The Third Heiress (37 page)
Authors: Brenda Joyce
Then marry me, Kate thought, but she said no such thing. “I don’t care about the gossips. I care about you.”
He was motionless. “You are a woman without guile—a woman of vast courage. I care about you, too, Kate. Still, our emotions are running wild. They might run away with us. We must exercise caution.”
“Why? What good is caution? Does that bring joy, love, happiness?”
His eyes were unblinking, and filled with a serious light.
“Should we live life fettered by the likes of Lady Bensonhurst?” Kate cried. “If we should live our lives, always caring what others think of us, pray tell me how one finds happiness, not misery?” She stared, imploring.
“I have found happiness with you, my lord. Do not ask me to throw it away because of a few bitter, jealous old ladies with wagging tongues who delight in causing trouble.”
“I have found happiness with you, my lord. Do not ask me to throw it away because of a few bitter, jealous old ladies with wagging tongues who delight in causing trouble.”
He reached for her and pulled her close, embracing her without kissing her. He held her for a long moment. “I do not want to hurt you,” he said.
Kate pulled back so she could see his face. “And how would you hurt me, my lord?”
“My father plans for me to marry some proper English miss. He has a list of young ladies with impeccable lineage, huge fortunes, and overly significant titles. I am a hair’s breadth away from falling in love with you, Kate. Maybe I am already in love with you.” His hand raked through his hair. “That would be a terrible mistake. It would be a mistake for us both.”
Kate drew away. “Love, if it is true, if it is brave, if it is strong, is never a mistake.”
“You are too romantic,” he said.
“Yes, I am. And will you always obey your father?” Kate returned unsteadily.
“I am his heir. I have a duty to him, to the earldom,” Edward said flatly.
Kate remained motionless. Despair mingled with joy. He wanted her, perhaps he even loved her, as she did him, but he was honor-bound to obey his father, to marry some proper Englishwoman with an ancient title and a fortune. How could he even conceive of such a thing if he was falling in love with her?
Then Kate reminded herself of the power of true love, of the destiny of two fated souls. She had loved him from the moment she had seen him, that day at Brighton, and she knew he loved her, too, as passionately—it was there in his eyes, even now. Surely one very old man, powerful as he was, would not stand in their way. True love, Kate knew, would always prevail. “I will not tell you good-bye when we have only just begun.”
He smiled slightly. “Did I speak of good-byes? I am not capable of saying good-bye to you, Kate. Perhaps that is what so frightens me.”
“It does not frighten me,” Kate returned softly, exhilarated yet again.
His eyes darkened and he pulled her into his arms another time. This kiss was reckless, so much so that they fell to their knees in the grass, where they remained locked in an embrace until a cloud passing overhead blocked out the sun and brought them back to their senses.
And later, that night, when Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of her room, listening to the sounds of lovemaking coming from the adjacent bedchamber where Lady Cecilia was allowing Lord Howard certain liberties,
she thought about Edward, his sense of duty, and their blossoming love—which they only dared to claim. Edward’s father might disapprove of her, but that was not going to stop her from seizing her dreams. Kate had no doubts. A true love such as theirs was far more powerful than a seventy-year-old man who should have died well over a decade ago.
she thought about Edward, his sense of duty, and their blossoming love—which they only dared to claim. Edward’s father might disapprove of her, but that was not going to stop her from seizing her dreams. Kate had no doubts. A true love such as theirs was far more powerful than a seventy-year-old man who should have died well over a decade ago.
Kate fell asleep, a smile upon her face, dreaming of Edward and the future that belonged to them.
S
he saw the three of them, Anne and Edward and Kate.
he saw the three of them, Anne and Edward and Kate.
Jill tossed restlessly as the sights and sounds of a dinner party became more vivid, more clear, finally coming into sharp focus. She knew she was asleep, and dreaming—and she did not want to dream. Tension kept her body stiff and rigid even as she slept.
But it was only a dinner party, she managed to think. A long table was covered in a blinding white tablecloth, crystal stemware, and gold flatware, with beautiful gold-rimmed plates. Overhead were three or four huge crystal chandeliers, illuminating the room, causing the glasses to catch the light. Several dozen ladies and gentlemen were present, all resplendently dressed for evening, the men in black dinner jackets, the ladies in bare gowns of silk, taffeta, chiffon, in a riot of rainbow colors. Gems glittered upon swanlike throats, dangled from delicate earlobes, winked from graceful fingers. Laughter mingled with the quieter tones of pleasant conversation and the clinking of flutes and wineglasses.
Kate was astonishing in her beauty. Her bronze lace gown daringly bared all of her shoulders and a great deal of her chest. Her curly hair was for the moment tamed, swept back and up on top of her head and held there with diamond pins in the shape of butterflies. A gold locket was around her neck. Jill recognized it immediately and her tension, and her expectation of dread, grew. She knew there would be two exquisite portraits inside, one of Kate, the other of Anne.
Edward was seated across from Kate, beside Anne. In his tuxedo and white shirtfront, he was outstanding—impossibly debonair, elegant, utterly handsome. He was smiling, his gaze on Kate.
Jill could not see Anne clearly. Her gown was a soft blue, perhaps. Her dark hair was, she thought, curled and hanging loose. But her face refused to come into focus. Beside Edward, Anne somehow vanished among the other guests, as if plain and nondescript, as if she were only a shadow of herself.
Edward caught Kate’s eye, lifting his flute ever so slightly in a silent salute, to her, for her, to them.
Kate hid her smile, casting her eyes down.
Anne watched them both.
Jill turned over onto her back, wanting to wake up. She did not want to know what might happen next. Kate was happy, Edward was happy, it was too good to be true …
The gardens at night, rich with the scent of hyacinth, freesia, lilies, and tuberose. A star-studded night. The guests were strolling outside. Inside, a small string orchestra played. Jill had never heard a harp before, but she recognized its melodious notes now. The pleasant harmony drifted on the night air. Anne, Edward, Kate. The trio was standing by a stone balustrade, not far from a water fountain. Edward said something amusing. Kate’s laughter was low, husky, Anne’s startling in its high, unusual pitch.
I must wake up, now, before something terrible happens, Jill thought, her fingers digging into the bed beneath her. It was cold, wet.
Why was it cold and wet?
Why was she so cold? Freezing cold, in fact?
Jill’s fear grew, she froze.
Anne excused herself.
Jill felt as if she were there. She could not move. She watched Anne turning, leaving the terrace, moving with a grace she must have been schooled in since a child, wanting to see her face—yet not wanting to. Yet Jill could not envision her expression. Anne’s small back was to her. Was she dismayed? Hurt? Angry? Or at this point in time, did she not even care about the love affair unfolding before her very eyes?
Was she happy for Kate?
Kate and Edward watched her go. Then Edward touched Kate’s bare shoulder. She turned to him, face uplifted, eyes soft with love.
A stone wall reared itself up in front of Jill.
No! She tried to shout, to scream, the wall so close that she could touch
it, push at it, desperately, but it did no good, it would not move. It was cold and rough beneath her fingertips.
it, push at it, desperately, but it did no good, it would not move. It was cold and rough beneath her fingertips.
No! Jill wanted to wake up. She wanted to wake up now, before she saw something she did not wish to see—not ever again.
The stone wall loomed over her. Jill tried to push it away with all of her strength, the effort costing her dearly, hurting her hands, her shoulders, her back. Sweat began to trickle down her body, down her temples, interfering with her vision. No! As she pushed again, the wall seemed to be moving toward her, leaning in over her, closing in upon her …
Kate’s face flashed before her eyes. Alight with love and laughter, the locket on the velvet ribbon about her neck.
And in the next instant, the image changed. Kate’s face was stricken with fear. Her porcelain skin was streaked with tears and dirt. Her eyes were wide, imploring, filled with desperation, and she was reaching out, reaching out, something in her hand …
Jill sat up with a cry.
For one instant, she did not know where she was, still caught up in the dream, Kate’s face in front of her, strained with fear, her hand extended toward her.
Jill clutched the ground. And only then did the dream vanish, as Jill’s fingers dug into cold, wet dirt.
She inhaled, in that shocking instant realizing that she sat outside, in the dirt and grass, as dawn’s gray light crept over the night. Jill glanced wildly around.
A mist was swirling over the grounds, but she could just make out the stone walls of the house, perhaps fifty yards from where she sat. She had wandered outside in her sleep!
Jill looked down at herself in amazement. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Her nightclothes were soaking wet and streaked with dirt. She realized she was just as wet, and freezing cold. Shivering, Jill slowly got up, pushing her hair out of her face.
Her teeth began to chatter. She had never walked in her sleep before. She did not know what to think.
Hugging herself—for it was forty degrees or so out and she was barefoot and hardly dressed—Jill ran back toward the house. As she did so, the day grew even lighter. A pink blush stained the mist, the sky. Glancing toward the sea, she could make out the glowing red sun rising over the horizon.
Jill was still dazed as she crossed the terrace that let onto what Alex called “the music room.” In Kate’s time, he had said, the company would
spend an hour or so after supper in the music room, allowing various young ladies to play the piano or the harp and sing for everyone. Jill found the French doors wide open. Was this, then, how she had come outside last night?
spend an hour or so after supper in the music room, allowing various young ladies to play the piano or the harp and sing for everyone. Jill found the French doors wide open. Was this, then, how she had come outside last night?
And for just how long had she been outside? she wondered wildly. She had no recollection of leaving her bed, much less her room or the house.
Jill paused in the music room. Both the grand piano and a harp remained in it, the harp removed to a corner by a pair of windows, the piano in a central location. Shivering, she crossed her arms more tightly around herself, her befuddled mind now recalling that she had dreamed not just about Kate, but about Edward and Anne, as well. She had been afraid as the dream unfolded, but nothing had really happened in the dream, it had merely been some kind of dinner party, with Kate and Edward having eyes only for one another. It had been so vivid, so real, and they had clearly been in love.
Jill was still disoriented and confused. Why hadn’t she dreamed of Edward being a cold and cunning playboy, out to use Kate? Unfortunately, he had been rather likable, but it had only been a dream.
Suddenly Jill remembered the last, frightening part of her dream. Kate had been frantically, desperately reaching out, toward someone, with something in her hand. Had she been trying to give something to someone? If so, who? And what had she been holding?
Then Jill recalled the stone walls. Her stomach tightened and lurched, sickeningly, and Jill was afraid she might throw up.
She waited a moment for her lurching stomach to subside, and then she turned and closed the terrace doors. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a gold-framed mirror that hung above a pedestal table against one flocked wall. Jill froze.
Then, trembling, slowly, she looked at her reflection again.
And for a blinding instant, she saw Kate.
Not as she had been at the dinner party in her evening gown, but as she had been in the tower, her face pale and dirty, her hair tangled in knots, swirling around her face.
Jill’s heart began to pound.
Jill walked slowly to the mirror, pausing a foot or so in front of it, afraid to look at herself again.
But she did. Her face was as white as a new sheet. But dirt streaked it. Her hair was a riot of tangles, cascading about her face. Her eyes were huge, and in this light, they appeared black. And because her skin was so pale, her mole stood out darkly on her face.
She looked exactly like Kate. Fair, curly-haired, sensuous, terrified. Fear seized Jill. Suddenly she whirled to flee.
Alex gripped her shoulders. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?”
J
ill stood in her bathroom wrapped up in the thick terry robe, hugging herself, staring at her pale face in the mirror. She had just gotten out of the shower and steam filled the bathroom, clouding the mirror. She was frightened. She had never walked in her sleep before. What was happening to her?
ill stood in her bathroom wrapped up in the thick terry robe, hugging herself, staring at her pale face in the mirror. She had just gotten out of the shower and steam filled the bathroom, clouding the mirror. She was frightened. She had never walked in her sleep before. What was happening to her?
She did not move. She did not want to leave the sanctuary of the steamy bathroom. Alex was in her bedroom. She could hear him speaking to someone—either he was on the phone or he was talking to a housemaid.
But she couldn’t remain in the bathroom forever. If only her mind would stop spinning, racing, if only she could shake off the crystal-clear images of that last, horrible dream.
Jill left the bathroom. Alex had been pacing; he paused in midstride. “Come. Sit by the fire. Before you catch pneumonia.”
She glanced at him as he pulled a huge armchair forward. She went and sat down in it. The upholstered chair dwarfed her. It was easier to obey than not.
Jill wanted to stop thinking, just for a while. But she couldn’t. What if she were losing the last of her marbles?
Alex pulled an ottoman in a paisley silk fabric over and sat down beside her. Jill watched the dancing fire. “Jill.” He took her hands in his. Jill was forced to meet his gaze. “You will become deathly ill if you keep this up. This has to stop.”
She stared at him. “I don’t know what happened,” she finally said. “I was walking in my sleep. Can you imagine?” Her light tone was high and forced.
“Is this a habit of yours?”
“No.” Jill felt herself losing her grip. She was ready to burst into tears. “I’ve never walked in my sleep before. I’m scared.”
“You don’t have to be scared,” he said calmly. “As soon as you’re dressed and ready we’ll drive back to London. I want you to go to my doctor. He’s a great guy. The old Marcus Welby type. He’ll check you out and give you something to calm you down, help you sleep. You need a few days of rest, Jill. No more hunting down Kate.” He smiled at her, his eyes warm.
Jill stared at him, her temples starting to pound. He was giving orders. He was telling her to quit her search for the truth. Why? “Alex, I’m so close, I can feel it. There’s something on my mind, some clue I’ve overlooked, and I know it’s going to come to me—”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said?” He was incredulous.
She hesitated. A knock on the door interrupted them. Alex stood, opening it. A young maid entered, followed by another girl, the two of them carrying trays loaded with coffee, tea, muffins, fruits, and several covered plates. Jill smelled eggs and bacon and steaming hot porridge laced with cinnamon. She had no appetite.
“Sir? I brought enough fer two. Can I make the table, then, fer you both?” No more than sixteen, she smiled at him.
“Yes, please, Rose, that would be very nice.”
Rose and her friend were very efficient. A moment later they left, closing the door behind them. Jill stared at the heavily laden table without even seeing it.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Alex asked, pausing before her.
She looked up. “I dreamed about her again, but this time, she was with Edward and Anne.”
“And that’s it?”
“No, that’s not it!” Jill cried. She began to shiver. She was so cold. The hot, endless shower hadn’t been able to chase away the chill within her bones, and Jill knew why—it was because the chill was in her heart, not her body. “It was so vivid, so real, Alex, it was as if I were there! I could see everyone so clearly, and Edward and Kate were in love.” Jill gazed at Alex, but she saw Edward’s handsome, aristocratic countenance instead. Alight with love and happiness. “He didn’t kill her. He was head over heels in love with her.”
Alex was silent.
“I couldn’t see Anne,” Jill said, standing. “She was there, but so out of focus, her image was not clear. I could not tell what her expression, her feelings, were. Kate and Edward were happy, but Anne was an enigma.”
“Jill. It was only a dream.” He slid his arm around her waist.
“It was too real to only be a dream,” Jill cried. She finally focused on him. “I’m losing it, aren’t I? I’m going crazy. It’s Kate. She’s around, and she’s haunting me. Because she wants me to deliver justice.”
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