Beguiled (23 page)

Lord Wittburg's carriage was impounded by the police, to be held until the situation was cleared up. Ally insisted that the elderly gentleman had simply wanted to speak with her, not cause her harm, but he had not seemed himself, and yes, he had frightened her.

Finally they wound up back in Camille's office. Hunter, whose office was next to Camille's, joined them, as well.

Everyone was sweetly concerned about Ally, who kept insisting she was fine.

“I had thought you were staying in the museum,” Camille told her.

There was silence, with everyone staring at her.

“Where were you?” Mark asked quietly.

She was afraid to reply.

“Ally?” he persisted.

“I was looking in shop windows,” she said. It wasn't really a lie. She
had
looked in several.

“It's obvious you are in danger,” Mark said. “Why are you so determined to provoke it? And the shops are long closed.”

“I…tarried too long,” she said. She was seated, drinking tea laced with whiskey. Camille sat near her. The men all stood, staring at her.

“Ally,” Brian said, “it's not like you to cause so much concern to those who love you.”

Those words hurt the most.

“Forgive me,” she said simply. “I'm truly sorry.”

“If you're so sorry, perhaps you could consider telling the truth,” Mark said.

She stared at him. Again there was silence in the room.

“I was at the newspaper office,” she said flatly.

“Why?” Hunter demanded.

“I was going through old articles,” she said.

Her answer seemed to baffle everyone but Mark, who continued to stare at her. She decided to change the subject. “What happened tonight is sad, not dire,” she told them. “Lord Wittburg needs your concern, not me. I think the poor man is losing his mind.”

“All right, we're solving nothing here,” Brian said. “We all need to go home, have dinner and get some rest.”

The look Mark was giving her was chilling. “I think…I think I should return to my aunts.”

“The cottage in the woods? No. Would you risk their lives?” Camille asked.

“You will come back to the lodge,” Mark said.

She started to shake her head. The others, she knew, would acquiesce to him—she was about to become his wife, after all. They didn't know everything she did, not how things stood between them.

She was startled when he came to her, drawing her to her feet. “Don't come with me because I have demanded it. Come with me because I am asking you to do it. Because you care that it is so important to me.” She was stunned by the heat and depth of emotion in his words, and by the cloud of passion in his eyes.

She found she couldn't speak, so she simply nodded.

“Tomorrow we will, I hope, find a sane explanation for all of this,” Brian said pragmatically.

As it was so late by then, Lord Farrow suggested that they spend the night at the town house, and it was agreed. Ally protested that she had no possessions there, but as Kat and Hunter lived in the city, Hunter promised to see that clothing and toiletries were sent over for her disposal.

Mark rode in the carriage, his horse tied behind. At the town house, Ally met another of Lord Farrow's servants, a charming man named Jeeter, who greeted them at the door. He didn't cluck over her like a mother hen, but he was efficient, starting a meal, drawing a bath and serving brandy all at once, so it seemed. Ally found herself in another elegantly appointed room, and while she bathed away the dirt and grime of the city, a messenger arrived with fresh clothing. As she lay at her ease in the tub, she was aware of the faint sound of voices below: Mark and his father. She closed her eyes.

Mark had said nothing about Lord Wittburg's words when he had accosted her. She, too, had remained silent, realizing Mark had probably decided to speak to his father alone. He had been so angry with her because she had gone to the newspaper….

And yet…

He had been there in her defense, appearing miraculously, when she had been in trouble. And then he had come to her,
asking
her to stay with him….

She was in love with him. No matter his name or person. If she could just…learn to understand him.

No. If she could just somehow convince him that he must love her as she was.

 

W
ITH
A
LLY UPSTAIRS
and Jeeter doing his best to create an impromptu meal, Mark faced his father in the parlor.

“This situation cannot go any further. Lionel Wittburg was absolutely convinced he had to speak with Ally. And when he looked at me, he told me that I had to tell her the truth. What truth, Father? I must know what's going on. And why, in God's name, would you not trust me?” The last he asked with a certain amount of anguish.

Then he was sorry, when he saw how weary Joseph Farrow looked as he sank into the leather chair by the fire, shaking his head. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Father—”

“Yes, I know. And I trust you. I have always trusted you. You know that. But some secrets are meant to be taken to the grave.”

“Not when they are putting others in peril.”

Joseph was silent again for a moment. “Brian Stirling and I agreed that you and Alexandra would be promised to each other because…the queen requested that it be so.”

“The queen?”

Joseph leaned back. Mark took the chair opposite him, waiting for his father to talk. At last Joseph looked at him. “To many a tale, there is a grain of truth. This all came about when you were young and Ally only a child. It all goes back to the Ripper.”

“The Ripper?” Mark said, astounded.

“I swear to you, the man the police believed to be Jack the Ripper is dead. Have you never wondered why the investigation stopped soon after the death of Mary Kelly?”

“The investigation didn't exactly stop,” Mark said. But his father was right. He had been young at the time. Still, many of those involved had alluded to the fact that the never-identified man popularly known as Jack the Ripper was dead.

His father exhaled. “There were many who tried to create a link between the murders and the Crown.”

“You're not going to tell me that the Crown was involved?” Mark demanded. “And how do you know all this?”

“Because Lady Maggie was nearly killed by the murderer. Thank God the killer lost his own life instead. I don't know all the details of those horrid times. I have never asked Maggie or James to explain everything. There is no absolute proof, no way to truly close the books. But the man died near the cottage where Ally grew up. Despite the rumors, there was no Ripper conspiracy involving the Crown, but the theory was born because Prince Eddie did, in fact, go through a form of marriage with a Catholic girl named Annie. As you know, the prince was ultimately destroyed by syphilis. And Annie…was not well. And, of course, a Catholic marriage wasn't legal.”

Mark stared at his father. “You're telling me that the rumored child of this affair is…Ally?”

Joseph nodded. “She had to be protected, you see,” he said softly. “As I was trusted, so I am now entrusting this information to you. But the truth can never be known.” He sighed softly. “Haven't you seen how fanatical people can be when ideas of right and wrong are involved? How men can allow their concept of a greater good to lead them to heinous murder? There are those who fear—as they have done through the centuries—that a Catholic connection to the royal bloodline would be dangerous. There is no reason for us to allow the truth of Ally's lineage, to be made public. She should live a life unburdened by the fears and sins of the past. No one must know. But she is the queen's grandchild. A brilliant young woman, and a beauty. She must never be endangered by her position or wounded by her illegitimacy. No one must know. That was the queen's request.”

“There are obviously others who know the truth. Lionel Wittburg, for one. And I would have been in a far better position to understand and protect Ally if
I
had known the truth, as well.”

“I'm sorry. I gave my word, and I do not give my word lightly.”

Mark lowered his head. His father's story was fantastic. He found the entire situation almost impossible to believe. He shook his head. “So Lord Wittburg…none of his…wandering has to do with anything current? In his mind he has seen the state of affairs now and confused it with something that happened in the past? He is combining the two—suspecting the monarchy might have been involved then and so might be involved now?”

“I don't know,” Joseph said. “I just don't know.”

Mark stood and walked to the hearth, gazing at the flames. “We held him up the other day, you know. He must not have reported the incident to the police, because I have neither seen nor heard a mention of it. I searched his carriage. Not a spot of blood. Ian remains convinced the murderer has escaped each crime scene in a carriage. I believe he is right. But…I went to see Hudson Porter's housekeeper today, and she was behaving very strangely.”

“So we are no closer to the truth?”

Mark shrugged. “I feel we
are
closer, but we are missing something. When I spoke with the woman today, I actually found myself thinking it might be a conspiracy of housekeepers. But these men were killed by someone with strength. And then there is Ally. Was the cottage in the woods attacked because she has suddenly been deemed a danger due to current events, or because someone has become aware of her birth? Or are the two connected in some way? Were some too quick to assume that, since the victims were anti-monarchists, the Crown was involved? Were others too willing to think martyrs to a cause would make it all the more meaningful? Drawing attention to the past forces one to see that what seems obvious is not always the truth.”

Joseph was frowning at him.

“What?”

“You're not concerned…about Ally's identity.”

“Only if it puts her in danger.” Mark shook his head. “I don't care who her parents were. Ally matters to me.”

Joseph smiled slowly. “You two should marry and leave the country. Go to a distant hilltop in America, find a place in Australia. Get away from all this. Let others sort it out.”

“We can't do that,” Mark said. “We can't spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, wondering.”

He fell silent, seeing Ally appear at the top of the stairs. Joseph followed his son's gaze, saw her there and stood.

“Ally, you look refreshed and lovely,” he said cheerfully.

Mark could see her face, and he knew she was aware that she had been the topic of conversation. But he could see in her eyes the determination to play along with his father's light approach.

“This is a beautiful home,” she said, coming down the stairs. “And my accommodations are quite lovely. You are ever the gracious host, Lord Farrow.”

“Let's see if Jeeter has concocted a meal for us, shall we?” the older man asked, offering his arm to escort her into the dining room.

Mid-meal, Joseph asked Ally if she was dismayed that the planning of her wedding was not in her own hands.

Ally laughed and told him, “Castle Carlyle is as fine a place as one could hope for. The aunts would be brokenhearted if they could not put their talents into a dress. I am not at all dismayed. The vows are what two people share. The rest is for others, and if it makes them happy to plan, then that makes me happy, as well.”

When the meal was finished, Joseph stated that he was retiring. Ally wished both men good night and preceded Joseph up the stairs.

Mark followed more slowly, taking a brandy upstairs with him. He knew he would not sleep. It didn't torment him in the least, knowing Ally's background. He was not dismayed at the illegitimate circumstances of her birth, nor was he impressed that she had a connection to royalty. Truth was not always as important as it should have been, though he knew that the perception of truth could be damning.

It had been a long day. He drew a bath, sipped the brandy and tried to keep his head from spinning.

Monarchists.

Anti-monarchists.

Housekeepers.

Jack the Ripper.

Conspiracy theories.

The true identity of Jack the Ripper remained unknown. Even those convinced they knew the truth were not
absolutely
certain. But most of those with access to the facts tended to agree that the heinous killer had not been a prince gone insane, nor even a guardian of that prince. He had been a deranged individual, most probably a man unknown outside his small world.

Where did that get him?

Perhaps the murders now were not on a grand scale. Perhaps…

Perhaps the political angle was but a facade to hide something far more mundane.

He rose and dried himself off.

Ally.

He was frightened for her.

He hesitated, then donned breeches and stepped out into the hallway. He walked the few steps to her door. It wasn't locked. He entered.

She wore a simple white cotton gown sent over by Lady Kat, hair clean and loose on the pillows, provocative as she slept in shadow. He strode to the bed, looking down. He saw that her eyes were open, watching him.

After a moment, she offered him a rueful smile. “It is your father's house,” she reminded him softly.

“I ask no man, my father included, to forgive me for taking what is mine—what I love,” he added very softly, and stretched out beside her. She turned toward him, lips curving softly, sensually, into a small smile.

“Do you?” she asked softly.

“Love you? Yes. How absurd, some might say. Love cannot be so easy or so quick. Yet I say, damn them all. Do I love you? Yes. Do you vex me? Indeed.”

She reached out, her elegant fingers falling lightly on his face, tracing his flesh with a touch so light and provocative that he strained from the soul to feel it more fully.