Sattler, Veronica (45 page)

Privately
Brett was thinking of something else he must do; it concerned the accident of
last night. This morning, while she slept, he'd gone to the balcony and
scrutinized the broken railing. Not being a carpenter, he couldn't be sure, but
he thought there was something peculiar about the break. Hardly wanting to
consider the possibilities, he nevertheless had determined to summon the
carpenters who'd worked on the renovations, bringing them out here when
Ashleigh had gone. She had endured enough of a shock with the incident, and
although she'd recovered remarkably afterward, he had no wish to upset her
further today. He fervently hoped his fears would prove unnecessary; he'd enjoy
taking her to London for a few days without such a concern on his mind.

"A
bit of official business," he was saying, as he turned to go. "I'll
see you back at the Hall for luncheon, and, remember, keep to the flats on that
filly. We've not completed her schooling on the jumps yet."

As
Ashleigh watched him leave, she wondered about his summons to London. He'd said
nothing of her accompanying him. How could he desert a new bride in the face of
business? He wouldn't... would he? After all, she was familiar with the London
town house, and there were things in the city she could find to do to occupy
her time while he was at Whitehall....

Suddenly
the warm sunlight streaming through the windows of the vestibule didn't seem so
glorious anymore, and Ashleigh found herself biting her lower lip as she heard
the sounds of horses leaving the drive.

* * * * *

A
short time later, as she sat in a Chippendale wing chair in the sitting room,
trying to read a book of poetry she'd discovered, she heard the sound of the
downstairs door opening. Thinking it must be one of the stable lads with word
that Irish Night was ready—probably a new, untutored one, she guessed, for no
properly trained servant would enter without knocking—she wondered as she
headed for the stairs why she hadn't heard them approach.

As
she reached the top landing, a familiar female voice met her ears.

"Why
aren't there any servants about to take my wrap? I— Oh, there you are, Miss
Sinclair." Elizabeth Hastings's pronunciation of the name echoed with a
sibilant hiss.

Ashleigh
bristled as she beheld the lavender-garbed figure advancing up the stairs.
"It's Ashleigh Westmont now, Lady Elizabeth." A prick of mischief
twitched in the blue eyes. "Or, to put it properly, it's now 'Your
Grace.'"

Elizabeth's
eyes held no warmth as they fell on the woman she regarded as an opportunistic
usurper. "Well,
Your Grace,"
she sneered, "let's see how
well you fulfill the obligations of your title. A duchess is a lady, and a lady
knows how to invite a guest in." She walked directly past Ashleigh and
toward the first door on her right. "Shall we make it the drawing room,
Your
Grace?"

Wondering
whether a duchess had ever thrown a caller out, Ashleigh gritted her teeth and
followed her into the drawing room.

Once
they were both inside, Elizabeth turned to face her. "I shan't sit down.
What I have to say won't take long."

Wondering
whether Brett knew Elizabeth was here— whether he'd passed her as he
left—Ashleigh questioned, "How did you arrive here? I heard no horses on
the drive, but—"

"I
rowed myself across the lake," Elizabeth snapped. "I'm actually very
good at rowing," she added, "and so is Lady Margaret. She taught
me."

"Why
have you come here, Elizabeth?"

"Ah,
so it's merely 'Elizabeth' now, is it? How the lowly have risen!" She
fastened her silver-slitted gaze on Ashleigh's face.
"You little
usurper!"
She paused to glance rapidly about the room, then focused
again on Ashleigh. "All this was supposed to have been
mine!"

"If
you've come here merely to rail at me for—"

"Actually,
I have not, though you deserve it, I can assure you. No, my dear little
duchess, actually what I've come here for is to do you a service... or perhaps
you could consider it a warning."

"Go
on," Ashleigh told her. There was a deadly calm in the blue eyes, and had
anyone who knew her well seen it, as Patrick had at times in their youth, on
those few but memorable occasions when he'd seen his sister truly angry, he
would have given pause before going any further.

But
Elizabeth Hastings was oblivious to anything about Ashleigh but her immediate
purpose, and so she hurriedly continued. "You think you're the cat who's
got the cream, don't you? You stand here in all your stolen finery and assume
you've arrived at your place in life at last."

"Elizabeth,
I don't—"

"Well,
let me tell you something, you little guttersnipe! You don't
begin
to
comprehend what it means to be Brett Westmont's wife!

"But
that's where
I
come in, for, believe me,
I
c
an tell you!"
A slow, ugly smile spread Elizabeth's lips. "How practiced are you,
little Ashleigh, at pretending to be blind? For that is what you must do—and
often! Every time your randy, philandering husband decides to roam away from
your bed!

"Why,
I do believe I've shocked you, my dear! What a pity. Didn't you know your new
husband enjoys a reputation as one of the greatest rakes in London? Probably in
all of England, now I think on it, but—" here she punctuated her speech
with a brittle little laugh "—but it's in London, I hear, where he's found
most of his mistresses. I mean, really, my dear, did you think that, by wearing
his ring, you would see the last of the Pamela Marlowes in his life? Not so, I
can assure you. Why, even now, he's likely planning a little side trip into the
city to amuse himself. A man with Brett's hot blood doesn't wait very long to
afford himself, ah, varied outlets."

Until
now, Ashleigh's face had merely displayed angry shock—and doubt—at Elizabeth's
words. But her visitor's chance hitting on the one factor related to what had
just been on Ashleigh's mind—trips to London without her—had the effect of
turning her face deathly pale.

"Ah,
I see I've hit a mark!" crowed Elizabeth triumphantly. "Tell me, is
our lusty duke already making plans to leave for the city of his amorous
pursuits? On the very morn following his wedding night?

"You
little fool!
You
don't know how to
begin
to deal with his faithlessness, do you? You
thought all you need do was turn those big blue kitten's eyes on him and he
would remain by your side!

"Well,
let me tell you something, you little bitch!
I
would have known how to
deal with it!
I
would have been able to do what any well-bred wife with
a roving husband must! I'd have suffered my wifely duty in his bed often enough
to beget the heirs he must have, and then, quite happily, I assure you, become
deaf and blind while he satisfied his lust elsewhere.

"That's
the only reason he's wed at all, you know. It's the only reason any gentleman
of the
ton
with such appetites marries: to beget his precious heirs!

"So,
you see? I've done you a service, after all. Perhaps, now you've learned the
truth, you can begin to school yourself to accept it...
but I doubt
it!"
Elizabeth began moving toward the door. Once there, she gave
Ashleigh a twisted parting smile. "And if you can't, well, there are ways
to extricate yourself. Divorce, among those who can afford it, is not unheard
of. And when you do decide to cut him loose, Your Grace, depend upon it,
I
shall be waiting!"

She
left the room, her ugly laughter following her down the hall.

Ashleigh
remained where she'd stood through Elizabeth's harangue and thought she was
going to be sick. Her throat felt dry and choked, a sickening lump lodged at
its base.

Oh,
God, what shall I do?
she asked herself.
It was bad enough to think of
enduring the day-to-day as his wife and strive to hide my love for him, knowing
he doesn't love me... but to do it in the face of his pursuit of other women?
No! Never! I'd die inside... slowly die....

The
sickening feeling increased, and she forced herself to walk to the French doors
and open them. As fresh air met her lungs, she gazed at the scene of last
night's mishap. Dimly she realized that all she had felt during that scare was
nothing compared to the anguish and fear she felt now.

Glancing
downward, she saw the little bouquet of Lady Jane's tea roses, wilted and
fading now, in the morning sunshine. She thought about how she had begun to
reach for it before the railing had given away, how this had probably saved her
life.

"Lucky
flowers," Lady Jane had said....

Stooping
to pick them up, Ashleigh felt hot tears choke her throat. Blindly, she
clutched the dying flowers to her breast.
Lucky!
her mind cried out
brokenly.
Oh, poor roses, your luck may have come to me last night, when you
were yet fresh and new... but now... now I think it's as faded as you.

Suddenly
Ashleigh straightened, catching herself. What was she allowing to happen here?
Since when, through all she had endured in the past, had she ever succumbed to
self-pity? Well, she was not going to succumb to it now! She was made of
sterner stuff than that! What was it Megan had said? She'd spoken of grit and
pluck, and a fine spirit!

She
whirled about and left the balcony, her tears forgotten. Now she knew what she
must do. It was just a matter of timing it right.

The
sounds of horses on the drive broke her thoughts. Without a moment's
hesitation, she dashed for the stairs, eager to enact her plan.

"Ashleigh,
are you there?" Patrick's big voice boomed as she came through the front
door.

"Patrick!
And Megan! Oh, God, it's good to see you!"

Patrick
alighted from the stallion he rode and came to help Megan from her mare. Behind
them, on a long tether, stood a prancing Irish Night.

The
two rushed forward to greet Ashleigh.

"When
we heard what kept ye, we decided t' bring ye yer filly ourselves." Megan
grinned. "How are ye, darlin'?"

Ashleigh
had thought her tears were stoutly behind her a few moments ago, but now,
seeing their dear, loving faces, she found she'd been wrong. Suddenly a great,
choking sob welled up in her throat and hung on the air.

"Oh,
Megan! Patrick!" she cried, and threw herself into their arms.

Brett
stood on the balcony beside Tom Blecker, the master carpenter at Ravensford
Hall, a man he'd known since he was a boy. He watched as the old man kneeled
and peered worriedly at the underside of the piece of broken railing.

"So
you think it's been tampered with, Tom?" he asked grimly.

"I
don't
think,
Yer Grace... I
know!
Pried loose at this
joint," he said, pointing to a place on the railing. "'Ere, see fer
yerself... 'ere's th' marks wot th' crowbar left... neatly 'idden t' view,
unless ye creep way under it, like this."

Brett
knelt down beside him and looked, but the act was mostly a courtesy. He knew
the old man well, and one thing he'd learned over the years was that, in
matters of his trade, Tom's word was unimpeachable.

With
an uneasy sigh, Brett stood and ran a hand through his hair. What in hell was
going on? Who would be trying to kill Ashleigh... or him? Images drifted into
his mind... images of another accident—only that one had been fatal.

Shaking
his head as if to clear it, Brett looked at Tom. "Thank you for coming out
for this," he said.

Tom
nodded respectfully, a worried look in his eyes.

"But
now, Tom, I must ask you one more thing."

"Aye,
Yer Grace?"

"Please
say nothing of this to anyone. I wish to do some careful thinking on what this
discovery implies before I decide what we're to do about it. Can you give me
your promise?"

Tom's
eyes met the turquoise gaze openly. He'd known the lad almost all his life, and
he was heartily fond of this present duke of Ravensford. His Grace was a
fair-minded man, and a smart one, to boot. If he'd determined the matter needed
studying and closed lips in the process, there was likely good reason for it.

"Ye
hae me word on't, Yer Grace."

"Good
man," said Brett, clapping him on the shoulder. "And now I'll be
heading back to the Hall while you remain to make your repairs. Shall I send
one of the other men to help you?"

Tom
gave him a gap-toothed smile. "Nay, 'tis easily mended by one. But, if ye
d' nae mind, Yer Grace, I'll be checkin' on t' other balcony as well." He
gave his employer a pointed look.

"You're
one step ahead of me, Tom. I was just about to ask that." Brett headed for
the stairs. "Take your time with it. I'll water the pony and move him and
your dray into the shade before I leave."

* * * * *