The Earl's Wallflower Bride (24 page)

So she paced. And paced. And paced some more.
Things were quiet here. She couldn’t hear any of the usual sounds
that should be in a home. There were no footsteps as people went up
and down the hall outside. There were no conversations, either.

She knew she was tucked away in the west wing
of the manor, but she had no idea she was so far removed from
everyone that she was practically invisible. Was it possible that
she might die here? If Warren didn’t care enough to come, would
anyone even remember she was trapped in this room?

Around six, the key turned in the lock, and
Iris faced the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t
know if it was the restless feeling in the air or having been
isolated for so long that made her jumpy, but she was definitely on
edge.

Byron came in with a tray full of delicious
food. He set it on the table and motioned to it. “I’ll return for
the tray in a half hour. You don’t have much time to eat, so I
suggest you do it now.”

She glanced at the tray, her stomach urging
her to eat the fish, vegetables, and pie.

“You shouldn’t be stuck here much longer,”
Byron told her. “Warren should be here soon. I expect you’ll be on
your way back to London by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

That was only
if
Warren came. She kept
her mouth shut. Why give more voice to her doubts than she already
had?

“Either way,” Byron continued on his way to
the door, “you’ll need your energy. I can’t guarantee another meal
before your departure.” He left the room and locked the door.

Steadying her breath, she went over to the
table and ate, the growing feeling of dread welling up inside her
with each bite she took. Because there was no denying the fact that
each minute that passed brought them all closer to something bad,
and she suspected there was no escaping it.

Chapter Twenty

“W
hy are you here?” Opal asked as Byron tucked the blanket
around her.

“I know your lady’s maid usually sees you to
bed,” Byron said, “but I wanted to do it tonight. It’s not often I
get to see my little sister.” He smiled and patted her arms.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to tell you about the different ball gowns
you’ll get to wear when you have your first Season.”

As he expected, her eyes lit up, taking on
that childlike quality that he’d become familiar with ever since
her accident. “Will I look like a princess?”

“A princess? No, you won’t look like a
princess.” He waited until her countenance fell before he added,
“You’ll look like a queen.”

The spark came back to her eyes, and she
giggled. “Then shall I find a king?”

“If not a king, then a duke, earl, viscount,
or baron. Remember, we must find someone with a title and lots of
money. Money is what will give you beautiful gowns and lots of
other pretty things.”

“Like dolls?” She sat up in bed, her eyes
wide. “Can I have dolls?”

“Of course, you can.” He urged her to lie
back down. “You can have anything you want as long as you do
exactly as I say. We need to make the gentleman think you’re normal
like other ladies. Once you marry, he can find out the truth. But
not before then. So it’s important you act like a big girl.”

She nodded. “I will.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head then
bent down to pick up the slippers she’d left by the bed.

“One day I’ll go to a ball,” Opal sang, “and
it’ll be fun for all. I’ll wear a gown so pretty. All the gentlemen
will be looking at me.”

“Opal,” Byron said as he rose to his feet,
the slippers behind his back. He waited for her to look over at him
then added, “Remember what I said about the singing.”

Her lower lip jutted out. “You don’t like
it.”

“If you’re going to secure a husband, you
can’t go around singing like a little girl. You need to be a big
girl. You should learn to restrain yourself while you’re here. That
way, you won’t slip when you’re in London.”

“I can’t ever sing again?”

“Yes, you can. Only do it when you’re alone.
Let no one, not even the servants, hear. All right?”

“But it’s hard. Music is always in my
head.”

Yes, and that worried him. She could only
control her childlike impulses in short bursts, and that might
prove a problem when it came time for social events. “I know it’s
hard, but it’s very important you keep the music to yourself. The
more you practice this technique, the easier it’ll become. I
promise.”

“What if I forget?”

“I’ll be there to chaperone, so you won’t be
alone when you’re in public. I’ll give you a secret signal if you
start to act inappropriately.”

Once more, her eyes twinkled, and she
giggled. “A secret? Just between us?”

“Yes. Just between us.”

“How exciting! I’ve never had a secret
before.”

“Well, you will when we’re in London.” One
the husband-to-be wouldn’t discover until it was too late. But
there was no need to worry her over trivial facts. “Have a good
night’s sleep, Opal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She let out a squeal of delight then rolled
onto her side so that her back was facing him. She pulled the
blanket up to her chin and giggled again, probably imagining all
the pretty dresses she’d wear. One thing Opal loved even more than
dolls were dresses, and he’d make sure to reward her with dresses
for acting like a lady suitable for marriage.

He quietly left the room then went down the
hall. His mother would still be downstairs, reading a book or
giving the servants their orders for the next day. That gave him
the perfect opportunity to go through with his plan.

Making sure no one was around, he set Opal’s
slippers on two different steps near the top of the staircase. If
his mother missed one, she just might slip on another. And, if
fortune did not prevail, he could give her a little push down the
steps in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep.

Once he was done setting down the slippers,
he went to the drawing room. The sun had long since settled for the
evening, but he was sure Warren would be arriving before midnight.
At the moment, however, there was no sign of a carriage or a lone
rider on a horse.

Byron glanced at the clock. It was a quarter
past nine. The wait would be over soon. Then Iris could return to
London, and he’d have sufficient money in his possession to use at
his discretion. And better yet, his mother wouldn’t be a
threat.

“I thought you would be in the den this time
of night,” came that familiar voice of disdain.

He turned his gaze to his mother as she
entered the room. “How ironic you should come at the very moment
when I was thinking of you.”

“All pleasant thoughts, of course.” She
rolled her eyes and settled in one of the chairs.

“As a matter of fact, I was having pleasant
thoughts.” Just thinking of her dead so she could no longer control
him was very pleasant indeed. “Shall I have the butler bring you
some tea before you go to bed?”

She eyed him warily. “As long as it’s the
butler who brings it instead of you, that will be fine.”

His eyebrows rose. “Afraid I’ll poison you
the same way you poisoned Father’s first wife?”

She scowled at him then glanced at the open
doors.

“No need to worry, Mother,” he said as he
pulled the cord. “There was no one nearby to overhear me.”

“You’re too sure of yourself, and that’s not
a good thing. It’s making you reckless.”

“Sometimes one has to be reckless.” He sat
across from her and crossed his legs. In a lower voice, he added,
“How else will the dirty little deeds get done?”

“You tire me when you’re here. I much prefer
having you in London.”

“The feeling is mutual, Mother. Fortunately
for both of us, Warren should be here tonight. Or,” he amended, “by
tomorrow morning.”

“Knowing him, it’ll be tomorrow afternoon. He
won’t push the horses and driver as hard as you did.”

“Time was of the essence, Mother. I had to
get here before anyone caught me. Without Iris, we have no
bargaining power.”

This, thankfully, shut his mother up.

The butler came in with the tea and poured
them each a cup. After he left, his mother pulled out a small
bottle of laudanum from her pocket and put some into her tea.

“Doesn’t it strike you as sad that you rely
on an opiate to be able to sleep at night?” Byron asked, not
bothering to drink any of the tea.

She glowered at him as she stirred her tea.
“One might wonder why you need so many ladies. Why isn’t one body
as good as another? All of them are built the same way.”

“Breasts look different, Mother. Some are
small, and some are big. The nipples also vary in sizes and colors.
And would you like me to explain how some are tighter down there
than others while thrusting toward a climax? The tighter, the more
exquisite the journey.”

She nearly gagged on her tea. “I’m your
mother. I won’t tolerate that kind of talk when I’m in the
room.”

He only smiled at her, hoping the way he
grinned at her unsettled her more than his words had.

She gulped down the rest of the tea and put
the cup on the tray. “You are a disappointment.”

“I love you, too, Mother,” he replied, not
bothering to hide his sarcasm.

She gave him one last scowl before she
stormed out of the room.

Good. He straightened up in his chair and
listened to her footsteps as she went down the hall. She turned and
went to the stairs. He gripped the arms of the chair and held his
breath. This was it. Either his plan was going to work or it
wasn’t.

He couldn’t hear her footsteps on the
staircase, but he knew how many steps there were. Closing his eyes,
he counted each one in his head, imagining each foot as it led her
toward Opal’s slippers.

Please, let this work. He
took a deep breath and released it.
Make
that harpy’s foot land right on the slipper.

She should be close now. Just one or two
steps away from…

A scream cut through the silence, followed by
a series of tumbles down the stairs. He bolted to his feet and ran
down the hall. The butler came up to her right before he did.

“My lady,” the butler said as he knelt beside
her. “My lady?”

Byron stood back and inspected her. Her neck
was twisted at an unnatural angle, and though her eyes were open,
she didn’t appear to be looking at anything. He breathed a sigh of
relief. The plan had worked. Now she wouldn’t be a threat.

The butler checked her breathing and then her
pulse. After a moment, he glanced over at Byron. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Beaufort, but she’s dead.”

Making an effort to look appropriately
grieved, Byron offered a solemn nod. “I was afraid of that when I
realized she wasn’t moving.”

The footman and a maid came running toward
them. “What is it?” the footman asked. “Is someone hurt?”

Before the butler could answer, Byron said,
“Unfortunately. My mother fell down the stairs.”

The butler rose to his feet. “I came here
first. Mr. Beaufort rushed out of the drawing room shortly
afterwards.”

“You think she tripped on the hem of her
dress?” the maid asked, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I tried
to be careful when I made the gown.”

Byron’s eyes widened in interest. That
possibility for causing his mother’s death would work as well as
the slippers, but he saw no reason to let the maid needlessly
suffer guilt. He turned his gaze to the stairs. One of Opal’s
slippers had fallen halfway down the staircase. The other one
remained securely in place where he’d put it.

“I think I spotted the thing responsible for
my mother’s fall.” Byron climbed the steps until he came to the
slipper that had done the trick. Lifting it, he paused, swallowed,
and then turned to them. “It wasn’t the hem on Mother’s dress. It
was the slipper.” He went back down the stairs and lowered his
voice. “This belongs to Opal.”

The maid gasped and put her hand over her
mouth.

“Opal couldn’t have left her slipper on the
stairs,” the butler said.

“Well, she could,” the maid replied, her
voice wavering. “But she wouldn’t have realized the danger she was
putting anyone in by doing so. The poor thing is too much like a
child.”

“That’s what I meant,” the butler amended.
“She couldn’t have left it on purpose.”

“You’re right,” Byron was quick to agree.
“She must have taken them off and put them on the steps to put on
later. You know how she likes to go barefoot.”

“Yes, that’s true,” the maid replied. “I have
to remind her to wear something on her feet when we go outside for
her walks.”

Which was why Byron knew the lie would be
easy for them to believe. Opal had often complained her slippers
made her feet feel too small, so she had a habit of going barefoot
around the manor. No one would question her taking them off while
on the stairs.