Shades of the Past (8 page)

Arriving before the porticoed entrance, Adrian leaped down, tossing the reins to the stable boy who rushed forward to greet him.  On entering the manse, he immediately encountered his butler, a short, spindly man of about sixty with thinning, white hair.

"Do you know the whereabouts of my brother, Timmons?"  He handed him his hat and gloves.

"I believe he is with Mrs. Wynters, your lordship."

"Indeed?"  Adrian tried to mask his surprise, or was it irritation that he felt?

"Yes, your lordship.  He offered to open the Photo House for Mrs. Wynters and help her transfer her photographic equipment there." 

"I see."  Adrian's brows pulled together as he imagined the nature of the help Lawrence might wish to offer her in Aunt Gwen's darkroom. 

He loved his brother but was not blind to his shortcomings, in particular those regarding women.  That Lawrence now closeted himself with the beautiful widow irked Adrian.  Considerably.

"I sent James and Woodrow to assist in the task," Timmons added.  "And Master Geoffrey wished to lend a hand too."

"Good!  Then Mrs. Wynters has plenty of chaperons,” Adrian blurted without thinking, his mood instantly lifting.

"Your lordship?"  Timmons canted his head.

Adrian felt his heat rise, realizing what he'd just said. 

"
Assistants
.  I meant to say, Mrs. Wynters has plenty of assistants to help her with her cameras and chemicals and the like." 

"Yes, your lordship.  And happy they are to do so, I am sure," Timmons replied perfectly straight-faced.  "Assist her, that is."

"Indeed."  The word came out a near growl.  Adrian tried not to glare at the butler.  "Thank you, Timmons.  Tell my brother to join me as soon as he is able.  I'll be in the west tower."

Without looking back, he started to make his way through the enfilade of doors that stretched along the front of the house and led to the tower stairs on the far end.  Changing his mind, he retraced his steps and climbed the grand staircase, heading for Olivia's former room.

Arriving there, Adrian paused at the cream-and-gilt double doors.  On his instructions, the bedchamber had remained untouched since his wife's death, excepting for an occasional airing and dusting.

He eased opened the right door then stood on the threshold, unmoving, gazing into the darkened interior.  The air assaulted him at once, stale and cloying.  Even now, it carried a trace of roses, Olivia's favorite scent.

Though heavy curtains shut out most of the light, the open door allowed in enough to illuminate the furniture and trappings which glowed of pale embroidered satins, the room decorated in the French rococo mode.  It was the only chamber of its kind in Sherringham.  Olivia had claimed the style reflected her own nature, calling it "sensually erotic."

He hated the room, her sanctuary, where once she'd made grand love to him, then later prohibited him.  But not so others, as he had learned.  Adrian stalked to the center of the room.  He would order it searched, inch-by-inch, for the missing gold band.  Then he'd have all the furnishings and trappings removed and burned. 

As he passed his gaze over the chamber, he could feel Olivia's suffocating presence.  It was near tangible.  Somehow, he must rid himself of her, for she continued to linger in his veins like a contaminant, poisoning his every waking day.

The scent of roses suddenly filled his nostrils once more.  Unable to bear it, he strode to the wall of curtains and yanked them back, then threw the center window wide.  He inhaled deeply of the fresh air, imagining the room’s memories, along with the odors, escaping their prison.

"Oh, hello," a feminine voice called from below.

Adrian glanced down to the courtyard which the room overlooked.  There stood Vanessa Wynters, holding a box and smiling up at him.  As his eyes met hers, her smile widened.  It was like a brilliant flash of sunshine beaming up at him, illumining the darkness that held him, slipping past the chinks in his carefully maintained armor.  His knees nearly buckled as he felt it reach into his heart.

"Hi, Uncle."  Geoffrey came into view, carrying a bundle, long in length and wrapped in cloth.  "Mrs. Wynters said I can be her special assistant.  She's going to teach me all about photography."

Adrian looked to Mrs. Wynters whose smile now shined on his eager-faced nephew.  He found his voice but only after he'd cleared it twice.

"Then you must pay close attention and do precisely what she says."

"Oh, yes, sir."  Geoffrey grinned.

At that moment, Lawrence appeared in the door of the Photo House, then stepped aside briefly to let James and Woodrow pass through and out.  Seeing Adrian, Lawrence paused a moment, obviously noting the room in which he stood.  He shuttered the surprise in his eyes, though it was not lost to Adrian.

"Timmons informs me you wish to see me."  Lawrence moved to the pretty widow's side causing Adrian to frown.

"When you are finished.  You'll find me in the west tower study."

Lawrence nodded, then relieved Mrs. Wynters of the box she carried and waited for her to precede him into the Photo House.  Casting up a parting glance, Lawrence smiled. 

"I'll see you later, brother," he called out as he disappeared into the house, Geoffrey trailing behind.

Adrian balled his hands as he stepped back from the window.  It did not improve his mood when he discovered his heart thudding heavily.  He could not explain the force of his emotions just now, or the sudden spike of jealousy he'd felt—still felt—knowing his brother basked in Vanessa Wynters's sunny smile. 

He clamped down on his feelings, shutting them off.  He'd vowed two-and-a-half years ago to allow no other woman near his heart.

 It disconcerted him that his emotions had near struck him prostrate.  No, not
emotions
, he corrected the thought.  Any attraction he felt for Vanessa Wynters was merely physical.  After all, she was fair and shapely and could heat any man's blood. 

But he wanted no entanglements with that tender sex.  None of a serious or lasting nature.  Had he not endured two ghastly marriages?  If he wasn't cursed in matters of love then, certainly, he was a supremely poor judge of women.  Clairissa and Olivia tormented him still.

No, he'd not risk his heart again.  Better for him if he didn't become involved.  Better for her.  Then too, what would Vanessa Wynters think of a man suspected of both his wives' murders?

His eyes drew to the courtyard once more.  Just then she reemerged from the Photo House, a vision of loveliness and light.

Adrian threw up a wall against his feelings.  But in the next instant, a fierce anger welled up inside him afresh.  He was a man shackled by his past, a past that refused to release him.

Again the scent of roses teased at his nostrils.  It served only to heighten his ire.  Images of Olivia flashed in his mind's eye.  It was she who bound him, more so than Clairissa.  She'd promised that last night that he would never be free of her, that she'd ruined him for all others. 

A sudden fury took hold of him.  Crossing to the great bed, he set his hands to the silk hangings and began ripping them down.

"Witch!  You have no power over me," he shouted aloud.  "I'll not allow it."

Trampling the silk underfoot, he swung his angry gaze over the room, then stood heaving for breath.  Still, her suffocating presence surrounded him, the scent of roses intensifying. 

It was only an illusion, a trick of mind, he told himself.  The chamber, itself, with all its tangible reminders, preyed mercilessly on his mind. 

But then the dark truth assailed him, as it had for months.  He was far from free of his second viscountess.

Mad with frustration, he fisted his hands and shouted out once more. 

"Damn it, Olivia!  Are you even dead?"

Adrian Marrable possessed Vanessa's thoughts as she reentered the Photo House.

When first she'd spied him in the window overlooking the courtyard, he'd worn a deep scowl.  But it quickly changed to a look of surprise when she sent him her smile.  Or was it shock she'd seen register in his features?  Even now she was unsure what she'd read there.  Could the man find a simple, heartfelt smile so unsettling?  Did others so rarely give him theirs?

"Where would you like the chest, madam?"

Vanessa glanced to James where he waited on the door's threshold, gripping Lady Gwen's weighty oak chemical chest by its side handles.
 
Her
chemical chest now.

"Against the far wall will do," she directed, feeling a sting of guilt that she should gain from her employer's death.

Vanessa stepped aside for James to pass then swept her gaze over the spacious, square room with its dust laden tables, benches, and shelves.

"We will need cleaning supplies—brooms, buckets, soap  . . . ," she commented, half to herself, as she ordered her thoughts.  "Everything will need a thorough scrubbing." 

She plucked a filmy glass beaker from a nearby shelf and held it to the light.

Geoffrey left his Uncle Lawrence's side where they were in the course of opening the shuttered windows and hurried over to her. 

"Can we unpack the boxes first, Mrs. Wynters?  Mama says, I'm capital at unpacking, and I'd very much like to see all your equipment."

Vanessa smiled at the boy's eagerness.  She replaced the container then lay her hand on his shoulder. 

"One of the first lessons a photographer must learn is that
cleanliness
is vital to our craft."  

Geoffrey's smile visibly drooped along with his enthusiasm.  Resolute, she pressed her point. 

"Dirt can ruin a camera's mechanisms and contaminate the solutions and sensitive papers we use to produce our photographs."  She gave a heartening squeeze to his shoulder.  "Why don't you scare up some buckets and brushes and the like?  There will be time aplenty for unpacking and perhaps even for some picture taking today."

Geoffrey's grin sprang back into place at that prospect.  With a bob of his head, he scurried out.

"I'll help him find what you need, mum."  Woodrow tipped his soft cap and, having finished relocating a tall cupboard at her request, followed after the boy.

Moments later, James likewise withdrew, saying there was yet another crate to fetch.  

Vanessa found herself suddenly alone with Lawrence.  As his blue gaze settled on her from across the room, she realized he was equally aware of their circumstance.

Self-conscious, Vanessa crossed to the long worktable that lined the wall, left of the room's entrance.  She began to inspect the worktable's row of deep drawers, suspecting Lady Gwen had once used them for drying and storing her glass negatives.

The fine hairs raised along the back of her neck as Lawrence moved directly behind her, then leaned closer.  His body brushed hers as he reached past her side and drew his finger through the table's thick dust.

"Two-and-a-half years’ worth of dirt will take hours to remove," he said at her ear in a low, liquid voice.  "Perhaps, I should send for a battery of maids and free your day."

Vanessa stiffened, as much from his nearness as from his warm breath teasing her neck.  Obviously, he held his own plans for her day. 

Taking a sideways step along the worktable, she managed to free herself enough to turn and face him.  She forced a smile then felt it wobble. 

"I am sure Geoffrey and I are up to the task here.  But thank you," she said firmly.

Lawrence straightened his stance, then flicked a glance past her shoulder to where she knew a large basin stood with double spigots projecting from the wall. 

"At least the water need not be hauled.  It's one of the advantages of converting a wash house into a photographer's laboratory."  His gaze returned to her, drifting over her face and hair, then downward over her bodice to her hands.  He closed the space between them and captured her fingers in his own.  "I do hate to think of your lovely hands shriveled and red.  Scrubbing is not a lady's chore, Vanessa dear." 

"But it is a
photographer's
chore."  She tugged her hands free and moved apart of Lawrence, crossing to the center of the room.  She tried to not appear as nervous as she felt.  When would the others return?

"You say this was a wash house?"  Vanessa could only hope to distract him and engage his thoughts with something other than herself.  "Of course, this is not really a house, is it?  Not a separate, freestanding building, I mean." 

Lawrence slowly strode toward her.  At the same time, he ran his gaze casually over the room. 

"The entire wing that stretches along this side of the courtyard once functioned as a service area.  Those quarters were relocated long ago, during one of Sherringham's many renovations.

"I see."  She fell back a pace as he neared.

"My father converted the old laundry to a Photo House for Aunt Gwen on the occasion of her thirty-fifth birthday."

"That was certainly generous of him," Vanessa replied, finding herself nearly backed to the cupboard.

Lawrence smiled.  "Father feared his sister might not see another birthday, if he didn't.  Auntie had acquired a host of ailments from inhaling fumes from those blasted chemicals she was using.  She even fainted several times while heating her mercury."

"How frightening."

He shrugged.  "Yes, but not surprising.  She'd insisted on working in a cramped cell of a room with poor ventilation."

Vanessa found she could retreat no more.  Thankfully, Lawrence stayed his own step. 

She felt suddenly silly as they stood there, staring at each other, she fearing he was about to pounce on her.  Lawrence was a well-bred gentleman, after all.  Though he seemed to enjoy flaunting conventions at times, and his advances were certainly bold, surely he would never compromise a lady or her reputation.

"Father deemed the old laundry at the end of this wing perfect for Auntie's needs," he was saying.  "I think you'll find it most functional.  He incorporated many clever details to suit a photographer's special requirements.  Here, let me show you." 

Vanessa forced herself to relax a degree—but only a degree—as he drew her to the window, several steps away.  Like its twin on the opposing wall, the window was bracketed with solid-paneled shutters.

"See how these are edged with felt strips so that they completely seal out the light?" Lawrence pointed out, then purposely closed the shutters, casting them in shadow. 

He turned back to her, a gleam appearing in his eyes. Catching her by both arms, he drew her against him.  Vanessa gasped at his audacity and tried to wrest free, but he held her fast.

"Vanessa, you must know how I—"

"This is the last box, madam," James's voice rang out from the portal, startling them both.  "Shall I put it with the others?"

Lawrence glared at the servant but released Vanessa.  She quickly threw open the shutters, her pulses drumming in her veins, her temper burning.

"
Yes,
James.  Over here."  She left Lawrence at the window and conducted the manservant to the exact spot where she wished him to place the box.  When he wouldn't meet her eyes, she feared he would seek to leave as quick as he could.  She had to delay him.

"James, I made a dreadful mistake when I instructed Woodrow to move the cupboard," she improvised.  "Could you move it back to where it was before?"

James did not look pleased when he eyed the bulky piece of furniture which, in actuality, was an old, oversized armoire.  Nevertheless, he set to work without a word.

Lawrence likewise looked displeased—displeased that she'd detained the man.  Just as she was about to suggest he leave, he dusted off the end of a table with his handkerchief and perched there, apparently accepting his temporary setback while he waited for James to finish.

Vanessa glanced out the door for Geoffrey and Woodrow.  Finding no sign of them, she sent up a prayer they would hurry back.

“Your father and aunt must have been exceptionally close,” she remarked, ending the awkward silence, desperate to divert his interest from herself.  "Majel mentioned that Lady Gwen was 'as a second mother' to you and your brother and sisters.  Did your own mother die early in life?"

Something moved in the depths of Lawrence's eyes.  When he did not immediately answer, she wondered if she'd tread upon a painful subject.

"No," he said at last.  "But mother kept very busy being the Viscountess Marrable and impressing London society and the Country House set.  She died only six years past, and most fashionably, I would add."

Vanessa detected a trace of bitterness in his tone. 

"Aunt Gwen, on the other hand, rarely left Sherringham and was as much a part of our lives as Nanny.  Of course, as we grew older, Adrian and I were sent away to school, and Mother drew the girls more and more to London to acquaint them with society and 'finish' them.  Fortunately, Aunt Gwen's photographic endeavors filled her time."

Lawrence pushed off the table, causing Vanessa to tense.  But he only shoved his hands in his pockets and paced back and forth, watching James reposition the cupboard.  Moments later, he turned back to Vanessa.  Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he came to stand before her.

"See here, I'm sorry if I seemed a bit rough or frightened you just now.  I can be an impetuous cad at times, but I'd not have you think ill of me.  You quite intoxicate a man, Vanessa Wynters.  Forgive me?"

His sudden contrition took Vanessa by surprise, as did his professed attraction to her.  Lawrence was an impulsive man, she was fast learning, his emotions ever near the surface and only lightly reined.  She never knew quite what to expect.  At the moment, he looked like a repentant overgrown child, a lock of golden hair tumbled over his forehead, his dimple appearing as he flashed her a tentative smile.

"Say, I have an idea."  His eyes brightened with his thought.  "Not all of Aunt Gwen's photos are stored in boxes.  Those of the family are kept in albums, a visual history of sorts.  You might enjoy seeing the Marrable siblings when we were wee mites.  Perhaps you'd allow me to show them to you later on, or tomorrow if that's more preferable."

Vanessa tried to gauge his sincerity as he held her eyes with his.  Reasonably satisfied, she allowed him her smile at last. 

"Perhaps.  Though, in truth, I find it hard to imagine you four as being young.  You and Cissy, I can, but not Majel or your brother, Adrian."

Lawrence raised an amused brow.  "You'd be surprised.  Between Auntie and Nanny, we were thoroughly spoiled and carefree."  Just as quickly his brow smoothed, weighted with some thought.  "Time does change a person, of course.  As does marriage.  Or, in my brother's case, should I say
marriages
?"

Vanessa tilted her head at the comment, wondering at his meaning or that he should have voiced it at all. 

At that moment Geoffrey and Woodrow materialized in the doorway, laughing at some banter they'd shared, each burdened with a host of mops, brooms, and cleaning supplies.

"Ah, the troops return," Lawrence murmured lightly, though his smile dimmed at the further invasion.  "I suppose it's best I take my leave and see why my distinguished brother has summoned me." 

He sketched a brief but charming bow to Vanessa and headed across the room.  At the portal, he paused and turned back. 

"I believe tea will be served on the east terrace at five.  I look forward to seeing you then, fair lady."

Vanessa felt herself flush at Lawrence's unconcealed flattery.

As she glanced to the others, their gazes darted away.  They'd been watching.  What they'd not seen, they'd certainly heard, she realized.  Especially James.  Marching to where Geoffrey propped the mops and brooms, she snatched one of the latter and attacked the dirt.

»«

Hours later, she and Geoffrey stood side-by-side, surveying their sparkling domain.  James and Woodrow had departed long before, when other duties pressed.  Still, the work had proceeded rapidly.

Smiling, Vanessa draped an arm over Geoffrey's shoulder.

"Now we unpack," she announced and laughed when her young assistant gave a whoop of joy.

They spent the next hours opening boxes and crates and finding homes for their contents.  Even Vanessa found herself stunned by the photographic arsenal she'd inherited. 

The array of cameras alone astonished her.  Aside from the faithful Meagher "tailboard" model that Lady Gwen had relied upon during their travels, there was a collection of early cameras dating back to the 1850s and several specialty cameras. 

The oak, sliding-box camera was by far the oldest and possessed an even earlier Petzval portrait lens.  Another, a folding camera of Austrian make, possessed
parallel
, rather than
taper
-sided bellows.  They were the only bellows she'd seen that were not red. 

Geoffrey's favorite was a binocular stereoscopic camera.  Vanessa could only wonder what or who Lady Gwen had photographed with the double-lens camera.  She hoped the prints and a stereoscope for viewing them were stored at Sherringham.  She would need to ask someone.  Her thoughts went to Lawrence, skipped to the viscount, and finally settled on Cissy.