Maggie MacKeever (23 page)

“She did,” Jasper disagreed. “She made a dead-set at him. I’ll admit I wondered why she pretended to be betrothed to me if she was so infatuated with him, but I assume she follows some devious scheme of her own.”

“Perhaps it was your fancy pieces and opera dancers that made her take snuff,” mused Sylvester. “You have contrived to keep yourself well amused.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow. “I have managed to keep myself tolerably well diverted, have I not? Tell me, when did you decide that Loveday and I were destined for one another? I myself thought she and Denis would make a match of it.”

“Once I also believed so, but she has always shown a preference for you.” Sylvester was vastly irritated by his son’s laconic indifference, an attitude that spelled the ruin of his and his daughter’s plans.

“I fear you’ve been misled by your preference for the match,” Jasper demurred. “Loveday’s affection for Vere so plain to see that you’d do better to offer that license to him. Nor can you have considered: Loveday should not wed a man with my reputation. You see how impractical is your scheme.”

Sylvester frowned. “Hang your reputation. She’s no milk-and-water miss. I make no doubt the pair of you would set London on its ear, and engage in just the sort of adventures that must be envied by persons with adventurous souls.” He regarded his son. “No one would call either of you wanting in dash!”

“Nonetheless, the match would be thought damned irregular,” Jasper replied.

“What the gabblemongers say is no concern of ours,” Sylvester stated coolly.

Jasper sighed. “This is pointless. “Loveday is destined to become the Duchess of Chesshire—and I fear Isolda will find she’s gained more than she bargained for.” He smiled somewhat maliciously. “As will Averil.”

“Yes,” agreed Sylvester. “Loveday won’t make a biddable bride. She’ll be in one of her outrageous humors in no time. Miss Fairchild needs a firm hand on the reins.”

“That she does. You may rest assured that Vere will provide it.”

“It will probably be years before she outgrows her waywardness,” Sylvester added. “And I fear she’s an incurable madcap. No doubt your friend Averil will find himself quite distracted. Do you think that in time she’ll conquer her deplorable disregard for the proprieties?”

“I doubt it very much,” Jasper retorted, “and I would consider it a damned shame if she did. Nor has your change of tactics disarmed me. I consider it gratifying that I shall not be forced to rise from my deathbed to rescue Loveday from yet another scrape; and hope that our host may be able to cope with her. At least he shan’t be bored.” He gazed compassionately at his father. “I do not like to disappoint you, but in this matter I must. Your plans for Loveday and myself are wishful thinking, nothing more.”

* * * *

The murderer had no suspicion that his prey had temporarily eluded him, and made his way to the ruined wing. He’d no idea why Dillian had led Loveday to this place, but thought Loveday a fool for basing her hopes of escape on a girl everyone knew to be lack-witted. It was all the better for him; they’d played right into his hands. It would be easy enough to dispose of the both of them.  He’d simply throw them from the castle wall.

It was a pity that Loveday had remembered, for he’d grown to appreciate the girl. She was a spirited little thing, and he admired spirit, but he couldn’t have her interfering in his well-ordered life. He’d killed before to prevent the disruption of his master plan; he’d no compunctions about doing so again.

Timothy and Everard had suspected him of being Dillian’s father, for they’d known of his association with the girl’s mother, and they’d foolishly threatened him with public shame and banishment. It was ironic, considering the recent discovery of the girl’s true patronage, but he couldn’t allow such exposure, and so he’d silenced his accusers. It was easy enough to do; they were careless, sure of his concession to their demands, and he’d been prepared. They’d been so startled when he pulled out the gun that they hadn’t even tried to prevent the catastrophe.

He shook his head. Soft, both of them. Such a thing would never happen to him; he was prepared for every eventuality.

Loveday had been his only mistake. Had he known of her presence during the scene, she would never have left the room alive. A curst nuisance she was, too, and damnably hard to kill. He thought he’d done for her in the oubliette—a devilish clever stroke, that, and entirely unplanned, although he’d earlier disposed of that accursed cat. He’d seen Loveday go down the cellar stairs and had followed at a cautious distance, hoping for just such an opportunity as had presented itself. Dillian had foiled that attempt, damn her eyes. He thought it fit that she should die with Loveday; she’d proved herself devilish interfering.

He wondered if they’d been so obliging as to take themselves to the tower wall. It was Isolda who, all unsuspecting, had alerted him that Loveday was a danger. If the chit had only stayed in London, he would not have been forced to kill her. But there would always be the possibility that she might remember; perhaps he’d have eventually set out on the course he now followed.

He’d felt no reluctance to kill Averil’s mother; Ermyntrude had suspected him. Perhaps no one would have heeded her accusations, for she was admittedly half mad, but he’d thought it best to take no chances. She’d been easy prey, not like Loveday.

In truth, he had little appetite for his task, but the girl was a double danger now that Averil had developed a
tendre.
It was not in the plan that Averil should marry and get himself an heir, nor was it part of the plan that Averil should enjoy life much longer. That one would require careful planning; Averil had the luck of Satan himself. However, that time had not yet come. He pushed open the narrow wooden door.

* * * *

Felicity found her ascent more difficult than she’d anticipated, but at last reached the top of the castle wall. This was where she must tread carefully; the crumbling stone was uncertain footing, and a misstep could mean a decidedly unpleasant fall. She was halfway to the door before she spotted the figure approaching her.

Felicity had gone too far to abandon her plans. She used the only weapon she had, and walked toward the man seductively.

The alluring figure was unquestionably Loveday; the killer recognized the cloak and even in the dim light could see those careless, dusky curls. He marveled at her brazenness. She knew herself to be only seconds from death, yet she did not attempt to flee. Her expression was lost in the shadows, but he knew it to be as wanton as the posture of her body. He felt a moment’s regret that he would not have time to sample the delights so brazenly offered, but he’d already been absent from the festivities far too long. He fastened his hands on her shoulders, and wondered where Dillian was. Within the next few moments, she too must die.

Felicity was no weakling, and in that moment she knew a great rage. She threw her arms around her assailant’s neck in a fatal embrace, and screamed. Together, they fell. Hilary never knew that it was the wrong woman who caused his death.

Chapter 15

Confusion reigned. At first the mangled corpse,
obviously female, was thought to be Loveday, until Theo, firmly escorted by Charles, appeared upon the scene.

“We found this scoundrel lurking in the gardens,” Charles said grimly. Phyllida, gallantly fighting down nausea, turned the dead woman’s body over to face the light. The features were battered beyond recognition, and Phyllida clenched her teeth.

“This is not the gown Loveday was wearing.” Phyllida rose. Theo muttered a harsh oath and wrenched away from Charles to bend, in turn, over the corpse. The black wig came away in his hand.

“Felicity.” Theo met Averil’s startled look with a savage one of his own. No one tried to stop him, and he lifted the mangled body. He paused by his enemy.

“I did not know she planned this. Another debt I owe you, Vere.” Averil was unable to remove his gaze from that unrecognizable face. His fingers flew to his scar as he watched Theo depart with his grisly burden, then he turned and went to apprise his grandmother of this latest development.

Phyllida was violently ill, and wished that Charles would take his solicitude elsewhere. “You need someone to take care of you,” he whispered tenderly, wiping her brow.

“Charles,” she replied, with far more patience than she felt, “you are my very dear friend, but I made that choice long ago.”

“And you intend to bide by it, even though it was obviously a mistake? I can make you happy, Phyl. Only come away with me, and I swear I’ll never so much as look at another woman. Can you say the same for your honorable husband?”

Phyllida did a very unusual thing. She burst into tears. “I don’t want to be happy!” she wailed. “I want Adolphus!”

Lord Dorset was extremely moved to see his daughter so distraught, and took her in his arms as if she was five years of age rather than three decades older. “This is almost too much,” he said. “Where
is
Loveday?”

“Dillian’s missing, too,” Jem offered, his face bearing an expression of somber foreboding. Verdelet perched precariously on his shoulder and yowled as Averil reappeared, with Dorcas firmly in tow. That spoiled beauty took one look at her husband’s body, and fainted dead away.

* * * *

Dillian peered cautiously outside.

“What is it?” Loveday demanded impatiently. Her dislike for dark narrow places had not been eased by her experience in the oubliette, and her nerves were now stretched to the screaming point.

“I cannot tell,” was the reply. “Stay here until I call.” Dillian slipped through the small opening, and Loveday breathed deeply of the fresh air. Her gown was in shreds, and her arms and legs badly scratched, for they’d been forced in places to crawl. It had been all she could do to keep from crying out, several times, and Dillian’s tendency to murmur incomprehensibly to herself had only added to the general discomfort.

Dillian’s appearance caused a furor, but she evaded Jem’s eager embrace to make her way to the mangled body. She stood there, looking down on Hilary, her face expressionless, until Jasper grasped her arms and shook her.

“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where’s Loveday?”

Dillian disengaged herself. “Loveday!” she called. “Come out.” Dorcas, who had regained consciousness some moments before, tore herself from Averil’s grip and disappeared into the night.

Jasper spun around to see Loveday, filthy and disheveled, cobwebs in her hair, running toward them. He opened his arms and she ran into them, laughing and crying, hugging him as if she would never let him go.

* * * *

Several hours later, Phyllida finished her packing and sank into a chair. Her father had remained at the castle but, despite her affection for Loveday, Phyllida had felt she could not tolerate further exposure to either Ballerfast or the Veres. The past few days had taken their toll of her, and she looked forward to the relative peace of her children and her home, particularly since Dillian would be present to lend a hand.

It was foolhardy of her to have accompanied her father, that she knew; she was in no condition to be racketing about, but she had not trusted him to see things to their proper conclusion. Ah well, not all matters could be satisfactorily arranged. She didn’t begrudge her labors. Happy endings pleased Phyllida, and perhaps Loveday would be content with Vere.

As for Charles, he would not wear the willow long for her. Phyllida nourished few illusions about men; for them the wanting was far more important than the having. She looked down at her idle hands and wished again for her needlework. Phyllida slipped into a reverie, and did not hear familiar footsteps mount the stairs.

Adolphus opened the door cautiously, not particularly eager for a confrontation with his all too discerning father-in-law. There had been a close call with a dark-eyed lass in Portugal that had left him badly shaken and somewhat enlightened; Adolphus was sure that Lord Dorset had only to set eyes on him to know that he had strayed once again. Sylvester, however, appeared to be mercifully absent, and Adolphus ventured further into the room.

Phyllida opened her eyes to find her husband kneeling by her chair, a pose entirely alien to Adolphus Montague. She hardly dared to breathe.

“Phyllida.” This somber tone was also alien. “Forgive me. I’ve been the worst kind of fool.”

Phyllida wished even harder for something to occupy her nervous hands. “Please, Adolphus, don’t do violence to your feelings. There’s no need to chastise yourself; I’ve told you it doesn’t signify.”

Adolphus rose to pace the floor. “Yes,” he said, “it
does
signify, a great deal. I’ve come to love you very much, Phyllida, and have only just realized it, imbecile that I am. If you can only bring yourself to grant me your forgiveness, I vow that I shall mend my ways.”

Phyllida, for the second time in as many days, burst into tears. This time it was her husband’s arms that held her tightly, and she surrendered herself to their safety with a feeling of great relief.

* * * *

Loveday had no suspicion that Phyllida had reluctantly abandoned her matchmaking schemes, or that even Sylvester had concluded that his long-nourished dreams were doomed. She could not help remarking the differences between the noble Duke of Chesshire and the Earl of Dorset’s equally illustrious son, and was hard-pressed to preserve some sense of decorum. At least Hilary’s imprudence had forestalled Isolda’s announcement of the cursed betrothal. It was necessary to quell an absurd notion to hurl herself at Jasper’s head; he would think her a tiresome creature, too forward by half, and perhaps even bid her go and be damned.

Things had come to a very pretty pass. Loveday was not accustomed to being held down by circumstance, nor was she able to accept the severe dressing-down given her by her oldest friend with equanimity. She could no longer trust herself in Jasper’s presence, nor could she bring herself to express the anxieties that constantly preyed upon her. Jasper considered her conduct altogether displeasing, and Loveday was only too well aware that she had done some absurd things in that quarter. Charmain seemed the favorite of the moment, though Loveday was sure that Jasper had no other aim but that of flirtation. In happier days she might have quizzed him, but now she had gone too far and he seemed determined to hold her at arm’s length.