Her Mystery Duke (33 page)

“Yes, I am still the selfish invalid. Now go on.”

“I have something to check on in any case, but I shall
return quickly.”

Jeanne could only be glad for that. She watched Isabella
leave with a sinking sense of dread.

The tiny woman fixed her with strange, pale gray eyes. “I am
Thérèse. My mother was French and she gave my sister and me French names. Papa
insisted that our brothers have solid, strong English names.” She giggled
softly and reached to touch a porcelain figure on her night table. It was a
reproduction of a carriage and four, complete and accurate right down to the
bits in the horses’ mouths. She picked it up. She wound the crank, and then
soft tinkling music played. Maybe it was a bit warbled as though the device had
aged or been played far too many times.

“David bought me this. At the time, he was in love with me,
in the utter, complete way only a young man can love.” She traced the glided
crest on the carriage door. “You mustn’t trust Isabella. She lies. She has
always been a liar. When David told me that he couldn’t marry me, she urged me
to follow my heart. I thought she wanted my happiness.” She looked up and
grinned. It was an engaging grin, her eyes, so unnervingly large in her thin
face, sparkled with mirth. “She wanted my dowry to add to her own.”

Tears suddenly began to spill down her sunken cheeks that
were marked with faint scars, as though she’d suffered smallpox as a child. She
gripped the figurine for long moments, sobbing softly, and her knuckles went
white. She sniffed loudly several times, put the figurine down, then swiped at
her eyes with the long sleeves of her nightdress. “I am sorry. I can’t control
this. My emotions are all over the place now.” She smiled, wanly this time. “I
am not sane. I know it. I know what will happen.”

Thérèse wasn’t at all as Jeanne had expected. Yes, she was
clearly not sane, one could just sense it, but she wasn’t raving and out of
control.

“You mustn’t fear that David will abandon you.”

“I know he will not. He loves me.” She rolled her shoulders
in such an elegant way that it was easy to imagine the charming, coquettish
girl she must have once been. “Oh, I don’t mean he loves as a man loves the
most important woman in his life. That’s over. I destroyed that. But he does
love me as a friend, even a sister. Yes, he is devoted like a brother. He’s
nothing if not loyal. That’s why I came back to him. It was weak of me, yes, I
know. But I was scared and David was always so strong when I was most afraid.”

“I don’t understand. Isabella said you were distraught with
worry that David might…might wed me.” She formed the words the way they were:
an impossibility. “And then he would abandon you.”

Thérèse’s lips twisted and twitched. She was trying to smile
but her eyes still shone with tears. “I should be very gratified if I could
live to see David find some happiness. I should have been more patient with
him. If I had, then when his father died, I think he would have married me.”
She paused and sniffed deeply. “Why lie to myself? I
know
he would have wed me. However, I wanted children so badly, I
couldn’t think rationally about the subject, and the years were passing.”

Thérèse gave Jeanne a long look filled with such nostalgia
that Jeanne felt her chest constrict. “David always said when peace came we
would go to Paris.” She shook her head. “We never made it to Paris.”

“You were married to another?” Jeanne said this merely to
change the subject to a lighter one. She couldn’t bear the heaviness in her
heart that Thérèse’s admissions brought.

“Yes, to my naval hero, my gallant George. He gave me no
children, just this illness. I suppose that is a blessing for they say that any
child I might have born would have been afflicted with the disease as well.
Still, he made me a widow for life. No man wants a contaminated wife.”

“Goodness, Thérèse. Your gloominess will drive Miss Darling
to leave. Shall we play cards to lighten the mood?” Isabella said as she
entered.

Thérèse put her hands together and clapped. “Oh yes, let us
play cards!”

Jeanne didn’t fancy cards. Moreover, she really did not want
to linger any longer than was necessary. But Isabella shot her a look that
said:
Please, please stay and let it
reassure her of your good intentions.

Or something like that.

How could she possibly resist Thérèse’s obvious pleasure or
Isabella’s open pleading?

She had expected the next hour to pass slowly. Tediously so.
However, during that time, observing Thérèse and her childlike enjoyment
inspired some surprising images. Fragments of a story. Something that she could
develop into a work directed at adults which would highlight the plight of the
insane. There was a rush in her blood, tingling around her heart. Passion for
the idea.

It also brought her a new perspective. Not toward Thérèse
but toward herself. She began to see how distorted her memory of Papa’s
insanity had become. She remembered him most vividly as he was near the end.
But of course he hadn’t always been like that. She had only remembered the
futile and painful struggles she faced in caring for him.

Yet there had been moments of happiness even in his
suffering. Moments of shared love and kindness between a daughter and her
father. But what if he hadn’t had a daughter to care for him and keep him out
of the asylum for so long?

She looked about this overheated chamber, decorated so gaily
in shades of yellow and cream and rich greens. A large window that opened to an
obviously well-tended garden. This cozy, charming little house that David
provided for Thérèse.

Her throat began to throb, a fiery warning that she might
cry at any moment. David had been so good to this woman who had brought him so
much pain. She understood his need to do so.

Even more, she understood his need to crusade and campaign
for all those who didn’t have a daughter or a loyal former lover to provide
them with comfort and affection in their times of suffering. Sympathy weighed
on her and seemed to crush her chest. She took a long, uneasy breath.

A loud bang sounded from down the corridor. Isabella looked
up, concern etched into her face. “It must be Maple.”

“Maple is my kitty. He is a very pretty shade of amber with
golden stripes and a nice white front like a gentleman’s cravat,” Thérèse
explained.

“He is a walking disaster and should be put outdoors,” Isabella
said.

“He has as much right to be here as I do. This is his home.”

Isabella compressed her lips. “I shall have to go see what
that wicked creature is up to now.”

She hurried from the chamber.

“Maple creates all kinds of mischief. If Isabella had her
way, he’d be long gone. But I love the naughty puss too much. David quite put
his foot down with her over the subject.”

Isabella returned with a steaming basin. “Maple simply
knocked over some books. Thérèse, it is time to clean your hands and face for dinner.”

Thérèse lifted her brows. “Will Miss Darling be staying to
dine with us?”

“I don’t know.” Isabella glanced speculatively at Jeanne.
“Would you like to stay and dine with us?”

“I—”

Thérèse gripped the coverlet and leaned forward. Her
expression was expectant, happy, like a child’s. “Oh please, please say you’ll
stay. David comes and dines with me on Sundays and Thursdays but I am so lonely
here all the other days.”

“I come and dine with you.” Isabella sounded most indignant.

Thérèse glanced at her, mutinously. “Yes, but you are always
telling me I must be silent.”

“You prattle on and on, telling the same stories.”

“No, I don’t. Pray do not listen to my sister. She lies. She
is a
liar
.” Thérèse sniffed, loudly,
exaggeratedly. “There is no lavender in this water.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thérèse, plain water is all that is
needed.”

“Lavender keeps the bad spirits away.”

“It is full daylight. Why do you think bad spirits are
lurking about?”

“They are
always
lurking about.” Thérèse spoke in a tone as though Isabella were a bird wit.
“But they get to us through our food and we need to use lavender oils so that
the scent is upon us and in the air when we eat.”

Isabella turned to Jeanne with a rueful smile. “Please,
would you go down the corridor to the second door, and in the top drawer of the
oak dresser, there is a vial of lavender. Please bring it.”

“Of course.” Jeanne arose and left the chamber.

The air in the corridor was so much cooler. A sheer relief.
She took several deep breaths.

She was going to do what David had wanted. She would use her
writing skills to draw attention to the plight of the insane. She had to do
this. Surely no one else was so perfectly positioned to do so. It was a mission
that had presented itself to her and she must have faith that she could write
more complex stories now. She had no idea what form those stories would take.
But she suddenly had faith that if she simply were patient, the ideas would
come to her. The ideas would come because she was meant to do this. David was
correct, they were meant to be together. They had met for a purpose. She was
going to use her talents to help and support his work. They would be true
partners in life.

Bernard’s visit and confession had also restored some of her
faith in her ability to write. They were still friends. That too, made her feel
much more confident.

“Miss Darling! Are you finding the lavender all right?”
Thérèse’s voice carried a certain desperate plea.

Jeanne shook herself then followed Isabella’s directions
down the corridor.

She opened the door to the bedchamber.

“Good afternoon, Miss Darling.” Lord Toovey grinned at her
and made a slight bow.

“Lord Toovey.” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her
voice.

He walked behind her and closed the door.

A tick of nervousness panged in her belly. In her heart.
“What are you doing here?”

He leaned up against the door. His body blocked her from
leaving.

A strong urge to grasp the door handle and yank it open
seized her. She was afraid to make a move. She didn’t even understand why she
was so afraid.

Isabella was here. Surely, he knew Isabella was here.

Her lips twitched. The caricature of a smile hampered by
nerves.

“I am not a deep thinker or strategist.” He spoke in a
gentle tone. “I take advantage of opportunities. As I did when I found David,
shooting the cat on the street right outside his chambers. I could see he was
out of his mind. I thought of putting him in a carriage and dumping him off in
east London. I found the idea amusing. Especially since I knew he had an
important vote coming up.” He laughed softly. “I am sure he wondered at first
if some political arch rival had done it to try and turn the vote. But I did it
just to see him seethe. Like I seethed when he took my affianced wife away.”

“Weren’t you afraid of his anger?”

Toovey’s mood instantly changed and he snarled and gripped
her arm. “What do I care if he thrashed me for the audacity? My life’s done
for. I should enjoy a bit of amusement before I lose all my sensibilities.
Maybe I have already lost my wits. I find everything so damned funny these
days. In my madness.”

“What do you mean?”

He thrust his hand before her and pulled up the sleeve.
Faint marks marred his flesh. Old scars. Old pockmarks.

She jerked her gaze back to his face. “You said you didn’t
give Thérèse the pox.”

“I didn’t. But I never said that she didn’t give it to me.”
He laughed softly again. “I see your mind working. You wonder how I could allow
that to happen? How could I bed her after she’d left me and wed another?” He shook
his head. “Sadly, I don’t have Hartley’s iron will or his fierce pride. I took
Thérèse back even after she betrayed me. I believed she’d learned a lesson. I
thought she would be faithful.”

How had she missed Toovey’s insanity? She thought she was so
adept at spotting anyone who was seriously unbalanced in their mind. God, she
knew very little about insanity. She was now afraid of setting him off. She
decided to placate him and wait for the proper moment to make her move to
escape.

“Wasn’t she?”

“Not a bit loyal, not emotionally. The moment she discovered
she was ill, she went running back to Hartley, seeking his protection. She
didn’t trust anyone else. Not even me. That was the final and worst betrayal.”

“He has taken excellent care of her.”

“He is a fool. She should be locked up for her own good.
She’s nothing to anyone but a reminder of the corruption of sin.”

“Won’t that happen to you? Do you really want to find
yourself locked up?”

“I shan’t be around to be locked up.”

“You intend to kill yourself?”

“Hartley will kill me.”

“He will?”

Toovey lunged forward.

She screamed and turned to run but he caught her arm. She
struggled wildly and he brutally subdued her.

“He will kill me when he finds out what I have done.”

“What have you done?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“What I will do…Hartley will never be able to bring himself
to wed you. It will destroy him inside, as I was destroyed inside by everything
that has happened to Thérèse.”

A thousand needles prickled over her scalp. Murky,
green-yellow sickness sank through her innards. “But none of that was David’s
fault.”

“All of it was his fault. All of it. If he had simply
allowed her to wed me, as we planned, as it was meant to be, then none of this
would have happened. We’d be tucked away in the country with a parcel of
children at our knees.” His expression grew very grim. “No, David shall pay.”

“What is it you intend to do?”

“I shall, in the easiest way, infect you with my disease.”
His eyes set at half-mast as his gaze caressed her face, her bosom, her body.