Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (4 page)

When he was safely out of earshot,
Emma glared at her sister. “You knew.”

“
Of course I knew. Mr.
Cardiff is David’s longest friend. They’ve been nearly inseparable
since Eton. Or they had been until—”

“
Until three years ago,
yes,” Emma said heatedly, cutting her sister off with a dismissive
wave of her hand. “But you didn’t
tell
me.”

A great sigh hefted from Vanessa’s
chest and she closed her eyes—as certain a sign of a heavenward
plea for patience as Emma had ever seen from her sister, though she
had seen it countless times from Mama. “You wouldn’t have come.”
Vanessa’s matter-of-fact words hung heavily in the air between them
as she headed over to the carriage. Emma’s eyes followed the same
path her sister had just taken.

Mr. Cardiff had stepped out, every
strapping, sardonic inch of him, causing nausea to roil within
Emma’s stomach from her panic. His presence could only mean her
nightmares would now come true. For the briefest moment, his
mocking blue eyes locked with hers. A flash of revulsion shone in
them before being replaced by his usual haughty disdain and the
ever-present, smug half-smile he always bore—one which claimed
knowledge of just a splash more than everyone else.

Before his presence could affect her
any more deeply than it already had, Emma cut her eyes away from
him to stare blandly at the scene. She refused to grant him the
satisfaction of knowing just how much power he held over her,
simply from existing.

He turned back to the carriage. A
delicate, gloved hand reached out and took his before halting
footsteps descended the stairs in painstaking fashion. Emma tried
to ignore the animosity pouring toward her in waves from Mr.
Cardiff so she could instead focus on meeting Lady Morgan
again.

In that summer, before the incident at
the river, Emma and Lady Morgan had struck up an odd friendship of
sorts. It would be refreshing to renew it over the next fortnight.
Not as invigorating as it might have been without her brother’s
presence, perhaps, but stimulating nonetheless. And if Lady
Morgan’s impending return to society was any indication, perhaps
the fit of the blue devils that had held her in its grasp for so
long had finally relinquished its hold.

Emma certainly hoped so.

Once free from the shadow of the
carriage, Lady Morgan took a cautious step forward, holding on to
her brother’s arm as a lifeline. Her travelling bonnet obscured her
face from view at first, but then she stepped into a wide swath of
sun between the drive and the main house. A flood of angry, red
marks covered her visage, spreading in patches from her forehead to
her neck and spanning from ear to ear, standing out against her
pale, porcelain skin.

Emma could not contain her gasp. Mr.
Cardiff’s head snapped up at the sound, his long, sandy hair
whipping around where it peeked free from beneath his beaver hat.
If sheer hatred could commit murder, she would be dead where she
stood. Lady Morgan either hadn’t heard Emma’s ill-mannered outburst
of shock or chose to ignore it. She held her brother’s arm as he
guided her along to greet first David, then Vanessa.

Mortification stronger than Emma had
ever known seized her. How callous she’d been mere moments earlier,
comparing her teeth to leprosy and her social ineptitude to a pox.
Worse yet, Vanessa hadn’t stopped her. She had neither scolded her
for her callow insensitivity nor given any indication of what Emma
should expect. Vanessa had simply allowed Emma to dig herself into
a mammoth pit of unfeeling amusement.

Lesson learned.

Forcing her feet into motion, Emma
stumbled forward to join the rest of the group. Lord Trenowyth
stepped up to her, and she mumbled an incoherent greeting. Removing
her gaze from Lady Morgan was fast proving to be a sincerely
difficult task. Not because of the scars covering her. Not any
longer.

As Lady Morgan spoke with
Vanessa, the path of the young woman’s eyes lay somewhere in the
vicinity of Vanessa’s hair. They held a faraway, clouded
expression, as though she wasn’t seeing Vanessa at all. Or,
perhaps, as though she didn’t see
anything
at all.

Emma’s jaw dropped, but she quickly
snapped it closed. Mr. Cardiff’s eyes shot to her with newfound
fury.

That couldn’t be. Could it? How could
she be blind? Emma’s chest tightened unbearably.

Vanessa turned to her, guiding Lady
Morgan’s free hand to take the one Emma held extended. “I’m sure,
Mr. Cardiff and Lady Morgan, you’ll both remember my sister, Miss
Hathaway.”

“
I can’t forget, no matter
how much I’ve tried.” Mr. Cardiff’s muttered words were filled with
acid and vitriol. His cold, blue eyes pierced through her, making
her feel as though she had no clothes on to protect her from his
raving gaze.

“
Miss Hathaway.” A smile
lit Lady Morgan’s features, though it stretched her scarred skin.
The smile did, however, ease some of the opacity of her
eyes.

She released Vanessa’s hand and
reached out for Emma. Her gloved fingers explored Emma’s hand, as
though memorizing the size and shape, learning the contours. Emma
had never experienced the like, and she trembled ever so slightly,
more unnerved than she would care to admit, beneath the lady’s
examination. Lady Morgan’s stare remained fixed at some point
seemingly behind Emma’s head.

“
I must admit,” Lady Morgan
continued, her voice tinkling like chimes in a soft breeze, “I was
undecided about attending the Buringtons’ house party this summer
until Lady Burington wrote and assured me you would also be in
attendance. Once I learned that, I couldn’t possibly refuse.” Her
voice was haunting in its familiarity, particularly since little of
her appearance remained as before.

Her brother grunted at her side,
though his expression remained unchanged. Irate. Loathsome.
Jeering. Just as he’d always been in Emma’s presence, only
intensified ten-fold because of his proximity—usually, she only
felt his rage from across a crowded room.

She wondered briefly what he must be
thinking. The corner of his lip jerked when she stared at him a bit
too long, and his eyes narrowed upon her before flashing over to
his sister in agitation.

“
I’m pleased to see you
again as well, Lady Morgan,” Emma stammered. “It has been a very
long time.”

“
Too long.” The gentle,
blonde-haired lady squeezed Emma’s hand before dropping her hold on
Mr. Cardiff’s arm. She took up the same grip on Emma and, with
slight pressure, urged her to turn. “Might you and I go for a
promenade? I should like to take some exercise after a day spent in
the carriage, and it is quite pleasant out today.”

“
Morgan,” Mr. Cardiff
interrupted, his voice low and steely, “I think it would be best
for you to settle in your room, first. Your
maid
can take you for a walk through
the park later. Don’t you agree, Niall?”

Without waiting for Lord Trenowyth’s
response, Mr. Cardiff took hold of Lady Morgan’s arm and guided her
into the house. The earl followed close behind, as a contingent of
servants unloaded trunks from the carriages and carted them inside.
The waiting housekeeper directed the Cardiff family to their
respective chambers, leaving Emma staring after the lot of them,
dumbfounded, mouth agape, and shaken to her core.

Emma felt Vanessa move up behind
her.

“
You didn’t warn me. About
any of it. You never said a word. Not even when I got here, when I
was making a fool of myself, comparing my problems to those of a
leper.”

“
No.”

Emma’s eyes filled with hot, ashamed
tears. She spun to face her sister. “Why?”

Vanessa pursed her lips and her
shoulders slumped. “You wouldn’t have come.” She made her way up
the stairs with David at her side. When she reached the top, she
turned around to look at Emma again. “It’s been long enough. You’ve
got to face what happened. All of you.”

“
You may take Lady Morgan
for a brief excursion through the grounds once she has settled in,”
Aidan said to his sister’s nursemaid. “No longer than a half hour,
though. I don’t wish to overtire her.”

Janetta bobbed a brief curtsey. “Yes,
Mr. Cardiff.”

They stood in the corridor outside
Morgan’s assigned chamber—on the opposite side of the house from
the river, just as Aidan had insisted upon. Not that Morgan could
see the water, but she’d undoubtedly hear it. He wanted no
reminders for her of what had taken place before.

Almost as an afterthought, he added,
“Don’t go near the water. Keep her to the other side of the
property.” Morgan hadn’t attempted to harm herself in more than
two-and-a-half years, but Aidan saw no reason to tempt fate.
“Perhaps today, you should limit her to a walk through the maze to
the east of the house. If she wants to explore further than that,
I’ll take her tomorrow.”

The little maid dipped her head and
timidly excused herself to return to her mistress’s
rooms.

After a moment’s hesitation of warring
with himself over whether to inform Janetta he had changed his mind
and would see to escorting his sister outside himself, Aidan spun
on his heel and marched through the hall. He had to let go. He had
to begin to trust Morgan’s sanity again, even if he could only take
a small step toward that end at a time.

At the main staircase, he made his way
down and headed for David’s study. His friend might not be there,
but Aidan had no doubt he’d find a good whiskey in the sideboard.
Few things in his life could ease the rage which always bubbled
under his skin in quite the way a dose of spirits could.

Niall had been right, though it pained
Aidan to admit it. They couldn’t hover over Morgan constantly; it
would only serve to leave them all anxious and Morgan agitated with
their interference. She wanted them to trust her. She wanted them
to believe she was right-minded now and would not fall into a vast
pit of despair as she had done before. She wanted them all to
believe, herself included, that she could navigate the world
without the aid of her eyes, that she could live her life as it was
meant to be lived.

Aidan wanted to believe it, too.
Desperately. He’d promised her years ago he would never give up on
her, and yet how could he trust her to be all right after all that
had happened? The one time he ought to have been unfailingly at her
side, he’d left her behind again.

The only way any of them
would find out for certain if she truly
could
live a normal life, though,
would be to leave Morgan to do as she wished from time to time—or
at least with only a servant to assist her when
necessary.

Doing so at Tavistock Manor had been
nerve-wracking enough, but Morgan had quickly proven herself adept
at getting around with the aid of her maid or a walking stick, once
she’d learned to count her steps and recognize the feel of things.
But now, she wanted to go somewhere other than her home and to be
around people again. Around society. Around vain twits like the
vexatious Miss Hathaway, who apparently could not bear to see
Morgan’s scars without gasping in abject horror.

Aidan grumbled something
unintelligible even to himself beneath his breath. Just before
reaching a side door which led to the rose garden, he pushed open
David’s study. Empty, as expected, but the credenza was well
stocked. Leaving the door ajar in case David wished to join him, he
located a tumbler and pulled the cork on the nearest bottle, then
sniffed the contents. Rich, aged whiskey. Perfect. He poured a full
glass and threw it back, dispatching it in a stinging swallow, then
filled it again.

It would take much more than a few
shots of whiskey to remove the revolted expression that had covered
every blessed inch of Miss Hathaway’s face from his memory. With
one look, a brief moment of at most a second, every ounce of fury
Aidan felt toward this woman, fury which he had kept suppressed
over the last three years, came crashing back to the surface with
the force of a gale.

Somehow, Aidan’s ire toward her felt
all the more powerful now than it had before. It was as though all
the traumas that had befallen his sweet sister were Miss Hathaway’s
fault, at least in some twisted manner in his mind.