Curse of the Gypsy (35 page)

She sagged against him. “Oh, Darkefell, thank you,” she gasped, tightening her arms around his neck. “You’re so right. Thank you.” She pulled away from him and gazed up at him, her gray eyes now shining with gratitude. “In remembering the living, who suffer still, I’ve seen how this is truly a blessing. Theophilus Grover will not suffer the shame of his father being hanged for a murder.”

He kissed her gently but did not push his passion upon her. “I’m sorry I was boorish toward you yesterday, Anne, truly. Where I feel love, I am passionately attached. When I feel anger, I am likely to be brutal. But I will never use my fists on anyone who doesn’t deserve a beating. Some men will only respond to violence.”

“How … how do you feel when you are fighting like that?” she asked.

He shrugged, but honesty was all he could offer. “I feel life coursing through me, in my veins, in my fists. All my thoughts are focused on one end, beating my opponent.”

“And when you make love to me? How do you feel then?”

He met her gaze and touched her cheek. “Anne, I feel … I feel life coursing through me, and all my focus is on one end, giving you pleasure, loving you wholly, with my body and my soul.”

Anne was silent. She turned her face away, too exhausted to speak, he supposed.

“What do you think Grover meant, as he lay dying, about your mother?” she asked. “Why did he name her at the end?”

“I can’t imagine,” he murmured. “One more attempt to confuse matters, perhaps? He had her fooled for so long. She must have thought he was a true family friend and innocent, beyond what she knew of his part in the deaths of those poor slaves.”

“Darkefell,” Anne said, her tone hesitant.

“Yes?”

She looked up into his eyes and held his gaze, her pale, ravaged face clothed in an expression of sweet sadness. “Your mother … if she is unkind to Osei, please tell him that it is because she is aware how much he has suffered. It horrifies her deeply. She cannot bear to think of it, and every time she sees him, it’s a vivid reminder.”

“I did not know you were so far into my mother’s confidence that she would admit something like that.” He clicked to the horses and they set off again.

“We had time to talk, on the last miles of the journey back to Darkefell.”

“And she told you about her treatment of Osei?”

“Among other things. I asked her openly about Osei, because I’ve never understood her resentment toward him. But I understand a little better now. She feels things deeply …
too
deeply for her peace.”

A welling of gratitude for the remarkable woman at his side welled up in him. “You are truly remarkable, Anne,” he said, his voice guttural with emotion.

“No, Tony, not remarkable. But I do try to understand people.”

“You have a unique gift at that. That’s why people turn to you in times of trouble.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

“I have no doubt. I think there are many people who will remember you forever with gratitude, even if they only knew you a brief time. You affect people that way, my dearest Anne.”

She looked startled when he glanced over at her, and was silent for the rest of the ride back to Ivy Lodge. He sent Anne upstairs with a stern order that Mary was not to allow her to leave her room until she had eaten, bathed, and rested.

He had much to do, but his first order of business was to tell his mother, Julius, and John what had transpired. He called them together in the drawing room on the third floor and waited until they were settled, then related from the beginning, when Spottiswode confessed to killing Tilly Landers. Julius let out a loud shout of joy, and his mother dropped her head.

She murmured, “Thank God that nightmare is over.”

Darkefell went on, first relating his and Anne’s surmise that Grover was guilty of the murder of Fanny Allengate as well as Cecilia Wainwright. “But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” he finished.

“Of course we will,” said Julius, with his usual brash confidence. “You and I together can convince that smug bastard to tell the truth.”

“No, we may never know for sure,” Darkefell repeated, letting his glance drift over each member of his family.

His mother stared at him, her expression oddly knowing. “Is he … ?”

Nodding, Darkefell said, “He took some kind of fit or an attack of the heart, and died.” The expression on his mother’s face flashed several different emotions, but the predominant one was of relief. He had been afraid she would be angry, for he had never understood some things she had said over the months, some times when she had defended him, almost grudgingly, it seemed.

He considered asking her why Grover would name her in his dying breath, but decided against it. There was something there, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. Cowardly, perhaps, but she had been through much in her life, suffering odd periods of lethargy and sadness. He would not give her distress in this moment of peace. If there was more to the story, perhaps leaving her alone would bring it out more quickly than badgering her. Or maybe—and this was an odd thought—she would tell Anne.

Standing and stretching the kinks out of his muscles, he said, “And so that will be an end to it. Spottiswode will be tried for the murder of Tilly Landers, or his confession will avoid a trial, rather. He will be hanged, likely.”

Julius leaped to his feet and clapped Darkefell on the shoulder. “Now we can go ahead with our lives! Hurrah! Let’s celebrate. We can invite all the good folks of Hornethwaite to dinner and dancing.”

“I don’t think that will be suitable, Julius,” their mother said. “This is tragedy, not comedy. Three young girls dead, Hiram a murderer, another man going to the gallows. Not a time for a party.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we’ll have another reason to celebrate, eh, Tony?” Julius said, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “If a certain lady replies to an interesting question in the affirmative?”

“Shut up, Julius.”

John said, his tone sententious, “I am only glad that Mr. Grover will not suffer the indignity of a trial.”

“He should have suffered more, after what he did!” Darkefell growled. “I am
more
relieved that his son will not suffer for having a hanged man as father. It has been a very long day and I have much to do at the castle. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.” He stepped over to his mother, drew her aside, and said softly. “Thank you for talking to Lady Anne, Mother. She is grateful that you softened a little toward her on your journey.”

She looked up at him with an odd expression. “Did she tell you of what we spoke?”

“No, not really.”

“Ah. For if you knew all, you might have reason to think I am more the one who owes gratitude to her.” She stood and glided from the room. “Good night, Tony,” she said over her shoulder.

Anne slept through much of the next twenty-four hours, shaken and weary with the scene she had witnessed. She had seen a man die. It replayed in her head over and over, like a dream one could not shake the next day, Pomfroy’s words like a dirge, repeating over and over:
The hand of God has smote him down
.

She could not help feeling that she was self-indulgent and weak when she awoke to find that life had gone on without her, and much was already resolved. Lydia, even, was quiet and calm toward her when she visited her in her room, insisting on sitting with her and calmly chatting. Lydia was looking forward to her and John’s sojourn in Bath in a few weeks, she said, and hoped Anne still intended to visit Bath at the same time.

The very thought of Bath made Anne nervous. If she decided to marry Darkefell, that visit would be a good time to tell her mother and grandmother. It was not any objection on their part she worried over, but their too enthusiastic agreement, and all that would follow. They would want to see Darkefell and fawn over him, introduce him to all the viscountess’s aged Bath society. They would insist on planning an elaborate London wedding, and all that attended such an event, breakfasts, fetes, opening the earl’s London house. It would be insupportable for such a man as Darkefell.

Late in the afternoon, he sent a message up to her by Mary, who smiled and said, with an arch expression, that his lordship the marquess wished to see her. Anne gratefully descended to the great hall of Ivy Lodge and he strode to her, pulling her into his arms. They stood thus, neither caring if they scandalized the servants. She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, the thump sending waves of comfort through her body.
I love you
, she thought over and over.
I love you. I want you. I’m frightened
. Who was he? She still wasn’t sure she knew.

“Will you walk with me for a while? Outside.”

“Yes,” she murmured, grateful for his perspicacity. “I need to get out of this place for an hour. I love Lydia like a sister and she has been surprisingly sensible, but her company is wearing after a time.”

“Let’s walk. We’ll be gone quite a while. No one will expect you back, I’ve made sure.”

A shiver trilled down her spine at the caressing tone in his rich voice. With her shawl over her shoulders, dressed in her most comfortable gown, a simple morning gown with no pretensions to fashion, they set out a side door into the garden. Anne walked in wonder along a path, gazing at the new rockery that Lady Darkefell had just been beginning when Anne was there in April. It was already completed, clumps of ferns nestled in shady spots, and mounds of pink and mauve flowers alternated with spikes of brilliant blue. Natural Yorkshire rock provided a gray counterpoint to the tapestry of color. Though Anne didn’t know enough to identify the species, even to an untutored eye it was clear that the marchioness was an artist with flowers. It was her saving grace, Anne now knew, helping her escape the dark moods that plagued her.

“How beautiful,” Anne said, gazing at the staggered terraces filled with species of plants she had never seen.

“Yes,” Darkefell said, staring at her.

She caught him looking down at her. “Now, Tony, don’t begin to lie to me,” she said, blushing, “or I shall think you a complete fraud.”

“Anne, stop!” he said, turning her and taking her shoulders in his big hands. He shook her slightly. “Enough. You may not think you’re beautiful, the world may even agree, but you and the world are fools. My opinion differs and I can no longer hold back. You
are
beautiful, Anne, and my heart aches when I look at you, I love you so much. There is not a more beautiful sight in the world to me than your eyes.”

Her heart pounded but he stopped there and let go of her, then took her arm, pulled her close to his body and strolled with her along the crushed gravel paths his mother had created. The trail wound upward, beyond the rockery and toward the wooded glade above the lodge. It was a warm day, not always the case in Yorkshire in June, and the shade was a refreshing respite from the steady beam of the sun.

A path was cut through the glade and pine needles covered the ground so it was dry and fragrant. After some conversation, both Anne and Darkefell fell silent. He had told her all he had to tell her of his activities that day. He had ensured that all in Hornethwaite and beyond knew of Grover’s culpability in the deaths of Cecilia Wainwright and Fanny Allengate, and Spottiswode’s confession of guilt in the case of Tilly Landers. He and Julius were congratulated on the freeing of Julius from suspicion and his recovery from “death.” He and Julius had visited Richard Allengate again, repeating more clearly what they thought had happened and how they had made sure all his neighbors knew Fanny had not taken her own life. There was such relief for the young man, mingled with the sadness of his innocent sister’s fate at the hands of a monster. At least Fanny would no longer be maligned as a suicide.

While he and Anne walked, the sun disappeared, dark clouds scudding overhead to create a ceiling of slate gray. The wind freshened and she pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders, happy she had brought it even though the day had begun so warm. Rain was coming; she could smell it on the breeze. Anne had a sense Darkefell was leading her somewhere. They came to a bend in the path and there was a small cabin she remembered from her first visit to Yorkshire. She stiffened, for she had imagined it as the spot to which he took lovers so he did not need to explain the women to his staff.

She looked up at him.

“I wanted to tell you, Anne,” he said, turning her in his arms. “I never did meet Tilly Landers here. I want you to know that. I thought there might be some … misunderstanding. I only ever met her in the village.”

“Tony, don’t—” she began.

He cut her off with a raised hand. “No, Anne, hear me out. I regret many things in my life, but I’m not perfect, never have been. I have been with women.
Many
women, some ladies, most not even close.”

She colored and looked away. It was absurd to feel a tinge of jealousy over his past. Those other women had nothing to do with her, nor with what she and Darkefell did together.

“I have been with other women,” he repeated. “But,” he said, turning her face toward him with a finger under her chin, “I have never felt as I did when I made love with you. It’s a revelation.”

She watched his eyes and they held only truth; she had nothing to fear in his past. “I’m being foolish, Tony,” she said finally. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It doesn’t matter, even if you had been with … with poor Tilly in this cabin. That has nothing to do with us.”

“But what happened day before yesterday does,” he said, watching her eyes.

She shivered and reached up, touching the bruising along his jawline, the mark left by the man who would have freed Hiram Grover. “You looked like a different person, Tony, honestly. When you were beating that man, your eyes, your expression … I felt as though I’d never seen you before. Do I know you?” she asked, staring up into his eyes. “Do I know you at
all
? Two months, Tony. We’ve only known each other two months, and in that time we’ve been apart more than together.”

“Many couples do not meet until just before their wedding.”

“And can you name one of those couples that is happy, or at least happy
together
?”