Silver Splendor (45 page)

Distress and relief warred inside her. “I see he didn’t care enough to come himself.”

“He seemed distraught. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Swallowing futilely against the lump in her throat, she shook her head.

Her father gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Whatever disagreement you two have had, don’t hold your feelings inside, Libby. Talk to him. ‘Let not the sun go down on your wrath.’”

What was there to discuss?
she wanted to cry out. Talk couldn’t change Nicholas’s autocratic nature. Talk couldn’t restore her faith in him. Talk couldn’t alter the fact that he’d caused her to lose the commission that would have been the armature on which to build her reputation as an artist.

Resting her wet cheek against the pillow, she stared out at the rain washed windows. For a time Owen remained beside her; then he left the room, returning a few moments later with his Bible. Donning his spectacles, he settled into a chair. His familiar presence took the edge off her grief. Yet still she felt stranded, lost in a vast, dark wasteland of sorrow.

She half expected Nicholas to seek her out, to make another attempt to mend the rift between them. But he didn’t appear, not even when a wide eyed Janet delivered a dinner tray. Nor did he come as the early nightfall spread shadows throughout the bedroom. Owen lit a candle and continued to read. Elizabeth gazed up at the gilded swans on the canopy as the scene with Nicholas played over and over in her mind. The pain dulled to a gnawing ache. Squeezing her eyes shut, she found she could not close out the memory of his haunted voice.

I was afraid of losing you… I acted only out of love for you… for you … for you…

Exhausted sleep enveloped her. Sometime during the night she had the vague impression of hearing low male voices, then later, feeling the warm pressure of Nicholas’s back against hers and smelling the faint but potent scent of brandy.

Elizabeth knew nothing more until a loud banging roused her. Groggily she pushed up on an elbow to peer into the charcoal shadows. She spied Nicholas donning his robe, heard a small thump and a hissing curse as he bumped into something.

The racket came again. Knocking, she realized hazily.

A key clattered in the lock; he swung open the door. Miss Eversham stood in the hall, the candlestick she held illuminating her sleep disheveled hair and starkly agitated face.

“Forgive me, your lordship,” the governess said, her words tumbling out in uncharacteristic haste. “It’s Cicely! She’s gone!”

Elizabeth sat up straight in bed. The fog shrouding her mind lifted. “Cicely? What’s happened to her?”

With a lean hand, the governess clutched together the edges of her prim night robe. “One of her suitcases is missing, along with some clothing. I’m afraid she’s run off!”

“You’re sure she’s nowhere in the house,” Nicholas snapped.

“Yes, my lord.” Miss Eversham’s homespun features were gray with distress. “She isn’t in our room and I’ve looked everywhere downstairs.”

“I can think of one place to check,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “And, by God above, if she’s there —”

His fingers clamped into fists. He stalked to the nightstand to light a candle; the flare of the match chiseled his face into a harshly molded mask. The murderous glitter in his eyes alarmed Elizabeth.

She scrambled from the bed, her crumpled skirts rustling against the linens. Already he was striding out the door and down the murky hall, Miss Eversham trailing him. Against the walls the suits of armor shone eerily, and the dark visor slits made Elizabeth’s skin prickle. Her conjecture about Nicholas’s destination tied her stomach into a sickening knot of dread.

Candle in hand, he marched straight to a room midway down the hall. He flung open the door and walked inside. She hastened after him, brushing past Miss Eversham, who hesitated at the entryway.

The room had a distinctly masculine aura. A black frock coat lay carelessly over a velvet armchair. The dresser top held a handful of coins, along with a china bowl and pitcher set. A pair of riding boots leaned against a tall wardrobe, and the faint scent of shaving soap hung in the silent air.

Her chest constricted. Drew’s bedroom. The four poster bed was empty, the green coverlet neatly drawn to the pillows. Seeing the rigid lines of Nicholas’s face, she couldn’t decide whether to rejoice or panic in the fact that Cicely wasn’t here.

“Have they gone off together?” she whispered, voicing her deepest fear.

“Undoubtedly.” The word haunted the shadows; then his hand slammed hard onto a side table, sweeping away a half played game of solitaire. “I should have seen this coming. God, I should have!”

His wrathful pain wrenched her heart. “What will you do?”

“Go after them, of course. And pray to God I can find Cicely before she ruins her life.”

He strode out the door and past a white-faced Miss Eversham. Followed by the governess, Elizabeth ran after him into their bedroom, where he was already yanking off his silk robe. In the light of the candle, his broad bare back gleamed like bronze; his buttocks and thighs rippled with muscles.

Miss Eversham uttered a tiny gasp and retreated into the hall. Elizabeth walked slowly forward on legs weak with untimely desire. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

He thrust his arms into a shirt. “No, you’ll stay here with Owen.”

The sudden bitter memory of their argument swamped her. “Your wish is my command, m’lord.”

Hastily buttoning the shirt, he sliced her a sharp look. “I suspect Drew’s taken her to York, as it’s the nearest city. They may plan to catch a train to London, and I’ll have to ride hard to intercept them. You couldn’t keep up, Elizabeth.”

His explanation made sense, yet hurt still clawed her insides. Arms crossed, she watched as he sat on the bed to yank on his boots.

“Should I miss them,” he went on, “I’ll telegraph Charles to help in the search. I’ll do my utmost to return before nightfall. In the meantime you’ll be safe so long as you don’t budge from this room.” Nicholas surged to his feet, then added more gently, “Is that agreeable to you?”

Still smarting from his peremptory manner, she said, “Does it matter if it’s not?”

He stood motionless, watching her, his expression as intense as a physical touch. Somewhere, a clock chimed four times. She could not draw her eyes from his tall, supple form. In the feeble glow of the candle, he looked lordly yet alone, overbearing yet beloved. A treacherous softening threatened the firm ground of her fury. Far more than symmetry of features made him handsome; his appeal arose from the kindness and courage and integrity beneath the outer shell of perfection.

“Elizabeth, I…” Unhappiness shaded his voice. He lifted a hand as if to caress her, then let his arm fall. Abruptly he pivoted on his boot heel and strode out, closing the door.

Caught in a welter of emotions, she sank beside the puddle of his robe and lifted the silk to her breasts. His quiet words felt engraved on her soul. What had he meant to say? That he needed her, wanted her, loved her? Without him, the future seemed empty and uninviting. Yet could love ease the pain of his betrayal? Could love compensate for the damage he had done to her career?

A knock broke the stillness. Alarm compressed her lungs and dried her mouth. She was all alone.

She stood slowly, the robe slithering to the floor. Cautiously she asked, “Is that you, Papa?”

“Yes,” came the muffled reply, “it’s me, Libby.”

With profound relief she opened the door. “Has Nicholas gone?”

His face drawn, Owen nodded. “And in a crashing hurry. I pray to God he finds Cicely as swiftly as possible.”

Trudging to a window, Elizabeth threw up the sash and leaned on the sill. The storm had passed and stars speckled the night sky. She drew in a gulp of damp, chilly air. Through the darkness she could distinguish the black square of the stable yard, the faint yellow pinprick of a lamp marking her husband’s presence. Within moments the light was doused and the quick clop of horse’s hooves drifted across the gardens. The sound grew fainter and fainter until it was lost in the chirp of crickets.

Kneeling by the window, she rested her chin in the cradle of her arms. Though Owen snoozed companionably in a chair, loneliness ached inside her. Nicholas was as vital to her life as breathing. She had known that, yet she had let her single minded devotion to art subjugate her need for him. She’d clung stubbornly to her right to the freedom to choose her commissions, without considering that compromise was essential to marriage. Nicholas hadn’t demanded the moon; he wanted only to keep her close. Because he needed her as much as she needed him.

The knowledge painted joy in the bleakness of her soul, like rainbows of color splashed onto a barren canvas. Other jobs would come her way, but never again would she find a man like Nicholas or a love as rich and remarkable as the one they shared.

Peace flooded Elizabeth, washing away the vestiges of pain and anger. She would find commissions closer to home, commissions that would let her devote time to both sculpting and her husband. The moment Nicholas returned, she would tell him of her decision.

She drifted into sleep until the bright morning sun poured over her. Cramped and stiff from her position by the window, she went into the dressing room and with Janet’s aid exchanged the wrinkled black gown for a fresh one. The maid’s incessant chatter brought a resurgence of anxiety to Elizabeth. Apparently the household staff hadn’t yet learned of Cicely’s disappearance with Drew. Would Nicholas succeed in finding his sister before she wasted her life on a rogue?

Miss Eversham stopped by to share a few worried words. Seeing Owen solicitously pat the governess’s hand, Elizabeth wondered if an affinity were developing between the two. The possibility pleased her. Since her mother’s death, Owen had been lonely, in need of companionship.

Once Miss Eversham had gone, Elizabeth found herself pacing restlessly. Nicholas’s absence left her vaguely uneasy. She passed the time by questioning her father about the suspects, though he could shed no new light on the matter.

“Hugh Sterling’s your culprit,” he said. “You’ll be safe now that he’s gone.”

She couldn’t shake Owen’s dogged insistence on implicating the old duke. Yet still her heart rejected the idea of her own sire cold bloodedly wanting her dead. Where was his motive? Unless he truly
had
been insane…

In late afternoon Kipp came to the bedroom. “I was ‘elpin’ the men patrol outside, an’ the doctor waved to me. Asked me to bring you this, yer ladyship.”

He handed her a folded piece of paper. She scanned the note, and her heart leapt in excitement as she raised her eyes to Owen. “Doctor Marsh has been packing. He says he came across something that may have belonged to Mother.”

Owen’s graying brows lowered. “What could he possibly have of Lucy’s? He was only a youth when she was here.”

Curious, Elizabeth asked, “Did you ever see the two of them together?”

He shrugged. “On occasion; your mother took an interest in everyone. I recall Gilbert Marsh was an intense boy… devoted his time to doctoring everything from a bump on your head to colic in one of the duchess’s horses.”

“He treated me? He’s never mentioned that.”

“It was a long time ago. Likely he’s forgotten, as you have.”

Anxious to see what Marsh had found, she said, “Shall we go, then?”

Owen hesitated. “Lord Nicholas asked me to make certain you didn’t leave this room, Libby.”

Kipp hitched his thumbs in his lapels. “I’ll ‘elp you keep a look out. ‘Is lordship says I’m a good watchman.”

Elizabeth ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re right about that. You see, Papa, I’ll be quite safe.”

“All right, then,” Owen said, setting aside his Bible and spectacles. “Marsh is harmless enough. We’ll go directly there and come straight back.”

As they went downstairs, Kipp darted outside. Owen led Elizabeth through the maze of corridors toward the rear of the house. Uneasiness prickled her skin as they walked past glass cases of knives and guns. She had never grown used to seeing those instruments of murder; without Nicholas, the weapons appeared more ominous than ever. Even the suits of armor seemed to be watching her.

Near the kitchen, they met the duchess striding in through a back door. Adelaide wore her usual mannish riding clothes, and the only concession to her new status was the requisite widow’s cap with its black streamers dangling from the back.

Nodding a regal greeting, she gazed at Elizabeth. “One of my grooms told me Hawkesford borrowed a horse early this morning. Now I’ve learned that my nephew is missing, along with Lady Cicely. So, they’ve run off together?”

“I’m afraid so,” Elizabeth said reluctantly.

Brown eyes slitted, the duchess slapped a riding crop against her pant leg. “Hawkesford should have come to me. I could have organized a search party.”

“He didn’t want to create a commotion,” Elizabeth explained. “The fewer people who realize Cicely’s gone, the better his chances of bringing her back without ruining her reputation.”

Adelaide arched a graying brow. “Quite so. You have my deepest apology for Drew’s behavior. This is certainly one of his less than clever stunts.”

Owen took a step forward. “It’s not your fault, Duchess. None of us could have foreseen what’s happened.”

Tucking the riding crop under her arm, she graced him with a cool stare. “Mr. Hastings. How history repeats itself. You eloped with my cousin — and left St. Mary’s in quite a lurch, I might add.”

His hazel eyes twinkled. “That was some twenty years ago. I trust they’ve found a new vicar by now.”

“A long winded ass,” she said, giving a snort of disgust. “Hugh’s eulogy was no exception. You, Mr. Hastings, might have delivered the usual tedious sermons, but at least you saw the sense in brevity.”

He chuckled. “It’s good to know I’ve been missed.” Taking Elizabeth’s arm, he said, “Might we ask directions, Your Grace? My memory of this house fails me… we’re looking for the doctor’s rooms.”

“Turn left at the end of the hall.” Adelaide pointed with her riding crop, then sent Elizabeth.a piercing stare. “Do be careful in your wanderings, Countess. Remember, the person who took a shot at you has never been identified.”