Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 (29 page)

 
“Howard, do stand still. This jumping up and down like a puppet is quite distracting.” Constance sat seemingly unruffled, a wine glass in her hand and a thoughtful expression on her perfectly shaped face.

“By Jove, I can’t. I don’t think I shall ever be still again.” He poured himself a brandy and raised it in a toast to his sister as the brilliant autumn sun of Quebec shone through the windows of his uncle’s drawing room. “I am sorry father has passed on,” he added, “but now I am master of Ballysheen Hall.”

Indeed, he should have felt sorrow at the news of his father’s death, but the old man had been in poor health for some time and leaving this world must have been a blessing. Howard knew it was a blessing for himself. He now possessed the entire fortune, the estate, and the hereditary title. And soon, very soon, Allison Fairfax and her fortune would fall into his hands. It was just a matter of convincing the woman to accept his marriage proposal, and now he knew how. Power was a heady thing like aged brandy and young women, he had decided.

“You don’t seem the least disturbed by the terms of father’s will,” he said, eyes narrowing at Constance.

“I’m not. I think father wished to be fair and had my best interests at heart. But don’t you feel it a wee bit unfair for him to have placed my fortune in trust with you until my twenty-first birthday? That’s well over a year away.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.

Howard shrugged. “The old man knew how hot-blooded you are by nature, and I suppose he trusted me to look after our interests as well as the family interests, since they are interrelated.”

This was what Constance feared. Howard might not be as dull and stupid as she supposed. She looked momentarily at the sunlight skimming the tabletop where she rested her glass. She must secure her fortune before her birthdate and marry John Milligan, the army captain she loved with all her heart. The money would give them a start in life and further his career. Not that he was penniless, but he was a youngest son and not likely to inherit much when his own father died. She still wanted the material luxuries which John wouldn’t be able to provide for her. She must ask outright and stop playing games with her brother. Her chance for happiness was too important.

She smiled sweetly at her brother. “Howard, I should like to claim my inheritance now, if that is agreeable to you, and I can take up residence here.”

He cleared his throat. “I see. You wish to remain in Quebec because of an army captain.”

“Yes, I love him.”

“If I remember correctly, you were in love with Paul not so long ago.”

“Oh, that,” she waved her hand in the air and giggled. “That was nothing compared to what I feel for John. I love him truly, completely. If you give me my money, we can wed.”

“I have no qualms about releasing your money, Constance, yet I won’t do so until our return to Ireland.”

“Why?”

“I want you to marry Sir Lester Colfax,
then
I shall give you your money.”

She stood up, anger and disappointment twisting her beautiful features. “I shall not! Sir Lester is nearly sixty years old and practically senile. I want a young man.”

“Sir Lester won’t mind if you take a lover, Constance, since he is a doddering old fool. He’ll be quite easy to satisfy and won’t inquire into your personal affairs.”

“But I don’t love him,” she wailed like a little girl.

Howard stood up, amused to have Constance’s back against a wall. It gave him great satisfaction since she had botched things so badly with Paul. “So? Your army captain is madly in love with you, I suppose. You have him wound around your finger.”

“Yes.”

“Then marry him without the money.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she hissed. “We need that money.”

“Ask
your
beloved to wait until your birthday, but I doubt if he will. I find your young man to be quite ambitious and greedy. I had a talk with him yesterday morning, and it appears that he isn’t as much in love with you as you think. I also ran into him last evening at Lord Marley’s party and the lord’s pretty elder daughter graced his arm.”

“I don’t believe you.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew Howard was telling the truth. John mightn’t be too interested in her now that she had to wait to collect her inheritance. Damn her father! Damn Howard! “You’ll be sorry for this, Howard. You want to make an alliance with Sir Lester, just as you intend to marry Allison for her fortune.”

“Is that so terrible, my dear sister? I have no doubt that you shall marry the old coot, you love money and yourself more than any man.”

How she hated him, despised him! “You shall be sorry for this! I guarantee you’ll pay for what you’ve done to John and me.”

“How melodramatic,” was his only comment as she left the room. He picked up his glass and finished the brandy before going upstairs to check on his reluctant bride-to-be.

Allison heard his footsteps in the hall and held her breath. Would this be the day he forced her to submit to him like the prisoner she was? He had been threatening her, but she’d never willingly come to him.
Never.

How she survived the trip back to Quebec was a mystery. In fact she barely remembered anything—eating, sleeping, walking
were
automatic. All she recalled was the prone figure of her husband, lying in the clearing as the morning sun bounced off his blond hair and his bloodstained chest. Paul was dead. Dead! How was she to go on without him?

But, from the first, Howard made it abundantly clear that he intended to marry her whether she wished it or not. Each day he unlocked the bedroom door and calmly waited, blocking her exit. “What’s your answer?” was his constant question.

Her answer was always the same. Never would she agree to marry the murderer of her husband. Always he nonchalantly shrugged as if her answer were unimportant, leaving the room and relocking the door.

Today, she heard the key click in the lock and watched Howard enter. But instead of questioning her, he came forward, hands clasped behind him.

“You’re looking well,” he commented crisply. His small eyes surveyed her plain black gown, the somberness relieved only by the white lace at the neckline. “I shall be glad when you wear something brighter.”

“Need I remind you that I am mourning the death of my husband, murderer.”

“Such a sharp tongue.
Sometimes I’m amazed at the change in you. You used to be such an agreeable little wren, so docile and unassuming. Now, you’re a beautiful sharp-tongued bitch, but I’ll I have you yet, my dear.” Anger flared in her eyes, and this brought a smug smile to his face.

“You’ll have to force me, Howard. I detest you—despise you!”

“Perhaps that is true, but all the same you’ll marry me and the ceremony shall take place at Fairfax Manor upon our return.
I want everyone to witness our exchange of’ vows, to know that I am master of you and your home.”

“No! I will tell the authorities you murdered my husband.”

“Yes, you may, but who will believe you? Who will believe that you actually found him in the wilderness? If you don’t marry me, those precious children Paul fathered shall suddenly and mysteriously disappear. I have many acquaintances
who
will do anything for even a small amount of money. You’ll never see your little darlings again.”

Allison practically went limp, but a strength of will kept from falling. She didn’t doubt his threat. Howard was capable of violence and murder, and she knew her children’s safety meant nothing to him. Douglas and Kathleen were all that was left of Paul. There was no other choice but to make him believe she consented.

He read the silent acquiescence in her face. “You’ve made a wise choice, my dear.” He touched a long strand of hair, caressing it between his fingers. “I could force you into my bed now, but that would defeat my purpose. When I make love to you, I want you to know that I own you. Only after our marriage will I claim your body. Then you can’t legally deny me. When I am your husband, I promise that you won’t be so nasty when I take you. That lovely voice will cry out in ecstasy, and you’ll wonder why you ever loved a man like Paul when you could always have had me.”

She held herself in check. She was frightened for her life and for her children. How long would this nightmare go on?

Howard left the room, pleased with
himself
to have Allison at last in a vulnerable position. He had meant his threat against her children, and if she didn’t fully cooperate, he would have no qualms in arranging their disappearance.

For some strange reason, as he entered his room, Beth was on his mind. He had loved her in his way and thought about her often. But soon, he’d be master of Fairfax Manor, and she would be forced to do his bidding, despite the simpleton she had married. He smiled to realize that he could bed Allison as his wife and then Beth as his mistress.

Ah, power was wonderful.

The return voyage to Ireland was the longest two months of her life. Allison felt her life was over. She was going home but without Paul, and she didn’t know how Quint and Dera would accept the news of their son’s death. But hope surged through her when she thought of Quint. Surely, he’d prevent her marriage to Howard and protect his grandchildren from such a vicious man, the murderer of his son. Yes, Quint would help her.

At times, Constance expressed sorrow at the marriage she was doomed to enter with Sir Lester Colfax but never to Howard. “Why don’t you refuse to marry him?” Allison asked her one day as they sat on deck.

Constance laughed a bit too loudly. “My dear, why don’t you refuse Howard? But we both know that is impossible. I need my money and you must save your children.” Her eyes clouded. “I’m very sorry about Paul. If he hadn’t escorted me to Quebec he’d still be alive. He loved you, you know.”

“I know,” Allison simply said and looked at the never ending expanse of sea.

Allison arrived home on a cold December day. Her heart tightened with emotion as the carriage turned the drive and Fairfax Manor came into view. Howard hadn’t felt the need to accompany her but had gone ahead to Ballysheen Hall, so certain
was
he of her resolve to spare the lives of her children.

But Allison was determined to make Howard pay for Paul’s death. She knew no English authority would imprison him merely on her say so. Howard had many connections in Dublin and would simply deny everything he had done, so she’d get no help from the authorities. But she knew Quint would revenge his son, and before Quint killed Howard, she’d have the delight of watching him beg for his wretched life.

When the carriage stopped, she jumped out and flung open the front door, running into the vestibule. Servants gasped in astonishment.

“Where’s Mr. Quint?” she called, not stopping for an answer. She ran into the parlor, the dining room, the library. All empty. Just as she neared the kitchen Beth nearly bumped into her, with a tray in hand.

“Allison, how wonderful to see you!”
Beth put down the tray and hugged her. Huge tears gathered in Beth’s cinnamon-hued eyes. “I’m so pleased you’re back. Now things will return to normal. Where is my brother?”

At times Allison forgot that Beth was Paul’s half-sister, and now a knot formed in her stomach and her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Paul … is dead.”

Beth’s face went white. Her lower lip trembled, and she didn’t bother to conceal her sobs. Allison gathered her in her arms. “I shall miss him so.”

Allison pulled away. “I must find your father and avenge his death. Howard Granger killed him in cold blood and now forces me into marriage to claim Fairfax Manor. The only person who can help me, who can help Paul rest in peace, is his father.”

“Oh God!” wailed Beth in abject misery. “My father can’t be helping anyone. Allison, he is dead—gone these three months. He was killed by my mother’s hatred of him and Dera. It was my mother who started the fires, then called in the authorities when he refused to leave Dera and make her his wife. The king’s men swarmed over the estate like vultures, and … shot him down like an animal.”

“No!” Allison moaned. Quint couldn’t be dead, too. He was her last hope, the hope of her children. But then her thoughts strayed to Dera. “Where is my mother-in-law?”

Beth regained her composure and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Upstairs. I was taking this tray to her. She wants only me to wait upon her, because I remind her of my father. And because I just gave birth to a son whom I named Quint.”

“I’m happy for you and Patrick.” Her tone was sad though her eyes showed gladness at Beth’s news. “Beth, where is your mother?”

Beth’s face hardened.
“Dead.
She didn’t lie about ailing. The day we buried my father, her heart gave out. But don’t you be worrying about me or her.
Worry over Dera.
I fear the woman will not be pulling out of this. ‘Tis been three months and all she speaks of is Paul and Daniel … and my father.”

“Has anyone heard from Daniel?”

“Nay.”

“I’ll visit Dera after I see my babies.”

Allison and Beth slowly walked down the hallway to the vestibule then up the stairs. When Beth entered Dera’s room, Allison continued onto the nursery where she barely recognized her own children. They were now nearly nine months old, and so beautiful, loving and sweet. Kathleen had kept her dark hair and Allison realized she resembled Dera, while Douglas looked so much like Quint and Paul that she burst into tears. She held them against her breasts and sobbed. “I must marry him, my loves, or risk losing you. We’re all alone now.”

After cuddling them a few minutes more, she sadly handed them over to the nurse and walked into Dera’s bedroom. The drapes were open and Dera stood before the window, her eyes on the winter meadow where patches of ocher glistened in the sunlight.

“Dera.”

The long flowing robe Dera wore was a deep shade of green, and Allison immediately saw that she was bone thin beneath the robe’s voluminous folds. Allison said her name again, but Dera didn’t turn around.

“
Winter
is upon us,” Dera said. “The meadow is the color of his hair. Did you know that my Quint’s hair was once the same golden color of the winter meadow? Of course, he was younger then, but that is how I’ll always remember him.” She pointed a finger, the tip touching the glass pane. “Right there near the haystacks was where he first kissed me … where we first made love.” Her voice trembled. “I miss him so!”

Allison went to her and held her until her sobs ceased.

Dera looked at her, her eyes red-rimmed but filled with pride. “My Quint died fighting, died the only way he knew how. Those filthy soldiers thought they could kill him like a rabid dog, but they couldn’t. He gave them a mighty run before the end. He ran to the top of a hill, sword in hand, and I heard him exclaim in Gaelic, ‘My name is Flannery!’ That was the first time in years he had used his own name. Then they shot him. I ran to him and held him in my arms. He could barely speak but he told me he was soon to rest in Irish soil, so not to grieve. And that he loved me. But I do grieve and can’t stop crying. I miss him and love him. I knew this would happen if we came here, but I was helpless to stop him.” Dera clasped Allison’s hand. “Where is my son? Bring my Paul to me.”

Allison shook uncontrollably. How could she tell Dera that Paul was dead?

“Where is my son?” Dera asked again.

The blue of Allison’s eyes met Dera’s violet ones. “Paul is dead.”

“No,” Dera breathed. “I am his mother. I’d know such a thing. He will come home. He must come home.”

Unable to speak about it, Allison was grateful Dera didn’t feel the need to ask questions.

Dera once again faced the window and as Allison started to leave the room, she heard Dera’s voice.

“Paul will come home.”