My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (29 page)

Edgekirth's eyes widened. "I never---Oh, yes, I actually remember reading something when I was at university about the disorder. . ." His voice trailed off. "I never would have expected it of Elizabeth."

"Do you not agree that you owe Lord Stacks an apology?"

It was a full minute before he nodded.

Chapter 28

All these years Thomas had lived with the shame of Elizabeth's death. Never had he sullied the memory of the lovely blond with the dancing the blue eyes. And for as many years he had endured the whispered innuendos even from his own servants. He had, indeed, been noble, Freddie thought. How could that man be the same one who had toyed with her heart while offering his name to another?

Never mind her own hurt. She could at least remove some of the stain that had soiled his life. She pulled the bell rope in the drawing room. When Eason answered, she instructed, "Please tell Mrs. Greenwood I beg a word with her."

When Mrs. Greenwood entered the drawing room Freddie asked her to close the door and have a seat beside her.

The woman did as she was instructed, her eyes fixed on Freddie's as she crossed the room and sat down. She looked nervous.

"When I first came here," Freddie began, "you seemed very displeased, but since Mrs. Taylor came your resentment vanished, which led me to believe that you had at first feared for my safety. Am I correct, Mrs. Greenwood?"

She nodded. "I never meant to offend you, miss."

Freddie gently patted the woman's solid arm. "It's all right. I think you suspected Lord Stacks was responsible for his wife's death."

The two women's eyes locked, but the housekeeper refused comment.

"That's why I called you here for this little talk. Do you know who visited here today beside Dr. Edgekirth?"

"I heard it was Lady Stacks's brother."

"Yes. He came to make a confession about his sister. According to Mr. Binghampton, Elizabeth had a life-long disorder which caused her to inflict pain on herself."

Mrs. Greenwood's eyes widened. "You mean like the sex maniacs that kill women in London?"

Freddie nodded. "Probably. Although I don't think Elizabeth ever meant to harm anyone but herself. Unfortunately, Lord Stacks has been paying for his wife's misdeeds for the last ten years."

"I'm truly sorry," Mrs. Greenwood whispered, looking into the bony hands folded in her lap. "I should have known his lordship was too kind. It was just that I was very fond of Lady Stacks. I still can't believe she. . ."

"I know. It is an extremely rare disorder, one that most of us have never heard of. Lord Stacks does not even know his wife suffered from it."

"That's not right for him not to know."

Freddie looked kindly at her. "I will tell him. I wanted you to know the truth, to no longer blame your employer for something he did not do. He has protected a dead woman for far too many years."

The housekeeper's face was grim. "He certainly has. The Lord bless him."

***

The sun was low, shading the twilight sky with pinks and oranges as Stacks rode back to the abbey from Morton. He had stayed away as long as he could. He had paid a long overdue visit to the vicarage. He had gone to see Mrs. Rountree at Thistledowne and offered belated condolences over the death of her husband the previous year. He had visited some of his cottagers.

And now he had to go back to the abbey where he hoped to avoid Freddie's presence. Eason greeted him at the door, informing Stacks he had missed a visit from Mr. Binghampton. Stacks raised his brows and handed the butler his hat and coat. "Any other visitors?"

"Only Dr. Edgekirth."

That was a given, Stacks thought bitterly. "And where is Miss Lambeth?" he asked as he strode from the vestibule and into the great room.

"She is in the dining room. You're just in time to join her for dinner."

"Actually," Stacks said hesitantly, walking in the other direction from the dining room, "I don't feel like dressing, and I have work to catch up on. Have a tray sent to the library for me, won't you?"

He sat at the desk in his library, only picking at his dinner, his gloomy thoughts on Freddie and her marriage. He remembered when he had planned to make a settlement on Freddie at her marriage. Not any longer. Edgekirth would get nothing from him. Besides, he had wanted to make a settlement on the old Freddie, the one who was honest and loving. Not the lying creature she had turned into.

He pushed aside the unfinished dinner and poured himself a glass of brandy, noticing that the servants had already replaced the two shattered snifters. He had been drinking entirely too much the past several days, but he didn't care. The fact was, he didn't care what happened to him any more. It had been the same when Elizabeth died.

He laughed a bitter laugh. It was as if his vibrant Freddie was dead.

A pity he had missed Timmy Binghampton. He had always liked the lad.

If Freddie had thought it ridiculous for just the two of them to sit at the magnificent table with two footmen in attendance, it was far more ridiculous tonight.

She sat completely alone, except, of course, for the footman. At least there was only one. Though she had little appetite, she tried to stretch out the dinner in hopes of getting a chance to talk to Thomas.

He needed to know about Elizabeth. Freddie was still puzzled over how he could blame himself for Elizabeth's suicide.

Had he felt she had been driven to it by something he had done? Or not done, she thought, remembering that he had stayed from her bed for months at a time.

Eason walked through the dining room, and she heard him tell someone in the kitchen that Lord Stacks desired a tray in the library. She watched sadly as Eason walked back through the dining room, carrying his master's tray. Was her presence so repugnant to Thomas that he couldn't eat with her?

She pushed aside her plate and left the room, intending to go to the shelter of her room and the comfort of sweet Marmalade. She crossed the darkened great room, so different now than it was the last time she saw it at night, the night of wretched ball. She looked at the pianoforte, turned to a footman, and asked him to light candles in the candelabra on top the pianoforte.

She hadn't played since Uncle Harold had come. Concentrating on so many different things as the music demanded would keep away thoughts of Thomas.

She sat down at the instrument and began to play. She played for over two hours just to get back the level of skill she had acquired when her uncle came.

***

She kept playing the same song. Terribly at first, then better and better until she finally got it right. He had listened from his dimly lit library as he drank too much brandy once again.

Finally, he got up to go to bed. But he chose not to cross the great room as he usually did to reach his chamber on the other side of the abbey. This time he went through the cloisters, across the soggy quadrangle, into the refectory and up a servants' stairway to his room.

The waiting Roberts assisted him in removing the same clothing he had helped him don that morning.

"Don't say it," Stacks told his valet.

Roberts looked offended. "Say what, my lord?"

"Chide me for not changing my clothes when I returned from Morton."

Roberts took a whiff of his master's brandy-scented breath and pulled back ever so slightly. "I'm far more likely to chide you for overdrinking."

Stacks laughed and plopped on his stuffed chair while Roberts removed his boots. "You certainly aren't subtle, my man."

"Eason said you did not eat with Miss Freddie. I have deduced that your trouble lies with the young woman."

Stacks focused his black eyes on his valet and sneered. "Who says I'm troubled?"

"I do, my lord."

"You know that Miss Lambeth is to wed the wretched Edgekirth?"

Roberts' brows lifted. "I am shocked, indeed. Have you not told her how you feel about her?"

Stacks kicked his boot across the dressing room. "She knows, damn it!"

"Have you told her since the beautiful Miss Roxanne Lambeth left?"

Stacks angrily kicked off the other boot. "I haven't spoken to her."

"May I suggest you do so?"

"I cannot beg her. Besides, I cannot offer marriage as Edgekirth can."

"I fail to see why the doctor can propose and you cannot."

"Because of Elizabeth."

"Oh, I had almost forgotten!" Roberts said, his eyes alight. "Mrs. Greenwood has informed several members of the staff that you did not harm the late Lady Stacks. She said Miss Lambeth told her that Mr. Binghampton confessed that his sister had always suffered from some peculiar mental disease that caused her to inflict pain on herself. Mrs. Greenwood compared it to those sex killers we hear about from time to time in London. Anyway, Mrs. Greenwood has at long last been able to exonerate you from any blame in Lady Stacks' death. Of course, I reminded her that I always knew you couldn't have hurt your wife."

Stacks closed his eyes, and the room tended to spin around him. Would that he could be exonerated from actually killing Elizabeth. "Help me to my bed, my good man."

"Very well, my lord," Roberts said, giving Stacks a helping hand as he got to his feet. He held onto Stacks as they walked into the huge chamber where Stacks slept. The forest green velvet bed covering had already been pulled back to form a triangle against the white linen sheets.

Stacks climbed up on the bed.

Roberts cleared his throat. "If I might be so bold as to make a suggestion, my lord."

Stacks looked at his man servant out of bleary eyes and cocked a brow.

"I beg that you talk to Miss Freddie tomorrow. One last time you need to let her know how you feel about her."

"She knows," Stacks murmured.

"Tell her again, please."

Stacks shook his head as it drifted into the downy pillows.

Chapter 29

When he lifted his head from his pillow the following morning, it felt as if it had been smashed by a brick. He eased himself back down and from the corner of his eye saw Roberts smiling at him.

"I have taken the liberty of bringing a balm of sickle-wort which Miss Freddie assures will relieve the headache if anointed on the temples and forehead."

"Do I have to get up?"

"No, my lord," Roberts said, dabbing the potion on his master's brow.

Despite that he teased Roberts for his overbearingness, Stacks knew how fortunate he was to have him. "If you'd thought to force breakfast down me, think again."

Roberts's face grew pensive. "It would do you good to eat."

"Perhaps later. I fancy a romp on Lucifer first thing this morning. Have Jacob bring him around."

After Roberts helped his master into riding clothes, Stacks left through the quadrangle, met his groom at the back of the abbey, and mounted Lucifer. He rode to the moors. It always had done him good to go riding early in the day when wet dew still hung over the landscape. And always the lonely moors matched his melancholy mood.

***

Freddie had stayed cooped up indoors far too long. The low hanging sun was doing its best to harden the earth after over a week of relentless rains.

After breakfast--solitary in the dining room again--she returned to her chamber, draped her new shawl over her shoulders and scooped up Marmalade. "Come, Mr. Marmalade. We shall enjoy the outdoors today." Though she knew she could not really enjoy anything ever again.

She went through the vestibule to the front of the abbey and circled it, coming to the park. She let Marmalade down, and he promptly skittered after a flying insect Freddie could barely see, much less identify. She smiled at him and began to crunch along the gravel path that crossed the park, then along the path that circled it. The crocus leaves were still wet with dew, and a chorus of birds sang. The sun felt good. She must have circled the park a half dozen time when she heard a clopping noise from beyond the thicket at the rear edge of the park. She looked up to see her guardian on Lucifer. Her heart pounded, and she turned back to see where Marmalade was. "Come here, fluff muffin," she crooned. Anything to take her mind from what was obviously going to be a meeting with Lord Stacks.

He rode into the park and came to a stop when he saw her. She looked up just then, and their eyes met. And froze. A powerful intensity fired his gaze. She couldn't seem to remove her eyes from his. Nor could she summon her voice.

He broke eye contact when he dismounted. Holding the reins, he strode toward her. She watched his long, muscled legs moving closer. Her insides quivered and shook as an earthquake surging its fury within her.

"Good morning, Miss Lambeth," he said when he came to stand in front of her. Once more he reminded her of a dark knight, so brooding and tall and powerful.

"Hello, my lord."

"Will you sit with me at the bench?" He threw his glance at a wooden garden bench not twenty feet away.

She nodded solemnly, and bent to pick up Marmalade. It was as if the tiny cat would shield her from a stormy confrontation.

They sat down. Now they were tense and antagonistic, so different than it had been before when their thoughts had meshed together in unspoken harmony.

His voice was low when he spoke. "Why are you marrying Edgekirth when you told me you never would?"

"It is something which causes me to feel extreme guilt, but I had nowhere else to go. I could not live here after you marry Roxanne."

"After I what?" he shouted, anger flashing in his eyes.

"After you marry Roxanne," she said meekly, meeting his searing gaze.

"Who in the hell told you I was marrying that wretched female?"

"She did."

"And you didn't ask me?"

"I. ..I was too hurt, too humiliated after seeing you kiss her in the heron's nesting area."

He closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. "I did not kiss her. She kissed me, and it was repugnant."

"But she told me--"

"How could you possibly think I would ask her to marry me when I loved you?"

She gazed at him through happy eyes, tears flowing as if from a bucket. "I. . .I've never, ever cried," she sniffed. "In my whole life. Now in the past month I've cried enough to fill the River Tyne."