The Perfect Bride (31 page)

She remained on a dangerous precipice. Blanche knew her sanity was slowly but surely seeping away. Sometimes she awoke at night in the midst of a nightmare about the riot, and then her night became a living hell, as her bedroom became the London street, the room's flickering shadows the enraged mob.

Sometimes a single thought led to such a terrible pang of heartache that the headache would instantly begin—and she was thrown back into the past instantaneously. Blanche knew many of her servants had seen her crouched on the floor, weeping and screaming, because they walked past her the way she walked past the deranged on the common streets—avoiding eye contact and trying to put as much distance as possible between them.

Bess had summoned up the entire staff to explain that Blanche was afflicted with migraines. She had made a short, firm speech, one in which she had said that any servant caught spreading gossip would be let go instantly. Four servants—a doorman, two housemaids and a kitchen maid—had already been dismissed.

Blanche had refused to see any of the physicians Bess insisted upon. She was afraid of the diagnosis.

Instead, she tried to keep a grasp on her feelings, avoided going out, only entertained once a week, and had become adept at quietly leaving the room the moment she felt the beginnings of a headache. Now, she was extremely calm. She had drunk an excessive amount of herbal tea to prepare for her callers, but her tea had been laced with a spoonful of brandy.

Blanche smiled at the various gentlemen parading into her salon. The front door remained open to admit them, and just as she was greeting one rather notorious rogue—Harry Dashwood—she saw someone standing outside, someone vaguely familiar.

Blanche felt an odd tension. The man was a commoner, dressed in a shabby jacket, wool breeches and boots, and a tweed cap. He was very tall; he turned to look into her house and his stare was pale and direct.

Blanche froze, recognizing Paul Carter.

He smiled and doffed his cap at her and walked away, out of her line of sight. Her heart exploded. What was he doing back in town? She had paid him off handsomely eight weeks ago, and their agreement had been that he was never to set foot at Harrington Hall again.

“Lady Harrington.” Dashwood bowed. “Who is that?”

Blanche tried to control her fear, somehow smiling at Dashwood. “I beg your pardon?”

“That yeoman—the one who gave you such a fright.” His dark eyes were benign.

She swallowed, her heart racing and worse, a dull ache beginning in her temples. “I have no idea,” she said brightly. “Is it not a beautiful day, Lord Dashwood?”

He grinned. “It is very beautiful, when I am confronted with your beauty.”

She knew she had never looked worse. The strain and lack of sleep coupled with an extreme loss of appetite had turned her into someone gaunt and haggard. Dashwood was always showering her with insincere flattery. She didn't mind—it was better than the searching stare of James Montrose, who never failed to call on the single day a week she was receiving.

Dashwood might do. He was thirty, and so vain and egocentric, he would never cease his promiscuous ways—meaning he would quickly leave her be—and he would never have any genuine interest in her. He was handsome, but she wasn't even remotely interested in him. While he was utterly shallow, he happened to have several profitable investments—he was a good businessman. With the help of clever agents, he could probably manage her fortune. He was also the son of a baron.

Of course, she had no intention of marrying anyone unless she was with child. While it was too soon to tell, Blanche knew with all of her being that a life was growing inside of her. She was thrilled—and she was dismayed. How could she mother a child when her grasp on her sanity was so fragile?

“May I dare be bold?” Dashwood continued, dimpling.

“I should never expect anything less,” Blanche said automatically, pretending to flirt.

“I would like to stroll with you. May I?” He extended his arm.

Blanche saw Bess watching. She knew Bess approved of Dashwood—but only because of his business acumen. Bess nodded. Blanche turned to Dashwood. “You know I have a salon to entertain,” she said lightly. “But I can take a short stroll with you.”

They looped arms and went out the front door. Instantly Blanche glanced around, but was relieved when she did not see Paul Carter. As they strolled around the house into the gardens, she felt a sense of relief. She could not manage being confronted by Paul Carter now.

Dashwood started to chat about the opera. Blanche knew he would invite her to accompany him and she listened politely, formulating an excuse to deny him. And then she saw Carter whispering to her head gardener. She stumbled.

Dashwood caught her.

Blanche held on to him, entirely unaware of him, staring at Carter. He turned and stared back at her.

Dread began. What was he saying to her head gardener? What did he want? Why had he come back?

Her temples now throbbed with pain.

It was happening. She was about to have a fit. Her grasp on Dashwood tightened. She wanted to tell him she was ill and about to have a migraine, but no words came out.

He turned white. “Lady Harrington?”

Her mother's screams exploded and the gardens vanished, turning into cobbled streets. The mob raged all around her while she crawled to Mama, the monster shouting furiously at her and just missing seizing her ankle. “Mama!”

Mama's screams intensified.

Someone tripped over her. Blanche froze as she was seized and that was when Mama stopped screaming—and that was when she saw her lying in a pool of blood in the street.

She knew it was Mama's blood.

The stones spun and tilted. She fought for air even though she wished for darkness. And then it came….

T
WO WEEKS LATER
, Rex nodded at the doorman as he walked into the spacious entry hall of Harmon House. He could hear the wicked laughter of young boys and the high-pitched protest of one of his nieces. He smiled and for the first time in months, was aware of being almost happy.

He limped through the front hall and into the family room, a green-and-gold salon that opened to the back gardens. Ned and Alexi were giggling and waving a beautiful china doll high in the air while Elysse seemed distraught and near tears. Ariella scowled, hands on her hips. Cliff's blond daughter saw him first. “Uncle Rex,” she cried. “That doll was a gift from Paris! They are going to break it.”

“I hope not,” he said mildly to her, marveling at her exotic looks. In spite of her fair hair, she had swarthy skin and strikingly blue eyes. He turned to the boys, who regarded him in surprise. “Cliff will not think twice about keelhauling you both.”

The two dark boys shrieked in unison and came running, flinging the doll onto the sofa. He ruffled Ned's dark hair and then Alexi's. “Why do you have to torture your cousins?” he asked Tyrell's oldest. “You are your father's heir. One day you will be patriarch of this family. One day, if Elysse is in trouble, she will turn to you. It will be your responsibility to advance her interests.”

Ned flushed. “It's only a doll and she is such a mouse.” He looked at her. “Meow.”

Rex clasped his shoulder. “Your father might want to know you are running amok with Alexi.”

Alexi said boldly, “Uncle Ty said we could fish in the river.”

“You aren't fishing,” Rex pointed out. “You are acting like a pirate and we both know you know the difference between a pirate and a privateer. That doll is not yours.”

Ariella said, “We arrived yesterday, Uncle Rex, because we were becalmed for three days. And Alexi and Ned have been teasing Elysse cruelly ever since.”

Elysse nodded, sniffling. “They are picking on me.”

“That is because you are the beautiful one, and boys love to tease beautiful girls,” Rex said truthfully. Elysse had her father's golden hair but her mother's delicate beauty, and she was as ethereal as a fairy princess. He looked at Alexi. “Is this the first time you have met your cousin?” he asked with sudden suspicion.

Alexi blushed and glanced away from Elysse. “It was Ned's idea to take the doll and hide it. We can't go fishing because Uncle Ty said we had to wait for low tide, even though we are both good swimmers,” he added, boasting and glancing at Elysse.

She gave him a haughty look and picked up her doll. “Of course you're a good swimmer. Pirates have to swim, because they are made to walk the plank. And you are more pirate than privateer. Just like your father,” she added.

Rex rolled his eyes, but before he could chastise Elysse, he heard footsteps in the hall. He turned and saw both of his brothers and he smiled. He had forgotten how much he needed these family interludes.

Tyrell looked every bit the heir apparent, even in his shirtsleeves and breeches. Cliff looked every bit the pirate he was not, and although clad in a suit, a gold earring graced one ear and huge roweled spurs, studded with rubies, were on his boots, which he wore instead of shoes. “Finally,” Cliff exclaimed, grinning. He clasped Rex hard enough to shake his balance momentarily.

“Are they taunting the girls again?” Ty asked with disapproval.

“They tried to steal my doll,” Elysse said, tears coming to her eyes. “She is from
Paris.
Papa bought her for me himself.” She hugged the doll breathlessly to her chest, awaiting her uncle's reaction.

Ty patted her head and then turned a dire look upon his son and nephew. “No fishing—for the week. Upstairs—I know you have an essay to complete, Ned. I'll read it before supper. Alexi, you may do the same assignment.”

Ned hung his head, his expression grim, but Alexi cried out, turning to Cliff. “I'd rather be keelhauled.”

“Unfortunately, I have never resorted to the practice. However, I have an odd feeling that you may be my first experiment,” Cliff told his son. “Control yourself,” he warned. “Or I will leave you at Windsong the next time we come to town.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexi said.

Both boys left.

Elysse sent a smile of satisfaction at Ariella. Rex thought, she will be trouble, soon. “Thank you, Uncle Ty,” she said sweetly, smiling like an angel. She kissed him and turned. “Do you want to play with my doll?”

Ariella hesitated. “I am actually reading a history of India.”

Elysse looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese.

Cliff said softly, “Why don't you read later and play awhile with your cousin? You can read anytime and we are not in town with Devlin's family very often.”

Ariella was clearly resigned, but she forced a smile. “Of course, Papa.”

The moment the two girls were gone, Cliff swung around and shut both salon doors. “What is going on?” he exclaimed.

Rex truly hoped to head off the conversation before it began. “What do you mean?” he asked casually. “I have been toiling like a laborer for well over a year now and my estate is coming along nicely.”

Cliff shook his head, staring, while Tyrell gave him a long look. Then Tyrell went to the floor-to-ceiling sideboard and began uncorking a bottle of wine. Cliff clasped his shoulder. “I heard that you wrote Ty and told him you were engaged to Blanche Harrington. What the hell happened?”

He tensed. “I believe I wrote Lizzie and offered an explanation.” He pulled away from his younger brother. “We are vastly opposite. Although we are friends, in the end, we would never make a successful go of a marriage.”

Cliff stared, speculation written all over his face. “You and Blanche Harrington,” he said softly. “I would have never thought, not in a hundred years. Are you in love with her?”

Rex tensed all over again. He had had these exact kinds of conversations with his brothers and stepbrothers countless times while they were struggling with their love lives, but he had never expected to be on the receiving end. “No, I am not.”

“Really?” Cliff's tawny brows lifted. “A de Warenne man only marries for love—it is family tradition.”

“It is family mythology,” Rex growled. “And we are not married.”

“No, but you were about to marry.”

Tyrell walked over, handing them both a glass of wine. “She is engaged to a notorious rake, Harry Dashwood. Or at least, that is the rumor.”

Rex felt his heart turn over hard and sickeningly. After it had slammed back into place, it sped wildly. Dashwood? He knew him. He'd seen him from time to time at White's. They'd never done more than greet one another, but he'd seen him gaming, and the man played cautiously and well, usually winning a small stake and then quitting while ahead. He'd seen him enough times to know that the man was very self-involved. He knew of him, too. He had been involved with most of the wealthiest married ladies in town, and he always seemed to wind up a bit richer after his affairs.

He felt ill. Was Blanche engaged? Was she in love? “What do you know of Dashwood?” he asked casually.

Tyrell said as casually, “Not much. He has had his share of affairs. He has a few profitable investments. He is shallow.” He shrugged, but his stare was penetrating.

“And that is your reaction?” Cliff asked. “I was green with jealousy every time a suitor looked at Amanda—when I was the one trying to find her a husband!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, you were a royal arse,” Eleanor said, stepping into the room. “What have I missed?” She hurried to Rex and hugged him. “Why aren't you engaged to Blanche? What do you mean, the two of you don't suit? I think she would be wonderful for you!” she cried in a single breath.

“Hello, Eleanor. I am pleased to see you, too, I think.” But he had to smile at his tall, unsinkable sister.

“Lizzie wants to call on her tomorrow,” Tyrell said, as casually as before. And in that moment, Rex sensed a conspiracy. “Do you wish to join us? I am sure she will be glad to see you—after all, you remain family friends.”

Rex felt his damned heart lurch again, and then rush with eagerness. “I have a call to make tomorrow,” he said firmly.

“What call?” Eleanor demanded instantly.

“A very private call.”

Eleanor's eyes widened. “You are seeing another woman?” she exclaimed.

Rex sighed. “I did not say that.”

“Then where are you going and can I join you?” She smiled challengingly at him.

“No, you cannot join me.” He was firm.

“Are you avoiding Blanche?” Eleanor demanded.

He sighed and limped to the sofa and sat. “No.” But the moment he spoke, he knew everyone in the room realized he was doing just that. He quickly smiled. “I hope she cares for Dashwood. She deserves happiness.”

Eleanor simply shook her head, bewildered, and sat beside him. She took his hand. “I was so excited when Ty said you were engaged. I was so happy for you. I want you to have what I have—what Ty has—what Cliff has.”

“I am not looking for love, Eleanor,” he said quietly.

“Why not? We have all married for love and we are all so happy. And what about children?”

Rex stiffened, assailed with Stephen's image. He knew that if he ever told his brothers and sister about their nephew, all hell would break loose. Eleanor would encourage him to break the agreement with Mowbray, but he thought his brothers would be more practical. His agreement now felt tenuous at best. He firmed his lips and then said, “I don't think children are in store for me.”

“That's crap,” Cliff said swiftly. “They are if you wish for them to be.”

Rex stared at him, thinking about the fact that Cliff was raising his two bastards. Ariella's mother was dead, murdered in a harem, and Alexi's mother, a Russian countess, was married with other, legitimate children. Her husband hadn't wanted Alexi and apparently, neither had his mother.

Eleanor took his hand again. He turned, instantly aware that she was saddened for him. Her eyes mirrored that sorrow. But she smiled. “I can be a pit bull, can't I?”

He was relieved. “Yes, you can. But you are forgiven.”

She hesitated.

Cliff took a sip of wine, then said abruptly, “If you won't tell him, I will.”

Eleanor grimaced. “I am trying to stand down.”

Rex shrugged off her hand and stared at Cliff and then Ty. “Tell me what,” he asked, aware of a new tension in the room. Apparently his siblings knew something he did not. “Is it Dashwood?”

“The engagement isn't even official,” Tyrell said. He gestured at Cliff.

“There is a terrible rumor going around,” Cliff said. “And you should know about it.”

Rex swung to his crutch, standing. “Blanche is ill,” he said, dread unfurling.

“No,” Cliff said. “But the gossip is that she has lost her mind.”

Rex blinked.

Eleanor rose to her feet. “That is a terrible rumor,” she whispered, “but the truth is, I have seen her myself. And even I have wondered if she is mad.”

 

R
EX WALKED INTO
W
HITE
'
S
later that afternoon with his stepbrothers, Devlin and Sean. Although it was just five, the first floor salon was crowded with gentlemen sipping port and smoking cigars. Sean espied a pair of open chairs and an unoccupied love seat. As they crossed the room, Rex felt heads turning.

He hadn't been in society since the previous Season, as they had spent the past holidays at Adare. Still, he had been gone so long, with nothing of consequence happening, that he assumed one of his stepbrothers was the cause for stares. It took him a moment to realize that conversation died when
he
passed, not Sean or Devlin. And he heard a man murmuring, “Broke it off, do you think?”

He paused in midstep.

“I would, wouldn't you?” A blond gent snickered.

He stared at the blond gentleman and his older, gray-haired crony. Both men looked away instantly. What the hell was that about? he wondered. And then he saw Tom Mowbray.

Tension assailed him.

Clarewood sat alone in a thronelike chair, a port on the round tea table beside him, browsing a newspaper. Except, his blue eyes were on Rex, not the printed page. And the moment their gazes met, he jerked his eyes down.

Rex just stood there, his heart slamming, his mind blank—except for the image of his son. He'd written Mowbray a short letter, explaining that he wished to call on him and discuss some private matters, but there had been no response. Mowbray would have immediately known that Rex wished to discuss Stephen.

Devlin strolled up to him. He was a tall man with leonine hair and the casual grace that came with confidence and power. “What's wrong?”

Rex breathed. He smiled at Devlin. “I'll be a moment. I don't know if you are acquainted with Clarewood, but there is a matter I wish to discuss with him.”