My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (28 page)

He closed the library door, crossed the room and sat at his desk. Edgekirth took a chair facing from him.

A trembling Stacks could wait no longer. "What's wrong with Freddie?" he asked, unconscious that he had done what he had never before done. He had called her Freddie to someone else.

Edgekirth cleared his throat. "She's going to be all right."

A veil of death lifted from Stacks' face, and he smiled.

"I speak to you as her guardian," Edgekirth said. "Freddie is love sick. It is my pleasure to tell you she has done me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage."

It was as if the very chair Stacks sat in collapsed. The room reeled around him. He couldn't be hearing this! Freddie loved him. She had said she wanted to spend her life with him. Not with the damned doctor. "I don't believe you," Stacks hissed.

"You can ask her yourself."

Stacks reached for the brandy and poured himself a drink. He did not offer any to Edgekirth. "And I suppose you want my permission." He spat out the words.

Edgekirth nodded. "I know you told Luke Rountree Freddie was free to marry whomever she wanted. Does that still hold?"

He wanted to sling his drink into Edgekirth's face. "You know she's under age?"

"Of course."

Stacks took another drink, then slammed his glass down, shattering its fine crystal stem. Not moving to clear it up, he watched as the pool of rich, dark liquid grew larger on his desk. He would not meet Edgekirth's gaze. "If Freddie really wants to marry you, you have my permission."

Chapter 27

Despite that Sir Harold awaited in the billiard room, a stunned Stacks remained in his library and filled another glass with brandy. He no longer cared what Sir Harold thought of him. Stacks was released from his duties as Freddie's guardian once she married Edgekirth.

If he were a woman, he would have cried bitterly. This day was blacker than the day he killed Elizabeth. Just as he had begun to live again, his lifeline was snatched away.

He finished the brandy and rose from his chair, walking to the great marble fireplace. He slung his glass into the golden flames and watched it shatter into a hundred pieces of jagged crystal. Like his heart.

His sense of propriety dimmed by the brandy, he stalked to Freddie's chamber and flung open the door. He didn't see her at first because the room was so dark. He took a few steps and saw that she moved in her bed. She sat up and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes as Marmalade climbed on her lap from beneath her covers.

"Is it true that you plan to marry Edgekirth?" She had not covered herself, and he saw her nipples beneath the thin linen of her shift. She looked at him with hollow eyes. She didn't seem at all like his Freddie.

Finally, she nodded.

He thought for a moment she would burst into tears, but she didn't as their eyes remained locked, so much unsaid.

"That's all I needed to know," he said viciously, turning his back on her and slamming the door behind him.

He slammed his library door behind him as he strode to his desk, poured another glass of brandy and drank.

Edgekirth had told the truth. Damn him. Freddie would marry him though she had told Stacks she could
never, ever
marry the doctor, that she could never love anyone but Stacks. So much for her being different from other women. She was as lying and scheming as the lot of them.

But why had she changed? And why so quickly? Was it because what she really had wanted was marriage? Even when she'd told him all she could ever want was to stay by his side until the end of her days?

God in heaven, how it hurt to recall those intimate talks he had shared with her.

It hurt even more to know they would never again have them.

***

She had been so stunned to see Thomas in her chamber, she'd been unable to think, unable to speak. When she had looked up and seen him standing so near her bed, he had looked like a tall, angry dark knight. She had never seen him in a rage before, and she'd been frightened. Frightened and bitter over his traitorous heart.

Now that he was gone, she could think clearly. He'd been angry, no doubt disappointed, thinking that she had lied when she had told him she could never marry Edgekirth. Why hadn't she flung her own anger at him? Why hadn't she accused him of lying about never marrying again, about loving only her? Even if Roxanne had said they were not going to tell anyone just yet about their engagement, he owed it to Freddie to tell her.

Well, she thought, seething with anger, she had seen him. It had not been as difficult as she had thought. Perhaps she could see him between now and her wedding without swooning or crying or some other utterly embarrassing display.

Her wedding! The thought brought anguish. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She was going to become the wife of a man she didn't love. A fine, decent man who deserved a loving wife. She felt like a thief, stealing a love she could never return.

And she was leaving behind the only happiness she had ever known—though she could never again be happy there again. She had always known their world--hers and Thomas's--had been too perfect. It couldn't last. She was not entitled to happiness. Happiness was for other people. People who had been loved since the cradle.

Drawing Marmalade to her bosom, she began to cry. She had nothing when she came here. Now she had Marmalade. Thomas had said the tiny kitten was her very own. She would take him when she left Marshbanks Abbey. As much as she loved the animal, he was small consolation.

The following morning, she allowed Maggie to help her dress. "It's good that you're getting up again, Miss Lambeth. You need to get the blush back in your cheeks." She stood back a step and peered at Freddie. "I can tell by your eyes you didn't sleep well."

She not only had not slept well, she had not slept at all. She could not get away from the abbey too soon. Being so close to Thomas was entirely too painful. Freddie saw that Edgekirth had been right. The sun did shine again. "Has the rain gone?"

"Oh yes, miss, and the Lambeths, too, thank goodness."

Freddie spun away from her looking glass. "All of them?"

Maggie nodded. "And good riddance to them. I suppose Sir Harold was nice enough, but his two ladies were positive witches, I do declare."

"I won't argue with that," Freddie said as she stood and left the room.

She looked into Thomas's library as she walked by, but he was not in it. She hoped he would not be in the dining room. She wished to avoid conversation with him.

To her satisfaction, he was not. She took a seat and poured herself a cup of tea while a footman placed toast and other breakfast foods she did not feel like eating on the table. She looked up at him. "Has Lord Stacks eaten yet?"

"Yes, miss, he ate before he left for Morton."

"He's gone into Morton?"

The young man nodded. "About an hour after Sir Harold's family left."

She told herself she should be pleased she would not have to see him, but she was mildly disappointed. On the other hand, she was elated over the departure of Uncle Harold's family.

After breakfast, she resisted the temptation to work in the quadrangle. Thomas had expressed a strong dislike of her working there after a heavy rain. He disliked to see mud on her hands and on the hems of the dresses he had paid for. She went back to her chamber and got her sketch book and Marmalade and relocated to the upstairs drawing room where the light was better than in her room.

With Marmalade on her lap, she attempted to sketch, but he was particularly frisky, wanting to plop himself on the pad. She put the sketch pad down and played with her cat. With a heavy heart, she wondered what would become of Thomas' book. There really would be no need for her to sketch any more of her botanical drawings, for she refused to work with him after they married.

Eason knocked on the door and entered. "I'm in a bit of a quandary, miss," he said. "I've shown Mr. Binghampton, who is the brother of the late Lady Stacks, into the great hall, but I don't know when his lordship plans to return. Mr. Binghampton is but passing through and wanted to look in on his lordship for a few hours."

"Would you like for me to entertain him until Lord Stacks returns?"

"Yes, Miss Lambeth," he said gratefully, an unusual smile sweeping across his face.

"Why don't you ask him to come up here where it's more cozy? And please bring some tea." She had started to send for Maggie to provide chaperonage, but she really did not care a tuppence about her reputation any more. Malcolm would still marry her.

She looked up when the well dressed Mr. Binghampton entered. He was blond and bronzy and small boned, and she guessed him to be thirty. "Please sit down, Mr. Binghampton," she said, indicating a chair near her. "I am Lord Stacks' ward. My father, Frederick Lambeth, was best friends with Lord Stacks at Oxford."

"It's very good to see there is some one here for old Thomas," the man said. "The last time I saw him--five years ago--he was entirely too solitary."

Freddie had no desire to discuss Thomas and his loneliness. He seemed to have taken care of that matter. "Tell me, Mr. Binghampton, where are you from?"

"The Midlands. I'm on my way to inspect a hunting lodge that I'm thinking about buying in Scotland."

Eason brought the tea and set up the tea table. When he left, Freddie poured it into two delicate porcelain cups and handed one to the visitor.

"I suppose you were utterly devastated to lose your sister at so young an age," Freddie said.

He frowned. "It was, indeed, devastating, but not altogether unexpected."

Freddie's heart hammered. Had Elizabeth's family learned of her accidents, too? Did they suspect Thomas of murder? She tried to still her racing heart and speak without her voice trembling. "Indeed?"

He nodded simply.

But, Freddie reasoned, if Elizabeth's family held Thomas responsible for her death, Mr. Binghampton would hardly be sitting here telling her how glad he was that Thomas was not as lonely as he had been five years earlier. She had to probe further. "Was Elizabeth sickly?"

He laughed a bitter laugh and met her gaze. His eyes were blue like Elizabeth's. "How much do you know about her death?"

"A good bit, I suppose."

"And had you heard about her
accidents
?"

Now her pulse beat drummed. She nodded, her eyes wide.

He bit at his lip and looked down into his cup. "Thomas is a good man. A noble man. I know he has blamed himself for Elizabeth's death."

Freddie felt her breath growing short.

"He has never uttered a bad word against Elizabeth," he continued. "Terrible rumors about him have reached as far away as London."

She could barely get her breath as she watched Mr. Binghampton set his cup on the table and gaze up at her. "I wanted to talk to Thomas, to put his mind at ease, but it seems I may have to leave before he returns. I'll tell him what he needs to know in a letter."

Freddie's own cup began to rattle against her saucer.

He gazed at her. "As his ward, I think you have a right to know the truth. It's not something our family wishes known, but it is something my father should have informed Thomas of when drawing up the marriage contracts, and I've always been ashamed that he did not."

What was the man trying to say?

"Elizabeth--from the time she was a small girl--had a rare disorder," he said.

Freddie's brows arched.

He refused to look at her as he spoke. "She had a bent for self mutilation. She was forever purposely injuring herself."

Her mouth dropped open. "So all the those accidents Lord Stacks was accused of--"

"He was innocent of."

"Do you know how this man has suffered for ten years?" she said angrily. "Why did you not tell him sooner?"

"While my father lived, I couldn't. He died last month."

Freddie picked up her cup and saucer as an excuse to gather her thoughts before she spoke again. She took a sip of tea, looking at him over the rim of her cup. At least he had finally spoken. "It was good of you to come," she said softly.

He stood up. "I will write that letter to Thomas. Tell him I came, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," Freddie said, watching him leave the room.

***

While she and Marmalade were still sharing the sofa in the drawing room, Eason announced that Dr. Edgekirth was calling.

Her pulse accelerated with dread. "Send him up," she said gloomily.

Edgekirth rushed to Freddie's side on the damask sofa, took her hand, pressing it with soft lips.

It sickened her, and the fact that it sickened her angered her even more. Malcolm Edgekirth was a perfectly handsome, very fine man. Why couldn't she fall in love with him? Why did it have to be Thomas?

"I didn't sleep all night," he told her. "I cannot believe such happiness has been bestowed upon me."

"How can you be happy, under the circumstances?"

"Because I will have the joy of knowing you're mine, of seeing you every day of my life. I have dispatched a request for a special license."

"And how long will that take?"

He shrugged. "It's my goal we be wed by the end of next week."

"Good," she said, her lips tight.

"Eason tells me Stacks is in Morton. A very rare outing for him, to be sure."

"I think he wants to see me no more than I wish to see him." She stroked Marmalade, who slept curled in her lap. "You will never guess who left just moments before you arrived."

He took her hand in his. "Who?"

"Elizabeth's brother. I think you owe Lord Stacks an apology."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because he never injured Elizabeth, and he didn't kill her." But why, Freddie wondered, had he told her he had killed his wife?

"How could her brother possibly know that? He wasn't here. I was."

"He confessed that the family had always hidden the fact she had a rare disorder which caused her to inflict pain upon herself."

"No!"

"Yes," Freddie countered. "From the time she was a small girl she injured herself. Her brother said he was not a bit surprised when she killed herself. I think he'd rather been expecting it."