Three Little Secrets (22 page)

It was a quarter of ten when she heard the loud ring of horses’ hooves coming down the lane.
Many
horses. Not just a passing gig. Her heart in her throat, she rose and peeked through the window, already knowing what she would see. Merrick MacLachlan stepped down from the glossy red town coach, a vehicle larger and more elegant than any she had ever seen. He lifted his gold-knobbed stick and rapped soundly on the cottage door.

She answered it herself.

He did not waste words. “Are you ready? You do not look it.”

“I cannot believe you are serious,” she said. “You—you were drunk, Merrick. Perhaps we both said things we did not mean. But to do this to Geoff—oh, please do not.”

He pushed past her and came in. “I know you do not believe it, Madeleine,” he said, laying his elegant top hat aside, “and I really do not give a damn, but I am thinking of Geoff.”

She followed him into the room. “How?” she whispered. “How can this possibly help him? The boy thinks Bessett his father. He thinks Alvin his brother. Now, on top of all else which troubles him, you mean to tell him his entire life is a lie? Pray tell me, Merrick, how this will help him. And if it will, then yes, I will go, and willingly.”

He was stripping off his gloves, and laying them aside. “The boy is mine, Madeleine.” There was sorrow in his voice. “He has a right to know that. He has a right to know his true heritage.”

“I think this is more about what you want,” she said. “And this is about punishing me.”

He slapped the second glove down. “Goddamn it, Maddie, what do you think that boy feels like just now?” he demanded. “What? He feels like some manner of freak, that’s what. A bizarre trick of nature, not a normal child.”

A freak.
Madeleine cringed inside. On more than one occasion, Geoff had used that very word to describe himself. “And what will change in Scotland, Merrick?” she whispered. “What? Tell me one thing.”

He had picked up his gloves again, and was studying the stitching rather intently. “In Scotland, he will not be alone,” Merrick finally answered. “He will not feel like a freak. He will fit in—at least a
little
bit. And to a boy of his years, that is the most important thing on earth. Why do you think, Maddie, that I am so sure the boy is mine?”

“I—” She stopped, and shook her head. “I do not know.”

“It is a curse in my family,” he said quietly. “Or a blessing, depending upon your viewpoint. My grandmother. A great-uncle. A second cousin. And a dozen more who lie dead in the kirkyard, on both sides.”

“Surely…surely you jest?”

“You do not believe it.” His voice was flat.

“No, and I cannot believe you do.”

He shrugged. “I never really thought about it,” he admitted. “God knows it’s not a talent I possess. But in parts of Scotland, it is considered…well, perhaps not normal, no. But it is generally accepted by more than a few—which is about all one can hope for.”

“I cannot see how this will help him,” she whispered. “His whole world will be turned upside down.”

“No,
your
whole world will be turned upside down,” Merrick returned. “It will be dashed inconvenient for you, a husband and a marriage you so expediently forgot about so suddenly turning up. And it will be inconvenient to me, as well. Indeed, it will likely run half my businesses into the ground. But Geoff’s world will be right-side-up for perhaps the first time in his life.”

She touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Oh, God! I cannot believe this.”

“Maddie,
someone
has to help the boy,” he said, setting his hands on her upper arms. “Can you? I think we have already seen that you cannot. And Lord knows I can do no better. But someone—my grandmother MacGregor, I am thinking—might be able to.”

Madeleine wrung her hands. His words had an awful ring of wisdom to them. Geoff
was
peculiar. She had always known it. And now Geoff knew it, too—and it was killing him. “How can she help him, Merrick?” Madeleine asked softly. “Can she…can she make it go away?”

He shook his head. “I do not think so,” he admitted. “But I know that someone must teach the boy, Maddie, that ‘knowing’ things and being responsible for them are not at all the same. Someone has to explain that seeing glimpses of things to come does not mean one can alter them—or even
should
alter them. And someone needs to show him how to control these…these random fits in his head. Good God, one can only imagine what the poor child’s mind has been bombarded with these last many years.”

Madeleine slowly closed her eyes. Dear Lord! What he described…it was so close to the truth—or the truth so far as she knew it—that it was blood-chilling. And he was right; she did not know what to do.
The Scottish gift.
She still was not ready to admit that it even existed. But if it did…If it did, and did nothing to help him…

“How long?” she whispered. “How long will we be gone?”

“I cannot say,” he admitted. “Weeks, certainly.”

Madeleine dragged a hand through her hair, tearing some of it from its arrangement. “Geoff’s studies—he cannot just abandon—”

“Frost must come along,” Merrick interjected. “There is nothing else for it.”

“You leave me little choice, do you?” she said softly.

“No, none at all,” he said grimly. “Because Geoff has no choice. And in this one small way, perhaps I can help him. You have cheated me of my right to help him as any normal parent might.”

She lifted her gaze to his and held it firmly. “I will go,” she said. “But only because I would do anything to help my son. And will I go only under one condition.”

His eyes narrowed. “And what is this condition?”

“Prove to me, Merrick, that this is truly about helping Geoff,” she said. “And that it is not about punishing me. Do not tell him the truth about Bessett.”

He cut her a dark, sidelong look. “The truth about me, you mean,” he corrected. “You do not wish him to know that I am his father.”

She nodded. “I am not asking you, Merrick, not to befriend the boy or spend time with him. I am just asking—for now, at any rate—that we not throw his life into such disarray.”

His lips thinned as if he were biting back bitter words. No doubt he was. “I cannot promise,” he said at last. “It mayn’t even be possible. When we reach Argyllshire, there will be questions, Madeleine. Perhaps even talk.”

She turned away, and went to the window. The thought of giving in to him stung her pride. The thought of traveling hundreds of miles in his company was worse. But in truth, what choice had she? Oh, she was beyond worrying about courts or magistrates. She was beyond even the shame of what she had done with him last night. When all was said and done, Merrick was offering her a way—slender reed though it might be—to help Geoff.

Madeleine let her shoulders fall. “I will go,” she said quietly. “But I will go not because I am afraid of you, Merrick. I will go because…because as outlandish as your idea sounds, I have none better. Indeed, I have none at all.”

“Well, at least you are honest, Madeleine,” he said brusquely. “Now get packing, please. We have many hard miles of travel ahead of us.”

A man goes nae faster tae his
guid than tae his ruin.

T
he journey north was not a pleasant one. Almost a week of wind and damp left even the paved roads muddy, and tried tempers to the breaking point. Madeleine passed the days by staring out into the rain-swept countryside, and wondering if she had lost her mind. The worst of it was the sight of the quaint little inns in which she and Merrick had once stayed—and made love—during their rash, romantic elopement. Every crossroads, every village brought back some little remembrance of the hope those early days had held.

Across the width of the carriage, she looked at Merrick, studying him just as she had been doing at least a dozen times a day since leaving London. This afternoon, his black hair had fallen forward to shadow his eyes and partially obscure the brutal scar down, his face. The scar, while intriguing, did not trouble her. It was his arrogance, his utter high-handedness, which left her angry and a little shaken. The harsh words he’d flung at her in Walham still rang in her ears. Perhaps she had been fortunate to escape their reckless marriage. Perhaps the thing she had mourned all these years had not been worth her tears.

She hoped he did not continue his threats. He had been in a black rage that night, and surely had not meant all that he had said. Well, save for the threat about Geoff. That he had meant, and she was sure of it.

It really was quite mortifying when she considered the whole of what had happened between them these last weeks. And she was especially appalled when she considered what they had done together in Lord Treyhern’s pantry. Even now, the thought of it made her face flush with heat.

But why? Was she embarrassed to have a woman’s needs? Was it a sin to be lonely? The awful truth was, what they had done probably wasn’t even a sin in the eyes of God, because she very much feared she was still married to the man. Now that she had had a week of near solitude in which to consider it, she had to admit that her father had most likely lied to her about the annulment so that he might persuade her into a marriage which suited his political needs.

It was
insane.
It never would have worked. And why had he bothered to keep up the pretense? Once her father had learned she carried Merrick’s child, why had he not simply let her go to him, when she had been willing to swallow her pride and do so? Why force her to leave England when she had been willing to beg Merrick to take her back? She was of no further use to her father’s career when she was already with child. Surely his hatred of Merrick could not have run that deep?

But perhaps it had. She had grown up a great deal since then, and had come to face some stark realities. And now that she had faced them, now that she had accepted that what Merrick said might well be true, what did that make her? Not a wife. Not a widow. Probably not even Lady Bessett. Was she an adulteress? A bigamist? And what did that make Geoff? She prayed Merrick would keep their secret, for she had no notion how she would ever explain this awful predicament.

A little part of her wished she had dredged up the courage to tell Merrick the truth about Geoff as soon as she began to suspect her father’s lies. Then, he might have forgiven her. Now, he never would. And yet they were married. They would be man and wife until one of them died. Neither of them could go forward with their lives, even had they wished to.

Lady Madeleine MacLachlan.

Dear God. After all these years!

Merrick must have felt the heat of her gaze upon him. He looked up from the folio in which he had been penciling, his eyes dark and wary. He was still angry with her. Very angry, though to his credit, he was trying to keep up appearances in front of Mr. Frost and Geoff. Madeleine bit her lip and turned away. Perhaps she did not deserve even that one small courtesy. She was no longer certain.

They had brought but two carriages on the trip, piling the baggage wherever it would fit. The four of them shared Merrick’s huge town coach, whilst Eliza, Merrick’s valet, and a groom followed in Madeleine’s smaller barouche. Madeleine often considered exchanging seats with Phipps, but she was not certain she should leave Geoff’s side.

It was not that Madeleine did not trust Merrick with the boy. Despite his threats, she believed him when he said he had Geoff’s best interests at heart. But she was the child’s mother. She had been so long accustomed to keeping watch over him and being constantly on guard against any little alteration in his mood, she could not see her way clear to leave him. And in the back of her mind, there lurked a fear that perhaps Merrick was right. Perhaps Geoff’s gloomy moods and strange notions were somehow her fault.

During the first few days, Mr. Frost made a valiant effort to keep up with Geoff’s studies. They had brought traveling desks and a satchel of books from which Mr. Frost assigned reading. But the constant sway of the coach made matters difficult, and the changing scenery was a persistent distraction to the boy. His questions were endless, and matters were not helped when, just east of the Yorkshire dales, Geoff spotted a familiar sight.

“Look!” he cried, pointing through the window. “Mamma! Mr. Frost! There is the road to Ripon! And to Loughton!”

Mr. Frost slid his spectacles down his nose, and peered out at the signpost. “Why, so it is, Geoff.”

“Loughton?” Merrick echoed.

“Loughton is where we used to live,” Geoff eagerly responded. “Before we moved to Walham.”

Merrick looked at Madeleine.

“Loughton Manor was my late husband’s estate,” she said quietly. “Now it belongs to Alvin, Geoff’s brother.”

She watched Merrick stiffen against the banquette. “I see,” he answered, his tone hesitant. “Well. I daresay we might stop briefly, if Geoff wishes.”

“No,” said Madeleine swiftly. “We must press on.”

Geoff’s face fell. Madeleine understood his disappointment, but she did not know how she might explain Merrick’s presence, or the reason for this trip, to Alvin. Certainly she had no wish to explain it to the new Lady Bessett.

Mr. Frost leaned forward to pat the boy’s knee. “Loughton is many miles out of our way, sir,” he said to Merrick. “I am sure Geoff can visit his brother another time.”

Merrick seemed to relax, but Madeleine could feel his heated gaze still burning into her. To distract the child, Mr. Frost drew a history of England from his leather satchel and opened it to the spot they had left marked the previous day.

“What are you studying now?” asked Merrick, glancing at the open book.

“The Jacobite Uprisings,” said Frost a little shyly. “It seemed like good timing.”

“Hmph,” said Merrick. “Now there are two phrases one rarely hears used in the same sentence.”

Mr. Frost blinked nervously. “I beg your pardon?”

“ ‘Jacobites’ and ‘good timing.’” Merrick smiled faintly. “They did not historically go together.”

Geoff laughed, but Mr. Frost looked ill at ease. “I daresay you had family who would have been involved in the uprisings, sir.”

At that, Geoff leaned forward on the banquette, his eyes wide. “Crikes!” he said. “
Did
you, sir?”

Merrick nodded. “Aye, in the last,” he said. “It was my grandfather, the first baronet. There were others, too. Mostly Jacobite Catholics, since we hailed from just north of the Tay—but the family was sharply divided, politically and, to some extent, religiously.”

“Indeed,” said Frost, pushing his spectacles up his nose with one finger. “I gather family disharmony was not uncommon.”

“No, not in Scotland,” murmured Merrick.

“What did your grandfather do in the uprising, sir?” asked Geoff eagerly. “Did he get killed by Cumberland at Culloden?”

Merrick had withdrawn his pocket watch and begun to polish it with his handkerchief. “No, no, he lived to a great old age,” he answered. “For he fought with Cumberland, not against him.”

“Did he indeed?” Mr. Frost seemed to relax. “How fortunate for your family.”

“Fortunate for the ones who sided with the King, yes,” said Merrick. “But as I said, a great many of them did not, and most all of them died.”

“That sounds sad,” said Geoff. “Was your grandfather upset?”

“More than you will ever know, Geoff,” said Merrick quietly. “For a time, he was a tormented man.”

Geoff’s face wrinkled with thought. “Why was he tormented, sir?”

At last, Merrick restored the timepiece to his waistcoat, and tucked the handkerchief away. “Well, Geoff, I shall tell you,” he said, looking very much like a man who had just made a serious decision. “He knew, you see, what many did not: that the Jacobite cause was lost. He had spent the months preceding the prince’s return trying to convince his kin of that fact, but for the most part, he could not. And when the worst came, he felt as if he had failed them.”

Geoff’s eyes were wide as saucers now, and Mr. Frost was leaning intently forward. “He could not have known for certain, sir,” said the tutor. “He should not have blamed himself.”

Merrick set his head a little to one side. “But he did know,” Merrick averred. “He had the gift, you see. But no one believed him.”

“The gift, sir?” Mr. Frost sounded confused.

“Or the curse, if you like.” Merrick turned to look at Geoff. “Have you studied yet the mythological tale of Cassandra?”

The boy shook his head.

Frost cast a strange look at Merrick. “Cassandra was the daughter of the King of Troy,” the tutor explained. “Apollo fell in love with her and gave her the gift of prophecy. But when she did not return his affections, Apollo doomed her with a curse which ensured that though she saw the future, no one would ever believe her prophecies.”

Geoff had gone utterly colorless. “Wh-what happened to Cassandra?”

With a dark look in Merrick’s direction, Madeleine slid her arm around the child. “Nothing,” she said sharply. “Though I am sure she led a very frustrated life.”

“Quite so,” said Merrick, his tone almost languid. “Very frustrated indeed.”

Geoff’s color had not returned. Mr. Frost gave a nervous little laugh. “But surely, sir…surely you do not believe…?”

Merrick lifted one of his slashing black eyebrows. “Do I not?” he asked.

Frost was turning pink now. “But to see into the future—”

Merrick shrugged. “It is common enough in Scotland,” he said.

“But—but you are a man of science.”

“Quite so,” Merrick agreed. “And that is why I am certain there is some perfectly reasonable explanation for it. After all, Frost, we used to think the world was flat. And none of us knew anything about gravitation until that illustrious apple hit poor Newton in the head.”

“Well, that is true enough.” Frost seemed to be pondering it. “Have you a theory, sir?”

Merrick was staring out the window now, his expression pensive. “I think that the sight is something like intuition,” he said. “But stronger, and—I do not know—more highly developed, perhaps?”

“Mamma says she has women’s intuition,” said Geoff hopefully. “Is that what you mean, sir?”

Merrick nodded. “Yes, women are generally more intuitive than men,” he agreed. “I think the sight is like that, and no one person who has it is quite the same as the next. Some people see the future in their dreams, and they see it abstractly. Others say they feel things ‘in their bones,’ or they see bits and pieces in flashes. Others can shut it out altogether, or heighten their awareness of it when they choose to do so.”

“You have given this a great deal of thought.” Mr. Frost relaxed against the banquette. “Have you ever known anyone, Mr. MacLachlan, who had this gift?”

“My grandmother,” said Merrick. “But it is not something she particularly cares to talk about. You will find that is always the case with those who truly possess the skill of prescience. If they are hanging out a shingle and reading tea leaves for a tuppence, then you can safely assume they are charlatans.”

Geoff was taking it all in, his mouth practically hanging open. Merrick leaned over and patted him on the knee as Mr. Frost had done. “Well, enough of that for now,” he said. “This lad needs to study, does he not?”

Just then, however, the carriage began to slow.

“Ah, I perceive that we have reached Bedale,” said Merrick, peering out the window at the sky. “And I believe we are in for more rain. Perhaps we’d best rack up here.”

The coaching inn at which they stopped was perfectly serviceable. Merrick arranged for dinner to be served in a private parlor near the taproom. A pink-cheeked serving girl carried in trays of roast mutton, fried whiting, and a tureen of pea soup, but Madeleine had no appetite. Afterward, Geoff expressed a wish to roam around the village. It was market day, and though the event was long over, the town was still bustling.

Merrick rose from his chair. “I daresay a stroll would do us all good,” he answered. “Lead on, Geoff.”

At the foot of the stairs, Madeleine turned to go up.

Geoff hesitated. “You are not coming, Mamma?”

Her hand already on the newel post, she turned to look at them. “I thought not.”

Merrick cut an unfathomable look in her direction. “We shan’t be long,” he said, offering his arm.

With grave reluctance, she laid her hand on his sleeve, and they walked out into the early-evening light. The danger of rain seemed to have passed. Geoff and Mr. Frost set off at a brisk pace, pausing once or twice to peer into shop windows, though they were all closed and unlit now.

Merrick seemed set on a more sedate stroll. It was the first time they had been alone during the whole of the journey. “You did not eat,” he murmured, as they walked. “Was the food not to your liking?”

“I was not hungry,” she replied.

He cast a sidelong look down her length. “You have lost weight,” he remarked. “It does not suit you to be so thin.”

She tried to suppress a flash of temper. “Has no one ever mentioned, Merrick, that you are patronizing and meddlesome?” she asked. “I am hardly in danger of blowing away on the wind, much as that might please you.”

She was further irritated when he did not take the bait, but instead, placed his hand over hers where it lay upon his coat sleeve. “It does the boy no good to see you distraught,” he answered. “He notices when you do not eat, or when you withdraw into yourself.”