So Enchanting (28 page)

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Authors: Connie Brockway

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: So Enchanting
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Chapter Thirty-three
Amelie gave in to the sobs racking her. She had never been more afraid, more miserable. She clung to Fanny, but as soon as the door to the bedroom shut behind them, Fanny’s arm dropped from her shoulders and she stepped away.

 

“For the love of heaven, Amelie, wash your hands,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Amelie stared, startled. “What . . . ? Why? What do you mean?”
Fanny shot her a dark, impatient glare, turning the key in the lock. “You reek of powder.”
“I’m not wearing any.”
“Not that sort of powder.
Gun
powder,” she said tightly.
Sightlessly, Amelie sank to the edge of the bed.

 

Fanny knew.
“You’d best just pray poor Lord Hayden was so overcome with fear for you that he didn’t notice,” Fanny continued, turning back around, “or if he did, that he didn’t recognize the implication of the scent. The poor lad, he had no idea why you wouldn’t accept comfort from him.”
Fanny knew. She knew about the gun, and she probably knew Amelie had written the letter, and . . . and
everything
.
“Oh, Fanny. I am so sorry!” she cried, rising and stretching out her arms.

 

“Hush!” Fanny said. She made no effort to come to Amelie. She stood listening at the door.
Amelie had never seen Fanny wear such an expression. She wasn’t merely upset; she looked haunted, and her gaze held not a whit of warmth. She couldn’t have lost Fanny’s love. She . . . she depended on it, depended on her. She wasn’t as mature and ready to stand on her own as she’d thought. She needed Fanny.
“Fanny, please! I had to. I was desperate!”
The coldness in Fanny’s eyes melted beneath Amelie’s fresh onslaught of tears. With a sigh of surrender, she came to the bed and sat down beside her.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“I knew you wouldn’t approve.” Amelie gulped. “I knew you’d stop me. You’d never condone deceit in order to accomplish an end. You . . . you are too honest!”
“Stop.” A spontaneous sound of anguish escaped Fanny’s lips and she twisted away. Pain filled her face. “Oh, Amelie.”
“I was careful,” she said. “Except for the gun, and that was only because I had to improvise. Don’t you see? He was going to leave unless I found some reason for him to stay, Fanny! You heard Lord Sheffield. He’d convinced himself the threat was against Lord Collier or his business or something equally ridiculous, and believing that, he would have told Lord Collier I was not in any danger. After that Lord Collier would never have asked me to come to London. And Hayden would forget about me!”
“That is the reason you shot the gun today. But why did you send the letter in the first place? And how did you manage to overturn the urn? Oh, Amelie.” Fanny’s skin paled. “Grey might have been killed.”
“I didn’t overturn the urn. The cat really did. It was an accident. I swear it. I would
never
risk anyone’s life like that.”
Fanny regarded her soberly. “And the letter? Why did you send it? Why now? Why all of a sudden?”
“Sudden?” Amelie cried, stung. “There is nothing sudden about it. We’ve been here more than six years, Fanny. A
third
of my entire life!” All the frustration, the injustice of her incarceration, came flooding back. “I was sentenced to exile without any say in the matter, just expected to sit here while the world races by, hoping that when I arrive in it, I’ll be able to catch up.”
“You should have told me you felt so strongly,” Fanny said.
“I did. I told you all the time, and your answers were always the same: ‘There’s no sense grousing about it.’ ‘We must accept those things we cannot change.’ ‘No use complaining.’ ” She lowered her face into her hands.

 

“My dear . . .” The compassion Amelie had longed for Fanny to give her appeared. Having finally revealed the secrets she’d held so long, Amelie had unburdened herself. The relief was enormous.
“I didn’t ever imagine this would go so awry,” Amelie said plaintively. “I’d written Lord Collier a half dozen times, begging him to let us go to live with him in London, but he always wrote back refusing. Oh, politely, of course.” Here she sniffed. “He travels too much with business and political concerns for it to even be feasible.
“But I thought that if the situation were dire enough, Lord Collier would be compelled to act and summon us to London. I never imagined he’d send someone to investigate. But even that didn’t matter once”—her head dipped shyly—“once I met Lord Hayden. Oh, Fanny, I love him so much. I couldn’t bear to lose him. I
can’t
bear to lose him. That’s why I had to come up with some reason Lord Sheffield would stay longer.”
Fanny shook her head. “You didn’t need to go so far. If Lord Hayden feels the same way, he’d have come back. And if he didn’t return, then you were mistaking a fantasy for reality, and you are better served to learn it now, rather than later.” Her eyes were shadowed with some painful recollection.
“Oh, he does!” Amelie averred. “He has told me he loves me.”
“But he hasn’t asked you to marry him,” Fanny said somberly.
“No,” Amelie said, drawing herself up. “But he must have reasons why he hasn’t yet, and he will. He loves me, Fanny. I
know
he does.”
“Then you should have trusted him,” Fanny said flatly.

 

Amelie twisted away, her brow pleating. Fanny was not being very sympathetic. But then, she could not imagine Fanny ever being so in love that she would do anything to protect it.
“Perhaps I should have,” she admitted. “But Lord Sheffield decided he must leave, and he was going to take Hayden with him, and I was desperate. So I improvised. I might not have thought things out as well as I should, but the thing is done now, and you cannot tell Hayden, Fanny. Promise me.”
“Amelie,” Fanny said, exasperated. “If I have figured out your ruse, it is only a matter of time before Sheffield does.”
“No.” Amelie shook her head violently. “He was never close enough to smell the gunpowder on my hands. There’s no reason for him to suspect me. This will work.”
“Amelie. It wasn’t that clever a ruse.”
Fanny was wrong. “How do you know? Are you such an expert at ruses then?” she asked defiantly.

 

Fanny held her gaze. “Yes. I am.” She did not explain this enigmatic statement further, instead sighing. “Look at the facts, Amelie, and you’ll see you’re the only one who
could
be responsible.
“You’re one of the very few people who know where to send correspondence so it will reach Lord Collier directly. You weren’t in the least concerned that an attempt had been made on your life when the cat overturned the urn yesterday. You didn’t even try to dredge up a bit of a fret. You sent the servants conveniently away just before another ‘attempt’ on your life.”
She continued with relentless logic. “But most important, there is no one in Little Firkin who has any reason to want you dead. And you are the only one in Little Firkin who has a motive to leave here—one way or another. Besides myself.” She closed her eyes. “Which I am sure Sheffield is beginning to realize, if he hasn’t done so already.”
The thought of cool, self-contained Fanny going to such lengths for . . . well, anything brought a tiny smile to Amelie’s lips. “No one would suspect you, Fanny,” Amelie said.

 

Fanny smiled weakly in return.
“What am I going to do?” Amelie whispered, her head bowed over her folded hands.
“I suspect you should begin by telling Lord Hayden.”
Amelie’s head snapped up. “What? No.
No!
He’ll hate me.”
“No, he won’t, Amelie.”
“Yes. He’ll hate me for lying to him.”
“So,” she said after a moment, “you prefer to punish him.”
“What? No. What do you mean?”
“He is in agony, Amelie, thinking your life could be forfeit any minute and not knowing where the danger is coming from. This is torture for him. I know,” she said. “It was torture for me just wondering if someone was trying to hurt you, and that was before there’d even been an ‘attempt.’ I can’t imagine what he’s going through now.”
Amelie buried her face in her hands, too ashamed to meet Fanny’s eye. She’d known, of course. She’d tried to reassure Fanny. She’d done everything to point out that the threat shouldn’t be taken seriously. But she still knew how it had worried Fanny. She’d just been so selfishly in love, so relieved that Hayden, at least, had accepted her assurances, so willing to ignore the pain she caused others.
“And Mr. McGowan and Lord Sheffield and even Violet. All of them were concerned.”
“I know. I am so ashamed. I am not a very good person, Fanny.”
“You are. And a very young one. And a very heedless one. I understand. I know how easy it is to close your eyes to suffering you’ve caused. But now what are you going to do about it?”
“I can’t tell him. I am not as brave as you.”
Fanny flinched.
“Someday I will. I swear it.”
“Amelie, you cannot build a future on lies.”
Guilt and desperation made her sharp. “How would you know? Are you an expert on romantic relationships?” The expression on Fanny’s face made her immediately regret it. “I’m sorry, Fanny. I have to be sure of him first.”
“And when will that be? Next week? Next year? A decade from now?”
“I don’t know!”
“Trust him.”
Fanny didn’t understand. How could she? She’d been married so briefly, and she wasn’t in love. She didn’t know to what lengths a woman would go to be with her beloved.
She grabbed Fanny’s hand, clinging tightly. “It’s my life,” she said. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”
“This is a mistake.”
“My mistake.”
“I can’t persuade you?” Fanny asked miserably.
“No.
Promise
.”
Fanny released her hand with a small distressed sound. “Yes, yes. I promise.”
“You’ll help me?” she asked pitifully.
Fanny raised her face to the ceiling, as though looking for answers. “I’ll try,” she finally murmured.
Relief washed through her, bringing with it tears. “Oh, thank you, Fanny! Thank you. Things will turn out. I’ll marry Hayden and leave here . . . I mean
we’ll
leave here. All of us. You’ll see. There’ll be happily-ever-afters all around.”
Fanny regarded her somberly. “No, Amelie. There won’t.”

 

Grey went to the terrace to look for shell casings, thinking that the most likely place from which to shoot. Any shell casings would tell them the make and brand of the gun used, and from there provide a possible lead to its owner. He made Hayden come with him.

 

The boy was a mess. His late arrival on the scene preyed on his mind, making him feel impotent and ineffectual as both suitor and protector. It was useless pointing out that the shooter might not have even made an attempt on Amelie’s life had Hayden been present, or worse, might have shot them both. Hayden didn’t even hear him.
His miserable gaze kept returning to the house. “She didn’t want me to hold her. She blames me for not being here to protect her.”
“Nonsense.” Grey might as well not have spoken.
“I should have been there,” Hayden castigated himself. “I
knew
the threat was serious. I
knew
I should be on guard.” He glanced irritably at Grey. “There was someone on that balcony, but I allowed myself to be persuaded differently.”
Ah, yes.
A little sharing of blame. Grey didn’t care. If it made the lad feel better, he could lay the whole matter at Grey’s feet. He wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve it. But there’d been a reasonable suspect—a cat—and rather than concentrating on Amelie’s phantom menace, he’d focused all his attention on another.
“I should have listened to you,” Grey said.
“Yes,” Hayden clipped out, “you should have. Next time I will keep my own counsel.”
“Always wise,” Grey mumbled, barely listening. There was nearly as much glass outside on the terrace as had been spread beneath the drawing room window. He looked up. From the pattern of glass strewn on the flagstones, there was no clear indication from what direction the culprit had taken aim. Odd.

 

He moved farther along the terrace, his gaze on the soft ground beyond the pavers, looking for footprints, shell casings,
anything
that could help him discover who was responsible for the attack.
“What did you do with the gun?” A voice drifted down from an open window above, stern and reprimanding. Her voice. Fanny’s.

 

All the breath left his lungs. What was she talking about?
“He’s bound to discover it there. You’ll have to rid yourself of it. Toss it in the river.”

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