to offer something. “Might I offer you tea?”

Dr. Jenner eyed her carefully, then nodded. “Please. How kind of you to offer.”

Eva stood slowly, allowing her skirts to fall back into perfect place. She took even steps to the fireplace, her back straight, her head high. She tugged on the bellpull, closing her eyes for a moment. She could do this. And even as she said it to herself, she realized it was true. She was entirely capable of this. At last, she turned to him.

Dr. Jenner relaxed slightly in his chair. “Lady Carin, it seems foolish to pretend that I am not here to judge your soundness of mind.”

Eva blinked. This was not what was supposed to happen. Then again . . . how freeing to not have to pretend so utterly that nothing was amiss. She laughed softly. “I must confess, it is trying to dance about the subject.”

Dr. Jenner nodded. “Please, my dear, sit.”

Eva did so, this time angling her knees toward him. Nervous, though thankful they were finally about to begin.

“Now. I would like to ask you, why do you believe your brother-in-law placed you in an institution?”

Eva bit down on her lower lip. Institution? Cesspool, more like. Still, this was not one of the questions she had expected. She folded her hands together, grasping for answers that would be acceptable. Sighing, she lifted her gaze to his. “No doubt, my behavior upset him.”

“How so?” he asked gently.

“You see—” Her throat clenched. Could she actually say what she had never said? “You see—” Her voice lowered. “My husband had just been killed in India . . .” It didn’t seem possible that she was allowing these thoughts to finally take form. No one had really wished to hear her speak the full truth of the darkness she’d felt. Not really. Not even Ian, for he had his own demons.

“A terrible loss. I am sorry for it.”

“Thank you.”

“But that is not all?” he urged her.

“No. Of course not,” she said factually. “I am sure you heard of my . . . son’s death.”

“I did. Even Her Majesty voiced her grief.”

Tears stung Eva’s eyes. “How kind. We received her note.”

“You recall it?” Dr. Jenner said, his voice slightly surprised.

“Oh, yes. So many people were so kind, but I could not help but feel—” A tear, traitorous little thing that it was, threatened to slip free, and she blinked quickly. “The tremendous loss of it.”

The door swung open and a maid, Alice, quickly scurried into the room. She carried the tray to the little table beside Eva. The girl eyed the two of them, curiosity rolling off her.

“Thank you, Alice,” Eva said clearly, yet with an authoritative air.

The girl bobbed a quick curtsy, her brown eyes wide.

“I will call if anything else is required.”

Alice snapped her gaze from Dr. Jenner to Eva, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “Yes, my lady.”

As the door shut behind the girl, Eva picked up a beautiful porcelain cup painted with blue and gold flowers and simultaneously, as a perfect hostess did, went through the motions of making a proper cup of tea. Neither of her hands shook. “How do you take your tea, Doctor?”

The words came out of her well rehearsed. They sounded bizarre to her own ears. Formulaic and precise, considering she’d just been speaking of her son. Her Adam.

“I take the good leaf as it comes, my dear.”

With ease, Eva poured out a cup. No drops or splatters, and she allowed the tea to steep before lifting the strainer. A genuine smile tilted her lips as she passed him the cup and then reached for her own.

“You know,” Dr. Jenner began, “the Queen took a particular interest in your situation. She, too, had lost her husband and has so many children of her own. She loves them so dearly that she was touched by the immensity of your tragedy.”

Eva’s fingers pressed down on the saucer. Visibly, they whitened. “Her Majesty is too gracious.”

“She is a remarkable woman and mother. She was sad to hear you had to retire for your health. As you know, Her Majesty, too, has largely retired from society, her mourning for her husband foremost in her thoughts. But I look at you and see a woman who only needs a walk in the park and a bit more cheese and meat on her plate.”

Eva laughed, unsure whether she was being granted a reprieve. “That is very good to hear.”

“And yet, I must ask you to continue.” Dr. Jenner took a sip of tea. “Can you tell me more about Adam?”

The ready smile faded from her lips. “Of course.” Eva lifted her cup and took a delicate swallow. Every word was painful and yet cathartic, as if the poison were leaching out of her under his kind gaze. “He was a beautiful boy.”

Her voice came out strong. Sure. Completely unrecognizable to her. Slowly, she placed her cup and saucer down on the small lacquered table. “Everything about him reminded me of his father. Everyone said he looked like me, but I only saw Hamilton. Even so young he was fearless. Just a baby, mind you, but he would rock forward and pull himself up onto his little legs. He’d fall, an astonished look upon his face, that he had failed at anything he tried.”

Eva bit down on her lip, tears stinging her eyes. “But unlike other babies, he didn’t cry when he fell. He would laugh. The slightest, happiest little sound. As if he were defying that invisible thing that had knocked him down. And then he’d rock forward again, ready to try for a step.”

“You loved him dearly.” It was a statement, not a question.

Eva smiled, even as unstoppable tears slipped down
her cheeks. What would he think of her? “How could I not?”

Dr. Jenner whipped a handkerchief from his pocket. “Take this. It’s the least an old fellow like myself can do for making such a beautiful lady cry.”

Eva took the handkerchief. Why was he so kind? He had to know the next part of the story. “You know how Adam died?”

“You tell me about it, my dear.”

“I had only just received word that Hamilton had died. I needed to go into the village.”