Andrea Kane (38 page)

“No, we can’t,” Dustin agreed. “Despite the number of people who scorned Trenton after Vanessa’s death, I can’t think of anyone else who would still harbor such rage, feel such malice six years later.”

“The timing certainly suggests Baxter’s guilt. And there’s another thing: Who but Baxter knew Vanessa well enough to train someone to impersonate her? If Trenton were physically close enough to this impostor to actually grab her arms, she must not only resemble Vanessa but behave like her as well.” A further realization dawned in Ariana’s eyes. “For that matter, Trenton rambled something about confusing her with me. So whoever arranged this facade must know my mannerisms too.”

“Consequently, assuming Trent was lucid when he told you that, we’re right back to Baxter again.”

“Dustin, something else is troubling me.” Ariana took a deep breath and plunged on with a nagging inconsistency that had plagued her for days. “Do you think Baxter could have tampered with Vanessa’s journal?”

“What?” Dustin started, taken aback, both by the abrupt change in topic and by the question itself. “What on earth makes you ask that?”

“It’s just that her written perceptions, unless she was delusional, are so different from what I now know to be the truth. How can that be?”

“You’ve
read
Vanessa’s journal?”

“Haven’t you?”

“No. Trent never showed it to me.”

Ariana leaned over the desk and slid open the bottom drawer, reaching in to extract the hidden book. “Trenton never showed it to me either. I found it myself. But he knows I’ve read it.” She handed the journal to Dustin. “I’d like your opinion.”

Dustin stared at the book for a moment before he reached out and took it. Wordlessly, he scanned the pages, one after the other, until, twenty minutes later, he raised his head. “I’d kill her myself if she weren’t already dead,” he bit out, tossing the journal to the desk. “Either the woman was totally deranged or so corrupt that she was lying to herself as well as the world.” He turned blazing eyes on Ariana. “I hope you don’t believe a word of this. Vanessa and Trent were never involved … physically or emotionally … much less betrothed. Why, to read that trash one would almost think—”

“That Vanessa’s words were written specifically to implicate Trenton,” Ariana finished.

Dustin stopped in midsentence. “What?”

“I’ve thought about it again and again since I read the journal. I remember my sister, and she was
not
insane. I can’t imagine that she would totally fabricate a nonexistent relationship, at least not in her own mind. She might manipulate the
ton
into believing she and Trenton were to be wed and even go so far as to spread vicious lies about him when he didn’t concede to her will. But why would she lie in her private writings? After all, no one reads a journal but the one who keeps it, right?”

“Unless someone intends for that journal to be read by others,” Dustin continued slowly, completing Ariana’s thought.

“Exactly.”

“You believe that, once Vanessa died, Baxter altered the pages of the journal in order to blackmail Trent?”

“It is something my brother would do. After all, his antipathy for Trenton was no secret.” Ariana’s shoulders sagged. “But that’s where my theory falls short. I studied that journal carefully, and I’m absolutely certain that the handwriting is Vanessa’s, not Baxter’s.”

“Could Baxter have coerced Vanessa to write specific things prior to her death?”

Ariana shook her head adamantly. “No one could force Vanessa to do anything. Least of all Baxter. He’s not a strong-willed man by nature, and he was especially malleable when it came to Vanessa. Besides, what would have been the point? Vanessa was alive, so the journal couldn’t serve as blackmail. And Baxter had no way of knowing that Vanessa was going to be the victim of a tragic drowning. If he had, he would have moved heaven and earth to save her.”

“So we’ve reached an impasse.” Dustin frowned. “Unless Vanessa penned the incriminating entries herself, then left the journal in a conspicuous place so it could be used against Trent.”

“That would make sense …
if my
sister premeditatedly planned her own death. But Trenton believes Vanessa was too self-centered to intentionally plot her own suicide. And, quite frankly, I agree.”

“Then how did she die?”

Ariana wagged her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know. Perhaps it was an accident. If it was suicide, it had to be totally on impulse. It’s the only way Vanessa would kill herself.”

Dustin stared thoughtfully at the discarded journal. “Do you mind if I keep this for a few days?” he asked at length. “Rereading it might spark something.”

“By all means.” Ariana gestured for him to take the journal. “You have more right to it than I. You’re Trenton’s brother.”

“And you’re Trenton’s wife … very much his wife,” Dustin returned emphatically. Seeing Ariana’s flush, he shook his head. “I wasn’t referring to a physical union, Ariana. I was referring to a spiritual one. A month ago you were wed. Now you’re married. Think about it.” He stood, stretching. “I believe I’ll take the journal and retire to my room. After all, I have days of renovation ahead of me.” He ruffled Ariana’s hair. “Stop worrying. You’re going to provide me with an army of nieces and nephews to spoil. And just think of all the stories we’ll be able to share with them.”

Automatically, Ariana lay her palm against her abdomen, struck by the wondrous possibility Dustin had evoked with his affectionate comment. She
could
be carrying a child. Trenton’s child.

Myriad emotions welled up inside her at the thought: overwhelming tenderness, protectiveness, yearning. A baby: someone who needed her, who turned to her for love; someone on whom she could lavish all the attention and nurturing she had been denied in her own childhood.

And Trenton: Would having a child make him happy? Would he gaze at his son or daughter with that intense emotion he tried so hard to repress and only Ariana could see?

Yes, somehow she knew he would. Together, they would raise their child, provide him with all the precious things life had to offer: sisters and brothers to play with and parents to envelop him in their ever-growing love.

And, year after joyous year, Christmas would come.

Tears welled up in Ariana’s eyes as she recalled the afternoon she and Trenton had walked along Osborne beach, the magical moment when he’d promised her Christmas at Spraystone, a private Eden filled with snow and laughter and love.

With their entire world in turmoil, would that dream ever be realized?

“He’ll be back, Ariana,” Dustin said gently. “I promise you, Trent will be back.”

Ariana blinked away her tears. “Of course he will.” She stood, squeezing Dustin’s arm. “Go rest. We have a great deal of work to do before the sitting room is absolutely perfect. And who knows? Trenton could arrive home any moment.”

Even as she spoke the words, she prayed they were true.

T
HE SITTING-ROOM RENOVATIONS WERE
a blessing in disguise. For only when she and Dustin were immersed in the restorations did Ariana find peace. And, with the number of details to complete, the refurbishing took several long days.

Her nights were hell: lonely and empty; filled with doubts and fears. Trenton’s whereabouts were no longer a worry, for although he himself had made no attempt to contact her, his solicitor had, advising Ariana that Trenton was living at Spraystone. Lawrence Crofton had arrived at Broddington five days after Trenton’s disappearance to check on Ariana and to ensure her that His Grace had wired him from Wight and arranged for huge sums of money to be made available to his duchess.

Ariana didn’t give a damn about her newly acquired affluence. What she wanted was her husband.

She knew Trenton well enough to realize that neither coercion nor begging would bring him home. Nor did she foolishly believe he was staying away because he no longer cared for her. To the contrary, it was
because
he cared that he had banished himself from her life, returned to exile out of some misbegotten conviction that he was protecting her from himself.

No, the only way to bring Trenton back was to unravel the mystery and resolve the past. But how?

“He’s been at Spraystone a week now, Ness.” Baxter folded his hands behind his head and regarded his sister quizzically from the room’s single armchair. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

Vanessa smiled, reclining on the pillows. “What makes you think we haven’t been doing something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Trenton hasn’t been spared surprises during his stay on Wight. Ferries and yachts travel back and forth to the Isle quite frequently, you know.”

Baxter blinked, startled. “You’ve been to Spraystone?”

“Why of course! Twice, in fact. Both times under cloak of darkness. Once I merely left a handwritten, rose-scented note in the barn.”

“Saying what?”

A throaty chuckle. “Only that I loved him, that I couldn’t understand why he’d destroyed me, that I’d never leave him … not even in death.”

“Are you insane, Ness? What if Kingsley shows that note to someone? Someone who recognizes your handwriting?”

“What explanation would Trenton provide? That he received a letter from a dead woman? Who would believe him? Plus I didn’t date the note, Baxter. It could have been written any time, such as six years ago.” She arched one delicate brow. “May I continue?”

Baxter nodded.

“During my other visit to Spraystone, I called out to Trenton from beneath his bedroom window. It was the middle of the night. As soon as he appeared, I vanished into the trees. His estate is so isolated, it makes coming and going without being seen extremely easy.”

“I still don’t like the idea of your taking so many risks. … Why don’t you let me handle some of this?”

Vanessa shot Baxter an impatient look. “I hardly think you’d do an effective job of impersonating me. No, this is one aspect of the plan I have to handle myself. But don’t worry, darling. Your chance will come … very soon.”

“Theresa, I can no longer remain idle,” Ariana announced.

Leaning past her mistress, Theresa placed the vase of fresh wildflowers on Ariana’s dressing table. “No, I’m sure you can’t.”

“I love Trenton very much. There must be something I can do to help him.”

Theresa dropped her hands squarely onto Ariana’s shoulders, meeting her mistress’s gaze in the looking glass. “Your confusion has lifted like the morning mist. Your faith in your husband has become absolute. You no longer doubt his integrity or question his innocence. Fear has ceased to play even a small part in your marriage. The veil of uncertainty no longer obscures your vision; not when you view the duke, nor when you view your brother. It is now only a question of discovering that which remains hidden to the eye and not to the heart.” Tenderly, Theresa patted Ariana’s cheek. “Yes, pet, I would say there is definitely something you can do.”

“Help me, Theresa,” Ariana pleaded softly. “Tell me where to look.”

“Questions are always best answered at the source of their origin.”

“I have no questions of Trenton. I believe everything he’s told me, except for the absurd idea that he is mad. The only person I question is Baxter.”

“Then perhaps your answers lie at Winsham.”

Ariana twisted around in her chair and looked up at Theresa. “Is Baxter responsible for Trenton’s suffering?”

“You know the details as well as I.”

“I don’t mean what occurred six years ago. I’m referring to what happened last week.”

“As am I.”

“So you too believe Baxter is involved?”

“I believe the answers lie within your reach, and that, at last, you have the courage to face them.”

Ariana didn’t reply, she merely searched Theresa’s lined face with a steady gaze. “I’ll visit Winsham in the morning,” she said at last.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

Earnestly, Ariana clasped Theresa’s hands. “That would give me great comfort, dear friend. But this time, I must go alone.”

“Ah, but you won’t be alone. You go armed with your instincts, which, as I’ve said in the past, have never failed you. You also go with my teachings … and my love.”

Ariana reached up and hugged her lifelong friend and mentor. “With riches such as those, I can’t help but succeed.”

Dustin sipped the last of his brandy, staring idly out his bedroom window to the moonlit grounds of Broddington. The combination of his worry over Trenton and the strain of keeping up an optimistic facade for Ariana was beginning to take its toll. The sitting room was nearly complete, thus removing his last plausible excuse for remaining at Broddington.

And still there was no sign of Trent.

Draining his glass, Dustin opened Vanessa’s journal for the umpteenth time. Ariana was right: Something about the abrupt change in Vanessa’s tone seemed unnatural, contrived; altering from her typically self-centered, demanding tenor to that of a desperate, frightened, and deranged woman.

Like Trenton, Dustin remembered Vanessa only too well, and mad was the one thing she was not. In fact, every one of her actions was as carefully and meticulously arranged as her hair and wardrobe. So what had prompted the transformation? Was it genuine or intentionally devised?

And how did it factor into the bizarre events of the past few days?

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Dustin’s thoughts returned to Trenton and the impact all this was having on him. What was his current state of mind? Why the hell was he staying away for so long? The bloody fool: Didn’t he realize that by cutting himself off from Ariana he was eliminating his only salvation?

The answer to that was no. Trenton was too muddled to recognize his own needs. Evidently, someone would have to do that for him. Someone like his brother.

Trenton didn’t know where he was. Nor did he care.

He’d spent most of the past five days in a drunken stupor, alternately drinking and passing out, coming to only to lose himself in his liquor again. He hadn’t left Spraystone, nor did he intend to. He also hadn’t seen anyone.

Except Vanessa.

Damn the spiteful bitch: Even in death she taunted him. He’d read the suggestive note he’d found in the barn three times before his fuzzy mind absorbed it, and then he wished he hadn’t.