Secrets in Mourning (3 page)

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called out.

A servant hauled one of her trunks to the foot of the bed. He didn’t bother with words, just narrowed his eyes at her before leaving. Apparently, the servants had decided to dislike her.

Oh well, she shrugged, it wasn’t the first time. As long as they did their duty and served her well, she didn’t need their civility.

She rang the bell before reaching into her trunk, pulling out a dress to inspect it for wrinkles. While it wasn’t perfect, it would have to do.

 
Another knock.

“Would you like me to escort you to her ladyship, Your Grace?” a petite red-headed maid asked, curtsying with the question.

“Not yet.” Victoria motioned her into the room before turning to reveal the long row of buttons down the back of her dress. “I need your help changing.”

“I am not a lady’s maid, Your Grace.”

Victoria arched a brow at the woman. While not hostile, the maid was definitely ambivalent about assisting her. It was a minor relief to know that servant gossip spread as quickly here as it did in London.

“Are you capable of unbuttoning this?”

The girl blushed. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said before moving forward to give her aid. When done fastening up the, thankfully fewer, buttons on the fresh gown, the woman backed away to hover near the door.

With a last pinch to her cheeks, Victoria turned from the mirror. “Please take me to Her Ladyship.”

With a quick bob, the woman turned and fled the room, setting a pace that allowed Victoria to follow, but just barely. Pausing at a door several hallways away, the girl knocked quietly, waiting for an invitation inside. It took several seconds, but a woman’s soft voice called out for them to enter.

The room, decorated in pastels and curvy, delicate furniture, must have been a high priority on the refurbishing schedule. No man could ever truly be comfortable in such a place.

 
“Lady Victoria.” The servant girl gave one last curtsy before fleeing as if a monster chased at her heels.

“You may be seated.” The older woman’s voice was scratchy, almost as though she hadn’t used it in years.

Moving to sit in a chair across from the lady, Victoria noted the woman’s black crepe dress and the lack of jewelry which would have softened her attire.

“I am sorry for your loss. The Duke was a respectable man,” Victoria said, trying to look somewhat sad about his passing, wishing she were even the least bit sincere.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, reminding Victoria of a crow. The black lace cap she wore over her silvered hair was drooping, coming close to covering one of her squinted eyes. “Yes, he was.”

Something in her tone had Victoria reassessing the woman, dissecting every nuance of her body language. With her slumped shoulders, Victoria had assumed that the woman grieved heavily for her late brother, but seeing the steel in her eyes, the suspicion written over her features, Victoria wasn’t so certain. “You know why I’m here?”

The woman sniffed. “I read the will. You’re here for an inheritance.”

“That’s correct.”

“It was thoughtful of my brother to think of me, but I hardly think that I need the comfort of a widow young enough to be his daughter, and one that didn’t know him at all.”

A smile curved Victoria’s lips. The woman was a shrew. “The will was written five years ago, before we had even met.”

“In any case, it is ridiculous that a person like you would be of any use to me.”

“Yes, well I thought so myself, and yet there was no other choice. I don’t like the idea of being in Scotland any more than you do.” There was no point in pretending something she did not feel. If the woman was going to be blunt, she would as well. “As I can see, you are hardly grieving your brother. I will make an attempt to stay out of your way.” Victoria began to rise, thinking the conversation over.

“Sit!”

Eyeing the woman warily, Victoria lowered into her chair. The harsh, almost screeching tone wasn’t something she had expected.

“My dear, you have no idea what I feel.” There was bite beneath the honey in her voice. “There is another matter of the will that needs to be discussed.” A gleam entered her beady eyes.

The look was enough to put Victoria on alert. “And what matter is that?”

“The part where you are to do whatever I need to help me in my grief.” The catch in the woman’s voice was clearly false.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I will do whatever you need.”

“No? We could pull out the document right now, but I clearly remember it stating that you will be required to do whatever is needed to help me get through this difficult time.”

“Difficult?” Victoria snorted at the notion.

The Dowager Countess continued on as if she hadn’t heard Victoria’s impertinent remark. “With that stipulation, I expect you to attend to me, to see that I am comfortable.”

Victoria gritted her teeth and the woman gave her a slow smile, knowing she had the upper hand. “And what sort of things would I attend to?”

Black crepe rustled as the woman, who was quickly becoming her nemesis, shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever I need, of course. It isn’t a set plan of instructions. More like when I need comfort or pampering, you will see to it.”

“Don’t you have servants for that?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that we are not running on a full staff. I have a lady’s maid, of course, but she is rather busy. I often need help with small tasks.”

“You can’t seriously expect that I will become another maid.”

“Not at all.” But her grin spoke otherwise. “More like a paid companion.”

Victoria spluttered, her temper rising. “There is no way in hell I will ever act as a servant.” She spoke quietly, but the malice behind her words erased any jovial pretense from the Dowager Countess.

“If you don’t do as I say, I will have no choice but to write to my brother’s solicitor and inform him that you have not fulfilled the requirements stated in the will. You will be cut off from your inheritance and left with nothing but inconvenient memories from your journey.”

The urge to rail at the old woman, to take out her frustrations, was overwhelming. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Her lips curved again. “My
dear
brother had such an ideal life. He never wanted for anything from our parents.
 
He led a charmed life in fortune and in love. And I think it is time that his widow pay her dues before she gets a penny from him.” Jealousy laced her voice. It was obvious that she resented her brother’s life, and that this was some sick, twisted type of revenge for all of that.

Victoria wanted to curse. “My husband passed away. I think I’ve paid enough.”

“Hardly. You were married only a few hours. Not even enough time to consummate the marriage.” The countess’ gaze raked over her, taking in her physical features before sniffing as if she found her wanting.

“Whether or not we did is none of your concern. Unless, of course, you’re jealous of that as well,” Victoria taunted, gloating when she saw that her barb had struck true.

“You think you’re so clever. Well, it is up to you whether or not you will receive the inheritance. If you do what I ask of you through mourning, I will let the solicitor know you fulfilled my brother’s stipulations. If not, I will make sure you don’t receive a penny.” Jerking away in dismissal, the woman turned to stare out the arched windows.

Victoria saw red. Instead of hurling the insults she found clambering up her throat, she clamped her mouth shut, quickly exiting the room before she exploded.

Racing down the hall, she entered another room at random, barely noticing that she had walked into the library before screaming like a banshee.

The woman meant to make her a servant? Someone to be at her beck and call, to order around at her whim? The nerve!

As Lady Evelyn, the Dowager Countess, had said, she had two options. She could do as she was told, bide her time here until she received the inheritance and then never answer to another, or she could leave now, knowing she would be dependent on her brother until she was forced to remarry.

She didn’t like either option. While she would never be required to act a as a servant in her brother’s home, she wanted her own space. It would only be a matter of time until he married and she would be reduced to a guest. And in the way.

Anger coursed through her. Anger toward the Dowager Countess, toward her departed husband, toward her brother, and most important, toward herself. If she hadn’t been so upset about losing the Duke of Wathersby to Lady Aubrey Langston, she would never have acted so irrationally and married the old Duke. She had still fulfilled her father’s wishes though; she was a dowager duchess after all. But it had been a mistake. She had been weak, misguided, and she could only blame her current circumstances on herself.

Eyeing the crystal decanter and two glasses that rested on a table, she picked up one of the glasses, pouring herself a large dose of scotch. The drink burned on the way down, making her eyes water.

There really was only one choice. She would spend this year in servitude so that she would be free for the rest of her life. She would never remarry. She would never answer to anyone other than herself after this.

She just wished that the old woman wouldn’t get so much satisfaction from ordering her around. She could only imagine what Lady Evelyn would have her do in retribution for her brother’s blessed life.

Another spike of anger coursed through her. “The witch.” Finishing her drink, she threw the glass into the fireplace, relishing the sound of it shattering. It felt good to destroy something. Made her feel more in control.

Picking up the matching glass, she had every intention of destroying that one as well.

“Stop right there.” A man’s voice, deadly in the soft, deep way he spoke, startled her. “I think I’ve seen quite enough.”

“Who’s there?” Victoria peered into the darkening room. With the sun almost set, and the fire low, she couldn’t see the stranger clearly.

The man step stepped further into the light, and Victoria couldn’t help but gasp. He was rugged, earthy in his appearance, but the slash of attraction that cut into her was a surprise. His hair was mussed, like he had raked his hands through it many times throughout the day. Cravat gone, his shirt was opened and smudged with what looked like dirt. The smudges didn’t detract from his looks though; they only enhanced the dangerous feel of him. His skin was bronzed, the muscles of his chest gleamed with a slick of sweat, no doubt produced from whatever activity had dirtied his appearance. It was too far to see his features clearly, but she got the impression they were angled, rough. He didn’t look like a servant, but neither did he look a nobleman.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Victoria heard the edge in her voice, but didn’t apologize. The combination of her attraction for him and the surprise she had felt from his appearance, unnerved her.

“I should be asking you the same question.” He moved slowly around the room, coming closer to her. Stalking her like prey.

His scent hit her first: sweat, earth, and spice. It should have been unpleasant, but surprisingly, it wasn’t. It appealed to her, attracted her more than any scent the fops in London used. “I am the Dowager Duchess of Norwich and I am a guest here.”

Her answer seemed to give him pause. “I see,” he said, giving her a quick once-over.

His words left her with the impression that he found her wanting in some way. Her spine straightened. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I order you to leave. I wish to be alone.”