Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (26 page)

He wasn't choosy. Nor did he expect the type of passion he'd experienced with Sarah Carstairs. He needed a tough partner, a pragmatic and sturdy ally, and he imagined that, without too much trouble, he could find someone who would be happy to accompany him.

"Where are you off to?" Sarah queried, studying his heavy coat and scarf, his hat pulled low on his head. "I'm leaving."

"You oughtn't to go anywhere. The temperature is so frigid; I swear it's about to snow."

"I've seen better," he churlishly replied. "I'll see worse."

It had been a beautiful summer, but the harvest was completed, and autumn full upon them, winter close behind. A smart fellow would be sailing south, with the wind at his back and the sun on his face, as he traveled to warmer climes, which was Jack's exact intent.

To hell with Jamie! To hell with Gladstone and the flighty, unappreciative females who roamed its halls!

Without another word, Jack stomped to the door. A packed satchel and a bedroll awaited him, but that was all. He hadn't advised anyone that he was going, so there was no one to see him off. No one rushed out to say good-bye or wish him Godspeed, but that's the way he wanted it.

Farewells were annoying and pointless.

He took a last glance at the fussy foyer, at the priceless carpets, the sparkling chandeliers, the paintings, and furniture, and all the rest. He could have gagged at the excess, and he was delighted to be departing with no more than he'd arrived with.

How many chattels did a man actually need anyway?

Sarah watched as he hefted his bag over his shoulder, and she inquired, "What are you doing?"

Irked at being delayed, he snapped, "I told you: I'm leaving."

"You mean leaving Gladstone?"

"Yes."

"Forever?"

"Yes. What did you think I meant?"

"But... where will you go?"

She acted as if he were begging for spare coins on a street corner, and her snobbery aggravated him.

"I'm sure it will come as a huge surprise to someone as grand and glorious as yourself, but before I returned to England I had a decent life. I wasn't a wealthy nabob, and I didn't have fashionable clothes to wear, or rich foods to eat, but I got on all right."

"But I... I... thought you loved it here. I thought you were happy."

"I guess that just shows how little you know of me."

His gaze was cold, and he was being cruel, but he owed her no courtesy.

He spun away again, but suddenly she was there, halting him with the slightest weight of her hand on his arm. Her touch was like a brand, and he shook her away, hating to be reminded of how he'd have once done anything for her.

"Does Anne know about this?"

"No."

"Let's speak with her, shall we?" Sarah cajoled as if he were a lunatic escaped from an asylum. "She wouldn't want you to go with this storm brewing."

"Anne is busy. She's upstairs in her sitting room with your cousin Percy."

"Percy is here?"

"I tried to tell her not to let him stay, but—" "He's staying?"

Sarah was aghast, and Jack took some comfort from her reaction. At least one person in the blasted house realized that Percy's presence spelled disaster. Jack had warned Anne, but she viewed her cousin as a nuisance, not as a threat, so she refused to heed Jack's dire counsel.

Jack could have bodily tossed Percy out on the road, and he'd been seriously considering it, when it had dawned on him that he didn't care enough about the accursed place to fret.

It was Jamie's property and Jamie's authority that were being maligned, but Jamie couldn't be bothered. Why should Jack enforce the rules and douse the fires? Why should Jack bloody his knuckles over a pompous ass like Percy Merrick?

When Ophelia had first slithered home, Jack had pitched a fit, but it had been a waste of energy. The vexing shrew was quietly wresting control of the manor, though Anne hadn't yet noticed the small ways her orders were being contravened.

With Percy on the premises, it would only get worse, and Jack wouldn't tarry to observe the trouble

Ophelia and Percy would foment. It was obvious that they had schemes in the works, and when those schemes were implemented it would be bad for all concerned, but what could he do? It had been the story of his life that he had no genuine power or influence.

He'd cautioned Anne, he was alerting Sarah, and he'd stop in London to notify Jamie before he headed out. Whatever any of them did—or didn't do—after that was none of his affair.

"Yes," Jack said, "Percy's here, and he's already demanded possession of his old suite."

"Why ... that's absurd. It belongs to your brother."

"I hate to break the news to you, but Jamie will never be back to claim it. He made his position very clear when your sister and I went to London."

At memories of that failed journey, Jack grimaced. Anne had been crushed all over again, and Jack had been left with no more illusions. He'd had to accept the fact that Jamie was an unredeemable lout and unworthy of any loyalty.

Most pathetic of all, during the short period Jack had been gone he'd missed Sarah, and if there was any greater evidence of how Gladstone had driven him completely insane, he didn't know what it was.

His mention of Jamie had set a spark to her temper, but he was too weary to bicker. During his last argument with Sarah, she'd spewed every harsh word he ever planned to listen to from her, and as he prepared to walk out the door forever, he wasn't about to go with her snide remarks ringing in his ears.

"So that's it?" she seethed. "The two of you swept in, wreaked havoc, and now, you're simply moving on?"

"That about covers it."

"But what will Anne and I do?"

"I don't know," he truthfully replied. "If you need anything, I suppose you could try writing to Jamie, but I wouldn't expect an answer. And were I you, I'd be extremely wary of Ophelia and Percy. I don't believe they have your best interests at heart."

Sarah studied him, her mind awhirl. She'd always had too much to say, more than he'd ever wanted to hear, and he wouldn't tolerate any nonsense.

"You're not going because of me, are you?" she pestered.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Because ... if that's why, we can talk this out. We don't need to quarrel."

"We're beyond quarreling, Sarah. You know that."

"Where will you be living? What if I need to contact you?"

"I can't imagine why you would." "Humor me."

She appeared sincere, so he told her. "I'm off to London, where I intend to find a woman who'll marry me; then I'm taking our ship and sailing it to America. To start over."

"You'd rather wed a ... a... stranger and trek off to the wilderness than remain here with me?"

"Yes."

"Don't do this, Jack. Don't go."

She stepped forward and laid her palm on his chest, and she gazed up at him with her pretty green eyes. It would be so easy to get sucked in by those eyes, to begin dreaming of things that could never be, but he'd learned the hard way that it was foolish to depend on her, foolish to hope she might turn out to be someone other than who she was.

"Good-bye, Sarah." He was proud at how he managed to quell any hint of lingering affection.

"If I did anything or said anything that—"

He snorted with disgust. "Just leave it be."

"Will I... will I... ever see you again?"

"If I'm very lucky—which I haven't been so far— no."

They stared for an eternity, and finally she ludicrously declared, "I think I could have loved you." "I doubt it," he countered. "I'm sorry it didn't work out between us." "I'm not."

He pulled away, spun, and hurried outside.

Twenty

“Where is Tim?" Ophelia glanced up from her breakfast plate. 'Tim? Who is Tim?" "You know who he is," Sarah growled. "No, I don't. I guess you'll have to clarify who you mean."

"Where is he, you witch?" Sarah shouted. At the outburst, Ophelia chuckled and kept buttering her toast.

"Honestly, Sarah, you're positively unhinged, and I have no desire to deal with you when you're in such a state. Perhaps I should advise Percy to find you a husband. Or perhaps I should simply have Percy get you under control, himself."

She laid down her knife, her warning clear. Percy could do anything to Sarah, and Sarah couldn't stop him. While he'd never made an inappropriate advance, there had been times when he'd unnerved her with a leer or a gesture. She didn't trust him and never had.

The Merrick brothers were gone, the scant protection

they'd afforded having vanished like smoke, and the family had resettled to its original condition. Percy and Ophelia were lording themselves over everyone, so the servants were in continual turmoil, wondering who to obey.

Anne quietly and discreetly rescinded their more outrageous demands, but it was impossible to assert any significant authority. What could Anne do? Was she to summon the law and have her own cousins evicted? Would she have them dragged out to the road kicking and screaming? Such a scenario didn't bear contemplating, yet Ophelia was more of a shrew than ever, and Percy was drinking too much and seemed downright dangerous.

Sarah had begged Anne to write to Jamie, but Anne wouldn't lower herself, and Sarah couldn't blame her, but with Tim missing, the gloves were off, and Sarah might contact him, herself. Ophelia had always claimed that she could make Tim disappear, and it would be just like her to seek revenge against Tim when she was actually angry at Jamie.

Feeling as deranged as Ophelia had accused her of being, Sarah went to the sideboard and grabbed a knife. She walked to Ophelia and thrust the blade under her chin.

"If you sent him away," Sarah threatened, "if you so much as harmed a hair on his head, I'll kill you. Now where is he?"

Ophelia shrieked and pushed Sarah away, as Anne rushed into the room.

"What is it?" Anne asked, frantic. "What's happening?"

"Your sister is mad," Ophelia fumed. "She attacked me for no reason."

Sarah felt capable of any violence. She lunged at Ophelia, and if Anne hadn't jumped between them, she would have been delighted to stab Ophelia through the center of her cold, black heart.

"Sarah!" Anne scolded. "What's wrong with you?"

"Shall we explain why you're upset?" Ophelia taunted. "Shall we destroy the pretty picture you've painted for her all these years?"

"What are you talking about?" Anne inquired.

"Sarah is a whore. She always has been."

Both sisters gasped at the harsh term, and Sarah hurled, "You bitch."

Ophelia was unfazed. "When she was sixteen, and she was away at school, where do you imagine she really went?"

"Sarah?" Anne frowned.

"She was pregnant," Ophelia crowed, divulging the secret that had tormented Sarah for over a decade, and to Sarah's amazement, the earth kept spinning. No one dropped dead in shock. No one leapt away as if she had the plague. The facts were just words spewing from Ophelia's mouth.

There was a lengthy pause, as the three of them digested the announcement; then Anne queried, "Is it true, Sarah?"

"Yes." Sarah turned to her sister, relieved that Anne didn't recoil in horror.

"Why didn't you confide in me?"

"Because I was young and afraid." Sarah reached out and squeezed Anne's hand. "Ophelia constantly berated me till I didn't know what to do. She said I'd disgraced the family and that if anyone ever learned of my shame, they'd cast me out."

"And the child?"

"A boy—named Tim."

"He's been right here," Ophelia raged, "all this time, rubbing his bastardry in our collective noses."

Anne was incensed and uncharacteristically ordered, "Shut up, Ophelia."

"I won't be silent. Your sister prances about as if she's the bloody Queen of England, and I for one—"

"Shut up!" Anne said more forcefully, then to Sarah, "Who was the father?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Sarah promised. "I won't discuss it in front of her."

"It could have been anyone," Ophelia sneered. "One of Percy's friends. One of the neighbors' summer guests. The vicar's brother. Did you know who it was, Sarah? Or did you refuse to identify him because there'd been so many you couldn't be sure?"

Sarah dived at Ophelia, yanking her hair and scratching her face. Ophelia was shrieking again and several servants ran in to check on the ruckus.

Ophelia would have charged at Sarah, but Anne's fury—and a footman's strong grip—kept her in place.

'Tim will be brought to live in the manor at once," Anne declared, her livid gaze locked on Ophelia. "No," Ophelia hissed. "I won't allow it." "You won't allow it?"

"I won't have that little urchin welcomed as if he ... he... belongs."

Anne peered at the maids. "Lady Ophelia is leaving the property immediately. Go upstairs and pack her things."

"Don't you dare!" Ophelia countered. "If any of you try, my brother will have you whipped, then tossed out without a penny or a reference."

The poor maids were in a quandary, the standoff embarrassing and awkward, and it was precisely the sort of debacle Sarah had been expecting from the day Jack had left. When he'd still been present, Ophelia had been manageable, but without him to quell her influence, there was no stopping her.

"All of you! Out!" Anne commanded, and the servants were more than happy to comply. They raced away.

Once the door was closed behind them, Sarah said, "Tim is missing, Anne."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been working in the stables, but he's disappeared. I think Ophelia sent him away. In the past, she often bragged that she might. That's why she and I were quarreling. I'm worried that she's finally done something awful."

"Have you?" Anne demanded of Ophelia.

"What if I have?" Ophelia boasted. "Why would you suppose it to be any of your business?"

Anne stared her down, weighing their options, but there didn't seem to be many good ones. They could muster some burly tenants and have them wrestle Ophelia outside, but Percy would let her back in. So they'd have to bodily throw him out, too, the trick being to make him stay gone. He'd find a way to return, and when he did, there'd be hell to pay.