“Oh?” The hooded eyes fell upon the woman, who gulped. “Is this affair in the near furure?”
Claudia nodded nervously. “Why…ah…yes…two weeks hence.”
Lord Saxton looked down at his young wife. “And have you a suitable gown to wear?”
Erienne smiled. “Yes, any one of several, my lord.”
“Then I see no reason why you shouldn’t go to the Talbots’ ball.”
Claudia rose to her feet and with a delicately manicured hand at her throat, spoke unsteadily. “I…I really must be going now, but I shall inform my father that you’ll be coming.” She felt as if the eyes behind the unblinking holes could see to the most private depths of her being, and there was much there she did not want to yield. The almost overpowering urge to scream already made her voice tremble, and she dared nothing more than the meekest farewell. “Good day to you both.”
The woman hastened toward the door, not even tossing back a glance.
“Do come back again, Claudia,” Erienne called pleasantly. “Perhaps when you can stay longer.” She curbed her threatening laughter until she heard the coach pull away from the drive, then she leaned back in her chair and giggled in glee. “My dear Stuart, did you see the look on her face when you came in? She was absolutely terrified of you.”
“My dear Stuart,” he mimed with a chuckle. “Now, that is a phrase my heart has longed to hear. Dare I hope that you’re growing fond of me?”
Erienne gave him a timid answer. “At least I don’t fear you as much as I did.”
“Then perhaps I should be grateful to your friend for improving my circumstance with you.”
Erienne’s slim nose wrinkled in distaste. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but she is no friend of mine. She came here because she heard rumors about you, and she needs a curiosity to liven her ball. People say that she and I resemble each other, and I believe she resents me for that reason.”
Lord Saxton leaned forward, bracing his hands on his cane as he looked down at her. “Madam, before I took this encumbrance upon myself, I was considered by no few to be something of a rake. ’Tis therefore my expert opinion that the young woman feels much envy and thus a more than significant jealousy.”
“But Claudia has everything,” Erienne argued.
“Not everything, my love, and she will need far more than beauty to make her happy.” He paused a moment until Erienne met the blank stare. “And you, my love? What more would you need to make you happy?”
She lowered her gaze in confusion as a hot flush crept into her cheeks. The words she had once bravely voiced to Aggie now hid themselves behind a wall of trepidation and fear. She had stated that she wanted a plain, ordinary man whom she could show some affection for, but there was no use dreaming for the impossible. She had to be content in the fact that she could now look at her husband without feeling the hair crawl on the back of her neck.
The visit of Claudia was not even dismissed from mind before another coach was seen coming toward the manse. It was shortly before midday of the following morn when Aggie came puffing into the old lord’s study, where Erienne was carefully cleaning the gilded harpsichord. Two maids had been set to dusting the other artifacts and furnishings of the room, and among the three of them the chamber was taking on a look of elegance.
“If me eyes don’t deceive me, mum, the hired livery from Mawbry is comin’ up the lane. I’ve seen it a time or two, and I can tell ye truthfully, ’tis a miracle it goes anywhere at all.”
“Mawbry?” Erienne rubbed the back of her hand across her brow, inadvertently smearing the black smudge that was there into a long streak. “Who could be coming to see us from Mawbry?”
Aggie lifted her plump shoulders in a shrug. “Yer father perhaps? Maybe he’s lonesome for ye.”
More likely out of coin, Erienne mused as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll go down and meet him.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, mum, but wouldn’t ye rather tidy yerself? Ye wouldn’t be wantin’ folks ter think ye’re just a hirelin’ here.”
Erienne glanced down at herself and discovered that her gown and apron were quite soiled. Immediately she began pulling at the ties of her apron as she hurried toward the door. “Have you seen Lord Saxton?”
“The master and Bundy were gone ’fore I rose this morn’n’, mum, and there’s been no sign of ’em since.”
“If Lord Saxton should return, please inform him that we have another guest.”
“Aye, mum. That I will.”
Erienne had mounted the stairs and was hurrying toward her bedchamber when a large form recognizable as her husband stepped from the hall leading from the east wing. She was almost past when the realization of his presence struck her, but before she could turn, he stepped near and reached a long arm out, catching her at the waist and pulling her around to face him.
“Madam, where do you go in such a flurry?” The amusement was evident in his voice as he chided, “And looking for all the world like you’ve just crawled from a dustbin.”
“I can say the same for you, milord,” she returned, brushing off his coatsleeve, where dirt and a tangled mass of cobwebs clung. She glanced down the shadowed corridor, wondering how he had managed to return to the manse without being seen and then be in a wing where there were no outside doors. “Have you grown wings of late that you can swoop in and out unobserved? Aggie said you were out.”
“Did she now? And as busy as she is, is it any wonder that she missed seeing me return? Were you looking for me?”
“We have a visitor approaching…and I…I think it may be my father.”
“Your father, eh? And do you think he’s finally come to his senses and wants you back with him?”
“I doubt that, milord. More likely he comes to cure a lightness of his purse.”
“And do you think I should aid him in that regard?”
“I fear he would only lose it at the gaming tables or let Farrell drink down what it would buy. They are probably both better off without it.”
She took her hand from his arm, blushing as she realized how familiar and wifely the gesture seemed. Confused by her own manner, she stood away, giving a lame excuse. “I’d better go tidy myself.”
Lord Saxton followed her into her chambers and leaned an arm against the windowsill while she took fresh clothing from the armoire. The gown she wore fastened down the back, and without Tessie’s aid she could not undo it. She glanced his way, hesitant about making such a wifely request when she was reluctant to commit herself to any familiarity beyond what had already been established. He watched her closely in return, and it dawned on her that he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Releasing a trembling sigh, she went to him and lifted her hair aside as she presented her back to him. The task was delayed as he doffed his gloves, and she stood quietly, not daring to look over her shoulder until the gown was loosened and he had drawn on the gloves again. She stepped away, hunching her shoulders forward until the bodice dropped down over her arms, then wiggled out of the garment.
“Madam, have you noticed that it’s snowing?” he asked, admiring the gentle swing of her hips before she disappeared behind the arras. “ ’Tis most likely we’ll be having an overnight guest if this continues.”
“I’m hurrying,” she called, taking his statement as a warning. After a quick swipe of a wet cloth across her face and a few yanks of a brush through her hair, she reappeared in her shift. In her haste, she was oblivious to the sight she presented him when she stepped into the gown and bent over to pull it up over her petticoats. The shallow bodice of the shift gapped away from the creamy flesh, baring the delicately hued peaks and sending a surging hotness flooding into his loins. Thrusting her arms through the long sleeves, she hurried to him, unaware of his discomfort, and again turned her back, this time glancing over her shoulder with a timid smile.
Lord Saxton released his breath in slow degrees as he pulled off the gloves. The urge to do more than this simple service savaged his restraint, an
d by the time he had completed the torturous task, he was of the firm opinion that he was a man who had made his own hell.
Escorted down the stairs on her husband’s arm, Erienne felt her nerves tense with each descending step. Her father’s loud voice boomed through the manse as he addressed Farrell, boasting of all that he had once had in London and of the many lords who had lent an ear to his wisdom.
“Ahh, there I had it all, and someday I will have it again, me boy. Ye just watch. We’ll live in a place as grand as this and have servants ter wait on us hand and foot. Oh, ’twill be fine, Farrell. Fine indeed.”
The heavy thud of Lord Saxton’s weighted shoe brought Avery around to face the couple as they entered the great chamber. His eyes quickly flitted over them, and his face displayed a momentary tightening at sight of his daughter’s gown. Even though it was simple and modest, both cut and cloth were well beyond what he could afford. It was not right that the chit should enjoy such luxury and not share with her kin.
“Well, good day, Erienne!” His voice seemed overloud. “The passage of time appears ter have done ye well.”
Erienne passed him with cool dignity and nodded briefly to Farrell before slipping into the chair her husband pulled around for her. Avery cleared his throat and perched on the long bench that sat in front of the hearth.
“I guess ye both be wonderin’ why I’ve come. Well, I brought ye some news, I did. Bad news, I fear. And seein’s as how ye’re now kin, milord, I thought ’twould be best ter warn ye.”
“Warn us about what?” Lord Saxton questioned.
“Me and Allan Parker…he bein’ the sheriff of Mawbry, ye know…well, we were up ter Lord Talbot’s the other day, and I overheard the two o’ ’em talkin’…Allan and his lordship, I mean. ’Twas just a quick exchange, ye understand, ’fore they seen me listenin’.” He peered up at his host as he made his point.
“Well?” The word was issued in a tone of impatience.
Avery released a long sigh. “They were talkin’ ’bout ye, milord, and sayin’ as how they think ye could be the night rider.”
Erienne gasped and glanced up at her husband, who after a moment began to chuckle.
“I thought it funny too, milord,” Avery chortled. “Why, ter me knowledge ye don’t even sit a horse, and ye seem kind o’ slow….” He waved his hand to negate his statement and gestured to his head. “Not slow here, mind ye, but with ye bein’ a cripple an’ all…Well, it all seems a mite farfetched ter think o’ ye ridin’ across the moors like some lunatic.” He nodded his head vigorously. “I said as much ter his lordship, but then he asked me who I thought it was, and I couldn’t rightly say.”
Lord Saxton’s voice bore traces of humor as he asked, “And were you able to convince Talbot of my innocence?”
“I cannot rightly say, but if ye’ve proof o’ yer whereabouts last night maybe I ought ter hear ’bout it.”
“Why last night?” his host inquired.
“ ’At night rider struck again durin’ the night, this time leavin’ ol’ Ben crumpled dead against the back door o’ the inn.”
Erienne caught her hand to her throat in shock, but only a deadly silence came from Lord Saxton. Almost calmly he asked, “How can you be sure it was the night rider who murdered Ben? Did anyone see him?”
Avery drew himself up in an authoritative manner. “The bloody blighter did ol’ Ben in just like he did Timmy Sears. Spitted ’im right through the chest and slit his throat, ’e did, and left ’im ’ere….”
Erienne shuddered and turned her face aside.
“Spare us the details, man,” Lord Saxton bade sharply. He splashed some sherry into a glass and pressed it into his wife’s hand. “Here, this will help you.”
“Must o’ been some’in’ she ate,” Avery declared with a chuckle. “I didn’t bring her up ter be a weak-kneed twit.” He peered at the lord with a twisted smile of amusement. “Unless, o’ course, ye’ve started yerself a wee one growin’ in her belly.”
Lord Saxton spun around to face his father-in-law, and somehow the blank mask seemed to take on a threatening frown. Ducking his head beneath that fearsome stare, Avery cleared his throat again and lowered his gaze to where his foot nervously shuffled against the stone floor.
Erienne struggled against the horrible vision of Ben sprawled limp and bloody. Though pale and trembling, she faced her father and spoke with care. “Lord Saxton…was with me…last night. He…could not…be…the night rider.”
Avery lifted his shoulders in a manner of indifference. “I wasn’t the one what thought it. But I’ll be tellin’ the sheriff what ye said, that his lordship here was with ye all night.”
Erienne opened her mouth to correct the statement, then slowly closed it again. Her husband looked around as if expecting her to speak, and was amazed when she did not.
In rapt attention, Farrell had watched the hypnotic sway of the sherry as it sloshed back and forth against the sides of the crystal decanter. At times his tongue had followed the motion, moving over his parched lips as he savored the brew in his mind. The trip from Mawbry had been overlong and unduly rough, and he had developed quite a thirst on the way. Of late, he had lacked the coin to buy anything more than the cheapest ale, and he dearly needed something to take the chill from his bones.
“Ah…Lord Saxton…if I might impose upon you to fill another glass there…”
Stuart’s gaze came around to the younger man, who hesitantly motioned to the decanter. The eyes behind the mask flicked over the rumpled clothes and the soiled shirt, then clouded with pity. With a flagging reluctance, he poured a shallow draught into a glass and noted the unsteadiness of the hand that accepted it from his grasp. The low, sibilant voice seemed to echo in the room as he spoke. “I understand that you were an accurate shot before your arm was injured, Mr. Fleming.”
Farrell paused with the glass half raised to his lips and stared mutely into the mask.
“Have you considered developing your skill with your left hand? It might prove difficult, but if you’re persistent, ’tis possible to learn to handle a weapon just as well with it.”
“That arm’s ’bout as useless as the other,” Avery sneered. “ ’Tain’t good for nothin’ more ’an bringin’ a glass to his lips. Why, he’s a cripple, can’t ye see that?”
Farrell downed the drink in a gulp and then slowly held out the glass as if hoping for a refill. Lord Saxton ignored the silent plea, took the glass from him, and set it aside.
“He’ll be as much of a cripple as he wants to be,” Stuart stated firmly. “Or he can be his own man.”
Avery momentarily displayed his contempt for his host. “Like ye, milord?”
“Father!” Erienne gasped.
“Never mind, my love,” Stuart murmured over his shoulder.
“Well! Will ye listen to that now? Love she is,” Avery chortled. “I never thought I’d see the day when a man would be sayin’ ’at ter her.” He jabbed a finger at his daughter as he cast an eye toward his son-in-law. “I tell ye that chit caused me a barrelful o’ sorrow, the likes o’ which I ain’t got over yet. I was a poor, bereaved man. I lost me wife. Me boy was crippled, and this girl thought she had ter have a man what she could admire. And here she is now, defendin’ the likes o’ yerself, sir, as if ye were the grandest-lookin’ man what’s come along since the dawnin’ o’ time. If she ain’t so particular now, why couldn’t she have set aside her foolishness long ago and married a kindly man what woulda taken pity on me in me old age?” He shook his head in bemusement. “I’ll never understand her. Never!”
A moment of weighty silence passed as Erienne, Lord Saxton, and even Farrell stared in astonishment at the blustering man. Then the lord of the manor contemplated his lady, and when the blue-violet eyes raised to his, they were wide with uncertainty.
Stuart felt a need to clear his own throat. “I believe we were discussing Farrell’s shooting ability.” He faced the younger man as he continued. “I know something about firearms myself, an
d I think you’d be interested in my collection. After we’ve taken some nourishment, I’ll show you a few pieces I have. About ten or twelve years ago, Waters made a bell-muzzle pistol with a spring-operated bayonet. ’Tis a most remarkable weapon.”
Farrell displayed more enthusiasm than he had in the past two months as he replied, “Do you think I could shoot something like that?”
“It might set you back on your heels today, but if you worked at strengthening your arm, in time you might be able to handle it. Of course, you will need a clear head and a steady hand.”
The day aged, and the winter winds blew across the moors, sweeping the snow into sculptured drifts that resembled frozen waves in a sea of white and preventing the passage of the coach. Fires were fed to warm the manor as night approached, and oil lamps provided light as the guests were directed to their chambers. When the manor grew still, Erienne pulled a thin wrapper over her gown and went to rap lightly on Lord Saxton’s door.