Rules of Attraction (15 page)

"We know them," Aunt Isabel boomed. "A pleasant couple, but rather stiff."

"Stiff?" Miss Minnie sniffed. "They are quite full of themselves."

Never one to allow the conversation to elude him, Sir Onslow appeared behind them. "Yes, ma'am, but the family has been in the district since before the Tudors. Some would say they have the right to be full of themselves."

"Well, they will die out now," Aunt Isabel stated. "They haven't anyone at all."

Dougald twisted Hannah's skirt in his bandaged fist. "You said they had lost their son in his youth, not long after they'd refused him permission to marry a certain Miss Carola Thomlinson?"

Hannah stopped tugging so suddenly she fell back toward Dougald. She caught herself just before she would have tumbled into his lap. She whirled to face him.

He sat enthroned in his chair, bleak and hard, the man who knew her secrets. The man who knew how to pull her strings. The man who knew her mother's name— and who knew how desperately Hannah wished to discover what family she had left. He had known she would come to Lancashire and stay, regardless of what he did or said, for a chance to meet her grandparents. Probably he was the one who had subtly directed her inquiries to the correct place.

No wonder he was so confident.

"Burroughs." She tested out the name. "Burroughs." Her father's surname. She'd never known. Her mother had never told her. She had tried to ask, but her inquiries gave her mother such pain she had waited and waited— until it was too late, and her mother could no longer tell her.

Now Dougald knew the name of her grandparents. Her father's parents. She turned to Aunt Spring, unable to repress the kind of eager desperation only an orphan could understand. "Can you… will you tell me where they live?"

Aunt Spring smiled at her. "Do you know them, dear?"

"No. No, but I…"

"Family friends, no doubt," Aunt Ethel said.

"Yes." Hannah looked around to find herself the focus of every gaze. She hadn't thought of this. That she would have to explain herself to anyone. Why should she? She had imagined she could make discreet inquiries over an extended period of time. She hadn't thought that Dougald would be at Raeburn Castle, making it impossible for her to stay. Making it impossible for her to go. "I suppose you could say that, although it has been years… they probably don't know me."

In a voice rife with disingenuous, convivial surprise, Dougald said, "I have an idea, Aunt Spring. Why don't you invite them to visit in, say, a month? By then Miss Setterington will have settled into her position and we'll know more about her and her relationship with the Burroughses."

Aunt Spring clapped her hands. "A capital idea, Dougald! I shall write them at once."

"Keep her presence a surprise," he instructed. "We don't want to announce her too soon."

"It would be wonderful to see their faces," Aunt Spring agreed. "Will that be acceptable to you, too, Miss Setterington?"

Hannah stared at Aunt Spring's face, alight with anticipation. She saw the aunts, cheerful and awaiting her decision. She observed Sir Onslow observing her. She beheld Charles and Mrs. Trenchard, watching the scene as all dedicated servants do, trying to predict the course of their own future by the words of their masters.

And she glared at Dougald, smug, satisfied, bruised but unbeatable and as always, victorious.

Bowing to the inevitable, she said, "I would like that, Aunt Spring. I would like that very much."

12

D
id she really think he would let her escape?
Dougald watched as Hannah exited the dining room surrounded by the old ladies he had taken under his wing, and he chuckled softly. Bitterly.

Not long after Hannah had left him, he had set about discovering the identity of her grandparents. He had imagined presenting her with the knowledge like a gift, one that would prove to her that she had been right in returning to him. Only she'd never returned, and now, like a miser, he held the information tight in his fist. She'd pay him for these facts. Pay him any way he chose.

Vaguely he was aware of Seaton moving to sit at his right hand, but he gave him no attention. Let Seaton speak first. Let Dougald hear what he had to say.

After all, Dougald reasoned, Seaton had killed at least two earls of Raeburn, and he was trying to kill another.

* * *

Dougald had her trapped. Again. Completely. In every way possible.

As Hannah stood by the window of the aunts' large, sunny west wing tower workroom, she looked across at the tower that rose above the east wing. There, another Raeburn wife had been trapped, and she had freed herself with a suicidal leap.

Not that Dougald would ever actually lock her in, or that Hannah would ever jump to her death, but Dougald had her trapped just as neatly as if he'd turned a key. Her stomach churned. She'd never felt like this, not even when he'd threatened to murder her. That had been a vague menace, words meant to shock. And she had rallied because she didn't believe him capable of murder. He had been, after all, her lover. Their bodies had entwined, their passions had been as one, they had been as close in thought and breath as any two people could be.

At least… she had thought so. Perhaps their closeness, too, had been nothing but a chimera, brought on by a youthful imagination and her need to have someone, just one person, to love her. Because Dougald was now standing among the ribbons of her desires, using them to tie her up and tie her down.

Aunt Ethel's voice penetrated Hannah's gloom. "Go on, Aunt Spring, ask her."

Hannah cringed as she wondered what circumstance they wanted clarified.

High above the rest of the castle, the tower room caught the morning and evening sun and all the light in between. The aunts huddled over a long table strewn with proof of all their interests. One of Aunt Ethel's prize roses sat in a pot before Miss Minnie's sketch pad. A variety of polished stones, silver settings and jeweler's tools were placed neatly before Aunt Spring's chair. Aunt Isabel's telescope was pointed out the window toward the sky. Bits of needlework and pieces of tapestry were scattered about on every surface. The room appeared to be awash with brightly colored threads of royal blue and purple, crimson and pale peach. Facing each other by the largest window were four large looms.

Looms. What were the elderly ladies doing with looms?

"Ask her, Aunt Spring. You know we must know if she's the one."

Hannah looked out over the green, rolling hills of the estate, but she could distinctly hear Aunt Isabel's clarion tones. Indeed, she could hear them all, for they raised their voices to compensate for Aunt Isabel's loss of hearing. Clearly, there were no secrets residing in this chamber.

Hannah braced herself as Aunt Spring trotted over and asked, "Dear Miss Setterington, is it true?"

"That depends on what you're asking," Hannah said cautiously.

"We could only be interested in one thing." Aunt Spring blinked myopically at Hannah. "Is it true you know our dear Queen Victoria?"

Hannah stared into Aunt Spring's guileless eyes. That was not at all the question she expected. After that scene at breakfast, no doubt the whole castle buzzed with curiosity about Hannah's connection to Dougald. A plethora of rumors must be circulating about Hannah's relationship to Dougald. About her family background. About her legitimacy.

"You're asking me if I have made the acquaintance of Queen Victoria?" Hannah repeated in bewilderment.

"Yes! Yes, that's exactly it."

Why did Aunt Spring want to know? How should Hannah reply?

For Hannah did know Queen Victoria. She didn't wonder how Aunt Spring had obtained this information. That was obvious; Dougald had investigated Hannah. No depth of her life had been left unfathomed, no corner unexplored, and he had chosen to pass this particular bit of information along to his aunts. "I have met Her Majesty," Hannah admitted. "She has been a supporter of my academy."

Aunt Spring darted an excited glance toward the other ladies, and in a joyous tone, she cried, "It's true, girls!"

In an excited rush of bobbing curls and flapping skirts, Aunt Ethel rushed forward while Aunt Isabel followed, asking, "Did she say it was true?"

"Yes, Isabel, it's true." Miss Minnie spoke clearly and directly to Aunt Isabel, then hurried along with every evidence of excitation, her faded eyes sparkling.

"Now you must tell us all." Aunt Ethel wore gardening gloves and held clippers; before the aunts' conference she had been tending a variety of potted plants throughout the room. "Is Her Majesty as young and pretty as her portrait?"

"She is very pretty, and very young to have such an awesome responsibility." Actually, Hannah had often thanked her stars that she hadn't been born to the task of ruling England. Pomp and ceremony surrounded Her Majesty's every moment; the only time she seemed to have to herself were those times when she, her consort and children fled to Scotland for a respite.

"We have this picture of her." Aunt Isabel showed Hannah a small canvas, a replica of the official coronation portrait. "Is this what she looks like?"

"That is very like her," Hannah said.

The aunts exchanged glances.

Why did they care so much?

"Have you seen her dear consort?" Aunt Spring asked.

"Prince Albert?" Most people were interested when they discovered Hannah had met the royal couple, but she seemed to be fulfilling these ladies' dreams. "Yes, I've been presented to them both."

"We have this portrait of him." Miss Minnie pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from within her capacious apron pocket. "It's not one of those vulgar lampoons, but a real portrait. Is that what he looks like?"

"Indeed it is." Hannah looked around at their eager expressions. "Now you must tell me why you want to know."

Aunt Ethel stripped off her gloves and placed them beside her clippers.

Aunt Spring caught Hannah's hand. "Come and sit down."

Hannah followed her to the sitting area. A cluster of chairs and settees surrounded an iron stove, and even though the windows were cracked enough to let in the fresh air of a brisk March day, the stove glowed with heat. The aunts crowded close; Hannah had noticed that when ladies reached old age, their skin thinned, their bones grew birdlike, and they sought heat like a drug. Indeed, the curtains on the windows were thickly lined to keep out the breezes that so battered Hannah's bedchamber, and one whole wall was draped in magnificent purple velvet to cut down on the drafts.

So Hannah took the chair farthest from the stove, pushed her sleeves up, and asked, "Why are you so interested in Queen Victoria?"

Aunt Spring glanced around at her companions.

"Go on, Aunt Spring." Miss Minnie nodded. "You should tell Miss Setterington what we have done."

"Yes." Aunt Spring sat down, then bounced up like a child wroth with excitement. "For years my brother was the earl here."

"Yes, so I understand." Although Hannah didn't know what this had to do with Queen Victoria.

"Rupert was always a cranky man. Very aware of his position. Always going on about the duties he faced. And tight as a tick with a tuppence." Aunt Spring shook her head. "I was born here, and I always lived here, but the way he acted you would have thought I stole the bread from his lips."

It was a sad story Aunt Spring told, often repeated among the unmarried ladies of England. "I imagine he made you uncomfortable," Hannah said gently.

Aunt Spring scrunched up her nose. "No… he wasn't a very forceful man. More of an impediment than anything, and he was the type of man who would have complained if he'd been hung with a silk rope. Why, even when dear Lawrence asked for my hand, Rupert complained about Lawrence's poverty. As if I wouldn't have been happier being a soldier's wife than Rupert's dependent!" She nodded until her curls bobbed. "If not for Rupert refusing his permission, I would have had the joy of living with Lawrence. He was killed on the Peninsula, you know, a hero to the last, and at least I would have had so many more memories…" She stared forward, mouth tucked down, eyes sorrowful and vague.

Silence filled the chamber. Hannah saw how Aunt Spring's friends exchanged glances, then smiled sadly at each other.

Leaning over, Aunt Isabel patted Hannah's hand and her loud voice contrasted oddly with the delicate moment. "It's a melancholy thing to know that one of us could have been happily wed, if only for a short time, and so pedestrian a thing as funds impeded that union, and so dread an event as death put an end to love forever."

"Oh, no! I still love him, and he still loves me. Someday we'll all be together— he and I and dear little…" Aunt Spring touched her forehead as if she were in pain. Then in a rush of enthusiasm, she clapped her hands. "In the meantime, I have my friends to keep me happy. Lawrence was my true love, and a true lover wants happiness for the loved one, no matter how long the wait."

"What a lovely thought," Hannah said— while Hannah thought,
Another proof that Dougald had never loved her
— as if she needed such proof. He wanted her miserable, and he was doing a fine job of it. She sometimes felt the epithet "bastard" was branded on her forehead. That was why she had come to Lancashire. To discover whence she had come.

Dougald realized. Of course he did. Years ago she had explained how much she wished to know her background, and at that time he had decreed her longing to be nonsense. The manly donkeybrain had actually told her she should live for him. Any sensible person would have known she would rebel at this, but not Dougald. He had been oblivious… until now. Until he could use his knowledge as an ambush.

Her gaze rested on Aunt Spring. She was the key to Hannah's release. Aunt Spring knew Hannah's family— probably knew where they lived. What was to keep her from going to her grandparents by herself, introducing herself as their granddaughter, and having a nice visit?

She put her hand to her neck and felt her own rapid heart rate.

What, besides a fear of a brutal rebuff?