The Perfect Bride (33 page)

Dismay began. He bowed. “Lady Waverly.”

“Sir Rex, what a surprise,” she said, sounding sarcastic.

He stared at her. She was angry? And if so, why? What could Blanche have said about him? “I realize it is early, but there is an urgent matter I must discuss with Lady Harrington.”

“It is ten in the morning,” Lady Waverly said coolly.

Rex realized a confrontation was unavoidable. “I am aware of the time. Again, I have a very important matter to discuss with Lady Blanche.”

Bess stared at him, her face a mask of anger. “She is not receiving today, Sir Rex. She receives on Thursdays. You will have to come back then.”

His temper rose. He swallowed a rude response. “Please tell her that I am here. We are friends and she will entertain me.”

Lady Waverly placed her fists on her hips. “Actually, she doesn't want to see you. She made that clear two months ago.”

Her words had to be a lie; still, they stabbed through him like a knife. “When she left Land's End, we were on good terms. I would be shocked if that had changed.” Actually, only Blanche had behaved properly, he thought.

Lady Waverly trembled with her passion, shocking him. “It has changed! Everything has changed! Now good day, sir!”

He did not move. “I realize she is signing marriage contracts today,” he finally said, fighting his anger. “It is urgent that we speak before she does.”

And Lady Waverly exploded. “I won't let you see her! She doesn't need you here, now! You will only cause grave problems! Good day, Sir Rex,” she cried.

He was stunned by her outburst.

“Leave Blanche alone.” With that, Lady Waverly turned and strode away, disappearing into another set of rooms.

Sir Rex remained shocked. What the hell was going on? he wondered grimly. And he had no intention of leaving. He glanced across the reception room. The door he had entered from remained open and he could see the front door beyond it, where the doorman was pretending not to have heard a word, just as he pretended not to know Rex stood there.

Rex grasped his crutch and followed in Lady Waverly's wake. He passed through two pleasant salons, hearing nothing but the sound of his own footfalls. He did not know the house, but if Lady Waverly was present, Blanche was undoubtedly with her.

He was traversing a corridor now. Ahead, a door opened. Rex halted, not attempting to hide, hoping to glimpse Blanche. But a man dressed in the rough garb of a country laborer stepped out. As he did, Rex had a clear view of his profile before he turned away from Rex, disappearing outside through a pair of French doors.

Rex stared after Paul Carter, Anne's fiancé, surprised. What was the farrier doing in town—at Harrington Hall? And in that instant, he thought of Anne's malice toward Blanche. A terrible suspicion began. No good could have come from his visit.

And he thudded rapidly to the door Carter had left ajar. He pushed it open and saw a large library, painted pale green, with an abundance of seating. And he saw Blanche, seated in a corner at a small desk, sitting with her hands clasped in front of her, staring at them, like a small, repentant schoolgirl.

His heart lurched and slammed. He forgot that she had cruelly toyed with his heart and treacherously broken their engagement. He forgot that he must despise her, or at least, have no genuine care for her. An angel sat at that desk, a fragile angel in need of his help and protection.

And he didn't move, aware of the fact that he still loved her—that he always had and always would. He drank in the elegant sight of her, aware he might not have such a private opportunity again. The length of the entire room separated them, but she suddenly looked up.

Blanche gasped.

He closed the door and limped slowly forward, his heart roaring so loudly he was certain she could hear it, too.

She sat staring, unsmiling, her tension obvious.

A terrible sorrow began. Why did it have to be this way? “I had hoped we could remain friends,” he said softly. But he hadn't wanted friendship. Until yesterday, he had wanted amnesia as far as she was concerned. In that moment, he wanted to renew their friendship, if at all possible. He could settle for that small crumb.

She swallowed. “How did you get in?”

And now he stared, becoming stunned at her pallor and worse, the haggard look on her face. She had lost weight and she was clearly not sleeping; dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked very fragile…she looked ill. And every protective instinct he had surged forth. “Your doorman.” He smiled, showering her with all the charm he had. “Your friend turned me away but I decided to take matters into my own hands. If you are dismayed—which I see you are—I hope you will forgive me.” He held her gaze. “You have forgiven me far graver crimes.”

She inhaled. “I can't do this, Sir Rex.”

He started. Something was so terribly wrong. “You cannot speak with me—as a dear family friend?”

She pursed her lips. He saw her tremble. “It is too hard,” she whispered.

“Blanche, I cannot understand. Or did I somehow offend you at Land's End, so heinously, that your affection has turned to disgust and loathing?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course you did no such thing!” She stood, swaying like a young sapling in a strong breeze. “I do not loathe you.” Tears came. “I admire you…we will always be friends.”

He closed his eyes, fighting the insane urge to stride forward and sweep her into his arms—and make love to her, if she would let him. Then he opened them and smiled encouragingly at her. “Then we are in agreement, as I will always admire you…and I will always be your friend,” he said lightly.

She breathed harshly and he heard the intake of breath.

“Why are you crying?” he asked quietly. “And why is Paul Carter here?”

She jerked, lifting her tearful gaze to his. “Haven't you heard the rumors? Or did you just get to town?”

“I arrived yesterday. And I did hear you are about to become engaged.”

She flushed and looked away. In a low voice she said, “I meant the other rumors.”

He stared until she looked up at him. He understood but pretended not to. “No, I have not.”

She smiled grimly. “I am mad.”

He tensed, aghast at her firm, unyielding tone. “You are not mad! You are the most sensible woman I know. Do not buy into such claptrap. Is this Dashwood's doing?”

She shook her head, a tear falling. “Of course not.”

“I must speak with you about him.”

She rubbed her temples. “I can't. I can't discuss him with you. Sir Rex, this is too hard,” she cried passionately.

He covered the short distance between him and her desk. She did not stand up and he said, “Blanche, are you having headaches? I do not want to be rude, but you do not look well and I find myself very concerned.”

She shook her head. “You need to go.” She reached for a teacup with trembling hands.

He started when he saw a bottle of brandy on the desk, a spoon beside it. “What's that.”

“The brandy helps,” she cried, sipping her tea. And when she set the cup down, the saucer rattled wildly.

He gave in and seized her small, cool hand. “Blanche, I came here to discuss Dashwood, but I am too worried about your health. You must promise me you will not sign any contracts today. Have you seen a physician?”

She stared at their clasped hands. He saw her color rise.

“Blanche?”

She shook her head, touching her temple and whispering, “Let me go.”

He hesitated, afraid to do so, but he finally complied. “What is wrong?”

She jumped to her feet, clasping her ears. Her expression contorted, becoming panic-stricken.

“Blanche!”

She screamed, turning away from him and knocking over the chair. He thudded after her but she fell to her knees, holding her ears, sobbing. “What's wrong?” he cried, going down on one knee and the stump of his leg beside her. He put his arm around her and the moment he saw her face, he knew she was not aware of him. She screamed again, fighting his grasp, her face convulsed with fear.

Shocked, he let her go.

She curled up over her knees. And then she was silent.

Horror began. But he was afraid to speak just as he was afraid to touch her now.

Lady Waverly ran into the room. “What have you done?” she screamed at him, kneeling beside Blanche and taking her into her arms. “Get out!”

“No,” Blanche whispered, still curled up into herself.

“Get out!” Lady Waverly screamed at him.

Blanche started rocking, muttering so softly he could not decipher her words. But she was saying something over and over again.

Rex found his crutch. He had broken the custom one, so he had to use the desk to haul himself upward to stand. He was very still now. “Her secret is safe with me,” he said quietly.

Bess Waverly glared at him. She was crying.

He said, “I wish to have a word with you, Lady Waverly. I will be outside.” He hesitated. “Blanche, if you can hear me, nothing has changed. I will do whatever I can to help you.”

She kept chanting inaudibly and he was certain she hadn't heard him.

He turned away, finally allowing the tears to fill his eyes. And he limped out, beyond dread.

B
ESS STROKED
B
LANCHE
'
S BACK
, trying to control her own terribly frantic emotions so she could comfort her friend. She feared for Blanche, desperately. Blanche was becoming worse; there was no doubt. She had these violent, shocking episodes daily if not more. Was she slowly slipping away into a world from which she would never return? Bess's greatest fear was that one day, Blanche would have a fit of madness that did not end.

That possibility was horrifying and Bess hated considering it. But she had to, because it was becoming very likely that Blanche was with child. It had been two and a half months since her visit to Land's End with no sign of her monthly time. If Blanche did not get past whatever was afflicting her, how would she be a mother to that child? Bess had been urging Blanche to marry swiftly. Blanche's child was going to need a father far more than Blanche needed a husband.

Bess was relieved when Blanche finally straightened into a sitting position. She wiped her face carefully, not looking at Bess. Bess understood. Blanche was embarrassed—and so was she.

“Let me get you some of that tea,” Bess said softly, somehow smiling.

“It's over,” Blanche said as quietly.

Bess stood up. Carefully, she asked, “Did you recall something new?”

Blanche finally looked up at her, before rising to her feet. “No. I have managed to remain at one point in time in that riot.” She shuddered. Bess knew she was determined not to recall another detail of that day and her mother's murder, if she could. Then her gaze moved to the closed library door.

Bess thought about Sir Rex, too. Her instinct was to blame him for this latest fit, but how could she? Blanche had fits without his being present. They had become so frequent that Blanche had begun to seclude herself in her suite of rooms. Bess did not blame her, but it didn't matter, because the entire staff knew the truth.

I will do whatever I can to help you.

Bess tensed. Sir Rex had been horrified—she had seen his stricken expression perfectly. But he had been kind, and he was concerned. She had seen that, too.

And he was the child's father.

Blanche hugged her arms to her chest, rubbing them as if cold. “Is he still here?”

Bess poured a fresh cup of tea. “I believe so. But it might be best if you don't see him again, not now, anyway.”

Blanche made a harsh sound. “It hurt so much, to see him again.”

Bess handed her the cup of tea, staring. “Do you still love him?”

Blanche looked aside. “How could I stop loving such a man?” She cradled the cup and saucer, staring at the closed door as if she wished to look through it at Sir Rex.

“Do you wish to reconsider the engagement to Dashwood?” Bess was beginning to wonder if that match was appropriate after all.

Blanche faced her. “You agree he is clever enough to manage my fortune.”

“I do.” Bess didn't add, but so is Sir Rex.

“I can't have this child without a husband,” she added. “I am half a pariah already.”

“No, you can't.” Bess stared grimly.

“I am confused,” Blanche said softly. “Bess, I need to retire. My head is hurting all over again.”

Bess thought that the wisest course of action. “I'll send Meg.” But they both knew it wasn't necessary. Meg remained very much like a soldier on active duty, awaiting her mistress's every need. Bess had come to realize that the young maid truly cared about her employer. She was priceless.

Bess walked Blanche from the room. As they passed the Gold Room, she saw Sir Rex standing inside, leaning on his crutch, watching them closely. Blanche colored and quickly looked away, hurrying up the wide sweeping staircase. Bess turned thoughtfully and went inside the salon.

Sir Rex came swiftly forward. “How is she?”

He was very concerned, she noted.
Your secret is safe with me.
“She is better. She is going upstairs to rest.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Bess became wary. She wasn't sure how much she should reveal. “Blanche has severe migraines,” she began.

“That wasn't a migraine,” he snapped, flushing. “Do not treat me like a fool.”

Bess hesitated. “I appreciate your concern. But I am not sure there is anything you can do to help.”

“She is not insane,” he said, his face pinched with determination.

And Bess saw fear in his eyes. Was he in love with Blanche? Could it be remotely possible? But hadn't she always felt that Sir Rex was the kind of man to stand beside his woman, no matter the circumstance—or illness? “It is not my place to discuss Blanche's privy affairs, Sir Rex.”

His gaze shot to hers. “I have never liked you, Lady Waverly. But today, my feelings have changed. You are a loyal friend. I apologize for my past judgments.”

Bess shook her head. “I have always sensed that you didn't think me good enough for Blanche. And I'm not. Blanche is kind and generous. I am frivolous and selfish.” She shrugged. “But I love her. I always have and I always will.” She smiled grimly. “Blanche returned from Land's End like this. Something happened there to distress her so greatly that she became too emotional for her own good. Do you care to tell me what could have possibly happened?”

His gaze was piercing. “I have the feeling you know. But I also refuse to discuss Blanche's privy affairs, even with you.”

Bess had not expected such a noble stand. But this man was honorable, never mind his reclusive nature. And did it even matter what had caused Blanche to spiral to the brink of insanity?

She stared at him. Sir Rex preferred the country. He was reclusive, and he was very concerned for Blanche. Blanche needed that solitude now.

She smiled. “Blanche did not think it wise to see you again, Sir Rex. I supported that choice, which is why I asked you to leave today. However, I am glad you defied me. I think you should know that her migraines are occurring on a regular basis. Daily, if you must know.”

Dismay covered his face. “Daily,” he echoed. Then his gaze narrowed. “Do not tell me that she thought me responsible, somehow, for these ‘migraines'?”

Bess hesitated. “I believe she left Land's End in the belief that these migraines would cease.”

He was wide-eyed, his dark brows lifted. “She has blamed me?” he exclaimed.

“I certainly did not say that. I do not even think that. But so much happened at Land's End, did it not? It all
began
at your home, Sir Rex.”

Sir Rex squared his broad shoulders. “A great deal did happen, yes. On the other hand, Blanche has been under undue strain since her father became ill and suddenly passed.”

That was true, Bess thought. “She secludes herself now. She has no life—except on Thursdays, when she receives. How can she go on this way—hiding from everyone—with the entire ton thrilled to witness her demise when she does step out? The gossip about Blanche is the rage! Everywhere I go, they are laughing about her.”

“I don't give a damn about the gossips. I care about her,” he said fiercely. “As you do. Has she seen a physician?”

“She won't.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“I believe she fears the diagnosis.”

He stared, absorbing that.

“You came here today to discuss her marriage, did you not?” Bess asked bluntly. And her heart raced as if it was her future they discussed.

He stiffened. “She cannot marry Dashwood.”

Bess met his gaze. “He is her choice.”

“He is the worst of the gossips.”

Bess was stunned. “He is also spreading gossip about her?”

Sir Rex leaned close. “I heard him telling his friends a madwoman does not have any right to a fortune. I believe he will legally bar her from any control of the Harrington fortune once they are wed.”

Bess turned away, shaken and aghast. Then she faced him. “If he is truly planning something so despicable, then you are right, such a marriage must be prevented at all costs.”

“I am glad we see eye to eye, for once,” he said grimly. Then he shifted and stared out of the room, toward the staircase. “I wish to speak with Blanche again when she is feeling better.”

Bess didn't tell him there would never be a safe time to do so. “I'll tell her.” She hesitated, wondering what Sir Rex would do if he knew Blanche thought herself with child. Then she almost pinched herself. He would rally, come forward and insist on marriage.

Hadn't she thought him the right match from the start, before Blanche's descent into madness? But Blanche had broken it off, even though she loved him. Would Sir Rex make her worse? And did it matter? For how much worse could it get? And if it did get worse, at least Sir Rex could be counted on to take care of both mother and child.

“You are staring,” he said sharply.

She smiled at him. “I am sorry. I was thinking about what you have said. I will make sure the contracts are lost for a while, until we can sort things out.”

His gaze darkened. He had heard her use of the plural pronoun, as she had meant for him to.

“Good day, Sir Rex,” she added softly.

 

S
IR
R
EX DID NOT LEAVE
Harrington Hall. Instead, he went around the back, through the gardens, his intention to send for Blanche's maid, Meg.

He was sick. He was afraid for Blanche as she was clearly so ill. He understood now why Blanche had broken off their engagement, although not the logic that had led to her decision. Whatever was happening to her, he knew he was not the cause. And he hated himself for having disparaged her these past months. He hated himself for jumping to the conclusion that she was a treacherous bitch like Julia Mowbray. Blanche was an angel. It had taken one glimpse of her a moment ago to instantly recall that—never mind that his heart had never doubted it for an instant. But she was desperately ill. She needed him and she needed his protection from rakes like Dashwood. And she needed a cure—she could not be mad.

But he didn't believe that she had such migraines that sent her screaming to the floor. He had never heard of such a malady. He could not begin to imagine what illness could be the cause for the frightening behavior he had witnessed. She
had
seemed mad. He cringed, thinking about her behavior. He wanted to rule out insanity. No one became insane overnight.

But he also knew that insanity could run in family lines. Harrington had been as sane as a man could be, but Rex knew nothing about Blanche's mother. He was so afraid for her. He reminded himself that Blanche was the sanest, most sensible woman he had ever met.

Rex slowly approached the kitchens, filled with despair. At least Bess seemed to agree that Dashwood should be cut from Blanche's life. The sooner the better, he thought. But then what? The gossips needed to be controlled and Blanche needed a doctor.

And then he saw the Lanhadron farrier, flirting with a young maid, in the kitchen's open doorway.

The farrier was up to no good and he knew it. Blanche did not need to be harassed in any way, nor did she need to face any kind of threat now. He stalked forward, his crutch digging so deeply into the sod that it left holes, spewing dirt. Rage began. Carter jerked upon glimpsing him, his face expressing genuine surprise.

Then his pale gaze narrowed. He quickly removed his cap, inclining his head. “My lord.”

“Walk with me,” Rex ordered sharply. What was Carter up to? Whatever it was, it was now over. And he did not care for the fact that the man had avoided his gaze.

Carter continued to glance away and still clutching his cap, he left the kitchens with Rex, wandering back into the gardens. Sir Rex halted, facing him. “What business brings you to Harrington Hall, Carter?”

Carter slowly lifted his cool gaze. “My lord, Annie so admires her ladyship and she asked me to bring her a small token of her appreciation. I brought her a tortoise clip. Annie picked it out.”

Rex could not control his anger—and he did not want to. “Like hell. Anne felt nothing but envy and malice for Lady Harrington. That became clear when I was engaged to her. You are up to no good. Have you harassed her? Threatened her?”

Carter looked at him with a sneer. “I do not serve you…my lord.”

Rex was not surprised by the lack of respect. He said, “If you ever appear here again, you will never find a day of work in the parish. Nor will Anne. Am I clear?”

Carter flushed with anger. “You high and mighty lords are all the same! You think you're God, don't you? And you don't give a damn for the rest of us poor sots!”

“I am not interested in your worldview. Get off Lady Harrington's property.”

“I guess you're still tupping her ladyship, my lord?” He snickered. “I bet her new fiancé will love to hear about that!”