Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (18 page)

The only thing she could do was sit in the middle of the bed and watch as the fire raced up the room’s walls and leaped across the ceiling.

She was sitting in an unholy inferno. And then, there was a cracking noise. The ceiling began raining fireballs down upon her—

T
hea woke with a gasp, sitting straight up, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around wildly, expecting to see the room in flames—

All was fine.

The room was cool with the night air. The moonlight shone on intact chairs and tables . . . and Neal and her sons were right there beside her in the bed.

The dream had been so real. Thea had to climb out of the bed and walk around the room to convince herself that all was well.

“Thea, is something the matter?” Neal’s sleep-laden voice asked.

She faced him. She could tell him about the dream, but that would be silly. “Everything’s fine,” she murmured. “I was just hungry.”

“There is a tray for you in the other room,” Neal said, yawning and closing his eyes again.

It was a long time before Thea ventured back to sleep again.

L
ife became better than Neal could ever have imagined possible. Thea and her sons brought a new energy, a vitality to the stately manse that had been gloomy for too long.

His first act as stepfather was to arrange for ponies for each of his boys. The first afternoon they went riding in the park, Jonathan fell off his. Brave lad that he was, he didn’t cry, even though his pride was hurt. Christopher took to riding as if he’d been born to do it. Neal couldn’t help but draw comparisons between Jonathan and himself, and Christopher and Harry.

Chris named his pony Victor, a bold name for such a pudgy beast. Jonathan named his horse Chattan, in honor of his new family. Neal was deeply touched.

He also discovered the true joy of married life. Thea was all he could want in a mate. She was open and inventive in bed and efficient and calm-headed during their daily life. Nothing soothed the challenges he faced more than lying beside his wife at night talking over the day’s cares. She made him laugh at the absurdities of people and the frustrations of both business and government.

The days turned to weeks, with Neal discovering a renewed sense of purpose and a serenity about life he’d not known before.

Harry recovered from that terrible night and seemed determined to keep his vices in check. However, both he and Margaret kept their distance from Thea. Margaret pouted, wearing her disapproval on her sleeve.

Because Neal was not going to let anyone belittle this woman who had become so important in his life, he kept his distance from them.

Thea was exactly what the lady of the house should have been. She didn’t take offense at Margaret and Harry’s silence and rudeness, but she didn’t hesitate to start placing her mark on the house and Neal’s life.

The servants admired her. That pleased Neal. They’d been afraid of his mother. Thea managed to walk a careful line between not usurping Margaret’s practices and authority and making changes to those issues that mattered to her.

As for the goodwill of society and the Montvales and the Pomfreys and their ilk, Neal could not care less about their opinions. With Thea and her sons, he had everything he’d ever wanted. Of course, Lady Palmer was a frequent and welcome guest. She helped soothe the way for Thea’s reintroduction to society in her new role as his countess. The weeks flew by in a blaze of joy and contentment.

Yes, the Carpsleys attempted to keep Jonathan out of Westminster. A letter was sent to the house from the school expressing regret that they would not be able to interview Master Jonathan Martin.

Neal responded by contacting a few of his close friends, including the Prince Regent, and in short order, Jonathan was accepted. On the day they received the notice, Neal took the boy on a walk, just the two of them. He wanted to be certain Jonathan understood school life. Christopher was most annoyed to be left behind.

“It won’t be easy at the school,” he warned Jonathan after they had walked a good distance. “Schoolboys are harsh on each other. They play cruel pranks.”

“What sort of pranks, sir?” Jonathan asked.

“They will push and shove you without cause. They may even hit you or play very mean jests that won’t be funny to you. Don’t complain and don’t tattle. They are doing those things to see what sort of character you have.”

“I believe their character is very rude if they behave that way.”

Neal had to smile. At Jonathan’s age, those had been his thoughts exactly. “Sometimes the older boys will do something the tutors or headmaster don’t like and blame the younger boys.”

“That is not fair.”

“No, it isn’t, but it is often the case in life. You must be brave and learn when to speak up and when to be quiet.”

“I won’t treat younger boys that way when I’m older.”

“Very good, Jonathan. I would not want you to be so mean-spirited.” They had come to a small park, and Neal let them inside. It was private here. He came down on one knee to be on Jonathan’s level. “There is something I want to warn you of. The headmaster might not be kind to you.”

“Why not?”

“He is not pleased with your mother and myself. However, Westminster is a very good school, and I expect him to treat you fairly. If he doesn’t, you need to tell me. Not your mother—
me
.”

“But if they play pranks and blame others, how shall I know if he is being fair or not?”

“You’ll know,” Neal said. “And I am sorry for the trouble our marriage will cause you. But I’d wager your personality and your willingness to study hard will win the day. They will respect you, Master Jonathan.”

Jonathan digested Neal’s advice for a moment, and then he said, “I’m glad you and my mother married. I won’t let them make me feel sorry for that.”

Neal felt his heart warm and expand at the boy’s words. And then Jonathan placed his hand in Neal’s. So much trust in one small gesture.

The talk he’d given Jonathan had been necessary, considering how petty the Carpsleys were, but it was also a conversation he wished his father had had with him. In fact, there were many things he wanted to do differently than his father had, and he prayed he had the time left to him in life to see these matters through. Together they walked home.

Christopher was not waiting for them. Instead, they found him in the library with Harry. They were playing marbles on the floor, and Christopher was beating Harry. Their shouts and challenges could be heard all the way down the hall to the front door.

Harry looked up as they entered the library. “You shouldn’t have left Christopher behind,” he said. He was truly angry.

Christopher’s response was to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t care. I like playing with you. Your turn. Your marble is on the other side of the room.”

Harry groaned his ill fortune and then showed his hand at marbles by bouncing one of Christopher’s to the other side of the library. Soon they had teams. Jonathan and Christopher against Harry and Neal. The competition was fierce. Neal knew he should have been going over Lord Leeds’s proposal for the building of docks on the North Thames, but playing marbles was far more fun.

Harry lost the challenge for them. Jonathan and Christopher crowed like the victors they were. They even went so far as to do a jig. Harry started laughing and couldn’t stop. Neal was stunned by the sound. He couldn’t remember when he’d last heard his brother laugh. He had to laugh as well, just because the sound gave him so much pleasure . . . and that was when he noticed Margaret standing by the door. She appeared thunderstruck.

Seeing him notice, she started to back away, but Neal didn’t want to let her escape. “Come join us, Margaret,” he invited.

She hesitated. He expected her to run to her room, but then she asked, “What is going on here?”

Christopher immediately answered, “Marbles. Jonny and I beat them. We played three games and we beat them all three.” He held up three fingers in case she didn’t understand how victorious they were.

“Would you like to play?” Neal asked his sister.

“Girls can’t play,” Harry countered. Christopher nodded his head in agreement, but Neal knew what Harry was doing. Perhaps he was as worried about Margaret as Neal was.

It was Jonathan who came to Margaret’s defense. “Why not?”

“Yes, why not?” Margaret echoed with a hint of her old spirit.

Neal sat up, amazed at this exchange. For too long his sister had been like a ghost around the house, a ghost of a mother hen. She clucked and worried and took care of them, never asking for anything for herself.

“They don’t have the right thumbs,” Harry said. “Your thumbs can’t shoot marbles very far.”

Both Jonathan and Christopher swerved their attention to Margaret’s thumbs.

She held them up. “Oh, I don’t know. I have rather strong thumbs,” Margaret argued.

“No, you don’t,” Christopher assured her, siding with Harry.

“I think she does,” Jonathan said, and Neal was charmed.

These boys had wrought a miracle in his family. They were bringing them together. Children were safer than adults. His siblings might not have approached him, but Jonathan, Christopher and a bag of marbles provided a bridge. Neal said, “I want to make a challenge.”

Jonathan’s and Christopher’s eyes lit with anticipation. So did Harry’s. “Margaret and I against the three of you.”

Oh, there was a game they couldn’t pass up.

To Neal’s surprise, his stylish, staid sister plopped herself down on the floor beside him with the demand “Show me how to shoot.”

Neal obeyed, and within minutes they had a vigorous game going. Margaret proved to be quite adept at sending a marble after Harry’s, and she and Neal almost won the challenge.

They were preparing to start another game when Thea entered the room, her manner one of concern. “Lyon, we have a visitor.”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Neal said. He didn’t want to interrupt the play.

“I think you should see this person,” Thea said. “Certainly I can’t send her away.”

“Who is she?” Margaret asked. Her hair had come undone with all the rigors of crawling on the floor and she looked years younger. Her eyes sparkled in a way they hadn’t in a long time.

“It’s Lady Lyon, the dowager countess,” Thea said.

Immediately the atmosphere in the library changed. The boys were still happy as larks, anxious to play some more, but Margaret, Harry and Neal all went tense.

“I am not receiving visitors,” Neal said. How dare she call and ruin an important afternoon for his family—

“I thought you’d say that,” a woman’s silky voice behind Thea said, interrupting his indignation.

Thea jumped, as if surprised she’d been followed. She stepped aside, and Cass Sweetling sauntered into the library. She was a petite redhead dressed in the height of fashion in a mustard-colored dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat
à la shepherdess
, with saucy lace gloves, gold bracelets and jeweled ear bobs.

Neal rose to his feet.

Heedless of the game of marbles, Cass walked right up to him. “It’s been a long time,
children,
” she said, chiding them with her position in their lives. In truth, she was the same age as Harry.

“You have lacked for nothing,” Neal responded. Margaret had come to her feet, self-consciously pushing a stray strand of hair back into place. Harry didn’t move from the floor, his manner defiant as he snubbed Cass.

Their stepmother did not seem to take offense. “No, I have all I need, and this isn’t a social call.” She looked over at the boys. Jonathan listened to the conversation with concern, while Christopher picked up marbles and put them in a bag for safekeeping. Disinterested in them, Cass swung her gaze back to Neal.

“Then what sort of call is this?” Margaret said. “You know you are not welcome here.”

“I am well aware of that.” Cass laughed. “And believe me when I say that I have no desire to be here. However, I promised I would deliver this to you, and so I shall. I’ve heard you are happy in your marriage, Lyon. Congratulations. I am pleased for you.”

“Thank you,” Neal responded briskly.

At his curt tone, Cass shook her head. “Always wary, never trusting. That’s sad. But I’m not here for me. I’ve come because I am honor bound to bring this to you. You understand honor, don’t you? You steep yourself in it.” She reached in her reticule and pulled out a letter, still sealed and addressed
To my sons.

“Who is it from?” Neal asked, making no move to take it from her.

“Your father,” she replied.

Chapter Fifteen

N
eal stared at the letter as if it had been some live thing.

Harry denied her claim, shaking his head vigorously. “That can’t be from Father. Sir James had all of his papers.”

“If you are so certain, why be afraid to read it?” Cass answered. She gave the envelope a little shake as if to tease them. “Can you not see the wax is sealed with the same signet design as the ring you wear on your finger, Lyon? The one your father handed to you?”

“We are not afraid,” Margaret informed her. “But Father let us know directly what his wishes were. If he’d had a letter, he would have handed it to us. Now will you please leave?”

Cass glanced at Thea. “And that attitude, that certainty that they all knew their father better than I, his wife, did is the reason I haven’t shared this with them sooner. I thought things had changed. I’d heard that Lyon was happy in his marriage—
as I had been in mine
. I felt the time had come for this letter. And in truth, Lyon, I’m not giving this letter to you for your benefit. I promised your father I would do it, and so I have.”

Jonathan and Christopher stood silent. They had picked up the emotions of the adults in the room. Their allegiance was clearly with the Chattans.

Thea spoke. “Jonathan, Christopher, please tell Dawson we would like refreshments served in the library.”

Her sons did not want to leave. For a second they hovered protectively around the Chattans. But another word from Thea sent them on their mission.

Neal was glad they were gone. The conversation could turn ugly.

Still, he made no move toward the letter.

There was a moment of silence, and Thea made an impatient sound. She took the letter from Cass’s gloved hand and carried it to her husband. “Look at it. If it is false, then you may call her a liar and send her on her way. If it
is
from your father, don’t you want to know what he had to say?”

Did he?

Neal could feel his siblings waiting for his decision. They wanted to toss Cass out of the house.

But then he thought of his walk with Jonathan, of imparting advice to him. What did
his
father have to say?

Neal took the letter from Thea. The seal was still good, but the wax was brittle with age, giving credence to Cass’s story.

Breaking the seal, Neal unfolded the letter. Margaret made a small sound as she recognized their father’s distinctive handwriting. Cass could not have created a forgery this good. He began reading aloud.

“ ‘Neal, Harry, my sons—’ ”

Neal had to pause. He could almost hear his father’s voice.

“ ‘—if you are reading this, then you know we are still bound by this terrible curse. I sought to break it. However, continuing as I did with my father’s cautious ways, I have denied you, my children, the only thing of importance in life—love.

“ ‘I want you to understand that I have no regrets in my decision to marry Cass, and I expect her to be given all that is due her as my widow. Don’t let the biddies peck her to death, and let her be who she is.’ ”

Who she is. An opera dancer, a light skirt. Neal could see that Margaret struggled with this directive as much as he did, although as a family they gave Cass all she was entitled to as the dowager Countess Lyon.

“ ‘This curse has robbed our lives of happiness and joy. I want you to know that the six months I’ve spent with Cassandra have revealed to me a great truth—Love is the only true measure of a well-lived life. It is all that matters. I don’t know how I existed before falling in love. No, I didn’t exist. I was hollow, a martinet of a man.

“ ‘My sons, I thought I could escape the curse, I thought I had been prudent. I could proudly say that I had carried on the line and beaten the witch at her game. I was wrong! What I had really done was build a prison around myself. I even withheld my caring concern from you, my children. I tried to cheat Fate, but can any man escape his life?

“ ‘My children, forgive me for betraying you, for leading you astray. Don’t follow my path. Live fully and completely. Withhold nothing from life. Find someone and love her. Life holds so much more than what I led you to believe.

“ ‘The curse may have claimed another victim, but I am unrepentant. I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul. Your father, Lyon.’ ”

Neal looked at his brother as he finished reading. Harry still sat on the floor, an arm resting on one bent knee, his head lowered. Neal turned to Thea. She watched him closely, her expression anxious.

In truth, Neal didn’t know what to think. He believed the letter did truly come from their father . . . but the thought gave him no comfort. He needed time to digest this. He needed time to understand.

He needed time to come to terms with his own turbulent thoughts.

“I’ve done my part,” Cass said, breaking the silence. “It was a pleasure seeing you all again.” On that irony, she turned to leave.

Thea immediately said, “Wait, I shall see you to the door.” She left the room with Cass.

For a long moment, Neal and his siblings were quiet. Margaret spoke first. “He didn’t mention me.”

“What?” Neal said, caught off guard by her comment.

“Father addressed the letter to you and Harry. It is as if I don’t exist.”

“That isn’t true,” Neal said.

“It isn’t?” she challenged. “Was there one word directed at me?” She didn’t wait for a response but ran from the room.

Harry released his breath. “Father still had a lot to learn about love.”

“He cared for Margaret,” Neal said in his father’s defense.

“Yes, of course,” Harry answered dully. “Just like he cared for us. Here, help me up. My game leg won’t let me rise without crawling like an old man.”

Neal put the letter on his desk and offered a hand to Harry, pulling him up in one smooth movement. “He
did
care,” Neal had to insist one more time.

Harry’s gaze met Neal’s. “No, he didn’t. And that is the difference between you and me, brother. You want to pretend it is all better. You are pragmatic in your business dealings and in your duties to the title, yet you ignore what is happening to you in your personal endeavors. I’m a realist. Life is hell. Death is definitely preferable.” He started for the door, favoring his leg.

“Where are you going?” Neal challenged, afraid of the answer.

His brother paused and gave a mirthless laugh. “To find my own piece of heaven.”

“God, Harry, the stuff will kill you.”

Harry nodded to the letter Neal held in his hand. “Does it matter?” He left the room.

Neal stood, stunned by the transformation of his family. Less than an hour ago they had been laughing together. Now, they were further apart than ever before. He moved toward a leather chair, and his boot hit a marble Christopher had missed when he’d picked them up. Neal reached down and held the glass ball in his hand.

“We have the refreshments,” Christopher said proudly, marching through the door. He happily stepped back for Jonathan, who carefully entered the room carrying a tray loaded with a pitcher of orangeade, cakes and sandwiches.

A maid hovered behind the boy, anxious lest he make a misstep. She held a tray of glasses. Looking to Neal, she said, “He wanted to carry it in, your lordship. I didn’t think there would be a problem.”

“There isn’t,” Neal said, watching as Jonathan placed the tray on the library’s desk. “Thank you,” he said to the maid, dismissing her. The girl bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

“Where is Mother?” Christopher asked. “And Harry?”

Neal sat in the chair. “I found a marble.” He handed it to Chris, then placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looked to Jonathan. “Thank you for bringing in the tray. It is a good thing to desire to serve others.”

Jonathan nodded, pleased with his accomplishment, and Neal reached out. He pulled them both close, hugging them. They were honest in their emotions, without doubts or fears. “I’m proud to be your stepfather,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“We’re proud to be your sons,” Jonathan answered, and Neal thought he would lose the fragile hold he had on his emotions. There was a strong chance that the Chattan name would end with his generation.

And yet here was something good. He loved these boys. He could freely love them as a father without fear of their futures.

But for how much longer?

His father’s words in the letter haunted him—
“I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul.”

T
hea and Cass were quiet as they walked through the halls to the front door. Dawson opened the door, his expression grave. He, too, apparently waited for Cass Sweetling to leave.

Cass turned to Thea. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, albeit a short visit. I wish you good luck in your future, Lady Lyon.” Cass walked out the door. Dawson started to shut it, but Thea found her voice.

“Wait,” she said. She slipped out the door, catching Cass on the front step. The day was overcast, the air heavy with the threat of rain. “One moment of your time, please.”

“Of course,” Cass said. A sedan chair waited to carry her away. She nodded to her servants, and they set the chair down.

“Go ahead and close the door,” Thea told Dawson. “I shall be fine here.”

“Are you certain, my lady?”

“I am.” What did he imagine the petite dancer would do to her? Thea took Cass’s arm and walked her toward the corner of the house, where they were away from prying ears. Thea said, “I’m sorry for what happened in there. My husband and his family have—”

Thea stopped, needing to search for the right words while debating whether or not she should even say anything. “There is this curse they believe in—”

“
You
should believe in it as well,” Cass cut in.

Startled, Thea said, “Why do you say that?”

Cass leaned close to her. “Have you had the dream?”

A coldness settled over Thea. “What dream?”

The other woman smirked, pulled back. “Pretending, are you?”

“Pretending about what?”

“You know.”

Thea shook her head. “I don’t
know
anything. You are talking in riddles.”

“Oh, I think you understand me very well. Tell me, are you in love with Lyon?”

Thea wasn’t certain she should answer. However, the truth of her love must have shown on her face, because Cass took her hand. “If you love him, then you must accept that this curse exists. People didn’t think I loved my husband. He was older than myself and I was, after all, merely a dancer. Funny how love ignores all class distinctions, petty jealousies, even allegiances, and certainly the barrier of age. He was everything to me. Harold changed how I thought, what I did . . .” Her voice drifted off as her eyes became misty.

“I’m sorry his children are not kinder.”

Cass shrugged away her apology. “It is what it is. You saw their expressions in there. I had the best of their father. They had a shell of the man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Harold was very proud of his children and their accomplishments. But he feared showing them any affection. He helped them, saw to their welfare and prodded them when they needed to be pushed, but he wasn’t even necessarily kind about it. At least that is my observation. I don’t know what impact his letter will have on them.”

“I don’t know either.” Thea crossed her arms. “There is a strangeness here. Neal is very close to his brother and sister. They support each other, but there are walls also.”

“There are always walls when one feels it dangerous to love freely and openly,” Cass answered. “Harold’s first wife was beautiful and wealthy, but cold and uncompromising. She was happy to keep everyone at a distance. Much like I imagine Margaret does.”

Thea thought of that horrible night with Harry. “She is not so strict. She cares deeply . . . and perhaps that is what she is afraid of—caring too much.”

“Harry, from all I have heard, is on his way to ruining himself. The women still like him, though. They think he is a bit of a rogue.”

Thea dared not touch that statement. Over the last few weeks, her sons seemed to have brought out a better side of Harry, but that didn’t mean he had changed. “And what do you think of Neal?”

“I think he’s in love.”

Her words filled Thea with gladness. She’d not dared let herself think as much, and yet she so wanted to believe it was true. “I love him. I’ve told him I love him.”

Cass held up a warning hand. “Don’t be so pleased. You are in danger of losing him. Harold’s death was not good. It started with a numbness, and he grew worse over time. It started in a pesky way, but he knew what would happen. His father had the numbness and his father before him. I ask again, have you had the dream?”

A gust of wind scampered along the ground, teasing their skirts, then whirling up and around them. It was a cold wind and at odds with the warmth of the day. Cass looked around as if testing the air. “She’s here.”

“
Who’s
here?” Thea demanded.

“Fenella, the Scottish witch who put the curse on them. She knows.”

Thea shook her head, backing away. “Knows what?”

“That she almost has Neal. She is going to claim another.”

This was too much. Cass had obviously been a good actress as well as a dancer. Thea turned away, not liking the way Cass’s eery declarations put shivers through her. There was no such thing as curses, and Thea did not believe in witches, either. . . .

Cass reached out and caught her arm. She whirled Thea to face her. “You must not be afraid.”

“I’m
not
afraid.”

“Then why do you deny what I’m telling you? It is of the greatest importance.”

“I don’t believe in curses,” Thea said, but her insistence was sounding weaker.

“
She is here.
” Cass tightened her hold on Thea’s wrists. “I didn’t believe either, but she came to me in my dreams. They were the most horrific ones I’ve ever had. She wanted to burn me alive.”

Thea immediately wanted to reject the knowledge that they might have shared the same dream. “If she lived centuries ago, she is
not
alive,” she said, struggling for reason.