The Mistress of Trevelyan (15 page)

Mr. McGuire shook his head, tumbling wisps of gray hair over his forehead and knocking his bifocals to the end of his nose. "Ah, lass, there's a different set of rules when it comes to the rich. Ye've seen enough of the West to know that. The doctor gave his expert opinion on several occasions at official inquiries, and each time his theory didn't hold sway against Benedict Trevelyan's influence and desire to have the death declared a suicide."

My heart and stomach collided, making me suddenly ill.

"O, let me not be mad, not mad," squawked Puck.

I blessed Puck for the interruption, then prayed my legs would hold me upright as I moved toward a chair. My mouth felt dry, and a dizzy sensation tilted the room before me. I managed to sit rather than fall, but I had to swallow three times before I could speak. "Mr. Trevelyan has deliberately thwarted efforts to find his wife's murderer?"

Never was I more thankful that Mr. McGuire's eyesight was poor at a distance. For he surely would have noted my shock, and I would have been hard-pressed to explain how deeply my emotions had already been ensnared by the Trevelyan family after only two weeks of employment

Mr. McGuire shrugged, his watery eyes gravely concerned. "Seems to be so, lass. Ye must take care."

I nodded my head, still trying to grasp what Mr. McGuire meant. "You must tell me. What exactly did the doctor say? Why is he so sure Francesca Trevelyan was murdered?"

"It's a good thing ye are sitting down, because the truth of it isn't pretty. Seems that Francesca Trevelyan was a wee lass, given to vapors, and oft' took laudanum for severe headaches. Dr. Levinworth began seeing her when she married Benedict Trevelyan and swears the lass ne'er would have chosen such a painful death. Ye ken what I mean?"

I forced myself to breathe before I fell unconscious. "She would not have jumped from the mansion's tower."

"Aye. Dr. Levinworth says she'd have overdosed on laudanum and died in her soft bed were she of the mind to do herself in." He paused and pushed his bifocals back to the bridge of his nose then lowered his voice. "There's more. The lass smelled heavily of laudanum at the time of her death, and her injuries indicate she fell headfirst from the tower instead of feet first, as you'd expect."

I shivered, seeing in my mind the gruesome image of a drugged Francesca being thrown from the tower window, unable to stop her brutal death. I was familiar with laudanum. My mother had needed it the last few days of her life, and I knew the drug to be powerful enough to have rendered any man or woman helpless. My stomach heaved at the wickedness of such an act, and my heart immediately denied that Benedict Trevelyan could be so cruel.

"I fear there's yet more." Mr. McGuire cleared his throat, a blush creeping across his wrinkled, spotted cheeks." 'Tis a bit unseemly for me to mention such a thing, but ye must know. She was with child when she died, she was."

"Oh, no!" I cried, my heart hurting for what Benedict Trevelyan must have felt in losing not only his wife but an unborn child as well.

"Frailty, thy name is woman," Puck squawked. I glared at the infernal bird, wondering what imp inhabited his feathered spine. His quips were too uncanny to ignore; nevertheless, ignore them I did. "That's so tragic."

"Aye, the lass was three months along, according to Dr. Levinworth. It was this fact Benedict Trevelyan paid the officials to hide."

"But why? I don't understand what—"

"Benedict Trevelyan had only returned home a week before she died. He'd been gone six months." McGuire's words rang like a death knell in my mind as I hurried back to Trevelyan Hill. All the brightness of my day of freedom had been stolen. Even the prospect of wearing one of my new dresses to dinner held no joy.

The air was heavy in my lungs, almost too thick to breathe, forcing me to gasp for air as I rushed up the hill to the manor at a painful pace. Whether I was fleeing from what I'd learned or hurrying to find proof that Mr. McGuire's implications were false, I knew not. I just wanted to get to Trevelyan Manor as quickly as possible.

Dark emotions ran deep within Benedict Trevelyan. I'd already seen glimpses of them, had already felt them rearing to the surface at unexpected moments, though I'd only known him a short time. He was a man capable of passion. He was a large man, a man of great strength, and more damning than anything else, he was a man of stern rigidity. What would such a man do when faced with an unfaithful wife who carried another man's child?

I drew closer to the house on Trevelyan Hill, not in the least surprised to see billowing clouds of fog cover its towers, roof, and upper windows, obscuring its stained glass windows as if to wipe any redeeming quality from its facade. I stopped in the street, thinking to catch my breath, but I believe it was more to give myself time before I faced the demon door and those who lived within the manor.

I heard the pounding hooves of a horse only moments before a dark specter charged from the mists, sending the fog in an uproar. Fingers of it whirled around me, brushing over my skin and making me shiver. Though a handful of feet separated me from the horse on the street, I still jumped back and cried out with fright. I again cursed my fear of horses, a completely impractical fear for a woman living in the West. Especially big, dark, hulking horses like the one Benedict Trevelyan rode so effortlessly, a man with iron hands who wore velvet gloves. He was in complete command and yet so gentle.

He must have seen me or heard me cry out, because he brought the horse to an abrupt, pawing stop and dismounted. I didn't take my gaze off of the beast as I stood there, frozen in place, paralyzed.

"Miss Lovell, I was just going to look for—"

The horse pranced to the side, nearing me, and the scream that was locked within my throat loosened with a fervor.

Benedict Trevelyan grabbed my arm. "Good God, woman! What in the devil is wrong with you?"

"The horse," I managed to gasp.

"What is wrong with it?" He glanced at the beast. "Damnation, Miss Lovell, if you see something bloody amiss with my horse, speak up."

I swallowed and finally could move enough to step back. "It is big." Pulling my gaze from the threat of the beast, I looked at Benedict Trevelyan, and for an unguarded moment, I saw what I could only describe as pain slash across his face, as if I'd taken a sword and struck him. Then what I'd seen disappeared so quickly behind a cold mask, I wondered if I had imagined it.

"Some things God made large. I thought you of all people would understand that." His reference to my height was unmistakable, and I wondered why he'd taken offense. It was as if I'd spoken of him, not his horse. The measuring stare he leveled on me clearly said that I'd shrunk considerably in his eyes. Apparently fear had no place in his life. His finding me lacking bothered me greatly. I wanted him to understand.

He turned away, adjusting the horse's reins, and I thought he was about to remount. Without thinking of how forward it would be, I placed my hand on his arm. Even through the material of my glove and his clothes, I could feel the heat of his body, feel the supple movement and strength of his muscles as he moved. I gasped, but didn't let go.

He froze, slowly focusing his gaze on my hand touching him, then met my gaze directly. Disdain no longer lurked in his dark eyes. A hunger had replaced it. Suddenly, I was thrust back to last night and the stark moment we had stared at each other in my bedroom.

I snatched my hand back. Fire flooded my cheeks as embarrassment and desire ran rampant inside me. I hurried to explain, glancing warily at the horse. "It's so powerful. When I was little, waiting for my mother at the doorway of the baker's, I saw a boy kicked and trampled by a horse. He died. It was awful."

Embarrassing me more, tears welled in my eyes. I looked away, my gaze settling on Trevelyan Manor; but instead of seeing in my mind's eye the dying boy, I saw Francesca Trevelyan, a broken and lifeless sacrifice at the house's foundation.

I fisted my hand, remembering the warm, strong feel of Benedict Trevelyan. I in no way felt as if I'd touched a murderer. Yet how could I know for sure? What darkness lurked within the shadows of his eyes?

"The only way to conquer your fears are to face them," he said softly, drawing my attention. He held out the horse's reins to me.

I shook my head, backing up. The image of Francesca turned to an image of myself beneath a horse's hooves. "No. I could not possibly ride that beast."

His laugh was strained, but I was thankful to find his manner a great deal less condemning than before. "I am not suggesting you ride Fjorgyn, only that you walk her a step or two."

"Fjorgyn?" I remarked. Desperately looking for a way to stall the inevitable, I searched my mind for where I'd heard the unusual name before, rolling the horse's name off my tongue again, until it came to me. "The mother of Thor, the god of thunder. According to Norse legend, Fjorgyn, the goddess of the earth, was one of Odin's wives."

He raised his brows. "This time, Miss Lovell, you must tell me how you happened upon so obscure a fact Most hear of Thor, or Odin, or Loki, and some know of Odin's wife Frigg because she is the namesake for Friday, but Fjorgyn?"

"I owe my knowledge of Odin and his wives to cursed stubbornness."

Amusement curved his lips. "Well, you cannot leave the story there. You will have to tell me more while I escort you up the drive." He gestured me forward and then fell into step beside me. He didn't comment on the wide berth I'd given his horse to step by him, and I was glad to see that he let the reins completely out, allowing the horse to follow at a distance.

Walking in the mists, I was more aware of him beside me than of the horse behind me. It was as if I was in a dream. The disturbing things I'd learned from Mr. McGuire didn't seem real. Death and murder weren't a part of this moment or even remotely connected to the man half-smiling at me. His riding coat was a deep, rich brown and topped a ruffled shirt, fawn breeches, and black boots. A lock of his dark hair had fallen to his forehead, adding to his rakish appeal, making him look younger and freer. Something inside me ached to know this man.

I found myself pretending. I was someone different—a woman who inspired passion. He wasn't my employer, but a man taken by me. And we were somewhere else, a place where he held my hand, and we strolled through the park with no more care upon our shoulders than observing the weather.

He had an effect on me that made other things fall into insignificance. I hardly noticed the fog closing in or the damp chill in the air. And I in no way connected him to murder.

"Miss Lovell, your story?"

Prompted, I snatched myself back to reality. "There is not much to the story. I may have mentioned Captain Balder to you. Whenever he was in port, he would come to have his clothes laundered, and my mother bartered lessons for me with her labor. He got clean clothes, and I learned about navigating by the stars, foreign lands, and how to swim."

"So he taught you about the gods of the Vikings?"

"Not directly. You see, every time he came to see us, he asked my mother to marry him. She would refuse, and then he would tell her she was cursed with stubbornness."

"I do not understand how that corresponds to Norse legends," he said, his brow furrowing.

I couldn't help but grin at the memory washing over me. "Captain Balder, also named after another son of Odin, had a wife in every port. What was good enough for his Norse ancestors was good enough for him. If Odin could have five wives or more, so could he. I learned about the Viking gods by listening to him give examples of what great sons polygamy produced. I do not think Captain Balder ever realized that he sunk his own ship by doing so. My mother went to the bookstore, read about the Norse gods, and decided the whole lot of them were immoral barbarians that she was better off without."

His laugh started low at first, then rumbled out loud and deep, surprising me, for I didn't think I'd said anything particularly funny. Still I joined him, embracing the memory. It surprised me to hear him laugh. I'd not expected moments of lightness from him. Here in the mists, it was almost as if he was a different person than the master of Trevelyan Hill in his dark study.

We laughed briefly, and the humor touched me, easing some of the burden that had settled on my heart at Mr. McGuire's. I wondered if I would ever have the courage to ask Benedict Trevelyan about his wife. For I didn't want to know the truth of things as we walked through the fog; I wanted to hide within it and pretend that the very manor before us didn't exist, that the tragic death of its mistress had never happened.

As we neared the steps, he stopped. "Tomorrow, Miss Lovell," he said, "meet me in the stables at six-thirty in the morning, and I will introduce you to another of Odin's wives."

I swallowed and may have nodded, but whatever I did must have indicated that I would meet him.

"Good," he said, mounting his horse. "And one more thing, Miss Lovell. I would not mention the intruder incident last night to anyone else. It is only something that will upset my mother and my sister. And you did say that it was possible you dreamed the problem, correct?"

This time, I did nod. Satisfied, he cantered off into the mist, and I wondered what my association with him was going to cost me. "Miss Lovell, you have caused quite a disturbance," Dobbs said the moment I stepped inside.

"I have?" I replied, snapping off my gloves as if I'd done so all of my life. That one act seemed to symbolize how drastically my life had changed, and I loved it If Dobbs hadn't stood there glowering at me, I would have put them on and snapped them off again. Satisfaction and a sense of achievement flooded through me as I laid my gloves over my arm and gave Dobbs my attention. "Please explain."

"Mr. Trevelyan has been in a quandary ever since the heavy fog began moving in. You left this morning without speaking to anyone. None knew where to even begin looking for you. This left me in an intolerable position. The master has raced off to search for you. And now I will be put to the task of sending a footman after him. This kind of behavior is most unseemly, and I will not tol—"