The Prisoner (11 page)

“But—how?” demanded Charles, whose face had reddened to an extraordinary shade of scarlet. “When?”

“Actually, we were married a few months ago,” Genevieve supplied, her mind whirling as she struggled to fabricate a credible sequence of events. “You may remember, Charles, that I had to travel to Glasgow to oversee some business matters regarding my father's estate. Maxwell and I met at an art gallery there.”

“My wife and I share a similar passion for art.” Haydon smiled fondly at her.

“I'm afraid our courtship was rather brief,” Genevieve added, frantically trying to work out the details in her mind.

“I asked for her hand the very day that we met,” continued Haydon smoothly. “As I'm sure you gentlemen can appreciate, I was utterly overwhelmed by her beauty, and was absolutely determined that she not escape my grasp.” He cast a thoroughly self-satisfied look at Charles, indicating that he was well aware of his wife's prior relationship to him.

“She wouldn't have me at first,” he confessed, chuckling. “Fortunately, I am not a man who backs down easily from a challenge—especially when the rewards promise to be so great.” He caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, then smiled with husbandly amusement at the rosy blush that flooded her skin.

“Well, I believe congratulations are in order,” managed Governor Thomson, who still looked utterly astounded.

“Thank you, governor,” said Haydon. “Your good wishes are most welcome.”

“I'm confused as to why you failed to mention your recent marriage when we called upon you a few days ago.” Constable Drummond's gaze bore into Genevieve, trying to delve beneath the surface of her breathless performance.

“I'm afraid I am responsible for that,” Haydon asserted, unfazed. “Business matters in London have kept me from joining my new family until now, and my wife and I had decided that we would not tell anyone of our marriage until I had actually settled in a bit here in Inveraray. We were particularly concerned that the children might grow inordinately anxious about my impending arrival if they knew about it too far in advance. As I have only been here a few days, and we have been keeping mostly to ourselves, my wife has been reticent to announce our union. On the morning you unexpectedly called,” he continued, making only a slight emphasis on the fact that they had not been invited over, “I had not yet finished dressing and was therefore unable to come down and be properly introduced. Finally, I don't believe my wife has grown quite accustomed to her new status as a married woman—have you, Mrs. Blake?” He flashed her a devastatingly charming smile, which had the immediate effect of flooding Genevieve's cheeks with color once again. “I'm sure you gentlemen can understand our desire for privacy after such a lengthy separation,” he finished, grinning broadly.

“Ah yes, of course,” said Governor Thomson, looking thoroughly uncomfortable with such a delicate subject. He cleared his throat. “Absolutely.”

Charles glared at Haydon with barely concealed acrimony. “Of course,” he bit out stiffly.

His loathing was palpable to Haydon. It was clear to him that the earl was painfully unresolved about his decision to break his betrothal to Genevieve. Perhaps he had long soothed his ire by convincing himself that no one else would ever want her. The thought infuriated Haydon. He found himself wondering what vacuous, servile chit poor Charles had found to marry in her stead.

The sound of a stomach growling filled the uncomfortable silence.

“Are we going to have supper soon?” Simon wondered, rubbing his belly. “I'm starving.”

“Sweet saints, I've forgotten my haggis!” burst out Eunice. “Here it is, nearly supper time and I've nae mashed my tatties. Do excuse me, Miss Genevieve—and of course you, too, Mr. Blake…sir.” She bobbed a quick, clumsy curtsy at the two of them, then bustled out of the room.

“Oh my, I didn't realize 'twas so late,” Doreen added, glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “Come, my chicks, ye can help me lay the table for supper.” She headed toward the door, then stopped suddenly. “Providin', of course, that's all right with ye, Mr. and Mrs. Blake.” Her knees cracked like dry kindling as she also dipped awkwardly before her supposed employers.

“That is fine, Doreen.” Genevieve was thankful to Eunice and Doreen for making it clear to their unwanted guests that it was late and their visit should come to an end. “Mr. Blake and I will be in the dining room shortly.”

“Off we go, then, children,” said Oliver. “Let's see if we can get some of the grime off yer hands afore ye start touchin' all those plates and forks.”

The children hesitated.

“Come and see how well I can fold the napkins, Mr. Blake,” Jamie pleaded, taking Haydon's hand. “I've been practicing.”

“And I want to show you how well I polished the teapot.” Charlotte limped over to Haydon and tentatively laid her fingers upon his sleeve.

She was shivering, Haydon realized. Something told him that her fear was not solely for his fate, but also for her own. A quick perusal of their guests revealed that Constable Drummond was staring at her with particular contempt. An unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness seeped through Haydon. He released his hold on Genevieve to pull Charlotte between them, then laid his hand with gentle reassurance on the fragile child's thin shoulder.

“I would very much like to see that, Charlotte,” he murmured, his voice low and sure.

“Oliver said a genie would come out if we polished the silver long enough, but nothing happened,” complained Annabelle, winding an arm around Genevieve's waist. “Do you believe in genies, Mr. Blake?”

“Everyone knows there's no such thing,” Simon scoffed. He took his place beside Jamie, thereby completing the shielding ring of children around Genevieve and Haydon. “There's no scientific evidence to prove it.”

Although each of the children had befriended him by wandering into his room over the past few days to see how he was faring, Haydon knew this demonstration of protection was for Genevieve, whom they all adored. Genevieve was trying desperately to safeguard him, and the children were doing their utmost to help her. Despite the fact that they were not acting out of any affection for him, Haydon found himself profoundly moved by their actions. Even Jack, who had slunk into a corner when the unexpected visitors arrived, was now leaning against the wall with his fists clenched, as if he intended to attack Constable Drummond should he suddenly decide to arrest Haydon.

“Do forgive us, gentlemen, but I'm afraid dinnertime around here is very much a family endeavor,” Haydon said apologetically. “Was there something you needed from my wife and myself?” His question made it clear that as Genevieve's husband, he would be privy to any discussions they might wish to conduct.

“We wanted to ask the boy a few more questions.” Constable Drummond fixed his formidable gaze upon Jack.

Jack stiffened.

“About what?” asked Genevieve with forced calm.

“About the prisoner who escaped from jail,” Governor Thomson explained.

“Ah, yes, my wife mentioned that to me.” Haydon lifted a bemused brow to Constable Drummond, as if he felt such a simple matter must surely have been resolved. “Have you not found the man yet?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“That is unfortunate.” Genevieve's voice was tense as she continued, “And by your presence here it seems you have some compelling reason to think that Jack might be able to shed some light on the man's current whereabouts?”

“Of course we will try to assist you with your investigation in any way that we can,” Haydon interjected, giving Genevieve a reassuring squeeze. “Won't we, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “I already told them, I don't know nothin'.”

Haydon frowned. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Jack nodded.

Turning to Constable Drummond, Haydon queried, “Do you have any specific questions you want to ask him—other than, of course, the ones you have already posed in your previous meeting?”

Constable Drummond hesitated, evidently confused by the restriction Haydon had put upon him. “Well, no, not exactly—”

“Forgive me if I'm being overly protective of my new family, constable,” Haydon interrupted, “for I can assure you, we want to assist you with your investigation in any way that we can. As I'm sure you realize, however, my wife and I are firm believers in the merits of trust. It is only by trusting our children that we can, in turn, teach them the lesson of treating that trust with care. If you intend to ask Jack questions to which he has already provided you with answers, then that means you have come into my home to suggest that a member of my family has lied to you. Is that your intent?”

Constable Drummond's expression tightened. “No.”

“We merely wanted to know if any of you have noticed anything unusual over the last few days.” Governor Thomson sensed that they were on the cusp of offending Haydon, and that he was not a man who would take such an offense lightly. “Anything at all.”

Haydon regarded the circle of children around him. “Have you, children?”

They innocently shook their heads.

“Then I regret that we cannot be of any assistance to you today, gentlemen,” Haydon said, making it clear that his guests' visit was at an end. “We shall be sure to keep you informed should any of us notice anything that we think might be pertinent to your investigation.”

“Our apologies for disturbing you, Miss MacPhail—I mean, Mrs. Blake,” Governor Thomson hastily corrected himself.

“Not at all, Governor Thomson.” Genevieve looked at Charles in feigned confusion. Each time she rescued a child from the prison, Charles made a point of calling upon her to tell her what a hideous mistake she was making, and what a ridiculous mess she had made of her once promising life. Obviously Charles had heard about Jack joining her household, and had come over to share his objection with her. “Was there a purpose to your visit, Charles?”

The earl hesitated. “I wanted to know if you would paint a new portrait of my daughter,” he improvised suddenly. “The one you painted three years ago no longer depicts her accurately. That is, of course, if your new husband will permit you to continue painting portraits.” He gave Haydon a challenging look.

Charles was trying to determine her new husband's ability to support her, Genevieve realized. Over the years she had struggled constantly with her limited financial resources. By painting portraits of the children of those wealthy aristocrats who had once welcomed her into their homes as a guest, she had managed to help pay for some of her household expenses, thereby slowing the sale of her family's most prized possessions. Although she enjoyed painting immensely, she had been forced to swallow a lifetime of pride the day she had walked into Charles's magnificently appointed home, not as his betrothed or even an honored guest, but as a lowly employee.

She suspected that Charles had only offered her the commission because he derived perverse and bitter delight in seeing her reduced to that position.

She was reluctant to turn down the possibility of earning some money, but she also did not want to make it appear that her new husband was unable to support her and the children. To do so would only invite unpleasant speculation about him. “Maxwell and I have not yet discussed it—”

“You must do whatever pleases you, my dear,” interrupted Haydon, immediately sensing Genevieve's dilemma. “If you would find it amusing to paint Charlie's daughter, then by all means, you should go and enjoy yourself.”

The redness on Charles's face effused up to the sparse roots of his pale hair. “My name is Charles,” he managed tautly.

Genevieve hesitated a moment, as if she were trying to decide. “Very well, Charles,” she finally relented. “I do enjoy painting portraits, and your daughter is a lovely subject. I would be happy to do this for you.” She smiled, pleased that it had sounded as if she were granting him a favor.

“And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I'm afraid we have kept our children from their dinner long enough,” said Haydon. “Oliver, would you kindly show our guests to the door?”

“Aye, Mr. Blake, sir,” drawled Oliver, who had been itching to perform that very task from the moment they had arrived.

“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Haydon said, as Oliver ushered their guests through the corridor. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Just don't make it too soon,” muttered Oliver, banging the door shut behind them, “ye miserable bunch of bloody, boot-licking—”

“Did you see that?” Jamie demanded excitedly. “They really believe you're married to us!”

“I'm proud to say I had a hand in that,” said Eunice, beaming merrily as she returned from the kitchen. “Did ye like the way I curtsied ever so nice for ye?”

“Aye, and me too,” Doreen added, following behind her. “And dinna think 'twas easy on these poor old knees!”

“I'd wager they heard them crack all the way up in Oban,” said Oliver, chuckling. “I thought it was the floorboards breakin' beneath Governor Thomson's bulk!”

“That Constable Drummond is the nastiest-looking man I have ever seen,” remarked Annabelle. “He looks as if he just bit into a lemon.”

“At first, I thought he had come for me,” Charlotte confessed. “He was so mad when Genevieve took me out of the prison last year.”

The knowledge that Charlotte had been afraid caused Genevieve to momentarily dismiss her own fear. She knelt down so she could look Charlotte straight in the eye. “No one is ever going to take you away from me, Charlotte,” she told her adamantly. “You must believe me when I tell you that. I will never let anything happen to you—do you understand?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Good.” She wrapped her arms around the girl and held her close. “Now go with your brothers and sisters and get ready for dinner. I'll be along in a few minutes.”