Daughter of Darkness (17 page)

Daphne’s eyes were glassy with fever under her mourning veil. She’d been plagued by the chest complaint since the onset of winter, and the previous week her handkerchief had come away spotted with blood after she’d suffered a fit of coughing. Aware the signs augured ill, she’d taken to her bed, but not before sending to Eduard the drug he’d grown addicted to since being afflicted by madness. Daphne had mixed the dose herself, almost double the usual quantity, for the servants assigned to watch over Eduard had reported he’d been raving and violent the previous night and the apothecary recommended by the marquis had sent her a new prescription.

Playing nursemaid to the mad husband of Daphne de Vere had offered both sport and comfort to the servants set to watch over him. Their last duty had been to seal him unceremoniously in his coffin. They’d left him in his soiled clothes, a green velvet jacket and breeches, and a red brocade waistcoat that matched the heavily rouged cheeks. Even in his madness, Eduard had been a flamboyant dresser.

The mourners didn’t stay long at the graveside, it was too cold. Daphne leaned heavily on the marquis’s arm as they left the scene, and was borne away in a carriage displaying the Lynchcross crest before the coffin had been covered with earth.

The gravediggers grumbled as they watched the mourners depart. They’d worked hard digging the hole in the frozen earth. Although they’d been paid by the parish it was usual for the family of the departed to offer some small recompense. The elder of the two wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘This one’s a toff. Sometimes, they buries them in their clothes.’ Scraping the earth from the coffin he applied the edge of his shovel to the lid. ‘There might be a silk ‘ankerchief or something we can sell.’

‘God, he’s a tawdry looking cove,’ said the younger one gazing at the half-open eyes of the corpse a little nervously. He drew closer, observing the richness of the clothes. ‘They buried him in a hurry, I reckon, and he’s still got his wig and shoes on. Look at them buckles. If they ‘aint silver, my name’s not Jack Dodson.’

Within a few minutes Eduard Lynchcross was naked, his coffin sealed, and the earth being shoveled swiftly over his grave. Later that evening, Jack Dodson laboriously studied a letter he’d taken from the pocket of the corpse’s coat. He was not skilled at letters. Even if he had been, the missive was written in a foreign language. He couldn’t even make out the name of the person it was addressed to.

Perhaps it was a letter to the man’s mistress. It might be worth something to the widow’s crippled father. His glance softened as it went to his ten year old daughter. A man wouldn’t want his daughter to suffer more grief than she had to. Wrapping the letter in a piece of cloth, he concealed it in the hollow of his armpit, binding it in place with a piece of rag. There it would stay until the bargain had been struck, and the money safely deposited in his pocket.

He draped a shawl around his daughter’s shoulders and took her hand in his. They’d dine on more than turnip soup tonight if all went well.

The marquis left Dodson to Simon Carsewell to deal with. His friend had a deadly efficient way of dealing with those who sought to exhort money from him. Of more interest to him was the child. She was a pretty little thing.

‘The letter was still in Jack Dodson’s armpit when the morgue keeper took his body to Guy’s hospital for dissection by a student surgeon.

The surgeon was Charles Addison. Charles could speak tolerable French but had never learned to read or write it. That made no difference when he discovered the letter. Gerard Lytton’s name was instantly recognizable to him.

‘My husband has forbidden me to ride Circe?’ Bewildered by the turn of events Willow could only stare at Brian. ‘Why did he not tell me himself?’ Anger and hurt churned rancidly inside her. What had she done to deserve such treatment? ‘Are you sure you’re not mistaken?’

Brian’s lean, dark face mirrored the anguish in Willow’s. ‘To be sure, when I gave Circe to my own darlin’ girl, I thought the pair of you would never be apart.’

‘What you thought then is immaterial.’ Gerard’s face was dark with anger as he strode into the stable yard. ‘On this occasion I intend to overlook your familiarity of speech with my wife, but let me warn you… from this day on you’ll address her with the respect due to her position. Is that understood, O’Shea?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

‘But, Gerard… ‘

Willow’s voice trailed off when she saw the thunderous expression on her husband’s face. The shrug she gave seemed to incense him even more, for his eyes raked her from head to toe. ‘You’re indecently dressed, madam. Go and change into your riding habit.’ He pointed to a docile looking gelding. ‘Put a lady’s saddle on that, in the meantime, groom.’

‘Do not put a lady’s saddle on anything, not even the stable door!’ Stamping her foot at her husband’s high-handed tone, Willow rounded on him. ‘That horse is so lazy he cannot walk to the end of the lane. I
demand
to know why you forbid me to ride Circe.’

‘You’re in no position to demand anything,’ he said silkily. ‘And if you do not go and change into appropriate clothing, I’ll be forced to help you into it, myself.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Scornfully tossing her head, she turned her back on him. That was a mistake. Seized by the waist she was spun around and roughly tossed over Gerard’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. ‘Put me down this instant!’ Her dangling fists beat ineffectually at his buttocks as he strode towards the house with her. ‘If you do not, I’ll scream for help.’

‘And who will come to your aid?’ Gerard muttered grimly. ‘You may think you have the servants in the palm of your hand, but I wager they’d not risk dismissal by interfering.’ The laugh he gave contained derision. ‘Should I choose to beat you to death in front of their eyes, they’d turn their heads aside.’

‘You would not do that.’ Her hat jolted loose and her hair fell in gleaming disarray to the snow. ‘My hair is getting dirty, Gerard.’

Resignation filled her voice when he took no notice. It was difficult to shrug when hanging upside-down, but she managed it. ‘I suppose the condition of my hair matters not if you intend to beat me.’

‘Your appearance makes no difference to the outcome.’ His gruff voice brought terror to Willow’s soul as she remembered the cruel flogging she’d received her father. The pain had been almost unbearable. She began to tremble. ‘I understand that I’ve angered you, Gerard. I’m bad-tempered and headstrong, and my manners would put the roughest peasant to shame.’ A panicky sob caught in her throat and tears scalded her eyes. ‘I know I’m an ungrateful wretch, but please do not subject me to another beating. My body still bears the scars my father inflicted on me.’

Gerard’s temper turned to ashes in his mouth. Gradually, his footsteps slowed to a stop and he lowered her to the ground. His eyes were bleak as they noted her tearstained cheeks. Taking out his handkerchief, he gently dried them. ‘The marquis permanently marked you?’

‘It’s of no consequence.’ Although the scars were small, she hoped Gerard would not think her ugly when he saw them. ‘They are very tiny scars. One is like a crescent moon and is quite fetching.’ Her mouth twitched into a tentative smile. ‘At least, that’s what my maid tells me. I cannot see it myself.’ Her smile faded when he didn’t respond. ‘I’m sorry I angered you, Gerard.’

‘It was not your fault.’ His eyes softened as he reached out and touched her hair. ‘My conduct was less than that of a gentleman. Be assured, you’ll never receive a beating from me.’

‘I’m mightily relieved,’ she said candidly, and wondered if it would be safe to broach the subject of Circe once again. She couldn’t understand why she’d been banned from riding the mare. ‘May I ask you something, Gerard?’ When one dark eyebrow raised in assent, she took a deep breath. ‘What have I done to be deprived of Circe?’

He bound one of her dark silky locks about his hand whilst his eyes brooded on the question. She’d done nothing but affront his pride. She’d out-ridden him on a horse he’d coveted as soon as he’d set eyes on it, a horse he could not ride himself. Nothing he could do or say would make the mare his. Willow hadn’t been in danger. He’d used it as an excuse, and had handled the situation wrongly. Even her dress did not shock him now he was used to it. Unconsciously, he noted her trim figure in its ill-assorted garb, and toyed with the idea of having a riding outfit designed for her. He’d not allow her to wear such clothing off the estate, of course, it would set scandalous tongues wagging.

Gerard had actually been on his way to the stables to rescind the instructions about the horse. He’d intended to invite her to accompany him on his ride. When he’d overheard the familiarity with which the groom had addressed her, he’d been displeased. Servants, no matter how long they’d served a family, should be deferential. He gave a rueful smile. It was time to make peace between them.

‘I spoke out of temper yesterday. Your riding is of such excellence it brought envy to my breast. In the heat of the moment I used the power of my position to cause you distress. I ask your forgiveness.’ Satisfaction flowed through his body when her eyes lightened. ‘If that’s forthcoming, I’d like you to do me the favor of accompanying me this morning.’

‘A pretty speech, Gerard.’

He grinned as merriment filled her eyes. Thank God she was not disposed to sulk.

‘First you take away my horse, then you throw me across your shoulders and threaten to beat me to pulp. Are you a gentleman, or one of the savages you came across in Virginia?
La, Sir!
Answer this truthfully. Can I trust you to behave like a gentleman?’

Raising her hair to his lips he breathed in an aroma of chamomile and lavender before letting it fall in a shimmering cascade over one shoulder. Her unconscious flirting made him smile. ‘I can only promise to be a gentleman for one day.’

‘Then I shall take advantage of that and be thankful.’ Taking him by surprise, she lightly kissed him on the cheek. ‘I must go and ask my maid to tidy my hair.’

‘Leave it, I beg you.’ His eyes touched admiringly on her lustrous, dark tresses as he took her hand in his. ‘We’ll forget convention this morning and just enjoy our ride together.’

‘Can you forget convention?’ Her laughter rang in the crisp cold air. He relaxed, laughing with her as they walked back from whence they’d come.

‘You’d be surprised just how unconventional I can be on occasion.’

‘On what occasion?’ The smile he slanted her way had an enigmatic quality to it. ‘That you have yet to discover,’ he murmured.

She couldn’t understand why her cheeks chose exactly that moment to take on a rosy hue. Thinking about it afterwards, she came to the conclusion it must have been the cold.

From her window, Edwina watched them return to the stable. Observing what had taken place, she’d feared for Willow’s welfare but knew better than to try and intervene between husband and wife. She’d soon realized her fears were groundless. Gerard would not ill-treat a woman, she assured herself. She smiled with satisfaction. Willow was clever little minx, despite her youth. Aware of her femininity, she did not hesitate to use it to her own advantage.

When Willow had confided her fears about her marriage duties, Edwina had noticed an element of mortification in her voice. The thought that her husband would prefer to fall asleep rather than await her presence, had not sat well with the girl. That she’d been genuinely scared of the union was also apparent. Edwina could not blame her for that. The thought of losing one’s virginity when one had been taught to hold on to it at all costs was daunting. She sighed as she moved away from the window. For all that, the secrets of the bedroom could be extremely pleasurable with the right man. That much she’d told Willow.

‘If you ask your husband to teach you the ways of love he’ll never seek another,’ she’d said.

‘But what
are
the ways of love?’ Asperity had stung her voice. ‘Tell me, Grandmother.’

Edwina had seen the way Gerard looked at Willow, and had observed her response. The awareness was obvious. She would not be left innocent, nor kept in ignorance for much longer.

Humming to herself, Edwina moved to the door. She was feeling much better of late, and the news that Ambrose had also improved considerably had cheered her.

Accosting his personal servant in the hall, she discovered Ambrose was awake and ready to receive visitors. The door was ajar, so she knocked and stepped inside his bedchamber. Transfixed by shock, she stared at the woman by his bed.

‘You!’
she breathed, unable to quite believe her own eyes.
‘How can this be?

The woman’s veil was drawn so swiftly over her face that Edwina wondered if she’d actually seen who she’d thought she’d seen.

Rapid strides took her towards the bed. She gazed down at the small figure in black. Dear God in heaven, she thought. It is her! She wears the small sapphire ring I gave her for her fifteenth birthday. Heart full to bursting, Edwina held out her hands in welcome. ‘My dearest Marietta. I once loved you as my own, as I do your daughter. Do not hide yourself from me. I know not how you come to be alive, but I thank the Lord that it’s so.’

For a moment, Sapphire hesitated, then a tiny shudder ran through her. She took a deep steadying breath and placed both of her hands in those held out to her in friendship. Fate had taken her destiny firmly in hand, and she had not the will to change it.

Gerard had planned the meeting of farmers and laborers carefully, choosing a popular local inn for the gathering.

The gathering passed without incident, the new farming system explained simply by Robert Bascombe. On hand was Anthony Dowling, the officer who’d acted as second in his recent duel, and a couple of soldiers who’d braved the cold for the shilling the duty offered. They were not needed. The ale he provided flowed freely, encouraging a sense of amiability amongst even the most dubious of relationships.

Gerard addressed the men after Robert had spoken, then answered the few questions put by those brave enough to voice their doubts. Afterwards, the landlord provided a meal of bread, cheese and pickles at Gerard’s expense.