Chapter 16 #2
“But you could wear it when you go in public, and perhaps it can be tinted a more natural shade. We should stop in Richmond and have Dulcie teach you how to do it.”
“No. I must get back to Wenscote. I worry about Edward upsetting Digby.”
“If that Cotterite was telling the truth, Edward’s gone.”
“But for how long? He’ll doubtless stop by on the way back.”
Diana squeezed Rosamunde’s hand. “But soon, if the gods are kind, Edward will no longer be a threat. That will comfort Digby.”
Rosamunde winced. “The most extraordinary comfort for a wife to give her husband. Rejoice, for you have been cuckolded and will have another man’s child to raise!”
“Isn’t it what he wants?”
“The child, yes. But not the cuckolding.”
“That makes no sense.”
Rosamunde sighed. “I liked it, Diana. Oh, more than that! I fell in love with Brand Malloren. That’s the sin. That’s where I’ve cheated Digby. I worry that he will guess.”
Diana’s eyes never wavered. “You must not let him.”
After a moment, Rosamunde nodded. “You’re right. I must not hurt him. I will not even think of Brand Malloren again.”
“Is that possible?”
Ignoring the jab of her cousin’s question, Rosamunde said, “Anything is possible.” She placed her hand on her belly. “Just pray, pray hard, that there is a child. I cannot go through this again.”
“Anything is possible,” Diana reminded her, and she was right. Heaven help her, but if this hadn’t worked, she would have to do it again. Why was it so much more impossible than before? The situation hadn’t changed.
But it had. There was no point in hiding from the truth within her own head.
She loved. No matter how foolish, how illogical, she loved Brand Malloren.
Adultery had been an offense against her wedding vows.
Next time, however, it would be an offense against something deep and meaningful within her.
Though logic said it wasn’t so, she felt it would kill her.
Diana was consulting her map again. “I know a quiet inn off the main road. The Tup and Ewe. It’s owned by old servants of mine.
We’ll stop there for the night.” She looked up with a quick, confident smile, clearly enjoying matching wits with the enemy.
“Search the roads as he might, the devilish Marquess of Rothgar won’t find us there. ”
Oh, for this to be just an adventure, a matter of out-witting pursuit.
Diana was wise, perhaps, to avoid love, marriage, and entanglements.
Rosamunde left the details of the adventure in her cousin’s hands and concentrated in sorting out her own mind.
She firmly summoned visions of a long, happy future at Wenscote, with Digby, and a precious, healthy child and heir.
If she worked at this hard enough, perhaps over the years she’d reach the blessed state where Brand Malloren never entered her thoughts at all.
With a sense of déjà vu, Brand was nibbling toast and sipping tea, hoping his churning stomach would accept it, when his brother entered his bedroom and dismissed the servants.
“Is that preparatory to a stinging rebuke?”
“Only if you deserve one. I thought you might not want witnesses to your story.”
“Story?”
Brand was enormously relieved to have Bey here—he remembered enough of the night for that. On the other hand, he wasn’t ready to decide what to tell his brother. He wasn’t even sure which parts of his memories were real, and which were dreams.
“The story of how you came to be found in a broken-down barn,” Bey prompted.
“Was I? I have no idea.”
“What of a lady with a crank?”
Brand stared at his brother. “What?”
After a moment, Bey said, “Very well. Tell me what you do remember.”
“Some useful information about planned breeding programs,” Brand said flippantly, seeking time to think.
“As your employer, I’m delighted. That is not what I mean.”
Brand concentrated on the next piece of toast.
“Am I to understand that you don’t want me to discover who did this to you and why?”
Exactly, though it was instinct more than logic. Brand had no difficulty remembering his lady, her sweetness, and their blissful conversation. He’d never forget their passionate entwining. A candle in the window. Blackberries …
Rather more fuzzily, he remembered some arguments about the future. He thought he’d wanted her to leave with him and she’d adamantly refused.
Logic insisted she’d drugged and disposed of him, but his heart rejected it. Time would solve the dilemma. Memory of his last waking hours, and of whatever he’d eaten and drunk, would presumably return in the next day or so.
“It’s personal, Bey,” he said at last, knowing his brother wouldn’t like it. “My memories are still unclear, and I need to recall everything. Then I’ll take care of it.”
After a moment, Rothgar pulled out two pieces of paper and laid them on the bed.
“Then you may want these notes. They were sent separately, both correctly telling me where to find you. One is written on high quality paper which has doubtless had a crest removed. The other is on the paper available in the guest parlor below, written with the inn’s pen. ”
Brand picked them up and read them, but with only academic interest. If his lady had been so desperate to keep her secret that she had drugged him, she certainly wouldn’t make herself so obvious.
But, cold logic insisted, if not her, who? Was Yorkshire full of people trying to drug him and dump him in out-of-the-way places? But she wouldn’t—
Then, like a lightning flash illuminating a stormy land-scape, he saw her, her roughly cut mask revealing only her firm chin and full, soft lips, offering a cup.
She’d urged it on him. Sipped from it herself …
Betrayal stabbed him like a blade.
“The note on expensive paper,” Bey was saying, “was likely tossed out of a London coach just as it was leaving, but no one in that coach would own crested writing paper. The other was sent to me by a Miss Gillsett—”
Brand jerked his eyes up. “Who?”
“A Miss Gillsett. That means something?”
“Perhaps …”
“I sent riders after the Misses Gillsett—”
“Misses?”
“Twins.”
Twins? Brand just sat there, assailed by the idea that he might possibly have spent those two days with twins. The mask might have been to conceal minor differences.
But no, surely not. It had to be one woman. He couldn’t have such a powerful response to two. To two playing a game.
Could he?
“They admit to having sent the note,” Bey said, “but say it was given them by someone else. They refuse as of the moment to say more.”
“As of the moment? ’Struth, Bey. Do you have them in a torture chamber somewhere?”
“That worries you?”
It terrified him, but damnable hope persisted. “They’re here?”
“No. They are doubtless in their home in Arkengarthdale.”
Wasn’t that where she’d said they were? Was it going to be as easy as that?
But twins. Drugs. Was it really so sordid … ?
“Brand,” Bey interrupted sharply, “I am becoming irritated by your reticence. Tell me one thing. To the best of your knowledge, is this anything to do with the sect called the New Commonwealth?”
Brand almost said no, but then remembered George Cotter speaking with her. “Why?”
“It’s your turn to give some information. Well?”
Brand recognized the change in his brother’s tone. “I don’t think it has anything to do with the sect.”
“That’s not good enough. I’m sent north by the King to look into their activities. He has considerable concerns. Not without reason since the old Commonwealth led King Charles the First to the chopping block.”
“’Struth, there’s no danger of that, is there?”
“With the Jacobite cause not entirely dead, especially in the North, nothing is certain. So, is there any connection between your affairs and the New Commonwealth?”
Brand tried to put aside hurt and sentiment and be logical. “The Jacobites are mostly Catholic, and the Cotterites are far to the other extreme.”
“There have been unholy alliances before now. Well?”
Brand leaned back, thinking. “I truly don’t think there’s a connection, but I can’t be sure. You have to let me think about this, Bey. My brain feels scrambled, though not as badly as last—”
Perdition. He’d not meant to reveal that.
“Last time? This has happened to you before?”
“Leave it. Look, I met George Cotter before any of this happened. I’d go odds he has no thoughts beyond the spiritual and the welfare of the simple people.”
“Are you a convert?”
Brand couldn’t help but laugh and put his hand to his head. “Hardly. I could appreciate some of his ideas, but I don’t approve of the severity of the sect’s rules and disciplines. I do approve of the way they manage their estates, though.”
“What a very one-furrow mind you have. Have you visited any of the New Commonwealth estates?”
“Just his own. He started all this by turning his own estate into a Puritan commune. It’s well run and very progressive. You know how hard it is to get the rural people to change to new ways. He—”
Rothgar raised a hand. “I have no interest in agricultural theory at the moment. But whilst there, you heard no sedition?”
Brand thought for a moment. “No. But then, they take ‘Silence is a virtue’ very seriously.”
“And you are not willing to tell me about the lady you have been dallying with.”
At the abrupt question, Brand tried instinctively to throw up a screen between Bey and his mysterious betrayer. “What lady?”
“You talked in your sleep. Was she a Cotterite?”
He gave up the struggle. “Definitely not.”
“Was it she who poisoned you?”
“I can’t be sure.”
Bey rose. “We will have to talk more of these matters. For now, who is Lady Richardson?”
“Who?” Brand knew that question had been tossed at him deliberately in the hope of startling the truth from him, but at least this time his confusion was real.
“A heavily painted lady, overtaken by an illness that might be similar to your own, though in milder form.”
Brand was about to dismiss the matter, but then his breath caught. “Heavily painted?”
“Thick enough to conceal anything, including identity.”
His heart was speeding. He could hardly believe it might be so easy. “Medium height, medium build, generous breasts?”
“Yes.”
“Wedding ring. Plain gold.”
“Wedding ring, plus four very ostentatious ones. Brand—”
Brand shook his head. “She doesn’t wear much jewelry….” But how could he be sure he’d seen every side of her? Them? He pushed aside his tray, and threw back his covers. “She’s here? Where?”
Rothgar stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. “She’s gone.”
Brand looked up. “Are you telling the truth?”
His brother’s eyes met his. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“Where is she then?”
“I have no idea. She and her spotty maid have vanished into thin air.”
“Spotty maid?” Brand’s puzzlement changed to sharp consideration. “How spotty?” Could that be the reason for the mask? But what then of the twins? Spots and paint would hide the resemblance of twins.
“Plagued, poor girl,” his brother said.
“The pox?”
“Just pimples. The explosive, pustulant kind.”
“Could they have been twins?”
“And also the Misses Gillsett?” Bey’s brows rose. “A farce complex enough for Drury Lane. Alas, all four were in the inn at the same time, and perhaps I did not mention that the Misses Gillsett are elderly.”
“Not disguised to look old?”
“Not from the reports. Also, they are regular customers here.”
Relief surged through Brand. Not the Misses Gillsett, then, so not twins. In that, at least, she had been true. Yet the Misses Gillsett had sent a note and his mysterious lady had used their name. Was she careless enough to leave such a trail?
Was it a trail to a trap?
He put that aside. He’d not be fooled again. For the moment, it seemed very likely that his partner in sin and delight was either the painted lady or her spotty maid. He looked at his brother. “You can’t have lost this Lady Richardson. I know you.”
“I don’t lie to you, Brand,” Rothgar repeated.
“If you suggest it again, I’ll meet you at dawn.
Lady Richardson announced her destination as York, and her coach took that route.
It has not, however, been seen on the York road.
Presumably it turned off, but we have no information as to direction.
I have reports from various locations of coaches carrying two women, but none matches our lady and maid.
Checks of the posting inns tell me that she definitely did not stay in any she could have reached last night.
I have people checking all private houses of substance within a few hours’ drive.
The lady was disguised, but her afflicted maid is memorable. ”
“And have you any leads?”
“Absolutely none.”
Brand couldn’t help laughing. “Cunning, mysterious lady. I think she’s beaten you, Bey, and that’s an achievement.”
“I’ve hardly started yet,” his brother said coldly, “being for some reason concerned about my wretched, worthless brother. I have men out making deeper enquiries—”
“Call them back.” Brand still didn’t know what had happened, or what he wanted to do about it, but he didn’t want his brother involved. Bey was too inclined to be harsh when anyone harmed the family.
Brand folded the notes and put them by the bed. “As I said, it’s personal, and it’s over. The last thing I want is to meet the woman again. Once I’ve rested a bit, I’ll have plenty of business to discuss with you. Agricultural business.”
“I look forward to it with tremulous delight.”
Which, since Rothgar’s interest in innovative land management was slight at best, made Brand laugh despite everything.
Once his brother left, however, he lay back.
She’d desperately wanted him to leave and never return.
It looked as if she’d done her damndest to make sure of it.
And yet, if so, why come here? Why put herself in such danger of exposure?
It didn’t fit. It seemed to be a Malloren trait, this need to have the pieces to fit together smoothly, for the world to make sense.
He closed his eyes and tried desperately to force clear memories of his last hours with his mysterious lady, but he couldn’t even be sure that sudden vision of her offering him a poisoned cup was real. Veils shielded everything.
Déjà vu indeed. But at least this time he knew who he was. And in time it would all come clear.