The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twenty-Six

A

n ominous foreboding touched Brock, a bizarre tingling sensation that started from his toes and spread throughout his body. He surveyed the outriders, then the carriages, moving finally to Kimpton. Perhaps the lack of sun was getting to him. “Do you hear that?”

Kimpton waved the riders to stay their course, pulling up his horse beside Brock, who had stopped. “It’s just the wind—” He cocked his head to one side. “Strange, it almost sounds like—”

“Romanian,” Brock interrupted him. “It’s a mantra of some sort.”

Prin puterea binecuvântată a Sfintei Sara la Kali

Din această zi încoace, și dincolo de vârste,

Pe luna celui de-al 7-lea fiu

Eliminați-vă sufletul cu trei și treizeci

Nebunia vei cădea, restul vieții tale lungi și naturale.

Ascultă-mă pe tine, după cum jurăm,

Numai sânge amestecat de al meu și de tine

Să-ți elibereze sufletul înnegrit.

“I hear it,” Kimpton said softly. “But what does it mean?”

Brock concentrated. He wasn’t fluent in Romanian by any stretch, but his search for Rachel had ended with a group of Romanian gypsies he’d met in Portugal.

The memories were painful, and he’d successfully locked them away for almost a decade. Until now. “Something regarding one’s body being cast into madness until blended blood or some such nonsense.” One thing he remembered about the Romani people—they were a fanciful lot. Lots of legends and curses. He kicked his horse into motion. “I’ll feel a lot better when we reach Kimpton,” he said.

The sun moved behind a thick band of clouds, giving the inside of the carriage a cozy gloom, if gloom could be considered cozy. Perhaps some of the coziness Ginny was experiencing was due to knowing Brock would defend her and her girls to his death. She let out a long breath. He’d certainly proven he was not above putting her life above his own, hiding her from Maudsley as he had. All she had to do was grasp the branch and leap… over the cliff with no thought to her safety… trust him to… catch her… Her entire body quivered at the idea letting go of that kind of control.

Kimpton would certainly do the same for Lorelei.

The trek to Kimpton’s country house was not long by normal standards—but usually entailed an overnight stay.

Ginny quelled her inner quavering, glad for Maeve’s and Lorelei’s company. The girls were secured in a second carriage along with Nathan, Miss Lambert, Peg, and Maeve’s lady’s maid, Parson. She did not envy the adults riding in the conveyance behind theirs.

“What is that cat-that-got-the-cream smile you’re wearing about?” Lorelei shifted her traveling skirts, looking out the window.

“I was just thinking how glad I am that we have two carriages, instead of one.”

“I imagine your Miss Lambert did not fancy herself a nursemaid, did she?” Maeve said.

“There are no worries there,” Lorelei said. “Not with Irene in charge. She dotes on Nathan. And it’s to our advantage that Celia wants to follow in her older sister’s footsteps.”

“I fear Celia will never have the patience Irene has mastered.” Ginny contemplated her own words. “You know, Lorelei, I barely remember those days when she laughed. It seems so long ago now.”

“Yes.” Lorelei’s response was but a whisper.

“I feel a little lost in this exchange,” Maeve said. A long silence ensued, and she gave a discreet cough to cover the awkwardness. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

“Not at all,” Lorelei said. She glanced at Ginny. “’Tis a shared story…”

Ginny shared a speaking glance with Lorelei, then said, “Maudsley almost killed me last year. If Lord Brockway hadn’t found and hid me, there is no question I would have perished.” Her tone was as flat as her feelings for her dead husband.

Maeve nodded knowingly. “That explains his brief appearances last season. He didn’t want anyone guessing he’d squired you away.”

“I was unconscious a good portion of the time, completely insensible.” She flashed a glance at Lorelei. “Lord Brockway took my children to Lord Kimpton and told him to get them to Lorelei. Thank the heavens he managed that feat, else they would have ended up with my mother.” The shudder quivering up her spine was one of absolute horror of what might have been.

“Every woman in London had a built-in sensory where Lord Maudsley was concerned.” Maeve’s words filled the air, leaving Ginny at a loss. Maeve’s hand flew over her mouth. “I’m sor—”

Laughter burst from Ginny, cutting her off. Not the braying laugh either. A gut-busting sound and feeling that threatened her corset fastenings. After a moment, a companionable quiet filled the air.

Then Maeve spoke quietly, but with certainty. “He loves you, you know.”

“He does,” Lorelei agreed softly, smiling.

“At the risk of stepping out of line,” Maeve said, “don’t let your valued beliefs of independence blind you to something many only dream of, Ginny.”

“Sage advice,” Lorelei said.

“What makes you say so?” Ginny asked her.

“Have you met my mother, Lady Ingleby?”

Ginny laughed, feeling a sudden camaraderie with her. “Ah. I would venture to say she rivals Lady Wimbley.”

“Oh, yes. My mother is bent on parading me before every peer of the realm as if I am still a debutante just out of the schoolroom, though I was married for nigh on three years. I imagine I appreciate my independence as greatly as you, but ’tis clear Lord Brock is over the moon for you.”

Ginny desperately wished to believe her. “Do you really think so?”

Maeve took her hand and squeezed. “I do indeed.”

Lorelei looked around. “It’s getting dark. It appears the men are not inclined to stop for the night.”

“Oh, dear. The undertakers will charge them double,” Ginny said.

Again, laughter rippled through the atmosphere.

“I have a question regarding Lady Harlowe,” Maeve said.

Answering questions about Corinne was up to Lorelei, and Ginny was surprised to see her friend nod.

“If she was the first Lady Maudsley’s daughter, where was she hidden? No one had a clue Maudsley had a child with his first wife.” She paused, seeming to consider her next words. “I ask because I happened to be a schoolmate of Corinne’s at Miss Greely’s School of Comportment though we weren’t close. No one knew much of her background.”

“Hannah’s maid at the time was Rowena Hollerfield,” Lorelei said with an ounce of hesitation.

Maeve’s swallow was audible. “Miss Hollerfield, the courtesan?”

“The very same.” Lorelei’s chin had lifted. “From what we could gather, in a fit of fury, Maudsley killed Hannah when he learned she’d had a female child. Miss Hollerfield absconded with the child and raised her as her sister. It was quite remarkable, really.”

“It is indeed,” Maeve said softly. “Corinne was a very lucky girl to have had you in her court.”

“Exactly my sentiments,” Ginny said.

The carriage slowed, and the door opened. Kimpton poked his head in. “We’re directing the hearse to the chapel. Andrews will take you on to the house,” he told Lorelei.