Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 (7 page)

“Only a few days after you left.
Mr. Gibbons was with her in the study, and he said she suddenly went white as a sheet and sank to the floor.”

“Mr. Gibbons, the solicitor?” Paul asked.

“Aye, sir.
He has stayed on but plans to leave upon your return. He has been most kind to her ladyship.”

“I must see her,” Allison mumbled and hurried upstairs. A sick feeling of dread constricted her chest. She knew Mr. Gibbons had been summoned to change her aunt’s will and wondered how long Paul would stay when he found out. However, she was even more upset because she had obviously contributed to her aunt’s stroke by running off to marry Paul. How would she be able to live with herself?

Cecelia’s door was open and the sight of the thin still figure in the huge bed jolted Allison. She walked in silently, hoping that Cecelia would be asleep, but the green eyes which stared up at her were clear and accusing. The twisted shape of Cecelia’s mouth gave her a grotesque look. Allison realized how truly helpless the woman was. She ran to the bedside and touched her aunt’s motionless hand.

“I’m so very sorry,” Allison said as tears spilled onto her cheeks and glistened like summer raindrops. “I swear I shall make this up to you.”

“We both will,” Paul proclaimed as he materialized behind Allison and placed his arms around his wife’s shoulders. “Fairfax Manor will be properly looked after, until you’re well again, Lady Cecelia.”

The jade eyes darkened as hoarse, guttural sounds escaped from deep within Cecelia’s throat. Her left arm thrashed wildly about as she glared from Paul to Allison in a frantic attempt to communicate.

“I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you!” The sight of Cecelia, so dreadfully altered, was more than Allison could bear. She turned away, sobbing, and ran from the room, but Paul stayed.

He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed down at Cecelia. “I can well imagine what you’re thinking right now, your ladyship. You’d love to see me dead, but I am very much alive. Remember, you’ve only begun to hate me whereas I’ve hated you for years. My mother told me how you took everything from her; and I have my father to avenge as well. He, more than anyone, lost the most. His birthright was stolen from him by your brother, but I intend to retrieve it. In fact, I have already.”

Paul became pensive, coldly examining the old woman and assessing the depth of her hatred for him. She had good reason to hate him. He had seduced her niece, her only living relative, and had married the girl for gain, not love. In all his life he’d loved only one woman whom he had lost. His heart having just recently healed, he vowed he’d never fall in love with the pale golden creature who was kin to this venomous old woman. Bending his tawny head low, he fixed his gaze on Cecelia’s twisted features. “Believe
me,
I shall take excellent care of
my
estate. The Flannery crest shall hang proudly above the hearth, and the Fairfax one I shall grind beneath my heel. You are the last of the Fairfaxes. Allison is now a Flannery. I have made her one.”

With a quickness that astonished him, Cecelia raised her left arm and smacked him hard on the side of the face. Sounds like an animal in pain issued from her mouth, but Paul only smiled. He stood up, massaging his aching cheek with his hand. “My mother told me the Fairfaxes had heavy hands, and now I do believe it. Good evening, my lady. Rest
well,
knowing all is right with Flannery Hall.”

As he left the room and went downstairs, he pitied Cecelia but he immediately hardened his heart, because he felt that she deserved her suffering. When he entered the library, he discovered Allison with Jacob Gibbons.

He extended his hand in greeting. “We appreciate your staying here, sir.”

Jacob squinted at him, a frown puckering his forehead as he recognized Paul
..
“Ah, you’re the young upstart who…”

“Who married the lovely Allison,” Paul broke in, his powerful physique and scowling
face
defying the man to continue in Allison’s presence.

Jacob quickly grasped the situation. Allison apparently had no idea that her bridegroom was the rightful owner of Fairfax Manor. In all good conscience, he presumed he should tell her. However, most of his business was concerned with the Fairfax holdings. He decided to be circumspect now that Cecelia was incapacitated and it appeared that this arrogant young man was in charge. Still, he couldn’t deny himself the momentary pleasure of wiping the cocky, smile from Paul’s handsome face.

“Mr. Flanders, we must discuss her ladyship’s will.”

As Jacob had anticipated, Paul’s expression grew serious, his self-assurance fading. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“Please, this isn’t the time for such talk! I don’t wish to hear anything about her will,” Allison interrupted and grabbed the back of a chair, her knuckles white

“Lady Cecelia wished to change her will, and under the present circumstances, you should be aware of this,” Jacob continued smoothly, as if Allison had not spoken.

 
“Allison, you should have told me about the will.”

The soft timbre of Paul’s voice caught her unaware. She stood on the terrace where she had run to escape Jacob’s monologue concerning Cecelia’s desire to change her will. Around her, roses grew in profusion, their fragrant blooms filling the air in a sweet, cloying scent. But Allison was unaware of their beauty or of the evening twilight. All she heard was the irregular beat of her heart in her ears. Paul’s steady hands turned her towards him. “Look at me,” he demanded.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the ground to search his face. She suppressed a gasp because the disillusionment and anger she expected to see in his eyes were absent. In fact, he was smiling.

“You knew all the time,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Aunt Cecelia told me she planned to disinherit me, and I knew she counted on my telling you so you’d abandon me. But I loved you, and I hoped you’d come to care for me—or at the very most, I’d gather some beautiful memories to last a lifetime. I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you.”

A breeze ruffled loose strands of pale gold hair and brushed her cheeks. Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, resembled the Shannon. A strange emotion coursed through Paul, and without intending to, he enveloped her in his arms, longing to comfort her, to protect her. “You’re such a strange little thing,” he said softly. “But everything worked out for the best. Cecelia didn’t sign a new will before her attack. As a matter of fact, Gibbons has no idea how she wished to change it. You are still her heir.”

Allison’s crystalline gaze drank in the angular lines of his face, the honey darkness of his eyes, and for just a second she imagined she saw a flicker of love in their depths. Yet she had to know the truth, and the words slipped out unbidden. “If you’d known, would you have married me, Paul?”

A guarded expression passed over his features, but his deep laugh echoed across the terrace. “That’s an absurd question, one to which I think you know the answer.”

He kissed her then, stilling any further questions. His mouth seared hers in a kiss so passionate and intense that her head swam. Though he then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to their bedroom where they made love for the rest of the night, she still didn’t know the truth.

~ ~ ~

“Howard, I must be going,” Beth whispered into the drowsing man’s ear.

Howard
stirred,
his
eyes full of sleep. Beth dressed quickly as the first streaks of dawn lightened the sky. “Sure, love,” he mumbled and turned onto his side, immediately forgetting her presence.

She watched him, noting how his dark hair hung low over his forehead and couldn’t help thinking that he resembled a little boy sleeping the sleep of the innocent. But she herself was far from innocent. She knew she should put an end to this dalliance, yet she was sure she loved Howard and would be unable to live without his kisses. But did he love her?

His casual attitude rankled. For months she had come to him, sneaking away from the manor at night like a thief when Howard summoned her; she wondered where the groomsman slept on such nights. It annoyed her that Howard could drift into slumber so easily when she must leave him after a night of lovemaking. Did she mean so little to him? Sadly she brushed his cheek and left the stable.

Pulling her shawl closer to ward off the October morning chill, she hurried down the road toward the manor house. She slowed her pace as a familiar figure sauntered towards her.

Patrick stopped before her with a frown on his handsome face. “So, at last I’ve found you,” he said.

“I had no idea you were looking for me,” she said more haughtily than she intended because she feared he would guess the truth.

“My mother wants to see you. You didn’t sleep at the manor last night. Where have you been, Beth?”

“‘Tis no concern of yours.
I’m old enough to look after myself with no help from you, Patrick Lacey!”

Anger sparked in his eyes. “I hate when you say my name like that! It sounds as if you think I’m the devil himself. Do you hate me so much that you delight in scorning me? I’ve done nothing wrong except to fall in love with you, woman.”

“I didn’t ask for your love. Now let me
be
!” Beth attempted to move on, shaken by Patrick’s admission, but Patrick grabbed her wrist.

“Are you upset because I kissed you that day on the hill? That was months ago and you still hold it against me. I told you afterward that I was sorry, but I did ask your permission.”

She was conscious of the heat of his hand on her flesh, and felt again that strange melting sensation when he touched her. “Patrick, let me go,” she shakily requested.

“
Aye, that
I shall.” With reluctance he dropped her wrist. “Still, I’d like to be
knowing
where you were last night. ‘Tisn’t like you to disappear…” He looked back down the road, and a sudden coldness crept across his face. “Poor little Beth,” he said at last.

His remark stung her more than a physical slap. She wouldn’t let him see he had upset her. “Now tell me why your mother wants me,” she said calmly.

Patrick brushed
his hair from his forehead in a nervous gesture she had come to know well. “You have a visitor. I advise you to come at once and don’t ask me any questions, because I don’t wish to talk to you at this moment.”

He strode ahead of her, and she followed, baffled. Who would visit her? But it wasn’t the prospect of a mysterious visitor which made her uneasy
so
much as Patrick’s silence.

Mrs. Lacey smiled nervously when Beth entered the cottage. “Would you care for some tea?” she asked. Beth declined. She twisted the ends of her shawl in her bands, sensing all was not well. Old Sean only stared glumly and bade
her a
gruff good morning. Patrick went and sat beside his father, and for the first time, Beth realized how serious the situation must be. Where was the visitor? “What is wrong?” she asked in such a low voice.

“Oh, child,” Mrs. Lacey said, close to tears. “I don’t know how to prepare you for this shock!”

“Has someone died?” Beth asked, though she knew of no one close enough to her except the Laceys whom she would mourn.

A sound from the bedroom door attracted her attention, and Beth turned to see a gaunt faced, gray-haired woman entering the kitchen area. She was dressed in a simple gray gown covered by a loose cape. “Have you told her, Maeve?” the woman asked Mrs. Lacey.

“You didn’t give me time,” Mrs. Lacey cried.

The woman looked at Beth, carefully examining her face. A slight smile touched her wrinkled mouth. “You have your father’s eyes.” Her voice became wistful as she seemed to drift away into a memory of the past.

“Tell me who you are,” Beth faltered, though she was beginning to think that perhaps she already knew.

The woman came back to the present, her faded blue eyes brightening. “I’m your ma, girl. I’m Peg McConnell.”

A small pulse beating wildly at the base of Beth’s throat was the only indication of life in her. Even her shocked gasp died on her lips.

“Don’t you have a tongue?” Peg demanded sharply.

“Leave her be!” Sean stood up, as did Patrick. “You drop the girl off years ago like an unwanted kitten, then you return and expect Beth to be pleased to see you. You’re a heartless woman, Peg McConnell!”

“Aye, I’ll be agreeing with you there. I have no heart—I gave it to the bastard who fathered her.” Peg pulled her cloak closer to her and sat wearily down on a chair near the hearth. “I’d appreciate some tea, Maeve,” she said.

As Maeve Lacey poured the tea, Beth found her voice. “What is it you want?” she asked.

“I’m pleased you can speak,” Peg said, “but I don’t mean to cause misery to you. I came to see you because I’m ailing, and I thought maybe you’d take me in. But Maeve tells me you haven’t found a husband yet.” Peg critically examined her daughter. “What’s wrong with you? You should have been wed long ago.”

Beth’s face turned scarlet. Patrick’s eyes rested on her; in fact, he watched her constantly, and she stammered when she spoke. “I—I never found a young man I fancied.”

“Tsk, tsk. You’ve got the hot McConnell blood in your veins. You should be wed by now, living in a cottage of your own.”

“Why?” Beth exploded. “You’re only worried about yourself, not me! You want me married so you can sit by my hearth all day. These many years you’ve never given me a thought, so don’t expect a care from me!”

Beth directed a baleful glare at Peg and flew out the door into the sunny morning before she should disgrace herself with tears in front of everyone. She breathed hard, her breasts straining against the material of’ her gown as tears of anger and pain finally ran down her cheeks.

Through the haze of her tears, she sensed Patrick’s presence. He stood in front of her and blocked her passage. With watery eyes, she looked up at him as he tenderly cupped her chin with his hand. “I’m so sorry, Beth.”

His concern undid her, and she found herself wrapped in his arms as she sobbed against his chest. When she had gained control of herself, she drew away self-consciously. “Why didn’t you tell me it was my mother who had come?” she demanded.

Patrick sighed. Pain crossed his face, but he looked her in the eye.
“Because I was hurt that you’d spent the night with Howard Granger.
I thought you were decent, Beth.”

She sputtered, her hurt giving way to rage. “Decent, is it! I love Sir Howard. Can you say the same about the doxies you’ve bedded? I know how you ride into Athlone for a night of sport at the whorehouse, so don’t you be judging me, Patrick Lacey!”

He reached out for her, but she pushed him away and ran in the direction of the manor, leaving him standing alone in the meadow. Deciding not to follow her, he went to his chores. But his regret for insulting her was nothing in comparison to the knowledge that she loved Howard Granger.

~ ~ ~

Allison gathered the wild flowers and heather which bloomed on the hillside, gently placing them in her basket. Her sketch book lay beside it, and she wished she had time to capture their images on paper, but it was nearly nightfall. A fall breeze caressed her face as she walked toward the house. After supper she’d complete sketches of the flowers she had picked.

A horse and rider caught her attention, but it wasn’t until he came closer that she recognized Howard Granger. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Flanders,” he said politely but there was a strange hardness in his voice, which was unlike him. “And congratulations on your recent marriage.”

“I wondered if you were ever going to visit again; Paul and I have been home for months. Don’t be so formal,” she said. “You can still call me by my Christian name.”

He smiled as if he had won a minor victory. “I shall, Allison. How is your husband?”

She looked up at him, growing uncomfortable because he hadn’t dismounted. “Paul is busy with the tenant farmers today, but he’ll be home tonight if you wish to call.”

“How kind,” he said coldly. “But I know the estate takes up a great deal of energy and Paul will no doubt be tired.
Some other time.”

“As you wish.”

He turned his horse,
then
looked back at her. “Constance sends her regards. Please convey them to Paul.”

“How sweet,” Allison murmured, but knew she wouldn’t relay the message.

When she returned to the house, she found Beth and a haggard looking woman awaiting her. She placed her basket on the dining room table and smiled at them. Beth curtsied.

“Miss Allison, this is my-mother,” Beth said, a definite chill in her voice. “She wishes to work in the manor.”

“My name’s Peg, ma’am, and I’d do a capable job for you,” the woman said.

“I’m certain you would.” Allison masked her surprise by maintaining an unreadable expression, but she keenly sensed Beth’s embarrassment and discomfort. “Have you had any experience doing kitchen work?”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“Good. Then go tell Hester in the kitchen that you will start in the morning.”

Peg curtsied and thanked her, then hurried off while Beth lingered. “I’m sorry she asked for work, but she has nothing else.”

“I understand, but I’m quite surprised that she has returned after all this time.”  

Beth folded her arms across her breasts. “She came back expecting to find me wed so she could sit all day in my cottage and do nothing. Well, Mrs. Lacey won’t have a good for-nothing in her home, so she had to find some work though she claims to be ailing.”

Allison took Beth’s hand and smiled her understanding. “Explanations aren’t necessary.”

Beth’s eyes misted suddenly. “You’re just too good, Miss Allison!”

Allison looked carefully at Beth and saw the girl had suddenly turned pale as chalk. “Are you well?” she asked in concern.

“Aye,” she answered but her voice was low and strained. “I’ll be on my way now.” She paused. “Her ladyship has been uncooperative today. At least that’s what Katie told me.”

Beth’s pallor was forgotten as Allison went upstairs to visit Cecelia. “How is she today?” Allison inquired of Katie, the woman who took care of her aunt.