Andrea Kane (34 page)

“Trenton?” Ariana appeared at the foot of the stairs, wearing only a nightgown and robe, her auburn hair tumbling about her shoulders. “Are you all right?” She followed him into the drawing room, where he proceeded to pour himself a healthy portion of brandy. “Trenton!” She seized his arm, frightened by his disoriented, disheveled state. “What’s happened?”

Trenton stared blankly at her over the rim of his brandy glass. “Hello, misty angel. I’ve returned from hell only to find it again.”

Ariana snatched the glass from him and slammed it onto the table. “I’ve been worried sick about you—you’ve been gone all night! And while I was agonizing, you were out drinking, of all things?”

“I assure you, I am completely sober. That brandy you just wrenched from me is the first drink I’ve had. However,” and he picked up the bottle with a hand that shook violently, “I intend to finish every last drop until I am so soused I can hardly move, let alone think.”

“Why? Where did you go? What happened to reduce you to such a state?”

“Vanessa happened.” He lifted the brandy bottle to his lips, taking a long swallow.

“Vanessa? Oh, Trenton, is this about that book again? I thought I’d helped you understand—”

“It’s not about the book.” He dragged his hand across his forehead. “At least not the book alone.” He stared broodingly at the bottle he held, emotions racing across his face. “Dammit!” he exploded suddenly, hurling the brandy bottle against the marble column with all his might, sending a spray of shattered glass and brandy throughout the room.

“Dear Lord …” Ariana was truly frightened. “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

Trenton’s head snapped around. “Because I, apparently, am insane. Did you know that, misty angel?” He raked long, unsteady fingers through his hair. “I’ve lost whatever little portion of my mind I had left. So if your brother told you I was crazy, he didn’t lie.”

“You are
not
crazy.” She frowned. “Is that where you were? With Baxter?”

“Hardly. No, I was walking.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I went out to clear my head.”

“Where did you walk?”

A pause. “To the River Arun.”

“Oh, Trenton.” Ariana touched his wrist tentatively, afraid to send him into another rage. “Why do you insist on torturing yourself?”

“I didn’t.
She
did.”

“She? Who?”

“I told you: Vanessa.”

Slowly, Ariana clasped his fingers in hers. “Vanessa is dead.”

“Yes,
I
know that. But apparently her ghost doesn’t.”

“Her ghost?” Ariana paled.

“Ah, I see your confidence in my sanity is ebbing.”

“What is it you think you saw?”

“I don’t
think,
Ariana … I
know.”
He slapped his palm on the table. “I found the lantern she used that night; it was buried in the sand.”

“The lantern? But the authorities checked thoroughly—”

“I’m sure they did. It wasn’t there before, but it is now. I was examining it when I sensed someone watching me. I looked up. That’s when I saw her.”

“Her?” Ariana’s heart lurched. “You don’t mean Vanessa?”

“The very same. Looking exactly as she had that last night, right down to the gown she wore.” He laughed hollowly. “So you see, misty angel, I am indeed insane. Because no matter how hard I try to convince myself that there is some logical explanation for all this, that I didn’t
really
see a dead woman … hear her call my name … I cannot. Because I did. And so did she.”

Ariana clutched the lapels of his coat. “Trenton, anyone could have placed a lantern on the beach, and we already suspected that someone was impersonating Vanessa.”

Trenton shook his head vehemently. “No. Impossible. The lantern was the exact one she carried that night; I’ve never seen another like it. And the woman I saw was no impostor, Ariana; it was Vanessa.”

“Stop saying that.” Ariana shivered. “You’re frightening me.

“I’m terrifying myself.”

“Trenton.” She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I refuse to believe that you’re insane.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

Frantically, Ariana’s mind raced. “Remember that last night at Spraystone? The way you reacted when we set Odysseus free?”

“At the water’s edge,” he said slowly.

“Yes. You were looking at me but seeing Vanessa instead. Something triggered that: my resemblance to her, my proximity to the water, my lantern … perhaps all of these. The point is, you were visualizing Vanessa, right?”

“Right, but—”

“You didn’t actually
see
her, you saw a memory of her.” Ariana paused to catch her breath. “When was the last time you visited the River Arun?”

Trenton was silent.

“You haven’t been there since the night Vanessa died, have you?”

“No.”

“Then of course you were shaken. That, combined with the mysterious delivery of that book and your raw nerves, would be enough to prompt your brain to play tricks on you. You didn’t really see Vanessa. Maybe you saw someone, but it wasn’t Vanessa. My guess is that it was the same person who bought you that book and who obviously went to the trouble of duplicating Vanessa’s lantern.”

“Do you really believe that’s possible?” The agonized hope on Trenton’s face tore at Ariana’s heart.

“Of course.” She slipped her arms about his waist, resting her head against his chest. “I won’t allow you to think you’ve lost your mind.”

“He thinks he’s lost his mind.” Vanessa bit into her warm scone and gave Baxter a triumphant smile.

“I’m sure he does. But I don’t like the risks you’re taking.” Baxter paced back and forth across the small room in Winsham’s rear wing, the one-time servants’ quarters.

“I’m not taking any risks, Baxter.” Finishing the last flaky crumb, Vanessa dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and leaned back in her chair. “I stay cooped up in Winsham all day, crammed into these tiny quarters like a damned insect. No one in England knows I’m alive, except you.”

“And that bloody merchant at the bookstore,” Baxter reminded her grimly.

“Wiltshire?” Vanessa threw back her head and laughed. “The man is old and near-sighted; that’s why I chose him. The hat I wore concealed most of my face, and my mantle was so loose-fitting, it completely concealed my body. All Wiltshire saw was what I wanted him to see: my hair, which I intentionally wore down, and my eyes, which are vivid enough to make an impression on any man.” She inclined her head. “So what are you worrying about?”

“Aren’t you forgetting one minor detail?”

“Which is?”

“Trenton Kingsley.”

Vanessa poured herself another cup of tea. “I assure you, my dear brother, Trenton Kingsley is one detail I
never
forget.”

“He saw you last night, at the river.”

“Correction: I displayed myself for him last night at the river. The whole scene was carefully planned and brilliantly executed, if I must say so myself. As far as Trenton is concerned, he saw a ghost.”

“How can you be so sure, Ness?” Baxter’s brow furrowed. “Kingsley is a very clever man. Don’t underestimate his cunning.”

“Don’t
you
underestimate mine.” Vanessa lowered her cup to its saucer. “I’m sure because I saw Trenton’s face, his eyes. He was horrified, white with shock. There’s not a doubt in the world that he believed me to be some apparition created by his slowly deteriorating mind.” A triumphant smile touched Vanessa’s lips, then froze in place, an odd, faraway light dawning in her eyes. “Time has only improved Trenton Kingsley’s incredible magnetism. Not only has he gone from marquis to duke, but from handsome to magnificent. Our sister must be receiving quite an education in her bedroom.”

“Stop it!” Baxter ordered. “It sickens me enough to think of Ariana with that bastard. I don’t need you to remind me of it—especially after what he did to you!”

Vanessa’s features hardened and she raised her chin defiantly. “Don’t worry, Baxter. Trenton will pay. I guarantee you, Trenton will pay.”

Ariana scribbled a change at the bottom of the page, then held it away to assess it critically. Her face fell. It was no use. Her sketching ability was beyond redemption.

Tearing out the offending page, she tossed it to the floor, disgusted with her pathetic attempts. Evidently, Theresa had been doing her a favor by hiding her childhood sketchpads. Her self-image would only have suffered irreparable damage had she continued her futile efforts.

Ariana rose from the chair, squinting at the bare walls and meager furnishings. Instantly, her imagination broke free of the sitting room’s barren limitations. In their stead, a vision erupted in her mind, vivid in detail, rich in dimension; a vision not of the sitting room as it was, but as it would be when she’d completed it.

When she’d made it Trenton’s.

She could envision it all, right down to the needlepoint on the wall. The problem was, she couldn’t draw worth a fig.

But she
could
write.

A detailed journal-keeper, Ariana had long ago learned to capture her every thought, her most minute concept, on paper. That way she could recreate in words what she was unable to do in pictures.

She opened her notebook again, ignoring her feeble struggles to capture the room visually, skipping right to the written section of notes in the back. There. With a satisfied smile, she read through her intricately outlined pages, certain that she had described the room precisely as it was meant to look.

Now all she needed was the right architect to implement her plans. And Ariana knew just the man for the job.

Tyreham was nestled in the hills of Surrey, just a few hours’ drive from Broddington and, not surprisingly, close to Epsom Downs, where Dustin could race his Thoroughbreds to his heart’s content. Ariana arrived there just after noon, having left careful instructions with Jennings that His Grace was to know only that she had gone into London to shop.

“Ariana? What a wonderful surprise!” Dustin came out to greet her himself, arms open wide. After giving her a huge hug, he stepped back to survey her carefully. “You look radiant,” he declared with smug satisfaction. “Evidently, my brother has mended his ways.”

“Somewhat,” Ariana returned impishly. “Never completely.”

He chuckled. “Touché.” Curiously, he glanced at the Kingsley carriage. “You’ve come alone?”

“Yes. Trenton has no idea that I’m here. But fear not,” she hurried on, seeing the worried scowl on Dustin’s face, “my reasons are sound, my motives are sincere. … And my husband trusts me,” she added softly, a tender glow in her eyes.

Dustin’s expression gentled. “A major accomplishment indeed.” He gestured toward the door. “Come. You’ve succeeded in arousing my curiosity. I’ll arrange for some tea and we can talk.”

“So you see,” Ariana concluded, leaning excitedly toward Dustin, “I
know
the room would suit Trenton perfectly; it would keep your father close in mind and heart and be the final link in Trenton’s metamorphosis. He’ll become the man he once was … the man he always has been … and Broddington will be a home.” She paused to catch her breath. “It’s just the balm Trenton needs to soothe the jagged edges of his life and …” Seeing the twinkle in Dustin’s eyes, Ariana broke off. “I’m babbling again, aren’t I? I seem to do that a great deal around you.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Is it
that
obvious?”

Struggling to keep a straight face, Dustin gestured toward the tea table. “You’ve put six lumps of sugar in your tea and eaten four scones in five minutes.”

Ariana looked mortified.

Dustin chuckled, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. “You’re charming when you’re nervous,” he assured her. “But I wouldn’t like to think that
I’m
the perpetual cause.”

“You’re not. It’s only that I seem always to be turning to you for help.”

“I’m flattered … and delighted that you feel comfortable enough to come to me. Now, what can I do to assist in your plans?”

“I want
you
to design the sitting room for me. Trenton would want it that way.”

For long moments Dustin did not answer, staring silently at Ariana until she feared he meant to refuse. Then, with a tender expression, he brought her fingers to his lips. “Remind me to tell my brother how lucky he is.” Releasing her hand, he extended his own open palm. “Let me see your drawings.”

Ariana’s joy rapidly faded. “Well, you see, that’s the problem.”

“What is?”

“I’m not a very good sketcher. You might not be able to picture my ideas too well.” Ariana inhaled sharply. “The truth, Dustin, is that I am perhaps the worst artist in England. Were I to display my sketches, babies would cry and hunting dogs would howl as far as twenty miles away.”

Dustin threw back his head and laughed. “I see. Then what do you propose? Would you like to describe what you have in mind and I’ll sketch while you talk?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve written detailed descriptions of every portion of the remodeling,” she supplied, eagerly handing him the notebook. “I think you’ll be able to create wonderful sketches based on these.”

Quickly skimming a few pages, Dustin nodded. “These are excellent, Ariana. What you lack in artistic ability you make up for in imagination and writing skill. I’ll do some samples right away … especially since I have the feeling you want this project completed yesterday.” He grinned, pointing to something in the notebook that caught his eye. “One question: Do I need to pick these specific flowers myself?”

“No, of course not.” Ariana gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ll take care of that part.”

“Good. Because I have absolutely no idea what hawthorn looks like.”

“I’m sure you don’t. You probably don’t run from cuckoos either.”

“Pardon me?”

“Never mind.” Ariana rose. “I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you need to get back to your horses.”

“Would you like to see them before you go?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I’d love to!” A shadow crossed her face. “On second thought, perhaps next time. I’d best get back to Broddington in case Trenton needs me.”

“Ariana.” Dustin stayed her with his hand. “What aren’t you telling me?”