Chapter 31
The ground shook, the air heated; Veronica was trembling beneath him. The explosion seemed to go on forever, forever being measured by minutes. The gradual slowing of the rain of pebbles was the first indication it was ending.
He got to his knees, helping Veronica up.
They knelt there in the glow of the fire as he studied her carefully.
Her dress had been singed on one sleeve.
Her cheek was reddened where he’d probably been too rough in throwing her over his shoulder.
A bruise, however, was a small price to pay for survival.
He finished his survey, just now realizing she was doing the same to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, placing her palm against his cheek, her thumb gently brushing against the corner of his mouth.
“Are you? Your face is covered in soot.”
He rotated his right shoulder, feeling the pain and discounting it in the same movement.
“I’m alive,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”
He stood with some effort and pulled Veronica up. For a moment, they simply leaned together, each supporting the other. Together, they staggered to the bridge.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice faint.
“She set the paraffin oil on fire. It explodes,” he said.
“What was she doing?”
He slung one arm around her shoulder. “It’s why the burner failed,” he said. “The oil was contaminated. Anything would have done it, but I suspected she was using dirt and grass.”
“So, she was coming back to do it again?”
He nodded.
Suddenly, Ralston was there. Ralston, with his shirt half off his body and his face covered in red-and-black welts. His white hair was standing up in tufts, and for the first time in their acquaintance, Ralston looked angry.
“Are all right, sir?” he asked, voice quavering.
Montgomery nodded. “Where’s Tom?”
“He’s fine, sir. I had him by me watching.”
“We need to find . . .” his words broke off as he turned to Veronica. “What’s her name?”
“Millicent,” she said.
“We need to find Millicent,” he said. “If she’s alive,” he added. Ralston nodded, disappearing into the crowd of people from Doncaster Hall.
During the next several hours, Veronica’s fire brigade performed admirably, arranging themselves in position within moments of the blaze.
A line was formed leading to the river, and within two hours, the fire was extinguished.
The distillery was reduced to rubble, nothing of the walls or roof remaining.
Surprisingly, one of the last of the whiskey kettles still stood, a little battered, but remaining as a stubborn testament to the building’s original purpose.
The location where the paraffin oil barrel had once stood was covered in earth, a preventive measure to ensure any remaining oil wouldn’t be a hazard.
He and Veronica were surveying the damage when Ralston and Tom approached, each holding the arm of a woman writhing between them.
“We found her, sir,” Ralston said.
Millicent struggled, but the two men held her tight. Suddenly, she fell to her knees in front of Montgomery.
“Oh, sir,” she said, raising a tear-streaked and scorched face to him. “It wasn’t you, Your Lordship.”
Ralston frowned. “Fair words won’t make the pot boil, girl,” he said.
Millicent’s voice changed, grew rough as she sent Veronica a sweeping look of contempt. “It was her, sir.”
“Explain yourself,” Montgomery said.
Before the other woman could answer, Veronica stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and gripped it tightly. She didn’t look in his direction, her attention on the maid.
“Did my cousin tell you to do such a thing? Was it Amanda?” Veronica asked, her voice emotionless. “Did she promise you a position in London?”
He squeezed her hand in wordless comfort, but she didn’t look away from Millicent.
“I don’t know your cousin,” Millicent said.
“Then why?”
“I worked for that position,” she said. “I deserved it. Five years I’ve worked here, and I do a better job than anyone.”
Veronica couldn’t find any words to respond to that shocking comment. Millicent and Amanda were separated by country, status, and appearance. Yet they were alike in their single-minded pursuit of what they felt was owed to them.
“What shall we do with her, sir?”
“Send her home,” Montgomery said. “Send her anywhere but here.”
Taking Veronica’s hand, he turned and headed toward the bridge.
“You thought it was Amanda,” he said.
She nodded. “It seemed like something Amanda would do. How very strange for two people to dislike me so much.”
“I don’t think Amanda likes anyone unless that person can serve her needs,” he said. “As for Millicent, she’s a twisted soul.”
At the top of the bridge, Veronica turned and surveyed the damage.
“Will you rebuild the distillery?”
“We’ll build a place for airships, instead.”
She leaned on the edge of the bridge, gazing down at the water. Dawn was coloring the river orange and pink, shades strangely in keeping with the memory of a night filled with fire.
“How did she know fouling the paraffin oil would make the burner go out?”
“Who tends the lamps?” he asked. “Who filters the oil?”
“Millicent,” she said. “Of course.” A moment later, she asked another question. “She did it because she thought I’d be with you, didn’t she?”
“You were on the first flight. Everyone at Doncaster Hall saw us, which probably gave her the idea.”
“I wasn’t on the second flight,” she said. “Nor did she know I’d be on the one you let people know was planned. She’d have killed you, Montgomery.”
She walked into his arms, clung to him.
“It’s strange to make someone that angry at me,” she said.
His silence earned him a quick look.
“I was never that angry,” she said.
He smiled, and wordlessly they descended the other side of the bridge, taking the path back to Doncaster Hall, a journey interrupted each time someone wanted to speak with them.
Veronica was grateful to see no one seemed to blame her still for Montgomery’s accident. Word of Millicent’s confession had probably already circulated through the staff. Also, Montgomery was still holding her hand, and despite how many times they were stopped, refused to relinquish it.
“Why didn’t you choose her?” he asked, when they had a moment alone.
“Millicent? I had a feeling about her,” Veronica said.
“Your Gift?”
She glanced at him, but he only smiled.
“I’m beginning to think you can see into the hearts of others,” he said. “God knows you have the ability to see into mine.”
Her smile was a beautiful thing, alluring and tempting. He had no choice but to kiss her in full view of everyone.
Someone cheered, and he grinned when he pulled back.
Veronica laughed, tucked her hand in his, and together they continued toward the house.
Doncaster Hall commanded the knoll like a king upon his throne. Around it sat an emerald cloak of trees. The scepter of river ran close, the rays of a rising sun turning the surface gold.
The morning air was filled with scent, but unlike Virginia’s heady magnolia and jasmine, this was a mix of burning wood and scorched earth. Overlying it was a breeze carrying the flavor of winter beneath the warmth.
As they approached the house, Montgomery realized the difference between Gleneagle and Doncaster Hall lay not solely in their locale.
Gleneagle had offered an uncomplicated welcome to anyone who approached it.
Doncaster Hall seemed to reserve judgment upon its occupants.
Once measured and approved, however, a man never wanted to leave.
This was more than a home or a structure. Doncaster Hall was a heritage, a history, proof that the Fairfax family had existed.
That was what his grandfather had wanted to replicate.
People were depending on him at Doncaster Hall just as they had at Gleneagle. Decisions had to be made, decisions he’d pushed away, chosen not to address. He’d effectively escaped into his airships, into the minutiae of designing a baffle rather than thinking about the people who needed him.
How many were employed in various Fairfax industries? He was a little ashamed to realize he didn’t know.
“I think, perhaps, that it’s time I became the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster in truth.”
“Why not?” she asked. “You’re no longer a borrowed Scot, Montgomery.”
Surprised, he turned his head to look at her.
She nodded. “You’re a real Scot,” she said, picking up her skirts with both hands and walking several paces in front of him. She turned to face him, her skirts swinging, a smile lighting her face.
“How does one become a real Scot?”
She smiled, an enchanting expression that made him want to kiss her again.
“You’re brave,” she said. “You’ve proven that. Not only from being a soldier in your war but being a pilot in your airship.”
She regarded him steadily, and he met her gaze head-on. “You’re morally brave as well as physically brave.”
“I doubt I’m as virtuous as all that,” he said.
She ignored him, continuing. “You take responsibility. A Scot does that.”
“Does he?”
Her smile was back, as was the sparkle in her eyes. “A Scot also has a certain knowledge of his own value.”
“Arrogance, you mean.”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. A Scot simply accepts that he’s a better man than most.” Her glance teased him to disagree.
“You’ve the same feeling for Doncaster Hall as you did Gleneagle,” she said, looking toward the house. “Perhaps even more so. You have everything your grandfather wished and dreamed about.”
“Does that include a wife who understands me?”
She renewed him, a stunning admission. She didn’t just possess a Gift. She was a gift.
“Do I?”
Before he could answer, Edmund stepped on the path.
“Edmund,” he said, nodding at his solicitor. “I’ve misjudged you.”
“In what way, Your Lordship?”
Montgomery smiled, an expression that chilled Veronica. Mr. Kerr should be careful of his next words. Despite his smile, Montgomery wasn’t feeling the least bit affable at the moment.
“I thought you behind the effort to sabotage my airship.”
To his credit, Edmund appeared genuinely shocked.