The Last of Lady Lansdown (20 page)

“Yes, we must, but not now. I must get back.”

He gazed down at her, warm affection in his eyes. “I have never in my life met a woman like you. This is just the beginning.”

Before she could answer, the distant neigh of one of the horses brought her back to earth again. She gazed about the small, bare room, furnished with only a bed, small scratched dresser and wooden chair. What had she done? What was she doing here? “I must go.” She slid from the bed and began to collect her clothes, thinking with irony how she would love to see the look on Bruta’s face at the sight of parts of the wardrobe she kept so meticulously neat scattered carelessly about the floor.

Douglas, still stretched on the bed, watched her every move. “You
must
come to Lancaster Hall.”

“I can’t, I told you that.” What with all the giddy excitement of her tryst with Douglas, she had totally forgotten Beatrice, along with every other problem in her life. Now all her troubles came tumbling back, heavy on her mind.

Douglas swung from the bed and started to dress. He sent her a look of concern. “I shall worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” She continued to collect her clothes. When she was dressed again, she sat on the side of the bed, tugging at errant strands of her hair that hung about her shoulders. “My hair is a mess. Bruta’s sure to notice, and you know she’ll go running straight to Beatrice.”

“Then Bruta mustn’t know.” Douglas retrieved two tortoise shell combs that had fallen to the floor. “Where do these go?”

She took the combs and stood in front of the small cracked mirror. Collecting the errant strands, she fastened them in place atop her head. “Does it look all right?” She suspected her hair still looked pretty much a mess.

Douglas stepped behind her, picked up a strand she had missed and fastened it in place. “Bruta will either think you ruined your coiffure because you had a roll in the hay or,” he planted a warm kiss on the nape of her neck, “because you were galloping on Beauty, wind in your hair and all that.”

“Of course.” Her heart swelled with feeling as she turned to face him. She had known he was someone special from the very beginning. Now she saw with crystal clear understanding how kind he was, how caring and compassionate—all the things a woman could ever want in a man. Not only that, he was a marvelous lover. Except for the inadequate earl, she had no one to compare him to, but somehow she knew that no man in the world could send her to the peaks of exquisite pleasure the way Douglas Cartland had just now. She would love to make love to him again, but other matters pressed. Now was hardly the time.

“You must be careful. Get away from Beatrice as soon as you can. That woman means to harm you. Unless you’re extremely cautious, she will.”

Chapter 12

Returning to Chatfield Court, Jane felt as if she were floating on a gossamer cloud in a world far away. Making love with Douglas had opened a new world of pleasure, delight, and wild passion, all of which she had never known in all twenty-six years of what she now considered a bland, boring life. One thing was certain: after today, she would never be the same. Even so, despite her newfound euphoria, a touch of unease nagged at a corner of her mind. What if someone had peeked through the window of the maid’s room and seen them? She pictured Sir Archibald greeting her at the door with, “Aha! I know what you’ve been up to, you wicked woman, you strumpet!”

Fortunately no such event occurred, and when she walked into the empty entry hall, she found a late-afternoon stillness lay over the mansion, as if all occupants were napping, or otherwise engaged in their own pursuits, and no one knew or cared that she had just made wild, passionate love with Douglas Cartland. Her sanity returned. She realized quite probably no one except Bruta even realized she’d been gone. She was starting up the main staircase when her mother appeared.

“Jane, I want a word with you.”

Uh-oh. Her mother’s tone signaled that something wasn’t right. “Let’s go into the drawing room.”

They entered the drawing room, shut the doors, and settled on the two opposing sofas. “What is the matter?” Jane inquired. “You look so worried.”

“You know how I have always felt about Beatrice Elton.”

“I am well aware you don’t think she should be promoted to sainthood.”

“No, I do not.” Amelia gave no answering smile. Instead, she seemed subdued, not her usual talkative self at all. “I never liked her, what with her slyness and her nasty ways. Now my feelings go beyond that. I believe she is downright evil.”

“Beatrice?” Jane asked in feigned surprise. “That paragon of virtue? I am shocked.”

Mama fumbled with her lace handkerchief, a look of distress crossing her face. “Don’t joke.”

Jane set her expression into more solemn lines. “How did you reach the conclusion she is evil?”

“By the way she keeps asking and asking if you have ... you know, come ’round. Well, Jane, you know I am a very polite person. Up to now I’ve always given her a polite answer, but now she’s getting worse.”

“In what way?”

“She has become like someone demented. When I tell her I don’t know, she pretends to be nice, but I can see her teeth clench. Then this morning ...” Mama rolled her eyes in agitation.

“Do go on. I need to know.”

“This morning she asked again. It was just too much, the way she pushed me, and I finally said, ‘I wish you would stop bothering me. Whatever happens will happen.’ Well, she could not contain herself and this look of sheer hatred came over her face. ‘I
shall
be the Countess of Lansdown,’ she said, in the coldest way imaginable. I get chills, just thinking about it.” Mama pressed her handkerchief to her tight, grim mouth. “I didn’t believe you before, when you claimed she slipped that oil of pennyroyal into your tea. Well, I believe you now, and I’m terribly worried. She’s crazy and means to harm you.”

Jane put on a reassuring smile. “What you’ve told me is no surprise. Don’t worry. I am well aware of how Beatrice feels and am being extra careful. Besides, if worse comes to worst, I have been invited for a visit at Lancaster Hall. You’re invited, too. We all are. I don’t intend to go, though. I won’t give Beatrice the satisfaction of knowing she’s driven me out of the house.”

Mama nodded her head in agreement. “I, too, shall stay right here. I wish you would reconsider, though. If you’re gone, then I won’t have to worry about what Beatrice might do to you.” At last she smiled. “I want you and the baby to be safe.”

Jane shot a “No!” at her mother before she even thought. She had to take a moment to calm down, then shook her head decisively. “I am quite aware of the indications, but I still refuse to believe I’m with child.”

“All right, dear, have it your own way, but you are terribly, terribly late.” Amelia made a little moue. “Ironic, is it not? I want this baby as much as Beatrice does not.”

“Yes, ironic. Either way, someone is going to be extremely happy and someone is going to be extremely upset.”

Mama beamed. “Happy? I shall be ecstatic, not only for my sake, but I shall rejoice when that woman gets what she deserves. Meanwhile, I want nothing to do with her. I shall take my meals in my room from now on.”

“You will do no such thing. We shall not let Beatrice keep us from our own dining room. Tonight we will go downstairs and act as if nothing happened.”

Jane expected further argument, but instead, Mama nodded. “Very well, if you say so.”

“I say so, much as I also prefer to stay in my room, not only to avoid my sister-in-law but also to keep away from Percy and those revolting, lecherous looks he gives me.”

Just amazing. Jane sat at her place in the dining room, glancing around the table. If a stranger had been invited to dinner, he would judge from the friendly, animated conversation that this was one big, happy family spending another congenial evening together. She continued to be amazed at Beatrice, who, acting the gracious hostess from the bottom of the table, helped keep the chatter going with a continual smile and occasional merry peal of laughter. To Jane’s relief, Percy was not in his usual place. “Indisposed,” according to Beatrice. Well, whatever the reason, it was fine with Jane.

While the servants cleared the soup bowls away, Beatrice addressed Jane. “Did you enjoy your ride today?

Caught off guard, Jane nearly dropped her fork.
How did you know I was riding
?
Do you also know where I went and what I did
? Another horrible vision popped into her head: this time it was Beatrice peeking through the window of the maid’s room at the dower house, her eyes widening with shock as she spied Jane entwined naked on the bed with Douglas Cartland. The very thought made her want to run from the room and hide. Instead, she gathered her wits. “I enjoyed my ride immensely. The fresh air was quite invigorating.”

Fortunately Beatrice did not pursue the subject. Obviously, she was simply asking in order to be polite.

After they had consumed the main course of salmon, chicken pie, and roast pheasant and were awaiting dessert, Beatrice unexpectedly arose from the table. “Is that rain I hear?” With her usual tiny, affected steps, she minced to the large, leaded glass window overlooking the sloping lawn that led to the river. She pulled back the heavy drape and peered into the darkness. “I was wrong about the rain, but ... oh, gracious!” Her hand flew to her heart. “Whatever is that glow in the sky? Is it a fire? I do believe it is coming from the stables.”

Stables ... fire ... Beauty!
Jane leapt up, pushing her chair back so hard it tipped over. She rushed to the window. Over Beatrice’s shoulder she saw a red glow in the darkness. It indeed seemed to come from the area of the stables. “Dear Lord, my horse!” She spun around and ran from the dining room, faintly hearing her mother calling, “Now, Jane, I really don’t think you should ...”

She lost the rest of Mama’s sentence as she dashed across the entry hall, flung open the door that led to the path to the river, and raced outside without closing it behind her. For a brief moment, she paused and looked toward the stables, hidden from view by the bend in the river. The red glow in the sky grew larger, intensified. She picked up the hem of her skirt and started to run, her laced silk slippers pounding on the rough flagstones. Was Beauty in her stable? Of course she was. Timothy always brought the horses in at night. Perhaps he had led all the animals to safety by now, but Beauty’s stall was the last in the row. He might rescue the other horses first, that is, if he was there and had been able to rescue any at all.
Oh, dear God.
She ran faster.

Halfway to the stables, she saw a slender lick of flames leap toward the sky. The thought that her beautiful horse could burn to death caused her to cry an anguished, “Beauty, oh, no!” Her lungs burned, her heart pounded, but she ran faster still, skirt held high, her feet fairly flying over the path.

She rounded the bend of the river and gasped in horror at the sight that lay before her. There stood the stables, fully engulfed in flames. Through heavy, dark smoke pouring from the entrance, she saw three figures emerge—a man, a boy, and a horse with a blanket over its head. She recognized Timothy and young Hugh, the stable boy. Was that Beauty they were leading? With the last of her strength she sped down the path, stumbled into the courtyard and stood gasping for breath in front of Timothy. Instantly she saw the horse he was leading wasn’t hers. Over the crackling of flames and the whinnies of frightened horses, she shouted, “Where is Beauty?”

Rivulets of tears from his reddened eyes ran down Timothy’s black-sooted face. “You can’t go in, ma’am,” he called in a desperate voice hoarse from smoke. “The roof’s about to go.”

“Is she still inside?”

“Can’t stop now, ma’am.” He turned to Hugh, who started back inside. “No, boy, don’t go back. Too dangerous. You’ve done what you can.”

She grabbed Timothy’s arm. “Beauty is still inside? You must tell me!”

“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t think we can get to her. I can save one more ...” He turned away, yelling at Hugh, “Hurry, get this horse out of here. I’ll go in one more time.”

A shower of burning embers fell from the sky, one landing on Jane’s shoulder. She knocked it away, but not before the excruciating pain reminded her of what Beauty must be suffering at this very moment. Just then she heard a horse’s desperate neigh and knew it was Beauty. She looked toward the entrance but could see nothing inside except a black cloud of smoke and an ominous red glow. As she watched, Timothy ran back inside, a wet towel pressed to his face. Could she, too run into the flames? She heard Beauty again, an anguished, frightened neigh that tore at her heart and removed all doubt in her mind. If Timothy could do it, so could she ... or die in the attempt.

She grabbed a towel already soaked with water and a blanket from the pile outside the door. Pressing the towel to her face, she took a deep breath and plunged inside. A fiery hell enveloped her. The roar of the flames, burning embers swirling around her, black smoke … If she breathed it in, it would surely choke her. Worst of all, the heat was scorching her skin to the point it was nearly unbearable, but bear it she would.

Timothy stumbled by, leading the last of the matched grays. “Get out, ma’am. You can’t get Beauty. The roof is about to collapse. For God’s sake, get out!”

No
. She would not let Beauty die in such a horrible way. Pressing the wet towel tighter to her face, still holding the deep breath she took outside, she started down the passageway lined with stalls. The heavy smoke nearly blinded her. She started to feel for the floor-to-ceiling posts that marked each stall.
Must hurry, hurry
. The smoke was so thick she could barely creep along. She would not turn back, though. Beauty’s desperate whinnies filled her ears, along with a hard, heavy pounding that came from the horse’s continually rearing up, striking her hooves against the wall. Her hand found the first post, then the second. At the third, she could hold her breath no longer. She remembered what Papa once told her: in case of fire, crawl, stay close to the ground. She dropped to her knees and bent as low as she could. Removing the wet towel from her face, she drew in a deep breath and immediately started choking. Gasping for breath, she willed herself to continue on and began to crawl along the rough-planked floor, still choking, her eyes smarting, tears streaming down her cheeks.