The Black Widow (25 page)

It was soon obvious that although her range of interest was not broad, she knew everything there was to know about horses and horse breeding and pedigrees and hunting and training and racing and foxhounds, and all those things that Meribe was totally ignorant of.

In addition, the more Lady Delilah talked, the more depressingly obvious it became to Meribe that she herself was not at all the proper kind of wife for Demetrius. He needed someone like Lady Delilah—or at least someone who knew more about horses than that they were large beasts with four legs that habitually consumed a fortune in hay and oats.

Meribe was not even sure what a horse’s hocks were, much less whether it was good for a horse to jump off them or not, and she would have been thoroughly bored listening to Lady Delilah rattle on in what was to Meribe a foreign language, had she not soon discovered that once Lady Delilah was well launched, all she herself needed to do was smile, nod her head, and occasionally murmur such things as “Oh, really?” and “My gracious.” Which left Meribe free to think about how well and truly Demetrius’s life would be ruined if he married someone like herself, who was totally ignorant of everything he cared about in life.

After making her acquaintance, his friends would doubtless pity him from the bottom of their hearts, and it would not take him long to realize also that he should never have taken such a step as marriage when all he felt for her was compassion.

Remembering his kisses, she was forced to admit that there was a certain degree of passion between them also, but how long would that last when she could not share any of his interests? How long before he began to regret their marriage? If indeed things ever progressed that far.

A wedding was beginning to seem like quite a remote possibility, and not because of any would-be assassin. She simply was not the proper wife for Demetrius, and sooner or later he would realize it. Although being a gentleman, he would more than likely try to conceal his true feelings.

Which in turn meant that she was the one who would have to cry off. The only thing she found to be thankful for was that no one else knew about their clandestine betrothal, and consequently no one else would know when it was broken.

Meribe gradually became aware that Lady Delilah was waiting for her to say something. “Pardon me?”

“I asked if you have ever hunted with the Quorn?” Lady Delilah repeated.

Without thinking, Meribe said, “I do not ride,” and Lady Delilah was so flabbergasted she could think of nothing more to say. They drove in silence until they stopped for lunch, which they shared with the gentlemen of their party at the King’s Arms in Bagshot.

Afterward, when they once again climbed into their coach, the afternoon stretched before them like an eternity, and in desperation Meribe decided there was nothing for it but to reveal the full state of her ignorance. “What is a splint, and why does a horse throw it out?” she asked.

Obviously relieved to be able to talk about horses again, Lady Delilah smiled in the most friendly manner and proceeded without the slightest bit of condescension to answer that question and all the others Meribe could think of. Except, of course, the one that Meribe could never, ever ask anyone, namely, did Demetrius really want to marry her?

* * * *

They had been at Thorverton Hall for three days, and Hester had managed to convince herself that there was nothing for her to be worried about. Looking around the dinner table, she acknowledged that although Lord Thorverton was a charming host, her sister showed no signs that she was planning to marry him before her birthday, which was now only a week away.

Despite occasional
sotto voce
grumblings from Aunt Phillipa—elicited whenever Mr. Swinton ventured too close to her—the party was most congenial. This evening they were also entertaining Lord Leatham and Lady Anne, who had driven over from the neighboring estate.

Sitting beside her, Lionell Rudd was his usual foppish self, but without a source of gossip for his acidic tongue, he was forced to fall back on fashion as a topic of conversation, and consequently he was pleasanter to have around than usual. Hester could no longer believe that he was a murderer, either in person or by proxy. Indeed, she wondered that she could ever have suspected him of having committed any deed more dastardly than giving some encroaching mushroom the cut direct or ruthlessly depressing a would-be dandy’s pretensions to glory.

In short, all the worries that had plagued her in London seemed to have been caused by the overexertion and fatigue of the Season since they had quickly vanished like popped soap bubbles in the more sane atmosphere to be found in the country. It was almost enough to make Hester decide that even after she inherited her father’s fortune, she would spend most of her time rusticating in Norfolk rather than living a life of gay dissipation in London.

Well, perhaps that was a bit extreme. A few weeks in London during the Season would not be unwelcome. To be sure, she would need to replenish her wardrobe periodically, and it was nice to visit the theater occasionally.

Rising to his feet, Lord Thorverton tapped on his goblet to get everyone’s attention. Once he had it, he made an announcement that caused complacency to fly out of Hester’s mind and consternation to replace it.

“My dear friends, it is with great pleasure that I wish to inform you that Miss Meribe Prestwich has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage. She has her aunt’s permission, and we have decided to be married here tomorrow morning by special license.”

Amid the general cries of congratulations, Hester heard a low curse, and turning to her dinner partner, she saw such coldness radiating from Lionell’s glance, she felt chilled to the marrow of her bones. Staring at his expression, she no longer had the slightest doubt but that he was capable of personally committing cold-blooded murder.

To her consternation, Hester felt as if she were seeing the real Lionell for the first time, and she could read not merely anger in his eyes but also a frightening madness. She was so terrified of what he might do—indeed, if looks could kill, Lord Thorverton would have been struck down dead in his chair—that she could not utter a sound.

Then Lionell shifted his glance slightly and caught her in the act of staring at him, and the hideous anger vanished instantly behind a benign smile. With no apparent effort, his face assumed the fatuous expression of a London dandy. Lifting his goblet, he joined the other guests in toasting the forthcoming nuptials.

But having once seen beyond his polished facade, Hester could no longer make herself believe he was totally sane.

She wanted very much to tell someone else what she had seen. Even more, she wanted to spring up from her chair and dash screaming from the room—to get as far away as possible from the madman who was sitting so close to her.

But she was too petrified to move. What would he do to her if she cried out for help? Would he turn on her like a frenzied beast and strangle her? Would he pull a loaded pistol from his pocket and shoot her?

Or would he even need to do anything? If she accused him of heinous crimes, would anyone believe her? Or would everyone believe him when he denied everything? He had only to smile pityingly and murmur a few words about overheated imagination, and she would doubtless be sent to bed with a glass of warm milk laced with laudanum.

Even now, when he was again acting completely normal and rational, she herself was already beginning to wonder if she had actually seen what she thought she had seen. Lionell was her best friend in London—or at least, he had been her almost daily companion. Could she have known him these six years without really knowing him at all? Could he have been merely playing a role? Hiding behind a mask with which he had managed to deceive everyone in London?

But no matter how she tried to reassure herself, the image of the mad glitter in his eyes would not leave her, and she knew she was sitting only inches away from a very dangerous man, no matter how foolish and foppish he might appear to others.

The atmosphere in the drawing room was so strained, the tension was almost visible, and Meribe realized that the source of it was Hester, who was sitting on the edge of her chair as if poised to leap to her feet. Which she did as soon as they heard the men approaching in the hallway.

“If you will excuse me,” Hester said, rubbing her forehead distractedly, “I seem to have a bit of a headache. I believe I shall retire early tonight.”

So saying, she slipped out by way of the connecting door that led into the blue salon, rather than going out into the hallway, which would have been the normal thing to do.

Meribe wished there were some way to warn her sister not to make another attempt on Demetrius’s life. With so little time remaining, who knew what desperate measure Hester might attempt? And with all the men on their guard, she was bound to fail, which meant she would be banished from England forever.

Do not try anything foolish, Meribe thought. Please, Hester, protect yourself—if you do nothing more, no one will have any proof that you ever did anything wrong.

No sooner had the one door shut behind Hester than the other door opened and the men entered, and with them the tension returned to the room. The only ones who seemed to be unaware of it were Lionell Rudd, who minced over and began talking to Aunt Phillipa as if everything were normal, and Lord Leatham, who went to sit beside his wife.

To Meribe’s eyes, Mr. Hennessey and Mr. Swinton made it rather too obvious that they were protecting Demetrius, who made no attempt to join her, as might be expected of a bridegroom the evening before his wedding. He seated himself a little apart from her, and his uncle and his friend both hovered close to him and stared suspiciously around the room, as if expecting assassins to leap from behind the sofa.

Aunt Phillipa was the first to admit defeat. Apparently unable to withstand any more of Lionell's inane babble about his troubles procuring decent neckcloths and obviously unwilling to risk being thrown together with the despised Mr. Swinton, she excused herself and left the room.

When Lionell moved to sit beside Lady Delilah, she also bolted, claiming that she wished to be fresh for an early-morning ride.

From the significant look that passed between her and her husband, it was obvious to Meribe that Mr. Hennessey had explained everything to his wife. Meribe could only hope that others in the room did not notice how odd everyone was acting.

Demetrius would never have made a good spy, she decided. Conspicuously ignoring his duties as host, he invited Lord Leatham to play a game of billiards. Murmuring something to his wife, Leatham stood up and left the room with Demetrius, followed by Mr. Hennessey and Mr. Swinton, who stumbled over each other in their hurry to follow them through the door.

There was an element of humor in their attempts to appear casual, which would have made Meribe laugh, had she not known the seriousness of the earlier attempts on Demetrius’s life.

“Since my husband has seen fit to abandon me, Miss Prestwich, would you be interested in taking a turn around the gardens? The moon is full, so we shall not need a lantern,” Lady Anne said with a smile.

“That would be lovely,” Meribe said, willing to fall in with any suggestion that would remove her from Lionell’s presence.

Then for a moment she thought it was not going to work, because Lionell simpered and said, “I have always enjoyed strolling in the moonlight.”

Lady Anne turned to him, and although Meribe could not see her face, apparently her expression made it clear to the dandy that the invitation had not been extended to him.

“But on the other hand, I fear the day’s activities have quite exhausted me,” Lionell said, “or perhaps it is the country air that is so fatiguing. In any case, I believe I shall also make an early night of it.” Bowing deeply, he minced out of the room.

Meribe could not hold back a sigh of relief when he was gone. “I do not know why,” she said, opening the French doors that led out onto the upper terrace, “but I have never learned to like that little man. Perhaps it is because he likes himself so well, he leaves nothing for anyone else to appreciate.”

Lady Anne was quite the most knowledgeable person Meribe had ever encountered, and yet she was also the easiest person to talk with. Their conversation moved pleasantly from one topic to another, until Lady Anne casually asked, “Do you think you will like living here in Devon after you are married? I know some people fail to see the beauty of the moor, and note instead only the isolation.”

“I have no great love of London,” Meribe confided, “and I cannot fail to be happy here since Demetrius has promised to give me free rein to improve the gardens as I see fit. So I am sure I shall be most content.’’

“The reason I asked,” Lady Anne continued, “is that you do not seem as ecstatic as a bride should be the evening before her wedding.”

There was such obvious sympathy in Lady Anne’s comment that Meribe burst into tears. A short time later, seated on a bench beside Lady Anne, Meribe found herself pouring out all her worries and anxieties into her companion’s ear. Without holding anything back, Meribe related the whole story of her father’s trust, Mr. Wimbwell’s murder, the two attempts on Demetrius’s life, her fears for his safety, and last she admitted the pain caused by her sister’s apparent involvement.

“She was such a good sister, I cannot believe the evidence that seems to damn her,” Meribe said, wiping her eyes with the man-sized linen handkerchief provided by Lady Anne. “I know Hester can say the most cutting things, but I am sure she does it only because she is unhappy. But no matter how Demetrius explains it, I cannot accept that she has chosen to be so totally depraved—so lost to all that is good and right.”

“Then more than likely she has not,” Lady Anne said matter-of-factly.

Sitting up straighter, Meribe asked, “Why do you say that? Do you think it really was a fatal curse? Demetrius says that is ridiculous, but then, he is sure that Hester is the one behind the murders and the attempted murders.”