HisLadysKeeperfinal.wps (25 page)

“He is most irresponsible,” she muttered, eyeing him warily out of the corner of her eyes.

“How are you doing? Do you feel faint? Maybe you should hold the banister as we walk up.”

She chuckled. “I’m fine. If I start to feel lightheaded, I’ll grab for the railing.

Thank you for your concern,” she murmured smiling.

He grinned at her in the dim light.

Richard started to snore. Loudly.

“How can he fall into such a deep sleep so quickly?”

“It’s a talent of his. He can nod off wherever or whenever, no matter what sort of conditions he’s under.” He snorted.

“That must serve him well in hard times.”

Her mind whirled. If he slept as soundly and fell into a deep sleep as quickly as he did, someone could have surely fooled him when it came to Joseph being shot.

“Do you know anything about Belladonna and its hallucinogenic uses? It can be drunk in tea to go into what some call a living dream … What if they used it to put Richard into a living nightmare?”

“Belladonna. Shit, Gemma. I know I don’t want to allow you into the herbal cellar anytime soon. Don’t go and start getting too friendly with Maeve.”

“I’m not thinking about poisoning you.” She sighed. “Not yet, anyway,” she added, chuckling. “Just be sure to stay on my good side as long as I have access to deadly nightshade.”

Hart sighed. “I know that Richard said some nasty things about you back there, but you have to understand that he is thoroughly stoned beyond sensibility.”

“I realize that,” she murmured, grimacing. Recalling what he’d said about her wasn’t something she wanted to relive so soon after hearing it straight from his mouth. “I am simply trying to think of all of the things that could be slipped into a drink of Richard’s that would obscure his memory and recollection of Joseph’s death.”

“Not this again, Gemma. Joseph is dead. Long gone.”

“I don’t believe he is. He’s out there somewhere with no memory of you—or if he has a memory someone is keeping him from contacting you.”

“Nothing would stop Joseph, short of hellhounds from getting to us when he

really needs us.”

“Then, pay no heed to my crazy mutterings.” She cast her eyes downward,

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watching her steps carefully as they reached the top of the stairs.

“I can understand why you’re clinging to the dream you had with Andrew in it, Gemma. But it is just that, a dream. No one’s spirit, least of all Andrew’s spirit came to you in your fever. It was the delirium working its mirage like magic on you.”

She regarded him thoughtfully, remaining silent. He quickly turned in the

direction of the East Wing. Richard had taken up most of the rooms in that particular wing of the castle. As they walked down the hallway, a Spanish tapestry caught her eye.

She inhaled deeply, looking at the intricate details of a Spanish knight and his lady.

Moving on, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that … Good lord! That’s a tapestry with Catherine de Medici in it, isn’t it?”

He nodded his head. “Come on, you can explore these halls later when I’ve

gotten Richard to bed! He’s a real dead weight, you know.” He expelled another rush of air. “He might be shorter than me, and look smaller, but bloody hell he’s as dense as a rock.”

She walked quickly in front of him so she could open Richard’s door for him.

“It’s locked,” she announced, stunned.

“I’ve got to get him in and then I have to go and pay that little tart he’s left waiting in her carriage. Just give me a minute.” Placing Richard so that he was slumped against the wall, Hart started searching his pockets. He pulled out a snuffbox, a purse, a watch, a small box of candies, and then finally, keys. “I swear he carries everything he can possibly stuff into his pockets. Stand aside, Gemma.” Quickly, he unlatched the door and pushed it open.

“Come on you little bastard, let’s get you all snug and warm in your bed.”

He grunted, heaving Richard up again. “I always say this, but I’m done with carting your ass around, brother mine.” He walked over to the four-poster bed and dumped him on the mattress. Richard’s head knocked against the one poster. “Whoops.

Sorry about that, Richard. If you’re head hurts in the morning, it’s all your fault.” He sniggered, turning back to her where she stood waiting in the doorway.

She moved the candelabrum and inhaled sharply at the sight of a breathtaking portrait. The woman’s dark luminescent eyes bored right into her soul. She had the most unnerving expression on her face. It almost looked as if she couldn’t decide between sneering and remaining complacent.

“Who is that in the portrait?”

Hart followed her arm holding the candelabrum. “That’s Richard’s birth mother.

She was quite a beauty, wasn’t she? She was half-Italian, half-Spanish, and all mad. Her line of lineage harkens straight back to the infamous de Medici line. If you ever wanted to meet a ruthless woman, you had to look no further than dearest Francesca.”

“You wouldn’t have known her though, Richard’s older than you,” she pointed out, thoughtfully.

“I didn’t meet her in person, but I’ve met her sisters. They’re just as addled as she is. They were decked out completely in black from head to toe, it was pretty scary to have them come to visit. I used to think they were the harbingers of death when I was really little. They never smiled, they only wailed when they talked, and they hated my mother. They almost took Richard from father after Francesca killed herself in a delusional fit.”

“She has such a mournful look in her eyes. You can tell she had to have been a HIS LADY’S KEEPER Marly Mathews 122

tortured soul.”

“Aye. Mournful bordering on hateful, if you ask me.”

“Richard must have a heavy cross to bear knowing what his mother was like.”

“Richard has always had to fight his other side. Before father passed, he had me named as his sole heir when he found out that his marriage to Francesca had never been legally binding, despite her machinations to make it look like it was. She had quite a few friends that were willing to help her land father as a husband. No one else wanted her because they knew that lunacy ran rampant through her branch of the family tree.

Unfortunately, father’s decision left Richard with little to inherit. He’s got a title from Francesca’s father since he died with no male heirs, but when he died, most of his wealth had been thrown out the proverbial window.”

“That can’t settle well with Richard.”

“It doesn’t. Richard has enough though. He has several different financial ventures that give him a very good income. Fortunately, he lets me manage most of it for him, or else he’d be sitting in the poor house right now.”

“My father was sort of like Richard. He didn’t see the full spectrum of how money can impact a life. He thought it was a never-ending resource, he never really saw the real world and all of the nasty humans that lived in it. He thought everyone was going to have a fairytale ending—he was gravely mistaken in that thought.”

She sighed.

He gave her a look of deep understanding. “Come, you should go back to our quarters, and I’m off to pay the little loose skirt, loose mouth, hell, she’s just cheap.”

She smiled at him, glancing one last time at Richard before he gently ushered her from the room.

“I’ll just dash downstairs and then, I’ll be back in a blink.” He winked at her, and ran off down the hall.

Sighing again, Gemma looked around at her surroundings. Now, she had to

figure her way back to the West Wing.

Plucking up her stamina, she tried to retrace her steps. When she finally

recognized her surroundings, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Far down the hall, she heard a little boy talking.

Charles.

She walked toward the voice, and stood looking in at the scene unfolding before her.

Margaret sat in a rocking chair with Charles sitting raptly interested at her feet.

“Then what happened to the troll?” he asked, stopping as he sensed Gemma’s

presence.

“Aunt Gemma!” He sat up and lunged himself into her arms. “I’m so glad to see you awake! I was really worried.” He squeezed her tightly, and then stood back, reddening. “I don’t usually give out hugs like that … but Aunt Margaret says it’s not unmanly to show affection under the right circumstances.”

“Aunt Margaret? I thought ….”

He nodded his head vigorously. “I was calling her Duchess, but she insisted that I call her Aunt Margaret. I couldn’t really call her Mother Margaret. I’m afraid it kept sticking on my tongue. I have so many aunts.” He laughed. “Did you hear the loud crash as well?”

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Margaret stood up, tucking her loose hair back beneath the nightcap she wore.

“Aye. Charles was frightened awake by a most thunderous bang. He believed that marauders were storming the Castle. I had to tell him that in truth, it was only an echo heard from the realm of Fey.”

“She said that a big old troll probably fell over and it reverberated into our world.”

“Indeed.” Gemma suppressed a smile, for the lighthearted story obviously had Charles convinced. Soon, he too, would believe in the world of fairies.

“Charles, come, let Maeve and I get you settled in for the night,” Margaret murmured, extending her hand to him.

At that precise moment, she noticed that Maeve stood off in a dark corner. She emerged from the shadows, and beamed at Gemma. “It’s good to see you back on your pegs for more than a scant few minutes at a time, Your Ladyship, you were a sight to behold for a while there.”

She smiled wanly at Maeve. “Thank you for your help in getting me back on my legs, and what’s more, without your ministrations, I don’t think I’d be standing and feeling so hearty right now.”

Maeve nodded her head crisply. “No need to thank me. My life is devoted to the family within these walls. You’re part of that family now, and I’ll never let you down.”

She smiled at her, and walked toward Charles. “Come my wee man, we must get you back to sleep, or else you won’t be able to finish building that tree house with Hart tomorrow.”

“I should think that Charles should come with me tomorrow, I should like some company, and I think that Charles will make a grand escort,” Margaret mused.

“I will.” He smiled. “I’d like to see more of the island anyway. I mean the grounds you have here are really nice, but I’m starting to feel a bit caged in. I can see the sea, though, and that’s what matters to me. I always like to be near water.”

Gemma started to backtrack toward the door, so she could take her leave without their notice.

Margaret shuffled quickly toward her. “Please, wait, Gemma.” She caught up with her. “You do look quite better, I am glad to see you healthy once more. You gave Hart quite the scare.” She dodged a furtive glance back at Charles to see if he was paying attention.

Skye jumped into her dog bed and settled back down for the night. Obviously, during her illness Skye had become Charles’s faithful companion.

“Is he settled in, then?” She looked over Gemma’s shoulder down the dark

hallway.

“You mean, Richard?”

“Aye. I knew that was he making that dreadful noise. It scared the living daylights out of Charles. I had to calm him down and pray that Hart had heard it also. I don’t know what I’d do without Hart. He always seems to keep this house in tiptop working order. When he isn’t around, it’s such a bother to get the valets awake so they can drag Richard to his room.”

Gemma frowned. “You might not want to tell Hart that. He’s under the

impression that Richard only debauches himself like this when he’s in residence.”

Margaret sighed. “Hart has to go away on business many times throughout the HIS LADY’S KEEPER Marly Mathews 124

year, and unfortunately Richard’s behavior does not change, whether we are in residence here, or on the Mainland or in Spain. It truly does become tedious at times, but I don’t know how to cure him of it. He’s got such a terribly reckless streak in him—” Margaret broke off in mid-sentence her eyes lighting with joy.

“Hart!” She breathed. “It’s good to see you, son. I’ve been chatting Gemma’s ear off but I shan’t keep the two of you from spending some quality time together. You go and get some sleep.” She yawned daintily, pressing her hand delicately to her mouth.

“I’m rather tired myself, I think I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Goodnight, my dears.”

She winked at Gemma and bustled toward her own quarters.

“Your mother is quite the woman.”

“I know. Why was she up with Charles? I mean she tucks him in every night but why did she .…” He trailed off. “Blast and damn, Charles heard Richard’s little adventure down in the entryway, didn’t he?”

“He thought the castle was being besieged by marauders,” she pronounced

chuckling.

“Did he?” Hart laughed with her. They strolled back toward their bedchambers.

“That little scamp has the most incredible imagination I’ve ever seen in a child. It rivals the imagination Joseph had as a boy.”

“And you? What about your imagination?”

“I guess I had quite an elaborate one as well—though I daresay I had to be the most sensible sibling when it came to my brothers. They were so starry eyed sometimes that someone had to pull them out of fairyland.”

“Sometimes I had to be the sensible one as well. Luckily for me when I was Charles’s age we still had our family fortunes intact and Andrew was around and my father and mother were very doting and attentive parents. When Andrew and Mallory shipped off to fight Napoleon, my father went half mad. He started staying out all night at local gaming hells, he started to come home drunk like Richard where he could barely stay upright, he started to dabble in the stronger kind of snuff—and slowly, we lost him.