Daughter of Darkness (9 page)

The fine linen shirt and fitted breeches displayed a man of hard tempered muscles, his eyes contained a sense of purpose. Whatever the viscount set out to do he’d most surely achieve, and it was obvious he had no intention of dying this morning. He was a fitting mate for the virgin temptress. There was a sense of inevitability, as a few seconds later his adversary flicked the weapon from his hand. He was totally outclassed. The viscount was not even going to make a pretense of a fight. A clean kill was his aim.

‘She will not refuse you,’ Hugh said, gazing into the eyes of the man about to kill him. His fingers closed around his shirt-front and ripped the linen apart, baring his chest in a gesture of bravado. Silently he asked God to accept his soul as the point of Gerard’s weapon pricked cold steel against his skin.

Impressed by the courage the officer displayed in the face of death, Gerard suddenly thought. The man is too young to die, and England needs soldiers of valour. He gazed at the livid scar inflicted on the lieutenant by his wife. The woman had been savage in defense of the asset she guarded and amusement surfaced in his eyes. When he claimed his right as her husband he hoped she’d part with it more willingly.

‘I’d not have your mother’s grief on my conscience,’ he murmured, surprising himself at this moment of weakness. ‘Heed my warning. If you seek to slander my wife’s name again I’ll kill you without compunction.’

Handing Anthony Dowling back his sword, he inclined his head to the small group of observers and donned the coat and cloak Rodgers held ready for him. ‘I wish you good day, gentlemen,’ he said, his distaste for the affair clearly mirrored in his eyes as he strode towards the waiting horses. Not a backward glance did he give the stunned tableau he’d left behind him.

Whilst the soldiers rode silently back to the regimental barracks, Willow and Jeffrey were leaving for their morning ride. To both, the morning was a miracle.

Jeffrey was pleased to be out of the confines of his room and the quarantine imposed by his dose of shingles. He’d found new joy in just being alive. The horrors of the smallpox epidemic had faded from his mind, though the deep sorrow he carried in his heart at the suffering it had caused added a new maturity to his thinking. He knew now that life could be snatched away before it had hardly begun. Thoughts of his future prospects as second son had come to intrude uncomfortably on his thoughts, too.

Warmly clad in a dark blue jacket and a pair of woolen breeches Jeffrey had outgrown, Willow smiled at the white vista that spread before them. The scarf threaded round the crown of her tricorn was the same color as her eyes, and was tied under her chin to keep her ears warm. She looked charming, Jeffrey thought, watching the lively sparkle of her eyes.

Her smile bathed him in warmth. ‘We must not stay out too long. I’ll not have you take chill on your first day out.’

‘But, Willow,’ he protested, about to tell her he was perfectly fit.

‘I’ll not listen to any arguments.’ She gave a light laugh at the sight of Jeffrey’s crestfallen face. ‘Brian has set some new jumps up for us in the meadow. If the snow begins to fall again we shall not be too far from home.’

There, Gerard came upon them. Taking the short cut through the forest he reigned in at the top of the rise. From here, a glimpse of the rooftops of Lytton house was available beyond the lake. The home meadows and the avenue of oaks and rhododendrons that led towards the main gates all fell within his vision. Though the grounds and trees were shrouded in snow, he drank in the sight.

His glance was drawn by the sound of laughter coming from the meadow. He grinned with pleasure as he watched the riders taking the jumps. Jeffrey he recognized despite his brother’s growth. He sat easy in the saddle, and appeared to be shouting something at the smaller figure. Scooping some snow from a hedge the smaller figure gave a trill of laughter as he threw it at Jeffrey.

Whoever the youth was, he could ride. Leaning forward, Gerard watched him put his mount over the jumps. The horse was a magnificent beast, the rider so familiar with it that Gerard sensed their rapport from where he sat. He gave a shout of admiration when the pair completed the circuit without a fault.

His brother’s sword appeared in his hand. ‘Stay where you are, sir,’ he shouted. ‘State your business on Lytton land.’

Overjoyed to see his brother again, Gerard urged his mount forward. ‘Will you not extend a welcome to your brother?’

‘Gerard!’
The urgent whisper clearly reached his ears.

Immediately, the youth kicked the black mare into motion and took a run at the wall.

‘Whoa,’ Gerard breathed, recalling where he’d last seen the horse. ‘The mare has not the speed to clear such an obstacle.’

The rider knew better. Gerard’s heart seemed to suspend its beating when the pair easily cleared the wall.
‘God’s oath!’
He couldn’t believe what his eyes had just seen. ‘Who’s riding that mare?’

Jeffrey, delighted to see his brother again, blushed as he lied. ‘Tis one of the stable boys.’

He frowned. ‘He dresses well for a stable boy.’

‘Some of the clothes I’ve outgrown.’ Jeffrey gazed at his brother’s manservant, desperate to change the subject. ‘Is Gregson no longer with you?’

‘He stayed in America.’ Gerard grinned, the black mare forgotten in his pleasure at being home. ‘You’ve no idea how long it seems since I saw you last. You’re almost a man, Jeffrey’

‘And you look like a ruffian with that beard.’

‘Rodgers will have it off me before I seek my father’s blessing.’ He eyed his brother fondly. ‘Come, we’ll ride back to the house together and you can tell me what’s been happening in my absence. I’ve been without news of my family for too long. How is our father and mother?’

It was a grief-stricken Gerard who entered his father’s home a little while later. He followed his brother straight to the earl’s sick bed and gazed at the unmoving form without speaking.

Frightened by his stony countenance, Jeffrey put a tentative hand on his arm, only to have it shrugged off. Gerard gazed at his brother for a few seconds, his eyes stunned and unseeing, then he strode downstairs to his father’s study. ‘Let no one pass that door,’ he barked at Rodgers. ‘I want to grieve alone. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly, My Lord.’ Rodgers sighed as he saw the guilt-stricken grief etched into his master’s face. He had a feeling his month’s trial was going to be more than he’d bargained for.

Tension stalked the corridors of Lytton House. It communicated itself to the inhabitants and manifested in different ways.

Edwina felt it in a painful contraction of muscles in her neck that caused her head and shoulders to ache abominably. The hot poultices Willow administered did not help, and she was heartily sick of peppermint tea.

The servants whispered and grumbled amongst themselves. They cast surreptitious glances at Willow, who affected not to notice as she waited—somewhat impatiently after a week of waiting—to be summoned into her husband’s presence. She was, at that early hour, attending the doctor in the earl’s bedchamber. Convinced he’d improved slightly, she was assuring the doctor of the same. ‘His eyes have an aware look to them now. He blinks, and I swear he gripped my hand the other day. Tell me he’s improving.’

‘If you’ll allow me to finish my examination without interruption, My Lady, I’ll endeavor to offer a prognosis.’ Dr Tansy gave her a peevish glance. ‘His heart seems stronger,’ he murmured a few moments later, then cautioned. ‘Apoplexy is unpredictable. Perhaps I should bleed him again.’

‘I beg you, do not.’ Distraught tears pricked her eyes. ‘The earl looked so pale and drawn the last time, and was too exhausted to swallow his broth.’ Her hand curled protectively around her patient’s. ‘You said yourself he cannot afford to lose much more weight, and your leeches already grow fat on his blood.’

The earl was gaunt, his cheeks sunk in dark hollows. Of late his eyes had drawn life to them, and a small spark smoldered at their core. It was that which convinced her he’d regained the will to live. She was certain the earl now understood everything that went on around him.

‘You’re still giving him the hawthorn tincture I prescribed?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve added honey to mask the taste, for its bitterness is not to his liking.’ She gave Ambrose a fond smile. ‘The earl cannot move nor talk, but his face says much nevertheless.’

‘Then we’ll leave the bleeding until next time, Lady Sommersley. I can see the earl is in good hands.’ Picking up his bag the doctor smiled, deciding it would do no harm to indulge her. ‘You’ll be pleased to know your judgement is not misplaced. The earl’s condition shows a slight improvement.’

‘Thank you, Doctor Tansy.’

After he left she gazed into the earl’s eyes. ‘You heard what he said, dear father.’ Conveniently, she interpreted the doctor’s prognosis to suit herself. ‘You’ve recovered greatly over the past weeks and he’s confident of a full recovery.’

Making a great effort, Ambrose squeezed her hand. If he could have laughed he would have, for she affected his brain like one goblet of wine too many. Now he needed all the strength he could muster. His mouth contorted in effort. Her eyes widened in shock. Swiftly, she lowered her ear towards his mouth to catch the word he uttered.

‘
Gerard?’ She raised her head and watched him blink. ‘You
know
he is home?’

The eyes blinked once again.

In her excitement she forgot protocol addressing him by his first name. ‘Dearest Ambrose. You will answer thus. One blink means yes, two will mean no.’ His eyes blinked again, then closed and stayed shut as though the effort had exhausted him. She gently kissed his cheek. ‘The viscount has been indisposed of late, but the news of your improvement will hearten him. I will suggest… ‘ Her voice strengthened and her chin tilted in determination. ‘No
,
I will
inform
my husband that a visit to his father would be beneficial to both. And I’ll do it now whilst he’s… ‘ She shrugged. ‘I shall catch him before he goes out.’

The word she’d been searching for was, sober, Ambrose thought, watching her leave. Servant’s gossip informed him that Gerard rolled up his sleeves and toiled in the fields like a madman by day. At night, he shut himself in the study and drank himself senseless. He spoke to no-one, not even the estate steward.

Gerard’s conscience was troubling him. His son and heir had arrived home to find his mother dead and his father on the brink of joining her. Unable to obtain the benefit of his father’s blessing or counseling, he’d sunk into melancholy. This was no weakness of character. Gerard had always sought to deny his inbuilt sensitivity. Eventually, he and his conscience would wrestle with the fact and calculate the right answer. Ambrose had no intention of waiting that long with his life hanging in the balance. The fact that he hadn’t died in the first days of his stroke was due to Willow, who had given him the will to live. Instead of offering prayers for his soul, she’d forbidden him to die, then simply said to the Lord.

‘What sort of God gives me a father to love then snatches him away? I know I’m selfish and willful, as Lady Edwina has pointed out many times, and am therefore undeserving of your attention. But Ambrose Lytton is a good and honest man and I’m in need of him.’ She’d taken a deep breath. ‘You’ve proved to have a hearty appetite for souls of late, Lord. You must spare his life. He’s done nothing to offend you.’

Ambrose had been humbled to think she’d brave the almighty’s wrath on his behalf. He’d added his own silent prayer, asking God to forgive her presumption and allow him time to welcome his son back home. But Gerard was fast losing respect, and Willow would not mince her words once she got his measure. Unless his son had greatly changed, the shock would do him good. His only worry was Gerard’s unpredictable temper.

Willow had no such worries as she approached the study, until she was intercepted by her husband’s manservant. ‘My master is still sleeping. He gave orders not to be disturbed.’ ?

‘Stand aside. I bring him a message from the earl.’

‘My master is not fit to receive visitors.’ Rodgers drew himself up in a dignified manner when he saw the resolution in her eyes. ‘Allow me time to prepare him, My Lady.’

‘Most certainly not.’ She bestowed a conspiratorial smile on him. ‘I’m well aware of the dilemma you’re in. ‘As her fingers closed around the door handle she beckoned to the burly man who’d accompanied her on her mission. ‘Please detain Rodgers until you have permission to release him, Grey. Do not enter the study unless I specifically call you. Is that understand?’

‘Yes, My Lady.’

Trusting Grey to carry out her order to the letter she pushed open the study door, slid through the gap and closed it behind her. The room was dimly lit, the blue window hangings proving an effective barrier against the morning light. Back against the door, she listened to the deep, even sound of breathing and knew her husband still slept.

He’ll have a rude awakening and will be in foul humor from the drink, she thought, trying to stifle the instinct to flee. Crossing to the window before she ran out of courage, she drew the hangings aside and gazed dispassionately upon the man slumped in the chair. Though she’d caught a glimpse of him from a distance, up close the power of his presence was disturbing. In repose he had grace, his muscles smoothly taut against the fabric of his shirt and breeches. His stock had been tossed aside, exposing a hint of dark curls at his throat. One booted leg lay casually across the arm of the chair, his bearded head rested sideways upon his broad shoulder.

Gerard’s hands were finely boned for such a large man, but were blistered and calloused, the nails ragged and dirty. He was building a wall, someone had reported, carrying each stone by hand and setting them, one by one, into place.

Overcome by curiosity, yet as alert as a cat, she crept closer. One hand rested on his chest, the other dangled almost to the floor clutching an empty brandy bottle. Beside him on the table stood a full bottle.