Kathryn Smith (33 page)

“I’m not certain that would be wise, Lady Braven.”

Rachel smiled. She wasn’t certain whether to be insulted or flattered that the doctor considered her a threat to his patient.

“You could sit by the door and keep an eye on me,” she suggested, turning that smile on him. “Make sure I don’t suffocate him or anything.”

Dr. Phelps flushed bright crimson right up to the roots of his hair. “My lady, I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

“Of course you did. And it’s quite all right. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t leave me alone with him either.”

Eyes downcast, Dr. Phelps nodded. She’d obviously embarrassed him, for which she was sorry.

“It really is quite all right, Dr. Phelps.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, Lady Braven. I’ll sit by the door so you can have some privacy.”

Rachel was cautious as she moved toward the bed. Unconscious or not, her stepfather was still intimidating. She remembered the strength with which he struck her after she refused Charlton. With any luck, he’d never strike anyone again.

She sat down on a chair beside the bed, dragging it forward so that it touched the mattress. She wanted whatever she said to be for his ears and his ears only.

“Hello, Sir Henry,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

“I hope you can.” Her gaze swept over the slackness of his features. “My mother has begun to recover from what you did to her. In fact, I believe she’s almost recovered from
you
. I know you wanted to break her. To be honest, I thought you had, but I was wrong. She’s stronger than either of us ever gave her credit for.”

Still nothing. Rachel was both relieved and irritated. She wanted him to hear her.

“You couldn’t break her and you couldn’t take the place of my father. She still loves him, you know. The only thing she feels for you is disgust.”

One eyelid twitched and Rachel thrilled at the sight of it. He understood her! She leaned closer.

“You’ll not defeat us, Sir Henry, do you know that now? No matter what happens, we will be free of you, even if you live. And if you die, I want you to know that no one will mourn you. Eventually, you’ll be nothing but an unfortunate memory to my mother. You couldn’t compare to my father in life; you certainly won’t compare to him in death.”

Another little twitch, this time around the doughy flesh of his mouth.

She looked down at her stepfather, drunk with the power his responses gave her. “I came here to tell you how completely insignificant you’ve become. It gives me a great deal of satisfaction to tell you these things. Rest well, Sir Henry.
You’re not likely to find such peace again for a long, long time.”

Rachel jumped when his arm twitched against her. For one split second, she envisioned him bolting upright in the bed and attacking her. He didn’t. Except for that one spasm, he remained motionless.

“Is everything all right, Lady Braven?” Dr. Phelps called from behind her.

Staring at the headboard, Rachel inhaled deeply, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. “I’m not sure. His arm just moved.”

Dr. Phelps left his chair and came up on the other side of Sir Henry’s bed. Leaning down, he placed his fingers on the side of the baronet’s neck. Then he checked his wrist.

Rachel watched as the physician paled.

“What is it?” she asked, both terrified and hopeful of his answer.

Phelps met her gaze with an expression Rachel couldn’t quite read. “He’s dead.”

L
ady Marion wept a little when they told her the news. Whether they were tears of sorrow or relief, Brave couldn’t tell. Perhaps they were both.

But despite Sir Henry’s passing, Wyck’s End was not a house in mourning. That evening at dinner, everyone wore their finest, most splendid attire. Even Marion, who hadn’t been able to leave her room since her arrival, managed to make it downstairs for after-dinner refreshment in the music room. Brave carried her down himself and placed her on a comfortable chaise.

If it seemed odd to celebrate death, no one commented upon it. In fact, it seemed perfectly natural to say good-bye to Sir Henry by embracing life and the future. A future without the baronet’s tyranny.

Only Rachel seemed a little out of sorts. Brave thought that decidedly strange, considering no one had wanted Sir Henry out of the way more than her.

He offered her a glass of sherry. “You’re subdued.”

She looked up. “I suppose I am. Thank you.” She took a sip.

Flipping out the tails of his coat, Brave seated himself on the green-velvet sofa beside her. What he really wanted to do was sling her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs. In fact, he wanted to make love to her until there were no thoughts in that thick head of hers but thoughts of him and how good he felt inside her.

He wanted to be with her, wanted her to trust him completely. It scared him.

“So what’s got you worried now?”

Rachel chuckled, her eyes brightening at his teasing. “Am I that transparent?”

“Only to someone whose powers of deduction are as keen as my own,” he replied with mock arrogance. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be happy finally to be free of your stepfather.”

“I am happy.” She smiled ruefully. “That is the problem. It’s one of the few times my impulsiveness resulted in something good.”

Brave nodded, wondering if their marriage was another one of those good decisions. “Feeling a little guilty for being so happy, are you?”

Another smile. “I’m feeling guilty because I
don’t
feel guilty. Does that make any sense?”

“Perfectly.” He turned his body toward hers. “No one blames you for feeling relief, Rachel. No one condemns you for feeling happiness. Other than his tailor, I seriously doubt there’s anyone in the county who’s going to miss Henry Westhaver.”

She placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed. Every nerve in his body jumped at the contact. This was ridiculous! He was as randy as a boy whenever she was within two yards of him.

“Thank you. You must get so very tired of easing my foolish worries all the time.”

Brave grinned. “Not at all. It gives me something to do with my day.”

Rachel laughed, and he could feel her blue mood lift.

“You’ve been smiling an awful lot lately,” she remarked. “A few weeks ago I wondered if you even could smile.”

A few weeks. Was that all it had taken him to fall in love with her? It seemed longer somehow.

Love. Is that what this feeling was? It was different than he expected. He’d pined for Miranda, ached for her—even when he was with her. But with Rachel, he felt whole, like a part of him had been missing and she was it.

He placed his hand over hers. Her fingers were cold. “You make me want to smile.” That was it? Hadn’t he just been thinking about how much he loved her? Why couldn’t he just tell her?

Something flickered across her face, and he thought for a moment, he wondered, if she’d been hoping for something more, but then it was gone and she smiled. Did she love him as well? Was that what she’d wanted to hear, a declaration? He didn’t know if he could.

Coward.

Her gaze drifted across the room and Brave’s followed, to where their mothers sat, chatting. Marion still looked awful, but her spirits were high. Brave admired her for that.

“What do you think is in the will?” Rachel asked, staring at her mother as Annabelle patted her hand.

“I’m not sure. I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow.” At exactly three o’clock the next afternoon, Sir Henry’s solicitor would descend upon them to read the will. They probably could have read it that evening were it not for the fact that Sir Henry’s heir had to be notified of his inheritance. Since the young man lived just over in Sherif Hutton, he would arrive the next morning.

“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested after several moments of silence.

Turning, Rachel flashed a coy smile. “What did you have in mind?”

With feigned innocence, Brave shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought we could play a few hands of piquet, or mess up the sheets some more so the servants really have something to talk about.”

She blushed. She blushed so easily and so brightly, Brave was enthralled by it.

They said good nights to their mothers, who barely seemed to notice their departure, they were so engrossed in their own conversation.

Once inside his chamber, Brave stoked the fire, blew out all the candles save for one by the bed, and then undressed his wife by its soft light. His own clothes followed and he joined her on the bed, kissing every silky pink inch of her until he was ready to burst with wanting her. And then she kissed every inch of him, and he almost did burst. Finally, he sank into her with a sigh of contentment. If ever it was possible for a body to be at peace, Brave found his in Rachel’s arms.

And afterward, as he held her in the dark, he tried to find the words to tell her how he felt about her, but he was afraid to say them. The last time he’d told someone he loved her she’d rejected him. It didn’t matter that he now realized he hadn’t loved Miranda, what mattered was that he didn’t want to say the words and then put Rachel in the awkward position of having to respond. He was afraid the fragile bond between them wouldn’t be able to survive such an uncomfortable situation if she had to tell him she didn’t feel the same way.

And if she didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t want to know.

The funeral was small, as was expected.

The day was cold, but strangely bright and sunny, as though nature itself celebrated the baronet’s passing. Very few of the townspeople were in attendance, and those who were only came to make certain Sir Henry was indeed dead.

Marion was still too sore and physically fragile to attend, and Brave thought it for the best. The last thing that poor woman needed were her neighbors staring at the bruises on her face. There were enough rumors circulating about the true nature of Sir Henry’s death. It seemed most of the town still wanted to believe it was murder, despite the magistrate’s findings. One look at Marion and the rumors would worsen. It was as though the townsfolk
wanted
Rachel or Brave to have killed Sir Henry. It suited their sense of justice.

After the service, Brave, Rachel, Sir Henry’s solicitor, and the new baronet journeyed back to Wyck’s End for the reading of the will.

Sir Henry’s nephew turned out to be as different from his uncle as anyone from the same family could be, which was a great relief to everyone involved in the reading of the will. Marcus Westhaver was young, handsome, and possessed a charming disposition. He was also well educated and, unlike his predecessor, had a fine head for business.

He hadn’t dressed in mourning either.

“I knew my uncle well enough not to miss him,” Marcus informed them in a carefully neutral tone when Marion asked him to excuse the lack of black in the room.

When everyone was seated and had a cup of tea or something stronger, Sir Henry’s solicitor, Mr. Smith began the reading. Apparently Sir Henry had a new will drafted after Brave had been so kind as to take Rachel off his hands, and Sir Henry’s prosaic style certainly reflected the strange lightheartedness the baronet had felt at finally being rid of his stepdaughter.

It took poor Mr. Smith almost a full quarter hour to get through all that Sir Henry had to say about himself, the strength of his character, the soundness of his mind and the goodness of his heart. All of which had those listening exchanging puzzled, if not appalled glances.

Finally, Smith got to the point. “To my nephew Marcus
Westhaver of York, I bequeath my baronetcy as is his birthright. I leave him nothing more than what the title dictates as he deserves no more.” Mr. Smith flushed as he read on. “If he is anything like his father he has no doubt pinched every penny he’s ever had until it bled, and has no need for my funds as well.”

Marcus smiled at that. “Why, thank you, Uncle. You’re quite right.”

Brave glanced over at Rachel. She winked.

“To my stepdaughter Rachel Ashton Wycherley, Countess Braven, I leave nothing more than the hope that she learns her place.” Mr. Smith flushed deeper as Rachel snorted. “And to her husband Lord Braven, I leave the hope that he will be the man to put her in it.”

The laughter bubbled over before Brave could stop it. The nerve of the old bastard! He was as miserable and mean in death as he had been in life. Only now he was no longer a threat to any of them and little more than a bad joke.

“To my dear wife, Marion—”

Obviously the will had been written before Marion left him. Brave was surprised Westhaver hadn’t changed it out of spite. He supposed the baronet hadn’t thought of that. He’d only thought of getting her back.

“I leave all my worldly possessions, including my horses, in the hopes that they will serve as a loving reminder of our marriage.”

Rachel’s gaze flew to her mother, and Brave’s followed.
Loving reminder?
How would Marion react to that? Mr. Smith, poor man, looked about ready to crawl under the desk, he looked so pained. And why wouldn’t he? Three of them had laughed out loud at their various sections of the will. And Marion, whom Sir Henry referred to lovingly, was reclining on a chaise with all the “loving reminders” she needed fading on her face.

But Marion didn’t even blink. She smiled and nodded,
even faced with Brave and Rachel’s amazement. She didn’t even speak, not until all the will business had been concluded.

“Mr. Smith,” she said softly, garnering the attention of the entire room.

“Yes, Lady Marion.”

“I would like for you to arrange for the sale of my late husband’s possessions, please. I’m not going to need them where I’m going.”

“Going?” Rachel demanded, looking shocked. “Where are you going?”

Brave was shocked, too. He’d expected Marion to leave eventually. She’d told him she wanted to, and his mother had told him that she’d invited Marion to take a trip with her, but he hadn’t expected her to announce it so soon. Neither had Rachel apparently.

Marion glanced over her shoulder toward her daughter. “Annabelle’s invited me to tour the Continent with her. I’ll tell you all about it after Mr. Smith and I finish our business.”

Brave wondered if Rachel found Marion’s light tone as forced as he did. He had no doubt that Marion wanted to make as little fuss over leaving as possible. He also knew that if she could, his wife would blow it completely out of proportion.

He watched as she fidgeted with the lace on her cuff, her head bowed. Even if he could read her mind, he wasn’t certain he wanted to.

Was she worried about letting her mother go off on her own? Surely she didn’t think there was anything to fear now that Sir Henry was gone?

Or was it being left alone with him that bothered her? No, that didn’t make sense either. Then again, very little about Rachel did.

He smiled when she glanced in his direction. She smiled back. That was a good sign.

Marcus Westhaver was the first to depart, followed by Mr.

Smith. Once the old solicitor had taken his leave, Brave rose to his feet.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” he said. “Unless, you’d like me to take you back upstairs, Marion?”

His mother-in-law waved her hand. “That’s quite all right, Balthazar.” She’d refused to call him Brave, and he wouldn’t have her call him by his title, so he had to get used to hearing his Christian name on her lips. His father had named him, said all the men in his family had strong names. His own father, Brave’s grandfather, had been named Ulysses.

If he and Rachel ever had a son, he was going to name him George.

“As you wish. Ring for a footman or have someone come fetch me when you’re ready.” Over her head, his gaze locked with Rachel’s. He blew her a kiss. “I’ll be in my study.”

He left them sitting there in silence. Whatever it was Rachel wanted to say to her mother, she didn’t want him to hear any of it.

His own mother was waiting for him when he closed the door.

“Well?”

He started down the hall. “Well what?”

“Well, what happened?” She fell into step beside him.

“The nephew inherited the title and not a penny more,” Brave informed her in a fair imitation of poor Mr. Smith. “Rachel was left the fond hope that she be put in her place, and Sir Henry charged me with the task of putting her there.”

Annabelle laughed. “You’re joking!”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Brave shook his head with a grin. “I’m afraid not. He left everything else to Marion.”

“Wonderful!” His mother clapped her hands. “Is it enough to afford her a little independence?”

Brave tilted his head. “Sir Henry had quite a fine stable. The horses alone should fetch a fair penny. Not to mention
his jewelry and personal items. Yes. I think she’ll be able to live quite comfortably for a number of years, especially if she’s frugal.”

“Oh, she must be so pleased! Now I know she’ll come abroad with me.”

Brave stopped and turned to face her. “Why didn’t she tell Rachel her plans? Do you know?”

Her smile faded to an expression of discomfort. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“The fact that you feel that way is all the more reason to tell me.” He looked around for eavesdropping servants. “Now.”

His mother sighed. “Marion was concerned that despite Rachel’s feelings for you she might decide to accompany her.”

Brave frowned. “But I’m quite certain Rachel never expected Marion to live with us forever.”

“Yes, but I doubt she expected it to happen this soon. Marion thought Rachel’s sense of loyalty might make her feel as though she had to choose between the two of you. Marion didn’t want to give her time to think about it. I told her I thought that was ridiculous, but Marion said the girl has an incredible sense of loyalty. Foolishness is what I call it.”