Chapter Nineteen
S ophie yanked at a handful of tall weeds inside the walled garden, ripped them from the frozen ground with her gloved hands, and tossed them into the wooden wheelbarrow at her side.
As she straightened to combat exertion and catch her breath, a puff of white from her lips fogged the cold air. A third load of debris filled the wheelbarrow’s box, and she would mostly fill at least two—or three—more loads before she finished her work. The winter afternoon was bitterly cold and not at all the best time of year to be weeding, but she needed to be out in the garden, working with her hands and distracting herself from whatever was happening in Scotland. And from missing Shay.
She’d never realized how empty and cold her bed could be until he was no longer in it.
“He’ll be home soon,” she murmured to herself to lift her spirits. But it didn’t work, and she felt just as distressed as before.
Two days had passed since Shay had left for Scotland. Two agonizingly long days.
She’d said goodbye to him in the stable yard in the pale blue light of dawn, just as the sun peeked over the horizon and cast a false warmth across the fields and hills. He’d promised to send word as soon as he could, then mounted his gelding and leaned down to give her a parting kiss, not caring that all the grooms and stable boys were watching. Neither did she.
Somehow, she’d managed to hold back her tears until he’d ridden down the lane and out of sight. She didn’t want him to think her weak or give him any additional cause for concern while he was away. The dead woman and her child were already enough for him to worry about.
As for keeping herself from worrying, she’d done her best to do exactly that by throwing herself into her plans for the gardens, orchards, and fallow fields. But even that proved little respite. After all, only so many plans could be made before the work actually began, and that wouldn’t happen until at least March when the ground would thaw enough to work it.
God bless Pearson! The man had done his best to distract her by breaking all kinds of protocols and inviting her to join him and the rest of the staff for games and music in the servants’ hall in the evenings. She wished she could say she’d enjoyed herself—oh, the servants were very nice and welcoming, but not even Darla and Henley’s hilarious attempt at acting out the novel Pamela during charades could distract her for more than a few minutes.
So this afternoon she was attacking the neglected beds of the walled garden. Hours spent here might not push Shay’s absence from her mind but perhaps it would exhaust her enough that she could sleep through the night.
She placed her hands on her lower back and stretched to ease out the kinks in her spine. She cast an eye at the length of border yet to be cleared and muttered, “And the entire next fortnight.”
With a fatigued breath, she pulled her gloves into place on her wrists and turned back toward the border.
“And what do we have here?” a voice called out from behind her. “Covered in dirt with her hands in the filth, working like a common farmwife…ah, duchess !”
Sophie stiffened as a lead knot twisted in her belly. “Uncle Malcolm.” She pulled in a breath to steel herself and turned to face him, bringing her spine ramrod straight. A tight smile greeted him. “How unexpected a visit…again.”
He cackled a dry laugh. “I would have thought a precious London lady like yourself would never set foot in a garden except for a lawn party.”
She wiped her dirty gloves on her apron. “More proof you don’t know me very well yet, Uncle Malcolm.”
“ Lord Malcolm,” he snapped out.
The little hairs at her nape began to tingle, and her smile faded. “Malvern isn’t here to meet with you. He’s been called away.”
“Good. Because I came to see the duchess .” The word was a cold sneer on his lips.
“On what business?”
“Your marriage.”
That turned the tingle at her nape into a brutal chill, one that slithered all the way down her spine. She darted an anxious glance around the garden but saw no one. Crenshaw must have gone to the garden shed for more supplies. She was alone with Malcolm and felt alarmingly exposed. “You’ve already visited once to extend your good wishes. You needn’t have troubled yourself with a second visit.” In other words… You will never be wanted here. Leave. Now.
“I’ve heard your marriage has changed,” he mused as he reached a gloved hand toward one of the uprooted weeds in the wheelbarrow. “You’ve consummated it. Quite vigorously, too.”
Despite the cold air, her face heated. “That is none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is. I’m next in line to inherit the dukedom, and my two sons after me.” He wrinkled his nose distastefully at the clumps of frozen earth that clung to the weed’s roots. “But babies come of rutting, and if my nephew has been happily plowing you, as I have been led to believe, you might just whelp a pup. That’s something I simply cannot allow.”
The coarseness of his words whipped her breath away. “You— you cannot allow…?” Stunned, she managed to pull herself together and find her voice. “You have no say about what happens in my marriage, especially regarding our children, of whom I hope to have many.” She lifted her chin, calling on a resolve she didn’t know she possessed. “Including many sons.”
“You need to leave your marriage.” Malcolm turned away from the wheelbarrow and leveled a harsh glare on her. “And you need to do it before you spawn an heir.”
A rush of disbelief poured over her. No one had ever dared speak to her like this before. For Malcolm to be so openly bold and nasty—this was the side of him Shay had warned her about.
“It will be far easier than you think,” he continued and tugged at the sleeves of his thick wool coat. “You can leave just as your own mother did, say she inspired you to end your own terrible marriage. After all, like mother, like daughter, and anyone who knows what my nephew has become since his brother died will easily believe you.”
She stared at him, abhorred. “I can’t do that.”
“Ah, yes,” he mumbled. “The twenty thousand pounds your grandmother so stupidly let Malvern negotiate into the marriage contract. I’ll pay it, if necessary, to have you gone and Shay without a legitimate heir of the body.”
“No—I won’t do that,” she corrected vehemently, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I will never leave my husband.”
Malcolm laughed. “Because you love him?” Then his eyes turned fiery black and as icy as the wintry day around them. “That’s exactly why you will leave him, my dear, because you love him too much to let him suffer all the things I plan on unleashing upon his head if you don’t.”
She pressed her fist against her chest, as if she could physically tamp down the racing pulse that came so fiercely that her breastbone ached and the rising fury that burned in her belly. “What do you mean?”
“Stupid gel,” he muttered in disgust. He took a step toward her. “Let me be clear, then.”
Sophie instinctively backed away, putting the wheelbarrow between them. Shay had insisted Malcolm would never physically harm her, and yet she sensed a desperation in him that lodged a lead ball of fear in her throat. Her eyes darted to the spade resting against the wheelbarrow. If she had to, could she use it against him?
“If you stay in your marriage and get with child, I’ll do far more than simply spread rumors that Shay has been cuckolded and the child not his—rumors easily believed, given the monster he’s become. I’ll go to the authorities. I’ll file charges against him for killing his brother John, and this time, I’ll succeed.”
“No, you won’t.” She blinked hard to keep back the stinging tears of rage gathering in her eyes. “You tried that before, and no one believed you. They won’t believe you now, either.”
“Ah, but now I have new evidence. The Committee on Privileges and the Crown will believe me when I tell them that he murdered John not only to steal the dukedom…but also his fiancée. Your marriage proves his guilt.”
“That’s not true,” Sophie rasped out in a voice too shocked to be more than a loud whisper. Breathe! she urged herself, to concentrate on not fainting to the ground even as the world plunged wildly around her at the accusations he was spinning. “John’s death was an accident. Shay ran back into the barn to save him.”
“Says who? Seamus? The man who benefited from his brother’s death?” He raked a lecherous gaze over her. “And continues to benefit.”
“That’s a lie!”
“It doesn’t matter as long as the Committee believes it. And I’ll make certain they do.” A victorious smile stretched across his face. “No one will believe his protests—or yours. I’ll have him tried for murder, not manslaughter either, so he cannot claim privilege and go free. He’ll hang for it. At the very least be transported.” His voice was little more than a hiss. “The dukedom will be stripped from him for certain this time. Whatever children you might be foolish enough to have before then will be prevented from inheriting even a single ha’penny due to corruption of the blood, and you will be left ruined and disgraced, unable to show your face in public. So will your father. And all of you will be cut from society.”
His face darkened with a hatred so intense that a shudder corkscrewed through her.
“Is that what you want for your husband? For you and your children?” He lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. As if helping her. “So best to leave your marriage now.”
She put her hand on the wheelbarrow to steady herself, to keep her knees from collapsing beneath her. To keep from gouging out his eyes! “You horrible man…you devil…you—”
“Parent,” he corrected. “And I would do anything for my sons.”
“Anything?” she whispered. “Even something as evil as this?”
“Do not doubt my resolve.” He looked past her toward the house and squinted against the slanting afternoon sun that did nothing to ease the chill freezing her bones. “Your husband will be gone for at least another four days. You should use that time to pack and leave before he returns. I’m certain you’ll be able to think of a good excuse…or none at all. I don’t care which as long as you’re away by the time he returns. Before he has the chance to breed you.”
She was going to be sick. Gulping in deep breaths, she pressed her hand against her belly to stop the roiling even as the bile rose in her throat.
“Leave your husband, my dear.” Despite the endearment, his voice held no affection, only hatred. “Or I’ll destroy you both.”
Dear God, he was evil. She’d never glimpsed such pure malevolence and wickedness before in her life.
“Your Grace!” Pearson’s shout cut through the wintry afternoon as he charged across the garden toward them like a bull. His shoulders were hunched, his fists clenched and swinging at his sides, and even from so far away Sophie could see the heat of his expression, all of it aimed at Malcolm.
Oh, thank God. Sophie’s shoulders slumped as she breathed in deeply with relief. The panic lifted with every step the former soldier took toward her, if not her fear.
“Your Grace.” Pearson narrowed his steely eyes on Malcolm as he came to a stop between them, positioning himself in such a way that his large body formed a shield. “You’re needed back at the house.”
“Of course.” She cleared her throat, hoping her immense relief wasn’t as obvious as she feared. She didn’t want Malcolm to think she possessed one whit of worry inside her at his threats, even if he’d sent her world spinning. “I’m finished here for the day.”
“Let me help you.” Pearson’s eyes never left Malcolm as he reached for the spade and gripped it tightly in his hand like a club.
“No need,” she assured him and took the spade from him, afraid he might just use it. “I’m done here. Lord Malcolm was just leaving.” She laid the spade on the wheelbarrow and crossed her arms over her chest, summoning the most abstinent, determined stance she could. “Now.”
“Of course.” Malcolm laughed at both Sophie and Pearson. “Then I’ll leave you with your little guard dog.”
Sophie placed her hand on Pearson’s arm to keep him in place, afraid the valet might just whack the spade against Malcolm’s head after all.
“Please use this time to think about what I’ve offered,” Malcolm told her, as if they had been discussing nothing more than a business arrangement. Or an invitation to tea. “You can contact me if you need any help with the matter.”
“I will never need your help,” she countered, “for this or anything else.” Her fingertips curled into Pearson’s sleeve, this time to keep herself from striking out at the despicable man. She wanted to scratch his eyes out! She couldn’t believe he was her father’s age, that the two men were contemporaries when their moral compasses were so completely different. “Please leave and do not return unless you are explicitly invited.”
When hell froze over. She would have added that caveat except, given the icy layer of snow blanketing the countryside, she didn’t want to tempt fate.
A wicked smile pulled at his thin lips. But he walked away without so much as a polite nod or even a tug at his hat brim. Sophie didn’t care. She was simply glad beyond belief that he was leaving, and a violent shudder gripped her so hard she gasped.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?”
No. Shay isn’t here with me where he belongs . Yet she lied, “Yes. I’m simply cold.”
“Yes,” he muttered and shot a knowing glance toward the drive, where the noise of a carriage leaving drifted across the snow-covered ground. “Lord Malcolm has that effect on people.”
Pearson had no idea. She took a deep breath as Malcolm’s ultimatum swirled through her head. Dear God, what was she going to do? From the evil gleam in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t bluffing. He meant every word. He wanted to destroy Shay, and he planned on using her to do it.
When hell froze over, indeed.
“I was working in the dairy barn, overseeing repairs,” Pearson explained, “when a footman came running to tell me Lord Malcolm had arrived. Henley sent for me as soon as Malcolm left to search you out in the gardens himself rather than waiting in the drawing room. He never asked to see the Colonel.”
Because he knew Shay wasn’t home. Sophie didn’t want to think about what that meant—that someone she trusted at Ravenscroft was operating as a spy for Malcolm, someone who told him that Shay had ridden north to Scotland. Someone who would have known she and Shay were now sharing a bed.
“I came as quickly as I could.”
She gave Pearson a grateful smile. “I know, and your protection means the world to me. I’ll be fine in just a few moments.” She inhaled a fragile breath. “Lord Malcolm’s unexpected appearance surprised me, that’s all.”
Clearly, from his expression, he didn’t believe that, but he knew not to press. “Shall I escort you back to the house, Your Grace? The day’s grown uncomfortably cold.”
She stifled a bitter laugh. That was a grand understatement!
“I’ll ask Smithson to set up a hot bath for you,” he offered, “and have Mrs. Latimer send up a tray of hot soup and tea to warm you.”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
They walked back toward the house together, and Sophie made a mental note to ask Shay to raise Pearson’s pay. He had more than earned it today.
Henley waited for them at the front door, a worried frown creasing his brow. A quick glance over her from head to toe told him she was unharmed, and his shoulders eased down with relief.
Her chest warmed, and her eyes stung again, this time for a whole new reason. The staff genuinely cared about her, which made the betrayal of one of them even worse.
She stopped Pearson at the bottom of the front steps with a gentle hand on his arm, then lowered her voice. “I believe someone in our household has been providing information to Lord Malcolm about happenings here.”
His expression turned hard. “I’ll find out who, ma’am.”
She squeezed his arm in gratitude, then hurried up the steps and into the entrance hall, happier than she would ever admit at being back in the warm safety of her home. Her home. Two months ago, she never would have believed such a thing about this place. Now, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. And no one—certainly not Malcolm—was going to drive her from it.
Cold air radiated from her coat, hat, and gloves as she handed them over to Henley. “Please inform the grooms and all the house staff that Lord Malcolm is no longer welcome at Ravenscroft Manor,” she told the butler, who wasn’t at all surprised by that order. “He is never allowed to set foot on estate lands again. If he does, he should be helped to leave. Promptly.”
He inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
She paused to glance up at the portrait of the late Duke of Malvern and John that hung over the stone fireplace. Shay hated that painting. So did she. It was time to eliminate all the things that only served to remind them of the dark past from their lives.
“And Henley?” she called out as he handed off her things to the footman to be carried up to her room.
“Yes?”
“Have the footmen take down that painting,” she ordered, folding her hands demurely as she gazed up at the two men who still plagued her even from their graves, “and deliver it to Lord Malcolm at Halston House as a wedding gift…in celebration of my marriage to Malvern.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Henley couldn’t hide the puzzlement from his voice.
“Deliver a very specific message with it.”
“What would that be, ma’am?”
“Tell Lord Malcolm that the duke and duchess would love nothing more than for him to be the godfather for their sons. All of them.”
Then she turned on her heel and marched upstairs. It was time to prepare for battle.