The Vengeful Bridegroom (11 page)

Viewing her appearance in the looking glass, she was very proud of the curls she managed to arrange at the sides and top of her head. Perhaps Mr. Westcott wouldn’t notice the back of her head, which she felt might look a bit wraggled.

On the way down the main staircase to join her husband for dinner, she noticed the glass chandelier glowing with white candles and illuminating the gold-damasked walls and black tile in the high-ceilinged foyer.

But it was the man at the bottom of the staircase that caught her breath. Mr. Westcott waited for her with a warm smile on his handsome visage, wearing black pantaloons and a black cutaway coat, and looked ever so appealing. His stare unnerved her as she descended the stairs, which caused her to blush even more, remembering their kiss from the night before.

On equal footing, she placed her hand in his and watched as he bowed to place a soft kiss on her hand. Her eyes widened when he turned her hand over and placed a kiss on her palm. She jumped in surprise and laughed at her foolishness.

“My dear, you certainly look fetching tonight. I am a most admiring audience of one,” he complimented her, escorting her down the corridor and into the dining room.

One of the footmen, Hazelby, she recalled his name, seated her at the table while her husband sat at the head of the table. She might be pleased with his courteousness, but she had difficulty forgetting, at times, that she was a prisoner. Like now. “I haven’t seen my guard, Alec all day?” she mentioned, unable to keep annoyance from her voice, dampening the bright new start they had made this morning.

“Alec has other duties to occupy himself.” He sipped his glass of red wine, then added, “I had hoped we had moved past our rancor and division. However, as you know, unless you are able to give me your word that you will not try to dash back to London and find your brother or annul this marriage, then I or Alec will be your companion.”

She watched him resume eating his dinner, the matter obviously closed.

Since she couldn’t say yea or nay on the matter, she picked up her fork to begin eating.

Silence reigned briefly while they dined on the first course of pea soup. “This is a great improvement over last night’s repast. And to what can I credit the change?” Mr. Westcott’s voice most pleasant.

A very good question. Madelene wondered if her husband knew how hard she had worked in the kitchen to arrange their dinner and whether it was relevant to mention it. She played with her fork before replying, “I gave one of the new girls, Fanny, a few pointers and suggestions, which I learned from my old housekeeper. Apparently the cook you hired did not get on well with some of the other staff.” She dared a look in his direction, wondering what his reaction would be.

“Madelene, I must commend you and Fanny on a superb meal and offer my sincere apologies for not selecting a suitable cook in the first place. I did learn earlier we needed a new cook and have been assured we shall have a new one come the morning. Mrs. Lavishtock has also informed me in a most cryptic manner, I might add, that she would be in the kitchen tomorrow and you were to, how did she say, ‘rest your pretty head on my shoulder.’ Apparently your culinary skills will no longer be necessary. But I will need your assistance in other areas. We must discuss what needs to be done here at Westcott Close.”

She blinked in surprise at his oratory, then sighed in relief. Her husband was pleased with her? Since her father and brother had considered her merely an ornament in their home to feed and polish, they had no real use for her. Madelene sat a little taller in her chair with a contented little smile on her lips.

Now if she could bring the conversation around to the dagger. If he didn’t know of its existence, then it could only be Alec. How best to broach the subject? And what would his reaction be? Would he help her if he knew he was helping her brother?

Hazelby served the second course of greens and cauliflower before returning with the sliced rabbit. They continued their dinner in awkward silence, with Madelene considering and discarding ideas of how to pursue finding the dagger.

When the footman brought the apple tarts up from the kitchen, Madelene started feeling a bit light-headed.
It is probably the wine,
she thought.

Madelene doubled over from a sharp stab of pain in her stomach, a hot flush drenching her skin. She needed the privacy of her bedchamber before she became grievously ill. Her chair pushed back, she looked at her husband.

“Mr. Westcott, I find that I’m—” and she fainted.

Gabriel rushed to Madelene’s side, raised her shoulders and head from the floor, and put his arms around her. He immediately noted her flushed face and felt her clammy hands. What was wrong with his wife?

“Hazelby, send one of the footmen to the village for the doctor, and hurry. Mrs. Westcott is very ill. And send Fanny to me,” he commanded before lifting Madelene in his arms and carrying her up the stairs and down the hallway to her bedchamber.

Fanny arrived not long after he had laid Madelene on her bed and removed her shoes in an effort to make her comfortable. When he felt her cheeks with the back of his hand, the heat nearly burned him, sending him to the basin for cool water. Returning, he placed the cool cloth on her forehead, hoping it might help to bring relief.

Standing nearby, but looking helpless and frightened, Fanny waited for instructions. Gabriel knew the maid wanted to help, but even he could not be sure what needed to be done. While he might appreciate her presence, he wouldn’t allow the young woman to take his place at his wife’s side. He needed to be the one to stroke her face, arms, and hands with another cold cloth.

Gabriel looked at the door several times while waiting for the doctor’s appearance.
Please, please let my wife return to her former self, with no lasting harm done her,
he prayed to whoever might be listening.

In great concern, Gabriel watched as Madelene returned slowly to consciousness and rolled from side to side, holding her belly and moaning softly. When she needed to retch, he held the bucket Fanny had provided. Over and over again, he brushed her hair away from her face and talked in a low voice to her. Fanny stood by his side, watching and wringing her hands.

When Dr. Goodman arrived, Gabriel refused to leave the room, but stood by the fireplace, his heart in his throat. She had to get well. She had to. Was her sickness his fault? This situation reminded him of the time his sister was sick, and he could do naught for her. Was history to repeat itself? He would do anything if she would just look at him with those heated blue eyes and tell him he was a liar, a fraud. But if she asked him to free her of these matrimonial bonds, could he say yes?

Goodman immediately sent Fanny for a mixture of warm milk and salad oil to continue inducing all the contents from her stomach. After a few hours, when her stomach was nearly empty of anything she had eaten, the doctor declared her much improved. Goodman, Gabriel, and Fanny all watched with trepidation until Madelene fell into a deep sleep.

Gabriel walked over to the doctor, standing by Madelene’s bedside, and said quietly, “She seems to be doing better. Do you know what happened and what caused her to become so ill?”

Goodman narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. “Mr. Westcott, I am of the opinion that she may have been poisoned.”

Poisoned! It was the last answer he expected. Gabriel took a step back and grasped the bedpost in bewilderment. “I, what, how can you be sure?”

“I’ve seen these signs more often than I’d like. Probably a simple vegetable poison. However, she is a lucky little thing. She didn’t ingest enough of the poison for any permanent damage,” he intoned while reaching for his bag. “She will be extremely thirsty when she awakens. I would have barley-water and milk broth prepared for her. And I assume I don’t need to instruct you to have someone watch her during the night.”

Gabriel’s mouth grim throughout this ordeal, he nodded but took no notice of the doctor’s departure. His watchful gaze never left Madelene as she slept. Although Fanny wanted to remain, he sent her to bed. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his wife. Could what Goodman said be true, or could he be wrong about his diagnosis? Could someone have deliberately poisoned Madelene or was it an accident? Who might want Madelene dead?

In examining all possibilities, he wondered if Madelene would have ingested just enough poison to make herself sick but not cause death. Gabriel refused to give this more than a passing thought. Not the Madelene he knew. She loved life too much.

Unfortunately, it certainly now appeared he had to keep her safe from harm from her brother, the count, and a new unknown entity. With too many questions and no answers, sleep finally arrested him, although it was more like a catnap, because even with his eyes closed, he remained attuned to every breath she took, every sigh she made. He thanked God he would have a chance to make it up to her.

The next morning, Madelene awoke, her mouth dry. A glass of water would be welcome. She sat up slowly and noticed she still wore her gown from the previous night, although it had been severely loosened. Brushing the sleep from her eyes, she saw Gabriel sitting next to her bed and frowned. What was he doing here? Watching her as she slept?

She must have disturbed his sleep because he jumped from his chair and went immediately to her side, concern and alarm showing in his deep brown eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, taking her hand.

“I’m a little tired but very thirsty,” she told him sleepily. She did not have the forbearance to ask why he was in her bedchamber.

He retrieved a glass of barley-water and handed it to her.

When she sniffed her glass and raised her eyebrows, he said, “Dr. Goodman thought it best if you drank barley-water for a day or so. Do you have any remaining ill effects from last night?” His sharp glance told her that he would find the answers one way or the other.

“From last night?” She closed her eyes to remember. “I recall taking dinner with you before I felt remarkably ill. I’ve never felt that way before.” She opened her eyes and blushed, remembering her sickness and how he watched her retching into a bucket. “You and Fanny were here, to help me, then the pain went away. That is all I remember until now.”

Gabriel told her briefly of the night’s events and of the doctor’s visit, but neglected to her inform her of the reason for her sickness. She needed more time to convalesce.

“Why don’t you rest? If you’re feeling better, I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

She nodded and sank back into a deep sleep.

A great burden lifted from his shoulders. He smiled and bent over her, removing a lock of hair from her cheek and smoothing it back. He longed to stay close to her, but he had a lot to do, namely finding what or who had poisoned his wife. In the meanwhile, he’d post Alec at her door, this time to prevent anyone from entering instead of preventing her from leaving.

Gabriel looked at the occupants of the bright yellow parlor waiting to be addressed. They were all there as requested: Windthorp, from his past military experience, standing at attention at the window; Mrs. Lavishtock worrying what looked to be a beaded necklace; Alec, slumped in a chair with hat over his face; the new butler, a young man by the name of Graham, sitting in earnest attention near Mrs. Lavishtock; and Hazelby, standing near the door. He had gathered them together because he trusted them all and needed their assistance.

Sitting behind a large desk, he began, “Thank you all for attending me. What I have to say is of the utmost importance.” Gabriel paused before continuing, knowing his words would be heeded most assuredly. “As you may know, Mrs. Westcott was taken ill last night. When the physician examined her, he concluded she may have been poisoned.”

Some of the servants gasped and Mrs. Lavishtock moaned.

“Oh, why couldn’t I have prevented it?” she asked no one.

Eyebrows raised, everyone turned to look at the housekeeper, including Gabriel. “Mrs. Lavishtock, why ever do you feel responsible for my wife’s condition, unless you know how she may have been poisoned.”

“No, no, I know not how. Perhaps if I had been in the kitchen, I meant to say, I might have prevented this disaster.”

Tapping a pencil on the table, he replied, “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change what happened. Our meeting today is to ensure nothing like it happens in the future.”

He stood and walked around to sit on the edge of the desk. “It may have been an accident; however, we can’t assume such. I have my suspicions someone may want to harm Mrs. Westcott. Namely, a Count Taglioni.”

The name of the possible perpetrator meant nothing to the little group, save one. And that person kept the knowledge to themselves.

Graham stood, his tall lanky frame easily dwarfing everyone in the room. “Begging your pardon, sir, but who is Count Taglioni? Shall we know of his description in order to keep an eye out for him?”

Gabriel smiled at the young man. “Very good, although I’m sure all of you would easily recognize a stranger in our midst at Westcott Close. Taglioni is a rather tall man with black hair, black eyes, and swarthy skin. He’s from Italy and speaks both English and Italian.”

He rubbed his brow and looked at Alec. “Alec, you’ll remain at Mrs. Westcott’s door for the time being, letting no one in, unless, of course, they are familiar.”

“Mrs. Lavishtock.”

The housekeeper pulled herself off the settee. “Yes, Mr. Westcott?”

“You are in charge of whatever Mrs. Westcott takes for food and drink.”

Her mouth dour, she bristled slightly. “I know my job, and I’ll take care of Mrs. Westcott. She won’t be poisoned again from
my
food.”

Gabriel ignored her defensive position. “Very reassuring. The rest of you,” he turned to the other staff, “please see the doors are kept locked and keep on your guard for anything out of place. Inform me of anything unsettling, and I will deal with it. Remember, Mrs. Westcott must be protected from any danger. I am confident with all of you looking after her, she will be safeguarded. That is all.” He strode to the door as the staff, solemn as in church, followed after him. Gabriel didn’t inform the staff he planned not to let Madelene out of his sight.

Late that night, after Fanny assured Gabriel that Madelene slept well, he left his own bedchamber and climbed out his window. He had done this many a night when his sister, Lucinda, was ill and wanted his company.

Neither his parents, nor later, Aunt Adelphia knew he crawled out his window onto a tree limb, and climbed his way over to her window, next to his. He would sit on a big branch across from her window, and she would lean on the sill so they could talk.

Tonight and every night from now on, he planned to keep watch over his wife from his favorite spot in the tree, until she would sleep beside him. He could see directly into her bedchamber and watch as she slept. Nothing or no one would take her from him.

Madelene awoke the next morning to find Alec by the window. She sat up and blinked awake. “Do your duties now require you to be inside my bedroom instead of outside?”

The young man with the ever present low-brimmed hat put his hands in his pockets and slouched a few steps toward her, his eyes ever alert.

Madelene fluttered her hands, trying to dismiss him. “You may go. I feel much better and can look after myself.”

“I will help you to escape,” he told her.

Madelene blinked several times and frowned. Alec, Mr. Westcott’s friend, wanted to help her to escape? This offer made little sense. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to help me?”

“Poison. Mr. Westcott, he’s dangerous.” The young man retuned his gaze to the window.

Madelene took a moment to reply, believing she had heard incorrectly. Her husband poisoned her? Incomprehensible. “You must be mistaken. You believe
Mr. Westcott
tried to poison me? But why?” Her mouth felt as dry as flour.

Alec hesitated. “He loves another.” He walked to the door, then turned back to her. “Tonight, ten o’clock, outside the kitchen. We’ll walk to Ludlow, then hire a coach for Town.”

He slipped out the door, leaving Madelene to wonder about his words. Gabriel wanted her dead? He loved another? If that were true, why had he married her? All the kindnesses he had shown her were for what purpose? What to believe? Alec’s words almost made her ill again.

With the young woman’s voice haunting her, anger stirred in her breast. Nothing mattered anymore, certainly not this façade of a marriage. Nothing mattered but finding the dagger for Matthew and returning home. Her maid Millie would be happy to see her, and she could return to her modiste business. Soon Mr. Gabriel Westcott and his machinations would be forgotten.

She rose from bed to dress for the day, determined to concentrate only on the night ahead, not wanting to examine the ache in her heart too closely.

When Mrs. Lavishtock informed her that both Alec and Mr. Westcott had left awhile ago, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her hunt could begin unobstructed; however, it soon became apparent this would not be an easy task.

If either Alec or her husband had stolen the dagger from her trunk, she surmised their bedchambers might be the best place to start. It was her only estimation, unless they carried the object on their person. After peering into many rooms on the first and second floors, she found what had to be Alec’s bedchamber, since it was the only one with personal belongings. A quick search of the almost barren room took little time to reveal the missing dagger was not to be found there.

Mr. Westcott’s bedchamber was the next room to search. She had noticed the door down the hall from her own and assumed it was his. With spurred heels of conviction, she opened the door and saw it was her husband’s room. The largest tester bed she had ever seen occupied the center of the room. She appreciated the vivid backdrop of white walls and curtains to the dark mahogany tables and chairs. A door to the right indicated access to other rooms.

After she stepped inside and closed the door, she heard, then noticed Falstaff standing on the edge of the bed, barking at her.

“Oh, good gracious. How do you happen to know where to find me?” she asked more to herself than to the dog. “Shh, shh, please be quiet.” She waved her hand to calm the excited little dog, wishing she had thought to bring a biscuit with her.

Falstaff stopped and sat down, watching her with his head tilted. Was it her imagination or did that little dog follow her? Oh, what a fertile imagination she possessed. At least he had stopped announcing her furtive presence in his master’s room.