Seductive Lies (Secret Lives Series) (7 page)

Harriet turned and rushed blindly toward the door. Reaching the door before her, Carlisle blocked her exit.

“Don’t leave, please. Give me a moment to explain. I have been harsh, but it was because I hurt also. Arthur is the brother I never had. Please, sit down.”

Her one desire was to escape this room, where no one could observe her misery, but Carlisle gave her no other option. He led her back to the sofa. Sitting beside her, he handed her his handkerchief.

“I understand,” Carlisle said in a softer tone. “It was cruel to ask. I did so only because Lord Daneford insisted.”

“Why would he do so?”

“Lord Daneford told me it was because the ring is a family heirloom
.” He sighed. “You were correct; I have kept back information. Lord Daneford also informed me that although His Majesty’s Navy has not released it officially…Arthur died on board the
Royal Sovereign
. He was mortally wounded on a special assignment. He made it back to the ship. Lord Daneford said he died a hero.”

A deadly silence ensued. Harriet couldn’t take her eyes off Carlisle. She shook her head, refusing to believe the words. She pressed the handkerchief against her eyes to contain her tears.

“I asked for the ring because I thought it best if the request came from me. Lord Daneford is determined to have the ring back. He seems bent on thrusting you out of his life. He wants no connection to you. The truth hurts, but it is what you need to hear.”

Harriet looked away. She didn’t care about Lord Daneford’s desire to take her ring. She cried, “No…no…it is not true. Arthur isn’t…can’t be…”

“Perhaps it would be best if you went away for a time. The invitation to my uncle’s still stands.”

Harriet ignored him. The last thing she wanted was to be consoled by the Carlisle family, but she did need to leave. She had to leave. She stared down at the ring in her hand. She would never give it up. She squeezed it tight
ly. It was her one connection to Arthur.

Carlisle reached over and grasped her hand. The moment he touched it
, the room around her changed. She no longer sat in Beebe Manor’s drawing room nor was she sitting.

Harriet stood in front of a full
-length mirror with her hand on her growing stomach, but it was not her in the reflection. It was a woman she had never seen before, a most beautiful woman. Dressed in a white nightgown, she had classic cheekbones with a flawless complexion. Her long golden hair fell down well below her waist.

The woman had been crying. Her redden
ed swollen eyes betrayed her tears. She wiped back tears straying down her face. Immediately, Harriet caught sight of the ring on the woman’s hand…the ring.

In her next breath, a man’s reflection appeared in the mirror. Meriwether Carlisle!

“It is how it has to be, my love.” He walked up behind the lady and wrapped his arm around her.

“You promised we would marry.” The woman’s voice shook with emotion. “What am I to do?”

“I will care for you and the baby. You know I would never desert you,” he bent down and whispered in her ear. “I love you, Georgiana
.”

“Mother?” It was Georgiana. The woman was her mother. Forgetting all precautions, Harriet reached out and cried, “Mother! Don’t leave me!”

Immediately, her head spun. Her eyes blurred. She fell upon the floor. Carlisle stood above her, looking confused. It was the last she remembered before relinquishing consciousness into darkness.

* * * *

The wheels of the carriage rolled to a stop. It had been a long journey, but Harriet had arrived at Marsaport. The small fishing village lay at the furthest point of Cornwall, a remote part of England…far away from London, Exeter, Beebe Manor, and any remembrance of Arthur.

There would be no balls, no Season, no wedding. She had left everything behind. All her dreams of a future had faded
away into nothingness.

She had said good-bye to everyone
: Clarissa, Bessie…her grandmother. Sadness inundated her at the farewell. An ominous feeling overwhelmed her that she may never see her grandmother again. Harriet had cut a fresh vase of roses for her grandmother. She pinched one off and pressed it into her grandmother’s hands. Her grandmother, in turn, pressed her cameo into Harriet’s.

Harriet should have returned it. Her grandmother didn’t know what she was doing and may well look for it the moment after Harriet left. But in truth Harriet needed the cameo. She needed the connection to one
whom she loved so well. She pinned it to her gown as a reminder.

Waiting for the door to open, Harriet unconsciously wrung her hands together. Even through her gloves, she felt the loss of her ring. It was gone…taken while she lay unconscious.

Devastated at the loss of her ring…of Arthur, Harriet took to her bed and had not risen for three days. She didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep, for every time she closed her eyes, she would see Arthur. His sea blue eyes haunted her. All she seemed to do was cry. The dull ache of loneliness gnawed at her. Arthur would not be returning. Never had life seemed so bleak.

Harriet hadn’t the strength to fight
her aunt on her suggestion Harriet visit distant relatives, Captain Jago Waverly and his wife, Polly. Harriet had never heard of the couple, much less met them, but the wife was a cousin of Aunt Constance.

“Polly has been ill. With Captain Waverly leaving months at a time, it would alleviate a worry. A different environment will also do you good,” her aunt said in a surprisingly sympathetic voice.

Inexpressible sadness weighed upon Harriet. Harriet didn’t care where she went. Nothing mattered.

Harriet stepped out of the carriage into a ray of sunlight. Even in her state, the beauty of the view touched her. Embedded into the hillside, the cottage overlooked the bay, a whitewashed thatched home with a neat colorful flower garden. Not overly large, the steps led up to a
n ivy-covered front porch with a distinctive railing overhead.

On the side
, a turret extended above the roof line with high windows, giving way to an observation post. From her view, Harriet made out an old chair and a telescope that pointed out toward the ocean.

She walked silently up the walkway while her trunk was laid upon the ground. Strange, no one rushed out to greet her. She stood at the door to knock, but noticed the door was already opened.

“Hello!” Harriet called, pushing the door wider.

A stout elderly lady rushed out into the foyer
, drying her hands against her apron. “Oh, my goodness! You must be Miss Burke. Come in. Come in. I’m Mrs. Frant. I’m so sorry. I was cooking. It’s a small household. Smaller than I imagine you are used to, but you will adjust.” She paused for a moment. She looked Harriet over frankly from head to toe. “My, you are a pretty one.”

What an odd welcome
. Harriet glanced around the cottage. It was indeed small. A quaint drawing room was to her left and the dining room to her right. The stairs lay in front of her. Harriet wondered whether the house held enough bedrooms. She supposed the size of the house mattered little. It served only as a place to heal… if she could.

It was midday, but only traces of sunlight bled through the heavy velvet drapes. Candles burnt down to the wick littered the room. The room smelt of brandy and port. A broken decanter lay in a million pieces beside the smoldering fireplace.

The continual pounding on the door stirred the occupant in the bed. With the greatest reluctance, the man swung back the covers. Swearing under his breath, he stumbled over to the origin of the noise. He fumbled with the lock until the door flew open, striking the wall with a force that the whole of the room shook.

“Bloody hell, Arthur! Look at yourself!”

Arthur looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror over the chest. He blinked at the sight, trying to focus on the figure before him. If he hadn’t known who it was, he wouldn’t have recognized himself.

His tawny hair hung well past his shoulders, disheveled and unkempt. He still wore his clothes from the previous day
. Or was it the day before that? He couldn’t remember. A rumbled cravat hung loose about his untucked shirt, which had lost half of its studs.

“You have been home
over a month. I would have thought you passed this stage by now!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Carlisle, old boy. Didn’t realize there was a timetable for such
things. They should put it in a book… there’s a time limit when recovering from one’s fiancée running off with another man!”

Arthur reached down and pulled out the necklace around his neck. He gripped tight the ring he had given to Harriet. Never would he believe she would desert him. He denied it until his grandfather gave him the ring.

“She sent it over by messenger. Nothing else,” his grandfather said. “No explanation. I suppose she thought she didn’t need to say anything else.”

The Harriet he knew would have never relinquished the ring. It bonded them together. All those nights he clung to her love. Lived for the moment he would return. He read and reread her letters even after they stopped. Now he understood the reason.

“It has been two months since your ship docked.” Carlisle stated the fact, reinforcing his conjecture that it was time to move forward. He walked forward and began picking up strewn clothes cluttered over the room. “Where is your man?”

“I believe I locked him out
.” Arthur rubbed the side of his pounding head. “He refused to bring another decanter of brandy. If I’m not mistaken, Grandfather instructed the staff not to supply me anymore, either. ”

“Then you have no other option than to return to the real world, my friend. First, though, you will need a bath. I will call for your man…”

“I may be hung-over, Carlisle,” Arthur growled. “But I can take care of myself.”

“I do not question your ability,” Carlisle said. He threw the clothes he held over a chair. “You seemed to have no desire to do so. If you did, your grandfather would not have asked me to visit.”

Arthur wheeled around and faced his friend. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard how close you have become with my grandfather. If my memory serves me, I did not ask you to watch over my grandfather. I asked you to watch over Harriet!”

Without warning, he gripped Carlisle up by his shirt. “Harriet! It was Harriet! Why? Why did you leave her alone? You gave me your word!”

Carlisle grasped hold of Arthur’s arms and pushed Arthur off him. “I tried. Arthur, I did. I did not know her as you did… but I did what you asked of me. I saw to her welfare, but the woman I knew was different than the woman you described. Beautiful… I well understood your attraction… but Arthur… she was strange.”

A snort escaped Arthur. “Strange! How dare you imply…!”

“Surely, Arthur, you must have noticed!” Carlisle shook his head sadly. “The dazed looks she would give. Suddenly becoming quiet mid-sentence. Then, the last day I saw her—she had what one could only call an episode.”

“You make no sense.”

“One moment she was sitting, holding a conversation with me. The next, she lay on the floor, calling for her mother.” Carlisle stepped back. The intensity of the moment eased. “How else could you explain her actions? Why all the staff whispers about her? They say she has visions of sorts. They all believe she is possessed in some manner. Says that’s how she trapped you.”

“Damn nonsense!”

“Perhaps. Or do you want me to say that she was a gold-digger out for your title? When she thought it was gone, she accepted the next best thing. From the word we received, it was a wealthy landowner from America—Charleston, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Don’t,” Arthur demanded. “Don’t. There has to be an explanation. Harriet wouldn’t have left me! I know her better than I know myself. I need to find her.”

Carlisle reached over and grasped Arthur’s arm. “It hurts, but you have to compose yourself. Your grandfather didn’t want you to know. He’s sick. Arthur, he’s dying.”

* * * *

Arthur poured himself a glass of brandy. He had just finished his morning ride in Rotten Row. It was the only pleasure he had taken while in London and it was only with the greatest reluctance he had returned to his townhouse on Grosvenor Square.

He wanted nothing more than to be left alone. It wouldn’t happen. The whole of the last few months seemed a blur. The death of his grandfather last summer had placed the responsibility of his family squarely on his shoulders.

With his glass in hand, he walked over to the window. The whole of the garden was in bloom, but he saw nothing of its beauty. He was lost in his thoughts.

“My lord.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur frowned at the sight of his butler. “Jenkins, I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I apologize, m’lord,” he said. “It is only
Mrs. Hammett is searching for letters from her sister. Quite distraught. I thought it best if I inspected the study.”

“Why the devil would her letters be in my study!” Arthur caught himself. It was Bessie.

Whatever possessed his brother to marry such a nitwit! He would not wager a guess. Ewan had married her before he returned from his stint in the Royal Navy. His serious brother and a woman who didn’t have an intelligent thought in her head!

“They aren’t in here,” Arthur said irritably, motioning for his butler to leave him.

The butler bowed stiffly from the waist and withdrew from the room.

Arthur sighed heavily and took a sip of his glass. Bessie had a lot of nerve. To invade his study! It was his sanctuary. He had no tolerance for that simpleton. He would have to have another conversation with Ewan.

He had enough dealing with bird-witted imbeciles. It wasn’t the first time. He found himself dealing with the Navy’s own incompetence the moment he touched his foot on English soil again. He found people staring at him as if he was a ghost. Only then did he discover that some nitwit from the Defense Department had conveyed mistaken information.

For a brief period of time, his family thought he had died. The truth of the matter was he hadn’t even been injured.
It had been his friend and partner on their mission, Lieutenant Nigel Whitmore. The poor man lay in a hospital. His recovery was still in doubt, for the blade penetrated deep, causing injuries that the doctors feared would eventually take his friend’s life.

The rumor of Arthur’s demise persisted until
he returned and made an appearance in the flesh. Truly, he hadn’t given much thought to the oversight. His concern centered on Harriet and her desertion… then his grandfather became ill. Arthur realized the old man manipulated Arthur on his deathbed to do his bidding, playing upon his sense of honor and duty. Arthur held to his word. He became the Viscount his grandfather desired.

Viscount of Daneford, hero of Napoleonic War—he had it all, except he didn’t have her. He downed his glass and strode back over to the decanter. Pouring his glass, his eyes caught sight of a bundle under the small table across from the settee.

Good Lord! The woman had been in his study. He placed his glass down and crossed over to the table. Leaning down, he picked up the neat bundle of letters. He turned to call out for his butler, but the name caught in his throat.

He glared down at the bundle. Letters. Suppose it had news of Harriet
? Where she was… who she was with… more importantly, why she had left him… It was wrong. An invasion of privacy. Wasn’t he the one who forbade anyone to mention Harriet’s name?

No, he had to know where she was. He had to see her. He had to know why she left him. He backed up to the settee and opened up the first letter.

* * * *

A hazy sun shone in the sky. In her sturdy boots, Harriet took the path back up to the place that had been her home for well over a year. A chill wind whipped at her skirts. Quickening her steps, she pulled her cloak more firmly about her and pushed forward.

Harriet didn’t mind the walk most days down into the village. Any escape from that stuffy house was welcome. Today, though, she was in a foul mood. She grimaced at the frustration that filled her. Something was terribly wrong…

Since Harriet arrived, she had dwelt in a living nightmare. Long rendered powerless by events beyond her control, she had reached a crossroads, one where she had to choose between living and existing. Guilt, hurt…pain wrenched tightly to her soul.

Had she not encouraged Arthur to seek honor and glory in the fight against the devil Napoleon, he might not have been lost. Her brave, courageous Arthur! Destined never to see his handsome face again. Lost forever to her.

Moreover, she had not heard from her family. Nothing. All her letters had gone unanswered. Today, the letter she had painstakingly written to her solicitor was returned unopened. Then Captain Waverly was due back from his voyage by the end of the week.

Harriet shuddered at the thought. She had to leave before his return. Why her aunt had sent her to these people she hadn’t the foggiest. They were horrid people who treated her no better than a servant.

The first couple of months at the Waverlys passed uneventfully. Harriet had welcomed the peace and quiet. It was only afterwards
, when Harriet wanted to return home, that things made a turn for the worse. Why, before his last trip Captain Waverly kept her under lock and key!

Only Mrs. Waverly’s constant demands released her from her prison. Harriet had no money, but she was running out of time. She had to get back to Beebe Manor. Rounding the bend, she paused.

A carriage sat in front of the cottage, an elegant conveyance. It was not a common sight in Marsaport. There were no markings on its door, but without question it was the property of a nobleman.

Upon her appearance, one of the footmen ran up the steps and through the entrance. Her heart surged with hope her family had come to retrieve her. Suddenly, a man emerged from the house.

Harriet stood utterly still. Holding her breath, she felt the color drain from her face. For a moment, she stared incredulously at him. Finally, she whispered his name. “Arthur.”

He wasted no time, but bounded down the steps. He walked toward her and her heart stopped for what seemed an eternity. Breathless with shock, she stood frozen in her spot
, unbelieving the sight before her.

Arthur reached out and caressed her cheek, wiping away escaping tears. She looked at him, searching his face for any signs it was all a dream.

Smiling down at her as if he had found a lost treasure, he said, “I am real.”

“They told me you were dead
….” She faltered. Badly shaken, the whole of her body trembled. She took deep breaths to calm herself.

“They told me you had deserted me.”

There were no more words. He drew her into his arms and kissed her. Surreal, she surrendered to the moment. The warmth of his mouth upon hers stirred her pulses. She felt alive again.

Leaning down, Arthur picked her up and carried her back to the carriage. He gave her no option. She was leaving.

The carriage door closed behind them. He wrapped his arms about her and she nestled closer. His embrace felt so safe. Slowly, her shaking subsided. Arthur had rescued her.

As if reading her thoughts, he kissed the top of her head. “It is over, my love. No one is ever going to part us again.”

* * * *

By the time they stopped at the Black Swan Inn outside of Falmouth, Arthur explained the collusion to the best of his ability. There were many unanswered questions, but one fact could not be disputed—they both had been victims of a conspiracy.

Upon reading the letter from Clarissa, he realized he had been had. Clarissa begged Bessie for help in finding Harriet. Her parents wouldn’t give her any answers. She was worried, expressing her concern to her sister.

Bessie, I’m in no condition to search, for my time is near. But we both know that Harriet left only to recover from the shock of Arthur’s death. I expected her back immediately after the mistake was revealed and he returned. I have written to her continually, but my letters have been returned unopened. She is not where Mother told me. Now Mother acts as if she has no knowledge of Harriet’s whereabouts. And with this nonsense that Harriet ran off with a stranger, I am worried about her. She was heart stricken. I understand none of what is going on. Do not tell me that it is only my imagination! I will not be fended off this time...