Pretty Poison (30 page)

“Emily isn’t here, Margaret.” He followed her from the carriage, looked at the innocuous little shop with its windows filled with jars and boxes, hanging herbs and shark fins, powders and pestles and bottles. Nick stepped closer to the window, leaned down to peer into the shadowy interior.

There in the back, behind a small porcelain box painted with a scene of fairies frolicking on dew covered flowers, was a little blue bottle that seemed lit from within, the glass shimmering in the dim light cast by the sun over his shoulder. It was small, standing no taller than the span of his hand, delicately crafted, the shape reminiscent of a woman standing with one hand on her hip. The glass appeared as thin and fragile as the finest silk. The narrow neck gently belled out at the very tip, hiding a small jeweled stopper that was barely visible over the rim.

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret pushed it forward and disappeared inside. Nick looked back at the blue bottle in the window, gave his head a quick shake, and followed the lady into the shop.

“I’ll run you out of this village if you’re lying, Mr. Abernathy,” Margaret threatened the stooped old man behind the long wooden counter.

“Now see here, your ladyship,” the man protested. “I’ll not be harangued by you, no matter that you’re the grandest lady around for miles. I can’t stop selling the laudanum forever else I’ll be out of business. But I’m telling you true, your niece ain’t been in here since the trouble of last summer. Not today, not yesterday, not any day. And if’n she or her dark-skinned maid were to come in my door, I’d shuffle them out so fast t’would make your head spin.”

“All right, all right, Abernathy.” Margaret turned and marched past Nick before pausing at the door to look back at him where he still stood by the counter.

“Mr. Abernathy, that box in the window,” Nick said as he turned to the ancient man.

“Which un?” Abernathy asked, coming around the counter.

“With the fairies,” Nick replied as he led the man to the display.

“Pretty little box for holding a lady’s gewgaws and whatnots,” Abernathy murmured as he lifted it. “Made in Ireland. Traveling fellow talked me into buying two of them last month. Ain’t sold either, t’other’s over yon, but this one’s finer.”

“Nicholas Avery,” Margaret screeched from her post in front of the door. “This is no time to shop!”

“I’ll take it,” Nick said to Abernathy before turning to Margaret. “Emily is not here.”

“Perhaps she sent someone, some villager to make her purchase,” Margaret replied. “Well, Abernathy? Has anyone purchased laudanum today?”

“Well, now you mention it,” Abernathy said without looking up from wrapping Nick’s purchase. “I did sell some laudanum to Mrs. Price this very mornin’. Her man’s ailing, bit by a dog he were.”

“A wild dog, I suppose?” Margaret replied archly. “Hah! Emily likely made up that story!”

Nick barked out a rumbling laugh.

“Now, your ladyship, Mrs. Price ain’t one to lie.”

“Where does this Mrs. Price live?” Margaret demanded.

“Down by the church,” Abernathy answered as Nick handed him the necessary coin and took his wrapped package. “The whitewashed cottage nearest to the green.”

“The green,” Margaret exclaimed. “I knew it.”

Nick shook his head as he followed Lady Margaret from the shop.

“Emily is not in the village,” he told her, hurrying to catch up to her as she took off across the street, waving the footman away.

“She’s at the green,” Margaret all but spat the words at him. “I found her there twice before, after she’d visited Abernathy. Sleeping in the shade of a tree.”

Mrs. Morton was just ahead, sweeping the walkway in front of the bakery. The unmistakable scents of fresh bread and sugar cookies wafted from the open door behind her.

“Good afternoon, Lady Morris,” the round woman greeted with a smile. “And Mr…”

“Avery,” Nick supplied when she faltered over his name.

“Of course, and I hope you’ll accept my felicitations,” she offered with a quick curtsy.

“Felicitations?” Margaret stopped before the woman, hands on her hips.

“On the gentleman’s coming nuptials,” Mrs. Morton replied happily.

“Thank you.” Nick smiled at her. “I don’t suppose you have any warm scones at this time of day?”

“There’s a batch in the oven, should be coming out right about now,” she answered. “Just in time for tea.”

“How did you learn of Mr. Avery’s coming wedding?” Margaret asked slowly.

“Why, Miss Calvert told me just this morning,” the baker’s wife replied.

“My niece was here this morning?”

“Waiting at the door when I opened the shop, she was.”

Margaret followed her into the shop with a weary sigh and a quick look over her shoulder at Nick.

“Your niece is such a dear, Lady Morris,” Nick heard as he entered the fragrant shop. “She purchased all of my morning scones and a loaf of stale bread.”

“Stale bread?” Margaret asked.

“For the ducks,” Nick answered.

“Just done,” Mrs. Morton cried happily before lifting a long pan from the oven. “I hope you’ve a preference for currants?”

“I do,” Nick answered.

“What ducks?” Margaret asked.

“The ducks wintering at your pond,” Nick replied.

“I’ve ducks wintering at my pond?”

“Quite a few.”

“Why haven’t we had duck for dinner?”

“Miss Calvert isn’t partial to duck,” Mrs. Morton answered.

Margaret shook her head before pinning Nick with a hard glare. “You’ve allowed me to race about this village in the cold when you knew Emily wasn’t here.”

“You hardly raced around the village. You only crossed the street from one shop to the next.”

“Where is she?”

“Taking tea beside a warm fire in your parlor I would imagine,” Nick answered as he took the box of warm pastries from Mrs. Morton. “Nibbling on scones.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Where is he
?

She’d been riding about the estate for more than an hour looking for Nicholas.

“Foolish, the lot of them,” she murmured, referring to the houseguests sitting by a warm fire in Margaret’s parlor over tea and scones, whispering amongst themselves as they relived the excitement of the morning.

“And Nicholas is the worst of them, make no mistake,” she told the black stallion, giving his neck a quick pat. “Thinking I would believe he’d taken that poor pitiful creature to his bed.”

She shook her head, the movement sending her wind-tangled curls flying out behind her.

Oh, she’d seen Veronica Ogilvie emerging from Nicholas’ bed chamber. She’d just opened her door when the pretty blonde had stumbled into the hall, pushed by an unseen hand. Emily had stood in the shadowy hall with one hand on the knob of the door behind her and the other clenched into a fist at her side.

Even in the dim hall she could make out the pretty blue ensemble Veronica wore and the matching ribbons entwined in her upswept hair. She’d been a heartbeat away from marching across the two dozen feet that separated them to claw the other woman’s eyes out when the strangest thing had happened.

Veronica Ogilvie had begun to cry. She’d stood as still as a statue before the closed door, her hands pressed low on her abdomen, her eyes open and staring straight ahead at the wall before her while tears coursed down her cheeks. She’d made no move to halt them, just let them fall.

Emily had watched, fascinated by the sight of the woman she’d thought to be cold right down to the marrow of her bones transforming right before her eyes. There’d been something so honest, so heartrendingly vulnerable in the way Veronica wept without movement or sound.

Something must have alerted her to another presence in the quiet hall, for she’d suddenly turned her head and pinned Emily with her watery gaze. The two women had stared at one another for a long moment, neither moving nor speaking, and Emily had felt a strange tug at her heart, a moment of understanding and empathy passing between them.

Then Veronica’s lashes had swept down and she’d closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. When she’d opened her eyes again, the moment was gone, along with any vestige of vulnerability in the woman’s expression. Tears had still trickled from the corners of her eyes, but those eyes had been sharp and cunning once more.

Emily had yanked the door closed behind her, the sound terribly loud in the silent hall, and turned away from Veronica to the servants’ stairs at the back of the house. She’d marched down the steps, her tall boots rapping against the old wood, her blood pumping and her hands fisted.

“Nasty Baggage,” she’d muttered. “She’ll not be getting her way. I’ll tear her limb from limb before I allow her to ruin my life with her schemes.”

She’d flown across the stable yard, her legs eating up the distance, her coat flying out behind her in the cold wind.

“Morning, Miss,” Randall, the head groom, had greeted her as she’d entered the murky stables. “Will you be wanting me to saddle Danny Boy?”

Not quite trusting her voice, Emily had waved him off and continued to the stallion’s stall. With precise movements and barely restrained control she’d saddled the horse and leapt upon his back.

She’d reached the first rise to the north of the manner house, slowed Danny Boy to a gentle walk, and looked out over the valley below bathed in golden light and purple shadows. She’d felt her anger drain away, replaced with the sheer joy of being alive, being happy and in love.

Whatever plan Veronica had hatched would come to nothing. No one else had seen her exit Nicholas’ bed chamber. And even if there had been other witnesses, Emily knew there’d been no intimacy between them. Nicholas loved her, he wanted to marry her, to spend the rest of his life with her and only her.

With a light heart and a sudden craving for warm scones Emily had turned Danny Boy toward the village.

Now hours later, the sun was high overhead, and Nicholas and Margaret had yet to return from their needless search for her. She still didn’t understand why Margaret had taken her carriage, but she’d learned that sometimes her aunt just got an idea in her head, no matter how far-fetched, and nothing would dissuade her.

She turned Danny Boy back toward the house and relaxed her hands on the reins. The horse sprang forward, taking full advantage of the sudden freedom, and shot across the gently sloping field. The wind tugged at her hair, whipping it out behind her, her old wool coat, a hand-me-down from her brother, billowed out behind her as she leaned forward, urging the stallion on.

A stone wall lay ahead and horse and rider cleared it effortlessly, Danny Boy with a soft grunt and Emily with an exultant laugh. Over the sound of her own happiness, Emily heard a distant echo.

“Emily.” Her name carried on the wind behind her, little more than a whisper, a hum of vibration. “Emily, love.”

Emily looked back over her shoulder to find Nicholas and his horse charging across the same field she’s galloped over minutes before.

She threw her head back and erupted into joyous laughter, the sound lifting into the crisp air, resonating across the open fields and rolling hills.

It was just like her dream. There he was, the golden giant riding toward her, calling out to her. But now she knew his eyes were blue. As blue as the sky above her and filled with love.

She tightened her hands on the reins, slowing Danny Boy to bring him around in a wide circle. Then horse and rider were pounding across the ground, gracefully flying over the gray stone wall, rushing head long toward the man who called to her.

They met atop a small knoll, their horses’ momentum forcing them past one another. As she flew past Nicholas, Emily reached out her hand and their fingers met for the merest moment, just a fleeting brush of skin to skin. She saw the smile upon his handsome face, and the laughter in his eyes and she knew he saw the same happiness on her face.

They circled around one another, close enough to lock eyes, too far apart to touch, once, twice, slower and slower, until their horses finally came to rest side by side with their riders reaching out toward one another.

Emily let out a huff of lingering laughter as Nicholas hauled her off Danny Boy’s back and across his thighs, his strong arms wrapping around her and pulling her against his massive chest.

His lips were on hers before she could draw her next breath. She knew he could feel the smile upon her lips as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, her fingers tangling with the soft curls at his nape.

“Emily, mine,” he whispered against her lips.

“Nicholas,” she murmured around a giggle that she could not suppress even had she tried.

Nicholas leaned his forehead against hers, their noses bumping gently as his horse shifted.

“Where have you been, love?” His breath drifted over her lips.

“I’ve been searching for you.”

Nicholas chuckled as he pulled back to meet her eyes. “And I’ve been searching for you. My whole life I’ve been searching for you.”

“I had a dream, months ago, on the journey to England,” she told him. “I was riding across the green fields of Emerald Isle when a golden Adonis with chocolate eyes on a giant black horse came after me calling to me.”

“My horse is brown,” he said with that mischievous smile she loved so well tilting his lips.

“And your eyes are blue.”

“My eyes? That’s why you asked me why my eyes were blue.”

“I did?” Emily asked in confusion.

“At the theater, just after you informed me that you possessed seventeen whiffles.”

“To be sure you must have thought I was the silliest woman on God’s green earth,” she drawled. She was suddenly uncomfortable with the reminder of her time in London, with the terrible weakness that had led her to fall into a pretty blue bottle.

“Emily?” Nicholas must have seen something of her shame written upon her face.

“I’ve something I must tell you,” she said quietly.

“Now?” he asked with a tender smile.

“Right now, this very instant.”

“Shall we walk, love?”

Nicholas and Emily left their horses grazing in the grass and walked to the rim of the hill hand and hand. Below Emily could see the manor house off in the distance, smoke rising from several chimneys to drift across the cloudless sky.

She tugged Nicholas’ hand and together they sat in the springy golden grass, their hands still joined between them.

“I’m afraid I am not the lady you believe me to be.”

Nick listened silently as Emily told him much the same tale Margaret had shared with him in the carriage. She did not cry or offer excuses for her downfall. Staring down at the manor house below, she calmly and quietly told the tale of a young lady confused and afraid in a foreign land who had sought solace in a seemingly magic potion.

She spoke of her loneliness, of her feelings of standing apart from those around her, of the anxiety for her future that had been her constant companion, and of her fear that she would soon be tethered for life to a man she did not know, a man she did not trust to remain faithful. She spoke of the blessed oblivion she had found in that first dose of laudanum.

She shared her foggy perceptions of her time in London, of how she’d recognized the man from her dream in him as he stood above her in the theater.

Her tale of the time she’d spent in an opium bubble after Margaret has whisked her away to the country differed from her aunt’s in the details, her memories of those months clouded by the very poison that had nearly killed her. She told him of her machinations to obtain the laudanum, threatening Tilly until the girl stole away to the village, and riding to Colbert in the dark of night. She did not share the horrors she had endured when the drug was suddenly withheld from her.

Nicholas did not tell her that he already knew the tale, that Margaret had shared her deepest darkest secret. He did not want to ruin the bond, both achingly fragile and infinitely strong, that existed between aunt and niece. He imagined that bond had been built upon the nightmare they’d endured and the courage and love they’d discovered in one another when they’d finally come through it.

And Nick knew with crystal clarity that Emily needed to tell the tale, to say the words, to know that he knew her secret shame and loved her still.

“I honestly thought I might die from want of the poison, from the need that clawed at me,” she whispered brokenly. “I had truly become a ghost, wandering the halls day and night in an effort not to think, not to face the mess I’d made of my life, of my dreams for the future.”

“Oh, Em,” Nick murmured, squeezing her hand.

“And then I nearly did die,” she continued softly, her head falling forward, her hair fanning around her, hiding her sorrow and shame. “I remember little of that night beyond walking down the hall to Aunt Margaret’s room to…to beg her…”

“For just a bit, just a sip,” he finished quietly for her when she fell silent.

Emily’s head snapped up and she blinked at him, her eyes awash in unshed tears.

“To hold me,” she whispered. “I just wanted her to hold me. I felt so alone.”

Nick reached for her then, pulled her into his arms and into his lap. Emily burrowed against him, her arms winding around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. He rocked her gently while he caressed her back, sifted through her silken hair.

“I haven’t taken a drop of laudanum since Maggie locked the stable doors,” she said with a sigh and Nick thought her story was finished.

He was wrong.

Emily leaned back in his arms and met his gaze, her eyes clear and bright, a frown pulling at her lips.

“I’ve had no laudanum, and God willing I never shall,” she said. “But, Nicholas, that does not mean I no longer crave it.”

“It’s been months,” Nick protested.

“It is still with me.” Her words were quiet and her eyes solemn. “I don’t know if I have the words to explain it, to make you understand.”

“Try, Emily,” he begged.

“Sometimes, especially when I am over wrought, when my emotions are in upheaval, it comes upon me. Nicholas, it’s like a snake that burrows into the base of my spine and slithers its way up until it just lingers at the nape of my neck.”

“Jesus, Em,” he murmured, horrified by the image her words evoked, by the thought of what she must endure.

“The cravings grow dimmer and dimmer with each passing day. I have not felt them truly take hold of me since the night after my encounter with the wild dogs.”

“You made me promise not to allow them to give you laudanum,” he replied in confusion.

“I did not crave it for the pain, Nicholas,” she explained, her hands falling to her lap, her fingers clenching. “It was never about the pain in my body. It was ever about the pain in my head and in my heart, about wanting to disappear, wanting to bury myself in nothingness where my thoughts and worries dissolved and my feelings went numb. Blessed oblivion.”

“Then why did you crave it that night? Was it the shock or fear?” he asked.

Emily looked away, back to Morris Hall, a small wry smile lifting one corner of her lips. “Da saw my tattered undergarments.”

“He thought I’d compromised you in the woods while you lay unconscious?” he demanded.

“He thought there was the appearance of impropriety,” she hurried to explain. “And Maggie was just egging him on.”

“They tried to force you to marry me.”

She nodded, the same wry smile still on her lips.

“And the thought of being tied to me for life had you seeking oblivion?”

“To be sure, I was not thinking clearly,” she replied with a grin. “Now the oblivion I find in your arms has me seeking to tie myself to you for life.”

Nick attempted a smile at her words, he truly did, but he knew he hadn’t pulled it off when her smile wavered before disappearing from her face altogether to be replaced by a look of dawning horror.

“Oh my God!” She scrambled from his lap to land hard on her bottom. Her bare hands clawed at the grass and the heels of her boots dug into the ground as she attempted to rise while putting space between them. She crab-walked that way until with a desperate moan she lunged to her feet. It was the most graceless retreat he’d ever witnessed and for a moment surprise kept him frozen in place.