After the Kiss (25 page)

“It happened just before Waterloo,” Eliza said. “Am I correct that you have not spoken much to him since?”

The twins nodded glumly.

“Come,” Eliza said. “Your feet must be getting cold. Up onto the bed.”

Reggie and Becky climbed the rails at the foot of the bed like a ladder and scooted to the center of what had to be at least four feather mattresses stacked one upon the other. Eliza perched at the head of the bed with her muddy half boots hanging over the side.

“I want to hear everything you have been doing,” Eliza said.

“You cannot imagine what the past year has been like!” Reggie said.

“Describe it for me,” Eliza said.

“Horrible!” Becky said. “We had to get rid of six governesses!”

“I know,” Eliza said with a grin. “I have seen the advertisements for each and every one.”

Reggie frowned. “Then why did you not come sooner? You must have realized we were in desperate trouble.”

“I thought you cared for us,” Becky said, a worried V between her brows.

Eliza smoothed the V with her thumb. “I do,” she said in a soft voice. “Very much. But I was in mourning.
My fiancé, Major Sheringham, was killed at Waterloo.”

“We were in mourning, too,” Reggie said. “Because Father disappeared—”

Becky pinched her arm.

“Ow!” Reggie glared at her twin, but amended, “Because Father
drowned at sea
. That did not stop us from doing what had to be done.”

“Were all those governesses really so terrible?” Eliza asked.

“They never listened to us,” Becky said. “And they punished us for the smallest mistake.”

“Which means,” Reggie said disgustedly, “for everything we did.”

“Miss Tolemeister gave Reggie welts!”

“Dear God. Why?” Eliza asked, her stomach rolling.

“Because I would not cry when she applied the rod,” Reggie said, her eyes lit with defiance.

“Welts where?” Eliza asked.

Instead of putting out her hands, as Eliza had expected, Reggie turned and raised the back of her gown.

Eliza traced three distinct, silvery lines where the rod must have broken the skin. Her hands trembled as she lowered the gown. “Why didn’t you tell your uncle about this?” she demanded angrily.

“It would not have done any good,” Reggie said.

“Uncle Marcus told Griggs that the governess was to have as much authority as she needed,” Becky said. “We put up with each one as long as we could.”

“And then what?” Eliza asked.

“We’d do something so dreadful to her, she was glad to leave!”

“I put spiders in Miss Tolemeister’s shoes,” Reggie said with grim satisfaction. “And a snake in her bed.”

“Oh, dear,” Eliza said. “Things have been much worse than I could ever have imagined.”

“You will stay, won’t you?” Becky said.

“I am not sure your … uncle will allow me to stay.”

“Ask him. I am sure he will,” Reggie said confidently.

“When do you propose I solicit this interview?” Eliza said.

“Right now,” Becky replied. “He mostly sleeps in the daytime and stays up all night.”

“Why in heaven’s name would he do that?”

“He does not want anyone to see his face,” Becky said. “He was wounded, you know, at Waterloo.”

“I heard as much,” Eliza said. But she began to wonder exactly what kind of beast the Beau had become.

“Uncle Marcus roams the east wing of the Abbey at night dressed all in black. The servants won’t go near the place,” Reggie said.

“I must confess, I am a little frightened to go there myself,” Eliza said.

“Fenwick can direct you to the east wing,” Becky said. “Once you are there, you will have to convince Griggs to let you see Uncle Marcus.”

“Have you been to see your uncle?” Eliza asked.

“We spied at him through a secret opening in the wall,” Reggie admitted. “But he did not know we were there.”

“We saw him cry,” Becky said, her voice achingly soft.

Spying? A secret opening in the wall? The Beau crying?
Eliza did not know where to start asking questions, she had so many.

“You must make Uncle Marcus let you stay,” Reggie said. “We don’t know where else to turn.”

Eliza edged herself off the bed, pulled down the covers, and said, “Slip under here and let me tuck you in.”

The twins quickly complied, as agile as monkeys, and chattering just as fast. Eliza arranged the covers under their arms and tucked them in on either side, making a snug cocoon. She gave each of the twins a hug and a kiss on the forehead and received a hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek from each in return.

“Does the fire need more coal?” she asked, glancing at the bucket of coal and scoop set nearby.

“The maid has already banked it for the night,” Reggie replied.

Eliza walked around the room, methodically blowing out what had to be two dozen expensive wax candles in candelabra set on the dressing table, the dry sink, a chest of drawers, an end table, a writing table, a toy chest, and a clothes press. She was careful not to extinguish her own lantern.

At last she reached the side of the large bed, where one last candle lent a glow to two identical cherubic faces.

“Have you said your prayers?” Eliza asked.

“Not tonight,” Reggie said.

“Not for a while,” Becky admitted.

“Close your eyes,” Eliza instructed, “and fold your hands.”

Reggie squeezed her eyes closed and laced her fingers tightly together. Becky’s eyelashes lay like coal crescents on her cheeks, and her hands were pressed evenly together as though she were praying in church.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,” Eliza began. The twins listened intently, waiting for whatever came next. “Say it after me,” she coaxed.

“
Now I lay me down to sleep
,” the twins repeated.

“I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

“
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
”

“If I should die before I wake.”

Becky popped upright, her blue eyes wide with alarm. “I don’t feel the least bit sick. Surely there is no chance I could die before I wake!”

Eliza slipped her arm around Becky and reached over to tug at one of Reggie’s uneven, braids. “You have not heard the last verse,” she chided. “Say this one first.”

Warily, the twins repeated, “
If I should die before I wake.
”

“I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

“
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
”

“I see,” Reggie said, turning to share her revelation with Becky. “It is like planning for the worst and hoping for the best!”

“Exactly,” Eliza said. “None of us knows what the future holds for us, so we ask for God’s protection.”

“Can God save us from goblins?” Becky asked, wide-eyed.

“Why do you ask?” Eliza said.

“I think I see one in the hall!”

M
arcus was surprised to find the door to the twins’ room open and a stream of light spilling out. It had been his habit during the past year to look in on them after they—and the rest of the household—were asleep. Usually by now their room was dark and still.

Though he had relinquished all contact with them in full daylight, Marcus could not give up seeing the girls entirely. Yet neither could he bear having Reggie and Becky stare at him with the horror he had seen on their faces when they first glimpsed his wounded face and clawlike hand.

He was a monster from a nightmare. And monsters confined themselves to roaming at night.

Marcus edged along the wall toward the doorway, making sure the hood of his black cloak was pulled forward enough to keep his face in shadow. He had ordered all the lamps in the Abbey, including those on the stairs and in the upstairs hall, to be extinguished each evening. In the dark, wearing a hooded black cloak, he was virtually invisible.

He listened intently outside the twins’ doorway and thought he heard Miss Sheringham’s husky voice. His lips curved in a bitter smile. He had heard her
low, gravelly voice often over the past year. In his mind.

“
It was not there, Captain. I looked, but it was not there
.”

He had known what she was saying. Julian was not the one she loved. Or the one who loved her back. Yet he had turned his back on her and walked away.

“
It was not there. It was not there. It was not there
.”

Sometimes, the remembered anguish in her voice seemed so real he would swear she was in the room with him. In the first months after his return from Waterloo, the pain from his wound, anxiety over the disappearance of his brother, and grief for the death of his best friend, combined to steal his rest. During those solitary, sleepless hours, he had prowled through the darkened Abbey looking for Miss Sheringham, like a hunter seeking prey.

He had never found her.

She was far from Blackthorne Abbey, living with an elderly relation at her father’s hunting box. Thank God Julian had arranged for her to have an allowance from the Earl of Ravenwood. Otherwise, Marcus shuddered to think how Miss Sheringham might have fared.

Marcus had done a great deal of thinking over the months he had spent in seclusion, mostly about what he could have done differently. Like confessing the truth to Alastair and making peace between them. Like earning Julian’s respect by acting honorably toward Miss Sheringham. Like being honest with himself … and admitting he had fallen in love with her.

He would never forget the last, desolate look Miss
Sheringham had given him, her hazel eyes misted with tears, her lips—swollen and cut—pressed tightly together to still her quivering chin. She had not begged him to reconsider. She had merely laid her heart bare to him.

The decision had been entirely his. And he had made the wrong choice.

He regretted the fact Miss Sheringham would likely remain a spinster. He regretted the fact she would likely never have children of her own. He was not the same man he had been when last he saw her. Given a second chance …

But there were no second chances for him. Even if Miss Sheringham could find it in her heart to forgive him, she would never tie herself in marriage to the Beast of Blackthorne. Outside of offering marriage, there was nothing he could do to right the wrong he had committed against her.

“
Now I lay me down to sleep.
”

It was her voice again, in his head, saying a childhood prayer. He listened for the rest of it, but instead, heard the twins repeat the same line.

Her voice again. And theirs. Hers. And theirs.

Marcus stiffened. This voice—her voice—sounded real. Impossible as it seemed, Miss Sheringham was in his home, in the same room with Reggie and Becky, saying a bedtime prayer.

He did not quite trust his mind to be telling him the truth. He would believe his eyes. If he could see her, he would concede she was really there.

He took a step closer. He only intended to take a quick glance inside the room to confirm her presence, but when his eyes beheld her profile—he had forgotten
how distinctive her features were—he could not tear himself away.

Marcus realized he had been discovered when Becky pointed in his direction. He stepped out of the light and edged back down the hall several steps, until he was invisible in the darkness once again.

He waited, hoping Miss Sheringham would come to the door. He caught his breath as she took one step into the hall holding a lantern aloft that cast a glow on her face.

He could not get his fill of looking at her. Her face seemed narrower, her body thinner than he remembered. He saw one explanation for her apparent lack of appetite. She was wearing lavender, which meant she had just come out of mourning. She must have grieved deeply for Julian.

Julian’s death was another wrong for which Marcus did not believe Miss Sheringham could forgive him. Her fiancé—her only hope for a return to respectability—had perished at Waterloo. Marcus had not brought his friend home safely to her, as he had promised.

“I don’t see anyone,” Miss Sheringham said, extending the lantern the length of her arm. “Or anything,” she added.

Her gravelly voice raised the hair on his arms.

She took one step farther down the hall and looked right at him. “Is someone there?”

Marcus was well hidden in the dark but held his breath anyway.

She quickly stepped back inside the bedroom. “Whatever it was is gone now,” he heard her say to
the twins. “Now it is time for you to go to sleep, and for me to find Griggs and arrange to see the duke.”

She was coming to see him? Now?

He did not catch the rest of what she said to the twins. He was too busy contemplating whether he should allow her an audience. He wanted to see more of her, but he did not want her to see him. Perhaps there was a way to manage it.

The light coming through the twins’ doorway dimmed, and he realized she must have extinguished whatever candles were left burning in the children’s room.

Moments later, she reappeared holding the lantern. It provided a yellow glow that lit her face above and a small area at her feet. She had added a fringed shawl around her shoulders. It must not have been enough to keep her warm, because the instant she closed the children’s door behind her, she shivered.

The courage it took to walk down that darkened hallway was visible on her face. He stayed a few steps beyond her reach, careful not to let the circle of light from the lantern touch him. Several times she stopped and looked directly at him.

Once she even whispered, “Is someone there?”

When he did not answer, her voice sharpened. “I do not find this the least bit funny!” And then, coaxing, “Come into the light, please, and show yourself.”

He remained hidden in the darkness, knowing that if he appeared like a wraith, she would likely run screaming from him.

When she started to take a wrong turn at the bottom of the stairs, he whispered, “This way.”

She stood frozen. Her eyes rounded with fright,
and for a moment he thought she would run for the front door. He saw her jaw firm and watched as she headed stalwartly in his direction.

No mistake. Miss Sheringham was pluck to the bone.